Free The Pendragon Legend by Antal Szerb

habitual reclusiveness—and we were surprised that he wasn’t more pleased to see you.”
    “Could you suggest a reason for it?”
    “Of course. He is completely—as it used to be called—of a melancholic humour. At times he is immensely benign, the kindest man on earth. Then he draws back into his shell. There’ve been times when the three of us have been here and he hasn’t spoken to us once in six weeks, and he certainly wasn’t angry with us. He locks himself away in his rooms. We aren’t allowed in there. The whole of the second floor is his.”
    “And what does he do up there, during those times?”
    “I believe he works on his special animals. My uncle is a sort of amateur zoologist. But he never talks about it. He does sometimes go out for a stroll, but he never speaks to anyone; in fact I don’t think he even recognises people. And you’re not allowed to speak to him. On one occasion, you know, after the episode when he is said to have revived the Earl of Warwick, he chased a journalist up a tree because he asked for an interview. It seems yesterday was another of his bad days. But you mustn’t take it amiss. You must make yourself at home here, as much as you possibly can.”
    “Thank you. But what would you say if a giant in fancy dress patrolled outside your bedroom door at night?”
    Osborne roared with laughter.
    “My dear man, you are far too sensitive. At night all Llanvygan servants are giants in fancy dress. An ancient ruling requires the Earl of Gwynedd to maintain thirty night-watchmen, complete with halberds, wherever he resides. Even their garments are prescribed. There’s nothing unusual in that. Britain is full of these old medieval statutes. Anyway, thirty men with halberdsare a great deal more practical than the knights in armour Lord Whatsisname has to keep permanently at the ready. Or the trumpeter who has to play non-stop whenever the king hunts in the vicinity of some peer or other. Not to mention the fistful of snow one Scottish lord has to supply to the court every year. Does that reassure you?”
    “Not completely. But while we’re on the subject, I’ll tell you what else has been going on.”
    “What, more horrors? I begin to envy you, Doctor. You foreigners have all the luck. I’ve lived here for three years and not one table has danced the tango in my honour.”
    “Please, you must take me seriously. The cartridges were removed from my revolver. A packet Maloney entrusted to me has vanished from my suitcase. At night, a horseman stands outside the house with a flaming torch. Is that what usually happens here?”
    Osborne was again deep in thought, and did not reply until urged to do so. Then, very quietly and with a look of self- importance on his face, he said:
    “Tell me, Doctor, do they teach Geography in Hungary?”
    “Of course they do,” I answered, somewhat irritably. “And much more thoroughly than in England.”
    “Then you should have learnt that all Welshmen are mad. In England, every primary schoolchild knows this. I have no idea what has got into my uncle, nor do I bother my head about it. One fool can’t fathom the thoughts of another. Possibly he doesn’t even know about these things. The butler is just as crazy; none of the staff is completely sane. A certain mild abnormality is required of anyone who crosses the threshold of Llanvygan. It’s the tradition. It’s why I felt free to invite Maloney.”
    “And the Earl me. Thanks very much.”
    “If I were you, I wouldn’t concern myself with these trifles. You can be sure that by tonight your cartridges will all be back in place. The butler probably made a bet with the cook. It’s happened before. But the horseman you must have dreamed. I would have known about him too, don’t you think?
    “Please believe me,” he went on. “For the last two hundred years nothing remarkable has happened to anyone living here. Atbest, a few minor eccentricities, little incidents of no consequence, much to