The Dragon in the Sword by Michael Moorcock

“Hardly one did not have long reports…”
    “I allow no such rubbish aboard my hull. It breeds bad morale.”
    Now it was obvious to me how a story known throughout the Maaschanheem had failed to reach Armiad’s philistine ears.
    “You are a cheat!” he flung at me. He glowered, glancing around him from beneath frowning brows as he realised he had won further disapproval from these others. He tried to keep his mouth closed.
    “These good gentlemen are your guests, however,” said Denou Praz, combing at his little white goatee with a delicate hand. “Until the Massing, at least, you are bound to continue extending hospitality to them.”
    Armiad let out a sudden breath. Again he was on his feet. “Is there no contingency in the Law? Can I not say they have given false names?”
    “You named the good gentleman Flamadin?” asked an old man from the far end of the table.
    “I recognised him. Is that not reasonable?”
    “You did not wait for him to declare himself, but named him. That means that he has not gained the sanctuary of your hull through any deliberate deception of you. It seems that selfdeception is to blame here…”
    “You say it’s my fault.”
    The councilor was silent. Armiad puffed and blustered again. He glared at me. “You should have told me you were no longer a Chosen Prince, that you were a criminal, wanted in your own realm. Marsh vermin, indeed!”
    “Please, good gentlemen!” Baron Captain Denou Praz raised his thin brown fingers into the air. “This is not the proper behaviour of hosts or of guests…”
    Armiad, desperate for his peers’ approval, took a grip on himself. “You are welcome aboard my hull,” he said to us, “until the Massing is complete.” He turned to Denou Praz. “Forgive this breach of etiquette, Brother Denou Praz. If I had known what I brought aboard your hull, believe me I should never…”
    The woman councilor broke in. “These apologies are neither required nor are they within our traditions of courtesy,” she said. “Names have been exchanged and hospitality extended. That is all. Let us, I beg you, remember that.”
    The rest of the meeting was strained, to say the least. Von Bek and I looked at one another without being able to speak while Armiad grunted and grumbled to himself, hardly responding to the formal remarks which Baron Captain Denou Praz and his Council continued to make. Armiad seemed torn. He did not wish to stay at a place where he had lost face so badly, as he saw it. And he did not want to take us back with him. Eventually, however, as he became aware that it was growing dark, he signed for us to rise. He bowed to Denou Praz and made some effort to thank him for his hull’s hospitality, to apologise for the tension he had brought. Von Bek and I murmured the briefest and most formal of farewells whereupon Baron Captain Denou Praz said graciously: “It is not for me to judge men upon what the journals report of their deeds. My guess is that you did not seek the earlier fame which made you a hero in the popular imagination and that you are perhaps made more of a villain now, simply because people saw you for so long as the personification of all that was brave and noble. I hope you will forgive my own breach of poor taste, which made me judge you, good gentleman, before I knew you or understood anything of your circumstances.”
    “This apology is unnecessary, Baron Captain. I am obliged to you for your kindness and civility. If I should ever return to your hull, I hope it will be because I have proven myself worthy of treading the boards of the
New Argument
.”
    “Damned fancy words,” grumbled Armiad as we were escorted down through the swaying walkways and decks to where our barge stood ready to take us back to the
Frowning Shield.
“For a man who attempted to murder his own sister! And why? Because she threatened to tell the world the truth about him. You’re a sham and a scoundrel. I tell you, you are not welcome aboard