“I have not.”
It was a blow to the man’s ego. “Then you must not know very much about the important men in England,” he said, trying to shame him.
But Caius grinned. It was a genuine gesture at the audacity of the young warrior. It amused him. But unlike de Wrenville, Caius knew when to keep his mouth shut.
He didn’t have the time or the inclination to engage with an idiot.
“Come along, my prideful lad,” he said. “We are here to drink, not speak on England’s nobility. I believe it is my turn to go first this time and we shall see who is left upright after this round.”
“Do not rush me,” Marius said, waving him off. “I am here to celebrate, you know. I have been recalled home. I have been drinking all day and, still, I am drinking. With all of that, do you not think that I can match you?”
“I think that you are about to collapse.”
True as it was, that only seemed to infuriate de Wrenville. That lazy, conceited expression vanished.
“Fool,” he hissed. “Do you not know when you have met your match?”
“I do, actually. And you are not it.”
De Wrenville’s face turned red. Caius gazed at him with an unwavering stare, silently daring him to snap back. In a show ofsurprising restraint, the young heir made no sound even though his mouth was working, and de Wolfe uncorked the fourth bottle to the cheer of those standing around the table. He poured at least two swallows into the cup in front of Caius and also into the cup in front of the de Wrenville heir. The wine wasn’t red, but more amber-colored, and once the drink was poured, men began cheering on their particular drinker.
“Are you ready?” Caius asked, lifting his cup. “Time to prove your worth, young pup.”
De Wrenville stiffened, baring his teeth, but Caius was already in motion. He was the first to lift the cup to his lips, taking a deep breath before throwing back the drink, holding it in his mouth for a moment, and then ingesting it all in one big swallow.
He remained upright.
The table roared.
The pressure was on de Wrenville, who’s angry expression had faded when he realized Caius wasn’t going down. His men were muttering words of encouragement, slapping him on the shoulder, trying to bolster his courage to take yet one more drink of the powerful wine.
One more drink!
The moment of truth had arrived.
De Wrenville finally nodded and one of his friends held the cup to his lips. He opened his mouth, the contents were poured in, and he tried to swallow. He made a valiant effort at it. But half of it came spraying out as he coughed, choked, and ended up falling over backwards.
He was unconscious before he hit the floor.
The table exploded in cheers and laughter, some men winning, some men losing, and all the while, de Wolfe was extolling the drinking skill of Caius d’Avignon. Some of the tavern workers, who had been watching the drinking match,rushed off for buckets of cold water, one of which they dumped on de Wrenville to revive him and the other one tossed right into Caius’ face as he sat at the table.
Water splashed everywhere as men continued to laugh and exchange money. De Wrenville, still unconscious, was dragged away by his men. One of the servants who worked at The Pox approached Caius with a bar towel made from linen, handing it to him so that he could wipe his face. It wasn’t very absorbent, but he took it anyway.
“Well?” Bric said in his heavy Irish accent. “How do you feel?”
Caius was dripping wet from the shoulders up. He was still blowing water out of his mouth, even after he had wiped his face with the towel.
“That depends,” he said. “How much money did we make?”
The knights began counting their coinage.
“Six pounds,” Bric said.
“Four pounds,” Kevin said.
Morgan, Peter, Dashiell, and Gareth were all counting their money. Between the four of them, they’d made almost fifteen pounds, and Caius wasn’t so drunk that he couldn’t add that all up in his head. Truth be told, his head was swimming and he was reluctant to move for fear of falling on his face, but almost twenty-five pounds made it all worthwhile.
“I get half of that for defeating that arrogant halfwit,” he said, pounding the table in front of him with a big fist. “Give me my winnings, you bloody vultures. How dare you force me to drink simply so you can make money.”
