They all loved Shadow Valley.
In this man's time, so they told Rodriguez, none entered the
forest to hurt it, no tree was cut except by his command, and
venturous men claiming rights from others than him seldom laid axe
long to tree before he stood near, stepping noiselessly from among
shadows of trees as though he were one of their spirits coming for
vengeance on man.
All this they told Rodriguez, but nothing definite they told of
their king, where he was yesterday, where he might be now; and any
questions he asked of such things seemed to offend a law of the
forest.
And then the dishes were carried in, to Morano's great delight:
with wide blue eyes he watched the produce of that mighty estate
coming in through the doorway cooked. Boars' heads, woodcock,
herons, plates full of fishes, all manner of small eggs, a roe-
deer and some rabbits, were carried in by procession. And the men
set to with their ivory-handled knives, each handle being the
whole tusk of a boar. And with their eating came merriment and
tales of past huntings and talk of the forest and stories of the
King of Shadow Valley.
And always they spoke of him not only with respect but also with
the discretion, Rodriguez thought, of men that spoke of one who
might be behind them at that moment, and one who tolerated no
trifling with his authority. Then they sang songs again, such as
Rodriguez had heard on the road, and their merry lives passed
clearly before his mind again, for we live in our songs as no men
live in histories.
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