Goodwife Thripp resumes her knitting with the air of someone who has told this story before and found it tedious the first time. "Lord Aldric was officiating. He sat down. The goat — which had wandered in from somewhere unspecified — ate his chair." She turns a needle. "Lord Aldric stood up rather suddenly. The hat fell. The goat wore it. Lord Aldric declared he had had quite enough of tournaments for one day and went home." A pause. "That was four hours ago." She looks up briefly. "About when you left, presumably." Humphrey stares at the goat. The goat, in its official hat, stares back with the perfect composure of an animal that has no idea it is at the centre of a diplomatic incident but would raise no objections if told. "And no one has simply taken it back?" asks Humphrey. "There was a petition," says Goodwife Thripp. "Three pages. The goat ate that too."