A page lounging by the buffet sprang to attention.
He was a slender, rather delicate lad, fair of hair and blue of eyes, not more than twelve years of age.

An elderly man who stood beside him--one Mariani, the seneschal of Cesena--stepped forward also, solicitude in his glance.
"Bring me wine," bawled the ogre.

"Must I tell you what I need?
If you do not put those eyes of yours to better service, I'll have them plucked from your empty head.

Bestir, animal." The old man caught up a beaker from the buffet and handed it to the boy.
"Here, my son," said he.

"Hasten to his Excellency." The lad took the beaker from his father's hands, and trembling in his fear of Ramiro's anger, he sprang forward to serve him.