Mothertongue frowned at Duffy’s tone. “There are matters awaiting my decisions,” he admitted. “But you’re not to give these men alcohol; they’re clean-living Christians … underneath it all.” “Of course they are.” A cask of beer was carried out a minute or so after Mothertongue’s exit, and Duffy filled twenty-two mugs. “Drink up, now, you clean-living Christians,” he told the northmen, unnecessarily.
Beer.
