You might see them, two by two, bending over the board. When
one player was beaten by his fellow, he borrowed moneys to pay his
wager, giving pledges for the repayment of his debt. Dearly enough he
paid for his loan, getting but eleven to the dozen. But the pledge was
offered and taken, the money rendered, and the game continued with
much swearing and cheating, much drinking and quarrelling, with strife
and with anger. Often enough the loser was discontented, and rose
murmuring against his fellow. Two by two the dicers sat at table,
casting the dice. They threw in turn, each throwing higher than his
fellow. You might hear them count, six, five, three, four, two, and
one. They staked their raiment on the cast, so there were those who
threw half naked. Fair hope had he who held the dice, after his fellow
had cried his number. Then the quarrel rose suddenly from the silence.
One called across the table to his companion, "You cheat, and throw
not fairly. Grasp not the dice so tightly in your hand, but shake them
forth upon the board. My count is yet before yours. If you still have
pennies in your pouch bring them out, for I will meet you to your
wish." Thus the dicers wrangled, and to many of Arthur's guests it
chanced that he who sat to the board in furs, departed from the tables
clothed in his skin.
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