			M O O N M I S T
			---------------

Buuuh! Did I scare you ? If not, just wait for the cobweb filled 
secret passages in Moonmist from Infocom !

When you start playing the Moonmists (Moonmists ??? - Yes, there are 
actually 4 games in one !), you'll decide which of the games you want
to play. This is done when the dragon head asks for your favorite 
colour! (You would never have guessed if I hadn't told ya!) The four 
colours are:

Blue - The easiest level (I think!)
Yellow - As easy as Green
Green - As easy as Yellow
Red - The hardest level (same note as for the Blue level(I think!))

If you say another colour, the computer will chose a random version.

In Moonmist, you are a famous young American detective. An old friend,
Tamara Lynd, has written you a letter, asking for your help. And so
you have travelled to England to test your detective skills.
 As the story begins, you are outside Tresyllian Castle - the old, 
dark, hauntingly beautiful castle where Tamara now lives. Tamara
greets you, and you meet some interesting guests. But your visit 
soon turns to mystery, as a trail of riddles and clues leads you to
a hidden valuable treasure.
 But Tamara is worried about a ghost that is tormenting her. What does
the ghost want ? Is it jealous of her? Does the ghost want the hidden
treasure for itself? Or is the ghost a fake - just someone dressing up
to frighten Tamara? If so, why ?
 These mysteries and others are waiting to test your wits in Moonmist.

You receive two letters from Tamara.

The first one is about Tamara and Jack's engagement and the different
characters that you'll meet in the story:

Vivien Pentreath:Painter and sculptor. Lives nearby. Mistress of Jack's
uncle Lionel. Knows a lot of stories about Cornwall.
Iris Vane: Mayfair debutante. Perhaps secretly in love with Jackk.
Ian Jordyce: Jack's best friend. Lady's man. In was in love with Deirdre 
Hallan (Jack's old girlfriend). Deirdre ended up drowning in a well
at the castle. Her body was never found. The water in the well is very
salty, so they think it's been polluted by an underground tidal
current and that she was washed out to sea.. (Hint)

The White lady has been seen in the newer Residential Wing.

Ian Wendish: Uncle Lionel's doctor.
Montague Hyde: Antigue dealer.

The second letter: Tamara thinks that someone are trying to kill her. 
She has seen the ghost. Finds both widow spider and an adder! Some 
think that the ghost look like Deirdre Hallan (the girl who drowned
in the well).
=====================================================================
Moonmist
Brought to you by Belgarath

Legendary Ghosts of Cornwall

By Lady Lisbeth Norris


Festerton Town Library

05/29/48  08/02/60  07/02/82
05/04/50  05/24/64  06/30/85
02/07/52  10/15/69  04/19/86
06/10/53  09/05/70
10/27/57  02/06/75
12/30/57  03/17/77
07/12/58  11/05/78

Please take care of me...
library books belong to everyone.

THE HAUNTED ORCHARD OF PENZANCE 

There stands today, in the town of Penzance, a mansion which once belonged to 
an elderly woman named Mrs. Baines. Old Mrs. Baines took pride in her home 
and in the fine apple trees in her orchard, whose fruit was well-liked by the 
local lads. But as time went by, pride soured into avarice, and she set her servant to 
guarding the orchard by night. This he did, spending long dark hours in the damp 
grass beneath the trees. 
Old Mrs. Baines, trusting no one, feared that her man was not doing his proper 
job. One night she crept into the garden, dressed in her dark silk mantle. Round the 
orchard she went, confirming her suspicions: the servant was nowhere in sight. Think- 
ing to teach him a lesson, she climbed into an apple tree and shook down a quantity 
of apples for the laggard to find scattered upon his return. 
Alas, she had misjudged her man. He was not absent, but merely asleep beneath 
a far tree. Hearing the apples thud to the ground, he leapt to his feet and discharged 
his gun at the suspected thief. "I'm murdered!" screeched Mrs. Baines, tumbling down 
amidst the fruit. And indeed she never recovered from her injuries, expiring shortly 
thereafter. 
From then on, the estate has been guarded by the ghost of old Mrs. Baines. In 
the evenings, she glides amongst the trees, her silk mantle floating in the mist. At times 
she flies up from the unkempt grass like a dry leaf caught in the wind, perching on the 
garden wall with her skinny legs protruding from under her skirts. And when darkness 
falls, a shadowy form peers from a window of the deserted mansion, shaking a threat- 
ening fist at passers-by. 
No one dares enter the house or orchard, and the apples lie rotting on the ground.

THE HAUNTING OF BRISTOL MANOR 

In the early part of the eighteenth century, a family emigrated from the city of 
Bristol to a fertile valley in Cornwall, there to live a life of leisure. The fine home 
they built was called Bristol Manor. 
A cottage was constructed to house the gardener, who lived with his wife and 
son, a full-grown lad named Erik. It was not long before Erik fell madly in love with 
the daughter of the manor, a winsome girl with russet hair and laughing eyes who 
went by the name of Lucy. 
But Lucy was pledged to another, a nobleman of wealth and good family. She 
spurned the lad's advances, little realizing the depth of his feeling. At long last, crazed 
by bitterness and jealousy, Erik lured the gentle girl to the cottage loft, stealing her 
maidenhood and flinging her to her death from the upper window. For his crime, he 
was hunted down and brought to the gallows by the villagers. 
From then on, the cottage of Bristol Manor was haunted by the spectres of Erik 
and Lucy. 
The tortured soul of the hanged man preyed on those more fortunate in love 
than he. Married couples in particular suffered many frightening experiences. Often 
they awoke at night to a chill wind blowing even in the heat of summer. A feeling of 
dread would suffuse the room. Candles were suddenly quenched, or flew through the 
air, flame intact. Lovers found themselves wrenched apart by clammy unseen hands. 
And a tall figure cloaked in black would sometimes appear, lifting his hood to reveal a 
death's head. 
Single inhabitants of the cottage rarely were bothered, for Lucy's spirit guarded 
those as yet unwed. 
Years passed. The manor house and its cottage fell into disrepair. They lay 
abandoned for half a century, until at last a nobleman and his wife came to inhabit 
Bristol Manor. Their youngest son, a boy named Peter, took the gardener's cottage as 
his playhouse. Despite warnings from the village folk that the site was haunted, he 
spent much time there and never found cause for distress. 
Peter followed the old legends with interest. He felt a special bond with Lucy 
and imagined that he might have kept her from harm had he only been there on that 
fateful day. Often he sensed that her spirit was there beside him. as he played, read, 
or daydreamed in the dusty rooms of the little cottage. 
The years went by, and Peter grew into manhood. Soon it was time for him to 
leave home for the university. He decided to tidy up his childhood refuge before 
departing, little knowing when he might return. Going to the cottage, he straightened 
out the meager pieces of furniture and swept the earthen floor. Finally he stepped back 
to admire his handiwork. 
There, in the middle of the just-swept floor, was a delicate gold locket. He 
picked it up and undid the clasp. Inside was the timeworn image of a winsome girl 
with russet hair and laughing eyes—a girl by the name of Lucy.

THE REVEREND DENSHAM 

In an isolated part of the Bodmin moor lies the 
town of Warleggan. To this remote location 
came the Rev. Densham, newly inducted vicar 
of the parish church. 
It soon transpired that the Reverend was not 
happy with his flock. He complained about the size 
of the congregation, which in those lonely parts 
was small indeed. To increase the fold, he created 
a number of paperboard images, propping them 
up in the pews to fill the church on Sundays. 
Despite his desire for a full church. Rev. 
Densham never went into the village or visited his 
parishioners. He set a large box by his gate, direct- 
ing that all groceries and mail should be placed 
within. He surrounded his property with high fences 
topped with barbed wire. And as if this were not 
enough, he imported a half-dozen savage dogs to 
roam the garden, snarling and snapping at whoever 
might venture into the neighboring lane. 
The parishioners appealed to the Bishop, but 
since the vicar had done nothing to offend religious 
law, the Church was powerless to remove him. He 
still conducted the service every Sunday, although 
by now the cutout figures were his sole congrega- 
tion, and for this faithful observance he was 
assumed to be a man of God. 
Years passed. The dogs died and the fence 
fell into decay. Nothing was seen of the Reverend 
beyond the smoke curling from the rectory chim- 
ney and the occasional glimpse of a tall figure in a 
black stove-pipe hat and frock coat pacing in the 
garden. 
One day the villagers noticed an absence of 
smoke from the vicar's chimney. Gathering up their 
courage, they broke into the rectory. There they 
found rooms furnished with little more than sacks 
and packing cases, with gaping holes where the 
floorboards had been torn up to serve as fuel. On 
the stairs lay the Reverend, as lifeless as his card- 
board congregation. 
Never again has a vicar come to live in the 
rectory at Warleggan. But although the old house 
has found a measure of peace, the Rev. Densham 
has not. In the evenings, a phantom in a stove-pipe 
hat still paces the garden, back and forth across the 
ruins of the lawn, deep in melancholy thought.

THE WHITE LADY 
OF TRESYLLIAN CASTLE 

Long ago, when pirates roamed the Cornish 
coast, a maiden came to Tresyllian Castle, 
pledged to marry Sir Thomas Tresyllian. 
The bride had the bloom of youth upon her; 
her fair hair was worn in a girlhood braid. Her 
betrothed was a man much her senior in years 
and experience, who took what he wanted and 
allowed no room for error on the part of others. 
The marriage was not a happy one. The bride 
spent many months alone in the dreary castle by 
the sea, awaiting the return of Sir Thomas, off fight- 
ing for the King. The parish holds no record of chil- 
dren gracing the household of Thomas Tresyllian, 
nor of noble banquets held in the Great Hall to 
uplift the spirits of the Lady. 
One day the elder nephew of Sir Thomas 
arrived at the castle. A manly lad of five and twenty, 
Uther Tresyllian was heir to the castle and all its 
contents should his uncle's marriage fail to bear 
fruit. Uther and his young aunt soon became close 
companions and could often be seen wandering 
together along the moor or the seashore. 
Now the laughter of the Lady enlivened the 
corridors of the castle, and everyone was glad of 
the pleasant change in atmosphere. Everyone, that 
is, but Thomas Tresyllian, who arrived home from 
Scotland to find his heir and his bride embracing in 
the chapel. 
Sir Thomas accepted not this indiscretion. 
He banished Uther forever from the Cornish coast 
and ordered that his Lady be bricked up alive 
within the cellar walls. The young bride perished in 
her agony. Sir Thomas died on the battlefields of 
Normandy. And the second eldest nephew inher- 
ited the estate. 
Shortly thereafter, a woeful spirit was seen 
flitting through the dank corridors of Tresyllian 
Castle. Her long pale hair was loosed from its braid 
and a silvery-white gown clothed her slender figure. 
To this day, the White Lady haunts the ancient 
tower, seeking a final resting place for her bones 
and lasting peace for her soul.

THE SILKEN SHAWL 

A sea captain's wife, yearning to see the world beyond her country village, 
begged her husband to let her accompany him on his journeys. "My dear 
wife," said he, "the sea is no place for a lady." But as time went on and she 
pleaded all the more, he at last agreed that she might voyage with him to the Orient. 
The sea was rough, and the journey long and tedious, but the captain's wife 
found each new day as full of adventure as the last. She loved the deep green sea dip- 
ping and swelling on the vast horizon, the clouds scudding overhead in endless vari- 
ations, and the seabirds swooping low to catch the silvery fish. She loved watching 
the men high up on the rigging and listening to the sailors' songs at night. And she 
loved the twisting streets and mysterious bazaars of the Orient, where her husband 
purchased tea, china, and silk for the London shops. 
In one such bazaar, an alleyway of rough stalls overflowing with lustrous gar- 
ments, the captain bought his wife a gift, a remembrance of their journey. And what a 
gift it was: a splendid silken shawl, patterned with multicolored songbirds and flower- 
ing quince trees, and shot through with fine gold threads. The captain's wife had never 
seen anything more beautiful in her life, and from then on it was always around her 
shoulders. 
They travelled home around the Cape of Good Hope and up the coast of Africa, 
braving storms and sickness. At long last they reached the waters of the North Atlantic 
and knew that the beloved coast of England was not far off. 
But familiar channels do not always mean safety. The Captain's ship was 
attacked by the desperate Newlyn fishermen, who had turned to cold-blooded piracy 
after several seasons of poor fishing. The pirates made their blindfolded victims walk 
the plank into the sea to drown, sparing neither women nor children. As the Captain's 
wife began the slow walk to her doom, one of the blackguards snatched the silken 
shawl from around her shoulders. And thus was her treasure stolen from her in the 
last moments of her life. 
The pirate took the shawl home to his wife, saying nothing of how he came 
by it. Dressing for church that Sunday, she put on the silken garment, turning this 
way and that before the mirror to admire its rich colors and patterns. Suddenly there 
appeared in the glass the drowned face of the Captain's wife gazing at her over her 
shoulder. Her wet hair streamed out from her head as though floating in the ocean 
depths, and her pale hand pointed to the shawl. 
The pirate's wife was so horrified that she went raving mad and died shortly 
thereafter. No one knows what happened to the haunted shawl. It is probably sitting 
in the drawer of some unsuspecting soul at this very moment.

THE LEGEND OF PENROSE 

Ralph Penrose, on the death of his beloved wife, took his seven-year-old son 
Edmund to sea. Accompanying them was Ralph's best friend and cousin, 
William Penrose. The family estate in Sennen was left in the care of Ralph's 
brother John. 
One winter's night, Ralph Penrose was nearing home when a gale struck, 
tossing his ship upon the sea 'til it crashed into the dreaded Cowloe Rock. The men 
launched a lifeboat, but this too foundered, flinging them all into the frigid water. 
Flares from the endangered ship had warned the Penrose household, but John, watch- 
ing from the shore, made no effort to rescue the drowning men. None were known to 
survive but Edmund, Ralph's young son, heir to the estate. 
John appointed himself guardian of the boy and behaved as if the property 
were his own. To fatten the family coffers, he built a pirate ship and manned it with a 
bloodthirsty captain and crew. Wild parties were held in the Great Hall at Penrose, and 
the village folk barred their doors at night for fear of John and his rowdy companions. 
At the turn of the year, snow fell in Sennen and wolves were heard howling 
in the fields. John sent the household out to hunt, himself staying at home with young 
Edmund, the pirate captain and a bottle of brandy. When the servants returned, 
Edmund was nowhere in sight. His uncle and the captain, incoherent with drink, 
indicated that the lad had joined the hunt. A lengthy search of grounds and country- 
side showed no trace of the boy, and he was finally assumed to have lost his way 
in the blinding snow and fallen to his death from the cliffs. 
The following year, on the anniversary of Edmund's disappearance, a bearded 
stranger appeared at Penrose Manor, begging for food and shelter. This was a com- 
mon occurrence in those days, and the tramp was readily admitted and shown to a 
bedchamber. In the Great Hall, John Penrose and his lawless guests welcomed in the 
New Year. Upstairs, the stranger stood at his window, gazing out at the wintry night. 
All at once, a great wall of silvery fog came rolling in from the coast. Upon 
the fog came a roaring sound like that of a stormy sea. The sound drew nearer and 
nearer, and in a moment the sea itself was spilling into the courtyard, bearing on its 
crest a phantom boat filled with shouting men. The boat overturned, spilling her crew 
who with pale faces and staring eyes tried in vain to save themselves. At last there 
was but one man gazing up at the window where the stranger stood and crying out, 
"William Penrose, arise and avenge the murder of my son!" Then the sea disappeared, 
the mist dissolved, and all was as it had been. 
William Penrose, for indeed the stranger was he, suddenly recalled the crashing 
ship, the struggle through the cold waters, and the months of wandering the countryside, 
unknown to himself or any other man, until instinct led him back to Penrose Manor. 
Turning from the window, William saw the small, pale spirit of Edmund hover- 
ing in the darkened bedchamber. The spirit whispered. "My uncle bade the captain 
murder me. 1 lie beneath the dead tree in the orchard. Dig, and you shall find me. 
Dig, and place my bones in Sennen churchyard. Dig, and give me peace at last." 
That night, digging under the bare limbs of an old tree in the orchard, William 
uncovered the bloodied remains of the little boy. Gently he carried them to Sennen 
churchyard. where they were given a proper burial. When William returned to 
Penrose Manor, the body of John Penrose was swaying from a beam in the garden 
shed. He had hung himself in sight of the unearthed grave under the dead apple tree.

<Several handwritten letters not included>


Quaerite Et Invenietis

Welcome to Tresyllian Castle

Home of the Tresyllian Family

Haunt of the Legendary White Lady

<maps not included>

The best way to approach Cornwall is from the sea, as the first traders did thousands of years
ago.Mediterranean travellers, rounding Gibraltar and sailing north along the coast, find a peninsula
shaped like a miniature Italy, tipped on its side and projecting from the southwest corner of England
into the Atlantic waters.
It is in Cornwall that King Arthur held court, at a spot now known as Camelford. Across these
moors rode Galahad and Lancelot. On these shores Iseult pined for her lost love,
Tristram. And on these mighty cliffs Jack killed the giants Cormoran, Calligantus, and Thunderbore.
Many Cornish folk believe in fairies, wishes, charms, and omens. And why not? In Cornwall, such things do exist.
Gnomes hammer away in the tin mines. Pixies turn the milk sour. When a pin is thrown into the Holy Well near Roche on
Maundy Thursday, the bubbles reveal your fortune. A ghost coach drawn by headless horses appears in Penryn just
before Christmas. If you don't avert your eyes when you see it, the coachman will spirit you away.
Cornwall has many interesting old manor houses, a number of them built in the Middle Ages. There are also several
castles, mostly in ruins but still impressive. These ancient dwellings have housed distinguished Cornish families and
witnessed countless historical events. Tresyllian Castle, a mediaeval fortress with a residential wing attached, is a fine
example of such a home.
The oldest parts of the castle, the Tower and the Curtain Wall, were built in 124.2 by Horace of Tresy llian, to defend
Frobzance Cove from pirates at sea. In 1251, Horace constructed a Chapel (uniquely situated on the second floor of the
Tower) for the baptism of his first son and heir.
Tresyllian Castle has its share of Cornish lore. The legend of the White Lady originated in the 14th century, when Sir
Thomas Tresyllian's young bride proved unfaithful and was walled up alive as punishment. Her woeful spirit wanders
the Tower on moonlit nights.
Tresyllian Castle was renovated in the mid 1500's, when Francis Tattersall-Tresyllian, 11th Earl of Frobzance, 3rd
Baron Tatdale, built a Residential Wing on the site of the eastern part of the original Curiain Wall. The rooms were
refurbished in 1867 in anticipation of a visit from Queen Victoria.
Situated on Frobzance Cove, with a commanding view of the English Channel, the castle is a charming blend of
historical treasures and everyday comforts, carefully maintained for our enjoyment by the noble Tresyllian family.

TRESYLLIAN CASTLE IS ALMOST
EIGHT CENTURIES OLD. AFTER
ALL THESE YEARS, IT IS STILL
INHABITED BY MEMBERS OF THE
TRESYLLIAN FAMILY. 

Imagine yourself as an eighteenth-century traveller,
riding your horse across the desolate Cornish moors.
Throughout the long day, you see nothing but scrub
and bog and craggy rocks looming on the horizon.
Toward evening, a dank fog fells in off the coast. Just
as you're contemplating the terrors of spending a night
on the moor, the stone turrets of a castle appear
through the mist. A flag bearing a noble coat of arms
flutters from the tower. As you ride closer, light
blazes from the mullioned windows and a servant
runs out to take your weary steed. You have arrived
at Tresyllian Castle.

Today, Lord Tresyllian offers thousands of yearly
visitors the same hospitality family friends have been
accorded through the centuries. When viewing the
castle, it is easy to picture oneself as the historic
traveller, arriving at last at a civilised place. 

The Courtyard 
The stones which pave the Courtyard bear the
marks of centuries of revelry, warfare, and
everyday life. The crumbling Curtain Wall
southwest of the gate once surrounded the castle,
guarding against invaders. The Tower (also
called the Keep) provided living space. During
the frequent battles, mediaeval maidens huddling
in barren rooms could hear the shouts of the
marauders and the thud of the battering ram
against the massive wooden door.
Now a luxurious Residential Wing has replaced
the eastern section of the Wall, and the only
sounds you hear are the surging surf in the
nearby cove and the welcoming voice of your
host. 

The Foyer 
The decor of the austere, high-ceilinged Foyer
reflects the Tresyllian family's pride in their Cor-
nish heritage. Footsteps echo on the granite pav-
ing stones, carved from the Cornish hills. The
huge sculpted bronze doors leading into the
Great Hall tell the tale of Tristram and Iseult,
unhappy bride of the King of Cornwall. And the
oil painting near the mahogany coat rack shows
Jack the Giant Killer, another famous resident of
Cornwall, slaying the two-headed giant
Thunderbore.

The umbrella stand by the front door is actually an
elephant's foot. When the eccentric Lord Chester
Tresyllian was on safari in 1902, a large bull elephant
trampled the campsite, breaking his Lordship's foot.
In revenge, Lord Chester shot the elephant and
brought back its foot to hold his umbrellas. 

The Drawing Room 
The airy Drawing Room is where the Tresyllian
family meets to enjoy each other's company as well
as that of their guests. The Dresden blue walls and
furnishings soothe the senses and complement the
elegant gold-leafed frames around the many mirrors
and paintings.

The spacious feeling is enhanced by the
tall French windows, which overlook
Frobzance Cove to the east and the formal
gardens to the north. The Belgian tapestry
on the south wall is a treasured family
heirloom. Woven of wool and spun gold, it
depicts a maiden tending a unicorn in a
beautiful rose garden.

The satin cushion of the small gold-leafed
armchair before the fireplace bears the
imprint of Queen Victoria, for this is where
she sat on her visit to Tresyllian Castle in
1867. 

The New Great Hall 
In the Middle Ages, entire families lived and
slept in a castle's great hall. By the time the
Tresyllian Family built their New Great Hall,
the room was used mostly for holiday
entertaining and for conducting important
business.

When the local villagers arrive for Christmas
dinner, they are seated around the long oak table
in the centre of the room. A fire is lit in the mas-
sive fireplace, which is decorated with the
Tresyllian coat of arms. The elaborate wood
carving surrounding the fireplace extends upward
through a vast open stairwell to the gallery,
where the portraits of Tresyllian ancestors gaze
down upon the festivities.

The suit of armour standing by the bronze doors
was worn by Sir Geoffrey Tresyllian at
Bosworth Field in 1485. You might think that a
knight wearing this armour would feel protected.
However, the metal is so heavy that even a
strong man had difficulty walking, and fighting an
enemy or riding a horse was nearly impossible.

The Gallery 
The Gallery is reached by climbing one of the staircases on
either side of the fireplace.

The walls of the Gallery display the Tresyllian family
portraits. Among the somber faces of knights and peers, a
lighter note is struck by the charming double portrait of
Hadley and Zoe Tattersall-Tresyllian by the sixteenth
century Austrian painter Baron Roland yon Langosy.

High above the fireplace on the south wall, a Gothic
window offers a dramatic view of the English Channel, with
cargo and pleasure boats plying the blue-grey waters. 

The Sitting Room 
The Sitting Room is a delightful place to spend an idle
afternoon. It is filled with warm colors and invitingly
comfortable furniture. The yellow silk brocade has covered
the walls for over a hundred years, and the faded carpet
patterned with peacocks and chrysanthemums was
purchased in India by Lady Gayle Tresyllian in 1912.

A guest at the castle might write a letter at the Louis XV
writing desk that once belonged to Marie Antoinette. Or
play a romantic melody on the grand piano especially built
by the Klugenho-fer Klavierwerke in Germany. Or curl up
with a book on the window seat, charmingly decorated with
small carved wyverns projecting like gargoyles from either
end. 

The Dining Room 
In the Dining Room, the Tresyllians and their intimate
guests gather to sample the culinary masterpieces of the
family cook. It is easy to imagine the servants waiting in
attendance as the family settles into the leather-cushioned
chairs around the gleaming mahogany table. The matching
sideboard can hold an impressive array of food, along with
a silver punchbowl on festive occasions.
The room was designed to provide a peaceful and relaxing
place to dine. The walls are covered in pale lilac, decorated
with plaster friezes of cupids at play. Above the fireplace is
a large off painting of fruits and flowers. The bracketed
shelf on the south wall holds a collection of porcelain
vases, as well as a bronze bust of Lord Lionel Tresyllian.

Junction
This is where the Residential Wing joins the old part
of the Castle. Here you can easily see the double
outer wall of the Tower, designed to strengthen the
castle against attackers. If invaders did manage to
break in, they would have to fight their way up a
winding stairway between the two walls, then cross
to the opposite side of the Tower in order to reach
the next stairway.

Winding stairways take up some of the space
between the walls. Legends tell of secret passage-
ways in other parts of the Tower.

The Old Great Hall
Centuries ago, the old Great Hall was a dark and
gloomy place, heated by a smoking fire in a vast
stone fireplace and lit by small narrow windows.
The only furnishings were a large oak table, a few
benches, and a pair of armchairs for the Lord and 
Lady.

Today, the Old Great Hall looks very much the 
same. The rough plaster walls are empty of deco-
ration, and light still filters in through the slit win-
dows. The main difference is that the original
furniture has been moved to the New Great Hall. In
its place, Lord Lionel Tresyllian has set up a 
collection of mementoes from his travels to the far
corners of the globe. Among these curiosities, be
sure to look at the following:

+ An oil painting of the Battle of Blood River by famous
half-Zule, half-Afrikaner artist, Chaka Pretorius. In battle, a
few hundred 8Get settlers circled their wagons on banks or
the Ncome River to defend themselves against an army of
Zulu warriors brandishing spears and clubs. Earlier, friends
and relatives of these settlers had been slaughtered in a
gruesome massacre. The present band, confronted now by
overwhelming odds, might well have suffered the same fate.
Instead on Sunday the 16th December 1838, they fought off
their attackers, totally defeating the army of the dreaded Zulu
king known as Dingaan the Vulture. More than three 
thousand of his highly trained warriors were killed, whilst
only three settlers were wounded. The river ran red, giving
the battle its name.

+ An exquisite carving in Chinese jade of a rather ape-
like, more-human skeleton, probably some ancestor of 
modern man.

+ A giant oyster shell from the South Pacific ocean, it
interior surface mysteriously lacquered jet black.

+ A papier-mache figure of an Amazon Indian, dressed in
the weird costume of a tribal witch doctor, performing the
elaborate secret ritual by which the anaesthetic drug used
on the tribal blowgun darts is extracted from the rare
moonflower plant.

The Hedge Maze
In 1862, the children of Jonathan Tresyllian,
Earl of Frobzance, pleaded with their father to let them
plan a maze in the garden. The resulting hedge maze is
one of the best-known in England. Today, young
people (as well as old) still enjoy wandering through
the clipped passages of the maze. Hidden in the centre
is a beautiful salt-air garden with a stone fountain and a
pond filled with shimmering goldfish.


Brought to you by Belgarath