‘And why would I want to do that, pray?’ said the king sarcastically, whilst checking the corners of her cottage for subliminisms.

‘It’s quite simple, really,’ said the Wise Wench. ‘The villagers are a cowardly lot, they would sell their own mothers for a pound of turnips, half a pound for some.’

‘True,’ said the king, disdainfully.

‘So what do you think they’ll do when they learn about giants coming this way?’

‘Run off, if they have any sense,’ answered the king regally.

‘Exactly, and that would not be good for the – current version of the – plan.’

The king looked at her suspiciously.

‘The whole village must be here in readiness for the – coming events – and if they’ve all already fled the giants, they wouldn’t be around to fight them, which they must be for the plan to succeed. Do you follow?’

The king stared blankly and answered her question.

‘So how do we keep goblins in one place?’ she continued enthusiastically.

‘That’s easy, just have them all killed,’ answered the king, and smiled, assuming it was time to move on.

‘True, but the giants would surely see through a rouse where all the goblins they saw were actually dead and hung from poles?’

The king had already lost interest but nodded so the conversation would end quicker.

‘So, Master Whippet, give the king the benefit of your fine brain. As well as just having them killed, what other way could we keep all the villagers together?’

‘Fear,’ answered Whippet with the most obvious answer.

Nearby, the king was thinking about udders.

‘Good, fear yes, and what also about bribery? There is never a better reason for a goblin to stay put than the reason of having a soon to be full belly.’

The males mutely agreed, then the king insisted that as king he should agree first. Whippet mutely conceded the honour.

‘So, perhaps a combination of these things would be the surest way to keep the villagers together?’

‘If you like, ‘said the king, testily.

‘Good, that’s settled then,’ said the Wise Wench, and went for her coat.

‘Hang on, hang on, what’s settled then?’ said the king.

‘The moot, the moot you’ve arranged, starting one-more-than-one days of feasting and eating and bonfires and entertainment – on pain of death.’