This place belongs to Old Pendragon, whom we call the Admiral; though he retired before getting the rank.
The story goes that Sir Peter Pendragon, who (I fear) had some of the faults of the pirates as well as the virtues of the sailor, was bringing home three Spanish gentlemen in honourable captivity, intending to escort them to Elizabeth's court.
"Never mind girls," said Fanshaw impatiently, "there are plenty of them in the world, but not many things like the Pendragon Tower.
Admiral Pendragon looked very much astonished, though not particularly annoyed; while Fanshaw was so amused with what looked like a performing pigmy on his little stand, that he could not control his laughter.
Here he is holding up his arms and cursing in the sea; and here are the two curses: the wrecked ship and the burning of Pendragon Tower."
Pendragon shook his head with a kind of venerable amusement.
Someone saw a blaze hereabout, don't you know, as he walked home through a wood; someone keeping sheep on the uplands inland thought he saw a flame hovering over Pendragon Tower.
"I don't believe in anything," answered Pendragon very briskly, with a bright eye cocked at a red tropical bird.
"Please don't think me impertinent, Admiral Pendragon. I don't ask for curiosity, but really for my guidance and your convenience.
Pendragon sprang to his feet and paced swiftly to and fro across the window, from which the face had instantly vanished.
But first let me tell you that Uther Pendragon
, the King, had died, and although Arthur was his son and should succeed to him, men knew it not.