You raise your hands and beg the company's pardon, quite surprising the courtier and the soldier. "With no imprecations on your character intended, sirrah," you say to the farmhand, "the treatment you are now receiving is right and fitting."
There's a murmur of consternation in the crowd, so you hasten to explain, drawing on all your powers of analysis and persuasion. "I'm sure that His Grace's feast hall gets messy; hence the test of whether you could perform when soaked in wine," you offer. "And as for the trumpet blast, there is like to be fanfare in His Grace's hall many times a day. So 'tis important to see whether you are startled by fanfare."
"Like a horse?" the farmhand says, quite perplexed by it all.
There's a point you want to make, and you're less certain you're going to arrive at it. [-Surety] "This is their process, sirrah, given the blessing of the Duke himself," you say, shrugging. "Either you can carry yourself well through it, or you cannot."
Onward