By now the two fencers and their umpire were drawn near to see the trouble, and one of them picked up the sword.
“Come, cockerel,” he said, restoring it to him, “put up thy spur and let be. Now, lad, what is the trouble?” and he turned sharp upon Wulf.
“’Tis the armorer’s cub,” he said to his companions as he made him out. “By the rood, lad, canst not come on a small errand for thy master without brawling in this fashion in the castle yard? Go do thy message and get about home, and bid thy master teach thee what is due thy betters ere he sends thee hither again.”
“Yon lad struck me,” Wulf said stoutly. “I’ve spoken no word till now.”
“Truly, Herr Werner,” put in the little girl, earnestly, “it is as he says. Conradt has e’en gone far out of his way to show the boy an ill will, though he has done naught.”
At this Herr Werner looked again upon Conradt. “So, cockerel,” he said. “Didst not get wisdom from the last pickle I pulled thee out of?”
“Why does the fellow hang about here, then?” demanded Conradt, sulkily. “Let him go to the stables, as he should, and leave his matter there.”
“I was to see Gotta Brent,” Wulf said, ignoring Conradt and speaking to the young knight.
“See him ye shall,” was the reply. But anything further that Herr Werner might have said was cut short by the sound of a great hue and cry of men, and a groom ran through the gate shouting:
“Back! Back for your lives! The foul fiend himself is loose here!”