“By my forefathers!” cried Herr Werner. “Could Herr Banf see him now—aha!”
He paused; for, hurrying into the courtyard, followed by still another frightened groom, came a knight who, seeing Wulf and the horse, stood as if rooted in his tracks. Softly now the charger stepped about the boy, nickering under his breath, so low that his nostrils hardly stirred; and at last he brought his knees to the pave, stooping meekly, as one who loved a service he would do, and thus waited.
An instant Wulf stood dazed. Then he passed his hand across his forehead; for a strange, troubled notion, as of some forgotten dream, passed through his brain. At last, obeying some impelling instinct, that yet seemed to him like a memory, he laid a hand upon the horse’s withers and sprang to his back.
Up, then, rose the noble creature, and stepped about the courtyard, tossing his head and gently champing the bit, as a horse will when he is pleased.
“Ride him to the stables, boy, and I will have word with thee there,” cried the older knight, who had come out last; and pressing the rein, though still wondering to himself how he knew what to do, Wulf turned the steed through the inner gate, to the bailey, and letting him have his head, was carried proudly to the stables, whence the throng of grooms and stable-boys had come rushing. They came to the group of outbuildings and offices that made up the stables, followed by all the men, Herr Banf in the lead, and the place, which had been quite deserted, was immediately thronged, attendants from the castle itself coming on a run, as news spread of the wonderful thing that was happening.
Once within the stable-yard, the horse stood quiet to let Wulf dismount; but not even Herr Banf himself would he let lay a hand upon him, though he stood meek as a sheep while the boy, instructed by the knight, did off the bridle and fastened on the halter; then he led his charge into a stall that one of the lads pointed out to him, and made him fast before the manger. When this was done the horse gave a rub of his head against Wulf, and then turned to eating his fodder, quietly, as though he never had done otherwise.
Then Herr Banf took to questioning Wulf sharply; but the boy could tell him but little. Indeed, some instinct warned him against speaking even of the faint thoughts stirring within him. He was full of anxiety to get away to Karl and tell him of this wonderful new experience, and he could say naught to the knight, save that he was Karl the armorer’s grandson, that he had never had the care of horses, and in his life had backed but few, chiefly those of the men-at-arms who rode with their masters to the forge when Karl’s skill was needed. He was troubled, too, about Karl’s hurt, of which he told Herr Banf, and begged to be let to hasten back to the smithy.
“Go, then,” said Herr Banf, at last, “and I will see thy grandsire to-morrow; thou’rt too promising a varlet to be left to grow up an armorer. We need thy kind elsewhere.”
So, when he had given the nearly forgotten corselet to Gotta Brent, Wulf fared down the rocky way to the forge, where he told Karl all that had chanced to him that day.
“Let that remain with thee alone, boy,” the armorer said, when the boy had told him of the strange memories that teemed in his brain. “These are no times to talk of such matters an thou ’dst keep a head on thy shoulders. Thou’rt of my own raising, Wulf; but more than that I cannot tell thee, for I do not know.” And there the lad was forced to let the matter rest.