“Him they call Conradt, Herr Knight? I did naught.”
“Well, he means to fight thee for it.”
“Nay,” replied Wulf, “that he’ll not.”
“How is that?”
“It would not be becoming for me to fight him.”
“So,” Herr Banf said grimly. “Thou’st a good idea of what is due thy betters.”
“It is not that,” explained Wulf, simply. “I am the better of us two; a whole man goes not against a weakling.”
The knight looked keenly down at the lad, noting as he had not done before the easy movement of his body as he stepped lightly along, more like a soldier than like a peasant. He was alert and trim, with shapely shoulders and the head carried well up.
“A queer armorer’s lad, this,” thought Herr Banf, in some wonder. But by now they were before the castle watch-tower, and in a moment more, still with one hand at the knight’s stirrup, Wulf again entered at the castle gate. There, in the outer bailey, Herr Banf lighted down, and bade Wulf take Siegfried to the stables for the night.
A crowd of grooms were about the gates of the stable-yard as the boy came up, for the word had spread that the tinker had returned to take charge of the big horse, and dark looks were bent upon the newcomer.