Meanwhile Conradt had moved off, leaving the two alone. Though it would never be set to his credit, his malice had wrought a good work; for in that hour our Wulf got himself a strong and true friend in the young knight, who was fair won by the sterling stuff that showed in the lad.
“He hath more of knightliness in him here in the stables,” thought he, as he left Wulf, “than Conradt will ever know as lord of the castle; and, by my forefathers, he shall have what chance may be mine to give him!”
And that vow Herr Werner never forgot.
CHAPTER VII
HOW WULF CLIMBED THE IVY TOWER, AND WHAT HE SAW AT THE BARRED WINDOW
Good as his word had Herr Werner been in finding Wulf the chance to show that other stuff dwelt in him than might go to the making of a mere stable-lad. For the next three years he was under the young knight’s helping protection, and, thanks to the latter’s good offices in part, but in the end, as must always be the case, with boy or man, thanks to his own efforts, he made so good use of his chance that his tinker origin was haply overlooked, if not forgotten, by those left behind him as he mounted height by height of the castle’s life.
Not that these forgave him his rise. Those small, mean souls had sought the hurt of the boy, but, when all was said and done, ’twas hard to hold hatred of such a nature as his. The training of old Karl and of the forest had done its work well with him, and he was still the simple, sunny-hearted Wulf of the forge, ever ready to help, forgiving even where forgiveness was unsought, and keeping still, amid all the foulness and wickedness of that dark time and in that evil place, the clean, wholesome child nature that had dwelt in the baby among the osiers.
He was by now a sturdy, broad-chested young fellow, getting well on to manhood, noted for his strength, and for his skill in all the games and feats of prowess and endurance that were a part of the training of boys in those days. Already had he ridden with Herr Werner in battle, and though no real armiger, by reason of his lowly birth, yet was he, in the disorder of the times, unchallenged as the knight’s chosen attendant and buckler-bearer on the lawless raids on which the baron led his train. Indeed, the baron himself had more than once taken note of the youth, and had on two occasions made him his messenger on errands both perilous and nice, calling for wit as well as bravery.
Only Conradt hated him still—Conradt, with the sorry, twisted soul that held to hatred as surely as Wulf held to love. He was a year or two older than Wulf, and was already a candidate for knighthood; for, despite his crooked body, he was skilled, beyond many who rode in his uncle’s following, in all play at arms. There was no better swordsman even among the younger knights, and among the bowmen he had already a name.
Despite all this, however, the baron’s nephew was held in light esteem, even among that train of robbers and bandits—for naught better were they, in truth, despite their knighthood and their gentlehood. They lived by foray and pillage, and petty warfare with other bands like themselves, and in many a village were dark stories whispered of their wild raids.
Yet none of these would hold fellowship with Conradt, albeit they dared not openly flout the baron’s nephew. Nevertheless, he had gathered to himself a manner of following from the villages and countryside about the Swartzburg: criminals and refugees, for the most part, men who had suffered for their misdeeds at the hands of such law as was in the land; fellows whom no other leader would own, but who gladly fell in under a headship as bad as they. These ranged the forest wide and far, and from their evil raids was no poor man free nor helpless woman safe.