“He brought me up, Sire.”
“And that is thy good fortune,” cried the emperor. “But tell me when I may have speech of my friend, for there is a matter hath brought me hither that needeth his help, though I knew not that he were even alive until the mother superior here told me of his presence hereabout. Well knew she how Rudolf loved his ancient man-at-arms.”
“An he knew what was afoot,” Wulf said respectfully, “he were here now to honor the emperor. Readily could I take him a message, your Majesty,” he added.
“That were well done,” began Rudolf; but Mother Ursula interrupted.
“Nay,” she said, “the baron’s men belike are even now scouring the country for the boy. ’Twere the price of his life to send him forth again—at least, till the Swartzburg is taken.”
“True enough,” said the emperor. “In faith, my longing in this matter hath made me forgetful. Well, I must e’en seek another messenger.”
“If I might go, Sire,” Wulf persisted, with manly modesty that still further won Rudolf’s straightforward heart, “no messenger could go so quickly as I—by ways I know that are quite safe. I can fare back now, and be there by daylight.”
“By the rood, no!” cried the emperor. “Thou shalt rest some hours ere we think further of this. There’s none too much such timber as thou in the land, that we should be in haste to fell it. Get thee now to refreshment and rest, and if we need thee thou shalt know it.”
Thus dismissed, Wulf was fain to be content with retiring, and despite his anxiety to serve the emperor, who had won the boy’s whole loyal heart, right glad was he, after a hearty supper, to go to bed. So, when he was shown, at last, into the traveler’s dormitory, he threw himself down upon the hard cot spread for him, and fell at once into a deep sleep.