The latter words were spoken in a bitter tone of ridicule, which called up a disdainful smile on the countenance of the young knight.
"Very good," said Count Jacob, in a rude tone of derision. "We shall yield the battle-field to the amorous young sir drost, since it is in a tavern, where one only cares to fight with words, or, at most, with fists and empty pitchers. If we contend, hereafter, upon a more worthy arena, sir drost, perhaps you may find it convenient to be the first to withdraw."
With these words, both the princely lords left the room; the ecclesiastic, with the cook, and all the knights, accompanying them. The horses had already, for some time, been standing saddled before the door; the squires hastened to hold the stirrups for their masters; and, in a minute after, the numerous train departed, laughing and talking aloud, through the streets of Middelfert.
The young drost stood, silent and thoughtful, in the guests' room, and appeared to be considering whether he had not been too precipitate. Old Henner, quietly, and with the greatest interest, had given heed to every one of his words, and to his whole conduct. The burghers and fishermen, after their president's example, remained silent witnesses of the contest between the distinguished lords. Claus Skirmen stood by the door, without losing sight of his master's face, although, at times, he cast a sidelong glance at the little dark-haired Aasé, who, with curious and playful eyes, watched the illustrious stranger.
The artful chamberlain had, in the meantime, profited by the general attention given to the clamorous lords. He had given jovial cook Morten, who pretended to know him, the wink, and, with the help of the carving-knife which hung at the cook's girdle, the cords that bound him were cut without it being observed. He could not, however, immediately avail himself of this freedom, while so many stood around him, but remained quietly, with his hands behind his back, as if he had been still bound. But, now that the door was open, he suddenly sprang under the arms of his guards, and was gone in an instant.
"What the fiend! is he loose?" exclaimed the astonished fishermen, springing after him.
"Stay, let him run!" cried Drost Peter, stopping them. "If he escape, it will please me better, as he would soon have been set free. He will scarcely venture into the net so soon again, however; and we have a traitor the less among us."
The fishermen stood on the alert, ready to bring back the fugitive.
"Ay, ay: let him run to Satan, as the knight says," growled old Henner Friser. "The lanky youth may soon be settled: he shall frighten nobody. Another time that we lay our fingers upon him, let us crack his neck on the instant. Now, let him grease his houghs."
This speech the fishermen seemed to comprehend, and they remained accordingly.