"Yes--let it be so!" cried the young king, joyfully. "The Almighty, and Our dear Holy Lady, will assuredly protect us. Good night, my dear mother. You can now sleep securely, for Sir John is stationed in the guard-chamber, and these trusty gentlemen will remain tonight in the palace."
"God keep his hand over thee, my son!" exclaimed the queen, as she fondly kissed his smooth forehead. "Thank Heaven, with me, for having preserved to us these devoted and faithful friends in our hour of need and danger."
With queenlike dignity she then bowed to the two knights, who, with the young king, retired through the same private door by which they had entered.
At early morning of the following day, the queen's travelling-car, with six milk-white steeds attached, stood before the castle-steps, attended by many smartly dressed outriders and grooms. More than thirty squires were grouped about, with their masters' horses in charge; foremost among whom was conspicuous, by his gray suit, emblazoned with the Sleswick lions, the attendant of the duke, who, with great ostentation, was allowing his master's noble steed, covered with splendid trappings, to prance and gambol about. Near him stood Daddy Longlegs, bearing Count Gerhard's simple shield, in the shape of a nettle-leaf, and holding a strong brown stallion by the bridle. Skirmen, carrying Drost Peter's mantle and shield, stood by his master's horse, apparently lost in contemplating the faces of the ducal lions, which resembled wolves more than the animals they were intended to represent. As he turned with his impatient charger in the direction of the Strand-gate, he was delighted to observe a great bustle among the ferrymen, and to see the royal flag carried from the house of the alderman.
"We are off for Melfert, and then for Jutland," observed Longlegs to him. "I thought, however, your master had a keener nose."
"You might wish your's were half as keen, Longlegs," replied Skirmen; "and then, perhaps, you would not allow your master's horse to turn his tail in the direction he is to ride."
"But I know that people do not ride or drive over the Great Belt in the month of May," returned the old jester. "It might be quite as well, however, while the wind sits in this quarter."
"What mean you, Longlegs? The wind is in the right quarter for the Great Belt."
"Ay, but not for the Little. The boatmen say it is the duke's wind; and when we have that against us, a sagacious nose, like that of your master, should smell the straw from the barn of Finnerup."