One of the queen's horsemen, who was stationed next to the Sleswicker, had long sat in his saddle as if on glowing coals. "If there be wolves' cubs amongst us," he now at last broke out, in a broad Jutlandic accent, "they are rather in your troop than ours, my dainty Sleswicker."
"It needs a good dog to smell that out," retorted the other.
"In our country the dogs are as keen as they are true," rejoined the North Jute; "but down by Gottorp they ought to be keen indeed, as the late King Abel, your duke's grandfather, must well know, seeing that three fiery hounds hunt him every night to the infernal regions."
"Whoever says an ill word of my duke or of his race, shall have his neck broken!" exclaimed the Sleswick horseman, drawing his sword.
"And whoever slanders my queen or the drost, shall have his nose and ears cut off!" vociferated the other, already brandishing his glaive.
As the contention thus grew hot, several joined in it; and although it was strictly forbidden that any one should draw his sword before orders, many weapons were already seen gleaming among the troopers, both of the queen and of the duke.
"Peace, there!" now cried the latter, as, with some uneasiness, he examined the multitude around him.
"Whoever strikes a blow without his officer's command, is a dead man!" shouted Drost Peter; and the swords were again sheathed, whilst the noisy quarrel subsided to a murmur.
A cry of "The king! the king!" was now heard, and the most perfect silence instantly pervaded the restless crowd.
At that moment the queen and the young king issued on horseback from the castle-gate, escorted by twelve trabants, and attended by Sir John, Rimaardson, and Chancellor Martin. The ecclesiastic, who was mounted on his palfrey, and wore his Dominican habit, with polished shoes and white heels, looked very pale and apprehensive.