Dismounting, he embraced the man, banged him merrily, then shaking the bag, he cried out:
“Long live my brother Josse, the good hermit! God keep him in joy, in fat, in mirth, in health! He is the Josse of benediction, the Josse of plenty, the Josse of rich fat soups! The stork did not play us false!” And he put the bag down upon the table.
Therewith said Soetkin lamentably:
“My man, we shall not eat to-day: the baker has denied me bread.”
“Bread?” said Claes, opening the bag and pouring out a stream of gold on the table, “bread? Lo, here is bread, butter, meat, wine, beer! Here be hams, marrow bones, pies of herons, ortolans, fat hens, as for great lords! Here is beer in hogsheads and wine by the cask! Mad and mad will be the baker that will deny us bread, we shall buy no more in his shop.”
“But, my man...!” said Soetkin all a-daze.
“Now, then, hearken,” said Claes, “and be light of heart. Katheline, instead of wearing out her term of banishment in the marquisate of Antwerp, went on foot, under Nele’s guidance, as far as Meyborg. There Nele told my brother Josse that often we live in black want, in spite of my sore toil. According to what this good fellow messenger has told me but now”—and Claes pointed to the horseman in black—“Josse hath abandoned the Roman religion to adhere to the heresy of Luther.”
The man in black replied:
“Those be the heretics that follow the cult of the Great Harlot. For the Pope hath betrayed his trust and is a seller of holy things.”
“Ah!” said Soetkin, “speak not so loud, good sir, you will cause us to be burned all three.”