The cellarer brought the kettle and a great tankard of mulled wine perfuming the air.
“Drink,” said Brederode to Ulenspiegel; “this is for the good Fleming.”
“Ah!” said Ulenspiegel, “good Flemish, lovely cinnamon speech, the saints speak not its like.”
Then having drunk the half of the wine, he passed the other half to Lamme.
“Who is he?” said Brederode, “this big-bellied papzak who is rewarded without having done anything?”
“This,” answered Ulenspiegel, “is my friend Lamme, who every time he drinks wine mulled imagines he is going to find his wife again.”
“Aye,” said Lamme, draining the wine from the tankard with devout zeal.
“Whither go ye as now?” asked Brederode.
“We are going,” answered Ulenspiegel, “in search of the Seven that shall save the land of Flanders.”
“What Seven?” asked Brederode.