“A rare one. He slew a lion in fair combat, with nought but his cloak and a short sword. He thrust the cloak in the brute's mouth, and cut his spine in twain, and there is the man's effigy and eke the lion's to prove it. The like was never done but by three more, I ween; Samson was one, and Lysimachus of Macedon another, and Benaiah, a captain of David's host.”
“Marry! three tall fellows. I would like well to sup with them all to-night.”
“So would not I,” said Gerard drily.
“But tell me,” said Denys, with some surprise, “when wast thou in Cologne?”
“Never but in the spirit. I prattle with the good monks by the way, and they tell me all the notable things both old and new.
“Ay, ay, have not I seen your nose under their very cowls? But when I speak of matters that are out of sight, my words they are small, and the thing it was big; now thy words be as big or bigger than the things; art a good limner with thy tongue; I have said it; and for a saint, as ready with hand, or steel, or bolster—as any poor sinner living; and so, shall I tell thee which of all these things thou hast described draws me to Cologne?”
“Ay, Denys.”
“Thou, and thou only; no dead saint, but my living friend and comrade true; 'tis thou alone draws Denys of Burgundy to Cologne?”
Gerard hung his head.
At this juncture one of the younger boatmen suddenly inquired what was amiss with “little turnip-face?”