"When you give that banquet, Neroweg," added Imnachair, despite the glances of Chram to check the insolence of his favorites, "when you give us that banquet, you will not make us eat and drink, as you do to-day, out of copper and tin vessels, while you spread out before our dazzled eyes your gold and silver utensils in the center of the table—far from our reach. It almost looks, you vainglorious rustic, as if you took us for thieves."
"Neroweg offers his hospitality in the way that suits him," put in Sigefrid, the count's leude, in a tone of muffled anger; "those who eat the meat and drink the wine of this house have no right to complain of the dishes—if these don't suit them, let them go and fill up elsewhere."
"Are we, the King's men, to be chaffed for what we eat and drink at this burg?"
"That would be the height of impudence! As to me, I was surfeited before I touched a mouthful of these mountains of cold provisions."
"Moreover, it is an insult," cried another of the guests. "We members of the royal bodyguard will brook no insult."
"Do you think yourselves above us, because we are leudes of a count? If you do, we may measure the distance between us, by measuring the length of our swords."
"It is not swords, but hearts that we should measure."
"Do you pretend to say that we, the faithful men of Neroweg, have smaller hearts than you?"
"A challenge let it be, thick-headed rustics!"
"The thick-headed rustic is more than a match for the effeminate court soldier. And you will find it out on the spot if you dare put your hands to your swords."