Trusty Ulrich bowed, and after he had gone, Grangousier himself lumbered out to the terrace to watch the carts with their nodding branches creep slowly over the hill.
The captain of Picrochole’s guard on the ramparts of Rock Clermond snuffed the morning air. “A good breakfast somewhere!” he muttered, and paced greedily around the wall, sniffing down the chimneys. But the savory odor did not come from any house of them all.
The captain turned, and gazed about the desolate country beyond the town. Suddenly his astonished eye caught four or five carts waving with willows, drawing up to the great gate.
“Ho, there!” he cried sharply. “Who comes to Rock Clermond?”
Honest Ulrich started. “It is I,—Ulrich Gallet,—” he shouted, “on an errand of peace from King Grangousier to King Picrochole and to Marquet.”
Just then the captain spied the cakes. It was those, then, that made the air so appetizing. He gave a long, loud whistle, and sprang down the embankment into the town. In another instant he burst out the gate, with the soldiers of the guard at his heels. Without a word they clambered over the carts and began seizing the cakes.
“Hold! Hold!” cried Ulrich stoutly, raising his whip. “The cakes are meant for you at any rate. Only let me give them with my message to King Picrochole and Marquet. Wait! Wait!”
The captain laughed insolently. “We will give your message,—never fear,” he shouted; and with a sudden grasp pulled the bag of gold-pieces for Marquet from Ulrich’s clenched hand.