"Out of the way, ecclesiastical blockhead!" called out Master Spazzo to the fir-tree, and when it did not move, he drew his sword.
"Forwards Falada," spurring his steed, so that it jumped over the tree, in one flying leap. Whilst the animal was performing this feat, Master Spazzo gave a good cut at the branches, so as to make the twigs fly about.
In less than an hour and a half, he had reached the cloister-gate. The small strip of land, which at low tide, linked the shore with the island, was now above water, thus affording a passage. A serving brother opened the door for him. It was about dinner-time. The imbecile Heribald, quickly came out of the convent-garden, to satisfy his curiosity with regard to the strange horseman. He pressed up close to the horse, when Master Spazzo dismounted. The watch-dog, furiously barking, dragged at his chain, to get at the steed, so that the animal reared back, and Master Spazzo almost came to grief. When he had safely alighted, he seized his scabbard, and dealt Heribald a blow over the back.
"It is not meant for you," cried he, stroking his beard, "it is for the watch-dog. Pass it on!"
Heribald stood there, perfectly aghast, and rubbed his shoulder.
"Holy Pirmin!" wailed he.
"To-day there is no holy Pirmin whatever," said Master Spazzo in a most decisive tone.
Then Heribald laughed, as if he knew his customer now.
"Heigho, gracious lord, the Huns have also been here, and there was nobody but Heribald to receive them; but they did not speak to him so wickedly as that."
"The Huns, are no ducal chamberlains, fool!" Master Spazzo replied haughtily.