Still smiling, he took the sword from Theron, who watched him contemptuously. Hildebrand, to his surprise, lifted the sword easily with one hand, played with it as if it were no heavier than a staff of wood, threw it lightly from his right hand to his left hand and back again, and then returned it to Theron, from whose face contempt had vanished.
“’Tis finely poised,” Hildebrand commented, “but something light for its purpose; yet it will serve its turn. Away!”
“Do you accompany me?” Theron asked, with more respect than he had yet shown to the King’s man.
Hildebrand shook his head.
“Not I, old man. I say a prayer or two in the chapel by the side of my liege lord that I may return with a smooth soul to Syracuse. Farewell.” He turned away and walked towards the chapel.
Shouldering his sword, the old man tramped down the mountain towards the city.