"And what means that iron band on your neck?"
"That, your honor, was fastened about my neck by the black sultan, Zagachrist, who held me captive fifty-two years and three days."
"You are not yet thirty years old."
"No, in this part of the world I am not; but in Abyssinia, where the sun is so hot, the days contract to such an extent, that one of your years here would be six there."
"What an unconscionable liar you are!" exclaimed the bailiff. "Heat does not contract. On the contrary, it expands, which accounts for the days being longer in summer than in winter. We Brandenburgers know that very well."
He seized me by the collar, to drag me to prison, but I held back, and said in a loud voice—loud enough for the crowd to hear:
"I tell you I am right; heat does contract. Just you sit on a hot stove and see if your leather breeches don't shrivel up under you."
The crowd was on my side; but that trial in the market-place might have resulted disastrously for me, had not a knight just then chanced to ride that way. He wore on his head a plumed helmet; his body was protected by a coat of mail. From his shoulders hung a crimson mantle, on which was embroidered a large white cross. A heart-shaped shield swung from the pommel of his saddle.
My eyes were at once attracted to this shield, on which were the ensigns armorial: a mounted knight like himself, and on the same horse a ragged pilgrim of a like pattern with myself.
"Ho, ho!" here interrupted the chair in triumph. "You may have been able to hoodwink the Brandenburg bailiff, but you can't do the same with me! You needn't try to make this court believe you saw anyone wearing the coat-of-arms of an order that was abolished in the 14th century."