They bore upon them such signs of hard and hasty travelling that it was soon guessed they had spent the night in the saddle. Their horses were in a foam of sweat; and the men themselves were splashed with mud from foot to cap.
Even as I was going forward to regard them the taverner appeared, leading my horse by the bridle. Now at an inn the traveller that arrives is ever of more importance than he that departs. At sight of those horsemen, the taverner forgot my impatience, for he paused to bow in welcome to the one that seemed the leader.
“Most Magnificent,” said he to that liveried hind, “command me.”
“We need a guide,” the fellow answered with an ill grace.
“A guide, Illustrious?” quoth the host. “A guide?”
“I said a guide, fool,” answered him the groom. “Heard you never of such animals? We need a man who knows the hills, to lead us by the shortest road to Cagli.”
The taverner shook his grey head stupidly. He bowed again until I fancied I could hear the creak of his old joints.
“Here be no guides, Magnificent,” he deplored. “Perhaps at Gualdo—”
“Animal,” was the retort—for true courtesy commend me to a lacquey!—“it is not our wish to pursue the road as far as Gualdo, else had we not stopped at this kennel of yours.”
I scarce know what it can have been that moved me to act as I then did, for, in the truth, the manner of that rascal of a groom was little prepossessing, and his master, I doubted, could be little better that he left the fellow to hector it thus over that wretched tavern oaf. But I stepped forward.