“Come,” grunted that fiery, self-sufficient vassal, “be stirring, sir Fool. I have orders to see you to the gates. There is a horse ready saddled for you. It is the Lord Cardinal’s parting gift. Resolve me now, which will be the greater ass—the one that rides, or the one that is ridden?”
“O monstrous riddle!” I exclaimed, as I took up my cloak and hat. “Who am I that I should solve it?”
“It baffles you, sir Fool?” quoth he.
“In very truth it does.” I ruefully wagged my head so that my bells set up a jangle. “For the rider is a man and the ridden a horse. But,” I pursued, in that back-biting strain, which is the very essence of the jester’s wit, “were you to make a trio of us, including Messer Ramiro del’ Orca, Captain in the army of his Holiness, no doubt would then afflict me. I should never hesitate which of the three to pronounce the ass.”
“What shall that mean?” he asked, with darkening brows.
“That its meaning proves obscure to you confirms the verdict I was hinting at,” I taunted him. “For asses are notoriously of dull perceptions.” Then stepping forward briskly: “Come, sir,” I sharply urged him, “whilst we engage upon this pretty play of wit, his Excellency’s business waits, which is an ill thing. Where is this horse you spoke of?”
He showed me his strong, white teeth in a very evil smile.
“Were it not for that same business—” he began.
“You would do fine things, I am assured,” I interrupted him.
“Would I not?” he snarled. “By the Host! I should be wringing your pert neck, or laying bare your bones with a thong of bullock-hide, you ill conditioned Fool!”