“Then the wench is best—” but here Michael drew a big finger across his thick throat and laughed.
“Back with her, Franz!” thundered Ulrich, losing temper. “She is too white now even to whimper. I will question her more in the morning, when my crown does not buzz. Fill me the tallest horn, and you, Priest Clement, roar out a tune to hearten us!”
The girl vanished in her corner. The news that they held so unwelcome a prisoner had dampened the jollity of all save the holy priest, but he held his mug high, opened his huge mouth, and made the rafters ring.
“Horse, lance and away,
Man nor fiend shan’t us stay,
Though to the Black Pit we’re a-flying!
From a mug and a maid
To a merry mad raid,
That’s the best way for living or dying!
“Let a clumsy monk howl