The affair with the archbishop was on a larger scale. His Grace enjoyed princely revenues, and kept up great state. His coffers were always filled to overflowing, and he had immense possessions in flocks and herds. One day a letter was received from Sobry, announcing an early visit and the intention to drive off His Grace’s fattest cattle. The archbishop declined to be intimidated, armed his servants and prepared to give Sobry a hot reception. The fat cattle were to be sold at once to the butchers, and a summons was sent forth inviting them to come and make their bids. One butcher, a well-to-do respectable burgher, insisted upon transacting his business with the prelate in person, and after much parley he was introduced into His Grace’s study. Presently he left the room, telling the servants that he had completed the bargain, but that the archbishop was somewhat fatigued and was lying down on the sofa, having given orders that he was not to be disturbed. So long a time elapsed before His Grace rang his bell that the servants, risking his displeasure, went to him and found him tied, hand and foot, and gagged. The story he told, when released from his bonds, was that his visitor had been Sobry, disguised as a butcher, and that he had suddenly drawn a pistol and pointed it at the prelate’s breast exclaiming, “Utter one cry and I fire! I have come to fetch the 60,000 florins you have in the safe, which will suit my purpose better than your finest cattle.” The archbishop surrendered at discretion and after this His Grace kept the body-guard in close attendance at the palace, and never drove out without an escort of pandours. Two other brigands of a more truculent character than Sobry were Mylfait and Pap, who never hesitated to commit murder wholesale. On one occasion, Mylfait had reason to believe that a certain miller had given information to the pandours, and having surrounded the mill with his band, he opened fire upon the house, killing every one within,--the miller, his wife and children, and all of the servants. He showed a certain grim humour at times. A Jew once lost his way in the forest and fell in with Mylfait’s band, who were sitting around a fire where a sheep was being roasted. He was cordially invited to join the feast, accepted gladly, and made an excellent meal washed down with much wine. Then he rose abruptly, eager to take himself off. “Without paying for all you have eaten and drunk?” protested Mylfait. “How much money have you got about you? Hand it over. Thirty florins? No more!” he exclaimed. “Here,” to an assistant, “take his gun from him and make him strip off his clothes. We will keep them until he chooses to redeem them with a further sum of thirty florins.” The Jew, in despair, begged and implored for mercy, crying bitterly and shaking in every limb.