"Yes, doubtless," answered Pallé, "silence is a virtue necessity teaches every wise man in our times; and here it is easy for me to be silent, since I know not even the name of your honourable friend and kinsman." "That I will confide to you: he is called Johan Limbek, but gives himself out to be Ako Krummedigé, or Blackbeard, going on a pilgrimage to the holy land," continued Brock in a lowered tone; "but keep this to yourself. My kinsman is not to be jested with, do you see, and if you disturb his love adventure by unseasonable talk you must be prepared to break a sharp lance with him. He fights better than the devil himself. I would only just mention to you,--he hath broken the neck of many a doughty knight, ere this, in love adventures." "He will scarcely find a rival in me," answered Pallé, "although I am reputed to stand high in the favour of the fair." "Assuredly," replied Sir Niels, and laughed. "Who knows not that rare ballad of Sir Pallé's wooing fair Gundelillé's driver lad?" "Would that all dainty maidens and wooing were at the devil!" returned Pallé, angrily. "That dainty maiden will never more make a fool of any honest man, as surely as Marsk Stig's vagabond brood are caged for life at Wordingborg." At these words the steel-clad traveller became attentive, and measured Sir Pallé with a scornful and angry look. "See you," whispered Sir Niels, "my enamoured friend cannot even hear maidens and rivals spoken of without the blood instantly boiling within him. Beware, as I said before, Sir Pallé, that you do not meddle with his concerns." So saying, he turned, with a contemptuous look, from the perplexed gentleman of the bedchamber, and joined his two other companions, who seemed as little in a communicative mood as himself. Absorbed in gloomy reverie, and almost without another word being spoken, the travellers pursued the journey to Wordingborg. CHAP. VIII. When the two powerful and well-known knights, Niels Brock and Johan Papæ, with their outlawed friend between them, and the anxious Sir Pallé at their side, rode with their train through the gates of Wordingborg, there was so much bustle among the gathering crowd in the town that they were scarcely noticed. The king had arrived with his brother the junker and his numerous train of knights--Drost Aagé, Marsk Oluffsen, Count Henrik of Mecklenborg, and nearly all his most important councillors were with him. The castle was filled with princely guests and their splendid trains. Duke Valdemar of Slesvig, and his brother the gigantic Duke Eric of Langeland, had just made their entry into the castle, and there was much talk among the populace of the long legs of Duke Eric, of which none had ever seen the like. "'Tis a devil of a fellow, yon long-shanks," said the sentinel at the castle gate to his comrade. "'Twas surely he who slew Drost Skelm in Nyborg just under the king's nose."