King Eric and the Outlaws, Vol. 3: or, the Throne, the Church, and the People in the Thirteenth Century.Ingemann, Bernhard Severin
History
King Eric and the Outlaws, Vol. 3: or, the Throne, the Church, and the People in the Thirteenth Century.
Ingemann, Bernhard Severin
Denmark -- History -- Erik Menved, 1286-1319 -- Fiction
"Let him go; he is guiltless!" cried a powerful but stuttering voice,
and the burgher herald stepped forward half intoxicated, with glowing
cheeks and reeling steps, from a corner of the apartment. He had again
attired himself in his herald's mantle, and brandished the white staff
with the bishop's arms in his hand. He elbowed his way through the
crowd, and placed himself, with solemn, official mien, between the
squire and the provost's men, directly opposite the little famulus on
the bench. "Let none touch this fellow; he is guiltless!" he continued:
"the other drunken guest hath got his deserts; he has fallen, as was
meet and fit in a regular tavern brawl, and at the dice-board; that _I_
can witness--he is to get no chastisement, according to the law and
right of our good city, that you must know full as well as I, Master
Famulus."
"Believe him not, he is drunk!" cried the bishop's famulus with
eagerness; "the ale speaks through him; he exercises his office, and
expounds law and justice like a toper and partizan. The law he prates
about concerns but fisty-cuffs and pulling of hair; but a murder hath
been committed within the town paling; it should at least be punished
with perpetual imprisonment, according to the town law. Seize the
murderer instantly, say I!"
"Touch him not, say I," resumed the herald, "he hath slain a cheat, a
false player, a shameless scoundrel, who had defied the king; it was
done in honourable fight; it was in self-defence,--that I saw myself;
the fat Rostocker struck the first blow with a sharp weapon, although
he got the first cuff, but from an wholly unarmed fist; _that_ I can
take my oath of, let me be ever so drunk. He is a knave and a sorry
Christian who gets not honestly drunk to-night, now that we have forced
the shut gate of heaven. This brave young fellow is, besides, the
Drost's squire, and my good friend. We have no right to imprison him, I
will stand security for him, with all my substance!"
"But what are ye thinking of?" bawled the famulus, stamping on the
bench, "he hath certainly slain a man here."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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