"Come, refresh yourself first, noble sir. My best apartment is ready for you. But I have now a word to say to you, for God knows when I may see you again. You are wearied, and I perceive you have important matters in your head. Come, sir drost, you will not refuse a stoup of good Danish pors-ale? What the fiend! have their lordships transformed my ale into wine? Well, that was indeed handsome of them." They then both set themselves down to cook Morten's half-emptied bowl of spiced wine; and when a cup of the potent beverage had enlivened them, old Henner resumed: "You spake an earnest word this evening, noble sir. My illustrious guests considered it ill-timed, and perhaps you now may think that you were over hasty; but it was a word at the right time, to me and many more. Yes, you are right, noble sir. The crown is holy, whoever bears it: for the king is the Lord's anointed; and no one shall with impunity raise his hand against him, were it the foul fiend himself whom God has set over us for a season." "That I did not say exactly, old man," said the drost, interrupting him; "yet it is not far from my meaning. But how came you now upon this matter? Did you know these lords?" "Who does not know the haughty Duke Waldemar and the crabbed Count Jacob?" answered Henner. "I knew their good friends, too. What these good people carry in their bosoms is no secret. This dean from Roskild is a learned, dangerous man; and the Lord preserve us from him! Thought and thew, he is the old Archbishop Jacob to a hair--he that was imprisoned by the king's father, and brought the whole kingdom under the ban. The long, big-nosed dean comes of the same brood. People dare not say it openly; but you and everybody else know, nevertheless, that this Satan's archbishop had a finger in the pie when King Christopher was poisoned with our Lord's holy body." "Thou art right, old man; and so much the worse," said Drost Peter: "this audacious Master Grand is Jacob Erlandsen's kinsman, both by descent and in spirit. He is the most crafty of them all, however hot-headed and open-mouthed he may be in his insolent moods." He again drew forth the parchment, and examined it. "Do you know Sir Tuko Abildgaard, the duke's drost?" "Yes, indeed: that was the proud, smooth-faced gentleman, who sat so stiff where you are now sitting, with the light green cloak and doublet. I knew every one of them." "Sir Lavé Little was not here--God be praised!" said Drost Peter, with a suppressed sigh. "They are a noble race, these Littles: would that they all took after the old Knight John! A truer man there is not in Denmark, although he has almost as much injustice to complain of as have his kinsmen."