The pursuivants
entered--hardy, shrewd-looking men, with the city arms decking them
wherever there was room for them.
"Honour-worthy sirs," they said, "no letter did the Graf von
Schlangenwald return."
"Sent he no message?" demanded Moritz Schleiermacher.
"Yea, worthy sir, but scarce befitting this reverend assembly." On
being pressed, however, it was repeated: "The Lord Count was pleased
to swear at what he termed the insolence of the city in sending him
heralds, 'as if,' said he, 'the dogs,' your worships, 'were his
equals.' Then having cursed your worships, he reviled the crooked
writing of Herr Clerk Diedrichson, and called his chaplain to read it
to him. Herr Priest could scarce read three lines for his foul
language about the ford. 'Never,' said he, 'would he consent to
raising a bridge--a mean trick,' so said he, 'for defrauding him of
his rights to what the flood sent him.'"
"But," asked Ebbo, "took he no note of our explanation, that if he
give not the upper bank, we will build lower, where both sides are my
own?"
"He passed it not entirely over," replied the messenger.
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