"
"So!" said the count, "this is the burgher-bred, burgher-fed varlet,
that calls himself of Adlerstein! Boy, thou had best be warned.
Wert thou true-blooded, it were worth my while to maintain my rights
against thee. Craven as thou art, not even with spirit to accept my
feud, I would fain not have the trouble of sweeping thee from my
path."
"Herr Graf, as true Freiherr and belted knight, I defy thee! I
proclaim my right to this ground, and whoso damages those I place
there must do battle with me."
"Thou wilt have it then," said the count, taking his heavy lance from
his squire, closing his visor, and wheeling back his horse, so as to
give space for his career.
Ebbo did the like, while Friedel on one side, and Hierom von
Schlangenwald on the other, kept their men in array, awaiting the
issue of the strife between their leaders--the fire of seventeen
against the force of fifty-six.
They closed in full shock, with shivered lances and rearing, pawing
horses, but without damage to either. Each drew his sword, and they
were pressing together, when Heinz, seeing a Schlangenwalder aiming
with his cross-bow, rode at him furiously, and the melee became
general; shots were fired, not only from cross-bows, but from
arquebuses, and in the throng Friedel lost sight of the main combat
between his brother and the count.
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