He mumbled a bit, watching me with the wary, hostile eyes of the old, and then said that his daughter was in the house. She turned out to be a big, strapping creature, plain enough in the face, but just about my weight, so I gave her my best bow and repeated my request with a charming smile. The long and short of it was that they sat me down in the kitchen with some excellent beer and bread and cheese while the old man went off round the house, and presently came back to say that Franz had gone to find Willi, who would be able to borrow Wolf’s horse, no doubt, and if the gentleman would be pleased to rest and eat, it would be along in a little while.

I was happy enough with this, for neither of them seemed to have any notion of who I was—or rather, who I was supposed to be—and it gave me the chance to get something under my belt. They were both a little in awe, though, at having such a fine gentleman in their humble home, and seemed too tongue-tied to say much. If the dotard hadn’t been there I dare say I could have had the buxom piece dancing the mattress quadrille within the hour, but as it was I had to confine my refreshment to the victuals and beer.

After an hour had passed, though, I began to get restless. I’d no wish to linger here, with Rudi possibly combing the Jotun Gipfel for me already, and when a second hour passed, and then a third, I became feverish. The old clod kept assuring me, in answer to my impatient demands, that Wolf or Franz or Willi would soon be along, with the horse. An excellent horse, he added. And there seemed to be nothing to do but wait, chewing my nails, while the old man sat silent, and the woman went very soft-footed about her work.

It was four hours before they came, and they didn’t have a horse. What they did have, though, was weapons. There were four of them, hefty lads in peasant clothes, but with a purposeful look about them that suggested they didn’t give all their time to ploughing. Two had muskets, another had a pistol in his belt, and the leader, who was a blond giant at least a head taller than I, had a broadsword, no less, hanging at his side. I was on my feet, quaking, at the sight of them, but the big fellow held up a hand and made me a jerky bow.

“Highness,” says he, and the others bobbed their heads behind him. My bald head was evidently better known than I’d realised. Uneasily, I tried to put on a bold front.

“Well, my lads,” says I cheerfully, “have you a horse for me?”