This was not encouraging to one who, like myself, was in high spirits and much inclined for conversation.  But I was not to be so easily beaten off.

“The Prince of Plassenburg has a Princess,” I said, “who is often upon her travels?”

It was an innocent remark, and, so far as I could see, not one in itself highly humorous.  But it broke up the gravity of these red-haired northern bears as if it had been the latest gay sally of the court-fool.

“Ha! ha!” laughed the more distant, lanky man, rocking himself in his saddle till the pennon on his lance shook and the point dipped towards his horse’s ear.

“Ho! ho!” chorused his companion, slapping his thigh jovially.  “Jorian, did you hear that?  ’The Prince of Plassenburg hath a Princess, and she is often upon her travels.’  Ha! ha! ha!  Ho! ho! ho!”

“He hath said it!  Ho! ho!  He hath said it!  He is a wise fellow, after all, this beardless Jack-pudding of Thorn!” cried the other, tee-heeing with laughter till he nearly wept upon his own saddle-bow.

I began to get very angry.  For we men of Thorn were not accustomed to be so flouted by any strangers, keeping mostly our own customs, and reining in the few strangers who ventured to visit Duke Casimir’s dominions pretty tightly.  Least of all could I brook insolence from these Wendish boors from the outskirts of half-pagan Borrussia.

“The Prince of Plassenburg hath churls among his retinue,” said I, hotly, “if they be all like you two Jacks, that cannot answer a simple question without singing out like donkeys upon a common where there are no thistles to keep them quiet.”

Sir Thicksides, the fat jolter-head nearest me set his thumb out to stick it into the side armor of Longlegs, his companion, who rode cheek by jowl with him.

“Oo-oo-ahoo!” cried he, crowing with mirth, as if I had said a yet more facetious thing. “’Tis a simple question—­’Hath the Prince of Plassenburg a Princess, and is she not oft—­ahoo!’ Boris, prod me with thy lance-shaft hard, to keep me from doing myself an ill turn with this fellow’s innocence.”

“Hold up, Jorian !” answered the long man, promptly pounding him on the back with the butt of his spear.  “Hold up, fat Jorian!  Let not thy love of mirth do thee any injury.  For thou art a good comrade, and fools were ever apt to divert thee too much.  I have seen thee at this before—­that time we went to Wilna, and the fellow in motley gave thee griping spasms with his tomfoolery.”

Then was I mainly angry, as indeed I had sufficient occasion.

“You are but churls,” I said, “and the next thing to knaves.  And I will e’en inform the Prince when we arrive what like are the men whom he sets to escort ladies to his castle.”

But though they were silenter after this, it was not from any alarm at my words, but simply because they had laughed themselves out of ply.  For as I rode on in high dudgeon, half-way between the women and the men-at-arms, I could see them with the corner of an eye still nudging each other with their thumbs and throwing back their heads, and the breeze blew me scraps of their limited conversation.