So when Swanhilda had been queen three years, she suborned many of King Urrayne’s knights and lords, and slew her husband as he slept, and reigned in his stead.  And her son, Harald, grew up to manhood, and was counted a strong knight, and well spoken of, by then I first put on my armour.

Then, one night, as I lay dreaming, I felt a hand laid on my face, and starting up saw Arnald before me fully armed.  He said, “Florian, rise and arm.”

I did so, all but my helm, as he was.

He kissed me on the forehead; his lips felt hot and dry; and when they bought torches, and I could see his face plainly, I saw he was very pale.  He said:  “Do you remember, Florian, this day sixteen years ago?  It is a long time, but I shall never forget it unless this night blots out its memory.”

I knew what he meant, and because my heart was wicked, I rejoiced exceedingly at the thought of vengeance, so that I could not speak, but only laid my palm across his lips.

“Good; you have a good memory, Florian.  See now, I waited long and long:  I said at first, I forgive her; but when the news came concerning the death of the king, and how that she was shameless, I said I will take it as a sign, if God does not punish her within certain years, that he means me to do so; and I have been watching and watching now these two years for an opportunity, and behold it is come at last; and I think God has certainly given her into our hands, for she rests this night, this very Christmas eve, at a small walled town on the frontier, not two hours’ gallop from this; they keep little ward there, and the night is wild:  moreover, the prior of a certain house of monks, just without the walls, is my fast friend in this matter, for she has done him some great injury.  In the courtyard below a hundred and fifty knights and squires, all faithful and true, are waiting for us:  one moment and we shall be gone.”

Then we both knelt down, and prayed God to give her into our hands:  we put on our helms, and went down into the courtyard.

It was the first time I expected to use a sharp sword in anger, and I was full of joy as the muffled thunder of our horse-hoofs rolled through the bitter winter night.

In about an hour and a half we had crossed the frontier, and in half an hour more the greater part bad halted in a wood near the Abbey, while I and a few others went up to the Abbey gates, and knocked loudly four times with my sword-hilt, stamping on the ground meantime.  A long, low whistle answered me from within, which I in my turn answered:  then the wicket opened, and a monk came out, holding a lantern.  He seemed yet in the prime of life, and was a tall, powerful man.  He held the lantern to my face, then smiled, and said, “The banners hang low.”  I gave the countersign, “The crest is lopped off.”  “Good my son,” said he; “the ladders are within here.  I dare not trust any of the brethren to carry them for you, though they love not the witch either, but are timorsome.”