Interrupted in his work, he also saw the newcomers, and then cast a peevish glance at one corner of the room, where stood a table covered with fine linen and set with silver dishes, among them a platter on which early pears and juicy plums were spread invitingly.  The landlady of The Pike had arranged them daintily upon fresh vine leaves an hour before with her own plump but nimble hands.  Of course they were intended for the gentlemen from Nuremberg and their guests.  Dietel, too, now knew them, and saw that the party numbered a person no less distinguished than the far-famed and highly learned Doctor and Imperial Councillor, Conrad Peutinger.  They were riding to Cologne together under the same escort.  The citizens of Nuremberg were distinguished men, as well as their guest, but Dietel had served distinguished personages by the dozen at The Blue Pike for many years—­among them even crowned heads—­and they had wanted for nothing.  His skill, however, was not sufficient for these city demigods; for the landlord of The Pike intended to look after their table himself.  Tomfoolery!  There was more than enough for him to do that day over yonder in the room occupied by the lansquenets and the city soldiers, where he usually directed affairs in person.  It roused Dietel’s ire.  The cooking of The Blue Pike, which the landlady superintended, could vie with any in the Frank country, on the Rhine, or in Swabia, yet, forsooth, it wasn’t good enough for the Nuremberg guests.  The Council cook, a fat, pompous fellow, accompanied them, and had already begun to bustle about the hearth beside the hostess.  They really would have required no service at all, for they brought their own attendants.  It certainly was not Dietel’s usual custom to wish any one evil, but if Gotz Berlichinger, who had recently attacked a party of Leipsic merchants at Forchheim, or Hans von Geisslingen had fallen upon them and subdued their arrogance, it would not have spoiled Dietel’s appetite.

At last they moved forward.  The others might treat them as they chose; he, at least, would neither say anything to them nor bow before them as the ears did before Joseph in Holy Writ.  Nevertheless, he looked out of the corner of his eye at them as he took from the basket of the round-checked kitchen maid, who had now found her way to him, one fresh brown roll after another, and placed them beside plate after plate.  How well risen and how crusty they were!  They fairly cracked under the pressure of the thumb, yet wheat rolls had been baked specially for the Nuremberg party.  Was God’s good gift too poor for the Honourables with the gold chains?