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"Yes, long live the wine of Clermont, with which Luern, the great Auvergnan chief of former days, used to fill up the ditches wide as ponds, in order to refresh the warriors of his tribe." "That would have been a cup worthy of you, Wolf's-Tooth! But, brothers, do answer me; to whom shall we give the preference, to a bishopess or to a count's wife?" "To the bishopess! To the bishopess!"
"How good it is to live a Vagre's life!" On the last wagon, under the special watch of Wolf's-Tooth and a few companions who brought up the rear, Cautin, bishop and Vagre's cook, accustomed to strut on his traveling mule, or to ride through the forest on his vigorous hunting steed, found the road rough, dusty and unpleasant.
There he sits in full gala on the episcopal bench, decked in sacerdotal garb, and coiffed in the fur cap which count Neroweg left behind when he fled demented out of the banquet hall. Four Vagres assist Ronan. They are odd-looking clerks! Jolly deacons! Among them is Wolf's-Tooth, the giant whose waist a barrel's hoop would hardly encircle. "Brother, are we all together?"
They had met on a mild summer's night; there were about thirty Vagres gathered at the spot gay customers, rough boys, clad in all styles, but armed to the teeth, and all carrying in their caps a twig of green oak as the emblem of their solidarity. They arrive at a place where the roads fork one road leads to the right, another to the left. Ronan halts. A voice is heard the voice of Wolf's-Tooth.
What happy days these are!" exclaimed Wolf's-Tooth as he gnawed on the ivory of his second shoulder of doe. "Ah! what jolly days do we owe to these times of disorder, of pillage, of combats on the highways, of sieges of burgs and episcopal villas and of their smoldering embers that we leave behind! Ah! What rollicking times do not these Frankish Kings furnish us with!"
What a Titan the man is! He is six feet high, with the neck of a bull and enormous hands; only the hoop of a barrel could encircle his waist: "Ronan, you said to us: 'Brothers, arm yourselves! We armed ourselves. 'Furnish yourselves with torches of straw! Here are the torches. 'Follow me! We did. You halt; and we have halted." "Wolf's-Tooth, I am considering. Now, brothers, answer me.
"Oh, beloved bishop!" cried the kneeling mothers smiting their chests. "A saint among saints! Thanks thanks to you!" "Listen to me, ye poor sheep who mistake the butcher for the shepherd," said Ronan to them. "If you do not forthwith profit by our offer, we shall hang the bishop before your very eyes." "Here is a rope," said Wolf's-Tooth, and he put the noose around Cautin's neck.
Which is to be preferred, the wife of a Frankish count or a bishopess?" "A bishopess smells of holy water the bishop blesses; a count's wife smells of wine the count, her husband, drinks himself drunk." "Wolf's-Tooth, it is exactly the contrary: the wily prelate drinks the wine, and leaves the water to the stupid Frank." "Ronan is right!" "To the devil with the holy water, and long live wine!"
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