Ah, the times that were when I was young! I see these gallants about our later courts--Lord help them, sons of mine own, too, some of them--year in and year out, crossing their legs and staring at the gilded points of their shoon.

All are grown so tame--none now to ride a-questing in the Baltic forest for border brigands -- indeed, there be no brigands to quest for.
But I forget.

Time was when I looked love, and I too had shoon, aye, with golden tips to match the armor of honor which the Prince gave me after I had led my first regiment to victory--even as the Lady Ysolinde had said.
And noble shoes of price they were.
And I could make love, too, when I had the chance.

But, nevertheless, not more than one day in six--spending the rest in the new training of my men, the perfecting of their equipment, the choosing of their horses, and the providing for their stores.
God wot--it was a good time.

I mind me the year when the Prince fell out with Duke Casimir, and we played over again the old tricks with him.
Never was I gladder of any quest than that to ride within sight of the Red Tower, and wave the blue and yellow of my master under the very ramparts of the Wolfsberg, and almost within hearing of the inhuman howling of its blood-hounds.
"Singe his beard!" said my master.