These beard-wagging, chain-jingling gentry I have small notion of.

And would you but accept it, I would give you to-morrow the collar of gold which befits the Chancellor of the Mark.
None deserves to wear it so well as thou." My father laughed a low scornful laugh.
"Because I bid you teach the parsons their own religion, am I to be made Chancellor of the Mark?
A great gray wolf out of the forest were as suitable a Chancellor of the Mark as Gottfried Gottfried, the fourteenth hereditary Red Axe of Thorn!" Then I heard him reach over his bed for something.

I stole out of the hole in the wall and crouched down till my eyes rested at the great latchet hole through which the tang of leather to lift the bolt ordinarily goes.

I could see my father sitting on his bed and the Red Axe lying across his knees.

He took it in hand, dangling it like an infant.