Beneath the noontime sun, Siegfried looks over his wax tablet as he rides, making sense of his own etchings. Two great Xs mark out several tallies, rendering the debts in them cleared. Near the bridge, the carter peels off for the castle with four barrels of wine in tow, as-promised compensation for prior debts.
“What does a peasant need with four barrels of wine?” mutters Berard, hand up in his helm, wiping his brow.
“Probably for a wedding,” says Carolus. “A lot of unhappy fathers today. Siegfried’s made off with a quarter of the miller’s dowry in silver.”
Siegfried rolls an emerging strain out of his neck.
“Sometimes when the steward takes, the Lord provides,” he smiles impishly. “My, I know a quite a few fellows around here in search of a cheap bride.”