As the moon had no yet risen high enough, and the air was somewhat
foggy, everything around him was dark and blurred. At the next corner a
lantern hung before an image of the Madonna, but for all the light it
afforded him it might as well not have been there. Only when he stood
directly under it did he make out that painting of the mother and child.
“It's probably an art museum,” he thought, “and they have forgotten to
take in the sign.”
Two people in medieval costumes passed by.
“How strange they looked!” he said. “They must have been to a
masquerade.”
Just then the sound of drums and fifes came his way, and bright torches
flared. The Councilor of Justice stopped and was startled to see an odd
procession go past, led by a whole band of drummers who were dexterously
drubbing away. These were followed by soldiers armed with long bows and
crossbows. The chief personage of the procession was a churchman of rank.
The astounded Councilor asked what all this meant, and who the man might
be.
“That is the Bishop of Seeland,” he was told.
“What in the name of heaven can have come over the Bishop?” the
Councilor of Justice wondered. He sighed and shook his head. “The
Bishop? Impossible.”
Still pondering about it, without glancing to right or to left, he kept on
down East Street and across Highbridge Square. The bridge that led from
there to Palace Square was not to be found at all; at last on the bank of the
shallow stream he saw a boat with two men in it.
“Would the gentleman want to be ferried over to the Holm”? they asked
him.
“To the Holm?” blurted the Councilor, who had not the faintest notion
that he was living in another age. “I want to go to Christian's Harbour on
Little Market Street.”
