He was noble - born between the clinking weapons, and the unknown sound of the war trumpet would not have made him lift his head or only the eyes from the dark parchment, in which he was reading the swansong of a minstrel.

Those ones, who wanted to find him, should not have been looking in the yard of his castle, where the
grooms were breaking in the horses, the squires were training the hawks and the soldier were spending their spare times sharpening the iron of their lances.