Coenraed sat high on his horse. Beneath him lay the rest of the world.
God, commandments, other people: he had little time for any of them. His armour fitted perfectly. Inside it sat someone who would bow to nothing.
At the castle bridge a beggar spoke to him. Was there perhaps something to eat? A crust would do. And somewhere he could spend the night.
Coenraed shook his head. Even a refusal struck him as too much work, really. He wanted to ride on.
‘I am a human being too,’ the beggar called.
Now the knight did look round. The beggar had just called himself his equal.
‘Beside me?’ His voice cracked. ‘You?’
He drove his spurs into his horse’s flanks. The animal shot forward and ended up in the moat.
The water closed over Coenraed. The knight drowned.
Yet, according to the tradition, people were not rid of him. He went on wandering around the castle, in his full suit of armour. Whoever heard him no longer heard a command.
He called for help. From anyone at all.