By the time Sir Albert reached the weigh house, the coach of the archbishop had arrived as well. The red carriage with four iron wheels and cushioned doors jolted slightly before it stopped on the pavement. The Friesland horses snorted and their mouths foamed around their bits. The archbishop’s red gloves appeared first, and then his shoes decorated with the broad buckle stepped to the first landing of the foldable stairs, unfurled for him by a clerical servant. Sir Albert’s stomach turned, but he had to keep himself together.
“You’re shaking, Sir Albert,” said Frederick Schenck von Toutenburg, while he straightened his hands with the archiepiscopal ring on his finger, waiting for the chaplain to bow his head. “Oh, is this your first time? Everybody says you’re a living saint. So it’s tim
