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The Sword Maker

by Robert Barr · English · Gutenberg #14656 · 655,073 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Sword Maker

Author: Robert Barr


        
Release date: January 10, 2005 [eBook #14656]
                Most recently updated: October 28, 2024

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SWORD MAKER ***

              THE

          SWORD MAKER

              BY

          ROBERT BARR


           AUTHOR OF

 "TEKLA" "CARDILLAC" "THE VICTORS"
      "IN THE MIDST OF ALARMS"
              ETC.

            NEW YORK

    FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY

           PUBLISHERS




   FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY

           June, 1910




         TABLE OF CONTENTS

      I. AN OFFER TO OPEN THE RIVER
     II. THE BARGAIN IS STRUCK
    III. DISSENSION IN THE IRONWORKERS' GUILD
     IV. THE DISTURBING JOURNEY OF FATHER AMBROSE
      V. THE COUNTESS VON SAYN AND THE ARCHBISHOP OF COLOGNE
     VI. TO BE KEPT SECRET FROM THE COUNTESS
    VII. MUTINY IN THE WILDERNESS
   VIII. THE MISSING LEADER AND THE MISSING GOLD
     IX. A SOLEMN PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE
      X. A CALAMITOUS CONFERENCE
     XI. GOLD GALORE THAT TAKES TO ITSELF WINGS
    XII. THE LAUGHING RED MARGRAVE OF FURSTENBERG
   XIII. "A SENTENCE; COME, PREPARE!"
    XIV. THE PRISONER OF EHRENFELS
     XV. JOURNEYS END IN LOVERS' MEETING
    XVI. MY LADY SCATTERS THE FREEBOOTERS AND CAPTURES THEIR CHIEF
   XVII. "FOR THE EMPRESS, AND NOT FOR THE EMPIRE"
  XVIII. THE SWORD MAKER AT BAY
    XIX. THE BETROTHAL IN THE GARDEN
     XX. THE MYSTERY OF THE FOREST
    XXI. A SECRET MARRIAGE
   XXII. LONG LIVE THEIR MAJESTIES




THE SWORD MAKER




I

AN OFFER TO OPEN THE RIVER


Considering the state of the imperial city of Frankfort, one would not
expect to find such a gathering as was assembled in the Kaiser cellar of
the Rheingold drinking tavern. Outside in the streets all was turbulence
and disorder; a frenzy on the part of the populace taxing to the utmost
the efforts of the city authorities to keep it within bounds, and
prevent the development of a riot that might result in the partial
destruction at least of this once prosperous city. And indeed, the
inhabitants of Frankfort could plead some excuse for their
boisterousness. Temporarily, at any rate, all business was at a
standstill. The skillful mechanics of the town had long been out of
work, and now to the ranks of the unemployed were added, from time to
time, clerks and such-like clerical people, expert accountants,
persuasive salesmen, and small shopkeepers, for no one now possessed the
money to buy more than the bare necessities of life. Yet the warehouses
of Frankfort were full to overflowing, with every kind of store that
might have supplied the needs of the people, and to the unlearned man it
seemed unjust that he and his family should starve while granaries were
packed with the agricultural produce of the South, and huge warehouses
were glutted with enough cloth from Frankfort and the surrounding
districts to clothe ten times the number of tatterdemalions who clamored
through the streets.

The wrath of the people was concentrated against one man, and he the
highest in the land; to blame, of course, in a secondary degree, but not
the one primarily at fault for this deplorable state of things. The
Emperor, always indolent from the time he came to the throne, had grown
old and crabbed and fat, caring for nothing but his flagon of wine that
stood continually at his elbow. Laxity of rule in the beginning allowed
his nobles to get the upper hand, and now it would require a civil war
to bring them into subjection again. They, sitting snug in their
strongholds, with plenty of wine in their cellars and corn in their
bins, cared nothing for the troubles of the city. Indeed, those who
inhabited either bank of the Rhine, watching from their elevated castles
the main avenue of traffic between Frankfort and Cologne, her chief
market, had throughout that long reign severely taxed the merchants
conveying goods downstream. During the last five years, their exactions
became so piratical that finally they killed the goose that laid the
golden eggs, so now the Rhine was without a boat, and Frankfort without
a buyer.

For too long Frankfort had looked to the Emperor, whose business it was
to keep order in his domain, and when at last the merchants, combining
to help themselves, made an effort towards freedom, it was too late. The
result of their combination was a flotilla of nearly a hundred boats,
which, gathering at Frankfort and Mayence, proceeded together down the
river, convoyed by a fleet containing armed men, and thus they thought
to win through to Cologne, and so dispose of their goods. But the robber
Barons combined also, hung chains across the river at the Lorely rocks,
its narrowest part, and realizing that this fleet could defeat any
single one of them, they for once acted in concert, falling upon the
boats when their running against the chains threw them into confusion.

The nobles and their brigands were seasoned fighters all, while the
armed men secured by the merchants were mere hirelings, who fled in
panic; and those not cut to pieces by their savage adversaries became
themselves marauders on a small scale, scattered throughout the land,
for there was little use of tramping back to the capital, where already
a large portion of the population suffered the direst straits.

Not a single bale of goods reached Cologne, for the robbers divided
everything amongst themselves, with some pretty quarrels, and then they
sank the boats in the deepest part of the river as a warning, lest the
merchants of Frankfort and Mayence should imagine the Rhine belonged to
them. Meantime, all petitions to the Emperor being in vain, the
merchants gave up the fight. They were a commercial, not a warlike
people. They discharged their servants and underlings, and starvation
slowly settled down upon the distressed city.

After the maritime disaster on the Rhine, some of the merchants made a
futile attempt to amend matters, for which their leaders paid dearly.
They appealed to the seven Electors, finding their petitions to the
Emperor were in vain, asking these seven noblemen, including the three
warlike Archbishops of Cologne, Treves, and Mayence, to depose the
Emperor, which they had power to do, and elect his son in his stead. But
they overlooked the fact that a majority of the Electors themselves, and
probably the Archbishops also, benefited directly or indirectly by the
piracies on the Rhine. The answer to this request was the prompt hanging
of three leading merchants, the imprisonment of a score of others, and a
warning to the rest that the shoemaker should stick to his last, leaving
high politics to those born to rule. This misguided effort caused the
three Archbishops to arrest Prince Roland, the Emperor's only son, and
incarcerate him in Ehrenfels, a strong castle on the Rhine belonging to
the Archbishop of Mayence, who was thus made custodian of the young man,
and responsible to his brother prelates of Cologne and Treves for the
safe-keeping of the Prince. The Archbishops, as has been said, were too
well satisfied with the weak administration then established at
Frankfort to wish a change, so the lad was removed from the capital,
that the citizens of Frankfort might be under no temptation to place him
at their head, and endeavor to overturn the existing order of things.

This being the state of affairs in Frankfort, with every one gloomy, and
a majority starving, it was little wonder that the main cellar of the
Rheingold tavern should be empty, although when times were good it was
difficult to find a seat there after the sun went down. But in the
smaller Kaiser cellar, along each side of the single long table, sat
young men numbering a score, who ate black bread and drank Rhine wine,
to the roaring of song and the telling of story. They formed a close
coterie, admitting no stranger to their circle if one dissenting voice
was raised against his acceptance, yet in spite of this exclusiveness
there was not a drop of noble blood in the company. They belonged,
however, to the aristocracy of craftsmen; metal-workers for the most
part, ingenious artificers in iron, beaters of copper, fashioners of
gold and silver. Glorious blacksmiths, they called themselves; but now,
like every one else, with nothing to do. In spite of their city
up-bringing all were stalwart, well-set-up young men; and, indeed, the
swinging of hammers is good exercise for the muscles of the arm, and in
those turbulent days a youth who could not take care of himself with his
stick or his fists was like to fare ill if he ventured forth after
nightfall.

This, indeed, had been the chief reason for the forming of their guild,
and if one of their number was set upon, the secret call of the
organization shouted aloud brought instant help were any of the members
within hearing. Belonging neither to the military nor the aristocracy,
they were not allowed to wear swords, and to obtain this privilege was
one of the objects of their organization. Indeed, each member of the
guild secretly possessed a weapon of the best, although he risked his
neck if ever he carried it abroad with him. Among their number were
three of the most expert sword makers in all Germany.

These three sword makers had been instrumental in introducing to their
order the man who was now its leader. This youth came to one of them
with ideas concerning the proper construction of a sword, and the
balancing of it, so that it hung easily in the hand as though part of
the fore-arm. Usually, the expert has small patience with the theories
of an amateur; but this young fellow, whose ambition it was to invent a
sword, possessed such intimate knowledge of the weapon as it was used,
not only in Germany, but also in France and Italy, that the sword maker
introduced him to fellow-craftsmen at other shops, and they taught him
how to construct a sword. These instructors, learning that although, as
Roland laughingly said, he was not allowed to wear a sword, he could
wield it with a precision little short of marvelous, the guild gave
permission for this stranger to be a guest at one of their weekly
meetings at the Kaiser cellar, where he exhibited his wonderful skill.

Not one of them, nor, indeed, all of them together, stood any chance
when confronting him. They clamored to be taught, offering good money
for the lessons, believing that if they acquired but a tithe of his
excellence with the blade they might venture to wear it at night, and
let their skill save them from capture. But the young fellow refused
their money, and somewhat haughtily declined the rôle of fencing-master,
whereupon they unanimously elected him a member of the coterie, waiving
for this one occasion the rule which forbade the choice of any but a
metal-worker. When the stranger accepted the election, he was informed
that it was the duty of each member to come to the aid of his brethren
when required, and they therefore requested him to teach them
swordsmanship. Roland, laughing, seeing how he had been trapped, as it
were, with his own consent, acceded to the universal wish, and before a
year had passed his twenty comrades were probably the leading swordsmen
in the city of Frankfort.

Shortly after the disaster to the merchants' fleet at the Lorely, Roland
disappeared without a word of farewell to those who had come to think so
much of him. He had been extremely reticent regarding his profession, if
he had one, and no one knew where he lodged. It was feared that the
authorities had arrested him with the sword in his possession, for he
grew more reckless than any of the others in carrying the weapon. One
night, however, he reappeared, and took his seat at the head of the
table as if nothing had happened. Evidently he had traveled far and on
foot, for his clothes were dusty and the worse for wear. He refused to
give any account of himself, but admitted that he was hungry, thirsty,
and in need of money.

His hunger and thirst were speedily satisfied, but the money scarcity
was not so easily remedied. All the score were out of employment, with
the exception of the three sword makers, whose trade the uncertainty of
the times augmented rather than diminished. To cheer up Roland, who was
a young fellow of unquenchable geniality, they elected him to the empty
honor of being their leader, Kurzbold's term of office having ended.

The guild met every night now, instead of once a week, and it may be
shrewdly suspected that the collation of black bread and sausage formed
the sole meal of the day for many of them. Nevertheless, their hilarity
was undiminished, and the rafters rang with song and laugh, and echoed
also maledictions upon a supine Government, and on the rapacious Rhine
lords. But the bestowal of even black bread and the least expensive of
wine could not continue indefinitely. They owed a bill to the landlord
upon which that worthy, patient as he had proved himself, always hoping
for better times, wished for at least something on account. All his
other customers had deserted him, and if they drank at all, chose some
place where the wine was thin and cheap. The landlord held out bravely
for three months after Roland was elected president, then, bemoaning his
fate, informed the guild that he would be compelled to close the
Rheingold tavern.

"Give me a week!" cried Roland, rising in his place at the head of the
table, "and I will make an effort to get enough gold to settle the bill
at least, with perhaps something over for each of our pockets."

This promise brought forth applause and a rattle of flagons on the
table, so palpably empty that the ever-hopeful landlord proceeded
forthwith to fill them.

"There is one proviso," said Roland, as they drank his health in the
wine his offer produced. "To get this money I must do something in
return. I have a plan in mind which it would be premature to disclose.
If it succeeds, none of us will ever need to bend back over a workman's
bench again, or hammer metal except for our own pleasure. But acting
alone I am powerless, so I must receive your promise that you will stand
by any pledge I make on your behalf, and follow me into whatever danger
I choose to lead you."

There was a great uproar at this, and a boisterous consent.

"This day week, then," said Roland, as he strapped sword to side, threw
cloak over shoulders, so that it completely concealed the forbidden
weapon, waved a hand to his cheering comrades, and went out into the
night.

Once ascended the cellar steps, the young man stood in the narrow street
as though hesitating what to do. Faintly there came to him the sound of
singing from the cellar he had quitted, and he smiled slightly as he
listened to the rousing chorus he knew so well. From the direction of
the Palace a more sinister echo floated on the night air; the
unmistakable howl of anger, pain, and terror; the noise that a pursued
and stricken mob makes when driven by soldiers. The populace had
evidently been engaged in its futile and dangerous task of
demonstrating, and proclaiming its hunger, and the authorities were
scattering it; keeping it ever on the move.

It was still early; not yet ten o'clock, and a full moon shone over the
city, unlighted otherwise. Drawing his cloak closer about him, Roland
walked rapidly in an opposite direction to that from which the tumult of
the rabble came, until he arrived at the wide Fahrgasse, a street
running north and south, its southern end terminating at the old bridge.
Along this thoroughfare lived the wealthiest merchants of Frankfort.

Roland turned, and proceeded slowly towards the river, critically
examining the tall, picturesque buildings on either hand, cogitating the
question which of them would best answer his purpose. They all seemed
uninviting enough, for their windows were dark, most of them tightly
shuttered; and, indeed, the thoroughfare looked like a street of the
dead, the deserted appearance enhanced, rather than relieved, by the
white moonlight lying on its cobble-stones.

Nearing the bridge, he discovered one stout door ajar, and behind it
shone the yellow glow of a lamp. He paused, and examined critically the
façade of the house, which, with its quiet, dignified architectural
beauty, seemed the abode of wealth. Although the shutters were closed,
his intent inspection showed him thin shafts of light from the chinks,
and he surmised that an assemblage of some sort was in progress,
probably a secret convention, the members of which entered unannounced,
and left the door ajar ready for the next comer.

For a moment he thought of venturing in, but remembering his mission
required the convincing of one man rather than the persuasion of a
group, he forbore, but noted in his mind the position and designation of
the house, resolving to select this building as the theater of his first
effort, and return to it next morning. It would serve his purpose as
well as another.

Roland's attention was then suddenly directed to his own position,
standing in the bright moonlight, for there swung round from the river
road, into the Fahrgasse, a small and silent company, who marched as one
man. The moon was shining almost directly up the street, but the houses
to the west stood in its radiance, while those in the east were still in
shadow. Roland pressed himself back against the darkened wall to his
left, near the partially opened door; between it and the river. The
silent procession advanced to the door ajar, and there paused, forming
their ranks into two lines, thus making a passage for a tall,
fine-looking, bearded man, who walked to the threshold, then turned and
raised his bonnet in salute.

"My friends," he said, "this is kind of you, and although I have been
silent, I ask you to believe that deeply I appreciate your welcome
escort. And now, enter with me, and we will drink a stoup of wine
together, to the somber toast, 'God save our stricken city!'"

"No, no, Herr Goebel. To-night is sacred. We have seen you safely to
your waiting family, and at that reunion there should be no intruders.
But to-morrow night, if you will have us, we will drink to the city, and
to your own good health, Herr Goebel."

This sentiment was applauded by all, and the merchant, seeing that they
would not accept his present invitation, bowed in acquiescence, and bade
them good-by. When the door closed the delegation separated into units,
and each went his own way. Roland, stepping out of the shadow, accosted
the rearmost man.

"Pardon me, mein Herr," he said, "but may I ask what ceremony is this in
which you have been taking part?"

The person accosted looked with some alarm at his questioner, but the
moonlight revealed a face singularly gentle and winning; a face that in
spite of its youth inspired instinctive confidence. The tone, too, was
very persuasive, and seemed devoid even of the offense of curiosity.

"'Tis no ceremony," said the delegate, "but merely the return home of
our friend, Herr Goebel."

"Has he, then, been on a journey?"

"Sir, you are very young, and probably unacquainted with Frankfort."

"I have lived here all my life," said Roland. "I am a native of
Frankfort."

"In that case," replied the other, "you show yourself amazingly ignorant
of its concerns; otherwise you would know that Herr Goebel is one of the
leading merchants of the city, a man honorable, enlightened, and
energetic--an example to us all, and one esteemed alike by noble or
peasant. We honor ourselves in honoring him."

"Herr Goebel should be proud of such commendation, mein Herr, coming I
judge, from one to whom the words you use might also be applied."

The merchant bowed gravely at this compliment, but made no remark upon
it.

"Pardon my further curiosity," continued the young man, "but from whence
does Herr Goebel return?"

"He comes from prison," said the other. "He made the mistake of thinking
that our young Prince would prove a better ruler than his father, our
Emperor, and but that the Archbishops feared a riot if they went to
extremes, Herr Goebel ran great danger of losing his life rather than
his liberty."

"What you say, mein Herr, interests me very much, and I thank you for
your courtesy. My excuse for questioning you is this. I am moved by a
desire to enter the employ of such a man as Herr Goebel, and I purpose
calling upon him to-morrow, if you think he would be good enough to
receive me."

"He will doubtless receive you," replied the other, "but I am quite
certain your mission will fail. At the present moment none of us are
engaging clerks, however competent. Ignorant though you are of civic
affairs, you must be aware that all business is at a standstill in
Frankfort. Although Herr Goebel has said nothing about it, I learn from
an unquestionable source that he himself is keeping from starvation all
his former employees, so I am sure he would not take on, for a stranger,
any further obligation."

"Sir, I am well acquainted with the position of affairs, and it is to
suggest a remedy that I desire speech with Herr Goebel. I do not possess
the privilege of acquaintance with any merchant in this city, so one
object of my accosting you was to learn, if possible, how I might secure
some note of introduction to the merchant that would ensure his
receiving me, and obtain for me a hearing when once I had been admitted
to his house."

If Roland expected the stranger to volunteer such a note, he quite
underestimated the caution of a Frankfort merchant.

"As I said before, you will meet with no difficulty so far as entrance
to the house is concerned. May I take it that you yourself understand
the art of writing?"

"Oh yes," replied Roland.

"Then indite your own letter of introduction. Say that you have evolved
a plan for the redemption of Frankfort, and Herr Goebel will receive you
without demur. He will listen patiently, and give a definite decision
regarding the feasibility of your project. And now, good sir, my way
lies to the left. I wish you success, and bid you good-night."

The stranger left Roland standing at the intersection of two streets,
one of which led to the Saalhof. They had been approaching the
Romerberg, or market-place, the center of Frankfort, when the merchant
so suddenly ended the conversation and turned aside. Roland remembered
that no Jew was allowed to set foot in the Romerberg, and now surmised
the nationality of his late companion. The youth proceeded alone through
the Romerberg, and down directly to the river, reaching the spot where
the huge Saalhof faced its flood. Roland saw that triple guards
surrounded the Emperor's Palace. The mob had been cleared away, but no
one was allowed to linger in its precincts, and the youth was gruffly
ordered to take himself elsewhere, which he promptly did, walking up the
Saalgasse, and past the Cathedral, until he came once more into the
Fahrgasse, down which he proceeded, pausing for another glance at
Goebel's house, until he came to the bridge, where he stood with arms
resting on the parapet, thoughtfully shaping in his mind what he would
say to Herr Goebel in the morning.

Along the opposite side of the river lay a compact mass of barges; ugly,
somber, black in the moonlight, silent witnesses to the ruin of
Frankfort. The young man gazed at this melancholy accumulation of
useless floating stock, and breathed the deeper when he reflected that
whoever could set these boats in motion again would prove himself,
temporarily at least, the savior of the city.

When the bells began to toll eleven, Roland roused himself, walked
across the bridge to Sachsenhausen, and so to his squalid lodging,
consoling himself with the remembrance that the great King Charlemagne
had made this his own place of residence. Here, before retiring to bed,
he wrote the letter which he was to send in next day to Herr Goebel,
composing it with some care, so that it aroused curiosity without
satisfying it.

It was half-past ten next morning when Roland presented himself at the
door of the leading merchant in the Fahrgasse, and sent in to that
worthy his judiciously worded epistle. He was kept waiting in the hall
longer than he expected, but at last the venerable porter appeared, and
said Herr Goebel would be pleased to receive him. He was conducted up
the stair to the first floor, and into a front room which seemed to be
partly library and partly business office. Here seated at a stout table,
he recognized the grave burgher whose home-coming he had witnessed the
night before.

The keen eyes of the merchant seemed to penetrate to his inmost thought,
and it struck Roland that there came into them an expression of
disappointment, for he probably did not expect so youthful a visitor.

"Will you be seated, mein Herr," said his host; and Roland, with an
inclination of the head, accepted the invitation. "My time is very
completely occupied to-day," continued the elder man, "for although
there is little business afoot in Frankfort, my own affairs have been
rather neglected of late, and I am endeavoring to overtake the arrears."

"I know that," said Roland. "I stood by your doorcheek last night when
you returned home."

"Did you so? May I ask why?"

"There was no particular reason. It happened that I walked down the
Fahrgasse, endeavoring to make up my mind upon whom I should call
to-day."

"And why have I received the preference?"

"Perhaps, sir, it would be more accurate to say your house received the
preference, if it is such. I was struck by its appearance of solidity
and wealth, and, differing from all others in the door being ajar, I
lingered before it last night with some inclination to enter. Then the
procession which accompanied you came along. I heard your address to
your friends, and wondered what the formality was about. After the door
was closed I accosted one of those who escorted you, and learned your
name, business, and reputation."

"You must be a stranger in Frankfort when you needed to make such
inquiry."

"Those are almost the same words that my acquaintance of last night
used, and he seemed astonished when I replied that I was born in
Frankfort, and had lived here all my life."

"Ah, I suppose no man is so well known as he thinks he is, but I venture
to assert that you are not engaged in business here."

"Sir, you are in the right. I fear I have hitherto led a somewhat
useless existence."

"On money earned by some one else, perhaps."

"Again you hit the nail on the head, Herr Goebel. I lodge on the other
side of the river, and coming to and fro each day, the sight of all
those useless barges depresses me, and I have formulated a plan for
putting them in motion again."

"I fear, sir, that wiser heads than yours have been meditating upon that
project without avail."

"I should have been more gratified, Herr Goebel, if you had said 'older
heads.'"

The suspicion of a smile hovered for a brief instant round the shrewd,
firm lips of the merchant.

"Young sir, your gentle reproof is deserved. I know nothing of your
wisdom, and so should have referred to the age, and not to the equipment
of your head. It occurs to me, as I study you more closely, that I have
met you before. Your face seems familiar."

"'Tis but a chance resemblance, I suspect. Until very recently I have
been absorbed in my studies, and rarely left my father's house."

"I am doubtless mistaken. But to return to our theme. As you are
ignorant of my name and standing in this city, you are probably unaware
of the efforts already made to remove the deadlock on the Rhine."

"In that, Herr Goebel, you are at fault. I know an expedition of folly
was promoted at enormous expense, and that the empty barges, numbering
something like fivescore, now rest in the deepest part of the Rhine."

"Why do you call it an expedition of folly?"

"Surely the result shows it to be such."

"A plan may meet with disaster, even where every precaution has been
taken. We did the best we could, and if the men we had paid for the
protection of the flotilla had not, with base cowardice, deserted their
posts, these barges would have reached Cologne."

"Never! The defenders you chose were riff-raff, picked up in the gutters
of Frankfort, and you actually supposed such cattle, undisciplined and
untrained, would stand up against the fearless fighters of the Barons,
swashbucklers, hardened to the use of sword and pike. What else was to
be expected? The goods were not theirs, but yours. They had received
their pay, and so speedily took themselves out of danger."

"You forget, sir, or you do not know, that several hundred of them were
cut to pieces."

"I know that, also, but the knowledge does not in the least nullify my
contention. I am merely endeavoring to show you that the heads you spoke
of a moment ago were only older, but not necessarily wiser than mine. It
would be impossible for me to devise an expedition so preposterous."

"What should we have done?"

"For one thing, you should have gone yourselves, and defended your own
bales."

The merchant showed visible signs of a slowly rising anger, and had the
young man's head contained the wisdom he appeared to claim for it, he
would have known that his remarks were entirely lacking in tact, and
that he was making no progress, but rather the reverse. "You speak like
a heedless, untutored youth. How could we defend our bales, when no
merchant is allowed to wear a sword?"

Roland rose and put his hands to the throat of his cloak.

"I am not allowed to wear a sword;" and saying this, he dramatically
flung wide his cloak, displaying the prohibited weapon hanging from his
belt. The merchant sat back in his chair, visibly impressed.

"You seem to repose great confidence in me," he said. "What if I were to
inform the authorities?"

The youth smiled.

"You forget, Herr Goebel, that I learned much about you from your friend
last night. I feel quite safe in your house."

He flung his cloak once more over the weapon, and sat down again.

"What is your occupation, sir?" asked the merchant.

"I am a teacher of swordsmanship. I practice the art of a
fencing-master."

"Your clients are aristocrats, then?"

"Not so. The class with which I am now engaged contains twenty skilled
artisans of about my own age."

"If they do not belong to the aristocracy, your instruction must be
surreptitious, because it is against the law."

"It is both surreptitious and against the law, but in spite of these
disadvantages, my twenty pupils are the best swordsmen in Frankfort, and
I would willingly pit them against any twenty nobles with whom I am
acquainted."

"So!" cried the merchant. "You are acquainted with twenty nobles, are
you?"

"Well, you see," explained the young man, flushing slightly, "these
metal-workers whom I drill, being out of employment, cannot afford to
pay for their lessons, and naturally, as you indicated, a fencing-master
must look to the nobles for his bread. I used the word acquaintance
hastily. I am acquainted with the nobles in the same way that a clerk in
the woolen trade might say he was acquainted with a score of merchants,
to none of whom he had ever spoken."

"I see. Am I to take it that your project for opening the Rhine depends
for its success on those twenty metal-workers, who quite lawlessly know
how to handle their swords?"

"Yes."

"Tell me what your plan is."

"I do not care to disclose my plan, even to you."

"I thought you came here hoping I should further your project, and
perhaps finance it. Am I wrong in such a surmise?"

"Sir, you are not. The very first proviso is that you pay to me across
this table a thousand thalers in gold."

The smile came again to the lips of the merchant.

"Anything else?" he asked.

"Yes. You will select one of your largest barges, and fill it with
whatever class of goods you deal in."

"Don't you know what class of goods I deal in?"

"No! I do not."

Goebel's smile broadened. That a youth so ignorant of everything
pertaining to the commerce of Frankfort, should come in thus boldly and
demand a thousand thalers in gold from a man whose occupation he did not
know, seemed to the merchant one of the greatest pieces of impudence he
had encountered in his long experience of men.

"After all, my merchandise," he said, "matters little one way or another
when I am engaged with such a customer as you. What next?"

"You will next place a price upon the shipload; a price such as you
would accept if the boat reached Cologne intact. I agree to pay you that
money, together with the thousand thalers, when I return to Frankfort."

"And when will that be, young sir?"

"You are better able to estimate the length of time than I. I do not
know, for instance, how long it takes a barge to voyage from Frankfort
to Cologne."

"Given fair weather, which we may expect in July, and premising that
there are no interruptions, let us say a week."

"Would a man journeying on horseback from Cologne to Frankfort reach
here sooner than the boat?"

"The barge having to make headway against a strong current, I should say
the horseman would accomplish the trip in a third of the time."

"Very well. To allow for all contingencies, I promise to pay the money
one month from the day we leave the wharf at Frankfort."

"That would be eminently satisfactory."

"I forgot to mention that I expect you, knowing more about navigation
than I, to supply a trustworthy captain and an efficient crew for the
manning of the barge. I should like men who understand the currents of
the river, and who, if questioned by the Barons, would not be likely to
tell more than they were asked."

"I can easily provide such a set of sailors."

"Very well, Herr Goebel. Those are my requirements. Will you agree to
supply them?"

"With great pleasure, my young and enthusiastic friend, provided that
you comply with one of the most common of our commercial rules."

"And what is that, mein Herr?"

"Before you depart you will leave with me ample security that if I never
see you again, the value of the goods, plus the thousand thalers, will
be repaid to me when the month is past."

"Ah," said the young man, "you impose an impossible condition."

"Give me a bond, then, signed by three responsible merchants."

"Sir, as I am acquainted with no merchant in this city except yourself,
how could I hope to obtain the signature of even one responsible man?"

"How, then, do you expect to obtain my consent to a project which I know
cannot succeed, while I bear all the risk?"

"Pardon me, Herr Goebel. I and my comrades risk our lives. You risk
merely your money and your goods."

"You intend, then, to fight your way down the Rhine?"

"Surely. How else?"

"Supported by only twenty followers?"

"Yes."

"And you hope to succeed where a thousand of our men failed?"

"Yes; they were hirelings, as I told you. With my twenty I could put
them all to flight. Aside from this, I should like to point out to you
that the merchants of Frankfort formed their combination at public
meetings, called together by the burgomaster. There was no secrecy about
their deliberations. Every robber Baron along the Rhine knew what you
were going to attempt, and was prepared for your coming. I intend that
your barge shall leave Frankfort at midnight. My company will proceed
across country, and join her at some agreed spot, probably below
Bingen."

"I see. Well, my young friend, you have placed before me a very
interesting proposal, but I am a business man, and not an adventurer.
Unless you can furnish me with security, I decline to advance a single
thaler, not to mention a thousand."

The young man rose to his feet, and the merchant, with a sigh, seemed
glad that the conference was ended.

"Herr Goebel, you deeply disappoint me."

"I am sorry for that, and regret the forfeiting of your good opinion,
but despite that disadvantage I must persist in my obstinacy."

"I do not wonder that this fair city lies desolate if her prosperity
depends upon her merchants, and if you are chief among them; yet I
cannot forget that you risked life and liberty on my behalf, though now
you will not venture a miserable thousand thalers on my word of honor."

"On _your_ behalf? What do you mean?"

"I mean, Herr Goebel, that I am Prince Roland, only son of the Emperor,
and that you placed your neck in jeopardy to elevate me to the throne."




II

THE BARGAIN IS STRUCK


Every epoch seems to have possessed a two-word phrase that contained, as
it were, the condensed wisdom of the age, and was universally believed
by the people. For instance, the aphorism "Know thyself" rose to
popularity when cultured minds turned towards science. In the period to
which this recital belongs the adage "Blood tells" enjoyed universal
acceptance. It was, in fact, that erroneous statement "The King can do
no wrong" done up into tabloid form. From it, too, sprang that
double-worded maxim of the days of chivalry, "_Noblesse oblige_."

In our own time, the two-worded phrase is "Money talks," and if diligent
inquirers probe deeply into the matter, they will find that the
aspirations of the people always correspond with reasonable accuracy to
the meaning of the phrase then in use. Nothing could be more excellent,
for instance, than the proverb "Money talks" as representing two
commercial countries like America and England. In that short sentence is
packed the essence of many other wise and drastic sayings, as, for
instance, "The devil take the hindmost;" for, of course, if money talks,
then the man without it must remain silent, and his place is at the tail
of the procession, where the devil prowls about like a Cossack at the
rear of Napoleon's army.

Confronting each other in that ancient house on the Fahrgasse, we
witness, then, the personification of the two phrases, ancient and
modern: blood represented by the standing lad, and money by the seated
merchant.

"I am Prince Roland, only son of the Emperor," the young man had said,
and he saw at once by the expression on the face of his host that, could
he be convinced of the truth of the assertion, the thousand thalers that
the Prince had demanded would be his on the instant.

For a full minute Roland thought he had succeeded, but as the surprise
died out of the merchant's countenance, there replaced it that mask of
caution which had had so much to do with the building of his fortune.
During their conference Herr Goebel cudgeled his brain, trying to
remember where he had seen this young man before, but memory had roamed
among clerks, salesmen, and industrious people of that sort where,
somehow, this young fellow did not fit in. When Roland suddenly sprung
on him the incredible statement that he was a member of the Imperial
family, the merchant's recollection then turned towards pageants he had
seen, in one of which this young stranger might very well have borne a
part. Blood was beginning to tell.

But now experience came to the merchant's aid. Only in romances did
princes of the blood royal wander about like troubadours. Even a member
of the lesser nobility did not call unheralded at the house of a
merchant. The aristocracy always wanted money, it is true, "but what
they thought they might require, they went and took," as witness the
piratical Barons of the Rhine, whose exactions brought misery on the
great city of Frankfort.

Then all at once came the clinching remembrance that when the Electors
were appealed to on behalf of the young Prince, the three Archbishops
had promptly seized his Royal Highness, and, in spite of the pleadings
of the Empress (the Emperor was drunk and indifferent) placed him in the
custody of the Archbishop nearest to Frankfort, the warrior prelate of
Mayence, who imprisoned him in the strong fortress of Ehrenfels, from
which, well guarded and isolated as it was upon a crag over-hanging the
Rhine, no man could escape.

"Will you kindly be seated again, sir," requested the merchant, and if
he had spoken a short time before, he would have put the phrase "your
Royal Highness" in the place of the word "sir."

Roland, after a moment's hesitation, sat down. He saw that his coup had
failed, because he was unable to back it up by proofs. His dramatic
action had been like a brilliant cavalry charge, for a moment
successful, but coming to naught because there was no solid infantry to
turn the temporary confusion of the enemy into complete rout. Realizing
that the battle must be fought over again, the Prince sat back with a
sigh of disappointment, a shade of discontent on his handsome face.

"I find myself in rather a quandary," proceeded the merchant. "If indeed
you are the Emperor's son, it is not for such as I to cross-examine
you."

"Ask me any questions you like, sir. I shall answer them promptly
enough."

"If I beg you to supply proof of the statement you make, you would be
likely to reply that as you dared not enter your father's Palace, you
are unable to furnish me with corroboration."

"Sir, you put the case in better language than I could employ. In more
halting terms that is what I should have said."

"When were you last in the Palace?"

"About the same time, sir, that you took up your residence in prison."

"Ah, yes; that naturally would be your answer. Now, my young friend, you
have shown me that you know nothing of mercantile practice; therefore it
may perhaps interest you if I explain some of our methods."

"Herr Goebel, you may save your breath. Such a recital must not only
fail to interest me, but will bore me extremely. I care nothing for your
mercantile procedure, and, to be quite plain with you, I despise your
trade, and find some difficulty in repressing my contempt for those who
practice it."

"If an emissary of mine," returned Goebel, unperturbed, "approached a
client or customer for the purpose of obtaining a favor, and used as
little tact as you do, I should dismiss him."

"I'm not asking any favors from you."

"You wish me to hand over to you a thousand thalers, otherwise why came
you here?"

"I desire to bestow upon you the greatest of boons, namely to open up
the Rhine, and bring back prosperity to Frankfort, which you brainless,
cowardly merchants have allowed to slip through your fingers, blaming
now the Barons, now the Emperor, now the Electors; censuring everybody,
in fact, except the real culprits ... yourselves. You speak of the money
as a favor, but it is merely an advance for a few weeks, and will be
returned to you; yet because I desire to confer this inestimable gift
upon you and your city, you expect me to cringe to you, and flatter you,
as if I were a member of your own sycophantic league. I refuse to do
anything of the kind, and yet, by God, I'll have the money!"

The merchant, for the first time during their conference, laughed
heartily. The young man's face was aflame with anger, yet the truculent
words he used did more to convince Herr Goebel that he belonged to the
aristocracy than if he had spoken with the most exemplary humility.
Goebel felt convinced he was not the Prince, but some young noble, who,
intimate with the Royal Family, and knowing the Emperor's son to be out
of the way, thought it safe to assume his name, the better to carry
forward his purpose, whatever that purpose might actually be. That it
was to open the Rhine he did not for a moment credit, and that he would
ever see his cash again, if once he parted with it, he could not
believe.

"At the risk of tiring you, I shall nevertheless proceed with what I was
about to say. We merchants, for our own protection, contribute to a fund
which might be entitled one for secret service. This fund enables us to
procure private information that may be of value in our business. Among
other things we need to know are accurate details pertaining to the
intentions and doings of our rulers, for whatever our own short-comings
may be, the actions of those above us affect business one way or the
other. May I read you a short report that came in while I was serving my
term of imprisonment?"

"Oh, read what you like," said Roland indifferently, throwing back his
head, and partially closing his eyes, with an air of _ennui_.

The merchant drew towards him a file of papers, and going through them
carefully, selected a document, and drew it forth, then, clearing his
throat, he read aloud--

"'At an hour after midnight, on St. Stanislas' Day, three nobles, one
representing the Archbishop of Mayence, the second the Archbishop of
Treves, and the third the Archbishop of Cologne, armed with authority
from these three Electors and Princes of the Church, entered the Saalhof
from the side facing the river, and arrested in his bed the young Prince
Roland. They assured the Empress, who protested, that the Prince would
be well cared for, and that, as an insurrection was feared in Frankfort,
it was considered safer that the person whom they intended to elevate to
the throne on the event of the Emperor's death, should be out of harm's
way, being placed under the direct care of the Archbishop of Mayence.
They informed the Empress that the Archbishops would not remove the
Prince from the Palace in opposition to the wishes of either the Emperor
or herself, but if this permission was not given, a meeting of the
Electors would at once be called, and some one else selected to succeed
the present ruler.

"'This consideration exerted a great influence upon the Empress, who
counseled her son to acquiesce. The young man was led to a boat then in
waiting by the river steps of the Palace, and so conveyed down the Main
to the Rhine, which was reached just after daybreak. Without landing,
and keeping as much as possible to the middle of the river, the party
proceeded down the Rhine, past Bingen, to the foot of the crag on which
stands the castle of Ehrenfels. The Prince was taken up to the Castle,
where he now remains.

"'The Archbishops from their revenues allot to him seven hundred thalers
a month, in addition to his maintenance. It is impossible for him to
escape from this stronghold unaided, and as the Emperor takes no
interest in the matter, and the Empress has given her consent, he is
like to be an inmate of Ehrenfels during the pleasure of the
Archbishops, who doubtless will not elect him to the throne in
succession unless he proves compliant to their wishes. The Prince being
a young man of no particular force of character'" (the merchant paused
in his reading, and looked across at his _vis-à-vis_ with a smile, but
the latter appeared to be asleep), "'he will probably succumb to the
Archbishops, therefore merchants are advised to base no hopes upon an
improvement in affairs, even though the son should succeed the father.
Despite the precautions taken, the arrest and imprisonment of the
Prince, and even the place of his detention, became rather generally
known in Frankfort, but the news is in the form of rumor only, and
excites little interest throughout the city.'

"There, Sir Roland, what do you say to that?"

"Oh, nothing much," replied Roland. "The account might have stated that
in the boat were five rowers, who worked lustily until we reached the
Rhine, when, the wind being favorable, a sail was hoisted, and with the
current assisting the wind, we made excellent time to Ehrenfels. I
observe, further, that your secret service keeps you very well informed,
and therefore withdraw a tithe of the harsh things I said regarding the
stupidity of the merchants."

"Many thanks for the concession," said Goebel, replacing the document
with its fellows. "Now, as a plain and practical man, what strikes me is
this: you need only return to Ehrenfels for two months, and as there is
little use for money in that fortress, your maintenance being
guaranteed, and seven hundred thalers allowed, you can come away with
four hundred thalers more than the sum you demand from me, and thus put
your project into force without being under obligations to any despised
merchant."

"True, Herr Goebel, but can you predict what will happen in Frankfort
before two months are past? You learn from that document that the shrewd
Archbishops anticipate an insurrection, and doubtless they command the
force at hand ready to crush it, but during this conflict, which you
seem to regard so lightly, does it ever occur to you that the merchants'
palaces along the Fahrgasse may be sacked and burnt?"

"That, of course, is possible," commented the merchant.

"Nay, it is absolutely certain. Civil war means ruin, to innocent and
guilty alike."

"You are in the right. Now, will you tell me how you escaped from
Ehrenfels?"

"Yes; if you agree to my terms without further haggling."

"I shall agree to your terms if I believe your story."

"It seems impossible, sir, to pin you down to any definite bargain. Is
this the way you conduct your business?"

"Yes; unless I am well assured of the good faith of my customer. I
offered you ordinary business terms when I asked for security, or for
the signature of three responsible merchants to your bond. It is because
I am a merchant, and not a speculator, that I haggle, as you term it."

"Very well, then, I will tell you how I got away, but I begin my recital
rather hopelessly, for you always leave yourself a loophole of escape.
If you believe my story, you say! Yes: could I weave a romance about
tearing my sheets into ropes; of lowering myself in the dark from the
battlements to the ground; of an alarm given; of torches flashing; of
diving into the Rhine, and swimming under the water until I nearly
strangled; of floating down over the rapids, with arrows whizzing round
me in the night; of climbing dripping to the farther shore, far from
sight of Ehrenfels, then, doubtless, you would believe. But my escape
was prosaically commonplace, depending on the cupidity of one man. The
material for it was placed in my hands by the Archbishops themselves.
Your account states that the Castle is well guarded. So it is, but when
the Archbishop needs an augmentation of his force, he withdraws his men
from Ehrenfels to Mayence, as my prison is the nearest of his
possessions to his capital city, and thus at times it happens that the
Castle is bereft of all save the custodian and his family. His eldest
son happens to be of my own age, and not unlike me in appearance. None
of the guards saw me, except the custodian, and you must remember he was
a very complacent jailer, for the reason that he knew well every rising
sun might bring with it tidings that I was his Emperor, so he cultivated
my acquaintance, to learn in his own thrifty, peasant way what manner of
ruler I might become, and I, having no one else to talk to, made much of
his company.

"Frequently he impressed upon me that his task of jailer was most
irksome to him, but poverty compelling, what could he do? He swore he
would accomplish whatever was in his power to mitigate my captivity, and
this indeed did; so at last when the Castle was empty I made him a
proposal. Now remember, Sir Merchant, that what I tell you is in
confidence, and should you break faith with me, I will have you hanged
if I become Emperor, or slit your throat with my own sword if I don't."

"Go on. I shall tell no one."

"I said to my jailer: 'There are not half a dozen people in this world
who know me by sight, and among that half-dozen no Elector is included.
Outside the Palace at Frankfort I am acquainted with a sword maker or
two, and about a score of good fellows who are friends of theirs, but to
them I am merely a fencing-master. Now, seven hundred thalers a month
pass through your honest hands to mine, and will continue to do so. Your
son seems to be even more silent than yourself, and he is a young fellow
whom I suspect knows the difference between a thaler and a button on his
own coat. If you do what I wish, there will be some slight risk, but
think of the reward immediate and in future! At once you come into an
income of seven hundred thalers a month. If I am elected Emperor, I
shall ennoble you, and present you with the best post in the land. If
you don't do what I wish, I shall cause your head cut off as the first
act of my first day of power.'"

"You did not threaten to slit his throat with your own sword, failing
your elevation?" asked the merchant, with a smile.

"No. He was quite safe from my vengeance unless I came to the throne."

"In that case I should say the custodian need not fear the future. But
please go on with your account."

"I proposed that his son and I should exchange costumes; in short, the
young man was to take my place, occupying the suite of rooms assigned to
me in the Castle. I told his father there was not the slightest fear of
discovery, for if the Archbishop of Mayence sent some one to see that
the Prince was safe, or even came himself, all the young man need do was
to follow my example and keep silent, for I had said nothing from the
time I was roused in my room in the Saalhof until I was lodged in
Ehrenfels. I promised, if set at liberty, to keep within touch of
Frankfort, where, at the first rumor of any crisis, I could return
instantly to Ehrenfels.

"The custodian is a slow-minded man, although not so laggard in coming
to an agreement as yourself. He took a week to turn the matter over in
his mind, and then made the plunge. He is now jailer to his own son, and
that young peasant lives in a style he never dreamed of before. The
Archbishops are satisfied, because they believe I cannot escape from the
stronghold--like yourself, holding but a poor opinion of my abilities;
and their devout Lordships know that outside the fortress no person, not
even my mother, wishes me forth. I took in my wallet five hundred
thalers, and fared like the peasant I seemed to be, down the Rhine, now
on one side, now on the other, until I came to the ancient town of
Castra Bonnensia of the Romans, which name the inhabitants now shorten
to Bonn. There I found the Archbishop in residence, and not at Cologne,
as I had supposed. The town being thronged with soldiers and inquisitive
people of Cologne's court, I returned up the Rhine again, remembering I
had gone rather far afield, and although you may not believe it, I
called upon my old friend the custodian of Ehrenfels, and enjoyed an
excellent meal with him, consuming some of the seductive wine that is
grown on the same side of the river about a league above Ehrenfels."

"I dare say," said the merchant, "that I can give the reason for this
apparently reckless visit of yours to Ehrenfels. You were in want of
money, the five hundred thalers being spent."

"Sir, you are exactly in the right, and I got it, too, without nearly so
much talk as I have been compelled to waste on the present occasion."

"What was your object in going down the river instead of turning to
Frankfort?"

"I had become interested in my prison, and had studied methods by which
it could be successfully attacked. I knew that my father allowed the
Barons of the Rhine to override him, and I wondered if his wisdom was
greater than I thought. Probably, said I to myself, he knew their
castles to be impregnable, but, with the curiosity of youth, I desired
to form an opinion of my own. I therefore lodged as a wayfarer at every
castle to I could gain admittance, making friends with some underling,
and getting a bed on occasion in the stables, although often I lodged
within the castle itself. Thus I came to the belief, which I bring to
you, that assisted by twenty fearless men I can capture any castle on
the Rhine with the exception of three. And now, Herr Goebel, I have said
all I intend to say. Do you discredit my story?"

The merchant gazed across at him quizzically for some time without
making any reply, then he said:

"Do you think I believe you?"

"Frankly, I do not."

"If I am unable to give you the gold, I can at least furnish some good
advice. Set up as a poet, good Master Roland, and weave for our
delectation stories of the Rhine. I think your imagination, if
cultivated, would give you a very high place among the romancers of our
time."

With a patience that Herr Goebel had not expected, Roland replied:

"It grieves me to return empty-handed to my twenty friends, who last
night bade me a very confident adieu."

"Yes, they will be disappointed, and I shrewdly suspect that my thousand
thalers would not go towards the prosecuting of the expedition you have
outlined, but rather in feasting and in wine."

"Again, sir, you are right. It is unfortunate that I am so often
compelled to corroborate your statements, when all the acumen with which
you credit my mind is turned towards the task of proving you a
purse-proud fool, puffed up in your own conceit, and as short-sighted as
an owl in the summer sunlight. However, let us stick to our text. If
what I said had been true, although of course you know it isn't, you
have nevertheless enough common sense to be aware that I would certainly
show a pardonable reluctance about visiting my father's Palace. It is
thronged with spies of the Archbishop, and although, as I have said, I
am not very well known, there is a chance that one or another might
recognize me, and then, almost instantly, a man on a swift horse would
be on his way to Mayence. If I knew that I had been discovered, I should
make at once for Ehrenfels, arriving there before an investigation was
held. But my twenty comrades would wait for me in vain. Nevertheless, I
shall venture into the Saalhof this very afternoon, and bring to you a
letter written by my mother certifying that I am her son. Would that
convince you?"

"Yes; were I sure the signature was genuine."

"Ah, there you go again! Always a loophole!"

The young man spoke in accents of such genuine despair that his host was
touched despite his incredulity.

"Look you here," he said, bending across the table. "There is, of
course, one chance in ten thousand that you are what you say. I have
never seen the signature of the Empress, and such a missive could easily
be forged by a scholar, which I take you to be. If, then, you wish to
convince me, I'll put before you a test which will be greatly to your
advantage, and which I will accept without the loophole."

"In Heaven's name, let's hear what it is."

"There is something that you cannot forge: the Great Seal of the Realm,
attached to all documents signed by the Emperor."

"I have had no dealings with my father for years," cried the young man.
"I have not even seen him these many months past. I can obtain the
signature of my mother to anything I like to write, but not that of my
father."

"Patience, patience," said the merchant, holding up his hand. "'Tis well
known that the Empress can bend the Emperor to her will when she chooses
to exert it. You see, in spite of all, I am quite taking it for granted
that you are the Prince, otherwise 'twere useless to waste time in this
talk. You display all the confidence of youth in speaking of the
exploits you propose, and, indeed, it is cheering for a middle-aged
person like myself to meet one so confident of anything in these
pessimistic days. But have you considered what will happen if something
goes wrong during one of your raids?"

"Nothing can go wrong. I feel no fear on that score."

"I thought as much. Very well, I will tell you what could go wrong. Some
Baron may entrap you and your score, and forthwith hang you all from his
battlements. Now, it is but common sense to prevent such a termination,
if it be possible. Therefore seek out the Empress. Tell her that you and
your twenty companions are about to embark on an enterprise greatly
beneficial to the land. Say that you go incognito, and that, even should
you fail, 'twill bring no discredit to your Royal House. But point out
the danger of which I forewarn you. Ask her to get the signature of the
Emperor attached to a safe-conduct, together with the device of the
Great Seal; then if the Baron who captures you cannot read, he will
still know the potency of the picture, and as there is no loophole to my
acceptance of this proof, I will, for your convenience, and for my own
protection, write the safe-conduct on as sound a bit of parchment as
ever was signed in a palace."

Saying this, Herr Goebel rose, and went to his desk in a corner of the
room, where he indited the memorial he had outlined, and, after
sprinkling it with sand, presented it to Roland, who read:

"These presents warn him to whom they are presented that Roland the
bearer is my son, and that what he has done has been done with my
sanction, therefore he and his twenty comrades are to be held scathless,
pending an appeal to me in my capital city of Frankfort.

"Whomsoever disobeys this instrument forfeits his own life, and that of
his family and followers, while his possessions will be confiscated by
the State."

Roland frowned.

"Doesn't it please you?" asked Goebel, his suspicions returning.

"Well, it seems to me rather a plebeian action, to attack a man's
castle, and then, if captured, crawl behind a drastic threat like this."

The merchant shrugged his shoulders.

"That's a sentimental objection, but of course you need not use the
document unless you wish, though I think if you see twenty-one looped
ropes dangling in the air your hesitation will vanish. Oh, not on your
own account," cried Goebel, as a sign of dissent from his visitor, "but
because of those twenty fine young fellows who doubtless wait to drink
wine with you."

"That is true," said Roland, with a sigh, folding up the stiff
parchment, opening his cloak, and thrusting it under his belt, standing
up as he did this.

"Bring me that parchment, bearing the Emperor's signature and the Great
Seal, and you will find the golden coins awaiting you."

"Very well. At what time this evening would it please you to admit me?"

"Friends of mine are coming to-night, but they are not likely to stop
long; merely a few handshakes, and a few cups of wine. I shall be ready
for you when the Cathedral clock strikes ten."

With this the long conference ended, and the aged servitor in the hall
showed Roland into the Fahrgasse.

As the young man proceeded down the Weckmarkt into the Saalgasse, he
muttered to himself:

"The penurious old scoundrel! God keep me in future from dealing with
such! To the very last he suspects me of being a forger, and has written
this with his own hand, doubtless filling it with secret marks. Still,
perhaps it is as well to possess such a safeguard. This is my loophole
out of the coming enterprise, I fear we are all cowards, noble and
merchant alike."

He walked slowly past the city front of the Palace, cogitating some
means of entering without revealing his identity, but soon found that
even this casual scrutiny made him an object of suspicion. He could not
risk being accosted, for, if taken to the guard-room and
questioned--searched, perhaps, and the sword found on him--a
complication would arise adding materially to the difficulties already
in his way. Quickening his pace, he passed through the Fahrthor, and so
to the river-bank, where he saw that the side of the Saalhof fronting
the Main was guarded merely by one or two sentries, for the mob could
not gather on the surface of the waters, as it gathered on the
cobble-stones of the Saalgasse and the Fahrthor.

Retracing his steps, the Prince walked rapidly until he came to the
bridge, advancing to the iron Cross which commemorates the fowl
sacrifice to the devil, as the first living creature venturing upon that
ancient structure. Here he leaned against the parapet, gazed at the
river façade of the Palace, and studied his problem. There were three
sets of steps from the terrace to the water, a broad flight in the
center for use upon state occasions, and a narrow flight at either end;
the western staircase being that in ordinary use, and the eastern steps
trodden by the servants carrying buckets of water from the river to the
kitchen.

"The nearer steps," he said to himself, "offer the most feasible
opportunity. I'll try them."

He counted his money, for here was probably a case for bribery. He found
twenty-four gold pieces, and some loose silver. Returning the coins to
his pouch, he walked to the land, and proceeded up the river until he
reached a wharf where small skiffs were to let. One of these he engaged,
and refusing the services of a waterman, stepped in, and drifted down
the stream. He detached sword and scabbard from his belt, removed the
cloak and wrapped the weapon in it, placing the folded garment out of
sight under the covering at the prow. With his paddle he kept the boat
close to the right bank, discovering an excellent place of concealment
under the arch supporting the steps, through which the water flowed. He
waited by the steps for a few moments until a scullion in long gabardine
came down and dipped his bucket in the swift current.

"Here, my fine fellow," accosted Roland, "do you wish to earn a pair of
gold pieces?" and he showed the yellow coins in the palm of his hand.

The menial's eyes glistened, and he cast a rapid glance over his
shoulder.

"Yes," he replied breathlessly.

"Then leave your bucket where it is, and step into this wherry."

The underling, again with a cautious look around, did as he was ordered.

"Now throw off that outer garment, and give it to me."

Roland put it on over his own clothes, and flung his bonnet beside the
cloak and sword, for the servant was bareheaded.

"Get under that archway, and keep out of sight until you hear me
whistle."

Taking the bucket, Roland mounted the steps, and strode out of the
brilliant sunlight into the comparative gloom of the corridor that led
to the kitchen. He had been two hours with the merchant, and it was now
the time of midday eating. Every one was hurrying to and fro, with no
time to heed anything that did not pertain to the business in hand, so
placing the bucket in a darkened embrasure, the intruder flung off the
gabardine beside it, and searching, found a back stair which he
ascended.

Once in the upper regions, he knew his way about, and proceeded directly
to his mother's room, being sure at this hour to find her within. On his
unannounced entrance the Empress gave utterance to an exclamation that
indicated dismay rather than pleasure, but she hurried forward to meet
and embrace him.

"Oh, Roland!" she cried, "what do you here? How came you to the Palace?"

"By way of the river. My boat is under the arch of the servants'
stairway, and I have not a moment to lose."

"How did you escape from Ehrenfels, and why have you come here? Surely
you know the Palace will be the first place searched for you?"

"There will be no search, mother. Take my word for it that no one is
aware of my absence from Ehrenfels but the custodian, and for the best
of reasons he dare not say a word. Do not be alarmed, I beg of you. I am
free by his permission, and shall return to the Castle before he needs
me. Indeed, mother, so far from jeopardizing my own safety, I am here to
preserve it."

He drew from under his belt Herr Goebel's parchment, and handed it to
her.

"In case it should occur to the good Archbishop, or any other noble, to
hang me, I thought it best to get such a declaration signed by the
Emperor, and decorated with the Great Seal of the Empire. Then, if any
attempt is made on my life, as well as on my liberty, I may produce this
Imperial decree, and bring my case to Frankfort."

"Surely, surely," exclaimed the agitated lady, her hands trembling as
she held the document and tried to read it; "I can obtain your father's
signature, but the Great Seal must be attached by the Chamberlain."

"Very good, mother. The Chamberlain will do as his Majesty orders. The
seal is even more important than the signature, if it comes to that, and
I am sure the Chamberlain will make no objection when the instrument is
for the protection of your son's life. It is not necessary to say that I
am here, or have anything to do with the matter. But lose not a moment,
and give orders that no one shall enter this room."

The empress hastened away with the parchment, while the young man walked
impatiently up and down the room. It seemed hours before she returned,
but at last she came back with the document duly executed. Roland thrust
it under his belt again, and reassuring his mother, who was now weeping
on his shoulder, he tried to tear himself away. The Empress detained him
until, with fumbling hands, she unlocked a drawer in a cabinet, and took
from it a bag that gave forth a chink of metal as she pressed it on her
son.

"I must not take it," he said. "I am quite well provided. The generous
Archbishops allow me seven hundred thalers a month, which is paid with
exemplary regularity."

"There are only five hundred thalers here," replied the Empress. "I wish
there were more, but you must accept it, for I should feel easier in my
mind to know that you possess even that much. Do they misuse you at
Ehrenfels, my son?"

"Oh, no, no, no! I live like a burgomaster. You need feel no fear on my
account, mother. Ehrenfels is a delightful spot, with old Bingen just
across the water. I like it much better than I did Frankfort, with its
howling mobs, and shall be very glad to get quit again of the city."

Then, with a hurried farewell, he left the weeping woman, and descending
the back stair, secured the abandoned gabardine, put it on, and so came
to the water's edge, entering into possession of his boat again.
Returning the craft to its owner, he resumed sword and cloak once more,
and found his way to a tavern, where he ordered a satisfactory meal.

In the evening he arrived at the Rheingold, and meeting the landlord in
the large, empty, public cellar, asked that worthy if his friends had
assembled yet, and was told they were all within the Kaiser cellar.

"Good!" he cried. "I said I would be gone a week, but here I am within a
day. If that's not justifying a man's word, I should like to know what
is. And now, landlord, set forth the best meal you can provide, with a
double quantity of wine."

"For yourself, sir?"

"For all, landlord. What else? The lads have had no supper, I'll
warrant."

"A little black bread has gone the rounds."

"All the more reason that we should have a huge pasty, steaming hot, or
two or three of them if necessary. And your best wine, landlord. That
from the Rheingau."

But the landlord demurred.

"A meal for yourself, sir, as leader, I could venture upon, but feeding
a score of hungry men is a different matter. Remember, sir, I have not
seen the color of their silver for many a long day, and, since these
evil times have set in, I am a poor man."

"Sordid silver? Out upon silver! unless it is some silvery fish from the
river, fresh and firm; and that's a good idea. We will begin with fish
while you prepare the meat. 'Tis gold I deal with to-night, and most of
it is for your pouch. Run your hand in here and enjoy the thrill," and
Roland held open the mouth of the bag which contained his treasure.

"Ah!" cried the inn-keeper, his face aglow. "No such meal is spread
to-night in Frankfort as will be set before you."

There was a great shout as Roland entered the Kaiser cellar, and a
hurrah of welcome.

"Ha, renegade!" cried one. "Have you shirked your task so soon?"

"Coward, coward, poltroon!" was the cry. "I see by his face he has
failed. Never mind them, Roland. Your chair at the head of the table
always awaits you. There is a piece of black bread left, and though the
wine is thin, it quenches thirst."

Roland flung off his cloak, hung it and the sword on a peg, and took his
seat at the head of the table. Pushing away the flagons that stood near
him, he drew the leathern bag from his belt, and poured the shining
yellow coins on the table, at the sight of which there arose such a yell
that the stout beams above them seemed to quake.

"Apologize!" demanded Roland, when the clamor quieted down. "The man who
refuses to apologize, and that abjectly, must take down his sword from
the peg and settle with me!"

A shout of apology was the response.

"We grovel at your feet, High Mightiness!" cried the man who had called
him poltroon.

"I have taken the liberty of ordering a fish and meat supper, with a
double quantity of Rudesheimer wine. Again I offer to fight any man who
resents this encroachment on my part."

"I could spit you with a hand tied behind my back," cried one, "but I am
of a forgiving nature, and will wait instead for the spitted fowl."

"Most of this money," continued Roland quietly, "goes, I suspect, to the
landlord, as a slight recognition of past kindness, but I am promised a
further supply this evening, which will be divided equally among
ourselves. I ask you, therefore, to be sparing of the wine." Here he was
compelled to pause for some moments, and listen to groans, hoots, howls,
and the rapping of empty flagons on the stout table.

The commotion was interrupted by the entrance of the landlord, who
brought with him the promised Rhine wine; for, hearing the noise, he
supposed it represented impatience of the company at the delay, a
mistake which no one thought it worth while to rectify. He promised that
the fish would follow in a very few minutes, and went out to see that
his word was kept.

"Why should we be sparing of the wine?" asked a capable drinker, who had
drained his flagon before asking the question. "With all that money on
the table it seems to me a scandalous proviso."

"'Tis not a command at all," replied Roland, "but merely a suggestion. I
spoke in the interests of fair-play. An appointment was made by me for
ten o'clock this evening, and I wish to keep it and remain uninfluenced
by wine."

"What's her name, Roland?" inquired the wine-bibber.

"I was about to divulge that secret when you interrupted me. The name is
Herr Goebel."

"What! the cloth merchant on the Fahrgasse?"

"Is it cloth he deals in? I didn't know the particulars of his
occupation beyond the facts that he is a merchant, and lives in the
Fahrgasse. This morning I enjoyed the privilege of presenting to Herr
Goebel a mutually beneficial plan which would give us all something to
do."

"Oh, is Goebel to be our employer? I'm a sword forger, and work for no
puny cloth merchant," said Kurzbold.

"This appointment," continued Roland, unheeding, "is set for ten
o'clock, and I expect to return here before half-past, therefore--"

"Therefore we're not to drink all the wine."

"Exactly."

Their leader sat down as the landlord, followed by an assistant,
entered, carrying the paraphernalia for the substantial repast, and
proceeded to set the table.

When the hilarious meal was finished, the company sat for another
half-hour over its wine, then Roland rose, buckled on his sword, and
flung his cloak over his shoulders.

"Roland, I hope you have not sold your soul for this gold?"

"No; but I have pledged your bodies, and my own as well. Greusel, will
you act as secretary and treasurer? Scrutinize the landlord's bill with
a generous eye, and pay him the amount we owe. If anything is left, we
will divide it equally," and with that he waved his hand to them,
departing amidst a round of cheers, for the active youths were tired of
idleness.

Punctuality is the politeness of kings, and as the bells of Frankfort
were ringing ten o'clock, Roland knocked at the door of the merchant's
house in the Fahrgasse. It was promptly opened by the ancient porter,
who, after securing it again, conducted the young man up the solid
stairway to the office-room on the first floor.

Ushered in, the Prince found the merchant seated in his usual chair, as
if he had never moved from the spot where Roland had left him at noon
that day. Half a dozen candles shed their soft radiance over the table,
and on one corner of it, close by Herr Goebel's right elbow, the visitor
saw a well-filled doeskin bag which he fancied might contain the
thousand thalers.

"Good even to you, Herr Goebel," said the young man, doffing his bonnet.
"I hope I have not trodden too closely on the heels of my appointment,
thus withdrawing you prematurely from the festivities, which I trust you
enjoyed all the more that you breathed the air of liberty again."

"The occasion, sir, was solemn rather than festive, for although I was
glad to see my old friends again, and I believe they were glad to see
me, the condition of the city is such, and growing rapidly worse, that
merchants cannot rejoice when they are gathered together."

"Ah, well, Herr Goebel, we will soon mend all that. How long will it
require to load your boat and choose your crew?"

"Everything can be ready by the evening of the day after to-morrow."

"You will select one of your largest barges. Remember, it must house
twenty-one men besides the crew and the goods."

"Yes; I shall see that complete arrangements are made for your comfort."

"Thank you. But do not provide too much luxury. It might arouse
suspicion from the Barons who search the boat."

"But the Barons will see you and your men in the boat."

"I think not. At least, we don't intend to be seen. I will call upon you
again to-morrow at ten o'clock. Will you kindly order your captain to be
here to meet me? I wish you to give him instructions in my presence that
he is to do whatever I ask of him. We will join the boat on the Rhine
between Ehrenfels and Assmannshausen. Instruct him to wait for us midway
between the two places, on the right bank. And now the money, if you
please."

"The money is here," said the merchant, sitting up a little more stiffly
in his chair as he patted the well-stuffed bag. "The money is here if
you have brought the instrument that authorizes you to take it."

"I have brought it with me, mein herr."

"Then show it to me," demanded the merchant, adjusting his horn glasses
with the air of one who will not allow himself to be hoodwinked.

"With the greatest pleasure," returned the young man, standing before
him. He unfastened his cloak, and allowed it to fall at his feet, then
whisked out his sword, and presented the point of it to the merchant's
throat.

Goebel, who had been fumbling with his glasses, suddenly became aware of
his danger, and shrank back so far as his chair allowed, but the point
of the sword followed him.

"What do you mean by that?" he gasped.

"I mean to show you that in this game iron is superior to gold. Your
card is on the table, represented by that bag. Mine is still in my hand,
and unplayed, but it takes the trick, I think. I hope you see the
uselessness of resistance. You cannot even cry out, for at the first
attempt a thrust of this blade cuts the very roots of utterance. It will
be quite easy for me to escape, because I shall go quietly out with the
bag under my cloak, telling the porter that you do not wish to be
disturbed."

"It is the Prince of Thieves you are, then," said Herr Goebel.

"So it would appear. With your right hand pass that bag of gold across
the table, and beg of me to accept it."

The merchant promptly did what he was told to do.

The young man put his sword back in its place, laughing joyously, but
there was no answering smile on the face of Herr Goebel. As he had said,
the condition of things in Frankfort, especially in that room, failed to
make for merriment. Roland, without being invited, drew up a chair, and
sat down at the opposite side of the table.

"Please do not attempt to dash for the door," he warned, "because I can
quite easily intercept you, as I am nearer to it than you are, and more
active. Call philosophy to your aid, and take whatever happens calmly. I
assure you, 'tis the best way, and the only way."

He untied the cord, and poured the bulk of the gold out upon the table.
The merchant watched him with amazement. For all the robber knew, the
door might be opened at any moment, but he went on with numbering the
coins as nonchalantly as if seated in the treasury of the Corn Exchange.
When he had counted half the sum the bag contained, he poured the loose
money by handfuls into the wallet that had held his mother's
contribution, and pushed towards the merchant the bag, in which remained
five hundred thalers.

"You are to know," he said with a smile, abandoning his bent-forward
posture, "that when I visited my mother this afternoon, she quite
unexpectedly gave me five hundred thalers, so I shall accept from you
only half the sum I demanded this morning."

"Your mother!" cried the merchant. "Who is your mother?"

"The Empress, as I told you. Oh, at last I understand your uneasiness.
You wished to see that document! Why didn't you ask for it? I asked for
the money plainly enough. Well, here it is. Examine Seal and
sign-manual."

The merchant minutely scrutinized the Great Seal and the signature above
it.

"I don't know what to think," stammered Herr Goebel at last, gazing
across the table with bewildered face.

"Think of your good fortune. A moment ago you imagined a thousand
thalers were lost. Now it is but five hundred thalers invested, and you
are a partner with the Royal House of the Empire."




III

DISSENSION IN THE IRONWORKERS' GUILD


Up to the time of his midnight awakening, Prince Roland had led a
care-free, uneventful life. Although he received the general education
supposed to be suitable for a youth of his station, he interested
himself keenly in only two studies, but as one of these challenged the
other, as it were, the result was entirely to the good. He was a very
quiet boy, much under the influence of his mother, seeing little or
nothing of his easy-going, inebriated father. It was his mother who
turned her son's attention towards the literature of his country, and he
became an omnivorous reader of the old monkish manuscripts with which
the Palace was well supplied. Especially had his mind been attracted by
the stories and legends of the Rhine. The mixture of history, fiction,
and superstition which he found in these vellum pages, so daintily
limned, and so artistically embellished with initial letters in gold and
crimson and blue, fascinated him, and filled him with that desire to see
those grim strongholds on the mountain-sides by the river, which later
on resulted in his journey from Ehrenfels to Bonn, when his ingenuity,
and the cupidity of his custodian, freed him from the very slight
thraldom in which he was held by the Archbishop of Mayence.

If his attention had been entirely absorbed by the reading of these
tomes, he might have become a mere dreamy bookworm, his intellect
saturated with the sentimental and romantic mysticism permeating Germany
even unto this day, and, as he cared nothing for the sports of boyhood,
body might have suffered as brain developed.

But, luckily, he had been placed under the instruction of Rinaldo, the
greatest master of the sword that the world had up to that period
produced. Rinaldo was an Italian from Milan, whom gold tempted across
the Alps for the purpose of instructing the Emperor's son in Frankfort.
He was a man of grace and politeness, and young Roland took to him from
the first, exhibiting such aptitude in the art of fencing that the
Italian was not only proud of one who did such credit to his tuition,
but came to love the youth as if he were his own son.

For the sword-making of Germany the Italian expressed the utmost
contempt. The coarse weapons produced by the ironworkers of Frankfort
needed strength rather than skill in their manipulation. Between the
Italian method and the German was all the contrast that exists between
the catching of salmon with a delicate line and a gossamer fly, or
clubbing the fish to death as did the boatmen at that fishery called the
Waag down the Rhine by St. Goar.

Roland listened intently and without defense to the diatribe against his
country's weapons and the clumsy method of using them, but although he
said nothing, he formed opinions of his own, believing there was some
merit in strength which the Italian ignored; so, studying the subject,
he himself invented a sword which, while lacking the stoutness of the
German weapon, retained some of its stability, and was almost as easily
handled as the Italian rapier, without the disadvantage of its extreme
frailty.

Thus it came about that young Roland stole away from the Palace and made
the acquaintance of the sword makers. The practice of fencing exercises
every muscle in the body, and Roland's constant bouts with Rinaldo did
more than make him a master of the weapon, with equal facility in his
right arm or his left; it produced an athlete of the first quality;
agile and strong, developing his physical powers universally, and not in
any one direction.

Meanwhile Roland remained deplorably ignorant regarding affairs of
State, this being a subject of which his mother knew nothing. The
Emperor, who should have been his son's natural teacher, gave his whole
attention to the wine-flagon, letting affairs drift towards disaster,
allowing the power that deserted his trembling fingers to be grasped by
stronger but unauthorized hands. Roland's surreptitious excursions into
the city to confer with the sword makers taught him little of politics,
for his conversations with these mechanics were devoted entirely to
metal-working. He was hustled now and again by the turbulent mob, in
going to and fro, but he did not know why it clamored, and, indeed, took
little interest in the matter, conscious only that he came more and more
to hate the city and loathe its inhabitants. When he could have his own
way, he said to himself, he would retire to some country castle which
his father owned, and there devote himself to such employment as fell in
with his wishes.

But he was to receive a sharp lesson that no man, however highly placed,
is independent of his fellows. He was unaware of the commotion that
arose round his own name, and of the grim hanging of the leaders who
chose him as their supreme head. When, bewildered and sleepy, he was
aroused at midnight, and saw three armed men standing by his bedside, he
received a shock that did more to awaken him than the grip of alien
hands on his shoulders. During that night ride in the boat he said
nothing but thought much. He had heard his mother plead for him without
for a moment delaying his departure. She, evidently, was powerless.
There was then in the land a force superior to that of the Throne.
Something that had been said quieted his mother's fears, for at last she
allowed him to go without further protest, but weeping a little, and
embracing him much. There was no roughness or rudeness on the part of
those who conveyed him down the river Main, and finally along the Rhine
to Ehrenfels, but rather the utmost courtesy and deference, yet Roland
remained silent throughout the long journey, agitated by this new,
invisible, irresistible sovereignty animated with the will and power to
do what it liked with him.

At the Castle of Ehrenfels he found awaiting him no rigorous
imprisonment. He was treated as a welcome guest of an invisible host. It
was his conversations with the garrulous custodian, who was a shrewd
observer of the passing show, that gradually awakened the young Prince
to some familiarity with the affairs of the country. He learned now in
what a deplorable state the capital stood, through the ever-increasing
exactions of the robber Barons along the Rhine. He asked his instructor
why the merchants did not send their goods by some other route, which
was a very natural query, but was told there existed no other route. A
great forest extended for the most part between Frankfort and Cologne,
and through the wilderness were no roads, for even those constructed by
the Romans had been allowed to fall into decay; overgrown with trees,
Nature thus destroying the neglected handiwork of man; the forest
reclaiming its own.

"Indeed," continued the custodian, "for the last ten years things have
been going to the devil, for the lack of a strong hand in the capital. A
strong hand is needed by nobles and outlaws alike. We want a new
Frederick Barbarossa; the hangman's rope and the torch judiciously
applied might be the saving of the country."

Ehrenfels, belonging to the Archbishop, was not a nest of piracy, and so
its guardian could talk in this manner if he chose, but had he uttered
these sentiments farther down the Rhine, he would himself have
experienced the utility of the hangman's rope. Roland, knowing by this
time who had taken him into custody, said:

"Why do not the three Archbishops put a stop to it? They possess the
power."

The old jailer shrugged his shoulders.

"My chief, the great prelate of Mayence, would do it speedily enough if
he stood alone, but the Archbishops of Treves have ever been robbers
themselves, and Cologne is little better, therefore they neutralize one
another. No two of them will allow the other to act, fearing he may gain
in power, and thus upset the balance of responsibility, which I assure
your Highness is very nicely adjusted. Each of the three claim
allegiance from this Baron or the other, and although the Archbishops
themselves may not lay toll directly on the Rhine, their ardent
partisans do, which produces a deadlock."

Thus Roland received an education not to be had in palaces, and, saying
little beyond asking an occasional question, he thought much, and came
to certain conclusions. He arrived at an ambition to open the lordly
Rhine and spent his time gathering knowledge and forming plans.

Twelve hours after receiving the five hundred thalers from the merchant,
he again presented himself at the now familiar door in the Fahrgasse. In
the room on the first floor he found with Herr Goebel a thick-set,
heavily-bearded, weather-beaten man, who stood bonnet in hand while the
merchant gave him final instructions.

"Good-morning, Sir Roland," cried Herr Goebel cheerfully. He exhibited
no resentment for his treatment of the night before, and apparently
daylight brought with it renewed confidence that the young man might
succeed in his mission. There was now no hesitation in the merchant's
manner; alert and decided, all mistrust seemed to have vanished. "This
is Captain Blumenfels, whom I put in charge of the barge, and who has
gathered together a crew on which he can depend although, of course, you
must not expect them to fight."

"No," said Roland, "I shall attend to that portion of the enterprise."

"Now, Captain Blumenfels," continued Herr Goebel, "this young man is
commander. You are to obey him in every particular, just as you would
obey me."

The captain bowed without speaking.

"I shall not detain you any longer, captain, as you will be anxious to
see the bales disposed of to your liking on the barge."

The captain thereupon took himself off, and Roland came to the
conclusion that he liked this rough-and-ready mariner with so little to
say for himself; a silent man of action, evidently.

Herr Goebel turned his attention to Roland.

"I have ordered bales of cloth to the value of a trifle more than four
thousand thalers to be placed in the barge," he said. "The bales are
numbered, and I have given the captain an inventory showing the price of
each. I suppose you despise our vulgar traffic, and, indeed, I had no
thought of asking so highly placed a person as yourself to sell my
goods, therefore Blumenfels will superintend the marketing when you
reach Cologne--that is, if you ever get so far."

"Your pardon, Herr Goebel, but I have my own plans regarding the
disposal of your goods. I intend to be quit of them long before I see
Cologne. Indeed, should I prosper, I hope your boat will set its nose
southward for the return journey some distance this side of Coblentz."

The merchant gazed up at him in astonishment.

"Your design is impossible. There is no sale for cloth nearer than
Coblentz. Your remarks prove you unacquainted with the river."

"I have walked every foot of both sides of the river between Ehrenfels
and Bonn. There are many wealthy castles on this side of Coblentz."

"True, my good sir, true; but how became they wealthy? Simply by robbing
the merchants. Are you not aware that each of these castles is inhabited
by a titled brigand? You surely do not expect to sell my cloth to the
Barons?"

"Why not? Remember how long it is since a cloth-barge went down the
Rhine. Think for a moment of the arduous life which these Barons lead,
hunting the boar, the bear, and the deer, tearing recklessly through
thicket and over forest-covered ground. Why, our noble friends must be
in rags by this time, or clad in the skins of the beasts they kill! They
will be delighted to see and handle a piece of well-woven cloth once
more."

For a full minute the merchant gaped aghast at this senseless talk so
seriously put forward; then a smile came to his lips.

"Prince Roland, I begin to understand you. Your words are on a par with
the practical joke you played upon me so successfully last night. Of
course, you know as well as I that the Barons will buy nothing. They
will take such goods as they want if you but give them opportunity. What
you say is merely your way of intimating it is none of my affair how the
goods are disposed of, so long as you hand over to me four thousand
thalers." 

"Four thousand five hundred, if you please."

"I shall be quite content with the four thousand, regarding the extra
five hundred as paid for services rendered. Now, can I do anything
further to aid you?"

"Yes. I wish you to send a man on horseback to Lorch, there to await the
barge. Choose a man as silent as your captain; one whom you trust
implicitly, for I hope to send back with him four thousand five hundred
thalers, and also some additional gold, which I beg of you to keep
safely for me until I return."

"Prince Roland, there can be no gold for me at Lorch."

"Dispatch a trustworthy man in case I receive the money. You will be
anxious to know how we prosper, and I can at least forward a budget of
news."

"But should there be gold, he cannot return safely with it to
Frankfort."

"Oh, yes, if he keeps to the eastern bank of the Rhine. There is no
castle between Lorch and Frankfort except Ehrenfels, and that, being the
property of the Archbishop, may be passed safely."

"Very well. The man shall await you at Lorch. Inquire for Herr Kruger at
Mergler's Inn."

That night, in the Kaiser cellar, another excellent supper was spread
before the members of the metal-workers' league. It was quite as
hilarious as the banquet of the night before; perhaps more so, because
now, for the first time in months, the athletic young men were well fed,
with money in their pouches. Each was clad in a new suit of clothes.
Nothing like uniformity in costume had been attempted, there being but
one day in which to replenish the wardrobes, which involved the
acquiring of garments already made. However no trouble was experienced
about this, for each branch of the metal-workers had its own recognized
outfit, which was kept on hand in all sizes by various dealers catering
to the wants of artisans, from apprentices to masters of their trade.
The costumes were admirably adapted to the use for which they were
intended. There was nothing superfluous in their make-up, and, being
loosely cut, they allowed ample play to stalwart limbs. For dealing with
metal the wearers required a cloth tightly woven, of a texture as nearly
as possible resembling leather, and better accouterment for a
rough-and-tumble, freebooter's excursion could not have been found,
short of coats of mail, or, failing that, of leather itself.

Roland appeared in the trousers and doublet of a sword maker, and his
comrades cheered loudly when he threw off his cloak and displayed for
the first time that he was actually one of themselves. Hitherto
something in the fashioning of his wearing apparel had in a manner
differentiated him from the rest of the company, but now nothing in his
dress indicated that he was leader of the coterie, and this pleased the
independent metal-workers.

The previous night, after the landlord's bill was generously liquidated,
each man had received upwards of thirty thalers. Roland then related to
them his adventure with the merchant, and the result of his sword-play
in the vicinity of Herr Goebel's throat. Two accomplishments he
possessed endeared Roland to his comrades: first, the ability to sing a
good song; and second, his talent for telling an interesting story,
whether it was a personal adventure, a legend of the Rhine, or some tale
of the gnomes which, as every one knows, haunt the gloomy forests in the
mountain regions. His account of the evening spent with Herr Goebel
aroused much laughter and applause, which greatly augmented when the
material advantages of the interview were distributed among the guild.

This evening he purposed making a still more important disclosure; thus
when the meal was finished, and the landlord, after replenishing the
flagons, had retired, the new sword maker rose in his place at the head
of the table.

"I crave your strict attention for a few minutes. Although I refused to
confide my plans to Herr Goebel, I consider it my duty to inform you
minutely of what is before us, and if I speak with some solemnity, it is
because I realize we may never again meet around this table. We depart
from Frankfort to-morrow upon a hazardous expedition, and some of us may
not return."

"Oh, I say, Roland," protested Conrad Kurzbold, "don't mar a jovial
evening with a note of tragedy. It's bad art, you know."

Kurzbold was one of the three actual sword makers, and had been
president of the guild until he gave place to Roland. He was the oldest
of the company; an ambitious man, a glib talker, with great influence
among his fellows, and a natural leader of them. What he said generally
represented the opinion of the gathering.

"For once, Kurzbold, I must ask you to excuse me," persisted Roland. "It
is necessary that on this, the last, opportunity I should place before
you exactly what I intend to do. I am very anxious not to minimize the
danger. I wish no man to follow me blindfold, thus I speak early in the
evening, that you may not be influenced by the enthusiasm of wine in
coming to a decision. I desire each man here to estimate the risk, and
choose, before we separate to-night, whether or not he will accompany
the expedition.

"Here is the compact made with Herr Goebel: I promised that, with the
help of my comrades, I would endeavor to open the Rhine to mercantile
traffic. On the strength of such promise he gave me the money."

At this announcement rose a wild round of applause, and with the thunder
of flagons on the table, and the shouting of each member, no single
voice could make itself heard above the tumult. These lads had no
conception of the perils they were to face, and Roland alone remained
imperturbable, becoming more and more serious as the uproar went on.
When at last quiet was restored, he continued, with a gravity in
striking contrast to the hilarity of his audience:

"Herr Goebel is filling his largest barge with bales of cloth, and he
has engaged an efficient crew, and a capable captain who will assume
charge of the navigation. The barge will proceed to-morrow night down
the Main, leaving Frankfort as unostentatiously as possible, while we
march across the country to Assmannshausen, and there join this craft.
It is essential that no hint of our intention shall spread abroad in
gossipy Frankfort, therefore, depending on Captain Blumenfels to get his
boat clear of the city without observation, and before the moon rises, I
ask you to leave to-morrow separately by different gates, meeting me at
Hochst, something more than two leagues down the river. I dare say you
all know the Elector's palace, whose beautiful tower is a landmark for
the country round."

"I protest against such a rendezvous," objected Kurzbold. "Make it the
tavern of the Nassauer Hof, Roland. We shall all be thirsty after a walk
of two leagues."

"Not at that time in the morning, I hope," said Roland, "for I shall
await you in the shadow of the tower at nine o'clock. Let every man
drink his fill to-night, for I intend to lead a sober company from
Hochst to-morrow."

"Oh, you're optimistic, Roland," cried John Gensbein. "Give us till
twelve o'clock to cool our heads."

"Drink all you wish this evening," repeated Roland, "but to-morrow we
begin our work, with a long day's march ahead of us, so nine is none too
early for a start from Hochst."

"Sufficient to the day is the wine thereof," said Conrad Kurzbold,
rising to his feet. "Wine, blessed liquor as it is, possesses
nevertheless one defect, which blot on its escutcheon is that it cannot
carry over till next day, except in so far as a headache is concerned,
and a certain dryness of the mouth. It is futile to bid us lay in a
supply to-night that will be of any use to-morrow morning. For my part,
I give you warning, Roland, that I shall make directly for the Nassauer
Hof, or for the Schone Aussicht, where they keep most excellent
vintages."

To this declaration Roland made no reply, but continued his explanatory
remarks.

"We shall join the barge, as I have said, above Assmannshausen, probably
at night, and then cross directly over the river. The first castle with
which I intend to deal is that celebrated robber's roost, Rheinstein,
standing two hundred and sixty feet above the water. Disembarking about
a league up the river from Rheinstein, before daybreak we will all lie
concealed in the forest within sight of the Castle gates. When the sun
is well risen, Captain Blumenfels will navigate his boat down the river,
and as it approaches Rheinstein we shall probably enjoy the privilege of
seeing the gates open wide, as the company from the Castle descend
precipitously to the water. While they rifle the barge we shall rifle
the Castle, overpowering whoever we may find there, and taking in return
for the cloth they steal such gold or silver as the treasury affords. We
will then imprison all within the Castle, so that a premature alarm may
not be given. If we are hurried, we may lock them in cellars, or place
them in dungeons, then leave the Castle with our booty, but I do not
purpose descending to the river until we have traversed a league or more
of the mountain forest, where we may remain concealed until the barge
appears, and so take ship again.

"The next castle is Falkenberg, the third Sonneck, both on the same side
of the river as Rheinstein, and within a short distance from the
stronghold, but the plan with each being the same as that already
outlined, it is not necessary for me to repeat it."

"An excellent arrangement!" cried several; but John Gensbein spoke up in
criticism.

"Is there to be no fighting?" he asked. "I expected you to say that
after we had secured the gold we would fall on the robbers to the rear,
and smite them hip and thigh."

"There is likely to be all the fighting you can wish for," replied
Roland, "for at some point our scheme may go awry. It is not my
intention to attack, but I expect you to fight like heroes in our own
defense."

"I agree with Herr Roland," put in Conrad Kurzbold, rising to his feet.
"If we purpose to win our way down to Cologne, it is unnecessary to
search for trouble, because we shall find enough of it awaiting us at
one point or another. But Roland stopped his account at what seems to me
the most interesting juncture. What is the destination of the gold we
loot from the castles?"

"The first call upon our accumulation will be the payment of four
thousand five hundred thalers to Herr Goebel."

"Oh, damn the merchant!" cried Conrad. "We are risking our lives, and I
don't see why he should reach out his claws. He will profit enough
through our exertions if we open the Rhine."

"True; but that was the bargain I made with him. We risk our lives, as
you say, but he risks his goods, besides providing barge, captain, and
crew. He also furnished us with the five hundred thalers now in our
pockets. We must deal honestly with the man who has supported us in the
beginning."

"Oh, very well," growled Kurzbold, "have it your own way; but in my
opinion the merchants should combine and raise a fund with which to
reward us for our exertions if we succeed. Still, I shall not press my
contention in the face of an overwhelming sentiment against me. However,
I should like to speak to our leader on one matter which it seemed
ungracious to mention last night. The merchant offered him a thousand
thalers in gold, and he, with a generosity which I must point out to him
was exercised at our expense, returned half that money to Herr Goebel. I
confess that all I received has been spent; my hand is lonesome when it
enters my pouch. I should be glad of that portion which might have been
mine (and when I speak for myself, I speak for all) were it not for the
misplaced prodigality of our leader who, possessing the money, was so
thoughtless of our fellowship that he actually handed over five hundred
thalers to a man who had not the slightest claim upon it."

"Herr Kurzbold," said Roland, with some severity, "many penniless nights
passed over our heads in this room. If you know so much better than I
how to procure money, why did you not do so? I should not venture to
criticise a man who, without any effort on my part, placed thirty
thalers at my disposal."

There was a great clamor at this, every one except Kurzbold, who stood
stubbornly in his place, and Gensbein, who sat next to him, becoming
vociferous in defense of their leader.

"It is uncomrade-like," cried Ebearhard above the din, "to spend the
money and then growl."

"I speak in the interests of us all," shouted Kurzbold. "In the
interests of our leader, no less than ourselves," but the others howled
him down.

Roland, holding up his right hand, seemed to request silence and
obtained it.

"I am rather glad," he said, "that this discussion has arisen, because
there is still time to amend our programme. Herr Goebel's barge will not
be loaded until to-morrow night, so the order may even yet be
countermanded. The five hundred thalers which belonged to me I say
nothing about, but the five hundred advanced by Herr Goebel must be
returned to him unless we are in perfect unanimity."

At this suggestion Kurzbold sat down with some suddenness.

"I told you, when I left this room, promising to find the money within a
week, that one condition was the backing of my fellows. You empowered me
to pledge the efforts of our club as though it contained but one man. If
that promise is not to be kept in spirit as well as in letter, I shall
retire from the position I now hold, and you may elect in my stead
Conrad Kurzbold, John Gensbein, or any one else that pleases you. But
first I must be in a position to give back intact Herr Goebel's money;
then, as I have divulged to you my plans, Conrad Kurzbold may approach
him, and make better terms than I was able to arrange."

There were cries of "Nonsense! Nonsense!" "Don't take a little
opposition in that spirit, Roland." "We are all free-speaking comrades,
you know." "You are our leader, and must remain so."

Kurzbold rose to his feet for the third time.

"Literally and figuratively, my friend Roland has me on the hip, for my
hip-pocket contains no money, and it is impossible for me to refund. I
imagine, if the truth were told, we are all more or less in the same
condition, for we have had equipment to buy, and what-not."

"Also Hochheimer," said one, at which there was a laugh, as Kurzbold was
noted for his love of good wine. Up to this point Roland had carried the
assemblage with him, but now he made an injudicious remark that
instantly changed the spirit of the room.

"I am astonished," he said, "that any objection should be made to the
fair treatment of Herr Goebel, for you are all of the merchant class,
and should therefore hold by one of your own order."

He could proceed no farther. Standing there, pale and determined, he was
simply stormed down. His ignorance of affairs, of which on several
occasions the merchant himself had complained, led him quite
unconsciously to touch the pride of his hearers. It was John Gensbein
who angrily gave expression to the sentiment of the meeting.

"To what class do _you_ belong, I should like to know? Do you claim
affinity with the merchant class? If you do, you are no leader of ours.
I inform you, sir, that we are skilled artisans, with the craft to turn
out creditable work, while the merchants are merely the vendors of our
products. Which, therefore, takes the higher place in a community, and
which deserves it better: he who with artistic instinct unites the
efforts of brain and hand to produce wares that are at once beautiful
and useful, or he who merely chaffers over his counter to get as much
lucre as he can for the creations that come from our benches?"

To Roland's aristocratic mind, every man who lacked noble blood in his
veins stood on the same level, and it astonished him that any mere
plebeian should claim precedence over another. He himself felt
immeasurably superior to those present, sensible of a fathomless gulf
between him and them, which he, in his condescension, might cross as
suited his whim, but over which none might follow him back again; and
this, he was well aware, they would be the first to admit did they but
know his actual rank.

For a moment he was tempted to acknowledge his identity, and crush them
by throwing the crown at their heads, but some hitherto undiscovered
stubbornness in his nature asserted itself, arousing a determination to
stand or fall by whatever strength of character he might possess.

"I withdraw that remark," he said, as soon as he could obtain a hearing.
"I not only withdraw it, but I apologize to you for my folly in making
it. It was merely thoughtlessness on my part, and, resting on your
generosity, I should like you to consider the words unsaid."

Once more eighteen of the twenty swung round to his side. Roland now
turned his attention to Conrad Kurzbold, ignoring John Gensbein, who had
sat down flushed after his declamation, bewildered by the mutability of
the many as Coriolanus had been before him.

"Herr Kurzbold," began Roland sternly, "have you any further criticism
to offer?"

"No; but I stand by what I have already said."

"Well, I thank you for your honest expression of that determination, and
I announce that you cannot accompany this expedition."

Again Roland instantaneously lost the confidence of his auditors, and
they were not slow in making him of the fact.

"This is simply tyranny," said Ebearhard. "If a man may not open his
mouth without running danger of expulsion, then all comradeship is at an
end, and I take it that good comradeship is the pivot on which this
organization turns. I do not remember that we ever placed it in the
power of our president merely by his own word to cast out one of us from
the fellowship. I may add, Roland, that you seem to harbor strange ideas
concerning rank and power. I have been a member of this guild much
longer than you, and perhaps understand better its purpose. Our leader
is not elected to govern a band of serfs. Indeed, and I say it subject
to correction from my friends, the very opposite is the case. Our leader
is our servant, and must conduct himself as we order. It is not for him
to lay down the law to us, but whatever laws exist for our governance,
and I thank Heaven there are few of them, must be settled in conclave by
a majority of the league."

"Right! Right!" was the unanimous cry, and when Ebearhard sat down all
were seated except Roland, who stood at the end of the table with pale
face and compressed lips.

"We are," he said, "about to set out against the Barons of the Rhine,
entrenched in their strong castles. Hitherto these men have been
completely successful, defying alike the Government and the people. It
was my hope that we might reverse this condition of things. Now, Brother
Ebearhard, name me a single Baron along the whole length of the Rhine
who would permit one of his men-at-arms to bandy words with him on any
subject whatever."

"I should hope," replied Ebearhard, "that we do not model our conduct
after that of a robber."

"The robbers, I beg to point out to you, Ebearhard, are successful. It
is success we are after, also a portion of that gold of which Herr
Kurzbold has pathetically proclaimed his need."

"Do you consider us your men-at-arms, then, in the same sense that a
Rhine Baron would employ the term?"

"Certainly."

"You claim the liberty of expelling any one you choose?"

"Yes; I claim the liberty to hang any of you if I find it necessary."

"Oh, the devil!" cried Ebearhard, sitting down as if this went beyond
him. He gazed up and down the table as much as to say, "I leave this in
your hands, gentlemen."

The meeting gave immediate expression of its agreement with Ebearhard.

"Gentlemen," said Roland, "I insist that Conrad Kurzbold apologizes to
me for the expressions he has used, and promises not again to offend in
like manner."

"I'll do nothing of the sort," asserted Kurzbold, with equal firmness.

"In that case," exclaimed Roland, "I shall retire, and I ask you to put
me in a position to repay Herr Goebel the money I extracted from him. I
resign the very thankless office of so-called leadership."

At this several wallets came out upon the table, but their contents
clinked rather weakly. The majority of the guild sat silent and sobered
by the crisis that had so unexpectedly come upon them. Joseph Greusel,
seeing that no one else made a move, uprose, and spoke slowly. He was a
man who never had much to say for himself; a listener rather than a
talker, in whom Roland reposed great confidence, believing him to be one
who would not flinch if trial came, and he had determined to make
Greusel his lieutenant if the expedition was not wrecked before it set
out.

"My friends," said Greusel gloomily, "we have arrived at a deadlock, and
I should not venture to speak but that I see no one else ready to make a
suggestion. I cannot claim to be non-partisan in the matter. This crisis
has been unnecessarily brought about by what I state firmly is a most
ungenerous attack on the part of Conrad Kurzbold."

There were murmurs of dissent, but Greusel proceeded stolidly, taking no
notice.

"It is not disputed that Kurzbold accepted the money from Roland last
night, spent it to-day, and now comes penniless amongst us, quite unable
to refund the amount when his unjust remarks produce their natural
effect. He is like a man who makes a wager knowing he hasn't the money
to pay should he lose. If Roland retires from this guild, I retire also,
ashamed to keep company with men who uphold a trick worthy of a ruined
gambler."

"My dear Joseph," cried Ebearhard, springing up with a laugh, "you were
misnamed in your infancy. You should have been called Herod, practically
justifying a slaughter of us innocents."

"I stand by Benjamin," growled Gruesel, "the youngest and most capable
of our circle; the one who produced the money while all the rest of us
talked."

"You never talked till now, Joseph," said Ebearhard, still trying to
ease the situation with a laugh, "and what you say is not only
deplorably severe, but uttered, as I will show you, upon entirely
mistaken grounds. We did not, and do not, support Conrad Kurzbold in
what he said at first. Now you rate us as if we were no better than
thieves. Dishonest gamblers, you call us, and Lord knows what else, and
then you threaten withdrawal. I submit that your diatribe is quite
undeserved. We all condemn Kurzbold for censuring Roland's generosity to
the merchant, unanimously upholding Roland in that action, and have said
so plainly enough. What we object to is this: Roland arrogates to
himself power which he does not possess, of peremptorily expelling any
member whose remarks displease him. Surely you cannot support him in
that any more than we."

"Let us take one thing at a time," resumed Greusel, "not forgetting from
whom came the original provocation. I must know where we stand. I
therefore move a vote of censure on Conrad Kurzbold for his unmerited
attack upon our president anent his dealings with Herr Goebel."

"I second that with great pleasure," said Ebearhard.

"Now, as we cannot ask our leader to put that motion, I shall take the
liberty of submitting it myself," continued Greusel. "All in favor of
the vote of censure which you have heard, make it manifest by standing
up."

Every one arose except Roland, Gensbein, and Kurzbold.

"There, we have removed that obstacle to a clear understanding of the
case, and before I formally deliver this vote of censure to Herr
Kurzbold, I request him to reconsider his position, and of his own
motion to make such delivery unnecessary.

"If it is the case that Roland assumes authority to expel whom he
pleases from this guild, I shall not support him."

"It _is_ the case! It _is_ the case!" shouted several.

"Pardon me, comrades; I have the floor," continued Greusel. "I am not
attempting oratory, but trying to disentangle a skein in which we have
involved ourselves. I wish to receive neither applause nor hissing until
I have finished the business. You say it is the case. I say it is not.
Roland gave Herr Kurzbold the alternative either of apologizing or of
paying over the money, so that it might be returned to the merchant. As
I understand the matter, our president does not insist on Kurzbold
leaving the guild, but merely announces his own withdrawal from it. You
have allowed Kurzbold to put you in the position of being compelled to
choose between himself and Roland. If you are logical men you cannot
pass a vote of censure on Kurzbold, and then choose him instead of
Roland. I therefore move a vote of confidence in our chief, the man who
has produced the money, a thousand thalers in all, half of which was his
own, and has divided it equally amongst us, when the landlord's bill was
paid, withholding not a single thaler, nor arrogating--I think that was
your word, friend Ebearhard--to himself a stiver more of the money than
each of the others received. While Kurzbold has prated of comradeship,
Roland has given us an excellent example of it, and I think he deserves
our warmest thanks and our cordial support. I therefore submit to you
the following motion: This meeting tenders to the president its warmest
thanks for his recent efforts on behalf of the guild, and begs to assure
him of its most strenuous assistance in carrying out the project he has
put before it to-night."

"Joseph," said Ebearhard, rising, with his usual laugh, "you are a very
clever man, although you usually persist in hiding your light under a
bushel. I desire to associate myself with the expressions you have used,
and therefore second your motion."

"I now put the resolution which you have all heard," said Greusel, "and
I ask those in favor of it to stand."

Every one stood up promptly enough except the two recalcitrants, and of
those two John Gensbein showed signs of hesitation and uneasiness. He
half rose, sat down again; then, apparently at the urging of the man
next him, stood up, a picture of irresolution. Kurzbold, finding himself
now alone, laughed, and got upon his feet, thus making the vote
unanimous. As the company seated itself, Greusel turned to the
president.

"Sir, it is said that all's well that ends well. It gives me pleasure to
tender you the unanimous vote of thanks and confidence of the
iron-workers' guild, and before calling upon you to make any reply, if
such should be your intention, I will ask Conrad Kurzbold to say a few
words, which I am sure we shall all be delighted to hear."

Kurzbold rose bravely enough, in spite of the fact that Joseph Greusel's
diplomacy had made a complete separation between him and all the others.

"I should like to say," he began, with an air of casual indifference,
"that my first mention of the money was wholly in jest. Our friend
Roland took my remarks seriously, which, of course, I should not have
resented, and there is little use in recapitulating what followed. As,
however, my utterances gave offense which was not intended by me, I have
no hesitation in apologizing for them, and withdrawing the ill-advised
sentences. No one here feels a greater appreciation of what our
president has done than I, and I hope he will accept my apology in the
same spirit in which it is tendered."

"Now, Master of the Guild," said Greusel, and Roland took the floor once
more.

"I have nothing to say but 'Thank you.' The antagonists whom we hope to
meet are men brave, determined, and ruthless. If any one in this company
holds rancor against me, I ask him to turn it towards the Barons, and
punish me after the expedition is accomplished. Let us tolerate no
disagreements in face of the foe."

The young man took his cloak and sword from the peg on which they hung,
passed down along the table, and thrust across his hand to Kurzbold, who
shook it warmly. Arriving at the door, Roland turned round.

"I wish to see Captain Blumenfels, and give him final instructions
regarding our rendezvous on the Rhine, so good-night. I hope to meet you
all under the shadow of the Elector's tower in Hochst to-morrow morning
at nine," and with that the president departed, being too inexperienced
to know that soft words do not always turn away wrath, and that mutiny
is seldom quelled with a handshake.




IV

THE DISTURBING JOURNEY OF FATHER AMBROSE


The setting summer sun shone full on the western side of Sayn Castle,
sending the shadow of that tenth-century edifice far along the
greensward of the upper valley. Upon a balcony, perched like a swallow's
nest against the eastern end of Sayn Castle, a lovely girl of eighteen
leaned, meditating, with arms resting on the balustrade, the harshness
of whose stone surface was nullified by the soft texture of a
gaudily-covered robe flung over it. This ample cloth, brought from the
East by a Crusading ancestor of the girl, made a gay patch of scarlet
and gold against the somber side of the Castle.

The youthful Countess Hildegunde von Sayn watched the slow oncoming of a
monk, evidently tired, who toiled along the hillside deep in the shadow
of the Castle, as if its cool shade was grateful to him. Belonging, as
he did, to the very practical Order of the Benedictines, whose belief
was in work sanctioned by prayer, the Reverend Father did not deny
himself this temporary refuge from the hot rays of the sun, which had
poured down upon him all day.

Looking up as he approached the stronghold, and seeing the girl, little
dreaming of the frivolous mission she would propose, he waved his hand
to her, and she responded gracefully with a similar gesture.

Indeed, however strongly the monk might disapprove, there was much to be
said in favor of the resolution to which the young lady had come. She
was well educated, probably the richest heiress in Germany, and
carefully as the pious Sisters of Nonnenwerth Convent may have concealed
the fact from her, she was extremely beautiful, and knew it, and
although the valley of the Saynbach was a very haven of peace and
prosperity, the girl became just a trifle lonely, and yearned to know
something of life and the Court in Frankfort, to which her high rank
certainly entitled her.

It is true that very disquieting rumors had reached her concerning the
condition of things in the capital city; nevertheless she determined to
learn from an authoritative source whether or not it was safe to take up
a temporary residence in Frankfort, and for this purpose the reluctant
Father Ambrose would journey southward.

Father Ambrose was more than sixty years old, and if he had belonged to
the world, instead of to religion, would have been entitled to the name
Henry von Sayn. His presence in the Benedictine Order was proof of the
fact that money will not accomplish everything. His famous, or perhaps
we should say infamous, ancestor, Count Henry III. of Sayn, who died in
1246, was a robber and a murderer, justly esteemed the terror of the
Rhine. Concealed as it was in the Sayn valley, half a league from the
great river, the situation of his stronghold favored his depredations.
He filled his warehousing rooms with merchandise from barges going down
the river, and with gold seized from unhappy merchants on their way up.
He thought no more of cutting a throat than of cutting a purse, and it
was only when he became amazingly wealthy that the increase of years
brought trouble to a conscience which all men thought had ceased to
exist. Thereupon, for the welfare of his soul, he built the Abbey of
Sayn, and provided for the monks therein. Yet, when he came to die, he
entertained fearsome, but admittedly well-founded doubts regarding his
future state, so he proceeded to sanctify a treasure no longer of any
use to him, by bequeathing it to the Church, driving, however, a bargain
by which he received assurance that his body should rest quietly in the
tomb he had prepared for himself within the Abbey walls.

He was buried with impressive ceremony, and the monks he had endowed did
everything to carry out their share of the pact. The tomb was staunchly
built with stones so heavy that no ordinary ghost could have emerged
therefrom, but to be doubly sure a gigantic log was placed on top of it,
strongly clamped down with concealed bands of iron, and, so that this
log might not reveal its purpose, the monks cunningly carved it into
some semblance of Henry himself, until it seemed a recumbent statue of
the late villainous Count.

But despite such thoughtfulness their plan failed, for when next they
visited the tomb the statue lay prone, face downwards, as if some
irresistible, unseen power had flung it to the stone flags of the floor.
Replacing the statue, and watching by the tomb, was found to be of
little use. The watchers invariably fell asleep, and the great wooden
figure, which during their last waking moments lay gazing towards the
roof, was now on its face on the monastery floor, peering down in the
opposite direction, and this somehow was regarded by the brethren as a
fact of ominous significance.

The new Count von Sayn, heir to the title and estate of the late Henry
III. was a gloomy, pious man, very different indeed from his turbulent
predecessor. Naturally he was much perturbed by the conduct of the
wooden statue. At first he affected disbelief in the phenomena despite
the assurances of the monks, and later on the simple brethren deeply
regretted they had made any mention of the manifestations. The new Count
himself took up the task of watching, and paced all night before the
tomb of the third Henry. He was not a man to fall asleep while engaged
on such a somber mission, and the outcome of his vigil was so amazing
that in the morning he gathered the brethren together in the great hall
of the Abbey, that he might relate to them his experience.

The wooden statue had turned over, and fallen to the floor, as was its
habit, but on this occasion it groaned as it fell. This mournful sound
struck terror into the heart of the lonely watcher, who now, he
confessed, regretted he had not accepted the offer of the monks to share
his midnight surveillance. The courage of the House of Sayn is, however,
a well-known quality, and, notwithstanding his piety, the new holder of
the title was possessed of it, for although admitting a momentary
impulse towards flight, and the calling for assistance which the monks
would readily have given, he stood his ground, and in trembling voice
asked what he could do to forward the contentment of his deceased
relative.

The statue replied, still face downward on the stone floor, that never
could the late wicked Count rest in peace unless the heir to his titles
and lands should take upon himself the sins Henry had committed during
his life, while a younger member of the family should become a monk of
the Benedictine Order, and daily intercede for the welfare of his soul.

"With extreme reluctance," continued the devout nobleman, "I gave my
assent to this unwelcome proposal, providing only that it should receive
the sanction of the Abbot and brethren of the Monastery of Sayn, hoping
by a life of continuous rectitude to annul, in some measure at least,
the evil works of Henry III.; and that holy sanction I now request,
trusting if given it may remove any doubts regarding the righteousness
of my promise."

Here the Count bowed low to the enthroned Abbot and, with less
reverence, to the assembled brethren. The Abbot rose to his feet, and in
a few well-chosen words complimented the nobleman on the sacrifice he
made, predicting that it would redound greatly to his spiritual welfare.
Speaking for himself, he had no hesitation in giving the required
sanction, but as the Count made it a proviso that the brethren should
concur, he now requested their acquiescence.

This was accorded in silent unanimity, whereupon Count von Sayn, deeply
sighing as one accepting a burden almost too heavy to bear, spoke with a
tremor of grief in his voice.

"It is not for me," he said, "to question your wisdom, nor shrink from
my allotted task. After all, I am but human, and up to this decisive
moment had hoped, alas! in vain, that some one more worthy than I might
be chosen in my place. The most grievous part of the undertaking, so far
as I am concerned, was outlined in the last words spoken by the wooden
statue. The evil deeds my ancestor has committed will in time be
obliterated by the prayers of the younger member of my family who
becomes a monk, but the accumulated gold carries with it a continual
curse, which can be wiped off each coin only by that coin benefiting the
merchants who have been robbed. The contamination of this metal,
therefore, I must bear, for it adds to the agony of my ancestor that,
little realizing what he was doing, he bequeathed this poisonous dross
to the Abbey he founded. I am required to lend it in Frankfort, upon
undoubted security and suitable usury, that it may stimulate and
fertilize the commerce of the land, much as the contents of a compost
heap, disagreeable in the senses, and defiling to him who handles it,
when spread upon the fields results in the production of flower, fruit,
and food, giving fragrance, delight, and sustenance to the human frame."

The count, bowing for the third time to the conclave, passed from its
presence with mournful step and sorrowful countenance; whereupon the
brethren, seeing themselves thus denuded of wealth they had hoped to
enjoy, gave utterance to a groan doubtless much greater in volume than
that emitted by the carven statue, which wooden figure may be seen
to-day in the museum of the modern Castle of Sayn by any one who cares
to spend the fifty pfennigs charged for admission.

All that has been related happened generations before the time when the
Countess Hildegunde reigned as head of the House of Sayn, but Father
Ambrose formed a link with the past in that he was the present scion of
Sayn who, as a Benedictine, daily offered prayer for the repose of the
wicked Henry III. The gold which Henry's immediate successor so craftily
deflected from the monks seemed to be blessed rather than cursed, for
under the care of that subtle manager it multiplied greatly in
Frankfort, and scandal-mongers asserted that besides receiving the usury
exacted, the pietistic Count tapped the treasure-casks of upward-sailing
Rhine merchants quite as successfully, if more quietly, than the profane
Henry had done. Thus the House of Sayn was one of the richest in
Germany.

The aged monk and the youthful Countess were distant relatives, but he
regarded her as a daughter, and her affection was given to him as to a
father, in other than the spiritual sense.

In his youth Ambrose the Benedictine, because of his eloquence in
discourse, and also on account of his aristocratic rank, officiated at
the court in Frankfort. Later, he became spiritual and temporal adviser
to that great prelate, the Archbishop of Cologne, and the Archbishop,
being guardian of the Countess von Sayn, sent Father Ambrose to the
castle of his ancestor to look after the affairs of Sayn, both religious
and material. Under his gentle rule the great wealth of his House
increased, although he, the cause of prosperity, had no share in the
riches he produced, for, as has been written of the Benedictines:

"It was as teachers of ... scientific agriculture, as drainers of fens
and morasses, as clearers of forests, as makers of roads, as tillers of
the reclaimed soil, as architects of durable and even stately buildings,
as exhibiting a visible type of orderly government, as establishing the
superiority of peace over war as the normal condition of life, as
students in the library which the rule set up in every monastery, as the
masters in schools open not merely to their own postulants but to the
children of secular families also, that they won their high place in
history as benefactors of mankind."

       *       *       *       *       *

"Oh, Father Ambrose," cried the girl, when at last he entered her
presence, "I watched your approach from afar off. You walked with
halting step, and shoulders increasingly bowed. You are wearing yourself
out in my service, and that I cannot permit. You return this evening a
tired man."

"Not physically tired," replied the monk, with a smile. "My head is
bowed with meditation and prayer, rather than with fatigue. Indeed, it
is others who do the harassing manual labor, while I simply direct and
instruct. Sometimes I think I am an encumberer in the vineyard, lazily
using brain instead of hand."

"Nonsense!" cried the girl, "the vineyard would be but a barren
plantation without you; and speaking of it reminds me that I have poured
out, with my own hand, a tankard of the choicest, oldest wine in our
cellars, which I allow no one but yourself to taste. Sit down, I beg of
you, and drink."

The wise old man smiled, wondering what innocent trap was being set for
him. He raised the tankard to his lips, but merely indulged in one sip
of the delectable beverage. Then he seated himself, and looked at the
girl, still smiling. She went on speaking rapidly, a delicate flush
warming her fair cheeks.

"Father, you are the most patient and indefatigable of agriculturists,
sparing neither yourself nor others, but there is danger that you grow
bucolic through overlong absence from the great affairs of this world."

"What can be greater, my child, than increasing the productiveness of
the land; than training men to supply all their needs from the fruitful
earth?"

"True, true," admitted the girl, her eyes sparkling with eagerness, "but
to persist overlong even in well-doing becomes ultimately tedious. If
the laborer is worthy of his hire, so, too, is the master. You should
take a change, and as I know your fondness for travel, I have planned a
journey for you."

The old man permitted himself another sip of the wine.

"Where?" he asked.

"Oh, an easy journey; no farther than the royal city of Frankfort, there
to wander among the scenes of your youth, and become interested for a
time in the activities of your fellow-men. You have so long consorted
with those inferior to you in intellect and learning that a meeting with
your equals--though I doubt if there are any such even in
Frankfort--must prove as refreshing to your mind as that old wine would
to your body, did you but obey me and drink it."

Father Ambrose slowly shook his head.

"From what I hear of Frankfort," he said, "it is anything but an
inspiring town. In my day it was indeed a place of cheer, learning, and
prosperity, but now it is a city of desolation."

"The rumors we hear, Father, may be exaggerated; and even if the city
itself be doleful, which I doubt, there is sure to be light and gayety
in the precincts of the Court and in the homes of the nobility."

"What have I to do with Court or palaces? My duty lies here."

"It may be," cried the girl archly, "that some part of your duty lies
there. If Frankfort is indeed in bad case, your sage advice might be of
the greatest benefit. Prosperity seems to follow your footsteps, and,
besides, you were once a chaplain in the Court, and surely you have not
lost all interest in your former charge?"

Again that quiet, engaging smile lit up the monk's emaciated features,
and then he asked a question with that honest directness which sometimes
embarrassed those he addressed:

"Daughter Hildegunde, what is it you want?"

"Well," said the girl, sitting very upright in her chair, "I confess to
loneliness. The sameness of life in this castle oppresses me, and in its
continuous dullness I grow old before my time. I wish to enjoy a month
or two in Frankfort, and, as doubtless you have guessed, I send you
forth as my ambassador to spy out the land."

"In such case, daughter, you should present your petition to that Prince
of the Church, the Archbishop of Cologne, who is your guardian."

"No, no, no, no!" cried the girl emphatically; "you are putting the
grapes into the barrel instead of into the vat. Before I trouble the
worthy Archbishop with my request, I must learn whether it is
practicable or not. If the city is indeed in a state of turbulence, of
course I shall not think of going thither. It is this I wish to
discover, but if you are afraid." She shrugged her shoulders and spread
out her hands.

And now the old monk came as near to laughing as he ever did.

"Clever, Hildegunde, but unnecessary. You cannot spur me to action by
slighting the well-known valor of our race. I will go where and when you
command me, and report to you faithfully what I see and hear. Should the
time seem favorable for you to visit Frankfort, and if your guardian
consents, I shall raise not even one objection."

"Oh, dear Father, I do not lay this as a command upon you."

"No; a request is quite sufficient. To-morrow morning I shall set out."

"Along the Rhine?" queried the girl, so eagerly that the old man's eyes
twinkled at the celerity with which she accepted his proposition.

"I think it safer," he said, "to journey inland over the hills. The
robbers on the Rhine have been so long bereft of the natural prey that
one or other of them may forget I am Father Ambrose, a poor monk,
remembering me only as Henry of the rich House of Sayn, and therefore
hold me for ransom. I would not willingly be a cause of strife, so I
shall go by way of Limburg on the Lahn, and there visit my old friend
the Bishop, and enjoy once more a sight of the ancient Cathedral on the
cliff by the river."

When the young Countess awoke next morning, and reviewed in her mind the
chief event of the preceding day, remembering the reluctance of Father
Ambrose to undertake the quest she had outlined without the consent of
his overlord the Archbishop, a feeling of compunction swept over her.
She berated her own selfishness, resolving to send her petition to her
guardian, the Archbishop, and abide by his decision.

When breakfast was finished, she asked her lady-in-waiting to request
the presence of Father Ambrose, but instead of the monk came disturbing
news.

"The seneschal says that Father Ambrose left the Castle at daybreak this
morning, taking with him frugal rations for a three days' journey."

"In which direction did he go?" asked the lady of Sayn.

"He went on horseback up the valley, after making inquiries about the
route to Limburg on the Lahn."

"Ah!" said the Countess. "He spoke yesterday of taking such a journey,
but I did not think he would leave so early."

This was the beginning of great anxiety for the young lady of the
Castle. She knew at once that pursuit was useless, for daybreak comes
early in summer, and already the good Father had been five hours on his
way--a way that he was certain to lose many times before he reached the
capital city. An ordinary messenger might have been overtaken, but the
meditative Father would go whither his horse carried him, and when he
awoke from his thoughts and his prayers, would make inquiries, and so
proceed. A day or two later came a message that he had achieved the
hospitality of Limburg's bishop, but after that arrived no further word.

Nearly two weeks had elapsed when, from the opposite direction,
Hildegunde received a communication which added to her already painful
apprehension. It was a letter from her guardian in Cologne, giving
warning that within a week he would call at her Castle of Sayn.

"Matters of great import to you and me," concluded the Archbishop, "are
toward. You will be called upon to meet formally my two colleagues of
Mayence and Treves, at the latter's strong Castle of Stolzenfels, above
Coblentz. From the moment we enter that palace-fortress, I shall,
temporarily, at least, cease to be your guardian, and become merely one
of your three overlords. But however frowningly I may sit in the throne
of an Elector, believe me I shall always be your friend. Tell Father
Ambrose I wish to consult with him the moment I arrive at your castle,
and that he must not absent himself therefrom on any pretext until he
has seen me."

Here was trouble indeed, with Father Ambrose as completely disappeared
as if the dragons of the Taunus had swallowed him. Never before on his
journeys had he failed to communicate with her, even when his travels
were taken on account of the Archbishop, and not, as in this case, on
her own. She experienced the darkest forebodings from this incredible
silence. Imagine, then, her relief, when exactly two weeks from the day
he had left Schloss Sayn, she saw him coming down the valley. As when
she last beheld him, he traveled on foot, leading his horse, that had
gone lame.

Throwing etiquette to the wind, she flew down the stairway, and ran to
meet her thrice-welcome friend.

She realized with grief that he was haggard, and the smile he called up
to greet her was wan and pitiful.

"Oh, Father, Father!" she cried, "what has happened to you? I have been
nearly distraught with doubt and fear, hearing nothing of you since your
message from Limburg."

"I was made a prisoner," said the old man quietly, "and allowed to
communicate with no one outside my cell. 'Tis a long and sad story, and,
worse than all one that bodes ill for the Empire. I should have arrived
earlier in the day, but my poor, patient beast has fallen lame."

"Yes!" said the girl indignantly, "and you spare him instead of
yourself!"

The monk laid his left hand affectionately on her shoulder.

"You would have done the same, my dear," he said, and she looked up at
him with a sweet smile. They were kin, and if she censured any quality
in him, the comment carried something of self-reproach.

A servitor took away the lame horse; another waited on Father Ambrose in
his small room, which was simple as that of a monastery cell, and as
meagerly furnished. After a slight refection, Father Ambrose received
peremptory command to rest for three full hours, the lady of the Castle
saying it was impossible for her to receive him until that time had
elapsed. The order was welcome to the tired monk, although he knew how
impatient Hildegunde must be to unpack his budget of news, and he fell
asleep even as he gave instructions that he should be awakened at nine.

Descending at that time, the supper hour of the Castle, he found a
dainty meal awaiting him, flanked by a flagon of that rare wine which he
sipped so sparingly.

"I lodged with my brethren in their small and quiet monastery on the
opposite side of the Main from Frankfort, in that suburb of the
workingmen which is called Sachsenhausen. Even if my eyes had not seen
the desolation of the city, with the summer grass growing in many of its
streets, the description given of its condition by my brethren would
have been saddening enough to hear. All authority seems at an end. The
nobles have fled to their country estates, for defense in the city is
impossible should once a universal riot break out, and thinking men look
for an insurrection when continued hunger has worn down the patience of
the people. Up to the present sporadic outbreaks have been cruelly
suppressed, starving men falling mutilated before the sword-cuts of the
soldiers; but now disaffection has penetrated the ranks of the Army
itself, through short rations and deferred pay, and when the people
learn that the military are more like to join them than oppose,
destruction will fall upon Frankfort. The Emperor sits alone in drunken
stupor, and it is said cannot last much longer, he who has lasted too
long already; while the Empress is as much a recluse as a nun in a
convent."

"But the young Prince?" interrupted the Countess. "What of him? Is there
no hope if he comes to the throne?"

"Ah!" cried the monk, with a long-drawn sigh, dolefully shaking his
head.

"But, Father Ambrose, you knew him as a lad, almost as a young man. I
have heard you speak highly of his promise."

"He denied me; denied his own identity; threatened my life with his
sword, and finally flung me into the most loathsome dungeon in all
Frankfort!"

The girl uttered an ejaculation of dismay. If so harsh an estimate of
the heir-presumptive came from so mild and gentle a critic as Father
Ambrose, then surely was this young man lower in the grade of humanity
than even his bestial father.

"And yet," said the girl to herself, "what else was to be expected? Go
on," she murmured; "tell me from the beginning."

"One evening, crossing the old bridge from Frankfort to Sachsenhausen, I
saw approach me a swaggering figure that seemed familiar, and as he drew
nearer I recognized Prince Roland, son of the Emperor, despite the fact
that he held his cloak over the lower part of his face, as if, in the
gathering dusk, to avoid recognition.

"'Your Highness!' I cried in surprise. On the instant his sword was out,
and as the cloak fell from his face, displaying lips which took on a
sinister firmness, I saw that I was not mistaken in so accosting him. He
threw a quick glance from side to side, but the bridge, like the silent
streets, was deserted. We stood alone, beside the iron Cross, and there
under the Figure of Christ he denied me, with the sharp point of his
sword against my breast.

"'Why do you dare address me by such a title?'

"'You are Prince Roland, son of the Emperor.'

"The sword-point pressed more sharply.

"'You lie!' he cried, 'and if you reiterate that falsehood, you will pay
the penalty instantly with your life, despite your monkish cowl. I am
nobody. I have no father.'

"'May I ask, then, sir, who you are?'

"'You may ask, but there is no reason for me to answer. Nevertheless, to
satisfy your impertinent curiosity, I inform you that I am an
ironworker, a maker of swords, and if you desire a taste of my
handiwork, you have but to persist in your questioning. I lodge in the
laboring quarter of Sachsenhausen, and am now on my way into Frankfort,
which surely I have the right to enter free from any inquiry
unauthorized by the law.'

"'In that case I beg your pardon,' said I. 'The likeness is very
striking. I had once the honor to be chaplain at Court, where frequently
I saw the young Prince in company with that noble lady, noble in every
sense of the word, his mother, the Empress.'

"I watched the young man narrowly as I said this, and despite his
self-control, he winced perceptibly, and I thought I saw a gleam of
recognition in his eyes. He thrust the sword back into its scabbard, and
said with a light laugh:

"''Tis I that should beg your pardon for my haste and roughness. I
assure you I honor the cloth you wear, and would not willingly offer it
violence. We are all liable to make mistakes at times. I freely forgive
yours and trust you will extend a like leniency to mine.'

"With that he doffed his hat, and left me standing there."

"Surely," said the Countess, deeply interested in the recital, "so far
as speech was concerned he made amends?"

"Yes, my daughter; such speech never came from the lips of an
ironworker."

"You are convinced he was the Prince?"

"Never for one instant did I doubt it."

"Be that as it may, Father Ambrose, why should not the young man walk
the streets of his own capital city, and even explore the laborers'
quarter of Sachsenhausen, if he finds it interesting to do so? Is it not
his right to wear a sword, and go where he lists; and is it such a very
heinous thing that, being accosted by a stranger, he should refuse to
make the admission demanded? You took him, as one might say, unaware."

The monk bowed his head, but did not waste time in offering any defense
of his action.

"I followed him," he went on, "through the narrow and tortuous streets
of Frankfort, an easy adventure, because darkness had set in, but even
in daylight my course would have been safe enough, for never once did he
look over his shoulder, or betray any of that suspicion characteristic
of our laboring classes."

"I think that tells in his favor," persisted the girl.

"He came to the steps of the Rheingold, a disreputable drinking cellar,
and disappeared from my sight down its steps. A great shout greeted him,
and the rattle of tankards on a table, as he joined what was evidently
his coterie. Standing outside, I heard song and ribaldry within. The
heir-presumptive to the throne of the Empire was too obviously a drunken
brawler; a friend and comrade of the lowest scum in Frankfort.

"After a short time he emerged alone, and once more I followed him. He
went with the directness of a purposeful man to the Fahrgasse, the
street of the rich merchants, knocked at a door, and was admitted. Along
the first-floor front were three lighted windows, and I saw his form
pass the first two of these, but from my station in the street could not
witness what was going on within. Looking about me, I found to my right
a narrow alley, occupied by an outside stairway. This I mounted, and
from its topmost step I beheld the interior of the large room on the
opposite side of the way.

"It appeared to me that Prince Roland had been expected, for the elderly
man seated at the table, his calm face toward me, showed no surprise at
the Prince's entrance. His Highness sat with his back towards me, and
for a time it seemed that nothing was going forward but an amiable
conversation. Suddenly the Prince rose, threw off his cloak, whisked out
his sword, and presented its point at the throat of the merchant.

"It was clear, from the expression of dismay on the merchant's face,
that this move on the part of his guest was entirely unexpected, but its
object was speedily manifested. The old man, with trembling hand, pushed
across the table to his assailant a well-filled bag, which the Prince at
once untied. Pouring out a heap of yellow gold, he began with great
deliberation to count the money, which, when you consider his precarious
situation, showed the young man to be old in crime. Some portion of the
gold he returned to the merchant; the rest he dropped into an empty bag,
which he tied to his belt.

"I did not wait to see anything more, but came down to the foot of the
stairs, that I might learn if Roland took his money to his dissolute
comrades. He came out, and once more I followed him, and once more he
led me to the Rheingold cellar. On this occasion, however, I took step
by step with him until we entered the large wineroom at the foot of the
stairs, he less than an arm's length in front of me, still under the
illusion that he was alone. Prince though he was, I determined to
expostulate with him, and if possible persuade a restitution of the
gold.

"'Your Highness!' I began, touching him lightly on the shoulder.

"Instantly he turned upon me with a savage oath, grasped me by the
throat, and forced me backward against the cellar wall.

"'You spying sneak!' he cried. 'In spite of my warning you have been
hounding my footsteps!'

"The moment I attempted to reply, he throttled me so as to choke every
effort at utterance. There now approached us, with alarm in his
wine-colored face, a gross, corpulent man, whom the Prince addressed as
proprietor of the place, which doubtless he was.

"'Landlord,' said Roland very quietly, 'this unfortunate monk is weak in
the head, and although he means no harm with his meddling, he may well
cause disaster to my comrades and myself. Earlier in the evening he
accosted on the bridge, but I spared him, hoping never to see his
monkish costume again. You may judge the state of his mind when I tell
you he accuses me of being the Emperor's son, and Heaven only knows what
he would estimate to be the quality of my comrades were he to see them.'

"Two or three times I attempted to speak, but the closing of his fingers
upon my throat prevented me, and even when they were slightly relaxed I
was scarcely able to breathe."

The Countess listened with the closest attention, fixing upon the
narrator her splendid eyes, and in them, despite their feminine beauty
and softness, seemed to smoulder a deep fire of resentment at the
treatment accorded her kinsman, a luminant of danger transmitted to her
down the ages from ancestors equally ready to fight for the Sepulcher in
Palestine or for the gold on the borders of the Rhine. In the pause,
during which the monk wiped from his wrinkled brow the moisture brought
there by remembrance of the indignity he had undergone, kindliness in
the eyes of the Countess overcame their menace, and she said gently:

"I am quite confident, Father, that such a ruffian could not be Prince
Roland. He was indeed the rude mechanic he proclaimed himself. No man of
noble blood would have acted thus."

"Listen, my child, listen," resumed Father Ambrose. "Turning to the
landlord, the Prince asked:

"'Is there a safe and vacant room in your establishment where I could
bestow this meddlesome priest for a few days?'

"'There is a wine vault underneath this drinking cellar,' responded the
landlord.

"'Does anyone enter that vault except yourself?'

"'No one,'

"'Will you undertake charge of the priest, seeing that he communicates
with none outside?'

"'Of a surety, Captain,'

"'Good. I will pay you well, and that in advance.'"

"This ruffian was never the Prince," interrupted the Countess firmly.

"I beg you to listen, Hildegunde, and my next sentence will convince
you. The Prince continued:

"'Not only prevent his communication with others, but do not listen to
him yourself. He will endeavor to persuade you that his name is Father
Ambrose, and that he is a monk in good standing with the Benedictine
Order. If he finds you care little for that, he may indeed pretend he is
of noble origin himself; that he is Henry von Sayn, and thus endeavor to
work on whatever sympathy you may feel for the aristocrats. But I assure
you he is no more a Sayn than I am Prince Roland.'

"'Indeed, Captain,' replied the host, 'I have as little liking for an
aristocrat as for a monk, so you may depend that I will keep him safe
enough until you order his release.'

"Now, my dear Hildegunde, you see there was no mistake on my part. This
young man asserted he knew nothing of me, and indeed, I believed he had
forgotten the time of my chaplaincy at the Court, often as he listened
to my discourses, yet all the time he knew me, and now, with an
effrontery that seems incredible, he showed no hesitation in proving me
right when I accosted him as son of the Emperor. I must in justice,
however, admit that he instructed the landlord when he paid him, to
treat me with gentleness, and to see that I had plenty to eat and drink.
When three days had expired, I was to be allowed my liberty.

"'He can do no harm then,' concluded the Prince, in his talk with the
landlord, 'for by that time I shall have succeeded or failed.'

"I was led down a narrow, broken stairway by the proprietor, and thrust
into a dark and damp cellar, partially filled with casks of wine, and
there I remained until set at liberty a few days ago.

"I returned at once to the Benedictine Monastery where I had lodged,
expecting to find my brethren filled with anxiety concerning me, but
such was not the case. Any one man is little missed in this world, and
my comrades supposed that I was invited to the Court, and had forgotten
them as I saw they had forgotten me, so I said nothing of my adventure,
but mounted my waiting horse and journeyed back to the Castle of Sayn."

For a long time there was silence between the two, then the younger
spoke.

"Do you intend to take any action regarding your unauthorized
imprisonment?"

"Oh, no," replied the forgiving monk.

"Is it certain that this dissolute young man will be chosen Emperor?"

"There is a likelihood, but not a certainty."

"Would not the election of such a person to the highest position in the
State prove even a greater misfortune to the land than the continuance
of the present regime, for this young man adds to his father's vice of
drunkenness the evil qualities, of dishonesty, cruelty, ribaldry, and a
lack of respect for the privileges both of Church and nobility?"

"Such indeed is my opinion, daughter."

"Then is it not your duty at once to acquaint the three Archbishops with
what you have already told me, so that the disaster of his election may
be avoided?"

"It is a matter to which I gave deep thought during my journey thither,
and I also invoked the aid of Heaven in guiding me to a just
conclusion."

"And that conclusion, Father?"

"Is to say nothing whatever about my experiences in Frankfort."

"Why?"

"Because it is not given to a humble man like myself, occupying a
position of no authority, to fathom what may be in the minds of those
great Princes of the Church, the Archbishops. In effect they rule the
country, and it is possible that they prefer to place on the throne a
drunken nonentity who will offer no impediment to their ambitions,
rather than to elect a moral young man who might in time prove too
strong for them."

"I am sure no such motive would actuate the Archbishop of Cologne."

"His Lordship of Cologne, my child, dare not break with their Lordships
of Treves and Mayence, so you may be sure that if these two wish to
elect Prince Roland Emperor, nothing I could say to the Archbishop of
Cologne would prevent that choice."

"Oh, I had forgotten, in the excitement of listening to your adventures,
but talking of the Archbishop reminds me his Highness of Cologne will
visit us to-morrow, and he especially wishes to see you. You may imagine
my anxiety when I received his message a few days ago, knowing nothing
of your whereabouts."

"Wishes to see me?" ejaculated Father Ambrose, wrinkling a perplexed
brow. "I wonder what for. Can he have any knowledge of my visit to
Frankfort?"

"How could he?"

"The Archbishops possess sources of enlightenment that we wot not of. If
he charges me with being absent from my post, I must admit the fact."

"Of course. Let me confess to him as soon as he arrives; your journey
was entirely due to my persistence. I alone am to blame."

The old man slowly shook his head.

"I am at least equally culpable," he said. "I shall answer truthfully
any question asked me, but I hope I am not in the wrong if I volunteer
no information."

The girl rose.

"You could do no wrong, Father, even if you tried; and now good-night.
Sleep soundly and fear nothing. On the rare occasions when the good
Archbishop was angry with me, I have always managed to placate him, and
I shall not fail in this instance."

Father Ambrose bade her good-night, and left the room with the languid
air of one thoroughly tired. As the young Countess stood there watching
his retreat and disappearance, her dainty little fist clenched, and her
eyebrows came together, bringing to her handsome face the determined
expression which marked the countenances of some of her Crusader
ancestors whose portraits decorated the walls.

"If ever I get that ruffian Prince Roland into my power," she said to
herself, "I will make him regret his treatment of so tolerant and
forbearing a man as Father Ambrose."




V

THE COUNTESS VON SAYN AND THE ARCHBISHOP OF COLOGNE


It was high noon when that great Prince of the Church, the Archbishop of
Cologne, arrived at Castle Sayn, with a very inconsiderable following,
which seemed to indicate that he traveled on no affair of State, for on
such occasions he led a small army. The lovely young Countess awaited
him at the top of the Castle steps, and he greeted her with the courtesy
of a polished man of the world, rather than with the more austere
consideration of a great Churchman. Indeed, it seemed to the quick
apprehension of the girl that as he raised her fair hand to his lips his
obeisance was lower, more deferential, than their differing stations in
life justified.

He shook hands with Father Ambrose in the manner of old friend accosting
old friend, and nothing in his salutation indicated displeasure of any
sort in the background.

Perhaps, then, that sense of uneasiness felt by both the aged Father
Ambrose and the youthful Countess Hildegunde in the Archbishop's
presence came from their consciousness of conspiracy, resulting in the
ill-fated journey to Frankfort. Nevertheless, all that afternoon the two
were oppressed by the shadow of some impending danger, and the good
spirits of the Archbishop seemed to them assumed for the occasion, and
indeed in this they were not far wrong. His Lordship of Cologne was
keenly apprehensive regarding an important conference set down for the
next day, and the exuberance of an essentially serious man in such a
crisis is prone to be overdone.

Father Ambrose, who, in the midst of luxury and plenty, lived with the
abstemiousness of an anchorite, and always partook of his scant
refreshment alone in his cell, was invited by the Archbishop to a seat
at the table in the dining-hall.

"So long as you cast no look of reproach upon me for my enjoyment of
Sayn's most excellent cuisine, and my appreciation of its unequaled
cellar, I shall not comment on your dinner of parched peas and your
unexhilarating tankard of water. Besides, I wish to consult with Ambrose
the librarian of Sayn, touching the archives of this house, rather than
with Ambrose the superintendent of farms, or Father Ambrose the monk."

During the midday meal the Archbishop led, and at times monopolized, the
conversation.

"While you were under the tutelage of the good Sisters at Nonnenwerth
Convent, Hildegunde, the Abbess frequently spoke of your proficiency in
historical studies. Did you ever turn your attention to the annals of
your own House?"

"No, Guardian. From what I heard casually of my ancestors a record of
their doings would be scarcely the sort of reading recommended to a
young girl."

"Ah, very true, very true," agreed the Archbishop. "Some of the Counts
of Sayn led turbulent lives, and except with a battle-ax it was
difficult to persuade them not to meddle with the goods and chattels of
their neighbors. A strenuous line they proved in those olden days; but
many noble women have adorned the Castle of Sayn whose lives shine out
like an inspiration against the dark background of medieval tumult. Did
you ever hear of your forebear, the gracious Countess Matilda von Sayn,
who lived some hundreds of years ago? Indeed, the letters I have been
reading, written in her quaint handwriting, are dated about the middle
of the thirteenth century. I cannot learn whether she was older or
younger than the Archbishop of Cologne of that period, and thus I wish
to enlist the interest of Father Ambrose in searching the archives of
Sayn for anything pertaining to her. The Countess sent many epistles to
the Archbishop which he carefully preserved, while documents of much
more importance to the Archbishopric were allowed to go astray.

"Her letters breathe a deep devotion to the Church, and a warm
kindliness to its chief ornament of that day, the then Archbishop of
Cologne. She was evidently his most cherished adviser, and in points of
difficulty her counsel exhibits all the clarity of a man's brain, to
which is added a tenderness and a sense of justice entirely womanly. I
could not help fancying that this great prelate's success in his
Archbishopric was largely due to the disinterested advice of this noble
woman. It is clearly to be seen that the Countess was the benignant
power behind the throne, and she watched his continued advancement with
a love resembling that lavished on a favorite son. Her writings now and
then betray an affection of a quality so motherly that I came to believe
she was much older than the great Churchman, but then there is the fact
that she long outlived him, so it is possible she may have been the
younger."

"Why, my Lord, are you about to weave us a romance?"

The Archbishop smiled, and for a moment placed his hand upon hers, which
rested on the table beside him.

"A romance, perhaps, between myself and the Countess of long ago, for as
I read these letters I used much of their contents for my own guidance,
and found her precepts as wise to-day as they were in 1250, and to me
... to me," the Archbishop sighed, "she seems to live again. Yes, I
confess my ardent regard for her, and if you call that romance, it is
surely of a very innocent nature."

"But the other Archbishop? Your predecessor, the friend of Matilda; what
of him?"

"There, Hildegunde, I have much less evidence to go upon, for his
letters, if they exist, are concealed somewhere in the archives of Sayn
Castle."

"To-morrow," cried the girl, "I shall robe myself in the oldest garments
I possess, and will rummage those dusty archives until I find the
letters of him who was Archbishop in 1250."

"I have bestowed that task upon one less impulsive. Father Ambrose is
the searcher, and he and I will put our wise old heads together in
consultation over them before entrusting them to the perusal of that
impetuous young noblewoman, the present Countess von Sayn."

The impetuous person referred to brought down her hand with a peremptory
impact upon the table, and exclaimed emphatically:

"My Lord Archbishop, I shall read those letters to-morrow."

Once more the Archbishop placed his hand on hers, this time, however,
clasping it firmly in his own. There was no smile on his face as he said
gravely:

"My lady, to-morrow you will face three living Archbishops, more
difficult, perhaps, to deal with than one who is dust."

"Three!" she cried, startled, a gleam of apprehension troubling her fine
eyes. "My Lords of Mayence, Treves, and yourself? Are they coming here?"

"The conclave of the Archbishops will be held at Castle Stolzenfels, the
Rhine residence of my brother of Treves."

"Why is this Court convened?"

"That will be explained to you, Hildegunde, by his Highness of Mayence.
I did not intend to speak to you about this until later, so I will
merely say that there is nothing to fear. I, being your guardian, am
sent to escort you to Stolzenfels, and as we ride there together I wish
to place before you some suggestions which you may find useful when the
meeting takes place."

"I shall faithfully follow any advice you give me, my Lord."

"I am sure of it, Hildegunde, and you will remember that I speak as
guardian, not as Councilor of State. My observations will be requests
and not commands. You see, we have reversed the positions of my
predecessor and the Countess Matilda. It was always she who tendered
advice, which he invariably accepted. Now I must take the rôle of
advice-giver; thus you and I transpose the parts of the former
Archbishop of Cologne, and the former Countess of Sayn, who, I am sorry
to note, have been completely banished from your thoughts by my
premature announcement regarding the three living Archbishops."

"Oh, not at all, not at all! I am still thinking of those two. Have you
told me all you know about them?"

"Far from it. Although I was handicapped in my reconstitution of their
friendship by lack of the Archbishop's letters, he had nevertheless made
a note here and there upon the communications he received from the
Countess. Throughout the letters certain paragraphs are marked with a
cross, as if for reperusal, these paragraphs being invariably most
delicately and charmingly written. But now I come to the last very
important document, the only one of which a copy has been kept, written
in the Archbishop's own hand.

"In the year 1250, the Countess von Sayn had ceded to him the Rhine town
of Linz. Linz seems to have been a rebellious and troublesome fief,
which the Sayns held by force of arms. When it came into the possession
of the Archbishop, the foolish inhabitants, remembering that Cologne was
a long distance down the river compared with the up-river journey to
Sayn, broke out into open revolt. The Archbishop sent up his army, and
most effectually crushed this outbreak, severely punishing the rebels.
He returned from this subdued town to his own city of Cologne, and
whether from the exposure of the brief campaign, or some other cause, he
was taken ill and shortly after died.

"The new Archbishop was installed, and nearly two years passed, so far
as I can learn, before the Countess Matilda made claim that the town of
Linz should come again within her jurisdiction, saying that this
restitution had been promised by the late Archbishop. His successor,
however, disputed this claim. He possessed, he said, the deed of gift
making over the town of Linz to his predecessor, and this document was
definite enough. If then, it was the intention of the late Archbishop to
return Linz to the House of Sayn, the Countess doubtless held some
document to that effect, and in this case he would like to know its
purport.

"The Countess replied that an understanding had existed between the late
Archbishop and herself regarding the subjugation of the town of Linz and
its return to her after the rebellion was quelled. But for the untimely
death of the late Archbishop she did not doubt that his part of the
contract would have been kept long since. Nevertheless, she did possess
a document, in the late Archbishop's own hand, setting out the terms of
their agreement, and of this manuscript she sent a copy.

"The crafty Archbishop, without casting doubt on the authenticity of the
copy, said that of course it would be illegal for him to act upon it. He
must have the original document. Matilda replied, very shrewdly, that on
her part she could not allow the original document to quit her custody,
as upon it rested her rights to the town of Linz. She would, however,
exhibit this document to any ecclesiastical committee her correspondent
might appoint, and the members of the committee so chosen should be men
well acquainted with the late Archbishop's writing and signature. In
reply the Archbishop regretted that he could not accept her suggestion.
The people of Cologne, believing that their overlord had rightfully
acquired Linz, cheerfully consented to make good their title by battle,
thus having, as it were, bought the town with their blood, and indeed, a
deplorable sacrifice of life, it would become a dangerous venture to
give up the town unless indisputable documentary evidence might be
exhibited to them showing that such a bargain was made by the deceased
prelate.

"But before proceeding farther in this matter, he asked the Countess if
she were prepared to swear that the copy forwarded to him was a full and
faithful rendition of the original. Did it contain every word the late
Archbishop had written in that letter?

"To this the Countess made no reply, and allowed to lapse any title she
might have to the town of Linz."

"I think," cried the girl indignantly, "that my ancestress was in the
right, refusing further communication with this ignoble Churchman who
dared to impugn her good faith."

The Archbishop smiled at her vehemence.

"I shall make no attempt to defend my astute predecessor. A
money-lender's soul tenanted his austere body, but what would you say if
his implication of the Countess Matilda's good faith was justified?"

"You mean that the copy which she sent of the Archbishop's letter was
fraudulent? I cannot believe it."

"Not fraudulent. So far as it went her copy was word perfect. She
neglected to add, however, a final sentence, and rather than make it
public forfeited her rightful claim to great possessions. Of the
Archbishop's communications to her there remains in our archives a copy
of this last epistle written in his own hand. I cannot imagine why he
added the final clauses to what was in essence an important business
communication. The premonition he admits may have set his thoughts upon
things not of this world, but undoubtedly he believed that he would live
long enough to conquer the rebels of Linz, and restore to the Countess
her property. This is what he wrote, and she refused to publish:

"'Matilda, I feel that my days are numbered, and that their number is
scant. To all the world my life seems to have been successful beyond the
wishes of mortal man, but to me it is a dismal failure, in that I die
bachelor Archbishop of Cologne, and you are the spinster Countess von
Sayn.'"




VI

TO BE KEPT SECRET FROM THE COUNTESS


There are few favored spots occupied by blue water and greensward over
which a greater splendor is cast by the rising sun on a midsummer
morning than that portion of the Rhine near Coblentz, and as our little
procession emerged from the valley of the Saynbach every member of it
was struck with the beauty of the flat country across the Rhine,
ripening toward a yellow harvest, flooded by the golden glory of the
rising sun.

Their route led to the left by the foot of the eastern hills, and not
yet along the margin of the great river. Gradually, however, as they
journeyed in a southerly direction, the highlands deflected them
westward until at last there was but scant room for the road between
rock and water. Always they were in the shade, a comforting feature of a
midsummer journey, an advantage, however, soon to be lost when they
crossed the Rhine by the ferry to Coblentz. The distance from Sayn
Castle to Schloss Stolzenfels was a little less than four leagues, so
their early start permitted a leisurely journey.

The Archbishop and the Countess rode side by side. Following them at
some distance came Father Ambrose, deep in his meditations, and paying
little attention to the horse he rode, which indeed, faithful animal,
knew more about the way than did his rider. Still farther to the rear
rode half a dozen mounted lancemen, two and two, the scant escort of one
who commanded many thousands of armed men.

"How lovely and how peaceful is the scene," said the Countess. "How
beautiful are the fields of waving grain; their color of dawn softened
by the deep green of interspersed vineyards, and the water without a
ripple, like a slumbering lake rather than a strong river. It seems as
though anger, contention, and struggle could not exist in a realm so
heavenly."

"'Seems' is the word to use," commented the Archbishop gravely, "but the
unbroken placidity of the river you so much admire is a peace of defeat.
I had much rather see its flood disturbed by moving barges and the
turmoil of commerce. It is a peace that means starvation and death to
our capital city, and, indeed, in a lesser degree, to my own town of
Cologne, and to Coblentz, whose gates we are approaching."

"But surely," persisted the girl, "the outlook is improving, when you
and I travel unmolested with a mere handful of men to guard us. Time was
when a great and wealthy Archbishop might not stir abroad with less than
a thousand men in his train."

The Archbishop smiled.

"I suppose matters mend," he said, "as we progress in civilized usage.
The number of my escort, however, is not limited by my own modesty, but
stipulated by the Court of Archbishops. Mayence travels down the Rhine
and Treves down the Moselle, each with a similar following at his
heels."

"You are pessimistic this lovely morning, my Lord, and will not even
admit that the world is beautiful."

"It all depends on the point of view, Hildegunde. I regard it from a
position toward the end of life, and you from the charming station of
youth: the far-apart outlook of an old man and a young girl."

"Nonsense, Guardian, you are anything but old. Nevertheless I am much
disappointed with your attitude this morning. I fully expected to be
complimented by you."

"Doesn't my whole attitude breathe of compliment?"

"Ah, but I expected a particular compliment to-day!"

"What have I overlooked?"

"You overlooked the fact that yesterday you aroused my most intense
curiosity regarding the journey we are now taking together, and the
conference which is to follow. Despite deep anxiety to learn what is
before me I have not asked you a single question, nor even hinted at the
subject until this moment. Now, I think I should be rewarded for my
reticence."

"Ah, Countess, you are an exception among women, and I merely withheld
the well-earned praise until such time as I could broach the subject
occupying my mind ever since we left the Castle. With the awkwardness of
a man I did not know how to begin until you so kindly indicated the
way."

"Perhaps, after all, I make a false claim, because I have guessed your
secret, and therefore my deep solicitude is assumed."

"Guessed it?" queried the Archbishop, a shade of anxiety crossing his
face.

"Yes. Your story of the former Archbishop and the Countess Matilda gave
me a clue. You have discovered a document proving my right to the town
of Linz on the Rhine."

The Archbishop bowed his head, but said nothing.

"Your sense of justice urges you to make amends, but such a long time
has elapsed that my claim is doubtless outlawed, and you do not quite
know how restoration may be effected. You have, I take it, consulted
with one or other of your colleagues, Mayence or Treves, or perhaps with
both. They have made objection to your proposed generosity, and put
forward the argument that you are but temporary trustee of the Cologne
Archbishopric; that you must guard the rights of your successor; and
this truism could not help but appeal to that quality of equity which
distinguishes you, so a conference of the prelates has been called, and
a majority of that Court will decide whether or not the town of Linz
shall be tendered to me. Perhaps a suggestion will be made that I allow
things to remain as they are, in which case I shall at once refuse to
accept the town of Linz. Now, Guardian, how near have I come to solving
the mystery?"

They rode along in silence together, the Archbishop pondering on the
problem of her further enlightenment. At last he said:

"Cologne is ruled by its Archbishop, wisely or the reverse as the case
may be. The Archbishop, much as he reveres the opinion of his
distinguished colleagues, would never put them to the inconvenience of
giving a decision on any matter not concerning them. Linz's fate was
settled when the handwriting of my predecessor, prelate of 1250 A.D.,
convinced me that this Rhine town belonged to the House of Sayn.
Restitution has already been accomplished in due legal form, and when
next the Countess Hildegunde rides through Linz, she rides through her
own town."

"I shall never, never accept it, Guardian."

"It is yours now, Countess. If you do not wish to hold the town, use it
as a gift to the fortunate man you marry. And now, Hildegunde, this
long-postponed advice I wish to press upon your attention, must be
given, for we are nearing the ferry to Coblentz, and between that town
and Stolzenfels we may have company. Of the three Archbishops you will
meet to-day, there is only one of whom you need take account."

"Oh, I know that," cried the girl, "his Lordship of Cologne!"

The Archbishop smiled, but went on seriously:

"Where two or three men are gathered together, one is sure to be leader.
In our case the chief of the trio supposed to be equal is his Highness
of Mayence. Treves and I pretend not to be under his thumb, but we are:
that is to say, Treves holds I am under his thumb, and I hold Treves is
under his thumb, and so when one or the other of us join the Archbishop
of Mayence, there is a majority of the Court, and the third member is
helpless."

"But why don't you and Treves join together?"

"Because each thinks the other a coward, and doubtless both are right.
The point of the matter is that Mayence is the iron man of the
combination; therefore I beg you beware of him, and I also entreat you
to agree with the proposal he will make. It will be of tremendous
advantage to you."

"In that case, my Lord, how could I refuse?"

"I hope, my child, you will not, but if you should make objection, do so
with all the tact at your disposal. In fact, refrain wholly from
objection if you can, and plead for time to consider, so that you and I
may consult together, thus affording me opportunity of bringing
arguments to bear that may influence your decision."

"My dear Guardian, you alarm me by the awesome way in which you speak.
What fateful choice hangs over my head?"

"I have no wish to frighten you, my daughter, and, indeed, I anticipate
little chance of disagreement at the conference. I merely desire that
you shall understand something of Mayence. He is a man whom opposition
may drive to extremity, and being accustomed to crush those who disagree
with him, rather than conquer by more diplomatic methods, I am anxious
you should not be led into any semblance of dissent from his wishes. By
agreement between Mayence, Treves, and myself, I am not allowed to
enlighten you regarding the question at issue. I perhaps strain that
agreement a little when I endeavor to put you on your guard. If, at any
point in the discussion, you wish a few moments to reflect, glance
across the table at me, and I shall immediately intervene with some
interruption which must be debated by the three members of the Court. Of
course, I shall do everything in my power to protect you should our grim
friend Mayence lose his temper, as may happen if you thwart him."

"Why am I likely to thwart him?"

"Why indeed? I see no reason. I am merely an old person perhaps
over-cautious. Hence this warding off of a crisis which I hope will
never arise."

"Guardian, I have one question to ask, and that will settle the matter
here on the border of the Rhine, before we reach Stolzenfels. Do you
thoroughly approve, with your heart, mind, and conscience, of the
proposition to be made to me?"

"I do," replied the Archbishop, in a tone of conviction that none could
gainsay. "Heart and soul, agree."

"Then, Guardian, your crisis that never came vanishes. I shall tell his
Lordship of Mayence, in my sweetest voice and most ingratiating manner,
that I will do whatever he requests."

Here the conversation ceased, for the solitude now gave way to a scene
of activity, as they came to the landing alongside which lay the
floating bridge, a huge barge, capable of carrying their whole company
at one voyage. Several hundred persons, on horseback or on foot,
gathered along the river-bank, raised a cheer as the Archbishop
appeared. The Countess thought they waited to greet him, but they were
merely travelers or market people who found their journey interrupted at
this point. An emissary of the Archbishop had commanded the ferry-boat
to remain at its eastern landing until his Lordship came aboard. When
the distinguished party embarked, the crew instantly cast off their
moorings, and the tethered barge, impelled by the swift current, gently
swung across to the opposite shore.

A great concourse of people greeted their arrival at Coblentz, and if
vociferous shouts and hurrahs are signs of popularity, the Archbishop
had reason to congratulate himself upon his reception. The prelate bowed
and smiled, but did not pause at Coblentz, and, to the evident
disappointment of the multitude, continued his way up the Rhine. When
the little cavalcade drew away from the mob, the Countess spoke:

"I had no thought," she said, "that Coblentz contained so many
inhabitants."

"Neither does it," replied the Archbishop.

"Then is this simply an influx of people from the country, and is the
conclave of the Archbishops of such importance that it draws so many
sightseers?"

"The Court held by the Archbishops on this occasion is very important. I
suspect, however, that those are no sightseers, for the general public
is quite unaware that we meet to-day. They who cheered so lustily just
now are, I think, men of Treves."

"Do you mean soldiers?"

"Aye. Soldiers in the dress of ordinary townsmen, but I dare say they
all know where to find their weapons should a war-cry arise."

"Do you imply that the Archbishop of Treves has broken his compact? I
understood that your escort was limited to the few men following you."

His Lordship laughed.

"The Archbishop of Treves," he said, "is not a great strategist, yet I
surmise he is ready in case of trouble to seize the city of Coblentz."

"What trouble could arise?"

"The present moment is somewhat critical, for the Emperor lies dying in
Frankfort. We three Electors hope to avoid all commotion by having our
plans prepared and acting upon them promptly. But the hours between the
death of an Emperor and the appointment of his successor are fateful
with uncertainty. I suppose the good Sisters at Nonnenwerth taught you
about the Election of an Emperor?"

"Indeed, Guardian, I am sorry to confess that if they did I have
forgotten all about it."

"There are seven Electors; four high nobles of the Empire and three
Archbishops, Lords Temporal and Lords Spiritual. The present Count
Palatine of the Rhine is, like my friend Treves, completely under the
dominion of the Archbishop of Mayence, so the three Lords Spiritual,
with the aid of the Count Palatine, form a majority of the Electoral
Court."

"I understand. And now I surmise that you assemble at Stolzenfels to
choose our future Emperor."

"No; he has already been chosen, but his name will not be announced to
any person save one before the Emperor dies."

"Doubtless that one is the Count Palatine."

"No, Countess, he remains ignorant; and I give you warning, Madam, I am
not to be cross-questioned by indirection. You should be merciful: I am
but clay in your hands, yet there is certain information I am forbidden
to impart, so I will merely say that if the Archbishop happens to be in
good-humor this afternoon, he is very likely to tell you who will be the
future Emperor."

The girl gave an exclamation of surprise.

"To tell me? Why should he do so?"

"I said I was not to be cross-examined any further. I tremble now with
apprehension lest I have let slip something I should not, therefore we
will change the subject to one of paramount importance; namely, our
midday meal. I intended to stop at Coblentz for that repast, but the
Archbishop of Treves, whose guests we are, was good enough to accept a
menu I suggested, therefore we will sit at table with him."

"You suggested a menu?"

"Yes; I hope you will approve of it. There is some excellent Rhine
salmon, with a sauce most popular in Treves, a sauce that has been
celebrated for centuries. Next some tender venison from the forest
behind Stolzenfels, which is noted for its deer. There are, beside,
cakes and various breads, also vegetables, and all are to be washed down
by delicate Oberweseler wine. How does my speis-card please you,
Countess?"

"I am committing it to memory, Guardian, so that I shall know what to
prepare for you when next you visit my Castle of Sayn."

"Oh, this repast is not in my honor, but in yours. I feared you might
object to the simplicity of it. It is upon record that this meal was
much enjoyed by a young lady some centuries ago, at this very Castle of
Stolzenfels, shortly after it was completed. Indeed, I think it likely
she was the noble castle's first guest. Stolzenfels was built by Arnold
von Isenberg, the greatest Archbishop that ever ruled over Treves, if I
may except Archbishop Baldwin, the fighter. Isenberg determined to have
a stronghold on the Rhine midway between Mayence and Cologne, and he
made it a palace as well as a fortress, taking his time about it--in all
seventeen years. He began its erection in 1242, and so was building at
the time your ancestress Matilda ceded Linz to the Archbishop of
Cologne, therefore I imagine Cologne probably wished to have a
stronghold within striking distance of Treves' new castle.

"One of the first to visit Stolzenfels was a charming young English girl
named Isabella, who was no other than the youngest daughter of John,
King of England. Doubtless she came here with an imposing suite of
attendants, and I surmise that the great prelate's castle saw impressive
pageants and festivities, for the chronicler, after setting down the
menu whose excellence I hope to test to-day, adds:

"'They ate well, and drank better, and the Royal maiden danced a great
deal.'

"Her brother then occupied the English throne. He was Henry III., and of
course much attention was paid over here to his dancing sister."

"Why, Guardian, what you say gives a new interest to old Stolzenfels. I
have never been within the Castle, but now I shall view it with delight,
wondering through which of the rooms the English Princess danced. Why
did Isabella come from England all the way to the Rhine?"

"She came to meet the three Archbishops."

"Really? For what purpose?"

"That they might in ecclesiastical form, and upon the highest
ecclesiastical authority, announce her betrothal."

"Announce in Stolzenfels the betrothal of an English Princess, the
daughter of one king and sister of another! Did she, then, marry a
German?"

"Yes; she married the Emperor, Frederick II.; Frederick of
Hohenstaufen."

Slowly the girl turned her head, and looked steadfastly at the
Archbishop, who was gazing earnestly up the road as if to catch a
glimpse of the Castle which had been the scene of the events he related.
Her face became pale, and a questioning wonder rose in her eyes. What
did the Archbishop really mean by this latest historical recital? True,
he was a man who had given much study to ancient lore; rather fond of
exhibiting his proficiency therein when he secured patient listeners.
Could there be any secret meaning in his story of the English Princess
who danced? Was there any hidden analogy between the journey of the
English Isabella, and the short trip taken that day by Hildegunde of
Sayn? She was about to speak when the Archbishop made a slight signal
with his right hand, and a horseman who had followed them all the way
from Coblentz now spurred up alongside of his Lordship, who said sharply
to the newcomer:

"How many of Treves' men are in Coblentz?"

"Eight hundred and fifty, my Lord."

"Enough to capture the town?"

"Coblentz is already in their possession, my Lord."

"They seem to be unarmed."

"Their weapons are stored under guard in the Church of St. Castor, and
can be in the hands of the soldiers within a few minutes after a signal
is rung by the St. Castor's bells."

"Are there any troops in Coblentz from Mayence?"

"No, my Lord."

"How many of my men have been placed behind the Castle of Stolzenfels?"

"Three thousand are concealed in the forest near the hilltop."

"How many men has my Lord of Mayence within call?"

"Apparently only the scant half-dozen that reached Stolzenfels with him
yesterday."

"Are you sure of that?"

"Scouts have been sent all through the forest to the south, and have
brought us no word of an advancing company. Other scouts have gone up
the river as far as Bingen, but everything is quiet, and it would have
been impossible for his Lordship to march a considerable number of men
from any quarter towards Stolzenfels without one or other of our hundred
spies learning of the movement."

"Then doubtless Mayence depends on his henchman Treves."

"It would seem so, my Lord."

"Thank you; that will do."

The rider saluted, turned his horse towards the north, and galloped
away, and a few moments later the little procession came within sight of
Stolzenfels, standing grandly on its conical hill beside the Rhine,
against a background of green formed by the mountainous forests to the
rear.

This conversation, which she could not help but hear, had driven
entirely from the mind of Hildegunde the pretty story of the English
Princess.

"Why, Guardian!" she said, "we seem to be in the midst of impending
civil war."

The Archbishop smiled.

"We are in the midst of an assured peace," he replied.

"What! with Coblentz practically seized, and three thousand of your men
lurking in the woods above us?"

"Yes. I told you that Treves was no strategist. I suppose he and Mayence
imagine that by seizing the town of Coblentz they cut off my retreat to
Cologne. They know it would be useless in a crisis for me to journey up
the river, as I should then be getting farther and farther from my base
of supplies both in men and provisions, therefore the Archbishop of
Mayence has neglected to garrison that quarter."

"But, Guardian, you are surely entrapped, with Coblentz thus held?"

"Not so, my child, while I command three thousand men to their eight
hundred."

"But that means a battle!"

"A battle that will never take place, Hildegunde, because I shall seize
something much more valuable than any town, namely, the persons of the
two Archbishops. With their Lordships of Treves and Mayence in my
custody, cut off from communication with their own troops, I have slight
fear of a leaderless army. The very magnitude of the force at my command
is an assurance of peace."

They now arrived at the branching hill-road leading up to the gates of
Stolzenfels just above them, and conversation ceased, but the Countess
was fated to remember before the afternoon grew old the final words
Cologne spoke so confidently.




VII

MUTINY IN THE WILDERNESS


It was a lovely morning in July when Prince Roland walked into the
shadow of the handsome tower which to-day is all that survives of the
Elector's palace at Hochst, on the river Main. He found Greusel there
awaiting him, but none of the others. When the two had greeted one
another, the Prince said:

"Joseph, I determined several days ago to appoint you my lieutenant on
this expedition."

"If you take my advice, Roland, you will do nothing of the kind."

"Why?"

"Because it may be looked upon as favoritism, and so promote jealously
in the ranks, which is a thing to avoid."

"Whom would you suggest for the place?"

"Conrad Kurzbold."

"What! and run the risk of divided authority? I am determined to be
commander, you know."

"Kurzbold, even if made lieutenant, would be as much under your orders
as the rest of us. He is an energetic man, and you may thus direct his
energy along the right path. From being a critic, he will become one of
the criticised, giving him something to think about. Then your
appointment of him would show that you bear no ill-feeling for what he
said last night."

"You appear to think, Greusel, that it is the duty of a commander to
curry favor with his following."

"No; but I regard tact as a useful quality. You see, you are not in the
position of a general with an army. The members of the guild can depose
you whenever they like and elect a successor, or they may desert you in
a body, and you have no redress. Your methods should not be drastic, but
rather those of a man who seeks election to some high office."

"I fear I am not constituted for such a rôle, Greusel."

"If you are to succeed in the task you have undertaken, Roland, you must
adapt yourself to your situation as it actually is, and not as you would
wish to have it. I stood by you yesterday evening, and succeeded in
influencing the others to do the same, yet there is no denying that you
spoke to those men in a most overbearing manner. Why, you could not have
been more downright had you been an officer of the Emperor himself. What
passed through my mind as I listened was, 'Where did this youth get his
swagger?' You ordered Kurzbold out of the ranks, you know."

"Then why favor my action?"

"Because I was reluctant to see a promising marauding adventure wrecked
at the very outset for lack of a few soothing words."

Roland laughed heartily. The morning was inspiring, and he was in good
fettle.

"Your words to Kurzbold were anything but soothing."

"Oh, I was compelled to crush him. He was the cause of the disturbance,
and therefore I had no mercy so far as the affair impinged upon him. But
the others, with the exception of Gensbein perhaps, are good, honest,
sweet-tempered fellows, whom I did not wish to see misled. I think you
must put out of your mind all thought of punishment, no matter what the
offense against your authority may be."

"Then how would you deal with insubordination when it arises?"

"I should trust to the good sense of the remaining members of your
company to make it uncomfortable for the offender."

"But suppose they don't?"

Greusel shrugged his shoulders.

"In that case you are helpless, I fear. At any rate, talking of hanging,
or the infliction of any other punishment, is quite futile so long as
you do not possess the power to carry out your sentence. To return to my
simile of the general: a general can order any private in his army to be
hanged, and the man is taken out and hanged accordingly, but if one of
the guild is to be executed, he must be condemned by an overwhelming
vote of his fellows, because even if a bare majority sentenced one
belonging to the minority it would mean civil war among us. Suppose, for
example, it was proposed to hang you, and eleven voted for the execution
and nine against it. Do you think we nine would submit to the verdict of
the eleven? Not so. I am myself the most peaceful of men, but the moment
it came to that point, I should run my sword through the proposer of the
execution before he had time to draw his weapon. In other words, I'd
murder him to lessen the odds, and then we'd fight it out like men."

"Why didn't you say all this last night, Greusel?"

"Last night my whole attention was concentrated on inducing Kurzbold to
forget that you had threatened the company with a hangman's rope. Had he
remembered that, I could never have carried the vote of confidence. But
you surely saw that the other men were most anxious to support you if
your case was placed fairly before them, a matter which, for some
reason, you thought it beneath your dignity to attempt."

"My dear Joseph, your wholesale censure this morning does much to
nullify the vote I received last night."

"My dear Roland, I am not censuring you at all; I am merely endeavoring
to place facts before you so that you will recognize them."

"Quite so, but what I complain of is that these facts were not exhibited
in time for me to shoulder or shirk the responsibility. I do not believe
that military operations can be successfully carried on by a little
family party, the head of which must coddle the others in the group, and
beg pardon before he says 'Devil take you!' I would not have accepted
the leadership last night had I known the conditions."

"Well, it is not yet too late to recede. The barge does not leave
Frankfort until this evening, and it is but two leagues back to that
city. Within half an hour at the farthest, every man of us will be
assembled here. Now is the time to have it out with them, because
to-morrow morning the opportunity to withdraw will be gone."

"It is too late even now, Greusel. If last night the guild could not
make up the money we owe to Goebel, what hope is there that a single
coin remains in their pockets this morning? Do I understand, then, that
you refuse to act as my lieutenant?"

"No; but I warn you it will be a step in the wrong direction. You are
quite sure of me; and as merely a man-at-arms, as you called us last
night, I shall be in a better position to speak in your favor than if I
were indebted to you for promotion from the ranks."

"I see. Therefore you counsel me to nominate Kurzbold?"

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