The morning was dull and heavy, though fully risen, when Ferdinand of
Altenburg was summoned to the Count's chamber; but by that time he
could bear the tidings to his lord that all had been cleared away from
the hall at the sacrifice of the wine which had been left there.
"Enough was left, indeed, to render the knaves half drunk," he added;
"but it had the effect of making them swear, by all they held sacred,
that they will never shun the hall again, if it were haunted by whole
troops of goblins."
"We shall not need to try them, Ferdinand," replied the Count. "We
must change our plan, good youth. We must not have our food poisoned
by doubts and fears."
The Count spoke thoughtfully, pausing when he had done; and Ferdinand
replied, "I am glad you have taken such a resolution; my good lord. It
is true, I fear these things not; but still it is high time that
something should be done to inquire into this matter, or to remove it.
You have yourself now heard, and I have seen strange things, of which,
I trust, some holy man, some priest of a good and saintly life, may be
able to free us."
"No, no," replied the Lord of Ehrenstein, "we will have no priests,
lad, nor monks either. They can do nought in this or aught else, but
in crafty policy, where the hundred-headed and perpetual monster sets
all her everlasting wits to work. I know their ways right well, for I
was bred to be one of them.--No, no! We will have no priests to meddle
and to babble here, and tell the broad world that I was plagued with
spirits at my very hearth. That were an old woman's remedy, and I will
not submit myself to such were there none other in the world. Not so,
not so will we set to work; but for the future we will take our meals
in separate parties: some in the lesser hall, some in the two rooms on
either side--but what makes you look so dull, as if your mind were
roaming to other things?--You were not disturbed, you say?"
"Oh no, my lord, this last night I saw nothing," answered Ferdinand;
"but I am weary and feel heavy eyed, having slept but little for
several nights."
"Well, hie thee to bed then for a while," replied the Count; but he
was not yet satisfied; for there were signs rather of thought than of
slumber in the young man's face; and with suspicions, aroused of he
knew not well what, he resolved to watch him more carefully.
The day passed nearly without events. The whole party seemed relieved,
when they found that the haunted hall was no more to be visited. The
Count and his noble guest walked for a great part of the morning on
the battlements, in earnest conversation; the knights and soldiers
amused themselves with the sports and games of the day in the courts
and chambers, and the hour of noon brought with it the usual meal.
During the whole morning, Adelaide and Ferdinand did not meet; and
even at dinner, by the Count's arrangement, the young man was sent to
superintend another room, where a table was spread for some of the
chief officers of both households. One glance as he passed through the
hall was all that he obtained, and he thought that Adelaide's eyes
looked anxious. Count Frederick was standing on one side of the lady,
and his young follower, Martin of Dillberg, on the other, as the lover
crossed the hall; and on the face of Dillberg there were smiles and
sweet looks, which made Ferdinand's breast feel warm with sensations
he had never before experienced. Doubt or suspicion, in regard to
Adelaide herself, he could not entertain; but yet jealousy has many
stages, and Ferdinand hated Count Frederick's follower heartily from
that moment. He felt--or fancied that they were rivals, and perhaps,
in the whole range of bitter emotions, there is none more painful than
that which we endure, when we know that even for a time a rival has
the ear of her we love. At the meal, he tried to be cheerful as well
as courteous, and though it cost him a great effort to conceal his
uneasiness, yet his manner was so pleasing to all, that he rose high
in the opinion of Count Frederick's train, and even at the table,
almost within his own hearing, comparisons were made between him and
Martin of Dillberg not very favourable to the latter.
"I love him not," said one; "I never have; and the more I see of him
the less I like him. Were he like this young squire, one could
understand our lord's favour for him."
"Ay," answered an elder man to whom he had been speaking, "our lord
will rue that favour one of these days. He is cunning and false, ever
making his own tale good, and seeking to injure others. I never saw
one yet, who was so artful and malicious when he was young, that did
not commit some treachery before he was old."
"Ay, the Count is beginning to know him, I believe," rejoined the
first, "saw you not how he chid him for the falsehood he told of
Sigismond. He would have done better to send him away at once; but he
bears with him because his father was a good soldier and an honest
man."
"Ay, and his mother a devil incarnate," answered the other. "She broke
his father's heart, betrayed his honour, and ruined him; and this
youth is her very image."
In such comments, more than one at the table indulged very freely; but
Ferdinand heard them not, for he was conversing somewhat eagerly with
one of Count Frederick's younger knights, though the subject was of no
greater interest than the history of the jester. Ferdinand sought for
information to confirm or remove the suspicions he entertained, but he
could obtain little, and indeed his companion did not seem disposed to
communicate much. "I was with a different band," he said, in answer to
one of the young man's questions, "when this man joined the Count."
"Then he did join him in the Holy Land?" asked Ferdinand.
"I believe so," was the reply, "but I know nought as certain. He might
have known the Count before."
"I have heard he saved your leader's life," said the young man.
"Yes, so they say," rejoined the knight. "I was not present, and know
nothing of it."
All further questions were equally fruitless, and Ferdinand turning
the conversation to the subject which the others had been discussing,
inquired, "Who is Martin of Dillberg, whom your lord seems also to
love right well?"
"Nay, that is a mistake," answered the knight. "He shows him favour,
it is true; but I have twice seen the question hang in the balance
whether my lord would not strike his head off, once for taking a jewel
off a dead man's hand, and once for betraying counsel. But he is as
cunning as a fox, and raised a doubt, by one means or another, as to
whether he did not intend to carry the ring to the widow. The other
fault was forgiven on the score of youth, but with a warning, that if
he so offended again, death would be his doom without reprieve."
"Perchance he is valiant in arms," said Ferdinand; "I have ever heard
that Count Frederick will forgive much to gallant men."
His companion smiled and shook his head, saying, "He is no great
seeker of renown, this youth. Yet he is brave after a certain fashion
too. There are some men, and he is one of them, who would risk ten
times the danger of a battle-field, to accomplish a small matter
cunningly. He seems to enjoy his own art so much, that if it costs his
life he must practise it, especially if it be to the injury of
others."
"A pleasant comrade in a band like yours," rejoined Ferdinand; and
there the conversation dropped.
The meal was drawing near its conclusion, when some noise was heard in
the adjoining hall, of a different kind from that which had preceded,
though in those days, as often at present, the hour of dinner was a
noisy one. The Count of Ehrenstein's voice could be distinguished
asking questions with angry vehemence, and every now and then another
answering, while the tones of Count Frederick joined in from time to
time even more sharply.
"What is the matter in there, Henry?" asked Ferdinand, as one of the
sewers passed through, bearing some dishes.
"A party of Venetian traders, Sir, have been stopped, and plundered
beyond Anweiler," replied the man, "and it seems they had gold with
them belonging to Count Frederick; so they have sent up to seek
redress and help. One of them has been killed, they say."
"Who has done it?" asked the young gentleman. "I thought such bands
had been put down."
"Oh, it is the Baron of Eppenfeld," said the sewer; "he will never
give up that trade; and his place is so strong, it will be difficult
to force him."
Thus saying, he went on, and the thoughts of all present turned to the
results that were likely to ensue from the event that had just
occurred. "Count Frederick will not be long out of the saddle,"
observed one of his attendants; "it is not well to pull the beard of
an old lion."
"I doubt we shall have enough here to right the affair," rejoined an
old soldier; "it is unlucky that one-half of the band marched on."
"But the Count of Ehrenstein will not suffer his friend to go
unaided," answered Ferdinand. "He can call out two hundred men at
arms."
"That would indeed be serviceable," said the knight, "and doubtless he
will do it; for I have heard that this gold belonged to the late
Count, and was found safely treasured in a castle of the Knights'
Hospitallers on the coast."
Ferdinand was about to answer, when old Seckendorf put in his head,
exclaiming, "Here, here, Ferdinand, the Count would speak with you;"
and instantly rising, the young man followed into the neighbouring
hall. He found the two Counts apparently much excited, speaking
together eagerly, and a tall grave looking elderly man in foreign
garments standing beside them, occasionally joining in their
conversation, which went on for some time after Ferdinand of Altenburg
had entered.
At length the Count of Ehrenstein turned towards him, saying, "Here is
an occasion for you, Ferdinand. The Baron of Eppenfeld has waylaid
these merchants on their way hither,--from good information of their
coming it would seem, but how obtained, Heaven knows. He has seized
all their baggage, and in it treasure belonging to me. It is judged
but courteous to suppose that he is ignorant, that I am interested,
and therefore, instead of going in arms to demand reparation at once,
I send to claim that all be instantly restored to these noble
merchants, and that compensation be given for the death of one of
their valets and the wounds of another: that compensation to be
awarded by myself and Count Frederick here. You shall be my messenger;
take with you ten men at your choice, and depart at once, so that you
be back before morning. If Eppenfeld will restore all and make
compensation, well; if not, defy him in my name and in that of Count
Frederick. The task is one of honour, though of some danger; but I
know it will not be less pleasant to you on that account."
"Thank you, my good lord," replied Ferdinand; "but let me know my
errand fully. If the Baron seeks to delay his reply, how am to act? It
is now one of the clock, ride as hard as I will, I shall not reach his
castle gates till five; and he may say that he will give me an answer
in the morning."
"Stay not an hour," replied the Count. "I would not have you, or any
of your troop, either break bread or taste wine within his gates, till
the answer is given. If he says Yes, you may refresh yourselves and
the horses. If he says No, return at once, and rest at Anweiler. If he
seeks delay, give him half an hour, and tell him such are our express
commands. Now away, good youth, to make ready. You must all go armed."
"I will do your will to the best, my lord," answered Ferdinand, and
with a glance to the pale cheek of Adelaide, he was turning to leave
the hall, when Count Frederick called him back, and drawing him to the
window, said, in a low voice, "I would fain have you, my dear lad,
discover, if possible, how this worthy knight obtained intelligence of
the merchants' journey. I must leave the means to yourself; but I have
my reasons for the inquiry--I fear this may be a dangerous expedition
for you," he added.
"More full of danger than honour, my good lord," answered Ferdinand.
"Small chance of fair fighting: much of being caught like a rat in a
trap. But I will do my best, and have nought but to obey."
Thus saying, he left the hall, not daring to turn his eyes to Adelaide
again; and the party he left soon broke up, Count Frederick saying he
had a vow to perform at the chapel of the Virgin, and that he would
ride out to fulfil it between that hour and supper time.
Choosing his men from those on whom he could best depend, Ferdinand
descended for a moment to the court, gave orders for the horses to be
saddled, and all prepared without a moment's delay, and then mounted
to his own chamber to arm himself in haste. He had nearly done, and
heard gay voices speaking on the battlements far below, when someone
knocked gently at his door.
"Come in," cried the young man; and Bertha appeared, with a face half
frightened, half playful.
"Your lady wishes to speak with you for a moment before you go, Sir
Scapegrace," said the girl in a low tone. "She is in the corridor
below, and all the rest are out of the way for a minute or two, so
make haste;" and without more words she hastened away, leaving the
door ajar.
Ferdinand lost no time; but, as ever is the case when one attempts to
abridge a necessary process, one thing went wrong, and then another,
so that he was longer than he would have been had he been less in
haste. At length, however, all was complete; and hurrying down, he
found Adelaide waiting anxiously near the door of her own apartments,
with Bertha at a little distance towards the top of the great stairs.
As soon as she saw him, the lovely girl sprang towards him.
"Oh, Ferdinand," she said, "I have longed to speak with you all the
morning; but the castle has been so full, that it would have been
madness to attempt it; and now you are going whence you may,
perchance, never return. At all events, you cannot be back in time to
do what is required."
"Fear not for me, dear one," answered Ferdinand, "neither imagine that
I will linger for a moment by the way, if Adelaide has aught to
command me."
"Nay, it is not I who command," replied his beautiful companion with a
faint blush, "it is Father George who requires that you and I together
shall be at the chapel to-night, some time between midnight and dawn."
"Indeed!" said Ferdinand, "does he explain for what object?"
"No. Three or four words written in a billet, closely sealed, were all
the intimation I have had," answered Adelaide.
"And would you go if it were possible, dear girl?" inquired her lover.
"I will do whatever he directs," replied the lady.
"Then, if there be a means of any kind, I will be back;" said
Ferdinand. "Do not retire to rest till all hope of my coming is over
for the night; but, as perchance, I might be detained, it were better
to send down Bertha to the good priest to let him know, that if not
there to-night, we will come to-morrow night without fail, if I be
alive and free."
As he spoke, Bertha raised her hand suddenly as a warning, and
Adelaide was drawing back to her own apartments; but Ferdinand
detained her, saying, "Do not seem alarmed--'tis our own hearts make
us fear. I may well bid you adieu as I should any other lady;" and
bending his head over her hand, he kissed it, saying aloud, "Farewell,
lady--God shield you ever!"
"Farewell, Ferdinand," said Adelaide, in a tone that somewhat wavered;
and, at the same moment, Bertha drew nearer, and Martin of Dillberg
entered the corridor from the great stairs. His eyes were turned
instantly towards the two lovers, and although Bertha was by this time
close to them with waitingmaid-like propriety, yet the youth's lip
curled with a smile, of not the most benevolent aspect.
"Farewell, pretty Bertha," said Ferdinand, as soon as he saw Count
Frederick's follower; and then, passing him with very slight
salutation, he hurried away, while Adelaide retired at once to her own
chamber. The men and horses were not yet prepared; and as Ferdinand
was standing armed in the court waiting for their appearance, the
Count, with his guest, the priest, and the jester, passed by. The
Count's eye rested on him, but he did not address him; and as the
party walked on, the young man heard the Lord of Ehrenstein reply to
some question of Count Frederick's: "Yes, he is always prompt and
ready--brave as a lion, too, fearing nothing, living or dead; but
there has come over him to-day a sort of dull gloom which I do not
understand."
Ferdinand heard no more; and in five minutes after he was in the
saddle, and at the head of his troop, wending onward on his
expedition. Crossing the valley, he followed the course of the
opposite hills, as if he were journeying to Dürkheim, till he had
passed the Abbey about two miles, where a small village, commanding a
beautiful view of the basin of the Rhine, presented itself; and
turning through it to the right, he was pursuing his way, when a loud
voice from a blacksmith's forge called him by name; and he checked his
horse for a moment.
"Whither away, Sir? whither away?" asked Franz Creussen, coming forth
with his enormous arms bare to the shoulders.
"To Eppenfeld," answered Ferdinand, "the Baron has waylaid some
merchants bringing gold to the Count; and I am sent to ask him to give
it up,--I cannot stay to tell you more, Franz, but doubt I may stay
longer where I am going, and perchance need arms as strong as yours to
get me out."
"Likely enough," replied the giant; "when come you back, if they will
let you?"
"As fast as my horse can carry me," answered the young man, and
galloped on, along one of the narrow hill paths that led towards
Anweiler, with an unrivalled view of the whole Palatinate below him on
the left, and, on the right, the mountains of the Haard, with their
innumerable castles, abbeys, and monasteries, crowning every peak, and
barring every gorge. When he reached the road from Landau to
Zweibrücken, near Anweiler, instead of following it far, he turned
away again before he had gone on a quarter of a mile, in the direction
of Weissenburg, and entered a dark and gloomy looking valley, where
rocks and trees were far more plentiful than churches or human
habitations. Closing in on either side, the high hills left but a
narrow space for the dell as it wound on, till at length, at a spot
where the basin extended a little, a tall rock rose up in the centre,
covered with wood wherever the roots could find earth to bear them,
and crowned with walls and towers above. Ferdinand gave his horse the
spur, and in a few minutes more stood before the gates of Eppenfeld.