With a pale countenance and feeble limbs, Martin of Dillberg was
brought into the presence of the two lords. Imprisonment, even for the
short period which he had endured it, had taken from him all the bold
confidence which he usually displayed, and which had served not a
little, on many occasions, to deliver him from difficult and dangerous
circumstances, into which a perverse heart and a subtle and
unscrupulous mind had led him. No sooner did he appear, than a dark
and terrible change came over the face of Count Frederick of
Leiningen. His frank, open, and cheerful countenance had become grave
some minutes before; but now a heavy frown gathered on his brow, and a
stern, indignant quivering of the upper lip seemed to show that it was
with difficulty he refrained from heaping reproaches on the youth's
head, rather than treating him as a prisoner before his judge. The
young man's courage, already low, sank still farther when he saw the
expression of his lord's face, and he turned an eager and imploring
look to the Count of Ehrenstein, but found no comfort there.
"Martin of Dillberg, stand forward," said Count Frederick, in a loud
tone, "and answer for yourself before the witnesses against you enter.
Did you, or did you not, linger behind at Saarbrück, on the pretence
that your horse had fallen with you, and injured you severely?"
"And so he did, my noble lord," said the youth, taking a step forward,
with his heart somewhat lightened by the first question. "You yourself
saw that he fell, and hurt me."
"That he fell, I saw," answered the Count; "that he hurt you, depended
only upon your own testimony. But answer again, Whence went you from
Saarbrück?"
"To Zweibrücken," answered Martin of Dillberg.
"At what hour did you set out?" demanded his lord.
"Early in the morning, my lord, the day after you went," replied the
young man; "and I reached Zweibrücken towards evening."
"A long journey for a hurt man," said Count Frederick. "But let that
pass. I must have been in Zweibrücken when you were there; why did you
not join me?"
"I knew not of your being there, noble lord," replied the youth. "I
lodged at the first little inn I found; and I have heard since you
were at the abbey."
"Good," answered the Count. "Whence did you go from Zweibrücken?"
The young man paused and hesitated, but at length he answered, "To
Anweiler, my lord."
"In one day?" asked Count Frederick,--"a longer journey still."
"I was stronger that day, Sir," answered Martin of Dillberg; "and bore
it well enough."
"Doubtless," said Count Frederick, drily; "but why was it you went to
Anweiler at all, leaving the straight road hither?"
"Because I was alone, my lord," answered the youth; "and knew not the
way over the hills. They told me, too, that it was dangerous, and I
thought the high road less so."
"Then, when left you Anweiler?" inquired Count Frederick. "On the
following morning early," was the reply.
"Then, had you made as much speed as before," replied his lord, "you
must have reached Ehrenstein before me, for I passed nearly two days
at Zweibrücken."
"My horse cast a shoe," said Martin of Dillberg, with a varying
countenance; but then a light seemed suddenly to come over it, and he
added, "and I lost my way amongst the hills, and could not find it for
some time, so that I was obliged to return to Anweiler."
"Where you passed a second night," said Count Frederick. "An
excellently well told tale, but it will not serve your purpose, youth.
Bring in the witnesses.--First, the good host from Anweiler."
Martin of Dillberg's countenance fell; and a great, burly, grey-haired
man was brought in, and placed by his side.
"Now, mine host," said Count Frederick, "repeat what you told me about
this good youth, the questions that he asked you, and the way that he
took."
"Why, my good lords and noble gentlemen," replied the innkeeper, after
looking a moment at Martin of Dillberg, as if to identify him, "there
was no great harm in what he said, or in what I said, either. We were
talking that night, when he first arrived, over a bottle of good
Zeller wine, about the state of the country round, and I said, we
should do very well, and be happy enough, and be well contented, for
we had a number of good lords round who were kind to us, if it were
not for that devil of a Baron of Eppenfeld, who robbed and pillaged
wherever he thought fit, and plundered all the merchants that
travelled our roads without a safe conduct from him; and then he
said,--that is to say, the youth here,--that he should like to see
this Baron of Eppenfeld much. I told him he had better not, for he
might get himself skinned alive; but he only laughed, and asked the
way to the castle--that's Eppenfeld, I mean."
"That was, that I might keep out of the way of the Baron," exclaimed
Martin of Dillberg.
"May be," said the host; "but the next morning, before I went away, I
left my woman to take the reckoning, and ambled off upon my ass to see
how the vines were looking on the hill; and as I was going along the
little path amongst the vineyards, just above the road, you know,
where you look to Creuzberg, who should I see trotting along below me,
at a quick pace, but this good youth here. I don't mean to say he was
doing any harm; I know nothing about that; but I know he turned off
the road, up the valley towards Eppenfeld. We call it Hell's Mouth,
for few go in there that come back again; and if they do, it's in the
form of devils."
"It was there I lost my way," cried Martin of Dillberg.
"As to that, I know nothing," said the host; "but you came back that
night, and slept at my house, and you were not near so chatty as the
night before."
"Enough, enough," said Count Frederick; "we have traced him on the
road to Eppenfeld; we shall soon find him at the castle gates, and
hear what he did there."
Martin of Dillberg's two hands clasped together, straining tightly
upon each other, but he said nothing; and his lord, whose eye was
fixed upon him, at length, demanded, "Now, youth, will you confess
your crime?"
"I have committed none," said the young man, sullenly.
"Bring in the man we took in the watch-tower," said Count Frederick;
and looking to the host, he added, "you may go for the present."
A man was instantly brought in, of a fierce and sullen countenance,
who gazed round him as if in some alarm; but Count Frederick soon
calmed the sort of savage fear he seemed to feel, saying, "Do not be
afraid, no harm is intended you. Now answer truly, did you ever see
that youth before?"
"To be sure, I have," answered the man; "I opened the gates for him,
some days ago, at Eppenfeld."
"But did not! come to ask the way?" exclaimed Martin of Dillberg. "I
adjure you, tell the truth. It can do you no good to ruin me--did I
not ask the way?"
"You asked the way to my lord's presence," answered the man gruffly;
"that's all you asked; and I showed it to you, as I always did single
travellers; for he knew best how to deal with them;" and the man ended
with a laugh.
"It is malice," said Martin of Dillberg; "it is malice."
"We shall soon see where the malice lay," said Count Frederick. "My
good lord of Ehrenstein, there were men of yours who were present with
the youth, your squire, Ferdinand of Altenburg, who heard the message
which the Baron of Eppenfeld sent me back. They were freed from the
dungeon into which they were thrust, and I pray you let them be called
to bear witness of the Baron's words."
The face of the Count of Ehrenstein seemed somewhat discomposed; but a
moment's thought reassured him. "Were it not better," he said, "to
bring down the Baron himself, as he is in the castle; he sent a rash
message to me also, which he has since formally retracted in writing.
Perhaps It may be the same in this case."
Martin of Dillberg looked up with hope; but Count Frederick answered,
"No, my good friend, the Baron is my prisoner, and may be supposed to
act under my influence. Let Ferdinand of Altenburg be called, if you
will, he will speak the truth, and though it seems he is in disfavour
with yourself; yet that cannot affect this question."
"He is my enemy," exclaimed Martin of Dillberg. "He will say aught he
can to injure me."
"We will see if what he says accords with the evidence of others,"
answered the Count of Leiningen. "He has had no means of knowing what
others say; I pray you have him brought, my lord. But, first, I would
have those men examined who were with him, touching the reply the
Baron sent to me."
The Count of Ehrenstein had been meditating somewhat deeply; but he
saw that if there were danger of suspicions being excited against him
by anything that Ferdinand might say, it was a danger that must be
encountered sooner or later, and that the recantation of the charge
which had been made by the Baron of Eppenfeld was his best security.
He would fain have avoided the risk, however, and a knowledge of
Ferdinand's character taught him to believe, that whatever peril he
might stand in himself, he would confine his replies entirely to the
questions addressed to him, which might not be the case with the
common soldiers. "Let Ferdinand of Altenburg be brought hither,
Mosbach," he said. "His evidence will be sufficient for that link in
the chain. But, my good lord, if we are to decide this cause, we must
have better proof than what the Baron of Eppenfeld said in a moment of
rage. That is quite valueless; he accused me, he accused you, he
brought charges against every one; but you have testimony at hand
which can be rendered available. I found you in the castle hall, after
the fall of Eppenfeld, putting questions to a man, named Fritz of
Sambach, I believe, who, I have been told, acted as this great
marauder's lieutenant. He brought the charge you are aiming to make
good against one of your train, though he could not tell his name. He
is here in a chamber hard by, let him be brought in, and see if he
identifies the prisoner; and, lest any one should suspect that he is
influenced by his captivity, give him his liberty before he speaks;
there can be no great object in detaining him, and we cannot be too
careful that every point be proved, in a case of this kind."
"So be it," answered Count Frederick. "Let him be brought in, if he is
well enough."
"Oh, he can come," answered Seckendorf; "I saw him drink a stoup of
wine, an hour or two ago, which would hold any three flasks in the
cellar. I will bring him in a minute; but let the youth be seated
amongst the rest, that he may have fair play."
"True, true," answered Count Frederick; "thank you, good knight, for
that honest thought.--Sit there, Martin of Dillberg. This time you
shall have plain justice to the full in every way. See that the guilt
on your countenance does not testify too plainly against you."
The young man seated himself as he was told, and in a few minutes
Fritz of Sambach was supported into the room by two stout soldiers of
the Count of Ehrenstein.
"Well, lords, what is it you want?" said the plunderer, in his usual
ready tone. "Here I am, for you to do what you like with me."
"First," said the Lord of Ehrenstein, "we have sent to announce to you
that you are free; there is no use of keeping the minor offenders when
their chief is in our hands."
"Well, that's civil enough," answered Fritz; "but as you have taken
all I had in the world, and scarified my skin pretty handsomely, I
trust that, before you send me away, you will cure my wound, fill my
belly, and give me a broad piece or two in my purse."
"Nay, nay," said Count Frederick; "your wounds shall be cured, you
shall have food enough, too; but as for broad pieces you must get them
where you can; you will have none here. And now, being a free man, I
have one more question to ask you. You said, before many witnesses,
that you got the tidings which led you to plunder the Italian
merchants, from one of my people. It was a serious charge, and should
not have been advanced lightly."
"Lightly!" cried Fritz; "I said it quite seriously; and it is as true
as that I stand here. He came and told the Baron all about their
route, and said they had great store of gold with them. He drove his
own bargain, too, and then he went and betrayed us, I suspect. But I
can tell him, if ever I get well of these cursed wounds, I will cut
his throat for him; though he does sit there amongst knights and
nobles, as if he had no hand in the affair for which we have all
suffered."
"Then do you see him present?" demanded Count Frederick. "If so,
advance and touch him."
The man walked somewhat feebly forward, and laid his hand heavily on
Martin of Dillberg's shoulder, saying, at the same time, "Here he
sits. Ay, do not finger your dagger; I have strength enough left to
strangle twenty such as you."
"Enough," said Count Frederick, "enough. Let him go free, have his
wounds tended, and when they are better, let him pass the castle gates
at his will. Now, Martin of Dillberg, convicted traitor, stand forth
again. My good lord Count, and noble knights here present, you have
heard the evidence,--is any more required? Is this young man guilty of
base treason to his lord, of the blood that has been shed in this
affair, and of taking an active part in the plundering of honest
merchants, travelling hither upon the warrant of our safe conduct?
Pronounce if he guilty or not, and name the punishment which according
to our customs and laws, is awarded to such deeds."
"He is Guilty," said the Count of Ehrenstein; and each voice around
repeated the word "Guilty."
"Death is the punishment," said old Seckendorf; "and well does he
deserve it. By the cord, if he be a boor; by the axe, if he be noble."
Each knight present pronounced the same judgment; and while the awful
sounds of his condemnation rang in his ear, Martin of Dillberg stood
silent and pale in the midst, with his eyes bent down upon the ground;
but when a momentary silence followed, he raised his face, and gazed
wildly at the Count of Ehrenstein, exclaiming, "Oh! my lord, will you
not save me to prove--"
The Count turned from him, merely replying, "Traitor!" and then,
springing forward, the wretched youth cast himself at Count
Frederick's feet, crying, "Oh, my lord, my lord, spare me for my
father's sake!"
"Thrice have I spared you for your father's sake," said Count
Frederick, sternly; "and I will spare you no more. I trusted that
mercy might win you to better things, and that kindness and confidence
might render you true and honest, but I have discovered nought in you
but malice, and falsehood, and treachery; and even for your father's
memory it is well that you should die. You have heard your doom. Go
hence, and prepare for death."
"Then I will do something worthy of it," cried the young man, starting
up quickly, drawing his dagger from the sheath, and aiming a blow at
Count Frederick's breast with the quickness of lightning. The Count,
however, had time to turn it aside, receiving merely a slight wound in
the arm; and the youth was immediately seized by two of the knights,
and thrown back upon the pavement. His dagger was then wrenched from
him, and he was dragged out of the hall, struggling fiercely with
those who held him, just as Ferdinand of Altenburg was brought in from
without.