The manner and appearance of Ferdinand of Altenburg afforded a
striking and favourable contrast to those of Martin of Dillberg. There
were traces of mental suffering indeed, on his face, and there was
some anxiety in his eye, as it ran slowly round the circle of those
present; but there was nothing like fear. There was no trembling
apprehension; neither any appearance of stubbornness; but with an
upright head, a straightforward look, and a firm though serious
aspect, he confronted those who he knew were to be his judges, and him
who was about to be his accuser. The Count of Ehrenstein fixed his
eyes sternly upon him; but the young man's countenance did not fall;
and his lord remained for some moments in silence, as if considering
how he should proceed. At length, however, the Count addressed him
directly saying, "Young man, do you confess your crime against your
lord? To you I need not explain your fault. It is a high and grievous
one, as you are right well aware; and as I know you fearless, and
believe you to speak truth, I call upon you to answer, on your honour,
whether you be Guilty or Not."
"My lord the Count," replied Ferdinand, "I know no cause why a man
should be made to condemn himself; and, on the other hand, if I say
that I am not guilty, my saying so will not be considered by you or
any one as proof that I am innocent. That you have some charge against
me, I know, from your having imprisoned me for some hours; but what
that charge is, you have not told me; and it is but fair that I should
hear it. Nay, more; it is but just that you yourself should prove my
guilt, if I be guilty; that you should bring forward witnesses of any
act in which I have offended; that you should confront them with me,
me with them; ay, and let me bring forward witnesses, too, to prove my
innocence after I am told my crime. I do not know much of the law and
custom of the land; but I do know that this is justice."
"It is so," said Count Frederick, with a look of grave approbation.
But the Count of Ehrenstein replied at once, "I have power of
executing justice in my own court, according to its customs; and I
have but called this noble lord and these good knights to aid me with
their counsel, that the law of the case may be sure. There are cases
in which the relations of social life are invaded, and of which, to
publish the whole facts to the wide world, would be doubling the
injury inflicted. I hold high justice in my own lands; and in my own
court will I judge you. But will merely put one simple question to
these knights here present; it is this: If the sworn retainer of a
baron of the land presumes, in secret and without lawful consent, to
marry the daughter of his lord, what is the punishment our customary
law awards for that offence?"
"My lord the Count," replied Ferdinand, "this, then, is the charge
against me; founded, I suppose, on the testimony of the base youth who
has just been taken hence; but as it seems you do not intend to try me
now, as to whether I have been guilty of that offence or not, I will
keep what I have to say on that score till another time, when I can
call witnesses to prove what has been my conduct, and why. As to your
question, however, I must say two words before it is answered. First,
I am not your vassal, nor your serf, nor what is called your customary
man. By birth, I am your peer, as I will prove when need be, and as
you well know. Then, as to the only oath I ever took, it was to serve
and defend you in your life and goods, at the peril of my head, and I
have done so. There is no other oath between us."
"That statement makes a great difference, my good lord," said Count
Frederick; "and you must amend your question, I think, unless you can
claim this young gentleman _as your vassal_, in which case you can
only confiscate his fief; or _as your customary man_ or serf, when his
head is forfeit."
"I claim him as my customary man by oath, and by bread and wine," said
the Count of Ehrenstein, "as the laws of the good king Louis stated;
and by the same law it is provided that I shall execute justice upon
him in my court, if I have right of high justice in my own lands. The
question is, therefore, simply as I stated it,--What is the punishment
our customs award to a sworn retainer who marries his lord's daughter
without his consent?"
"Undoubtedly, death," replied Count Frederick; "but--"
"Take him away," exclaimed the Count of Ehrenstein, waving his hand to
the two soldiers who stood by Ferdinand of Altenburg; and the young
man was immediately removed from the hall.
"You must hear me, my good friend," said Count Frederick firmly; "by
the words I have uttered, I mean not in any degree to give sentence in
this case, or to pronounce upon it in any shape, and I am sure in thus
saying all here will go with me. If the oath he took be such as he has
stated, he is not your customary man, and you cannot touch his life. A
thousand things may affect the question, of which we have no proof,
even supposing that he has really done those things with which you
seem to charge him. What has been said, therefore, is not by any means
a sentence, but merely an answer to a question."
"That question answered," said the Count of Ehrenstein, with a bitter
smile, "I will decide all the rest."
"Well," cried old Seckendorf, "I say with Count Frederick. I give
no judgment in the matter. We all know--at least, we've all been
told--that Ferdinand of Altenburg is of noble birth, and is even now
looking up for knighthood. Doubtless, my lord might have married his
daughter better; for the youth, I fancy, is as poor as any of us, but
that does not make his offence so heinous. As to the law, I know
little or nothing; but this I will say, that I do not think he has
done anything worthy of death."
The Count of Ehrenstein merely nodded his head in grave but meaning
silence; and then, turning to Count Frederick, without answering any
of the observations which had been made, he led the conversation to
other subjects, asking in a light way, whether he would like to visit
his prisoner, the Baron of Eppenfeld, that night, or would wait till
the following morning.
With a somewhat mortified air, his friend replied, that they had had
sufficient of painful tasks for one evening, and turned away to speak
to some of his own retainers, while the Count of Ehrenstein whispered
a few words to old Karl von Mosbach.
The expression of the old ritter's face, however, was somewhat
doubtful and hesitating. He had no great love for Ferdinand of
Altenburg, nor indeed for any other young man; for he was one of those
who, after having enjoyed selfishly and grossly the pleasures of
youth, look back upon them when they have passed away, with that sort
of covetous regret, which engenders jealousy of those who have
succeeded to joys they can no longer taste, regarding them much as the
rich miser regards his heir. He was a prudent and a cautious man,
however; and while Seckendorf was disinclined to countenance his
lord's vengeance, from better feelings and a more generous heart,
Mosbach, without pity or remorse, was restrained by doubts and
apprehensions. Whatever it was that the Count said to him, he replied,
shrugging his shoulders, "Well, my good lord, you know best; but they
are all against it, that's clear, and Count Frederick's a powerful
prince, likely to have weight in the Imperial Court."
The Count smiled with his usual bitter expression, and then replied,
in the same low tone to which their conversation had been restrained,
saying, "I will give way to his vengeance on his follower, Mosbach;
and in an hour after, he must give way to mine, for rightly
viewed--though he sees it not--his case is no better than my own. But
I tell you, Mosbach," he continued, grasping his arm, and shutting his
teeth close, "this youth shall not escape me, if I live and rule in
Ehrenstein for two days longer."
While this conversation had been taking place between those who were
left in the hall, Ferdinand of Altenburg had been taken back to the
place of his confinement, by the two soldiers into whose charge he had
been given. They led him on civilly and kindly enough, for he was a
universal favourite in the castle; and one of the men could not
refrain from expressing his sorrow at the situation in which he was
placed. "Ah! Herr Ferdinand," he said, "this is a bad business! Would
to Heaven you had not been so rash! Love between a young gentleman and
lady is all well enough--it's a thing that can't be helped, and is
quite natural; but to marry her secretly was as mad a trick as ever I
heard."
"It is not proved, my good friend, that I did," replied Ferdinand. "I
have had no trial yet."
"Ay, ay, but our lord's trials are short enough, and soon over,"
answered the soldier. "You remember when he caught William Schæffer in
sparing the goods of the fat boor by Simburg, because he was in love
with his little daughter--was not he detected, tried, and hanged in
less than an hour and a quarter? It's a bad business, I say. However,
what we can do to comfort you we will, and will bring you some wine
and meat, for you must want it, unless your friends the ghosts have
fed you."
"I fear," answered Ferdinand, "they do not deal in such substantial
things, my friend. So I shall be glad of any provision you can bring
me. But do not you run any risks on my account. It is bad enough to be
in such an evil plight one's self, without bringing one's friends into
trouble.--But who is that standing at the door of the cell?"
One of the men, who held a lamp, raised it to throw the light farther,
and at the same moment Count Frederick's jester came forward,
exclaiming in his usual tone, "Ah! friend rat, have you come back so
soon? I have been looking at your cage; it is wonderful what a number
of rat-traps there are in this world, and what sweet baits the devil
uses to lure men in--gold, and arms, and silk, and velvet, and pretty
women. Good faith! your bait was one that might well tempt a young rat
like you to nibble. I've seen a kingly crown before now in that same
devil's trap, and a goodly bait it proved, for it caught three before
it was carried off by a more cunning royal rat than the rest; but
after all, woman, woman is the most killing bait, and the most common;
for which reason our great enemy has strewed them about all over the
earth, as men scatter poison to destroy vermin. Poor youth, poor
youth!--to be trapped so early. I am sorry for your lack of wit."
"Faith! Herr von Narren," answered Ferdinand, "I have neither wit,
will, nor spirit, at present to jest with you. I have to think of
death, I fancy, and to prepare for it as best I may."
"Well, Heaven speed you!" said the jester; "and yet that's a sorry
wish, too. I should rather say, Heaven delay you! as you are not very
willing for the journey, I should think;" and as the young man passed
him to enter the cell, he added in a low voice, "I will go and tell
your friends the ghosts of your sad case; perhaps they may give you
spiritual help."
These words, however, from the lips that spoke them, gave no comfort
to Ferdinand of Altenburg, and entering his cell, he asked one of the
soldiers to bring him any food that was to be allowed him as speedily
as possible, and if he could obtain permission to let him have a
light.
"You shall have both, Herr Ferdinand, without permission," answered
the man. "I shall ask no questions about it; and as I have no orders,
either one way or the other, they can but blame me for a mistake."
For about ten minutes, Ferdinand remained in darkness, after the
soldiers left him; but at length his friend reappeared, bringing him a
flask of wine, some meat, bread, and a lamp. "I must be quick," he
said, as he set them down; "for they've all parted in the hall in bad
humour, and old Mosbach is walking about like a she-wolf on a winter's
night."
Before he touched the provisions, and as soon as the door was closed,
Ferdinand took the lamp, and examined the chamber carefully, to see
whence the voice he had heard could have proceeded. It was a large,
low-roofed room, directly underneath the lower hall, and supported by
two short, strong, stone pillars; but though he walked round every
side, looking keenly for any break or flaw in the walls, he could find
no doorway but that by which he had entered, no aperture but the
loophole which gave it light by day. The voice had seemed, however,
to come from the other side of the chamber, and there all was blank
stone. Could he have deceived himself? he inquired. Could the strange
sights and scenes he had lately witnessed have so far excited his
imagination, that a wild fancy could assume all the signs of reality?
"No, no," he thought, "that cannot be;" and seating himself on the
bench, which served for table also, he drank a cupful of the wine, and
ate a small portion of the food. As he did so, the same voice spoke
again, saying, "Eat and drink heartily: you will need it."
"Who are you, and what are you?" exclaimed Ferdinand, starting up, and
gazing forward towards the corner from which the sounds seemed to
come. But at that moment some one tried the door, as if to ascertain
that it was fastened securely; and then he could hear voices speaking
without, in which he thought he recognised the tones of old Karl von
Mosbach and the Count of Ehrenstein.