In about a quarter of an hour after Ferdinand of Altenburg had been
removed from the hall, Count Frederick of Leiningen retired to his own
chamber, and remained there in consultation with several of his
retainers, for some time. The Count of Ehrenstein did not continue
long in the hall after he was gone. None of the vassals or soldiery
ventured to return to the chamber they had been told to quit some time
before, and only Karl von Mosbach and old Seckendorf remained with
their lord. Towards the latter, however, the Count showed all those
signs of angry impatience which he was accustomed to display when any
one ventured to cross him in his purposes: not, indeed, by words, for
he spoke not to him; but by sidelong glances from under the heavy
brow, and every now and then a curled and quivering lip, when his eye
fell upon him. At length, after having walked once or twice up and
down the hall, he said, "Come with me, Mosbach," and led the way
towards the place of Ferdinand's confinement. He there shook the door,
to see that it was secure, and then, turning to his companion, he
said, "Ere noon to-morrow, Mosbach, he must die."
"It will be better, then, my good lord," replied Mosbach, "to do it
quietly where he is, rather than to make a public execution of it."
"Perhaps it may," answered the Count; "and I shall look to you to have
it done."
"I must have your order, my noble lord," said Mosbach; "your order
under your own hand. Then it shall be done speedily, and no one need
know but myself and those who do it, that he is not still living."
"Come to me in an hour," said the Count, "and we will consider how
this order is to be given--Whether it were better to call a court of
all the vassals, and judge him there, or by my right, as a high
justicer--they would condemn him, surely.--Well, we will see;--yet
there were times of old when good friends would to their lord a
service, and rid him of an offender without such formalities, well
knowing that he has the right, and secure not only of his protection,
but of his favour and rewards.--Ay, those old times are passing away,
I fear.--Well, come to me in an hour;" and wending his way up the
staircase, and through the corridor, he proceeded past the apartment
of Count Frederick of Leiningen to the small tower in which the Baron
of Eppenfeld was confined. Without pausing to think, for his mind was
already made up, and his plans arranged, he unlocked the door and went
in.
"Thousand Schweren!" exclaimed the Baron; "you are keeping me here a
long while, Herr Count. I hope you are not going to play me false.
Why, it must be past midnight, and I have had no supper."
"Past midnight!" answered the Count, with a smile; "no, Baron, no; it
is not yet eleven, and all the people of the castle are up and
stirring. They must sleep sound first, before you can escape; but it
is of that I came to speak. Count Frederick is fierce against you, on
account of some message you sent him; and he vows he will not rest
satisfied till he has you before the Imperial Chamber."
"Why, the dog!" exclaimed the Baron, laughing, "the message I sent was
all true. I only told him one of his people had put me like a hound on
the track of these merchants; and he did too--a brown-faced, smooth
spoken youth, who told me his name was Martin of Dillberg--but that
might be a lie. However, if you will keep your word, old Leiningen may
fret about the Imperial Chamber, if he will. I shall be far enough
before he can catch me--the Imperial Chamber, good lack! that would
never do. But how is my flight to be effected? Have you arranged
that?"
"It must be without my knowledge or connivance," answered the Count,
drily.
The Baron gazed at him for a moment with renewed doubts; but then he
answered with a laugh, "Oh, I understand--you are not to be seen in
the matter, of course; but you can easily remove the men from the
bottom of the stairs, and leave the door unlocked."
"Nothing of the kind, I can assure you," replied the Count. "Count
Frederick's men have relieved mine from the guard, and the staircase
is impassable."
The Baron swore a huge and heavy German oath, too long and ponderous
for any English page, and then, with a bewildered look, asked how he
was to get away.
There is a bitter pleasure in giving pain, at least in some men; and
perhaps the Count would have prolonged his amusement, had he not been
somewhat in haste. "There lies your only chance, Baron," he said,
pointing to the window. "You are not too broad in the shoulders to get
out."
"Why, you would have me break my neck!" exclaimed the captive; "it is
full twenty feet down, and I fall heavy."
"Not if you have a rope to hold by, I suppose," was his companion's
reply. "Now, mark me, my good friend, for I have not much time to
spare:--an hour hence, if the castle be then quite quiet, you will
find a strong rope let down from the window above,--it has borne one
man's weight to-day, and may well bear yours. You have nought to do
but fix it tightly to the bar, and then let yourself down. You will
find no one on the battlement below; then take the traverse that leads
direct to the outer wall, where, if you turn someway to the right, you
will find steps that bring you to a little postern; the way thence is
level, but narrow, till you reach the angle of the castle chapel.
Avoid giddiness, or too much wine, for they are the only enemies you
are likely to meet by the way. When you reach the chapel, take the
first path down the hill, and there you will find a strong horse tied
to a tree, with saddle and bridle. He is a gift, so you may freely
take him. There is another gift, which use discreetly till you see
better times," and as he spoke he laid down a purse upon the table,
which seemed well loaded.
The Baron, with his usual greedy haste, clutched it almost ere it had
quitted the Count's grasp, tossed it lightly up, and then caught it in
his hand, "Ay, that chinks," he cried; "and as for the rest, I shall
be ready at the hour. No fear of my brain turning giddy. I have been
accustomed to walk on slippery places. Nevertheless, I should like
some supper, for that is a very needful preparation to a long ride.
Let me have some better wine, too, than that last; it was as thin and
as sour as the juice of an unripe pippin. I don't believe the generous
grape had any share in its composition."
"Well, you shall have supper, and good wine," answered the Count; "but
be moderate in your meal, and think of the future, my good friend. And
so this youth, Martin of Dillberg, came to you, and betrayed the good
Italian merchants?"
"Ay, that he did," answered the Baron; "I should never have known
aught about it, but for him. Let us not talk, however; time wears, and
I am hungry. You shall find me grateful, Count, in the way that may
best serve you."
"I reckon on it," said the Count of Ehrenstein; "and so good night, my
friend."
Thus saying, he turned and left him, and gave orders at the foot of
the stairs that a frugal supper, and one bottle of good wine should be
taken to the captive.
As the Count was walking onward towards his own apartments, he was met
by the chaplain of Count Frederick of Leiningen, who said, "They are
seeking for you, my noble lord. Count Frederick wishes to see you
before he retires to rest."
"I will go to him immediately," replied the Count; and with a slow and
thoughtful step he sought Count Frederick's room. He found him
surrounded by several of those who had been his companions in his
expedition in aid of the Knights of St. John, and as soon as the Count
of Ehrenstein appeared, his guest rose and advanced to meet him,
saying, "Ehrenstein, my noble friend, I wish to make it as clear as
possible, that we here present think no just cause has been shown for
putting to death your young follower, Ferdinand of Altenburg; and
without at all meddling with your right to judge your own people in
your own court, which I respect as much as I would my own, I do
beseech you not to proceed against him in any way without a fair and
open trial; for I do think you may find cause to alter your views
regarding him, and to pardon his offence."
"Would I could say the same," replied the Count, "in regard to your
follower, Martin of Dillberg; but sorry I am to say that the charge
against him is fully confirmed by our prisoner of Eppenfeld."
"He dies at dawn to-morrow," answered Count Frederick; "that is
determined. But this case is very different, as you must see. That
youth has been thrice pardoned for very grievous offences, and it is
now clearly proved, to the satisfaction of every one, that he is a
base, deceitful traitor."
"The cases are very different," answered the Count, in a thoughtful
and placable tone. "Well, I will consider of what you say. I am not a
harsh man, Heaven knows."
"Then, have I your word," asked Count Frederick, "that for this night,
at least, he is quite safe?"
"Safety depends upon Heaven's will," answered the Count, with a smile;
"but as for my neither saying nor doing aught that can injure him, he
shall be safe, since you ask it; but, nevertheless, I beg you to
remember, that this shall not prevent me from proceeding against him
as I may think fit to-morrow, after I have considered, and spoken with
you farther."
"That is all I could desire," answered Count Frederick. "Very many
thanks, my friend, and peace be with you for the night."
No sooner had the Count retired, than Count Frederick turned towards
the jester and the priest, who stood near, saying, "All is safe, then;
and we may make our minds easy for this night."
"As safe as a chain of words can make it, uncle," answered the jester;
"but I never yet did find that the padlock of a promise was not easily
picked, even by the weakest straw of an excuse. Go to, uncle; you do
not know the unreclaimed hawk you are dealing with. Dungeons are very
safe places for transacting secret business, and I should not be very
much disposed to trust a callow doveling to the paternal care of a
vulture."
"What can be done, then?" asked Count Frederick, "I fear for the fate
of both these poor things; and I have promised the lady, too, to
befriend her, in case of need."
"As for the girl," replied the jester, "you have an easy task; send
down to good Father George of Altenburg, and tell him what has
happened; let him know that she is in danger and in durance, and as he
has got her into the scrape, let him get her out. As for the youth,
I'll tell you what can be done;" and bending down his head, he
whispered a word or two in Count Frederick's ear.
"Do as you like, do as you like," exclaimed that Prince; after
listening with an eager eye and a knitted brow. "I must have no share
in that, my good friend; for I feel myself somewhat bound by the words
we have lately spoken. I will do as you suggest, regarding the lady;
and, moreover, will watch well. You must act in the other case, as
seems best, without my knowledge."
"So be it," answered the jester, laughing and quitting the room; and
Count Frederick immediately turned to one of the eldest of his
knights, saying, "Speed away down to the priest's, Gierheim; tell him
all the story; and say, not a moment is to be lost. Take care to pass
the gates quietly, however, and bid the warder-watch to let you in
without noise. Here is my signet, as a warrant to him, and you may add
a gold crown besides."
The knight took the ring, and hurried away without reply; and the
chaplain then addressed his lord, inquiring "What is to be done with
this Baron of Eppenfeld, my noble lord? He little thought that I was
aught but the chaplain of the Count of Ehrenstein, or he would not
have told me all that had passed between them; and if, from any
farther conversation, he finds out that he was mistaken, they may
change their plans and foil you still."
"All that is provided for already," answered Count Frederick; "he will
find his undertaking not so easy as he expects. We must force him to
recognise these papers, however; though I should judge that your word
would be sufficient."
Some further conversation followed on the same subject; but we must
now turn to pursue the course of the nobleman who had quitted them a
short time before.
As the Count of Ehrenstein turned away, after bidding his friend
adieu, he murmured to himself, "Now, may good luck send that old Karl
von Mosbach takes the hint I gave him; but whether he do or not, it
shall make no difference. If Frederick of Leiningen holds his
resolution, and puts his shrewd follower to death, the same axe shall
serve for Ferdinand of Altenburg."
When he reached his chamber, however, he found old Karl von Mosbach
waiting for the promised order, and dismissing him with disappointed
petulance, the Count paused, and thought for several minutes, and then
visited his daughter's chamber, as we have seen. The interview moved
him more than he suffered to appear, though it did not shake his
resolution; and when he returned to his own chamber, he dismissed the
servants who were waiting, and sat down by the table to think. "What
is it," he said to himself, "that makes me feel thus regarding this
youth? What is it that has always made me feel so strangely? Loving
and hating him at the same time, trusting and doubting him, relying
upon him yet fearing him. It seems as if nature warned me to beware
lest he should work me some great evil. He has done so, and he shall
die; then he can do no more; but yet it is marvellous what a
reluctance I have to shed his blood--and yet I seem to thirst for it.
Am I growing weak and womanly, that my just purposes should thus shake
me? It shall be so no more. He dies, and then there is an end of
doubts. I will hie me to bed, and not think of it."
Undressing himself in haste, he extinguished the light, and cast
himself upon his bed; but his head had scarcely pressed the pillow,
when a voice repeated three times, "William of Ehrenstein!"
"What is it? Who calls?" cried the Count, starting up.
"One of the dead," answered the voice. "Know you not the tongue?"
"I do," replied the Count. "It is amongst the sounds of my boyhood.
Why call you me?"
"I summon you to judgment," answered the voice. "As you judge, so
shall you be judged. In the great hall of the castle, before my chair
of state, under the banners of our fathers, in the presence of knights
and holy men who shed their blood for the deliverance of Christ's
sepulchre, I call you to your judgment. See that you be there, or
sentence shall pass against you, which there is no power on the earth,
or under the earth, to revoke. Make your peace with Heaven; for you
have had your time, and it is passing away."
The large drops of perspiration rolled from the forehead of the Count,
and grasping the side of the bed firmly with his hand, as if to give
him strength, he asked, "Who shall intercede for me?"
"In Heaven, we have all an Intercessor," answered the voice; "on
earth, intercession is vain. Appear at the judgment-seat as you are
called, receive your doom, send for the priest, and prepare."
"Stay, stay, and hear me," cried the Count; but the voice made no
answer, and though he spoke again more than once, all remained silent.
Tossing to and fro, the Count of Ehrenstein remained sleepless and
agitated throughout the night; at one time he thought he would rise
and obey the awful summons he had received, either alone or
accompanied by all whom he could gather together, but then again his
heart failed him, and the hour passed by without his regaining
sufficient courage to dare the result. At length, much to his relief,
the glimmering light of dawn began to shine through the window; and,
rising, he roused his attendants, and gazed moodily from the casement
for several minutes.
"Let two men go down to the chapel in the wood," he said, "and bring
up the priest, Father George, instantly. He may be alarmed, so give
him every assurance of safety; but bring him by force, if he do not
come willingly. These monks," he continued, speaking to himself, as
the men went to obey his mandate, "how they encroach upon all their
neighbours! Here, not content with lording it over every one around,
they must needs plant this chapel within the very lands of Ehrenstein,
like an outpost thrown forward by an invading army into an enemy's
territory. What fools our ancestors must have been to suffer such
things! It is prescription makes them strong--ay, and our own weak
hearts.--Judgment! Could it be a dream? How often slumber will cheat
us with visions so like reality, that even when they are past, we know
not whether they be true or false--and yet I have not slept since."
"My lord, one of the pages of Count Frederick has brought this note,"
said a servant entering. The Count took it, cut the silk, and read;
then calling the boy in, he said, "Be it where Count Frederick
pleases; bid him use this castle as if it were his own. Why, boy, how
white thy cheek looks. Remember, none need fear but those who betray
their lord. So go and give my message to your master.--Ferdinand of
Altenburg," he continued, murmuring to himself, "your hour is coming!"