ROLLMAR’S WAY
When, early in the morning, Rollmar prepared to set forth on his
return, he was surprised, and yet more enraged, to find that Princess
Ruperta was not forthcoming. That the Count had left the castle he was
aware, since his host had overnight excused his attendance, and taken
his leave on plea of urgent business. Still, faithless and unscrupulous
as the experienced reader of men had clearly seen the Count to be,
he had still been far from anticipating such a defiant piece of
treachery as this development of the affair seemed to indicate. He
gave Gomer, the old major-domo, a very unpleasant quarter of an hour’s
cross-examination, but failed to shake, either by threats or cunning,
his repeated assurance that his master’s departure had nothing to do
with the Princess’s disappearance. The Count, he reiterated, had ridden
forth alone save for an escort of four men. The Princess had, he was
sure, contrived to leave the castle some time before.
The Chancellor, accustomed to weigh probabilities, decided that the
man was lying. It was far easier for him to believe the Count than the
Princess capable of playing that trick upon him. Moreover, she could
hardly have escaped from the castle without the Count’s connivance.
It was true, Ludovic was a possible factor in the business, but why
should Irromar play into his hands, even to spite Rollmar? Little as
the Count might appreciate being worsted by that astute old brain,
he was less kindly disposed towards the man who not only was his
favoured rival, but who had so singularly defeated his evil plans. No.
Rapidly reviewing in his mind the turn of affairs by the light of his
knowledge of the Count’s stubborn, treacherous character, he satisfied
himself that he had either spirited the Princess away, perhaps to some
hiding-place in the mountains, or what was more likely, they were
concealed in a secret apartment under that very roof. The crisis was
as urgent as it was exasperating. Ruperta’s reputation had an immense,
an especial value to him as an important factor in his plans, and this
prolongation of a discreditable escapade was inexpressibly annoying.
So, waving aside the seneschal’s protests and assurances, he demanded
that the Princess should be forthwith produced. Gomer could only shrug
his shoulders hopelessly.
“I will give you a quarter of an hour,” said the angry old man in
his accustomed tone of command, which his fierce eyes ever rendered
terrifyingly effective. “If by that time the Princess is not brought
into this room I will first search every corner of this robber’s den,
and then burn it down over your heads.”
There was an ugly look of half-restrained defiance in Gomer’s eyes as
he replied protestingly, “I cannot, Excellency, bring the Princess to
you, because she is not within these walls. As to your threat, I can
only say that, in the absence of my master, the Count, I, having the
temporary care and charge of this property, will take upon myself to
resist your intention with the best means in my power.”
Rollmar, eyeing him sharply, gave a scornful laugh. “I understand,”
he said, pointedly. “It is as I thought. You have your instructions.
Your courage is inspired, doubtless, by a fear of the arch-bandit,
your master, not so very far away. Very well, then you take the
consequences, the most important of which to yourself will be that in
a very few hours your carcass will be hanging outside the gate which,
in your blind impudence, you think to keep against me.”
Gomer looked for a moment as though he would spring at the old minister
and draw first blood anyhow. His life had probably been lawless, and
his days passed in a state of defiance and danger. But there was
something about Rollmar, an indefinable power and resolution, showing
itself in the glitter of his eyes, the calmly assured dignify of his
manner, which restrained him, as it had held back many another man. The
light--unquenchable, it seemed--that burnt in that decrepit lamp held
the desperado’s spirit under a mysterious spell. He could only repeat
doggedly--
“Your Excellency may try to carry out your threat, but its certain
failure will cost more than your Excellency dreams of.”
“We shall see,” retorted Rollmar, turning away. “It is time the country
was purged of this plague-spot.”
So, with quiet resolution, he left the castle, none daring to stay him,
for it had been whispered that to oppose this old man, whose reputation
for guile and cunning strength was world-wide, was more than even their
master dared to do.
The Count was a very clever man; but, when he rode off in hot haste
on a project that touched him so nearly, he overlooked the fact that
he was leaving a much cleverer man behind him, and his house and its
secrets practically at his mercy. So full was Irromar’s mind of the
opportunity for a bold stroke which had so strangely arisen that he
neglected to anticipate what might logically happen in his absence.
At the same time, it never occurred to him that Ruperta would put her
liberty to any use which might have a disastrous bearing upon the very
plans he was so eagerly revolving. Knowing her to be free, he imagined
nothing worse than that she might, with Ompertz for her protector,
return to her father, and perhaps plead vainly for her lover’s rescue.
But that Rollmar should suppose, when she did not join him, that she
was still a prisoner in the castle was a contingency which he had in
his haste altogether overlooked.
So, in the grey dawn, Rollmar left the castle fuming and vindictive,
and, as luck would have it, the first person he encountered outside
was Captain Ompertz. The soldier of fortune had been in a somewhat
despairing mood. For several hours, from the moment, that is, when
Ruperta had ridden away leaving him to watch the situation on the spot,
he had untiringly devoted himself to making a thorough examination of
such parts of the castle as he could reach, straining every faculty
to light upon a way of getting into some sort of communication with
Ludwig. But, though reckless of his own safety, he risked his neck
many times in his desperate endeavors to get a clue to the prisoner’s
whereabouts, all his efforts were futile.
The Castle of Teufelswald had been built for a purpose, and was a
worthy product of its designer’s cunning brain. Dovetailed with the
rock into which it was built, it presented at all points, save in
front, an uncompromising fastness of blankness and silence. When
once its postern doors of rock were shut and barred, the back of the
building could defy observation and assault; it was, from the rear, at
least, impregnable. It was in vain that Ompertz set himself to climb
tree after tree in the hope of spying from above some indication of
what to a daring man might be a vulnerable point, not to be detected
from the ground. There was nothing which tempted even his desperation
to try for an entrance; no light, no sound. But one thing he did
see, and that was of moment; the setting forth of the Count and his
attendants. Naturally he supposed it was in pursuit of the Princess;
but he could do nothing there in her behalf, only rejoice in the
thought that she had a long start, and ejaculate a fervent prayer that
she might keep it. And, indeed, had he been minded to try to delay the
Count, it would have been impossible to have intercepted the little
party, who passed quickly through the door and rode off without pause
along the woodland path.
Having convinced himself that there was no chance of getting at
Ludovic’s prison from that part of the castle, Ompertz, disheartened
and weary from the want of rest, of which his enforced vigilance had
deprived him, gave up his fruitless endeavour, and dragged himself
towards the valley where Rollmar’s men lay. The light of a chilly dawn
was beginning to spread over the forest and to force its way in grey
streaks up the wood-lined valleys and gorges, turning the black masses
of pines into an indistinct greenish blue, as the soldier, the very
shadow of himself in his utter exhaustion, lay down on an invitingly
sheltered bank, and, careless of his safety, fell fast asleep. From
this he was roused by a voice, uncomfortably familiar, calling,
“Captain Ompertz!”
Half awakened, yet, for very weariness, unable to open his eyes, he
told himself it was a dream. But the summons was insistently repeated.
“Captain Ompertz!” In a moment the truth flashed his mind into complete
wakefulness and he started half up. Over him stood a man; one of the
most dreaded personalities in Europe.
“Up, Captain! I have work for you,” Rollmar said, with inscrutable face.
Ompertz sprang to his feet, wondering, as he looked inquiringly at the
saturnine old face, what the work could be. Was the pitiless Chancellor
minded to take vengeance on him for his share in the elopement? Then he
told himself that they were man to man, and so fell to wondering that
Rollmar should be there at that hour alone.
“How can I serve you, Excellency?” He was now wide awake, and
anticipation made him ignore his fatigue.
“I have,” said Rollmar, “a difficult affair on hand.”
“Yes, Excellency?”
The other seemed to regard his eagerness with the half-contemptuous
amusement a man will have for zeal to which he himself in a like
position would be insensible.
“You are acquainted with this robber’s lair,” he gave an indicating
jerk of the head, “the castle yonder?”
“I know every foot of it, from outside, Excellency.”
“Is it strong enough to defy assault?”
“From behind it could hold out against almost any force without
artillery.”
“H’m! So the attack must be made in front?”
“Assuredly, Excellency. And even there it should be a tough nut to
crack.”
“Nevertheless, Captain, it must be cracked, and without delay.”
Ompertz, looking at him in some wonder and a certain vague joy, was
struck by the imperious determination in the old man’s face.
“Yes, Excellency. It would be no bad thing.”
Rollmar nodded. This ever-ready soldier of fortune afforded him some
slight interest and amusement, and the acute judge of character could
see the man’s honesty, and a deep-lying nobility under the wandering
mercenary’s rough exterior. “The fellow, this Count Irromar, has played
me a trick, and must pay for it,” he continued. Somehow Ompertz’s open
nature seemed to invite confidence; an ordinary captain would have got
nothing beyond bare orders. “So this castle,” he went on, “must be
pulled or burned down about his head. And at once. Delay is out of the
question, since I have reason to believe the Princess Ruperta is still
a prisoner there.”
Ompertz had it on the tip of his tongue to reassure the Chancellor on
that point, but checked the word in time, with a thrill at the danger
into which he had so nearly been led. For in his mind was a great joy
at the thought that if Ludwig were still alive this action might mean
his release, surely the only chance left. If he knew that the Princess
was no longer in the castle, Rollmar, a man above all not given to
waste of energy or zeal, would doubtless abandon his project of sacking
the place, finding it, moreover, no bad policy to leave the ousted
Prince to his fate and the Count’s mercy. Neither did Ompertz judge
it advisable to tell Rollmar of the Count’s departure, since he might
then doubt whether the Princess were, after all, within the walls he
proposed to raze. So, keeping his own counsel, he placed with alacrity
his best service at the Chancellor’s disposal, and they went on towards
the camp to bring up their array.
An hour later, the force advanced threateningly upon the castle, the
front of which was now, in anticipation of an attack, barricaded
against their approach. The windows were screened by iron shutters,
and before the door a sort of portcullis was let down. Rollmar smiled
grimly when he saw the ready preparations for defence.
“He has expected this for many a day,” he said; “it has come none too
soon.”
Ompertz, to whom, as having the best knowledge of the place, the attack
was entrusted, led the men tactically up the terraces. Having advanced,
less, perhaps, to his surprise than Rollmar’s, without opposition
right up to the building, a bugle was blown, and the place summoned to
surrender. An iron shutter opened and old Gomer appeared.
“This castle,” he said, “will never surrender so long as there is a man
left to garrison it. One word, gentlemen, before you commit yourselves
to this vain business: I declare to you that you are greatly in error
in attacking us. The Princess is not here, she is not within these
walls, nor is there a soul here who knows where she is. Were these my
last words I could not say otherwise. I swear to you before Heaven the
lady is not in our keeping.”
Ompertz, who alone knew he spoke the truth, gave him the lie direct:
“Out, you lying old hound!” he cried. “If your word be true let us in
to prove it.”
“That I cannot do,” the seneschal retorted fiercely. “We have had
enough of such undesirable guests as yourself.”
“So you convict yourself of falsehood,” Ompertz returned. “The Princess
is within, and we will have her out; so the sooner you open your door
the better for you.”
For reply, the shutter was drawn across the window with a significant
bang, and the parley was at an end.
Had Ompertz not been aware that the lord of Teufelswald was absent, he
would have been far less hopeful than he was of taking the stronghold
by assault. As it was, he had a pretty shrewd idea that the garrison
was far from being a strong one either in numbers or spirit. Nearly a
dozen fighting men had been killed or wounded in the two encounters
with Ludwig and himself. Four had ridden forth with the Count; surely
not many could remain, and those were without their chief, who, besides
setting a vivid example of reckless daring, knew how to supplement
the courage of his followers by a lively fear of the consequences of
defeat. But he, worth a score of his humble bravos, was happily away,
and Ompertz had promptly taken care to send a detachment of his men
round to the rock door to intercept his possible return.
A short consultation among the leaders of the attacking party resulted
in the conclusion that there was but one feasible way of gaining
admittance, and that was to batter in the principal door. That looked
a formidable task enough; the massive iron-bound oak was manifestly
intended to provide against assault, and then there was the heavy
net-work of beams forming the portcullis to beat down, even before the
door itself was reached. But, given sufficient strength, anything
is physically possible, and with several score of men at his back,
Ompertz felt he could laugh at the Count’s iron-bound beams, which
could have defied a mere dozen assailants for many a day. The first
idea of the attacking party was to set fire to the oaken barrier, but
the wood was too little exposed to catch alight easily, and, moreover,
the contingency had been provided against by the contrivance of a long
cistern above the archway from which at any moment the portcullis could
be drenched with water.
But, though fire might be of no avail, the united weight and sinews
of a considerable body of men made a force which not even Count
Irromar’s barricades could withstand. A tree-trunk was utilized as a
battering-ram, and the attack began in earnest. It was not without its
difficulties. The soldiers swinging the huge log were exposed to an
oblique fire from certain loop-holes commanding the approach to the
entrance, and several men fell, fewer, however, than would probably
have been accounted for had the defence been conducted with more spirit
than seemed to be the case. Their exposure to this galling fire had
the effect of making the attacking party redouble their efforts; the
portcullis began to crack and show signs of giving way beneath the
tremendous battering of the swinging tree-trunk; the blows, planted
with insistence and precision, increased in effect, and made the
yielding of the strong beams only a question of time.
At length, with a crash, the portcullis was staved in, and, with a
shout, the men broke through and rushed forward eagerly to take the
same measures with the door. The shots from the loop-holes, which had
become more frequent and wildly aimed, upon this almost ceased. The
soldiers, being now close under the walls, were in a less exposed
position, but, apart from that, there were signs that the garrison were
either demoralized, or were preparing some new scheme of defence.
In a very few minutes the improvised battering-ram was brought into
position to play upon the door, and its thundering blows sent back
echoing booms from within. The men, now confident of easily forcing
an entry, were laughing, and applying themselves to their task with a
will in order to make short work of it. Suddenly there was a warning
cry from those behind who were farthest from the walls and, before the
foremost men could realize what was going to happen, a huge piece of
rock fell in their midst. Fortunately it came down just between the
two files of men who were working the battering-ram; it crashed plump
on the wood, sending it from the men’s grasp to the ground, and, at
the same time, giving many of the workers time to spring aside and so
avoid being struck by it. Several, however, who had wound the ropes
round their hands were shot forward by the impact, and more or less
crushed. All who were unhurt gave a savage cry of rage at the act, and,
reckless of a second fall, dashed forward to resume operations upon
the door. Ompertz was not slow in urging them on, being now in a wild
state of anxiety as to Ludwig’s safety. The Count’s men seemed capable
of anything, and the sooner their power for mischief was at an end the
better.
“There is plenty of booty in the robber’s den once we get in, my lads,”
he cried, and they again attacked the great door with a will. Scouts
were posted now to give warning of further operations from the roof,
but no more danger seemed to threaten from that quarter.
And now the door began to quiver and crack under incessant, untiring
blows, till, from one mighty stroke, it flew open. The leaders,
anticipating that the entry would be yet disputed, and that their men
would be received with a deadly volley, ordered them, as the door gave
way, to fall back on one side or the other.
But nothing of the kind happened. Instead of the desperate body of
defenders they had expected to confront they saw the great hall empty.
Then Ompertz rushed in like an avenging fury, and with a cheer the
troops followed.
“Take care! Look out for a surprise! These devils are capable of
anything,” the other captain cried warningly, but, for anything that
could be seen, the devils had lost heart and fled. So easily, in the
absence of its leading spirit, was this famed outlaw’s stronghold taken.
Through the now deserted rooms and passages Ompertz hurried, careless
of the tempting spoil which presented itself on every hand, and by
means of which he might easily have mended his fortunes, his mind
occupied by but one object, the finding of Ludwig. “Prince!” he
shouted, till the silent corridors echoed again, “Prince Ludwig! Where
are you?” But no answer came, and as his search went fruitlessly on,
the honest soldier began to have a sickening fear that he would never
hear that voice again. “Prince!” he cried, in his desperation, “I am
here, Ompertz, to set you free. Where are you?”
Shouting as he went, he reached a part of the building where the dimly
lighted passages radiated into the rock. The place was indeed the den
of a human brute. It struck despair into the soldier’s heart.
“A fine limbo for that smooth-spoken villain to live over,” he groaned
in his desperation. “And I gave him his life that he might finish his
butcher’s work. Poor Prince Ludwig! With all his mettle, and after all
his escapes, to find his death in this beast’s den!”
But he was not going to give up the search until he found the prisoner,
dead or alive. He tried one wedge-like passage after another, shouting
the while like a madman. One of the soldiers, hot for plunder, ran
against him.
“What’s the noise for, Captain?” he said, clapping him on the shoulder.
“You ought to know the bearings of this infernal rookery; now show me
where the money-chest is, and we will keep quiet, and share alike.”
“To the devil with your money-chest,” Ompertz returned impatiently. “I
neither know nor care where that murdering dog kept his plunder. I am
looking for a man.”
“A man?”
“Ay; the finest fellow that ever buckled on sword. Come, help me;
though I fear to find his corpse after all.”
The other laughed. “Search for a dead man? Not I. Nor for a live
woman, either, though the Chancellor is offering a hundred pieces to
the man who finds our Princess. There is the scent of wealth in this
strong-box, and that’s the game for me.”
He went off, and Ompertz ran on, calling Ludwig’s name. “Fool that I
am, to think the dead can hear me,” he exclaimed. He passed many doors,
trying them all, throwing open those that were unfastened, and kicking
at others that were locked, but getting no response. He came to a stone
gallery, hewn out of the rock. “Ludwig, my Prince!” he called hoarsely,
and the shout was echoed dismally out of the dark depths beyond.
Nothing but an echo, as mocking as the voice of the castle’s lord. No.
Ompertz could not believe that some fiendish voice was not mocking him,
as, from the darkness, came an answering cry pronouncing his name. He
listened, holding his breath now, not daring to believe he was not
cheated. Yes, there! The call came again, muffled but unmistakable,
“Ompertz!”
He dashed forward with a fervent cry, then stopped, puzzled. Where had
the answering voice come from? He was brought up by the end of the
gallery, a solid wall of rock. He called again. Again the reply, this
time behind him, but nearer, so close that he could recognize Ludwig’s
voice. But there was no sign of any door; nothing but a rough surface
of rocky wall, and it was from the depth of the rock that the voice
seemed to come.
Crying out to get a guiding answer, Ompertz came opposite to the spot
whence Ludwig’s voice so mysteriously proceeded.
“There is a door in the rock,” the King called out in answer to his
question. “Can you not find it?”
Ompertz searched as well as the obscurity would let him, but could
discover no indication of any opening.
“Wait, your Majesty!” he cried at last. “I will fetch those who will
set you free.”
He hastened back to the inhabited part of the castle, passing on his
way soldiers running hither and thither in their eagerness for booty,
who took as little heed of him as he of them. In an inner vestibule he
came upon a scuffling group. At first he thought it a dispute over some
object of value, then something caught his eye which made him turn and
rush up to the men.
It appeared that the party which he had posted to guard the rearward
approaches to the castle had caught some of the defenders as they took
their flight. It was a couple of these ruffians who were surrounded by
soldiers threatening them with instant death if they did not disclose
where the Count’s treasure was kept. Ompertz, recognizing one of the
captives as having held a somewhat superior position in the household,
pushed his way through, and transferred this fellow from the soldiers’
clutches to his own.
“The very man I want. He must show me the way to get at the greatest
prize of all, the man, King Ludwig, who is imprisoned yonder in the
rock.”
The fellow doggedly denied all knowledge of the prisoner.
“Fetch a rope, and throw it over that beam,” was Ompertz’s practical
argument.
The rope was quickly brought and adjusted, and the noose slipped over
the now grey face.
“Thirty seconds’ silence, my fine fellow, and you swing,” Ompertz
announced, with military decision.
There was no mistaking his meaning.
“What do you want?” growled the ruffian.
“The opening of my friend’s prison.”
“If I show you the trick you will let me go free?”
“So far as I am concerned you may go to the devil, who is doubtless
expecting you.”
“In my own time, Captain?”
“In your own time, or his. Now, hurry; or you will go in mine.”
With the rope still round his bull neck, the man was led off in haste
to the rock gallery, his conductors intending to play the same game
with him on their own account when the Captain should have done with
him.
From a receptacle at the entrance of the gallery the man took a small
winch. This, when they had arrived at the place where Ludwig’s voice
had been heard, he fitted into a cunningly concealed hole in the stone.
With a few turns, a portion of what seemed the solid rock began to
recede; it evidently revolved slowly on a pivot till it left an opening
wide enough for a man to pass through. Within was utter darkness, and
from this veritable living tomb Ludwig staggered out, having the face
of a man who had never thought to see the light of day again.