Produced by Lee Dawei, David Moynihan, Michelle Shephard,
Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
THE STRONG ARM
By Robert Barr
CONTENTS
Chapter I. THE BEAUTIFUL JAILER OF GUDENFELS
II. THE REVENGE OF THE OUTLAW
III. A CITY OF FEAR
IV. THE PERIL OF THE EMPEROR
V. THE NEEDLE DAGGER
VI. THE HOLY FEHM
THE COUNT’S APOLOGY
CONVERTED
AN INVITATION
THE ARCHBISHOP’S GIFT
COUNT KONRAD’S COURTSHIP
THE LONG LADDER
“GENTLEMEN: THE KING!”
THE HOUR-GLASS
THE WARRIOR MAID OF SAN CARLOS
THE AMBASSADOR’S PIGEONS
CHAPTER I
THE BEAUTIFUL JAILER OF GUDENFELS
The aged Emir Soldan sat in his tent and smiled; the crafty Oriental
smile of an experienced man, deeply grounded in the wisdom of this
world. He knew that there was incipient rebellion in his camp; that the
young commanders under him thought their leader was becoming too old
for the fray; caution overmastering courage. Here were these dogs of
unbelievers setting their unhallowed feet on the sacred soil of Syria,
and the Emir, instead of dashing against them, counselled coolness and
prudence. Therefore impatience disintegrated the camp and resentment
threatened discipline. When at last the murmurs could be no longer
ignored the Emir gathered his impetuous young men together in his tent,
and thus addressed them.
“It may well be that I am growing too old for the active field; it may
be that, having met before this German boar who leads his herd of swine,
I am fearful of risking my remnant of life against him, but I have ever
been an indulgent general, and am now loath to let my inaction stand
against your chance of distinction. Go you therefore forth against him,
and the man who brings me this boar’s head shall not lack his reward.”
The young men loudly cheered this decision and brandished their weapons
aloft, while the old man smiled upon them and added:
“When you are bringing confusion to the camp of the unbelievers, I shall
remain in my tent and meditate on the sayings of the Prophet, praying
him to keep you a good spear’s length from the German’s broad sword,
which he is the habit of wielding with his two hands.”
The young Saracens went forth with much shouting, a gay prancing of
the horses underneath them and a marvellous flourishing of spears above
them, but they learned more wisdom in their half hour’s communion with
the German than the Emir, in a long life of counselling, had been able
to bestow upon them. The two-handed sword they now met for the first
time, and the acquaintance brought little joy to them. Count Herbert,
the leader of the invaders, did no shouting, but reserved his breath for
other purposes. He spurred his horse among them, and his foes went
down around him as a thicket melts away before the well-swung axe of a
stalwart woodman. The Saracens had little fear of death, but mutilation
was another thing, for they knew that they would spend eternity in
Paradise, shaped as they had left this earth, and while a spear’s thrust
or a wound from an arrow, or even the gash left by a short sword may
be concealed by celestial robes, how is a man to comport himself in the
Land of the Blest who is compelled to carry his head under his arm, or
who is split from crown to midriff by an outlandish weapon that
falls irresistible as the wrath of Allah! Again and again they threw
themselves with disastrous bravery against the invading horde, and after
each encounter they came back with lessened ranks and a more chastened
spirit than when they had set forth. When at last, another counsel of
war was held, the young men kept silence and waited for the smiling Emir
to speak.
“If you are satisfied that there are other things to think of in war
than the giving and taking of blows I am prepared to meet this German,
not on his own terms but on my own. Perhaps, however, you wish to try
conclusions with him again?”
The deep silence which followed this inquiry seemed to indicate that
no such desire animated the Emir’s listeners, and the old man smiled
benignly upon his audience and went on.
“There must be no more disputing of my authority, either expressed or
by implication. I am now prepared to go forth against him taking with me
forty lancers.”
Instantly there was a protest against this; the number was inadequate,
they said.
“In his fortieth year our Prophet came to a momentous decision,”
continued the Emir, unheeding the interruption, “and I take a spear with
me for every year of the Prophet’s life, trusting that Allah will add to
our number, at the prophet’s intervention, should such an augmentation
prove necessary. Get together then the forty _oldest_ men under my
command. Let them cumber themselves with nothing in the way of offence
except one tall spear each, and see that every man is provided with
water and dates for twenty days’ sustenance of horse and man in the
desert.”
The Emir smiled as he placed special emphasis on the word “oldest,” and
the young men departed abashed to obey his orders.
Next morning Count Herbert von Schonburg saw near his camp by the
water-holes a small group of horsemen standing motionless in the desert,
their lances erect, butt downward, resting on the sand, the little
company looking like an oasis of leafless poplars. The Count was
instantly astride his Arab charger, at the head of his men, ready to
meet whatever came, but on this occasion the enemy made no effort to
bring on a battle, but remained silent and stationary, differing greatly
from the hordes that had preceded it.
“Well,” cried the impatient Count, “if Mahomet will not come to the
mountain, the mountain for once will oblige him.”
He gave the word to charge, and put spurs to his horse, causing instant
animation in the band of Saracens, who fled before him as rapidly as the
Germans advanced. It is needless to dwell on the project of the Emir,
who simply followed the example of the desert mirages he had so often
witnessed in wonder. Never did the Germans come within touch of their
foes, always visible, but not to be overtaken. When at last Count
Herbert was convinced that his horses were no match for the fleet steeds
of his opponents he discovered that he and his band were hopelessly lost
in the arid and pathless desert, the spears of the seemingly phantom
host ever quivering before him in the tremulous heated air against the
cloudless horizon. Now all his energies were bent toward finding the way
that led to the camp by the water-holes, but sense of locality seemed to
have left him, and the ghostly company which hung so persistently on his
flanks gave no indication of direction, but merely followed as before
they had fled. One by one the Count’s soldiers succumbed, and when at
last the forty spears hedged him round the Emir approached a prisoner
incapable of action. The useless sword which hung from his saddle was
taken, and water was given to the exhausted man and his dying horse.
When the Emir Soldan and his forty followers rode into camp with their
prisoner there was a jubilant outcry, and the demand was made that the
foreign dog be instantly decapitated, but the Emir smiled and, holding
up his hand, said soothingly:
“Softly, softly, true followers of the only Prophet. Those who neglected
to remove his head while his good sword guarded it, shall not now
possess themselves of it, when that sword is in my hands.”
And against this there could be no protest, for the prisoner belonged to
the Emir alone, and was to be dealt with as the captor ordained.
When the Count had recovered speech, and was able to hold himself as a
man should, the Emir summoned him, and they had a conference together in
Soldan’s tent.
“Western barbarian,” said the Emir, speaking in that common tongue made
up of languages Asiatic and European, a strange mixture by means of
which invaders and invaded communicated with each other, “who are you
and from what benighted land do you come?”
“I am Count Herbert von Schonburg. My castle overlooks the Rhine in
Germany.”
“What is the Rhine? A province of which you are the ruler?”
“No, your Highness, it is a river; a lordly stream that never
diminishes, but flows unceasingly between green vine-clad hills; would
that I had some of the vintage therefore to cheer me in my captivity and
remove the taste of this brackish water!”
“In the name of the Prophet, then, why did you leave it?”
“Indeed, your Highness, I have often asked myself that question of late
and found but insufficient answer.”
“If I give you back your sword, which not I, but the demon Thirst
captured from you, will you pledge me your word that you will draw it no
more against those of my faith, but will return to your own land, safe
escort being afforded you to the great sea where you can take ship?”
“As I have fought for ten years, and have come no nearer Jerusalem than
where I now stand, I am content to give you my word in exchange for my
sword, and the escort you promise.”
And thus it came about that Count Herbert von Schonburg, although still
a young man, relinquished all thought of conquering the Holy Land, and
found himself one evening, after a long march, gazing on the placid
bosom of the broad Rhine, which he had not seen since he bade good-bye
to it, a boy of twenty-one, then as warlike and ambitious, as now, he
was peace loving and tired of strife. The very air of the Rhine valley
breathed rest and quiet, and Herbert, with a deep sigh, welcomed the
thought of a life passed in comforting uneventfulness.
“Conrad,” he said to his one follower, “I will encamp here for the
night. Ride on down the Rhine, I beg of you, and cross the river where
you may, that you may announce my coming some time before I arrive. My
father is an old man, and I am the last of the race, so I do not wish to
come unexpectedly on him; therefore break to him with caution the fact
that I am in the neighbourhood, for hearing nothing from me all these
years it is like to happen he believes me dead.”
Conrad rode down the path by the river and disappeared while his master,
after seeing to the welfare of his horse, threw himself down in a
thicket and slept the untroubled sleep of the seasoned soldier. It was
daylight when he was awakened by the tramp of horses. Starting to his
feet, he was confronted by a grizzled warrior with half a dozen men at
his back, and at first the Count thought himself again a prisoner, but
the friendliness of the officer soon set all doubts at rest.
“Are you Count Herbert von Schonburg?” asked the intruder.
“Yes. Who are you?”
“I am Richart, custodian of Castle Gudenfels, and commander of the small
forces possessed by her Ladyship, Countess von Falkenstein. I have to
acquaint you with the fact that your servant and messenger has been
captured. Your castle of Schonburg is besieged, and Conrad, unaware,
rode straight into custody. This coming to the ears of my lady the
Countess, she directed me to intercept you if possible, so that
you might not share the fate of your servant, and offer to you the
hospitality of Gudenfels Castle until such time as you had determined
what to do in relation to the siege of your own.”
“I give my warmest thanks to the Countess for her thoughtfulness. Is her
husband the Count then dead?”
“It is the young Countess von Falkenstein whose orders I carry. Her
father and mother are both dead, and her Ladyship, their only child, now
holds Gudenfels.”
“What, that little girl? She was but a child when I left the Rhine.”
“Her Ladyship is a woman of nineteen now.”
“And how long has my father been besieged?”
“Alas! it grieves me to state that your father, Count von Schonburg, has
also passed away. He has been dead these two years.”
The young man bowed his head and crossed himself. For a long time he
rode in silence, meditating upon this unwelcome intelligence, grieved to
think that such a desolate home-coming awaited him.
“Who, then, holds my castle against the besiegers?”
“The custodian Heinrich has stubbornly stood siege since the Count, your
father, died, saying he carries out the orders of his lord until the
return of the son.”
“Ah! if Heinrich is in command then is the castle safe,” cried the young
man, with enthusiasm. “He is a born warrior and first taught me the use
of the broad-sword. Who besieges us? The Archbishop of Mayence? He was
ever a turbulent prelate and held spite against our house.”
Richart shifted uneasily in his saddle, and for the moment did not
answer. Then he said, with hesitation:
“I think the Archbishop regards the siege with favour, but I know
little of the matter. My Lady, the Countess, will possess you with full
information.”
Count Herbert looked with astonishment upon the custodian of Castle
Gudenfels. Here was a contest going on at his very doors, even if on
the opposite side of the river, and yet a veteran knew nothing of the
contest. But they were now at the frowning gates of Castle Gudenfels,
with its lofty square pinnacled tower, and the curiosity of the young
Count was dimmed by the admiration he felt for this great stronghold
as he gazed upward at it. An instant later he with his escort passed
through the gateway and stood in the courtyard of the castle. When he
had dismounted the Count said to Richart:
“I have travelled far, and am not in fit state to be presented to a
lady. Indeed, now that I am here, I dread the meeting. I have seen
nothing of women for ten years, and knew little of them before I left
the Rhine. Take me, I beg of you, to a room where I may make some
preparation other than the camp has heretofore afforded, and bring me,
if you can, a few garments with which to replenish this faded, torn and
dusty apparel.”
“My Lord, you will find everything you wish in the rooms allotted to
you. Surmising your needs, I gave orders to that effect before I left
the castle.”
“That was thoughtful of you, Richart, and I shall not forget it.”
The Custodian without replying led his guest up one stair and then
another. The two traversed a long passage until they came to an open
door. Richart standing aside, bowed low, and entreated his lordship to
enter. Count Herbert passed into a large room from which a doorway
led into a smaller apartment which the young man saw was fitted as a
bedroom. The rooms hung high over the Rhine, but the view of the river
was impeded by the numerous heavy iron bars which formed a formidable
lattice-work before the windows. The Count was about to thank his
conductor for providing so sumptuously for him, but, turning, he was
amazed to see Richart outside with breathless eagerness draw shut the
strong door that led to the passage from which he had entered, and a
moment later, Herbert heard the ominous sound of stout bolts being shot
into their sockets. He stood for a moment gazing blankly now at the
bolted door, now at the barred window, and then slowly there came to him
the knowledge which would have enlightened a more suspicious man long
before--that he was a prisoner in the grim fortress of Gudenfels.
Casting his mind backward over the events of the morning, he now saw a
dozen sinister warnings that had heretofore escaped him. If a friendly
invitation had been intended, what need of the numerous guard of armed
men sent to escort him? Why had Richart hesitated when certain questions
were asked him? Count Herbert paced up and down the long room, reviewing
with clouded brow the events of the past few hours, beginning with the
glorious freedom of the open hillside in the early dawn and ending with
these impregnable stone walls that now environed him. He was a man slow
to anger, but resentment once aroused, burned in his heart with a steady
fervour that was unquenchable. He stopped at last in his aimless pacing,
raised his clinched fist toward the timbered ceiling, and cursed the
Countess von Falkenstein. In his striding to and fro the silence had
been broken by the clank of his sword on the stone floor, and he now
smiled grimly as he realised that they had not dared to deprive him of
his formidable weapon; they had caged the lion from the distant desert
without having had the courage to clip his claws. The Count drew his
broadsword and swung it hissing through the air, measuring its reach
with reference to the walls on either hand, then, satisfying himself
that he had free play, he took up a position before the door and stood
there motionless as the statue of a war-god. “Now, by the Cross I fought
for,” he muttered to himself, “the first man who sets foot across this
threshold enters the chamber of death.”
He remained thus, leaning with folded arms on the hilt of his long
sword, whose point rested on the flags of the floor, and at last his
patience was rewarded. He heard the rattle of the bolts outside, and a
tense eagerness thrilled his stalwart frame. The door came cautiously
inward for a space of perhaps two feet and was then brought to a stand
by the tightening links of a stout chain, fastened one end to the door,
the other to the outer wall. Through the space that thus gave a view of
the wide outer passage the Count saw Richart stand with pale face, well
back at a safe distance in the centre of the hall. Two men-at-arms held
a position behind their master.
“My Lord,” began Richart in trembling voice, “her Ladyship, the
Countess, desires----”
“Open the door, you cringing Judas!” interrupted the stern command of
the count; “open the door and set me as free as your villainy found me.
I hold no parley with a traitor.”
“My Lord, I implore you to listen. No harm is intended you, and my Lady,
the Countess, asks of you a conference touching----”
The heavy sword swung in the air and came down upon the chain with a
force that made the stout oaken door shudder. Scattering sparks cast a
momentary glow of red on the whitened cheeks of the startled onlookers.
The edge of the sword clove the upper circumference of an iron link,
leaving the severed ends gleaming like burnished silver, but the chain
still held. Again and again the sword fell, but never twice in the same
spot, anger adding strength to the blows, but subtracting skill.
“My Lord! my Lord!” beseeched Richart, “restrain your fury. You cannot
escape from this strong castle even though you sever the chain.”
“I’ll trust my sword for that,” muttered the prisoner between his set
teeth.
There now rang out on the conflict a new voice; the voice of a woman,
clear and commanding, the tones instinct with that inborn quality of
imperious authority which expects and usually obtains instant obedience.
“Close the door, Richart,” cried the unseen lady. The servitor made a
motion to obey, but the swoop of the sword seemed to paralyse him where
he stood. He cast a beseeching look at his mistress, which said as
plainly as words: “You are ordering me to my death.” The Count, his
weapon high in mid-air, suddenly swerved it from its course, for there
appeared across the opening a woman’s hand and arm, white and shapely,
fleecy lace falling away in dainty folds from the rounded contour of the
arm. The small, firm hand grasped bravely the almost severed chain and
the next instant the door was drawn shut, the bolts clanking into their
places. Count Herbert, paused, leaning on his sword, gazing bewildered
at the closed door.
“Ye gods of war!” he cried; “never have I seen before such cool courage
as that!”
For a long time the Count walked up and down the spacious room, stopping
now and then at the window to peer through the iron grille at the rapid
current of the river far below, the noble stream as typical of freedom
as were the bars that crossed his vision, of captivity. It seemed that
the authorities of the castle had abandoned all thought of further
communication with their truculent prisoner. Finally he entered the
inner room and flung himself down, booted and spurred as he was, upon
the couch, and, his sword for a bedmate, slept. The day was far spent
when he awoke, and his first sensation was that of gnawing hunger,
for he was a healthy man. His next, that he had heard in his sleep
the cautious drawing of bolts, as if his enemies purposed to project
themselves surreptitiously in upon him, taking him at a disadvantage.
He sat upright, his sword ready for action, and listened intently. The
silence was profound, and as the Count sat breathless, the stillness
seemed to be emphasised rather than disturbed by a long-drawn sigh which
sent a thrill of superstitious fear through the stalwart frame of the
young man, for he well knew that the Rhine was infested with spirits
animated by evil intentions toward human beings, and against such
spirits his sword was but as a willow wand. He remembered with renewed
awe that this castle stood only a few leagues above the Lurlei rocks
where a nymph of unearthly beauty lured men to their destruction, and
the knight crossed himself as a protection against all such. Gathering
courage from this devout act, and abandoning his useless weapon, he
tiptoed to the door that led to the larger apartment, and there found
his worst anticipations realised. With her back against the closed outer
door stood a Siren of the Rhine, and, as if to show how futile is the
support of the Evil One in a crisis, her very lips were pallid with fear
and her blue eyes were wide with apprehension, as they met those of the
Count von Schonburg. Her hair, the colour of ripe yellow wheat, rose
from her smooth white forehead and descended in a thick braid that
almost reached to the floor. She was dressed in the humble garb of a
serving maiden, the square bit of lace on her crown of fair hair and the
apron she wore, as spotless as new fallen snow. In her hand she held
a tray which supported a loaf of bread and a huge flagon brimming with
wine. On seeing the Count, her quick breathing stopped for the moment
and she dropped a low courtesy.
“My Lord,” she said, but there came a catch in her throat, and she could
speak no further.
Seeing that he had to deal with no spirit, but with an inhabitant of the
world he knew and did not fear, there arose a strange exultation in the
heart of the Count as he looked upon this fair representative of his own
country. For ten years he had seen no woman, and now a sudden sense of
what he had lost overwhelmed him, his own breath coming quicker as the
realisation of this impressed itself upon him. He strode rapidly toward
her, and she seemed to shrink into the wall at his approach, wild fear
springing into her eyes, but he merely took the laden tray from her
trembling hands and placed it upon a bench. Then raising the flagon to
his lips, he drank a full half of its contents before withdrawing it. A
deep sigh of satisfaction followed, and he said, somewhat shamefacedly:
“Forgive my hurried greed, maiden, but the thirst of the desert seems to
be in my throat, and the good wine reminds me that I am a German.”
“It was brought for your use,” replied the girl, demurely, “and I am
gratified that it meets your commendation, my Lord.”
“And so also do you, my girl. What is your name and who are you?”
“I am called Beatrix, my Lord, a serving-maid of this castle, the
daughter of the woodman Wilhelm, and, alas! that it should be so, for
the present your jailer.”
“If I quarrelled as little with my detention, as I see I am like to do
with my keeper, I fear captivity would hold me long in thrall. Are the
men in the castle such cravens then that they bestow so unwelcome a task
upon a woman?”
“The men are no cravens, my Lord, but this castle is at war with yours,
and for each man there is a post. A woman would be less missed if so
brave a warrior as Count von Schonburg thought fit to war upon us.”
“But a woman makes war upon me, Beatrix. What am I to do? Surrender
humbly?”
“Brave men have done so before now and will again, my Lord, where women
are concerned. At least,” added Beatrix, blushing and casting down her
eyes, “I have been so informed.”
“And small blame to them,” cried the count, with enthusiasm. “I swear to
you, my girl, that if women warriors were like the woodman’s daughter, I
would cast away all arms except these with which to enclasp her.”
And he stretched out his hands, taking a step nearer, while she shrank
in alarm from him.
“My Lord, I am but an humble messenger, and I beg of you to listen to
what I am asked to say. My Lady, the Countess, has commissioned me to
tell you that--”
A startling malediction of the Countess that accorded ill with the
scarlet cross emblazoned on the young man’s breast, interrupted the
girl.
“I hold no traffic with the Countess,” he cried. “She has treacherously
laid me by the heels, coming as I did from battling for the Cross that
she doubtless professes to regard as sacred.”
“It was because she feared you, my Lord. These years back tales of your
valour in the Holy Land have come to the Rhine, and now you return to
find your house at war with hers. What was she to do? The chances stood
even with only your underling in command; judge then what her fate must
be with your strong sword thrown in the balance against her. All’s fair
in war, said those who counselled her. What would you have done in such
an extremity, my Lord?”
“What would I have done? I would have met my enemy sword in hand and
talked with him or fought with him as best suited his inclination.”
“But a lady cannot meet you, sword in hand, my Lord.”
The Count paused in the walk he had begun when the injustice of his
usage impressed itself once more upon him. He looked admiringly at the
girl.
“That is most true, Beatrix. I had forgotten. Still, I should not have
been met with cozenry. Here came I from starvation in the wilderness,
thirst in the desert, and from the stress of the battle-field, back to
mine own land with my heart full of yearning love for it and for all
within its boundaries. I came even from prison, captured in fair fight,
by an untaught heathen, whose men lay slain by my hand, yet with the
nobility of a true warrior, he asked neither ransom nor hostage, but
handed back my sword, saying, ‘Go in peace.’ That in a heathen land!
but no sooner does my foot rest on this Christian soil than I am met by
false smiles and lying tongues, and my welcome to a neighbour’s house is
the clank of the inthrust bolt.”
“Oh, it was a shameful act and not to be defended,” cried the girl, with
moist eyes and quivering lip, the sympathetic reverberation of her voice
again arresting the impatient steps of the young man, causing him to
pause and view her with a feeling that he could not understand, and
which he found some difficulty in controlling. Suddenly all desire for
restraint left him, he sprang forward, clasped the girl in his arms
and drew her into the middle of the room, where she could not give the
signal that might open the door.
“My Lord! my Lord!” she cried in terror, struggling without avail to
free herself.
“You said all’s fair in war and saying so, gave but half the proverb,
which adds, all’s fair in love as well, and maiden, nymph of the
woodland, so rapidly does a man learn that which he has never been
taught, I proclaim with confidence that I love thee.”
“A diffident and gentle lover you prove yourself!” she gasped with
rising indignation, holding him from her.
“Indeed, my girl, there was little of diffidence or gentleness in my
warring, and my wooing is like to have a touch of the same quality. It
is useless to struggle for I have thee firm, so take to yourself some of
that gentleness you recommend to me.”
He strove to kiss her, but Beatrix held her head far from him, her open
palm pressed against the red cross that glowed upon his breast, keeping
him thus at arm’s length.
“Count von Schonburg, what is the treachery of any other compared with
yours? You came heedlessly into this castle, suspecting as you say, no
danger: I came within this room to do you service, knowing my peril, but
trusting to the honour of a true soldier of the Cross, and this is
my reward! First tear from your breast this sacred emblem, valorous
assaulter of a defenceless woman, for it should be worn by none but
stainless gentlemen.”
Count Herbert’s arms relaxed, and his hands dropped listless to his
sides.
“By my sword,” he said, “they taught you invective in the forest. You
are free. Go.”
The girl made no motion to profit by her newly acquired liberty, but
stood there, glancing sideways at him who scowled menacingly at her.
When at last she spoke, she said, shyly: “I have not yet fulfilled my
mission.”
“Fulfil it then in the fiend’s name and begone.”
“Will you consent to see my Lady the Countess?”
“No.”
“Will you promise not to make war upon her if you are released?”
“No.”
“If, in spite of your boorishness, she sets you free, what will you do?”
“I will rally my followers to my banner, scatter the forces that
surround my castle, then demolish this prison trap.”
“Am I in truth to carry such answers to the Countess?”
“You are to do as best pleases you, now and forever.”
“I am but a simple serving-maid, and know nothing of high questions
of state, yet it seems to me such replies do not oil prison bolts, and
believe me, I grieve to see you thus detained.”
“I am grateful for your consideration. Is your embassy completed?”
The girl, her eyes on the stone floor, paused long before replying, then
said, giving no warning of a change of subject, and still not raising
her eyes to his:
“You took me by surprise; I am not used to being handled roughly; you
forget the distance between your station and mine, you being a noble
of the Empire, and I but a serving-maid; if, in my anger, I spoke in a
manner unbecoming one so humble, I do beseech that your Lordship pardon
me.”
“Now by the Cross to which you appealed, how long will you stand
chattering there? Think you I am made of adamant, and not of flesh and
blood? My garments are tattered at best, I would in woman’s company they
were finer, and this cross of Genoa red hangs to my tunic, but by a few
frail threads. Beware, therefore, that I tear it not from my breast as
you advised, and cast it from me.”
Beatrix lifted one frightened glance to the young man’s face and saw
standing on his brow great drops of sweat. His right hand grasped the
upper portion of the velvet cross, partly detached from his doublet, and
he looked loweringly upon her. Swiftly she smote the door twice with her
hand and instantly the portal opened as far as the chain would allow it.
Count Herbert noticed that in the interval, three other chains had been
added to the one that formerly had baffled his sword. The girl, like
a woodland pigeon, darted underneath the lower chain, and although the
prisoner took a rapid step forward, the door, with greater speed, closed
and was bolted.
The Count had requested the girl to be gone, and surely should have been
contented now that she had withdrawn herself, yet so shifty a thing is
human nature, that no sooner were his commands obeyed than he began
to bewail their fulfilment. He accused himself of being a double fool,
first, for not holding her when he had her; and secondly, having allowed
her to depart, he bemoaned the fact that he had acted rudely to her,
and thus had probably made her return impossible. His prison seemed
inexpressibly dreary lacking her presence. Once or twice he called out
her name, but the echoing empty walls alone replied.
For the first time in his life the heavy sleep of the camp deserted him,
and in his dreams he pursued a phantom woman, who continually dissolved
in his grasp, now laughingly, now in anger.
The morning found him deeply depressed, and he thought the unaccustomed
restraints of a prison were having their effect on the spirits of a man
heretofore free. He sat silently on the bench watching the door.
At last, to his great joy, he heard the rattle of bolts being withdrawn.
The door opened slowly to the small extent allowed by the chains, but no
one entered and the Count sat still, concealed from the view of whoever
stood without.
“My Lord Count,” came the sweet tones of the girl and the listener with
joy, fancied he detected in it a suggestion of apprehension, doubtless
caused by the fact that the room seemed deserted. “My Lord Count, I have
brought your breakfast; will you not come and receive it?”
Herbert rose slowly and came within range of his jailer’s vision. The
girl stood in the hall, a repast that would have tempted an epicure
arrayed on the wooden trencher she held in her hands.
“Beatrix, come in,” he said.
“I fear that in stooping, some portion of this burden may fall. Will you
not take the trencher?”
The young man stepped to the opening and, taking the tray from her,
placed it on the bench as he had previously done; then repeated his
invitation.
“You were displeased with my company before, my Lord, and I am loath
again to offend.”
“Beatrix, I beg you to enter. I have something to say to you.”
“Stout chains bar not words, my Lord. Speak and I shall listen.”
“What I have to say, is for your ear alone.”
“Then are the conditions perfect for such converse, my Lord. No guard
stands within this hall.”
The Count sighed deeply, turned and sat again on the bench, burying his
face in his hands. The maiden having given excellent reasons why she
should not enter, thus satisfying her sense of logic, now set logic at
defiance, slipped under the lowest chain and stood within the room,
and, so that there might be no accusation that she did things by halves,
closed the door leaning her back against it. The knight looked up at her
and saw that she too had rested but indifferently. Her lovely eyes half
veiled, showed traces of weeping, and there was a wistful expression
in her face that touched him tenderly, and made him long for her;
nevertheless he kept a rigid government upon himself, and sat there
regarding her, she flushing, slightly under his scrutiny, not daring to
return his ardent gaze.
“Beatrix,” he said slowly, “I have acted towards you like a boor and
a ruffian, as indeed I am; but let this plead for me, that I have ever
been used to the roughness of the camp, bereft of gentler influences. I
ask your forgiveness.”
“There is nothing to forgive. You are a noble of the Empire, and I but a
lowly serving-maid.”
“Nay, that cuts me to the heart, and is my bitterest condemnation.
A true man were courteous to high and low alike. Now, indeed, you
overwhelm me with shame, maiden of the woodlands.”
“Such was not my intention, my Lord. I hold you truly noble in nature as
well as in rank, otherwise I stood not here.”
“Beatrix, does any woodlander come from the forest to the castle walls
and there give signal intended for you alone?”
“Oh, no, my Lord.”
“Perhaps you have kindly preference for some one within this
stronghold?”
“You forget, my Lord, that the castle is ruled by a lady, and that the
preference you indicate would accord ill with her womanly government.”
“In truth I know little of woman’s rule, but given such, I suppose
the case would stand as you say. The Countess then frowns upon lovers’
meetings.”
“How could it be otherwise?”
“Have you told her of--of yesterday?”
“You mean of your refusal to come to terms with her? Yes, my Lord.”
“I mean nothing of the kind, Beatrix.”
“No one outside this room has been told aught to your disadvantage, my
Lord,” said the girl blushing rose-red.
“Then she suspects nothing?”
“Suspects nothing of what, my Lord?”
“That I love you, Beatrix.”
The girl caught her breath, and seemed about to fly, but gathering
courage, remained, and said speaking hurriedly and in some confusion:
“As I did not suspect it myself I see not how my Lady should have made
any such surmise, but indeed it may be so, for she chided me bitterly
for remaining so long with you, and made me weep with her keen censure;
yet am I here now against her express wish and command, but that is
because of my strong sympathy for you and my belief that the Countess
has wrongfully treated you.”
“I care nothing for the opinion of that harridan, except that it may
bring harsh usage to you; but Beatrix, I have told you bluntly of my
love for you, answer me as honestly.”
“My Lord, you spoke just now of a woodlander--”
“Ah, there is one then. Indeed, I feared as much, for there can be none
on all the Rhine as beautiful or as good as you.”
“There are many woodlanders, my Lord, and many women more beautiful than
I. What I was about to say was that I would rather be the wife of the
poorest forester, and lived in the roughest hut on the hillside, than
dwell otherwise in the grandest castle on the Rhine.”
“Surely, surely. But you shall dwell in my castle of Schonburg as my
most honoured wife, if you but will it so.”
“Then, my Lord, I must bid you beware of what you propose. Your wife
must be chosen from the highest in the land, and not from the lowliest.
It is not fitting that you should endeavour to raise a serving-maid to
the position of Countess von Schonburg. You would lose caste among your
equals, and bring unhappiness upon us both.”
Count Herbert grasped his sword and lifting it, cried angrily: “By the
Cross I serve, the man who refuses to greet my wife as he would greet
the Empress, shall feel the weight of this blade.”
“You cannot kill a whisper with a sword, my Lord.”
“I can kill the whisperer.”
“That can you not, my Lord, for the whisperer will be a woman.”
“Then out upon them, we will have no traffic with them. I have lived too
long away from the petty restrictions of civilisation to be bound down
by them now, for I come from a region where a man’s sword and not his
rank preserved his life.” As he spoke he again raised his huge weapon
aloft, but now held it by the blade so that it stood out against the
bright window like a black cross of iron, and his voice rang forth
defiantly: “With that blade I won my honour; by the symbol of its hilt I
hope to obtain my soul’s salvation, on both united I swear to be to you
a true lover and a loyal husband.”
With swift motion the girl covered her face with her hands and Herbert
saw the crystal drops trickle between her fingers. For long she could
not speak and then mastering her emotion, she said brokenly:
“I cannot accept, I cannot now accept. I can take no advantage of a
helpless prisoner. At midnight I shall come and set you free, thus my
act may atone for the great wrong of your imprisonment; atone partially
if not wholly. When you are at liberty, if you wish to forget your
words, which I can never do, then am I amply repaid that my poor
presence called them forth. If you remember them, and demand of the
Countess that I stand as hostage for peace, she is scarce likely to deny
you, for she loves not war. But know that nothing you have said is to be
held against you, for I would have you leave this castle as free as when
you entered it. And now, my Lord, farewell.”
Before the unready man could make motion to prevent her, she had opened
the door and was gone, leaving it open, thus compelling the prisoner
to be his own jailer and close it, for he had no wish now to leave the
castle alone when he had been promised such guidance.
The night seemed to Count Herbert the longest he had ever spent, as he
sat on the bench, listening for the withdrawing of the bolts; if indeed
they were in their sockets, which he doubted. At last the door was
pushed softly open, and bending under the chain, he stood in the outside
hall, peering through the darkness, to catch sight of his conductor. A
great window of stained glass occupied the southern end of the hall,
and against it fell the rays of the full moon now high in the heavens,
filling the dim and lofty apartment with a coloured radiance resembling
his visions of the half tones of fairyland. Like a shadow stood the
cloaked figure of the girl, who timidly placed her small hand in his
great palm, and that touch gave a thrill of reality to the mysticism
of the time and the place. He grasped it closely, fearing it might
fade away from him as it had done in his dream. She led him silently by
another way from that by which he had entered, and together they passed
through a small doorway that communicated with a narrow circular stair
which wound round and round downwards until they came to another door at
the bottom, which let them out in the moonlight at the foot of a turret.
“Beatrix,” whispered the young man, “I am not going to demand you of the
Countess. I shall not be indebted to her for my wife. You must come with
me now.”
“No, no,” cried the girl shrinking from him, “I cannot go with you thus
surreptitiously, and no one but you and me must ever learn that I led
you from the castle. You shall come for me as a lord should for his
lady, as if he thought her worthy of him.”
“Indeed, that do I. Worthy? It is I who am unworthy, but made more
worthy I hope in that you care for me.”
From where they stood the knight saw the moonlight fall on his own
castle of Schonburg, the rays seeming to transform the grey stone into
the whitest of marble, the four towers standing outlined against the
blue of the cloudless sky. The silver river of romance, flowed silently
at its feet reflecting again the snowy purity of the reality in an
inverted quivering watery vision. All the young man’s affection for the
home he had not seen for years seemed to blend with his love for the
girl standing there in the moonlight. Gently he drew her to him, and
kissed her unresisting lips.
“Woodland maiden,” he said tenderly, “here at the edge of the forest is
your rightful home and not in this grim castle, and here will I woo thee
again, being now a free man.”
“Indeed,” said the girl with a laugh in which a sob and a sigh
intermingled, “it is but scanty freedom I have brought to you; an
exchange of silken fetters for iron chains.”
His arms still around her, he unloosed the ribbon that held in thrall
the thick braid of golden hair, and parting the clustering strands
speedily encompassed her in a cloak of misty fragrance that seemed as
unsubstantial as the moonlight that glittered through its meshes. He
stood back the better to admire the picture he seemed to have created.
“My darling,” he cried, “you are no woodland woman, but the very spirit
of the forest herself. You are so beautiful, I dare not leave you here
to the mercies of this demon, who, finding me gone, may revenge herself
on you. If before she dared to censure you, what may she not do now that
you have set me free? Curse her that she stands for a moment between my
love and me.”
He raised his clenched fist and shook it at the tower above him, and
seemed about to break forth in new maledictions against the lady, when
Beatrix, clasping her hands cried in terror:
“No, no, Herbert, you have said enough. How can you pretend to love me
when implacable hatred lies so near to your affection. You must forgive
the Countess. Oh, Herbert, Herbert, what more could I do to atone? I
have withdrawn my forces from around your castle; I have set you free
and your path to Schonburg lies unobstructed. Even now your underling,
thinking himself victorious, is preparing an expedition against me, and
nothing but your word stands, between me and instant attack. Ponder, I
beseech of you, on my position. War, not of my seeking, was bequeathed
to me, and a woman who cannot fight must trust to her advisers, and thus
may do what her own heart revolts against. They told me that if I made
you prisoner I could stop the war, and thus I consented to that act of
treachery for which you so justly condemn me.”
“Beatrix,” cried her amazed lover, “what madness has come over you?”
“No madness touched me, Herbert, until I met you, and I sometimes think
that you have brought back with you the eastern sorcery of which I
have heard--at least such may perhaps make excuse for my unmaidenly
behaviour. Herbert, I am Beatrix of Gudenfels, Countess von Falkenstein,
who is and ever will be, if you refuse to pardon her, a most unhappy
woman.”
“No woodland maiden, but the Countess! The Countess von Falkenstein!”
murmured her lover more to himself than to, his eager listener, the
lines on his perplexed brow showing that he was endeavouring to adjust
the real and the ideal in his slow brain.
“A Countess, Herbert, who will joyfully exchange the privileges of her
station for the dear preference shown to the serving-maid.”
A smile came to the lips of Von Schonburg as he held out his hands, in
which the Countess placed her own.
“My Lady Beatrix,” he said, “how can I refuse my pardon for the first
encroachment on my liberty, now that you have made me your prisoner for
life?”
“Indeed, my captured lord,” cried the girl, “you are but now coming to
a true sense of your predicament. I marvelled that you felt so resentful
about the first offence, when the second was so much more serious. Am I
then forgiven for both?”
It seemed that she was, and the Count insisted on returning to his
captivity, and coming forth the next day, freed by her commands,
whereupon, in the presence of all her vassals, he swore allegiance to
her with such deference that her advisers said to her that she must now
see they had been right in counselling his imprisonment. Prison, they
said, had a wonderfully quieting effect upon even the most truculent,
the Count being quickly subdued when he saw his sword-play had but
little effect on the chain. The Countess graciously acknowledged that
events had indeed proved the wisdom of their course, and said it was not
to be wondered at that men should know the disposition of a turbulent
man, better than an inexperienced woman could know it.
And thus was the feud between Gudenfels and Schonburg happily ended, and
Count Herbert came from the Crusades to find two castles waiting for
him instead of one as he had expected, with what he had reason to prize
above everything else, a wife as well.