A CITY OF FEAR
The Countess Beatrix von Schonburg warmly welcomed her lost son and her
newly-found daughter. The belief of Beatrix in Wilhelm’s ultimate return
had never wavered during all the long years of his absence, and although
she had to translate her dream of the child of four into a reality
that included a stalwart young man of twenty-one, the readjustment
was speedily accomplished. Before a week had passed it seemed to her
delighted heart that the boy had never left the castle. The Countess had
liked Elsa from the first moment when she saw her, ragged, unkempt and
forlorn, among the lowering, suspicious men-at-arms in the courtyard,
and now that she knew the dangers and the privations the girl had braved
for the sake of Wilhelm, the affectionate heart of Beatrix found ample
room for the motherless Elsa.
With the Count, the process of mental reconstruction was slower, not
only on account of his former conviction that his son was dead, but
also because of the deep distrust in which he held the Outlaw. He said
little, as was his custom, but often sat with brooding brows, intently
regarding his son, gloomy doubt casting a shadow over his stern
countenance. Might not this be a well-laid plot on the part of the
Outlaw to make revenge complete by placing a von Weithoff in the halls
of Schonburg as master of that ancient stronghold? The circumstances in
which identity was disclosed, although sufficient to convince every
one else in the castle, appeared at times to the Count but the stronger
evidence of the Outlaw’s craft and subtlety. If the young man were
actually the son of von Weithoff, then undoubtedly the Outlaw had run
great risk of having him hanged forthwith, but on the other hand, the
prize to be gained, comprising as it did two notable castles and two
wide domains, was a stake worth playing high for, and a stake which
appealed strongly to a houseless, landless man, with not even a
name worth leaving to his son. Thus, while the Countess lavished
her affection on young Wilhelm, noticing nothing of her husband’s
distraction in this excessive happiness, Count Herbert sat alone in the
lofty Knight’s Hall, his elbows resting on the table before him, his
head buried in his hands, ruminating on the strange transformation that
had taken place, endeavouring to weigh the evidence _pro_ and _con_
with the impartial mind of an outsider, becoming the more bewildered the
deeper he penetrated into the mystery.
It was in this despondent attitude that Elsa found him a few days
after the leap from the wall that had caused her return to Schonburg,
a willing captive. The Count did not look up when she entered, and the
girl stood for a few moments in silence near him. At last she spoke in
a low voice, hesitating slightly, nevertheless going with incisive
directness into the very heart of the problem that baffled Count
Herbert.
“My Lord, you do not believe that Wilhelm is indeed your son.”
The master of Schonburg raised his head slowly and looked searchingly
into the frank face of the girl, gloomy distrust reflected from his own
countenance.
“Were you sent by your uncle to allay my suspicion?
“No, my Lord. I thought that a hint of the truth being given, Nature
would come to the assistance of mutual recognition. Such has been
the case between my lady and her son, but I see that you are still
unconvinced.”
“For my sins, I know something of the wickedness of this world, a
knowledge from which her purity has protected the Countess. You believe
that Wilhelm is my son?”
“I have never said so, my Lord.”
“What you did say was that you had taken an oath. You are too young and
doubtless too innocent to be a party to any plot, but you may have been
the tool of an unscrupulous man, who knew the oath would be broken when
the strain of a strong affection was brought to bear upon it.”
“Yet, my Lord, I kept my oath, although I saw my--my--”
The girl hesitated and blushed, but finally spoke up bravely:
“I saw my lover led to his destruction. If Wilhelm is my cousin, then
did his father take a desperate chance in trusting first, to my escape
from the camp, and second to my perjury. You endow him with more than
human foresight, my Lord.”
“He builded on your love for Wilhelm, which he had seen growing under
his eye before either you or the lad had suspicion of its existence. I
know the man, and he is a match for Satan, his master.”
“But Satan has been discomfited ere now by the angels of light, and
even by holy men, if legend tells truly. I have little knowledge of the
world, as you have said, but the case appears to me one of the simplest.
If my uncle wished the bitterest revenge on you, what could be more
terrible than cause you to be the executioner of your own son? The
vengeance, however, to be complete, depends on his being able to place
before you incontrovertible proof that you were the father of the
victim. Send, therefore, a messenger to him, one from Gudenfels, who
knows nothing of what has happened in this castle of Schonburg, and who
is therefore unable to disclose, even if forced to confess, that Wilhelm
is alive. Let the messenger inform my uncle that his son is no more,
which is true enough, and then await the Outlaw’s reply. And meanwhile
let me venture to warn you, my Lord, that it would be well to conceal
your disbelief from Wilhelm, for he is high-spirited, and if he gets
but an inkling that you distrust him, he will depart; for not all your
possessions will hold your son if he once learns that you doubt him,
so you are like to find yourself childless again, if your present mood
masters you much longer.”
The Count drew a deep sigh, then roused himself and seemed to shake off
the influence that enchained him.
“Thank you, my girl,” he cried, with something of the old ring in his
voice, “I shall do as you advise, and if this embassy results as you
say, you will ever find your staunchest friend in me.”
He held out his hand to Elsa, and departed to his other castle of
Gudenfels on the opposite side of the Rhine. From thence he sent a
messenger who had no knowledge of what was happening in Schonburg.
When at last the messenger returned from the Outlaw’s camp, he brought
with him a wailing woman and grim tidings that he feared to deliver.
Thrice his lordship demanded his account, the last time with such
sternness that the messenger quailed before him.
“My Lord,” he stammered at last, “a frightful thing has taken
place--would that I had died before it was told to me. The young man
your lordship hanged was no other than----’
“Well, why do you pause? You were going to say he was my own son. What
proof does the Outlaw offer that such was indeed the case?”
“Alas! my Lord, the proof seems clear enough. Here with me is young Lord
Wilhelm’s nurse, whose first neglect led to his abduction, and who fled
to the forest after him, and was never found. She followed him to the
Outlaw’s camp, and was there kept prisoner by him until she was at last
given charge of the lad, under oath that she would teach him to forget
who he was, the fierce Outlaw threatening death to both woman and child
were his orders disobeyed. She has come willingly with me hoping to
suffer death now that one she loved more than son has died through her
first fault.”
Then to the amazement of the pallid messenger the Count laughed aloud
and called for Wilhelm, who, when he was brought, clasped the trembling
old woman in his arms, overjoyed to see her again and eager to learn
news of the camp. How was the stout Gottlieb? Had the messenger seen
Captain Heinrich? and so on.
“Indeed, my young Lord,” answered the overjoyed woman “there was such
turmoil in the camp that I was glad to be quit of it with unbroken
bones. When the Outlaw proclaimed that you were hanged, there was
instant rebellion among his followers, who thought that your capture was
merely a trick to be speedily amended, being intended to form a laughing
matter to your discomfiture when you returned. They swore they would
have torn down Schonburg with their bare hands rather than have left you
in jeopardy, had they known their retreat imperilled your life.”
“The brave lads!” cried the young man in a glow of enthusiasm, “and here
have I been maligning them for cowards! What was the outcome?”
“That I do not know, my Lord, being glad to escape from the ruffians
with unfractured head.”
The result of the embassy was speedily apparent at Schonburg. Two days
later, in the early morning, the custodians at the gate were startled
by the shrill Outlaw yell, which had on so many occasions carried terror
with it into the hearts of Rhine strongholds.
“Come out, Hangman of Schonburg!” they shouted, “come out, murderer of
a defenceless prisoner. Come out, before we drag you forth, for the rope
is waiting for your neck and the gallows tree is waiting for the rope.”
Count Herbert was first on the battlements, and curtly he commanded his
men not to launch bolt at the invaders, knowing the outlaws mistakenly
supposed him to be the executioner of their former comrade. A moment
later young Wilhelm himself appeared on the wall above the gate, and,
lifting his arms above his head raised a great shout of joy at seeing
there collected his old companions, calling this one or that by name
as he recognised them among the seething, excited throng. There was an
instant’s cessation of the clamour, then the outlaws sent forth a cheer
that echoed from all the hills around. They brandished their weapons
aloft, and cheered again and again, the garrison of the castle, now
bristling along the battlements, joining in the tumult with strident
voices. Gottlieb advanced some distance toward the gate, and holding up
his hand for silence addressed Wilhelm.
“Young master,” he cried, “we have deposed von Weithoff, and would have
hanged him, but that he escaped during the night, fled to Mayence and
besought protection of the Archbishop. If you will be our leader we will
sack Mayence and hang the Archbishop from his own cathedral tower.”
“That can I hardly do, Gottlieb, as a messenger has been sent to the
Archbishop asking him to come to Schonburg and marry Elsa to me. He
might take our invasion as an unfriendly act and refuse to perform the
ceremony.”
Gottlieb scratched his head as one in perplexity, seeing before him a
question of etiquette that he found difficult to solve. At last he said:
“What need of Archbishop? You and Elsa have been brought up among us,
therefore confer honour on our free company by being married by our own
Monk who has tied many a knot tight enough to hold the most wayward
of our band. The aisles of the mighty oaks are more grand than the
cathedral at Mayence or the great hall of Schonburg.”
“Indeed I am agreed, if Elsa is willing. We will be married first in the
forest and then by the Archbishop in the great hall of Schonburg.”
“In such case there will be delay, for now that I bethink me, his
Lordship of Mayence has taken himself to Frankfort, where he is to meet
the Archbishops of Treves and Cologne who will presently journey to the
capital We were thinking of falling upon his reverence of Cologne as he
passed up the river, unless he comes with an escort too numerous for us,
which, alas! is most likely, so suspicious has the world grown.”
“You will be wise not to meddle with the princes of the Church, be their
escorts large or small.”
“Then, Master Wilhelm, be our leader, for we are likely to get into
trouble unless a man of quality is at our head.”
Wilhelm breathed a deep sigh and glanced sideways at his father, who
stood some distance off, leaning on his two-handed sword, a silent
spectator of the meeting.
“The free life of the forest is no more for me, Gottlieb. My duty is
here in the castle of my forefathers, much though I grieve to part with
you.”
This decision seemed to have a depressing effect on the outlaws within
hearing. Gottlieb retired, and the band consulted together for a time,
then their spokesman again advanced.
“Some while since,” he began in dolorous tone, “we appealed to the
Emperor to pardon us, promising in such case to quit our life of
outlawry and take honest service with those nobles who needed stout
blades, but his Majesty sent reply that if we came unarmed to the
capital and tendered submission, he would be graciously pleased to hang
a round dozen of us to be selected by him, scourge the rest through the
streets of Frankfort and so bestow his clemency on such as survived.
This imperial tender we did not accept, as there was some uncertainty
regarding whose neck should feel the rope and whose back the scourge.
While all were willing to admit that more than a dozen of us sorely
needed hanging, yet each man seemed loath to claim precedence over
his neighbour in wickedness, and desired, in some sort, a voice in the
selection of the victims. But if you will accept our following, Master
Wilhelm, we will repair at once to Frankfort and make submission to his
Majesty the Emperor. The remnant being well scourged, will then return
to Schonburg to place themselves under your command.”
“Are you willing then to hang for me, Gottlieb?”
“I hanker not after the hanging, but if hang we must, there is no man
I would rather hang for than Wilhelm, formerly of the forest, but now,
alas! of Schonburg. And so say they all without dissent, therefore the
unanimity must needs include the eleven other danglers.”
“Then draw nigh, all of you, to the walls and hear my decision.”
Gottlieb waving his arms, hailed the outlaws trooping to the walls, and,
his upraised hand bringing silence, Wilhelm spoke:
“Such sacrifice as you propose, I cannot accept, yet I dearly wish to
lead a band of men like you. Elsa and I shall be married by our ancient
woodland father in the forest and then by the Abbot of St. Werner in the
hall of Schonburg. We will make our wedding journey to Frankfort, and
you shall be our escort and our protectors.”
There was for some moments such cheering at this that the young man was
compelled to pause in his address, and then as the outcry was again and
again renewed, he looked about for the cause and saw that Elsa and his
mother had taken places on the balcony which overlooked the animated
scene. The beautiful girl had been recognised by the rebels and she
waved her hand in response to their shouting.
“We will part company,” resumed Wilhelm, “as near Frankfort as it is
safe for you to go, and my wife and I, accompanied by a score of men
from this castle, will enter the capital. I will beg your complete
pardon from his Majesty and if at first it is refused, I think Elsa
will have better success with the Empress, who may incline her imperial
husband toward clemency. All this I promise, providing I receive the
consent and support of my father, and I am not likely to be refused,
for he already knows the persuasive power of my dear betrothed when she
pleads for mercy.”
“My consent and support I most willingly bestow,” said the Count, with a
fervour that left no doubt of his sincerity.
The double marriage was duly solemnised, and Wilhelm, with his
newly-made wife, completed their journey to Frankfort, escorted until
almost within sight of the capital by five hundred and twenty men, but
they entered the gates of the city accompanied by only the score of
Schonburg men, the remaining five hundred concealing themselves in the
rough country, as they well knew how to do.
Neither Wilhelm nor Elsa had ever seen a large city before, and silence
fell upon them as they approached the western gate, for they were coming
upon a world strange to them, and Wilhelm felt an unaccustomed elation
stir within his breast, as if he were on the edge of some adventure
that might have an important bearing on his future. Instead of passing
peaceably through the gate as he had expected, the cavalcade was
halted after the two had ridden under the gloomy stone archway, and
the portcullis was dropped with a sudden clang, shutting out the twenty
riders who followed. One of several officers who sat on a stone bench
that fronted the guard-house within the walls, rose and came forward.
“What is your name and quality?” he demanded, gruffly.
“I am Wilhelm, son of Count von Schonberg.”
“What is your business here in Frankfort?”
“My business relates to the emperor, and is not to be delivered to the
first underling who has the impudence to make inquiry,” replied
Wilhelm in a haughty tone, which could scarcely be regarded, in the
circumstances, as diplomatic.
Nevertheless, the answer did not seem to be resented, but rather
appeared to have a subduing effect on the questioner, who turned, as if
for further instruction, to another officer, evidently his superior in
rank. The latter now rose, came forward, doffing his cap, and said:
“I understand your answer better than he to whom it was given, my Lord.”
“I am glad there is one man of sense at a gate of the capital,” said
Wilhelm, with no relaxation of his dignity, but nevertheless bewildered
at the turn the talk had taken, seeing there was something underneath
all this which he did not comprehend, yet resolved to carry matters with
a high hand until greater clearness came to the situation.
“Will you order the portcullis raised and permit my men to follow me?”
“They are but temporarily detained until we decide where to quarter
them, my Lord. You know,” he added, lowering his voice, “the necessity
for caution. Are you for the Archbishop of Treves, of Cologne, or of
Mayence?”
“I am from the district of Mayence, of course.”
“And are you for the archbishop?”
“For the archbishop certainly. He would have honoured me by performing
our marriage ceremony had he not been called by important affairs of
state to the capital, as you may easily learn by asking him, now that he
is within these walls.”
The officer bowed low with great obsequiousness and said:
“Your reply is more than sufficient, my Lord, and I trust you will
pardon the delay we have caused you. The men of Mayence are quartered in
the Leinwandhaus, where room will doubtless be made for your followers.
“It is not necessary for me to draw upon the hospitality of the good
Archbishop, as I lodge in my father’s town house near the palace, and
there is room within for the small escort I bring.”
Again the officer bowed to the ground, and the portcullis being by this
time raised, the twenty horsemen came clattering under the archway,
and thus, without further molestation, they arrived at the house of the
Count von Schonburg.
“Elsa,” said Wilhelm, when they were alone in their room, “there is
something wrong in this city. Men look with fear one upon another, and
pass on hurriedly, as if to avoid question. Others stand in groups at
the street corners and speak in whispers, glancing furtively over their
shoulders.”
“Perhaps that is the custom in cities,” replied Elsa.
“I doubt it. I have heard that townsmen are eager for traffic, inviting
all comers to buy, but here most of the shops are barred, and no
customers are solicited. They seem to me like people under a cloud of
fear. What can it be?”
“We are more used to the forest path than to city streets, Wilhelm. They
will all become familiar to us in a day or two, yet I feel as if I could
not get a full breath in these narrow streets and I long for the trees
already, but perhaps content will come with waiting.”
“‘Tis deeper than that. There is something ominous in the air. Noted
you not the questioning at the gate and its purport? They asked me if
I favoured Treves, or Cologne, or Mayence, but none inquired if I stood
loyal to the Emperor, yet I was entering his capital city of Frankfort.”
“Perhaps you will learn all from the Emperor when you see him,” ventured
Elsa.
“Perhaps,” said Wilhelm.
The chamberlain of the von Schonburg household, who had supervised the
arrangements for the reception of the young couple, waited upon his
master in the evening and informed him that the Emperor would not be
visible for some days to come.
“He has gone into retreat, in the cloisters attached to the cathedral,
and it is the imperial will that none disturb him on worldly affairs.
Each day at the hour when the court assembles at the palace, the Emperor
hears exhortation from the pious fathers in the Wahlkapelle of the
cathedral; the chapel in which emperors are elected; these exhortations
pertaining to the ruling of the land, which his majesty desires to
govern justly and well.
“An excellent intention,” commented the young man, with suspicion of
impatience in his tone, “but meanwhile, how are the temporal affairs of
the country conducted?”
“The Empress Brunhilda is for the moment the actual head of the state.
Whatever act of the ministers receives her approval, is sent by a monk
to the Emperor, who signs any document so submitted to him.”
“Were her majesty an ambitious woman, such transference of power might
prove dangerous.”
“She is an ambitious woman, but devoted to her husband, who, it perhaps
may be whispered, is more monk than king,” replied the chamberlain
under his breath. “Her majesty has heard of your lordship’s romantic
adventures and has been graciously pleased to command that you and her
ladyship, your wife, be presented to her to-morrow in presence of the
court.”
“This is a command which it will be a delight to obey. But tell me, what
is wrong in this great town? There is a sinister feeling in the air;
uneasiness is abroad, or I am no judge of my fellow-creatures.”
“Indeed, my Lord, you have most accurately described the situation.
No man knows what is about to happen. The gathering of the Electors is
regarded with the gravest apprehension. The Archbishop of Mayence, who
but a short time since crowned the Emperor at the great altar of the
cathedral, is herewith a thousand men at his back. The Count Palatine
of the Rhine is also within these walls with a lesser entourage. It is
rumoured that his haughty lordship, the Archbishop of Treves, will reach
Frankfort to-morrow, to be speedily followed by that eminent Prince of
the Church, the Archbishop of Cologne. Thus there will be gathered in
the capital four Electors, a majority of the college, a conjunction
that has not occurred for centuries, except on the death of an emperor,
necessitating the nomination and election of his successor.”
“But as the Emperor lives and there is no need of choosing another,
wherein lies the danger?
“The danger lies in the fact that the college has the power to depose as
well as to elect.”
“Ah! And do the Electors threaten to depose?”
“No. Treves is much too crafty for any straight-forward statement of
policy. He is the brains of the combination, and has put forward Mayence
and the Count Palatine as the moving spirits, although it is well known
that the former is but his tool and the latter is moved by ambition to
have his imbecile son selected emperor.”
“Even if the worst befall, it seems but the substitution of a
weak-minded man for one who neglects the affairs of state, although I
should think the princes of the Church would prefer a monarch who is so
much under the influence of the monks.”
“The trouble is deeper than my imperfect sketch of the situation would
lead you to suppose, my Lord. The Emperor periodically emerges from his
retirement, promulgates some startling decree, unheeding the counsel of
any adviser, then disappears again, no man knowing what is coming
next. Of such a nature was his recent edict prohibiting the harrying of
merchants going down the Rhine and the Moselle, which, however just in
theory, is impracticable, for how are the nobles to reap revenue if such
practices are made unlawful? This edict has offended all the magnates
of both rivers, and the archbishops, with the Count Palatine, claim
that their prerogatives have been infringed, so they come to Frankfort
ostensibly to protest, while the Emperor in his cloister refuses to meet
them. The other three Electors hold aloof, as the edict touches them
not, but they form a minority which is powerless, even if friendly to
the Emperor. Meanwhile his majesty cannot be aroused to an appreciation
of the crisis, but says calmly that if it is the Lord’s will he remain
emperor, emperor he will remain.”
“Then at its limit, chamberlain, all we have to expect is a peaceful
deposition and election?”
“Not so, my lord. The merchants of Frankfort are fervently loyal, to the
Emperor, who, they say, is the first monarch to give forth a just law
for their protection. At present the subtlety of Treves has nullified
all combined action on their part, for he has given out that he comes
merely to petition his over-lord, which privilege is well within his
right, and many citizens actually believe him, but others see that a
majority of the college will be within these walls before many days are
past, and that the present Emperor may be legally deposed and another
legally chosen. Then if the citizens object, they are rebels, while at
this moment if they fight for the Emperor they are patriots, so you see
the position is not without its perplexities, for the citizens well know
that if they were to man the walls and keep out Treves and Cologne, the
Emperor himself would most likely disclaim their interference, trusting
as he does so entirely in Providence that a short time since he actually
disbanded the imperial troops, much to the delight of the archbishops,
who warmly commended his action. And now, my Lord, if I may venture to
tender advice unasked, I would strongly counsel you to quit Frankfort as
soon as your business here is concluded, for I am certain that a
change of government is intended. All will be done promptly, and the
transaction will be consummated before the people are aware that such a
step is about to be taken. The Electors will meet in the Wahlzimmer
or election room of the Romer and depose the Emperor, then they will
instantly select his successor, adjourn to the Wahlkapelle and elect
him. The Palatine’s son is here with his father, and will be crowned at
the high altar by the Archbishop of Mayence. The new Emperor will dine
with the Electors in the Kaisersaal and immediately after show
himself on the balcony to the people assembled in the Romerberg below.
Proclamation of his election will then be made, and all this need not
occupy more than two hours. The Archbishop of Mayence already controls
the city gates, which since the disbanding of the imperial troops have
been unguarded, and none can get in or out of the city without that
potentate’s permission. The men of Mayence are quartered in the centre
of the town, the Count Palatine’s troops are near the gate. Treves and
Cologne will doubtless command other positions, and thus between
them they will control the city. Numerous as the merchants and their
dependents are, they will have no chance against the disciplined force
of the Electors, and the streets of Frankfort are like to run with
blood, for the nobles are but too eager to see a sharp check given to
the rising pretensions of the mercantile classes, who having heretofore
led peaceful lives, will come out badly in combat, despite their
numbers; therefore I beg of you, my Lord, to withdraw with her Ladyship
before this hell’s caldron is uncovered.”
“Your advice is good, chamberlain, in so far as it concerns my wife, and
I will beg of her to retire to Schonburg, although I doubt if she
will obey, but, by the bones of Saint Werner which floated against the
current of the Rhine in this direction, if there must be a fray, I will
be in the thick of it.”
“Remember, my Lord, that your house has always stood by the Archbishop
of Mayence.”
“It has stood by the Emperor as well, chamberlain.”
The Lady Elsa was amazed by the magnificence of the Emperor’s court,
when, accompanied by her husband, she walked the length of the great
room to make obeisance before the throne. At first entrance she shrank
timidly, closer to the side of Wilhelm, trembling at the ordeal of
passing, simply costumed as she now felt herself to be, between two
assemblages of haughty knights and high-born dames, resplendent in
dress, with the proud bearing that pertained to their position in
the Empire. Her breath came and went quickly, and she feared that all
courage would desert her before she traversed the seemingly endless
lane, flanked by the nobility of Germany, which led to the royal
presence. Wilhelm, unabashed, holding himself the equal of any there,
was not to be cowed by patronising glance, or scornful gaze. The thought
flashed through his mind:
“How can the throne fall, surrounded as it is by so many supporters?”
But when the approaching two saw the Empress, all remembrance of others
faded from their minds. Brunhilda was a woman of superb stature. She
stood alone upon the dais which supported the vacant throne, one hand
resting upon its carven arm. A cloak of imperial ermine fell gracefully
from her shapely shoulders and her slightly-elevated position on the
platform added height to her goddess-like tallness, giving her the
appearance of towering above every other person in the room, man or
woman. The excessive pallor of her complexion was emphasised by the
raven blackness of her wealth of hair, and the sombre midnight of her
eyes; eyes with slumbering fire in them, qualified by a haunted look
which veiled their burning intensity. Her brow was too broad and her
chin too firm for a painter’s ideal of beauty; her commanding presence
giving the effect of majesty rather than of loveliness. Deep lines of
care marred the marble of her forehead, and Wilhelm said to himself:
“Here is a woman going to her doom; knowing it; yet determined to show
no sign of fear and utter no cry for mercy.”
Every other woman there had eyes of varying shades of blue and gray, and
hair ranging from brown to golden yellow; thus the Empress stood before
them like a creature from another world.
Elsa was about to sink in lowly courtesy before the queenly woman when
the Empress came forward impetuously and kissed the girl on either
cheek, taking her by the hand.
“Oh, wild bird of the forest,” she cried, “why have you left the pure
air of the woods, to beat your innocent wings in this atmosphere of
deceit! And you, my young Lord, what brings you to Frankfort in these
troublous times? Have you an insufficiency of lands or of honours that
you come to ask augmentation of either?”
“I come to ask nothing for myself, your Majesty.”
“But to ask, nevertheless,” said Brunhilda, with a frown.
“Yes, your Majesty.”
“I hope I may live to see one man, like a knight of old, approach the
foot of the throne without a request on his lips. I thought you might
prove an exception, but as it is not so, propound your question?”
“I came to ask if my sword, supplemented by the weapons of five hundred
followers, can be of service to your Majesty.”
The Empress seemed taken aback by the young man’s unexpected reply, and
for some moments she gazed at him searchingly in silence.
At last she said:
“Your followers are the men of Schonburg and Gudenfels, doubtless?”
“No, your Majesty. Those you mention, acknowledge my father as their
leader. My men were known as the Outlaws of the Hundsrück, who have
deposed von Weithoff, chosen me as their chief, and now desire to lead
honest lives.”
The dark eyes of the Empress blazed again.
“I see, my Lord, that you have quickly learned the courtier’s language.
Under proffer of service you are really demanding pardon for a band of
marauders.”
Wilhelm met unflinchingly the angry look of this imperious woman, and
was so little a courtier that he allowed a frown to add sternness to his
brow.
“Your Majesty puts it harshly,” he said, “I merely petition for a stroke
of the pen which will add half a thousand loyal men to the ranks of the
Emperor’s supporters.”
Brunhilda pondered on this, then suddenly seemed to arrive at a
decision. Calling one of the ministers of state to her side, she said,
peremptorily:
“Prepare a pardon for the Outlaws of the Hundsrück. Send the document
at once to the Emperor for signature, and then bring it to me in the Red
Room.”
The minister replied with some hesitation:
“I should have each man’s name to inscribe on the roll, otherwise every
scoundrel in the Empire will claim protection under the edict.”
“I can give you every man’s name,” put in Wilhelm, eagerly.
“It is not necessary,” said the Empress.
“Your Majesty perhaps forgets,” persisted the minister, “that pardon
has already been proffered by the Emperor under certain conditions that
commended themselves to his imperial wisdom, and that the clemency so
graciously tendered was contemptuously refused.”
At this veiled opposition all the suspicion in Brunhilda’s nature turned
from Wilhelm to the high official, and she spoke to him in the tones of
one accustomed to prompt obedience.
“Prepare an unconditional pardon, and send it immediately to the Emperor
without further comment, either to him or to me.”
The minister bowed low and retired. The Empress dismissed the court,
detaining Elsa, and said to Wilhelm:
“Seek us half an hour later in the Red Room. Your wife I shall take with
me, that I may learn from her own lips the adventures which led to your
recognition as the heir of Schonburg, something of which I have already
heard. And as for your outlaws, send them word if you think they are
impatient to lead virtuous lives, which I take leave to doubt, that
before another day passes they need fear no penalty for past misdeed,
providing their future conduct escapes censure.”
“They are one and all eager to retrieve themselves in your Majesty’s
eyes!”
“Promise not too much, my young Lord, for they may be called upon to
perform sooner than they expect,” said Brunhilda, with a significant
glance at Wilhelm.
The young man left the imperial presence, overjoyed to know that his
mission had been successful.