"They cannot be, for the State is greater than any individual."
"I shall make a note of that, my Lord of Cologne. I believe you are in
the right, and I hope so. During my lonely incarceration," the Prince
laughed a little, "I have studied the condition of the State, arriving
at the conclusion that the greatest traitors in our land are the three
Archbishops, who, arrogating to themselves power that should belong to
the Crown, did not use that power for suppressing those other
treason-mongers, the Barons of the Rhine."
"What would you have us do with them?"
"You should disarm them. You should exact restitution of their
illegally-won wealth. You should open the Rhine to honest commerce."
"That is easy to enunciate, and difficult to perform. If the Castles
were disarmed, especially those on the left bank, a great injustice
would be done that might lead to the extinction of many noble families.
Why, the forests of Germany are filled with desperate outlaws, who
respect neither life nor property. I myself have suffered but recently
from their depredations. In broad daylight an irresistible band of these
ruffians descended upon and captured the supposed impregnable Castle of
Rheinstein, shamefully maltreating Baron Hugo von Hohenfels, tying him
motionless, and nearly strangling him with stout ropes, after which the
scoundrels robbed him of every stiver he possessed. The following
midnight but one they descended on Furstenberg, a fief of my own, and
not contenting themselves with robbery, brought red ruin on the Margrave
by burning his Castle to the ground."
"My Lord, red ruin and the Red Margrave were made for each other. It was
the justice of God that they should meet." The young man raised aloft
his swordarm, shaking his clenched fist at the sky. "That hand held the
torch that fired Furstenberg. The Castle was taken and burned by three
sword makers from Frankfort, who never saw the Hunsruck or the outlaws
thereof."
The Archbishop reined in his horse, and looked at the excited young man
with amazement.
"_You_ fired Furstenberg?"
"Yes; and effectively, my Lord. I shall rebuild it for you, but the Red
Margrave I shall hang, as my predecessor Rudolph did his ancestor."
An expression of sternness hardened the Archbishop's face.
"Sir," he said, "I regret to hear you speak like this, and your safety
lies in the fact that I do not believe a word of it. Even so, such wild
words fill me with displeasure. I beg to remind you that the Election of
an Emperor has not yet taken place, and I, for one, am likely to
reconsider my decision. Still, as I said, I do not believe a word of
your absurd tale."
"I believe every syllable of it!" cried the Countess with enthusiasm,
"and glory that there is a mind brave enough, and a hand obedient to it,
to smoke out a robber and a murderer."
The tension this astonishing revelation caused was relieved by a laugh
from the Archbishop.
"My dear Hildegunde, you are forgetting your own ancestors. I venture
that no woman of the House of Sayn talked thus when the Emperor Rudolph
marched Count von Sayn to the scaffold. You would probably sing another
song if asked to restore the millions amassed by Henry III. of Sayn and
his successors; all accumulated by robbery as cruel as any that the Red
Margrave has perpetrated."
"My Lord," said the Countess proudly, "you had no need to ask that
question, for you knew the answer to it before you spoke. Every thaler I
control shall be handed over to Prince Roland, to be used for the
regeneration of his country."
Again the Archbishop laughed.
"Surely I knew that, my dear, and I should not have said what I did. I
suppose you will not allow me to vote against his Highness at the coming
Election."
"Indeed, you shall vote enthusiastically for him, because you know in
your own heart he is the man Germany needs."
"Was there ever such a change of front?" cried the Archbishop. "Why, my
dear, the charges you so hotly made against his Highness are as nothing
to what he has himself confessed; yet now he is the savior of Germany,
when previously--Ah, well, I must not play the tale-bearer."
"Prince Roland," cried the girl, "my kinsman, Father Ambrose, said he
met you in Frankfort, although now I believe him to have been mistaken."
"Oh no; I encountered the good Father on the bridge."
"There now!" exclaimed the Archbishop, "what do you say to that, my
lady?"
She seemed perplexed by the admission, but quickly replied to his
Lordship:
"'Twas you said that could not be, as he was a close prisoner in
Ehrenfels." She continued, addressing the Prince: "Father Ambrose
asserted that you were a companion of drinkers and brawlers in a low
wine cellar of Frankfort."
"Quite true; a score of them."
The girl became more and more perplexed.
"Did you imprison Father Ambrose?"
"Yes; in the lowest wine cellar, but only for a day or two. I am very
sorry, Madam, but it was a stern necessity of war. He was meddling with
affairs he knew nothing of, and there was no time for explanations. He,
a man of peace, would not have sanctioned what there was to do even if I
had explained."
"He says," continued the girl, "that he saw you rob a merchant of a bag
of gold."
"That is untrue!" cried the Prince.
"My dear Hildegunde, what is the robbing of a bag of gold from a
merchant when he admits having stolen gold by the castle full?"
"I robbed no merchant," protested the Prince. "How could Father Ambrose
make such a statement?"
"He mounted an outside stairway on the Fahrgasse, and through lighted
windows on the opposite side saw you place the point of your sword at
the throat of an unarmed merchant, and take from him a bag of gold."
Roland, whose brow had been knitted into an angry frown, now threw back
his head and laughed joyously.
"Oh, that was a mere frolic," he alleged.
It was the girl's turn to frown.
"When you took stolen treasure from thievish Barons and Margraves
protected by scores of armed men, with the object of breaking their
power, for the relief of commerce, I admired you, but to say that the
despoiling of a helpless merchant is a frolic--"
"No, no, my dear, you do not understand," eagerly corrected the Prince,
unconscious of the affectionate phrase that caused a flush to rise in
the cheeks of his listener. "The merchant was, and is, my partner; a
blameless man, Herr Goebel, who came near to being hanged on my behalf
when these Archbishops took me captive. I sought from him a thousand
thalers; he insisted on learning my plans for opening the Rhine, and
still would not give the money until, reluctantly, I was obliged to
confess myself son of the Emperor. This he could not credit, stipulating
that before giving the money I must produce for him a safe-conduct,
signed by the Emperor, and verified by the Great Seal of the Empire.
This document I obtained at dire personal risk, through the aid of my
mother. Here it is."
He thrust his hand into his doublet, and produced the parchment in
question, delivering it to the lady, who, however, did not unfold it,
but kept her eyes fixed upon him.
"This distrust annoyed me; it should not have done so, for he was merely
acting in the cautious manner natural to a merchant. With a boyishness I
now regret, I put my sword to his throat, demanding the money, which I
received. I took only half of it, for my mother had given me five
hundred thalers. Oh, no; I did not rob my friend Goebel, but merely
tried to teach him that lack of faith is a dangerous thing."
If the old man who listened could have exchanged confidences with the
young woman who listened, he would have learned they shared the same
thought, which was that the young Prince spoke so straight-forwardly
neither doubted him for a moment. The old man, it is true, felt that his
talk was rather reckless of consequences, but, on the other hand, this
in itself was complimentary, for, as he remembered, the Prince had been
cautious enough when catechized by the three Archbishops together.
"I have often read," said Cologne, with a smile, "pathetic accounts of
prisoners, who in extreme loneliness carved their names over and over
again on stone as hard as the jailer's heart, but your Highness seems
rather to have enjoyed yourself while so cruelly interned. May I further
beg of you to enlighten us concerning a somewhat bibulous youth who at
the present moment is enjoying, in every sense of the word, the
hospitality of Ehrenfels Castle?"
It was now the Archbishop's turn to astonish the Prince.
"You knew of my device, then?"
"'Knew' is a little too strong. 'Suspect' more nearly fits the case. You
won over your jailer, and some one else took your place as prisoner."
"Yes; a young man to whom I owe small thanks, and with whom I have an
account to settle. He is son of the custodian, and thinks he has us both
under his thumb, Heinrich drinks as if he were a fish or a Baron, but I
shall cure him of that habit before it becomes firmly established."
"Am I correct in assuming that you found your liberty only after your
interview with the three Electors?"
"Oh, bless you, no! I was free months before that time. Indeed, it is
only since then that my substitute is practically useless. Heinrich
might have passed for me at a pinch, but only because neither you nor
your colleagues had seen me. I have kept him under lock and key ever
since, because I dare not allow him abroad until the Election has taken
place."
"I see. A very wise precaution. Well, your Highness, I shall say nothing
of what you tell me; furthermore, I still promise you my vote; that is,
if you will obey my orders until you are elected Emperor. I foresee we
are not going to have the easy time with you that was anticipated, but
this concerns Mayence and Treves, rather than myself, for I have no
ambition to rule by proxy. And now, my lady of Sayn, when we journeyed
southward that day from Gutenfels Castle I gave you some information
regarding the mind of Mayence. You remember, perhaps, what I said about
his quandary. I rather suspect that he admires you, notwithstanding your
defiance of him; but there is nothing remarkable in that, for we all
appreciate you, old and young. I, too, carry a document of safe-conduct,
like Prince Roland here, although I see that his Highness has placed his
safety in your hands."
The old man smiled, and Hildegunde found herself still carrying the
parchment Roland had given her. For a moment she was confused, then
smiled also, and offered it back; but the Prince shook his head. The
Archbishop went on:
"Mayence sent down to me your written release, signed by himself and
Treves. He asked me to attach a signature, and liberate you on my way to
Frankfort, which I intended to do had this impetuous young man not
forestalled me. By the way, Highness, how did you happen to meet
Countess von Sayn in Pfalz?"
"We will tell you about that later, Guardian," said Hildegunde, before
Roland could speak. "What instructions did his Lordship of Mayence give
concerning me?"
"He asked me to bring you to my palace in Frankfort, and subtly
expressed the hope you had changed your mind."
"You may assure him I have," said the Countess, again speaking rapidly;
"but let us leave all details of that for the moment. I am then to go
with you to the capital?"
"Yes; to-morrow morning."
"To remain until the coronation?"
"Certainly; if such is your wish. But do you not see something very
significant in my brother Mayence's change of plan, for you know he did
not intend to release you until after that event?"
"Yes, yes," replied the Countess breathlessly. "I see it quite clearly,
but do not wish to discuss the matter at the present moment."
"Very well. I intended to enter Frankfort from the west, but meeting you
so unexpectedly, I have deflected my troops up the Lahn to Limburg, at
which town we will join them to-morrow night, thus following Father
Ambrose's route to the capital."
"Ah, that will be very interesting. Prince Roland, you accompany us, I
hope?"
"Of a surety," replied the young man confidently.
"No," quietly said the Archbishop.
"Why not?"
"Because I say no."
The young man almost an Emperor drew himself up proudly, and his lips
pressed together into a firm line of determination.
"Does your Highness so quickly forget your promise?"
"What promise?" asked the Prince, scowling.
"In consideration of my keeping silence touching your recent outrageous
career of fire and slaughter, and the enslavement of Heinrich, you
promised to obey me until you became Emperor."
"I intend to obey all reasonable requests, but I very much desire to
accompany the Countess from her Castle to the capital, I have never seen
Limburg, or taken that route to Frankfort."
"It is a charming old city," replied the Archbishop dryly, "which you
can visit any time at the expense of a day's ride. Meanwhile, I shall
escort the Countess thither, and endeavor to entertain her with pleasing
and instructive conversation during the journey."
The Prince continued to frown, yet bit his lip and repressed an angry
retort.
"But," protested the girl, "would it not be much safer for his Highness
to enter the city of Frankfort protected by your army?"
The Archbishop laughed a little.
"My dear Hildegunde, the presence of Prince Roland causes you to
overlook a vast difference in the status of you both, but surely the
exercise of a little imagination should present to you the true aspect
of affairs. You are a free woman, and I hold the document by which you
regained your liberty. Do not be deluded, therefore, by the apparent
fact that his Highness can raise a clenched fist aloft and defy the
heavens. It is not so. He wears fetters on his ankles, and manacles
round his wrists. Roland is a prisoner, and must straightway immure
himself. Your Highness, before us stands the stately Castle of Sayn,
where presently you shall refresh yourself, and be furnished with an
untired charger, on which to ride all night, that you may reach the
gates of Ehrenfels early to-morrow morning. Once there, place the
wine-loving Heinrich out of harm in the deepest dungeon, and take his
place as prisoner. It is arranged that the three Archbishops personally
escort you to Frankfort in the barge of Mayence, which will land you at
the water-steps of the Royal Palace. If it were known that I had been
even an hour in your company your chances of reaching the throne would
be seriously jeopardized."
"Surely such haste is unnecessary," cried the girl. "He can set out
to-morrow in one direction while we go in another. He traveled all last
night, and for most part of it was paddling a boat containing four
people; has ridden almost since daylight, and now to journey on
horseback throughout the night is too much for human endurance."
The grave smile of the Archbishop shone upon her anxiety.
"For lack of a nail the shoe was lost," he said, "and you know the
remainder of the warning. If Prince Roland cares to risk an Empire for a
night's rest, I withdraw my objection."
The Prince suddenly wheeled his horse, and coming briskly round to the
side of the girl, placed a hand on hers.
"A decision, Countess!" he cried. "Give me your decision. I shall always
obey you!"
"Oh, the rashness of youth!" murmured the Archbishop.
The girl looked up at the young man, and he caught his breath and
clasped her hand more tightly as he gazed into the depths of her
glorious eyes.
"You must go," she sighed.
"Yes, alas!"
He raised her unresisting hand to his lips, and again turned his horse.
"You will obey?" asked the Archbishop.
"I will obey, my Lord."
He flashed from its scabbard, into the rays of the setting sun, the
sword he had made, and elevating the hilt to his forehead, saluted the
Archbishop.
"I shall see you at Ehrenfels, my Lord."
"Ah, do not go thus. Come to the Castle for an hour's rest at least."
The young man whirled his sword around, and caught it by the blade,
touching the hilt with his lips as if it were a cross.
"I thank God," said he, "that I can willingly keep my oath."
Then, looking at the girl--"For the Empress, and not for the Empire!" he
cried.
The sword seemed to drop into the scabbard of its own accord, as Roland
set spurs to his steed and away.
XVIII
THE SWORD MAKER AT BAY
The heir-presumptive to the throne reached Frankfort very quietly in the
Archbishop's barge, and was landed after nightfall at the water-steps of
the Imperial Palace. The funeral of the Emperor took place almost as if
it were a private ceremonial. Grave trouble had been anticipated, and
the route of the procession for the short distance between Palace and
Cathedral was thickly lined on either side by the troops of the three
Archbishops. This precaution proved unnecessary. The dispirited citizens
cared nothing for their late nominal ruler, and they manifested their
undisguised hatred of the real rulers, the Archbishops, by keeping
indoors while their soldiers marched the streets.
The condition of the capital was unique. It suffered from a famine of
money rather than a famine of food. Frankfort starved in the midst of
plenty. Never had the earth been more fruitful than during this year,
and the coming autumn promised a harvest that would fill the granaries
to overflowing, yet no one brought in food to Frankfort, for the common
people had not the money to buy. The working population depended
entirely upon the merchants and manufacturers, and with the collapse of
mercantile business thousands were thrown out of employment, and this
penniless mob was augmented by the speedy cessation of all
manufacturing.
After the futile bread riots earlier in the year, put down so
drastically by the Archbishops, the population of the city greatly
diminished, and the country round about swarmed with homeless wanderers,
who at least were sure of something to eat, but being city-bred, and
consequently useless for agricultural employment, they gradually joined
into groups and marauding bands, greatly to the menace of the provinces
they traversed. Indeed, rumor had it that the robberies from certain
castles on the Rhine, and the burning of Furstenberg, were the work of
these free companies, consequently a sense of uneasiness permeated the
Empire, whose rulers, great and small, began to foresee that a
continuance of this state of things meant disaster to the rich as well
as misery to the poor. Charity, spasmodic and unorganized, proved wholly
unable to cope with the disaster that had befallen the capital city.
When darkness set in on the third night after Roland's return to
Frankfort, he made his way out into the unlighted streets, acting with
caution until certain he was not followed, then betook himself to the
Palace belonging to the Archbishop of Cologne.
The porter at first refused him entrance, and Roland, not wishing to
make himself known, declared he had an appointment with his Lordship.
Trusting that the underling could not read, he presented his parchment
safe-conduct, asking him to give that to his Lordship, with a message
that the bearer awaited his pleasure. The suspicious servant, seeing the
Grand Seal of the Empire upon the document, at once conducted Roland to
a room on the ground floor, then departed with the manuscript to find
his master.
The Archbishop returned with him, the Imperial scroll in his hand, and a
distinctly perceptible frown on his brow. When the servant withdrew,
closing the door, the prelate said:
"Highness, this is a very dangerous procedure on your part."
"Why, my Lord?"
"Because you are certain to have been followed."
"What matter for that?" asked the young man. "I am quite unknown in
Frankfort."
"Prince Roland," said the Archbishop gravely, "until your Election is
actually accomplished, you would be wise to do nothing that might arouse
the suspicion of Mayence. This house is watched night and day, and all
who come and go are noted. I dare say that within fifteen minutes
Mayence will know you have visited me."
"My dear Archbishop, they cannot note an unknown man. The uneasiness of
Frankfort has already taken hold of me, and therefore I saw to it that I
was not followed."
"If you were not followed when you came, you will certainly be followed
as you return."
"In that case, my Lord, the spies will track me to the innocent home of
Herr Goebel, the merchant, in the Fahrgasse."
"They will shadow you when you leave his house."
"Then their industry will be rewarded by an enjoyable terminus; in other
words, the drinking cellar of the Rheingold."
"Be assured, your Highness, that ultimately you will be traced to the
Royal Palace."
"Again not so, my Lord. They will be led across the bridge into the
mechanics' quarter of Sachsenhausen, and if the watch continues, they
must make a night of it, for I shall enter my humble room there and go
to bed."
"I see you have it all planned out," commented the discomfited
Archbishop.
The young man laughed.
"I anticipate an interesting life, my Lord, because it is my habit to
think before I act, and I notice that this apparently baffles the
Electors. The truth is that you three are so subtle, and so much afraid
of one another, so on the alert lest you be taken by surprise, that a
straightforward action on my part throws all intrigue out of gear. Now,
I'll warrant you cannot guess why I came here to-night."
"Oh, I know the reason very well."
"Do you? That astonishes me. What is the reason?"
"You came to see the Countess von Sayn."
"Ah, is the lady within? Why, of course, she must be. I remember now,
she was to accompany you to Frankfort, and it naturally follows she is
your guest."
"She is my guest, your Highness, and one reason why you cannot see her
is because at this moment the lady converses with the Count Palatine,
who has just arrived from Gutenfels. As the Countess and myself enjoyed
his hospitality not long ago in that stronghold, I have invited him to
be my guest until the coronation ceremonies are completed."
"My Lord, I regret that your hospitality halts when it reaches your
future Emperor. Why may I not be introduced to the Count Palatine?"
"Such introduction must not take place except in the presence of the
other Electors. I am very anxious, as you may perceive, that nothing
shall be done to jeopardize your own prospects. We have arrived, your
Highness, at a critical moment. History relates that more than one
candidate has come to the very steps of the throne, only to be rejected
at the last moment. I am too sincere a friend to risk such an outcome in
your own case."
"Then you think it injudicious of me to see the Countess until after the
Election?"
"I not only think it injudicious, your Highness, but I intend to prevent
a meeting."
Again the young man laughed.
"'Tis blessed then that I came for no such purpose; otherwise I might be
deeply disappointed."
"For what purpose did you come, Highness?"
"The Imperial Palace, my Lord, belongs no more to my mother. If she or I
continue there to reside, we seem to be taking for granted that I shall
be elected Emperor; an assumption unfair to the seven Electors, whose
choice should be untrammeled by even a hint of influence. I beg of you,
therefore, my Lord, to extend your hospitality to my mother. I have
spoken to her on this subject, and she will gladly be your guest, happy,
I am sure, to forsake that gloomy abode."
"I am honored, your Highness, by the opportunity you give me. I shall
wait upon the Empress to-morrow at whatever hour it is convenient for
her Majesty to receive me."
"You are most kind. I suggested that she should name an hour, and midday
was chosen."
The Archbishop bowed profoundly. The young man rose, and held out his
hand, which the Archbishop took with cordiality. The Prince looked very
straight-forwardly at his host, and the latter thought he detected a
twinkle in his eye, as he said with decision:
"To-morrow I shall formally notify my Lord of Mayence that the Empress
has chosen your Palace as her place of residence until after the
coronation, and I shall request his Lordship to crave your permission
that I may call here every day to see my mother."
Again Cologne bowed, and made no further protest, although Roland
seemingly expected one, but as it did not come, the Prince continued: