THE EMPEROR DISAPPEARS.
For three days the Emperor and Siegfried wandered about Treves and saw
much to interest and instruct them. Among other things they noted that
the city was more efficiently garrisoned than was Frankfort, the
capital. Soldiers swarmed everywhere, insolent and overbearing. One
would imagine that no such person as the Emperor existed, for all
authority seemed vested in the Archbishop. The talk was of what the
Archbishop would do or would not do. Whatever nominal authority the
Emperor might possess in Treves, the Archbishop was the holder of actual
power, and his wishes were law without appeal.
"I think," said Rodolph, "that when I return from the Holy Land I shall
get together an army and pay a visit of State to this Arnold. It would
be some gratification for me to know that a few good people in this city
were at least aware of my existence."
Once or twice the two were stopped and questioned with an arrogance that
was particularly galling to both Emperor and Baron. On these occasions
Siegfried's suave diplomacy succeeded in avoiding disaster, but he was
in continual fear that the anger of the Emperor himself might be aroused
and that something would be said resulting in peril. On the third day
the crisis came, and then not through any indiscretion on the part of
the Emperor, but rather from the action of Siegfried himself. As they
approached the market-square on the evening of the third day, homeward
bent, a truculent officer, with feet spread wide apart, opposed their
passage.
"Hold, my fine fellow," he cried, placing his hand rudely on Rodolph's
shoulder. "Are you military or civil?"
"Let me pass," said the Emperor, quietly. "I am a peaceable merchant."
"Then by what right do you wear a sword at your hip?"
"By what right do you question me?"
"I question you in the name of his high and mighty Lordship, the
Archbishop of Treves."
"Then I answer that I wear this sword by permission of the Emperor
Rodolph, being a citizen of Frankfort."
"The Emperor Rodolph is a Swiss, and no true German."
"You lie!" cried Siegfried, whipping out his blade. "The Emperor is a
better German than you or any other Treves cut-throat, and he is
overlord of Arnold von Isenberg, whose menial you are. Doff your cap to
the name of the Emperor, or I will smite your head to the pavement, cap
and all."
"Treason, treason!" shouted the officer, springing back and unsheathing
his sword. "Treason to the Archbishop! Treason!"
The cry brought instantly all the military, both officers and men,
within hearing distance, to the spot, and caused, at the same time, the
few civilians of the neighbourhood to escape as quickly as possible. The
civil population well knew that in a military disturbance they were
safer in their own houses.
Rodolph had also drawn his sword, ready to stand by the Baron should an
onslaught be made, yet he saw in a moment that resistance would be vain,
surrounded as they now were by an angry well-armed-mob.
"Arrest those dogs," cried the infuriated officer, "who have dared to
question the authority of the Archbishop in his own town of Treves, and
have insulted him by drawing blade on one of his officers."
Several soldiers moved forward to execute this command, when Siegfried,
holding his sword aloft in the air, shouted:
"Have a care what you do! I am Baron Siegfried von Brunfels, a resident
and a householder in Treves, as noble as the Archbishop himself, which
his Lordship would be the first to allow. If there is to be an arrest,
let the proper authority take into custody this brawling officer, who
disgraces the uniform he wears by attempted mishandling of his
superiors. By the gods, his Lordship will be surprised to learn of the
manners that prevail in his good city of Treves during his absence, and
he barely outside the walls."
Those around the Baron instantly fell back upon the proclamation of his
quality. Another officer pressed forward with outstretched hand.
"Welcome to Treves, my Lord," he said. "I thought you were in
Frankfort."
"I am but newly arrived," replied Siegfried, taking the proffered hand
of his acquaintance, "and come only to meet insult for myself and my
guest."
"I knew not his condition," pleaded the originator of the disturbance,
in the most abject manner. "I crave your pardon, my Lord, and that of
your comrade."
The Baron made no reply, but turned his back upon the suppliant. With
his anger rapidly cooling he began to realise the possible consequences
of his revelation of identity. He would now be compelled to pay formal
court to the Archbishop, and give some plausible reason for his
unexpected visit to Treves. If any word reached the suspicious ear of
the Archbishop that he had been in the city secretly for several days,
his already embarrassing situation would be rendered all the more
difficult, and he might speedily find himself an inhabitant of the
prison, where it was notorious that entrance was more easy than exit.
He bade good-bye to the officer who had recognised him, pleaded fatigue
from his journey in excuse for his refusal of hospitality that night at
the officer's quarters, and departed with his guest, looked after
somewhat curiously by all who remained.
He knew that they would now hear his opponent's version of the beginning
of the mêlée and that all would wonder why a noble of the Baron's rank
should be wandering through Treves with a man who announced himself a
merchant. The mystery would deepen the more it was discussed, and the
Baron felt increased uneasiness regarding his forthcoming interview with
Arnold von Isenberg. Yet what troubled him most was the future action of
the Emperor himself. He was resolved that Rodolph should forthwith quit
Treves and hie him back to Frankfort, leaving his friend to stand the
brunt of whatever explanation might be forthcoming. In this lay
difficulty. The Emperor was so loyal to his friendships that he might
refuse to leave Treves. Siegfried well knew that when Rodolph made up
his mind to a certain course of action, neither persuasion nor threats
could swerve him from it. Their coming had been but a foolhardy
expedition at the best, and a most dangerous one as well. The Emperor
himself had given out that he had departed for the Holy Land. None but
Siegfried knew that such departure had not taken place. Let but the
crafty Arnold get an inkling of the fact that the Emperor was in Treves
secretly, and disguised as a merchant, and he would instantly surround
the house with troops, convey both Emperor and Baron to the secret
prison he possessed, and there hold them until it suited his purpose to
let them go. No friend of either Emperor or Baron would have the
slightest suspicion of their fate, for each had elaborately perfected
the fiction that they had gone to the East, which fiction now seemed
like to be their own undoing, more to be feared than the wrath of the
Archbishop himself. How the crafty Arnold would chuckle at the trap they
had laid for themselves!
"Baron," said the Emperor, as they walked silently homeward, "I am
sorry to disturb your most uncompanionable meditations, but I think we
are followed."
"Followed!" echoed Siegfried in alarm, casting a look over his shoulder.
He saw in the distance behind them an officer and two soldiers, who
seemed anxious to escape observation and who slunk under an archway when
they saw the Baron turn his head.
"Their suspicion is aroused then," said Siegfried. "What can they expect
to discover but that I go to my own house accompanied by my guest."
"I thought, my valiant Baron, you would propose to double on them and
lead them a dance through the narrow streets of Treves. There would be
at least a little excitement in such a course."
"It would merely confirm them in their evident belief that I have
something to conceal. No. Our wisest plan is to go directly to my house
and let them report that we have done so. But I am convinced that you
must leave Treves, and that as soon as possible. I propose, therefore,
that we ride through the gates to-morrow, and, if questioned, say we are
about to pay a formal visit to the Archbishop. We will then ride to
Zurlauben, where Conrad shall mount my fleet horse and accompany you to
Frankfort."
"And you?"
"I shall wait upon the Archbishop, and answer any question he is pleased
to ask."
"My good Siegfried, no. I can scarcely desert you after having led you
into what you were pleased to term a piece of folly. We go together, or
we stay together."
"But I must now wait upon the Archbishop. This night's work makes that
imperative. Believe me, were I sure you were well on the road to
Frankfort, I would meet his Lordship with an easy conscience."
"Well, we will discuss the project further to-morrow, and, as I am alone
to blame, you will not find me obdurate. I shall fall in with any plan
you think is to our advantage, for I see you are anxious regarding my
welfare."
The Baron von Brunfels was pleased to think that he had gained so easy
and complete a victory.
They had now reached the arched doorway, and were speedily admitted.
After dinner the Emperor retired early, as had been his custom ever
since he reached Treves, excepting on the first night of their visit.
Before von Brunfels followed his guest's example he looked out upon the
moonlit narrow street, and was somewhat alarmed to notice two soldiers
on watch, although they were at such a distance that they probably hoped
to escape observation. On the other side of the house he also saw two
armed men. It was evident the dwelling was surrounded, and that all exit
was now impossible, save by passing the guards or by slipping out of the
barred window over the city wall.
The distance at which the sentinels were posted seemed to indicate that
this was not done by the Archbishop's authority, but was a measure
adopted by some of his officers, who might if necessary disclaim any
intention of restricting the liberty of a noble so highly placed as
Baron von Brunfels, yet who were determined that no one should leave or
enter the house without their cognisance. The Baron's first thought was
to put the question to the test by himself passing through the cordon
and seeing whether any dare question him, but remembering that the
Emperor was in his charge, he hesitated about further jeopardising his
safety. He thought it better to consult the Emperor himself, and if
possible persuade him to escape by rope over the wall, make speed to the
house by the river, and take horse from there instantly for Frankfort.
With this intent the Baron ascended the stair and tried the door of the
large apartment which communicated with the smaller room in which the
Emperor slept. The door was bolted fast on the inside. He rapped at
first lightly, then more loudly, but there was no response. Hesitating
to break the Emperor's slumber for what he might regard as a trivial
cause, von Brunfels returned to a lower floor and again reconnoitered,
but now saw nothing of the guards on either side of the house.
Perplexed, thinking that he had perhaps jumped too hastily to a
conclusion; that after all the house might not be invested by the
Archbishop's troops; that his own disquiet was the probable cause of his
aroused suspicions; he determined not to awaken Rodolph until there was
more pressing reason for doing so, but to remain himself on guard until
daylight. He asked a servant to put out all lights except that in the
dining-room, where he sat with a re-filled flagon at his elbow, ears
alert for any unaccustomed sound. Toward midnight he again thought he
saw soldiers move silently in the narrow street, as if guard were being
changed, but although the moon shone with midsummer brightness, the
depth of the shadows cast by the walls made it impossible for any
definite judgment to be formed regarding what was taking place on the
street below.
When day began to break grayly, the Baron watched the departing shadows,
eager to learn whether or not their lifting would reveal anything of the
guard he was convinced had been set on his house, but the clear light of
morning showed the streets deserted and silent. Breathing more freely,
he threw himself on a bench with his cloak around him and was soon in a
deep sleep.
It was late when he awoke. Calling a servant, he asked why he had not
been informed when his guest had breakfasted, and learned with renewed
alarm that the Emperor had not yet made his appearance. Springing to his
feet he strode hastily up the stair to find the door still bolted. With
ever-increasing uneasiness he mounted another stair to the small room in
which his sentinel sat, whose duty it was to watch for the light in the
river house, and to unbar the window below and throw down the rope. This
room communicated with the Emperor's apartments below by means of a
secret circular stair. The guard seemed surprised to see the Baron, and
what was said did not serve to reassure his Lordship.
"The light by the river has been burning all night. When morning broke I
pulled up the rope and closed the window. Nobody came in."
"Why did you not inform me before daybreak?"
"I thought it was your Lordship who was out. You came in betimes these
three nights past."
"Three nights?" cried the Baron. "Has the rope been in use for three
nights?"
"Yes, my Lord. But, until last night, entry was made long before
cock-crow."
The Baron, stopping to make no further inquiry, went down the circular
stair, and after rapping at the bedroom door, opened it. The room was
empty, and the bed had not been slept in. Cursing his own
thoughtlessness in allowing the night to pass before finding this out,
the Baron unbolted the door, went downstairs, and ordered his horse to
be saddled. It was evident that for three nights the Emperor had been
engaged in nocturnal rambles of some sort, and it was also plain that he
had intended to return on the third night as usual, otherwise the light
would not have burned till day-dawn in the window. What, then, had
prevented his return? Into what trap had he fallen while the Baron was
uselessly guarding an empty house? Had the suspected traitor at the
river house informed the Palace authorities of the advent of a
mysterious visitor, and had they learned who that visitor was? These
reflections tortured Baron von Brunfels as he paced the stone-paved
court impatiently waiting for his horse. He resolved to ride at once to
the house by the river and extort full confession from Conrad at the
point of his sword, slaying him with his own hand if there was the
slightest suspicion of treachery.
He sprang into the saddle, when the horse was led out, and roused the
echoes of the silent narrow street as he galloped toward the North Gate.
He was permitted to pass through without question, and now proceeded
more slowly toward the river, not desiring to show unusual haste. The
light still burned in the upper window, and a few moments' investigation
served to show that the house was untenanted and the boat gone.
Thoroughly convinced now that Conrad was a traitor, he realised the
futility of expecting to find him, as he would doubtless be well
protected from vengeance by the Archbishop. The Baron bitterly regretted
that he had not placed one of his own true and tried servants in charge
of the river house. In his heart he had no fault to find with the young
Emperor for engaging, unknown to his host, in these hazardous midnight
expeditions. Rather he blamed himself for his reluctance in accompanying
Rodolph on the first stroll that they took to the river, and thought
this reluctance the probable cause of the Emperor's subsequent secrecy.
Having at last succeeded in forcing an entrance, Siegfried unbolted the
stable door and placed the horse he had ridden beside the one standing
there. In the large room he found an iron lamp dimly burning, and the
trap-door raised. Everything tended to show that the Emperor fully
expected to return, as he had returned before. Von Brunfels sat down on
a bench and buried his face in his hands. He had not the slightest idea
what to do, hampered as he was on every side. He could not go into the
streets of Treves and cry that the Emperor was missing. He could not go
to the Archbishop and seek assistance, as he might have done were the
lost man any one else on earth than the Emperor Rodolph. He could not
return to Frankfort and raise an army to come to the assistance of a man
all supposed to be in the Holy Land. He might go to Frankfort and await
developments, but Rodolph at that moment probably needed the aid of his
good sword, a few hundred yards from where he sat. Every avenue seemed
closed to him. Rodolph, in whatever prison he lay, was not more helpless
than his friend outside.
As the Baron sat there, in a state bordering on despair, his ear caught
the sound of a bugle, giving out an imperative note from the direction
of the Archbishop's Palace. This was answered faintly from the town. The
Archbishop was likely going to Treves. Siegfried sprang to his feet, and
determined to present himself to Arnold von Isenberg, as he had need to
do that day in any case, and by noting every look and expression of his
Lordship, endeavour to form some conclusion regarding Rodolph's fate.
Once more outside, he found that, during his brief withdrawal, many
things had happened. A troop of horse was drawn up in front of the
Palace. Mounted men were hurrying to and fro between Treves and
Zurlauben. From the North Gate of the city another body of cavalry was
issuing. Bugle notes came over the plains from Treves, and it was only
too evident to the Baron that something unusual was afoot. As may be
imagined, these hasty military preparations did not tend to soothe his
apprehensions. His first thought that the Archbishop intended to proceed
from Zurlauben to Treves seemed erroneous, because of the magnitude of
the movement going forward. Arnold marched in state when he went abroad,
but he did not throw the whole military force at his disposal into
commotion by doing so. The Baron's practised eye, and his knowledge of
life in Treves at once told him that some unexpected event had led to
the sudden rally of troops round the summer palace. He walked his horse
slowly towards the body of cavalry, and as he approached was saluted by
the officer in charge, whom he recognised as the friend who had come to
his rescue the evening before.
"You have chosen an inopportune time, my lord Baron, for your visit to
the Archbishop, if such is your purpose," said the officer, in a low
voice, when the Baron came up with him. "I doubt if you will have
audience with his Lordship to-day."
"I came with that design," answered Siegfried, with a scarcely
perceptible falter in his voice. "What has happened since I last saw
you, for there appears to be some commotion of more than usual
significance?"
"Ah, that I do not know," replied the officer. "There is something
important in the wind that was not thought of last night. War, I hope.
My instructions--there is nothing secret about them--is to take the road
to Frankfort with all speed. I merely wait the coming of one who is now
with his Lordship receiving final directions. Count Bertrich was in
Treves this morning when, it seems, the Archbishop thought he should
have been at hand. I spoke with the Count two hours ago, and I'll swear
he had no idea that there was anything extraordinary afoot. A company
has already gone westward with all haste, and five messengers have been
despatched, one after another, to Treves for the Count. So impatient is
the Archbishop that no sooner does one mounted man disappear through the
North Gate than another is sent off. Here comes the Count now on the
gallop at the head of his troop."
As he spoke the party which Siegfried had seen leaving the city came
racing up in a cloud of dust. Count Bertrich flung himself from his
horse and strode into the Palace, unheeding the salutations he received
on all sides. At the same moment a man, booted and spurred, but not in
armour, equipped rather for swift riding than for combat, came hurriedly
down the steps, sprang on his horse and shouted "Forward."
The officer at once gave the word to his men, and the troop started off
at a trot for the Frankfort Road.
Baron von Brunfels sat on his horse, doubtful what next to do. As he
hesitated, Count Bertrich came out of the Palace, with pale face and set
lips, mounted the horse he had left but a few moments before, gave a
curt word of command, and galloped at the head of his company down the
river road. Whatever communication he had had with the Archbishop must
have been of the shortest, and the cloud on the Count's brow showed it
had been at least unpleasant. The Baron determined to see the Archbishop
at all hazards, hoping that some chance word would give him a key to
these swift and mysterious movements. He dismounted, left his horse in
charge of one of the numerous retainers standing about, went up the
steps and entered the large hall, which he found filled with officers
and nobles, all speaking low to each other; all, quite palpably, in a
state of anxiety and unsatisfied curiosity. The Baron walked through
this throng to a smaller ante-chamber into which he was admitted by the
officer on guard, on mentioning his rank, and once there he sent his
name to the Archbishop. After a time the Archbishop's monkish secretary
came out, and bowing low said:
"My Lord, the Archbishop sends greeting to Baron Siegfried von Brunfels,
and deeply regrets that it is impossible for his Lordship to receive
even the Emperor to-day, were he to honour Treves with his presence."
"Even the Emperor!" repeated Siegfried, slowly, looking with keen
apprehension at the secretary-monk, who had delivered so singular a
message.
"Those were his Lordship's words," replied the monk, again bowing
deferentially, which assurance did little to diminish the Baron's
anxiety.
"I trust," said Siegfried, "that nothing untoward has happened to cause
his Lordship apprehension."
"I devoutly trust not," answered the monk, with non-committal
obsequiousness, and after this remark he gravely took his leave.
Baron von Brunfels again passed through the crowded hall, pausing to
converse briefly with one or two acquaintances, but he learned nothing;
on the contrary, he found those who knew him, expecting enlightenment
themselves because he had just come from the ante-chamber.
The Baron mounted his horse and rode slowly back to Treves, pondering
on the exciting events of the day. These events had convinced him that
if Rodolph had been captured in the night, he had evidently escaped in
the morning, and that this was the meaning of the hurried scouring of
the country. There seemed nothing left but to return to his house in
Treves, for he thought that if Rodolph could remain in hiding until
nightfall he would probably attempt to re-enter the house by the way he
had departed from it, knowing as he must, the anxiety his continued
absence would cause his friend. Besides it must undoubtedly occur to him
that, while the search lasted, the safest place in which to hide was
Treves itself, for the Archbishop would most likely imagine that the
fugitive Emperor had made for Frankfort with all the speed he could
command.
Reasoning thus, the Baron passed again unchallenged through the gate to
his house, which he found just as he had left it. He sent one of his
servants to the cottage by the river with strict instructions not to
quit the place until he was relieved, and to show two lights in the
window if, for any reason, help was needed.
Then the Baron threw himself down on a couch to get some rest, and await
the coming of night.