THE TWO YEARS' SIEGE BEGINS.
What the Emperor feared the Archbishops would do, and what would have
been the proper thing to do from a military standpoint, was what the
warlike prelates did not do. Both were appalled at the loss of life
which had accompanied their efforts to capture Thuron. It is not to be
supposed that a man whose ambition it was to link his name with the
building of the greatest cathedral the world had yet seen, relished the
outlook which promised instead to give him the reputation of a Hannibal
or an Alexander, and that, too, without the compensating fame of a great
conqueror, for the Archbishop of Cologne saw that even if the castle
were captured, the feat would add few laurels to the brow of a commander
at the head of a comparatively overwhelming force. He felt he had been
tricked by his smooth-spoken colleague, who had persuaded him that the
mere appearance of this imposing body of men before the walls of Thuron
would in a manner cause them to imitate the walls of Jericho. In this
suspicion, however, he wronged his brother of Treves, who had not
intentionally misled him, but had actually hoped to prevent bloodshed by
employing a force so palpably irresistible that Heinrich would at once
come to terms. Arnold von Isenberg had no particular objection to the
shedding of blood, and had before now held down his enemies with a
strong hand, but results in this instance had been out of all proportion
to their cost. He had been led, more than he himself cared to admit, by
the impetuosity of his fiery follower, Count Bertrich, who now lay
raving with the fever resulting from his wound. As Arnold advanced in
years he was more prone to depend on diplomacy for his victories than on
actual force, but he liked to have the force in the background even if
he did not care to use it.
There was a stormy scene between the two dignitaries on the morning
after the failure of the night attack. The dormant suspicions of von
Hochstaden were again roused. The assurance that the siege would be a
bloodless one had been so quickly belied, that he now saw in Bertrich's
first impetuous attack a determination to drag the forces of Cologne
into a struggle which Treves shrank from meeting alone, and now the
apparently frank answers of the culprit which at the time had satisfied
him, seemed but the deeper villainy, as having been probably rehearsed
beforehand. Thus the Archbishop of Cologne saw himself the easy dupe of
his crafty co-elector, from whose latent methods he had more than once
suffered, and whose cunning he had always feared.
"You have deceived me," he cried angrily, when they were in the
conference tent alone together, saving only the presence of their two
secretaries.
"I do not like your word 'deceived,'" replied von Isenberg, who remained
as calm as the other was agitated, "unless you apply it to me as well. I
have deceived you, perhaps, but I was myself deceived. If you accuse me
of miscalculation, I am willing to admit the truth of the charge."
"You knew the character of this man Heinrich; I did not. You said we had
but to sit down before the castle, and it was ours. That was not true."
"I have already admitted that I was mistaken," said Arnold, quietly.
"You can do nothing but admit it," cried von Hochstaden, hotly; "the
facts disclaim all denial. What I hold is that you knew this before we
came, and have drawn me into a quarrel which is none of mine; that you
have forced on the fighting so that we are now apparently committed to a
course of which I entirely disapprove."
"I assure you I did not expect to be compelled to fight."
"That I do not believe."
"My Lord, you are too angry now to discuss this question as it should be
discussed. You are overwrought, and naturally, at the loss of so many of
your men."
"I would not give the life of one Rhine man for all the castles on the
Moselle!" exclaimed von Hochstaden, impetuously.
"I was about to add that I, too, am deeply grieved that your men have
fallen, and also that so many of my own have been killed. I think it
right then that we postpone further discussion until we can approach
this grave situation with minds free from the emotions which now make
reasoning difficult. Are you willing that we leave decision until
to-morrow?"
"With all my heart. Our talk cannot bring back to life the meanest of
our following. To-morrow you will be unembarrassed by any suggestions
from me."
"Why, my Lord?"
"Because the moment I leave this tent I shall give orders to my captains
to gather my men, when we shall together journey to Cologne."
"Do you hold such determination to be fair to me?"
"Have you been fair to me? You have deceived me from the first."
"Twice you have said that, my Lord, and for the second time I give you
my earnest assurance that such is not the case. I counsel you as a
friend not to make the charge the third time."
"Do you threaten me?"
"Have you not threatened me with your desertion? If you say you do not
intend to withdraw, then we will lay plans together at a future time."
"I am determined to return to Cologne."
"To begin your cathedral?"
"'Tis of more avail than dashing out the brains of my soldiers against a
Moselle rock."
"Let me give you good advice in the rearing of it. Build your cathedral
like a fortress. You will need a stronghold presently in Cologne,
whether you need a church or not."
"From threatening my person you threaten my city."
"Frankly, I do," replied the Archbishop of Treves, without raising his
voice. "You have hitherto been in some measure the ally of Mayence. I
cannot remember the time when I feared you combined, but it suited me to
separate you. I have done so. I learn that our brother of Mayence is
both enraged and trembling. If you leave Thuron I shall instantly
propose alliance with him, who now thoroughly distrusts you, and he will
gladly join me, for I have never pretended to be his friend, and he has
ever feared me as an enemy. Why did I propose alliance with you?"
"For your own purposes, as I now know too well."
"Surely. But what suggested the thought that such an alliance might be
accepted by you? You cannot guess? Well, I will inform you. Because your
ally of Mayence sent secret emissaries to me proposing an alliance with
him. I saw there were differences between you, and instantly resolved to
make an ally of the stronger. Therefore my envoys went to you, while his
were dealing with me in Treves. When my men returned with your consent I
told the envoys from Mayence, with much regret, you had made the first
proposal to me, and that although I had sent to you begging to be
released from our compact, you had refused."
"Which was a lie."
"Say rather a whole series of them, my Lord, or call it diplomacy if you
wish to speak politely; but meanwhile do not neglect my advice to build
your cathedral in the form of a fortress, and make it a strong one."
"How can you expect me to trust you after such a cynical confession?"
"I do not expect you to trust me. I have dealt with strict honesty
towards you from the moment we joined together, yet you have displayed
distrust since the first day. I do not in the least object to that. But
as I cannot have the advantage of confidence I shall turn to the
advantage of perfect frankness. I shall keep to the letter the bargain I
have made with you. You shall keep to the letter the bargain you have
made with me."
"You mean, then, to attempt to stop my withdrawal?"
"No. You may withdraw to-morrow if you wish to do so, and my men will
form line and salute you as you pass. Then I shall divide my forces into
groups and attack Thuron night and day until there is not a man left to
defend it. That will not take many days, and it will give time for my
brother of Mayence to meet my victorious army at the junction of the
Rhine and the Moselle, when we will journey amicably together to make
some inquiries regarding the progress of your cathedral at Cologne."
Konrad von Hochstaden walked the length of the tent several times with
knit brows, turning in his mind the problem that confronted him. Arnold
sat on the bench beside the long table which divided them, his face
impassive and inscrutable. Never during their colloquy had he raised his
voice to a higher key than was necessary to make it distinctly heard.
The two monks sat apart, downcast and silent, helpless spectators of a
quarrel which might have the most momentous consequences.
At last von Hochstaden stopped in his walk, and stood regarding his ally
with bewildered indecision stamped on his countenance. He had spoken
heretofore in tones alternately tremulous with deep emotion and
quavering with the anger he had tried in vain to suppress.
"I cannot stand here," he said, "and see my men uselessly slaughtered."
"With your humanity I am in complete sympathy. It is no pleasure to me
to have soldiers killed, although sometimes the killing is necessary.
Were I alone I would, as I have said, throw force after force against
Castle Thuron until it succumbed, but I am acting with you and eager to
come to an understanding that will be satisfactory to you; but you have
made no proposal, only a threat of withdrawal. Now if it is your wish to
take the castle without risking the life of another of your followers, I
stand ready to make such arrangement."
"Can such arrangement be made?"
"Without doubt. We have come so suddenly on Count Heinrich that he has
had no opportunity of provisioning his stronghold. The peasants tell my
men that he has taken in nothing that will enable him to withstand a
prolonged siege. We can therefore environ him so closely that in a
comparatively short time hunger will compel him to sue for terms. This
may consume days, but not the lives of men. I stand ready to agree to
such a proposal willingly; in truth I will agree to anything you
suggest, short of your own desertion, or of requiring me to retire
defeated before the Black Man of Thuron."
"How long, think you, will the siege last?"
"There is the castle; there are our men. You can answer your question as
well as I. How many men has Heinrich within his fortress? I do not know.
What I do know is, that if no more grain enters the castle, the supply
therein will, in time, be consumed, and then grim famine allies itself
with the two Archbishops--a foe that cannot be fought with bow or
battle-axe. If we resolve to starve him out, then I shall proclaim to my
men that I will hang any who shortens the life of one of his. There will
thus be no more bloodshed, for he dare not sally forth to attack us, and
we will keep bow-shot distance from him. The conditions of the game are
all before us; you can form a conclusion as well as I, and if you prove
in the wrong, I shall not accuse you of cozening me."
The Archbishop of Cologne stood with clouded brow, arms folded across
his breast, ruminating on what had been said by the other, who watched
him keenly from under his shaggy eyebrows. At last von Hochstaden spoke,
with the sigh of a man out-generalled.
"I do not wish to spend the remainder of my days sitting before Thuron."
"Nor do I. The plan of starving them out is yours, not mine. At least it
is my proposal as an alternative that may please you. With your
co-operation, I would fling force after force against Thuron, and so
reduce it."
"No, no!" cried the Lord of Cologne, "no more bloodshed. We have had
enough of that."
"Very well; therefore I modify my desires to meet yours. You may
withdraw as many of your men as are not necessary, retire yourself to
Cologne, and set them, with suitable prayers, to the building of your
cathedral. I will send an equal number of mine to Treves, and with what
remains of our united forces we will surround that thieving scoundrel
with an impregnable band of iron. All that I insist on is that the flags
of Cologne and Treves continue to fly together on this tent, and that we
encircle the castle with our allied troops."
"Have it as you wish," cried Konrad, sorrowfully. "I defer to your
opinion."
"Not so, my Lord," said von Isenberg. "It is I who give way to you. But
from this moment the plan is mine as well as yours, and I shall loyally
adhere to our agreement, come good or ill out of it."
Thus began the celebrated investure of Thuron Castle, which lasted two
years, until famine did indeed spread its black wings over the fortress,
while during that time, historians tell us, the besiegers merrily drank
one thousand gallons of good Moselle wine each day.