THE BLACK COUNT'S DEFIANCE.
During the two years that the siege lasted, the Archbishops did not
remain in their camp on the heights as pertinaciously as their soldiers
had to cling to the line around the castle. Konrad von Hochstaden spent
much of his time at Cologne and Arnold von Isenberg in Treves. Frequent
messengers kept the latter aware that nothing in particular was
happening, but the former had no such interest in the progress of the
contest, and was content to visit the camp at widely infrequent
intervals. The Lord of Cologne became somewhat tired of being reminded
by his colleague that the siege, as then conducted, was following the
lines laid down by himself, and not those which would better have
pleased the more aggressive Lord of Treves. Whenever Konrad, grudging
the expense and inconvenience of keeping so many of his men in an
occupation so barren of results, grumbled at the fruitlessness of their
endeavours, the other called his attention to the fact that this
bloodless method of conquest originated not in Treves but in Cologne.
All this tended towards irritation, and the communications between the
two allies were marked by an acerbity that was as deplorable as it was
inevitable.
In reply to the complaints of the Archbishop of Cologne, his friend of
Treves advised him to lay the corner-stone of his Cathedral, and
progress with its construction, leaving the conduct of the siege to
those more eager for war than for the building of churches, but Konrad
von Hochstaden held that he could not begin such an edifice while his
hands were imbrued with blood. Arnold replied cynically that in so far
as that was concerned his Lordship might go on with his architecture,
for the siege was as bloodless as a pilgrimage. When nearly two years
had been consumed in sitting before Thuron, the Archbishop of Cologne
declared his patience exhausted, and sent a message to Treves with the
announcement that he would appear in camp on a certain day and return to
Cologne with his men behind him. This message brought Arnold von
Isenberg from Treves to the camp some days in advance of his partner,
and as he was himself tiring of the contest, he opened negotiations with
Captain Steinmetz for the betrayal of the castle. The money was sent on
the day that his Lordship of Cologne arrived, and next night, or the
night after, at latest, the Archbishop of Treves expected to have the
Black Count at his mercy.
The two Princes met that day at dinner, and greeted each other with
somewhat distant courtesy. As the meal went on, and the wine flagons
were emptied with greater frequency, conversation became less reserved
and more emphatic than during the earlier part of the feast. The wine,
so far from producing friendliness between the august confederates, had
rather an opposite effect, and, as the hum of conversation deepened into
one continuous roar, there was an undertone, acrid and ominous, of
enmity and distrust. At the long table there were perhaps thirty men on
each side. The chair at the head of the board was empty, for such was
the jealousy between the two dignitaries that neither would concede to
the other the right to sit there if both were present. When either the
Archbishop of Treves or his brother of Cologne was in camp alone, he sat
in the chair of state at the head of the table, but now one had his
place on the right hand side and the other sat facing him. Next to
Treves was Count Bertrich, after him the secretary of the Archbishop,
then down the table on that side were all the various officers of
Treves, according to their rank. In like manner the followers of the
Archbishop of Cologne were placed, and thus there were, fronting each
other, two hostile rows of drinking men, theoretically allies. As the
wine flowed freely, the assemblage resembled two lines of combatants,
who only waited the disappearance of the table from between them to fly
at each other's throats. Exception, however, must be made of Arnold von
Isenberg himself, whose attitude was coolly and scrupulously correct,
and in the heated throng he was the only one who maintained control over
voice and gesture; who answered questions quietly and put them with
careful moderation of speech. Yet it would have been difficult for an
unprejudiced observer to understand thoroughly the motives that actuated
the astute Archbishop of Treves, for while his own example had a
restraining effect on the impulses of his men, and as a matter of fact
on his opponents as well, he would, when matters seemed about to mend,
interject some sneering, cutting phrase, all the more unbearable because
it was peacefully uttered, sometimes with a glimmer of a smile about his
thin lips, that would once more put his brother of Cologne into a
towering rage, and thus, while apparently quenching the fire, he was in
reality adding fuel to it. When Konrad, goaded beyond endurance by some
taunt, gave forcible expression to his anger, Arnold would look across
the table at him with a pained and anxious expression, of which
child-like innocence seemed the distinguishing characteristic, as if he
could not understand what had so grievously disturbed his worthy
colleague.
Konrad von Hochstaden drank more than was his custom. He had resolved
that night to withdraw his forces, a determination of which he had given
Treves full notice, in writing sent by special messenger, but Arnold
continued to ignore this communication, and when von Hochstaden
endeavoured to bring on a discussion with reference to their approaching
severance, the other jauntily waived the subject aside, treating it as
if it were a good-natured pleasantry which did not merit serious
consideration. Thus rebuffed, the Archbishop of Cologne drank deeply,
so that when the time for action came, he would have made up for his
natural deficiency of courage by a temporary bravery drawn from the
flagon. Arnold, as was his invariable custom, drank sparingly, sipping
the wine occasionally rather than drinking it, and thus the two nominal
friends, but actual foes, sat in contra-position to each other, the one
getting redder and redder in the face and louder and louder in the
voice, the other with firm hand on his appetites and even tones in his
speech.
"Well," cried Konrad von Hochstaden, raising his flagon aloft, "here's
good luck and speedy success to the Archbishop of Treves, in the
reducing of the Black Count's castle, now that he is about to set
himself to the task alone."
"Thank you," replied Arnold von Isenberg, "if I were indeed alone the
siege would soon be ended."
"What mean you by that, my Lord?" asked Cologne, flushing with anger.
"Have I then hampered your attack? I wish to God you had said as much
two years ago. I was willing enough to withdraw."
"I have never made complaint, my Lord, of your lack of energy in
retreat," replied Arnold with a smile and a bow, and a general air of
saying the most polite thing that could readily come to a man's tongue.
Konrad, glaring menacingly at his foe, half rose in his place, and put
his right hand to the hilt of the sword by his side.
"Now by the three Kings of Cologne--" he cried, but the other
interrupted him, saying with gentle suggestion:
"And add the Holy Coat of Treves, in token of our amicable compact. When
I swear, which is seldom, so few occasions being worth the effort, I
always use the Coat and the Kings in conjunction, as tending towards
strength in their union, and as evidence of the loyalty of my
partnership with the guardian of the bones of the Magi, presented by
Frederick Barbarossa, God rest his soul, to Archbishop von Dassele of
Cologne, God rest _his_ soul also, something less than a century ago.
You will find great merit, my Lord, in swearing by the combination."
"Our partnership, Arnold of Treves, is at an end, a fact of which I have
already formally given you intimation. It is at an end because of
continued deceit and treachery in the compact."
"You grieve me deeply by your confession, my Lord, and I am loath to
credit anything to your disadvantage, even though the admission come
from your own lips. Had another made such charge against you, he should
have had to answer personally to me. I hold your honor as dearly as my
own."
"I cannot pretend to follow your subtleties. I am an outspoken man, and
do not feign friendship where there is none. Confession? Charge against
me? I do not know what you mean."
"There are but two to our compact, my Lord. You say there has been
treachery in it. There has been none on my part, therefore if truth
dwells in your statement, and--I am put in the invidious position of
being compelled to believe either that you have been treacherous or that
you speak falsely--the deceit must have been practised by you. So I
termed your remark a confession, and added in deep humility, that I was
slow to believe it. I know of no deceit on your part, as I know of none
on my own."
The Archbishop of Cologne stood for a moment staring at his antagonist,
then thrusting his half-drawn sword back into its scabbard, he sank
again into his seat, and took a long draught from the flagon with
shaking hand. Many of his followers drank as deeply as himself, and were
clamorous, shouting boisterously when he spoke; but others looked with
anxiety towards their leader, fearing an outbreak, the consequences of
which no one could foretell.
"You have used deceit, and not I," said the Archbishop of Cologne. "You
said this siege would last but a short time, while at the end of two
years we are no nearer the possession of the castle than when we began."
"We are two years nearer," replied the Lord of Treves, calmly, "but I
made no predictions regarding the length of the siege when it began. The
bloodless environment of the castle was your plan, and not mine. I had
little belief in your method, and have less now, but I fell in with it
to please you, and I regret to find that after two years' constant
endeavour to meet your approval, I have apparently failed. But, although
I may have hopes of saintship being the reward of my life-long patience
and moderation, I have never pretended to the mantle of a prophet;
therefore, I hazarded no opinion with reference to the duration of the
siege."
"You said Heinrich of Thuron was but imperfectly provisioned; that he
did not have time to fill his castle with grain. In that you must admit
you were wrong."
"We are fallible creatures, my Lord, which statement I make in all
deference, willing instantly to withdraw it, if you object to being
placed in a category in which I am compelled to include myself. I formed
an opinion of the Black Count's resources from reports brought to me.
These reports apparently contained mis-statements; therefore my
deductions from them were wrong. In that there was error of judgment,
but you spoke of wilful deceit--an entirely different matter, and a
mistake on your part for which you are, doubtless, eagerly waiting
opportunity to apologise."
"No apology is due from me. In spite of your verbal trickery, I have
been deluded and cozened from the first; that I say, and that I adhere
to. Still, of what avail is talk----"
"True, true," murmured Arnold, gently. "You were ever a man of action,
my Lord."
"I shall be a man of action now; I have been too long quiescent!" cried
von Hochstaden, again half-drawing his sword and springing to his feet
with a celerity that might not have been expected from one who had had
the flagon so constantly under tribute. "I shall now leave this camp and
bring with me every officer and man that is mine. They are as weary of
this business as I am, and will be glad to follow. You may then get
others to be your dupes."
Count Bertrich, who had with difficulty kept his hot temper in hand
during this dialogue, now leaped upright, and flashing out the sword
that was by his side, smote the table with the hilt of it, as he
shouted:
"My Lord of Cologne, twice you have made a feeble attempt to draw your
reluctant weapon; if you had kept your eyes on me you would have seen
how easily the trick is done. My over-lord does not choose to chastise
you for your insolence to him, but I would have you know there are good
blades here ready to meet those of your men, the moment he gives the
signal. If you want to appeal to the sword, in God's name have the
courage to draw it; if you rest on argument and reason, then keep your
seat and address my Lord of Treves with that respect which his position
as Prince of the Church demands."
At this wild cheers burst from the men of Treves. Each warrior stood up,
and there was a bristling hedge of swords held in the air above their
heads. The men of Cologne rose also, but hesitatingly, not actuated by
the instantaneous impulse which brought such quick action into play on
the other side of the table. The Archbishop of Treves alone remained
seated, a cynical smile parting his lips. He raised his hand as if to
pronounce benediction, and by a slight motion of it, soothed and quelled
the disturbance in a manner almost magical. The swords, seemingly of
their own accord, returned to their scabbards, and one by one the
wearers seated themselves.
"You see, my Lord," he said, in a low voice, "how quickly a bad example
influences those who look on. Your hand to the hilt brought steel into
view even before a good half of your own formidable weapon was visible.
My trusty captain has asked you, with all a soldier's bluntness, which a
champion like yourself will be first to excuse, to be seated. May I, in
the utmost humility, associate myself with his desire? The sword, alas,
has its uses, still it is but a cumbrous instrument at a dinner table.
You were speaking, I think, of withdrawing your men, but in the tumult,
I fear, I missed your peroration."
Cologne thrust his weapon back into its scabbard, but he nevertheless
remained standing.
"If the tongue were a weapon----"
"It is, in a measure."
"--I would grant that you are master of it," said von Hochstaden.
"I thank you for the compliment, and its generosity gives me hope that
we are about to come to an amicable understanding."
"We have already come to an understanding, and if you consider it
amicable, the better am I pleased. To-night I withdraw my troops."
"And why?"
"The reasons I have already set down in my communication to you at
Treves."
"I do not recall them; at least my remembrance is, that on perusing them
they did not seem to me to justify a withdrawal. Would you, therefore,
for our present enlightenment, recount the most important clauses of
your letter?"
"One reason will suffice. I cannot consent to have my troops longer
engaged in a futile enterprise."
"Ah, yes. I recollect now that such an excuse for cowardice seemed
entirely indefensible."
"For cowardice, my Lord?"
"Call it what you will. I shall not quarrel about terms; withdrawal is,
I think, your favourite word. However, to please you, I acted instantly
in the matter, and will therefore be in possession of the castle
to-morrow night, or, making allowances for accidents, the night
following. Accordingly, my Lord, you shall not withdraw your troops, but
will enjoy the pleasures of conquest with me."
"You will possess Thuron so soon?"
"Of a surety."
"If you are so certain of that, why did you not inform me of the
prospect, I being an ally of yours?"
"It is not my custom to spread my plans abroad. You were in Cologne,
probably most devoutly occupied, and I hesitated to obtrude worldly
affairs on your attention. Had you been here, and had you expressed any
curiosity in the matter, I should have satisfied it, as I do now."
"Frankly, my Lord, I do not believe you. This is but another of your
crafty tricks to keep my men at your beck and call. I have had enough of
such foolery, and am not to be again deluded. If this taking of Thuron
can be so speedily accomplished now, why was it not done six months or a
year ago?"
"I shall charge to the potency of the wine the insinuation made against
my probity, and will therefore pass it by. Your method of siege, my
Lord, was a plant of slow growth. I have but grafted upon it a little
sprig of my own, which is now blossoming and will to-morrow bear fruit:
an exceedingly swift maturity. Six months ago, your slow growing stem
was not ready to receive a graft; now it is, and there all's said. I
therefore count confidently on your co-operation."
"I shall not rob your Lordship of the full glory of success. You shall
have no co-operation from me."
"You still do not believe what I say, perhaps?"
"Perhaps."
"I am not given to substantiating my statements, but in this instance,
such is my warm friendship for you, I will change an old habit and
shortly furnish you with proof. I am momentarily expecting the return of
my messengers, and you will hear from their lips that the castle has
been bought and paid for, and that it will be in our possession at a
given time, perhaps not more than twenty-four hours hence."
"Your messengers will report to you alone, my Lord, for I shall not stay
to question them," cried von Hochstaden. "Up, men of Cologne, we have
waited here too long. To the North, to the North!"
The Archbishop of Treves, seeing that a crisis had come, leaned
forward, and sharply hissed the word,
"Swords!"
The single syllable might have been an incantation, so quickly was it
acted upon. It was evidently a prearranged signal, for the moment it was
uttered, every man on the Treves side of the table whipped out his
blade, and placed its point at the throat of the man who sat opposite
him. None were so drunk as not to know that a single lunge forward on
the part of the assailants would cause the simultaneous deaths of the
followers of Cologne. Each, sobered by the sudden menace and the
presence of a grave danger, sat motionless as if turned to stone. His
Lordship of Cologne stood uncertainly, and cast a wavering eye down
along the bridge of steel that spanned the table. His serene Lordship of
Treves sat in his place, an ill-omened glitter in his piercing eye,
while his thin bloodless lips were compressed into a straight line.
After an interval of silence he spoke in silky tones:
"I see, my Lord, that it is unnecessary for me to caution your men not
to move hand to hilt until some friendly arrangement is come to between
you and me. The air has been thick with threats for some time past; it
is well that definite action should clear it. How easy would it be for
me to give another brief signal and thus end the lives of all your
followers in this tent? With you a prisoner, word could be sent to the
camp, and your unsuspecting soldiers would be prisoners as well. Thus
might I act were I a bloody-minded warrior, but I thank my Maker, and
you may well join your thanks with mine, that I am ever a man of peace,
rarely using forceful measures except when compelled to do so. Perhaps
you will consent to reconsider your decision, my Lord."
"Go on with your treacherous butchery, cut-throat of Treves, and see
what good you reap from it."
"It is easy for you, my Lord, to say go on, when your throat is
unthreatened, but I grieve for those who must be victims of your
stubbornness. In case you may imagine that the cut-throat of Treves
will hesitate when it comes to your own august person, I beg to remind
your Lordship that an ancestor of mine slew a predecessor of yours."
"Say murdered, and you will be nearer the mark."
The Archbishop of Treves spread out his hands in conciliatory fashion
and, bowing slightly, replied,
"Well, murdered then, if it please you. I am always willing to concede
to a disputant his own choice of words."
Von Hochstaden's secretary, standing at his master's elbow, filled with
alarm at the threatening aspect of affairs, pleaded in whispers with him
to give way, but the prelate, with an angry motion of his hand, waved
the subordinate aside, bidding him hold his peace.
The good Ambrose, with uplifted eyes and paled face, prayed that heaven
might send peace to that sorely divided camp. Heaven replied in its own
way, but in a manner which made the startled occupants of the tent
imagine that the prayer had been literally answered. The Archbishop of
Cologne was about to speak when there was an impact on the end of the
tent which first made it bulge suddenly in, then the cloth ripped with a
loud report, and there shot swiftly along the line of swords, sweeping
many of them jangling from the hands of their owners, a nondescript
bundle that sped hurtling down the table, coming to rest against the
heavy chair at the head, with a woeful groan like the rending of a soul
from a body; a groan that struck wild terror into every heart, so
supernatural did it seem, giving appalling indication that there was yet
life in the shapeless heap when it was hurled against the tent. Even the
Archbishop of Treves, for the first time that evening, sprang in quick
alarm to his feet, as the living projectile dropped from the end of the
table into the empty chair, and lay there motionless. The men of
Cologne, who had been seated breathless, with the sharp points of the
swords at their throats, now took swift advantage of the amazing
intervention, and, throwing themselves backwards, jumped upright,
plucked blade from scabbard, and stood at least on equal terms with
their foes, but having thus prepared themselves for defence, all
remained silent and motionless, awe-struck by the astounding
interruption.
Through the tattered rent in the end of the tent came the sound of
distant laughter, like the laughter of some fiend suspended in the sky,
and then all distinctly heard the words:
"There, Arnold von Isenberg! The gold is in my courtyard; the
merchandise is in your camp!"