SENTENCED TO DEATH.
Just before arriving at the refuge they had passed along a very steep
and dangerous path. On one side the rock rose precipitously, ten feet
above their heads. On the other was a fall into the valley below. The
road at this point was far wider than usual.
Presently the howl of a wolf was heard near, and soon the solitary call
was succeeded by the howling of great numbers of animals. These speedily
surrounded the hut, and so fierce were their cries that Cnut changed his
opinion as to the ease with which they could be defeated, and allowed
that he would rather face an army of Saracens than a troop of these
ill-conditioned animals. The horse trembled in every limb at the sound
of the howling of the wolves; and cold as was the night, in spite of the
great fire that blazed on the hearth, his coat became covered with the
lather of fear. Even upon the roof above the trampling of the animals
could be heard; and through the open slits of the windows which some
travelers before them had stuffed with straw, they could hear the fierce
breathing and snorting of the savage beasts, who scratched and tore to
make an entrance.
"Methinks," Cuthbert said, "that we might launch a few arrows through
these loopholes. The roof appears not to be over strong; and should some
of them force an entrance, the whole pack might follow."
Dark as was the night, the black bodies were visible against the white
snow, and the archers shot several arrows forth, each stretching a wolf
dead on the ground. Those killed were at once pounced upon by their
comrades and torn to pieces; and this mark of savageness added to the
horror which those within felt of the ferocious animals. Suddenly there
was a pause in the howling around the hut, and then Cnut, looking forth
from the loophole, declared that the whole body had gone off at full
speed along the path by which they had reached the refuge. Almost
immediately afterward a loud shout for help was heard, followed by the
renewed howling and yelping of the wolves.
"Good heavens!" Cuthbert exclaimed. "Some traveler coming after us is
attacked by these horrible beasts. Let us sally out, Cnut. We cannot
hear a Christian torn to pieces by these beasts, without lending him a
hand."
In spite of the angry shouts and entreaties of the guide, the door was
thrust open, and the party, armed with their axes and bows, at once
rushed out into the night. The storm had for the moment abated and they
had no difficulty in making their way along the track. In fifty yards
they came to a bend of the path, and saw, a little distance before them,
a black mass of animals covering the road, and congregated round a
figure who stood with his back to the rock. With a shout of
encouragement they sprang forward, and in a few moments were in the
midst of the savage animals, who turned their rage against them at once.
They had fired two or three arrows apiece, as they approached, into
them; and now throwing down their bows, the archers betook themselves to
their swords, while Cuthbert with his heavy battle-axe hewed and cut at
the wolves as they sprang toward him. In a minute they had cleared their
way to the figure, which was that of a knight in complete armor. He
leaned against the rock completely exhausted, could only mutter a word
of thanks through his closed visor. At a short distance off a number of
the wolves were gathered, rending and tearing the horse of the knight;
but the rest, soon recovering from their surprise, attacked with fury
the little party. The thick cloaks of the archers stood them in good
stead against the animal's teeth, and standing in a group with their
backs to the rock, they hewed and cut vigorously at their assailants.
The numbers of these, however, appeared almost innumerable, and fresh
stragglers continued to come along the road, and swell their body. As
fast as those in front fell, their heads cleft with the axes of the
party, fresh ones sprang forward; and Cuthbert saw that in spite of the
valor and strength of his men, the situation was well-nigh desperate. He
himself had been saved from injury by his harness, for he still had on
his greaves and leg pieces.
"Keep together," he shouted to his men, "and each lend aid to the other
if he sees him pulled down. Strike lustily for life, and hurry not your
blows, but let each toll." This latter order he gave perceiving that
some of the archers, terrified by this furious army of assailants with
gaping mouths and glistening teeth, were striking wildly, and losing
their presence of mind.
The combat, although it might have been prolonged, could yet have had
but one termination, and the whole party would have fallen. At this
moment, however, a gust of wind, more furious than any which they had
before experienced, swept along the gorge, and the very wolves had to
crouch on their stomachs to prevent themselves being hurled by its fury
into the ravine below. Then even above the storm a deep roar was heard.
It grew louder and louder. The wolves, as if struck with terror, leaped
to their feet, and scattered on either way along the path at full
speed.
"What sound can this be?" Cnut exclaimed in an awe-struck voice. "It
sounds like thunder; but it is regular and unbroken; and, my lord,
surely the earth quakes under our feet!"
Louder and louder grew the roar.
"Throw yourselves down against the wall of rock," Cuthbert shouted,
himself setting the example.
A moment afterward, from above a mighty mass of rock and snow poured
over like a cascade, with a roar and sound which nigh stunned them. For
minutes--it seemed for hours to them--the deluge of snow and rock
continued. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it ceased, and a silence
as of death reigned over the place.
"Arise," Cuthbert said; "the danger, methinks, is past. It was what men
call an avalanche--a torrent of snow slipping down from the higher
peaks. We have had a narrow escape indeed."
By this time the knight whom they had rescued was able to speak, and
raising his visor, he returned his deepest thanks to those who had come
so opportunely to his aid.
"I was well-nigh exhausted," he said, "and it was only my armor which
saved me from being torn to pieces. A score of them had hold of me; but
fortunately my mail was of Milan proof, and even the jaws and teeth of
these enormous beasts were unable to pierce it."
"The refuge is near at hand," Cuthbert said. "It is but a few yards
round yonder point. It is well that we heard your voice. I fear that
your horse has fallen a victim."
Assisting the knight, who in spite of his armor was sorely bruised and
exhausted, they made their way back to the refuge. Cnut and the archers
were all bleeding freely from various wounds inflicted upon them in the
struggle, breathless and exhausted from their exertions, and thoroughly
awe-struck by the tremendous phenomenon of which they had been
witnesses, and which they had only escaped from their good fortune in
happening to be in a place so formed that the force of the avalanche had
swept over their heads. The whole of the road, with the exception of a
narrow piece four feet in width, had been carried away. Looking upward,
they saw that the forest had been swept clear, not a tree remaining in a
wide track as far as they could see up the hill. The great bowlders
which had strewn the hillside, and many of which were as large as
houses, had been swept away like straws before the rush of snow, and for
a moment they feared that the refuge had also been carried away. Turning
the corner, however, they saw to their delight that the limits of the
avalanche had not extended so far, the refuges, as they afterward
learned, being so placed as to be sheltered by overhanging cliffs from
any catastrophe of this kind.
They found the guide upon his knees, muttering his prayers before a
cross, which he had formed of two sticks laid crosswise on the ground
before him; and he could scarce believe his eyes when they entered, so
certain had he considered it that they were lost. There were no longer
any signs of the wolves. The greater portion, indeed, of the pack had
been overwhelmed by the avalanche, and the rest, frightened and scared,
had fled to their fastnesses in the woods.
The knight now removed his helmet, and discovered a handsome young man
of some twenty-four or twenty-five years old.
"I am," he said, "Baron Ernest of Kornstein. To whom do I owe my life?"
"In spite of my red cross," Cuthbert said, "I am English. My name is Sir
Cuthbert, and I am Earl of Evesham. I am on my return from the Holy Land
with my followers; and as we are passing through countries where many
of the people are hostile to England, we have thought it as well for a
time to drop our nationality. But to you I do not hesitate to tell the
truth."
"You do well," the young knight said, "for, truth to say, the people of
these parts bear but little love to your countrymen. You have saved my
life when I was in the sorest danger. I had given myself up for lost,
for even my armor could not have saved me long from these wretches; and
my sword and life are at your disposal. You are young indeed," he said,
looking with surprise at Cuthbert, who had now thrown back the hood of
his cloak, "to have gained the honor of knighthood. You scarce look
eighteen years of age, although, doubtless, you are older."
"I am scarce seventeen," Cuthbert said; "but I have had the good fortune
to attract the notice of King Richard, and to have received the
knighthood from his sword."
"None more worthy," said the young knight, "for although King Richard
may be fierce and proud, he is the worthiest knight in Christendom, and
resembles the heroes of romance rather than a Christian king."
"He is my lord and master," Cuthbert said, "and I love him beyond all
men, and would give my life for his. He is the kindest and best of
masters; and although it be true that he brooks no opposition, yet is it
only because his own bravery and eagerness render hateful to him the
indolence and cowardice of others."
They now took their seats round the fire. The archers, by the advice of
the guide, rubbed their wounds with snow, and then applied bandages to
them. The wallets were opened, and a hearty supper eaten; and all,
wrapping themselves in their fur cloaks, were soon asleep.
For four days the gale continued, keeping the party prisoners in the
hut. On the fifth the force of the wind abated, and the snow ceased to
fall. They were forced to take the door off its hinges to open it, for
the snow had piled up so high that the chimney alone of the hut remained
above its surface. With great difficulty and labor they cleared a way
out, and then the guide again placing himself at their head, they
proceeded on their way. The air was still and cold, and the sky of a
deep, dark blue, which seemed even darker in contrast with the whiteness
of the snow. At times they had great difficulty in struggling through
the deep drifts; but for the most part the wind had swept the path
clear. Where it was deepest, the tops of the posts still showed above
the snow, and enabled the guide to direct their footsteps. They were,
however, obliged to travel slowly, and it was three days before they
gained the village on the northern slope of the mountains, having slept
at refuges by the road.
"What are your plans?" the knight asked Sir Cuthbert that night, as they
sat by the fire of the hostelry. "I would warn you that the town which
you will first arrive at is specially hostile to your people, for the
baron, its master, is a relation of Conrad of Montferat, who is said to
have been killed by order of your king."
"It is false," Cuthbert said. "King Richard had appointed him King of
Jerusalem; and, though he liked him not, thought him the fittest of
those there to exercise sovereignty. He was the last man who would have
had an enemy assassinated; for so open is he of disposition that he
would have fought hand to hand with the meanest soldier of his army had
he desired to kill him."
"I doubt not that it is so, since you tell me," the knight said
courteously. "But the people here have taken that idea into their minds,
and it will be hard to disabuse them. You must therefore keep up your
disguise as a French knight while passing through this neighborhood.
Another week's journeying, and you will reach the confines of Saxony,
and there you will, as you anticipate, be safe. But I would not answer
for your life were you discovered here to be of English birth. And now
tell me if there is aught that I can do for you. I will myself accompany
you into the town, and will introduce you as a French knight, so that no
suspicion is likely to lie upon you, and will, further, ride with you to
the borders of Saxony. I am well known, and trust that my company will
avert all suspicion from you. You have told me that your purse is
ill-supplied; you must suffer me to replenish it. One knight need not
fear to borrow of another; and I know that when you have returned to
your home you will bestow the sum which I now give you upon some holy
shrine in my name, and thus settle matters between us."
Cuthbert without hesitation accepted the offer, and was well pleased at
finding his purse replenished, for its emptiness had caused him serious
trouble. Cuthbert's steed was led by one of the archers, and he himself
walked gayly alongside of Sir Ernest, followed by his retainers. Another
long day's march brought them down to Innsbruck, where they remained
quietly for a week. Then they journeyed on until they emerged from the
mountains, crossed the Bavarian frontier, and arrived at Fussen, a
strong city, with well-built walls and defenses.
They at once proceeded to the principal hostelry, where the young baron
was well known, and where great interest was excited by the news of the
narrow escape which he had had from the attack of the wolves. A journey
across the Alps was in those days regarded as a very perilous enterprise
in the winter season, and the fact that he should have been rescued from
such a strait appeared almost miraculous. They stayed for two days
quietly in the city, Cuthbert declining the invitation of the young
noble to accompany him to the houses of his friends, as he did not wish
that any suspicion should be excited as to his nationality, and
preferred remaining quiet to having forced upon him the necessity of
making false statements. As to his followers, there was no fear of the
people among whom they mixed detecting that they were English. To the
Bavarian inhabitants, all languages, save their native German, were
alike unintelligible; and even had French been commonly spoken, the
dialects of that tongue, such as would naturally be spoken by archers
and men-at-arms, would have been a Greek to those accustomed only to
Norman French.
Upon the third day, however, an incident occurred which upset Cuthbert's
calculations, and nearly involved the whole party in ruin. The town was,
as the young baron had said, governed by a noble who was a near relation
of Conrad of Montferat, and who was the bitter enemy of the English. A
great _fête_ had been given in honor of the marriage of his daughter,
and upon this day the young pair were to ride in triumph through the
city. Great preparations had been made; masks and pageants of various
kinds manufactured; and the whole townspeople, dressed in their holiday
attire, were gathered in the streets. Cuthbert had gone out, followed by
his little band of retainers, and taken their station to see the passing
show. First came a large body of knights and men-at-arms, with gay
banners and trappings. Then rode the bridegroom, with the bride carried
in a litter by his side. After this came several allegorical
representations. Among these was the figure of a knight bearing the arms
of Austria. Underneath his feet, on the car, lay a figure clad in a
royal robe, across whom was thrown a banner with the leopards of
England. The knight stood with his foot on this figure.
This representation of the dishonor of England at the hands of Austria
elicited great acclamations from the crowd. Cuthbert clinched his teeth
and grasped his sword angrily, but had the sense to see the folly of
taking any notice of the insult. Not so with Cnut. Furious it the insult
offered to the standard of his royal master, Cnut, with a bound, burst
through the ranks of the crowd, leaped on to the car, and with a buffet
smote the figure representing Austria into the road, and lifted the flag
of England from the ground. A yell of indignation and rage was heard.
The infuriated crowd rushed forward. Cnut, with a bound, sprang from the
car, and, joining his comrades, burst through those who attempted to
impede them, and darted down a by-street.
Cuthbert, for the moment amazed at the action of his follower, had on
the instant drawn his sword and joined the archers. In the crowd,
however, he was for a second separated from them; and before he could
tear himself from the hands of the citizens who had seized him, the
men-at-arms accompanying the procession surrounded him, and he was led
away by them to the castle, the guards with difficulty protecting him
from the enraged populace. Even at this moment Cuthbert experienced a
deep sense of satisfaction at the thought that his followers had
escaped. But he feared that alone, and unacquainted with the language of
the country, they would find it difficult indeed to escape the search
which would be made for them, and to manage to find their way back to
their country. For himself, he had little hopes of liberty, and scarcely
more of life. The hatred of the baron toward the English would now be
heightened by the daring act of insult to the arms of Austria, and this
would give a pretext for any deed of violence which might be wrought.
Cuthbert was, after a short confinement, brought before the lord baron
of the place, in the great hall of the castle.
"Who art thou, sir," the noble exclaimed, "who darest to disturb the
marriage procession of my daughter, and to insult the standard of the
emperor my master?"
"I am Sir Cuthbert, Earl of Evesham, a baron of England," Cuthbert said
fearlessly, "and am traveling homeward from the Holy Land. My garb as a
Crusader should protect me from all interruption; and the heedless
conduct of my retainer was amply justified by the insult offered to the
arms of England. There is not one of the knights assembled round you who
would not in like manner have avenged an insult offered to those of
Austria; and I am ready to do battle in the lists with any who choose to
say that the deed was a foul or improper one. In the Holy Land Austrians
and English fought side by side; and it is strange indeed to me that on
my return, journeying through the country of the emperor, I should find
myself treated as an enemy, and see the arms of King Richard exposed to
insult and derision by the burghers of this city."
As Cuthbert had spoken he threw down his mailed glove, and several of
the knights present stepped forward to pick it up. The baron, however,
waved them back.
"It is no question," he said, "of honorable fight. This is a follower of
the murderer of my good cousin of Montferat, who died under the hands of
assassins set upon him by Richard of England."
"It is false!" Cuthbert shouted. "I denounce it as a foul lie, and will
maintain it with my life."
"Your life is already forfeited," the baron said, "both by your past
connection with Richard of England and as the insulter of the arms of
Austria. You die, and to-morrow at noon your head shall be struck off in
the great square before my castle."
Without another word Cuthbert was hurried off to his cell, and there
remained, thinking moodily over the events of the day, until nightfall.
He had no doubt that his sentence would be carried out, and his anxiety
was rather for his followers than for himself. He feared that they would
make some effort on his behalf, and would sacrifice their own lives in
doing so, without the possibility of assisting him.
The next morning he was led out to the square before the castle. It was
a large flagged courtyard. Upon one side was the entrance to the castle,
one of whose wings also formed a second side to the square. The side
facing this was formed by the wall of the city, and the fourth opened
upon a street of the town. This side of the square was densely filled
with citizens, while the men-at-arms of the baron and a large number of
knights were gathered behind a scaffold erected in the center. Upon this
was a block, and by the side stood a headsman. As Cuthbert was led
forward a thrill of pleasure ran through him at perceiving no signs of
his followers, who he greatly feared might have been captured in the
night, and brought there to share his fate.
As he was led forward the young noble whose life he had saved advanced
to the baron, and dropping on one knee before him, craved the life of
Cuthbert, relating the event by which he had saved his life in the
passage of the mountains. The baron frowned heavily.
"Though he had saved the life of every noble in Bavaria," he said, "he
should die. I have sworn an oath that every Englishman who fell into my
hands should expiate the murder of my kinsman; and this fellow is,
moreover, guilty of an outrage to the arms of Austria."
The young Sir Ernest drew himself up haughtily.
"My lord baron," he said, "henceforth I renounce all allegiance to you,
and I will lay the case before the emperor, our common master, and will
cry before him at the outrage which has thus been passed upon a noble
gentleman. He has thrown down the glove, and challenged any of your
knights, and I myself am equally ready to do battle in his cause."
The baron grew red with passion, and he would have ordered the instant
arrest of the young man, but as Sir Ernest was connected by blood with
many present, and was indeed one of the most popular among the nobles of
the province, the baron simply waved him aside, and ordered Cuthbert to
be led to the block. The young Englishman was by the executioner
divested of his armor and helmet, and stood in the simple attire worn by
men of rank at that time. He looked around, and holding up his hand,
conveying alike a farewell and a command to his followers to remain in
concealment, he gazed round the crowd, thinking that he might see among
them in some disguise or other the features of Cnut, whose tall figure
would have rendered him conspicuous in a crowd. He failed, however, to
see any signs of him, and turning to the executioner, signified by a
gesture that he was ready.
At this instant an arrow from the wall above pierced the brain of the
man, and he fell dead in his tracks. A roar of astonishment burst from
the crowd. Upon the city wall at this point was a small turret, and on
this were five figures. The wall around was deserted, and for the moment
these men were masters of the position.
"Seize those insolent varlets!" the baron shouted, shaking his sword
with a gesture of fury at them.
His words, however, were arrested, for at the moment another arrow
struck him in the throat, and he fell back into the arms of those around
him.
Quickly now the arrows of the English archers flew into the courtyard.
The confusion which reigned there was indescribable. The citizens with
shouts of alarm took to their heels. The men-at-arms were powerless
against this rain of missiles, and the knights, hastily closing their
visors, shouted contradictory orders, which no one obeyed.
In the confusion no one noticed the prisoner. Seizing a moment when the
attention of all was fixed upon the wall, he leaped from the platform,
and making his way unnoticed through the excited crowd of men-at-arms,
darted down a narrow lane that divided the castle from the wall. He ran
along until, one hundred yards further, he came to a staircase by which
access to the battlements was obtained. Running lightly up this, he kept
along the wall until he reached the turret.
"Thanks, my noble Cnut!" he exclaimed, "and you, my brave fellows. But I
fear you have forfeited your lives. There is no escape. In a minute the
whole force of the place will recover from their confusion, and be down
upon us from both sides."
"We have prepared for that," Cnut said. "Here is a rope hanging down
into the moat."
Glancing over, Cuthbert saw that the moat was dry; and after a final
discharge of arrows into the crowd, the six men slid one after another
down the rope and made their way at full speed across the country.