Barr Robert
Tekla

But the order was more easy to give than to obey. The crossbow is not suited to upward firing, for if a man uses a stake, he must lie down to shoot at a height. Surrey, however, turned with an exultant laugh towards those bowmen who had the courage to try conclusions with him, and pinned three to the earth while the others took to flight leaving their cumbrous weapons behind them. A moment later the surviving crossbow men were safe in the forest.

Count Bertrich, to whom the archer again turned his attention, sprang from his horse, paying little heed to the shafts, and, going to the tail end of the log, exerted his great strength, pulling it partly from those nearest him, who, getting up, sorely bruised as they were, lent a hand and rolled the log from the others.

"Stop!" cried the Emperor to the archer, in a tone of voice which left no doubt that authority had returned to its usual habitation.

Surrey paused, and turned a sweat-bedewed face towards his master.

"I am not hurting him," he protested, dolefully, "and it is excellent practice."

"You need no practice, John; and the day is triumphantly yours and yours alone. Never will I believe there lives on this earth a greater bowman, be he English or the devil himself."

"Ah," cried the archer, drawing a long breath of deep satisfaction, "if you could but see Roger Kent. God grant that he is not with yonder crowd on the plain, or some of us will never set foot out of Thuron."

Black Heinrich stood gazing up at the round tower, an unkempt figure, after his great but fruitless exertions. Rodolph waved his hand to him, and leaning over the coping cried:

"How like you our catapult, my Lord?"

"In truth it is amazing. Guard the archer well, and see he does not expose himself. I will burn this clumsy implement and cook our dinners at the fire. 'Tis all it's fit for."

"Your men are not in practice. Give it another chance."

When the log was rolling away, many who were under it lay prone on the ground, crushed to death. Count Bertrich approached the gate on foot, his hand upraised, unheeding the catapult which Heinrich kept his men steadily working, saying that if Bertrich did not give in, he would not cease battle, being less chivalrous toward a brave enemy than Rodolph had proved himself.

"My Lord of Thuron," cried Bertrich, when within hearing distance, "although there is little chance of harm, we know not what accidents may arise, so I beg you to stop your practice, as some of my poor fellows, sorely hurt already, may suffer if I do not formally proclaim our defeat to you. I have no flag of truce with me, and, therefore, ask you to overlook informality, and give me the opportunity of conveying away my dead and wounded."

"Your request is granted, my Lord," said Heinrich, telling his men to cease their efforts, "and I hope that to-day's check will not deprive us of the happiness of meeting you again."

"From what I have seen of your own military skill, my Lord, we might in perfect safety camp within lance length of your gate."

With which interchange of civilities Bertrich strode back to attend to the removal of those who were injured, while the Black Count, moodily cursing his catapult, said to his men:

"Follow me to the north tower. We shall see if the engine there is no surer than this one."

As the Count strode away Rodolph joined him, and Heinrich explained half apologetically that he was about to test all the other catapults in the castle.

"I am going to heave a stone into the Archbishop's big tent, if you have no objection," said the Count.

"None in the least," cried the Emperor, "providing the projecting machine is equally willing."

A round stone was put in place, when the levers had done their duty, and Heinrich himself discharged the shot. The formidable projectile described an arc over the profound valley of the Thaurand, struck fairly the western end of the huge tent, and disappeared within it, leaving a ragged hole to attest its passage.

"Ah, that is better," said the Black Count in a tone of exultant satisfaction.

CHAPTER XXIII
THE TWO ARCHBISHOPS FALL OUT

The great white tent erected on the heights of Bieldenburg was in reality much larger than it appeared from the battlement of Thuron. It is doubtful if any who then beheld it, lord or serf, had the slightest conception of its significance. It was actually the precursor of what is perhaps the grandest cathedral the world has ever seen; and when, two years after, Konrad von Hochstaden laid the foundation stone of Cologne Cathedral, it was the designer of this tent who drew the plans for that splendid edifice, which was not to be completed for centuries later.

If the three Archbishops of Cologne, Mayence and Treves, who were also Electors, could have held honestly together, and could have suppressed their jealousy of each other, they might have swayed the destinies of Germany much more surely than they did, for they needed but one more Elector with them to form a majority of the Electoral College, the number of whose members was now fixed at seven, a figure which the Germans were loath to change, because it had come, in this connection, to have almost a mystical significance. Not only had the Electors power to nominate whom they pleased as Emperor, but the College had also the right to depose him, yet the latter privilege was practically nullified by their fear and hatred of each other, so that afterwards an acknowledged fool, Charles IV., who was held in such slight respect that a butcher in Worms had him arrested for not paying his meat bill, so worked on the mutual dislikes of the Electors that he not only reigned undeposed, in spite of a thousand reasons for being rid of him, but actually arranged matters so that his weak-minded son was elected to succeed him, in spite of the determination heretofore held, that no colour should be given for establishing a precedent that a son might succeed his father on the German throne.

The Rhine, flowing from Mayence to Cologne, seemed to have formed a link between the Archbishops of each place, and they were usually found in alliance with each other, bonded against powerful Treves, whose iron-handed master had defied them both and held them at bay outside the barred gates of Frankfort. The astute Arnold von Isenberg had now resolved to lure the Archbishop of Cologne from the Archbishop of Mayence, and thus Treves and Cologne found themselves in alliance opposite Thuron. What the inducements were is unknown, but as the Archbishop of Cologne two years later began the great Cathedral, and as the Archbishop of Treves four years later began the castle of Stolzenfels on the Rhine, it may be surmised that there were mutual concessions, and that each was reasonably well guaranteed from interference by the other. Stolzenfels stands, as near as may be, midway between Cologne and Mayence, so in fixing a fortress residence for himself and his successors right on the line of communication between his two rivals, it must be admitted that the Archbishop of Treves had a substantial advantage in the bargain. This desertion of his ancient ally must have somewhat surprised the Archbishop of Mayence, for he doubtless remembered that twenty-one years before, Frederick von Isenberg, a relative of the master of Treves, had assassinated on the Cavelsburg, Engelbert von Berg, Archbishop of Cologne, the predecessor of Konrad von Hochstaden, one Archbishop reigning between.

There were also reasons of locality which made an alliance between Cologne and Treves natural. Mayence up the Rhine, Cologne down the Rhine, and Treves up the Moselle formed the points of a large triangle, and the latter cities being further from the capital than the other, were perhaps freer from fear of whatever influence the Court might possess.

It had long been the ambition of Cologne to build a Cathedral in keeping with the growing ambition of the Archbishopric. Both Mayence and Treves had great Cathedrals. The Cathedral at Mayence had been four times destroyed by fire within the past two centuries and had arisen like an ecclesiastical phœnix in greater splendour after each conflagration. That of Treves had been built on the site of the Roman Basilica, and was said to rival the ancient edifice in size and magnificence. The ill-fated Engelbert took the first steps towards the beginning of a Cathedral in Cologne that would at least equal those of Mayence and Treves, but his assassination ended the scheme for a time. His successor did nothing, and now that Konrad von Hochstaden was Archbishop he was ambitious to link his name with the commencement of an edifice that would eclipse anything then in existence. It was his intention to employ the greatest architects in Germany, and when this determination spread abroad, it caused many artists more or less known to submit plans to him, but none of these met the Archbishop's entire approbation.

There came a man from a small village near Cologne who desired to submit designs for a great church, but being without influence and without wealth he never succeeded in gaining audience with the princely Archbishop. He had no gold with which to bribe attendants and no highly placed friends who could whisper a word for him at the proper moment. Yet he had one friend who believed in him. Father Ambrose, clerical secretary to the Archbishop, was a native of the small and insignificant village of Riehl near Cologne, where the man ambitious to build a Cathedral lived, and Meister Gerard, the architect, was well known to him. Ambrose spoke once or twice to Konrad regarding this man, but the Archbishop was then busy with the secret envoys from Treves, and while war is being concocted, churches must stand in abeyance. When these secret negotiations were completed, Father Ambrose again attempted to bespeak a hearing for his fellow-townsman. The Archbishop, however, was not then in the architectural mood, and Ambrose feared his request had been inopportune.

"You are a good man, Ambrose," said the Archbishop, "but persistent. Now let me tell you finally what my purpose is. It is not a village church I wish to see builded, but a Cathedral that will outshine Imperial Rome herself. Therefore it is not a village architect I am on the outlook for, but one who will prove the modern brother of the builder of the Parthenon in Athens."

"I know not who built the Parthenon, my Lord," said the monk, with the dogged pertinacity of the North German, "but it may have been a village architect, despised by the great of Greece."

"It may indeed be so. Whence comes this architect of yours?"

"From Riehl, my Lord."

"From Riehl, indeed! You might at least have given us a town the size of Bonn. From Riehl!" The Archbishop threw back his head and laughed.

"'Can any good come out of Nazareth,' quoth they of old," said the monk, solemnly. The Archbishop became instantly serious.

"Ambrose, that smacks strongly of the sacrilegious."

"I may put it thus then – 'A prophet is not without honour but in his own country, and among his own kin, and in his own house,'" said the monk, giving the quotation in Latin.

"You think much of this man?"

"I do indeed, my Lord."

"Then I will give him a commission, but it shall not be the building of a Cathedral. I have made compact with my brother of Treves, Arnold von Isenberg, too long estranged from me. We are more like to find ourselves engaged in tearing down than in building up. Let your architect then design for me a large tent, one that will hold a hundred men while seated at dinner, or five hundred, with tables removed, to hear Mass. Let the tent be well proportioned, for in that lies architectural skill. Its ornamentation will give little scope to a dull man and much to one who is ingenious. Draw what money is needed from the Treasury for its construction, and see that the sum be ample, so that your architect may have fair recompense, and that I may not be ashamed of my tent, for within it shall the Archbishop of Treves meet me in conference. Have the tent made ready as soon as possible, for I know not the day I may need it, and in the building of it let your fellow remember that the beauty of a tent is that it bears transportation well, being not over bulky, and that it is erected quickly and stands firmly in a storm."

Thus came the large tent, made in Cologne, to be placed on the heights of Bieldenburg over the Moselle, with Meister Gerard himself superintending its erection.

The floor had been constructed of flattened timber, bedded in the cement used for the building of castles, which when hardened was more difficult to break than the stones it bound together. Over this was laid Eastern cloths, soft in touch to the foot, and pleasing in colour to the eye. When the tent was erected, Meister Gerard waited eagerly until the sun rose next morning, so that he might persuade Ambrose to ask the Archbishop's criticism of the work now completed that he might thus obtain an opportunity to speak with the great ecclesiastic, on whom the architect felt his future depended. Gerard saw the envoys depart on their mission to the castle, and, early as it was, he also saw Konrad von Hochstaden, the monk Ambrose by his side, walking to and fro before the Archbishop's residential tent. The great audience pavilion stood alone, one end facing the east, as any erection intended for the use of two Princes of the Church should stand. To the north of it was the cluster of tents occupied by Konrad and the numerous attendants who waited upon him. To the south was a similar village belonging to the Archbishop of Treves, each village being at the point nearest the city from which its master took his title. The trumpets were blaring before Castle Thuron when Ambrose induced the Archbishop to inspect the new tent. He stood within it and gazed about him, while the architect, near by, waited for a word of approval or condemnation.

"You have given us no ornamentation," said Konrad at last.

"The ornamentation, my Lord, is largely in its correct proportion; nevertheless, I have ventured on a touch of colour which may be seen, or not, at your Lordship's pleasure."

"Let us behold it, then."

The architect gave a signal to two workmen who waited at the western end of the tent, and they, by the pulling of cords, rolled up an inner screen. There was disclosed a picture wrought in many coloured silks, deftly sewn together, representing the arms of Cologne and Treves in juxtaposition. The light shone through the scheme of colour from the outside, and the richness of the painting stood out with the more distinctness that the whole interior of the tent was of one subdued hue of white.

"That is most ingenious," the Archbishop was pleased to say, to the architect's gratification. "We will have it remain so."

"I have another picture on the eastern end as well," said Gerard. "Have I your Lordship's permission to exhibit that also?"

"Surely, surely," answered Konrad, whereupon the two workmen walked the length of the tent, and rolled up another screen similar to the first.

The result was most startling. The morning sun shone fully upon the eastern end of the tent and imparted a glory to the rich colouring, which gave the picture a brilliancy savouring more of Heaven than of earth. The design represented a twin spired Cathedral, worked out in the fullest detail, the spires encrusted with ornament, the beautiful Gothic door between them being a model of correct proportion, yet of immense size, the whole representation one on which the eye rested with ever increasing delight, wonder, and admiration.

For some moments the Archbishop stood speechless before this marvel in line and tint. At last he said:

"It is not possible that such a building actually exists and I have never heard of it! Where is it?"

"Only in my brain, my Lord, but it may exist in Cologne, if your Lordship so wills it."

"Ah!" The Archbishop drew a long sigh of supreme gratification. "Are you sure you sold not your soul to the devil for this design, Meister Gerard."

"I had hoped your Lordship would attribute the design to a higher source. It was my belief that inspiration prompted the picture which made me so persistent in trying to obtain permission from your Lordship to exhibit to you the drawings. There will be no Cathedral like that of Cologne in all the rest of the world, if this building is erected."

"You speak truly. Let down the curtain, and see that it is securely fastened. The design cannot be seen from without, can it? I did not notice it as I entered."

"No, my Lord, unless at night when the tent is lighted, and then only when the curtain is raised."

"This curtain is not to be raised. No one must look upon this picture. Have a new end made for this tent, and put in a drawing of Treves Cathedral if you like, but this is to be seen by none. Meister Gerard, you are the architect of Cologne Cathedral. He is to have a room in the palace, Ambrose, and a fitting allowance: see to it. As soon as another end is in place, get you back to Cologne and work upon your plans. Men less inspired will attend to the fighting."

Therefore was the stay of Meister Gerard, architect of Cologne Cathedral, of short duration in the neighbourhood of the Moselle.

The Archbishop was still in the tent when his envoy returned from the mission to Castle Thuron, and reported there to his master the colloquy that had taken place between Count Heinrich and Bertrich. Konrad von Hochstaden frowned as he listened, and for a time pondered deeply in silence over the information he had received. The architect and the workmen were gone, and Archbishop, envoy and monk were alone in the tent.

"You say that Count Bertrich attacked the castle as you departed. Are any of my men in the fray?"

"No, my Lord. I urged Count Bertrich to postpone assault until you were made acquainted with the result of our conference at the gate, but this he refused to do. I then ordered your captain to hold aloof until he got direct command from you."

"You did well. This Bertrich seems to act much on his own responsibility; a hot-headed man, whom perhaps his master employs for that very reason; if successful, the Archbishop may commend, and if unsuccessful, disclaim. Is there a chance of capturing the castle through his onslaught?"

"I could form no opinion thereon, not knowing how rigorously the place may be defended."

"I must have some explanation from Arnold von Isenberg before the question is decided. Ambrose, deliver greetings from me to the Archbishop of Treves, and acquaint him with the fact that I await him here, as there are matters of grave import to discuss."

The monk departed, and presently the Archbishop of Treves entered the tent attended only by his secretary. After salutations had passed between the two Princes, Konrad von Hochstaden began the discussion, going directly to the heart of the matter, as was his fashion, for he never imitated the round-about method of approaching a subject that so much commended itself to his more subtle colleague.

"I am informed that Count Bertrich has attacked the castle, and is at present engaged in its reduction, and this without waiting for co-operation from my forces."

"If he has done so," replied Arnold suavely, "he has most gravely outrun his instructions."

"He furthermore stated to the Count of Thuron that you had certain powers granted you by the Emperor Rodolph. What is the nature of those powers?"

"In that also is Count Bertrich wrong. I have never so much as seen the Emperor Rodolph."

"You may, nevertheless, have had communication with him."

"I have had no communication with him."

"It seems strange that such a claim should have been put forward on your behalf by your own envoy."

"I cannot account for it. Bertrich has not yet returned, but when he does, I shall ask him for an explanation, and that in your presence. He is a turbulent man, and a good fighter, but difficult to restrain. One has to work with the tools that come to one's hands, and often the service is ill-rendered, as seems to have been the case in this instance."

As the Archbishop ceased speaking there arose cheer after cheer from Castle Thuron, which caused all present to listen intently, and for a short time nothing further was said. It was his Lordship of Cologne who first broke silence.

"Those cries are too near at hand to betoken victory for Count Bertrich. Perhaps it may be well to send him reinforcements."

"No," said Treves. "This action has been begun without my sanction, and Bertrich must conduct it as best he can. He has the demerit of being over-confident, and a check, while not affecting the final result, may make him the easier to reason with, and prevent the recurrence of such hasty unauthorised action."

"You take it coolly. I confess I would learn with some impatience that my troops were being over-borne, and my first impulse would be to send assistance."

"Your action would be natural and creditable to you, but there is more at stake than the issue of a mêlée. I find myself unexpectedly put on the defensive, and have no reply to make beyond giving you my simple word. I know no more than you do what has happened, and have had, as yet, no account of the parley with the occupier of Thuron. It is necessary there should be complete confidence between you and me, and I regret that in the very beginning of our united action, suspicion should be engendered in your mind. If Bertrich captures Thuron, he mistakes me much if he thinks that the bringing thither of the Black Count will compensate for the shadow he has cast on my good faith with you. Therefore I propose to await his coming, and I shall be most gratified to have you question him before he has had word with me, either in my presence, or in my absence, as best pleases you."

The candour of Arnold von Isenberg made an evident impression on his suspicious colleague, who said after a pause:

"Yes, there must be confidence or our united action will be futile. There are our arms, side by side, on the end of this tent, facing the stronghold which we expect to reduce. Our several motives should be as plainly in sight to each other, which is my excuse for speaking thus openly to you, rather than cherishing secret distrust."

The sentence was strangely interrupted. The cheering had for some time ceased, and now through the arms of Treves, blazoned on the wall, there came, with a sound of tearing cloth, the huge round stone shot from the catapult. It fell with a resounding crash on the floor and rolled between the two Electors, who both started back with dismay on their faces. The silk and canvas hung in tatters, and showed beyond a bit of the blue and peaceful sky. The Archbishop of Cologne devoutly crossed himself, but his comrade of Treves looked alternately at the rent, and at the great missile that caused it, like one stupefied.

"If I believed in portents," said the Archbishop of Cologne in the uncertain voice of one who did so believe, "that might have seemed an unlucky omen."

The Lord of Treves, recovering himself, shrugged his shoulders.

"It is but a chance shot, and the rending of a bit of painted cloth. I shall send flag of truce to Heinrich and ask him to deal us no more of these pleasant surprises. If he refuses, then must our encampment be removed further from the castle, while we shall place some catapults here and return his favours to him, so I have little doubt he will consent to leave us unmolested."

As he finished speaking there entered to them Count Bertrich, his face flushed with anger, but his demeanour in a measure crestfallen. He bowed to each Prince of the Church, and stood there silent, wincing under the lowering indignant gaze bestowed on him by his imperious master.