Barr Robert
Tekla

"What if they are? He deserves it, I doubt not. Get you gone. How dare you come screeching here like a night owl? Take this beldame away to a mad house!" he shouted to the archer, who had entered, anxious to learn what exciting event was going forward.

"It is Hilda! It is Hilda!" cried the Countess Tekla, springing to her feet, and rushing to the frightened girl. "Hilda, what is it? Speak calmly. You are safe here."

"Oh, my Lady, it is Conrad who is in danger. Save him, save him. I cannot talk or it will be too late. Steinmetz is hanging him. The captain sold the castle to the Archbishop, and Conrad saw it done. Therefore he is killing Conrad. Oh, make haste, my Lord."

"What is that?" roared the Black Count. "Steinmetz a traitor? It is a lie!"

"Let us see to it at once, my Lord," said Rodolph, sternly, "The thing does not seem to me so incredible."

Count Heinrich grasped a naked sword, and with it in his hand, strode to the door bareheaded as he was, his great shock of shaggy coal-black hair seeming to bristle in anger. Rodolph, also picking up a sword, quickly followed him. The Count jangled down the stone steps, and, emerging into the courtyard, beheld a striking scene. Notwithstanding the bright moonlight, part of the courtyard was in darkness, and men stood there holding lighted torches above their heads, whose yellow flaring rays mingled strangely with the pure white beams of the moon. The gates were now shut, and the space within the walls was clamorous with excited men, most of whom were gazing upward at a man astride a piece of timber that projected from the castle wall, bidding him make haste. He had the rope between his teeth, and was working his way to the end of the beam, somewhat over-cautious, perhaps fearing a fall on the hard flags beneath. Steinmetz, who shot forth curt commands, palpably nervous with impatience, feeling the necessity for a regular execution before witnesses, yet cursing the inevitable slowness of the proceedings, kept an eye on the doorway, and was thus the first to see the coming of the Black Count, whose mottled face in the glare of the torches looked like a death's head. The captain started, and clenched and unclenched his hands in an agony of anxiety, yet he knew his master could have no suspicion of the real state of the case, and he counted on his impulse to hang the man first and make inquiry after. It was not the Count's coming he so much feared as that of the man who followed him, for he knew the cool mastery of Lord Rodolph, who would perhaps insist on the ungagging of the prisoner, and the hearing of his version. If then he could get Conrad partly throttled while making explanations to his master, all might yet be well, even were the gag removed, and so after the first spasm of surprise at the unexpected coming of the Black Count, he breathed easier, casting an evil eye on Rodolph, ready to resent his interference, and to inflame the Count against him, if, as he rightly surmised, there was not too great a liking between the two. Conrad swayed slightly from side to side as he stood bound and gagged, the loop of the rope round his neck. His face was ghastly in its pallor, and looked as if life had already left it, the wanness of its appearance being heightened by a trickle of blood which flowed down his chin from the spot where the rude putting in of the gag had cut his lip.

The tall nobleman came forward with martial stride, his men falling into immediate silence as they noticed his presence among them. When he spoke it was with a level calmness for which Rodolph was not prepared, after the outburst that almost immediately preceded it in the hall. The Count looked lowering at his officer, and said:

"What have we here, Captain Steinmetz?"

"A traitor, my Lord. I have, for some time, suspected him, and to-night kept watch upon him. He slipped down the walls by this rope which the sentinel but a few moments since found there. I came upon him trafficking with two emissaries of the Archbishop, and when I called to the sentinel, all three fell upon me. This man himself, when the guards came to my rescue, was fighting with a sword belonging to the Archbishop. My lieutenant here, who disarmed him, informs me that it is a Treves blade, and he will tell you that he took it from him."

"That is true, my Lord," said the lieutenant, when the Count darted a piercing glance at him.

"In what is this man a traitor, Captain Steinmetz?" next asked the Black Count, still speaking with moderation.

"I heard him agree to deliver up the castle to the Archbishop's troops, letting them come over the wall by the same rope which he had used, while he himself stood sentry, and delivered us up by giving no alarm."

"Why this haste with his execution, Captain Steinmetz? Am I not still Lord of Thuron, with the power of life and death over those within?"

"Yes, my Lord, but if we are to be free from treachery, sharp punishment should fall on the offender. I myself caught him red-handed, and my lieutenant, as he has told you, took from him a traitorous sword of Treves. For less than that, I cut off the head of a better man before the siege began."

"True, so you did. This man has sold us, then? Search him, and let us see at how much we are valued by their august Lordships."

Two men at a nod from the Count fell upon Conrad and brought forth all there was to be found on him, a pitiful handful of small coins. These, at the Count's command, the searchers poured into the huge open palm of his Lordship, who looked closely at the pieces, demanding that a torch be held near him, while he made the examination.

When it was finished the inspector thrust forth his open hand toward the captain, saying:

"This is not traitorous money. Every coin has my own effigy on it, which, if unlovely, is still honest? What say you to that, Captain Steinmetz?"

"My Lord, the money was not paid to him, but promised when the castle was delivered."

"Ah, Captain Steinmetz, there your own good heart deceives you. You know so little of treachery that you think all men equally innocent. That is not the way of the world, honest Steinmetz, for a traitor is ever a suspicious villain, and demands not a few paltry pieces of silver, but the yellow gold paid in hand. Strike a traitor, Captain Steinmetz, and he jingles with gold."

As the Black Count spoke his voice gradually rose to a tone of such menace that more than one standing near him trembled, and a paleness of apprehension swept over the captain's hardened face. Heinrich, with a sweep of his hand, scattered the coins clattering to the stones, and with the flat of his drawn sword struck the captain quickly, first on one side, then the other. An intense stillness pervaded the courtyard; every man seemed transformed into stone, and stood there motionless, dimly perceiving that something ominous was in the air, yet not understanding the drift of events. As each blow fell, a chink of coins broke the silence. The captain half drew his own sword, and cast a quick glance over his shoulder at the gates.

"The gates are closed, Steinmetz," roared the Count, losing all control of himself in his wild rage. "Lieutenant, see that they are securely barred and guarded. Pikes here! Lower, and surround this traitor."

The lancemen jumped alertly at the word of command, and instantly a bristling array of levelled pikes circled the doomed captain, who, seeing the game was up and escape impossible, folded his arms across his breast and stood there making no outcry.

"Unbind this man. Take the gag from his mouth and the rope from his neck. Now, fellow, is it true that you were outside the walls? What were you doing there?"

Conrad stood speechless, apparently in a dazed condition, looking about him like one in a dream, but when the Emperor spoke kindly to him, he moistened his dry lips, and drew the back of his hand across his chin.

"What did you say?" he asked, turning his eyes upon his master.

"My Lord, the Count, wishes to know if it is true that you were outside the walls, and asks why you were there."

"I went to meet Hilda, who had come up from Alken."

"Then you disobeyed orders, and have deserved the fright you got," broke in the Count. "How came you with a Treves blade?"

"I wrested it from one of the Archbishop's men when the captain fell on me. I tried to defend myself and called for the guard, but when it came it arrested and gagged me."

"What is the truth of this selling of the castle?"

"The captain was to unbar the gates an hour after guard-changing to-morrow night, and the Archbishop's troops were to enter silently. He told them to be certain to secure your Lordship first, otherwise you might rally the men and defeat the soldiers, even though they got inside."

The Black Count almost smiled as he heard this compliment paid him, and he cast a malignant glance at the silent captain.

"Yes," he cried, "the opening of the gates seems more likely than the climbing of the wall. Now search Steinmetz as you searched his prisoner, and let us see what you discover. I think I heard the chime of coin in his neighbourhood."

Without resistance the searchers brought forth the three bags of gold, one of which the Count tore open, pouring the yellow pieces into his palm as he had done with Conrad's silver. His eyes lit up again with the insane frenzy which now and then shone in them, as he gazed down at the coins, on each of which was the head of his old enemy, Arnold von Isenberg. Scattering the money from his hand as if it had suddenly become red hot, he seized the three bags one after another and dashed them in fury on the stones, where they burst, sending the gold like a shower of sparks from a smith's anvil all over the courtyard. Men's eyes glittered at the sight, but such was their terror of the Black Count that no one moved a muscle as this wealth rolled at their feet.

"Steinmetz," shouted the Count, "draw your sword and cast it on the stones. No man can take it, for none amongst us is so low and vile but he would be contaminated by the touch of it."

Captain Steinmetz drew his sword and flung it ringing at his master's feet. The Count stamped on it near the hilt and shattered the blade like an icicle. Turning to the followers he cried:

"You see this man has sold us. What should be the fate of such a traitor?"

With one voice the men shouted:

"He should be hanged with the rope he designed for the other."

The Count pondered a moment with lowering brows, then said, his face as malignant as that of a demon:

"Not so. My good brother of Treves has bought him, and I am too honest a trader to cheat the holy Archbishop, God bless him, of his purchase. We shall bind our worthy captain and straightway deliver him, as goods duly bargained for, to his owner, von Isenberg. Tear off his cloak and bind him, leaving his legs free that he may walk."

Surprise and delight gleamed in the captain's eyes. Merely to be delivered to the Archbishop of Treves, was getting well out of a predicament he had come to look upon as fatal. In spite of their fear of the master of Thuron, there were murmurs at this unexampled clemency, and Rodolph gave voice to the general feeling.

"I think, my Lord, that his treachery, not to speak of his usage of an innocent man, is inadequately punished by simply handing him over to the Archbishop, who assuredly will not molest him further."

But the Count made no answer. When the elbows of the criminal were securely bound, Heinrich said;

"Lieutenant, select a dozen of your best catapult men as guard to the prisoner. Bring with you the rope and take this Archbishop's man under close watch to the top of the north tower. Let a torchbearer precede us. Follow us, my Lord Rodolph, and you, fellow, who came so near to hanging."

When they reached the top of the north tower, Captain Steinmetz, with sudden premonition of his fate, now for the first time cried aloud for mercy, but the Count paid no heed to him. From this tower could best be descried the awful depth of the Thaurand's chasm, made the more terrible by the partial illumination of the moon adding a seeming vastness to the gulf, which the clearer light of day dispelled. The profound and narrow valley appeared gloomy and unfathomable, and on the opposite height above it gleamed the great white tent of the Archbishops.

"Bend back the catapult," commanded the Count.

The stalwart men threw themselves on the levers, and slowly worked back the tremendous arms of the engine, which bent grudgingly, groaning from long disuse. At last the claw-like clutches which held the incurvated beams in place until released by a jerk of the rope, snapped into position, and the catapult men, rising and straightening their backs from the levers, drew hand across perspiring brow.

"Take up the rope," said the Count to Conrad, who with visible reluctance lifted the release rope, and stood holding it.

"Now force this traitor's head between his knees. Double up his legs, and tie him into a ball. The Archbishop must not complain that we deliver goods slovenly."

Steinmetz screamed aloud, and cried that such punishment was inhuman; even the guard hesitated, but an oath from the Black Count and a fierce glare flung about him, put springs into their bodies, and they fell on their late captain, smothering his cries, jamming down his head as they had been directed to do, finally tying him into a bundle that looked like nothing human. The wails of the doomed man in this constrained position would have cried mercy to any less savage than the Count.

"Place him on the catapult."

Two men picked him up and flung him into the jaws of the waiting monster with as little ceremony as if he were a sack of corn.

"Pull the rope, fellow."

Conrad stood motionless, gazing with horror at the furious Count.

"Stop, stop," cried Rodolph. "I protest against this cruelty. It is never your intention to launch him into eternity in such ghastly fashion. This is fiendish torture, not justice."

The Count, with the snarl of a wild beast, sprang forward, seized the rope from Conrad's nerveless fingers, jerked the mechanism loose before any could move to prevent him, and the great beams shot out like the arms of a man swimming. The human bundle was hurled forth into space, giving vent to a long continued shriek, that struck terror into every heart but that of the man who stood with the rope in his hand, his exultant face turned triumphantly upward in the moonlight. The shriek, continually lessening, rose and fell as the victim's head revolved round and round in its course through the air.

The human projectile disappeared long before it reached the earth, and every one stood motionless awaiting the crash which they thought would come to them in the still night air across the valley, but the Count sprang forward, and standing at the parapet, shook his clenched fist toward the sky, filling the valley with a madman's laughter which came echoing back to them from the opposite cliffs, as if there were in the hills a cave full of malignant maniacs.

"There, Arnold von Isenberg," he roared, "the gold is in my courtyard; the merchandise is in your camp."

CHAPTER XXXIV
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."