The Sword Maker by Robert Barr

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THE

SWORD MAKER

BY

ROBERT BARR

AUTHOR OF

"TEKLA" "CARDILLAC" "THE VICTORS"
"IN THE MIDST OF ALARMS"
ETC.

NEW YORK

FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY

PUBLISHERS

FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY

June, 1910

TABLE OF CONTENTS

I. AN OFFER TO OPEN THE RIVER
II. THE BARGAIN IS STRUCK
III. DISSENSION IN THE IRONWORKERS' GUILD
IV. THE DISTURBING JOURNEY OF FATHER AMBROSE
V. THE COUNTESS VON SAYN AND THE ARCHBISHOP OF COLOGNE
VI. TO BE KEPT SECRET FROM THE COUNTESS
VII. MUTINY IN THE WILDERNESS
VIII. THE MISSING LEADER AND THE MISSING GOLD
IX. A SOLEMN PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE
X. A CALAMITOUS CONFERENCE
XI. GOLD GALORE THAT TAKES TO ITSELF WINGS
XII. THE LAUGHING RED MARGRAVE OF FURSTENBERG
XIII. "A SENTENCE; COME, PREPARE!"
XIV. THE PRISONER OF EHRENFELS
XV. JOURNEYS END IN LOVERS' MEETING
XVI. MY LADY SCATTERS THE FREEBOOTERS AND CAPTURES THEIR CHIEF
XVII. "FOR THE EMPRESS, AND NOT FOR THE EMPIRE"
XVIII. THE SWORD MAKER AT BAY
XIX. THE BETROTHAL IN THE GARDEN
XX. THE MYSTERY OF THE FOREST
XXI. A SECRET MARRIAGE
XXII. LONG LIVE THEIR MAJESTIES

THE SWORD MAKER

I

AN OFFER TO OPEN THE RIVER

Considering the state of the imperial city of Frankfort, one would not
expect to find such a gathering as was assembled in the Kaiser cellar of
the Rheingold drinking tavern. Outside in the streets all was turbulence
and disorder; a frenzy on the part of the populace taxing to the utmost
the efforts of the city authorities to keep it within bounds, and
prevent the development of a riot that might result in the partial
destruction at least of this once prosperous city. And indeed, the
inhabitants of Frankfort could plead some excuse for their
boisterousness. Temporarily, at any rate, all business was at a
standstill. The skillful mechanics of the town had long been out of
work, and now to the ranks of the unemployed were added, from time to
time, clerks and such-like clerical people, expert accountants,
persuasive salesmen, and small shopkeepers, for no one now possessed the
money to buy more than the bare necessities of life. Yet the warehouses
of Frankfort were full to overflowing, with every kind of store that
might have supplied the needs of the people, and to the unlearned man it
seemed unjust that he and his family should starve while granaries were
packed with the agricultural produce of the South, and huge warehouses
were glutted with enough cloth from Frankfort and the surrounding
districts to clothe ten times the number of tatterdemalions who clamored
through the streets.

The wrath of the people was concentrated against one man, and he the
highest in the land; to blame, of course, in a secondary degree, but not
the one primarily at fault for this deplorable state of things. The
Emperor, always indolent from the time he came to the throne, had grown
old and crabbed and fat, caring for nothing but his flagon of wine that
stood continually at his elbow. Laxity of rule in the beginning allowed
his nobles to get the upper hand, and now it would require a civil war
to bring them into subjection again. They, sitting snug in their
strongholds, with plenty of wine in their cellars and corn in their
bins, cared nothing for the troubles of the city. Indeed, those who
inhabited either bank of the Rhine, watching from their elevated castles
the main avenue of traffic between Frankfort and Cologne, her chief
market, had throughout that long reign severely taxed the merchants
conveying goods downstream. During the last five years, their exactions
became so piratical that finally they killed the goose that laid the
golden eggs, so now the Rhine was without a boat, and Frankfort without
a buyer.

For too long Frankfort had looked to the Emperor, whose business it was
to keep order in his domain, and when at last the merchants, combining
to help themselves, made an effort towards freedom, it was too late. The
result of their combination was a flotilla of nearly a hundred boats,
which, gathering at Frankfort and Mayence, proceeded together down the
river, convoyed by a fleet containing armed men, and thus they thought
to win through to Cologne, and so dispose of their goods. But the robber
Barons combined also, hung chains across the river at the Lorely rocks,
its narrowest part, and realizing that this fleet could defeat any
single one of them, they for once acted in concert, falling upon the
boats when their running against the chains threw them into confusion.

The nobles and their brigands were seasoned fighters all, while the
armed men secured by the merchants were mere hirelings, who fled in
panic; and those not cut to pieces by their savage adversaries became
themselves marauders on a small scale, scattered throughout the land,
for there was little use of tramping back to the capital, where already
a large portion of the population suffered the direst straits.

Not a single bale of goods reached Cologne, for the robbers divided
everything amongst themselves, with some pretty quarrels, and then they
sank the boats in the deepest part of the river as a warning, lest the
merchants of Frankfort and Mayence should imagine the Rhine belonged to
them. Meantime, all petitions to the Emperor being in vain, the
merchants gave up the fight. They were a commercial, not a warlike
people. They discharged their servants and underlings, and starvation
slowly settled down upon the distressed city.

After the maritime disaster on the Rhine, some of the merchants made a
futile attempt to amend matters, for which their leaders paid dearly.
They appealed to the seven Electors, finding their petitions to the
Emperor were in vain, asking these seven noblemen, including the three
warlike Archbishops of Cologne, Treves, and Mayence, to depose the
Emperor, which they had power to do, and elect his son in his stead. But
they overlooked the fact that a majority of the Electors themselves, and
probably the Archbishops also, benefited directly or indirectly by the
piracies on the Rhine. The answer to this request was the prompt hanging
of three leading merchants, the imprisonment of a score of others, and a
warning to the rest that the shoemaker should stick to his last, leaving
high politics to those born to rule. This misguided effort caused the
three Archbishops to arrest Prince Roland, the Emperor's only son, and
incarcerate him in Ehrenfels, a strong castle on the Rhine belonging to
the Archbishop of Mayence, who was thus made custodian of the young man,
and responsible to his brother prelates of Cologne and Treves for the
safe-keeping of the Prince. The Archbishops, as has been said, were too
well satisfied with the weak administration then established at
Frankfort to wish a change, so the lad was removed from the capital,
that the citizens of Frankfort might be under no temptation to place him
at their head, and endeavor to overturn the existing order of things.

This being the state of affairs in Frankfort, with every one gloomy, and
a majority starving, it was little wonder that the main cellar of the
Rheingold tavern should be empty, although when times were good it was
difficult to find a seat there after the sun went down. But in the
smaller Kaiser cellar, along each side of the single long table, sat
young men numbering a score, who ate black bread and drank Rhine wine,
to the roaring of song and the telling of story. They formed a close
coterie, admitting no stranger to their circle if one dissenting voice
was raised against his acceptance, yet in spite of this exclusiveness
there was not a drop of noble blood in the company. They belonged,
however, to the aristocracy of craftsmen; metal-workers for the most
part, ingenious artificers in iron, beaters of copper, fashioners of
gold and silver. Glorious blacksmiths, they called themselves; but now,
like every one else, with nothing to do. In spite of their city
up-bringing all were stalwart, well-set-up young men; and, indeed, the
swinging of hammers is good exercise for the muscles of the arm, and in
those turbulent days a youth who could not take care of himself with his
stick or his fists was like to fare ill if he ventured forth after
nightfall.

This, indeed, had been the chief reason for the forming of their guild,
and if one of their number was set upon, the secret call of the
organization shouted aloud brought instant help were any of the members
within hearing. Belonging neither to the military nor the aristocracy,
they were not allowed to wear swords, and to obtain this privilege was
one of the objects of their organization. Indeed, each member of the
guild secretly possessed a weapon of the best, although he risked his
neck if ever he carried it abroad with him. Among their number were
three of the most expert sword makers in all Germany.

These three sword makers had been instrumental in introducing to their
order the man who was now its leader. This youth came to one of them
with ideas concerning the proper construction of a sword, and the
balancing of it, so that it hung easily in the hand as though part of
the fore-arm. Usually, the expert has small patience with the theories
of an amateur; but this young fellow, whose ambition it was to invent a
sword, possessed such intimate knowledge of the weapon as it was used,
not only in Germany, but also in France and Italy, that the sword maker
introduced him to fellow-craftsmen at other shops, and they taught him
how to construct a sword. These instructors, learning that although, as
Roland laughingly said, he was not allowed to wear a sword, he could
wield it with a precision little short of marvelous, the guild gave
permission for this stranger to be a guest at one of their weekly
meetings at the Kaiser cellar, where he exhibited his wonderful skill.

Not one of them, nor, indeed, all of them together, stood any chance
when confronting him. They clamored to be taught, offering good money
for the lessons, believing that if they acquired but a tithe of his
excellence with the blade they might venture to wear it at night, and
let their skill save them from capture. But the young fellow refused
their money, and somewhat haughtily declined the role of fencing-master,
whereupon they unanimously elected him a member of the coterie, waiving
for this one occasion the rule which forbade the choice of any but a
metal-worker. When the stranger accepted the election, he was informed
that it was the duty of each member to come to the aid of his brethren
when required, and they therefore requested him to teach them
swordsmanship. Roland, laughing, seeing how he had been trapped, as it
were, with his own consent, acceded to the universal wish, and before a
year had passed his twenty comrades were probably the leading swordsmen
in the city of Frankfort.

Shortly after the disaster to the merchants' fleet at the Lorely, Roland
disappeared without a word of farewell to those who had come to think so
much of him. He had been extremely reticent regarding his profession, if
he had one, and no one knew where he lodged. It was feared that the
authorities had arrested him with the sword in his possession, for he
grew more reckless than any of the others in carrying the weapon. One
night, however, he reappeared, and took his seat at the head of the
table as if nothing had happened. Evidently he had traveled far and on
foot, for his clothes were dusty and the worse for wear. He refused to
give any account of himself, but admitted that he was hungry, thirsty,
and in need of money.

His hunger and thirst were speedily satisfied, but the money scarcity
was not so easily remedied. All the score were out of employment, with
the exception of the three sword makers, whose trade the uncertainty of
the times augmented rather than diminished. To cheer up Roland, who was
a young fellow of unquenchable geniality, they elected him to the empty
honor of being their leader, Kurzbold's term of office having ended.

The guild met every night now, instead of once a week, and it may be
shrewdly suspected that the collation of black bread and sausage formed
the sole meal of the day for many of them. Nevertheless, their hilarity
was undiminished, and the rafters rang with song and laugh, and echoed
also maledictions upon a supine Government, and on the rapacious Rhine
lords. But the bestowal of even black bread and the least expensive of
wine could not continue indefinitely. They owed a bill to the landlord
upon which that worthy, patient as he had proved himself, always hoping
for better times, wished for at least something on account. All his
other customers had deserted him, and if they drank at all, chose some
place where the wine was thin and cheap. The landlord held out bravely
for three months after Roland was elected president, then, bemoaning his
fate, informed the guild that he would be compelled to close the
Rheingold tavern.

"Give me a week!" cried Roland, rising in his place at the head of the
table, "and I will make an effort to get enough gold to settle the bill
at least, with perhaps something over for each of our pockets."

This promise brought forth applause and a rattle of flagons on the
table, so palpably empty that the ever-hopeful landlord proceeded
forthwith to fill them.

"There is one proviso," said Roland, as they drank his health in the
wine his offer produced. "To get this money I must do something in
return. I have a plan in mind which it would be premature to disclose.
If it succeeds, none of us will ever need to bend back over a workman's
bench again, or hammer metal except for our own pleasure. But acting
alone I am powerless, so I must receive your promise that you will stand
by any pledge I make on your behalf, and follow me into whatever danger
I choose to lead you."

There was a great uproar at this, and a boisterous consent.

"This day week, then," said Roland, as he strapped sword to side, threw
cloak over shoulders, so that it completely concealed the forbidden
weapon, waved a hand to his cheering comrades, and went out into the
night.

Once ascended the cellar steps, the young man stood in the narrow street
as though hesitating what to do. Faintly there came to him the sound of
singing from the cellar he had quitted, and he smiled slightly as he
listened to the rousing chorus he knew so well. From the direction of
the Palace a more sinister echo floated on the night air; the
unmistakable howl of anger, pain, and terror; the noise that a pursued
and stricken mob makes when driven by soldiers. The populace had
evidently been engaged in its futile and dangerous task of
demonstrating, and proclaiming its hunger, and the authorities were
scattering it; keeping it ever on the move.

It was still early; not yet ten o'clock, and a full moon shone over the
city, unlighted otherwise. Drawing his cloak closer about him, Roland
walked rapidly in an opposite direction to that from which the tumult of
the rabble came, until he arrived at the wide Fahrgasse, a street
running north and south, its southern end terminating at the old bridge.
Along this thoroughfare lived the wealthiest merchants of Frankfort.

Roland turned, and proceeded slowly towards the river, critically
examining the tall, picturesque buildings on either hand, cogitating the
question which of them would best answer his purpose. They all seemed
uninviting enough, for their windows were dark, most of them tightly
shuttered; and, indeed, the thoroughfare looked like a street of the
dead, the deserted appearance enhanced, rather than relieved, by the
white moonlight lying on its cobble-stones.

Nearing the bridge, he discovered one stout door ajar, and behind it
shone the yellow glow of a lamp. He paused, and examined critically the
facade of the house, which, with its quiet, dignified architectural
beauty, seemed the abode of wealth. Although the shutters were closed,
his intent inspection showed him thin shafts of light from the chinks,
and he surmised that an assemblage of some sort was in progress,
probably a secret convention, the members of which entered unannounced,
and left the door ajar ready for the next comer.

For a moment he thought of venturing in, but remembering his mission
required the convincing of one man rather than the persuasion of a
group, he forbore, but noted in his mind the position and designation of
the house, resolving to select this building as the theater of his first
effort, and return to it next morning. It would serve his purpose as
well as another.

Roland's attention was then suddenly directed to his own position,
standing in the bright moonlight, for there swung round from the river
road, into the Fahrgasse, a small and silent company, who marched as one
man. The moon was shining almost directly up the street, but the houses
to the west stood in its radiance, while those in the east were still in
shadow. Roland pressed himself back against the darkened wall to his
left, near the partially opened door; between it and the river. The
silent procession advanced to the door ajar, and there paused, forming
their ranks into two lines, thus making a passage for a tall,
fine-looking, bearded man, who walked to the threshold, then turned and
raised his bonnet in salute.

"My friends," he said, "this is kind of you, and although I have been
silent, I ask you to believe that deeply I appreciate your welcome
escort. And now, enter with me, and we will drink a stoup of wine
together, to the somber toast, 'God save our stricken city!'"

"No, no, Herr Goebel. To-night is sacred. We have seen you safely to
your waiting family, and at that reunion there should be no intruders.
But to-morrow night, if you will have us, we will drink to the city, and
to your own good health, Herr Goebel."

This sentiment was applauded by all, and the merchant, seeing that they
would not accept his present invitation, bowed in acquiescence, and bade
them good-by. When the door closed the delegation separated into units,
and each went his own way. Roland, stepping out of the shadow, accosted
the rearmost man.

"Pardon me, mein Herr," he said, "but may I ask what ceremony is this in
which you have been taking part?"

The person accosted looked with some alarm at his questioner, but the
moonlight revealed a face singularly gentle and winning; a face that in
spite of its youth inspired instinctive confidence. The tone, too, was
very persuasive, and seemed devoid even of the offense of curiosity.

"'Tis no ceremony," said the delegate, "but merely the return home of
our friend, Herr Goebel."

"Has he, then, been on a journey?"

"Sir, you are very young, and probably unacquainted with Frankfort."

"I have lived here all my life," said Roland. "I am a native of
Frankfort."

"In that case," replied the other, "you show yourself amazingly ignorant
of its concerns; otherwise you would know that Herr Goebel is one of the
leading merchants of the city, a man honorable, enlightened, and
energetic--an example to us all, and one esteemed alike by noble or
peasant. We honor ourselves in honoring him."

"Herr Goebel should be proud of such commendation, mein Herr, coming I
judge, from one to whom the words you use might also be applied."

The merchant bowed gravely at this compliment, but made no remark upon
it.

"Pardon my further curiosity," continued the young man, "but from whence
does Herr Goebel return?"

"He comes from prison," said the other. "He made the mistake of thinking
that our young Prince would prove a better ruler than his father, our
Emperor, and but that the Archbishops feared a riot if they went to
extremes, Herr Goebel ran great danger of losing his life rather than
his liberty."

"What you say, mein Herr, interests me very much, and I thank you for
your courtesy. My excuse for questioning you is this. I am moved by a
desire to enter the employ of such a man as Herr Goebel, and I purpose
calling upon him to-morrow, if you think he would be good enough to
receive me."

"He will doubtless receive you," replied the other, "but I am quite
certain your mission will fail. At the present moment none of us are
engaging clerks, however competent. Ignorant though you are of civic
affairs, you must be aware that all business is at a standstill in
Frankfort. Although Herr Goebel has said nothing about it, I learn from
an unquestionable source that he himself is keeping from starvation all
his former employees, so I am sure he would not take on, for a stranger,
any further obligation."

"Sir, I am well acquainted with the position of affairs, and it is to
suggest a remedy that I desire speech with Herr Goebel. I do not possess
the privilege of acquaintance with any merchant in this city, so one
object of my accosting you was to learn, if possible, how I might secure
some note of introduction to the merchant that would ensure his
receiving me, and obtain for me a hearing when once I had been admitted
to his house."

If Roland expected the stranger to volunteer such a note, he quite
underestimated the caution of a Frankfort merchant.

"As I said before, you will meet with no difficulty so far as entrance
to the house is concerned. May I take it that you yourself understand
the art of writing?"

"Oh yes," replied Roland.

"Then indite your own letter of introduction. Say that you have evolved
a plan for the redemption of Frankfort, and Herr Goebel will receive you
without demur. He will listen patiently, and give a definite decision
regarding the feasibility of your project. And now, good sir, my way
lies to the left. I wish you success, and bid you good-night."

The stranger left Roland standing at the intersection of two streets,
one of which led to the Saalhof. They had been approaching the
Romerberg, or market-place, the center of Frankfort, when the merchant
so suddenly ended the conversation and turned aside. Roland remembered
that no Jew was allowed to set foot in the Romerberg, and now surmised
the nationality of his late companion. The youth proceeded alone through
the Romerberg, and down directly to the river, reaching the spot where
the huge Saalhof faced its flood. Roland saw that triple guards
surrounded the Emperor's Palace. The mob had been cleared away, but no
one was allowed to linger in its precincts, and the youth was gruffly
ordered to take himself elsewhere, which he promptly did, walking up the
Saalgasse, and past the Cathedral, until he came once more into the
Fahrgasse, down which he proceeded, pausing for another glance at
Goebel's house, until he came to the bridge, where he stood with arms
resting on the parapet, thoughtfully shaping in his mind what he would
say to Herr Goebel in the morning.

Along the opposite side of the river lay a compact mass of barges; ugly,
somber, black in the moonlight, silent witnesses to the ruin of
Frankfort. The young man gazed at this melancholy accumulation of
useless floating stock, and breathed the deeper when he reflected that
whoever could set these boats in motion again would prove himself,
temporarily at least, the savior of the city.

When the bells began to toll eleven, Roland roused himself, walked
across the bridge to Sachsenhausen, and so to his squalid lodging,
consoling himself with the remembrance that the great King Charlemagne
had made this his own place of residence. Here, before retiring to bed,
he wrote the letter which he was to send in next day to Herr Goebel,
composing it with some care, so that it aroused curiosity without
satisfying it.

It was half-past ten next morning when Roland presented himself at the
door of the leading merchant in the Fahrgasse, and sent in to that
worthy his judiciously worded epistle. He was kept waiting in the hall
longer than he expected, but at last the venerable porter appeared, and
said Herr Goebel would be pleased to receive him. He was conducted up
the stair to the first floor, and into a front room which seemed to be
partly library and partly business office. Here seated at a stout table,
he recognized the grave burgher whose home-coming he had witnessed the
night before.

The keen eyes of the merchant seemed to penetrate to his inmost thought,
and it struck Roland that there came into them an expression of
disappointment, for he probably did not expect so youthful a visitor.

"Will you be seated, mein Herr," said his host; and Roland, with an
inclination of the head, accepted the invitation. "My time is very
completely occupied to-day," continued the elder man, "for although
there is little business afoot in Frankfort, my own affairs have been
rather neglected of late, and I am endeavoring to overtake the arrears."

"I know that," said Roland. "I stood by your doorcheek last night when
you returned home."

"Did you so? May I ask why?"

"There was no particular reason. It happened that I walked down the
Fahrgasse, endeavoring to make up my mind upon whom I should call
to-day."

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