The Sword Maker by Robert Barr

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A beautiful tableau of amity and brotherly love was presented to the
troops as they looked up at the three Archbishops standing together on
the balcony in relief against the gray walls of the Castle. The
officers, who were on horseback, raised their swords sky-pointing from
their helmets, for they recognized their overlord and his two notable
confreres. With the motion of one man the three Archbishops acknowledged
the salute. The troops cheered and cheered as the anaconda made its
sinuous way down the mountain-side, and company after company came
abreast the Castle. The Archbishops stood there until the last man
disappeared down the river road on his way to Coblentz.

"May I ask you," said Mayence, addressing Treves, "to conduct me to the
flat roof of your Castle? Will you accompany us?" he inquired of
Cologne.

Cologne and Treves being for once in agreement, the latter led the way,
and presently the three stood on the broad stone plateau which afforded
a truly striking panorama of the Rhine. The July sun sinking in the west
transformed the river into a crimson flood, and at that height the cool
evening breeze was delicious. Cologne stood with one hand on the
parapet, and gazed entranced at the scene, but the practical Mayence
paid no attention whatever to it.

"Your troublesome guest, Treves, has one more request to make, which is
that you order his flag hoisted to the top of that pole."

Treves at once departed to give this command, while Cologne, with
clouded brow, turned from his appreciation of the view.

"My Lord," he said, "you have requested the raising of a signal."

"Yes," was the reply.

"A signal which calls your men from the Lahn to the landing at
Stolzenfels?"

"Yes," repeated Mayence.

"My Lord, I have kept my promise not only to the letter, but in the
spirit as well. My troops are marching peaceably away, and will reach
their barracks some time to-morrow. Although I exacted no promise from
you, you implied there was a truce between us, and that your army, like
my company, was not to be called into action of any kind."

"Your understanding of our pact is concisely stated, even though my
share in that pact remained unspoken. A truce, did you say? Is it not
more than that? I hoped that my seconding of the nomination you proposed
proved me in complete accord with your views."

"I am not in effect your prisoner, then?"

"Surely not; so contrary to the fact is such an assumption that I
implore you to accept my hospitality. The signal, which I see is now at
the mast-head, calls for one barge only, and that contains no soldier,
merely a captain and his ten stout rowers, whom you may at this moment,
if you turn round, see emerging from the mouth of the Lahn. I present to
you, and to the Countess von Sayn, my Schloss of Martinsburg for as long
as you may require it. It is well furnished, well provisioned, and
attended to by a group of capable servants, who are at your command. I
suggest that you cross in my barge, in company with the Countess and her
kinsman, the Reverend Father. You agree, I take it, to convoy the lady
safely to her temporary restraint in Pfalz. It was her own request, you
remember."

"I shall convoy her thither."

"I am trusting to you entirely. The distance is but thirteen leagues,
and can be accomplished easily in a day. Once on the other side of the
river she may despatch her kinsman, or some more trustworthy messenger,
to her own Castle, and thus summon the two waiting-women who will share
her seclusion."

"Is it your intention, my Lord, that her imprisonment shall--?"

The Archbishop of Mayence held up his thin hand with a gesture of
deprecation.

"I use no word so harsh as 'imprisonment.' The penance, if you wish so
to characterize it, is rather in the nature of a retreat, giving her
needed opportunity for reflection, and, I hope, for regret."

"Nevertheless, my Lord, your action seems to me unnecessarily severe.
How long do you propose to detain her?"

"I am pained to hear you term it severity, for her treatment will be of
the mildest description. I thought you would understand that no other
course was open to me. So far as I am personally concerned, she might
have said what pleased her, with no adverse consequences, but she
flouted the highest Court of the realm, and such contempt cannot be
overlooked. As for the duration of her discipline, it will continue
until the new Emperor is married, after which celebration the Countess
is free to go whither she pleases. I shall myself call at Pfalz four
days from now, that I may be satisfied the lady enjoys every comfort the
Castle affords."

"And also, perhaps, to be certain she is there immured."

Mayence's thin lips indulged in a wry smile.

"I need no such assurance," he said, "since my Lord of Cologne has
pledged his word to see that the order of the Court is carried out."

The conversation was here interrupted by the return of Treves. Already
the great barge was half-way across the river. The surging, swift
current swept it some distance below Stolzenfels, and the rowers, five a
side, were working strenuously to force it into slower waters. Lord,
lady, and monk crossed over to the mouth of the Lahn, and the barge
returned immediately to convey across horses and escort.

As the valley of the Lahn opened out it presented a picture of quiet
sylvan beauty, apparently uninhabited by any living thing. The
Archbishop of Cologne rose, and, shading his eyes from the still radiant
sun, gazed intently up the little river. No floating craft was anywhere
in sight. He turned to the captain.

"Where is the flotilla from Mayence?" he asked.

"Flotilla, my Lord?"

"Yes; a hundred barges sailed down from Mayence in the darkness either
last night or the night before, taking harbor here in the Lahn."

"My Lord, even one barge, manned as this is, could not have journeyed
such a distance in so short a time, and, indeed, for a flotilla to
attempt the voyage, except in daylight, would have been impossible. No
barges have come down the Rhine for months, and had they ventured the
little Lahn is too shallow to harbor them."

"Thank you, captain. I appear to be ignorant both of the history and the
geography of this district. If I were to ask you and your stout rowers
to take me down through the swiftest part of the river to Coblentz, how
soon would we reach that town?"

"Very speedily, my Lord, but I could undertake no such voyage except at
the command of my master. He is not one to be disobeyed."

"I quite credit that," said Cologne, sitting down again, the momentary
desire to recall his marching troops, that had arisen when he saw the
empty Lahn, dying down when he realized how effectually he had been
outwitted.

When the horses were brought across, Father Ambrose, at the request of
the Countess, rode back to Sayn, and sent forward the two waiting-women
whom she required, and so well did he accomplish his task that they
arrived at Schloss Martinsburg before ten of the clock that night. At an
early hour next morning the little procession began its journey up the
Rhine, his Lordship and the Countess in front; the six horsemen bringing
up the rear.

The lady was in a mood of deep dejection; the regret which Mayence had
anticipated as result of imprisonment already enveloped her. It was only
too evident that the Archbishop of Cologne was bitterly disappointed,
for he rode silently by her side making no attempt at conversation. They
rested for several hours during midday, arriving at Caub before the red
sun set, and now the Countess saw her pinnacled prison lying like an
anchored ship in midstream.

At Caub they were met by a bearded, truculent-looking ruffian, who
introduced himself to the Archbishop as the Pfalzgraf von Stahleck.

"You take us rather by surprise, Prince of Cologne," he said. "It is
true that my overlord, the Archbishop of Mayence, called upon me several
days ago while descending the Rhine in his ten-oared barge, and said
there was a remote chance that a prisoner might shortly be given into my
care. This had often happened before, for my Castle covers some gruesome
cells that extend under the river,--cells with secret entrances not
easily come by should any one search the Castle. It is sometimes
convenient that a prisoner of State should be immured in one of them
when the Archbishop has no room in his own Schloss Ehrenfels, so I paid
little attention, and merely said the prisoner would receive a welcome
on arrival. This morning there came one of the Archbishop's men from
Stolzenfels, and both my wife and myself were astonished to learn that
the prisoner would be here this evening under your escort, my Lord, and
that it was a woman we were to harbor. Further, she was to be given the
best suite of rooms we had in the Castle, and to be treated with all
respect as a person of rank. Now, this apartment is in no state of
readiness to receive such a lady, much less to house one of the dignity
of your Lordship."

"It does not matter for me," replied the Archbishop. "Being, as I may
say, part soldier, the bed and board of an inn is quite acceptable upon
occasion."

"Oh no, your Highness, such a hardship is not to be thought of. The
Castle of Gutenfels, standing above us, is comfortable as any on the
Rhine. Its owner, the Count Palatine, is fellow-Elector of yours, and a
very close friend of my overlord of Mayence, and I am told they vote
together whenever my overlord needs his assistance."

"That is true," commented Cologne.

"My overlord sent word that anything I needed for the accommodation of
her ladyship, he recognizing that my warning had been short, I should
requisition from the Count Palatine, so at midday I went up to call upon
him, not saying anything, of course, about State prisoners, male or
female. The moment he heard that you, my Lord, were visiting this
neighborhood, he begged me to tender to you, and to all your companions
or following, the hospitality of his Castle for so long as you might
honor him with your presence."

"The Count Palatine is very gracious, and I shall be glad to accept
shelter and refreshment."

"He would have been here to greet your Highness, but I was unable to
inform him at what hour you would arrive, so I waited for you myself,
and will be pleased to guide you to the gates of Gutenfels."

The conversation was interrupted by a great clatter of galloping horses,
descending the hill with reckless speed, and at its foot swinging round
into the main street of the town.

"Ha!" cried the amateur jailer, "here is the Count Palatine himself;"
and thus it is our fate to meet the fourth Elector of the Empire, who,
added to the three Archbishops, formed a quorum so potent that it could
elect or depose an Emperor at will.

The cavalry of the Count Palatine was composed of fifty fully-armed men,
and their gallop through the town roused the echoes of that ancient
bailiwick, which, together with the Castle, belonged to the Palatinate.
The powerful noble extended a cordial welcome to his fellow-Elector, and
together they mounted to the Castle of Gutenfels.

At dinner that night the Count Palatine proved an amiable host. Under
his geniality the charming Countess von Sayn gradually recovered her
lost good spirits, and forgot she was on her way to prison. After all,
she was young, naturally joyous, and loved interesting company,
especially that of the two Electors, who were well informed, and had
seen much of the world. The Archbishop also shook off some of his
somberness; indeed, all of it as the flagons flowed. Being asked his
preference in wine, he replied that yesterday he had been regaled with a
very excellent sample of Oberweseler.

"That is from this neighborhood," replied the Count. "Oberwesel lies but
a very short distance below, on the opposite side of the river, but we
contend that our beverage of Caub is at least equal, and sometimes
superior. You shall try a good vintage of both. How did you come by
Oberweseler so far north as Stolzenfels?"

"Simply because I was so forward, counting on the good nature of my
friend of Treves, that I stipulated for Oberweseler."

"Ah! I am anxious to know why."

"For reasons of history, not of the palate. A fair English Princess was
guest of Stolzenfels long ago, and this wine was served to her."

"In that case," returned the Count, "I also shall fall back on history,
and first order brimming tankards of old Caub. Really, Madam," he said,
turning to Hildegunde, "we should have had Royalty here to meet you,
instead of two old wine-bibbers like his Highness and myself."

The girl looked startled at this mention of Royalty, bringing to her
mind the turbulent events of yesterday. Nevertheless, with great
composure, she smiled at her enthusiastic host.

"Still," went on the Count, "if we are not royal ourselves, 'tis a
degree we are empowered to confer, and, indeed, may be very shortly
called upon to bestow. That is true from what I hear, is it not, your
Highness?"

"Yes," replied the Archbishop gravely.

"Well, as I was about to say, this Castle belonged to the Falkensteins,
and was sold by them to the Palatinate. Rumor, legend, history, call it
what you like, asserts that the most beautiful woman ever born on the
Rhine was Countess Beatrice of Falkenstein. But when I drink to the
toast I am about to offer I shall, Madam," he smiled at Hildegunde,
"assert that the legend no longer holds, a contention I am prepared to
maintain by mortal combat. Know then that the Earl of Cornwall, who was
elected King of Germany in 1257, met Beatrice of Falkenstein in this
Castle. The meeting was brought about by the Electors themselves, who,
stupid matchmakers, attempted to coerce each into a marriage with the
other. Beatrice refused to marry a foreigner.

"The Chronicles are a little vague about the most interesting part of
the negotiations, but minutely plain about the outcome. In some manner
the Earl and Beatrice met, and he became instantly enamored of her. This
is the portion so deplorably slurred by these old monkish writers. I
need hardly tell you that the Earl himself succeeded where the seven
Electors failed. Beatrice became Cornwall's wife and Queen of Germany,
and they lived happily ever afterwards.

"I give you the toast!" cried the chivalrous Count Palatine, rising. "To
the cherished memory of the Royal lovers of Gutenfels!"

The Archbishop's eyes twinkled as he looked across the table at
Hildegunde.

"This seems to be a time of Royal betrothals," he said, raising his
flagon.

"'Seems' is the right word, Guardian," replied the Countess.

Then she sipped the ancient wine of Caub.

Next morning Hildegunde was early afoot. Notwithstanding her trouble of
mind, she had slept well, and awakened with the birds, so great is the
influence of youth and health. During her last conscious moments the
night before, as she lay in the stately bed of the most noble room the
Castle contained, she bitterly accused herself for the disastrous
failure of the previous day. The Archbishop of Cologne had given her
good counsel that was not followed, and his disappointment with the
result, generously as he endeavored to conceal it, was doubtless the
deeper because undiscussed. Thinking of coming captivity, a dream of
grim Pfalz was expected, but instead the girl's spirit wandered through
the sweet seclusion of Nonnenwerth, living again that happy, earlier
time, free from politics and the tramp of armed men.

In the morning the porter, at her behest, withdrew bolt, bar, and chain,
allowing exit into the fresh, cool air, and skirting the Castle, she
arrived at a broad terrace which fronted it. A fleecy mist extending
from shore to shore concealed the waters of the Rhine, and partially
obliterated the little village of Caub at the foot of the hill. Where
she stood the air was crystal clear, and she seemed to be looking out on
a broad snow-field of purest white. Beyond Caub its surface was pierced
by the dozen sharp pinnacles of her future prison, looking like a bed of
spikes, upon which one might imagine a giant martyr impaled by the
verdict of a cruel Archbishop.

Gazing upon this nightmare Castle, whose tusks alone were revealed, the
girl formulated the resolution but faintly suggested the night before.
On her release should ensue an abandonment of the world, and the
adoption of a nun's veil in the convent opposite Drachenfels, an island
exchanged for an island; turmoil for peace.

At breakfast she met again the jovial Count Palatine, and her more sober
guardian, who both complimented her on the results of her beauty rest,
the one with great gallantry, the other with more reserve, as befitted a
Churchman. The Archbishop seemed old and haggard in the morning light,
and it was not difficult to guess that no beauty sleep had soothed his
pillow. It wrung the girl's heart to look at him, and again she accused
herself for lack of all tact and discretion, wishing that her guardian
took his disappointment more vengefully, setting her to some detested
task that she might willingly perform.

The hospitable Count, eager that they should stop at least another night
under his roof, pressed his invitation upon them, and the Archbishop
gave a tacit consent.

"If the Countess is not too tired," said Cologne, "I propose that she
accompany me on a little journey I have in view farther up the river. We
will return here in the evening."

"I should be delighted," cried Hildegunde, "for all sense of fatigue has
been swept away by a most restful night."

The good-natured Count left them to their own devices, and shortly
afterwards guardian and ward rode together down the steep declivity to
the river. The mist was already driven away, except a wisp here and
there clinging to the gray surface of the water, trailing along as if
drawn by the current, for the air was motionless, and there was promise
of a sultry day. They proceeded in silence until a bend in the Rhine
shut Caub and its sinister water-prison out of sight, and then it was
the girl who spoke.

"Guardian," she said, "have I offended you beyond forgiveness?"

A gentle smile came to his lips as he gazed upon her with affection.

"You have not offended me at all, my dear," he said, "but I am grieved
at thwarting circumstance."

"I have been thinking over circumstances too, and hold myself solely to
blame for their baffling opposition. I will submit without demur to
whatever length of imprisonment may please, and, if possible, soften the
Archbishop of Mayence. After my release I shall ask your consent that I
may forthwith join the Sisterhood at Nonnenwerth. I wish to divide my
wealth equally between yourself and the convent."

The Archbishop shook his head.

"I could not accept such donation."

"Why not? The former Archbishop of Cologne accepted Linz from my
ancestress Matilda."

"That was intended to be but a temporary loan."

"Well; call my benefaction temporary if you like, to be kept until I
call for it, but meanwhile to be used at your discretion."

"It is quite impossible," said the Archbishop firmly.

"Does that mean you will not allow me to adopt the religious life?"

"It means, my child, that I should not feel justified in permitting this
renunciation of the world until you knew more of what you were giving
up."

"I know enough already."

"You think so, but your experience of it is too recent for us to expect
unbiased judgment this morning. I should insist on a year, at least, and
preferably two years, part of that time to be spent in Frankfort and in
Cologne. I anticipate a great improvement in Frankfort when the new
Emperor comes to the throne. If at the end of two years you are still of
the same mind, I shall offer no further opposition."

"I shall never change my intention."

"Perhaps not. I am told that the determination of a woman is
irrevocable, so a little delay does not much matter. Meanwhile, another
problem passes my comprehension. I have thought and thought about it,
and am convinced there is a misunderstanding somewhere, which possibly
will be cleared away too late. I am quite certain that Father Ambrose
did not meet Prince Roland in Frankfort."

"Do you, then, dispute the word of Father Ambrose?" asked the girl,
quickly checking the accent of indignation that arose in her voice, for
humility was to be her role ever after.

"Father Ambrose is at once both the gentlest and most truthful of men.
He has undoubtedly seen somebody rob a merchant in Frankfort. He has
undoubtedly been imprisoned among wine-casks; but that this thief and
this jailer was Roland is incredible to me who know the young man, and
physically impossible, for Prince Roland at that time was himself a
prisoner, as, indeed, he is to-day. Prince Roland cannot be liberated
from Ehrenfels without an order signed by Mayence, Treves, and myself. I
alone have not the power to encompass his freedom, and Mayence is
equally powerless although he is owner of the Castle. Some scoundrel is
walking the streets of Frankfort pretending to be Roland."

"In that case, my Lord, he would not deny his identity when accosted on
the bridge."

"A very clever point, my dear, but it does not overcome my difficulty.
There might be a dozen reasons why the rascal would not incriminate
himself to any stranger who thus took him by surprise. However, it is
useless to argue the question, for I persuade you as little as you
persuade me. The practical thing is to fathom the misunderstanding, and
remove it. Will you assist me in this?"

"Willingly, if I can, Guardian."

"Very well. I must first inform you that your imprisonment is likely to
be very short. You are to know that the harmony supposed to exist in
Stolzenfels is largely mythical: I left behind me the seeds of discord.
I proposed that the glum niece of Treves, whom you met at our historic
lunch, should be the future Empress. This nomination was seconded by
Mayence himself, and received with unconcealed joy by my brother of
Treves."

"Then for once the Court was unanimous? I think your choice an admirable
one."

"The Archbishop of Mayence does not agree with you, my dear."

"Then why did he second your nomination?"

"Because he is so much more clever than Treves, who a few minutes later
would have been the seconder."

"Why should his Lordship of Mayence think one thing and act another?"

"Why is he always doing it? No one can guess what Mayence really thinks,
if he is judged by what he says. Were Treves' niece to become Empress,
her uncle would speedily realize his power, and Mayence would lose his
leadership. Could Mayence to-day secretly promote you to the position of
Empress, he would gladly do so."

"But won't he at once look for some one else?"

"Certainly. That choice is now occupying his mind. His seconding of the
nomination was merely a ruse to gain time, but if he proposes any one
else he will find both Treves and myself against him. His only hope of
circumventing the ambition of Treves is that something may happen,
causing you to change your mind concerning Prince Roland."

"You forget, Guardian," protested the girl, "that his Lordship of
Mayence said he would not permit me to marry Prince Roland after the way
I had spoken and acted."

"He said that, my dear, under the influence of great resentment against
you, but Mayence never allows resentment or any other feeling to stand
in the way of his own interests. If you wrote him a contrite letter
regretting your defiance of him, and expressing your willingness to bow
to his wishes, I am very sure he would welcome the communication as a
happy solution of the quandary in which he finds himself."

"You wish me to do this, Guardian?" she asked wistfully.

"Not until you are satisfied that Prince Roland is innocent of the
charges you make against him."

"How can I receive such assurance?"

"Ah, now you come to the object of this apparently purposeless journey.
I have had much experience in the world you are so anxious to renounce,
and although I have seen the wicked prosper for a time, yet my faith has
never been shaken in an overruling Providence, and what happened last
night set me thinking so deeply that daylight stole in upon my
meditations."

"Oh, my poor Guardian, I knew you had not slept, and all because of a
worthless creature like myself, and a wicked creature, too, for I did
not see the hand of Providence so visible to you."

"Surely, my dear, a moment's thought would reveal it to you. Remember
how we came almost to the door of the prison, when a temporary reprieve
was handed to us by that coarse reprobate, the Pfalzgraf. Your suite of
rooms was not yet ready, and thus we found bestowed upon us another free
day; a day of untrammeled liberty, quite unlooked for. Now, much may be
done in a day. An Empire has been lost and won within a few hours. With
this gift came a revelation. That wine-blotched Pfalzgraf would have
shown no consideration for you: to him a prisoner is a prisoner, to be
cast anywhere, lock the door, and have done, but a wholesome fear had
been instilled into him by his overlord. The Archbishop of Mayence had
taken thought for your comfort, ordering that the best rooms in the
Castle should be placed at your disposal. Hence, after all that had
passed, his Lordship felt no malignancy against you, and I dare say
would have been glad to rescind the order for your imprisonment, were it
not that he would never admit defeat."

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