My Lady Rotha: A Romance

'What!' the Countess cried, rising and staring at her. 'Impossible! Your wits were straying, girl. It was some other child.'

But Marie shook her head gently. 'No, my lady,' she said. 'It was my child.'

'Count Leuchtenstein's?'

'Yes, if the child I found was his.'

'But how-did it come where you found it?' the Countess asked.

'I think that the woman whom I left in the road was the poor creature who used to beg at our house in the camp,' Marie answered, hesitating somewhat-'the wife of the man whom General Tzerclas hung, my lady. I saw her face by a glimmer of light only, and, at the moment, I thought nothing. Afterwards it flashed across me that she was that woman. If so, I think that she stole the child to avenge herself. She thought that we were General Tzerclas' friends.'

'But then where is the child?' my lady exclaimed, her eyes shining. I was excited myself; but the delight, the pleasure which I saw in her face took me by surprise. I stared at her, thinking that I had never seen her look so beautiful.

Then, as Marie answered, her face fell. 'I do not know,' my girl said. 'After a time I found my way back to the road, but I had scarcely set foot on it when General Tzerclas' troopers surprised me. I gave myself up for lost; I thought that he would kill me. But he only gibed at me, until I almost died of fear, and then he bade one of his men take me up behind him. They carried me with them to the camp outside this city, and three days ago brought me in and shut me up in that house.'

'But the child?' my lady cried. 'What of it?'

'He took it from me,' Marie said. 'I have never seen it since, but I think that he has it in the camp.'

'Does he know whose child it is?'

'I told him,' Marie replied. 'Otherwise they might have let it die on the road. It was a burden to them.'

The Countess shuddered, but in a moment recovered herself. '"While there is life there is hope,"' she said. 'Martin, here is more work for you. We will leave no stone unturned. Count Leuchtenstein must know, of course, but I will tell him myself. If we could get the child back and hand it safe and sound to its father, it would be- Perhaps the Waldgrave may be able to help us?'

'I think that he will need all his wits to help himself,' I said bluntly.

'Why?' my lady questioned, looking at me in wonder.

'Why?' I cried in astonishment. 'Have you heard nothing about him, my lady?'

'Nothing,' she said.

'Not that he was taken to-night, in Tzerclas' company,' I answered, 'and is a prisoner at this moment at the Burg, charged, along with the villain Neumann, with a plot to admit the enemy into the city?'

My lady sat down, her face pale, her aspect changed, as the countryside changes when the sun goes down. 'He was there' she muttered-'with Tzerclas?'

I nodded.

'The Waldgrave Rupert-my cousin?' she murmured, as if the thing passed the bounds of reason.

'Yes, my lady,' I said, as gently as I could. 'But he is mad. I am assured that he is mad. He has been mad for weeks past. We know it. We have known it. Besides, he knew nothing, I am sure, of Tzerclas' plans.'

'But-he was there!' she cried. 'He was one of those two men they carried by? One of those!'

'Yes,' I said.

She sat for a moment stricken and silent, the ghost of herself. Then, in a voice little above a whisper, she asked what they would do to him.

I shrugged my shoulders. To be candid, I had not given the Waldgrave much thought, though in a way he had saved my life. Now, the longer I considered the matter, the less room for comfort I found. Certainly he was mad. We knew him to be mad. But how were we to persuade others? For weeks his bodily health had been good; he had carried himself indoors and out-of-doors like a sane man; he had done duty in the trenches, and mixed, though grudgingly, with his fellows, and gone about the ordinary business of life. How, in the face of all this, could we prove him mad, or make his judges, stern men, fighting with their backs to the wall, see the man as we saw him?

'I suppose that there will be a trial?' my lady said at last, breaking the silence.

I told her yes-at once. 'The town is in a frenzy of rage,' I continued. 'The guards had a hard task to save them to-night. Perhaps Prince Bernard of Weimar-'

'Don't count on him,' my lady answered. 'He is as hard as he is gallant. He would hang his brother if he thought him guilty of such a thing as this. No; our only hope is in'-she hesitated an instant, and then ended the sentence abruptly-'Count Leuchtenstein. You must go to him, Martin, at seven, or as soon after as you can catch him. He is a just man, and he has watched the Waldgrave and noticed him to be odd. The court will hear him. If not, I know no better plan.'

Nor did I, and I said I would go; and shortly afterwards I took my leave. But as I crept to my bed at last, the clocks striking two, and my head athrob with excitement and gratitude, I wondered what was in my lady's mind. Remembering the Waldgrave's gallant presence and manly grace, recalling his hopes, his courage, and his overweening confidence, as displayed in those last days at Heritzburg, I could feel no surprise that so sad a downfall touched her heart. But-was that all? Once I had deemed him the man to win her. Then I had seen good cause to think otherwise. Now again I began to fancy that his mishaps might be crowned with a happiness which fortune had denied to him in his days of success.

CHAPTER XXXI.

THE TRIAL

Late as it was when I fell asleep-for these thoughts long kept me waking-I was up and on my way to Count Leuchtenstein's before the bells rang seven. It was the 17th of August, and the sun, already high, flashed light from a hundred oriels and casements. Below, in the streets, it sparkled on pikeheads and steel caps; above, it glittered on vane and weather-cock; it burnished old bells hung high in air, and decked the waking city with a hundred points of splendour. Everywhere the cool brightness of early morning met the eye, and spoke of things I could not see-the dew on forest leaves, the Werra where it shoals among the stones.

But as I went I saw things that belied the sunshine, things to which I could not shut my eyes. I met men whose meagre forms and shrunken cheeks made a shadow round them; and others, whose hungry vulture eyes, as they prowled in the kennel for garbage, seemed to belong to belated night-birds rather than to creatures of the day. Wan, pinched women, with white-faced children, signs of the deeper distress that lay hidden away in courts and alleys, shuffled along beside the houses; while the common crowd, on whose features famine had not yet laid its hand, wore a stern pre-occupied look, as if the gaunt spectre stood always before their eyes-visible, and no long way off.

In the excitement of the last few days I had failed to note these things or their increase; I had gone about my business thinking of little else, seeing nothing beyond it. Now my eyes were rudely opened, and I recognised with a kind of shock the progress which dearth and disease were making, and had made, in the city. North and south and east and west of me, in endless multitude, the roofs and spires of Nuremberg rose splendid and sparkling in the sunshine. North and south, and east and west, in city and lager lay scores of thousands of armed men, tens of thousands of horses-a host that might fitly be called invincible; and all come together in its defence. But, in corners, as I went along I heard men whisper that Duke Bernard's convoy had been cut off, that the Saxon forage had not come in, that the Croats were gripping the Bamberg road, that a thousand waggons of corn had reached the imperial army. And perforce I remembered that an army must not only fight but eat. The soldiers must be fed, the city must be fed. I began to see that if Wallenstein, secure in his impregnable position on the hills, declined still to move or fight, the time would come when the Swedish King must choose between two courses, and either attack the enemy on the Alta Veste against all odds of position, or march away and leave the city to its fate. I ceased to wonder that care sat on men's faces, and seemed to be a feature of the streets. The passion which the mob had displayed in the night, no longer surprised me. The hungry man is no better than a brute.

Opposite Count Leuchtenstein's lodgings they were quelling a riot at a bakehouse, and the wolfish cries and screams rang in my ears long after I had turned into the house. The Count had been on night service, and was newly risen, and not yet dressed, but his servant consented to admit me. I passed on the stairs a grey-haired sergeant, scarred, stiff, and belted, who was waiting with a bundle of lists and reports. In the ante-chamber two or three gentlemen in buff coats, who talked in low, earnest voices and eyed me curiously as I passed, sat at breakfast. I noted the order and stillness which prevailed everywhere in the house, and nowhere more than in the Count's chamber; where I found him dressing before a plain table, on which a small, fat Bible had the place of a pouncet-box, and a pair of silver-mounted pistols figured instead of a scent-case. Not that the appointments of the room were mean. On a little stand beside the Bible was the chain of gold walnuts which I had good cause to remember; and this was balanced on the other side by a miniature of a beautiful woman, set in gold and surmounted by a coat-of-arms.

He was vigorously brushing his grey hair and moustachios when I entered, and the air, which the open window freely admitted, lent a brightness to his eyes and a freshness to his complexion that took off ten of his years. He betrayed some surprise at seeing me so early; but he received me with good nature, congratulated me on my adventure, the main facts of which had reached him, and in the same breath lamented Tzerclas' escape.

'But we shall have the fox one of these days,' he continued. 'He is a clever scoundrel, and thinks to be a Wallenstein. But the world has only space for one monster at a time, friend Steward. And to be anything lower than Wallenstein, whom I take to be unique, – to be a Pappenheim, for instance, – a man must have a heart as well as a head, or men will not follow him. However, you did not come to me to discuss Tzerclas,' he continued genially. 'What is your errand, my friend?'

'To ask your excellency's influence on behalf of the Waldgrave Rupert.'

He paused with his brushes suspended. 'On your own account?' he asked; and he looked at me with sudden keenness.

'No, my lord,' I answered. 'My lady sent me. She would have come herself, but the hour was early; and she feared to let the matter stand, lest summary measures should be taken against him.'

'It is likely very summary measures will be taken!' he answered dryly, and with a sensible change in his manner; his voice seemed to grow harsher, his features more rigid. 'But why,' he continued, looking at me again, 'does not the Countess leave him in Prince Bernard's hands? He is his near kinsman.'

'She fears, my lord, that Prince Bernard may not-'

'Be inclined to help him?' the Count said. 'Well, and I think that that is very likely, and I am not surprised. See you how the matter stands? This young gallant should have been, since his arrival here, foremost in every skirmish; he should have spent his days in the saddle, and his nights in his cloak, and been the first to mount and the last to leave the works. Instead of that, he has shown himself lukewarm throughout, Master Steward. He has done no credit to his friends or his commission; he has done everything to lend colour to this charge; and, by my faith, I do not know what can be done for him-nor that it behoves us to do anything.'

'But he is not guilty of this, if your excellency pleases,' I said boldly. The Count's manner of speaking of him was hard and so nearly hostile that my choler rose a little.

'He has not done his duty!'

'Because he has not been himself,' I replied.

'Well, we have enough to do in these evil days to protect those who are!' he answered sharply. 'Besides, this matter is a city matter. It is in the citizens' hands, and I do not know what we have to do with it. Look now,' he continued, almost querulously, 'it is an invidious thing to meddle with them. We of the army are risking our lives and no more, but our hosts are risking all-wives and daughters, sweethearts, and children, and homes! And I say it is an awkward thing meddling with them. For Neumann the sooner they hang the dog the better; and for this young spark I can think of nothing that he has done that binds us to go out of our way to save him. Marienbad! What brought him into that den of thieves?'

'My lord,' I said, taken aback by his severity-'since he received a wound some months back he has not been himself.'

'He has been sufficiently himself to hang about a woman's apron-strings,' the Count answered with a flash of querulous contempt, 'instead of doing his duty. However, what you say is true. I have seen it myself. But, again, why does not your lady leave Prince Bernard to settle the matter?'

'She fears that he may not be sufficiently interested.'

He turned away abruptly; unless I was mistaken, he winced. And in a moment a light broke in upon me. The peevishness and irritability with which he had received the first mention of the Waldgrave's name had puzzled me. I had not expected such a display in a man of his grave, equable nature, of his high station, his great name. I had given him credit for a less churlish spirit and a judgment more evenly balanced. And I had felt surprised and disappointed.

Now, on a sudden, I saw light-in an unexpected quarter. For a moment I could have laughed both at myself and at him. The man was jealous; jealous, at his age and with his grey hairs! At the first blush of the thing I could have laughed, the feeling and the passion it implied seemed alike so preposterous. There on the table before me stood the miniature of his first wife, and his child's necklace. And the man himself was old enough to be my lady's father. What if he was tall and strong; and still vigorous though grey-haired; and a man of great name. When I thought of the Waldgrave-of his splendid youth and gallant presence, his gracious head and sunny smile, and pictured this staid, sober man beside him, I could have found it in my heart to laugh.

While I stood, busy with these thoughts, the Count walked the length of the room more than once with his head bent and his shoulder turned to me. At length he stopped and spoke; nor could my sharpened ear now detect anything unusual in his voice.

'Very well,' he said, his tone one of half-peevish resignation, 'you have done your errand. I think I understand, and you may tell your mistress-I will do what I can. The King of Sweden will doubtless remit the matter to the citizens, and there will be some sort of a hearing to-day. I will be at it. But there is a stiff spirit abroad, and men are in an ugly mood-and I promise nothing. But I will do my best. Now go, my friend. I have business.'

With that he dismissed me in a manner so much like his usual manner that I wondered whether I had deceived myself. And I finally left the room in a haze of uncertainty. However, I had succeeded in the object of my visit; that was something. He had taken care to guard his promise, but I did not doubt that he would perform it. For there are men whose lightest word is weightier than another's bond; and I took it, I scarcely know why, that the Count belonged to these.

Nevertheless, I saw things, as I went through the streets, that fed my doubts. While famine menaced the poorer people, the richer held a sack, with all the horrors which Magdeburg had suffered, in equal dread. The discovery of Neumann's plot had taught them how small a matter might expose them to that extremity; and as I went along I saw scarcely, a burgher whose face was not sternly set, no magistrate whose brow was not dark with purpose.

Consequently, when I attended my lady to the Rath-haus at two o'clock, the hour fixed for the inquiry, I was not surprised to find these signs even more conspicuous. The streets were thronged, and ugly looks and suspicious glances met us on all sides, merely because it was known that the Waldgrave had been much at my lady's house. We were made to feel that Nuremberg was a free city, and that we were no more than its guests. It is true, no one insulted us; but the crowd which filled the open space before the Town-house eyed us with so little favour that I was glad to think that the magistrates with all their independence must still be guided by the sword, and that the sword was the King of Sweden's.

My lady, I saw, shared my apprehensions. But she came of a stock not easily daunted, and would as soon have dreamed of putting out one of her eyes because it displeased a chance acquaintance, as of deserting a friend because the Nurembergers frowned upon him. Her eyes sparkled and her colour rose as we proceeded; the ominous silence which greeted us only stiffened her carriage. By the time we reached the Rath-haus I knew not whether to fear more from her indiscretion, or hope more from her courage.

The Court sat in private, but orders that we should be admitted had been given; and after a brief delay we were ushered into the hall of audience-a lofty, panelled chamber, carved and fretted, having six deep bays, and in each a window of stained glass. A number of scutcheons and banners depended from the roof; at one end a huge double eagle wearing the imperial crown pranced in all the pomp of gold and tinctures; and behind the court, which consisted of the Chief Magistrate and four colleagues, the sword of Justice was displayed. But that which struck me far more than these things, was the stillness that prevailed; which was such that, though there were a dozen persons present when we entered, the creaking of our boots as we walked up the floor, and the booming of distant cannon, seemed to be equally audible.

The Chief Magistrate rose and received my lady with due ceremony, ordering a chair to be placed for her, and requesting her to be seated at the end of the dais-table, behind which he sat. I took my stand at a respectful distance behind her; and so far we had nothing to complain of; but I felt my spirits sensibly dashed both by the stillness and the sombre and almost forbidding faces of the five judges. Two or three attendants stood by the doors, but neither the King of Sweden nor any of his officers were present. I looked in vain for Count Leuchtenstein; I could see nothing of him or of the prisoners. The solemn air of the room, the silence, and the privacy of the proceedings, all contributed to chill me. I could fancy myself before a court of inquisitors, a Vehm-Gericht, or that famous Council of Ten which sits, I have heard, at Venice; but for any of the common circumstances of such tribunals as are usual in Germany, I could not find them.

I think that my lady was somewhat taken aback too; but she did not betray it. After courteously thanking the Council for granting her an audience, she explained that her object in seeking it was to state certain facts on behalf of the Waldgrave Rupert of Weimar, her kinsman, and to offer the evidence of her steward, a person of respectability.

'We are quite willing to hear your excellency,' the Chief Magistrate answered in a grave, dry voice. 'But perhaps you will first inform us to what these facts tend? It may shorten the inquiry.'

'Some weeks ago,' my lady answered with dignity, 'the Waldgrave Rupert was wounded in the head. From that time he has not been himself.'

'Does your excellency mean that he is not aware of his actions?'

'No,' my lady answered quietly. 'I do not go as far as that.''

'Or that he is not aware in what company he is?' the magistrate persisted.

'Oh no.'

'Or that he is ignorant at any time where he is?'

'No, but-'

'One moment!' the Chief Magistrate stopped her with a courteous gesture. 'Pardon me. In an instant, your excellency-to whom I assure you that the Court are obliged, since we desire only to do justice-will see to what my questions lead. I crave leave to put one more, and then to put the same question to your steward. It is this: Do you admit, Countess, that the Waldgrave Rupert was last night in the house with Tzerclas, Neumann, and the other persons inculpated?'

'Certainly,' my lady answered. 'I am so informed. I did not know that that was in question,' she added, looking round with a puzzled air.

'And you, my friend?' The Chief Magistrate fixed me with his small, keen eyes. 'But first, what is your name?'

'Martin Schwartz.'

'Yes, I remember. The man who was saved from the villains. We could have no better evidence. What do you say, then? 'Was the Waldgrave Rupert last night in this house-the house in question?'

'I saw him in the house,' I answered warily. 'In the hall. But he was not in the room with Tzerclas and Neumann-the room in which I saw the maps and plans.'

'A fair answer,' the Burgomaster replied, nodding his head, 'and your evidence might avail the accused. But the fact is-it is to this point we desire to call your excellency's attention,' he continued, turning with a dusty smile to my lady-'the Waldgrave steadily denies that he was in the house at all.'

'He denies that he was there?' my lady said. 'But was he not arrested in the house?'

'Yes,' the Chief Magistrate answered dryly, 'he was.' And he looked at us in silence.

'But-what does he say?' my lady asked faintly.

'He affects to be ignorant of everything that has occurred in connection with the house. He pretends that he does not know how he comes to be in custody, that he does not know many things that have lately occurred. For instance, three days ago,' the Burgomaster continued with a chill smile,' I had the honour of meeting him at the King of Sweden's quarters and talking with him. He says to-day that I am a stranger to him, that we did not meet, that we did not talk, and that he does not know where the King of Sweden's quarters are.'

'Then,' my lady said sorrowfully, 'he is worse than he was. He is now quite mad.'

'I am afraid not,' the magistrate replied, shaking his head gravely. 'He is sane enough on other points. Only he will answer no questions that relate to this conspiracy, or to his guilt.'

'He is not guilty,' the Countess cried impetuously. 'Believe me, however strangely he talks, he is incapable of such treachery!'

'Your excellency forgets-that he was in this house!'

'But with no evil intentions!'

'Yet denies that he was there!' the Burgomaster concluded gravely.

That silenced my lady, and she sat rolling her kerchief in her hands. Against the five impassive faces that confronted her, the ten inscrutable eyes that watched her; above all, against this strange, this inexplicable denial, she could do nothing! At last-

'Will you hear my steward?' she asked-in despair, I think.

'Certainly,' the Burgomaster answered. 'We wish to do so.'

On that I told them all I knew; in what terms I had heard Neumann and General Tzerclas refer to the Waldgrave; how unexpected had been his appearance in the hall; how this interference had saved my life; and, finally, my own conviction that he was not privy to Tzerclas' designs.

The Court heard me with attention; the Burgomaster put a few questions, and I answered them. Then, afraid to stop-for their faces showed no relenting-I began to repeat what I had said before. But now the Court remained silent; I stumbled, stammered, finally sank into silence myself. The air of the place froze me; I seemed to be talking to statues.

The Countess was the first to break the spell. 'Well?' she cried, her voice tremulous, yet defiant.

The Burgomaster consulted his colleagues, and for the first time something of animation appeared in their faces. But it lasted an instant only. Then the others sat back in their chairs, and he turned to my lady.

'We are obliged to your excellency,' he said gravely and formally. 'And to your servant. But the Court sees no reason to change its decision.'

'And that is?' The Countess's voice was husky. She knew what was coming.

'That both prisoners suffer together.'

For an instant I feared that my lady would do something unbecoming her dignity, and either break into womanish sobs and lamentations, or stoop to threats and insistence that must be equally unavailing. But she had learned in command the man's lesson of control; and never had I seen her more equal to herself. I knew that her heart was bounding wildly; that her breast was heaving with indignation, pity, horror; that she saw, as I saw, the fair head for which she pleaded, rolling in the dust. But with all-she controlled herself. She rose stiffly from her seat.