Tekla

"I am very well where I am," answered the Emperor. "I wish to see the result of the attack, and am also anxious to watch your practice with this engine."

The Black Count bent a look upon the younger man that was not pleasant to behold, but before he could speak again the other added hastily:

"I am wrong, my Lord; I go at once."

"When you have armour on you, I shall be glad of your company," said Heinrich, in a tone less truculent than his glance.

The Emperor, fearing to miss the issue of the fight, did not betake himself to the armoury to fit a suit to his body, but mounted to his eyrie on the south tower, where he found the archer watching the approach of the enemy with great interest. The catapult was at work, but doing no execution. It seemed impossible to predict where one of the huge pieces of rock it flung would alight; some went crashing into the forest and perhaps had an influence in frightening the crossbow men, although there was little indication of any such result, for the bolts came as thickly as ever, and were now so truly aimed that they harassed the defenders on the walls. The majority of the granite balls, however, fell to the right of the approaching party and bounded harmlessly down the hill. Meanwhile the men at the levers worked like demons after each shot, and so hard was their labour that others had to take their places after a few rounds. There was no question that if they once succeeded in getting the range, and dropped a few of the boulders on the procession they would speedily demoralise it, but those carrying the tree not only moved forward, but advanced in a zig-zag fashion, that made marksmanship difficult, even had the cumbrous instrument lent itself to accurate aiming, which it did not. The Emperor saw at once that Heinrich should have had several catapults over the gate instead of one, for the interval after each discharge was quite long enough for great advances to be made between shots. Also Heinrich was weak in having no men of the crossbow. This siege had come upon him so suddenly that there had been scant time for the training or arming of crossbow men, and in his marauding expeditions he had never needed them. It was also evident that his men were unaccustomed to catapult work. The castle had never before been attacked, and although the engines had long been part of the equipment of the walls, yet had there been no occasion heretofore to use them. So the Count fought at a grievous disadvantage, and was well aware of the fact, for he worked like a madman, sometimes even handling the levers himself, when a man was injured by the flying bolts, or showed signs of exhaustion. The men themselves, although they worked doggedly under the eyes of the Count, gave no answering cheer when the besiegers shouted their exultation at the erratic work of the stone-heaver, and the crossbow brigade now issued from the forest, and boldly planted the stakes on which their weapons rested in the open, concentrating their bolts on those who manned the only engine of defence. One valiant crossbow man, panting for distinction under the eye of a leader who was quick to recognise bravery, ran with weapon and stake far ahead of those coming with the battering ram, planted his stake not more than a score of lance lengths from the gate, and began to prepare for a trial at close quarters. This so enraged the Black Count that he seized one of the great spheres of stone, and not waiting to place it in the slow engine, hoisted it up and poising it for one brief second above his head, as he stood on the edge of the parapet, flung it with such accuracy and such tremendous force, that it rolled at great speed towards the man, who turned and fled in terror, leaving his weapon and stake behind him, amidst the jeers of his own comrades, and the first cheer that went up from the garrison.

"Wait till we get the villains under us at the gate, and we will need no catapult," roared Heinrich, in a voice of thunder; and indeed, here was a danger that made the attacking party pause for a moment until urged on again by their intrepid leader.

When Rodolph arrived at the top of the tower, the archer looked up at him with an expression of inquiry, and seemed not too well pleased with his coming. On the ledge of the stone coping, the Emperor saw arrayed with nice precision a dozen arrows, all an equal distance apart. The bow was in Surrey's hand, strung and ready for action, but his jaw dropped on seeing the Emperor, who gazed at the mathematically arranged display on the coping with a smile curling his lip.

"John Surrey," he said, "I trust it was not your intention to molest the Archbishop's troops without command of your superior officer."

"Well, my Lord," replied the archer, in a hesitating tone most unusual with him, "it is difficult to see so pretty a fight in progress and not do something to the furthering of it. The Archbishop has a hundred bowmen, such as they are, while his Darkness does not appear to have one, if I am not to be allowed to draw string."

"But we have no quarrel with the Archbishop, John."

"Indeed, my Lord," answered Surrey, bitterly, "you forgot that, when you ordered me to bend bow against his two men-at-arms on the hill yonder."

"True, true, so I did, and right well you acquitted yourself. Can you do the same from this height?"

"Can I? My fingers were just getting beyond my control when you came up. No man could wish better shooting than is here to his hand."

"We will wait a little and see if they cannot do better with the catapult. They need some practice, and will never have a finer opportunity."

"Look you, my Lord, at the crossbow shooting. Did you ever see the air so thick and so little damage done? 'Tis a most contemptible instrument, as I have before averred to you, and now you can see its uselessness for yourself. A body of English archers would have had the castle taken and the Count well hanged long ere this."

"I hardly see how archers alone could scale the battlements, however expert they might be; but perhaps they project each other over stone walls attached to their arrows; they do such wonderful things in England."

"I make bold to inform you, my Lord, that – "

"I do not doubt it. Let us watch the fight."

When the cheer went up that greeted the hurling of the stone, and the very precipitate flight of the jeopardised crossbow man, the Emperor turned to the offended and silent archer and said:

"Now is your time, John. Show them what true marksmanship is, and remember the eyes of Germany are on you, or presently will be."

The archer needed no second bidding. Rubbing his right foot on the roof to make certain against slipping, then standing squarely with feet the correct distance apart, in a position where the arrows laid out were ready to his hand, Surrey, with tightly set lips and wrinkled brow, launched shaft after shaft in marvellously quick succession. The first man at the butt end of the log on the right hand side fell, pierced in the neck downwards through the body. The second man on the same side dropped, then the third, then the fourth, then the fifth. The sixth man jumped, with a yell of terror, to one side, leaving his place, while the remainder not understanding what had happened, straining to uphold their increased burden, at last gave way, and the falling log pinned many of them to the ground.

The archer, the frenzy of killing in his eye, a veritable angel of death on the tower, shouted sharply to the Emperor, as if Rodolph were his menial, "Scatter more arrows on the coping," and his Majesty promptly obeyed.

Into the midst of the now panic-stricken crowd, that a moment before had so proudly borne aloft the oaken tree, Surrey sped his winged messengers, each bringing forth a yell of pain or an expiring groan. Count Bertrich, lashing about him with the flat of his sword, tried to stay the flight of his men, but without avail.

"Roll the log from your comrades, you cowardly dogs, and then fly if you must!" he shouted, but his commands were unheeded.

"Shoot none of those pinned to the ground," cried the Emperor.

"Have you ever seen me shoot a helpless man or horse – except Bertrich's?" cried the insulted archer. "More arrows and less talk."

"Discipline and respect have both gone for the time being," said Rodolph to himself, with a chuckle, as he placed arrows from the pile along the coping. The thought of Bertrich's horse turned the archer's attention to that thoroughly enraged commander. One arrow glanced from Bertrich's shoulder, and another struck him squarely on the side of the head, shattering itself, but dealing a staggering blow to the Count. Bertrich shook aloft his sword defiantly at the man on the tower, and received a third arrow in his sleeve which came perilously near to be the undoing of him.

"Shoot me that archer on the tower!" he said, to his crossbow men. "Let one bolt at least among the hundreds you have wasted account for itself."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How like you our catapult, my Lord?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER XXIII

THE TWO ARCHBISHOPS FALL OUT

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"From Riehl, my Lord."

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

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

"Ambrose, that smacks strongly of the sacrilegious."

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

"You think much of this man?"

"I do indeed, my Lord."

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

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

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

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

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

"Let us behold it, then."

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

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

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

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

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