Tekla

"Oh, stands the case so, my Lord? You shall not be kept waiting. Why have you dared to levy war in my dominion with my permission neither asked nor received?"

"I acted strictly within my rights. Heinrich of Thuron is my vassal. He connived at the escape or abduction of my ward, the Countess Tekla, who, flying from my strictly lawful control, sought refuge in Thuron. My demand for her restoration was illegally refused, therefore I besieged the castle, and it would long since have been a heap of ruins had I not been fool enough to link myself with the craven coward to whom you have just given place by your imperial side."

"Was demand for restoration made of the Count before you attacked him?"

"Yes, your Majesty; made and refused."

"Am I right in stating that when such demand was made and refused, the Count appealed to his Sovereign and yours?"

"I heard nothing of such an appeal."

"Who was your envoy?"

"Count Bertrich."

"Where is Count Bertrich now?"

"He is at the head of my escort, outside this tent, having been refused admission."

"Let him be called."

An intense silence had reigned during this colloquy between the Emperor and the Archbishop. All eyes were now turned toward the entrance, and presently Count Bertrich, accompanied by the messenger sent for him, came in, and took his place before the dais near the spot where his master stood. The Count blinked for a few moments, coming as he did from the brilliant sunshine outside into the comparative obscurity of the tent. At last he glanced about him, seeing many there whom he knew, all standing silent as if something ominous had happened or was expected to happen; finally his eye rested on the Emperor, and a look of amazed incredulity came into his face on beholding before him the young man whose life he had attempted. Ruddy as he was, the colour partially left his cheeks, and he stared, open-eyed, at his Sovereign, receiving, however, no glance of recognition in return. The Emperor sat imperturbable, his face stern and inscrutable, giving the warrior time to collect himself, then he spoke calmly.

"I am told you are the envoy who carried the ultimatum of his Lordship of Treves to Heinrich, Count of Thuron."

"I was the envoy, your Majesty."

"Is it a fact that the Count, in refusing the demand to give up his castle to his Lordship, appealed to the Emperor?"

"Yes, your Majesty."

"Is it true that you claimed for your master special authority from the Emperor, and that Count Heinrich said he would deliver up his stronghold on the production of that authority?"

"Yes, your Majesty."

"Of course you acquainted your master with such important incidents?"

"No, your Majesty. I immediately attacked the castle in defiance of the wishes of my Lord of Treves, and entirely without his sanction. I alone am to blame for the beginning of hostilities, from which, once begun, my Lord could not withdraw without loss of prestige."

"You did not then inform him of Count Heinrich's appeal until after your unsuccessful assault?"

"I have no remembrance of ever so informing him, your Majesty. Shortly after the first attack I was wounded in the mouth and could not speak for many days."

"You have entirely recovered, I am pleased to see, and no doubt your present speaking is much to the liking of the Archbishop. You shamelessly admit, then, that you deceived your master, and at the same time gravely wronged Count Heinrich of Thuron by neglecting to report his appeal."

"I fully admit it, your Majesty, and am prepared to suffer for my crime."

"Arrest this man, and see to it that he has no communication with any, until sentence is passed upon him."

The Archbishop of Treves, who had been visibly uneasy during the latter part of this cross-examination, now intervened.

"Your Majesty, permit me to mend an answer I gave to you. When I replied that I knew nothing of such an appeal as Heinrich of Thuron is said to have made – "

"Said to have made, my Lord? The appeal is proven through the mouth of your own envoy. It seems that the caution to speak the truth, of which you complained, has been more than justified. I warn you, my Lord, that you are treading on dangerous ground in thus attempting to juggle with me."

"I beg to say, your Majesty, that two years have passed since the events under discussion took place, and men's memories are sometimes at fault when even shorter periods are in question. For instance, my trusty ally, who leaped so quickly into your Majesty's favour, doubtless forgets that a few brief days since he bound himself solemnly to stand or fall with me, whereas he has fallen alone – at your Majesty's feet."

"I was coerced," explained Von Hochstaden.

"There also your remembrance fails you, my valourous Lord. It was your own proposition. But all this has nothing to do with the point in argument, and it may be that Count Bertrich's loyalty has clouded his memory, while it is possible that my own recollection has not been of the best in dealing with doings long past, these doings having connection with so unscrupulous a man as Heinrich of Thuron. His appeal I did not consider as anything but a ruse to gain time. He well knew that your Majesty was thousands of leagues away and that it would be long before his petition could be heard; in truth, for two years, as has been shown by your present return. Therefore, I paid no heed to an invocation that was on the face of it dishonest. When Count Bertrich says he acted without my orders he speaks the technical truth, but everything he did had my most cordial approval, then and now; and, as I have said before, if we had not been harnessed with a poltroon, we should have had the castle within five days. It is futile, then, to punish this underling, and let the chief culprit go, if my action be adjudged censurable."

"Your action is adjudged a crime."

"Then I plead that, in justice, Count Bertrich should not suffer, being under my command."

"Your Lordship is not logical. Count Bertrich has himself confessed that he acted without your sanction. Your crime is that you approved of an illegal action, not that you gave illegal orders, which, it seems, you did not."

What motion the proud Prelate might have made at this juncture which would have led to his inevitable destruction, can only be surmised, but, happily for him, he cast a glance at his brethren of Cologne and Mayence, and detected on their faces ill-concealed looks of triumph. It meant much to them that the Lion of Treves should accomplish his own ruin, and the stern face of the Emperor indicated that unqualified submission must be made to him, if, indeed, such submission were not already too long delayed. That brief gleam of triumph on the face of his late ally saved von Isenberg. His manner instantly changed.

"Your Majesty," he said in a penitential tone, "I am compelled to confess that I am illogical, and that the case against me is but too clear, looking at it from your Majesty's higher point of view, unburdened by the prejudice, and, perhaps I should add with shame, the hatred which has enveloped me. I have no excuse to offer, and there is nothing left for me to hope, except that the clemency which you so generously bestowed on others you may extend to – Count Bertrich."

The Emperor's face lightened, and something almost approaching a smile touched his lips as he saw that the haughty Archbishop, in spite of his evident intention to sue for favour when he began, could not bring himself to beg for any save a friend. The Emperor ignored his lack of pleading for himself, and said:

"Are you content to return to Treves and accept the protection which my soldiers will deem it an honour to supply?"

"I am content, your Majesty."

"Are you content to allow your men now gathered round Thuron to join those under my standard?"

"I am content, your Majesty."

"Are you content to give up the guardianship of the Countess Tekla?"

"It has brought me little profit and some loss of prestige, so I am well rid of it. I am content, your Majesty."

The Emperor rose from his throne and descended the steps of the dais, extending his hand.

"My Lord Archbishop," he said, "I hope from this day forward to count you one of my friends."

"In truth, your Majesty," replied von Isenberg dryly, "I would rather have you my friend than my enemy."

"It is a sentiment which finds an echo in my own breast," responded the Emperor with undeniable amity, and casting a sharp glance on Count Bertrich, he added: "Is that defective memory of yours local or general, my Lord Count?"

"It is universal, your Majesty. Men whom I have met two years ago I could not recognise to-day."

"Ah! Such misfortunes, deplorable as they may seem, are not without their compensation, my Lord."

Saying this, the Emperor mounted the dais, and in a few brief sentences made congratulatory reference to the peaceable adjustment, thus dismissing the assemblage.

CHAPTER XLII

TEKLA REPLENISHES HER WARDROBE

The Countess Tekla leaned long over the parapet of Castle Thuron, gazing sadly into the night. The brilliant moonlight seemed a mockery of former happiness, now that she stood bathed in it alone. Into the darkness of the forest, into the uncertainty of the future, her lover had gone, confident that his single arm would bring rescue to the besieged; and the girl, melancholy as she was at the parting, felt as assured of his success as if it were already accomplished. He had been compelled to steal away in the shadow of the trees, as cautiously and secretly as if he were on a mission of death, but she was sure he would return openly and triumphantly as a champion of life. Her dreamy eyes lost sight of the dark wood, and she saw in imagination her hero at the head of his men break through the iron cordon which had so long encompassed the castle, bringing, with ringing cheers, succour to the oppressed. At last, with dimmed eyes and a deep sigh, the girl turned and beheld the ghost-like vision of Hilda standing there, silently weeping.

"Oh, Hilda, how you startled me. Why are you sorrowing?"

"So many terrible things have happened to-night, my Lady, that I am filled with fear. I weep because I have lost my lover," said Hilda, simply.

"Yes, Hilda, the cruel wood has hidden him, but he will soon return, so have no fears. And, Hilda, listen. We are two women alone together, and I think women are alike whatever their station; lady or serf, what can they do but weep when their lovers leave them? My own eyes are wet, Hilda, because my lover went with yours!"

"The Lord Rodolph, my Lady?" exclaimed Hilda, her curiosity and match-making instinct mastering her emotion.

"The Lord Rodolph, Hilda."

"Oh, my Lady, I am glad."

"Are you, Hilda?" cried the girl, embracing her. "So am I. Now let us forget our mutual grief in our mutual joy. Walk with me along this promenade, here in the moonlight, and tell me about it. Where did you meet, and what did he say to you? Do lovers talk the same language all the world over? I believe they do; a language understood only by themselves, and untranslatable to others. What did he tell you, Hilda?"

"I do not remember, my Lady," said Hilda, as they walked together up and down; Hilda with drooping head. "We met, and were with each other, and seemed to want nothing more, and the words did not matter. Sometimes he said the moon shone brightly, or, in the darkness, that the stars twinkled, and yet I knew he was speaking of me and not of the moon or the stars, and that I was thinking of him!"

"Yes," said Tekla, with a sigh, "the moon shines and the stars twinkle and we think how beautiful they are, but that is because he is here, for now the moon shines as brightly for others, perhaps, but not for us, because he is absent, and we see none of the former beauty in the shining, but only the brilliant loneliness; the empty night."

Hilda glanced timorously about her when her lady spoke of the night, for the events of the evening had so unnerved her that even the thought of her rescued lover could not turn her mind from the dangers which surrounded them. Everything seemed peaceful, but everything had seemed peaceful when Conrad was suddenly pounced upon, and all but hanged. She shuddered and said tremblingly:

"Is it safe for us to walk thus conspicuously on the battlements? Is it not dangerous?"

"Dangerous?" cried the Countess, clasping her hands, and gazing with rapture along the promenade. "It is the most dangerous spot on earth, Hilda, and the most delicious."

"Then let us leave it, my Lady. An archer might mark us out, for the enemy are doubtless lingering near, although unseen by us."

"It is too late, Hilda. An archer has already marked me out and has shot me through the heart, all on these battlements, yet I cared little, for I had been mortally wounded before."

Hilda looked with dismay at the Countess standing there oblivious to her surroundings, forgetting even that she had a companion, the moonlight enfolding her in its gentle radiance. From this wild talk of archers and wounding, Hilda feared that reason had fled from her beloved mistress, but the Countess, guessing her thought, turned suddenly toward her and laughed.

"Yes, Hilda, reason has deserted me, and I have before now on this spot acted directly contrary to its teachings, and yet am I without regret. But we must talk no more of lovers and the moonlight, nor even of the subdued twinkling of the stars, and to show you how practical I am, I will tell you what we are to do these coming few days, so that we may think of nothing but that we have in hand. I have not yet told you, Hilda, how glad I am that you are with me again, and how much I missed you all these long months. I am so helpless without you, and these hands are as useless – as useless – "

"They are most beautiful, my Lady."

"Yes, he said that, and it therefore must be true," murmured the Countess, looking down at her fair hands as impartially as if they belonged to someone else, as indeed they did. "What could he see in me, Hilda, to wish for me? I am obstinate and unruly. I left my guardian in a most unmaidenly manner; I am often defiant to all rightful authority, and have rebelled when my uncle has commanded. He knows all this, for he aided me in my flight, and he has seen me face my uncle in anger, and yet – and yet – Why is it, Hilda?"

"You are the most lovely lady on this earth, Countess Tekla."

"That cannot be, for I have heard there are the fairest ladies in Frankfort, at the Court, that man has ever looked upon, yet he came from Frankfort, and from the Emperor's Court, and must have seen them. Even were it true what you say, I would not have him love me for that alone. I care for him, not because he is the noblest and best in all the land, but because he is Rodolph, and he – perhaps he cares for me because I am Tekla. It is all a mystery which I cannot fathom. I left my guardian knowing nothing of Rodolph, and now it seems as if I must always have known him, and that he was waiting for me, as in truth he was. But here am I talking of him again, after saying I would think no more until he returned. Oh yes, I remember now what I wished to tell you, when your flattery about my hands set me off on the familiar path. Hilda, in this castle I have made a wonderful discovery. Ah, I have made more than one unlooked-for discovery since I inhabited Thuron, for nothing is more wonderful or more entrancing than that I should have discovered his – Oh, Hilda, shall I ever talk sanely again? I doubt it."

"What discovery in the castle, my Lady?"

"Oh, that there is here a veritable robber's cave, such as the minstrels sing about."

"Indeed, such is what they call the castle itself down in Alken."

"Do they? I wonder why. Hilda, there is in Thuron an enchanted room; I know it is enchanted, for the light is dim, and the ghosts of bygone ladies haunt it continually."

"Oh, my Lady," cried Hilda, horror-stricken. "You have not been near it, I hope."

"How could I keep out of it, or how blame the poor ghosts for wandering through it? The room is filled with the most wonderful webs of cloth, of every dye, some filmy as spider's weaving, some thick as armour. Had one the art to fashion it into women's garments, there is enough within that room to clothe most richly all the ladies of the Court at Frankfort. How came my uncle by this cloth, or what use can he have for it, I cannot imagine, but I am sure the ghosts of all the ladies for whom the webs were intended must haunt the place, sorrowful that they had never an opportunity of wearing the unmade apparel. When I enter the room I wave my hand and bid the ghosts begone, and then, being sorry for my cruelty, I spread out the cloth so that they may see how beautiful it is and of what rare texture, for the poor ghosts cannot do this by themselves. Come with me, Hilda, and I will show you the room."

"Oh no, no, my Lady. I dare not venture in it. I would rather face all the Archbishop's troops than those dead ghosts."

"Nonsense, child. There is really nothing there to fright you, and if I can enter the room often and often alone, surely you will not hang back when I am with you. You shall devise most lovely costumes for us both, so that when our lovers return we shall enslave them anew, and in the making of our robes we shall have something more practical to think of than the glamour of the moonlight. Why did you not teach me to sew, Hilda? I never knew what a useless creature I was until I stood among all that rare assortment, enough to delight any woman's eye, and had no skill in the fashioning of the smallest piece of it. Then did I sit down and selfishly weep because you were not with me. And I have selected one web of quiet hue, but rich in texture, finely spun, which you shall make for my aunt, poor lady, who has never had anything to wear that she might be proud of. Come, Hilda, bring a lamp to ward off the darkness, and I shall keep the ghosts away from you."

Hilda, encouraged by the presence of the Countess, ventured into the silken store-room, containing the unwilling tribute of many a merchant to the potentate of Thuron, and once within the haunted chamber, was soon so much absorbed in the cutting of the material selected, and the fitting of it on the lovely model who posed before her, that all fear of spiritual onlookers fled, and so deft was the fair seamstress in the passion of her occupation that she would have measured and fitted even a ghost if the apparition had presented itself before her with a sepulchral request for a garment. When the attire of the Countess was completed, the lady then began to wonder, not without an admixture of apprehension, what her turbulent uncle would say when this mutilation of his goods came to his knowledge, and so resolved to settle the question once for all before Rodolph returned. Tekla entered the great dining hall, arrayed in all her splendour, her heart fluttering with anxiety regarding her reception, yet she was in a measure sustained by that feeling of confidence which comes to those who know they are handsomely attired. Heinrich's wife was so startled that she gasped in terror and cast an apprehensive glance at her husband, as his niece glided with apparent composure into the room. The Black Count himself looked up, but noticing no difference, merely grumbled that Tekla was late and went on with his scanty meal.

CHAPTER XLIII

THE COUNTESS AND THE EMPEROR

One morning word came hurriedly to the Count that there was a commotion near Alken, an attack being feared. Heinrich ascended to the battlements without haste and without enthusiasm. If an assault came he would repel it if he could, but he had little heart in the prospect of a fight, and as little hope of ultimate success. He had welcomed the departure of Rodolph and his two companions, largely because their going left three mouths less to feed, but he had such small faith in Rodolph's proffer of rescue that all thought of the young man had already gone from his mind.

Reaching the battlements, he saw on the plain to the south of the village evidence of something unusual in progress. Bugles were blowing, and men from the tents and the lines were hurriedly concentrating at a point where they seemed called upon to oppose some unexpected force. A man on horseback was listening to the protests of an officer of the Archbishop, who gesticulated violently, and apparently all answer the horseman made was to point to the flag which waved above him. What the flag was that lazily floated above its staff, Heinrich could not make out, but presently the horseman gave a signal to one of his buglers, and a trumpet call rang along the valley, and was echoed mockingly from the rocks opposite Alken. In a short space of time there came out from the shelter of the village, along the river street, soldiers marching four abreast, one line following another so closely that they seemed to tread on each other's heels, quartette after quartette, as if the village were some huge reservoir of men, and was belching them forth in such numbers that there was little wonder the Archbishop's officers stood helpless before this display of military power. At last the movement stopped, and the soldiers were halted four deep, standing at ease with their formidable array of lances bristling above them. Again the mounted man seemed to prefer his request or command, and this time heed was given it. The Archbishop's troops parted, leaving an open space, and through this came, not the soldiers who had the moment before exhibited their numbers, but laden animals with attendants, led by the officer on horseback. The procession came up the zig-zag path that ended at the castle gates, and every man of Thuron's garrison, who now clustered on the walls, raised a simultaneous cheer. They recognised the move as a break in the Archbishop's cordon, and vociferously acclaimed that help and food were coming to them.

Count Heinrich, however, was no optimist. His naturally suspicious mind caused him to imagine that here was merely another trick of his enemy of Treves, and he stood silent and grim, with arms folded across his breast, watching distrustfully the ascending cavalcade; and thus he remained until the trumpeter summoned the gate.

The mounted officer rode boldly forward as if he feared no rebuff. "Count Heinrich of Thuron," he cried to the motionless figure that stood like a lowering statue on the platform above the gate. "I greet you in the name of his Majesty, the Emperor, and am commanded by him to deliver to you food and wine, which I bring with me. I await your orders regarding their bestowal within your castle."

"How am I to know that you come from the Emperor, his Majesty being at this moment in Palestine."

"The Emperor Rodolph has returned, my Lord, and is now at the head of his army, gathered on the plain to the east of Thuron. His troops have surrounded the camp of the Archbishops, and it is his Majesty's will that this siege be immediately raised. My orders were to force a passage through to your gates if resistance were offered, but that was not necessary, as the Archbishops' officers made way for us when they found themselves confronted by overwhelming opposition; besides, they lacked orders from the Archbishops, who are now themselves besieged and cannot communicate with their captains."

A fierce fire lit up the eyes of the Black Count, and he glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the Archbishops' camp to see if there were any sign of the environment of which the imperial messenger spoke. A low murmur, not unlike a growl, broke from his own men, impatient at the delay. The animal was hungry and scented its food.

"Open the gates," cried Heinrich, and the growl changed into a cheer again. The Count knew that if this were a trap he had no option but to fall into it, for they could not hold out longer. The gates were thrown open and relief entered.

Willing hands speedily unpacked the hampers. Many of the meats were already prepared for the table, well cooked and temptingly garnished. It required all the terror of the Count's eye to prevent his men from rushing forward and helping themselves. The master of Thuron appreciated the tension and saw that this was no time for delay or the display of undue authority. "Make the parapets your table," he shouted, "and the battlements your dining hall. You shall feast in sight of the Archbishops, if they care to look on. Fall to, and wait no ceremony."