The Strong Arm

“Your advice is good, chamberlain, in so far as it concerns my wife, and I will beg of her to retire to Schonburg, although I doubt if she will obey, but, by the bones of Saint Werner which floated against the current of the Rhine in this direction, if there must be a fray, I will be in the thick of it.”

“Remember, my Lord, that your house has always stood by the Archbishop of Mayence.”

“It has stood by the Emperor as well, chamberlain.”

The Lady Elsa was amazed by the magnificence of the Emperor’s court, when, accompanied by her husband, she walked the length of the great room to make obeisance before the throne. At first entrance she shrank timidly, closer to the side of Wilhelm, trembling at the ordeal of passing, simply costumed as she now felt herself to be, between two assemblages of haughty knights and high-born dames, resplendent in dress, with the proud bearing that pertained to their position in the Empire. Her breath came and went quickly, and she feared that all courage would desert her before she traversed the seemingly endless lane, flanked by the nobility of Germany, which led to the royal presence. Wilhelm, unabashed, holding himself the equal of any there, was not to be cowed by patronising glance, or scornful gaze. The thought flashed through his mind:

“How can the throne fall, surrounded as it is by so many supporters?”

But when the approaching two saw the Empress, all remembrance of others faded from their minds. Brunhilda was a woman of superb stature. She stood alone upon the dais which supported the vacant throne, one hand resting upon its carven arm. A cloak of imperial ermine fell gracefully from her shapely shoulders and her slightly-elevated position on the platform added height to her goddess-like tallness, giving her the appearance of towering above every other person in the room, man or woman. The excessive pallor of her complexion was emphasised by the raven blackness of her wealth of hair, and the sombre midnight of her eyes; eyes with slumbering fire in them, qualified by a haunted look which veiled their burning intensity. Her brow was too broad and her chin too firm for a painter’s ideal of beauty; her commanding presence giving the effect of majesty rather than of loveliness. Deep lines of care marred the marble of her forehead, and Wilhelm said to himself:

“Here is a woman going to her doom; knowing it; yet determined to show no sign of fear and utter no cry for mercy.”

Every other woman there had eyes of varying shades of blue and gray, and hair ranging from brown to golden yellow; thus the Empress stood before them like a creature from another world.

Elsa was about to sink in lowly courtesy before the queenly woman when the Empress came forward impetuously and kissed the girl on either cheek, taking her by the hand.

“Oh, wild bird of the forest,” she cried, “why have you left the pure air of the woods, to beat your innocent wings in this atmosphere of deceit! And you, my young Lord, what brings you to Frankfort in these troublous times? Have you an insufficiency of lands or of honours that you come to ask augmentation of either?”

“I come to ask nothing for myself, your Majesty.”

“But to ask, nevertheless,” said Brunhilda, with a frown.

“Yes, your Majesty.”

“I hope I may live to see one man, like a knight of old, approach the foot of the throne without a request on his lips. I thought you might prove an exception, but as it is not so, propound your question?”

“I came to ask if my sword, supplemented by the weapons of five hundred followers, can be of service to your Majesty.”

The Empress seemed taken aback by the young man’s unexpected reply, and for some moments she gazed at him searchingly in silence.

At last she said:

“Your followers are the men of Schonburg and Gudenfels, doubtless?”

“No, your Majesty. Those you mention, acknowledge my father as their leader. My men were known as the Outlaws of the Hundsrück, who have deposed von Weithoff, chosen me as their chief, and now desire to lead honest lives.”

The dark eyes of the Empress blazed again.

“I see, my Lord, that you have quickly learned the courtier’s language. Under proffer of service you are really demanding pardon for a band of marauders.”

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