Chapter four of The Swordmaker. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Theseus Francis. The Swordmaker by Robert Barr. Chapter four, The Disturbing Journey of Father Ambrose. The setting summer sun shone full on the western side of Sane Castle, sending the shadow of that tenth-century edifice far along the green's word of the upper valley. Upon a balcony, perched like a swallow's nest against the eastern end of Sane Castle, a lovely girl of eighteen leaned, meditating. With arms resting on the balustrade, the harshness of whose stone surface was nullified by the soft texture of a godly covered robe flung over it. This ample cloth, brought from the east by a crusading ancestor of the girl, made a gay patch of scarlet and gold against the somber side of the castle. The youthful countess Hildegond von Sane watched the slow oncoming of a monk, evidently tired, who toiled along the hillside deep in the shadow of the castle, as if its cool shade was grateful to him. Belonging, as he did, to the very practical order of the Benedictines, whose belief was in work sanctioned by prayer, the Reverend Father did not deny himself this temporary refuge from the hot rays of the sun, which had poured down upon him all day. Looking up as he approached the stronghold, and seeing the little girl, little dreaming of the frivolous mission she would propose, he waved his hand to her, and she responded gracefully with a similar gesture. Indeed, however strongly the monk might disapprove, there was much to be said in favor of the resolution to which the young lady had come. She was well educated, probably the richest heiress in Germany, and carefully as the pious sisters of Nonanworth Convent may have concealed the fact from her, she was extremely beautiful, and knew it. And although the Valley of the Sainbach was a very haven of peace and prosperity, the girl became just a trifle lonely, and yearned to know something of life in the court in Frankfurt, to which her high rank certainly entitled her. It is true that very disquieting rumors had reached her concerning the condition of things in the capital city. Nevertheless, she determined to learn from an authoritative source whether or not it was safe to take up a temporary residence in Frankfurt, and for this purpose the reluctant Father Ambrose would journey southward. Father Ambrose was more than sixty years old, and if he had belonged to the world instead of to religion, would have been entitled to the name Henry von Sain. His presence in the Benedictine order was proof of the fact that money will not accomplish everything. His famous, or perhaps we should say infamous ancestor Count Henry III of Sain, who died in 1246, was a robber and a murderer, justly esteemed the terror of the Rhine. Concealed as it was in the Sain Valley, half a league from the Great River, the situation of his stronghold favored his depredations. He filled his warehousing rooms with merchandise from barges going down the river, and with gold seized from unhappy merchants on their way up. He thought no more of cutting a throat than of cutting a purse. And it was only when he became amazingly wealthy that the increase of years brought trouble to a conscience which all men thought had ceased to exist. Thereupon for the welfare of his soul, he built the Abbey of Sain, and provided for the monks therein. Yet when he came to die, he entertained fearsome but admittedly well-founded doubts regarding his future state. So he proceeded to sanctify a treasure no longer of any use to him by bequeathing it to the church, driving, however, a bargain by which he received assurance that his body should rest quietly in the tomb he had prepared for himself within the Abbey walls. He was buried with impressive ceremony, and the monks he had endowed did everything to carry out their share of the pact. The tomb was staunchly built with stones so heavy that no ordinary ghost could have emerged therefrom. But to be doubly sure, a gigantic log was placed on top of it, strongly clamped down with concealed bands of iron, and so that this log might not reveal its purpose, the monks cunningly carved it into some semblance of Henry himself until it seemed a recumbent statue of the late villainous Count. But despite such thoughtfulness their plan failed, for when next they visited the tomb, the statue lay prone, faced downwards, as if some irresistible unseen power had flung it to the stone flags of the floor. Replacing the statue and watching by the tomb was found to be of little use. The watchers invariably fell asleep, and the great wooden figure, which during their last waking moments lay gazing towards the roof, was now on its face on the monastery floor, peering down in the opposite direction, and this somehow was regarded by the Brevarin as a fact of ominous significance. The new Count Vonsane, heir and title to the estate of the late Henry III, was a gloomy pious man, very different indeed from his turbulent predecessor. Naturally he was much perturbed by the conduct of the wooden statue. At first he affected disbelief in the phenomena, despite the assurances of the monks, and later on the simple Brevarin deeply regretted that they had made any mention of the manifestations. The new Count himself took up the task of watching and paced all night before the tomb of the III Henry. He was not a man to fall asleep while engaged on such a somber mission, and the outcome of his vigil was so amazing that in the morning he gathered the Brevarin together in the great Hall of the Abbey that he might relate to them his experience. The wooden statue had turned over and fallen to the floor as was its habit, but on this occasion it groaned as it fell. This mournful sound struck terror into the heart of the lonely watcher, who now, he confessed, regretted he had not accepted the offer of the monks to share his midnight surveillance. The courage of the House of Sane is, however, a well-known quality, and, notwithstanding his piety, the new holder of the title was possessed of it. For, although admitting a momentary impulse towards flight and the calling for assistance which the monks would readily have given, he stood his ground and, in trembling voice, asked what he could do to forward the contentment of his deceased relative. The statue replied, still faced downward on the stone floor, that never could the late wicked Count rest in peace, unless the heir to his titles and lands should take upon himself the sins Henry had committed during his life. While a younger member of the family should become a monk of the Benedictine Order, and daily intercede for the welfare of his soul. With extreme reluctance, continued the devout nobleman, I gave my assent to this unwelcome proposal, providing only that it should receive the sanction of the abbot and brethren of the monastery of Sane, hoping by a life of continuous rectitude to an all, in some measure at least, the evil works of Henry III, and that holy sanction I now request, trusting if given it may remove any doubts regarding the righteousness of my promise. Here the Count bowed low to the enthroned abbot, and, with less reverence, to the assembled brethren. The abbot rose to his feet and, in a few well-chosen words, complimented the nobleman on the sacrifice he made, predicting that it would redound greatly to his spiritual welfare. Speaking for himself, he had no hesitation in giving the required sanction, but as the Count made it a proviso that the brethren should concur, he now requested their acquiescence. This was accorded in silent unanimity, whereupon Count von Sane, deeply sighing, as one accepting a burden almost too heavy to bear, spoke with a tremor of grief in his voice. It is not for me, he said, to question your wisdom, nor shrink from my allotted task. After all, I am but human, and up to this decisive moment had hoped, alas, in vain, that someone more worthy than I might be chosen in my place. The most grievous part of the undertaking, so far as I am concerned, was outlined in the last words spoken by the wooden statue. The evil deeds my ancestor has committed willing time be obliterated by the prayers of the younger member of my family who becomes a monk, but the accumulated gold carries with it a continual curse, which can be wiped off each coin only by that coin benefitting the merchants who have been robbed. The contamination of this metal, therefore, I must bear, for it adds to the agony of my ancestor that, little realizing what he was doing, he bequeathed this poisonous dross to the abbey he founded. I am required to lend it in Frankfurt, upon undoubted security and suitable usury, that it may stimulate and fertilize the commerce of the land, much as the contents of a compost heap, disagreeable in the senses, and defiling to him who handles it, when spread upon the fields results in the production of flour, fruit, and food, giving fragrance, delight, and sustenance to the human frame. The count, bowing for the third time to the conclave, passed from its presence with mournful step and sorrowful countenance, whereupon the brethren, seeing themselves thus denuded of wealth they had hoped to enjoy, gave utterance to a groan doubtless much greater in volume than that emitted by the carven statue, which wooden figure may be seen today in the Museum of the Modern Castle of Sain by anyone who cares to spend the fifty phoenix charge for admission. All that has been related happened generations before the time when the Countess Hildegund resigned as head of the House of Sain, but Father Ambrose formed a link with the past in that he was the present scion of Sain, who, as a Benedictine, daily offered prayer for the repose of the wicked Henry III, the gold which Henry's immediate successor so craftily deflected from the monks seemed to be blessed rather than cursed. For under the care of that subtle manager, it had multiplied greatly in Frankfurt, and scandal mongers asserted that besides receiving the usury extracted, the pietistic count tapped the treasure casks of upward-sailing Rhine merchants, quite as successfully, if more quietly, than the profane Henry had done. Thus the House of Sain was one of the richest in Germany. The aged monk and the youthful Countess were distant relatives, but he regarded her as a daughter, and her affection was given to him as to a father, in other than the spiritual sense. In his youth, Ambrose the Benedictine, because of his eloquence in discourse, and also on account of his aristocratic rank, officiated at the court in Frankfurt. Later he became spiritual and temporal advisor to that great prelate, the Archbishop of Cologne, and the Archbishop, being guardian of the Countess von Sain, sent father Ambrose to the castle of his ancestor to look after the affairs of Sain, both religious and material. Under his gentle rule the great wealth of his house increased, although he, the cause of prosperity, had no share in the riches he produced, for, as has been written of the Benedictines, it was as teachers of scientific agriculture, as drainers of fins and morasses, as clearers of forests, as makers of roads, as tillers of the reclaimed soil, as architects of durable and even stately buildings, as exhibiting a visible type of orderly government, as establishing the superiority of peace over war as the normal condition of life, as students in the library which the rule set up in every monastery, as the masters in schools open not merely to their own postulence, but to the children of secular families also, that they won their high place in history as benefactors of mankind. Oh, father Ambrose, tried the girl when at last he entered her presence. I watched your approach from afar off. You walked with halting step and shoulders increasingly bowed. You are wearing yourself out in my service and that I cannot permit. You return this evening a tired man. Not physically tired, replied the monk with a smile. My head is bowed with meditation and prayer rather than with fatigue. Indeed it is others who do the harassing manual labour while I simply direct and instruct. Sometimes I think I am an encumberer in the vineyard, lazily using brain instead of hand. Nonsense, cried the girl. The vineyard would be but a barren plantation without you, and speaking of it reminds me that I have poured out, with my own hand, a tankard of the choicest, oldest wine in our cellars, which I allow no one but yourself to taste. Sit down, I beg of you, and drink. The wise old man smiled, wondering what innocent trap was being set for him. He raised the tankard to his lips but merely indulged in one sip of the delectable beverage. Then he seated himself and looked at the girl, still smiling. She went on speaking rapidly, a delicate flush warming her fair cheeks. Father, you are the most patient and indefatigable of agriculturalists, sparing neither yourself nor others, but there is danger that you grow bucolic through overlong absence from the great affairs of this world. What can be greater, my child, than increasing the productiveness of the land, than training men to supply all their needs from the fruitful earth? True, true, admitted the girl, her eyes sparkling with eagerness, but to persist overlong even in well-doing becomes ultimately tedious. If the laborer is worthy of his hire, so, too, is the master. You should take a change, and as I know your fondness for travel, I have planned a journey for you. The old man permitted himself another sip of the wine. Where? he asked. Oh, an easy journey, no farther than the royal city of Frankfurt, there to wander among the scenes of your youth, and become interested for a time in the activities of your fellow men. You have so long consorted with those inferior to you in intellect and learning that a meeting with your equals, though I doubt if there are any such, even in Frankfurt, must prove as refreshing to your mind as that old wine would do to your body. Did you but obey me and drink it?  From what I hear of Frankfurt, he said, it is anything but an inspiring town. In my day it was a place of cheer, learning, and prosperity, but now it is a city of desolation. The rumours we hear, Father, may be exaggerated, and even if the city itself be doleful, which I doubt, there is sure to be light and gaiety in the precincts of the court and in the homes of the nobility. What have I to do with quarter-palaces? My duty lies here. It may be, cried the girl, archly, that some part of your duty lies there. If Frankfurt is indeed in bad case, your sage advice might be of the greatest benefit. Prosperity seems to follow your footsteps, and, besides, you are once a chaplain in the court, and surely you have not lost all interest in your former charge. Again that quiet, engaging smile lit up the monk's emaciated features. And then he asked a question with that honest directness which sometimes embarrassed those he addressed. Daughter Hildegund, what is it you want? Well, said the girl, sitting very upright in her chair, I confess to loneliness. The sameness of life in this castle oppresses me, and in its continuous dullness I grow old before my time. I wish to enjoy a month or two in Frankfurt, and, as doubtless you have guessed, I send you forth as my ambassador to spy out the land. In such case, daughter, you should present your petition to that prince of the church, the archbishop of Cologne, who is your guardian. No, no, no, no! cried the girl emphatically. You are putting the grapes into the barrel instead of into the vat. Before I trouble the worthy archbishop with my request, I must learn whether it is practicable or not. If the city is indeed in a state of turbulence, of course I shall not think of going thither. It is this I wish to discover, but if you are afraid, she shrugged her shoulders and spread out her hands, and now the old monk came as near to laughing as he ever did. Clever Hildegund, but unnecessary! You cannot spur me to action by slighting the well-known valor of our race. I will go where and when you command me, and report to you faithfully what I see and hear. Should the time seem favourable for you to visit Frankfurt, and if your guardian can sense, I shall raise not even one objection. Oh, dear father, I do not lay this as a command upon you. No, a request is quite sufficient. Tomorrow morning I shall set out. Along the Rhine? queried the girl, so eagerly that the old man's eyes twinkled at the celerity with which she accepted his proposition. I think it's safer, he said, to journey inland over the hills. The robbers on the Rhine have been so long bereft of the natural prey that one or other of them may forget that I am Father Ambrose, a poor monk, remembering me only as Henry of the rich house of Sain, and therefore hold me for ransom. I would not willingly be a cause of strife, so I shall go by the way of Limburg on the Laan, and there visit my old friend the bishop, and enjoy once more a sight of the ancient cathedral on the cliff by the river. When the young Countess awoke next morning and reviewed in her mind the chief event of the preceding day, remembering the reluctance of Father Ambrose to undertake the quest she had outlined without the consent of his overlord, the Archbishop, a feeling of compunction swept over her. She berated her own selfishness, resolving to send her petition to her guardian, the Archbishop, and abide by his decision. When breakfast was finished, she asked her lady and waiting to request the presence of Father Ambrose, but instead of the monk came disturbing news. Desinichal says that Father Ambrose left the castle at daybreak this morning, taking with him frugal rations for a three-day's journey. In which direction did he go? Asked the lady of Sain. He went on horseback up the valley after making inquiries about the route to Limburg on the Laan. Ah! said the Countess. He spoke yesterday of taking such a journey, but I did not think he would leave so early. This was the beginning of a great anxiety for the young lady of the castle. She knew at once that pursuit was useless, for a daybreak comes early in summer and already the good father had been five hours on his way, a way that he was certain to lose many times before he reached the capital city. An ordinary messenger might have been overtaken, but the meditative father would go with her his horse carried him, and when he awoke from his thoughts and his prayers, would make inquiries and so proceed. A day or two later came a message that he had achieved the hospitality of the archbishop, but after that arrived no further word. Nearly two weeks had elapsed when, from the opposite direction, Hildegund received a communication which added to her already painful apprehension. It was a letter from her guardian and cologne, giving warning that within a week he would call at her castle of Sain. Matters of great import to you and me, concluded the archbishop, are toured. You will be called upon to meet formally the exiled archbishop of Sainte-Léonce and Treves at the latter's strong castle of Stolzenfels, above Koblinz. From the moment we enter that palace fortress, I shall, temporarily at least, cease to be your guardian and become merely one of your three overlords. But however frowningly I may sit in the throne of an elector, believe me, I shall always be your friend. Tell father Ambrose I wish to consult with him the moment I arrive at your castle, and that he must not be absent himself therefrom next, until he has seen me. Here was trouble indeed, with Father Ambrose as completely disappeared as if the dragons of the Taunus had swallowed him. Never before on his journeys had he failed to communicate with her, even when his travels were taken on account of the Archbishop, and did not, as in this case, on her own. She experienced the darkest four buildings from this incredible silence. Imagine then, her relief when exactly two weeks from the day he had left Schloss Sane, she saw him coming down the valley. As when she last beheld him, he travelled on foot, leading his horse that had gone lame. Throwing etiquette to the wind, she flew down the stairway and ran to meet her thrice-welcome friend. She realised with grief that he was haggard, and the smile he called up to greet her was one and pitiful. Oh, Father, Father! She cried, What has happened to you? I have been nearly distraught with doubt and fear, hearing nothing of you since your message from Limburg. I was made a prisoner, said the old man quietly, and allowed to communicate with no one outside my cell. Tis a long and sad story, and, worse than all, one that bodes ill for the Empire. I should have arrived earlier in the day, but my poor, patient beast has fallen lame. Yes, said the girl indignantly, and you spare him instead of yourself. The monk laid his left hand affectionately on her shoulder. You would have done the same, my dear, he said, and she looked up at him with a sweet smile. They were kin, and if she cinchered any quality in him, the comment carried something of self-reproach. A servitor took away the lame horse, another waited on Father Ambrose in his small room, which was simple as that of a monastery cell, and desmigrally furnished. Father Ambrose received peremptory command to rest for three full hours, the lady of the castle saying it was impossible for her to receive him until that time had elapsed. The order was welcomed to the tired monk, although he knew how impatient Hildegund must be to unpack his budget of news, and he fell asleep even as he gave instructions that he should be awakened at nine. Descending at that time, the supper-hour of the castle, he found a dainty meal awaiting him, flanked by a flagon of that rare wine which he sipped so sparingly. I lodged with my brethren in their small and quiet monastery on the opposite side of the main from Frankfurt, in that suburb of the working-men which is called Schaschenhausen. Even if my eyes had not seen the desolation of the city, with the summer grass growing in many of its streets, the description given of its condition by my brethren would have been saddening enough to hear. All authority seems at an end. The nobles have fled to their country estates, for defense in the city is impossible should once a universal riot break out, and thinking men look for an insurrection when continued hunger has worn down the patients of the people. Up to the present, sporadic outbreaks have been cruelly suppressed, starving men falling mutilated before the sword-cuts of the soldiers, but now disaffection has penetrated the ranks of the army itself, through short rations and deferred pay, and when the people learn that the military are more liked to join them than oppose, destruction will fall upon Frankfurt. The emperor sits alone in drunken stupor, and it is said cannot last much longer, he who has lasted too long already, while the empress is as much a recluse as a nun in a convent. But the young prince interrupted the countess. What of him? Is there no hope if he comes to the throne? Ah! cried the monk, with a long-drawn sigh, dolefully shaking his head. But Father Ambrose, you knew him as a lad, almost as a young man. I have heard you speak highly of his promise. He denied me, denied his own identity, threatened my life with his sword, and finally flung me into the most loathsome dungeon in all Frankfurt. The girl uttered an ejaculation of dismay. If so harsh an estimate of the air presumptive came from so mild and gentle a critic as Father Ambrose, then surely was this young man lower in the grade of humanity than even his bestial father. And yet, said the girl to herself, what else was to be expected? Go on, she murmured, tell me from the beginning. One evening, crossing the old bridge from Frankfurt to Schaschenhausen, I saw approach me a swaggering figure that seemed familiar, and as he drew nearer I recognized Prince Roland, son of the emperor, despite the fact that he held his cloak over the lower part of his face, as if in the gathering dusk to avoid recognition. Your Highness! I cried in surprise. On the instant his sword was out, and as the cloak fell from his face, displaying lips which took on a sinister firmness, I saw that I was not mistaken in so accosting him. He threw a quick glance from side to side, but the bridge, like the silent trees, was deserted. We stood alone beside the iron cross, and there under the figure of Christ he denied me, with the sharp point of his sword against my breast. Why do you dare trust me by such a title?  The sword point pressed more sharply.  I am nobody. I have no father. May I ask, then, sir, who you are? You may ask, but there is no reason for me to answer. Nevertheless, to satisfy your impertinent curiosity, I inform you that I am an iron worker, a maker of swords, and if you desire a taste of my handiwork you have but to persist in your questioning. I lodge in the laboring quarter of Schaschenhausen, and am now on my way into Frankfurt, which surely I have the right to enter free from any inquiry unauthorized by the law. In that case, I beg your pardon, said I. The likeness is very striking. I had once the honour to be chaplain at court, where frequently I saw the young prince in company with that noble lady, noble in every sense of the word, his mother, the Empress. I watched the young man narrowly as I said this, and despite his self-control he winced perceptibly, and I thought I saw a gleam of recognition in his eyes. He thrust the sword back into its scabbard, and said with a light laugh, "'Tis I that should beg your pardon for my hasten roughness. I assure you I honour the cloth you wear, and would not willingly offer it violence. We are all liable to make mistakes at times. I freely forgive yours, and trust you will extend a like leniency to mine.' With that he doffed his hat, and left me standing there. "'Surely,' said the Countess, deeply interested in the recital. So far his speech was concerned he made amends. "'Yes, my daughter, such speech never came from the lips of an iron-worker. You are convinced he was the Prince. Never for one instant did I doubt it. Be that as it may, Father Ambrose, why should not the young man walk the streets of his own capital city, and even explore the labourer's quarter of Shashenhausen if he finds it interesting to do so? Is it not his right to wear a sword and go where he lists? And is it such a very heinous thing that, being accosted by a stranger, he should refuse to make the admission demanded? You took him, as one might say, unaware. The monk bowed his head, but did not waste time in offering any defence of his action. I followed him, he went on, through the narrow and torturous streets of Frankfurt. An easy adventure, because darkness had set in, but even in daylight my course would have been safe enough, for never once did he look over his shoulder, or betray any suspicion characteristic of our labouring classes. I think that tells in his favour persisted the girl. He came to the steps of the Rheingold, a disreputable drinking cellar, and disappeared from my sight down at steps. A great shout greeted him and the rattle of tankards on a table, as he joined what was evidently his coterie. Standing outside I heard song and ribaldry within. The air presumptive to the throne of the Empire was too obviously a drunken brawler, a friend and comrade of the lowest scum in Frankfurt. After a short time he emerged alone, and once more I followed him. He went with the directness of a purposeful man to the Fargass, the street of the rich merchants, knocked at a door, and was admitted. Along the first floor front were three lighted windows, and I saw his form pass the first two of these, but from my station in the street could not witness what was going on within. Looking about me I found to my right a narrow alley, occupied by an outside stairway. This I mounted, and from its topmost step I beheld the interior of the large room on the opposite side of the way. It appeared to me that Prince Roland had been expected, for the elderly man seated at the table, his calm face toward me, showed no surprise at the prince's entrance. His highness sat with his back towards me, and for a time it seemed that nothing was going forward but an amiable conversation. Suddenly the prince rose, threw off his cloak, whisked out his sword, and presented its point at the throat of the merchant. It was clear from the expression of dismay on the merchant's face that this move on the part of his guest was entirely unexpected, but its object was speedily manifested. The old man with trembling hand pushed across the table to his assailant a well-filled bag, which the prince at once untied. Pouring out a heap of yellow gold he began with great deliberation to count the money, which, when you consider his precarious situation, showed the young man to be old in crime. Some portion of the gold he returned to the merchant, the rest he dropped into an empty bag which he tied to his belt. I did not wait to see anything more but came down to the foot of the stairs that I might learn if Roland took his money to his disillute comrades. He came out, and once more I followed him, and once more he led me to the Rhine gold cellar. On this occasion, however, I took step by step with him until we entered the large wine room at the foot of the stairs. He less than an arm's length in front of me, still under the illusion that he was alone. Prince though he was, I determined to expostulate with him. And if possible, persuade restitution of the gold. Your highness, I began, touching him lightly on the shoulder. Instantly he turned upon me with a savage oath, grasped me by the throat, and forced me against the cellar wall. You spying sneak, he cried. In spite of my warning you have been hounding my footsteps. The moment I attempted to reply he throttled me so as to choke every effort at utterance. There now approached us, with alarm in his wine-colored face, a gross, corpulent man, whom the prince addressed as proprietor of the place, which doubtless he was. Landlord, said Roland very quietly, this unfortunate monk is weak in the head, and although he means no harm with his meddling, he may well cause disaster to my comrades and myself. Earlier in the evening he accosted me on the bridge, but I spared him, hoping never to see his monkish costume again. You may judge the state of his mind when I tell you he accuses me of being the emperor's son, and heaven only knows what he would estimate to be the quality of my comrades, were he to see them. Two or three times I attempted to speak, but the closing of his fingers upon my throat prevented me, and even when they were slightly relaxed I was scarcely able to breathe. The Countess listened with the closest attention, fixing upon the narrator her splendid eyes, and in them, despite her feminine beauty and softness, seemed to smolder a deep fire of resentment at the treatment accorded her kinsmen, illuminant of danger transmitted to her down the ages from ancestors equally ready to fight for the sepulchre in Palestine, or for the gold on the borders of the Rhine. In the pause, during which the monk wiped from his wrinkled brow the moisture brought there by remembrance of the indignity he had undergone, kindliness in the eyes of the countenance overcame their menace, and she said gently, I am quite confident, Father, that such a ruffian could not be Prince Roland. He was indeed the rude mechanic he proclaimed himself. No man of noble blood would have acted thus. Listen, my child, listen, resumed Father Ambrose. According to the landlord, the prince said, Is there a safe and vacant room in your establishment where I could bestow this meddlesome priest for a few days? There is a wine vault underneath this drinking cellar, responded the landlord. Does anyone enter that vault except yourself? No one. Will you undertake charge of the priest, seeing that he communicates with none outside? Of a surety, Captain. Good. I will pay you well, and that in advance. This ruffian was never the prince interrupted the countess firmly. I beg you to listen, Hildegund, and my next sentence will convince you. The prince continued, not only prevent his communication with others, but do not listen to him yourself. He will endeavour to persuade you that his name is Father Ambrose, and that he is a monk in good standing with the Benedictine order. If he finds you care little for that, he may indeed pretend he is of noble origin himself, that he is Henry von Sain, and thus endeavour to work on whatever sympathy you may feel for the aristocrats. But I assure you he is no more a Sain than I am Prince Roland. Indeed, Captain, replied the host, I have as little liking for an aristocrat as for a monk, so you may depend that I will keep him safe enough until you order his release. Now, my dear Hildegund, you see there was no mistake on my part. This young man asserted he knew nothing of me, and indeed I believed he had forgotten the time of my chaplaincy at the court, often as he listened to my discourses, yet all the time he knew me. And now, within a frontry that seems incredible, he showed no hesitation in proving me right when I accosted him as son of the emperor. I must injustice, however, admit that he instructed the landlord when he paid him to treat me with gentleness and to see that I had plenty to eat and drink. When three days had expired I was to be allowed my liberty. He can do no harm then, concluded the prince, in his talk with the landlord. For by that time I shall have succeeded or fail. I was led down a narrow, broken stairway by the proprietor and thrust into a dark and damp cellar, partially filled with casks of wine, and there I remained until set at liberty a few days ago. I returned at once to the Benedictine monastery where I had lodged, expecting to find my brethren filled with anxiety concerning me, but such was not the case. Only one man is little missed in this world, and my comrades supposed that I was invited to the court, and had forgotten them as I saw they had forgotten me. So I said nothing of my adventure, but mounted my waiting horse and journeyed back to the castle of Sain. For a long time there was silence between the two, then the younger spoke. Do you intend to take any action regarding your unauthorized imprisonment? Oh, no, replied the forgiving monk. Is it certain that this disillute young man will be chosen emperor? There is a likelihood, but not a certainty. Would not the election of such a person to the highest position in the state prove an even greater misfortune to the land than the continuance of the present regime? For this young man adds to his father's vice of drunkenness the evil qualities of dishonesty, cruelty, ribaldry, and a lack of respect for the privileges both of church and nobility? Such indeed is my opinion, daughter. Then is it not your duty at once to acquaint the three archbishops with what you have already told me, so that the disaster of his election may be avoided? It is a matter to which I gave deep thought during my journey thither, and I also invoked the aid of heaven in guiding me to a just conclusion. And that conclusion, father, is to say nothing whatever about my experiences in Frankfurt. Why? Because it is not given to a humble man like myself, occupying a position of no authority, to fathom what may be in the minds of those great princes of the church, the archbishops. In effect they rule the country, and it is possible that they prefer to place on the throne a drunken non-entity who will offer no impediment to their ambitions, rather than to elect a moral young man who might in time prove too strong for them. I am sure no such motive would actuate the archbishop of Cologne. His lordship of Cologne, my child, dare not break with their lordships of Treves and Mayance. So you may be sure that if these two wished to elect Prince Roland Emperor, nothing I could say to the archbishop of Cologne would prevent that choice. Oh! I had forgotten, in the excitement of listening to your adventures. But talking of the archbishop reminds me his highness of Cologne will visit us tomorrow, and he especially wishes to see you. You may imagine my anxiety when I received this message a few days ago, knowing nothing of your whereabouts. Wishes to see me, ejaculated father Ambrose, wrinkling a perplexed brow. I wonder what for? Can he have any knowledge of my visit to Frankfurt? How could he? The archbishops possess sources of enlightenment that we walt not have. If he charges me with being absent from my post, I must admit the fact. Of course, let me confess to him as soon as he arrives. Your journey was entirely due to my persistence. I alone am to blame.  I am at least equally culpable, he said. I shall answer truthfully any question asked me, but I hope I am not in the wrong if I volunteer no information. The girl rose. You could do no wrong, father, even if you tried. And now, good night. Keep soundly and fear nothing. On the rare occasions when the good archbishop was angry with me, I have always managed to placate him, and I shall not fail in this instance. Father Ambrose bade her good night, and left the room with the languid air of one thoroughly tired. As the young Countess stood there watching his retreat and disappearance, her dainty little fist clenched, and her eyebrows came together, bringing to her handsome face the determined expression which marked the countenances of some of her crusader ancestors whose portraits decorated the walls. If ever I get that ruffian prince roland into my power, she said to herself, I will make him regret his treatment of so tolerant and forbearing a man as Father Ambrose. CHAPTER IV OF THE SWORDMAKER This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Theseus Francis. THE SWORDMAKER by Robert Barr CHAPTER IV THE DISTURBING JOURNEY OF FATHER AMBROSE The setting summer sun shone full on the western side of Sain Castle, sending the shadow of that tenth-century edifice far along the green's word of the upper valley. Upon a balcony, perched like a swallow's nest against the eastern end of Sain Castle, a lovely girl of eighteen leaned, meditating, with arms resting on the balustrade, the harshness of whose stone surface was nullified by the soft texture of a godly covered robe flung over it. This ample cloth, brought from the east by a crusading ancestor of the girl, made a gay patch of scarlet and gold against the somber side of the castle. The youthful countess Hildegond von Sain watched the slow oncoming of a monk, evidently tired, who toiled along the hillside deep in the shadow of the castle, as if its cool shade was grateful to him. Belonging, as he did, to the very practical order of the Benedictines, whose belief was in work sanctioned by prayer, the Reverend Father did not deny himself this temporary refuge from the hot rays of the sun, which had poured down upon him all day. Looking up as he approached the stronghold, and seeing the little girl, little dreaming of the frivolous mission she would propose, he waved his hand to her, and she responded gracefully with a similar gesture. Indeed, however strongly the monk might disapprove, there was much to be said in favor of the resolution to which the young lady had come. She was well educated, probably the richest heiress in Germany, and carefully as the pious sisters of Nonnenworth Convent may have concealed the fact from her, she was extremely beautiful, and knew it. And although the Valley of the Sainbach was a very haven of peace and prosperity, the girl became just a trifle lonely, and yearned to know something of life in the court in Frankfurt, to which her high rank certainly entitled her. It is true that very disquieting rumors had reached her concerning the condition of things in the capital city. Nevertheless, she determined to learn from an authoritative source whether or not it was safe to take up a temporary residence in Frankfurt, and for this purpose the reluctant Father Ambrose would journey southward. Father Ambrose was more than 60 years old, and if he had belonged to the world instead of to religion, would have been entitled to the name Henry von Sain. His presence in the Benedictine order was proof of the fact that money will not accomplish everything. His famous, or perhaps we should say infamous, ancestor Count Henry III of Sain, who died in 1246, was a robber and a murderer, justly esteemed the terror of the Rhine. Concealed as it was in the Sain Valley, half a league from the Great River, the situation of his stronghold favored his depredations. He filled his warehousing rooms with merchandise from barges going down the river, and with gold seized from unhappy merchants on their way up. He thought no more of cutting a throat than of cutting a purse. And it was only when he became amazingly wealthy that the increase of years brought trouble to a conscience which all men thought had ceased to exist. Thereupon, for the welfare of his soul, he built the Abbey of Sain, and provided for the monks therein. Yet when he came to die, he entertained fearsome but admittedly well-founded doubts regarding his future state. So he proceeded to sanctify a treasure no longer of any use to him by bequeathing it to the church, driving, however, a bargain by which he received assurance that his body should rest quietly in the tomb he had prepared for himself within the Abbey walls. He was buried with impressive ceremony, and the monks he had endowed did everything to carry out their share of the pact. The tomb was staunchly built with stone so heavy that no ordinary ghost could have emerged therefrom. But to be doubly sure, a gigantic log was placed on top of it, strongly clamped down with concealed bands of iron, and so that this log might not reveal its purpose, the monks cunningly carved it into some semblance of Henry himself until it seemed a recumbent statue of the late villainous Count. But despite such thoughtfulness, their plan failed. For when next they visited the tomb, the statue lay prone, faced downwards, as if some irresistible unseen power had flung it to the stone flags of the floor. Replacing the statue and watching by the tomb was found to be of little use. The watchers invariably fell asleep, and the great wooden figure, which during their last waking moments lay gazing towards the roof, was now on its face on the monastery floor, peering down in the opposite direction, and this somehow was regarded by the Brevaran as a fact of ominous significance. The new Count Vonsane, heir and title to the estate of the late Henry III, was a gloomy, pious man, very different indeed from his turbulent predecessor. Naturally he was much perturbed by the conduct of the wooden statue. At first he affected disbelief in the phenomena, despite the assurances of the monks, and later on the simple Brevaran deeply regretted that they had made any mention of the manifestations. The new Count himself took up the task of watching and paced all night before the tomb of the Third Henry. He was not a man to fall asleep while engaged on such a somber mission, and the outcome of his vigil was so amazing that in the morning he gathered the Brevaran together in the great Hall of the Abbey that he might relate to them his experience. The wooden statue had turned over and fallen to the floor as was its habit, but on this occasion it groaned as it fell. This mournful sound struck terror into the heart of the lonely watcher, who now, he confessed, regretted he had not accepted the offer of the monks to share his midnight surveillance. The courage of the House of Sain is, however, a well-known quality, and, notwithstanding his piety, the new holder of the title was possessed of it, for although admitting a momentary impulse towards flight and the calling for assistance which the monks would readily have given, he stood his ground, and in trembling voice asked what he could do to forward the contentment of his deceased relative. The statue replied, still faced downward on the stone floor, that never could the late wicked Count rest in peace, unless the heir to his titles and lands should take upon himself the sins Henry had committed during his life, while a younger member of the family should become a monk of the Benedictine order, and daily intercede for the welfare of his soul. With extreme reluctance, continued the devout nobleman, I gave my assent to this unwelcome proposal, providing only that it should receive the sanction of the abbot and brethren of the monastery of Sain, hoping by a life of continuous rectitude to annul, in some measure at least, the evil works of Henry III, and that holy sanction I now request, trusting if given it may remove any doubts regarding the righteousness of my promise. Here the Count bowed low to the enthroned abbot, and, with less reverence, to the assembled brethren. The abbot rose to his feet, and in a few well- chosen words complimented the nobleman on the sacrifice he made, predicting that it would redown greatly to his spiritual welfare. Speaking for himself, he had no hesitation in giving the required sanction, but as the Count made it a proviso that the brethren should concur, he now requested their acquiescence. This was accorded in silent unanimity, whereupon Count von Sain, deeply sighing as one accepting a burden almost too heavy to bear, spoke with a trimmer of grief in his voice. It is not for me, he said, to question your wisdom, nor shrink from my allotted task. After all, I am but human, and up to this decisive moment had hoped, alas, in vain, that someone more worthy than I might be chosen in my place. The most grievous part of the undertaking, so far as I am concerned, was outlined in the last word spoken by the wooden statue. The evil deeds my ancestor has committed willing time be obliterated by the prayers of the younger member of my family who becomes a monk. But the accumulated gold carries with it a continual curse, which can be wiped off each coin only by that coin benefiting the merchants who have been robbed. The contamination of this medal, therefore, I must bear, for it adds to the agony of my ancestor that, little realizing what he was doing, he bequeathed this poisonous dross to the abbey he founded. I am required to lend it in Frankfurt, upon undoubted security and suitable usury, that it may stimulate and fertilize the commerce of the land, much as the contents of a compost heap disagreeable in the senses, and defiling to him who handles it, when spread upon the fields results in the production of flour, fruit, and food, giving fragrance, delight, and sustenance to the human frame. The count, bowing for the third time to the conclave, passed from its presence with mournful step and sorrowful countenance, whereupon the brethren, seeing themselves thus denuded of wealth they had hoped to enjoy, gave utterance to a groan doubtless much greater in volume than that emitted by the carven statue, which wooden figure may be seen today in the museum of the modern castle of Sain by anyone who cares to spend the fifty phoenix charge for admission. All that has been related happened generations before the time when the Countess Hildegund resigned as head of the House of Sain, but Father Ambrose formed a link with the past in that he was the present scion of Sain, who, as a benedictine, daily offered prayer for the repose of the wicked Henry III, the gold which Henry's immediate successor so craftily deflected from the monks seemed to be blessed rather than cursed. For under the care of that subtle manager, it had multiplied greatly in Frankfurt, and scandal mongers asserted that besides receiving the usury extracted, the pietistic count tapped the treasure casks of upward-sailing Rhine merchants quite as successfully, if more quietly, than the profane Henry had done. Thus, the House of Sain was one of the richest in Germany. The aged monk and the youthful Countess were distant relatives, but he regarded her as a daughter, and her affection was given to him as to a father, in other than the spiritual sense. In his youth, Ambrose the benedictine, because of his eloquence in discourse, and also on account of his aristocratic rank, officiated at the court in Frankfurt. Later he became spiritual and temporal advisor to that great prelate, the Archbishop of Cologne, and the Archbishop, being guardian of the Countess von Sain, sent father Ambrose to the castle of his ancestor to look after the affairs of Sain, both religious and material. Under his gentle rule the great wealth of his house increased, although he, the cause of prosperity, had no share in the riches he produced, for, as has been written of the benedictines, it was as teachers of scientific agriculture, as drainers of fins and morasses, as clearers of forests, as makers of roads, as tillers of the reclaimed soil, as architects of durable and even stately buildings, as exhibiting a visible type of orderly government, as establishing the superiority of peace over war as the normal condition of life, as students in the library which the rule set up in every monastery, as the masters in schools opened not merely to their own postulence, but to the children of secular families also, that they won their high place in history as benefactors of mankind. Oh, father Ambrose, cried the girl, when at last he entered her presence, I watched your approach from afar off, you walked with halting step and shoulders increasingly bowed, you are wearing yourself out in my service and that I cannot permit, you return this evening a tired man. Not physically tired, replied the monk with a smile, my head is bowed with meditation and prayer rather than with fatigue, indeed it is others who do the harassing manual labour while I simply direct and instruct, sometimes I think I am an encumberer in the vineyard, lazily using brain instead of hand. Nonsense, cried the girl, the vineyard would be but a barren plantation without you, and speaking of it reminds me that I have poured out, with my own hand, a tankard of the choicest, oldest wine in our cellars, which I allow no one but yourself to taste. Sit down, I beg of you, and drink. The wise old man smiled, wondering what innocent trap was being set for him, he raised the tankard to his lips but merely indulged in one sip of the delectable beverage, then he seated himself and looked at the girl, still smiling, she went on speaking rapidly, a delicate flush warming her fair cheeks. Father, you are the most patient and indefatigable of agriculturalists, sparing neither yourself nor others, but there is danger that you grow bucolic through overlong absence from the great affairs of this world. What can be greater, my child, than increasing the productiveness of the land, than training men to supply all their needs from the fruitful earth? True, true, admitted the girl, her eyes sparkling with eagerness, but to persist overlong even in well-doing becomes ultimately tedious. If the laborer is worthy of his hire, so, too, is the master. You should take a change, and as I know your fondness for travel, I have planned a journey for you. The old man permitted himself another sip of the wine. Where? he asked. Oh, an easy journey, no farther than the royal city of Frankfurt, there to wander among the scenes of your youth, and become interested for a time in the activities of your fellow men. You have so long consorted with those inferior to you in intellect and learning that a meeting with your equals, though I doubt if there are any such even in Frankfurt, must prove as refreshing to your mind as that old wine would do to your body, did you but obey me and drink it?  From what I hear of Frankfurt, he said, it is anything but an inspiring town. In my day it was a place of cheer, learning, and prosperity, but now it is a city of desolation. The rumours we hear, Father, may be exaggerated, and even if the city itself be doleful, which I doubt, there is sure to be light and gaiety in the precincts of the court and in the homes of the nobility. What have I to do with quarter-palaces? My duty lies here. It may be, cried the girl archly, that some part of your duty lies there. If Frankfurt is indeed in bad case, your sage advice might be of the greatest benefit. Prosperity seems to follow your footsteps, and besides you are once a chaplain in the court, and surely you have not lost all interest in your former charge. Again that quiet, engaging smile lit up the monk's emaciated features. And then he asked a question with that honest directness which sometimes embarrassed those he addressed. Daughter Hildegund, what is it you want? Well, said the girl, sitting very upright in her chair, I confess to loneliness. The sameness of life in this castle oppresses me, and in its continuous dullness I grow old before my time. I wish to enjoy a month or two in Frankfurt, and as doubtless you have guessed, I send you forth as my ambassador to spy out the land. In such case, daughter, you should present your petition to that prince of the church, the archbishop of Cologne, who is your guardian. No, no, no, no! cried the girl emphatically. You are putting the grapes into the barrel instead of into the vat. Before I trouble the worthy archbishop with my request, I must learn whether it is practicable or not. If the city is indeed in a state of turbulence, of course I shall not think of going thither. It is this I wish to discover, but if you are afraid, she shrugged her shoulders and spread out her hands, and now the old monk came as near to laughing as he ever did. Clever Hildegund, but unnecessary! You cannot spur me to action by slighting the well-known valor of our race. I will go where and when you command me, and report you faithfully what I see and hear. Should the time seem favourable for you to visit Frankfurt, and if your guardian can sense, I shall raise not even one objection. Oh, dear father, I do not lay this as a command upon you. No, a request is quite sufficient. Tomorrow morning I shall set out. Along the Rhine? Queered the girl, so eagerly that the old man's eyes twinkled at the celerity with which she accepted his proposition. I think it's safer, he said, to journey inland over the hills. The robbers on the Rhine have been so long bereft of the natural prey, that one or other of them may forget that I am Father Ambrose, a poor monk, remembering me only as Henry of the rich house of Sain, and therefore hold me for ransom. I would not willingly be a cause of strife, so I shall go by the way of Limburg on the Lan, and there visit my old friend the bishop, and enjoy once more a sight of the ancient cathedral on the cliff by the river. When the young Countess awoke next morning and reviewed in her mind the chief event of the preceding day, remembering the reluctance of Father Ambrose to undertake the quest she had outlined without the consent of his overlord, the Archbishop, a feeling of compunction swept over her. She berated her own selfishness, resolving to send her petition to her guardian, the Archbishop, and abide by his decision. When breakfast was finished, she asked her lady and waiting to request the presence of Father Ambrose, but instead of the monk came disturbing news. Decinichal says that Father Ambrose left the castle at daybreak this morning, taking with him frugal rations for a three days journey, in which direction did he go? Asked the lady of Sain, he went on horseback up the valley after making inquiries about the route to Limburg on the Lan. Ah! said the Countess. He spoke yesterday of taking such a journey, but I did not think he would leave so early. This was the beginning of a great anxiety for the young lady of the castle. She knew at once that pursuit was useless, for daybreak comes early in summer and already the good father had been five hours on his way, a way that he was certain to lose many times before he reached the capital city. An ordinary messenger might have been overtaken, but the meditative father would go wither his horse carried him. And when he awoke from his thoughts and his prayers would make inquiries and so proceed. A day or two later came a message that he had achieved the hospitality of Limburg's bishop, but after that arrived no further word. Nearly two weeks had elapsed when, from the opposite direction, Hildegund received a communication which added to her already painful apprehension. It was a letter from her guardian and cologne, giving warning that within a week he would call at her castle of Seine. Matters of great import to you and me, concluded the archbishop, are toured. You will be called upon to meet formally my two colleagues of Mayantz and Treves at the latter's strong castle of Stolzenfels above Koblenz. From the moment we enter that palace fortress, I shall, temporarily at least, cease to be your guardian and become merely one of your three overlords. But however frowningly I may sit in the throne of an elector, believe me, I shall always be your friend. Tell Father Ambrose I wish to consult with him the moment I arrive at your castle and that he must not be absent himself therefrom on any pretext until he has seen me. Here was trouble indeed, with Father Ambrose as completely disappeared as if the dragons of the townus had swallowed him. Never before on his journeys had he failed to communicate with her even when his travels were taken on account of the archbishop and did not, as in this case, on her own. She experienced the darkest forebodings from this incredible silence. Imagine then, her relief, when exactly two weeks from the day he had left Schloss Seine, she saw him coming down the valley. As when she last beheld him, he traveled on foot, leading his horse that had gone lame. Throwing etiquette to the wind, she flew down the stairway and ran to meet her thrice-welcome friend. She realized with grief that he was haggard and the smile he called up to greet her was won and pitiful. Oh, Father, Father, she cried. What has happened to you? I have been nearly distraught with doubt and fear, hearing nothing of you since your message from Limburg. I was made a prisoner, said the old man quietly and allowed to communicate with no one outside my cell. Tis a long and sad story and worse than all one that bodes ill for the empire. I should have arrived earlier in the day, but my poor, patient beast has fallen lame. Yes, said the girl indignantly, and you spare him instead of yourself. The monk laid his left hand affectionately on her shoulder. You would have done the same, my dear, he said, and she looked up at him with a sweet smile. They were kin, and if she sintered any quality in him, the comment carried something of self-reproach. A servitor took away the lame horse, another waited on Father Ambrose in his small room, which was simple as that of a monastery cell and as meagerly furnished. Father Ambrose received peremptory command to rest for three full hours, the lady of the castle saying it was impossible for her to receive him until that time had elapsed. The order was welcomed to the tired monk, although he knew how impatient Hildegund must be to unpack his budget of news, and he fell asleep even as he gave instructions that he should be awakened at nine. Descending at that time, the supper hour of the castle, he found a dainty meal awaiting him, flanked by a flag of that rare wine which he sipped so sparingly. I lodged with my brethren in their small and quiet monastery on the opposite side of the main from Frankfurt in that suburb of the workingmen which is called Schaschenhausen. Even if my eyes had not seen the desolation of the city, with the summer grass growing in many of its streets, the description given of its condition by my brethren would have been saddening enough to hear. All authority seems at an end. The nobles have fled to their country estates, for defense in the city is impossible, should once a universal riot break out, and thinking men look for an insurrection when continued hunger has worn down the patience of the people. Up to the present, sporadic outbreaks have been cruelly suppressed, starving men falling mutilated before the sword cuts of the soldiers, but now disaffection has penetrated the ranks of the army itself through short rations and deferred pay, and when the people learn that the military armoured like to join them than oppose, destruction will fall upon Frankfurt. The emperor sits alone in drunken stupor, and it is said cannot last much longer, he who has lasted too long already, while the empress is as much a recluse as a nun in a convent, but the young prince interrupted the countess. What of him? Is there no hope if he comes to the throne? Ah, cried the monk with a long drawn sigh, dolefully shaking his head. But Father Ambrose, you knew him as a lad, almost as a young man. I have heard you speak highly of his promise. He denied me, denied his own identity, threatened my life with his sword, and finally flung me into the most loathsome dungeon in all Frankfurt. The girl uttered an ejaculation of dismay. If so harsh an estimate of the air presumptive came from so mild and gentle a critic as Father Ambrose, then surely was this young man lower in the grade of humanity than even his bestial father. And yet, said the girl to herself, what else was to be expected? Go on, she murmured, tell me from the beginning. One evening, crossing the old bridge from Frankfurt to Schaschenhausen, I saw approached me a swaggering figure that seemed familiar, and as he drew nearer, I recognized Prince Roland, son of the emperor, despite the fact that he held his cloak over the lower part of his face as if in the gathering dusk to avoid recognition. Your highness, I cried in surprise. On the instant his sword was out, and as the cloak fell from his face, displaying lips which took on a sinister firmness, I saw that I was not mistaken in so accosting him. He threw a quick glance from side to side, but the bridge, like the silent trees, was deserted. We stood alone beside the iron cross, and there under the figure of Christ, he denied me, with the sharp point of his sword against my breast.   The sword point pressed more sharply.  I am nobody, I have no father. May I ask then, sir, who you are? You may ask, but there is no reason for me to answer. Nevertheless, to satisfy your impertinent curiosity, I inform you that I am an iron worker, a maker of swords, and if you desire a taste of my handiwork, you have but to persist in your questioning. I lodge in the laboring quarter of Schaschenhausen, and am now on my way into Frankfurt, which surely I have the right to enter free from any inquiry unauthorized by the law. In that case, I beg your pardon, said I. The likeness is very striking. I had once the honour to be chaplain at court, where frequently I saw the young prince in company with that noble lady, noble in every sense of the word, his mother, the empress. I watched the young man narrowly as I said this, and despite his self-control, he winced perceptibly, and I thought I saw a gleam of recognition in his eyes. He thrust the sword back into its scabbard and said with a light laugh, "'Tis I that should beg your pardon for my hasten roughness. I assure you I honour the cloth you wear and would not willingly offer it violence. We are all liable to make mistakes at times. I freely forgive yours, and trust you will extend a like leniency to mine. With that, he doft his hat and left me standing there. "'Surely,' said the countess, deeply interested in the recital, so far his speech was concerned he made amends. "'Yes, my daughter, such speech never came from the lips of an iron-worker. You are convinced he was the prince? Never for one instant did I doubt it. Be that as it may, Father Ambrose, why should not the young man walk the streets of his own capital city and even explore the labourer's quarter of Shashenhausen if he finds it interesting to do so? Is it not his right to wear a sword and go where he lists? And is it such a very heinous thing that, being accosted by a stranger, he should refuse to make the admission demanded? You took him, as one might say, unaware. The monk bowed his head, but did not waste time in offering any defense of his action. I followed him, he went on, through the narrow and torturous streets of Frankfurt. An easy adventure, because darkness had set in, but even in daylight my course would have been safe enough, for never once did he look over his shoulder or betray any suspicion characteristic of our laboring classes. I think that tells in his favour persisted the girl. He came to the steps of the Rheingold, a disreputable drinking cellar, and disappeared from my sight down at steps. A great shout greeted him and the rattle of tankards on a table, as he joined what was evidently his coterie. Standing outside, I heard song and ribaldry within. The air presumptive to the throne of the empire was too obviously a drunken brawler, a friend and comrade of the lowest scum in Frankfurt. After a short time he emerged alone, and once more I followed him. He went with the directness of a purposeful man to the Fargos, the street of the rich merchants, knocked at a door, and was admitted. Along the first floor front were three lighted windows, and I saw his form pass the first two of these, but from my station in the street could not witness what was going on within. Looking about me I found to my right a narrow alley, occupied by an outside stairway. This I mounted, and from its topmost step I beheld the interior of the large room on the opposite side of the way. It appeared to me that Prince Roland had been expected, for the elderly man seated at the table, his calm face toward me showed no surprise at the Prince's entrance. His highness sat with his back towards me, and for a time it seemed that nothing was going forward, but an amiable conversation. Suddenly the Prince rose, threw off his cloak, whisked out his sword, and presented its point at the throat of the merchant. It was clear from the expression of dismay on the merchant's face that this move on the part of his guest was entirely unexpected, but its object was speedily manifested. The old man, with trembling hand, pushed across the table to his assailant a well-filled bag, which the Prince had once untied. Pouring out a heap of yellow gold, he began with great deliberation to count the money, which, when you consider his precarious situation, showed the young man to be old in crime. Some portion of the gold he returned to the merchant, the rest he dropped into an empty bag which he tied to his belt. I did not wait to see anything more, but came down to the foot of the stairs that I might learn if Roland took his money to his disillute comrades. He came out, and once more I followed him, and once more he led me to the Rhine gold cellar. On this occasion, however, I took step by step with him until we entered the large wine room at the foot of the stairs. He less than an arm's length in front of me, still under the illusion that he was alone. Prince, though he was, I determined to expostulate with him, and if possible, persuade restitution of the gold. Your highness, I began, touching him lightly on the shoulder. Instantly, he turned upon me with a savage oath, grasped me by the throat, and forced me against the cellar wall. You spying sneak, he cried. In spite of my warning, you have been hounding my footsteps. The moment I attempted to reply, he throttled me so as to choke every effort at utterance. There now approached us, with alarm in his wine-colored face, a gross, corpulent man, whom the prince addressed as proprietor of the place, which doubtless he was. Landlord, said Roland very quietly, this unfortunate monk is weak in the head, and although he means no harm with his meddling, he may well cause disaster to my comrades and myself. Earlier in the evening, he accosted me on the bridge, but I spared him, hoping never to see his monkish costume again. You may judge the state of his mind when I tell you he accuses me of being the emperor's son, and heaven only knows what he would estimate to be the quality of my comrades, were he to see them. Two or three times I attempted to speak, but the closing of his fingers upon my throat prevented me, and even when they were slightly relaxed, I was scarcely able to breathe. The Countess listened with the closest attention, fixing upon the narrator her splendid eyes, and in them, despite her feminine beauty and softness, seemed to smolder a deep fire of resentment at the treatment accorded her kinsmen. A lumenant of danger transmitted to her down the ages from ancestors equally ready to fight for the sepulchre in Palestine, or for the gold on the borders of the Rhine. In the pause, during which the monk wiped from his wrinkled brow the moisture brought there by remembrance of the indignity he had undergone, kindliness in the eyes of the countenance overcame their menace, and she said gently, I am quite confident, Father, that such a Ruffian could not be Prince Roland. He was indeed the rude mechanic he proclaimed himself, no man of noble blood would have acted thus. Listen, my child, listen, resumed Father Ambrose. Turning to the landlord, the Prince said, is there a safe and vacant room in your establishment where I could bestow this meddlesome priest for a few days? There is a wine vault underneath this drinking cellar, responded the landlord. Does anyone enter that vault except yourself? No one. Will you undertake charge of the priest, seeing that he communicates with none outside? Of a surety, Captain. Good, I will pay you well, and that in advance. This Ruffian was never the Prince interrupted the countess firmly. I beg you to listen, Hildegund, and my next sentence will convince you. The Prince continued, not only prevent his communication with others, but do not listen to him yourself. He will endeavor to persuade you that his name is Father Ambrose, and that he is a monk in good standing with the Benedictine Order. If he finds you care little for that, he may indeed pretend he is of noble origin himself, that he is Henry von Sain, and thus endeavor to work on whatever sympathy you may feel for the aristocrats. But I assure you he is no more a Sain than I am Prince Roland. Indeed, Captain, replied the host, I have as little liking for an aristocrat as for a monk, so you may depend that I will keep him safe enough until you order his release. Now, my dear Hildegund, you see there was no mistake on my part. This young man asserted he knew nothing of me, and indeed I believed he had forgotten the time of my chaplaincy at the court, often as he listened to my discourses, yet all the time he knew me. And now, with an effrontery that seems incredible, he showed no hesitation in proving me right when I accosted him as son of the Emperor. I must injustice, however, admit that he instructed the landlord when he paid him to treat me with gentleness and to see that I had plenty to eat and drink. When three days had expired, I was to be allowed my liberty. He can do no harm, then, concluded the Prince in his talk with the landlord. For by that time I shall have succeeded or fail. I was led down a narrow, broken stairway by the proprietor and thrust into a dark and damp cellar, partially filled with casks of wine, and there I remained until set at liberty a few days ago. I returned at once to the Benedictine monastery where I had lodged, expecting to find my brethren filled with anxiety concerning me, but such was not the case. Any one man is little missed in this world, and my comrades supposed that I was invited to the court, and had forgotten them as I saw they had forgotten me. So I said nothing of my adventure, but mounted my waiting horse and journeyed back to the castle of Sain. For a long time there was silence between the two, then the Younger spoke. Do you intend to take any action regarding your unauthorized imprisonment? Oh no, replied the forgiving monk. Is it certain that this dissolute young man will be chosen emperor? There is a likelihood, but not a certainty. Would not the election of such a person to the highest position in the state prove an even greater misfortune to the land than the continuance of the present regime? For this young man adds to his father's vice of drunkenness the evil qualities of dishonesty, cruelty, ribaldry, and a lack of respect for the privileges both of church and nobility? Such indeed is my opinion, daughter. Then is it not your duty at once to acquaint the three archbishops with what you have already told me so that the disaster of his election may be avoided? It is a matter to which I gave deep thought during my journey thither, and I also invoked the aid of heaven in guiding me to a just conclusion. And that conclusion, father, is to say nothing whatever about my experiences in Frankfurt. Why? Because it is not given to a humble man like myself, occupying a position of no authority, to fathom what may be in the minds of those great princes of the church, the archbishops. In effect, they rule the country, and it is possible that they prefer to place on the throne a drunken non-entity who will offer no impediment to their ambitions rather than to elect a moral young man who might in time prove too strong for them. I am sure no such motive would actuate the archbishop of Cologne. His lordship of Cologne, my child, dare not break with their lordships of Treves and Mayans. So you may be sure that if these two wish to elect Prince Roland Emperor, nothing I could say to the archbishop of Cologne would prevent that choice. Oh, I had forgotten in the excitement of listening to your adventures, but talking of the archbishop reminds me his highness of Cologne will visit us tomorrow, and he especially wishes to see you. You may imagine my anxiety when I received this message a few days ago, knowing nothing of your whereabouts. Wishes to see me, ejaculated father Ambrose, wrinkling a perplexed brow. I wonder what for? Can he have any knowledge of my visit to Frankfurt? How could he? The archbishops possess sources of enlightenment that we want not of. If he charges me with being absent from my post, I must admit the fact. Of course, let me confess to him as soon as he arrives. Your journey was entirely due to my persistence. I alone am to blame.  I am at least equally culpable, he said. I shall answer truthfully any question asked me, but I hope I am not in the wrong if I volunteer no information. The girl rose. You could do no wrong, father, even if you tried. And now, good night. Sleep soundly in fear nothing. On the rare occasions when the good archbishop was angry with me, I have always managed to placate him, and I shall not fail in this instance. Father Ambrose bade her good night and left the room with the languid air of one thoroughly tired. As the young Countess stood there watching his retreat in disappearance, her dainty little fist clenched, and her eyebrows came together, bringing to her handsome face the determined expression which marked the countenances of some of her crusader ancestors whose portraits decorated the walls. If ever I get that Ruffian Prince Roland into my power, she said to herself, I will make him regret his treatment of so tolerant and forbearing a man as Father Ambrose. End of chapter four. Chapter five of The Swordmaker. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Josh Kibbe. The Swordmaker by Robert Barr. Chapter five, The Countess von Sain and the Archbishop of Cologne. It was high noon when that great Prince of the Church, the Archbishop of Cologne, arrived to Castle Sain with the very inconsiderable following, which seemed to indicate that he traveled on no fare of state, for on such occasions he led a small army. The lovely young Countess awaited him at the top of the castle steps and he greeted her with the courtesy of a polished man of the world, rather than with the more stare consideration of a great Churchman. Indeed, it seemed to the quick apprehension of the girl that as he raised her fair hand to his lips, his obeisance was lower, more differential, than their differing stations in life justified. He shook hands with Father Ambrose in the manner of old friend, a costing old friend, and nothing in his salutation indicated displeasure of any sort in the background. Perhaps then, that sense of uneasiness felt by both the aged Father Ambrose and the youthful Countess Hildegund in the Archbishop's presence came from their consciousness of conspiracy, resulting in the ill-fated journey to Frankfurt. Nevertheless, all that afternoon the two were oppressed by the shadow of some impending danger, and the good spirits of the Archbishop seemed to them assumed for the occasion and indeed in this they were not far wrong. His lordship of Cologne was keenly apprehensive regarding an important conference set down for the next day and the exuberance of an essentially serious man in such a crisis is prone to be overdone. Father Ambrose, who in the midst of luxury and plenty, lived with the abstemiousness of an incorite and always partake of his scant refreshment alone in his cell, was invited by the Archbishop to a seat at the table in the dining hall. So long as you cast no look of reproach upon me for my enjoyment of Sain's most excellent cuisine and in my appreciation of its unequaled cellar, I shall not comment on your dinner of parched peas and your unexilarating tankard of water. Besides, I wish to consult with Ambrose, the librarian of Sain, touching the archives of this house, rather than with Ambrose the superintendent of farms or Father Ambrose the monk. During the midday meal, the Archbishop led and at times monopolized the conversation. While you are under the tutelage of the good sisters at Nunnenworth convent Hildegard, the abbess frequently spoke of your proficiency in historical studies. Did you ever turn your attention to the annals of your own house? No, guardian. From what I heard casually of my ancestors, a record of their doings would be scarcely the sort of reading recommended to a young girl. Ah, very true. Very true, agreed the Archbishop. Some of the counts of Sain led turbulent lives and except with the battle acts, it was difficult to persuade them not to meddle with the goods and chattels of their neighbors. A strenuous line they proved in those olden days, but many noble women have adorned the castle of Sain whose lives shine out like an inspiration against the dark background of medieval tumult. Did you ever hear of your forebear, the gracious Countess Matilda von Sain who lived some hundreds of years ago? Indeed, the letters I have been reading written in her quaint handwriting are dated about the middle of the 13th century. I could not learn whether she was older or younger than the Archbishop of Cologne of that period and thus I wished to enlist the interest of Father Ambrose in searching the archives of Sain for anything pertaining to her. The Countess sent many epistles to the Archbishop which he carefully preserved while documents of much more importance to the Archbishop Rick were allowed to go astray. Her letters breathe a deep devotion to the church and a warm kindness to its chief ornament of that day, the then Archbishop of Cologne. She was evidently his most cherished advisor and in points of difficulty her council exhibits all the clarity of a man's brain to which is added a tenderness and a sense of justice entirely womanly. I could not help fancying that this great prelate success in his Archbishop Rick was largely due to the disinterested advice of this noble woman. It is clearly to be seen that the Countess was the benign and power behind the throne and she watched his continued advancement with a love resembling that lavished on a favorite son. Her writings now in them betray an affection of a quality so motherly that I came to believe she was much older than the great churchman but then there is the fact that she long outlived him so it is possible she may have been the younger. Why my lord are you about to weave us a romance? The Archbishop smiled and for a moment placed his hand upon hers which rested on the table beside him. A romance perhaps between myself and the Countess of long ago for as I read these letters I used much of their contents for my own guidance and found her precepts as wise today as they were in 1250 and to me, to me the Archbishop sighed she seems to live again. Yes I confess my ardent regard for her and if you call that romance it is surely of a very innocent nature. But the other Archbishop your predecessor the friend of Matilda what of him? There held a gun die of much less evidence to go upon for his letters if they exist are concealed somewhere in the archives of St. Castle. Tomorrow cried the girl I shall robe myself in the oldest garments I possess and will rummage those dusty archives until I find the letters of him who is Archbishop in 1250. I have bestowed that task upon one less impulsive Father Ambrose is the searcher and he and I will put our wise old heads together in consultation over them before entrusting them to the perusal of that impetuous young noble woman the present Countess Fonsane. The impetuous person referred to brought to hand her hand with a preemptory impact upon the table and exclaimed emphatically my Lord Archbishop I shall read those letters tomorrow. Once more the Archbishop placed his hand on hers this time however clasping it firmly in his own there was no smile on his face as he said gravely my lady tomorrow you will face three living Archbishops more difficult perhaps to deal with than one who is dust. Three she cried startled a gleam of apprehension troubling her fine eyes my lords of Mayance treaves and yourself are they coming here the conclave of the Archbishops will be held at Castle Stolzenfels the Rhine residence of my brother of treaves why is this court convened that will be explained to you Hildegund by his highness of Mayance I did not intend to speak to you about this until later so I will merely say that there is nothing to fear I being your guardian am sent to escort you to Stolzenfels and as we ride there together I wish to place before you some suggestions which you may find useful when the meeting takes place I shall faithfully follow any advice you give me my lord I am sure of it Hildegund and you will remember that I speak as guardian not as counselor of state my observations will be requests and not commands you see we have reversed the positions of my predecessor in the Countess Matilda it is always she who tended advice which he invariably accepted now I mistake the role of advice giver thus you and I transpose the parts of the former Archbishop of Cologne and the former Countess of Sain who, I am sorry to note, have been completely banished from your thoughts by my premature announcement regarding the three living Archbishops oh not at all not at all I am still thinking of those two have you told me all you know about them far from it although I was handicapped in my reconstitution of their friendship by lack of the Archbishop's letters he had nevertheless made a note here and there upon the communications he received from the Countess throughout the letter certain paragraphs are marked with a cross as if for re-parousal these paragraphs being invariably most delicately and charmingly written but now I come to the very last important document the only one of which a copy has been kept written in the Archbishop's own hand in the year 1250 the Countess von Sain had ceded to him the Rhine town of Lenz Lenz seemed to have been a rebellious and troublesome fife which the Sains held by force of arms when it came into the possession of the Archbishop the foolish inhabitants remembering that Cologne was a long distance down the river compared with the upriver journey to Sain broke out into open revolt the Archbishop sent a Bizarremy and most effectually crushed this outbreak severely punishing the rebels he returned from this subdued town to his own city of Cologne and whether from the exposure of the brief campaign or some other cause he was taken ill and shortly after died the new Archbishop was installed and nearly two years past so far as I can learn before the Countess Matilda made claim that the town of Lenz should come again within her jurisdiction saying that this restitution had been promised by the late Archbishop his successor however disputed this claim he possessed he said the deed of gift making over the town of Lenz to his predecessor and this document was definite enough if then it was the intention of the late Archbishop to return Lenz to the House of Sain the Countess doubtless held some document to that effect and in this case he would like to know its purport the Countess replied that an understanding had existed between the late Archbishop and herself regarding the subjugation of the town of Lenz and its return to her after the rebellion was quelled but for the untimely death of the late Archbishop she did not doubt that his part of the contract would have been kept long since nevertheless she did possess a document in the late Archbishop's own hand setting out the terms of their agreement and of this manuscript she sent a copy the crafty Archbishop without casting doubt on the authenticity of the copy said that of course it would be illegal for him to act upon it he must have the original document Matilda replied very shrewdly that on her part she could not allow the original document to quit her custody as upon it rested her rights to the town of Lenz she would however exhibit this document to any ecclesiastical committee her correspondent might appoint and the members of the committee so chosen should be men well acquainted with the late Archbishop's writing and signature in reply the Archbishop regretted that he could not accept her suggestion the people of Cologne believing that their overlord had rightfully acquired Lenz cheerfully consented to make good their title by battle thus having as it were bought the town with their blood and indeed a deplorable sacrifice of life it would become a dangerous venture to give up the town unless indisputable documentary evidence might be exhibited to them showing that such a bargain was made by the deceased prelate but before proceeding further in this matter he asked the Countess if she were prepared to swear that the copy forwarded to him was a full and faithful rendition of the original did it contain every word the late Archbishop had written in that letter to this the Countess made no reply and allowed the lapse any title she might have to the town of Lenz I think cried the girl indignantly that my ancestors was in the right refusing further communication with this ignoble churchman who dared to impune her good faith the Archbishop smiled at her vehemence I shall make no attempt to defend my astute predecessor a moneylender soul tenanted his austere body but what would you say if his implication of the Countess Matilda's good faith was justified you mean that the copy which he sent of the Archbishop's letter was fraudulent? I cannot believe it not fraudulent so far as at winter copy was word perfect she neglected to add however a final sentence and rather than make it public forfeited a rightful claim to great possessions of the Archbishop's communications to her there remains in our archives a copy of this last epistle written in his own hand I cannot imagine why he added the final clauses to what was in essence an important business communication the premonition he admits may have set his thoughts upon things not of this world but undoubtedly he believed that he would live long enough to conquer the rebels of Lenz and restore the Countess her property this is what he wrote and she refused to publish Matilda I feel that my days are numbered and that their number is scant to all the world my life seems to have been successful beyond the wishes of mortal man but to me it is a dismal failure in the die-die bachelor Archbishop of Cologne and you are the spinster Countess Fonsane end of chapter five chapter six of the sword maker this is a Librivoxia recording all Librivoxia recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit Librivox.org the sword maker by Robert Barr chapter six to be kept secret from the Countess there are few favoured spots occupied by blue water and green sword over which a greatest splendour is cast by the rising sun on a midsummer morning the nut portion of the Rhine near Koblenz and as our little procession emerged from the valley of the Sainbar every member of it was struck with the beauty of the flat country across the Rhine ripening toward a yellow harvest flooded by the golden glory of the rising sun their route led to the left by the foot of the eastern hills and not yet along the margin of the Great River gradually however as they journeyed in a southerly direction the highlands deflected them westward until at last there was but scant room for the road between rock and water always they were in the shade a comforting feature of a midsummer journey an advantage however soon to be lost when they crossed the Rhine by the ferry to Koblenz the distance from Sain Castle to Schloss Stolenfels was a little less than four leagues so their early start permitted a leisurely journey the archbishop and the Countess rode side by side following them at some distance came father Ambrose deep in his meditations and paying little attention to the horse he rode which indeed faithful animal knew more about the way than did his rider still father to the rear rode half a dozen mounted lancemen two and two the scant escort of one who commanded many thousands of armed men how lovely and how peaceful is the scene said the Countess how beautiful are the fields of waving grain their color of dawn softened by the deep green of interspersed vineyards and the water without a ripple like a slumbering lake rather than a strong river it seems as though anger contention and a struggle could not exist in a realm so heavenly scenes is the word to use commented the archbishop gravely but the unbroken placidity of the river you so much admire is a piece of defeat i have much rather see its flood disturbed by moving barges and the turmoil of commerce it is a piece that means starvation and death to our capital city and indeed in a lesser degree to my own town of cologne and to Koblenz whose gates we are approaching but surely persisted the girl the outlook is improving when you and i travel are molested with a mere handful of men to guide us time was when a great and wealthy archbishop might not stir abroad with less than a thousand men in his train the archbishop smiled i suppose matters meant he said as we progress in civilized usage the number of my escort however is not limited by my own modesty but stipulated by the court of archbishops mayance travels down the Rhine and chiefs down the moselle each with a similar following at his heels you are pessimistic this lovely morning my lord and will not even admit that the world is beautiful and all depends on the point of view hildegunder i regard it from a position toward the end of life and you from the charming station of youth the far apart outlook of an old man and a young girl nonsense guardian you are anything but old nevertheless i am much disappointed with your attitude this morning i fully expected to be complimented by you doesn't my hold attitude breathe of compliment now but i expected a particular compliment today what have i overlooked you overlooked the fact that yesterday you aroused my most intense curiosity regarding the journey we are now taking together and the conference which is to follow despite deep anxiety to learn what is before me i have not asked you a single question not even hinted at the subject until this moment now i think i should be rewarded for my reticence now countess you are an exception among women and i merely withheld the well-earned praise until such time as i could broach the subject occupy my mind ever since we left the castle with the awkwardness of a man i did not know how to begin until you so kindly indicated the way perhaps after all i make a false claim because i have guessed your secret and therefore my deep solicitude is assumed guessed it queried the archbishop a shade of anxiety crossing his face yes your story of the former archbishop and the countess matilda gave me a clue you have discovered a document proving my right to the town of lynns on the Rhine the archbishop bowed his head but said nothing your sense of justice urges you to make amends but such a long time has elapsed that my claim is doubtless outlawed and you do not quite know how restoration may be affected you have i take it consulted with one or other of your colleagues mayans or treaves or perhaps with both they have made objection to your proposed generosity and put forward the argument that you are but temporary trustee of the cologne archbishop prick that you must guard the rights of your successor and this truism could not help but appeal to that quality of equity which distinguishes you so a conference of the prelates has been called and a majority of that court will decide whether or not the town of lynns shall be tended to me perhaps a suggestion will be made that i allow things to remain as they are in which case i shall at once refuse to accept the town of lynns now guardian how near have i come to solving the mystery they rode along in silence together the archbishop pondering on the problem of her further enlightenment at last he said cologne is ruled by such bishop wisely or the reverse as the case may be the archbishop much as he reveals the opinion of his distinguished colleagues would never put them to the inconvenience of giving a decision on any matter not concerning them linds's fate was settled when the handwriting of my predecessor prelate of 1250 ad convinced me that this rye town belongs to the house of sane restitution has already been accomplished in due legal form and when next the countess hildegunda rides through linds she rides through her own town i shall never never accept it guardian it is yours now countess if you do not wish to hold the town use it as a gift to the fortunate man you marry and now hildegunda this long postponed advice i wish to press upon your attention must be given for we are nearing the ferry to coblence and between nagtown and stolzenfels we may have company of the three archbishops you will meet today there is only one of whom you need to take account oh i know that cried the girl his lordship of cologne the archbishop smiled but went on seriously where two of three men are gathered together one is sure to be the leader in our case the chief of the trio supposed to be equal it's his highness of mayans treves and i pretend not to be under his thumb but we are that is to say treves holds i am under his thumb and i hold treves is under his thumb so when one or other of us joins the archbishop of mayans there is a majority of the court and the third member is helpless but why don't you and treves join together because each thinks the other are coward and doubtless both are right the point of the matter is that mayans is the iron man of the combination therefore i beg you beware of him and i also intrigue you to agree with the proposal he will make it will be a tremendous advantage to you in that case my lord how could i refuse i hope my child you will not but if you should make objection do so with all the tact at your disposal in fact refrain wholly from objection if you can and plead for time to consider so that you and i may consult together thus affording the opportunity of bringing arguments to bear that may influence your decision my dear guardian you alarm me by the awesome way in which you speak what faithful choice hangs over my head i have no wish to frighten you my daughter and indeed i anticipate little chance of disagreement at the conference i merely desire that you shall understand something of mayans he is a man whom opposition may drive to extremity and being accustomed to crush those who disagree with him rather than conquer by more diplomatic methods i am anxious you should not be led into any semblance of dissent from his wishes by agreement between mayans treves and myself i am not allowed to enlighten you regarding the question at issue i perhaps strain that agreement a little when i endeavour to put you on your guard if at any point in the discussion you wish a few moments to reflect glance across the table at me and i shall immediately intervene with some interruption which must be debated by the three members of the court of course i shall do everything in my power to protect you should our grim friend mayance loose his temper as may happen if you thought to why am i likely to thwart him my indeed i see no reason i'm a million old person perhaps over cautious hence this warding off of a crisis which i hope will never arise guardian i have one question to ask and that will settle the matter here on the border of the Rhine before we reach Stolzenfels do you thoroughly approve with your heart mind and conscience of the proposition to be made to me i do replied the archbishop in a tone of conviction that none could gain say heart and soul agree then guardian your crisis that never came vanishes i shall tell his lordship of mayance in my sweetest voice and most ingratiating manner that i will do whatever he requests here the conversation ceased for the solitude now gave way to a scene of activity as they came to the landing alongside which lay the floating bridge a huge barge capable of carrying their whole company at one voyage several hundred persons on horseback or on foot gathered along the riverbank raised the cheer as the archbishop appeared the countess thought they waited to greet him but they were merely travelers or market people who found their journey interrupted at this point an emissary of the archbishop had commanded the ferry boat to remain at its eastern landing until his lordship came aboard when the distinguished party embarked the crew instantly cast off their moorings and the tethered barge impelled by the swift current gently swung across to the opposite shore a great concourse of people greeted their arrival at coblence and if vociferous shouts and hurrahs are signs of popularity the archbishop had reason to congratulate himself upon his reception the prelate bowed and smiled but did not pause at coblence and to the evident disappointment of the multitude continued his way up the Rhine when the little cavalcade drew away from the mob the countess spoke i had no thought she said that coblence contained so many inhabitants neither does it replied the archbishop then is this simply an influx of people from the country and is the conclave of the archbishops of such importance that it draws so many sightseers the court held by the archbishops on this occasion is very important i suspect however that those are no sightseers for the general public is quite unaware that we meet today those who cheered so lustily just now are i think men of treves do you mean soldiers i soldiers in the dress of ordinary townsmen but i dare say they all know where to find their weapons should a war cry arise do you imply that the archbishop of treves has broken his compact i understood that your escort was limited to the few men following you his lordship laughed the archbishop of treves he said is not a great strategist yet i surmise he is ready in case of trouble to seize the city of coblence what trouble could arise the present moment is somewhat critical for the emperor lies dying in frankfort we three electors hope to avoid all commotion by having our plans prepared and acting upon them promptly but the hours between the death of an emperor and the appointment of his successor are faithful with uncertainty i suppose the good sisters at nonomberth taught you about the election of an emperor indeed guardian i'm sorry to confess that they did and i have forgotten all about it there are seven electors four high nobles of the empire and three arch bishops lord's temporal and lord's spiritual the present count palatine of the rine is like my friend treves completely under the dominion of the archbishop of mayans though the three lord's spiritual with the aid of the count palatine form a majority of the electoral court i understand and now i surmise that you assemble at stalls and fests to choose our future emperor no he has already been chosen but his name will not be announced to any person save one before the emperor dies doubtless that one is the count palatine no count s he remains ignorant and i give you warning madam i am not to be cross-questioned by indirection you should be merciful i am but clay in your hands yet there is certain information i am forbidden to impart so i will merely say that if the archbishop happens to be in good humor this afternoon he is very likely to tell you who will be the future emperor the girl gave an exclamation of surprise to tell me why should he do so i said i was not to be cross-examined any further i tremble now with apprehension lest i have left slip something i should not therefore we will change the subject to one of paramount importance namely our midday meal i intended to stop at coblence for that repast but the archbishop of trees whose guests we are was good enough to accept a menu i suggested therefore we will sit at table with him you suggested a menu yes i hope you will approve of it there is some excellent ryan salmon with a source most popular in trees a source that has been celebrated for centuries next some tender venison from the forest behind stoltzenfels which is noted for its deer there are beside capes and various breads also vegetables and all are to be washed down by delicate oboe versus the wine how does my spice card please you cantas i am committing it to memory garden so that i shall know what to prepare for you when next you visit my castle of sane oh this repast is not in my honor but in yours i feared you might object to the simplicity of it it is upon record that this meal was much enjoyed by a young lady some centuries ago at this very castle of stoltzenfels shortly after it was completed indeed i think it likely she was the noble castle's first guest stoltzenfels was built by arnold von eisenberg the greatest archbishop that ever ruled over trees if i may accept archbishop boldwin the fighter eisenberg determined to have a stronghold on the ryan midway between mails and cologne and he made it a palace as well as a fortress taking his time about it in all 17 years he began its erection in 1242 and so was building at the time your ancestors matilda seated linds to the archbishop of cologne therefore i imagine cologne probably wished to have a stronghold within striking distance of trees's new castle one of the first to visit stoltzenfels was a charming young english girl named isabella who was no other than the youngest daughter of john king of england doubtless she came here with an imposing suite of attendance and i surmise that the great prelates castle saw impressive pageants and festivities for the chronicler after setting down the menu whose excellence i hope to test today adds they ate well and drank better and the royal maiden danced a great deal her brother then occupied the english throne he was henry the third and of course much attention was paid over here to his dancing sister why guardian what you say is a new interest to old stoltzenfels i have never been within the castle but now i shall view it with delight wondering through which of the rooms the english princess danced why did isabella come from england all the way to the rye she came to meet the three archbishops really for what purpose that they might in ecclesiastical form and upon the highest ecclesiastical authority announce her betrothal announce in stoltzenfels the betrothal of an english princess the daughter of one king and sister of another did she then marry a german yes she married the emperor frederick the second frederick of hohenstafen slowly the girl turned her head and looks steadfastly at the archbishop who was gazing earnestly up the road as if to catch a glimpse of the castle which had been a scene of the events he related her face became pale and a questioning wonder rose in her eyes what did the archbishop really mean by this latest historical recital true he was a man who had given much study to ancient law rather fond of exhibiting his proficiency therein when he secured patient listeners could there be any secret meaning in his story of the english princess who danced was there any hidden analogy between the journey of the english isabella and the short trip taken that day by hilda gunda of sane she was about to speak when the archbishop made a slight signal with his right hand and a horseman who had followed them all the way from coblence now spurred up alongside his lordship who said sharply to the newcomer how many of chief's men are in coblence 850 my lord enough to capture the town coblence is already in their possession my lord they seem to be unarmed their weapons are stored under guard in the church of st. kester and can be in the hands of the soldiers within a few minutes after a signal is run by the st. kester's bells are there any troops in coblence from my aunts no my lord how many of my men have been placed behind the castle of shjolzenfels 3000 are concealed in the forest near the hilltop how many men has my lord of mayance within call apparently only the scant half dozen that reached stolzenfels with him yesterday are you sure of that scouts have been sent all through the forest to the south and have brought us no word of an advancing company other scouts have gone up the river as far as bingen but everything is quiet and it would have been impossible for his lordship to march a considerable number of men from any quarter towards stolzenfels without one or other of our 105 learning of the movement doubtless mayance depends on his henchmen trees it would seem so my lord thank you that will do the rider saluted turned his horse towards the north and galloped away and a few moments later the little procession came within sight of stolzenfels standing grandly on its conical hill beside the rine against the background of green formed by the mountainous forest to the rear this conversation which she could not help but hear had driven entirely from the mind of hildegunder the pretty story of the english princess why guardian she said we seem to be in the midst of impending civil war the archbishop smiled we are in the midst of an assured peace he replied what with cobblance practically seized and three thousand of your men lurking in the woods above us yes i told you that trees was no strategist i suppose he and mayance imagine that by seizing the town of cobblance they cut off my retreat to cologne they know it would be useless in a crisis for me to journey up the river as i should then be getting farther and farther from my base of supplies both in men and provisions therefore the archbishop of mayance has neglected to garrison that quarter but guardian you are surely entrapped with cobblance thus held not so my child while i command three thousand men to their 800 but that means a battle a battle that will never take place hildegunder because i shall see something much more valuable than any town namely the persons of the two archbishops with their lordships of trees and mayance in my custody cut off from communication with their own troops i have slight fear of a leaderless army the very magnitude of the force at my command is an assurance of peace they now arrived at the branching hill row leading up to the gates of stoles and felds just above them and conversation ceased but the countess was fated to remember before the afternoon who old the final words cologne spoke so confidently end of chapter six