A prince of lovers

WHEN, early in the morning, Rollmar prepared to set forth on his return, he was surprised, and yet more enraged, to find that Princess Ruperta was not forthcoming. That the Count had left the castle he was aware, since his host had overnight excused his attendance, and taken his leave on plea of urgent business. Still, faithless and unscrupulous as the experienced reader of men had clearly seen the Count to be, he had still been far from anticipating such a defiant piece of treachery as this development of the affair seemed to indicate. He gave Gomer, the old major-domo, a very unpleasant quarter of an hour’s cross-examination, but failed to shake, either by threats or cunning, his repeated assurance that his master’s departure had nothing to do with the Princess’s disappearance. The Count, he reiterated, had ridden forth alone save for an escort of four men. The Princess had, he was sure, contrived to leave the castle some time before.

The Chancellor, accustomed to weigh probabilities, decided that the man was lying. It was far easier for him to believe the Count than the Princess capable of playing that trick upon him. Moreover, she could hardly have escaped from the castle without the Count’s connivance. It was true, Ludovic was a possible factor in the business, but why should Irromar play into his hands, even to spite Rollmar? Little as the Count might appreciate being worsted by that astute old brain, he was less kindly disposed towards the man who not only was his favoured rival, but who had so singularly defeated his evil plans. No. Rapidly reviewing in his mind the turn of affairs by the light of his knowledge of the Count’s stubborn, treacherous character, he satisfied himself that he had either spirited the Princess away, perhaps to some hiding-place in the mountains, or what was more likely, they were concealed in a secret apartment under that very roof. The crisis was as urgent as it was exasperating. Ruperta’s reputation had an immense, an especial value to him as an important factor in his plans, and this prolongation of a discreditable escapade was inexpressibly annoying. So, waving aside the seneschal’s protests and assurances, he demanded that the Princess should be forthwith produced. Gomer could only shrug his shoulders hopelessly.

“I will give you a quarter of an hour,” said the angry old man in his accustomed tone of command, which his fierce eyes ever rendered terrifyingly effective. “If by that time the Princess is not brought into this room I will first search every corner of this robber’s den, and then burn it down over your heads.”

There was an ugly look of half-restrained defiance in Gomer’s eyes as he replied protestingly, “I cannot, Excellency, bring the Princess to you, because she is not within these walls. As to your threat, I can only say that, in the absence of my master, the Count, I, having the temporary care and charge of this property, will take upon myself to resist your intention with the best means in my power.”

Rollmar, eyeing him sharply, gave a scornful laugh. “I understand,” he said, pointedly. “It is as I thought. You have your instructions. Your courage is inspired, doubtless, by a fear of the arch-bandit, your master, not so very far away. Very well, then you take the consequences, the most important of which to yourself will be that in a very few hours your carcass will be hanging outside the gate which, in your blind impudence, you think to keep against me.”

Gomer looked for a moment as though he would spring at the old minister and draw first blood anyhow. His life had probably been lawless, and his days passed in a state of defiance and danger. But there was something about Rollmar, an indefinable power and resolution, showing itself in the glitter of his eyes, the calmly assured dignify of his manner, which restrained him, as it had held back many another man. The light—unquenchable, it seemed—that burnt in that decrepit lamp held the desperado’s spirit under a mysterious spell. He could only repeat doggedly—

“Your Excellency may try to carry out your threat, but its certain failure will cost more than your Excellency dreams of.”

“We shall see,” retorted Rollmar, turning away. “It is time the country was purged of this plague-spot.”

So, with quiet resolution, he left the castle, none daring to stay him, for it had been whispered that to oppose this old man, whose reputation for guile and cunning strength was world-wide, was more than even their master dared to do.

The Count was a very clever man; but, when he rode off in hot haste on a project that touched him so nearly, he overlooked the fact that he was leaving a much cleverer man behind him, and his house and its secrets practically at his mercy. So full was Irromar’s mind of the opportunity for a bold stroke which had so strangely arisen that he neglected to anticipate what might logically happen in his absence. At the same time, it never occurred to him that Ruperta would put her liberty to any use which might have a disastrous bearing upon the very plans he was so eagerly revolving. Knowing her to be free, he imagined nothing worse than that she might, with Ompertz for her protector, return to her father, and perhaps plead vainly for her lover’s rescue. But that Rollmar should suppose, when she did not join him, that she was still a prisoner in the castle was a contingency which he had in his haste altogether overlooked.

So, in the grey dawn, Rollmar left the castle fuming and vindictive, and, as luck would have it, the first person he encountered outside was Captain Ompertz. The soldier of fortune had been in a somewhat despairing mood. For several hours, from the moment, that is, when Ruperta had ridden away leaving him to watch the situation on the spot, he had untiringly devoted himself to making a thorough examination of such parts of the castle as he could reach, straining every faculty to light upon a way of getting into some sort of communication with Ludwig. But, though reckless of his own safety, he risked his neck many times in his desperate endeavors to get a clue to the prisoner’s whereabouts, all his efforts were futile.

The Castle of Teufelswald had been built for a purpose, and was a worthy product of its designer’s cunning brain. Dovetailed with the rock into which it was built, it presented at all points, save in front, an uncompromising fastness of blankness and silence. When once its postern doors of rock were shut and barred, the back of the building could defy observation and assault; it was, from the rear, at least, impregnable. It was in vain that Ompertz set himself to climb tree after tree in the hope of spying from above some indication of what to a daring man might be a vulnerable point, not to be detected from the ground. There was nothing which tempted even his desperation to try for an entrance; no light, no sound. But one thing he did see, and that was of moment; the setting forth of the Count and his attendants. Naturally he supposed it was in pursuit of the Princess; but he could do nothing there in her behalf, only rejoice in the thought that she had a long start, and ejaculate a fervent prayer that she might keep it. And, indeed, had he been minded to try to delay the Count, it would have been impossible to have intercepted the little party, who passed quickly through the door and rode off without pause along the woodland path.

Having convinced himself that there was no chance of getting at Ludovic’s prison from that part of the castle, Ompertz, disheartened and weary from the want of rest, of which his enforced vigilance had deprived him, gave up his fruitless endeavour, and dragged himself towards the valley where Rollmar’s men lay. The light of a chilly dawn was beginning to spread over the forest and to force its way in grey streaks up the wood-lined valleys and gorges, turning the black masses of pines into an indistinct greenish blue, as the soldier, the very shadow of himself in his utter exhaustion, lay down on an invitingly sheltered bank, and, careless of his safety, fell fast asleep. From this he was roused by a voice, uncomfortably familiar, calling, “Captain Ompertz!”

Half awakened, yet, for very weariness, unable to open his eyes, he told himself it was a dream. But the summons was insistently repeated. “Captain Ompertz!” In a moment the truth flashed his mind into complete wakefulness and he started half up. Over him stood a man; one of the most dreaded personalities in Europe.

“Up, Captain! I have work for you,” Rollmar said, with inscrutable face.

Ompertz sprang to his feet, wondering, as he looked inquiringly at the saturnine old face, what the work could be. Was the pitiless Chancellor minded to take vengeance on him for his share in the elopement? Then he told himself that they were man to man, and so fell to wondering that Rollmar should be there at that hour alone.

“How can I serve you, Excellency?” He was now wide awake, and anticipation made him ignore his fatigue.

“I have,” said Rollmar, “a difficult affair on hand.”

“Yes, Excellency?”

The other seemed to regard his eagerness with the half-contemptuous amusement a man will have for zeal to which he himself in a like position would be insensible.

“You are acquainted with this robber’s lair,” he gave an indicating jerk of the head, “the castle yonder?”

“I know every foot of it, from outside, Excellency.”

“Is it strong enough to defy assault?”

“From behind it could hold out against almost any force without artillery.”

“H’m! So the attack must be made in front?”

“Assuredly, Excellency. And even there it should be a tough nut to crack.”

“Nevertheless, Captain, it must be cracked, and without delay.”

Ompertz, looking at him in some wonder and a certain vague joy, was struck by the imperious determination in the old man’s face.

“Yes, Excellency. It would be no bad thing.”

Rollmar nodded. This ever-ready soldier of fortune afforded him some slight interest and amusement, and the acute judge of character could see the man’s honesty, and a deep-lying nobility under the wandering mercenary’s rough exterior. “The fellow, this Count Irromar, has played me a trick, and must pay for it,” he continued. Somehow Ompertz’s open nature seemed to invite confidence; an ordinary captain would have got nothing beyond bare orders. “So this castle,” he went on, “must be pulled or burned down about his head. And at once. Delay is out of the question, since I have reason to believe the Princess Ruperta is still a prisoner there.”

Ompertz had it on the tip of his tongue to reassure the Chancellor on that point, but checked the word in time, with a thrill at the danger into which he had so nearly been led. For in his mind was a great joy at the thought that if Ludwig were still alive this action might mean his release, surely the only chance left. If he knew that the Princess was no longer in the castle, Rollmar, a man above all not given to waste of energy or zeal, would doubtless abandon his project of sacking the place, finding it, moreover, no bad policy to leave the ousted Prince to his fate and the Count’s mercy. Neither did Ompertz judge it advisable to tell Rollmar of the Count’s departure, since he might then doubt whether the Princess were, after all, within the walls he proposed to raze. So, keeping his own counsel, he placed with alacrity his best service at the Chancellor’s disposal, and they went on towards the camp to bring up their array.

An hour later, the force advanced threateningly upon the castle, the front of which was now, in anticipation of an attack, barricaded against their approach. The windows were screened by iron shutters, and before the door a sort of portcullis was let down. Rollmar smiled grimly when he saw the ready preparations for defence.

“He has expected this for many a day,” he said; “it has come none too soon.”

Ompertz, to whom, as having the best knowledge of the place, the attack was entrusted, led the men tactically up the terraces. Having advanced, less, perhaps, to his surprise than Rollmar’s, without opposition right up to the building, a bugle was blown, and the place summoned to surrender. An iron shutter opened and old Gomer appeared.

“This castle,” he said, “will never surrender so long as there is a man left to garrison it. One word, gentlemen, before you commit yourselves to this vain business: I declare to you that you are greatly in error in attacking us. The Princess is not here, she is not within these walls, nor is there a soul here who knows where she is. Were these my last words I could not say otherwise. I swear to you before Heaven the lady is not in our keeping.”

Ompertz, who alone knew he spoke the truth, gave him the lie direct:

“Out, you lying old hound!” he cried. “If your word be true let us in to prove it.”

“That I cannot do,” the seneschal retorted fiercely. “We have had enough of such undesirable guests as yourself.”

“So you convict yourself of falsehood,” Ompertz returned. “The Princess is within, and we will have her out; so the sooner you open your door the better for you.”

For reply, the shutter was drawn across the window with a significant bang, and the parley was at an end.

Had Ompertz not been aware that the lord of Teufelswald was absent, he would have been far less hopeful than he was of taking the stronghold by assault. As it was, he had a pretty shrewd idea that the garrison was far from being a strong one either in numbers or spirit. Nearly a dozen fighting men had been killed or wounded in the two encounters with Ludwig and himself. Four had ridden forth with the Count; surely not many could remain, and those were without their chief, who, besides setting a vivid example of reckless daring, knew how to supplement the courage of his followers by a lively fear of the consequences of defeat. But he, worth a score of his humble bravos, was happily away, and Ompertz had promptly taken care to send a detachment of his men round to the rock door to intercept his possible return.

A short consultation among the leaders of the attacking party resulted in the conclusion that there was but one feasible way of gaining admittance, and that was to batter in the principal door. That looked a formidable task enough; the massive iron-bound oak was manifestly intended to provide against assault, and then there was the heavy net-work of beams forming the portcullis to beat down, even before the door itself was reached. But, given sufficient strength, anything is physically possible, and with several score of men at his back, Ompertz felt he could laugh at the Count’s iron-bound beams, which could have defied a mere dozen assailants for many a day. The first idea of the attacking party was to set fire to the oaken barrier, but the wood was too little exposed to catch alight easily, and, moreover, the contingency had been provided against by the contrivance of a long cistern above the archway from which at any moment the portcullis could be drenched with water.

But, though fire might be of no avail, the united weight and sinews of a considerable body of men made a force which not even Count Irromar’s barricades could withstand. A tree-trunk was utilized as a battering-ram, and the attack began in earnest. It was not without its difficulties. The soldiers swinging the huge log were exposed to an oblique fire from certain loop-holes commanding the approach to the entrance, and several men fell, fewer, however, than would probably have been accounted for had the defence been conducted with more spirit than seemed to be the case. Their exposure to this galling fire had the effect of making the attacking party redouble their efforts; the portcullis began to crack and show signs of giving way beneath the tremendous battering of the swinging tree-trunk; the blows, planted with insistence and precision, increased in effect, and made the yielding of the strong beams only a question of time.

At length, with a crash, the portcullis was staved in, and, with a shout, the men broke through and rushed forward eagerly to take the same measures with the door. The shots from the loop-holes, which had become more frequent and wildly aimed, upon this almost ceased. The soldiers, being now close under the walls, were in a less exposed position, but, apart from that, there were signs that the garrison were either demoralized, or were preparing some new scheme of defence.

In a very few minutes the improvised battering-ram was brought into position to play upon the door, and its thundering blows sent back echoing booms from within. The men, now confident of easily forcing an entry, were laughing, and applying themselves to their task with a will in order to make short work of it. Suddenly there was a warning cry from those behind who were farthest from the walls and, before the foremost men could realize what was going to happen, a huge piece of rock fell in their midst. Fortunately it came down just between the two files of men who were working the battering-ram; it crashed plump on the wood, sending it from the men’s grasp to the ground, and, at the same time, giving many of the workers time to spring aside and so avoid being struck by it. Several, however, who had wound the ropes round their hands were shot forward by the impact, and more or less crushed. All who were unhurt gave a savage cry of rage at the act, and, reckless of a second fall, dashed forward to resume operations upon the door. Ompertz was not slow in urging them on, being now in a wild state of anxiety as to Ludwig’s safety. The Count’s men seemed capable of anything, and the sooner their power for mischief was at an end the better.

“There is plenty of booty in the robber’s den once we get in, my lads,” he cried, and they again attacked the great door with a will. Scouts were posted now to give warning of further operations from the roof, but no more danger seemed to threaten from that quarter.

And now the door began to quiver and crack under incessant, untiring blows, till, from one mighty stroke, it flew open. The leaders, anticipating that the entry would be yet disputed, and that their men would be received with a deadly volley, ordered them, as the door gave way, to fall back on one side or the other.

But nothing of the kind happened. Instead of the desperate body of defenders they had expected to confront they saw the great hall empty. Then Ompertz rushed in like an avenging fury, and with a cheer the troops followed.

“Take care! Look out for a surprise! These devils are capable of anything,” the other captain cried warningly, but, for anything that could be seen, the devils had lost heart and fled. So easily, in the absence of its leading spirit, was this famed outlaw’s stronghold taken.

Through the now deserted rooms and passages Ompertz hurried, careless of the tempting spoil which presented itself on every hand, and by means of which he might easily have mended his fortunes, his mind occupied by but one object, the finding of Ludwig. “Prince!” he shouted, till the silent corridors echoed again, “Prince Ludwig! Where are you?” But no answer came, and as his search went fruitlessly on, the honest soldier began to have a sickening fear that he would never hear that voice again. “Prince!” he cried, in his desperation, “I am here, Ompertz, to set you free. Where are you?”

Shouting as he went, he reached a part of the building where the dimly lighted passages radiated into the rock. The place was indeed the den of a human brute. It struck despair into the soldier’s heart.

“A fine limbo for that smooth-spoken villain to live over,” he groaned in his desperation. “And I gave him his life that he might finish his butcher’s work. Poor Prince Ludwig! With all his mettle, and after all his escapes, to find his death in this beast’s den!”

But he was not going to give up the search until he found the prisoner, dead or alive. He tried one wedge-like passage after another, shouting the while like a madman. One of the soldiers, hot for plunder, ran against him.

“What’s the noise for, Captain?” he said, clapping him on the shoulder. “You ought to know the bearings of this infernal rookery; now show me where the money-chest is, and we will keep quiet, and share alike.”

“To the devil with your money-chest,” Ompertz returned impatiently. “I neither know nor care where that murdering dog kept his plunder. I am looking for a man.”

“A man?”

“Ay; the finest fellow that ever buckled on sword. Come, help me; though I fear to find his corpse after all.”

The other laughed. “Search for a dead man? Not I. Nor for a live woman, either, though the Chancellor is offering a hundred pieces to the man who finds our Princess. There is the scent of wealth in this strong-box, and that’s the game for me.”

He went off, and Ompertz ran on, calling Ludwig’s name. “Fool that I am, to think the dead can hear me,” he exclaimed. He passed many doors, trying them all, throwing open those that were unfastened, and kicking at others that were locked, but getting no response. He came to a stone gallery, hewn out of the rock. “Ludwig, my Prince!” he called hoarsely, and the shout was echoed dismally out of the dark depths beyond. Nothing but an echo, as mocking as the voice of the castle’s lord. No. Ompertz could not believe that some fiendish voice was not mocking him, as, from the darkness, came an answering cry pronouncing his name. He listened, holding his breath now, not daring to believe he was not cheated. Yes, there! The call came again, muffled but unmistakable, “Ompertz!”

He dashed forward with a fervent cry, then stopped, puzzled. Where had the answering voice come from? He was brought up by the end of the gallery, a solid wall of rock. He called again. Again the reply, this time behind him, but nearer, so close that he could recognize Ludwig’s voice. But there was no sign of any door; nothing but a rough surface of rocky wall, and it was from the depth of the rock that the voice seemed to come.

Crying out to get a guiding answer, Ompertz came opposite to the spot whence Ludwig’s voice so mysteriously proceeded.

“There is a door in the rock,” the King called out in answer to his question. “Can you not find it?”

Ompertz searched as well as the obscurity would let him, but could discover no indication of any opening.

“Wait, your Majesty!” he cried at last. “I will fetch those who will set you free.”

He hastened back to the inhabited part of the castle, passing on his way soldiers running hither and thither in their eagerness for booty, who took as little heed of him as he of them. In an inner vestibule he came upon a scuffling group. At first he thought it a dispute over some object of value, then something caught his eye which made him turn and rush up to the men.

It appeared that the party which he had posted to guard the rearward approaches to the castle had caught some of the defenders as they took their flight. It was a couple of these ruffians who were surrounded by soldiers threatening them with instant death if they did not disclose where the Count’s treasure was kept. Ompertz, recognizing one of the captives as having held a somewhat superior position in the household, pushed his way through, and transferred this fellow from the soldiers’ clutches to his own.

“The very man I want. He must show me the way to get at the greatest prize of all, the man, King Ludwig, who is imprisoned yonder in the rock.”

The fellow doggedly denied all knowledge of the prisoner.

“Fetch a rope, and throw it over that beam,” was Ompertz’s practical argument.

The rope was quickly brought and adjusted, and the noose slipped over the now grey face.

“Thirty seconds’ silence, my fine fellow, and you swing,” Ompertz announced, with military decision.

There was no mistaking his meaning.

“What do you want?” growled the ruffian.

“The opening of my friend’s prison.”

“If I show you the trick you will let me go free?”

“So far as I am concerned you may go to the devil, who is doubtless expecting you.”

“In my own time, Captain?”

“In your own time, or his. Now, hurry; or you will go in mine.”

With the rope still round his bull neck, the man was led off in haste to the rock gallery, his conductors intending to play the same game with him on their own account when the Captain should have done with him.

From a receptacle at the entrance of the gallery the man took a small winch. This, when they had arrived at the place where Ludwig’s voice had been heard, he fitted into a cunningly concealed hole in the stone. With a few turns, a portion of what seemed the solid rock began to recede; it evidently revolved slowly on a pivot till it left an opening wide enough for a man to pass through. Within was utter darkness, and from this veritable living tomb Ludwig staggered out, having the face of a man who had never thought to see the light of day again.