In the thick darkness Roland paced up and down the east bank of the Rhine at a spot nearly midway between Assmannshausen and Ehrenfels. The night was intensely silent, its stillness merely accentuated by the gentle ripple of the water current against the barge’s blunt nose, which pointed upstream. Standing motionless as a statue, the massive figure of Captain Blumenfels appeared in deeper blackness against the inky hills on the other side of the Rhine. Long sweeps lay parallel to the bulwarks of the barge, and stalwart men were at their posts, waiting the word of command to handle these exaggerated oars, in defiance of wind and tide. On this occasion, however, the tide only would be against them, for the strong southern breeze was wholly favorable. Their voyage that night would be short, but strenuous; merely crossing the river, and tying up against the opposite bank; but the Rhine swirled powerfully round the rock of Ehrenfels above them, and the men at the sweeps must pull vigorously if they were not to be carried down into premature danger.
Roland, who when they left Frankfort was in point of time the youngest member of the guild, now seemed, if one could distinguish him through the gloom of the night, to have become years older, and there was an added dignity in his bearing, for, although now but a potential freebooter, he had received assurance that he would be eventually elected Emperor.
He had sent word that morning to Greusel at the Golden Anker, bidding him get together his men, and lead them up to the barge not later than an hour before the moon rose, for Roland was anxious to reach the other side of the Rhine unseen from either shore. He cautioned Greusel to make his march a silent one, and this order Joseph at first found some difficulty in carrying out, but in any case he need have entertained no fear. The strong red wine of Assmannshausen is a potent liquid, and the inhabitants of the town were accustomed to song and laughter on the one street of the place at all hours of the night.
When they arrived, the men were quiet enough, and speedily stowed themselves away in their quarters at the stern of the barge, whereupon Roland, the last to spring aboard, waved his hand at the captain to cast off. The nose of the boat was shoved away from land, and then the powerful sweeps dipped into the water. Slowly but surely she made her way across the river; silent and invisible from either bank. The current, however, swept them down opposite the twinkling lights of Assmannshausen, after which, in the more tranquil waters of the western shore, they rowed steadily upstream for about half a league, and then, with ropes tied round trees growing at the water’s edge, laid up for the remainder of the night.
Roland now counseled his company to enjoy what sleep was possible, as they would be roused at the first glint of daybreak; so, with great good-nature, each man wrapped himself up in his cloak and lay down on the cabin floor.
When the eastern sky became gray, the slumberers were awakened, and a ration of bread and wine served to each. The captain already had received his instructions, and the men discarding their cloaks, followed their leader into the still gloomy forest. Here, with as little noise as might be, they climbed the steep wooded hill, and arriving at something almost like a path, a hundred yards up from the river, they turned to the right, and so marched, no man speaking above a whisper.
The forest became lighter and lighter, and at last Roland, holding up his hand to sign caution, turned to the left from the path, and farther up into the unbroken forest. They had traversed perhaps a league when another silent order brought them to a standstill, and peering through the trees to the east, the men caught glimpses of the grand, gray battlements of that famous stronghold, Rheinstein, seeing at the corner nearest them a square tower, next a machicolated curtain of wall, and a larger square tower almost as high as the first hanging over the precipice that descended to the Rhine. Inside this impregnable enclosure rose the great bulk of the Castle itself, and near at hand the massive square keep, with an octagonal turret on the southeast corner, the top of which was the highest point of the stronghold, although a round tower rising directly over the Rhine was not much lower.
Roland, advancing through the trees, but motioning his men to remain where they were, peered across to the battlements and down at the entrance gate.
Baron von Hohenfels sat so secure in his elevated robber’s nest, which he deemed invincible—and, indeed, the cliff on which it stood, nearly a hundred yards high, made it so if approached from the Rhine—that he kept only one man on watch, and this sentinel was stationed on the elevated platform of the round tower. Roland saw him yawn wearily as he leaned against his tall lance, and was glad to learn that even one man kept guard, for at first he feared that all within the Castle were asleep, the round tower, until Roland had shifted his position to the north, being blotted out by the nearer square donjon keep. Now satisfied, he signaled his men to sit down, which they did. He himself took up a position behind a tree, where, unseen, he could watch the man with the lance.
So indolent was the sentry that Roland began to fear the barge would pass by unnoticed. Not for months had any sailing craft appeared on the river, and doubtless the warden regarded his office as both useless and wearisome. Brighter and brighter became the eastern sky, and at last a tinge of red appeared above the hills across the silent Rhine. Suddenly the guardian straightened up, then, shading his eyes with his right hand, he leaned over the battlements, peering to the south. A moment later the stillness was rent by a lusty shout, and the man disappeared as if he had fallen through a trap-door. Presently the notes of a bugle echoed within the walls, followed by clashes of armor and the buzzing sound of men, as though a wasp’s nest had been disturbed. Half a dozen came into sight on top of the various towers and battlements, glanced at the river, and vanished as hastily as the sentinel had done.
At last the gates came ponderously open, and the first three men to emerge were on horseback, one of them hastily getting into an outer garment, but the well-trained horses, who knew their business quite as thoroughly as their riders, for they were accustomed to plunge into the river if any barge disobeyed the order commanding it to halt, turned from the gate, and dashed down the steep road that descended through the forest. The men-at-arms poured forth with sword or pike, and in turn went out of sight. They appeared to be leaderless, dashing forward in no particular formation, yet, like the horses, they knew their business. All this turmoil was not without its effect on Roland’s following, who edged forward on hands and knees to discover what was going on, everyone breathless with excitement; but they saw their leader cool and motionless, counting on his fingers the number of men who passed out, for he knew exactly how many fighters the Castle contained.
“Not yet, not yet!” he whispered.
Finally three lordly individuals strode out; officers their more resplendent clothing indicated them to be, and the trio followed the others.
“Ha!” cried Roland, “old Baron Hugo drank too deeply last night to be so early astir.”
He was speaking aloud now.
“Take warning from that, my lads, and never allow wine to interfere with business. Follow me, but cautiously, one after the other in single file, and look to your footing. ‘Tis perilous steep between here and the gate;” and, indeed, so they found it, but all reached the level forecourt in safety, and so through the open portal.
“Close and bar those gates,” was the next command, instantly obeyed.
Down the stone steps of the Castle, puffing and grunting, came a gigantic, obese individual, his face bloated with excess, his eyes bleary with the lees of too much wine. He was struggling into his doublet, assisted by a terrified old valet, and was swearing most deplorably. Seeing the crowd at the gate, and half-blindly mistaking them for his own men, he roared:
“What do you there, you hounds? To the river, every man of you, and curse your leprous, indolent souls! Why in the fiend’s name—” But here he came to an abrupt stop on the lowest step, the sting of a sword’s point at his throat, and now, out of breath, his purple face became mottled.
“Good morning to you, Baron Hugo von Hohenfels. These men whom you address so coarsely obey no orders but mine.”
“And who, imp of Satan, are you?” sputtered the old man.
“By profession a hangman. From our fastnesses in the hills, seeing a barge float down the river, we thought it likely you would leave the Castle undefended, and so came in to execute the Prince of Robbers.”
The Baron was quaking like a huge jelly. It was evident that, although noted for his cruelty, he was at heart a coward.
“You—you—you—” he stammered, “are outlaws! You are outlaws from the Hunsruck.”
“How clever of you, Baron, to recognize us at once. Now you know what to expect. Greusel, unwind the rope I gave you last night. I will show you its purpose.”
Greusel did as he was requested without comment, but Ebearhard approached closely to his chief, and whispered:
“Why resort to violence? We have no quarrel with this elephant. ‘Tis his gold we want, and to hang him is a waste of time.”
“Hush, Ebearhard,” commanded Roland sternly. “The greater includes the less. I know this man, and am taking the quickest way to his treasure-house.”
Ebearhard fell back, but by this time the useful Greusel had made a loop of the rope, and threw it like a cravat around the Baron’s neck.
“No, no, no!” cried the frightened nobleman. “‘Tis not my life you seek. That is of no use to such as you; and, besides, I have never harmed the outlaws.”
“That is a lie,” said Roland. “You sent an expedition against us just a year ago.”
“‘Twas not I,” protested Hohenfels, “but the pirate of Falkenberg. Still, no matter. I’ll buy my life from you. I am a wealthy man.”
“How much?” asked Roland, hesitating.
“More than all of you can carry away.”
“In gold?”
“Of a surety in gold.”
“Where are the keys of your treasury?”
“In my chamber. I will bring them to you,” and the Baron turned to mount the steps again.
“Not so,” cried Roland. “Stand where you are, and send your man for them. If they are not here before I count twoscore, you hang, and nothing will save you.”
The Baron told the trembling valet where to find the keys.
“Greusel, you and Ebearhard accompany him, and at the first sign of treachery, or any attempt to give an alarm, run him through with your swords. Does your man know where the treasury is?” he continued to the Baron.
“Oh, yes, yes!”
“How is your gold bestowed?”
“In leathern bags.”
“Good. Greusel, take sixteen of the men, and bring down into the courtyard all the gold you can carry. Then we will estimate whether or not it is sufficient to buy the Baron’s life, for I hold him in high esteem. He is a valuable man. See to it that there is no delay, Greusel, and never lose sight of this valet. Bring him back, laden with gold.”
They all disappeared within the Castle, led by the old servitor.
“Sit you down, Baron,” said Roland genially. “You seem agitated, for which there is no cause should there prove to be gold enough to outweigh you.”
The ponderous noble seated himself with a weary sigh.
“And pray to the good Lord above us,” went on Roland, “that your men may not return before this transaction is completed, for if they do, my first duty will be to strangle you. Even gold will not save you in that case. But still, you have another chance for your life, should such an untoward event take place. Shout to them through the closed gates that they must return to the edge of the river until you join them; then, if they obey, you are spared. Remember, I beg of you, the uselessness of an outcry, for we are in possession of Rheinstein, and you know that the Castle is unassailable from without.”
The Baron groaned.
“Do not be hasty with your cord,” he said dejectedly. “I will follow your command.”
The robbers, however, did not return, but the treasure-searchers did, piling the bags in the courtyard, and again Hohenfels groaned dismally at the sight. Roland indicated certain sacks with the point of his sword, ordering them to be opened. Each was full of gold.
“Now, my lads,” he cried, “oblige the Baron by burdening yourselves with this weight of metal, then we shall make for the Hunsruck. Open the gates. Lead the men to the point where we halted, Greusel, and there await me.”
The rich company departed, and Roland beguiled the time and the weariness of the Baron by a light and interesting conversation to which there was neither reply nor interruption. At last, having allowed time for his band to reach their former halting-place, he took the rope from the Baron’s neck, tied the old robber’s hands behind him, then bound his feet, cutting the rope in lengths with his sword. He served the trembling valet in the same way, shutting him up within the Castle, and locking the door with the largest key in the bunch, which bunch he threw down beside his lordship.
“Baron von Hohenfels,” he said, “I have kept my word with you, and now bid farewell. I leave you out-of-doors, because you seem rather scant of breath, for which complaint fresh air is beneficial. Adieu, my lord Baron.”
The Baron said nothing as Roland, with a sweep of his bonnet, took leave of him, climbed the steep path and joined his waiting men. He led them along the hillside, through the forest for some distance, then descended to the water’s edge. The river was blank, so they all sat down under the trees out of sight, leaving one man on watch. Here Roland spent a very anxious half-hour, mitigated by the knowledge that the men of Rheinstein were little versed in woodcraft, and so might not be able to trace the fugitives. It was likely they would make a dash in quite the opposite direction, towards the Hunsruck, because Hohenfels believed they were outlaws from that district, and did not in any way associate them with the plundered barge.
But if the robbers of Rheinstein took a fancy to sink the barge, an act only too frequently committed, then were Roland and his company in a quandary, without food, or means of crossing the river. However, he was sure that Captain Blumenfels would follow his instructions, which were to offer no resistance, but rather to assist the looters in their exactions.
“Within a league,” said Roland to his men, “stand three pirate castles: Rheinstein, which we have just left; Falkenberg, but a short distance below, and then Sonneck. If nothing happens to the barge, I expect to finish with all three before nightfall; for, the strongholds being so close together, we must work rapidly, and not allow news of our doings to leap in advance of us.”
“But suppose,” said Kurzbold, “that Hohenfels’ men hold the barge at the landing for their own use?”
“We will wait here for another half-hour,” replied Roland, “and then, if we see nothing of the boat, proceed along the water’s edge until we learn what has become of her. I do not think the thieves will interfere with the barge, as they have not been angered either by disobedience of their orders to land, or resistance after the barge is by the shore. Besides, I count on the fact that the officers, at least, will be anxious to let the barge proceed, hoping other laden boats may follow, and, indeed, I think for this reason they will be much more moderate in their looting than we have been.”
Before he had finished speaking, the man on watch by the water announced the barge in sight, floating down with the current. At this they all emerged from the forest. Captain Blumenfels, carefully scanning the shore, saw them at once, and turned the boat’s head towards the spot where they stood.
The bags of gold were bolted away in the stout lockers extending on each side of the cabin. While this was being done, Roland gave minute instructions to the captain regarding the next item in the programme, and once more entered the forest with his men.
The task before them was more difficult than the spoiling of Rheinstein, because the huge bulk of Falkenberg stood on a summit of treeless rock; the Castle itself, a gigantic, oblong gray mass, with a slender square campanile some distance from it, rising high above its battlements on the slope that went down towards the Rhine, forming thus an excellent watch-tower. But although the conical hill of rock was bare of the large trees that surrounded Rheinstein, there were plenty of bowlders and shrubbery behind which cover could be sought. On this occasion the marauding guild could not secure a position on a level with the battlements of the Castle, as had been the case behind Rheinstein, and, furthermore, they were compelled to make their dash for the gate up-hill.
But these disadvantages were counterbalanced by the fact that Falkenberg was situated much higher than Rheinstein, and was farther away from the river, so that when the garrison descended to the water’s edge it could not return as speedily as was the case with Hohenfels’ men. Rheinstein stood directly over the water, and only two hundred and sixty feet above it, while, comparatively speaking, Falkenberg was back in the country. Still all these castles had been so long unmolested, and considered themselves so secure, that adequate watching had fallen into abeyance, and at Falkenberg guard was kept by one lone man on the tall campanile. The attacking party saw no one on the battlements of the Castle, so worked their way round the hill until the man on the tower was hidden from them by the bulk of the Castle itself, and thus they crawled like lizards from bush to bush, from stone to stone, and from rock-ledge to rock-ledge, taking their time, and not deserting one position of obscurity until another was decided upon. The fact that the watchman was upon the Rhine side of the Castle greatly favored a stealthy approach from any landward point.
At last the alarm was given; the gate opened, and, as it proved, every man in the Castle went headlong down the hill. The amateur cracksmen therefore had everything their own way, and while this at first seemed an advantage, they speedily found it the reverse, for although they wandered from room to room, the treasure could not be discovered. The interior of Falkenberg was unknown to Roland, this being one of the strongholds where he had been compelled to sleep in an outhouse. At last they found the door to the treasure-chamber, for Roland suggested it was probably in a similar position to that at Rheinstein, and those who had accompanied Hohenfels’ valet made search according to this hint, and were rewarded by coming upon a door so stoutly locked that all their efforts to force it open were fruitless.
Deeply disappointed, with a number of the men grumbling savagely, they were compelled to withdraw empty handed, warned by approaching shouts that the garrison was returning, so the men crawled away as they had come, and made for the river, where on this occasion the boat already awaited them.
The lord of Falkenberg proved as moderate in his exactions as the men of Rheinstein. Many bales had been cut open, and the thieves, with the knowledge of cloth-weavers, selected in every case only the best goods, but of these had taken merely enough for one costume each.
Although the company had made so early a beginning, it was past noon by the time they reached the barge on the second occasion. A substantial meal was served, for every man was ravenously hungry, besides being disgusted to learn that there were ups and downs even in the trade of thievery.
Early in the afternoon they made for the delicate Castle of Sonneck, whose slender turrets stood out beautifully against the blue sky. Here excellent cover was found within sight of the doorway, for Sonneck stood alone on its rock without the protection of a wall.
In this case the experience of Rheinstein was repeated, with the exception that it was not the master of the Castle they encountered, but a frightened warder, who, with a sharp sword to influence him, produced keys and opened the treasury. Not nearly so large a haul of gold was made as in the first instance, yet enough was obtained to constitute a most lucrative day’s work, and with this they sought the barge in high spirits.
They waited in the shadow of the hills until dusk, then quietly made their way across the river behind the shelter of the two islands, and so came to rest alongside the bank, just above the busy town of Lorch, scarcely two leagues down the river from the berth they had occupied the night before. After the barge was tied up, Roland walked on deck with the captain, listening to his account of events from the level of the river surface. It proved that, all in all, Roland could suggest no amendment of the day’s proceedings. So far as Blumenfels was concerned, everything had gone without a hitch.
As they promenaded thus, one of the men came forward, and said, rather cavalierly:
“Commander, your comrades wish to see you in the cabin.”
Roland made no reply, but continued his conversation with the captain until he learned from that somewhat reticent individual all he wished to know. Then he walked leisurely aft, and descended into the cabin, where he found the eighteen seated on the lockers, as if the conclave were a deliberate body like the Electors, who had come to some momentous decision.
“We have unanimously passed a resolution,” said Kurzbold, “that the money shall be divided equally amongst us each evening. You do not object, I suppose?”
“No; I don’t object to your passing a resolution.”
“Very good. We do not wish to waste time just now in the division, because we are going to Lorch, intending to celebrate our success with a banquet. Would Greusel, Ebearhard, and yourself care to join us?”
“I cannot speak for the other two,” returned Roland quietly; “but personally I shall be unable to attend, as there are some plans for the future which need thinking over.”
“In that case we shall not expect you,” went on Kurzbold, who seemed in no way grieved at the loss of his commander’s company.
“Perhaps,” suggested John Gensbein, “our chief will drop in upon us later in the evening. We learned at Assmannshausen that the Krone is a very excellent tavern, so we shall sup there.”
“How did you know we were to stop at Lorch?” asked Roland, wondering if in any way they had heard he was to meet Goebel’s emissary in this village.
“We were not sure,” replied Gensbein, “but we made inquiries concerning all the villages and castles down the Rhine, and have taken notes.”
“Ah, in that case you are well qualified as a guide. I may find occasion to use the knowledge thus acquired.”
“We are all equally involved in this expedition,” said Kurzbold impatiently, “and you must not imagine yourself the only person to be considered. But we lose time. What we wish at the present moment is that you will unlock one of these chests, and divide amongst us a bag of gold. The rest is to be partitioned when we return this evening; and after that, Herr Roland, we shall not need to trouble you by asking for more money.”
“Are the thirty thalers I gave you the other day all spent, Herr Kurzbold?”
“No matter for that,” replied this insubordinate ex-president. “The money in the lockers is ours, and we demand a portion of it now, with the remainder after the banquet.”
Without another word, Roland took the bunch of keys from his belt, opened one of the lockers, lifted out a bag of gold, untied the thongs, and poured out the coins on the lid of the chest, which he locked again.
“There is the money,” he said to Kurzbold. “I shall send Greusel and Ebearhard to share in its distribution, and thus you can invite them to your banquet. My own portion you may leave on the lid of the locker.”
With that he departed up on deck again, and said to his officers:
“Kurzbold, on behalf of the men, has demanded a bag of gold. You will go to the cabin and receive your share. They will also invite you to a banquet at the Krone. Accept that invitation, and if possible engage a private room, as you did at Assmannshausen, to prevent the men talking with any of the inhabitants. Keep them roystering there until all the village has gone to bed; then convoy them back to the barge as quietly as you can. A resolution has been passed that the money is to be divided amongst our warriors on their return, but I imagine that they will be in no condition to act as accountants when I have the pleasure of beholding them again, so if anything is said about the apportionment, suggest a postponement of the ceremony until morning. I need not add that I expect you both to drink sparingly, for this is advice I intend to follow myself.”
Roland paced the deck deep in thought until his difficult contingent departed towards the twinkling lights of the village, then he went to the cabin, poured his share of the gold into his pouch, and followed the company at a distance into Lorch. He avoided the Krone, and after inquiring his way, stopped at the much smaller hostelry, Mergler’s Inn. Here he gave his name, and asking if any one waited for him, was conducted upstairs to a room where he found Herr Kruger just about to sit down to his supper. A stout lad nearing twenty years of age stood in the middle of the room, and from his appearance Roland did not need the elder man’s word for it that this was his son.
“I took the precaution of bringing him with me,” said Kruger, “as I thought two horsemen were better than one in the business I had undertaken.”
“You were quite right,” returned Roland, “and I congratulate you upon so stalwart a traveling companion. With your permission I shall order a meal, and sup with you, thus we may save time by talking while we eat, because you will need to depart as speedily as possible.”
“You mean in the darkness? To-night?”
“Yes; as soon as you can get away. There are urgent reasons why you should be on the road without delay. How came you here?”
“On horseback; first down the Main, then along the Rhine.”
“Very well. In the darkness you will return by the way you came, but only as far as the Castle of Ehrenfels, three leagues from here. There you are to rouse up the custodian, and in safety spend the remainder of the night. To-morrow morning he will furnish you a guide to conduct you through the forest to Wiesbaden, and from thence you know your way to Frankfort, which you should reach not later than evening.”
At this point the landlord, who had been summoned, came in.
“I will dine with my friends here,” said Roland. “I suppose I need not ask if you possess some of the good red wine of Lorch, which they tell me equals that of Assmannshausen?”
“Of the very best, mein Herr, the product of my own vineyard, and I can therefore guarantee it sound. As for equaling that of Assmannshausen, we have always considered it superior, and, indeed, many other good judges agree with us.”
“Then bring me a stoup of it, and you will be enabled to add my opinion to that of the others.”
When the landlord produced the wine, Roland raised it to his lips, and absorbed a hearty draught.
“This is indeed most excellent, landlord, and does credit alike to your vines and your inn. I wish to send two large casks of so fine a wine to a merchant of my acquaintance in Frankfort, and my friend, Herr Kruger, has promised to convey it thither. If you can spare me two casks of such excellent vintage, they will make an evenly balanced burden for the horse.”
“Surely, mein Herr.”
“Choose two of those long casks, landlord, with bung-holes of the largest at the sides. Do you possess such a thing as a pack-saddle?”
“Oh, yes.”
“And you, my young friend,” he said, turning to Kruger’s son, “rode here on a saddle?”
“No,” interjected his father; “I ride a saddle, but my son was forced to content himself with a length of Herr Goebel’s coarse cloth, folded four times, and strapped to the horse’s back.”
“Then the cloth may still be used as a cushion for the pack-saddle, and you, my lad, will be compelled to walk, to which I dare venture you are well accustomed.”
The lad grinned, but made no objection.
“Now, landlord, while we eat, fill your casks with wine, then place the pack-saddle on the back of this young man’s horse, and the casks thereon, for I dare say you have men expert in such a matter.”
“There are no better the length of the Rhine,” said the landlord proudly.
“Lay the casks so that the bung-holes are upward, and do not drive the bungs more tightly in place than is necessary, for they are to be extracted before Frankfort is reached, that another friend of mine may profit by the wine. When this is done, bring me word, and let me know how much I owe you.”
The landlord gone, the three men fell to their meal.
“There is more gold,” said Roland, “than I expected, and it is impossible even for two of you to carry it in bags attached to your belts. Besides, if you are molested, such bestowal of it would prove most unsafe. A burden of wine, however, is too common either to attract notice or arouse cupidity. I propose, then, when we leave here, to bring you to the barge belonging to Herr Goebel, and taking out the bungs, we will pour the gold into the barrels, letting the wine that is displaced overflow to the ground. Then we will stoutly drive in the bungs, and should the guards question you at the gates of Frankfort, you may let them taste the wine if they insist, and I dare say it will contain no flavor of the metal.”
“A most excellent suggestion,” said Herr Kruger with enthusiasm. “An admirable plan; for I confess I looked forward with some anxiety to this journey, laden down with bags of gold under my cloak.”
“Yes. You are simply an honest drinker, tired of the white wine of Frankfort, and providing yourself with the stronger fluid that Lorch produces. I am sure you will deliver the money safely to Herr Goebel, somewhat in drink, it is true, but, like the rest of us, none the worse for that when the fumes are gone.”
The repast finished, and all accounts liquidated, the trio left the inn, and, leading the two horses, reached the barge without observation. Here the bungs were removed from the casks, and the three men, assisted by the captain, quietly and speedily opened bag after bag, pouring the coins down into the wine; surely a unique adulteration, astonishing even to so heady a fluid as the vintage of Lorch. From the whole amount Roland deducted two thousand thalers, which he divided equally between two empty bags.
“This thousand thalers,” said he to Kruger, “is to be shared by your son and yourself, in addition to whatever you may receive from Herr Goebel. The other you will hand to the custodian of Ehrenfels Castle, saying it came from his friend Roland, and is recompense for the money he lent the other day. That will be an effective letter of introduction to him. Say that I ask him to send his son with you as guide through the forest to Wiesbaden; and so good-night and good luck to you.”
It was long after midnight when the guild came roystering up the bank of the Rhine to the barge. The moon had risen, and gave them sufficient light to steer a reasonably straight course without danger of falling into the water. Ebearhard was with them, but Greusel walked rapidly ahead, so that he might say a few words to his chief before the others arrived.
“I succeeded in preventing their talking with any stranger, but they have taken aboard enough wine to make them very difficult and rather quarrelsome if thwarted. When I proposed that they should leave the counting until to-morrow morning they first became suspicious, and then resented the imputation that they were not in fit condition for such a task. I recommend, therefore, that you allow them to divide the money to-night. It will allay their fear that some trick is to be played upon them, and if you hint at intoxication, they are likely to get out of hand. As it does not matter when the money is distributed, I counsel you to humor them to-night, and postpone reasoning until to-morrow.”
“I’ll think about it,” said Roland.
“They have bought several casks of wine, and are taking turns in carrying them. Will you allow this wine to come aboard, even if you determine to throw it into the water to-morrow?”
“Oh, yes,” said Roland, with a shrug of the shoulders. “Coax them into the cabin as quietly as possible, and keep them there if you can, for should they get on deck, we shall lose some of them in the river.”
Greusel turned back to meet the bellowing mob, while Roland roused the captain and his men.
“Get ready,” he said to Blumenfels, “and the moment I raise my hand, shove off. Make for this side of the larger island, and come to rest there for the remainder of the night. Command your rowers to put their whole force into the sweeps.”
This was done accordingly, and well done, as was the captain’s custom. The late moon threw a ghostly light over the scene, and the barren island proved deserted and forbidding, as the crew tied up the barge alongside. Most of the lights in Lorch had gone out, and the town lay in the silence of pallid moonbeams like a city of the dead. Roland stood on deck with Greusel and Ebearhard by his side, the latter relating the difficulties of the evening. There had been singing in the cabin during the passage across, then came a lull in the roar from below, followed by a shout that betokened danger. An instant later the crowd came boiling up the short stair to the deck, Kurzbold in command, all swords drawn, and glistening in the moonlight.
“You scoundrel!” he cried to Roland, “those lockers are full of empty bags.”
“I know that,” replied Roland, quietly. “The money is in safe keeping, and will be honestly divided at the conclusion of this expedition.”
“You thief! You robber!” shouted Kurzbold, flourishing his weapon.
“Quite accurate,” replied Roland, unperturbed. “I was once called a Prince of Thieves when I did not deserve the title. Now I have earned it.”
“You have earned the penalty of thieving, and we propose to throw you into the Rhine.”
“Not, I trust, before you learn where the money is deposited.”
Drunk as they were, this consideration staggered them, but Kurzbold was mad with rage and wine.
“Come on, you poltroons!” he shouted. “There are only three of them.”
“Draw your swords, gentlemen,” whispered Roland, flashing his own blade in the moonlight.
Greusel and Ebearhard obeyed his command.
Ebearhard laughed, and took two steps forward. Whenever affairs became serious, one could always depend on a laugh from Ebearhard.
“Excuse me, Commander,” he said, “but you placed Greusel and me in charge of this pious and sober party; therefore I, being the least of your officers, must stand the first brunt of our failure to keep these lambs peaceable for the night. Greusel, stand behind me, and in front of the Commander. I, being reasonably sober, believe I can cut down six of the innocents before they finish with me. You will attend to the next six, leaving exactly half a dozen for Roland to eliminate in his own fashion. Now, Herr Conrad Kurzbold, come on.”
“We have no quarrel with you,” said Kurzbold. “Stand aside.”
“But I force a quarrel upon you, undisciplined pig. Defend yourself, for, by the Three Kings, I am going to tap your walking wine-barrel!”
Kurzbold, however, retreating with more haste than caution, one or two behind him were sent sprawling, and the half-dozen which were Roland’s portion tumbled over one another down the steep ladder into the cabin.
Ebearhard laughed again when the last man disappeared.
“I think,” he said to Roland, “that you will meet no further trouble from our friends. They evidently broke open the lockers, alarmed because Greusel and I asked for a postponement of the counting, probably intending to make the division without our assistance.”
“Have you hidden the money?” asked Greusel.
“Not exactly,” replied Roland; “but, in case anything should happen to me, I will tell you what I have done with it.”
When he finished his recital, he added:
“I will give each of you a letter to Herr Goebel, identifying you. He is entitled to four thousand five hundred thalers of the money. The balance you will divide among those of us who survive.”
Roland slept on deck, wrapped in his cloak. His two lieutenants took turn in keeping watch, but nothing except snores came up from the cabin. The mutineers were not examples of early rising next morning. The sun gave promise of another warm day, and Roland walked up and down the deck, anxiety printed on his brow. He had made up his mind to knock at the door of the Laughing Baron, a giant in stature, reported to be the most ingenious, most cruel, and bravest of all the robber noblemen of the Rhine, whose Castle was notoriously the hardest nut to crack along the banks of that famous river. For several reasons it would not be wise to linger much longer in the neighborhood of Lorch. The three castles they had entered the day before were still visible on the western bank. News of the raid would undoubtedly travel to Furstenberg, also within sight down the river, and thus the hilarious Margrave would be put on his guard, overjoyed at the opportunity of trapping the moral marauders. Furstenberg was also a fief of Cologne, and any molestation of it would involve the meddler, if identified, in complications with the Church and the Archbishop.
It was necessary, therefore, to move with caution, and to retreat, if possible, unobserved. These difficulties alone were enough to give pause to the most intrepid, but Roland was further handicapped by his own following. How could he hope to accomplish any subtle movement requiring silence, prompt obedience, and great alertness, supported by men whose brains were muddled with drink, and whose conduct was saturated with conspiracy against him? They had wine enough on board to continue their orgy, and he was quite unable to prevent their carouse. With a deep sigh he realized that he would be compelled to forego Furstenberg, and thus leave behind him a virgin citadel, which he knew was bad tactics from a military point of view.
During his meditations his men were coming up from the fuming cabin into the fresh air and the sunlight. They appeared by twos and threes, yawning and rubbing their eyes, but no one ventured to interrupt the leader as, with bent head, he paced back and forth on the deck. The men, indeed, seemed exceedingly subdued. They passed with almost overdone nonchalance from the boat to the island, and sauntered towards its lower end, from which, in the clear morning air, the grim fortress of Furstenberg could be plainly discerned diagonally across the river. It was Ebearhard who broke in upon Roland’s reverie.
“Our friends appear very quiet this morning, but I observe they have all happened to coincide upon the northern part of the island as a rendezvous for their before-breakfast walk. I surmise they are holding a formal meeting of the guild, but neither Greusel nor I have been invited, so I suppose that after last night’s display we two are no longer considered their brethren. This meekness on their part seems to me more dangerous than last night’s flurry. I think they will demand from you a knowledge of what has been done with the gold. Have you decided upon your answer?”
“Yes; it is their right to know, so I shall tell them the truth. By this time Kruger is on his way somewhere between Ehrenfels and Wiesbaden. He will reach Frankfort to-night, and cannot be overtaken.”
“Is there not danger that they will desert in a body, return to Frankfort, and demand from Herr Goebel their share of the spoil?”
“No matter for that,” returned Roland. “Goebel will not part with a florin except under security of such letters as I purpose giving you and Greusel, and even then only when you have proven to him that I am dead.”
“That is all very well,” demurred Ebearhard, “but don’t you see what a dangerous power you put into the hands of the rebels? Goebel is merely a merchant, and, though rich, politically powerless. He has already come into conflict with the authorities, and spent a term in prison. Do not forget that the Archbishops have refused to take action against these robber Barons. Our men, if there happen to be one of brains among them, can easily terrify Goebel into parting with the treasure by threatening to confess their own and his complicity in the raids. Consider what an excellent case they can put forward, stating quite truly that they joined this expedition in ignorance of its purport, but on the very first day, learning what was afoot, they deserted their criminal leader, and are now endeavoring to make restitution. Goebel is helpless. If he says that they first demanded the gold from him, they as strenuously deny it, and their denial must be believed, because they come of their own free-will to the authorities. The merchant, already tainted with treason, having suffered imprisonment, and narrowly escaped hanging, proves on investigation to be up to the neck in this affair. There is no difficulty in learning that his barge went down the river, manned by a crew of his own choosing. Of course, it need never come to this, because Goebel, being a shrewd man, could at once see in what jeopardy he stood, and convinced from the men’s own story that they were part, at least, of your contingent, would deliver up the treasure to them. Don’t you see he must do so to save his own neck?”
Roland pondered deeply on what had been said to him, but for the moment made no reply. Greusel, who joined them during the conversation, remaining silent until Ebearhard had finished, now spoke:
“I quite agree with all that has been said.”
“What, then, would you advise me to do?” asked Roland.
“I have been talking with one or two of the men,” said Greusel. “(They won’t speak to Ebearhard because he drew his sword on them.) I find they believe you took advantage of their absence to bury the gold in what you suppose to be a safe place. They are sure you are acquainted with no one in Lorch to whom you could safely entrust it, and of course do not suspect an emissary from Frankfort. I should advise you to say that arrangements have been made for every man to get his share so long as nothing untoward happens to you. This will preserve your life should they go so far as to threaten it, and compel them to stay on with us. After all, we are merely artisans, and not fighting men. I am convinced that if ever we are really attacked, we shall make a very poor showing, even though we carry swords. Remember how the men tumbled over one another in their haste to get out of reach when Ebearhard flourished his blade.”
“I think Greusel’s suggestion is an excellent one,” put in Ebearhard.
“Very well,” said Roland, “I shall adopt it, although I had made up my mind fully to enlighten them.”
“There is one more matter that I should like to speak to you about,” continued Ebearhard. “Both at Assmannshausen, and at Lorch last night, we heard a good deal anent Furstenberg. It is the most dangerous castle on the Rhine to meddle with. The Laughing Baron, as they call him, although he is a Margrave, is the only man who dared to stop a king on his way down the Rhine, and hold him for ransom.”
“Yes,” said Roland; “Adolf of Nassau, on his way to be crowned at Aix-la-Chapelle.”
“Quite so. Well, this huge ruffian—I never can remember his name; can you, Greusel?”
“No, it beats me.”
“Margrave Hermann von Katznellenbogenstahleck,” said Roland, so solemnly that Ebearhard laughed and even Greusel smiled.
“That’s the individual,” agreed Ebearhard, “and you must admit the name itself is a formidable thing to attack, even without the giant it belongs to.”
“Banish all apprehension,” said Roland. “I have already decided to remain here through the day, and drop quietly down the river to-night in the darkness past Furstenberg.”
“I think that is a wise decision,” said Ebearhard.
“‘Tis against all military rules,” demurred Roland, “but nevertheless with such an army as I lead it seems the only way. Do the men know that Furstenberg is our point of greatest danger?”
“Yes; but they do not know so much as I. Last night I left them in Greusel’s charge, being alarmed about what I heard of Furstenberg, and engaged a boatman to take me over there before the moon rose. I discovered that the Laughing Baron has caused a chain to be buoyed up just below the surface of the water, running diagonally up the river more than half-way across it, so that any boat coming down is caught and drawn into the landing, for the main flood of the Rhine, as you know, runs to the westward of this island. The boatman who ferried me knew about this chain, but thought it had been abandoned since traffic stopped. He says it runs right up into the Castle, and the moment a barge strikes against it, a big bell is automatically rung inside the stronghold, causing the Baron to laugh so loudly that they sometimes hear him over in Lorch.”
“This is very interesting, Ebearhard, and an excellent feat of scouting must be set down to your credit. Say nothing to the men, because, although we give Furstenberg the go-by on this occasion, I shall pay my respects to Herman von Katznellenbogenstahleck on my return, and the knowledge you bring me will prove useful.”
“Ha!” cried Greusel, “here are our infants returning, all in a body, Kurzbold at their head as usual. I imagine this morning they are going to depend on rhetoric, and allow their swords to remain in scabbard. They have evidently come to some momentous decision.”
The three retired to the prow of the boat as the guild clambored on at the stern. The captain and two of his men had taken the skiff belonging to the barge, and were absent at Lorch, purchasing provisions. Roland stood at the prow of the barge, slightly in advance of his two lieutenants, and awaited the approach of Kurzbold, with seventeen men behind him.
“Commander,” said the spokesman, with nothing of the late truculence in his tone, “we have just held a meeting of the guild, and unanimously agreed to ask you one question, and offer you one suggestion.”
“I shall be pleased,” replied Roland, “to answer the first if I think it desirable, and take the second into consideration.”
He inclined his head to the delegation, and received a low bow in return. This was a most auspicious beginning, showing a certain improvement of method on the part of the majority.
“The question is, Commander, what have you done with the gold we captured yesterday?”
“A very proper inquiry,” replied Roland, “that it gives me much pleasure to answer. I have placed the money in a custody which I believe to be absolute, arranging that if nothing happens to me, this money shall be properly divided in my presence.”
“Do you deny, sir, that the money belongs to us?”
“Part of it undoubtedly does, but I, as leader of the expedition, am morally, if not legally, responsible to you all for its safe keeping. Our barge has stopped three times so far, and Captain Blumenfels tells me that he has had no real violence to complain of, but as we progress farther down the river, we are bound to encounter some Baron who is not so punctilious; for instance, the Margrave von Katznellenbogenstahleck, whose stronghold you doubtless saw from the latest meeting-place of the guild. Such a man as the Margrave is certain to do what you yourselves did without hesitation last night, that is, break open the lockers, and if gold were there you may depend it would not long remain in our possession after the discovery.”
“You miss, or rather, evade the point, Commander. Is the gold ours, or is it yours?”
“I have admitted that part of it is yours.”
“Then by what right do you assert the power to deal with it, lacking our consent? If you will pardon me for saying so, you, the youngest of our company, treat the rest of us as though we were children.”
“If I possessed a child that acted at once so obstreperously and in so cowardly a manner as you did last night, I should cut a stick from the forest here, and thrash him with such severity that he would never forget it. As I have not done this to you, I deny that I treat you like children. The truth is that, although the youngest, I am your commander. We are engaged in acts of war, therefore military law prevails, and not the code of Justinian. It is my duty to protect your treasure and my own, and ensure that each man shall receive his share. After the division you may do what you please with the money, for you will then be under the common law, and I should not presume even to advise concerning its disposal.”
“You refuse to tell us, then, what you have done with the gold?”
“I do. Now proceed with your suggestion.”
“I fear I put the case too mildly when I called it a suggestion, considering the unsatisfactory nature of your reply to my question, therefore I withdraw the word ‘suggestion,’ and substitute the word 'command.’”
Kurzbold paused, to give his ultimatum the greater force. Behind him rose a murmur of approval.
“Words do not matter in the least. I deal with deeds. Out, then, with your command!” cried Roland, for the first time exhibiting impatience.
“The command unanimously adopted is this: the Castle of Furstenberg must be left alone. We know more of that Castle than you do, especially about its owner and his garrison. We have been gathering information as we journeyed, and have not remained sulking in the barge.”
“Well, that is encouraging news to hear,” said Roland. “I thought you were engaged in sampling wine.”
“You hear the command. Will you obey?”
“I will not,” said Roland decisively.
Ebearhard took a step forward to the side of his chief, and glanced at him reproachfully. Greusel remained where he was, but neither man spoke.
“You intend to attack Furstenberg?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“This afternoon.”
Kurzbold turned to his following:
“Brethren,” he said, “you have heard this conversation, and it needs no comment from me.”
Apparently the discussion was to receive no comment from the others either. They stood there glum and disconcerted, as if the trend of affairs had taken an unexpected turn.
“I think,” said one, “we had better retire and consult again.”
This was unanimously agreed to, and once more they disembarked upon the island, and moved forward to their Witenagemot. Still Greusel and Ebearhard said nothing, but watched the men disappear through the trees. Roland looked at one after another with a smile.
“I see,” he said, “that you disapprove of my conduct.”
Greusel remained silent, but Ebearhard laughed and spoke.
“You came deliberately to the conclusion that it was unwise to attack Furstenberg. Now, because of Kurzbold’s lack of courtesy, you deflect from your own mature judgment, and hastily jump into a course opposite to that which you marked out for yourself after sober, unbiased thought.”
“My dear Ebearhard, the duty of a commander is to give, and not to receive, commands.”
“Quite so. Command and suggestion are merely words, as you yourself pointed out, saying that they did not matter.”
“In that, Ebearhard, I was wrong. Words do matter, although Kurzbold wasn’t clever enough to correct me. For example, I hold no man in higher esteem than yourself, yet you might use words that would cause me instantly to draw my sword upon you, and fight until one or other of us succumbed.”
Ebearhard laughed.
“You put it very flatteringly, Roland. Truth is, you’d fight till I succumbed, my swordsmanship being no match for yours. I shall say the words, however, that will cause you to draw your sword, and they are: Commander, I will stand by you whatever you do.”
“And I,” said Greusel curtly.
Roland shook hands in turn with the two men.
“Right,” he cried. “If we are fated to go down, we will fall with banners flying.”
After a time the captain returned with his supplies, but still the majority of the guild remained engaged in deliberation. Evidently discussion was not proceeding with that unanimity which Kurzbold always insisted was the case.
At noon Roland requested the captain to send some of his men with a meal for those in prolonged session, and also to carry them a cask which had been half-emptied either that morning or the night before.
“They will enjoy a picnic under the trees by the margin of the river,” said Roland, as he and his two backers sat down in the empty cabin to their own repast.
“Do you think they are purposely delaying, so that you cannot cross over this afternoon?”
“‘Tis very likely,” said Roland. “I’ll wait here until the sun sets, and then when they realize that I am about to leave them on an uninhabited island, without anything to eat, I think you will see them scramble aboard.”
“But suppose they don’t,” suggested Greusel. “There are at least three of them able to swim across this narrow branch of the Rhine, and engage a boatman to take them off, should their signaling be unobserved.”
“Again no matter. My plan for the undoing of the castles does not depend on force, but on craft. We three cannot carry away as much gold as can twenty-one, but our shares will be the same, and then we are not likely to find again so full a treasury as that at Rheinstein. My belief that these chaps would fight was dispelled by their conduct last night. Think of eighteen armed men flying before one sword!”
“Ah, you are scarce just in your estimate, Commander. They were under the influence of wine.”
“True; but a brave man will fight, drunk or sober.”
Although the sun sank out of sight, the men did not return. There had been more wine in the cask than Roland supposed, for the cheery songs of the guild echoed through the sylvan solitude. Roland told the captain to set his men at work and row round the top of the island into the main stream of the Rhine. The revelers had evidently appointed watchmen, for they speedily came running through the woods, and followed the movements of the boat from the shore, keeping pace with it. When the craft reached the opposite side of the island, the rowers drew in to the beach.
“Are you coming aboard?” asked Roland pleasantly.
“Will you agree to pass Furstenberg during the night?” demanded Kurzbold.
“No.”
“Do you expect to succeed, as you did with the other castles?”
“Certainly; otherwise I shouldn’t make the attempt.”
“I was wrong,” said Kurzbold mildly, “in substituting the word ‘command’ for ‘suggestion,’ which I first employed. There are many grave reasons for deferring an attempt on Furstenberg. In the heat of argument these reasons were not presented to you. Will you consent to listen to them if we go on board?”
“Yes; if you, on your part, will unanimously promise to abide by my decision.”
“Do you think,” said Kurzbold, “that your prejudice against me, which perhaps you agree does exist—”
“It exists,” confessed Roland.
“Very well. Will you allow that prejudice to prevent you from rendering a decision in the men’s favor?”
“No. If they present reasons that convince Greusel and Ebearhard against the attack on Furstenberg, I shall do what these two men advise, even although I myself believe in a contrary course. Thus you see, Herr Kurzbold, that my admitted dislike of you shall not come into play at all.”
“That is quite satisfactory,” said Kurzbold. “Will you tie up against the farther shore until your decision is rendered?”
“With pleasure,” replied Roland; and accordingly the raiders tumbled impetuously on board the barge, whereupon the sailors bent to their long oars, and quickly reached the western bank, at a picturesque spot out of sight of any castle, where the trees came down the mountain-side to the water’s edge. Here the sailors, springing ashore, tied their stout ropes to the tree-trunks, and the great barge lay broadside on to the land, with her nose pointing down the stream.
“You see,” said Roland to his lieutenants, “without giving way in the least I allow you two the decision, and so I take it Furstenberg or ourselves will escape disaster on this occasion.”
“Aside from all other considerations,” replied the cautious Greusel, “I think it good diplomacy on this occasion to agree with the men, since they have stated their case so deferentially. They are improving, Commander.”
“It really looks like it,” he agreed. “You and Ebearhard had better go aft, and counsel them to begin the conference at once, for if we are to attack we must do so before darkness sets in. I’ll remain here as usual at the prow.”
Some of the men were strolling about the deck, but the majority remained in the cabin, down whose steps the lieutenants descended. Roland’s impatience increased with the waning of the light.
Suddenly a cry that was instantly smothered rose from the cabin, then a shout:
“Treachery! Look out for yourself!”
Roland attempted to stride forward, but four men fell on him, pinioning his arms to his side, preventing the drawing of his weapon. Kurzbold, with half a dozen others, mounted on deck.
“Disarm him!” he commanded, and one of the men drew Roland’s sword from its sheath, flinging it along the deck to Kurzbold’s feet. The others now came up, bringing the two lieutenants, both gagged, with their arms tied behind them. Roland ceased his struggles, which he knew to be fruitless.
“We wish an amicable settlement of this matter,” said Kurzbold, addressing the lieutenants, “and regret being compelled to use measures that may appear harsh. I do this only to prevent unnecessary bloodshed. Earlier in the day,” he continued, turning to Roland, “when we found all appeals to you were vain, we unanimously deposed you from the leadership, which is our right, and also our duty.”
“Not under martial law,” said Roland.
“I beg to point out that there was no talk of martial law before we left Frankfort. It was not till later that we learned we had appointed an unreasoning tyrant over us. We have deposed him, and I am elected in his place, with John Gensbein as my lieutenant. We will keep you three here until complete darkness sets in, then put you ashore unarmed. Bacharach, on this side of the Rhine, is to be our next resting-place, and doubtless so clever a man as you, Roland, may say that we choose Bacharach because it is named for Bacchus, the god of drunkards. Nevertheless, to show our good intentions towards you, we will remain there all day to-morrow. You can easily reach Bacharach along the hilltops before daybreak. We have written a charter of comradeship which all have signed except yourselves. If at Bacharach you give us your word to act faithfully under my leadership, we will reinstate you in the guild, and return your swords. By way of recompense for this leniency, we ask you to direct the captain to obey my commands as he has done yours.”
“Captain Blumenfels,” said Roland to the honest sailor, who stood looking on in amaze at this turn of affairs, “you are to wait here until it is completely dark. See that no lights are burning to give warning to those in Furstenberg; and, by the way,” added Roland, turning to his former company, “I advise you not to drink anything until you are well past the Castle. If you sing the songs of the guild within earshot of Furstenberg, you are like to sing on the other side of your mouths before morning. Don’t forget that Margrave Hermann von Katznellenbogenstahleck is the chief hangman of Germany.” Then once more to the captain:
“As the Castle of Furstenberg stands high above the river, and well back from it, you will be out of sight if you keep near this shore. However, you can easily judge your distance, because the towers are visible even in the darkness against the sky. No man on the ramparts of the Castle can discern you down here on the black surface of the water, so long as you do not carry a light.”
“Roland, my deposed friend,” said Kurzbold, “I fear you bear resentment, for you are giving the captain orders instead of telling him to obey mine.”
“Kurzbold, you are mistaken. I resign command with great pleasure, and, indeed, Greusel and Ebearhard will testify that I had already determined to pass Furstenberg unseen. As my former lieutenants are disarmed, surely the company, with eighteen swords, is not so frightened as to keep them gagged and bound. ‘Tis no wonder you wish to avoid the Laughing Baron, if that is all the courage you possess.”
Stung by these taunts, Kurzbold gruffly ordered his men to release their prisoners, but when the gags were removed, and before the cords were cut, he addressed the lieutenants:
“Do you give me your words not to make any further resistance, if I permit you to remain unbound?”
“I give you my word on nothing, you mutinous dog!” cried Greusel; “and if I did, how could you expect me to keep it after such an example of treachery from you who pledged your faith, and then broke it? I shall obey my Commander, and none other.”
“I am your Commander,” asserted Kurzbold.
“You are not,” proclaimed Greusel.
Ebearhard laughed.
“No need to question me,” he said. “I stand by my colleagues.”
“Gag them again,” ordered Kurzbold.