Thoughtfully Vögeli took his way back to the dwelling of his friendly host, Hans Wild, where a cordial reception awaited him. The children came running out to meet the soldier guest who could tell such fine tales of war and adventure, and hailed him with shouts of joy; but to-night he was gloomy and silent and paid no heed to them. Tearfully the little ones hastened to their mother, who chided them gently for troubling the Captain, although she herself was concerned at his appearance, as he moodily bade her good-evening. Woman-like, she endeavored by kindly questioning to discover the cause of his trouble, and abused the Governor for denying his officers an Easter holiday, but all to no purpose; Vögeli continued in a silent and gloomy mood. Indeed, when Frau Katharine pressed him too closely his brow grew so dark that saucy little Anne Marie cried out: “Oh see, mother! What an old growler he looks like! He is not so nice after all. The Duke is wicked, and the Governor is wicked, and now the Captain looks as if he wanted to eat us all up, you and me and little Peter too!”

The mother would have punished the child for her pertness, but she fled for protection to Vögeli, who stroked her smooth yellow locks as he pacified Frau Katharine. “Children know not what they say,” he graciously declared. “Alas! did we elders but know always what was best to do or say—No!” he cried out suddenly, “I will not do it, come what may!” And he brought his fist down on the table with such force that the dishes rattled and Anne Marie and her mother looked at each other in surprise. At that moment Hans Wild, a respectable rope-maker, entered.

“Let your family leave the room,” commanded Vögeli sternly. “I must speak with you alone.”

“God help us!” wailed Frau Katharine, “our lives must be at stake. It is true that my good husband went to the minister and did not lay aside all his arms; but be merciful to him, sir! Surely he is not more to blame than the other citizens.”

“If it be a sin to fulfil an honest man’s duty toward the welfare of our good city, then I am guilty,” said Hans calmly. “Proceed! God sends no man more than he can bear, and the God of our fathers still lives, despite Hagenbach and his Duke.”

When the door was closed, Vögeli approached his host and held out his hand, saying: “You have a stout heart, I know; how is it with the other citizens?”

Hans gave him a searching glance. “Doubtless through you the Governor seeks to find me out and ruin me. But this I tell you frankly: you may do with me as you will; but when the others strike, the blow will be a cruel one.”

Vögeli smiled kindly. “Rest assured, my friend, I mean you no harm. But since you are already so certain of success, perchance you will not need the aid of myself and my two hundred men—should you come to blows.”

“What!” cried Master Hans, in astonishment, “do you mean that you would help us?”

“Certainly, and without delay—to-morrow, in truth, else it may be too late,” replied the Captain quickly.

“To-morrow? Impossible! We are all armed, it is true, but must wait for reënforcements from Ensisheim and other towns.”

“Very well then, wait, and perish! But first listen to what I tell you. To-morrow morning you and your wives will be driven from the city to work in the trenches. Once gone, you with all the rest will be forbidden to reënter the gates; if you stay behind you will be slain. Your property will be divided among the foreign mercenaries, and your children perchance sent after you, should the spoilers see fit to spare them. Take tender leave to-night of Anne Marie and Peter. You may never see them again, Master Hans.”

In answer to his anxious questions, Vögeli explained the extent and imminence of the danger.

“But what would you advise us to do? We are not yet prepared to strike,” said Hans.

“Trust to our help, my friend; it shall not fail you. Early in the morning, before the proclamation can be published, I will go to the Governor and once more demand of him the pay for my men. If he refuse, as he surely will, sound the great drum and be ready. We will take him prisoner.”

“If that is done,” cried Hans joyfully, “you will have the city’s lasting gratitude. You may depend upon us to do our part. For some weeks we have had a secret understanding among ourselves, so that any news, good or bad, can be spread throughout the town like wildfire. I will see to that, but do not leave us in the lurch, sir Captain!”

Vögeli repeated his assurances, and the two men parted with a firm hand-clasp, the one to seek his fellow citizens, the other to kindle the increased anger of his men, who were already quarrelling in a tavern over their discharge.

The citizens spent an anxious night. Would the morrow bring freedom or ruin?—Scarce had the iron tongues of the bells sounded their first summons to the faithful, when Vögeli betook himself to Hagenbach’s quarters. The guard at the door refused to admit him, but Vögeli with one sweep of his muscular arm hurled the man aside and walked unannounced into the bedchamber of the Governor, who, reclining half dressed in a deep armchair, was meditating upon his plans for the day. His thoughts had just turned to Vögeli and he was debating whether it would not be best to have him placed under immediate arrest, when suddenly the Captain himself stood before him.

“In God’s name, Vögeli,” he shouted, “what are you doing here at this hour? and why do you enter unannounced? In future wait till you are summoned.” The veins on his forehead swelled and his voice shook with rage. But Vögeli did not move.

“Be not angry with me, my lord,” he said. “I come not of my own will, nor on my own errand; but my men will give me no peace.”

“Send them to the Evil One, whose children they are!” roared the Governor.

“It would be a hard task to get the two hundred ready,” retorted Vögeli with seeming good-nature; “moreover the evil one of dice and drink, to whom I should send them, loves full pockets, as your lordship well knows.”

“How should I know that, scoundrel? You are hounding me again for your fellows’ beggarly pay. Know, sir, that our lord Duke has not a farthing for lukewarm or treacherous servants like yourself. But I will give you and them the kind of pay you well deserve!”

“So? What will you give us?” asked Vögeli deliberately.

“Something that will proclaim you all vile curs,” shouted Hagenbach. “And now begone, if you would not have the Evil One take you likewise!”

Vögeli looked steadily at the Governor. He was inwardly raging and on the point of uttering a fatal threat, but controlled himself in time, and merely answered: “May you never repent this, my lord. I go as you command.”

The Governor hurled some furious oaths after him, then flung himself back in his chair and pondered afresh. “’Twere better, methinks, had I kept the fellow here. Who knows what mischief he may breed?” Sir Peter on this occasion seemed to have lacked his wonted decision, for he hesitated and delayed putting his scheme against the people into execution, until much precious time had been irrevocably lost.

After leaving the Governor, Vögeli repaired directly to the market place, where his followers were anxiously awaiting him. “Have you brought us our pay?” shouted one boisterous fellow, as soon as he caught sight of the Captain.

“Fine pay indeed,” was the reply. “Our noble lord told me to send you all to the Evil One.”

A storm of angry shouts arose. “Let us go and get it ourselves!” yelled one.

“He shall give us a ton of gold and his life to boot!” cried another.

“Peace!” commanded Vögeli. Silence ensued, when lo, a singular spectacle presented itself. At the beat of a drum throngs of armed citizens began to issue from all the houses; rapidly the number increased, being swelled by women and half-grown lads also, bearing any sort of implement that would serve as a weapon.

“To the Governor! To Hagenbach’s quarters!” was the general cry. “Long live the illustrious House of Austria!” and therewith the Hapsburg banner floated lightly in the breeze. Renewed shouts greeted the well-known emblem—“Long live our noble lord, Duke Sigismund! hurrah! hurrah!” On they moved toward their destination, when suddenly a troop of glittering horsemen blocked the way. They were nobles from the surrounding country on their way to complain to the Governor of injuries on the part of the Burgundian officers.

“Stay, in God’s name!” shouted the foremost of the riders. “What would you do?”

“Long live Austria! Long live Archduke Sigismund!” was the only response.

“The Archduke himself would be the first to condemn such action on your part. Bethink you how long he has been allied to Burgundy. He is Duke Charles’s friend and would never countenance any act of hostility toward him.”

“He will not readily pardon the use of his name for your unlawful purposes,” added another of the nobles. “Desist, I charge you, nor presume to lay violent hands on the Duke’s most distinguished officer, else you will—”

Here his words were drowned by a roar of indignation from the populace; and Hans Wild, raised aloft by two of his fellow tradesmen, shouted in ringing tones: “Give way, my lords! You have lent us no aid in the past, nor will we brook interference from you now. Our crime, if such you deem it, be on our own heads. Long live Austria, say I, and down with the Governor!”

Thundering applause greeted these words. The horsemen fell back dismayed, and on swept the throng. Soldiers stood in the doorways looking on in amazement, at first unable to comprehend the meaning of it. They had received no orders. Access to Hagenbach’s quarters was already cut off; and finally, seeing what was afoot and that they stood no chance against the infuriated citizens supported by Vögeli’s followers, they deemed it best to abandon the scene of their offences, and took to their heels, singly or in small companies, without even stopping to gather up their belongings or their booty. The insurgents paid no heed to them, intent only on capturing the person of the detested Governor. He should be made to atone for all his crimes and cruelties, and woe to him if he should be found in his quarters!

Greatly to their rage and chagrin, however, the nest was empty. Hagenbach had been warned in time to make his escape by a side door. Could he be already beyond their reach? The discovery of the open wicket left no doubt as to the direction of his flight; and some of the more active burghers, quickly mounting, hastened in pursuit, the others, with the soldiers, following and carefully searching every house along the roadside.

Suddenly a triumphant shout arose: “We have him, we have him!” and at the same moment the Governor, accompanied by one faithful attendant, was seen dashing out from a farmyard. Forcing his way through the crowd, he crossed the road and set off at full speed across the fields, thinking to escape that way. A lively chase followed; but Hagenbach, who had flung himself on an ordinary cart horse, had small chance against the better mounted burghers, and was soon overtaken. A few powerful but well-parried sword strokes, and he was a prisoner. But even then his insolence did not desert him.

“Make haste and fling me to the bloodthirsty dogs that they may gorge themselves! Marry, ’tis far too noble game for such folk,” he cried. Then turning on Vögeli, who with a dozen of his followers had hastened to the spot, he sneeringly exclaimed: “So this is Swiss loyalty and valor, sir Captain! A hundred against one! And for a few paltry florins you forsake the colors to which you swore allegiance. I wish you joy of the reward this peasant rabble will doubtless pay you for your treachery.”

Vögeli was silent, but one of the soldiers shouted angrily: “Why do we stand gaping here? Is there no one to silence the scoundrel’s vile calumnies? If not, I will teach you to insult my master!” Raising his arm he was about to deal the Governor a mighty blow, when one of the burghers restrained him, saying: “Nay, my good friend, to make such short work of it were to lose half the pleasure. This is matter for the executioner.”

At these words Hagenbach turned pale and said no more. But he was not to go immediately to the scaffold. With frenzied shouts of joy, they took their way back to Brisach, which had been entirely deserted by its inhabitants, women and children, who now accompanied the procession with jeers and taunts at the prisoner.

“Hagenbach, you Judas! you bloodhound! at last we have you safe where you can no longer torment us.” The executioner, usually an object of aversion, was now hailed in the most friendly manner by all. “Master Peter,” they shouted to him, “this is work for you!” and Peter, grinning, tucked up his sleeves and struck at the air with his sword, before the eyes of Hagenbach.

“It seems I am to do that man one more favor,” he declared with a sneering laugh.

When they reached the gates of the city, the excited populace would have conducted the prisoner at once to the place of execution, but some of the more cool-headed citizens succeeded in dissuading them. “We are Austrians,” they said, “and our lord Duke Sigismund must pronounce sentence upon the Governor. It is not for us to judge him.” Accordingly, four soldiers, four burghers, and four of the nobles were chosen to guard the prisoner, while Vögeli with some of the citizens hastened to Basle to acquaint Duke Sigismund with what had occurred.

Two days later, toward evening, the Captain rode slowly through the streets of that city on his way to the inn of The Bears. How things had changed since he had come this way for the first time! Then he was an honored and honorable officer, favored by the Duke, and a loyal servant to Hagenbach. To-day he was a rebel. The Duke would never pardon his disloyalty, and Hagenbach, who had formerly valued him for his ability, was now his mortal enemy, and through his agency a prisoner. And all this for a few paltry florins, as the Governor had said. Yet though he well knew not one of his former comrades would credit him with any other reason for his defection, he could not altogether reproach himself. Were it all to be done again he knew he should act no differently.

This time Iseli himself came out to meet his guest and assist him to dismount. “I am glad,” said he, as they ascended the stairway together, “to find that you bear me no ill will for what befell you in my house, though truly it was through no fault of mine.”

“Why should I be angry with you for that?” asked Vögeli. “But what news of your neighbor, the good Councillor Irmy?”

Thereupon the innkeeper proceeded to give a detailed report concerning the welfare of his friend and Walter. “And you, Captain,” he continued inquisitively, “what brings you to us again? Perchance you have been sent by your Duke to collect the sum advanced by the Swiss States for the redemption of Alsace?”

“Hardly that,” said Vögeli; “but tell me, is it true that Duke Sigismund comes hither to-morrow?”

“So it is said,” replied Iseli. “Doubtless you have matters of importance to lay before the Archduke?”

Vögeli would fain have concealed his errand, but the innkeeper plied his questions so adroitly that he soon succeeded in extracting the whole story; and when the Captain, wearied with his long ride, retired to his chamber to rest, the news quickly spread through the town that Hagenbach, the oppressor of the Alsatians, the enemy of Switzerland as of every right-minded man, had been taken prisoner and the Archduke was to pronounce judgment on him.

When Sigismund drew near the town the following morning, he found the magistrates already at the gates to welcome him.

Vögeli had been riding at the Duke’s side for half an hour, having gone out earlier to meet him with the news of Hagenbach’s capture, and when Sigismund dismissed him kindly, he turned his horse’s head toward The Bears once more. But the acclamations that had followed the Duke were now centred on the Captain, and his horse could make but slow progress through the densely packed throngs that filled the streets. When he at last dismounted he was raised aloft on the shoulders of the sturdy burghers and borne into the inn, where a number of the patricians and citizens of Basle had assembled to meet him. Among these were old Irmy and Walter, with whom Vögeli soon retired to his own chamber to escape the praise and adulation so distasteful to his modest nature.

“Iseli shall bring us some wine,” said the Councillor, “and then I have something to propose that I hope will please you.”

The host soon appeared with brimming tankards and Irmy began: “First of all, Captain, I beg you will do me the honor to make my house your home as often and as long as you may chance to be in Basle. I have learned to esteem you highly, and greatly desire that our friendship and our relations in life should become closer. Walter is now seventeen years old, and ever since I brought him back from Treves he has been faithful and industrious, and has learned something of business. But he lacks a knowledge of much that cannot be acquired by the fireside; the lad must travel, first to Italy,—Genoa and Venice,—and when he has mastered the Italian language and method of book-keeping I shall send him to Nuremberg and Augsburg, to Anton Fugger. This will mean an absence of some years; but I am still active and can perform the duties of my position without difficulty. Walter is so young, however, that I am unwilling to send him out into the world alone, and I should be very glad if you would go with him and keep a curb on the reckless fellow so that he shall not fall into bad company or play any foolish pranks. As to money, you shall have all that is needful, and when you return there will be room for you both in the business. Your experience in Freiburg will serve you in good part there. I know Walter is attached to you and will obey you as willingly as he does me. If you are agreed, let us shake hands on it!”

Vögeli gladly grasped the merchant’s extended palm, and the next morning he took up his abode in the house, under whose hospitable roof he had once been carried wounded and bleeding. The landlord of The Bears flatly refused to accept any pay for board and lodging, declaring he was already far too much in the Captain’s debt.

Chapter VII
Death of the Governor

Archduke Sigismund decreed that Hagenbach should be publicly tried for his offences. Among the judges appointed from Basle were Hans Irmy and Ulrich Iseli, and with them came old Hassfurter representing the city of Lucerne.

The judges assembled at Brisach, where they were welcomed by Sigismund, who had already been there for a fortnight inquiring into the case of the prisoner. Full confession had been extorted from Hagenbach by means of the rack, but there were few proofs obtainable, even of his plot against the lives and property of the citizens of Brisach. Multitudes flocked thither from Switzerland, Alsace, and the Black Forest to witness the trial of the hated Governor. Along the whole length of the Rhine from Basle to Strassburg he had not a single friend. Little mercy could be expected from his Alsatian judges, and even among the strangers invited there were many whom he had greatly wronged.

A platform had been erected in the public square for the judges and the accused; and facing it a bench was placed upon which, shunned by all, yet objects of universal interest, were seated seven headsmen, rivals for the honor of executing sentence upon the country’s oppressor. Clad alike in long red cloaks, they were in their places long before the judges appeared. When these had finally assembled, Swiss, Alsatians, and Sundgauers,[7] the accused was led thither, escorted by his guard and surrounded by surging crowds. He walked with a firm step, not heeding the taunts and jeers heaped upon him save by an occasional contemptuous glance at the people.

“Now you shall reap your reward,” shrieked a woman’s voice, “for plotting to sink all the women and children to the bottom of the Rhine in leaky boats!”

“Ho! you would give our possessions as booty to your mercenaries, would you?” cried a well-to-do baker, whose property was of considerable value. “It shall go ill with you for that!”

Pursued by such speeches, Hagenbach reached the market place and took his seat while the tribunal was forming. The Austrian deputy appointed Ulrich Iseli as advocate for Archduke Sigismund, while Peter von Hagenbach himself chose Irmy, whose impartial love of justice was well known to him. Thomas Schütz, the magistrate of Ensisheim, opened the proceedings. About him were ranged the twenty-six judges, among whom were included sixteen knights, though to judge by their looks the presence of these equals in rank lent the prisoner but small hope of their clemency. Slowly the trial proceeded. The advocate for the accused did his best, but the verdict of death was certain from the beginning.

A storm of applause rent the air as the magistrate of Ensisheim announced the result. The executioners, who had hitherto remained passive, almost indifferent spectators, suddenly became all attention to learn in what manner the vengeance of their countrymen was to be wrought upon Hagenbach. Meanwhile the knights present required that the condemned should be publicly stripped of the dignities of his rank. Whereupon the Imperial herald advanced and, causing the Governor to be brought before him, demanded:

“Who stands before me?”

“The knight, Sir Peter von Hagenbach,” was the answer.

Thrice the herald repeated: “That is false. No knight see I here, but a miscreant and a liar. Let his sword be broken and his shield dragged in the dust at a horse’s tail.” Then turning to the accused, he said:

“Peter Hagenbach, your conduct has been far from knightly. It was your duty to render justice; to protect the widow and orphan; to honor the Church and its holy servants; to restrain all violence and outrage: but you have yourself committed those crimes which you should have punished in others. Having broken, therefore, the oaths which you have sworn, and forfeited the noble order of knighthood, the knights here present have ordained that you shall be deprived of its insignia. Let a true knight come hither and take from him his arms and honors.”

Sir Hermann von Eptingen advanced. “Peter Hagenbach, I proclaim you unworthy knight of the holy order of Saint George, and deprive you of your sword, ring, collar, poniard, and spurs.” Then seizing a gauntlet, he struck the Governor on the right cheek, saying: “I pronounce you dishonored and disarmed, and so shall you remain until your death.”

Turning to the knights, he added: “Noble sirs, I have, according to your decree, deprived Peter Hagenbach of his insignia and caused him to be publicly degraded. May this punishment serve as an example to you, and may you ever live in accordance with the dignity of knighthood and the honor of your name.”

At the conclusion of this scene, the composure displayed by the Governor throughout the whole trial forsook him. The scornful gleam in his eyes died out, his head sank upon his breast, and he seemed to lose all consciousness of his surroundings. But as he clearly realized the discussion concerning the mode of his death, he broke down completely, groaning: “Mercy, mercy, your worships! Grant me honorable death by the sword!”

Shouts of triumph again rose from the people when they beheld the proud nobleman bowed humbly to the dust, but some of those in the front ranks were moved to pity, and many secretly shed tears. The judges unanimously agreed on death by the sword. Preparations were made at once for the execution of the sentence, which, greatly to his joy and the envy of his fellows, was intrusted to the headsman of Colmar, a short, thickset fellow, accounted an expert with the sword.

Night had long since fallen and darkness covered the earth, when Peter Hagenbach was conducted to the scaffold. The judges rode in advance. Two priests walked beside the condemned man, urging him to confess his sins that his soul might not perish with his body. Torches illuminated the dismal scene. A vast crowd hemmed in the sad procession, which, passing out through the Cooper’s Gate, reached an open meadow, where it halted. Hagenbach conversed earnestly with the priests for some moments, openly declared his repentance, and bequeathed to the church of Brisach his sixteen horses, his valuables, and his gold chain, for absolution from his sins. With a firm step he mounted the scaffold and, facing his judges and the people, spoke thus with manly courage:

“I fear not death. Too often have I faced it on the battle-field. I regret alone the blood which mine will cause to be shed; for think not my master will permit this day to pass unavenged. Grant me your forgiveness, for Christ’s and Our Lady’s sake. I am not guilty of all you have charged against me, yet I humbly confess myself a sinner. Pray for me!”

He knelt and received the death stroke. The executioner of Colmar performed his duty well, but not a shout arose, not a murmur of applause was heard. Peter Hagenbach had shown he knew how to die, and his death atoned for all.

Chapter VIII
The Battle of Granson

For a time it appeared as if the death of Hagenbach were to remain unavenged. His brother, it is true, made some attempt at retaliation and laid waste parts of the country, but the cities felt secure behind their walls, and laughed at the threats of the Burgundians. Charles himself was occupied with other matters and had no time to punish the judges of his faithful servant. With his whole army of sixty thousand men he lay encamped for nine long months before the town of Neuss on the Lower Rhine, wasting his time and his forces in a vain endeavor to reduce its brave garrison to submission. The Emperor meanwhile collected an army and, crossing the Rhine, advanced to meet him. But Frederick had no intention of fighting; after a few skirmishes he deserted his allies, the King of France, Duke René of Lorraine, and the Swiss Confederates, and made peace with the Duke of Burgundy. Possibly he was not unwilling to abandon them to Charles’s vengeance; moreover, Burgundy would thereby acquire valuable additions to her territory; and Burgundy—so ran the treaty—was to be the inheritance of Princess Maria, betrothed to the young Archduke Maximilian.

Charles’s first move was to take possession of Lorraine, after which he marched into Switzerland and laid siege to Granson.[8] A large part of his court had followed him to the camp, where the utmost luxury and extravagance prevailed. The Duke’s table was laid with massive gold plate, the costliest wines were drunk from golden beakers, and the Burgundian knights and nobles vied with one another in splendor of display.

Far otherwise was it in the beleaguered town, where the wretched fare and scanty rations grew daily less, and still the promised relief did not appear. The commander lacked firmness and decision, moreover, while the garrison, which consisted chiefly of the soldiers that had formerly revolted at Brisach, looked back longingly on the flesh-pots of the Burgundian camp. Meanwhile the Confederates were assembling their forces with a deliberation strongly opposed by the more sagacious leaders, but they were powerless against the obstinate independence of the free Swiss. When the army finally moved to the relief of Granson, and was but a day’s march from the enemy, it was only to learn that the town had already surrendered, and that the entire garrison had been hanged, in direct violation of the terms of the capitulation.

Overwhelmed with shame and fury at the consequences of their delay, they swore vengeance on the Duke; and the next day a battle was fought, in which the Burgundians were totally defeated and driven out of Switzerland in confusion, leaving the camp and all its treasures with four thousand wagon-loads of provisions in the hands of the Swiss. The first duty of the victors, however, was to bestow honorable burial on the murdered garrison. By tens and dozens the Burgundians had hanged them to the branches of trees,—here father and son or brothers side by side, there friends and relatives together. In solemn procession the bodies were borne to the monastery of the barefooted friars and laid in a common grave, each with his arms beside him, according to an old custom.

On the following morning the spoils were divided; and great was the amazement of the Confederates at the richness and splendor that everywhere met their gaze. Here, piled in great heaps, was the massive plate that had adorned the Duke’s board at Treves; there stood the silver chair heavily inlaid with gold, valued at eleven thousand florins, in which he was wont to receive foreign envoys; Charles’s headpiece, and his magnificent sword set with priceless gems: all these treasures were tossed about by the rough hands of the Switzers. Curious throngs forced their way into the royal pavilion and marvelled at the costly hangings interwoven with gold and silver, upon which were depicted scenes from Roman mythology. Upon the wall gleamed Burgundy’s escutcheon, emblazoned with the cross of St. Andrew, and above it the Duke’s proud motto, “I Watch.” Watched? Aye, and lost! was but too plain.

“Who wants tin plates?” cried an honest countryman, contemptuously. “I have plenty of those at home,” and he sold the silver plates that had fallen to his share for two silver groschen apiece; while an archer proudly exhibited a shirt of mail he had just received in exchange for a jewelled diadem, saying, “What could I have done with such trumpery?”

“There you were wise, my friend,” declared the dealer, who had willingly made the trade, for the crown was worth thirty thousand thalers; “and if any others find these shining things somewhat heavy to carry, come to me. I will give you good round coin for them.”

“So? Then mayhap we may strike a bargain,” said a Strassburger. “Would ten florins be too much for these twelve bright goblets? They are much too heavy for gold, but any one not knowing would easily buy them of you for that.”

The trader weighed the cups in his hand. They might have been worth eighty marks in gold. “Truly they are heavy enough,” he said doubtfully, “and I dare not overload my cart, for who knows what profitable bargains are yet to be made? Yet I would not have your ill will, and since it is you I will do the best I can for you. Come, let us say half a guilder apiece.”

The Strassburger looked doubtfully at his companions. “If they should be gold, though—”

“Nay, be not a fool, Thomas. You are not likely to have another offer as good as that. What if they be really gold? Gold is as cheap here as hazel nuts with us at Martigny.” At this the Strassburger hesitated no longer, but gladly pocketed his six guilders, and the trader went on his way.

“’Tis like the masqueraders at carnival time,” he said to himself as he met a group of cowherds with costly garments of velvet, silk, and cloth of gold flung over their smockfrocks.

“Look at Ruodi! Is he not fine?” gleefully shouted one, pointing to the leader of the band, who wore on his head a costly cap with waving plumes, while upon his breast gleamed the gold chain of the noble order of the Golden Fleece. In another part of the camp a party of victorious Switzers quarrelled and shouted over some casks of Burgundy which they were drawing into gold and silver flagons. “Will you hold your good-for-nothing tongues or shall I read you a text?” shouted one drunken fellow, waving aloft the Duke’s own prayer-book, bound in red velvet.

“Give us a song, Werni,” cried several voices, “that will stop their noise. Come, strike up!”

“‘Strike up—strike up!’ That is easily said,” growled Werni; “for my part I would rather drink than sing.” Nevertheless he felt flattered by the challenge, and without further protest began:

all joined in rousing chorus.

echoed the singers enthusiastically. Then others gathering about the rude minstrel took up the strain, till far and wide resounded the triumphant notes of the ballad of the battle of Granson. How every heart swelled as Werni, hoarse and weary, concluded:

Chapter IX
The Hero of Murten

Before midsummer Charles the Bold had repaired his losses as well as his means would permit, and levied a new army. His subjects had begun to murmur and lose faith in his success, but the Duke himself remained undaunted. He had advanced dangerously near to the Cantons of Berne and Freiburg, and was now laying siege to Murten, a strongly fortified town on the lake of that name. He expected it to share the fate of Granson; but the commander, Adrian von Bubenberg, was a very different sort of man from the leader of that ill-fated garrison. In vain the besiegers shot arrows into the town wound with slips of paper bearing such inscriptions as: “You are shut up here like rats in a hole. The Bernese churls cannot save you, and all the gold in the world would not buy you escape.”

Threats and promises were alike of no avail. “The perjurers of Granson will never find credence in Murten,” was the commander’s reply to all proposals of surrender; nor was he less firm in suppressing all signs of wavering within the walls. Summoning the citizens and soldiers before him, he addressed them sternly:

“Hark ye, all! I hereby proclaim that he who dares to whisper of surrender, be he of the town or of the garrison, is a dastard and a poltroon, and shall be struck down on the spot. So shall we separate the wheat from the chaff. And if one word of fear or weakening escape my lips, let me be made the first example.” This effectually silenced all murmurs or complaints; and the Confederates at last assembled an army and advanced to their relief.

Rough, mountainous country and thick forests separated the Swiss from the Burgundian camp, which had been pitched on the plateau of Grisach behind rising ground, and was protected by a so-called “hedge,” a palisade surrounded on the outside by a wide trench, while within the earth had been thrown up to form a sort of breastwork for the defenders, and only the narrowest openings were left for outlet in case of need; to break through it in face of the mounted guns would seem well-nigh impossible. Moreover, behind this fortification stood the English archers ready with their deadly shafts to repulse any attempt at approach. The position was not badly chosen, and was disadvantageous only in that it afforded the cavalry no proper field for action.

Through these mountains two travellers were making their way. One of them was evidently laboring under some stress of mind, for he alternately spurred on and abruptly reined in his fiery steed, which was covered with foam, while the animal ridden by his more youthful companion still appeared fresh. He spoke little and kept his eyes fixed gloomily on the road that led to the camp of the Confederates. Soon they were challenged by the outposts, and the elder rider asked to be guided to the forces furnished by the city of Freiburg. A servant conducted them to that part of the encampment, and Hans Vögeli, the Captain of the band, stepped forward to learn their errand. Speech forsook him, however, when his eyes fell upon the older of the two horsemen, who reached down his hand kindly, saying, “You know me, then, brother Hans? I have come hither to fight beside you. That I am an exile from my native city, I well know, but to-morrow I hope to win back with my sword my right to citizenship.”

A scornful look came over the face of Hans Vögeli. “So!” he said contemptuously, “now that your master is on the verge of destruction, you deem it well to work with us for the Fatherland! Now the vagabond comes back and expects us to believe that he means fairly by us—as fairly, no doubt, as by his Duke and by the Governor whom he betrayed for the sake of a few months’ pay.”

Heinrich made no reply to these harsh words. He knew it was useless to attempt to change his brother’s sentiments toward him, but turning to his countrymen he reminded them of their boyhood days together; explained his reasons for entering the service of Burgundy, and besought permission to join them in the coming struggle, declaring he would prove himself not unworthy to fight in their ranks. Many were inclined in his favor, but Hans Vögeli cut matters short by roughly ordering both the riders to leave the camp at once. Perceiving the fruitlessness of his efforts, Heinrich turned his horse’s head.

“Come, Walter,” he said simply, and they made their way back through the camp to the outposts again. Walter Irmy, for he it was, did not venture to address his moody companion, and they galloped off in silence to the nearest farmhouse, where they obtained lodgings for the night. Early the next morning they were again in the saddle and rode back to the camp, only to find it already broken up and the army advancing to meet the enemy. From some horseboys Vögeli learned that the Freiburgers were in the vanguard and were to begin the attack that day. Slowly they followed after, and soon overtook the Confederates, who had halted where a thick forest concealed them from the eyes of the enemy, to observe their old custom of knighting before battle those most deserving of the honor. The first to receive it was René the dispossessed Duke of Lorraine, who had joined the Confederates with three hundred faithful followers to fight against Charles the Bold.

The impatient Switzers loudly protested against this delay, the more so as a heavy rain had been falling for some time. But the solemn ceremonies were not to be curtailed, nor was Duke René, the new knight, sparing in conferring the coveted honor. Many an honest fellow, indeed, without the necessary means to maintain his dignities, was forced to submit to the stroke of knighthood. It came to an end at last, however, and the handsome young prince remounted and rode slowly back to join his friends, followed by the admiring gaze of the Swiss.

“’Tis a pity,” they declared, “the noble lord is not of German blood: we cannot understand a word of his French gabble.” The delay that had been so irksome to the Swiss proved to their advantage in the end, for the Burgundians, after getting drawn up for battle in the drenching rain six long hours, with no sign of the enemy’s approach, had been ordered to return to the camp, where they quickly laid aside arms and armor and dispersed in search of rest or refreshment. The jaded chargers were also divested of their trappings and fed; even the Duke himself, usually so vigilant, retired to his pavilion at some distance from the camp and seated himself with his officers at the board.

Suddenly the Confederates issued from the forest which had concealed their approach and, halting once more, after the custom of their forefathers, knelt to invoke the aid of the God of Battles. An old gray-beard made the short prayer, all devoutly joining in the “Amen.” Just at that moment the sun broke through the clouds.

“Heaven has heard our prayer!” shouted the leaders joyfully. “Comrades, be stanch and bold! Think of your wives, your children, and your sweethearts! Forward, Confederates!”

They fling themselves furiously against the breastwork, but the enemy’s guns tear great gaps in their ranks, and arrow after arrow is sped with deadly aim by the English bowmen. Vainly the assailants strive to surmount or demolish the sharp palisades. The bannerman of Freiburg is struck down. Suddenly the sound of galloping hoofs approaches, and the powerful voice of Heinrich Vögeli is heard shouting encouragement to his wavering countrymen. Hailing his appearance with shouts of joy, they rally, and like a torrent the Swiss vanguard sweeps through a gap in the “hedge,” Vögeli at their head. Hans is forgotten; all eyes are fixed on the gallant soldier fighting so bravely in the foremost rank, as gun after gun is captured and turned against the enemy’s camp. On clatter the squadrons of Lombard cuirassiers, but the deadly fire of their own guns, and a furious assault from the Swiss foot soldiers, led by Vögeli, soon put them to rout.