GOLD GALORE THAT TAKES TO ITSELF WINGS
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.