THE SWORD MAKER AT BAY
The heir-presumptive to the throne
reached Frankfort very quietly in the Archbishop’s
barge, and was landed after nightfall at the water-steps
of the Imperial Palace. The funeral of the Emperor
took place almost as if it were a private ceremonial.
Grave trouble had been anticipated, and the route
of the procession for the short distance between Palace
and Cathedral was thickly lined on either side by
the troops of the three Archbishops. This precaution
proved unnecessary. The dispirited citizens cared
nothing for their late nominal ruler, and they manifested
their undisguised hatred of the real rulers, the Archbishops,
by keeping indoors while their soldiers marched the
streets.
The condition of the capital was unique.
It suffered from a famine of money rather than a famine
of food. Frankfort starved in the midst of plenty.
Never had the earth been more fruitful than during
this year, and the coming autumn promised a harvest
that would fill the granaries to overflowing, yet
no one brought in food to Frankfort, for the common
people had not the money to buy. The working population
depended entirely upon the merchants and manufacturers,
and with the collapse of mercantile business thousands
were thrown out of employment, and this penniless
mob was augmented by the speedy cessation of all manufacturing.
After the futile bread riots earlier
in the year, put down so drastically by the Archbishops,
the population of the city greatly diminished, and
the country round about swarmed with homeless wanderers,
who at least were sure of something to eat, but being
city-bred, and consequently useless for agricultural
employment, they gradually joined into groups and
marauding bands, greatly to the menace of the provinces
they traversed. Indeed, rumor had it that the
robberies from certain castles on the Rhine, and the
burning of Furstenberg, were the work of these free
companies, consequently a sense of uneasiness permeated
the Empire, whose rulers, great and small, began to
foresee that a continuance of this state of things
meant disaster to the rich as well as misery to the
poor. Charity, spasmodic and unorganized, proved
wholly unable to cope with the disaster that had befallen
the capital city.
When darkness set in on the third
night after Roland’s return to Frankfort, he
made his way out into the unlighted streets, acting
with caution until certain he was not followed, then
betook himself to the Palace belonging to the Archbishop
of Cologne.
The porter at first refused him entrance,
and Roland, not wishing to make himself known, declared
he had an appointment with his Lordship. Trusting
that the underling could not read, he presented his
parchment safe-conduct, asking him to give that to
his Lordship, with a message that the bearer awaited
his pleasure. The suspicious servant, seeing the
Grand Seal of the Empire upon the document, at once
conducted Roland to a room on the ground floor, then
departed with the manuscript to find his master.
The Archbishop returned with him,
the Imperial scroll in his hand, and a distinctly
perceptible frown on his brow. When the servant
withdrew, closing the door, the prelate said:
“Highness, this is a very dangerous
procedure on your part.”
“Why, my Lord?”
“Because you are certain to have been followed.”
“What matter for that?”
asked the young man. “I am quite unknown
in Frankfort.”
“Prince Roland,” said
the Archbishop gravely, “until your Election
is actually accomplished, you would be wise to do
nothing that might arouse the suspicion of Mayence.
This house is watched night and day, and all who come
and go are noted. I dare say that within fifteen
minutes Mayence will know you have visited me.”
“My dear Archbishop, they cannot
note an unknown man. The uneasiness of Frankfort
has already taken hold of me, and therefore I saw to
it that I was not followed.”
“If you were not followed when
you came, you will certainly be followed as you return.”
“In that case, my Lord, the
spies will track me to the innocent home of Herr Goebel,
the merchant, in the Fahrgasse.”
“They will shadow you when you leave his house.”
“Then their industry will be
rewarded by an enjoyable terminus; in other words,
the drinking cellar of the Rheingold.”
“Be assured, your Highness,
that ultimately you will be traced to the Royal Palace.”
“Again not so, my Lord.
They will be led across the bridge into the mechanics’
quarter of Sachsenhausen, and if the watch continues,
they must make a night of it, for I shall enter my
humble room there and go to bed.”
“I see you have it all planned
out,” commented the discomfited Archbishop.
The young man laughed.
“I anticipate an interesting
life, my Lord, because it is my habit to think before
I act, and I notice that this apparently baffles the
Electors. The truth is that you three are so subtle,
and so much afraid of one another, so on the alert
lest you be taken by surprise, that a straightforward
action on my part throws all intrigue out of gear.
Now, I’ll warrant you cannot guess why I came
here to-night.”
“Oh, I know the reason very well.”
“Do you? That astonishes me. What
is the reason?”
“You came to see the Countess von Sayn.”
“Ah, is the lady within?
Why, of course, she must be. I remember now,
she was to accompany you to Frankfort, and it naturally
follows she is your guest.”
“She is my guest, your Highness,
and one reason why you cannot see her is because at
this moment the lady converses with the Count Palatine,
who has just arrived from Gutenfels. As the Countess
and myself enjoyed his hospitality not long ago in
that stronghold, I have invited him to be my guest
until the coronation ceremonies are completed.”
“My Lord, I regret that your
hospitality halts when it reaches your future Emperor.
Why may I not be introduced to the Count Palatine?”
“Such introduction must not
take place except in the presence of the other Electors.
I am very anxious, as you may perceive, that nothing
shall be done to jeopardize your own prospects.
We have arrived, your Highness, at a critical moment.
History relates that more than one candidate has come
to the very steps of the throne, only to be rejected
at the last moment. I am too sincere a friend
to risk such an outcome in your own case.”
“Then you think it injudicious
of me to see the Countess until after the Election?”
“I not only think it injudicious,
your Highness, but I intend to prevent a meeting.”
Again the young man laughed.
“’Tis blessed then that
I came for no such purpose; otherwise I might be deeply
disappointed.”
“For what purpose did you come, Highness?”
“The Imperial Palace, my Lord,
belongs no more to my mother. If she or I continue
there to reside, we seem to be taking for granted that
I shall be elected Emperor; an assumption unfair to
the seven Electors, whose choice should be untrammeled
by even a hint of influence. I beg of you, therefore,
my Lord, to extend your hospitality to my mother.
I have spoken to her on this subject, and she will
gladly be your guest, happy, I am sure, to forsake
that gloomy abode.”
“I am honored, your Highness,
by the opportunity you give me. I shall wait
upon the Empress to-morrow at whatever hour it is convenient
for her Majesty to receive me.”
“You are most kind. I suggested
that she should name an hour, and midday was chosen.”
The Archbishop bowed profoundly.
The young man rose, and held out his hand, which the
Archbishop took with cordiality. The Prince looked
very straight-forwardly at his host, and the latter
thought he detected a twinkle in his eye, as he said
with decision:
“To-morrow I shall formally
notify my Lord of Mayence that the Empress has chosen
your Palace as her place of residence until after the
coronation, and I shall request his Lordship to crave
your permission that I may call here every day to
see my mother.”
Again Cologne bowed, and made no further
protest, although Roland seemingly expected one, but
as it did not come, the Prince continued:
“Here is my address in Sachsenhausen,
should you wish a communication to reach me in haste;
and kindly command your porter not to parley when I
again demand speech with your Lordship. Good-night.
I thank you, my Lord, for your courtesy,” and
the energetic youth disappeared before the slow-thinking
Archbishop could call up words with which to reply.
Cologne did not immediately rejoin
his guests, but stood a very figure of perplexity,
muttering to himself:
“If our friend Mayence thinks
that youngster is to be molded like soft clay, he
is very much mistaken. I hope Roland will not
cause him to feel the iron hand too soon. I wonder
why Mayence is delaying the Election? Can it
be that already he distrusts his choice, or is it the
question of a wife?”
Meanwhile the front door of the Archbishop’s
Palace had clanged shut, and Roland strode across
the square careless or unconscious of spies, looking
neither to the right nor to the left. He made
his way speedily to the Fahrgasse, walking down that
thoroughfare until he came to Herr Goebel’s
door, where he knocked, and was admitted. Ushered
into the room where he had parted from the merchant,
he found Herr Goebel seated at his table as if he
had never left it. The merchant, with a cry of
delight, greeted the young man.
“Well, Herr Goebel, you see
I have been a successful trafficker. Your bales
of goods are all in Castle Pfalz, and I trust the barge
returned safely to you with the money.”
“It did indeed, your Highness.”
“Has the coin been counted?”
“Yes; and it totals an enormous,
almost unbelievable, sum, which I have set down here
to the last stiver.”
“That is brave news. Have
any demands been made on you for its partition?”
“No, your Highness.”
“Now, Herr Goebel, I have determined
that all that money, which is in effect stolen property,
shall go to the feeding of Frankfort’s poor.
Buying provender shrewdly, how long would this treasure
keep hunger away from the gates of Frankfort?”
“That requires some calculation, your Highness.”
“A month?”
“Surely so.”
“Two months, perhaps?”
“’Tis likely; but I deal
in cloth, not in food, and therefore cannot speak
definitely without computation and the advice of those
expert in the matter.”
“Very well, Herr Goebel; get
your computations made as soon as possible. Call
together your merchants’ guild, and ask its members By
the way,” said Roland, suddenly checking himself,
“give to me in writing the amount of gold I
have sent you.”
The unsuspecting merchant did so,
and Roland’s eyes opened with astonishment when
he glanced at the total. He then placed the paper
in the wallet he carried.
“You were perhaps about to suggest
that a committee be appointed,” ventured the
merchant.
“Yes; a small but capable committee,
of which you shall be chairman and treasurer.
But first you will ask the merchants to subscribe,
out of their known wealth, a sum equaling the gold
I filched from the Barons.”
The merchant’s face fell, and
took on a doleful expression.
“The times, your Highness, have
long been very bad, none of us making money ”
The Prince held up his hand, and the
merchant ceased his plaint.
“If I can strip a Baron of his
wealth,” he said, “I will not waste words
over the fleecing of merchants. This contribution
is to be given in the name of the three Archbishops,
whose heavy hands came down on you after the late
insurrection. The Archbishops have now nine thousand
troops in Frankfort. If given leave, they will
collect the sum three times over within a very few
hours; so you, as chairman of the committee, may decide
whether the fund shall be a voluntary contribution
or an impost gathered by soldiery: it matters
nothing to me. Have it proclaimed throughout
the city that owing to the graciousness of the three
Archbishops starvation is now at an end in Frankfort.”
“Highness, with your permission,
and all due deference, it seems rather unjust that
we should contribute the cash and lose the credit.”
“Yes, Herr Goebel; this is a
very unjust world, as doubtless many of the starving
people thought when they recollected that a few hundred
of you possessed vast wealth while they were penniless.
Nevertheless, there are good times ahead for all of
us. Let me suggest that this money which I sent
to you may prove sufficient and so the subscriptions
of the merchants can be returned to them; that is,
if the relief fund is honestly administered.
So set to work early to-morrow with energy. You
merchants have had a long vacation. I think the
Rhine will be open before many weeks are past, and
then you can turn to your money-making, but our first
duty is to feed the hungry. Good-night, Herr Goebel.”
He left the merchant as dazed as was
the Archbishop. Once again outside he made directly
for the wine cellar of the Rheingold. On reaching
the steps he heard a roar of talk, lightened now and
then by the sound of laughter. He paused a moment
before descending. It was evident that the company
was enjoying itself, and Roland soliloquized somewhat
sadly:
“I am the disturbing element
in that group. They seem to agree famously when
by themselves. Ah, well, no matter. They
will soon be rid of me!”
When Roland descended the stair, the
proprietor greeted him with joy.
“I have missed you, Herr Roland,”
he said, “so you may imagine how much the guild
has regretted your absence.”
“Yes; I hear them bemoaning their fate.”
The inn-keeper laughed.
“How many are here to-night?”
“There is a full house, Sir Roland.”
“Really? Are Kurzbold and Gensbein within?”
“Oh, yes; and there is no scarcity
of money, thanks to you, I understand.”
“Rather, our thanks are for
ever due to you, Herr Host, for sustaining us so long
when we were penniless. We shall never forget
that,” and so with a semi-military salute to
the gratified cellar-man, Roland pushed open the door
and entered the banqueting room of the iron-workers’
guild. An instant silence fell on the group.
“Good evening to you, gentlemen,”
said the Prince, taking off his hat, and with a twist
of his shoulders flinging the cloak from them.
Instantly arose a great cheer, and
Greusel, who occupied the chair at the head of the
table, strode forward, took Roland’s hat and
cloak, and hung them up. After that he attempted
to lead their Captain to the seat of honor.
“No, no, my dear lieutenant,”
said Roland, placing his hand affectionately on the
other’s shoulder, “a better man than I
occupies the chair, and shall never be displaced by
me.”
The others, now on their feet, with
the exception of Kurzbold and Gensbein, vociferously
demanded that Roland take the chair. Smilingly
he shook his head, and holding up his hand for silence,
addressed them.
“Take your seats, comrades;
and, Greusel, if you force me to give a command, I
order you into that chair without further protest.”
Greusel, with evident reluctance, obeyed.
“Truth to tell, brothers, I
have but a few moments to stop. I merely dropped
in to enjoy a sip of wine with you, and to offer a
proposal that, within five minutes, will make me the
most unpopular man in this room, therefore you see
my wisdom in refusing a chair from which I should
be very promptly ejected.”
One of the members poured a tankard
full of wine from a flagon, and handed it to Roland,
who, saluting the company, drank.
“You did not divide the money, Greusel?”
“No, Roland. We gave each
man five hundred thalers, to keep as best he
might. We then concealed the rest of the gold
between the bottom of the boat and its inner planking.
Ebearhard and I construed your orders somewhat liberally,
conceiving it was your desire to get our treasure
and ourselves safely into Frankfort.”
“Quite right,” corroborated Roland.
“When morning came upon us,
we soon discovered that the whole country was aroused,
because of the destruction of Furstenberg and the looting
of Sonneck. No one knew where the next raid would
strike, and therefore the whole country-side was in
a turmoil. Now, the only fact known to the despoiled
was that a long black barge had appeared in front of
the Castle while the attack was made from behind.
We realized that it would be impossible for us to
go up the river except in darkness, so in case of
a search we concealed the treasure where it was not
likely to be come at, and each day lay quiet at an
unfrequented part of the river, rowing all night.
Not until we reached the Main did we venture on a daylight
voyage. It was agreed among us unanimously that
the money should be placed in Herr Goebel’s
keeping until you returned.”
“That was all excellently done,”
commented Roland. “I have just been to
see Herr Goebel, and was surprised to learn how much
we had actually taken. And now I ask you to make
a great sacrifice. This city is starving.
If we give that gold to its relief, the merchants of
Frankfort will contribute an equal amount. I
do not know how long such a total will keep the wolves
from the doors of Frankfort; probably for six months.
I shall learn definitely to-morrow.” Here
Roland outlined his plan of relief, which was received
in silence.
Kurzbold spoke up.
“I should like to know how much the total is?”
“That is a matter with which
you have nothing to do,” growled Greusel; then,
turning to Roland, who had not yet taken a seat, he
said: “So far as my share is concerned,
I agree.”
“I agree,” added Ebearhard;
and so it went down along each side of the table until
eighteen had spoken.
Kurzbold rose with a smile on his face.
“I don’t know how it is,
ex-Captain, that the moment you come among us there
seems to arise a spirit of disputation.”
“Curiously enough, Herr Kurzbold,
that same thought arose in my mind as I listened to
your hilarity before I entered. I beg to add,
for your satisfaction, that this is my last visit
to the guild, and never again shall I disturb its
harmony.”
“There is no lack of harmony,”
cried Ebearhard, laughing, as he rose. “The
agreement has been practically unanimous quite
unanimous in fact, among those entitled to share in
the great treasure. I believe Herr Kurzbold has
a claim, if it has not been forfeited, to the loot
of Rheinstein.”
“Now, even the genial Ebearhard,”
continued Kurzbold, “although his words are
blameless, speaks with a certain tone of acerbity,
while my friend Greusel has become gruff as a bear.”
“You need not labor that point,
Herr Kurzbold,” said Roland. “I have
resigned.”
“I just wished to remark,”
Kurzbold went on, “that I rose for the purpose
of stating I had some slight share in something; stolen
property; honor among thieves, you know. Are my
rights to this share disputed?”
“No,” said the chairman shortly.
“Very well,” concluded
Kurzbold, “as I am graciously permitted to speak
in the august presence of our ex-Captain, I desire
to say that whatever my share happens to be, I bestow
it gladly, nay, exultantly, upon the poor of Frankfort.”
With that Kurzbold sat down, and there
was first a roar of laughter, followed by a clapping
of hands. Gensbein rose, and said briefly:
“I do as Kurzbold does.”
“Now,” said Roland, “I
want a number of volunteers to start out into the
country early to-morrow morning, Greusel, you, as chairman,
will designate the routes. Each man is to penetrate
as far as he can along the main roads, asking the
farmers to bring everything in the shape of food they
have to sell. Tell them a vast sum has been collected,
and that their cartloads will be bought entire the
moment they enter the city. There will be no
waiting for their money. Prompt payment, and
everything eatable purchased immediately. Greusel,
I put on you the hardest task. Penetrate into
the forest south of the Main, and tell the charcoal-burners
and woodmen to bring in material for kitchen fires.
How many will volunteer?”
Every man rose. Roland thanked
them. “I shall now divulge a secret, and
you will see that when it was told to me I remembered
your interests. It has been my privilege to meet,
since I saw you, more than one man who is a ruler
in this Empire.”
“Did they tell you who is to
be the new Emperor?” cried one.
“That is known only to the Electors.
But what I was about to say is this. There are
to be established by the Government ironworks on a
scale hitherto unknown in any land. I believe,
and did my best to inculcate that belief in others,
that we are on the verge of an age of iron, and, knowing
your skill, I am privileged to offer each of you the
superintendency of a department, with compensation
never before given so lavishly in Germany. I
am also induced to believe that the new Emperor will
bestow a title on each of you who desire such honor,
so that there can be no question of your right to
wear a sword. Greusel, you must receive reports
from each of our food scouts, and I shall be glad to
know the outcome, if you take the trouble to call upon
me any hour after nine o’clock at night, at
my old room in Sachsenhausen. And now, good-night,
and good-luck to you all.”
Roland went over the bridge, and so
reached his room on the other side. He glanced
around several times to satisfy himself he was not
spied upon, and laughed at the apprehension of the
Archbishop. Entering his room, he lit a lamp,
took off his cloak and flung it on the bed, then unbuckled
his sword-belt and hung it and the weapon on a peg,
placing his cloak above them. He was startled
by a loud knock at the door, and stood for a moment
astonished, until it was repeated with the stern warning:
“Open in the name of the Archbishop!”
The young man strode forward, drew
back the bolt, and flung open the door. An officer,
with two soldiers behind him, came across the threshold,
and at the side-motion of the officer’s head
a soldier closed and bolted the door. Roland
experienced a momentary thrill of indignation at this
rude intrusion, then he remembered he was a mechanic,
and that his line must be the humble and deferential.
“You came to-night from the
Imperial Palace. What were you doing there?”
“I was trying to gain admission, sir.”
“For what purpose?”
“I wished,” said Roland,
rapidly outlining his defense in his own mind, “I
wished to see some high officer; some one of your own
position, sir, but was not so fortunate as to succeed.
I could not pass the sentries without a permit, which
I did not then possess, but hope to acquire to-morrow.”
“Again I ask, for what purpose?”
“For a purpose which causes me delight in meeting
your excellency.”
“I am no excellency. Come to the point!
For what purpose?”
“To show the officer a sword
of such superior quality that a man armed with it,
and given a certain amount of skill, stands impregnable.”
“Do you mean to tell me you
went to the Royal Palace for the purpose of selling
a second-hand sword?”
“Oh, no, my lord.”
“Do not be so free with your titles. Call
me Lieutenant.”
“Well, Lieutenant, sir; I hope
to get orders for a hundred, or perhaps a thousand
of these weapons.”
“Where did you go after leaving the Palace?”
“I went to the residence of
that great Prince of the Church, the Archbishop of
Cologne.”
“Ah! You did not succeed in seeing his
Lordship, I suppose?”
“Pardon me, Lieutenant, but
I did. His Lordship is keenly interested in both
weapons and armor.”
“Did he give you an order for swords?”
“No, Lieutenant; he seems to
be a very cautious man. He asked me to visit
him in Cologne, or if I could not do that, to see his
general, now in Frankfort. You understand, Lieutenant,
the presence of the three Archbishops with their armies
offers me a great opportunity, by which I hope to
profit.”
The officer looked at him with a puzzled expression
on his face.
“Where next did you go?”
“I went to the house of a merchant in the Fahrgasse.”
“Ah, that tale doesn’t hold! Merchants
are not allowed to wear swords.”
“No, Lieutenant, but a merchant
on occasion can supply capital that will enable a
skilled workman to accept a large contract. If
I should see the general of his Lordship to-morrow,
and he gave me an order for, say, two thousand swords,
I have not enough money to buy the metal, and I could
not ask for payment until I delivered the weapons.”
“Did the merchant agree to capitalize you?”
“He, too, was a cautious man,
Lieutenant. He wished first to see the contract,
and know who stood responsible for payment.”
“Wise man,” commented
the officer; “and so, disheartened, I suppose,
you returned here?”
“No, Lieutenant; the day has
been warm, and I have traveled a good deal. I
went from the merchant’s house to the Rheingold
tavern, there to drink a tankard of wine with my comrades,
a score of men who have formed what they call the
ironworkers’ guild. I drank a tankard with
them, and then came direct here, where I arrived but
a few moments ago.”
The officer was more and more puzzled.
Despite this young man’s deferential manner,
his language was scarcely that of a mechanic, yet
this certainly was his own room, and he had told the
absolute truth about his wanderings, as one who has
nothing to fear.
The Lieutenant stood for a space of
time with eyes to the floor, as silent as the soldiers
behind him. Suddenly he looked up.
“Show me the sword. I’ll tell you
where it’s made!”
If he expected hesitation he was mistaken.
Roland gave a joyful cry, swept aside the cloak, whisked
forth the sword, flung it up, and caught it by the
blade, then with a low bow handed it to the officer,
who flashed it through the air, bent the blade between
finger and thumb, then took it near the lamp and scrutinized
it with the eye of an expert.
“A good weapon, my friend.
Where was it made? I have never seen one like
it.”
“It was made by my own hands
here in Frankfort. Of course I go first to those
who know least about the matter, but if I can get an
introduction to his Lordship of Mayence, his officers
will know a sword when they see it; and I hope to-night
fortune, in leading you to my door, has brought me
an officer of Mayence.”
The Lieutenant looked at him, and
for the first time smiled. He handed back the
weapon, signed to his men to unbolt the door, which
they did, stepping out; then he said:
“I bid you good-night.
Your answers have been satisfactory, but I set you
down not as a mechanic, but a very excellent merchant
of swords.”
“Lieutenant,” said Roland,
“you do not flatter me.” He raised
his weapon in military salute. “I am no
merchant, but a sword maker.”