“My Lord, Count Winneburg,” he said, when that giant had presented himself, “His Majesty the Emperor commands me to summon you to the court at Frankfort.”
“Do you take me as prisoner, then?” asked the Count.
“Nothing was said to me of arrest. I was merely commissioned to deliver to you the message of the Emperor.”
“What are your orders if I refuse to go?”
A hundred armed men stood behind the Count, a thousand more were within call of the castle bell; two lances only were at the back of the messenger; but the strength of the broadcast empire was betokened by the symbol on his breast.
“My orders are to take back your answer to his Imperial Majesty,” replied the messenger calmly.
The Count, though hot-headed, was no fool, and he stood for a moment pondering on the words which the Knight of Ehrenburg had spoken on taking his leave:
“Let not the crafty Archbishop embroil you with the Emperor.”
This warning had been the cautious warrior’s parting advice to him.
“If you will honour my humble roof,” said the Count slowly, “by taking refreshment beneath it, I shall be glad of your company afterwards to Frankfort, in obedience to his Majesty’s commands.”
The messenger bowed low, accepted the hospitality, and together they made way across the Moselle, and along the Roman road to the capital.
Within the walls of Frankfort the Count was lodged in rooms near the palace, to which his conductor guided him, and, although it was still held that he was not a prisoner, an armed man paced to and fro before his door all night. The day following his arrival, Count Winneburg was summoned to the Court, and in a large ante-room found himself one of a numerous throng, conspicuous among them all by reason of his great height and bulk.
The huge hall was hung with tapestry, and at the further end were heavy curtains, at each edge of which stood half-a-dozen armoured men, the detachments being under command of two gaily-uniformed officers. Occasionally the curtains were parted by menials who stood there to perform that duty, and high nobles entered, or came out, singly and in groups. Down the sides of the hall were packed some hundreds of people, chattering together for the most part, and gazing at those who passed up and down the open space in the centre.
The Count surmised that the Emperor held his Court in whatever apartment was behind the crimson curtains. He felt the eyes of the multitude upon him, and shifted uneasily from one foot to another, cursing his ungainliness, ashamed of the tingling of the blood in his cheeks. He was out of plaice in this laughing, talking crowd, experiencing the sensations of an uncouth rustic suddenly thrust into the turmoil of a metropolis, resenting bitterly the supposed sneers that were flung at him. He suspected that the whispering and the giggling were directed towards himself, and burned to draw his sword and let these popinjays know for once what a man could do. As a matter of fact it was a buzz of admiration at his stature which went up when he entered, but the Count had so little of self-conceit in his soul that he never even guessed the truth.
Two nobles passing near him, he heard one of them say distinctly:
“That is the fellow who threw the Archbishop over his head,” while the other, glancing at him, said:
“By the Coat, he seems capable of upsetting the three of them, and I, for one, wish more power to his muscle should he attempt it.”
The Count shrank against the tapestried walls, hot with anger, wishing himself a dwarf that he might escape the gaze of so many inquiring eyes. Just as the scrutiny was becoming unbearable, his companion touched him on the elbow, and said in a low voice:
“Count Winneburg, follow me.”
He held aside the tapestry at the back of the Count, and that noble, nothing loth, disappeared from view behind it.
Entering a narrow passage-way, they traversed it until they came to a closed door, at each lintel of which stood a pikeman, fronted with a shining breastplate of metal. The Count’s conductor knocked gently at the closed door, then opened it, holding it so that the Count could pass in, and when he had done so, the door closed softly behind him. To his amazement, Winneburg saw before him, standing at the further end of the small room, the Emperor Rudolph, entirely alone. The Count was about to kneel awkwardly, when his liege strode forward and prevented him.
“Count Winneburg,” he said, “from what I hear of you, your elbow-joints are more supple than those of your knees, therefore let us be thankful that on this occasion there is no need to use either. I see you are under the mistaken impression that the Emperor is present. Put that thought from your mind, and regard me simply as Lord Rudolph—one gentleman wishing to have some little conversation with another.”
“Your Majesty—” stammered the Count.
“I have but this moment suggested that you forget that title, my Lord. But, leaving aside all question of salutation, let us get to the heart of the matter, for I think we are both direct men. You are summoned to Frankfort because that high and mighty Prince of the Church, the Archbishop of Treves, has made complaint to the Emperor against you alleging what seems to be an unpardonable indignity suffered by him at your hands.”
“Your Majesty—my Lord, I mean,” faltered the Count. “The indignity was of his own seeking; he sat down in my chair, where he had no right to place himself, and I—I—persuaded him to relinquish his position.”
“So I am informed—that is to say, so his Majesty has been informed,” replied Rudolph, a slight smile hovering round his finely chiselled lips. “We are not here to comment upon any of the Archbishop’s delinquencies, but, granting, for the sake of argument, that he had encroached upon your rights, nevertheless, he was under your roof, and honestly, I fail to see that you were justified in cracking his heels against the same.”
“Well, your Majesty—again I beg your Majesty’s pardon—”
“Oh, no matter,” said the Emperor, “call me what you like; names signify little.”
“If then the Emperor,” continued the Count, “found an intruder sitting on his throne, would he like it, think you?”
“His feeling, perhaps, would be one of astonishment, my Lord Count, but speaking for the Emperor, I am certain that he would never lay hands on the usurper, or treat him like a sack of corn in a yeoman’s barn.”
The Count laughed heartily at this, and was relieved to find that this quitted him of the tension which the great presence had at first inspired.
“Truth to tell, your Majesty, I am sorry I touched him. I should have requested him to withdraw, but my arm has always been more prompt in action than my tongue, as you can readily see since I came into this room.”
“Indeed, Count, your tongue does you very good service,” continued the Emperor, “and I am glad to have from you an expression of regret. I hope, therefore, that you will have no hesitation in repeating that declaration to the Archbishop of Treves.”
“Does your Majesty mean that I am to apologise to him?”
“Yes,” answered the Emperor.
There was a moment’s pause, then the Count said slowly:
“I will surrender to your Majesty my person, my sword, my castle, and my lands. I will, at your word, prostrate myself at your feet, and humbly beg pardon for any offence I have committed against you, but to tell the Archbishop I am sorry when I am not, and to cringe before him and supplicate his grace, well, your Majesty, as between man and man, I’ll see him damned first.”
Again the Emperor had some difficulty in preserving that rigidity of expression which he had evidently resolved to maintain.
“Have you ever met a ghost, my Lord Count?” he asked.
Winneburg crossed himself devoutly, a sudden pallor sweeping over his face.
“Indeed, your Majesty, I have seen strange things, and things for which there was no accounting; but it has been usually after a contest with the wine flagon, and at the time my head was none of the clearest, so I could not venture to say whether they were ghosts or no.”
“Imagine, then, that in one of the corridors of your castle at midnight you met a white-robed transparent figure, through whose form your sword passed scathlessly. What would you do, my Lord?”
“Indeed, your Majesty, I would take to my heels, and bestow myself elsewhere as speedily as possible.”
“Most wisely spoken and you, who are no coward, who fear not to face willingly in combat anything natural, would, in certain circumstances, trust to swift flight for your protection. Very well, my Lord, you are now confronted with something against which your stout arm is as unavailing as it would be if an apparition stood in your path. There is before you the spectre of subtlety. Use arm instead of brain, and you are a lost man.
“The Archbishop expects no apology. He looks for a stalwart, stubborn man, defying himself and the Empire combined. You think, perhaps, that the Imperial troops will surround your castle, and that you may stand a siege. Now the Emperor would rather have you fight with him than against him, but in truth there will be no contest. Hold to your refusal, and you will be arrested before you leave the precincts of this palace. You will be thrown into a dungeon, your castle and your lands sequestered; and I call your attention to the fact that your estate adjoins the possessions of the Archbishop at Cochem, and Heaven fend me for hinting that his Lordship casts covetous eyes over his boundary; yet, nevertheless, he will probably not refuse to accept your possessions in reparation for the insult bestowed upon him. Put it this way if you like. Would you rather pleasure me or pleasure the Archbishop of Treves?”
“There is no question as to that,” answered the Count.
“Then it will please me well if you promise to apologise to his Lordship the Archbishop of Treves. That his Lordship will be equally pleased, I very much doubt.”
“Will your Majesty command me in open Court to apologise?”
“I shall request you to do so. I must uphold the Feudal law.”
“Then I beseech your Majesty to command me, for I am a loyal subject, and will obey.”
“God give me many such,” said the Emperor fervently, “and bestow upon me the wisdom to deserve them!”
He extended his hand to the Count, then touched a bell on the table beside him. The officer who had conducted Winneburg entered silently, and acted as his guide back to the thronged apartment they had left. The Count saw that the great crimson curtains were now looped up, giving a view of the noble interior of the room beyond, thronged with the notables of the Empire. The hall leading to it was almost deserted, and the Count, under convoy of two lancemen, himself nearly as tall as their weapons, passed in to the Throne Room, and found all eyes turned upon him.
He was brought to a stand before an elevated dais, the centre of which was occupied by a lofty throne, which, at the moment, was empty. Near it, on the elevation, stood the three Archbishops of Treves, Cologne, and Mayence, on the other side the Count Palatine of the Rhine with the remaining three Electors. The nobles of the realm occupied places according to their degree.
As the stalwart Count came in, a buzz of conversation swept over the hall like a breeze among the leaves of a forest. A malignant scowl darkened the countenance of the Archbishop of Treves, but the faces of Cologne and Mayence expressed a certain Christian resignation regarding the contumely which had been endured by their colleague. The Count stood stolidly where he was placed, and gazed at the vacant throne, turning his eyes neither to the right nor the left.
Suddenly there was a fanfare of trumpets, and instant silence smote the assembly. First came officers of the Imperial Guard in shining armour, then the immediate advisers and councillors of his Majesty, and last of all, the Emperor himself, a robe of great richness clasped at his throat, and trailing behind him; the crown of the Empire upon his head. His face was pale and stern, and he looked what he was, a monarch, and a man. The Count rubbed his eyes, and could scarcely believe that he stood now in the presence of one who had chatted amiably with him but a few moments before.
The Emperor sat on his throne and one of his councillors whispered for some moments to him; then the Emperor said, in a low, clear voice, that penetrated to the farthest corner of the vast apartment:
“Is the Count of Winneburg here?”
“Yes, your Majesty.”
“Let him stand forward.”
The Count strode two long steps to the front, and stood there, red-faced and abashed. The officer at his side whispered:
“Kneel, you fool, kneel.”
And the Count got himself somewhat clumsily down upon his knees, like an elephant preparing to receive his burden. The face of the Emperor remained impassive, and he said harshly:
“Stand up.”
The Count, once more upon his feet, breathed a deep sigh of satisfaction at finding himself again in an upright posture.
“Count of Winneburg,” said the Emperor slowly, “it is alleged that upon the occasion of the last meeting of the Council of State for the Moselle valley, you, in presence of the nobles there assembled, cast a slight upon your over-lord, the Archbishop of Treves. Do you question the statement?”
The Count cleared his throat several times, which in the stillness of that vaulted room sounded like the distant booming of cannon.
“If to cast the Archbishop half the distance of this room is to cast a slight upon him, I did so, your Majesty.”
There was a simultaneous ripple of laughter at this, instantly suppressed when the searching eye of the Emperor swept the room.
“Sir Count,” said the Emperor severely, “the particulars of your outrage are not required of you; only your admission thereof. Hear, then, my commands. Betake yourself to your castle of Winneburg, and hold yourself there in readiness to proceed to Treves on a day appointed by his Lordship the Archbishop, an Elector of this Empire, there to humble yourself before him, and crave his pardon for the offence you have committed. Disobey at your peril.”
Once or twice the Count moistened his dry lips, then he said:
“Your Majesty, I will obey any command you place upon me.”
“In that case,” continued the Emperor, his severity visibly relaxing, “I can promise that your over-lord will not hold this incident against you. Such, I understand, is your intention, my Lord Archbishop?” and the Emperor turned toward the Prince of Treves.
The Archbishop bowed low, and thus veiled the malignant hatred in his eyes. “Yes, your Majesty,” he replied, “providing the apology is given as publicly as was the insult, in presence of those who were witnesses of the Count’s foolishness.”
“That is but a just condition,” said the Emperor. “It is my pleasure that the Council be summoned to Treves to hear the Count’s apology. And now, Count of Winneburg, you are at liberty to withdraw.”
The Count drew his mammoth hand across his brow, and scattered to the floor the moisture that had collected there. He tried to speak, but apparently could not, then turned and walked resolutely towards the door. There was instant outcry at this, the Chamberlain of the Court standing in stupefied amazement at a breach of etiquette which exhibited any man’s back to the Emperor; but a smile relaxed the Emperor’s lips, and he held up his hand.
“Do not molest him,” he said, as the Count disappeared. “He is unused to the artificial manners of a Court. In truth, I take it as a friendly act, for I am sure the valiant Count never turned his back upon a foe,” which Imperial witticism was well received, for the sayings of an Emperor rarely lack applause.
The Count, wending his long way home by the route he had come, spent the first half of the journey in cursing the Archbishop, and the latter half in thinking over the situation. By the time he had reached his castle he had formulated a plan, and this plan he proceeded to put into execution on receiving the summons of the Archbishop to come to Treves on the first day of the following month and make his apology, the Archbishop, with characteristic penuriousness, leaving the inviting of the fifteen nobles, who formed the Council, to Winneburg, and thus his Lordship of Treves was saved the expense of sending special messengers to each. In case Winneburg neglected to summon the whole Council, the Archbishop added to his message, the statement that he would refuse to receive the apology if any of the nobles were absent.
Winneburg sent messengers, first to Beilstein, asking him to attend at Treves on the second day of the month, and bring with him an escort of at least a thousand men. Another he asked for the third, another for the fourth, another for the fifth, and so on, resolved that before a complete quorum was present, half of the month would be gone, and with it most of the Archbishop’s provender, for his Lordship, according to the laws of hospitality, was bound to entertain free of all charge to themselves the various nobles and their followings.
On the first day of the month Winneburg entered the northern gate of Treves, accompanied by two hundred horsemen and eight hundred foot soldiers. At first, the officers of the Archbishop thought that an invasion was contemplated, but Winneburg suavely explained that if a thing was worth doing at all, it was worth doing well, and he was not going to make any hole-and-corner affair of his apology. Next day Beilstein came along accompanied by five hundred cavalry, and five hundred foot soldiers.
The Chamberlain of the Archbishop was in despair at having to find quarters for so many, but he did the best he could, while the Archbishop was enraged to observe that the nobles did not assemble in greater haste, but each as he came had a plausible excuse for his delay. Some had to build bridges, sickness had broken out in another camp, while a third expedition had lost its way and wandered in the forest.
The streets of Treves each night resounded with songs of revelry, varied by the clash of swords, when a party of the newcomers fell foul of a squad of the town soldiers, and the officers on either side had much ado to keep the peace among their men. The Archbishop’s wine cups were running dry, and the price of provisions had risen, the whole surrounding country being placed under contribution for provender and drink. When a week had elapsed the Archbishop relaxed his dignity and sent for Count Winneburg.
“We will not wait for the others,” he said. “I have no desire to humiliate you unnecessarily. Those who are here shall bear witness that you have apologised, and so I shall not insist on the presence of the laggards, but will receive your apology to-morrow at high noon in the great council chamber.”
“Ah, there speaks a noble heart, ever thinking generously of those who despitefully use you, my Lord Archbishop,” said Count Winneburg. “But no, no, I cannot accept such a sacrifice. The Emperor showed me plainly the enormity of my offence. In the presence of all I insulted you, wretch that I am, and in the presence of all shall I abase myself.”
“But I do not seek your abasement,” protested the Archbishop, frowning.
“The more honour, then, to your benevolent nature,” answered the Count, “and the more shameful would it be of me to take advantage of it. As I stood a short time since on the walls, I saw coming up the river the banners of the Knight of Ehrenburg. His castle is the furthest removed from Treves, and so the others cannot surely delay long. We will wait, my Lord Archbishop, until all are here. But I thank you just as much for your generosity as if I were craven enough to shield myself behind it.”
The Knight of Ehrenburg in due time arrived, and behind him his thousand men, many of whom were compelled to sleep in the public buildings, for all the rooms in Treves were occupied. Next day the Archbishop summoned the assembled nobles and said he would hear the apology in their presence. If the others missed it, it was their own fault—they should have been in time.
“I cannot apologise;” said the Count, “until all are here. It was the Emperor’s order, and who am I to disobey my Emperor? We must await their coming with patience, and, indeed, Treves is a goodly town, in which all of us find ourselves fully satisfied.”
“Then, my blessing on you all,” said the Archbishop in a sour tone most unsuited to the benediction he was bestowing. “Return, I beg of you, instantly, to your castles. I forego the apology.”
“But I insist on tendering it,” cried the Count, his mournful voice giving some indication of the sorrow he felt at his offence if it went unrequited. “It is my duty, not only to you, my Lord Archbishop, but also to his Majesty the Emperor.”
“Then, in Heaven’s name get on with it and depart. I am willing to accept it on your own terms, as I have said before.”
“No, not on my own terms, but on yours. What matters the delay of a week or two? The hunting season does not begin for a fortnight, and we are all as well at Treves as at home. Besides, how could I ever face my Emperor again, knowing I had disobeyed his commands?”
“I will make it right with the Emperor,” said the Archbishop.
The Knight of Ehrenburg now spoke up, calmly, as was his custom:
“‘Tis a serious matter,” he said, “for a man to take another’s word touching action of his Majesty the Emperor. You have clerks here with you; perhaps then you will bid them indite a document to be signed by yourself absolving my friend, the Count of Winneburg, from all necessity of apologising, so that should the Emperor take offence at his disobedience, the parchment may hold him scathless.”
“I will do anything to be quit of you,” muttered the Archbishop more to himself than to the others.
And so the document was written and signed. With this parchment in his saddle-bags the Count and his comrades quitted the town, drinking in half flagons the health of the Archbishop, because there was not left in Treves enough wine to fill the measures to the brim.