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diff --git a/2865-0.txt b/2865-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9beb6c7 --- /dev/null +++ b/2865-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3389 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of Otto of the Silver Hand, by Howard Pyle + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: Otto of the Silver Hand + +Author: Howard Pyle + +Release Date: October, 2001 [eBook #2865] +[Most recently updated: October 28, 2023] + +Language: English + +Produced by: Angus Christian and David Widger + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OTTO OF THE SILVER HAND *** + + + + +OTTO OF THE SILVER HAND + +By Howard Pyle + + + + + +CONTENTS + + I. The Dragon’s House, + II. How the Baron Went Forth to Shear, + III. How the Baron Came Home Shorn, + IV. The White Cross on the Hill, + V. How Otto Dwelt at St. Michaelsburg, + VI. How Otto Lived in the Dragon’s House, + VII. The Red Cock Crows on Drachenhausen, + VIII. In the House of the Dragon Scorner, + IX. How One-eyed Hans Came to Trutz-Drachen, + X. How Hans Brought Terror to the Kitchen, + XI. How Otto was Saved, + XII. A Ride for Life, + XIII. How Baron Conrad Held the Bridge, + XIV. How Otto Saw the Great Emperor, + + + + +FOREWORD. + +Between the far away past history of the world, and that which lies near +to us; in the time when the wisdom of the ancient times was dead and +had passed away, and our own days of light had not yet come, there lay a +great black gulf in human history, a gulf of ignorance, of superstition, +of cruelty, and of wickedness. + +That time we call the dark or middle ages. + +Few records remain to us of that dreadful period in our world’s history, +and we only know of it through broken and disjointed fragments that have +been handed down to us through the generations. + +Yet, though the world’s life then was so wicked and black, there yet +remained a few good men and women here and there (mostly in peaceful +and quiet monasteries, far from the thunder and the glare of the worlds +bloody battle), who knew the right and the truth and lived according to +what they knew; who preserved and tenderly cared for the truths that the +dear Christ taught, and lived and died for in Palestine so long ago. + +This tale that I am about to tell is of a little boy who lived and +suffered in those dark middle ages; of how he saw both the good and the +bad of men, and of how, by gentleness and love and not by strife and +hatred, he came at last to stand above other men and to be looked up to +by all. And should you follow the story to the end, I hope you may find +it a pleasure, as I have done, to ramble through those dark ancient +castles, to lie with little Otto and Brother John in the high +belfry-tower, or to sit with them in the peaceful quiet of the sunny +old monastery garden, for, of all the story, I love best those early +peaceful years that little Otto spent in the dear old White Cross on the +Hill. + +Poor little Otto’s life was a stony and a thorny pathway, and it is well +for all of us nowadays that we walk it in fancy and not in truth. + + + + +I. The Dragon’s House. + +Up from the gray rocks, rising sheer and bold and bare, stood the walls +and towers of Castle Drachenhausen. A great gate-way, with a heavy +iron-pointed portcullis hanging suspended in the dim arch above, yawned +blackly upon the bascule or falling drawbridge that spanned a chasm +between the blank stone walls and the roadway that ran winding down the +steep rocky slope to the little valley just beneath. There in the lap of +the hills around stood the wretched straw-thatched huts of the peasants +belonging to the castle--miserable serfs who, half timid, half fierce, +tilled their poor patches of ground, wrenching from the hard soil barely +enough to keep body and soul together. Among those vile hovels played +the little children like foxes about their dens, their wild, fierce eyes +peering out from under a mat of tangled yellow hair. + +Beyond these squalid huts lay the rushing, foaming river, spanned by a +high, rude, stone bridge where the road from the castle crossed it, and +beyond the river stretched the great, black forest, within whose gloomy +depths the savage wild beasts made their lair, and where in winter time +the howling wolves coursed their flying prey across the moonlit snow and +under the net-work of the black shadows from the naked boughs above. + +The watchman in the cold, windy bartizan or watch-tower that clung to +the gray walls above the castle gateway, looked from his narrow window, +where the wind piped and hummed, across the tree-tops that rolled in +endless billows of green, over hill and over valley to the blue and +distant slope of the Keiserberg, where, on the mountain side, glimmered +far away the walls of Castle Trutz-Drachen. + +Within the massive stone walls through which the gaping gateway led, +three great cheerless brick buildings, so forbidding that even the +yellow sunlight could not light them into brightness, looked down, with +row upon row of windows, upon three sides of the bleak, stone courtyard. +Back of and above them clustered a jumble of other buildings, tower and +turret, one high-peaked roof overtopping another. + +The great house in the centre was the Baron’s Hall, the part to the left +was called the Roderhausen; between the two stood a huge square pile, +rising dizzily up into the clear air high above the rest--the great +Melchior Tower. + +At the top clustered a jumble of buildings hanging high aloft in the +windy space; a crooked wooden belfry, a tall, narrow watch-tower, and a +rude wooden house that clung partly to the roof of the great tower and +partly to the walls. + +From the chimney of this crazy hut a thin thread of smoke would now and +then rise into the air, for there were folk living far up in that empty, +airy desert, and oftentimes wild, uncouth little children were seen +playing on the edge of the dizzy height, or sitting with their bare +legs hanging down over the sheer depths, as they gazed below at what was +going on in the court-yard. There they sat, just as little children in +the town might sit upon their father’s door-step; and as the sparrows +might fly around the feet of the little town children, so the circling +flocks of rooks and daws flew around the feet of these air-born +creatures. + +It was Schwartz Carl and his wife and little ones who lived far up there +in the Melchior Tower, for it overlooked the top of the hill behind the +castle and so down into the valley upon the further side. There, day +after day, Schwartz Carl kept watch upon the gray road that ran like a +ribbon through the valley, from the rich town of Gruenstaldt to the rich +town of Staffenburgen, where passed merchant caravans from the one to +the other--for the lord of Drachenhausen was a robber baron. + +Dong! Dong! The great alarm bell would suddenly ring out from the belfry +high up upon the Melchior Tower. Dong! Dong! Till the rooks and daws +whirled clamoring and screaming. Dong! Dong! Till the fierce wolf-hounds +in the rocky kennels behind the castle stables howled dismally in +answer. Dong! Dong!--Dong! Dong! + +Then would follow a great noise and uproar and hurry in the castle +court-yard below; men shouting and calling to one another, the ringing +of armor, and the clatter of horses’ hoofs upon the hard stone. With the +creaking and groaning of the windlass the iron-pointed portcullis would +be slowly raised, and with a clank and rattle and clash of iron chains +the drawbridge would fall crashing. Then over it would thunder horse and +man, clattering away down the winding, stony pathway, until the great +forest would swallow them, and they would be gone. + +Then for a while peace would fall upon the castle courtyard, the cock +would crow, the cook would scold a lazy maid, and Gretchen, leaning out +of a window, would sing a snatch of a song, just as though it were a +peaceful farm-house, instead of a den of robbers. + +Maybe it would be evening before the men would return once more. Perhaps +one would have a bloody cloth bound about his head, perhaps one would +carry his arm in a sling; perhaps one--maybe more than one--would be +left behind, never to return again, and soon forgotten by all excepting +some poor woman who would weep silently in the loneliness of her daily +work. + +Nearly always the adventurers would bring back with them pack-horses +laden with bales of goods. Sometimes, besides these, they would return +with a poor soul, his hands tied behind his back and his feet beneath +the horse’s body, his fur cloak and his flat cap wofully awry. A while +he would disappear in some gloomy cell of the dungeon-keep, until an +envoy would come from the town with a fat purse, when his ransom would +be paid, the dungeon would disgorge him, and he would be allowed to go +upon his way again. + +One man always rode beside Baron Conrad in his expeditions and +adventures—a short, deep-chested, broad-shouldered man, with sinewy arms +so long that when he stood his hands hung nearly to his knees. + +His coarse, close-clipped hair came so low upon his brow that only a +strip of forehead showed between it and his bushy, black eyebrows. One +eye was blind; the other twinkled and gleamed like a spark under the +penthouse of his brows. Many folk said that the one-eyed Hans had drunk +beer with the Hill-man, who had given him the strength of ten, for he +could bend an iron spit like a hazel twig, and could lift a barrel of +wine from the floor to his head as easily as though it were a basket of +eggs. + +As for the one-eyed Hans he never said that he had not drunk beer with +the Hill-man, for he liked the credit that such reports gave him with +the other folk. And so, like a half savage mastiff, faithful to death +to his master, but to him alone, he went his sullen way and lived his +sullen life within the castle walls, half respected, half feared by the +other inmates, for it was dangerous trifling with the one-eyed Hans. + + + + +II. How the Baron went Forth to Shear. + +Baron Conrad and Baroness Matilda sat together at their morning meal; +below their raised seats stretched the long, heavy wooden table, loaded +with coarse food—black bread, boiled cabbage, bacon, eggs, a great +chine from a wild boar, sausages, such as we eat nowadays, and flagons +and jars of beer and wine. Along the board sat ranged in the order of +the household the followers and retainers. Four or five slatternly women +and girls served the others as they fed noisily at the table, moving +here and there behind the men with wooden or pewter dishes of food, now +and then laughing at the jests that passed or joining in the talk. A +huge fire blazed and crackled and roared in the great open fireplace, +before which were stretched two fierce, shaggy, wolfish-looking hounds. +Outside, the rain beat upon the roof or ran trickling from the eaves, +and every now and then a chill draught of wind would breathe through the +open windows of the great black dining-hall and set the fire roaring. + +Along the dull-gray wall of stone hung pieces of armor, and swords and +lances, and great branching antlers of the stag. Overhead arched the +rude, heavy, oaken beams, blackened with age and smoke, and underfoot +was a chill pavement of stone. + +Upon Baron Conrad’s shoulder leaned the pale, slender, yellow-haired +Baroness, the only one in all the world with whom the fierce lord of +Drachenhausen softened to gentleness, the only one upon whom his savage +brows looked kindly, and to whom his harsh voice softened with love. + +The Baroness was talking to her husband in a low voice, as he looked +down into her pale face, with its gentle blue eyes. + +“And wilt thou not, then,” said she, “do that one thing for me?” + +“Nay,” he growled, in his deep voice, “I cannot promise thee never more +to attack the towns-people in the valley over yonder. How else could I +live an’ I did not take from the fat town hogs to fill our own larder?” + +“Nay,” said the Baroness, “thou couldst live as some others do, for all +do not rob the burgher folk as thou dost. Alas! mishap will come upon +thee some day, and if thou shouldst be slain, what then would come of +me?” + +“Prut,” said the Baron, “thy foolish fears” But he laid his rough, hairy +hand softly upon the Baroness’ head and stroked her yellow hair. + +“For my sake, Conrad,” whispered the Baroness. + +A pause followed. The Baron sat looking thoughtfully down into the +Baroness’ face. A moment more, and he might have promised what she +besought; a moment more, and he might have been saved all the bitter +trouble that was to follow. But it was not to be. + +Suddenly a harsh sound broke the quietness of all into a confusion of +noises. Dong! Dong!--it was the great alarm-bell from Melchior’s Tower. + +The Baron started at the sound. He sat for a moment or two with his hand +clinched upon the arm of his seat as though about to rise, then he sunk +back into his chair again. + +All the others had risen tumultuously from the table, and now stood +looking at him, awaiting his orders. + +“For my sake, Conrad,” said the Baroness again. + +Dong! Dong! rang the alarm-bell. The Baron sat with his eyes bent upon +the floor, scowling blackly. + +The Baroness took his hand in both of hers. “For my sake,” she pleaded, +and the tears filled her blue eyes as she looked up at him, “do not go +this time.” + +From the courtyard without came the sound of horses’ hoofs clashing +against the stone pavement, and those in the hall stood watching and +wondering at this strange delay of the Lord Baron. Just then the door +opened and one came pushing past the rest; it was the one-eyed Hans. +He came straight to where the Baron sat, and, leaning over, whispered +something into his master’s ear. + +“For my sake,” implored the Baroness again; but the scale was turned. +The Baron pushed back his chair heavily and rose to his feet. “Forward!” + he roared, in a voice of thunder, and a great shout went up in answer as +he strode clanking down the hall and out of the open door. + +The Baroness covered her face with her hands and wept. + +“Never mind, little bird,” said old Ursela, the nurse, soothingly; “he +will come back to thee again as he has come back to thee before.” + +But the poor young Baroness continued weeping with her face buried in +her hands, because he had not done that thing she had asked. + +A white young face framed in yellow hair looked out into the courtyard +from a window above; but if Baron Conrad of Drachenhausen saw it from +beneath the bars of his shining helmet, he made no sign. + +“Forward,” he cried again. + +Down thundered the drawbridge, and away they rode with clashing hoofs +and ringing armor through the gray shroud of drilling rain. + +The day had passed and the evening had come, and the Baroness and her +women sat beside a roaring fire. All were chattering and talking and +laughing but two--the fair young Baroness and old Ursela; the one sat +listening, listening, listening, the other sat with her chin resting in +the palm of her hand, silently watching her young mistress. The night +was falling gray and chill, when suddenly the clear notes of a bugle +rang from without the castle walls. The young Baroness started, and the +rosy light flashed up into her pale cheeks. + +“Yes, good,” said old Ursela; “the red fox has come back to his den +again, and I warrant he brings a fat town goose in his mouth; now we’ll +have fine clothes to wear, and thou another gold chain to hang about thy +pretty neck.” + +The young Baroness laughed merrily at the old woman’s speech. “This +time,” said she, “I will choose a string of pearls like that one my aunt +used to wear, and which I had about my neck when Conrad first saw me.” + +Minute after minute passed; the Baroness sat nervously playing with a +bracelet of golden beads about her wrist. “How long he stays,” said she. + +“Yes,” said Ursela; “but it is not cousin wish that holds him by the +coat.” + +As she spoke, a door banged in the passageway without, and the ring of +iron footsteps sounded upon the stone floor. Clank! Clank! Clank! + +The Baroness rose to her feet, her face all alight. The door opened; +then the flush of joy faded away and the face grew white, white, white. +One hand clutched the back of the bench whereon she had been sitting, +the other hand pressed tightly against her side. + +It was Hans the one-eyed who stood in the doorway, and black trouble sat +on his brow; all were looking at him waiting. + +“Conrad,” whispered the Baroness, at last. “Where is Conrad? Where is +your master?” and even her lips were white as she spoke. + +The one-eyed Hans said nothing. + +Just then came the noise of men s voices in the corridor and the shuffle +and scuffle of feet carrying a heavy load. Nearer and nearer they came, +and one-eyed Hans stood aside. Six men came struggling through the +doorway, carrying a litter, and on the litter lay the great Baron +Conrad. The flaming torch thrust into the iron bracket against the wall +flashed up with the draught of air from the open door, and the light +fell upon the white face and the closed eyes, and showed upon his body +armor a great red stain that was not the stain of rust. + +Suddenly Ursela cried out in a sharp, shrill voice, “Catch her, she +falls!” + +It was the Baroness. + +Then the old crone turned fiercely upon the one-eyed Hans. “Thou fool!” + she cried, “why didst thou bring him here? Thou hast killed thy lady!” + +“I did not know,” said the one-eyed Hans, stupidly. + + + + +III. How the Baron came Home Shorn. + +But Baron Conrad was not dead. For days he lay upon his hard bed, now +muttering incoherent words beneath his red beard, now raving fiercely +with the fever of his wound. But one day he woke again to the things +about him. + +He turned his head first to the one side and then to the other; there +sat Schwartz Carl and the one-eyed Hans. Two or three other retainers +stood by a great window that looked out into the courtyard beneath, +jesting and laughing together in low tones, and one lay upon the heavy +oaken bench that stood along by the wall snoring in his sleep. + +“Where is your lady?” said the Baron, presently; “and why is she not +with me at this time?” + +The man that lay upon the bench started up at the sound of his voice, +and those at the window came hurrying to his bedside. But Schwartz Carl +and the one-eyed Hans looked at one another, and neither of them spoke. +The Baron saw the look and in it read a certain meaning that brought +him to his elbow, though only to sink back upon his pillow again with a +groan. + +“Why do you not answer me?” said he at last, in a hollow voice; then +to the one-eyed Hans, “Hast no tongue, fool, that thou standest gaping +there like a fish? Answer me, where is thy mistress?” + +“I--I do not know,” stammered poor Hans. + +For a while the Baron lay silently looking from one face to the other, +then he spoke again. “How long have I been lying here?” said he. + +“A sennight, my lord,” said Master Rudolph, the steward, who had come +into the room and who now stood among the others at the bedside. + +“A sennight,” repeated the Baron, in a low voice, and then to Master +Rudolph, “And has the Baroness been often beside me in that time?” + Master Rudolph hesitated. “Answer me,” said the Baron, harshly. + +“Not--not often,” said Master Rudolph, hesitatingly. + +The Baron lay silent for a long time. At last he passed his hands over +his face and held them there for a minute, then of a sudden, before +anyone knew what he was about to do, he rose upon his elbow and then sat +upright upon the bed. The green wound broke out afresh and a dark red +spot grew and spread upon the linen wrappings; his face was drawn and +haggard with the pain of his moving, and his eyes wild and bloodshot. +Great drops of sweat gathered and stood upon his forehead as he sat +there swaying slightly from side to side. + +“My shoes,” said he, hoarsely. + +Master Rudolph stepped forward. “But, my Lord Baron,” he began and then +stopped short, for the Baron shot him such a look that his tongue stood +still in his head. + +Hans saw that look out of his one eye. Down he dropped upon his knees +and, fumbling under the bed, brought forth a pair of soft leathern +shoes, which he slipped upon the Baron’s feet and then laced the thongs +above the instep. + +“Your shoulder,” said the Baron. He rose slowly to his feet, gripping +Hans in the stress of his agony until the fellow winced again. For a +moment he stood as though gathering strength, then doggedly started +forth upon that quest which he had set upon himself. + +At the door he stopped for a moment as though overcome by his weakness, +and there Master Nicholas, his cousin, met him; for the steward had sent +one of the retainers to tell the old man what the Baron was about to do. + +“Thou must go back again, Conrad,” said Master Nicholas; “thou art not +fit to be abroad.” + +The Baron answered him never a word, but he glared at him from out of +his bloodshot eyes and ground his teeth together. Then he started forth +again upon his way. + +Down the long hall he went, slowly and laboriously, the others following +silently behind him, then up the steep winding stairs, step by step, +now and then stopping to lean against the wall. So he reached a long +and gloomy passageway lit only by the light of a little window at the +further end. + +He stopped at the door of one of the rooms that opened into this +passage-way, stood for a moment, then he pushed it open. + +No one was within but old Ursela, who sat crooning over a fire with a +bundle upon her knees. She did not see the Baron or know that he was +there. + +“Where is your lady?” said he, in a hollow voice. + +Then the old nurse looked up with a start. “Jesu bless us,” cried she, +and crossed herself. + +“Where is your lady?” said the Baron again, in the same hoarse voice; +and then, not waiting for an answer, “Is she dead?” + +The old woman looked at him for a minute blinking her watery eyes, and +then suddenly broke into a shrill, long-drawn wail. The Baron needed to +hear no more. + +As though in answer to the old woman’s cry, a thin piping complaint came +from the bundle in her lap. + +At the sound the red blood flashed up into the Baron’s face. “What +is that you have there?” said he, pointing to the bundle upon the old +woman’s knees. + +She drew back the coverings and there lay a poor, weak, little baby, +that once again raised its faint reedy pipe. + +“It is your son,” said Ursela, “that the dear Baroness left behind her +when the holy angels took her to Paradise. She blessed him and called +him Otto before she left us.” + + + + +IV. The White Cross on the Hill. + +Here the glassy waters of the River Rhine, holding upon its bosom a +mimic picture of the blue sky and white clouds floating above, runs +smoothly around a jutting point of land, St. Michaelsburg, rising from +the reedy banks of the stream, sweeps up with a smooth swell until +it cuts sharp and clear against the sky. Stubby vineyards covered its +earthy breast, and field and garden and orchard crowned its brow, where +lay the Monastery of St. Michaelsburg--“The White Cross on the Hill.” + There within the white walls, where the warm yellow sunlight slept, all +was peaceful quietness, broken only now and then by the crowing of +the cock or the clamorous cackle of a hen, the lowing of kine or the +bleating of goats, a solitary voice in prayer, the faint accord of +distant singing, or the resonant toll of the monastery bell from the +high-peaked belfry that overlooked the hill and valley and the smooth, +far-winding stream. No other sounds broke the stillness, for in this +peaceful haven was never heard the clash of armor, the ring of iron-shod +hoofs, or the hoarse call to arms. + +All men were not wicked and cruel and fierce in that dark, far-away age; +all were not robbers and terror-spreading tyrants, even in that time +when men’s hands were against their neighbors, and war and rapine dwelt +in place of peace and justice. + +Abbot Otto, of St. Michaelsburg, was a gentle, patient, pale-faced old +man; his white hands were soft and smooth, and no one would have thought +that they could have known the harsh touch of sword-hilt and lance. And +yet, in the days of the Emperor Frederick--the grandson of the great +Red-beard--no one stood higher in the prowess of arms than he. But all +at once--for why, no man could tell--a change came over him, and in the +flower of his youth and fame and growing power he gave up everything +in life and entered the quiet sanctuary of that white monastery on the +hill-side, so far away from the tumult and the conflict of the world in +which he had lived. + +Some said that it was because the lady he had loved had loved his +brother, and that when they were married Otto of Wolbergen had left the +church with a broken heart. + +But such stories are old songs that have been sung before. + +Clatter! clatter! Jingle! jingle! It was a full-armed knight that came +riding up the steep hill road that wound from left to right and right to +left amid the vineyards on the slopes of St. Michaelsburg. Polished helm +and corselet blazed in the noon sunlight, for no knight in those days +dared to ride the roads except in full armor. In front of him the +solitary knight carried a bundle wrapped in the folds of his coarse gray +cloak. + +It was a sorely sick man that rode up the heights of St. Michaelsburg. +His head hung upon his breast through the faintness of weariness and +pain; for it was the Baron Conrad. + +He had left his bed of sickness that morning, had saddled his horse in +the gray dawn with his own hands, and had ridden away into the misty +twilight of the forest without the knowledge of anyone excepting the +porter, who, winking and blinking in the bewilderment of his broken +slumber, had opened the gates to the sick man, hardly knowing what he +was doing, until he beheld his master far away, clattering down the +steep bridle-path. + +Eight leagues had he ridden that day with neither a stop nor a stay; but +now at last the end of his journey had come, and he drew rein under the +shade of the great wooden gateway of St. Michaelsburg. + +He reached up to the knotted rope and gave it a pull, and from within +sounded the answering ring of the porter’s bell. By and by a little +wicket opened in the great wooden portals, and the gentle, wrinkled face +of old Brother Benedict, the porter, peeped out at the strange iron-clad +visitor and the great black war-horse, streaked and wet with the sweat +of the journey, flecked and dappled with flakes of foam. A few words +passed between them, and then the little window was closed again; and +within, the shuffling pat of the sandalled feet sounded fainter and +fainter, as Brother Benedict bore the message from Baron Conrad to Abbot +Otto, and the mail-clad figure was left alone, sitting there as silent +as a statue. + +By and by the footsteps sounded again; there came a noise of clattering +chains and the rattle of the key in the lock, and the rasping of the +bolts dragged back. Then the gate swung slowly open, and Baron Conrad +rode into the shelter of the White Cross, and as the hoofs of his +war-horse clashed upon the stones of the courtyard within, the wooden +gate swung slowly to behind him. + +Abbot Otto stood by the table when Baron Conrad entered the high-vaulted +room from the farther end. The light from the oriel window behind the +old man shed broken rays of light upon him, and seemed to frame his thin +gray hairs with a golden glory. His white, delicate hand rested upon the +table beside him, and upon some sheets of parchment covered with rows of +ancient Greek writing which he had been engaged in deciphering. + +Clank! clank! clank! Baron Conrad strode across the stone floor, and +then stopped short in front of the good old man. + +“What dost thou seek here, my son?” said the Abbot. + +“I seek sanctuary for my son and thy brother’s grandson,” said the Baron +Conrad, and he flung back the folds of his cloak and showed the face of +the sleeping babe. + +For a while the Abbot said nothing, but stood gazing dreamily at +the baby. After a while he looked up. “And the child’s mother,” said +he--“what hath she to say at this?” + +“She hath naught to say,” said Baron Conrad, hoarsely, and then stopped +short in his speech. “She is dead,” said he, at last, in a husky voice, +“and is with God’s angels in paradise.” + +The Abbot looked intently in the Baron’s face. “So!” said he, under his +breath, and then for the first time noticed how white and drawn was the +Baron’s face. “Art sick thyself?” he asked. + +“Ay,” said the Baron, “I have come from death’s door. But that is no +matter. Wilt thou take this little babe into sanctuary? My house is a +vile, rough place, and not fit for such as he, and his mother with the +blessed saints in heaven.” And once more Conrad of Drachenhausen’s face +began twitching with the pain of his thoughts. + +“Yes,” said the old man, gently, “he shall live here,” and he stretched +out his hands and took the babe. “Would,” said he, “that all the little +children in these dark times might be thus brought to the house of God, +and there learn mercy and peace, instead of rapine and war.” + +For a while he stood looking down in silence at the baby in his arms, +but with his mind far away upon other things. At last he roused himself +with a start. “And thou,” said he to the Baron Conrad--“hath not thy +heart been chastened and softened by this? Surely thou wilt not go back +to thy old life of rapine and extortion?” + +“Nay,” said Baron Conrad, gruffly, “I will rob the city swine no longer, +for that was the last thing that my dear one asked of me.” + +The old Abbot’s face lit up with a smile. “I am right glad that thy +heart was softened, and that thou art willing at last to cease from war +and violence.” + +“Nay,” cried the Baron, roughly, “I said nothing of ceasing from war. By +heaven, no! I will have revenge!” And he clashed his iron foot upon the +floor and clinched his fists and ground his teeth together. “Listen,” + said he, “and I will tell thee how my troubles happened. A fortnight ago +I rode out upon an expedition against a caravan of fat burghers in the +valley of Gruenhoffen. They outnumbered us many to one, but city swine +such as they are not of the stuff to stand against our kind for a long +time. Nevertheless, while the men-at-arms who guarded the caravan were +staying us with pike and cross-bow from behind a tree which they had +felled in front of a high bridge the others had driven the pack-horses +off, so that by the time we had forced the bridge they were a league +or more away. We pushed after them as hard as we were able, but when we +came up with them we found that they had been joined by Baron Frederick +of Trutz-Drachen, to whom for three years and more the burghers of +Gruenstadt have been paying a tribute for his protection against others. +Then again they made a stand, and this time the Baron Frederick himself +was with them. But though the dogs fought well, we were forcing them +back, and might have got the better of them, had not my horse stumbled +upon a sloping stone, and so fell and rolled over upon me. While I lay +there with my horse upon me, Baron Frederick ran me down with his lance, +and gave me that foul wound that came so near to slaying me--and did +slay my dear wife. Nevertheless, my men were able to bring me out from +that press and away, and we had bitten the Trutz-Drachen dogs so deep +that they were too sore to follow us, and so let us go our way in peace. +But when those fools of mine brought me to my castle they bore me lying +upon a litter to my wife’s chamber. There she beheld me, and, thinking +me dead, swooned a death-swoon, so that she only lived long enough to +bless her new-born babe and name it Otto, for you, her father’s brother. +But, by heavens! I will have revenge, root and branch, upon that vile +tribe, the Roderburgs of Trutz-Drachen. Their great-grandsire built that +castle in scorn of Baron Casper in the old days; their grandsire slew my +father’s grandsire; Baron Nicholas slew two of our kindred; and now this +Baron Frederick gives me that foul wound and kills my dear wife through +my body.” Here the Baron stopped short; then of a sudden, shaking his +fist above his head, he cried out in his hoarse voice: “I swear by all +the saints in heaven, either the red cock shall crow over the roof of +Trutz-Drachen or else it shall crow over my house! The black dog shall +sit on Baron Frederick’s shoulders or else he shall sit on mine!” Again +he stopped, and fixing his blazing eyes upon the old man, “Hearest thou +that, priest?” said he, and broke into a great boisterous laugh. + +Abbot Otto sighed heavily, but he tried no further to persuade the other +into different thoughts. + +“Thou art wounded,” said he, at last, in a gentle voice; “at least stay +here with us until thou art healed.” + +“Nay,” said the Baron, roughly, “I will tarry no longer than to hear +thee promise to care for my child.” + +“I promise,” said the Abbot; “but lay aside thy armor, and rest.” + +“Nay,” said the Baron, “I go back again to-day.” + +At this the Abbot cried out in amazement: “Sure thou, wounded man, would +not take that long journey without a due stay for resting! Think! Night +will be upon thee before thou canst reach home again, and the forests +are beset with wolves.” + +The Baron laughed. “Those are not the wolves I fear,” said he. “Urge me +no further, I must return to-night; yet if thou hast a mind to do me a +kindness thou canst give me some food to eat and a flask of your golden +Michaelsburg; beyond these, I ask no further favor of any man, be he +priest or layman.” + +“What comfort I can give thee thou shalt have,” said the Abbot, in his +patient voice, and so left the room to give the needful orders, bearing +the babe with him. + + + + +V. How Otto Dwelt at St. Michaelsburg. + +So the poor, little, motherless waif lived among the old monks at the +White Cross on the hill, thriving and growing apace until he had reached +eleven or twelve years of age; a slender, fair-haired little fellow, +with a strange, quiet serious manner. + +“Poor little child!” Old Brother Benedict would sometimes say to the +others, “poor little child! The troubles in which he was born must have +broken his wits like a glass cup. What think ye he said to me to-day? +‘Dear Brother Benedict,’ said he, ‘dost thou shave the hair off of the +top of thy head so that the dear God may see thy thoughts the better?’ +Think of that now!” and the good old man shook with silent laughter. + +When such talk came to the good Father Abbot’s ears, he smiled quietly +to himself. “It may be,” said he, “that the wisdom of little children +flies higher than our heavy wits can follow.” + +At least Otto was not slow with his studies, and Brother Emmanuel, +who taught him his lessons, said more than once that, if his wits were +cracked in other ways, they were sound enough in Latin. + +Otto, in a quaint, simple way which belonged to him, was gentle +and obedient to all. But there was one among the Brethren of St. +Michaelsburg whom he loved far above all the rest--Brother John, a poor +half-witted fellow, of some twenty-five or thirty years of age. When +a very little child, he had fallen from his nurse’s arms and hurt his +head, and as he grew up into boyhood, and showed that his wits had been +addled by his fall, his family knew not what else to do with him, and +so sent him off to the Monastery of St. Michaelsburg, where he lived +his simple, witless life upon a sort of sufferance, as though he were a +tame, harmless animal. + +While Otto was still a little baby, he had been given into Brother +John’s care. Thereafter, and until Otto had grown old enough to care for +himself, poor Brother John never left his little charge, night or day. +Oftentimes the good Father Abbot, coming into the garden, where he loved +to walk alone in his meditations, would find the poor, simple Brother +sitting under the shade of the pear-tree, close to the bee-hives, +rocking the little baby in his arms, singing strange, crazy songs to +it, and gazing far away into the blue, empty sky with his curious, pale +eyes. + +Although, as Otto grew up into boyhood, his lessons and his tasks +separated him from Brother John, the bond between them seemed to grow +stronger rather than weaker. During the hours that Otto had for his own +they were scarcely ever apart. Down in the vineyard, where the monks +were gathering the grapes for the vintage, in the garden, or in the +fields, the two were always seen together, either wandering hand in +hand, or seated in some shady nook or corner. + +But most of all they loved to lie up in the airy wooden belfry; the +great gaping bell hanging darkly above them, the mouldering cross-beams +glimmering far up under the dim shadows of the roof, where dwelt a great +brown owl that, unfrightened at their familiar presence, stared down at +them with his round, solemn eyes. Below them stretched the white walls +of the garden, beyond them the vineyard, and beyond that again the far +shining river, that seemed to Otto’s mind to lead into wonder-land. +There the two would lie upon the belfry floor by the hour, talking +together of the strangest things. + +“I saw the dear Angel Gabriel again yester morn,” said Brother John. + +“So!” says Otto, seriously; “and where was that?” + +“It was out in the garden, in the old apple-tree,” said Brother John. “I +was walking there, and my wits were running around in the grass like a +mouse. What heard I but a wonderful sound of singing, and it was like +the hum of a great bee, only sweeter than honey. So I looked up into the +tree, and there I saw two sparks. I thought at first that they were +two stars that had fallen out of heaven; but what think you they were, +little child?” + +“I do not know,” said Otto, breathlessly. + +“They were angel’s eyes,” said Brother John; and he smiled in the +strangest way, as he gazed up into the blue sky. “So I looked at the two +sparks and felt happy, as one does in spring time when the cold weather +is gone, and the warm sun shines, and the cuckoo sings again. Then, +by-and-by, I saw the face to which the eyes belonged. First, it shone +white and thin like the moon in the daylight; but it grew brighter and +brighter, until it hurt one’s eyes to look at it, as though it had been +the blessed sun itself. Angel Gabriel’s hand was as white as silver, and +in it he held a green bough with blossoms, like those that grow on the +thorn bush. As for his robe, it was all of one piece, and finer than the +Father Abbot’s linen, and shone beside like the sunlight on pure snow. +So I knew from all these things that it was the blessed Angel Gabriel.” + +“‘What do they say about this tree, Brother John?’ said he to me. + +“‘They say it is dying, my Lord Angel,’ said I, ‘and that the gardener +will bring a sharp axe and cut it down.’ + +“‘And what dost thou say about it, Brother John?’ said he. + +“‘I also say yes, and that it is dying,’ said I. + +“At that he smiled until his face shone so bright that I had to shut my +eyes. + +“‘Now I begin to believe, Brother John, that thou art as foolish as men +say,’ said he. ‘Look, till I show thee.’ And thereat I opened mine eyes +again. + +“Then Angel Gabriel touched the dead branches with the flowery twig that +he held in his hand, and there was the dead wood all covered with green +leaves, and fair blossoms and beautiful apples as yellow as gold. Each +smelling more sweetly than a garden of flowers, and better to the taste +than white bread and honey. + +“‘They are souls of the apples,’ said the good Angel, ‘and they can +never wither and die.’ + +“‘Then I’ll tell the gardener that he shall not cut the tree down,’ said +I. + +“‘No, no,’ said the dear Gabriel, ‘that will never do, for if the tree +is not cut down here on the earth, it can never be planted in paradise.’” + +Here Brother John stopped short in his story, and began singing one of +his crazy songs, as he gazed with his pale eyes far away into nothing at +all. + +“But tell me, Brother John,” said little Otto, in a hushed voice, “what +else did the good Angel say to thee?” + +Brother John stopped short in his song and began looking from right to +left, and up and down, as though to gather his wits. + +“So!” said he, “there was something else that he told me. Tschk! If I +could but think now. Yes, good! This is it--‘Nothing that has lived,’ +said he, ‘shall ever die, and nothing that has died shall ever live.’” + +Otto drew a deep breath. “I would that I might see the beautiful Angel +Gabriel sometime,” said he; but Brother John was singing again and did +not seem to hear what he said. + +Next to Brother John, the nearest one to the little child was the good +Abbot Otto, for though he had never seen wonderful things with the eyes +of his soul, such as Brother John’s had beheld, and so could not tell of +them, he was yet able to give little Otto another pleasure that no one +else could give. + +He was a great lover of books, the old Abbot, and had under lock and key +wonderful and beautiful volumes, bound in hog-skin and metal, and with +covers inlaid with carved ivory, or studded with precious stones. But +within these covers, beautiful as they were, lay the real wonder of the +books, like the soul in the body; for there, beside the black letters +and initials, gay with red and blue and gold, were beautiful pictures +painted upon the creamy parchment. Saints and Angels, the Blessed Virgin +with the golden oriole about her head, good St. Joseph, the three Kings; +the simple Shepherds kneeling in the fields, while Angels with glories +about their brow called to the poor Peasants from the blue sky above. +But, most beautiful of all was the picture of the Christ Child lying in +the manger, with the mild-eyed Kine gazing at him. + +Sometimes the old Abbot would unlock the iron-bound chest where these +treasures lay hidden, and carefully and lovingly brushing the few grains +of dust from them, would lay them upon the table beside the oriel window +in front of his little namesake, allowing the little boy freedom to turn +the leaves as he chose. + +Always it was one picture that little Otto sought; the Christ Child in +the manger, with the Virgin, St. Joseph, the Shepherds, and the Kine. +And as he would hang breathlessly gazing and gazing upon it, the old +Abbot would sit watching him with a faint, half-sad smile flickering +around his thin lips and his pale, narrow face. + +It was a pleasant, peaceful life, but by-and-by the end came. Otto was +now nearly twelve years old. + +One bright, clear day, near the hour of noon, little Otto heard the +porter’s bell sounding below in the court-yard--dong! dong! Brother +Emmanuel had been appointed as the boy’s instructor, and just then Otto +was conning his lessons in the good monk’s cell. Nevertheless, at the +sound of the bell he pricked up his ears and listened, for a visitor was +a strange matter in that out-of-the-way place, and he wondered who it +could be. So, while his wits wandered his lessons lagged. + +“Postera Phoeba lustrabat lampade terras,” continued Brother Emmanuel, +inexorably running his horny finger-nail beneath the line, “humentemque +Aurora polo dimoverat umbram--” the lesson dragged along. + +Just then a sandaled footstep sounded without, in the stone corridor, +and a light tap fell upon Brother Emmanuel’s door. It was Brother +Ignatius, and the Abbot wished little Otto to come to the refectory. + +As they crossed the court-yard Otto stared to see a group of mail-clad +men-at-arms, some sitting upon their horses, some standing by the +saddle-bow. “Yonder is the young baron,” he heard one of them say in a +gruff voice, and thereupon all turned and stared at him. + +A stranger was in the refectory, standing beside the good old Abbot, +while food and wine were being brought and set upon the table for his +refreshment; a great, tall, broad-shouldered man, beside whom the Abbot +looked thinner and slighter than ever. + +The stranger was clad all in polished and gleaming armor, of plate and +chain, over which was drawn a loose robe of gray woollen stuff, reaching +to the knees and bound about the waist by a broad leathern sword-belt. +Upon his arm he carried a great helmet which he had just removed from +his head. His face was weather-beaten and rugged, and on lip and chin +was a wiry, bristling beard; once red, now frosted with white. + +Brother Ignatius had bidden Otto to enter, and had then closed the door +behind him; and now, as the lad walked slowly up the long room, he gazed +with round, wondering blue eyes at the stranger. + +“Dost know who I am, Otto? said the mail-clad knight, in a deep, +growling voice. + +“Methinks you are my father, sir,” said Otto. + +“Aye, thou art right,” said Baron Conrad, “and I am glad to see that +these milk-churning monks have not allowed thee to forget me, and who +thou art thyself.” + +“An’ it please you,” said Otto, “no one churneth milk here but +Brother Fritz; we be makers of wine and not makers of butter, at St. +Michaelsburg.” + +Baron Conrad broke into a great, loud laugh, but Abbot Otto’s sad and +thoughtful face lit up with no shadow of an answering smile. + +“Conrad,” said he, turning to the other, “again let me urge thee; do +not take the child hence, his life can never be your life, for he is not +fitted for it. I had thought,” said he, after a moment’s pause, “I had +thought that thou hadst meant to consecrate him--this motherless one--to +the care of the Universal Mother Church.” + +“So!” said the Baron, “thou hadst thought that, hadst thou? Thou hadst +thought that I had intended to deliver over this boy, the last of the +Vuelphs, to the arms of the Church? What then was to become of our name +and the glory of our race if it was to end with him in a monastery? No, +Drachenhausen is the home of the Vuelphs, and there the last of the race +shall live as his sires have lived before him, holding to his rights by +the power and the might of his right hand.” + +The Abbot turned and looked at the boy, who was gaping in simple +wide-eyed wonderment from one to the other as they spoke. + +“And dost thou think, Conrad,” said the old man, in his gentle, patient +voice, “that that poor child can maintain his rights by the strength of +his right hand?” + +The Baron’s look followed the Abbot’s, and he said nothing. + +In the few seconds of silence that followed, little Otto, in his simple +mind, was wondering what all this talk portended. Why had his father +come hither to St. Michaelsburg, lighting up the dim silence of the +monastery with the flash and ring of his polished armor? Why had he +talked about churning butter but now, when all the world knew that the +monks of St. Michaelsburg made wine. + +It was Baron Conrad’s deep voice that broke the little pause of silence. + +“If you have made a milkmaid of the boy,” he burst out at last, “I thank +the dear heaven that there is yet time to undo your work and to make a +man of him.” + +The Abbot sighed. “The child is yours, Conrad,” said he, “the will of +the blessed saints be done. Mayhap if he goes to dwell at Drachenhausen +he may make you the better instead of you making him the worse.” + +Then light came to the darkness of little Otto’s wonderment; he saw what +all this talk meant and why his father had come hither. He was to leave +the happy, sunny silence of the dear White Cross, and to go out into +that great world that he had so often looked down upon from the high +windy belfry on the steep hillside. + + + + +VI. How Otto Lived in the Dragon’s House. + +The gates of the Monastery stood wide open, the world lay beyond, and +all was ready for departure. Baron Conrad and his men-at-arms sat foot +in stirrup, the milk-white horse that had been brought for Otto stood +waiting for him beside his father’s great charger. + +“Farewell, Otto,” said the good old Abbot, as he stooped and kissed the +boy’s cheek. + +“Farewell,” answered Otto, in his simple, quiet way, and it brought +a pang to the old man’s heart that the child should seem to grieve so +little at the leave-taking. + +“Farewell, Otto,” said the brethren that stood about, “farewell, +farewell.” + +Then poor brother John came forward and took the boy’s hand, and looked +up into his face as he sat upon his horse. “We will meet again,” said +he, with his strange, vacant smile, “but maybe it will be in Paradise, +and there perhaps they will let us lie in the father’s belfry, and look +down upon the angels in the court-yard below.” + +“Aye,” answered Otto, with an answering smile. + +“Forward,” cried the Baron, in a deep voice, and with a clash of hoofs +and jingle of armor they were gone, and the great wooden gates were shut +to behind them. + +Down the steep winding pathway they rode, and out into the great wide +world beyond, upon which Otto and brother John had gazed so often from +the wooden belfry of the White Cross on the hill. + +“Hast been taught to ride a horse by the priests up yonder on +Michaelsburg?” asked the Baron, when they had reached the level road. + +“Nay,” said Otto; “we had no horse to ride, but only to bring in the +harvest or the grapes from the further vineyards to the vintage.” + +“Prut,” said the Baron, “methought the abbot would have had enough of +the blood of old days in his veins to have taught thee what is fitting +for a knight to know; art not afeared?” + +“Nay,” said Otto, with a smile, “I am not afeared.” + +“There at least thou showest thyself a Vuelph,” said the grim Baron. But +perhaps Otto’s thought of fear and Baron Conrad’s thought of fear were +two very different matters. + +The afternoon had passed by the time they had reached the end of their +journey. Up the steep, stony path they rode to the drawbridge and +the great gaping gateway of Drachenhausen, where wall and tower and +battlement looked darker and more forbidding than ever in the gray +twilight of the coming night. Little Otto looked up with great, +wondering, awe-struck eyes at this grim new home of his. + +The next moment they clattered over the drawbridge that spanned the +narrow black gulph between the roadway and the wall, and the next were +past the echoing arch of the great gateway and in the gray gloaming of +the paved court-yard within. + +Otto looked around upon the many faces gathered there to catch the +first sight of the little baron; hard, rugged faces, seamed and +weather-beaten; very different from those of the gentle brethren among +whom he had lived, and it seemed strange to him that there was none +there whom he should know. + +As he climbed the steep, stony steps to the door of the Baron’s house, +old Ursela came running down to meet him. She flung her withered arms +around him and hugged him close to her. “My little child,” she cried, +and then fell to sobbing as though her heart would break. + +“Here is someone knoweth me,” thought the little boy. + +His new home was all very strange and wonderful to Otto; the armors, the +trophies, the flags, the long galleries with their ranges of rooms, +the great hall below with its vaulted roof and its great fireplace of +grotesquely carved stone, and all the strange people with their lives +and thoughts so different from what he had been used to know. + +And it was a wonderful thing to explore all the strange places in the +dark old castle; places where it seemed to Otto no one could have ever +been before. + +Once he wandered down a long, dark passageway below the hall, pushed +open a narrow, iron-bound oaken door, and found himself all at once in +a strange new land; the gray light, coming in through a range of tall, +narrow windows, fell upon a row of silent, motionless figures carven in +stone, knights and ladies in strange armor and dress; each lying upon +his or her stony couch with clasped hands, and gazing with fixed, +motionless, stony eyeballs up into the gloomy, vaulted arch above them. +There lay, in a cold, silent row, all of the Vuelphs who had died since +the ancient castle had been built. + +It was the chapel into which Otto had made his way, now long since +fallen out of use excepting as a burial place of the race. + +At another time he clambered up into the loft under the high peaked +roof, where lay numberless forgotten things covered with the dim dust +of years. There a flock of pigeons had made their roost, and flapped +noisily out into the sunlight when he pushed open the door from below. +Here he hunted among the mouldering things of the past until, oh, joy +of joys! in an ancient oaken chest he found a great lot of worm-eaten +books, that had belonged to some old chaplain of the castle in days gone +by. They were not precious and beautiful volumes, such as the Father +Abbot had showed him, but all the same they had their quaint painted +pictures of the blessed saints and angels. + +Again, at another time, going into the court-yard, Otto had found +the door of Melchior’s tower standing invitingly open, for old Hilda, +Schwartz Carl’s wife, had come down below upon some business or other. + +Then upon the shaky wooden steps Otto ran without waiting for a second +thought, for he had often gazed at those curious buildings hanging so +far up in the air, and had wondered what they were like. Round and round +and up and up Otto climbed, until his head spun. At last he reached +a landing-stage, and gazing over the edge and down, beheld the stone +pavement far, far below, lit by a faint glimmer of light that entered +through the arched doorway. Otto clutched tight hold of the wooden rail, +he had no thought that he had climbed so far. + +Upon the other side of the landing was a window that pierced the thick +stone walls of the tower; out of the window he looked, and then drew +suddenly back again with a gasp, for it was through the outer wall he +peered, and down, down below in the dizzy depths he saw the hard +gray rocks, where the black swine, looking no larger than ants in the +distance, fed upon the refuse thrown out over the walls of the castle. +There lay the moving tree-tops like a billowy green sea, and the coarse +thatched roofs of the peasant cottages, round which crawled the little +children like tiny human specks. + +Then Otto turned and crept down the stairs, frightened at the height to +which he had climbed. + +At the doorway he met Mother Hilda. “Bless us,” she cried, starting back +and crossing herself, and then, seeing who it was, ducked him a courtesy +with as pleasant a smile as her forbidding face, with its little +deep-set eyes, was able to put upon itself. + +Old Ursela seemed nearer to the boy than anyone else about the castle, +excepting it was his father, and it was a newfound delight to Otto to +sit beside her and listen to her quaint stories, so different from the +monkish tales that he had heard and read at the monastery. + +But one day it was a tale of a different sort that she told him, and one +that opened his eyes to what he had never dreamed of before. + +The mellow sunlight fell through the window upon old Ursela, as she sat +in the warmth with her distaff in her hands while Otto lay close to her +feet upon a bear skin, silently thinking over the strange story of a +brave knight and a fiery dragon that she had just told him. Suddenly +Ursela broke the silence. + +“Little one,” said she, “thou art wondrously like thy own dear mother; +didst ever hear how she died?” + +“Nay,” said Otto, “but tell me, Ursela, how it was.” + +“Tis strange,” said the old woman, “that no one should have told thee +in all this time.” And then, in her own fashion she related to him the +story of how his father had set forth upon that expedition in spite of +all that Otto’s mother had said, beseeching him to abide at home; how he +had been foully wounded, and how the poor lady had died from her fright +and grief. + +Otto listened with eyes that grew wider and wider, though not all with +wonder; he no longer lay upon the bear skin, but sat up with his hands +clasped. For a moment or two after the old woman had ended her story, he +sat staring silently at her. Then he cried out, in a sharp voice, “And +is this truth that you tell me, Ursela? and did my father seek to rob +the towns people of their goods?” + +Old Ursela laughed. “Aye,” said she, “that he did and many times. Ah! +me, those days are all gone now.” And she fetched a deep sigh. “Then we +lived in plenty and had both silks and linens and velvets besides in the +store closets and were able to buy good wines and live in plenty upon +the best. Now we dress in frieze and live upon what we can get, and +sometimes that is little enough, with nothing better than sour beer to +drink. But there is one comfort in it all, and that is that our good +Baron paid back the score he owed the Trutz-Drachen people not only for +that, but for all that they had done from the very first.” + +Thereupon she went on to tell Otto how Baron Conrad had fulfilled the +pledge of revenge that he had made Abbot Otto, how he had watched day +after day until one time he had caught the Trutz-Drachen folk, +with Baron Frederick at their head, in a narrow defile back of the +Kaiserburg; of the fierce fight that was there fought; of how the +Roderburgs at last fled, leaving Baron Frederick behind them wounded; of +how he had kneeled before the Baron Conrad, asking for mercy, and of +how Baron Conrad had answered, “Aye, thou shalt have such mercy as thou +deservest,” and had therewith raised his great two-handed sword and laid +his kneeling enemy dead at one blow. + +Poor little Otto had never dreamed that such cruelty and wickedness +could be. He listened to the old woman’s story with gaping horror, and +when the last came and she told him, with a smack of her lips, how his +father had killed his enemy with his own hand, he gave a gasping cry and +sprang to his feet. Just then the door at the other end of the chamber +was noisily opened, and Baron Conrad himself strode into the room. +Otto turned his head, and seeing who it was, gave another cry, loud and +quavering, and ran to his father and caught him by the hand. + +“Oh, father!” he cried, “oh, father! Is it true that thou hast killed a +man with thy own hand?” + +“Aye,” said the Baron, grimly, “it is true enough, and I think me I have +killed many more than one. But what of that, Otto? Thou must get out of +those foolish notions that the old monks have taught thee. Here in the +world it is different from what it is at St. Michaelsburg; here a man +must either slay or be slain.” + +But poor little Otto, with his face hidden in his father’s robe, cried +as though his heart would break. “Oh, father!” he said, again and again, +“it cannot be--it cannot be that thou who art so kind to me should have +killed a man with thine own hands.” Then: “I wish that I were back +in the monastery again; I am afraid out here in the great wide world; +perhaps somebody may kill me, for I am only a weak little boy and could +not save my own life if they chose to take it from me.” + +Baron Conrad looked down upon Otto all this while, drawing his bushy +eyebrows together. Once he reached out his hand as though to stroke the +boy’s hair, but drew it back again. + +Turning angrily upon the old woman, “Ursela,” said he, “thou must tell +the child no more such stories as these; he knowest not at all of such +things as yet. Keep thy tongue busy with the old woman’s tales that he +loves to hear thee tell, and leave it with me to teach him what becometh +a true knight and a Vuelph.” + +That night the father and son sat together beside the roaring fire in +the great ball. “Tell me, Otto,” said the Baron, “dost thou hate me for +having done what Ursela told thee today that I did?” + +Otto looked for a while into his father’s face. “I know not,” said he at +last, in his quaint, quiet voice, “but methinks that I do not hate thee +for it.” + +The Baron drew his bushy brows together until his eyes twinkled out of +the depths beneath them, then of a sudden he broke into a great loud +laugh, smiting his horny palm with a smack upon his thigh. + + + + +VII. The Red Cock Crows on Drachenhausen. + +There was a new emperor in Germany who had come from a far away Swiss +castle; Count Rudolph of Hapsburg, a good, honest man with a good, +honest, homely face, but bringing with him a stern sense of justice and +of right, and a determination to put down the lawlessness of the savage +German barons among whom he had come as Emperor. + +One day two strangers came galloping up the winding path to the gates +of the Dragon’s house. A horn sounded thin and clear, a parley was held +across the chasm in the road between the two strangers and the porter +who appeared at the little wicket. Then a messenger was sent running to +the Baron, who presently came striding across the open court-yard to the +gateway to parley with the strangers. + +The two bore with them a folded parchment with a great red seal +hanging from it like a clot of blood; it was a message from the Emperor +demanding that the Baron should come to the Imperial Court to answer +certain charges that had been brought against him, and to give his bond +to maintain the peace of the empire. + +One by one those barons who had been carrying on their private wars, or +had been despoiling the burgher folk in their traffic from town to +town, and against whom complaint had been lodged, were summoned to the +Imperial Court, where they were compelled to promise peace and to swear +allegiance to the new order of things. All those who came willingly were +allowed to return home again after giving security for maintaining the +peace; all those who came not willingly were either brought in chains +or rooted out of their strongholds with fire and sword, and their roofs +burned over their heads. + +Now it was Baron Conrad’s turn to be summoned to the Imperial Court, +for complaint had been lodged against him by his old enemy of +Trutz-Drachen—Baron Henry—the nephew of the old Baron Frederick +who had been slain while kneeling in the dust of the road back of the +Kaiserburg. + +No one at Drachenhausen could read but Master Rudolph, the steward, +who was sand blind, and little Otto. So the boy read the summons to his +father, while the grim Baron sat silent with his chin resting upon his +clenched fist and his eyebrows drawn together into a thoughtful frown as +he gazed into the pale face of his son, who sat by the rude oaken table +with the great parchment spread out before him. + +Should he answer the summons, or scorn it as he would have done under +the old emperors? Baron Conrad knew not which to do; pride said one +thing and policy another. The Emperor was a man with an iron hand, and +Baron Conrad knew what had happened to those who had refused to obey the +imperial commands. So at last he decided that he would go to the court, +taking with him a suitable escort to support his dignity. + +It was with nearly a hundred armed men clattering behind him that Baron +Conrad rode away to court to answer the imperial summons. The castle was +stripped of its fighting men, and only eight remained behind to guard +the great stone fortress and the little simple-witted boy. + +It was a sad mistake. + +Three days had passed since the Baron had left the castle, and now the +third night had come. The moon was hanging midway in the sky, white and +full, for it was barely past midnight. + +The high precipitous banks of the rocky road threw a dense black shadow +into the gully below, and in that crooked inky line that scarred the +white face of the moonlit rocks a band of some thirty men were creeping +slowly and stealthily nearer and nearer to Castle Drachenhausen. At the +head of them was a tall, slender knight clad in light chain armor, his +head covered only by a steel cap or bascinet. + +Along the shadow they crept, with only now and then a faint clink or +jingle of armor to break the stillness, for most of those who followed +the armed knight were clad in leathern jerkins; only one or two wearing +even so much as a steel breast-plate by way of armor. + +So at last they reached the chasm that yawned beneath the roadway, and +there they stopped, for they had reached the spot toward which they had +been journeying. It was Baron Henry of Trutz-Drachen who had thus come +in the silence of the night time to the Dragon’s house, and his visit +boded no good to those within. + +The Baron and two or three of his men talked together in low tones, now +and then looking up at the sheer wall that towered above them. + +“Yonder is the place, Lord Baron,” said one of those who stood with him. +“I have scanned every foot of the wall at night for a week past. An we +get not in by that way, we get not in at all. A keen eye, a true aim, +and a bold man are all that we need, and the business is done.” Here +again all looked upward at the gray wall above them, rising up in the +silent night air. + +High aloft hung the wooden bartizan or watch-tower, clinging to the face +of the outer wall and looming black against the pale sky above. Three +great beams pierced the wall, and upon them the wooden tower rested. The +middle beam jutted out beyond the rest to the distance of five or six +feet, and the end of it was carved into the rude semblance of a dragon’s +head. + +“So, good,” said the Baron at last; “then let us see if thy plan holds, +and if Hans Schmidt’s aim is true enough to earn the three marks that I +have promised him. Where is the bag?” + +One of those who stood near handed the Baron a leathern pouch, the Baron +opened it and drew out a ball of fine thread, another of twine, a coil +of stout rope, and a great bundle that looked, until it was unrolled, +like a coarse fish-net. It was a rope ladder. While these were being +made ready, Hans Schmidt, a thick-set, low-browed, broad-shouldered +archer, strung his stout bow, and carefully choosing three arrows +from those in his quiver, he stuck them point downward in the earth. +Unwinding the ball of thread, he laid it loosely in large loops upon the +ground so that it might run easily without hitching, then he tied the +end of the thread tightly around one of his arrows. He fitted the arrow +to the bow and drew the feather to his ear. Twang! rang the bowstring, +and the feathered messenger flew whistling upon its errand to the +watch-tower. The very first shaft did the work. + +“Good,” said Hans Schmidt, the archer, in his heavy voice, “the three +marks are mine, Lord Baron.” + +The arrow had fallen over and across the jutting beam between the carved +dragon’s head and the bartizan, carrying with it the thread, which now +hung from above, glimmering white in the moonlight like a cobweb. + +The rest was an easy task enough. First the twine was drawn up to and +over the beam by the thread, then the rope was drawn up by the twine, +and last of all the rope ladder by the rope. There it hung like a thin, +slender black line against the silent gray walls. + +“And now,” said the Baron, “who will go first and win fifty marks for +his own, and climb the rope ladder to the tower yonder?” Those around +hesitated. “Is there none brave enough to venture?” said the Baron, +after a pause of silence. + +A stout, young fellow, of about eighteen years of age, stepped forward +and flung his flat leathern cap upon the ground. “I will go, my Lord +Baron,” said he. + +“Good,” said the Baron, “the fifty marks are thine. And now listen, if +thou findest no one in the watch-tower, whistle thus; if the watchman +be at his post, see that thou makest all safe before thou givest the +signal. When all is ready the others will follow thee. And now go and +good luck go with thee.” + +The young fellow spat upon his hands and, seizing the ropes, began +slowly and carefully to mount the flimsy, shaking ladder. Those below +held it as tight as they were able, but nevertheless he swung backward +and forward and round and round as he climbed steadily upward. Once he +stopped upon the way, and those below saw him clutch the ladder close +to him as though dizzied by the height and the motion but he soon began +again, up, up, up like some great black spider. Presently he came out +from the black shadow below and into the white moonlight, and then his +shadow followed him step by step up the gray wall upon his way. At last +he reached the jutting beam, and there again he stopped for a moment +clutching tightly to it. The next he was upon the beam, dragging himself +toward the window of the bartizan just above. Slowly raising himself +upon his narrow foothold he peeped cautiously within. Those watching +him from below saw him slip his hand softly to his side, and then place +something between his teeth. It was his dagger. Reaching up, he clutched +the window sill above him and, with a silent spring, seated himself +upon it. The next moment he disappeared within. A few seconds of silence +followed, then of sudden a sharp gurgling cry broke the stillness. There +was another pause of silence, then a faint shrill whistle sounded from +above. + +“Who will go next?” said the Baron. It was Hans Schmidt who stepped +forward. Another followed the arch up the ladder, and another, and +another. Last of all went the Baron Henry himself, and nothing was left +but the rope ladder hanging from above, and swaying back and forth in +the wind. + +That night Schwartz Carl had been bousing it over a pot of yellow wine +in the pantry with his old crony, Master Rudolph, the steward; and the +two, chatting and gossiping together, had passed the time away until +long after the rest of the castle had been wrapped in sleep. Then, +perhaps a little unsteady upon his feet, Schwartz Carl betook himself +homeward to the Melchior tower. + +He stood for a while in the shadow of the doorway, gazing up into the +pale sky above him at the great, bright, round moon, that hung like a +bubble above the sharp peaks of the roofs standing black as ink against +the sky. But all of a sudden he started up from the post against which +he had been leaning, and with head bent to one side, stood listening +breathlessly, for he too had heard that smothered cry from the +watch-tower. So he stood intently, motionlessly, listening, listening; +but all was silent except for the monotonous dripping of water in one of +the nooks of the court-yard, and the distant murmur of the river borne +upon the breath of the night air. “Mayhap I was mistaken,” muttered +Schwartz Carl to himself. + +But the next moment the silence was broken again by a faint, shrill +whistle; what did it mean? + +Back of the heavy oaken door of the tower was Schwartz Carl’s cross-bow, +the portable windlass with which the bowstring was drawn back, and a +pouch of bolts. Schwartz Carl reached back into the darkness, fumbling +in the gloom until his fingers met the weapon. Setting his foot in the +iron stirrup at the end of the stock, he wound the stout bow-string +into the notch of the trigger, and carefully fitted the heavy, +murderous-looking bolt into the groove. + +Minute after minute passed, and Schwartz Carl, holding his arbelast in +his hand, stood silently waiting and watching in the sharp-cut, black +shadow of the doorway, motionless as a stone statue. Minute after minute +passed. Suddenly there was a movement in the shadow of the arch of the +great gateway across the court-yard, and the next moment a leathern-clad +figure crept noiselessly out upon the moonlit pavement, and stood there +listening, his head bent to one side. Schwartz Carl knew very well +that it was no one belonging to the castle, and, from the nature of his +action, that he was upon no good errand. + +He did not stop to challenge the suspicious stranger. The taking of +another’s life was thought too small a matter for much thought or care +in those days. Schwartz Carl would have shot a man for a much smaller +reason than the suspicious actions of this fellow. The leather-clad +figure stood a fine target in the moonlight for a cross-bow bolt. +Schwartz Carl slowly raised the weapon to his shoulder and took a long +and steady aim. Just then the stranger put his fingers to his lips and +gave a low, shrill whistle. It was the last whistle that he was to give +upon this earth. There was a sharp, jarring twang of the bow-string, the +hiss of the flying bolt, and the dull thud as it struck its mark. The +man gave a shrill, quavering cry, and went staggering back, and then +fell all of a heap against the wall behind him. As though in answer to +the cry, half a dozen men rushed tumultuously out from the shadow of +the gateway whence the stranger had just come, and then stood in the +court-yard, looking uncertainly this way and that, not knowing from what +quarter the stroke had come that had laid their comrade low. + +But Schwartz Carl did not give them time to discover that; there was no +chance to string his cumbersome weapon again; down he flung it upon the +ground. “To arms!” he roared in a voice of thunder, and then clapped to +the door of Melchior’s tower and shot the great iron bolts with a clang +and rattle. + +The next instant the Trutz-Drachen men were thundering at the door, but +Schwartz Carl was already far up the winding steps. + +But now the others came pouring out from the gateway. “To the house,” + roared Baron Henry. + +Then suddenly a clashing, clanging uproar crashed out upon the night. +Dong! Dong! It was the great alarm bell from Melchior’s tower--Schwartz +Carl was at his post. + +Little Baron Otto lay sleeping upon the great rough bed in his room, +dreaming of the White Cross on the hill and of brother John. By and by +he heard the convent bell ringing, and knew that there must be visitors +at the gate, for loud voices sounded through his dream. Presently he +knew that he was coming awake, but though the sunny monastery garden +grew dimmer and dimmer to his sleeping sight, the clanging of the bell +and the sound of shouts grew louder and louder. Then he opened his eyes. +Flaming red lights from torches, carried hither and thither by people +in the court-yard outside, flashed and ran along the wall of his +room. Hoarse shouts and cries filled the air, and suddenly the shrill, +piercing shriek of a woman rang from wall to wall; and through the +noises the great bell from far above upon Melchior’s tower clashed and +clanged its harsh, resonant alarm. + +Otto sprang from his bed and looked out of the window and down upon +the court-yard below. “Dear God! what dreadful thing hath happened?” he +cried and clasped his hands together. + +A cloud of smoke was pouring out from the windows of the building across +the court-yard, whence a dull ruddy glow flashed and flickered. Strange +men were running here and there with flaming torches, and the now +continuous shrieking of women pierced the air. + +Just beneath the window lay the figure of a man half naked and face +downward upon the stones. Then suddenly Otto cried out in fear and +horror, for, as he looked with dazed and bewildered eyes down into the +lurid court-yard beneath, a savage man, in a shining breast-plate and +steel cap, came dragging the dark, silent figure of a woman across the +stones; but whether she was dead or in a swoon, Otto could not tell. + +And every moment the pulsing of that dull red glare from the windows of +the building across the court-yard shone more brightly, and the glare +from other flaming buildings, which Otto could not see from his window, +turned the black, starry night into a lurid day. + +Just then the door of the room was burst open, and in rushed poor old +Ursela, crazy with her terror. She flung herself down upon the floor and +caught Otto around the knees. “Save me!” she cried, “save me!” as though +the poor, pale child could be of any help to her at such a time. In the +passageway without shone the light of torches, and the sound of loud +footsteps came nearer and nearer. + +And still through all the din sounded continually the clash and clang +and clamor of the great alarm bell. + +The red light flashed into the room, and in the doorway stood a tall, +thin figure clad from head to foot in glittering chain armor. From +behind this fierce knight, with his dark, narrow, cruel face, its +deep-set eyes glistening in the light of the torches, crowded six or +eight savage, low-browed, brutal men, who stared into the room and +at the white-faced boy as he stood by the window with the old woman +clinging to his knees and praying to him for help. + +“We have cracked the nut and here is the kernel,” said one of them who +stood behind the rest, and thereupon a roar of brutal laughter went up. +But the cruel face of the armed knight never relaxed into a smile; +he strode into the room and laid his iron hand heavily upon the boy’s +shoulder. “Art thou the young Baron Otto?” said he, in a harsh voice. + +“Aye,” said the lad; “but do not kill me.” + +The knight did not answer him. “Fetch the cord hither,” said he, “and +drag the old witch away.” + +It took two of them to loosen poor old Ursela’s crazy clutch from about +her young master. Then amid roars of laughter they dragged her away, +screaming and scratching and striking with her fists. + +They drew back Otto’s arms behind his back and wrapped them round and +round with a bowstring. Then they pushed and hustled and thrust him +forth from the room and along the passageway, now bright with the flames +that roared and crackled without. Down the steep stairway they drove +him, where thrice he stumbled and fell amid roars of laughter. At last +they were out into the open air of the court-yard. Here was a terrible +sight, but Otto saw nothing of it; his blue eyes were gazing far away, +and his lips moved softly with the prayer that the good monks of St. +Michaelsburg had taught him, for he thought that they meant to slay him. + +All around the court-yard the flames roared and snapped and crackled. +Four or five figures lay scattered here and there, silent in all the +glare and uproar. The heat was so intense that they were soon forced +back into the shelter of the great gateway, where the women captives, +under the guard of three or four of the Trutz-Drachen men, were crowded +together in dumb, bewildered terror. Only one man was to be seen among +the captives, poor, old, half blind Master Rudolph, the steward, +who crouched tremblingly among the women. + +They had set the blaze to Melchior’s tower, and now, below, it was a +seething furnace. Above, the smoke rolled in black clouds from the +windows, but still the alarm bell sounded through all the blaze and +smoke. Higher and higher the flames rose; a trickle of fire ran along +the frame buildings hanging aloft in the air. A clear flame burst out +at the peak of the roof, but still the bell rang forth its clamorous +clangor. Presently those who watched below saw the cluster of buildings +bend and sink and sway; there was a crash and roar, a cloud of sparks +flew up as though to the very heavens themselves, and the bell of +Melchior’s tower was stilled forever. A great shout arose from the +watching, upturned faces. + +“Forward!” cried Baron Henry, and out from the gateway they swept and +across the drawbridge, leaving Drachenhausen behind them a flaming +furnace blazing against the gray of the early dawning. + + + + +VIII. In the House of the Dragon Scorner. + +Tall, narrow, gloomy room; no furniture but a rude bench, a bare stone +floor, cold stone walls and a gloomy ceiling of arched stone over head; +a long, narrow slit of a window high above in the wall, through the iron +bars of which Otto could see a small patch of blue sky and now and then +a darting swallow, for an instant seen, the next instant gone. Such +was the little baron’s prison in Trutz-Drachen. Fastened to a bolt +and hanging against the walls, hung a pair of heavy chains with gaping +fetters at the ends. They were thick with rust, and the red stain of +the rust streaked the wall below where they hung like a smear of blood. +Little Otto shuddered as he looked at them; can those be meant for me, +he thought. + +Nothing was to be seen but that one patch of blue sky far up in the +wall. No sound from without was to be heard in that gloomy cell of +stone, for the window pierced the outer wall, and the earth and its +noises lay far below. + +Suddenly a door crashed without, and the footsteps of men were heard +coming along the corridor. They stopped in front of Otto’s cell; he +heard the jingle of keys, and then a loud rattle of one thrust into +the lock of the heavy oaken door. The rusty bolt was shot back with a +screech, the door opened, and there stood Baron Henry, no longer in his +armor, but clad in a long black robe that reached nearly to his feet, +a broad leather belt was girdled about his waist, and from it dangled a +short, heavy hunting sword. + +Another man was with the Baron, a heavy-faced fellow clad in a leathern +jerkin over which was drawn a short coat of linked mail. + +The two stood for a moment looking into the room, and Otto, his pale +face glimmering in the gloom, sat upon the edge of the heavy wooden +bench or bed, looking back at them out of his great blue eyes. Then the +two entered and closed the door behind them. + +“Dost thou know why thou art here?” said the Baron, in his deep, harsh +voice. + +“Nay,” said Otto, “I know not.” + +“So?” said the Baron. “Then I will tell thee. Three years ago the good +Baron Frederick, my uncle, kneeled in the dust and besought mercy at thy +father’s hands; the mercy he received was the coward blow that slew him. +Thou knowest the story?” + +“Aye,” said Otto, tremblingly, “I know it.” + +“Then dost thou not know why I am here?” said the Baron. + +“Nay, dear Lord Baron, I know not,” said poor little Otto, and began to +weep. + +The Baron stood for a moment or two looking gloomily upon him, as the +little boy sat there with the tears running down his white face. + +“I will tell thee,” said he, at last; “I swore an oath that the red cock +should crow on Drachenhausen, and I have given it to the dames. I swore +an oath that no Vuelph that ever left my hands should be able to strike +such a blow as thy father gave to Baron Frederick, and now I will fulfil +that too. Catch the boy, Casper, and hold him.” + +As the man in the mail shirt stepped toward little Otto, the boy leaped +up from where he sat and caught the Baron about the knees. “Oh! dear +Lord Baron,” he cried, “do not harm me; I am only a little child, I have +never done harm to thee; do not harm me.” + +“Take him away,” said the Baron, harshly. + +The fellow stooped, and loosening Otto’s hold, in spite of his struggles +and cries, carried him to the bench, against which he held him, whilst +the Baron stood above him. + +Baron Henry and the other came forth from the cell, carefully closing +the wooden door behind them. At the end of the corridor the Baron +turned, “Let the leech be sent to the boy,” said he. And then he turned +and walked away. + +Otto lay upon the hard couch in his cell, covered with a shaggy bear +skin. His face was paler and thinner than ever, and dark rings encircled +his blue eyes. He was looking toward the door, for there was a noise of +someone fumbling with the lock without. + +Since that dreadful day when Baron Henry had come to his cell, only two +souls had visited Otto. One was the fellow who had come with the Baron +that time; his name, Otto found, was Casper. He brought the boy his rude +meals of bread and meat and water. The other visitor was the leech or +doctor, a thin, weasand little man, with a kindly, wrinkled face and a +gossiping tongue, who, besides binding wounds, bleeding, and leeching, +and administering his simple remedies to those who were taken sick in +the castle, acted as the Baron’s barber. + +The Baron had left the key in the lock of the door, so that these two +might enter when they chose, but Otto knew that it was neither the one +nor the other whom he now heard at the door, working uncertainly with +the key, striving to turn it in the rusty, cumbersome lock. At last the +bolts grated back, there was a pause, and then the door opened a little +way, and Otto thought that he could see someone peeping in from without. +By and by the door opened further, there was another pause, and then +a slender, elfish-looking little girl, with straight black hair and +shining black eyes, crept noiselessly into the room. + +She stood close by the door with her finger in her mouth, staring at +the boy where he lay upon his couch, and Otto upon his part lay, full of +wonder, gazing back upon the little elfin creature. + +She, seeing that he made no sign or motion, stepped a little nearer, and +then, after a moment’s pause, a little nearer still, until, at last, she +stood within a few feet of where he lay. + +“Art thou the Baron Otto?” said she. + +“Yes,” answered Otto. + +“Prut!” said she, “and is that so! Why, I thought that thou wert a great +tall fellow at least, and here thou art a little boy no older than Carl +Max, the gooseherd.” Then, after a little pause--“My name is Pauline, +and my father is the Baron. I heard him tell my mother all about thee, +and so I wanted to come here and see thee myself: Art thou sick?” + +“Yes,” said Otto, “I am sick.” + +“And did my father hurt thee?” + +“Aye,” said Otto, and his eyes filled with tears, until one sparkling +drop trickled slowly down his white face. + +Little Pauline stood looking seriously at him for a while. “I am sorry +for thee, Otto,” said she, at last. And then, at her childish pity, he +began crying in earnest. + +This was only the first visit of many from the little maid, for after +that she often came to Otto’s prison, who began to look for her coming +from day to day as the one bright spot in the darkness and the gloom. + +Sitting upon the edge of his bed and gazing into his face with wide open +eyes, she would listen to him by the hour, as he told her of his life in +that far away monastery home; of poor, simple brother John’s wonderful +visions, of the good Abbot’s books with their beautiful pictures, and of +all the monkish tales and stories of knights and dragons and heroes and +emperors of ancient Rome, which brother Emmanuel had taught him to read +in the crabbed monkish Latin in which they were written. + +One day the little maid sat for a long while silent after he had ended +speaking. At last she drew a deep breath. “And are all these things that +thou tellest me about the priests in their castle really true?” said +she. + +“Yes,” said Otto, “all are true.” + +“And do they never go out to fight other priests?” + +“No,” said Otto, “they know nothing of fighting.” + +“So!” said she. And then fell silent in the thought of the wonder of +it all, and that there should be men in the world that knew nothing of +violence and bloodshed; for in all the eight years of her life she had +scarcely been outside of the walls of Castle Trutz-Drachen. + +At another time it was of Otto’s mother that they were speaking. + +“And didst thou never see her, Otto?” said the little girl. + +“Aye,” said Otto, “I see her sometimes in my dreams, and her face always +shines so bright that I know she is an angel; for brother John has often +seen the dear angels, and he tells me that their faces always shine in +that way. I saw her the night thy father hurt me so, for I could not +sleep and my head felt as though it would break asunder. Then she +came and leaned over me and kissed my forehead, and after that I fell +asleep.” + +“But where did she come from, Otto?” said the little girl. + +“From paradise, I think,” said Otto, with that patient seriousness that +he had caught from the monks, and that sat so quaintly upon him. + +“So!” said little Pauline; and then, after a pause, “That is why thy +mother kissed thee when thy head ached--because she is an angel. When +I was sick my mother bade Gretchen carry me to a far part of the house, +because I cried and so troubled her. Did thy mother ever strike thee, +Otto?” + +“Nay,” said Otto. + +“Mine hath often struck me,” said Pauline. + +One day little Pauline came bustling into Otto’s cell, her head full of +the news which she carried. “My father says that thy father is out +in the woods somewhere yonder, back of the castle, for Fritz, the +swineherd, told my father that last night he had seen a fire in the +woods, and that he had crept up to it without anyone knowing. There he +had seen the Baron Conrad and six of his men, and that they were eating +one of the swine that they had killed and roasted. Maybe,” said she, +seating herself upon the edge of Otto’s couch; “maybe my father will +kill thy father, and they will bring him here and let him lie upon a +black bed with bright candles burning around him, as they did my uncle +Frederick when he was killed.” + +“God forbid!” said Otto, and then lay for a while with his hands +clasped. “Dost thou love me, Pauline?” said he, after a while. + +“Yes,” said Pauline, “for thou art a good child, though my father says +that thy wits are cracked.” + +“Mayhap they are,” said Otto, simply, “for I have often been told so +before. But thou wouldst not see me die, Pauline; wouldst thou?” + +“Nay,” said Pauline, “I would not see thee die, for then thou couldst +tell me no more stories; for they told me that uncle Frederick could not +speak because he was dead.” + +“Then listen, Pauline,” said Otto; “if I go not away from here I shall +surely die. Every day I grow more sick and the leech cannot cure me.” + Here he broke down and, turning his face upon the couch, began crying, +while little Pauline sat looking seriously at him. + +“Why dost thou cry, Otto?” said she, after a while. + +“Because,” said he, “I am so sick, and I want my father to come and take +me away from here.” + +“But why dost thou want to go away?” said Pauline. “If thy father takes +thee away, thou canst not tell me any more stories.” + +“Yes, I can,” said Otto, “for when I grow to be a man I will come +again and marry thee, and when thou art my wife I can tell thee all the +stories that I know. Dear Pauline, canst thou not tell my father where I +am, that he may come here and take me away before I die?” + +“Mayhap I could do so,” said Pauline, after a little while, “for +sometimes I go with Casper Max to see his mother, who nursed me when I +was a baby. She is the wife of Fritz, the swineherd, and she will make +him tell thy father; for she will do whatever I ask of her, and Fritz +will do whatever she bids him do.” + +“And for my sake, wilt thou tell him, Pauline?” said Otto. + +“But see, Otto,” said the little girl, “if I tell him, wilt thou promise +to come indeed and marry me when thou art grown a man?” + +“Yes,” said Otto, very seriously, “I will promise.” + +“Then I will tell thy father where thou art,” said she. + +“But thou wilt do it without the Baron Henry knowing, wilt thou not, +Pauline?” + +“Yes,” said she, “for if my father and my mother knew that I did such +a thing, they would strike me, mayhap send me to my bed alone in the +dark.” + + + + +IX. How One-eyed Hans came to Trutz-Drachen. + +Fritz, the swineherd, sat eating his late supper of porridge out of a +great, coarse, wooden bowl; wife Katherine sat at the other end of the +table, and the half-naked little children played upon the earthen floor. +A shaggy dog lay curled up in front of the fire, and a grunting pig +scratched against a leg of the rude table close beside where the woman +sat. + +“Yes, yes,” said Katherine, speaking of the matter of which they had +already been talking. “It is all very true that the Drachenhausens are a +bad lot, and I for one am of no mind to say no to that; all the same it +is a sad thing that a simple-witted little child like the young Baron +should be so treated as the boy has been; and now that our Lord Baron +has served him so that he, at least, will never be able to do us harm, +I for one say that he should not be left there to die alone in that +black cell.” + +Fritz, the swineherd, gave a grunt at this without raising his eyes from +the bowl. + +“Yes, good,” said Katherine, “I know what thou meanest, Fritz, and that +it is none of my business to be thrusting my finger into the Baron’s +dish. But to hear the way that dear little child spoke when she was here +this morn--it would have moved a heart of stone to hear her tell of all +his pretty talk. Thou wilt try to let the red-beard know that that poor +boy, his son, is sick to death in the black cell; wilt thou not, Fritz?” + +The swineherd dropped his wooden spoon into the bowl with a clatter. +“Potstausand!” he cried; “art thou gone out of thy head to let thy wits +run upon such things as this of which thou talkest to me? If it should +come to our Lord Baron’s ears he would cut the tongue from out thy head +and my head from off my shoulders for it. Dost thou think I am going to +meddle in such a matter as this? Listen! these proud Baron folk, with +their masterful ways, drive our sort hither and thither; they beat us, +they drive us, they kill us as they choose. Our lives are not as much +to them as one of my black swine. Why should I trouble my head if they +choose to lop and trim one another? The fewer there are of them the +better for us, say I. We poor folk have a hard enough life of it without +thrusting our heads into the noose to help them out of their troubles. +What thinkest thou would happen to us if Baron Henry should hear of our +betraying his affairs to the Red-beard?” + +“Nay,” said Katherine, “thou hast naught to do in the matter but to tell +the Red-beard in what part of the castle the little Baron lies.” + +“And what good would that do?” said Fritz, the swineherd. + +“I know not,” said Katherine, “but I have promised the little one that +thou wouldst find the Baron Conrad and tell him that much.” + +“Thou hast promised a mare’s egg,” said her husband, angrily. “How shall +I find the Baron Conrad to bear a message to him, when our Baron has +been looking for him in vain for two days past?” + +“Thou has found him once and thou mayst find him again,” said Katherine, +“for it is not likely that he will keep far away from here whilst his +boy is in such sore need of help.” + +“I will have nothing to do with it!” said Fritz, and he got up from the +wooden block whereon he was sitting and stumped out of the house. But, +then, Katherine had heard him talk in that way before, and knew, in +spite of his saying “no,” that, sooner or later, he would do as she +wished. + +Two days later a very stout little one-eyed man, clad in a leathern +jerkin and wearing a round leathern cap upon his head, came toiling up +the path to the postern door of Trutz-Drachen, his back bowed under the +burthen of a great peddler’s pack. It was our old friend the one-eyed +Hans, though even his brother would hardly have known him in his present +guise, for, besides having turned peddler, he had grown of a sudden +surprisingly fat. + +Rap-tap-tap! He knocked at the door with a knotted end of the crooked +thorned staff upon which he leaned. He waited for a while and then +knocked again--rap-tap-tap! + +Presently, with a click, a little square wicket that pierced the door +was opened, and a woman’s face peered out through the iron bars. + +The one-eyed Hans whipped off his leathern cap. + +“Good day, pretty one,” said he, “and hast thou any need of glass beads, +ribbons, combs, or trinkets? Here I am come all the way from Gruenstadt, +with a pack full of such gay things as thou never laid eyes on before. +Here be rings and bracelets and necklaces that might be of pure silver +and set with diamonds and rubies, for anything that thy dear one could +tell if he saw thee decked in them. And all are so cheap that thou hast +only to say, ‘I want them,’ and they are thine.” + +The frightened face at the window looked from right to left and from +left to right. “Hush,” said the girl, and laid her finger upon her lips. +“There! thou hadst best get away from here, poor soul, as fast as thy +legs can carry thee, for if the Lord Baron should find thee here talking +secretly at the postern door, he would loose the wolf-hounds upon thee.” + +“Prut,” said one-eyed Hans, with a grin, “the Baron is too big a fly to +see such a little gnat as I; but wolf-hounds or no wolf-hounds, I +can never go hence without showing thee the pretty things that I have +brought from the town, even though my stay be at the danger of my own +hide.” + +He flung the pack from off his shoulders as he spoke and fell to +unstrapping it, while the round face of the lass (her eyes big with +curiosity) peered down at him through the grated iron bars. + +Hans held up a necklace of blue and white beads that glistened like +jewels in the sun, and from them hung a gorgeous filigree cross. “Didst +thou ever see a sweeter thing than this?” said he; “and look, here is a +comb that even the silversmith would swear was pure silver all the way +through.” Then, in a soft, wheedling voice, “Canst thou not let me in, +my little bird? Sure there are other lasses besides thyself who would +like to trade with a poor peddler who has travelled all the way from +Gruenstadt just to please the pretty ones of Trutz-Drachen.” + +“Nay,” said the lass, in a frightened voice, “I cannot let thee in; I +know not what the Baron would do to me, even now, if he knew that I was +here talking to a stranger at the postern;” and she made as if she would +clap to the little window in his face; but the one-eyed Hans thrust his +staff betwixt the bars and so kept the shutter open. + +“Nay, nay,” said he, eagerly, “do not go away from me too soon. Look, +dear one; seest thou this necklace?” + +“Aye,” said she, looking hungrily at it. + +“Then listen; if thou wilt but let me into the castle, so that I may +strike a trade, I will give it to thee for thine own without thy paying +a barley corn for it.” + +The girl looked and hesitated, and then looked again; the temptation was +too great. There was a noise of softly drawn bolts and bars, the door +was hesitatingly opened a little way, and, in a twinkling, the one-eyed +Hans had slipped inside the castle, pack and all. + +“The necklace,” said the girl, in a frightened whisper. + +Hans thrust it into her hand. “It’s thine,” said he, “and now wilt thou +not help me to a trade?” + +“I will tell my sister that thou art here,” said she, and away she ran +from the little stone hallway, carefully bolting and locking the further +door behind her. + +The door that the girl had locked was the only one that connected the +postern hail with the castle. + +The one-eyed Hans stood looking after her. “Thou fool!” he muttered to +himself, “to lock the door behind thee. What shall I do next, I should +like to know? Here am I just as badly off as I was when I stood outside +the walls. Thou hussy! If thou hadst but let me into the castle for only +two little minutes, I would have found somewhere to have hidden myself +while thy back was turned. But what shall I do now?” He rested his pack +upon the floor and stood looking about him. + +Built in the stone wall opposite to him, was a high, narrow fireplace +without carving of any sort. As Hans’ one eye wandered around the bare +stone space, his glance fell at last upon it, and there it rested. For +a while he stood looking intently at it, presently he began rubbing his +hand over his bristling chin in a thoughtful, meditative manner. Finally +he drew a deep breath, and giving himself a shake as though to arouse +himself from his thoughts, and after listening a moment or two to +make sure that no one was nigh, he walked softly to the fireplace, and +stooping, peered up the chimney. Above him yawned a black cavernous +depth, inky with the soot of years. Hans straightened himself, and +tilting his leathern cap to one side, began scratching his bullet-head; +at last he drew a long breath. “Yes, good,” he muttered to himself; “he +who jumps into the river must e’en swim the best he can. It is a vile, +dirty place to thrust one’s self; but I am in for it now, and must make +the best of a lame horse.” + +He settled the cap more firmly upon his head, spat upon his hands, and +once more stooping in the fireplace, gave a leap, and up the chimney he +went with a rattle of loose mortar and a black trickle of soot. + +By and by footsteps sounded outside the door. There was a pause; a +hurried whispering of women’s voices; the twitter of a nervous laugh, +and then the door was pushed softly opens and the girl to whom the +one-eyed Hans had given the necklace of blue and white beads with the +filigree cross hanging from it, peeped uncertainly into the room. Behind +her broad, heavy face were three others, equally homely and stolid; for +a while all four stood there, looking blankly into the room and around +it. Nothing was there but the peddler’s knapsack lying in the middle of +the floor-the man was gone. The light of expectancy slowly faded Out of +the girl’s face, and in its place succeeded first bewilderment and then +dull alarm. “But, dear heaven,” she said, “where then has the peddler +man gone?” + +A moment or two of silence followed her speech. “Perhaps,” said one of +the others, in a voice hushed with awe, “perhaps it was the evil one +himself to whom thou didst open the door.” + +Again there was a hushed and breathless pause; it was the lass who had +let Hans in at the postern, who next spoke. + +“Yes,” said she, in a voice trembling with fright at what she had done, +“yes, it must have been the evil one, for now I remember he had but one +eye.” The four girls crossed themselves, and their eyes grew big and +round with the fright. + +Suddenly a shower of mortar came rattling down the chimney. “Ach!” cried +the four, as with one voice. Bang! the door was clapped to and away they +scurried like a flock of frightened rabbits. + +When Jacob, the watchman, came that way an hour later, upon his evening +round of the castle, he found a peddler’s knapsack lying in the middle +of the floor. He turned it over with his pike-staff and saw that it was +full of beads and trinkets and ribbons. + +“How came this here?” said he. And then, without waiting for the answer +which he did not expect, he flung it over his shoulder and marched away +with it. + + + + +X. How Hans Brought Terror to the Kitchen. + +Hans found himself in a pretty pickle in the chimney, for the soot got +into his one eye and set it to watering, and into his nose and set him +to sneezing, and into his mouth and his ears and his hair. But still +he struggled on, up and up; “for every chimney has a top,” said Hans +to himself “and I am sure to climb out somewhere or other.” Suddenly he +came to a place where another chimney joined the one he was climbing, +and here he stopped to consider the matter at his leisure. “See now,” he +muttered, “if I still go upward I may come out at the top of some tall +chimney-stack with no way of getting down outside. Now, below here +there must be a fire-place somewhere, for a chimney does not start from +nothing at all; yes, good! we will go down a while and see what we make +of that.” + +It was a crooked, zigzag road that he had to travel, and rough and hard +into the bargain. His one eye tingled and smarted, and his knees and +elbows were rubbed to the quick; nevertheless One-eyed Hans had been in +worse trouble than this in his life. + +Down he went and down he went, further than he had climbed upward +before. “Sure, I must be near some place or other,” he thought. + +As though in instant answer to his thoughts, he heard the sudden sound +of a voice so close beneath him that he stopped short in his downward +climbing and stood as still as a mouse, with his heart in his mouth. +A few inches more and he would have been discovered;--what would have +happened then would have been no hard matter to foretell. + +Hans braced his back against one side of the chimney, his feet against +the other and then, leaning forward, looked down between his knees. The +gray light of the coming evening glimmered in a wide stone fireplace +just below him. Within the fireplace two people were moving about upon +the broad hearth, a great, fat woman and a shock-headed boy. The woman +held a spit with two newly trussed fowls upon it, so that One-eyed Hans +knew that she must be the cook. + +“Thou ugly toad,” said the woman to the boy, “did I not bid thee make a +fire an hour ago? and now, here there is not so much as a spark to roast +the fowls withall, and they to be basted for the lord Baron’s supper. +Where hast thou been for all this time?” + +“No matter,” said the boy, sullenly, as he laid the fagots ready for the +lighting; “no matter, I was not running after Long Jacob, the bowman, to +try to catch him for a sweetheart, as thou hast been doing.” + +The reply was instant and ready. The cook raised her hand; “smack!” she +struck and a roar from the scullion followed. + +“Yes, good,” thought Hans, as he looked down upon them; “I am glad that +the boy’s ear was not on my head.” + +“Now give me no more of thy talk,” said the woman, “but do the work +that thou hast been bidden.” Then--“How came all this black soot here, I +should like to know?” + +“How should I know?” snuffled the scullion, “mayhap thou wouldst blame +that on me also?” + +“That is my doing,” whispered Hans to himself; “but if they light the +fire, what then becomes of me?” + +“See now,” said the cook; “I go to make the cakes ready; if I come back +and find that thou hast not built the fire, I will warm thy other ear +for thee.” + +“So,” thought Hans; “then will be my time to come down the chimney, for +there will be but one of them.” + +The next moment he heard the door close and knew that the cook had gone +to make the cakes ready as she said. And as he looked down he saw that +the boy was bending over the bundle of fagots, blowing the spark that +he had brought in upon the punk into a flame. The dry fagots began to +crackle and blaze. “Now is my time,” said Hans to himself. Bracing his +elbows against each side of the chimney, he straightened his legs so +that he might fall clear. His motions loosened little shower of soot that +fell rattling upon the fagots that were now beginning to blaze brightly, +whereupon the boy raised his face and looked up. Hans loosened his hold +upon the chimney; crash! he fell, lighting upon his feet in the midst +of the burning fagots. The scullion boy tumbled backward upon the floor, +where he lay upon the broad of his back with a face as white as +dough and eyes and mouth agape, staring speechlessly at the frightful +inky-black figure standing in the midst of the flames and smoke. Then +his scattered wits came back to him. “It is the evil one,” he roared. +And thereupon, turning upon his side, he half rolled, half scrambled to +the door. Then out he leaped and, banging it to behind him, flew down +the passageway, yelling with fright and never daring once to look behind +him. + +All the time One-eyed Hans was brushing away the sparks that clung to +his clothes. He was as black as ink from head to foot with the soot from +the chimney. + +“So far all is good,” he muttered to himself, “but if I go wandering +about in my sooty shoes I will leave black tracks to follow me, so there +is nothing to do but e’en to go barefoot.” + +He stooped and drawing the pointed soft leather shoes from his feet, he +threw them upon the now blazing fagots, where they writhed and twisted +and wrinkled, and at last burst into a flame. Meanwhile Hans lost no +time; he must find a hiding-place, and quickly, if he would yet hope +to escape. A great bread trough stood in the corner of the kitchen--a +hopper-shaped chest with a flat lid. It was the best hiding place that +the room afforded. Without further thought Hans ran to it, snatching up +from the table as he passed a loaf of black bread and a bottle half full +of stale wine, for he had had nothing to eat since that morning. Into +the great bread trough he climbed, and drawing the lid down upon him, +curled himself up as snugly as a mouse in its nest. + +For a while the kitchen lay in silence, but at last the sound of voices +was heard at the door, whispering together in low tones. Suddenly the +door was flung open and a tall, lean, lantern-jawed fellow, clad in +rough frieze, strode into the room and stood there glaring with half +frightened boldness around about him; three or four women and the +trembling scullion crowded together in a frightened group behind him. + +The man was Long Jacob, the bowman; but, after all, his boldness was +all wasted, for not a thread or a hair was to be seen, but only the +crackling fire throwing its cheerful ruddy glow upon the wall of the +room, now rapidly darkening in the falling gray of the twilight without. + +The fat cook’s fright began rapidly to turn into anger. + +“Thou imp,” she cried, “it is one of thy tricks,” and she made a dive +for the scullion, who ducked around the skirts of one of the other women +and so escaped for the time; but Long Jacob wrinkled up his nose and +sniffed. “Nay,” said he, “me thinks that there lieth some truth in the +tale that the boy hath told, for here is a vile smell of burned horn +that the black one hath left behind him.” + +It was the smell from the soft leather shoes that Hans had burned. + +The silence of night had fallen over the Castle of Trutz-Drachen; not +a sound was heard but the squeaking of mice scurring behind the +wainscoting, the dull dripping of moisture from the eaves, or the +sighing of the night wind around the gables and through the naked +windows of the castle. + +The lid of the great dough trough was softly raised, and a face, black +with soot, peeped cautiously out from under it. Then little by little +arose a figure as black as the face; and One-eyed Hans stepped out upon +the floor, stretching and rubbing himself. + +“Methinks I must have slept,” he muttered. “Hui, I am as stiff as a new +leather doublet, and now, what next is to become of me? I hope my luck +may yet stick to me, in spite of this foul black soot!” + +Along the middle of the front of the great hall of the castle, ran a +long stone gallery, opening at one end upon the court-yard by a high +flight of stone steps. A man-at-arms in breast-plate and steel cap, and +bearing a long pike, paced up and down the length of this gallery, now +and then stopping, leaning over the edge, and gazing up into the starry +sky above; then, with a long drawn yawn, lazily turning back to the +monotonous watch again. + +A dark figure crept out from an arched doorway at the lower part of the +long straight building, and some little distance below the end gallery, +but the sentry saw nothing of it, for his back was turned. As silently +and as stealthily as a cat the figure crawled along by the dark shadowy +wall, now and then stopping, and then again creeping slowly forward +toward the gallery where the man-at-arms moved monotonously up and down. +It was One-eyed Hans in his bare feet. + +Inch by inch, foot by foot--the black figure crawled along in the angle +of the wall; inch by inch and foot by foot, but ever nearer and nearer +to the long straight row of stone steps that led to the covered gallery. +At last it crouched at the lowest step of the flight. Just then the +sentinel upon watch came to the very end of the gallery and stood there +leaning upon his spear. Had he looked down below he could not have +failed to have seen One-eyed Hans lying there motionlessly; but he was +gazing far away over the steep black roofs beyond, and never saw the +unsuspected presence. Minute after minute passed, and the one stood +there looking out into the night and the other lay crouching by the +wall; then with a weary sigh the sentry turned and began slowly pacing +back again toward the farther end of the gallery. + +Instantly the motionless figure below arose and glided noiselessly and +swiftly up the flight of steps. + +Two rude stone pillars flanked either side of the end of the gallery. +Like a shadow the black figure slipped behind one of these, flattening +itself up against the wall, where it stood straight and motionless as +the shadows around it. + +Down the long gallery came the watchman, his sword clinking loudly in +the silence as he walked, tramp, tramp, tramp! clink, clank, jingle. + +Within three feet of the motionless figure behind the pillar he turned, +and began retracing his monotonous steps. Instantly the other left the +shadow of the post and crept rapidly and stealthily after him. One step, +two steps the sentinel took; for a moment the black figure behind him +seemed to crouch and draw together, then like a flash it leaped forward +upon its victim. + +A shadowy cloth fell upon the man’s face, and in an instant he was flung +back and down with a muffled crash upon the stones. Then followed a +fierce and silent struggle in the darkness, but strong and sturdy as the +man was, he was no match for the almost superhuman strength of One-eyed +Hans. The cloth which he had flung over his head was tied tightly and +securely. Then the man was forced upon his face and, in spite of his +fierce struggles, his arms were bound around and around with strong fine +cord; next his feet were bound in the same way, and the task was done. +Then Hans stood upon his feet, and wiped the sweat from his swarthy +forehead. “Listen, brother,” he whispered, and as he spoke he stooped +and pressed something cold and hard against the neck of the other. +“Dost thou know the feel of this? It is a broad dagger, and if thou +dost contrive to loose that gag from thy mouth and makest any outcry, it +shall be sheathed in thy weasand.” + +So saying, he thrust the knife back again into its sheath, then stooping +and picking up the other, he flung him across his shoulder like a sack, +and running down the steps as lightly as though his load was nothing at +all, he carried his burden to the arched doorway whence he had come a +little while before. There, having first stripped his prisoner of +all his weapons, Hans sat the man up in the angle of the wall. “So, +brother;” said he, “now we can talk with more ease than we could up +yonder. I will tell thee frankly why I am here; it is to find where the +young Baron Otto of Drachenhausen is kept. If thou canst tell me, +well and good; if not, I must e’en cut thy weasand and find me one who +knoweth more. Now, canst thou tell me what I would learn, brother?” + +The other nodded dimly in the darkness. + +“That is good,” said Hans, “then I will loose thy gag until thou hast +told me; only bear in mind what I said concerning my dagger.” + +Thereupon, he unbound his prisoner, and the fellow slowly rose to his +feet. He shook himself and looked all about him in a heavy, bewildered +fashion, as though he had just awakened from a dream. + +His right hand slid furtively down to his side, but the dagger-sheath +was empty. + +“Come, brother!” said Hans, impatiently, “time is passing, and once lost +can never be found again. Show me the way to the young Baron Otto or--.” + And he whetted the shining blade of his dagger on his horny palm. + +The fellow needed no further bidding; turning, he led the way, and +together they were swallowed up in the yawning shadows, and again the +hush of night-time lay upon the Castle of Trutz-Drachen. + + + + +XI. How Otto was Saved. + +Little Otto was lying upon the hard couch in his cell, tossing in +restless and feverish sleep; suddenly a heavy hand was laid upon him and +a voice whispered in his ear, “Baron, Baron Otto, waken, rouse yourself; +I am come to help you. I am One-eyed Hans.” + +Otto was awake in an instant and raised himself upon his elbow in the +darkness. “One-eyed Hans,” he breathed, “One-eyed Hans; who is One-eyed +Hans?” + +“True,” said the other, “thou dost not know me. I am thy father’s +trusted servant, and am the only one excepting his own blood and kin +who has clung to him in this hour of trouble. Yes, all are gone but me +alone, and so I have come to help thee away from this vile place.” + +“Oh, dear, good Hans! if only thou canst!” cried Otto; “if only thou +canst take me away from this wicked place. Alas, dear Hans! I am weary +and sick to death.” And poor little Otto began to weep silently in the +darkness. + +“Aye, aye,” said Hans, gruffly, “it is no place for a little child +to be. Canst thou climb, my little master? canst thou climb a knotted +rope?” + +“Nay,” said Otto, “I can never climb again! See, Hans;” and he flung +back the covers from off him. + +“I cannot see,” said Hans, “it is too dark.” + +“Then feel, dear Hans,” said Otto. + +Hans bent over the poor little white figure glimmering palely in the +darkness. Suddenly he drew back with a snarl like an angry wolf. “Oh! +the black, bloody wretches!” he cried, hoarsely; “and have they done +that to thee, a little child?” + +“Yes,” said Otto, “the Baron Henry did it.” And then again he began to +cry. + +“There, there,” said Hans, roughly, “weep no more. Thou shalt get away +from here even if thou canst not climb; I myself will help thee. Thy +father is already waiting below the window here, and thou shalt soon be +with him. There, there, cry no more.” + +While he was speaking Hans had stripped off his peddler’s leathern +jacket, and there, around his body, was wrapped coil after coil of stout +hempen rope tied in knots at short distances. He began unwinding the +rope, and when he had done he was as thin as ever he had been before. +Next he drew from the pouch that hung at his side a ball of fine cord +and a leaden weight pierced by a hole, both of which he had brought with +him for the use to which he now put them. He tied the lead to the end of +the cord, then whirling the weight above his head, he flung it up toward +the window high above. Twice the piece of lead fell back again into the +room; the third time it flew out between the iron bars carrying the cord +with it. Hans held the ball in his hand and paid out the string as the +weight carried it downward toward the ground beneath. Suddenly the cord +stopped running. Hans jerked it and shook it, but it moved no farther. +“Pray heaven, little child,” said he, “that it hath reached the ground, +for if it hath not we are certainly lost.” + +“I do pray,” said Otto, and he bowed his head. + +Then, as though in answer to his prayer, there came a twitch upon the +cord. + +“See,” said Hans, “they have heard thee up above in heaven; it was thy +father who did that.” Quickly and deftly he tied the cord to the end of +the knotted rope; then he gave an answering jerk upon the string. The +next moment the rope was drawn up to the window and down the outside by +those below. Otto lay watching the rope as it crawled up to the window +and out into the night like a great snake, while One-eyed Hans held the +other end lest it should be drawn too far. At last it stopped. “Good,” + muttered Hans, as though to himself. “The rope is long enough.” + +He waited for a few minutes and then, drawing upon the rope and finding +that it was held from below, he spat upon his hands and began slowly +climbing up to the window above. Winding his arm around the iron bars of +the grating that guarded it, he thrust his hand into the pouch that hung +by his side, and drawing forth a file, fell to work cutting through all +that now lay between Otto and liberty. + +It was slow, slow work, and it seemed to Otto as though Hans would never +finish his task, as lying upon his hard couch he watched that figure, +black against the sky, bending over its work. Now and then the file +screeched against the hard iron, and then Hans would cease for a moment, +but only to begin again as industriously as ever. Three or four times he +tried the effects of his work, but still the iron held. At last he +set his shoulder against it, and as Otto looked he saw the iron bend. +Suddenly there was a sharp crack, and a piece of the grating went flying +out into the night. + +Hans tied the rope securely about the stump of the stout iron bar that +yet remained, and then slid down again into the room below. + +“My little lord,” said he, “dost thou think that if I carry thee, thou +wilt be able and strong enough to cling to my neck?” + +“Aye,” said Otto, “methinks I will be able to do that.” + +“Then come,” said Hans. + +He stooped as he spoke, and gently lifting Otto from his rude and rugged +bed he drew his broad leathern belt around them both, buckling it firmly +and securely. “It does not hurt thee?” said he. + +“Not much,” whispered Otto faintly. + +Then Hans spat upon his hands, and began slowly climbing the rope. + +They reached the edge of the window and there they rested for a moment, +and Otto renewed his hold around the neck of the faithful Hans. + +“And now art thou ready?” said Hans + +“Aye,” said Otto. + +“Then courage,” said Hans, and he turned and swung his leg over the +abyss below. + +The next moment they were hanging in mid-air. + +Otto looked down and gave a gasp. “The mother of heaven bless us,” he +whispered, and then closed his eyes, faint and dizzy at the sight of +that sheer depth beneath. Hans said nothing, but shutting his teeth +and wrapping his legs around the rope, he began slowly descending, hand +under hand. Down, down, down he went, until to Otto, with his eyes shut +and his head leaning upon Hans’ shoulder, it seemed as though it could +never end. Down, down, down. Suddenly he felt Hans draw a deep breath; +there was a slight jar, and Otto opened his eyes; Hans was standing upon +the ground. + +A figure wrapped in a dark cloak arose from the shadow of the wall, and +took Otto in its arms. It was Baron Conrad. + +“My son--my little child!” he cried, in a choked, trembling voice, and +that was all. And Otto pressed his cheek against his father’s and began +crying. + +Suddenly the Baron gave a sharp, fierce cry. “Dear Heaven!” he cried; +“what have they done to thee?” But poor little Otto could not answer. + +“Oh!” gasped the Baron, in a strangled voice, “my little child! my +little child!” And therewith he broke down, and his whole body shook +with fierce, dry sobs; for men in those days did not seek to hide their +grief as they do now, but were fierce and strong in the expression of +that as of all else. + +“Never mind, dear father,” whispered Otto; “it did not hurt me so very +much,” and he pressed his lips against his father’s cheek. + +Little Otto had but one hand. + + + + +XII. A Ride For Life. + +But not yet was Otto safe, and all danger past and gone by. Suddenly, as +they stood there, the harsh clangor of a bell broke the silence of +the starry night above their heads, and as they raised their faces and +looked up, they saw lights flashing from window to window. Presently +came the sound of a hoarse voice shouting something that, from the +distance, they could not understand. + +One-eyed Hans smote his hand upon his thigh. “Look,” said he, “here is +what comes of having a soft heart in one’s bosom. I overcame and bound a +watchman up yonder, and forced him to tell me where our young Baron lay. +It was on my mind to run my knife into him after he had told me every +thing, but then, bethinking how the young Baron hated the thought of +bloodshed, I said to myself, ‘No, Hans, I will spare the villain’s +life.’ See now what comes of being merciful; here, by hook or by crook, +the fellow has loosed himself from his bonds, and brings the whole +castle about our ears like a nest of wasps.” + +“We must fly,” said the Baron; “for nothing else in the world is +left me, now that all have deserted me in this black time of trouble, +excepting these six faithful ones.” + +His voice was bitter, bitter, as he spoke; then stooping, he raised Otto +in his arms, and bearing him gently, began rapidly descending the rocky +slope to the level road that ran along the edge of the hill beneath. +Close behind him followed the rest; Hans still grimed with soot and in +his bare feet. A little distance from the road and under the shade of +the forest trees, seven horses stood waiting. The Baron mounted upon +his great black charger, seating little Otto upon the saddle in front of +him. “Forward!” he cried, and away they clattered and out upon the road. +Then--“To St. Michaelsburg,” said Baron Conrad, in his deep voice, and +the horses’ heads were turned to the westward, and away they galloped +through the black shadows of the forest, leaving Trutz-Drachen behind +them. + +But still the sound of the alarm bell rang through the beating of the +horses’ hoofs, and as Hans looked over his shoulder, he saw the light +of torches flashing hither and thither along the outer walls in front of +the great barbican. + +In Castle Trutz-Drachen all was confusion and uproar: flashing torches +lit up the dull gray walls; horses neighed and stamped, and men shouted +and called to one another in the bustle of making ready. Presently Baron +Henry came striding along the corridor clad in light armor, which he had +hastily donned when roused from his sleep by the news that his prisoner +had escaped. Below in the courtyard his horse was standing, and without +waiting for assistance, he swung himself into the saddle. Then away they +all rode and down the steep path, armor ringing, swords clanking, and +iron-shod hoofs striking sparks of fire from the hard stones. At their +head rode Baron Henry; his triangular shield hung over his shoulder, and +in his hand he bore a long, heavy, steel-pointed lance with a pennant +flickering darkly from the end. + +At the high-road at the base of the slope they paused, for they were at +a loss to know which direction the fugitives had taken; a half a score +of the retainers leaped from their horses, and began hurrying about +hither and thither, and up and down, like hounds searching for the lost +scent, and all the time Baron Henry sat still as a rock in the midst of +the confusion. + +Suddenly a shout was raised from the forest just beyond the road; they +had come upon the place where the horses had been tied. It was an easy +matter to trace the way that Baron Conrad and his followers had taken +thence back to the high-road, but there again they were at a loss. The +road ran straight as an arrow eastward and westward--had the fugitives +taken their way to the east or to the west? + +Baron Henry called his head-man, Nicholas Stein, to him, and the +two spoke together for a while in an undertone. At last the Baron’s +lieutenant reined his horse back, and choosing first one and then +another, divided the company into two parties. The baron placed himself +at the head of one band and Nicholas Stein at the head of the other. +“Forward!” he cried, and away clattered the two companies of horsemen in +opposite directions. + +It was toward the westward that Baron Henry of Trutz-Drachen rode at the +head of his men. + +The early springtide sun shot its rays of misty, yellow light across the +rolling tops of the forest trees where the little birds were singing in +the glory of the May morning. But Baron Henry and his followers thought +nothing of the beauty of the peaceful day, and heard nothing of the +multitudinous sound of the singing birds as, with a confused sound of +galloping hoofs, they swept along the highway, leaving behind them a +slow-curling, low-trailing cloud of dust. + +As the sun rose more full and warm, the misty wreaths began to dissolve, +until at last they parted and rolled asunder like a white curtain and +there, before the pursuing horsemen, lay the crest of the mountain +toward which they were riding, and up which the road wound steeply. + +“Yonder they are,” cried a sudden voice behind Baron Henry of +Trutz-Drachen, and at the cry all looked upward. + +Far away upon the mountain-side curled a cloud of dust, from the midst +of which came the star-like flash of burnished armor gleaming in the +sun. + +Baron Henry said never a word, but his lips curled in a grim smile. + +And as the mist wreaths parted One-eyed Hans looked behind and down +into the leafy valley beneath. “Yonder they come,” said he. “They have +followed sharply to gain so much upon us, even though our horses are +wearied with all the travelling we have done hither and yon these five +days past. How far is it, Lord Baron, from here to Michaelsburg?” + +“About ten leagues,” said the Baron, in a gloomy voice. + +Hans puckered his mouth as though to whistle, but the Baron saw nothing +of it, for he was gazing straight before him with a set and stony face. +Those who followed him looked at one another, and the same thought was +in the mind of each--how long would it be before those who pursued would +close the distance between them? + +When that happened it meant death to one and all. + +They reached the crest of the hill, and down they dashed upon the other +side; for there the road was smooth and level as it sloped away into the +valley, but it was in dead silence that they rode. Now and then those +who followed the Baron looked back over their shoulders. They had gained +a mile upon their pursuers when the helmeted heads rose above the crest +of the mountain, but what was the gain of a mile with a smooth road +between them, and fresh horses to weary ones? + +On they rode and on they rode. The sun rose higher and higher, and +hotter and hotter. There was no time to rest and water their panting +horses. Only once, when they crossed a shallow stretch of water, the +poor animals bent their heads and caught a few gulps from the cool +stream, and the One-eyed Hans washed a part of the soot from his hands +and face. On and on they rode; never once did the Baron Conrad move his +head or alter that steadfast look as, gazing straight before him, he +rode steadily forward along the endless stretch of road, with poor +little Otto’s yellow head and white face resting against his steel-clad +shoulder--and St. Michaelsburg still eight leagues away. + +A little rise of ground lay before them, and as they climbed it, all, +excepting the baron, turned their heads as with one accord and looked +behind them. Then more than one heart failed, for through the leaves +of the trees below, they caught the glint of armor of those who +followed--not more than a mile away. The next moment they swept over the +crest, and there, below them, lay the broad shining river, and nearer a +tributary stream spanned by a rude, narrow, three-arched, stone bridge +where the road crossed the deep, slow-moving water. + +Down the slope plodded the weary horses, and so to the bridge-head. + +“Halt,” cried the baron suddenly, and drew rein. + +The others stood bewildered. What did he mean to do? He turned to Hans +and his blue eyes shone like steel. + +“Hans,” said he, in his deep voice, “thou hast served me long and truly; +wilt thou for this one last time do my bidding?” + +“Aye,” said Hans, briefly. + +“Swear it,” said the Baron. + +“I swear it,” said Hans, and he drew the sign of the cross upon his +heart. + +“That is good,” said the Baron, grimly. “Then take thou this child, +and with the others ride with all the speed that thou canst to St. +Michaelsburg. Give the child into the charge of the Abbot Otto. Tell +him how that I have sworn fealty to the Emperor, and what I have gained +thereby--my castle burnt, my people slain, and this poor, simple child, +my only son, mutilated by my enemy. + +“And thou, my Lord Baron?” said Hans. + +“I will stay here,” said the Baron, quietly, “and keep back those who +follow as long as God will give me grace so to do.” + +A murmur of remonstrance rose among the faithful few who were with +him, two of whom were near of kin. But Conrad of Drachenhausen turned +fiercely upon them. + +“How now,” said he, “have I fallen so low in my troubles that even ye +dare to raise your voices against me? By the good Heaven, I will begin +my work here by slaying the first man who dares to raise word against +my bidding.” Then he turned from them. “Here, Hans,” said he, “take the +boy; and remember, knave, what thou hast sworn.” + +He pressed Otto close to his breast in one last embrace. “My little +child,” he murmured, “try not to hate thy father when thou thinkest of +him hereafter, even though he be hard and bloody as thou knowest.” + +But with his suffering and weakness, little Otto knew nothing of what +was passing; it was only as in a faint flickering dream that he lived in +what was done around him. + +“Farewell, Otto,” said the Baron, but Otto’s lips only moved faintly in +answer. His father kissed him upon either cheek. “Come, Hans,” said +he, hastily, “take him hence;” and he loosed Otto’s arms from about his +neck. + +Hans took Otto upon the saddle in front of him. + +“Oh! my dear Lord Baron,” said he, and then stopped with a gulp, and +turned his grotesquely twitching face aside. + +“Go,” said the Baron, harshly, “there is no time to lose in woman’s +tears.” + +“Farewell, Conrad! farewell, Conrad!” said his two kinsmen, and coming +forward they kissed him upon the cheek then they turned and rode away +after Hans, and Baron Conrad was left alone to face his mortal foe. + + + + +XIII. How Baron Conrad Held the Bridge. + +As the last of his followers swept around the curving road and was lost +to sight, Baron Conrad gave himself a shake, as though to drive away the +thoughts that lay upon him. Then he rode slowly forward to the middle of +the bridge, where he wheeled his horse so as to face his coming enemies. +He lowered the vizor of his helmet and bolted it to its place, and then +saw that sword and dagger were loose in the scabbard and easy to draw +when the need for drawing should arise. + + +Down the steep path from the hill above swept the pursuing horsemen. +Down the steep path to the bridge-head and there drew rein; for in the +middle of the narrow way sat the motionless, steel-clad figure upon the +great war-horse, with wide, red, panting nostrils, and body streaked +with sweat and flecked with patches of foam. + +One side of the roadway of the bridge was guarded by a low stone wall; +the other side was naked and open and bare to the deep, slow-moving +water beneath. It was a dangerous place to attack a desperate man clad +in armor of proof. + +“Forward!” cried Baron Henry, but not a soul stirred in answer, and +still the iron-clad figure sat motionless and erect upon the panting +horse. + +“How,” cried the Baron Henry, “are ye afraid of one man? Then follow +me!” and he spurred forward to the bridge-head. But still no one moved +in answer, and the Lord of Trutz-Drachen reined back his horse again. +He wheeled his horse and glared round upon the stolid faces of his +followers, until his eyes seemed fairly to blaze with passion beneath +the bars of his vizor. + +Baron Conrad gave a roar of laughter. “How now,” he cried; “are ye all +afraid of one man? Is there none among ye that dares come forward and +meet me? I know thee, Baron Henry! thou art not afraid to cut off the +hand of a little child. Hast thou not now the courage to face the +father?” + +Baron Henry gnashed his teeth with rage as he glared around upon the +faces of his men-at-arms. Suddenly his eye lit upon one of them. “Ha! +Carl Spigler,” he cried, “thou hast thy cross-bow with thee;--shoot me +down yonder dog! Nay,” he said, “thou canst do him no harm under his +armor; shoot the horse upon which he sits.” + +Baron Conrad heard the speech. “Oh! thou coward villain!” he cried, +“stay; do not shoot the good horse. I will dismount and fight ye upon +foot.” Thereupon, armed as he was, he leaped clashing from his horse and +turning the animal’s head, gave it a slap upon the flank. The good horse +first trotted and then walked to the further end of the bridge, where it +stopped and began cropping at the grass that grew beside the road. + +“Now then!” cried Baron Henry, fiercely, “now then, ye cannot fear him, +villains! Down with him! forward!” + +Slowly the troopers spurred their horses forward upon the bridge and +toward that one figure that, grasping tightly the great two-handed +sword, stood there alone guarding the passage. + +Then Baron Conrad whirled the great blade above his head, until it +caught the sunlight and flashed again. He did not wait for the attack, +but when the first of the advancing horsemen had come within a few feet +of him, he leaped with a shout upon them. The fellow thrust at him with +his lance, and the Baron went staggering a few feet back, but instantly +he recovered himself and again leaped forward. The great sword flashed +in the air, whistling; it fell, and the nearest man dropped his lance, +clattering, and with a loud, inarticulate cry, grasped the mane of his +horse with both hands. Again the blade whistled in the air, and this +time it was stained with red. Again it fell, and with another shrill cry +the man toppled headlong beneath the horse’s feet. The next instant they +were upon him, each striving to strike at the one figure, to ride him +down, or to thrust him down with their lances. There was no room now to +swing the long blade, but holding the hilt in both hands, Baron Conrad +thrust with it as though it were a lance, stabbing at horse or man, it +mattered not. Crowded upon the narrow roadway of the bridge, those who +attacked had not only to guard themselves against the dreadful strokes +of that terrible sword, but to keep their wounded horses (rearing and +mad with fright) from toppling bodily over with them into the water +beneath. + +Presently the cry was raised, “Back! back!” And those nearest the Baron +began reining in their horses. “Forward!” roared Baron Henry, from the +midst of the crowd; but in spite of his command, and even the blows that +he gave, those behind were borne back by those in front, struggling and +shouting, and the bridge was cleared again excepting for three figures +that lay motionless upon the roadway, and that one who, with the +brightness of his armor dimmed and stained, leaned panting against the +wall of the bridge. + +The Baron Henry raged like a madman. Gnashing his teeth together, he +rode back a little way; then turning and couching his lance, he suddenly +clapped spurs to his horse, and the next instant came thundering down +upon his solitary enemy. + +Baron Conrad whirled his sword in the air, as he saw the other coming +like a thunderbolt upon him; he leaped aside, and the lance passed close +to him. As it passed he struck, and the iron point flew from the shaft +of the spear at the blow, and fell clattering upon the stone roadway of +the bridge. + +Baron Henry drew in his horse until it rested upon its haunches, then +slowly reined it backward down the bridge, still facing his foe, +and still holding the wooden stump of the lance in his hand. At the +bridge-head he flung it from him. + +“Another lance!” he cried, hoarsely. One was silently reached to him +and he took it, his hand trembling with rage. Again he rode to a little +distance and wheeled his horse; then, driving his steel spurs into its +quivering side, he came again thundering down upon the other. Once more +the terrible sword whirled in the air and fell, but this time the lance +was snatched to one side and the blow fell harmlessly. The next instant, +and with a twitch of the bridle-rein, the horse struck full and fair +against the man. + +Conrad of Drachenhausen was whirled backward and downward, and the cruel +iron hoofs crashed over his prostrate body, as horse and man passed with +a rush beyond him and to the bridge-head beyond. A shout went up from +those who stood watching. The next moment the prostrate figure rose and +staggered blindly to the side of the bridge, and stood leaning against +the stone wall. + +At the further end of the bridge Baron Henry had wheeled his horse. Once +again he couched lance, and again he drove down upon his bruised and +wounded enemy. This time the lance struck full and fair, and those who +watched saw the steel point pierce the iron breast-plate and then snap +short, leaving the barbed point within the wound. + +Baron Conrad sunk to his knees and the Roderburg, looming upon his horse +above him, unsheathed his sword to finish the work he had begun. + +Then those who stood looking on saw a wondrous thing happen: the wounded +man rose suddenly to his feet, and before his enemy could strike he +leaped, with a great and bitter cry of agony and despair, upon him as he +sat in the saddle above. + +Henry of Trutz-Drachen grasped at his horse’s mane, but the attack +was so fierce, so sudden, and so unexpected that before he could save +himself he was dragged to one side and fell crashing in his armor upon +the stone roadway of the bridge. + +“The dragon! the dragon!” roared Baron Conrad, in a voice of thunder, +and with the energy of despair he dragged his prostrate foe toward the +open side of the bridge. + +“Forward!” cried the chief of the Trutz-Drachen men, and down they rode +upon the struggling knights to the rescue of their master in this new +danger. But they were too late. + +There was a pause at the edge of the bridge, for Baron Henry had gained +his feet and, stunned and bewildered as he was by the suddenness of his +fall, he was now struggling fiercely, desperately. For a moment they +stood swaying backward and forward, clasped in one another’s arms, the +blood from the wounded man’s breast staining the armor of both. The +moment passed and then, with a shower of stones and mortar from beneath +their iron-shod heels, they toppled and fell; there was a thunderous +splash in the water below, and as the men-at-arms came hurrying up and +peered with awe-struck faces over the parapet of the bridge, they saw +the whirling eddies sweep down with the current of the stream, a few +bubbles rise to the surface of the water, and then--nothing; for the +smooth river flowed onward as silently as ever. + +Presently a loud voice burst through the awed hush that followed. It +came from William of Roderburg, Baron Henry’s kinsman. + +“Forward!” he cried. A murmur of voices from the others was all the +answer that he received. “Forward!” cried the young man again, “the boy +and those with him are not so far away but that we might yet catch up +with them.” + +Then one of the men spoke up in answer--a man with a seamed, +weather-beaten face and crisp grizzled hair. “Nay,” said he, “our Lord +Baron is gone, and this is no quarrel of ours; here be four of us that +are wounded and three I misdoubt that are dead; why should we follow +further only to suffer more blows for no gain?” A growl of assent rose +from those that stood around, and William of Roderburg saw that nothing +more was to be done by the Trutz-Dragons that day. + + + + +XIV. How Otto Saw the Great Emperor. + +Through weakness and sickness and faintness, Otto had lain in a half +swoon through all that long journey under the hot May sun. It was as in +a dreadful nightmare that he had heard on and on and on that monotonous +throbbing of galloping hoofs upon the ground; had felt that last kiss +that his father had given him upon his cheek. Then the onward ride +again, until all faded away into a dull mist and he knew no more. When +next he woke it was with the pungent smell of burned vinegar in his +nostrils and with the feeling of a cool napkin bathing his brow. He +opened his eyes and then closed them again, thinking he must have been +in a dream, for he lay in his old room at the peaceful monastery of the +White Cross on the hill; the good Father Abbot sat near by, gazing upon +his face with the old absent student look, Brother John sat in the deep +window seat also gazing at him, and Brother Theodore, the leech of the +monastery, sat beside him bathing his head. Beside these old familiar +faces were the faces of those who had been with him in that long flight; +the One-eyed Hans, old Master Nicholas his kinsman, and the others. +So he closed his eyes, thinking that maybe it was all a dream. But the +sharp throbbing of the poor stump at his wrist soon taught him that he +was still awake. + +“Am I then really home in St. Michaelsburg again?” he murmured, without +unclosing his eyes. + +Brother Theodore began snuffling through his nose; there was a pause. +“Yes,” said the old Abbot at last, and his gentle voice trembled as +he spoke; “yes, my dear little child, thou art back again in thine own +home; thou hast not been long out in the great world, but truly thou +hast had a sharp and bitter trial of it.” + +“But they will not take me away again, will they?” said Otto quickly, +unclosing his blue eyes. + +“Nay,” said the Abbot, gently; “not until thou art healed in body and +art ready and willing to go.” + +Three months and more had passed, and Otto was well again; and now, +escorted by One-eyed Hans and those faithful few who had clung to the +Baron Conrad through his last few bitter days, he was riding into the +quaint old town of Nurnburg; for the Emperor Rudolph was there at that +time, waiting for King Ottocar of Bohemia to come thither and answer +the imperial summons before the Council, and Otto was travelling to the +court. + +As they rode in through the gates of the town, Otto looked up at the +high-peaked houses with their overhanging gables, the like of which he +had never seen before, and he stared with his round blue eyes at seeing +them so crowded together along the length of the street. But most of +all he wondered at the number of people that passed hither and thither, +jostling each other in their hurry, and at the tradesmen’s booths +opening upon the street with the wonderful wares hanging within; armor +at the smiths, glittering ornaments at the goldsmiths, and rich fabrics +of silks and satins at the mercers. He had never seen anything so rich +and grand in all of his life, for little Otto had never been in a town +before. + +“Oh! look,” he cried, “at that wonderful lady; see, holy father! sure +the Emperor’s wife can be no finer than that lady.” + +The Abbot smiled. “Nay, Otto,” said he, “that is but a burgher’s wife or +daughter; the ladies at the Emperor’s court are far grander than such as +she.” + +“So!” said Otto, and then fell silent with wonder. + +And now, at last the great moment had come when little Otto with his own +eyes was to behold the mighty Emperor who ruled over all the powerful +kingdoms of Germany and Austria, and Italy and Bohemia, and other +kingdoms and principalities and states. His heart beat so that he could +hardly speak as, for a moment, the good Abbot who held him by the hand +stopped outside of the arrased doorway to whisper some last instructions +into his ear. Then they entered the apartment. + +It was a long, stone-paved room. The floor was covered with rich rugs +and the walls were hung with woven tapestry wherein were depicted +knights and ladies in leafy gardens and kings and warriors at battle. +A long row of high glazed windows extended along the length of the +apartment, flooding it with the mellow light of the autumn day. At +the further end of the room, far away, and standing by a great carved +chimney place wherein smouldered the remains of a fire, stood a group of +nobles in gorgeous dress of velvet and silks, and with glittering golden +chains hung about their necks. + +One figure stood alone in front of the great yawning fireplace. His +hands were clasped behind him, and his look bent thoughtfully upon the +floor. He was dressed only in a simple gray robe without ornament or +adornment, a plain leathern belt girded his waist, and from it hung a +sword with a bone hilt encased in a brown leathern scabbard. A noble +stag-hound lay close behind him, curled up upon the floor, basking in +the grateful warmth of the fire. + +As the Father Abbot and Otto drew near he raised his head and looked +at them. It was a plain, homely face that Otto saw, with a wrinkled +forehead and a long mouth drawn down at the corners. It was the face of +a good, honest burgher burdened with the cares of a prosperous trade. +“Who can he be,” thought Otto, “and why does the poor man stand there +among all the great nobles?” + +But the Abbot walked straight up to him and kneeled upon the floor, +and little Otto, full of wonder, did the same. It was the great Emperor +Rudolph. + +“Who have we here,” said the Emperor, and he bent his brow upon the +Abbot and the boy. + +“Sire,” said Abbot Otto, “we have humbly besought you by petition, in +the name of your late vassal, Baron Conrad of Vuelph of Drachenhausen, +for justice to this his son, the Baron Otto, whom, sire, as you may see, +hath been cruelly mutilated at the hands of Baron Henry of Roderburg of +Trutz-Drachen. He hath moreover been despoiled of his lands, his castle +burnt, and his household made prisoner.” + +The Emperor frowned until the shaggy eyebrows nearly hid the keen gray +twinkle of the eyes beneath. “Yes,” said he, “I do remember me of +that petition, and have given it consideration both in private and in +council.” He turned to the group of listening nobles. “Look,” said he, +“at this little child marred by the inhumanity and the cruelty of those +robber villains. By heavens! I will put down their lawless rapine, if I +have to give every castle from the north to the south to the flames and +to the sword.” Then turning to Otto again, “Poor little child,” said he, +“thy wrongs shall be righted, and so far as they are able, those cruel +Roderburgs shall pay thee penny for penny, and grain for grain, for what +thou hast lost; and until such indemnity hath been paid the family of +the man who wrought this deed shall be held as surety.” + +Little Otto looked up in the kind, rugged face above him. “Nay, Lord +Emperor,” said he, in his quaint, quiet way, “there are but two in the +family--the mother and the daughter--and I have promised to marry the +little girl when she and I are old enough; so, if you please, I would +not have harm happen to her.” + +The Emperor continued to look down at the kneeling boy, and at last he +gave a short, dry laugh. “So be it,” said he, “thy plan is not without +its wisdom. Mayhap it is all for the best that the affair should be +ended thus peacefully. The estates of the Roderburgs shall be held in +trust for thee until thou art come of age; otherwise it shall be as thou +hast proposed, the little maiden shall be taken into ward under our own +care. And as to thee--art thou willing that I should take thee under my +own charge in the room of thy father, who is dead?” + +“Aye,” said Otto, simply, “I am willing, for it seems to me that thou +art a good man.” + +The nobles who stood near smiled at the boy’s speech. As for the +Emperor, he laughed outright. “I give thee thanks, my Lord Baron,” said +he; “there is no one in all my court who has paid me greater courtesy +than that.” + +So comes the end of our tale. + +But perhaps you may like to know what happened afterward, for no one +cares to leave the thread of a story without tying a knot in it. + +Eight years had passed, and Otto grew up to manhood in the Emperor’s +court, and was with him through war and peace. + +But he himself never drew sword or struck a blow, for the right hand +that hung at his side was of pure silver, and the hard, cold fingers +never closed. Folks called him “Otto of the Silver Hand,” but perhaps +there was another reason than that for the name that had been given him, +for the pure, simple wisdom that the old monks of the White Cross on +the hill had taught him, clung to him through all the honors that the +Emperor bestowed upon his favorite, and as he grew older his words were +listened to and weighed by those who were high in Council, and even by +the Emperor himself. + +And now for the end of all. + +One day Otto stood uncertainly at the doorway of a room in the imperial +castle, hesitating before he entered; and yet there was nothing so very +dreadful within, only one poor girl whose heart fluttered more than his. +Poor little Pauline, whom he had not seen since that last day in the +black cell at Trutz-Drachen. + +At last he pushed aside the hangings and entered the room. + +She was sitting upon a rude bench beside the window, looking at him out +of her great, dark eyes. + +He stopped short and stood for a moment confused and silent; for he had +no thought in his mind but of the little girl whom he had last seen, and +for a moment he stood confused before the fair maiden with her great, +beautiful dark eyes. + +She on her part beheld a tall, slender youth with curling, golden hair, +one hand white and delicate, the other of pure and shining silver. + +He came to her and took her hand and set it to his lips, and all that +she could do was to gaze with her great, dark eyes upon the hero of whom +she had heard so many talk; the favorite of the Emperor; the wise young +Otto of the Silver Hand. + + + + +Afterword + +The ruins of Drachenhausen were rebuilt, for the walls were as sound as +ever, though empty and gaping to the sky; but it was no longer the den +of a robber baron for beneath the scutcheon over the great gate was +carved a new motto of the Vuelphs; a motto which the Emperor Rudolph +himself had given: + +“Manus argentea quam manus ferrea melior est.” + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OTTO OF THE SILVER HAND *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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