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 be low 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.
