The Strong Arm by Robert Barr

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"A servant," said the man, slowly, "obeys the one directly above him,
and leaves that one to account to any superior authority. My men obey
me; I take my orders from my lady the countess. If you, my Lord, wish
to direct the authority which commands me, my lady the countess awaits
your pleasure at her castle of Starkenburg."

"What are your orders, fellow?" asked the Archbishop, in a calmer tone.

"To convey your Lordship without scathe to the gates of Starkenburg."

"And if you meet resistance, what then?"

"The orders stand, my Lord."

"You will, I trust, allow this mendicant monk to pass peaceably on his
way to Treves."

"In no castle on the Moselle does even the humblest servant of the
Church receive a warmer welcome than at Starkenburg. My lady would hold
me to blame were she prevented from offering her hospitality to the
mendicant."

"Does the same generous impulse extend to each of my followers?"

"It includes them all, my Lord."

"Very well. We will do ourselves the honour of waiting upon this most
bountiful hostess."

By this time the troop which had first stopped the Archbishop's
progress came slowly up, and the little body-guard of the Elector found
themselves hemmed in with twenty men in the front and twenty at the
rear, while the rocky precipice rose on one hand and the rapid river
flowed on the other.

The _cortege_ reformed and trotted gently down the road until it came
to a by-way leading up the hill. Into this by-way the leaders turned,
reducing their trot to a walk because of the steepness of the ascent.
The Archbishop and his men followed, with the second troop of
Starkenburg bringing up the rear. His Lordship rode at first in sullen
silence, then with a quick glance of his eye he summoned the captain to
his side. He slipped the ring of office from his finger and passed it
unperceived into the officer's hand.

"There will be some confusion at the gate," he said, in a low voice.
"Escape then if you can. Ride for Treves as you never rode before. Stop
not to fight with any; everything depends on outstripping pursuit. Take
what horses you need wherever you find them, and kill them all if
necessary, but stop for nothing. This ring will be warrant for whatever
you do. Tell my general to invest this castle instantly with ten
thousand men and press forward the siege regardless of my fate. Tell
him to leave not one stone standing upon another, and to hang the widow
of Starkenburg from her own blazing timbers. Succeed, and a knighthood
and the command of a thousand men awaits you."

"I will succeed or die, my Lord."

"Succeed and live," said the Archbishop, shortly.

As the horses slowly laboured up the zigzagging road, the view along
the silvery Moselle widened and extended, and at last the strong grey
walls of the castle came into sight, with the ample gates wide open.
The horsemen in front drew up in two lines on each side of the gates
without entering, and thus the Archbishop, at the head of his little
band, slowly rode first under the archway into the courtyard of the
castle.

On the stone steps that led to the principal entrance of the castle
stood a tall, graceful lady, with her women behind her. She was robed
in black, and the headdress of her snow-white hair gave her the
appearance of a dignified abbess at her convent door. Her serene and
placid face had undoubtedly once been beautiful; and age, which had
left her form as straight and slender as one of her own forest pines,
forgetting to place its customary burden upon her graceful shoulders,
had touched her countenance with a loving hand. With all her
womanliness, there was, nevertheless, a certain firmness in the finely-
moulded chin that gave evidence of a line of ancestry that had never
been too deferential to those in authority.

The stern Archbishop reined in his black charger when he reached the
middle of the courtyard, but made no motion to dismount. The lady came
slowly down the broad stone steps, followed by her feminine train, and,
approaching the Elector, placed her white hand upon his stirrup, in
mute acknowledgment of her vassalage.

"Welcome, prince of the Church and protector of our Faith," she said.
"It is a hundred years since my poor house has sheltered so august a
guest."

The tones were smooth and soothing as the scarcely audible plash of a
distant fountain; but the incident she cited struck ominously on the
Archbishop's recollection, rousing memory and causing him to dart a
quick glance at the countess, in which was blended sharp enquiry and
awakened foreboding; but the lady, unconscious of his scrutiny, stood
with drooping head and downcast eyes, her shapely hand still on his
stirrup-iron.

"If I remember rightly, madame, my august predecessor slept well
beneath this roof."

"Alas, yes!" murmured the lady, sadly. "We have ever accounted it the
greatest misfortune of our line, that he should have died mysteriously
here. Peace be to his soul!"

"Not so mysteriously, madame, but that there were some shrewd guesses
concerning his malady."

"That is true, my Lord," replied the countess, simply. "It was supposed
that in his camp upon the lowlands by the river he contracted a fever
from which he died."

"My journey by the Moselle has been of the briefest. I trust,
therefore, I have not within me the seeds of his fatal distemper."

"I most devoutly echo that trust, my Lord, and pray that God, who
watches over us all, may guard your health while sojourning here."

"Forgive me, madame, if, within the shadow of these walls, I say 'Amen'
to your prayer with some emphasis."

The Countess Laurette contented herself with bowing low and humbly
crossing herself, making no verbal reply to his Lordship's remark. She
then beseeched the Archbishop to dismount, saying something of his need
of rest and refreshment, begging him to allow her to be his guide to
the Rittersaal.

When the Archbishop reached the topmost step that led to the castle
door, he cast an eye, not devoid of anxiety, over the court-yard, to
see how his following had fared. The gates were now fast closed, and
forty horses were ranged with their tails to the wall, the silent
riders in their saddles. Rapid as was his glance, it showed him his
guard huddled together in the centre of the court, his own black
charger, with empty saddle, the only living thing among them that
showed no sign of dismay. Between two of the hostile horsemen stood his
captain, with doublet torn and headgear awry, evidently a discomfited
prisoner.

The Archbishop entered the gloomy castle with a sense of defeat tugging
down his heart to a lower level than he had ever known it to reach
before; for in days gone by, when fate had seemed to press against him,
he had been in the thick of battle, and had felt an exultation in
rallying his half-discouraged followers, who had never failed to
respond to the call of a born leader of men. But here he had to
encounter silence, with semi-darkness over his head, cold stone under
foot, and round him the unaccustomed hiss of women's skirts.

The Countess conducted her guest through the lofty Knight's Hall, in
which his Lordship saw preparations for a banquet going forward. An
arched passage led them to a small room that seemed to be within a
turret hanging over a precipice, as if it were an eagle's nest. This
room gave an admirable and extended view over the winding Moselle and
much of the surrounding country. On a table were flagons of wine and
empty cups, together with some light refection, upon all of which the
Archbishop looked with suspicious eye. He did not forget the rumoured
poisoning of his predecessor in office. The countess asked him, with
deference, to seat himself; then pouring out a cup of wine, she bowed
to him and drank it. Turning to rinse the cup in a basin of water which
a serving-woman held, she was interrupted by her guest, who now, for
the first time, showed a trace of gallantry.

"I beg of you, madame," said the Archbishop, rising; and, taking the
unwashed cup from her hand, he filled it with wine, drinking prosperity
to herself and her home. Then, motioning her to a chair, he said
seating himself: "Countess von Starkenburg, I am a man more used to the
uncouth rigour of a camp than the dainty etiquette of a lady's boudoir.
Forgive me, then, if I ask you plainly, as a plain man may, why you
hold me prisoner in your castle."

"Prisoner, my lord?" echoed the lady, with eyebrows raised in
amazement. "How poorly are we served by our underlings, if such a
thought has been conveyed to your lordship's mind. I asked them to
invite you hither with such deference as a vassal should hold toward an
over-lord. I am grievously distressed to learn that my commands have
been so ill obeyed."

"Your commands were faithfully followed, madame, and I have made no
complaint regarding lack of deference, but when two-score armed men
carry a respectful invitation to one having a bare dozen at his back,
then all option vanishes, and compulsion takes its place."

"My lord, a handful of men were fit enough escort for a neighbouring
baron should he visit us, but, for a prince of the Church, all my
retainers are but scanty acknowledgment of a vassal's regard. I would
they had been twenty thousand, to do you seemly honour."

"I am easily satisfied, madame, and had they been fewer I might have
missed this charming outlook. I am to understand, then, that you have
no demands to make of me; and that I am free to depart, accompanied by
your good wishes."

"With my good wishes now and always, surely, my Lord. I have no demands
to make--the word ill befits the lips of a humble vassal; but, being
here----"

"Ah! But, being here----" interrupted the Archbishop, glancing keenly
at her.

"I have a favour to beg of you. I wish to ask permission to build a
castle on the heights above Trarbach, for my son."

"The Count Johann, third of the name?"

"The same, my Lord, who is honoured by your Lordship's remembrance of
him."

"And you wish to place this stronghold between your castle of
Starkenburg and my town of Treves? Were I a suspicious man, I might
imagine you had some distrust of me."

"Not so, my lord. The Count Johann will hold the castle in your
defence."

"I have ever been accustomed to look to my own defence," said the
Archbishop, drily; adding, as if it were an afterthought, "with the
blessing of God upon my poor efforts."

The faintest suspicion of a smile hovered for an instant on the lips of
the countess, that might have been likened to the momentary passing of
a gleam of sunshine over the placid waters of the river far below; for
she well knew, as did all others, that it was the habit of the fighting
Archbishop to smite sturdily first, and ask whatever blessing might be
needed on the blow afterwards.

"The permission being given, what follows?"

"That you will promise not to molest me during the building."

"A natural corollary. 'Twould be little worth to give permission and
then bring up ten thousand men to disturb the builders. That granted,
remains there anything more?"

"I fear I trespass on your Lordship's patience but this is now the end.
A strong house is never built with a weak purse. I do entreat your
lordship to cause to be sent to me from your treasury in Treves
thousand pieces of gold, that the castle may be a worthy addition to
your province."

The Archbishop arose with a scowl on his face, and paced the narrow
limits of the room like a caged lion. The hot anger mounted to his brow
and reddened it, but he strode up and down until he regained control of
himself, then spoke with a touch of hardness in his voice:

"A good fighter, madame, holds his strongest reserves to the last. You
have called me a prince of the Church, and such I am. But you flatter
me, madame; you rate me too high. The founder of our Church, when
betrayed, was sold for silver, and for a lesser number of pieces than
you ask in gold."

The lady, now standing, answered nothing to this taunt, but the colour
flushed her pale cheeks.

"I am, then, a prisoner, and you hold me for ransom, but it will avail
you little. You may close your gates and prevent my poor dozen of
followers from escaping, but news of this outrage will reach Treves,
and then, by God, your walls shall smoke for it. There will be none of
the Starkenburgs left, either to kidnap or to murder future
archbishops."

Still the lady stood silent and motionless as a marble statue. The
Elector paced up and down for a time, muttering to himself, then smote
his open palm against a pillar of the balcony, and stood gazing on the
fair landscape of river and rounded hill spread below and around him.
Suddenly he turned and looked at the Countess, meeting her clear,
fearless grey eyes, noticing, for the first time, the resolute contour
of her finely-moulded chin.

"Madame," he said, with admiration in his tone, "you are a brave
woman."

"I am not so brave as you think me, my Lord," she answered, coldly.
"There is one thing I dare not do. I am not brave enough to allow your
Lordship to go free, if you refuse what I ask."

"And should I not relent at first, there are dungeons in Starkenburg
where this proud spirit, with which my enemies say I am cursed, will
doubtless be humbled."

"Not so, my Lord. You will be treated with that consideration which
should be shown to one of your exalted station."

"Indeed! And melted thus by kindness, how long, think you, will the
process take?"

"It will be of the shortest, my Lord, for if, as you surmise rumour
should get abroad and falsely proclaim that the Archbishop lodges here
against his will, there's not a flying baron or beggared knight in all
the land but would turn in his tracks and cry to Starkenburg, 'In God's
name, hold him, widow, till we get our own again!' Willingly would they
make the sum I beg of you an annual tribute, so they might be certain
your Lordship were well housed in this castle."

"Widow, there is truth in what you say, even if a woman hath spoken
it," replied the Archbishop, with a grim smile on his lips and
undisguised admiration gleaming from his dark eye. "This cowardly world
is given to taking advantage of a man when opportunity offers. But
there is one point you have not reckoned upon: What of my stout army
lying at Treves?"

"What of the arch when the keystone is withdrawn? What of the sheep
when the shepherd disappears? My Lord, you do yourself and your great
military gifts a wrong. Through my deep regard for you I gave strict
command that not even the meanest of your train should be allowed to
wander till all were safe within these gates, for I well knew that, did
but a whisper of my humble invitation and your gracious acceptance of
the same reach Treves, it might be misconstrued; and although some
sturdy fellows would be true, and beat their stupid heads against these
walls, the rest would scatter like a sheaf of arrows suddenly unloosed,
and seek the strongest arm upraised in the melee sure to follow.
Against your army, leaderless, I would myself march out at the head of
my two-score men without a tremor at my heart; before that leader,
alone and armyless, I bow my head with something more akin to fear than
I have ever known before, and crave his generous pardon for my bold
request."

The Archbishop took her unresisting hand, and, bending, raised it to
his lips with that dignified courtesy which, despite his disclaimer, he
knew well how, upon occasion, to display.

"Madame," he said, "I ask you to believe that your request was granted
even before you marshalled such unanswerable arguments to stand, like
armoured men, around it. There is a tern and stringent law of our great
Church which forbids its servants suing for a lady's hand. Countess, I
never felt the grasp of that iron fetter until now."

Thus came the strong castle above Trarbach to be builded, and that not
at the expense of its owners.

THE ARCHBISHOP'S GIFT

Arras, blacksmith and armourer, stood at the door of his hut in the
valley of the Alf, a league or so from the Moselle, one summer evening.
He was the most powerful man in all the Alf-thal, and few could lift
the iron sledge-hammer he wielded as though it were a toy. Arras had
twelve sons scarce less stalwart than himself, some of whom helped him
in his occupation of blacksmith and armourer, while the others tilled
the ground near by, earning from the rich soil of the valley such
sustenance as the whole family required.

The blacksmith thus standing at his door, heard, coming up the valley
of the Alf, the hoof-beats of a horse, and his quick, experienced ear
told him, though the animal was yet afar, that one of its shoes was
loose. As the hurrying rider came within call, the blacksmith shouted
to him in stentorian tones:

"Friend, pause a moment, until I fasten again the shoe on your horse's
foot."

"I cannot stop," was the brief answer.

"Then your animal will go lame," rejoined the blacksmith.

"Better lose a horse than an empire," replied the rider, hurrying by.

"Now what does that mean?" said the blacksmith to himself as he watched
the disappearing rider, while the click-clack of the loosened shoe
became fainter and fainter in the distance.

Could the blacksmith have followed the rider into Castle Bertrich, a
short distance further up the valley, he would speedily have learned
the meaning of the hasty phrase the horseman had flung behind him as he
rode past. Ascending the winding road that led to the gates of the
castle as hurriedly as the jaded condition of his beast would permit,
the horseman paused, unloosed the horn from his belt, and blew a blast
that echoed from the wooded hills around. Presently an officer appeared
above the gateway, accompanied by two or three armed men, and demanded
who the stranger was and why he asked admission. The horseman, amazed
at the officer's ignorance of heraldry that caused him to inquire as to
his quality, answered with some haughtiness:

"Messenger of the Archbishop of Treves, I demand instant audience with
Count Bertrich."

The officer, without reply, disappeared from the castle wall, and
presently the great leaves of the gate were thrown open, whereupon the
horseman rode his tired animal into the courtyard and flung himself
off.

"My horse's shoe is loose," he said to the Captain. "I ask you to have
your armourer immediately attend to it."

"In truth," replied the officer, shrugging his shoulders, "there is
more drinking than fighting in Castle Bertrich; consequently we do not
possess an armourer. If you want blacksmithing done you must betake
yourself to armourer Arras in the valley, who will put either horse or
armour right for you."

With this the messenger was forced to be content; and, begging the
attendants who took charge of his horse to remember that it had
travelled far and had still, when rested, a long journey before it, he
followed the Captain into the great Rittersaal of the castle, where, on
entering, after having been announced, he found the Count of Bertrich
sitting at the head of a long table, holding in his hand a gigantic
wine flagon which he was industriously emptying. Extending down each
side of the table were many nobles, knights, and warriors, who, to
judge by the hasty glance bestowed upon them by the Archbishop's
messenger, seemed to be energetically following the example set them by
their over-lord at the head. Count Bertrich's hair was unkempt, his
face a purplish red, his eye bloodshot; and his corselet, open at the
throat, showed the great bull-neck of the man, on whose gigantic frame
constant dissipation seemed to have merely temporary effect.

"Well!" roared the nobleman, in a voice that made the rafters ring.
"What would you with Count Bertrich?"

"I bear an urgent despatch to you from my Lord the Archbishop of
Treves," replied the messenger.

"Then down on your knees and present it," cried the Count, beating the
table with his flagon.

"I am Envoy of his Lordship of Treves," said the messenger, sternly.

"You told us that before," shouted the Count; "and now you stand in the
hall of Bertrich. Kneel, therefore, to its master."

"I represent the Archbishop," reiterated the messenger, "and I kneel to
none but God and the Emperor."

Count Bertrich rose somewhat uncertainly to his feet, his whole frame
trembling with anger, and volleyed forth oaths upon threats. The tall
nobleman at his right hand also rose, as did many of the others who sat
at the table, and, placing his hand on the arm of his furious host,
said warningly:

"My Lord Count, the man is right. It is against the feudal law that he
should kneel, or that you should demand it. The Archbishop of Treves is
your overlord, as well as ours, and it is not fitting that his
messenger should kneel before us."

"That is truth--the feudal law," muttered others down each side of the
table.

The enraged Count glared upon them one after another, partially subdued
by their breaking away from him.

The Envoy stood calm and collected, awaiting the outcome of the tumult.
The Count, cursing the absent Archbishop and his present guests with
equal impartiality, sat slowly down again, and flinging his empty
flagon at an attendant, demanded that it should be refilled. The others
likewise resumed their seats; and the Count cried out, but with less of
truculence in his tone:

"What message sent the Archbishop to Castle Bertrich?"

"My Lord, the Archbishop of Treves requires me to inform Count Bertrich
and the assembled nobles that the Hungarians have forced passage across
the Rhine, and are now about to make their way through the defiles of
the Eifel into this valley, intending to march thence upon Treves,
laying that ancient city in ruin and carrying havoc over the
surrounding country. His Lordship commands you, Count Bertrich, to
rally your men about you and to hold the infidels in check in the
defiles of the Eifel until the Archbishop comes, at the bead of his
army, to your relief from Treves."

There was deep silence in the vast hall after this startling
announcement. Then the Count replied:

"Tell the Archbishop of Treves that if the Lords of the Rhine cannot
keep back the Hungarians, it is hardly likely that we, less powerful,
near the Moselle, can do it."

"His Lordship urges instant compliance with his request, and I am to
say that you refuse at your peril. A few hundred men can hold the
Hungarians in check while they are passing through the narrow ravines
of the Eifel, while as many thousands might not be successful against
them should they once reach the open valleys of the Alf and the
Moselle. His Lordship would also have you know that this campaign is as
much in your own interest as in his, for the Hungarians, in their
devastating march, spare neither high nor low."

"Tell his Lordship," hiccoughed the Count, "that I sit safely in my
Castle of Bertrich, and that I defy all the Hungarians who were ever
let loose to disturb me therein. If the Archbishop keeps Treves as
tightly as I shall hold Castle Bertrich, there is little to fear from
the invaders."

"Am I to return to Treves then with your refusal?" asked the Envoy.

"You may return to Treves as best pleases you, so that you rid us of
your presence here, where you mar good company."

The Envoy, without further speech, bowed to Count Bertrich and also to
the assembled nobles, passed silently out of the hall, once more
reaching the courtyard of the castle, where he demanded that his horse
be brought to him.

"The animal has had but scant time for feeding and rest," said the
Captain.

"'Twill be sufficient to carry us to the blacksmith's hut," answered
the Envoy, as he put his foot in stirrup.

The blacksmith, still standing at the door of his smithy, heard, coming
from the castle, the click of the broken shoe, but this time the rider
drew up before him and said:

"The offer of help which you tendered me a little ago I shall now be
glad to accept. Do your work well, smith, and know that in performing
it, you are obliging an envoy of the Archbishop of Treves."

The armourer raised his cap at the mention of the august name, and
invoked a blessing upon the head of that renowned and warlike prelate.

"You said something," spoke up the smith, "of loss of empire, as you
rode by. I trust there is no disquieting news from Treves?"

"Disquieting enough," replied the messenger. "The Hungarians have
crossed the Rhine, and are now making their way towards the defiles of
the Eifel. There a hundred men could hold the infidels in check; but
you breed a scurvy set of nobles in the Alf-thal, for Count Bertrich
disdains the command of his over-lord to rise at the head of his men
and stay the progress of the invader until the Archbishop can come to
his assistance."

"Now, out upon the drunken Count for a base coward!" cried the armourer
in anger. "May his castle be sacked and himself hanged on the highest
turret, for refusing aid to his over-lord in time of need. I and my
twelve sons know every rock and cave in the Eifel. Would the
Archbishop, think you, accept the aid of such underlings as we, whose
only commendation is that our hearts are stout as our sinews?"

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