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The Strong Arm

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The Count learned that the previous attacks made upon Schloss Wiethoff
had been conducted with but indifferent generalship, and that failure
had been richly earned by desertions from the attacking force, each
noble thinking himself justified in withdrawing himself and his men,
when offended, or when the conduct of affairs displeased him, so von
Schonburg informed the second deputation which waited on him, that he
was more accustomed to depend on himself than on the aid of others, and
that if any quarrel arose between Castle Schonburg and Schloss
Wiethoff, the Count would endeavour to settle the dispute with his own
sword, which reply greatly encouraged the Baron when he heard of it,
for he wished to try conclusions with the newcomer, and made no secret
of his disbelief in the latter's Saracenic exploits, saying the Count
had returned when there was none left of the band he took with him, and
had, therefore, with much wisdom, left himself free from contradiction.

There was some disappointment up and down the Rhine when time passed
and the Count made no warlike move. It was well known that the Countess
was much averse to war, notwithstanding the fact that she was indebted
to war for her stalwart husband, and her peaceful nature was held to
excuse the non-combative life lived by the Count, although there were
others who gave it as their opinion that the Count was really afraid of
the Baron, who daily became more and more obnoxious as there seemed to
be less and less to fear. Such boldness did the Baron achieve that he
even organised a slight raid upon the estate of Gudenfels which
belonged to the Count's wife, but still Herbert of Schonburg did not
venture from the security of his castle, greatly to the disappointment
and the disgust of his neighbours, for there are on earth no people who
love a fight more dearly than do those who reside along the banks of
the placid Rhine.

At last an heir was born to Castle Schonburg, and the rejoicings
throughout all the district governed by the Count were general and
enthusiastic. Bonfires were lit on the heights and the noble river
glowed red under the illumination at night. The boy who had arrived at
the castle was said to give promise of having all the beauty of his
mother and all the strength of his father, which was admitted by
everybody to be a desirable combination, although some shook their
heads and said they hoped that with strength there would come greater
courage than the Count appeared to possess. Nevertheless, the Count
had still some who believed in him, notwithstanding his long period of
inaction, and these said that on the night the boy was born, and word
was brought to him in the great hall that mother and child were well,
the cloud that had its habitual resting-place on the Count's brow
lifted and his lordship took down from its place his great broadsword,
rubbed from its blade the dust and the rust that had collected, swung
the huge weapon hissing through the air, and heaved a deep sigh, as one
who had come to the end of a period of restraint.

The boy was just one month old on the night that there was a thunderous
knocking at the gate of Schloss Wiethoff. The Baron hastily buckled on
his armour and was soon at the head of his men eager to repel the
invader. In a marvellously short space of time there was a contest in
progress at the gates which would have delighted the heart of the most
quarrelsome noble from Mayence to Cologne. The attacking party which
appeared in large force before the gate, attempted to batter in the
oaken leaves of the portal, but the Baron was always prepared for such
visitors, and the heavy timbers that were heaved against the oak made
little impression, while von Wiethoff roared defiance from the top of
the wall that surrounded the castle and what was more to the purpose,
showered down stones and arrows on the besiegers, grievously thinning
their ranks. The Baron, with creditable ingenuity, had constructed
above the inside of the gate a scaffolding, on the top of which was
piled a mountain of huge stones. This scaffold was arranged in such a
way that a man pulling a lever caused it to collapse, thus piling the
stones instantly against the inside of the gate, rendering it
impregnable against assault by battering rams. The Baron was always
jubilant when his neighbours attempted to force the gate, for he was
afforded much amusement at small expense to himself, and he cared
little for the damage the front door received, as he had built his
castle not for ornament but for his own protection. He was a man with
an amazing vocabulary, and as he stood on the wall shaking his mailed
fist at the intruders he poured forth upon them invective more personal
than complimentary.

While thus engaged, rejoicing over the repulse of the besiegers, for
the attack was evidently losing its vigour, he was amazed to note a
sudden illumination of the forest-covered hill which he was facing. The
attacking party rallied with a yell when the light struck them, and the
Baron, looking hastily over his shoulder to learn the source of the
ruddy glow on the trees, saw with dismay that his castle was on fire
and that Count Herbert followed by his men had possession of the
battlements to the rear, while the courtyard swarmed with soldiers, who
had evidently scaled the low wall along the river front from rafts or
boats.

"Surrender!" cried Count Herbert, advancing along the wall. "Your
castle is taken, and will be a heap of ruins within the hour."

"Then may you be buried beneath them," roared the Baron, springing to
the attack.

Although the Baron was a younger man than his antagonist, it was soon
proven that his sword play was not equal to that of the Count, and the
broadsword fight on the battlements in the light of the flaming
stronghold, was of short duration, watched breathlessly as it was by
men of both parties above and below. Twice the Baron's guard was
broken, and the third time, such was the terrific impact of iron on
iron, that the Baron's weapon was struck from his benumbed hands and
fell glittering through the air to the ground outside the walls. The
Count paused in his onslaught, refraining from striking a disarmed man,
but again demanding his submission. The Baron cast one glance at his
burning house, saw that it was doomed, then, with a movement as
reckless as it was unexpected, took the terrific leap from the wall top
to the ground, alighting on his feet near his fallen sword which he
speedily recovered. For an instant the Count hovered on the brink to
follow him, but the swift thought of his wife and child restrained him,
and he feared a broken limb in the fall, leaving him thus at the mercy
of his enemy. The moment for decision was short enough, but the years
of regret for this hesitation were many and long. There were a hundred
men before the walls to intercept the Baron, and it seemed useless to
jeopardise life or limb in taking the leap, so the Count contented
himself by giving the loud command: "Seize that man and bind him."

It was an order easy to give and easy to obey had there been a dozen
men below as brave as their captain, or even one as brave, as stalwart
and as skilful; but the Baron struck sturdily around him and mowed his
way through the throng as effectually as a reaper with a sickle clears
a path for himself in the standing corn. Before Herbert realised what
was happening, the Baron was safe in the obscurity of the forest.

The Count of Schonburg was not a man to do things by halves, even
though upon the occasion of this attack he allowed the Baron to slip
through his fingers. When the ruins of the Schloss cooled, he caused
them to be removed and flung stone by stone into the river, leaving not
a vestige of the castle that had so long been a terror to the district,
holding that if the lair were destroyed the wolf would not return. In
this the Count proved but partly right. Baron von Wiethoff renounced
his order, and became an outlaw, gathering round him in the forest all
the turbulent characters, not in regular service elsewhere, publishing
along the Rhine by means of prisoners he took and then released that as
the nobility seemed to object to his preying upon the merchants, he
would endeavour to amend his ways and would harry instead such castles
as fell into his hands. Thus Baron von Wiethoff became known as the
Outlaw of the Hundsrück, and being as intrepid as he was merciless,
soon made the Rhenish nobility withdraw attention from other people's
quarrels in order to bestow strict surveillance upon their own. It is
possible that if the dwellers along the river had realised at first the
kind of neighbour that had been produced by burning out the Baron, they
might, by combination have hunted him down in the widespread forests of
the Hundsrück, but as the years went on, the Outlaw acquired such
knowledge of the interminable mazes of this wilderness, that it is
doubtful whether all the troops in the Empire could have brought his
band to bay. The outlaws always fled before a superior force, and
always massacred an inferior one, and like the lightning, no man could
predict where the next stroke would fall. On one occasion he even
threatened the walled town of Coblentz, and the citizens compounded
with him, saying they had no quarrel with any but the surrounding
nobles, which expression the thrifty burghers regretted when Count
Herbert marched his men through their streets and for every coin they,
had paid the Outlaw, exacted ten.

The boy of Castle Schonburg was three years old, when he was allowed to
play on the battlements, sporting with a wooden sword and imagining
himself as great a warrior as his father had ever been. He was a brave
little fellow whom nothing could frighten but the stories his nurse
told him of the gnomes and goblins who infested the Rhine, and he
longed for the time when he would be a man and wear a real sword. One
day just before he had completed his fourth year, a man came slinking
out of the forest to the foot of the wall, for the watch was now slack
as the Outlaw had not been heard of for months, and then was far away
in the direction of Mayence. The nurse was holding a most absorbing
conversation with the man-at-arms, who should, instead, have been
pacing up and down the terrace while she should have been watching her
charge. The man outside gave a low whistle which attracted the
attention of the child and then beckoned him to come further along the
wall until he had passed the west tower.

"Well, little coward," said the man, "I did not think you would have
the courage to come so far away from the women."

"I am not a coward," answered the lad, stoutly, "and I do not care
about the women at all."

"Your father was a coward."

"He is not. He is the bravest man in the world."

"He did not dare to jump off the wall after the Baron."

"He will cut the Baron in pieces if he ever comes near our castle."

"Yet he dared not jump as the Baron did."

"The Baron was afraid of my father; that's why he jumped."

"Not so. It was your father who feared to follow him, though he had a
sword and the Baron had none. You are all cowards in Castle Schonburg.
I don't believe you have the courage to jump even though I held out my
arms to catch you, but if you do I will give you the sword I wear."

The little boy had climbed on the parapet, and now stood hovering on
the brink of the precipice, his childish heart palpitating through fear
of the chasm before him, yet beneath its beatings was an insistent
command to prove his impugned courage. For some moments there was deep
silence, the man below gazing aloft and holding up his hands. At last
he lowered his outstretched arms and said in a sneering tone:

"Good-bye, craven son of a craven race. You dare not jump."

The lad, with a cry of despair, precipitated himself into the empty air
and came fluttering down like a wounded bird, to fall insensible into
the arms that for the moment saved him from death or mutilation. An
instant later there was a shriek from the negligent nurse, and the man-
at-arms ran along the battlements, a bolt on his cross-bow which he
feared to launch at the flying abductor, for in the speeding of it he
might slay the heir of Schonburg. By the time the castle was aroused
and the gates thrown open to pour forth searchers, the man had
disappeared into the forest, and in its depths all trace of young
Wilhelm was lost. Some days after, the Count von Schonburg came upon
the deserted camp of the outlaws, and found there evidences, not
necessary to be here set down, that his son had been murdered.
Imposing secrecy on his followers, so that the Countess might still
retain her unshaken belief that not even an outlaw would harm a little
child, the Count returned to his castle to make preparations for a
complete and final campaign of extinction against the scourge of the
Hundsrück, but the Outlaw had withdrawn his men far from the scene of
his latest successful exploit and the Count never came up with him.

Years passed on and the silver came quickly to Count Herbert's hair, he
attributing the change to the hardships endured in the East, but all
knowing well the cause sprang from his belief in his son's death. The
rapid procession of years made little impression on the beauty of the
Countess, who, although grieving for the absence of her boy, never
regarded him as lost but always looked for his return. "If he were
dead," she often said to her husband, "I should know it in my heart; I
should know the day, the hour and the moment."

This belief the Count strove to encourage, although none knew better
than he how baseless it was. Beatrix, with a mother's fondness, kept
little Wilhelm's room as it had been when he left it, his toys in their
places, and his bed prepared for him, allowing no one else to share the
task she had allotted to herself. She seemed to keep no count of the
years, nor to realise that if her son returned he would return as a
young man and not as a child. To the mind of Beatrix he seemed always
her boy of four.

When seventeen years had elapsed after the abduction of the heir of
Schonburg, there came a rumour that the Outlaw of Hundsrück was again
at his depredations in the neighbourhood of Coblentz. He was at this
time a man of forty-two, and if he imagined that the long interval had
led to any forgetting on the part of the Count von Schonburg, a most
unpleasant surprise awaited him. The Count divided his forces equally
between his two castles of Schonburg and Gudenfels situated on the west
bank and the east bank respectively. If either castle were attacked,
arrangements were made for getting word to the other, when the men in
that other would cross the Rhine and fall upon the rear of the
invaders, hemming them thus between two fires. The Count therefore
awaited with complacency whatever assault the Outlaw cared to deliver.

It was expected that the attack would be made in the night, which was
the usual time selected for these surprise parties that kept life from
stagnating along the Rhine, but to the amazement of the Count the
onslaught came in broad daylight, which seemed to indicate that the
Outlaw had gathered boldness with years. The Count from the battlements
scanned his opponents and saw that they were led, not by the Outlaw in
person, but by a young man who evidently held his life lightly, so
recklessly did he risk it. He was ever in the thick of the fray,
dealing sword strokes with a lavish generosity which soon kindled a
deep respect for him in the breasts of his adversaries. The Count had
not waited for the battering in of his gates but had sent out his men
to meet the enemy in the open, which was rash generalship, had he not
known that the men of Gudenfels were hurrying round to the rear of the
outlaws. Crossbowmen lined the battlements ready to cover the retreat
of the defenders of the castle, should they meet a reverse, but now
they stood in silence, holding their shafts, for in the mêslée there was
a danger of destroying friend as well as foe. But in spite of the
superb leadership of the young captain, the outlaws, seemingly panic-
stricken, when there was no particular reason, deserted their commander
in a body and fled in spite of his frantic efforts to rally them. The
young man found himself surrounded, and, after a brave defence,
overpowered. When the Gudenfels men came up, there was none to oppose
them, the leader of the enemy being within the gates of Schonburg,
bound, bleeding and a prisoner. The attacking outlaws were nowhere to
be seen.

The youthful captive, unkempt as he was, appeared in the great hall of
the castle before its grey-headed commander, seated in his chair of
state.

"You are the leader of this unwarranted incursion?" said the Count,
sternly, as he looked upon the pinioned lad.

"Warranted or unwarranted, I was the leader."

"Who are you?"

"I am Wilhelm, only son of the Outlaw of Hundsrück."

"The only son," murmured the Count, more to himself than to his
auditors, the lines hardening round his firm mouth. For some moments
there was a deep silence in the large room, then the Count spoke in a
voice that had no touch of mercy in it:

"You will be taken to a dungeon and your wounds cared for. Seven days
from now, at this hour, you will appear again before me, at which time
just sentence will be passed upon you, after I hear what you have to
say in your own defence."

"You may hear that now, my Lord. I besieged your castle and would
perhaps have taken it, had I not a pack of cowardly dogs at my heels. I
am now in your power, and although you talk glibly of justice, I know
well what I may expect at your hands. Your delay of a week is the mere
pretence of a hypocrite, who wishes to give colour of legality to an
act already decided upon. I do not fear you now, and shall not fear you
then, so spare your physicians unnecessary trouble, and give the word
to your executioner."

"Take him away, attend to his wounds, and guard him strictly. Seven
days from now when I call for him; see to it that you can produce him."

Elsa, niece of the Outlaw, watched anxiously for the return of her
cousin from the long prepared for expedition. She had the utmost
confidence in his bravery and the most earnest belief in his success,
yet she watched for the home-coming of the warriors with an anxious
heart. Perhaps a messenger would arrive telling of the capture of the
castle; perhaps all would return with news of defeat, but for what
actually happened the girl was entirely unprepared. That the whole
company, practically unscathed, should march into camp with the
astounding news that their leader had been captured and that they had
retreated without striking a blow on his behalf, seemed to her so
monstrous, that her first thought was fear of the retribution which
would fall on the deserters when her uncle realised the full import of
the tidings. She looked with apprehension at his forbidding face and
was amazed to see something almost approaching a smile part his thin
lips.

"The attack has failed, then. I fear I sent out a leader incompetent
and too young. We must make haste to remove our camp or the victorious
Count, emboldened by success, may carry the war into the forest." With
this amazing proclamation the Outlaw turned and walked to his hut
followed by his niece, bewildered as one entangled in the mazes of a
dream. When they were alone together, the girl spoke.

"Uncle, has madness overcome you?"

"I was never saner than now, nor happier, for years of waiting are
approaching their culmination."

"Has, then, all valour left your heart?"

"Your question will be answered when next I lead my band."

"When next you lead it? Where will you lead it?"

"Probably in the vicinity of Mayence, toward which place we are about
to journey."

"Is it possible that you retreat from here without attempting the
rescue of your son, now in the hands of your lifelong enemy?"

"All things are possible in an existence like ours. The boy would
assault the castle; he has failed and has allowed himself to be taken.
It is the fortune of war and I shall not waste a man in attempting his
rescue."

Elsa stood for a moment gazing in dismay at her uncle, whose shifty
eyes evaded all encounter with hers, then she strode to the wall, took
down a sword and turned without a word to the door. The Outlaw sprang
between her and the exit.

"What are you about to do?" he cried.

"I am about to rally all who are not cowards round me, then at their
head, I shall attack Castle Schonburg and set Wilhelm free or share his
fate."

The Outlaw stood for a few moments, his back against the door of the
hut, gazing in sullen anger at the girl, seemingly at a loss to know
how she should be dealt with. At last his brow cleared and he spoke:
"Is your interest in Wilhelm due entirely to the fact that you are
cousins?"

A quick flush overspread the girl's fair cheeks with colour and her
eyes sought the floor of the hut. The point of the sword she held
lowered until it rested on the stone flags, and she swayed slightly,
leaning against its hilt, while the keen eyes of her uncle regarded her
critically. She said in a voice little above a whisper, contrasting
strongly with her determined tone of a moment before:

"My interest is due to our relationship alone."

"Has no word of love passed between you?"

"Oh, no, no. Why do you ask me such a question?"

"Because on the answer given depends whether or not I shall entrust you
with knowledge regarding him. Swear to me by the Three Kings of Cologne
that you will tell to none what I will now impart to you."

"I swear," said Elsa, raising her right hand, and holding aloft the
sword with it.

"Wilhelm is not my son, nor is he kin to either of us, but is the heir
of the greatest enemy of our house, Count Herbert of Schonburg. I lured
him from his father's home as a child and now send him back as a man.
Some time later I shall acquaint the Count with the fact that the young
man he captured is his only son."

The girl looked at her uncle, her eyes wide with horror.

"It is your purpose then that the father shall execute his own son?"

The Outlaw shrugged his shoulders.

"The result lies not with me, but with the Count. He was once a
crusader and the teaching of his master is to the effect that the
measure he metes to others, the same shall be meted to him, if I
remember aright the tenets of his faith. Count Herbert wreaking
vengeance upon my supposed son, is really bringing destruction upon his
own, which seems but justice. If he show mercy to me and mine, he is
bestowing the blessed balm thereof on himself and his house. In this
imperfect world, few events are ordered with such admirable equity as
the capture of young Lord Wilhelm, by that haughty and bloodthirsty
warrior, his father. Let us then await with patience the outcome,
taking care not to interfere with the designs of Providence."

"The design comes not from God but from the evil one himself."

"It is within the power of the Deity to overturn even the best plans of
the fiend, if it be His will. Let us see to it that we do not intervene
between two such ghostly potentates, remembering that we are but puny
creatures, liable to err."

"The plot is of your making, secretly held, all these years, with
unrelenting malignity. The devil himself is not wicked enough to send
an innocent, loyal lad to his doom in his own mother's house, with his
father as his executioner. Oh, uncle, uncle, repent and make reparation
before it is too late."

"Let the Count repent and make reparation. I have now nothing to do
with the matter. As I have said, if the Count is merciful, he is like
to be glad of it later in his life; if he is revengeful, visiting the
sin of the father on the son, innocent, I think you called him, then he
deserves what his own hand deals out to himself. But we have talked too
much already. I ask you to remember your oath, for I have told you this
so that you will not bring ridicule upon me by a womanish appeal to my
own men, who would but laugh at you in any case and think me a dotard
in allowing women overmuch to say in the camp. Get you back to your
women, for we move camp instantly. Even if I were to relent, as you
term it, the time is past, for Wilhelm is either dangling from the
walls of Castle Schonburg or he is pardoned, and all that we could do
would be of little avail. Prepare you then instantly for our journey."

Elsa, with a sigh, went slowly to the women's quarters, her oath, the
most terrible that may be taken on the Rhine, weighing heavily upon
her. Resolving not to break it, yet determined in some way to save
Wilhelm, the girl spent the first part of the journey in revolving
plans of escape, for she found as the cavalcade progressed that her
uncle did not trust entirely to the binding qualities of the oath she
had taken, but had her closely watched as well. As the expedition
progressed farther and farther south in the direction of Mayence,
vigilance was relaxed, and on the evening of the second day, when a
camp had been selected for the night, Elsa escaped and hurried eastward
through the forest until she came to the Rhine, which was to be her
guide to the castle of Schonburg. The windings of the river made the
return longer than the direct journey through the wilderness had been,
and in addition to this, Elsa was compelled to circumambulate the
numerous castles, climbing the hills to avoid them, fearing capture and
delay, so it was not until the sun was declining on the sixth day after
the assault on the castle that she stood, weary and tattered and
unkempt, before the closed gates of Schonburg, and beat feebly with her
small hand against the oak, crying for admittance. The guard of the
gate, seeing through the small lattice but a single dishevelled woman
standing there, anticipating treachery, refused to open the little door
in the large leaf until his captain was summoned, who, after some
parley, allowed the girl to enter the courtyard.

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