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The Strong Arm

R >> Robert Barr >> The Strong Arm




"Oh, they are stout rascals with not enough brains among them all to
plan this dagger and parchment business, giving little thought to
anything beyond eating and drinking, and having no skill of lettering."

"Then we must look elsewhere for the explanation. It may be that your
elusive shadows will furnish a clue."

On reaching his own house Wilhelm said carelessly to his wife, whom he
did not wish to alarm unnecessarily:

"Have you still in your possession that dagger which I found on my
table?"

"Yes, it is here. Have you found an owner for it or learned how it came
there?"

"No. I merely wished to look at it again."

She gave it to him, and he saw at once that it was a duplicate of the
one he had hidden under his doublet. The mystery was as far from
solution as ever, and the closest examination of the weapon gave no
hint pertaining to the purport of the message. Yet it is probable that
Wilhelm was the only noble in the German Empire who was ignorant of the
significance of the four letters, and doubtless the senders were amazed
at his temerity in nonchalantly ignoring the repeated warnings, which
would have brought pallor to the cheeks of the highest in the land.
Wilhelm had been always so dependent on the advice of Gottlieb that it
never occurred to him to seek explanation from any one else, yet in
this instance Gottlieb, from the same cause of woodland training, was
as ignorant as his master.

It is possible that the two warnings might have made a greater
impression on the mind of the young man were it not that he was
troubled about his own status in the Empire. There had been much envy
in the Court at the elevation of a young man practically unknown, to
the position of commander-in-chief of the German army, and high
officials had gone so far as to protest against what they said was
regarded as a piece of unaccountable favouritism. The Empress, however,
was firm, and for a time comment seemed to cease, but it was well known
that Wilhelm had no real standing, unless his appointment was confirmed
by the Emperor, and his commission made legal by the royal signature.
It became known, or, at least, was rumoured that twice the Empress had
sent this document to her husband and twice it had been returned
unsigned. The Emperor went so far as to refuse to see his wife,
declining to have any discussion about the matter, and Wilhelm well
knew that every step he took in the fulfilment of his office was an
illegal step, and if a hint of this got to the ears of the Archbishops
they would be more than justified in calling him to account, for every
act he performed relating to the army after he knew that his monarch
had refused to sanction his nomination was an act of rebellion and
usurpation punishable by death. The Empress was well aware of the
jeopardy in which her _attaché_ stood, but she implored him not to
give up the position, although helpless to make his appointment
regular. She hoped her husband's religious fervour would abate and that
he would deign to bestow some attention upon earthly things, allowing
himself to be persuaded of the necessity of keeping up a standing army,
commanded by one entirely faithful to him. Wilhelm himself often
doubted the wisdom of his interference, which had allowed the throne to
be held by a man who so neglected all its duties that intrigues and
unrest were honeycombing the whole fabric of society, beginning at the
top and working its way down until now even the merchants were in a
state of uncertainty, losing faith in the stability of the government.
The determined attitude of Wilhelm, the general knowledge that he came
from a family of fighters, and the wholesome fear of the wild outlaws,
under his command, did more than anything else to keep down open
rebellion in Court and to make the position of the Empress possible. It
was believed that Wilhelm would have little hesitation in obliterating
half the nobility of the Court, or the whole of it for that matter, if
but reasonable excuse were given him for doing so, and every one was
certain that his cut-throats, as they were called, would obey any
command he liked to give, and would delight in whatever slaughter
ensued. The Commander held aloof from the Court, although, because of
his position, he had a room in the palace which no one but the monarch
and the chief officer of the army might enter, yet he rarely occupied
this apartment, using, instead, the suite at the barracks.

Some days after the second episode of the dagger he received a summons
from the Empress commanding his instant presence at the palace. On
arriving at the Court, he found Brunhilda attended by a group of
nobles, who fell back as the young commander approached. The Empress
smiled as he bent his knee and kissed her hand, but Wilhelm saw by the
anxiety in her eye that something untoward had happened, guessing that
his commission was returned for the third time unsigned from the
Emperor, and being correct in his surmise.

"Await me in the Administration Room of the Army," said the Empress. "I
will see you presently. You have somewhat neglected that room of late,
my Lord."

"I found I could more adequately fulfil your Majesty's command and keep
in closer touch with the army by occupying my apartments at the
barracks."

"I trust, then, that you will have a good report to present to me
regarding the progress of my soldiers," replied the Empress, dismissing
him with a slight inclination of her head.

Wilhelm left the audience chamber and proceeded along the corridor with
which his room was connected. The soldier at the entrance saluted him,
and Wilhelm entered the Administration Chamber. It was a large room and
in the centre of it stood a large table. After closing the door Wilhelm
paused in his advance, for there in the centre of the table, buried to
its very hilt through the planks, was a duplicate of the dagger he had
concealed inside his doublet. It required some exertion of Wilhelm's
great strength before he dislodged the weapon from the timber into
which it had been so fiercely driven. The scroll it affixed differed
from each of the other two. It began with the words, "Final warning,"
and ended with "To Wilhelm of Schonburg, so-called Commander of the
Imperial forces," as if from a desire on the part of the writer that
there should be no mistake regarding the destination of the missive.
The young man placed the knife on the parchment and stood looking at
them both until the Empress was announced. He strode forward to meet
her and conducted her to a chair, where she seated herself, he
remaining on his feet.

"I am in deep trouble," she began, "the commission authorising you to
command the Imperial troops has been returned for the third time
unsigned; not only that, but the act authorising the reconstruction of
the army, comes back also without the Emperor's signature."

Wilhelm remained silent, for he well knew that the weakness of their
position was the conduct of the Emperor, and this was an evil which he
did not know how to remedy.

"When he returned both documents the first time," continued the
Empress, "I sent to him a request for an interview that I might explain
the urgency and necessity of the matter. This request was refused, and
although I know of course that my husband might perhaps be called
eccentric, still he had never before forbade my presence. This aroused
my suspicion."

"Suspicion of what, your Majesty?" inquired Wilhelm.

"My suspicion that the messages I sent him have been intercepted."

"Who would dare do such a thing, your Majesty?" cried Wilhelm in
amazement.

"Where large stakes are played for, large risks must be taken," went on
the lady. "I said nothing at the time, but yesterday I sent to him two
acts which he himself had previously sanctioned, but never carried out;
these were returned to me to-day unsigned, and now I fear one of three
things. The Emperor is ill, is a prisoner, or is dead."

"If it is your Majesty's wish," said Wilhelm, "I will put myself at the
head of a body of men, surround the cathedral, search the cloisters,
and speedily ascertain whether the Emperor is there or no."

"I have thought of such action," declared the Empress, "but I dislike
to take it. It would bring me in conflict with the Church, and then
there is always the chance that the Emperor is indeed within the
cloisters, and that, of his own free will, he refuses to sign the
documents I have sent to him. In such case what excuse could we give
for our interference? It might precipitate the very crisis we are so
anxious to avoid."

The Empress had been sitting by the table with her arm resting upon it,
her fingers toying unconsciously with the knife while she spoke, and
now as her remarks reached their conclusion her eyes fell upon its hilt
and slender blade. With an exclamation almost resembling a scream the
Empress sprang to her feet and allowed the dagger to fall clattering on
the floor.

"Where did that come from?" she cried. "Is it intended for me?" and she
shook her trembling hands as if they had touched a poisonous scorpion.

"Where it comes from I do not know, but it is not intended for your
Majesty, as this scroll will inform you."

Brunhilda took the parchment he offered and held it at arm's length
from her, reading its few words with dilated eyes, and Wilhelm was
amazed to see in them the fear which they failed to show when she faced
the three powerful Archbishops. Finally the scroll fluttered from her
nerveless fingers to the floor and the Empress sank back in her chair.

"You have received two other warnings then?" she said in a low voice.

"Yes, your Majesty. What is their meaning?"

"They are the death warrants of the Fehmgerichte, a dread and secret
tribunal before which even emperors quail. If you obey this mandate you
will never be seen on earth again; if you disobey you will be secretly
assassinated by one of these daggers, for after ignoring the third
warning a hundred thousand such blades are lying in wait for your
heart, and ultimately one of them will reach it, no matter in what
quarter of Germany you hide yourself."

"And who are the members of this mysterious association, your Majesty?

"That, you can tell as well as I, better perhaps, for you may be a
member while I cannot be. Perhaps the soldier outside this door belongs
to the Fehmgerichte, or your own Chamberlain, or perhaps your most
devoted lieutenant, the lusty Gottlieb."

"That, your Majesty, I'll swear he is not, for he was as amazed as I
when he saw the dagger at the barracks."

Brunhilda shook her head.

"You cannot judge from pretended ignorance," she said, "because a
member is sworn to keep all secrets of the holy Fehm from wife and
child, father and mother, sister and brother, fire and wind; from all
that the sun shines on and the rain wets, and from every being between
heaven and earth. Those are the words of the oath."

Wilhelm found himself wondering how his informant knew so much about
the secret court if all those rules were strictly kept, but he
naturally shrank from any inquiry regarding the source of her
knowledge. Nevertheless her next reply gave him an inkling of the
truth.

"Who is the head of this tribunal?" he asked.

"The Emperor is the nominal head, but my husband never approved of the
Fehmgerichte; originally organised to redress the wrongs of tyranny, it
has become a gigantic instrument of oppression. The Archbishop of
Cologne is the actual president of the order, not in his capacity as an
elector, nor as archbishop, but because he is Duke of Westphalia, where
this tragic court had its origin."

"Your Majesty imagines then, that this summons comes from the
Archbishop of Cologne?"

"Oh, no. I doubt if he has any knowledge of it. Each district has a
freigraf, or presiding judge, assisted by seven assessors, or
freischoffen, who sit in so called judgment with him, but literally
they merely record the sentence, for condemnation is a foregone
conclusion."

"Is the sentence always death?"

"Always, at this secret tribunal; a sentence of death immediately
carried out. In the open Fehmic court, banishment, prison, or other
penalty may be inflicted, but you are summoned to appear before the
secret tribunal."

"Does your Majesty know the meaning of these cabalistic letters on the
dagger's hilt and on the parchment?"

"The letters 'S. S. G. G.' stand for Strick, Stein, Gras, Grün: Strick
meaning, it is said, the rope which hangs you; Stein, the stone at the
head of your grave, and Gras, Grün, the green grass covering it."

"Well, your Majesty," said Wilhelm, picking up the parchment from the
floor and tearing it in small pieces, "if I have to choose between the
rope and the dagger, I freely give my preference to the latter. I shall
not attend this secret conclave, and if any of its members think to
strike a dagger through my heart, he will have to come within the
radius of my sword to do so."

"God watch over you," said the Empress fervently, "for this is a case
in which the protection of an earthly throne is of little avail. And
remember, Lord Wilhelm, trust not even your most intimate friend within
arm's length of you. The only persons who may not become members of
this dread order are a Jew, an outlaw, an infidel, a woman, a servant,
a priest, or a person excommunicated."

Wilhelm escorted the Empress to the door of the red room, and there
took leave of her; he being unable to suggest anything that might
assuage her anxiety regarding her husband, she being unable to protect
him from the new danger that threatened. Wilhelm was as brave as any
man need be, and in a fair fight was content to take whatever odds
came, but now he was confronted by a subtle invisible peril, against
which ordinary courage was futile. An unaccustomed shiver chilled him
as the palace sentinel, in the gathering gloom of the corridor, raised
his hand swiftly to his helmet in salute. He passed slowly down the
steps of the palace into the almost deserted square in front of it, for
the citizens of Frankfort found it expedient to get early indoors when
darkness fell. The young man found himself glancing furtively from
right to left, starting at every shadow and scrutinising every passerby
who was innocently hurrying to his own home. The name "Fehmgerichte"
kept repeating itself in his brain like an incantation. He took the
middle of the square and hesitated when he came to the narrow street
down which his way lay. At the street corner he paused, laid his hand
on the hilt of his sword and drew a deep breath.

"Is it possible," he muttered to himself, "that I am afraid? Am I at
heart a coward? By the cross which is my protection," he cried, "if
they wish to try their poniarding, they shall have an opportunity!"

And drawing his sword he plunged into the dark and narrow street, his
footsteps ringing defiantly in the silence on the stone beneath him as
he strode resolutely along. He passed rapidly through the city until he
came to the northern gate. Here accosting his warders and being assured
that all was well, he took the street which, bending like a bow,
followed the wall until it came to the river. Once or twice he stopped,
thinking himself followed, but the darkness was now so impenetrable
that even if a pursuer had been behind him he was safe from detection
if he kept step with his victim and paused when he did. The street
widened as it approached the river, and Wilhelm became convinced that
some one was treading in his footsteps. Clasping his sword hilt more
firmly in his hand he wheeled about with unexpectedness that evidently
took his follower by surprise, for he dashed across the street and sped
fleetly towards the river. The glimpse Wilhelm got of him in the open
space between the houses made him sure that he was once more on the
track of von Brent, the emissary of Treves. The tables were now turned,
the pursuer being the pursued, and Wilhelm set his teeth, resolved to
put a sudden end to this continued espionage. Von Brent evidently
remembered his former interception, and now kept a straight course.
Trusting to the swiftness of his heels, he uttered no cry, but directed
all his energies toward flight, and Wilhelm, equally silent, followed
as rapidly.

Coming to the river, von Brent turned to the east, keeping in the
middle of the thoroughfare. On the left hand side was a row of houses,
on the right flowed the rapid Main. Some hundreds of yards further up
there were houses on both sides of the street, and as the water of the
river flowed against the walls of the houses to the right, Wilhelm knew
there could be no escape that way. Surmising that his victim kept the
middle of the street in order to baffle the man at his heels, puzzling
him as to which direction the fugitive intended to bolt, Wilhelm, not
to be deluded by such a device, ran close to the houses on the left,
knowing that if von Brent turned to the right he would be speedily
stopped by the Main. The race promised to reach a sudden conclusion,
for Wilhelm was perceptibly gaining on his adversary, when coming to
the first house by the river the latter swerved suddenly, jumped to a
door, pushed it open and was inside in the twinkling of an eye, but
only barely in time to miss the sword thrust that followed him. Quick
as thought Wilhelm placed his foot in such a position that the door
could not be closed. Then setting his shoulder to the panels, he forced
it open in spite of the resistance behind it. Opposition thus overborne
by superior strength, Wilhelm heard the clatter of von Brent's
footsteps down the dark passage, and next instant the door was closed
with a bang, and it seemed to the young man that the house had
collapsed upon him. He heard his sword snap and felt it break beneath
him, and he was gagged and bound before he could raise a hand to help
himself. Then when it was too late, he realised that he had allowed the
heat and fervour of pursuit to overwhelm his judgment, and had jumped
straight into the trap prepared for him. Von Brent returned with a
lantern in his hand and a smile on his face, breathing quickly after
his exertions. Wilhelm, huddled in a corner, saw a dozen stalwart
ruffians grouped around him, most of them masked, but two or three with
faces bare, their coverings having come off in the struggle. These
slipped quickly out of sight, behind the others, as if not wishing to
give clue for future recognition.

"Well, my Lord," said von Brent, smiling, "you see that gagging and
binding is a game that two may play at."

There was no reply to this, first, because Wilhelm was temporarily in a
speechless condition, and, second, because the proposition was not one
to be contradicted.

"Take him to the Commitment Room," commanded von Brent.

Four of the onlookers lifted Wilhelm and carried him down a long
stairway, across a landing and to the foot of a second flight of steps,
where he was thrown into a dark cell, the dimensions of which he could
not estimate. When the door was closed the prisoner lay with his head
leaning against it, and for a time the silence was intense. By and by
he found that by turning his head so that his ear was placed against
the panel of the door, he heard distinctly the footfalls outside, and
even a shuffling sound near him, which seemed to indicate that a man
was on guard at the other side of the oak. Presently some one
approached, and in spite of the low tones used, Wilhelm not only heard
what was being said, but recognised the voice of von Brent, who
evidently was his jailer.

"You have him safely then?"

"Gagged and bound, my Lord."

"Is he disarmed?"

"His sword was broken under him, my Lord, when we fell upon him."

"Very well. Remove the gag and place him with No. 13. Bar them in and
listen to their conversation. I think they have never met, but I want
to be sure of it."

"Is there not a chance that No. 13 may make himself known, my Lord?"

"No matter if he does. In fact, it is my object to have No. 13 and No.
14 known to each other, and yet be not aware that we have suspicion of
their knowledge."

When the door of the cell was opened four guards came in. It was
manifest they were not going to allow Wilhelm any chance to escape, and
were prepared to overpower him should he attempt flight or resistance.
The gag was taken from his mouth and the thongs which bound his legs
were untied, and thus he was permitted to stand on his feet. Once
outside his cell he saw that the subterranean region in which he found
himself was of vast extent, resembling the crypt of a cathedral, the
low roof being supported by pillars of tremendous circumference. From
the direction in which he had been carried from the foot of the stairs
he surmised, and quite accurately, that this cavern was under the bed
of the river. Those who escorted him and those whom he met were masked.
No torches illuminated the gloom of this sepulchral hall, but each
individual carried, attached in some way to his belt, a small horn
lantern, which gave for a little space around a dim uncertain light,
casting weird shadows against the pillars of the cavern. Once or twice
they met a man clothed in an apparently seamless cloak of black cloth,
that covered the head and extended to the feet. Two holes in front of
the face allowed a momentary glimpse of a pair of flashing eyes as the
yellow light from the lanterns smote them. These grim figures were
presumably persons of importance, for the guards stopped, and saluted,
as each one approached, not going forward until he had silently passed
them. When finally the door of the cell they sought was reached, the
guards drew back the bolts, threw it open, and pushed Wilhelm into the
apartment that had been designated for him. Before closing the door,
however, one of the guards placed a lantern on the floor so that the
fellow-prisoners might have a chance of seeing each other. Wilhelm
beheld, seated on a pallet of straw, a man well past middle-age, his
face smooth-shaven and of serious cast, yet having, nevertheless, a
trace of irresolution in his weak chin. His costume was that of a
mendicant monk, and his face seemed indicative of the severity of
monastic rule. There was, however, a serenity of courage in his eye
which seemed to betoken that he was a man ready to die for his
opinions, if once his wavering chin allowed him to form them. Wilhelm
remembering that priests were not allowed to join the order of the
Fehmgerichte reflected that here was a man who probably, from his
fearless denunciations of the order, had brought down upon himself the
hatred of the secret tribunal, whose only penalty was that of death.
The older man was the first to speak.

"So you also are a victim of the Fehmgerichte?"

"I have for some minutes suspected as much," replied von Schonburg.

"Were you arrested and brought here, or did you come here willingly?"

"Oh, I came here willingly enough. I ran half a league in my eagerness
to reach this spot and fairly jumped into it," replied Wilhelm, with a
bitter laugh.

"You were in such haste to reach this spot?" said the old man,
sombrely, "what is your crime?"

"That I do not know, but I shall probably soon learn when I come before
the court."

"Are you a member of the order, then?"

"No, I am not."

"In that case, it will require the oaths of twenty-one members to clear
you, therefore, if you have not that many friends in the order I look
upon you as doomed."

"Thank you. That is as God wills."

"Assuredly, assuredly. We are all in His hands," and the good man
devoutedly crossed himself.

"I have answered your questions," said Wilhelm, "answer you some of
mine. Who are you?"

"I am a seeker after light."

"Well, there it is," said Wilhelm, touching the lantern with his foot
as he paced up and down the limits of the cell.

"Earthly light is but dim at best, it is the light of Heaven I search
after."

"Well, I hope you may be successful in finding it. I know of no place
where it is needed so much as here."

"You speak like a scoffer. I thought from what you said of God's will,
that you were a religious man."

"I am a religious man, I hope, and I regret if my words seem lightly
spoken.

"What action of man, think you then, is most pleasing to God?"

"That is a question which you, to judge by your garb, are more able to
answer than I."

"Nay, nay, I want your opinion."

"Then in my opinion, the man most pleasing to God is he who does his
duty here on earth."

"Ah! right, quite right," cried the older man, eagerly. "But there lies
the core of the whole problem. What _is_ duty; that is what I have
spent my life trying to learn."

"Then at a venture I should say your life has been a useless one. Duty
is as plain as the lighted lantern there before us. If you are a
priest, fulfil your priestly office well; comfort the sick, console the
dying, bury the dead. Tell your flock not to speculate too much on
duty, but to try and accomplish the work in hand."

"But I am not a priest," faltered the other, rising slowly to his feet.

"Then if you are a soldier, strike hard for your King. Kill the man
immediately before you, and if, instead, he kills you, be assured that
the Lord will look after your soul when it departs through the rent
thus made in your body."

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