had our crusader enjoyed in Syria with lion-hearted Richard; with his coadjutor,
Godfrey of Bouillon; nay, with the dauntless Saladin himself.
"You knew Gottfried in Palestine?" asked the Margrave.
"I did."
"Why did ye not greet him then, as ancient comrades should, with the warm grasp
of friendship? It is not because Sir Gottfried is poor? You know well that he is
of race as noble as thine own, my early friend!"
"I care not for his race nor for his poverty," replied the blunt crusader. "What
says the Minnesinger? 'Marry, that the rank is but the stamp of the guinea; the
man is the gold.' And I tell thee, Karl of Godesberg, that yonder Gottfried is
base metal."
"By Saint Buffo, thou beliest him, dear Ludwig."
"By Saint Bugo, dear Karl, I say sooth. The fellow was known i' the camp of the
crusaders�disreputably known. Ere he joined us in Palestine, he had sojourned in
Constantinople, and learned the arts of the Greek. He is a cogger of dice, I
tell thee�a chanter of horseflesh. He won five thousand marks from bluff Richard
of England the night before the storming of Ascalon, and I caught him with false
trumps in his pocket. He warranted a bay mare to Conrad of Mont Serrat, and the
rogue had fired her."
"Ha! mean ye that Sir Gottfried is a LEG?" cried Sir Karl, knitting his brows.
"Now, by my blessed patron, Saint Buffo of Bonn, had any other but Ludwig of
Hombourg so said, I would have cloven him from skull to chine."
"By Saint Bugo of Katzenellenbogen, I will prove my words on Sir Gottfried's
body�not on thine, old brother-in-arms. And to do the knave justice, he is a
good lance. Holy Bugo! but he did good service at Acre! But his character was
such that, spite of his bravery, he was dismissed the army; nor even allowed to
sell his captain's commission."
"I have heard of it," said the Margrave; "Gottfried hath told me of it. 'Twas
about some silly quarrel over the wine-cup�a mere silly jape, believe me. Hugo
de Brodenel would have no black bottle on the board. Gottfried was wroth, and to
say sooth, flung the black bottle at the county's head. Hence his dismission and
abrupt return. But you know not," continued the Margrave, with a heavy sigh, "of
what use that worthy Gottfried has been to me. He has uncloaked a traitor to
me."
"Not YET," answered Hombourg, satirically.
"By Saint Buffo! a deep-dyed dastard! a dangerous, damnable traitor!�a nest of
traitors. Hildebranndt is a traitor�Otto is a traitor�and Theodora (O heaven!)
she�she is ANOTHER." The old Prince burst into tears at the word, and was almost
choked with emotion.
"What means this passion, dear friend?" cried Sir Ludwig, seriously alarmed.
"Mark, Ludwig! mark Hildebrandt and Theodora together: mark Hildebrandt and OTTO
together. Like, like I tell thee as two peas. O holy saints, that I should be
born to suffer this!�to have all my affections wrenched out of my bosom, and to
be left alone in my old age! But, hark! the guests are arriving. An ye will not
empty another flask of claret, let us join the ladyes i' the withdrawing
chamber. When there, mark HILDEBRANDT AND OTTO!"
CHAPTER III. THE FESTIVAL.
The festival was indeed begun. Coming on horseback, or in their caroches,
knights and ladies of the highest rank were assembled in the grand saloon of
Godesberg, which was splendidly illuminated to receive them. Servitors, in rich
liveries, (they were attired in doublets of the sky-blue broadcloth of Ypres,
and hose of the richest yellow sammit�the colors of the house of Godesberg,)
bore about various refreshments on trays of silver�cakes, baked in the oven, and
swimming in melted butter; manchets of bread, smeared with the same delicious
condiment, and carved so thin that you might have expected them to take wing and
fly to the ceiling; coffee, introduced by Peter the Hermit, after his excursion
into Arabia, and tea such as only Bohemia could produce, circulated amidst the
festive throng, and were eagerly devoured by the guests. The Margrave's gloom
was unheeded by them�how little indeed is the smiling crowd aware of the pangs
that are lurking in the breasts of those who bid them to the feast! The
Margravine was pale; but woman knows how to deceive; she was more than
ordinarily courteous to her friends, and laughed, though the laugh was hollow,
and talked, though the talk was loathsome to her.
"The two are together," said the Margrave, clutching his friend's shoulder. "NOW
LOOK!"
Sir Ludwig turned towards a quadrille, and there, sure enough, were Sir
Hildebrandt and young Otto standing side by side in the dance. Two eggs were not
more like! The reason of the Margrave's horrid suspicion at once flashed across
his friend's mind.
"'Tis clear as the staff of a pike," said the poor Margrave, mournfully. "Come,
brother, away from the scene; let us go play a game at cribbage!" and retiring
to the Margravine's boudoir, the two warriors sat down to the game.
But though 'tis an interesting one, and though the Margrave won, yet he could
not keep his attention on the cards: so agitated was his mind by the dreadful
secret which weighed upon it. In the midst of their play, the obsequious
Gottfried came to whisper a word in his patron's ear, which threw the latter
into such a fury, that apoplexy was apprehended by the two lookers-on. But the
Margrave mastered his emotion. "AT WHAT TIME, did you say?" said he to
Gottfried.
"At daybreak, at the outer gate."
"I will be there."
"AND SO WILL I TOO," thought Count Ludwig, the good Knight of Hombourg.
CHAPTER IV. THE FLIGHT.
How often does man, proud man, make calculations for the future, and think he
can bend stern fate to his will! Alas, we are but creatures in its hands! How
many a slip between the lip and the lifted wine-cup! How often, though seemingly
with a choice of couches to repose upon, do we find ourselves dashed to earth;
and then we are fain to say the grapes are sour, because we cannot attain them;
or worse, to yield to anger in consequence of our own fault. Sir Ludwig, the
Hombourger, was NOT AT THE OUTER GATE at daybreak.
He slept until ten of the clock. The previous night's potations had been heavy,
the day's journey had been long and rough. The knight slept as a soldier would,
to whom a featherbed is a rarity, and who wakes not till he hears the blast of
the reveille.
He looked up as he woke. At his bedside sat the Margrave. He had been there for
hours watching his slumbering comrade. Watching?� no, not watching, but awake by
his side, brooding over thoughts unutterably bitter�over feelings inexpressibly
wretched.
"What's o'clock?" was the first natural exclamation of the Hombourger.
"I believe it is five o'clock," said his friend. It was ten. It might have been
twelve, two, half-past four, twenty minutes to six, the Margrave would still
have said, "I BELIEVE IT IS FIVE O'CLOCK." The wretched take no count of time:
it flies with unequal pinions, indeed, for THEM.
"Is breakfast over?" inquired the crusader.
"Ask the butler," said the Margrave, nodding his head wildly, rolling his eyes
wildly, smiling wildly.
"Gracious Bugo!" said the Knight of Hombourg, "what has ailed thee, my friend?
It is ten o'clock by my horologe. Your regular hour is nine. You are not�no, by
heavens! you are not shaved! You wear the tights and silken hose of last
evening's banquet. Your collar is all rumpled�'tis that of yesterday. YOU HAVE
NOT BEEN TO BED! What has chanced, brother of mine: what has chanced?"
"A common chance, Louis of Hombourg," said the Margrave: "one that chances every
day. A false woman, a false friend, a broken heart. THIS has chanced. I have not
been to bed."
"What mean ye?" cried Count Ludwig, deeply affected. "A false friend? I am not a
false friend. A false woman? Surely the lovely Theodora, your wife�"
"I have no wife, Louis, now; I have no wife and no son."
. . . . . .
In accents broken by grief, the Margrave explained what had occurred.
Gottfried's information was but too correct. There was a CAUSE for the likeness
between Otto and Sir Hildebrandt: a fatal cause! Hildebrandt and Theodora had
met at dawn at the outer gate. The Margrave had seen them. They walked long
together; they embraced. Ah! how the husband's, the father's, feelings were
harrowed at that embrace! They parted; and then the Margrave, coming forward,
coldly signified to his lady that she was to retire to a convent for life, and
gave orders that the boy should be sent too, to take the vows at a monastery.
Both sentences had been executed. Otto, in a boat, and guarded by a company of
his father's men-at-arms, was on the river going towards Cologne, to the
monastery of Saint Buffo there. The Lady Theodora, under the guard of Sir
Gottfried and an attendant, were on their way to the convent of Nonnenwerth,
which many of our readers have seen�the beautiful Green Island Convent, laved by
the bright waters of the Rhine!
teeth.
"You cannot overtake him," said the Margrave. "My good Gottfried, he is my only
comfort now: he is my kinsman, and shall be my heir. He will be back anon."
"Will he so?" thought Sir Ludwig. "I will ask him a few questions ere he
return." And springing from his couch, he began forthwith to put on his usual
morning dress of complete armor; and, after a hasty ablution, donned, not his
cap of maintenance, but his helmet of battle. He rang the bell violently.
"A cup of coffee, straight," said he, to the servitor who answered the summons;
"bid the cook pack me a sausage and bread in paper, and the groom saddle
Streithengst; we have far to ride."
The various orders were obeyed. The horse was brought; the refreshments disposed
of; the clattering steps of the departing steed were heard in the court-yard;
but the Margrave took no notice of his friend, and sat, plunged in silent grief,
quite motionless by the empty bedside.
CHAPTER V. THE TRAITOR'S DOOM.
The Hombourger led his horse down the winding path which conducts from the hill
and castle of Godesberg into the beautiful green plain below. Who has not seen
that lovely plain, and who that has seen it has not loved it? A thousand sunny
vineyards and cornfields stretch around in peaceful luxuriance; the mighty Rhine
floats by it in silver magnificence, and on the opposite bank rise the seven
mountains robed in majestic purple, the monarchs of the royal scene.
A pleasing poet, Lord Byron, in describing this very scene, has mentioned that
"peasant girls, with dark blue eyes, and hands that offer cake and wine," are
perpetually crowding round the traveller in this delicious district, and
proffering to him their rustic presents. This was no doubt the case in former
days, when the noble bard wrote his elegant poems�in the happy ancient days!
when maidens were as yet generous, and men kindly! Now the degenerate peasantry
of the district are much more inclined to ask than to give, and their blue eyes
seem to have disappeared with their generosity.
But as it was a long time ago that the events of our story occurred, 'tis
probable that the good Knight Ludwig of Hombourg was greeted upon his path by
this fascinating peasantry; though we know not how he accepted their welcome. He
continued his ride across the flat green country until he came to Rolandseck,
whence he could command the Island of Nonnenwerth (that lies in the Rhine
opposite that place), and all who went to it or passed from it.
Over the entrance of a little cavern in one of the rocks hanging above the
Rhine-stream at Rolandseck, and covered with odoriferous cactuses and silvery
magnolias, the traveller of the present day may perceive a rude broken image of
a saint: that image represented the venerable Saint Buffo of Bonn, the patron of
the Margrave; and Sir Ludwig, kneeling on the greensward, and reciting a censer,
an ave, and a couple of acolytes before it, felt encouraged to think that the
deed he meditated was about to be performed under the very eyes of his friend's
sanctified patron. His devotion done (and the knight of those days was as pious
as he was brave), Sir Ludwig, the gallant Hombourger, exclaimed with a loud
voice:�
"Ho! hermit! holy hermit, art thou in thy cell?"
"Who calls the poor servant of heaven and Saint Buffo?" exclaimed a voice from
the cavern; and presently, from beneath the wreaths of geranium and magnolia,
appeared an intensely venerable, ancient, and majestic head�'twas that, we need
not say, of Saint Buffo's solitary. A silver beard hanging to his knees gave his
person an appearance of great respectability; his body was robed in simple brown
serge, and girt with a knotted cord: his ancient feet were only defended from
the prickles and stones by the rudest sandals, and his bald and polished head
was bare.
"Holy hermit," said the knight, in a grave voice, "make ready thy ministry, for
there is some one about to die."
"Where, son?"
"Here, father."
"Is he here, now?"
"Perhaps," said the stout warrior, crossing himself; "but not so if right
prevail." At this moment he caught sight of a ferry-boat putting off from
Nonnenwerth, with a knight on board. Ludwig knew at once, by the sinople
reversed and the truncated gules on his surcoat, that it was Sir Gottfried of
Godesberg.
"Be ready, father," said the good knight, pointing towards the advancing boat;
word, he vaulted into his saddle, and rode back for a few score of paces; when
he wheeled round, and remained steady. His great lance and pennon rose in the
air. His armor glistened in the sun; the chest and head of his battle-horse were
similarly covered with steel. As Sir Gottfried, likewise armed and mounted (for
his horse had been left at the ferry hard by), advanced up the road, he almost
started at the figure before him�a glistening tower of steel.
"Are you the lord of this pass, Sir Knight?" said Sir Gottfried, haughtily, "or
do you hold it against all comers, in honor of your lady-love?"
"I am not the lord of this pass. I do not hold it against all comers. I hold it
but against one, and he is a liar and a traitor."
"As the matter concerns me not, I pray you let me pass," said Gottfried.
"The matter DOES concern thee, Gottfried of Godesberg. Liar and traitor! art
thou coward, too?"
"Holy Saint Buffo! 'tis a fight!" exclaimed the old hermit (who, too, had been a
gallant warrior in his day); and like the old war- horse that hears the
trumpet's sound, and spite of his clerical profession, he prepared to look on at
the combat with no ordinary eagerness, and sat down on the overhanging ledge of
the rock, lighting his pipe, and affecting unconcern, but in reality most deeply
interested in the event which was about to ensue.
As soon as the word "coward" had been pronounced by Sir Ludwig, his opponent,
uttering a curse far too horrible to be inscribed here, had wheeled back his
powerful piebald, and brought his lance to the rest.
"Ha! Beauseant!" cried he. "Allah humdillah!" 'Twas the battle- cry in Palestine
of the irresistible Knights Hospitallers. "Look to thyself, Sir Knight, and for
mercy from heaven! I will give thee none."
"A Bugo for Katzenellenbogen!" exclaimed Sir Ludwig, piously: that, too, was the
well-known war-cry of his princely race.
"I will give the signal," said the old hermit, waving his pipe. "Knights, are
you ready? One, two, three. LOS!" (let go.)
At the signal, the two steeds tore up the ground like whirlwinds; the two
knights, two flashing perpendicular masses of steel, rapidly converged; the two
lances met upon the two shields of either, and shivered, splintered, shattered
into ten hundred thousand pieces, which whirled through the air here and there,
among the rocks, or in the trees, or in the river. The two horses fell back
trembling on their haunches, where they remained for half a minute or so.
"Holy Buffo! a brave stroke!" said the old hermit. "Marry, but a splinter
wellnigh took off my nose!" The honest hermit waved his pipe in delight, not
perceiving that one of the splinters had carried off the head of it, and
rendered his favorite amusement impossible. "Ha! they are to it again! O my! how
they go to with their great swords! Well stricken, gray! Well parried, piebald!
Ha, that was a slicer! Go it, piebald! go it, gray!�go it, gray! go it, pie�
Peccavi! peccavi!" said the old man, here suddenly closing his eyes, and falling
down on his knees. "I forgot I was a man of peace." And the next moment,
muttering a hasty matin, he sprung down the ledge of rock, and was by the side
of the combatants.
The battle was over. Good knight as Sir Gottfried was, his strength and skill
had not been able to overcome Sir Ludwig the Hombourger, with RIGHT on his side.
He was bleeding at every point of his armor: he had been run through the body
several times, and a cut in tierce, delivered with tremendous dexterity, had
cloven the crown of his helmet of Damascus steel, and passing through the
cerebellum and sensorium, had split his nose almost in twain.
His mouth foaming�his face almost green�his eyes full of blood� his brains
spattered over his forehead, and several of his teeth knocked out,�the
discomfited warrior presented a ghastly spectacle, as, reeling under the effects
of the last tremendous blow which the Knight of Hombourg dealt, Sir Gottfried
fell heavily from the saddle of his piebald charger; the frightened animal
whisked his tail wildly with a shriek and a snort, plunged out his hind legs,
trampling for one moment upon the feet of the prostrate Gottfried, thereby
causing him to shriek with agony, and then galloped away riderless.
Away! ay, away!�away amid the green vineyards and golden cornfields; away up the
steep mountains, where he frightened the eagles in their eyries; away down the
clattering ravines, where the flashing cataracts tumble; away through the dark
pine-forests, where the hungry wolves are howling away over the dreary wolds,