My Lady Rotha: A Romance

by Stanley John Weyman

  CHAPTER XXXI.

  THE TRIAL.

  Late as it was when I fell asleep--for these thoughts long kept mewaking--I was up and on my way to Count Leuchtenstein's before thebells rang seven. It was the 17th of August, and the sun, alreadyhigh, flashed light from a hundred oriels and casements. Below, in thestreets, it sparkled on pikeheads and steel caps; above, it glitteredon vane and weather-cock; it burnished old bells hung high in air, anddecked the waking city with a hundred points of splendour. Everywherethe cool brightness of early morning met the eye, and spoke of thingsI could not see--the dew on forest leaves, the Werra where it shoalsamong the stones.

  But as I went I saw things that belied the sunshine, things to which Icould not shut my eyes. I met men whose meagre forms and shrunkencheeks made a shadow round them; and others, whose hungry vultureeyes, as they prowled in the kennel for garbage, seemed to belong tobelated night-birds rather than to creatures of the day. Wan, pinchedwomen, with white-faced children, signs of the deeper distress thatlay hidden away in courts and alleys, shuffled along beside thehouses; while the common crowd, on whose features famine had not yetlaid its hand, wore a stern pre-occupied look, as if the gaunt spectrestood always before their eyes--visible, and no long way off.

  In the excitement of the last few days I had failed to note thesethings or their increase; I had gone about my business thinking oflittle else, seeing nothing beyond it. Now my eyes were rudely opened,and I recognised with a kind of shock the progress which dearth anddisease were making, and had made, in the city. North and south andeast and west of me, in endless multitude, the roofs and spires ofNuremberg rose splendid and sparkling in the sunshine. North andsouth, and east and west, in city and lager lay scores of thousands ofarmed men, tens of thousands of horses--a host that might fitly becalled invincible; and all come together in its defence. But, incorners, as I went along I heard men whisper that Duke Bernard'sconvoy had been cut off, that the Saxon forage had not come in, thatthe Croats were gripping the Bamberg road, that a thousand waggons ofcorn had reached the imperial army. And perforce I remembered that anarmy must not only fight but eat. The soldiers must be fed, the citymust be fed. I began to see that if Wallenstein, secure in hisimpregnable position on the hills, declined still to move or fight,the time would come when the Swedish King must choose between twocourses, and either attack the enemy on the Alta Veste against allodds of position, or march away and leave the city to its fate. Iceased to wonder that care sat on men's faces, and seemed to be afeature of the streets. The passion which the mob had displayed in thenight, no longer surprised me. The hungry man is no better than abrute.

  Opposite Count Leuchtenstein's lodgings they were quelling a riot at abakehouse, and the wolfish cries and screams rang in my ears longafter I had turned into the house. The Count had been on nightservice, and was newly risen, and not yet dressed, but his servantconsented to admit me. I passed on the stairs a grey-haired sergeant,scarred, stiff, and belted, who was waiting with a bundle of lists andreports. In the ante-chamber two or three gentlemen in buff coats, whotalked in low, earnest voices and eyed me curiously as I passed, satat breakfast. I noted the order and stillness which prevailedeverywhere in the house, and nowhere more than in the Count's chamber;where I found him dressing before a plain table, on which a small, fatBible had the place of a pouncet-box, and a pair of silver-mountedpistols figured instead of a scent-case. Not that the appointments ofthe room were mean. On a little stand beside the Bible was the chainof gold walnuts which I had good cause to remember; and this wasbalanced on the other side by a miniature of a beautiful woman, set ingold and surmounted by a coat-of-arms.

  He was vigorously brushing his grey hair and moustachios when Ientered, and the air, which the open window freely admitted, lent abrightness to his eyes and a freshness to his complexion that took offten of his years. He betrayed some surprise at seeing me so early; buthe received me with good nature, congratulated me on my adventure, themain facts of which had reached him, and in the same breath lamentedTzerclas' escape.

  'But we shall have the fox one of these days,' he continued. 'He is aclever scoundrel, and thinks to be a Wallenstein. But the world hasonly space for one monster at a time, friend Steward. And to beanything lower than Wallenstein, whom I take to be unique,--to be aPappenheim, for instance,--a man must have a heart as well as a head,or men will not follow him. However, you did not come to me to discussTzerclas,' he continued genially. 'What is your errand, my friend?'

  'To ask your excellency's influence on behalf of the WaldgraveRupert.'

  He paused with his brushes suspended. 'On your own account?' he asked;and he looked at me with sudden keenness.

  'No, my lord,' I answered. 'My lady sent me. She would have comeherself, but the hour was early; and she feared to let the matterstand, lest summary measures should be taken against him.'

  'It is likely very summary measures will be taken!' he answered dryly,and with a sensible change in his manner; his voice seemed to growharsher, his features more rigid. 'But why,' he continued, looking atme again, 'does not the Countess leave him in Prince Bernard's hands?He is his near kinsman.'

  'She fears, my lord, that Prince Bernard may not----'

  'Be inclined to help him?' the Count said. 'Well, and I think thatthat is very likely, and I am not surprised. See you how the matterstands? This young gallant should have been, since his arrival here,foremost in every skirmish; he should have spent his days in thesaddle, and his nights in his cloak, and been the first to mount andthe last to leave the works. Instead of that, he has shown himselflukewarm throughout, Master Steward. He has done no credit to hisfriends or his commission; he has done everything to lend colour tothis charge; and, by my faith, I do not know what can be done forhim--nor that it behoves us to do anything.'

  'But he is not guilty of this, if your excellency pleases,' I saidboldly. The Count's manner of speaking of him was hard and so nearlyhostile that my choler rose a little.

  'He has not done his duty!'

  'Because he has not been himself,' I replied.

  'Well, we have enough to do in these evil days to protect those whoare!' he answered sharply. 'Besides, this matter is a city matter. Itis in the citizens' hands, and I do not know what we have to do withit. Look now,' he continued, almost querulously, 'it is an invidiousthing to meddle with them. We of the army are risking our lives and nomore, but our hosts are risking all--wives and daughters, sweethearts,and children, and homes! And I say it is an awkward thing meddlingwith them. For Neumann the sooner they hang the dog the better; andfor this young spark I can think of nothing that he has done thatbinds us to go out of our way to save him. Marienbad! What brought himinto that den of thieves?'

  'My lord,' I said, taken aback by his severity--'since he received awound some months back he has not been himself.'

  'He has been sufficiently himself to hang about a woman'sapron-strings,' the Count answered with a flash of querulous contempt,'instead of doing his duty. However, what you say is true. I have seenit myself. But, again, why does not your lady leave Prince Bernard tosettle the matter?'

  'She fears that he may not be sufficiently interested.'

  He turned away abruptly; unless I was mistaken, he winced. And in amoment a light broke in upon me. The peevishness and irritability withwhich he had received the first mention of the Waldgrave's name hadpuzzled me. I had not expected such a display in a man of his grave,equable nature, of his high station, his great name. I had given himcredit for a less churlish spirit and a judgment more evenly balanced.And I had felt surprised and disappointed.

  Now, on a sudden, I saw light--in an unexpected quarter. For a momentI could have laughed both at myself and at him. The man was jealous;jealous, at his age and with his grey hairs! At the first blush of thething I could have laughed, the feeling and the passion it impliedseemed alike so preposterous. There on the table before me stood theminiature of his first wife, and his child's necklace. And t
he manhimself was old enough to be my lady's father. What if he was tall andstrong; and still vigorous though grey-haired; and a man of greatname. When I thought of the Waldgrave--of his splendid youth andgallant presence, his gracious head and sunny smile, and pictured thisstaid, sober man beside him, I could have found it in my heart tolaugh.

  While I stood, busy with these thoughts, the Count walked the lengthof the room more than once with his head bent and his shoulder turnedto me. At length he stopped and spoke; nor could my sharpened ear nowdetect anything unusual in his voice.

  'Very well,' he said, his tone one of half-peevish resignation, 'youhave done your errand. I think I understand, and you may tell yourmistress--I will do what I can. The King of Sweden will doubtlessremit the matter to the citizens, and there will be some sort of ahearing to-day. I will be at it. But there is a stiff spirit abroad,and men are in an ugly mood--and I promise nothing. But I will do mybest. Now go, my friend. I have business.'

  With that he dismissed me in a manner so much like his usual mannerthat I wondered whether I had deceived myself. And I finally left theroom in a haze of uncertainty. However, I had succeeded in the objectof my visit; that was something. He had taken care to guard hispromise, but I did not doubt that he would perform it. For there aremen whose lightest word is weightier than another's bond; and I tookit, I scarcely know why, that the Count belonged to these.

  Nevertheless, I saw things, as I went through the streets, that fed mydoubts. While famine menaced the poorer people, the richer held asack, with all the horrors which Magdeburg had suffered, in equaldread. The discovery of Neumann's plot had taught them how small amatter might expose them to that extremity; and as I went along I sawscarcely, a burgher whose face was not sternly set, no magistratewhose brow was not dark with purpose.

  Consequently, when I attended my lady to the Rath-haus at two o'clock,the hour fixed for the inquiry, I was not surprised to find thesesigns even more conspicuous. The streets were thronged, and ugly looksand suspicious glances met us on all sides, merely because it wasknown that the Waldgrave had been much at my lady's house. We weremade to feel that Nuremberg was a free city, and that we were no morethan its guests. It is true, no one insulted us; but the crowd whichfilled the open space before the Town-house eyed us with so littlefavour that I was glad to think that the magistrates with all theirindependence must still be guided by the sword, and that the sword wasthe King of Sweden's.

  My lady, I saw, shared my apprehensions. But she came of a stock noteasily daunted, and would as soon have dreamed of putting out one ofher eyes because it displeased a chance acquaintance, as of desertinga friend because the Nurembergers frowned upon him. Her eyes sparkledand her colour rose as we proceeded; the ominous silence which greetedus only stiffened her carriage. By the time we reached the Rath-haus Iknew not whether to fear more from her indiscretion, or hope more fromher courage.

  The Court sat in private, but orders that we should be admitted hadbeen given; and after a brief delay we were ushered into the hall ofaudience--a lofty, panelled chamber, carved and fretted, having sixdeep bays, and in each a window of stained glass. A number ofscutcheons and banners depended from the roof; at one end a hugedouble eagle wearing the imperial crown pranced in all the pomp ofgold and tinctures; and behind the court, which consisted of the ChiefMagistrate and four colleagues, the sword of Justice was displayed.But that which struck me far more than these things, was the stillnessthat prevailed; which was such that, though there were a dozen personspresent when we entered, the creaking of our boots as we walked up thefloor, and the booming of distant cannon, seemed to be equallyaudible.

  The Chief Magistrate rose and received my lady with due ceremony,ordering a chair to be placed for her, and requesting her to be seatedat the end of the dais-table, behind which he sat. I took my stand ata respectful distance behind her; and so far we had nothing tocomplain of; but I felt my spirits sensibly dashed both by thestillness and the sombre and almost forbidding faces of the fivejudges. Two or three attendants stood by the doors, but neither theKing of Sweden nor any of his officers were present. I looked in vainfor Count Leuchtenstein; I could see nothing of him or of theprisoners. The solemn air of the room, the silence, and the privacy ofthe proceedings, all contributed to chill me. I could fancy myselfbefore a court of inquisitors, a Vehm-Gericht, or that famous Councilof Ten which sits, I have heard, at Venice; but for any of the commoncircumstances of such tribunals as are usual in Germany, I could notfind them.

  I think that my lady was somewhat taken aback too; but she did notbetray it. After courteously thanking the Council for granting her anaudience, she explained that her object in seeking it was to statecertain facts on behalf of the Waldgrave Rupert of Weimar, herkinsman, and to offer the evidence of her steward, a person ofrespectability.

  'We are quite willing to hear your excellency,' the Chief Magistrateanswered in a grave, dry voice. 'But perhaps you will first inform usto what these facts tend? It may shorten the inquiry.'

  'Some weeks ago,' my lady answered with dignity, 'the Waldgrave Rupertwas wounded in the head. From that time he has not been himself.'

  'Does your excellency mean that he is not aware of his actions?'

  'No,' my lady answered quietly. 'I do not go as far as that.''

  'Or that he is not aware in what company he is?' the magistratepersisted.

  'Oh no.'

  'Or that he is ignorant at any time where he is?'

  'No, but----'

  'One moment!' the Chief Magistrate stopped her with a courteousgesture. 'Pardon me. In an instant, your excellency--to whom Iassure you that the Court are obliged, since we desire only to dojustice--will see to what my questions lead. I crave leave to put onemore, and then to put the same question to your steward. It is this:Do you admit, Countess, that the Waldgrave Rupert was last night inthe house with Tzerclas, Neumann, and the other persons inculpated?'

  'Certainly,' my lady answered. 'I am so informed. I did not know thatthat was in question,' she added, looking round with a puzzled air.

  'And you, my friend?' The Chief Magistrate fixed me with his small,keen eyes. 'But first, what is your name?'

  'Martin Schwartz.'

  'Yes, I remember. The man who was saved from the villains. We couldhave no better evidence. What do you say, then? 'Was the WaldgraveRupert last night in this house--the house in question?'

  'I saw him in the house,' I answered warily. 'In the hall. But he wasnot in the room with Tzerclas and Neumann--the room in which I saw themaps and plans.'

  'A fair answer,' the Burgomaster replied, nodding his head, 'and yourevidence might avail the accused. But the fact is--it is to this pointwe desire to call your excellency's attention,' he continued, turningwith a dusty smile to my lady--'the Waldgrave steadily denies that hewas in the house at all.'

  'He denies that he was there?' my lady said. 'But was he not arrestedin the house?'

  'Yes,' the Chief Magistrate answered dryly, 'he was.' And he looked atus in silence.

  'But--what does he say?' my lady asked faintly.

  'He affects to be ignorant of everything that has occurred inconnection with the house. He pretends that he does not know how hecomes to be in custody, that he does not know many things that havelately occurred. For instance, three days ago,' the Burgomastercontinued with a chill smile,' I had the honour of meeting him at theKing of Sweden's quarters and talking with him. He says to-day that Iam a stranger to him, that we did not meet, that we did not talk, andthat he does not know where the King of Sweden's quarters are.'

  'Then,' my lady said sorrowfully, 'he is worse than he was. He is nowquite mad.'

  'I am afraid not,' the magistrate replied, shaking his head gravely.'He is sane enough on other points. Only he will answer no questionsthat relate to this conspiracy, or to his guilt.'

  'He is not guilty,' the Countess cried impetuously. 'Believe me,however strangely he talks, he is incapable of such treachery!'

  'Your excellency forgets--that he was in this
house!'

  'But with no evil intentions!'

  'Yet denies that he was there!' the Burgomaster concluded gravely.

  That silenced my lady, and she sat rolling her kerchief in her hands.Against the five impassive faces that confronted her, the teninscrutable eyes that watched her; above all, against this strange,this inexplicable denial, she could do nothing! At last--

  'Will you hear my steward?' she asked--in despair, I think.

  'Certainly,' the Burgomaster answered. 'We wish to do so.'

  On that I told them all I knew; in what terms I had heard Neumann andGeneral Tzerclas refer to the Waldgrave; how unexpected had been hisappearance in the hall; how this interference had saved my life; and,finally, my own conviction that he was not privy to Tzerclas' designs.

  The Court heard me with attention; the Burgomaster put a fewquestions, and I answered them. Then, afraid to stop--for their facesshowed no relenting--I began to repeat what I had said before. But nowthe Court remained silent; I stumbled, stammered, finally sank intosilence myself. The air of the place froze me; I seemed to be talkingto statues.

  The Countess was the first to break the spell. 'Well?' she cried, hervoice tremulous, yet defiant.

  The Burgomaster consulted his colleagues, and for the first timesomething of animation appeared in their faces. But it lasted aninstant only. Then the others sat back in their chairs, and he turnedto my lady.

  'We are obliged to your excellency,' he said gravely and formally.'And to your servant. But the Court sees no reason to change itsdecision.'

  'And that is?' The Countess's voice was husky. She knew what wascoming.

  'That both prisoners suffer together.'

  For an instant I feared that my lady would do something unbecoming herdignity, and either break into womanish sobs and lamentations, orstoop to threats and insistence that must be equally unavailing. Butshe had learned in command the man's lesson of control; and never hadI seen her more equal to herself. I knew that her heart was boundingwildly; that her breast was heaving with indignation, pity, horror;that she saw, as I saw, the fair head for which she pleaded, rollingin the dust. But with all--she controlled herself. She rose stifflyfrom her seat.

  'I am obliged to you for your patience, sir,' she said, trembling butcomposed. 'I had expected one to aid me in my prayer, who is not here.And I can say no more. On his head be it. Only--I trust that you maynever plead with as good a cause--and be refused.'

  They rose and stood while she turned from them; and the two courtushers with their wands went before her as she walked down the hall.The silence, the formality, the creaking shoes, the very gules andpurpure that lay in pools on the floor--I think that they stifled heras they stifled me; for when she reached the open air at last and Isaw her face, I saw that she was white to the lips.

  But she bore herself bravely; the surly crowd, that filled the MarketSquare and hailed our appearance with a harsh murmur, grew silentunder her scornful eye, and partly out of respect, partly out ofcomplaisance, because they now felt sure of their victim, doffed theircaps to her and made room for us to pass. Every moment I expected herto break down: to weep or cover her face. But she passed through allproudly, and walked, unfaltering, back to our lodging.

  There on the threshold she did pause at last, just when I wished herto go on. She stood and turned her head, listening.

  But with all--she controlled herself. She rose stifflyfrom her seat.]

  'What is that?' she said.

  'Cannon,' I answered hastily. 'In the trenches, my lady.'

  'No,' she said quietly. 'It is shouting. They have read the sentence.'

  She said no more, not another word; and went in quietly and upstairsto her room. But I wondered and feared. Such composure as this seemedto be unnatural, almost cruel. I could not think of the Waldgravemyself without a lump coming in my throat. I could not face thesunshine. And Steve and the men, when they heard, were no better. Westood inside the doorway in a little knot, and looked at one anothermournfully. A man who passed--and did not know the house or who wewere--stopped to tell us that the sentence would be carried out atsunset; and, pleased to have given us the news, went whistling downthe stale, sunny street.

  Steve growled out an oath. 'Who are these people,' he said savagely,'that they should say my lady nay? When the Countess stoops to ask alife--Himmel!--is she not to have it?'

  'Not here,' I said, shaking my head.

  'And why not?'

  'Because we are not at Heritzburg now,' I answered sadly.

  'But--are we nobody here?' he growled in a rage. 'Are we going to sitstill and let them kill my lady's own cousin?'

  I shrugged my shoulders. 'We have done all we can,' I said.

  'But there is some one can say nay to these curs!' he cried. And hespat contemptuously into the street. He had a countryman's scorn oftownsfolk. 'Why don't we take the law into our own hands, MasterMartin?'

  'It is likely,' I said. 'One against ten thousand! And for the matterof that, if the people are angry, it is not without cause. Did you seethe man under the archway?'

  Steve nodded. 'Dead,' he muttered.

  'Starved,' I said. 'He was a cripple. First the cripples. Then thesound men. Life is cheap here.'

  Steve swore another oath. 'Those are curs. But our man--why don't wego to the King of Sweden? I suppose he is a sort of cousin to mylady?'

  'We have as good as gone to him,' I answered. At another time I mighthave smiled at Steve's notion of my lady's importance. 'We have beento one equally able to help us. And he has done us no good. And forthe matter of that, there is not time to go to the camp and back.'

  Steve began to fume and fret. The minutes went like lead. We were allmiserable together. Outside, the kennel simmered in the sun, the lowrumble of the cannon filled the air. I hated Nuremberg, the streets,the people, the heat. I wished that I had never seen a stone of it.

  Presently one of the women came down stairs to us. 'Do you know ifthere has been any fighting in the trenches to-day?' she asked.

  'Nothing to speak of,' I answered. 'As far as I have heard. Why?'

  'The Countess wishes to know,' she said. 'You have not heard of anyone being killed?'

  'No.'

  'Nor wounded?'

  'No.'

  She nodded and turned away. I called after her to know the reason ofher questions, but she flitted upstairs without giving me an answer,and left us looking at one another. In a second, however, she was downagain.

  'My lady will see no one,' she said, with a face of mystery. 'Youunderstand, Master Martin? But--if any come of importance, you cantake her will.'

  I nodded. The woman cast a lingering look into the street and wentupstairs again.