The Boy and the Baron by Adeline Knapp - HTML preview

CHAPTER XV
 HOW THE SHINING KNIGHT’S TREASURE WAS BROUGHT TO LIGHT

It was high noon when the last of the knights of the Swartzburg laid down his arms at the feet of the emperor and swore fealty to him. Of the castle’s company Herr Banf was missing; for he had ridden forth, in the confusion that followed the entrance of Rudolf’s men, to make his way through the woods and thence out from that land, minded rather to live an outlaw than to bend knee to the foe of his well loved friend.

A wise ruler as well as a brave soldier was Rudolf of Hapsburg, and well knew he how to win as well as to conquer. So, when all the knights had taken oath, to each was returned his arms, and him the emperor greeted as friend.

Within the castle hall the dead master lay at rest, and beside him watched the baroness, a pale, broken-spirited lady, whose life had been one long season of fear of her liege lord, and who now felt as little sorrow as hope. Her the emperor had already visited, to pay her respect and to assure her of protection, and now, with the two or three women of that stern and wild household of men-folk, she waited what might come.

Meanwhile, through castle and stables and offices the emperor’s appointed searchers went, taking note of all things; but Rudolf of Hapsburg sat in the courtyard, in sight of his men, who were by now making shift to prepare themselves a meal; for the greater number had not tasted food that day.

To Wulf the whole changed scene seemed like a dream, so familiar the place, yet so strange—as one in sleep finds some place that he knows well puzzle him by some unwonted aspect. He stood watching the soldiers feeding here and there about the bailey, when there came two squires from the keep, leading between them a bent and piteous figure.

It was a man who cowered and blinked and sought to cover his dazzled eyes from the unwonted light of day. Him the soldiers brought before the emperor, and on the moment Wulf knew that face to be the one which he had seen at the barred window of the keep on the day when he had climbed the tower.

“What is this?” demanded Rudolf, as he looked the woeful figure up and down. Scarce bore it likeness to a man, so unkempt and terrible was its aspect, so drawn and wan the face, wherein no light of reason showed.

“We know not, your Majesty,” one of the squires replied; “but we found him in a cell high up in the keep, chained by the ankle to a stone bench, and I broke the fetter with a sledge.”

By now the nobles and knights of Rudolf’s army were gathered about; but none spoke, for pity. Then the emperor caused all the knights of the Swartzburg to be summoned, and he questioned them close, but not one of them knew who the man might be, or why he was a prisoner at the Swartzburg. Indeed, of all the company, only one or two knew that such a prisoner had been held in the keep. Of the two men who might have told his name, one lay dead in the great hall, and one was riding from the Swartzburg, an outlaw.

But the emperor was troubled. A haunting something in that seemingly empty face drew his very heartstrings, and fain would he have known the man’s name. Then suddenly through the press of knights and nobles rushed Karl the armorer, and clasped the woeful figure in his arms, while he trembled and sobbed with wrath and sorrow.

“Oh, my lord!” he cried, bringing the man closer before Rudolf. “Look upon this! Knowest thou not who ’tis?”

The emperor had grown very white, and he passed one hand over his eyes.

“Nay,” he said; “it is never—it cannot be—”

“Oh, my lord! my lord!” sobbed the armorer, his great chest heaving and the tears streaming down from his unashamed eyes. “It is the count—Count Bernard himself, thine old comrade, whom thou and I didst love. Look upon him!”

So white now was the emperor that his face was like death; but it was set in fierce wrath, too, as, little by little, he began to see that Karl might be right. He bent forward and laid a hand on the man’s shoulder.

“Bernard, friend Bernard!” he called loudly, that the dulled senses might take in his words. “Bernard, dost know me?”

Slowly the other looked up; a dim light seemed to gather in his eyes.

“Ay, Rudolf,” he whispered hoarsely; then the light went out, and he shrank back again.

“There is a tale I would have told your Majesty,” Karl said, recovering himself, “an the herald had not come just as he did on the night before last”; and then, seeing Wulf in the throng, he called him to come forward.

Wondering, the boy obeyed, while, with a hand on his arm, Karl told the emperor all that he had been able to tell Wulf that day at the forge—of the battle between the knights, of how he had thereafter found the stranger child in the osiers, and how he had kept the blade which Herr Banf had won.

“Now know I of surety,” he said at last, “that that knight was Count Bernard von Wulfstanger; but who this boy may be I can only guess.”

Now a voice spoke from amid the throng. Hansei, who had been edging nearer and nearer, could keep silence no longer.

“That would be the ‘shining knight’s’ treasure! Well I remember it, your Majesty!” he cried.

“What meanest thou?” demanded Rudolf; and there before them all Hansei told what the children saw from the playground on the plateau that day so many years agone.

The emperor’s face grew thoughtful as he looked at Wulf from under lowered brows.

“Ay,” he said at last; “’tis like to be true. Count Bernard rode this way with the babe, meaning to leave him with our cousin at St. Ursula; for his mother was dead, and he was off to the Holy Land. He must have missed the convent road and got on the wrong way. Thou art strongly like him in looks, lad.”

His voice was shaking, but Wulf noted it not; for he had drawn near to Karl, who was bending over the wan prisoner. The boy’s heart was nearly broken with pity.

Was this his father, this doleful figure now resting against Karl, wholly unable to support itself? Gently Wulf pressed the armorer back and took the slight weight in his strong young arms. “’Tis mine to do, an ye all speak truth,” he said.

Few were the dry eyes in that company as Wulf circled the frail body to him and the weary head rested itself quietly against his breast.

“See that he is cared for,” the emperor said at last, and from the throng came the noblest of those knights to carry the count into the castle. Wulf would have gone with them, but Rudolf called him back.

“Stand forth,” he said, pointing to a spot just before him, and Wulf obeyed.

“Thou’st fought well to-day, boy,” Rudolf went on. “But for thy ready wit, that led thy fellows by a way to fall upon the foe from behind, this castle had been long in the winning, and our work by that much hindered. Thou hast proven thy gentle blood by the knightly deed thou didst by the young maid, now our own ward, and sure are we that thou’rt the son of our loved comrade Count Bernard von Wulfstanger. Kneel down.”

Then, as Wulf knelt, fair dazed by the surging of his own blood in his ears, the emperor laid drawn sword across his bowed shoulders.

“Rise, Herr Wulf von Wulfstanger,” he said.

The young knight, trembling like any timid maid, got to his feet again, though how he could not have told.

“He’ll need thy nursing a bit, Karl,” Rudolf of Hapsburg said, an amused smile playing about his grim mouth; and our Wulf never knew that the old armorer more carried than led him away to quiet and rest.

 
“THE EMPEROR LAID DRAWN SWORD ACROSS HIS BOWED SHOULDERS.”

Not all in a day was order restored at the Swartzburg; for many and woeful had been the deeds of the high-handed robber who had so long ruled within those grim walls. They came to light little by little under the searching of the emperor’s wardens; and when the parchments relating to the Swartzburg properties came to be examined, it was found that not the baron, nor Conradt, his heir-at-law, had all along been owner of the castle, but young Elise von Hofenhoer, whose guardian the treacherous noble had been. There were other outlying lands, as well, from which the baron had long collected the revenues, and it was to keep his hold on that which he had so evilly gotten that he would have married Elise to Conradt, his nephew and ready tool.

The emperor himself now became guardian to the maiden, who, happy in the safe shelter of St. Ursula, was to remain there until such time as a husband might claim the right to fend for her and hers, if need should come.

And now our Wulf of the forge and the forest abode in the hall of his fathers as Count Wulf von Wulfstanger, and made bright that wronged one’s days. Rudolf of Hapsburg had long been in charge of the estates of the lost nobleman, and a straight accounting made the honest soldier-emperor to Wulf, as his heir, of all that he had held in trust.

With old Karl for helper and adviser, Wulf, all doubt and mystery cleared, ruled his great domain. Later he brought home his fair bride from St. Ursula, given into his keeping by the emperor himself, and thereafter, the story tells, Baron Wulf and his lady lived long a life of usefulness and good deeds; whereby those hard times were made easier for many, and the sunshine, gathered through the years, made warmth and light for others, as must always be in this world, when any life is lived for the sake of usefulness and helpfulness.

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