XI. How Otto was Saved.

  Little Otto was lying upon the hard couch in his cell, tossing in restless and feverish sleep; suddenly a heavy hand was laid upon him and a voice whispered in his ear, "Baron, Baron Otto, waken, rouse yourself; I am come to help you. I am One–eyed Hans."

  Otto was awake in an instant and raised himself upon his elbow in the darkness. "One–eyed Hans," he breathed, "One–eyed Hans; who is One–eyed Hans?"

  "True," said the other, "thou dost not know me. I am thy father's trusted servant, and am the only one excepting his own blood and kin who has clung to him in this hour of trouble. Yes, all are gone but me alone, and so I have come to help thee away from this vile place."

  "Oh, dear, good Hans! if only thou canst!" cried Otto; "if only thou canst take me away from this wicked place. Alas, dear Hans! I am weary and sick to death." And poor little Otto began to weep silently in the darkness.

  "Aye, aye," said Hans, gruffly, "it is no place for a little child to be. Canst thou climb, my little master? canst thou climb a knotted rope?"

  "Nay," said Otto, "I can never climb again! See, Hans;" and he flung back the covers from off him.

  "I cannot see," said Hans, "it is too dark."

  "Then feel, dear Hans," said Otto.

  Hans bent over the poor little white figure glimmering palely in the darkness. Suddenly he drew back with a snarl like an angry wolf. "Oh! the black, bloody wretches!" he cried, hoarsely; "and have they done that to thee, a little child?"

  "Yes," said Otto, "the Baron Henry did it." And then again he began to cry.

  "There, there," said Hans, roughly, "weep no more. Thou shalt get away from here even if thou canst not climb; I myself will help thee. Thy father is already waiting below the window here, and thou shalt soon be with him. There, there, cry no more."

  While he was speaking Hans had stripped off his peddler's leathern jacket, and there, around his body, was wrapped coil after coil of stout hempen rope tied in knots at short distances. He began unwinding the rope, and when he had done he was as thin as ever he had been before. Next he drew from the pouch that hung at his side a ball of fine cord and a leaden weight pierced by a hole, both of which he had brought with him for the use to which he now put them. He tied the lead to the end of the cord, then whirling the weight above his head, he flung it up toward the window high above. Twice the piece of lead fell back again into the room; the third time it flew out between the iron bars carrying the cord with it. Hans held the ball in his hand and paid out the string as the weight carried it downward toward the ground beneath. Suddenly the cord stopped running. Hans jerked it and shook it, but it moved no farther. "Pray heaven, little child," said he, "that it hath reached the ground, for if it hath not we are certainly lost."

  "I do pray," said Otto, and he bowed his head.

  Then, as though in answer to his prayer, there came a twitch upon the cord.

  "See," said Hans, "they have heard thee up above in heaven; it was thy father who did that." Quickly and deftly he tied the cord to the end of the knotted rope; then he gave an answering jerk upon the string. The next moment the rope was drawn up to the window and down the outside by those below. Otto lay watching the rope as it crawled up to the window and out into the night like a great snake, while One–eyed Hans held the other end lest it should be drawn too far. At last it stopped. "Good," muttered Hans, as though to himself. "The rope is long enough."

  He waited for a few minutes and then, drawing upon the rope and finding that it was held from below, he spat upon his hands and began slowly climbing up to the window above. Winding his arm around the iron bars of the grating that guarded it, he thrust his hand into the pouch that hung by his side, and drawing forth a file, fell to work cutting through all that now lay between Otto and liberty.

  It was slow, slow work, and it seemed to Otto as though Hans would never finish his task, as lying upon his hard couch he watched that figure, black against the sky, bending over its work. Now and then the file screeched against the hard iron, and then Hans would cease for a moment, but only to begin again as industriously as ever. Three or four times he tried the effects of his work, but still the iron held. At last he set his shoulder against it, and as Otto looked he saw the iron bend. Suddenly there was a sharp crack, and a piece of the grating went flying out into the night.

  Hans tied the rope securely about the stump of the stout iron bar that yet remained, and then slid down again into the room below.

  "My little lord," said he, "dost thou think that if I carry thee, thou wilt be able and strong enough to cling to my neck?"

  "Aye," said Otto, "methinks I will be able to do that."

  "Then come," said Hans.

  He stooped as he spoke, and gently lifting Otto from his rude and rugged bed he drew his broad leathern belt around them both, buckling it firmly and securely. "It does not hurt thee?" said he.

  "Not much," whispered Otto faintly.

  Then Hans spat upon his hands, and began slowly climbing the rope.

  They reached the edge of the window and there they rested for a moment, and Otto renewed his hold around the neck of the faithful Hans.

  "And now art thou ready?" said Hans

  "Aye," said Otto.

  "Then courage," said Hans, and he turned and swung his leg over the abyss below.

  The next moment they were hanging in mid–air.

  Otto looked down and gave a gasp. "The mother of heaven bless us," he whispered, and then closed his eyes, faint and dizzy at the sight of that sheer depth beneath. Hans said nothing, but shutting his teeth and wrapping his legs around the rope, he began slowly descending, hand under hand. Down, down, down he went, until to Otto, with his eyes shut and his head leaning upon Hans' shoulder, it seemed as though it could never end. Down, down, down. Suddenly he felt Hans draw a deep breath; there was a slight jar, and Otto opened his eyes; Hans was standing upon the ground.

  A figure wrapped in a dark cloak arose from the shadow of the wall, and took Otto in its arms. It was Baron Conrad.

  "My son—my little child!" he cried, in a choked, trembling voice, and that was all. And Otto pressed his cheek against his father's and began crying.

  Suddenly the Baron gave a sharp, fierce cry. "Dear Heaven!" he cried; "what have they done to thee?" But poor little Otto could not answer.

  "Oh!" gasped the Baron, in a strangled voice, "my little child! my little child!" And therewith he broke down, and his whole body shook with fierce, dry sobs; for men in those days did not seek to hide their grief as they do now, but were fierce and strong in the expression of that as of all else.

  "Never mind, dear father," whispered Otto; "it did not hurt me so very much," and he pressed his lips against his father's cheek.

  Little Otto had but one hand.

  XII. A Ride For Life.

  But not yet was Otto safe, and all danger past and gone by. Suddenly, as they stood there, the harsh clangor of a bell broke the silence of the starry night above their heads, and as they raised their faces and looked up, they saw lights flashing from window to window. Presently came the sound of a hoarse voice shouting something that, from the distance, they could not understand.

  One–eyed Hans smote his hand upon his thigh. Look said he, "here is what comes of having a soft heart in one's bosom. I overcame and bound a watchman up yonder, and forced him to tell me where our young Baron lay. It was on my mind to run my knife into him after he had told me every thing, but then, bethinking how the young Baron hated the thought of bloodshed, I said to myself, 'No, Hans, I will spare the villain's life.' See now what comes of being merciful; here, by hook or by crook, the fellow has loosed himself from his bonds, and brings the whole castle about our ears like a nest of wasps."

  "We must fly," said the Baron; "for nothing else in the world is left me, now that all have deserted me in this black time of trouble, excepting these six faithful ones."

  His voice was bitter, bitter, as he spoke; then stooping, he raised Otto in his arms, and bearing him gently, began rapidly descending the rocky slope to the level road that ran along the edge of the hill beneath. Close behind him followed the rest; Hans still grimed with soot and in his bare feet. A little distance from the road and under the shade of the forest trees, seven horses stood waiting. The Baron mounted upon his great black charger, seating little Otto upon the saddle in front of him. "Forward!" he cried, and away they clattered and out upon the road. Then—"To St. Michaelsburg," said Baron Conrad, in his deep voice, and the horses' heads were turned to the westward, and away they galloped through the black shadows of the forest, leaving Trutz–Drachen behind them.

  But still the sound of the alarm bell rang through the beating of the horses' hoofs, and as Hans looked over his shoulder, he saw the light of torches flashing hither and thither along the outer walls in front of the great barbican.

  In Castle Trutz–Drachen all was confusion and uproar: flashing torches lit up the dull gray walls; horses neighed and stamped, and men shouted and called to one another in the bustle of making ready. Presently Baron Henry came striding along the corridor clad in light armor, which he had hastily donned when roused from his sleep by the news that his prisoner had escaped. Below in the courtyard his horse was standing, and without waiting for assistance, he swung himself into the saddle. Then away they all rode and down the steep path, armor ringing, swords clanking, and iron–shod hoofs striking sparks of fire from the hard stones. At their head rode Baron Henry; his triangular shield hung over his shoulder, and in his hand he bore a long, heavy, steel–pointed lance with a pennant flickering darkly from the end.

  At the high–road at the base of the slope they paused, for they were at a loss to know which direction the fugitives had taken; a half a score of the retainers leaped from their horses, and began hurrying about hither and thither, and up and down, like hounds searching for the lost scent, and all the time Baron Henry sat still as a rock in the midst of the confusion.

  Suddenly a shout was raised from the forest just beyond the road; they had come upon the place where the horses had been tied. It was an easy matter to trace the way that Baron Conrad and his followers had taken thence back to the high–road, but there again they were at a loss. The road ran straight as an arrow eastward and westward—had the fugitives taken their way to the east or to the west?

  Baron Henry called his head–man, Nicholas Stein, to him, and the two spoke together for a while in an undertone. At last the Baron's lieutenant reined his horse back, and choosing first one and then another, divided the company into two parties. The baron placed himself at the head of one band and Nicholas Stein at the head of the other. "Forward!" he cried, and away clattered the two companies of horsemen in opposite directions.

  It was toward the westward that Baron Henry of Trutz–Drachen rode at the head of his men.

  The early springtide sun shot its rays of misty, yellow light across the rolling tops of the forest trees where the little birds were singing in the glory of the May morning. But Baron Henry and his followers thought nothing of the beauty of the peaceful day, and heard nothing of the multitudinous sound of the singing birds as, with a confused sound of galloping hoofs, they swept along the highway, leaving behind them a slow–curling, low–trailing cloud of dust.

  As the sun rose more full and warm, the misty wreaths began to dissolve, until at last they parted and rolled asunder like a white curtain and there, before the pursuing horsemen, lay the crest of the mountain toward which they were riding, and up which the road wound steeply.

  "Yonder they are," cried a sudden voice behind Baron Henry of Trutz–Drachen, and at the cry all looked upward.

  Far away upon the mountain–side curled a cloud of dust, from the midst of which came the star–like flash of burnished armor gleaming in the sun.

  Baron Henry said never a word, but his lips curled in a grim smile.

  And as the mist wreaths parted One–eyed Hans looked behind and down into the leafy valley beneath. "Yonder they come," said he. "They have followed sharply to gain so much upon us, even though our horses are wearied with all the travelling we have done hither and yon these five days past. How far is it, Lord Baron, from here to Michaelsburg?"

  "About ten leagues," said the Baron, in a gloomy voice.

  Hans puckered his mouth as though to whistle, but the Baron saw nothing of it, for he was gazing straight before him with a set and stony face. Those who followed him looked at one another, and the same thought was in the mind of each—how long would it be before those who pursued would close the distance between them?

  When that happened it meant death to one and all.

  They reached the crest of the hill, and down they dashed upon the other side; for there the road was smooth and level as it sloped away into the valley, but it was in dead silence that they rode. Now and then those who followed the Baron looked back over their shoulders. They had gained a mile upon their pursuers when the helmeted heads rose above the crest of the mountain, but what was the gain of a mile with a smooth road between them, and fresh horses to weary ones?

  On they rode and on they rode. The sun rose higher and higher, and hotter and hotter. There was no time to rest and water their panting horses. Only once, when they crossed a shallow stretch of water, the poor animals bent their heads and caught a few gulps from the cool stream, and the One–eyed Hans washed a part of the soot from his hands and face. On and on they rode; never once did the Baron Conrad move his head or alter that steadfast look as, gazing straight before him, he rode steadily forward along the endless stretch of road, with poor little Otto's yellow head and white face resting against his steel–clad shoulder—and St. Michaelsburg still eight leagues away.

  A little rise of ground lay before them, and as they climbed it, all, excepting the baron, turned their heads as with one accord and looked behind them. Then more than one heart failed, for through the leaves of the trees below, they caught the glint of armor of those who followed—not more than a mile away. The next moment they swept over the crest, and there, below them, lay the broad shining river, and nearer a tributary stream spanned by a rude, narrow, three–arched, stone bridge where the road crossed the deep, slow–moving water.

  Down the slope plodded the weary horses, and so to the bridge–head.

  "Halt," cried the baron suddenly, and drew rein.

  The others stood bewildered. What did he mean to do? He turned to Hans and his blue eyes shone like steel.

  "Hans," said he, in his deep voice, "thou hast served me long and truly; wilt thou for this one last time do my bidding?"

  "Aye," said Hans, briefly.

  "Swear it," said the Baron.

  "I swear it," said Hans, and he drew the sign of the cross upon his heart.

  "That is good," said the Baron, grimly. "Then take thou this child, and with the others ride with all the speed that thou canst to St. Michaelsburg. Give the child into the charge of the Abbot Otto. Tell him how that I have sworn fealty to the Emperor, and what I have gained thereby—my castle burnt, my people slain, and this poor, simple child, my only son, mutilated by my enemy."

  "And thou, my Lord Baron?" said Hans.

  "I will stay here," said the Baron, quietly, "and keep back those who follow as long as God will give me grace so to do."

  A murmur of remonstrance rose among the faithful few who were with him, two of whom were near of kin. But Conrad of Drachenhausen turned fiercely upon them.

  "How now," said he, "have I fallen so low in my troubles that even ye dare to raise your voices against me? By the good Heaven, I will begin my work here by slaying the first man who dares to raise word against my bidding." Then he turned from them. "Here, Hans," said he, "take the boy; and remember, knave, what thou hast sworn."

  He pressed Otto close to his breast in one last embrace. "My little child," he murmured, "try not to hate thy father when thou thinkest of him hereafter, even though he be hard and bloody as thou knowest."

  But with his suffering and weakness, little Otto knew nothing of what was passing; it was only as in a faint flickering dream that he lived in what was done around him.

  "Farewell, Otto," said the Baron, but Otto's lips only moved faintly in answer. His father kissed him upon either cheek. "Come, Hans," said he, hastily, "take him hence;" and he loosed Otto's arms from about his neck.

  Hans took Otto upon the saddle in front of him.

  "Oh! my dear Lord Baron," said he, and then stopped with a gulp, and turned his grotesquely twitching face aside.

  "Go," said the Baron, harshly, "there is no time to lose in woman's tears."

  "Farewell, Conrad! farewell, Conrad!" said his two kinsmen, and coming forward they kissed him upon the cheek then they turned and rode away after Hans, and Baron Conrad was left alone to face his mortal foe.

  XIII. How Baron Conrad Held the Bridge.

  As the last of his followers swept around the curving road and was lost to sight, Baron Conrad gave himself a shake, as though to drive away the thoughts that lay upon him. Then he rode slowly forward to the middle of the bridge, where he wheeled his horse so as to face his coming enemies. He lowered the vizor of his helmet and bolted it to its place, and then saw that sword and dagger were loose in the scabbard and easy to draw when the need for drawing should arise.

  Down the steep path from the hill above swept the pursuing horsemen. Down the steep path to the bridge–head and there drew rein; for in the middle of the narrow way sat the motionless, steel–clad figure upon the great war–horse, with wide, red, panting nostrils, and body streaked with sweat and flecked with patches of foam.

  One side of the roadway of the bridge was guarded by a low stone wall; the other side was naked and open and bare to the deep, slow–moving water beneath. It was a dangerous place to attack a desperate man clad in armor of proof.

  "Forward!" cried Baron Henry, but not a soul stirred in answer, and still the iron–clad figure sat motionless and erect upon the panting horse.