The Knights of the Cross/Volume 1/Chapter 35

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

CHAPTER XXXV.

Siegfried de Löwe was just ready to start for Malborg when the post-boy brought him unexpectedly a letter from Rotgier with news from the court of Mazovia. This news moved the old Knight of the Cross to the quick. First of all it was evident from the letter that Rotgier had presented and managed the case against Yurand with excellent skill before Prince Yanush. Siegfried smiled while reading how Rotgier had made a further demand that the prince should give Spyhov in feudal tenure as satisfaction for wrongs done the Order. But the second part of the letter contained unexpected and less desirable tidings. Rotgier wrote in addition that, to show more convincingly that the Order was innocent of seizing Yurand's daughter, he had thrown down his gauntlet before the knights of Mazovia, challenging every doubter to the judgment of God; that is to a combat before the whole court. "No one took up the gauntlet," continued Rotgier, "for all knew that Yurand's own letter testified in our favor, hence they feared the justice of God, but just then appeared a young man whom we saw at the hunting-lodge; he took up the gauntlet. Therefore be not astonished, wise and pious brother, that I delay in returning, for, since I gave the challenge myself, I must accept combat. And, since I did this for the glory of the Order, I hope that the Grand Master will not take the act ill of me, and that you will not,—you whom I honor and love as with the heart of a son. My opponent is a mere stripling, and combat to me, as you know, is no novelty, hence I shall shed this blood easily to the glory of the Order, and especially with the aid of Christ the Lord, who is surely more concerned for those who bear his cross than for some Yurand, or for the wrongs of one paltry wench from Mazovia."

The news that Yurand's daughter was married astonished old Siegfried most of all. At the thought that a new enemy, terrible and vengeful, might settle in Spyhov, a certain alarm seized even that aged comtur. "It is clear," said the old man to himself, "that he will not forego revenge; all the more will he not if he finds his wife and she tells him that we took her away from the hunting-lodge. It would appear at once that we invited Yurand just to destroy him, and that no one had a thought of restoring the daughter to her father." Here it occurred to Siegfried that in answer to the prince's letters the Grand Master would probably order a search in Schytno, even to clear himself before that same prince of Mazovia. It was important to him and the Chapter, in case of war with the powerful King of Poland, that the princes should be neutral. Omitting those princes' troops, which were not among the fewest, it was proper, in view of the number of Mazovian nobles and their valor, not to despise Prince Yanush and his brother; peace with them secured the boundary along great spaces, and permitted the Order to concentrate its forces better. They had mentioned this frequently in Malborg before Siegfried, and comforted themselves with the hope that after conquering the King they would find later on some pretext against Mazovia, and then no power could snatch that land from the grasp of the Order. That was a great and certain reckoning, hence it was positive in that juncture that the Grand Master would do everything to avoid irritating Prince Yanush, who, married to Keistut's daughter, was more difficult to please than Ziemowit of Plotsk, whose wife, for undiscovered reasons, was thoroughly devoted to the Order.

In view of these thoughts old Siegfried, with all his readiiness for every treachery, crime, and cruelty, and though he loved the Order, and its glory began to reckon with his conscience. "Would it not be better to liberate Yurand and his daughter? Treason and foulness weighed down the name of Danveld, but he was not living. And even," thought he, "if the Grand Master should punish me and Rotgier severely, since we were in every case participants, will not that be better for the Order?" But here his vengeful, cruel heart began to storm within him at the thought of Yurand. Liberate him, that oppressor and executioner of people of the Order, a victor in so many conflicts, the author of so many defeats and so much shame, the conqueror, and later the murderer, of Danveld, the captor of De Bergov, the slayer of Meinegger, Gottfried, and Hugo, of him, who in Schytno itself shed more German blood than is shed in a good engagement in time of warfare. "I cannot, I cannot!" repeated Siegfried in spirit. And at the very thought the grasping fingers of the old man contracted in a cramp, and his dried-up breast caught its breath with effort. "And still, if that were for the greater profit and glory of the Order? If the punishment, which in that case would fall on those authors of the crime who are still living, should win Prince Yanush, hostile thus far, and facilitate a treaty, or even a truce, with him? They are passionate," continued the old comtur with himself, "but if one shows them a little kindness they forget their wrongs easily. The prince, for instance, was seized on his own territory, and still he takes no active vengeance."

Here the old man began to walk through the hall in great internal conflict, and finally he stopped before the crucifix, which opposite the entrance door occupied almost the height of the wall between both windows, and kneeling at the foot of it he began: "Enlighten me, O Lord, teach me, for I know not what to do! If I liberate Yurand and his daughter our deeds will be discovered in all their nakedness. People will not say: 'Dan veld did this,' or 'Siegfried did this;' they will say, 'the Knights of the Cross did this,' and infamy may fall on the whole Order, and hatred in that prince's heart will become still greater. If I do not liberate them, but hide or kill them, suspicion will remain on the Order, and I must defile my lips with lying in the presence of the Grand Master. What shall I do, O Lord? Teach me and enlighten! If vengeance is urging me on, then judge me according to Thy justice; but teach me now, enlighten me, for it is a question of Thy Order, and whatever Thou commandest I will do, even though I were to wait for death and liberation in a dungeon and manacled."

And. resting his forehead on the wood of the Cross, he prayed a long time, for it did not flash through his head for an instant that that prayer of his was blasphemous and crooked. Then he rose more at peace, believing that favor from the tree of the Cross had sent him a simpler and a clearer thought, and that something from above said: "Rise and await the return of Rotgier." "Yes! it was necessary to wait. Rotgier would slay that youth without fail, and then he would have either to secrete or liberate Yurand and his daughter. In the first case the prince would not forget them, it is true, but having no proof as to who seized the girl, he would search for her, he would send letters to the Grand Master, not with a complaint, but inquiring—and the case would go on in unending deferment. In the second case, delight at the return of Yurand's daughter would be greater than desire of vengeance for having carried her away. And besides, we can always say that we found her after Yurand inflicted the slaughter." This last thought pacified Siegfried thoroughly. As to Yurand, Siegfried had long since, in company with Rotgier, invented a method through which, if they should liberate him, he would have no power for complaint or vengeance. Siegfried rejoiced now in his savage soul as he remembered that method. He rejoiced also at thought of the judgment of God which was to take place at the castle of Tsehanov. As to the outcome of that mortal struggle no alarm troubled him. He called to mind a certain tournament in Krolevets where Rotgier had finished two knights of renown, who in their native Anjou were held to be invincible. He remembered also a battle at Vilno with a certain Polish knight, a follower of Spytko of Melstyn; this knight was slain by Rotgier. His face brightened and his heart swelled with pride, for though Rotgier was a renowned knight already, he, Siegfried, was the first to lead him in expeditions to reduce Lithuania and to teach him the best methods of warfare against the people of that country; hence he loved him as a Son, with that deep love of which only those men are capable who have been forced to confine in the heart for a long time the desire of love and the power of it. And now this dear son will shed once again that hated Polish blood and will return clothed in glory. That is the judgment of God, and the Order will be cleansed of suspicion at the same time. "The judgment of God!" For one twinkle of an eye the old man's heart was straitened with a feeling like fear. Rotgier had to stand up in mortal struggle to defend the innocence of the Knights of the Order—but they were guilty; he will fight for a lie then. But if a misfortune should happen? After a moment, however, that seemed to Siegfried impossible. "Yes! Rotgier writes truly. Surely Christ will care more for the men who bear his cross than for Yurand and the wrongs of one paltry wench from Mazovia. Yes, in three days Rotgier will return—and return a victor."

When he had pacified himself in this way the old knight meditated longer: "Would it not be better meanwhile to send away Danusia to a more remote castle, which in no case would yield to an attack by Mazovians?" But after meditating a moment he dropped even this thought: Only the husband of Yurand' s daughter could plan an attack and stand at the head of it; but he was about to perish at the hand of Rotgier. After that there would be on the part of the prince and the princess merely correspondence, questions, efforts, complaints, but just through these the affair would be blurred and effaced, not to mention delays well-nigh endless. "Before they reach a result," added Siegfried, "I shall be dead, and perhaps Yurand's daughter herself will grow old in the prisons of the Order."

But he gave command to have everything ready for defence in the castle and also for the road, since he knew not precisely what might result from his conference with Rotgier; and he waited.

Two days, then three and four, passed beyond the date at which Rotgier had promised at first to return; still no retinue appeared before the gate of Schytno. Only on the fifth day, just before dark, was heard the sound of a horn before the bastion of the gatekeeper. Siegfried, who had just finished his evening prayers, sent a boy at once to learn who had come.

The boy returned after a while with confused face, but Siegfried could not note the change, since the fire in the room burned in a deep chimney and lighted the gloom only a little.

"Have they come?" asked the old knight.

"Yes," answered the boy. But in his voice there was something which alarmed Siegfried immediately, so he said,—

"But Brother Rotgier?"

"They have brought Brother Rotgier."

At this Siegfried rose from his armchair. For a long time he held the arm with his hand as if fearing to fall, then he said in a suppressed voice,—

"Give me my mantle."

The boy placed the mantle on his shoulders. He had regained his strength evidently, for he drew the cowl over his head and walked out of the chamber.

He soon found himself in the courtyard of the castle, where it had grown dark completely. He walked over the squeaking snow with slow step toward the retinue, which had halted near the gate after passing it. A dense crowd of people had gathered already, and a number of torches held by soldiers of the garrison were gleaming there. At sight of the old brother of the Order the soldiers stood apart from one another. By the light of the torches alarmed faces were visible, and in the darkness low voices were whispering,—

"Brother Rotgier—"

"Brother Rotgier is slain."

Siegfried pushed up to the sleigh in which on straw lay a body covered with a mantle, and raised the mantle.

"Bring a light," said he, pushing his cowl aside.

One of the soldiers brought forward a torch, by the light of which Siegfried saw Rotgier's face pale as snow, frozen, surrounded by a dark kerchief with which they had bound his chin, so that his mouth might not open. The whole face was contracted, and thereby so changed that one might think him some other person. The eyes were covered with their lids, blue spots were around the eyes and on the temples. The cheeks were glazed with frost.

Siegfried gazed for a long time amid unbroken silence. Others looked at him, for they knew that he was as a father to the dead man, and that he loved him. But no tear flowed from his eyes; on his face there was merely a sterner expression than usual, and a certain icy calm.

"They sent him hither in that form!" said he at last.

But the next moment he turned to the castle steward and said,—

"Have a coffin made before midnight, and place the body in the chapel."

"There is one coffin left of those made for the men slain by Yurand; I will have it covered with cloth."

"And have a mantle placed over it," said Siegfried, covering Rotgier's face; "not one like this, but a mantle of the Order."

After a moment he added,—

"Do not close the lid."

The people approached the sleigh, Siegfried pulled the cowl over his head again, but called to mind something before going, for he asked,—

"Where is Van Krist?"

"Slain also," answered one of the men, "but they buried him in Tsehanov, for he had begun to decay."

"That is well."

Then he walked away slowly, and returning to the chamber sat down in the same armchair in which the news had found him; and he sat motionless, with a stony face, and sat so long that the boy grew alarmed and pushed his head in through the door more and more frequently. Hour followed hour; the usual noise ceased in the castle; only from the direction of the chapel came the dull, undefined blows of the hammer, and then nothing disturbed the silence save the calling of sentries. It was near midnight when the old knight woke as if from sleep and called the boy,—

"Where is Brother Rotgier?" asked he.

The boy, startled by the silence, the events, and sleeplessness, did not understand evidently, for he looked at him with alarm, and answered with a quivering voice,—

"I do not know, lord."

The old man smiled as if heart-broken and said mildly,

"I asked, child, if he is in the chapel."

"He is, lord."

"That is well. Tell Diedrich to be here with a lantern and wait till I come. Let him have also a kettle with coals. Is there a light now in the chapel?"

"There are candles burning at the side of the coffin."

When Siegfried entered he surveyed the chapel from the door to see if any one was present, then he closed the door carefully, approached the bier, put aside two candles from the six which were burning in great brass candlesticks, and knelt at the coffin. His lips made no movement whatever, hence he was not praying. For some time he looked only at the stiffened but still comely face of Rotgier, as if wishing to find traces of life in it. Then amid the quiet of the chapel he called in low tones,—

"O son! O son!"

He was silent again. It seemed that he was waiting for an answer.

Then he stretched forth his hands, thrust his dried talon-like fingers under the mantle which covered Rotgier's bosom, and began to feel beneath it. He sought everywhere, at the middle, at the sides, below the ribs and along the shoulder-blades; at last he felt through the cloth the cleft which extended from the top of the right shoulder to a point below the armpit; he pressed in his fingers, pushed them along the whole length of the wound, and again he spoke with a voice in which complaint seemed to tremble,—

"Oo—what a merciless blow! But thou didst say that he was just a stripling! The entire shoulder! The whole arm! How often thou didst raise that arm against Pagans in defending the Order! And now a Polish axe has hewn it from thee, and this is thy end!—This is the close of thy career! Christ did not bless thee, for it is evident that He cares more for one wrong done to man than for our whole Order. In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Spirit: thou hast defended the wrong, thou hast died for injustice, without absolution—and maybe thy soul—"

The words broke in his mouth, his lips began to quiver, and in the chapel deep silence set in a second time.

"O son! O son!"

In Siegfried's words there was entreaty now, and at the same time he called in a still lower voice, as do people who are making inquiry touching some awful and terrible secret,—

"O merciful Christ! If thou art not damned, my son, give a sign, move thy hand, or open thy eyes for one instant, the heart is whining within my old bosom. Give a sign; I loved thee—speak!"

And resting his hands on the edge of the coffin he fixed his vulture-like eyes on Eotgier's closed lids.

"Oh, how couldst thou speak!" said he finally; "cold and the odor of death issues forth from thee. But since thou art silent I will tell thee something, and let thy soul fly hither between the burning candles and listen."

Then he bent to the face of the corpse.

"Thou rememberest how the chaplain would not let us kill Yurand, and how we gave an oath to him. That is well; I will keep the oath, but I will comfort thee wherever thou art, though I be damned myself for it."

Then he withdrew from the coffin, put back the candlesticks which he had set aside, covered the body and the face with the mantle, and went forth from the chapel.

At the door of his chamber the wearied boy slept a deep sleep. Diedrich was waiting according to Siegfried's command. He was a short, strong man with bow-legs, and a square face which was partly concealed by a dark, jagged cowl which dropped to his shoulders. He wore a kaftan made from untanned hide of buffalo; above his hips was a belt of the same hide; behind this a bunch of keys and a short knife were thrust. In his right hand he held an iron lantern with membrane; in his left hand was a small brass kettle and a taper.

"Art ready?" inquired Siegfried.

Diedrich inclined in silence.

"I commanded thee to have coals in the kettle."

A second time the strong man made no answer; he merely pointed to sticks blazing in the chimney, took an iron shovel which was standing at the side of the chimney, and began to take from under the sticks coals for the kettle, then he lighted the lantern and waited.

"Listen to me now, thou dog," said Siegfried. "Once thou didst babble out what Comtur Danveld commanded thee to do, and the comtur had thy tongue cut out. But since thou art able to show the chaplain on thy fingers whatever pleasest thee, I declare that if thou show with a single movement what thou doest at my order I will command to hang thee."

Diedrich bowed again in silence, but his face was distorted ominously by a terrible recollection, because the tongue had been torn from him for a reason entirely different from that given by Siegfried.

"Move ahead now, and lead to Yurand's dungeon."

The executioner seized the bale of the kettle with his gigantic hand; he raised the lantern, and they left the room. Outside the door they passed the sleeping boy, and descending the steps went, not to the main door, but to the rear of the steps, behind which was a narrow corridor which extended along the whole width of the building, and ended at a heavy gate hidden in a niche of the wall. Diedrich pushed in the gate, and they found themselves beneath the open sky in a small courtyard, which was surrounded on four sides by stone storehouses, in which grain was kept for use in the castle during sieges. Under one of these storehouses on the right were subterranean dungeons for prisoners. There was no guard there, for should a prisoner be even able to break out of the dungeon he would find himself in the court out of which the only issue was through that gate.

"Wait," said Siegfried.

And resting his hand against the wall he halted, for he felt that something of no good import was happening to him, and that breath was failing him, as if his breast had been confined in armor that was too narrow. In simple fact, that through which he had passed was beyond his failing strength. He felt also that his forehead under the cowl was covered with sweat-drops, and he halted to regain the breath that was failing him.

After a gloomy day the night had grown unusually bright. The moon was shining in the sky, and the whole yard was filled with clear light, in which the snow appeared green. Siegfried drew the fresh and somewhat frosty air into his lungs greedily. But he recalled at the same time that on such a clear night precisely Rotgier went to Tsehanov, whence he was now brought back a corpse.

"But now thou art lying in the chapel," muttered he in a whisper.

Diedrich, thinking that the comtur was speaking to him, raised the lantern and lighted his face, which was terribly pale, almost corpse-like, and also resembling the head of an aged vulture.

"Lead on!" said Siegfried.

The yellow circle of light from the lantern trembled again on the snow, and they went farther. In the thick wall of the storehouse was a recess where a few steps led to a great iron door. Diedrich opened the door and began to descend along steps into the depth of a black passage, raising the lantern with effort to light the way for the comtur. At the foot of the steps was a passage; on the right and left sides of it were the exceedingly low doors of cells for prisoners.

"To Yurand," said Siegfried.

After a while the bolts squeaked and they entered. It was perfectly dark in that hole, therefore Siegfried, not seeing clearly by the dim light of the lantern, commanded to light the torch, and soon in the strong gleam of its flame he saw Yurand lying on straw. The prisoner had fetters on his feet, and on his arms a chain, which was long enough to let him reach food to his mouth. He was dressed in the same penitential bag in which he had stood before the comturs, but it was covered now with dark traces of blood; for on that day in which an end had been put to his fight, when mad from rage and pain they had entangled the knight in a net, the soldiers, wishing to kill the man, had stabbed him a number of times with their halberds. The local chaplain Of Schytno had prevented the killing; the halberd thrusts had not proved mortal, but so much blood had left Yurand that he was taken half-dead to the prison. It was thought by all at the castle that he might die any hour, but his great strength had conquered death, and he lived though his wounds were not dressed, and he was thrust into that dreadful dungeon, where moisture dropped for whole days from the ceiling, and where in time of frost the walls were covered with a thick, snow-like coating and with ice-crystals.

He lay enchained on the straw, powerless, but so immense that, especially when prostrate, he produced the impression of a piece of a cliff cut into human form. Siegfried gave command to turn the light straight to his face, and for some time the old man gazed on it in silence, then, turning to Diedrich, he said,—

"Thou seest that he has sight in one eye only; burn that one out of him."

There was in the old comtur's voice a certain weakness and decrepitude, but precisely because of that the dreadful order seemed still more dreadful. The torch trembled somewhat in the hand of the executioner, but he inclined it, and soon great naming drops of pitch began to fall on the eye of the captive, and finally they covered it completely from his brow to his prominent cheek-bone.

Yurand's face writhed, his yellow mustaches turned upward and disclosed his set teeth, but he uttered no word, and whether it was through exhaustion, or the innate force of will in his tremendous nature, he groaned not.

"They promised to let thee go forth free," said Siegfried, "and thou wilt go, but thou wilt not be able to blame the Order, for the tongue with which thou hast blasphemed against it will be taken from thee."

Again he made a sign to Diedrich, who gave forth a strange guttural sound and indicated by winks that he needed both hands and wished the comtur to hold the light for him.

The old man took the torch and held it with outstretched, trembling hand, but when Diedrich pressed Yurand's bosom with his knees, Siegfried turned his face away and looked at the wall, which was lined with hoar-frost that night.

For a while the clatter of chains was heard, next the panting breaths of human breasts, after that something like a deep, dull groan, and then silence followed.

At last the voice of Siegfried was heard again,—

"Yurand, thy punishment had to meet thee in this way, but besides the punishment already suffered, I have promised Brother Rotgier, now slain by thy daughter's husband, to lay thy right hand in his coffin."

Diedrich, who had raised himself, when he heard these words bent anew over Yurand.

After a certain time the old comtur and Diedrich found themselves again in that yard which was filled with moonlight. While advancing through the corridor Siegfried took the lantern from the executioner, and also a dark object with a rag round it.

"Now back to the chapel," said he to himself aloud, "and then to the watch-tower."

Diedrich looked at him quickly, but the comtur commanded him to sleep, and, swinging the lantern, dragged on himself toward the space lighted by the chapel windows. Along the road he pondered over what had happened. He felt a certain conviction that his end was now approaching, that these were his last deeds on earth, that for them he would have to answer before God alone; still his soul of a Knight of the Cross, though less false by nature than cruel, had, under the influence of implacable necessity, become so accustomed to the evasions of cheating, and to shielding the bloody deeds of the Order, that even now he thought involuntarily of casting the infamy of the torture and the responsibility for it both from himself and from the Order. Diedrich was dumb, he could make no confession, and though he could explain to the chaplain he would not do so from very terror. Then what? Then who could learn that Yurand had not received all those wounds in battle? He might easily have lost his tongue from a spear thrust between the teeth; a sword or an axe might have cut his right hand off; and he had only one eye, hence what wonder that that eye was knocked out when he hurled himself in madness on the whole garrison of Schytno? Ah, Yurand! The last delight of his life shook up for a moment the heart of old Siegfried. "Yes, Yurand, should he recover, must be freed!" Here Siegfried recalled how he had counselled with Rotgier touching this, and how the young brother said, with a smile, "Let him go then whithersover his eyes lead, and if he cannot find Spyhov let him inquire the way to it." For what had happened had been partly determined between him and Rotgier. But now, when Siegfried entered the chapel a second time, and, kneeling down at the coffin, laid Yurand's bloody hand at the feet of Rotgier, the joy which had quivered in him a moment earlier was reflected on his face for the last time.

"Seest thou," said he, "I have done more than we decided, for King Yan of Luxemburg, though blind, appeared in battle, and died with glory, but Yurand will not rise again; he will perish like a dog near some fence."

Here again he felt the lack of breath, just as before, when he was going to Yurand's prison, and on his head the weight as it were of an iron helmet; this lasted, however, but one twinkle of an eye. He breathed deeply, and continued,—

"Ei, and now comes my time. I had only thee, now I have no one. But if it is destined me to live longer, I vow to thee, my son, that on thy grave I will place the hand which slew thee, or die myself. Thy slayer is living yet—"

Here his teeth gritted; such a mighty spasm seized him that the words stopped in his mouth, and only after some time did he begin anew to speak, with broken voice,—

"Yes, thy slayer is living yet, but I will reach him and before I reach him I will inflict on him another torture worse than death itself."

And he was silent.

After a moment he rose, and approaching the coffin said in a calm voice,—

"Now I will bid thee farewell; I will look on thy face for the last time; I shall know, perhaps, if thou rejoice at my vow. This is the last time!"

And he uncovered Rotgier's face, but drew back on a sudden.

"Thou art smiling," said he, "but thy smile is terrible."

The body had thawed in fact under the cloak, and perhaps from the warmth of the candles; as a result of this it had begun to decay with uncommon rapidity, and the face of the young comtur had become indeed terrible. His swollen, immense, blackened ears had in them something monstrous, and his blue puffed-out lips were twisted as if smiling.

Siegfried covered that ghastly human mask in all haste. Then taking the lantern he went out. On the road breath failed him a third time, so returning to his chamber he threw himself on his hard couch and lay for a while motionless. He had thought to fall asleep, but suddenly a strange feeling seized him. It seemed to the aged knight that sleep would never come again to him, but that if he remained in that chamber death would come directly.

Siegfried had no fear of death. In his measureless torture and without hope of sleep he saw in it a kind of boundless rest, but he had no wish to yield to death on that night.

"Give me time till morning," said he, rising on the couch.

With that he heard clearly a certain voice whispering in his ear,—

"Go forth from this chamber. To-morrow will be too late, and thou wilt not accomplish that which thou hast promised. Go forth from this chamber!"

The comtur, raising himself with effort, went forth. The sentries were calling on the battlements at the corners. Near the chapel a yellow gleam fell on the snow through the windows. In the middle of the square, near the stone well, two black dogs were playing, pulling some cloth from each other; except them the court was empty and silent.

"Then to-night absolutely," said Siegfried. "I am wearied beyond measure, but I will go—all are sleeping. Yurand conquered by torture sleeps also, perhaps, but I shall not sleep. I will go, I will go, for death is in my chamber, and I have promised thee—let death come after that, since sleep is not to come. Thou art smiling there; but strength fails me. Thou art smiling; it is evident then that thou art pleased. But thou seest my lingers have grown numb, strength has left my hand, I cannot finish that alone—the servant woman who sleeps with her will finish it—"

While speaking thus he went on with heavy step toward the tower which stood at the gate. Meanwhile the dogs which were playing at the stone well ran up and began to fawn around him. In one of them Siegfried recognized the mastiff which was an inseparable comrade of Diedrich; people said in the castle that the dog served the man at night for a pillow.

After greeting the comtur, the mastiff gave a low bark once or twice, then bounded toward the gate as if divining Siegfried's thought.

Soon the comtur found himself before the narrow door of the tower, which at night was bolted from the outside. Pushing back the bolt he felt for the stairway railing, which began right there inside the door, and ascended. He had forgotten his lantern through mental distraction; he felt his way, stepping carefully, and searched for the steps with his feet.

On a sudden, after some advance, he halted, for higher up, but straight above, he heard something like the panting of a man, or a beast.

"Who is there?"

No answer was given, but the panting grew more rapid.

Siegfried was fearless; he had no dread of death, but his courage and self-command were exhausted to the last on that night of terror. Through his brain flashed the thought that Rotgier, or perhaps the evil spirit, was barring the way to him. The hair rose on his head, and his forehead was covered with cold perspiration. He withdrew almost to the very entrance.

"Who is there?" inquired he, with a choked voice.

But that moment something struck him in the breast with such terrible force that he fell backward through the open door without uttering a syllable.

Silence followed. Then a dark figure pushed from out the tower and moved stealthily toward the stable which stood next to the arsenal on the left side of the courtyard. Diedrich's mastiff rushed after it in silence. The second dog sprang after that one and vanished in the shadow of the wall, but soon appeared with head toward the earth, coming back slowly and as it were sniffing the tracks of the man. In this manner it approached Siegfried, who was lying motionless; sniffed him carefully, then sat near his head, raised its jaws, and began to howl.

The howling was heard for a long time, filling that doleful night as it were with new sadness and terror. At last a door hidden in the niche of the great gate squeaked and the gatekeeper stood in the court with a halberd.

"A plague on the dog! I will teach thee to howl at night," said he.

And thrusting out the halberd point he wished to pierce the beast with it, but that moment he saw some one lying near the open door of the tower.

"Herr Jesus! what is this? "

Bending forward he looked into the face of the prostrate person and cried,—

"Hither! Hither! Rescue!"

Then he sprang to the gate and pulled the bell-rope with all his might.