XXIII
HOW ERNA SUFFERED
It had been after a wild ride homeward that Erna met Albrecht and turned away from him. When she dashed away from Count Stephen in the forest the tears had gathered so thickly in her eyes that she was perforce minded to trust to the instincts of her palfrey rather than to her own guidance to bring her home to Rittenberg. Perchance they were tears of remorse, of rage, of indignation, and perhaps not a little of excitement. Her horse made his way bravely along the bridle-path, now brushing the thickly set ferns and brambles, now skirting close to the banks of the frothy river, and anon hurrying through the gathering shadows of the black pine-wood; and still it seemed to Erna as if she were fleeing from a pursuer who might at any moment rush upon her. She felt that her only safety lay in her husband's arms, and with the thought came a bitter pang in the sense of the wrong she had done Albrecht in listening so long to the whispered love-making of her cousin.
And it befell Erna, as she rode home thus swiftly through the forest, to come in mind to a burning sense of the change which had befallen her since she had bidden Count Stephen farewell when he set out for Strasburg. She seemed to look back from the depths to that height of purity and virtue where she then stood, and it was with the pricking of despair most profound that she felt how great was the distance between what she was and what she had been. A sob of passion and of terror rose in her throat as she thought of her husband, and for perhaps the first time since their marriage she appreciated how he had risen from what he had been. She did not realize that although she had been sinking, it was from her that Albrecht had gained his inspiration, and that it was he who had awakened in her those desires and instincts which had been her temptation. She only felt degraded and unworthy to stand before him, but with all the love of her heart she longed to fall at his feet and implore his forgiveness.
And yet how could she confess to him how she had fallen? She could not tell him that she had been kissed in the forest by another than himself, and she feared if she might compass that he should understand that after all she was not to blame. She had but been friendly to her cousin; had listened to him as any lady might listen to a knight who was handsome and debonair, and had responded only as might the dame of a castle to her guest, or at most as might one reply to a gallant warrior of her own blood. It had been but a glance now, and a pressure of the hand then; a whispered word, a sigh with which the count had looked into her eyes; and until to-day there had been nothing more. To-day —
Her cheeks glowed with the remembrance of that fervent kiss! She thrilled again with the ardor of the glances with which Count Stephen had regarded her as they rode to the meadows where the falcons had been thrown off, and when now and then his eyes had encountered hers as they watched the flight of the birds.
"My falcon outsaileth thine," he had murmured, "but his master's heart can never leave thee!"
She lashed her palfrey afresh as she recalled the words; they seemed to be again whispered into her ears, as if the sprites of the wood had heard them and repeated them to her shame and bewilderment. Her thoughts whirled through her head as the band of the Wild Huntsman, tempest-driven, might sweep through the forest. Had she forgotten, then, her love for her husband, she questioned herself, or was it that she had been bewitched and entangled perchance in the meshes of wicked sorcery? Surely, could she once take shelter in the arms of Albrecht and feel his strong clasp about her, she should be safe from these wild and sinful thoughts. She fled ever faster, hearing in the echoes of the hoof-beats of her own palfrey the trampling of Count Stephen's steed behind her.
Yet when she indeed stood face to face with Albrecht, it has been told how his calm and his seeming coldness did so repel and chill her that she was fain to escape from him without delay. He was to her as one withdrawn from the turmoil and the temptation of things earthly; and although she misjudged him gravely, yet none the less did she hasten speedily to her chamber, there to be alone with herself, that she might calm her mind and do away with the signs of agitation which Count Stephen would too surely mark on his coming.
She had scarcely reached the quiet of her chamber when she heard the hunt come clattering into the courtyard below, and the cries of page and groom as the horses were led away, and the damsels and the retainers entered the castle; and presently her woman Fastrade came into the chamber, while close upon her heels followed Elsa, both of them a-quiver with excitement and curiosity over what had happened, and of which they had been able only to guess a part from the little which they had seen. They might not ask their mistress concerning what had befallen, but they endeavored to lead her on to tell, if so be they might.
"The gracious count was like to one distracted," Elsa said volubly, "at that he had lost sight of the countess. He cried out that the Lady Countess was lost in the forest, and we could not persuade him that there could be no fear of that. He would remain to seek in the thickets, despite whatever we could say."
"Sooth, I know the wood-ways too well to miss my road," Erna assented.
"So in truth did I tell the gracious count," Fastrade quoth, with a nod of self-satisfaction; "but none the less was he still troubled lest some mishap should have befallen."
"He was so deeply concerned," continued Elsa, taking up the word, "that we feared lest perchance he might have offended – "
"Or that he might in sooth be to blame," remarked Fastrade, as Elsa judiciously left her sentence unfinished.
"And Count von Rittenberg is so desirous of pleasing – "
The cunning wench once more let the words die on her lips half spoken.
"And such a gallant rider as he is," chorused Fastrade.
"And no one, sure, could in the round world cast a falcon better."
Erna sprang to her feet, her cheeks burning red with fiery shame.
"Get thee gone," she cried to one and then to the other; "and thee also! Leave me!"
It came upon her burningly that it was to this that her dalliance with the count had brought her. That the very damsels of the castle were so well aware of her relations with her cousin that they thought to please her by sounding his praises. Low indeed had she fallen! She cast herself prostrate upon the stone floor, and grovelled there with weeping and with the bitterness of shame. Was it that she who had so long been as proud as the white heron whose plume she wore in state, had come to be gossiped about by her own train, to be the jest of menials, to be spoken of lightly and in very likelihood to be jested of with the tongue in the cheek! The very thralls belike had the tale of her weakness by heart by this, and could say it pat, as Father Christopher had never been able to teach them to say the catechism.
Surely it was since her husband, Albrecht, had come to Rittenberg that she had thus fallen from what she was; and yet he, in sooth, had constantly waxed in faith and in godliness. Erna groaned in spirit, since it appeared to her that it must indeed be that her nature was in itself wicked and prone to fare downward, while that of Albrecht was by some inner sanctity led ever in the way of grace. She fell into a passion of tears and lamentation until her tears had run dry, and she was exhausted with sobbing. Still prone upon the ground, her face hidden in her dishevelled hair, she heard footsteps approach; and presently the Lady Adelaide, her cane tapping sharply as she walked, stepped briskly into the chamber.
"Body of Saint Fridolin!" cried the old dame, in a tone of shrill amazement and anger; "what has happened? Elsa declares that thou wert wroth without aught of provocation, and that thou dravest both her and Fastrade out of the chamber, albeit she could not tell wherein they had offended thee. In the name of Heaven's Queen, what hath come to thee?"
The tone in which the old dame spoke showed some traces of compassion as she proceeded, for, to say sooth, she could not unmoved see the grief of her niece, and she ended by bending over to lay her withered and trembling old hand upon the fair prostrate head. Erna raised herself into a sitting posture, and taking the wrinkled fingers in her own, she kissed them warmly.
"Dear heart," she said, "I am in sore trouble, and I know not if there may be comfort for such as I; but wilt thou not go thyself to Father Christopher, so that none may know, and bid him that he come to me in mine oratory? Let him not delay."
And thus Erna resolved to confess to Heaven the sin which had been in her heart, albeit it had been only a vague desire.
XXIV
HOW COUNT STEPHEN MET HERR FREDERICH
It was in sooth with angry mind that Count Stephen dashed about in the wood, seeking for his cousin. He did not in his secret heart expect to find her, but it seemed to him that if she had really fled to the castle this would mean a giving up of the hope of her love. If she was ready to yield to his wooing, she might indeed have been so taken by surprise and so overcome by shyness at the moment as to seek instinctively to escape him; but he refused to own to himself that he should not find her lurking in some thicket, waiting to be discovered and forced by kisses and caresses to own that her heart was his. It was that if this were true they might be alone that he had insisted that the rest of the hunt should return to the castle while he remained to seek in the by-paths, and he concerned himself very little whether his story that the palfrey of the countess had taken fright and run away with her was believed or not.
It was with a growing despair and a kindling anger that Count Stephen rode from thicket to thicket, finding in the bosky nooks only the gathering shadows and the birds and squirrels which fled at his approach. Though he had not truly expected to find Erna, none the less was he enraged and disappointed that she was not here. His passion for his beautiful cousin had taken too strong a hold upon him not to stir him now with deep feeling as he thought of the possibility of losing her. He dashed his heavily gloved hand against his brow, and the bosses of his hawking gauntlet left their imprint upon the flesh.
"God's blood!" he cried, in impotent wrath, "I will not lose her!"
He had hardly spoken when his ear caught the sound of a horse's hoofs upon the pine-needle-carpeted ground, and the soft thud sent a thrill through his whole being.
"Who goes there?" he called.
"The devil!" shouted a harsh voice, in reply; and with a burst of hoarse laughter Herr von Zimmern came riding out of the dusk of the tree shadows.
Count Stephen stared at him an instant, in mute surprise at his sudden appearance and the wildness of his manner.
"Whence dost thou come?" he demanded in a moment, regaining his composure and speaking with a haughtiness which betrayed his vexation.
"Out of the wood," the other answered coolly. "And thou?"
"What is that to thee, sirrah?" retorted the count.
It was so great a relief to have some one upon whom to vent his wrath that he made not the slightest effort to restrain himself, and his tone was so insolent that he was astonished that the cripple did not reply in anger.
"I crave pardon," Herr Frederich said, suddenly changing his manner, as if it occurred to him that it was not his wish to offend. "I was astonished to find you alone in the forest when I had thought that haply one we will not name might be riding with you."
Count Stephen ground his teeth, but he struggled with himself that he should give answer calmly.
"There is none with me," he said, "and in sooth I do not know by what right thou dost trouble thyself concerning my affairs. What is it to thee who may or who may not be abroad with me?"
Herr Frederich laughed mockingly.
"Now, by the True Cross," he returned, "you are indeed in an evil mood. It was but that I wished you well that I said it was strange to find you alone, when I had myself bought from the wood-folk a promise that you should this day have opportunity to be alone with one who is not here."
"God's blood!" cried the count; "what hast thou to do with the wood-folk?"
"But since forsooth you are in so shrewish a mind," continued Herr Frederich, ignoring his words, "we will not speak of it further. Haply I might have had that to tell which it would have been well for you to know had you been angry at being left thus alone; but it is of no account. Fare you well, Sir Count!"
He turned his horse as he spoke, as if he were minded to return into the gloom of the forest whence he had come. Count Stephen dashed forward, and caught his rein.
"Not so fast, sirrah!" he said angrily. "If in truth thou hast anything to say, out with it speedily, or by God's wounds I will slay thee on the spot. Thou mayst see if I am in the mind to be lightly trifled with."
"Nay," the cripple replied undauntedly; "you do not seem wholly calm and peaceable in your temper. It may be that it will mend if you can wait the issue of the errand upon which I am bound, since then it will go hard but you shall come nigh to the fulfilment of your heart's desire."
The count regarded the other somewhat askance. He doubted himself of this swart knave, and while he was not over-scrupulous concerning the means by which he came to the desires of his passions, he had yet a contempt for the traitor who could thus betray his own master. Moreover, although he had been indebted to Herr Frederich for many an interview with the lady of the castle, since the cripple had brought Albrecht into the hall on the morning when Erna had shown the scroll of Ovid, the count had shrewdly doubted but the man was a traitor to all, and bound only to make mischief. Nevertheless, so deeply did the heart of the count long for the love of Erna that he was ready for anything, short of the blackest villany, which would bring him nearer to the fruit of his quest. He bent forward in the dusk of the covert where they had met, and rested his hands upon the pommel of his saddle.
"Speak on," he said.
"It is not from any love of thee," Herr Frederich began with careless insolence, suddenly assuming the speech of an equal, "that I wish thee success in thy quest. If it can but be compassed that – Ah," he cried, breaking off and with his voice falling into a strain of the most passionate bitterness, "if I can wound him through his lady, I shall have it all; it is through his wife that I must reach him; that will give me my revenge here and hereafter! I can gloat over his soul in torments through all eternity!"
The count did not speak, but he drew back a little as if such fiendish hate made even him afeard. He could not compass the reasons for the bitterness of the other's mind toward Albrecht, and he waited for what more Herr Frederich might say.
"She is, in sooth, coy now," the other went on. "I saw her flee from thee through the wood. She has been bred by a priest, and she is afraid of her own desires. Her blood stirs for thee, but she is yet timid. Have patience yet a little till I come again. Then we shall see."
He had grown wilder in his air until he seemed but a madman raving; and Count Stephen, who knew not of the meeting of Albrecht and the cripple in the wood when Herr Frederich had thrown off all his disguises, was bewildered by the fashion of his companion's speech.
"When thou comest again," he repeated. "Whither, then, dost thou go?"
His companion bent nearer, as if he feared that in the shadows about them might be ears which should hear the secret.
"Listen!" he said. "When the Morgengabe was given, the Lady Adelaide put it into my head that if the Huns could be but told of the richness of the jewels that were brought to Rittenberg, they would not be long on their way hither. With me for a guide they will not linger. Ah, ha! My Lord Baron," he cried, throwing up his arms in a wild frenzy of rage and excitement, "when the red cock crows on the towers of Rittenberg, and the wife is fled in the arms of her lover, I will forgive both thee and thy cursed father!"
The count regarded him in amazement and dismay.
"Art thou mad?" he demanded. "Wilt thou in truth bring down the Huns upon Rittenberg?"
"Yea; and when they are come, it will not be hard to bear the lady away whither it pleases you. Who is there at Rittenberg to let the Huns of their will?"
"I!" cried Count Stephen, with sudden rage. "God's wounds, dost thou take me for a villain such as thou?"
He flung himself upon Herr Frederich so forcibly that they both went down among the feet of the horses together. He caught the cripple by the throat with one hand, while with the other he drew his dagger.
"Take this to the Huns in token!" he exclaimed, dealing the fallen man stab after stab; "and this, and this!"
The other struggled fiercely for a moment. It was so dark there on the ground that the count struck at him blindly, and it was only when the blow had been repeated several times that the cripple was quiet. Count Stephen held him by the throat in his powerful grasp until he ceased to struggle; when he rose he became aware that Herr Zimmern's horse had escaped into the darkening forest. It was only from the chance that as he leaped from his own steed the rein had been thrown over the broken limb of a tree by which he was standing that he was not himself left horseless.
"God's blood!" ejaculated Count Stephen, wiping his dagger on the doublet of the dead man; "there is one less knave in the world."
He touched the corse contemptuously with his foot, wondering why Herr Frederich had so bitterly hated Albrecht, and for the moment considering that, after all, Herr von Zimmern had been his only ally at Rittenberg, and that it was not wise to have disposed of him thus. Yet when he reflected that if he had been left alive it would have been simply that he might have opportunity to bring in the dreaded Huns to devastate the land, he was satisfied that it had been well to kill the knave and put an end to his scheming. Count Stephen knew what the Huns were. They had overrun not a little of the country in the neighborhood of his home; and as he thought of them he became well pleased with himself for having slain one who would have helped the heathen.
But even the pleasure of having killed a varlet who would have given the land to the fire and the spear of the Huns could not for long put Count Stephen from the thought of Erna. He got upon his horse, and rode slowly toward the castle, as completely forgetting the dead man behind him as if he had never existed, and leaving the body to the wolves with as little compunction as if it had been the carcass of a hound.
He wondered how Erna would receive him, and whether she would have said anything to her husband of the happening in the forest; and at last he bethought him of a means by which he might test her feelings.
"I will send her word," he said to himself, "that I wish to take my leave. Surely, if she forgive me, or if there is hope for me, I shall be able to tell it when I see her. She cannot be so angry as to refuse to come; and besides, she would fear that her husband should ask the reason if she treated me with disdain. She must at least come to bid me farewell, if not to urge upon me a longer stay; surely she must come."
And with this design in his mind, Count Stephen rode on more briskly, reaching the castle a little before sunset.
"Gather the men and be ready to ride at once," he commanded his captain, whom he encountered in the courtyard.
"To-night?" exclaimed the man, staring with astonishment.
"God's blood!" stormed his master in reply, "it is necessary that I give orders twice? Now, I said; at once!"
And striding on, he left the retainer holding his horse by the bridle and staring after him open-mouthed.
XXV
HOW FATHER CHRISTOPHER SENT FOR ALBRECHT
After Albrecht had been left by Erna in the corridor, he stood for a space as if he had neither the power to go nor yet to stay. He was full of jealousy and of fear at the thought of what might have befallen in the wood, and the agitation of his wife showed him that though Herr Frederich had failed of fulfilling his mission of evil, yet had something unusual taken place there when the baron had not been present to see. He had long understood that Count Stephen would fain win the love of Erna, and mighty had been the struggle in his soul as he questioned with himself whether in truth it would not be easy for the knight to gain the love of a woman from one who had been born of the wild race of wood-folk.
He went sadly and slowly back to his chamber, where the shadows clustered as thickly as the trees in the forest, and there came to his mind how the creatures of the wood, angry that one of their race should have won a human soul, had been eager to give their aid to the schemes of Herr Frederich; and anew there came over him a sense of the mighty struggle in which he was engaged. The stinging taunts of the cripple wounded him afresh, singing themselves over again in his ears as he stood by his casement in the gathering darkness, looking out over the mighty stretch of the forest. He recalled the cripple's threat that the soul of Erna should be so dragged down by his own that they should be lost together; and the twofold terror of bringing upon her whom he loved the doom of eternal death overwhelmed him. The serenity which he had on his knees won in the chapel deserted him, and he cast himself down upon the rushes in agony of soul.
He hardly knew whether it was moments or hours that he grovelled in the dust, – nor could he know that apart in her chamber Erna, too, had fallen into a like abasement, – when the coming of a thrall disturbed him. He started to his feet, and waited for what message might be come to him. It had grown so dark that the glimmer of the torch which the servant carried shone in a golden line beneath the door. Smoothing his disordered hair with his hand as he went, Albrecht went to the door and opened it. The glare of the torch blinded him so that for a moment he could see nothing.
"If the gracious Lord Baron will," the thrall said, "Father Christopher prays that he come to him with no delay."
Albrecht stood a moment in surprised silence. Then he recovered himself.
"Is Father Christopher in his chamber?" he asked.
"Yea, my Lord Baron," the servant answered.
"Give me thy torch," Albrecht said, taking it, "and I will go at once. Thou need'st not come."
Not since the morning after his wedding had Albrecht climbed to the little room high in the western tower; and as he made his way thither he seemed to be once more on his way to confess to the good old priest the strange story of his life. As he climbed the winding stair of the tower his glance fell through a narrow window, and afar he saw the moon rising over the great forest where the kobolds were gathering for their nightly sports. All the old life came before him, and for the moment he seemed to have lost the one without that he had gained the other. He was no longer either kobold or man. Then, with the fierceness of one who fights temptation, he shook off these thoughts, and went on until he stood before Father Christopher.
The priest was walking up and down with his eyes fixed upon the floor. For a moment he did not pause or look up. Then he paused beside the seat upon which Albrecht had thrown himself, his kind eyes hardly higher than those of the other, so tall was the knight in his woodland strength, and stood looking into the baron's face with a regard penetrating but full of tenderness.
"The time hath come," he said, "when thou must tell to thy wife everything that is hid in thy heart."
"Everything?" Albrecht echoed, dismay and wonder in his tone.
"Everything," the priest repeated solemnly. "My son, dost thou remember that once in this very chamber I said to thee that thou couldst not hope to save thy soul alone, but that the fate of hers by whom thou didst win it was bound up with that of thine own? Now is it the hour when thou must save both hers and thine."
"Truly I would freely give mine that hers be not lost," Albrecht returned.
"It is in thine hands," Father Christopher went on as if he heard him not. "She loves thee still."
"Still!" Albrecht echoed in a piercing cry, springing to his feet.
His face was white with the terror of the fear which seemed to lurk behind the words of the priest. He caught Father Christopher's robe by the sleeve, and looked at him with terror and appeal in his face.
"Nay," the priest said, putting out his hand, and speaking with mingled sweetness and reproof, "we are speaking of the gracious countess and thy wife. Thou hast nothing to fear. It is only that the longings which thou hast thyself awakened in her are yet strange and not wholly mastered by her will. It is thou who hast given her these temptations as surely as she has given thee thy soul. There is never a gift between two; something is always given in exchange."
Albrecht bowed his head upon his hand. His eyes traced the long shadow which the torch, thrust into a ring upon the wall, cast along upon the floor, bare of rushes.
"But how may it be," he asked sadly, "that I, forsooth, can hope to save either her or yet myself?"
"Because," Father Christopher returned tenderly, laying his hand upon the bowed head as if inwardly he blessed the strong man before him, "thou hast the soul of a child and the strength of a knight; and because," he was fain to add, with a soft voice that was like a caress, "all that see thee must needs love thee."
"But why," Albrecht asked, "sayest thou that it were well that I tell all to my wife?"
The priest smiled with an expression which was at once tender and wistful, and through which yet a gleam of humor played.
"My son," he answered, "I am an old man, and I have in sooth seen much of the ways of the world, and of the ways of womankind not a little. Trust me that I rede thee good counsel in this matter. Thy wife is a woman, and so it is well that thou tell her. It is not always easy to say why one should do thus or so with a woman, but it may be wise to do that for which one cannot give a reason. And besides," he added more soberly, "anon perchance thou wilt thyself perceive a reason for what thou now doest blindly. Go, my son; and Heaven bless thee in thy going!"