CHAPTER XXV.

How the Lady Minnatrost laid aside her veil.

When he was now mounting the steep road that led to the Druda’s watch-tower, he heard in the valley below the sounding tramp of a war-horse and the ringing of armour. Involuntarily he looked round, and perceived at no great distance a grey war-steed, rode by a knight, whose appearance, as well as that of the grey horse, was certainly known to him. As he reflected on this, the rider looked up, caught Sir Otto’s features through the thickets of the beech-trees, drew up the reins with a low bow, and said, “Welcome, my noble lord and conqueror! I have now to announce that I am returned from the pilgrimage which you were pleased to impose on me, and that I have faithfully delivered up at the castle of Trautwangen the banner which you took from my brave countrymen.” Thereupon Sir Otto recognised his prisoner, Swerker, and, filled with ardent longing to hear tidings from him, for which the disappointment of all his hopes in love rendered him only the more anxious, he seated himself straightway on the edge of the cliff, and begged that the Swede would describe to him minutely all that he had met with on the banks of the Danube.

Swerker looked mournfully and with a pale visage towards him, and at last said,--“Sir knight, I call the great Odin to witness that you have behaved to me even like one of the glorious princes of Asgard; and if I should now, as if thankless and unworthy of your regard, bring you unwelcome tidings from home, blame me not, for the fault is not mine; but, since you command me to speak, I must tell you freely and honestly what has been the result of my embassy.

“The castle of Trautwangen, on the Danube, stands to this day in its old security and grandeur. The lofty towers were visible across the long meadows for many a mile before I had arrived at the fortress. The people bowed respectfully when I inquired for Sir Hugh von Trautwangen, and told me that he lived there all alone, like a meditative hermit. A peasant (from whom, when about two miles distant from the castle, I purchased the last provender for my horse) had formerly been a squire or sentinel at the castle, and afforded me a long description how venerable were the looks of the old champion, and how he used to sit so grave and dignified in his arm-chair in the great hall, with a velvet cap on his head, and with a round table before him, on which always stood an embossed silver goblet filled with old Johannisberg.

“It was not therefore without a feeling of mingled awe and admiration, that I drew near to the castle. As if trusting to its own strength and ancestral dignity, the fortress received me with its gates wide open, the drawbridge was down, and had long thus lain, as in token of peace, reposing on the turf by which it was partly overgrown. No one, neither squire nor sentinel, came to meet me; so that, without more ado, I tied my horse to a post in the middle of the large court, and proceeded up the wide staircase, by which I presumed that I should arrive at the great hall. I walked slowly, and rattled as much as I could with my spurs, greaves, and other accoutrements, in hopes that I might attract the attention of some one who would announce my approach to the castle’s owner. But in vain; no one was visible; nor was there a sound even of a footstep heard, except my own, through the wide desolate fortress. At last I found myself before great folding doors of carved oak; and, believing that this must be the entrance to the hall, I knocked three times loudly, and at measured intervals, with my iron-gloved hand. No sound was heard from within. I repeated my knocks, and rattled at the lock, but still all was silent. So I took counsel with myself and said, ‘Methinks I have now done enough to announce my coming here as a stranger, and if the people are all deaf, or sleep so very soundly, they cannot feel offended if I should enter without more ceremony. Besides, I am here a messenger, and as such have important duties to perform.’ I opened the door as respectfully as I could, and stepped in with the banner. I now found myself in the armoury; but, with all its weapons and trophies, it reminded me of the empty coat-of-mail of a knight long since dead. Truly, in the background I beheld, sitting in his arm-chair, tall, erect, and awful to look upon, the old Sir Hugh, with his green velvet cap on his head, and the round table with the silver goblet were before him. But, alas! the knight’s eyes were firmly closed, his cheeks were deadly pale, his brows cold, and his hands clasped together, as they had been left by the last fearful convulsion. I saw very well that the old hero had just then died. I placed your victorious trophy beside him, and now thought that I would keep watch there till some of his usual attendants came. But the great Odin only knows how it came to pass!--A resistless horror stole over me as I looked through the long desolate apartment. It seemed to me as if the dead man would suddenly start again into life,--that he would open his eyes, and be as much terrified at my presence as I would be at the sight of him. Then, if he shrieked aloud, his voice, amid the silence of that wide lonely fortress, would have shaken my inmost heart, and thenceforth I should have wandered through the wide world as an incurable madman.

“Sir knight, I trust you have already proved that I am no coward; yet in that place I could not withstand the apprehensions that assailed me. Besides, I said to myself, ‘Thou hast fulfilled the purpose of thine embassy, inasmuch as thou hast brought the banner to the old hero, and his people may, if they think fit, lay it with him in the grave. Also, thou canst announce to his son, that Sir Hugh of Trautwangen now sits quaffing mead with the glorified champions of Valhalla.’ Thereupon I hastened down stairs and remounted my horse; but, ere I had proceeded far from the gates, I heard the frightful lamentations of the squires, who had by this time returned, and found that their master was no longer living. Here then I am once more at home, and, as you desired, have described to you all that came to pass at your father’s castle.”

The darkness of the night, which had now settled around them, concealed from Swerker’s eyes that expression of grief and despair which had changed the countenance of Sir Otto. In a few kind words he instructed the Swede to ride onward to the camp, and await there his coming. Meanwhile he proceeded on his way to the castle of the Lady Minnatrost, and though he struggled against his grief, yet, as he walked along through the darkness of the night, he could not help weeping bitterly.

When he had arrived at the Druda’s castle, and had entered that pleasant chamber so mildly illuminated, as if by soft moonlight, and in which stood the round banquet-table, the lady could not have failed to observe his pale countenance, his dishevelled hair, and wildly-rolling eyes. But at this time she was not alone;--besides the sea-monarch, there was another guest,--a warlike champion, to whom they seemed to listen with great attention, and who, as soon as the door was opened, rose from his seat, and threw himself into Sir Otto’s arms.

“Good heaven! is it possible?--Art thou Heerdegen of Lichtenried?” cried the Knight of Trautwangen, as if uncertain and perplexed, although the deep scars which his own sword had left over the brows of Sir Heerdegen might have removed all doubt. Forgetting their old quarrels, the two young knights met even like loving friends, and locked each other in a cordial embrace. On both sides they felt that they had been in the wrong; and there is, perchance, no other feeling which, in the hearts of brave and virtuous warriors, is so likely to produce mutual good-will and attachment. To have used many words of apology would have been needless, and would even have disturbed their present happiness at meeting;--besides, the Lady Minnatrost and the sea-monarch looked so anxiously towards Sir Heerdegen, that the Knight of Trautwangen perceived how important must have been the discourse which his coming had interrupted, and could not help eagerly wishing for its renewal.

“The times are indeed wild and unruly,” said Sir Heerdegen, as they all took their places round the table; “what I have told you before, and what Sir Otto has not heard, I shall now repeat as rapidly as may be. At the siege of Ptolemais, King Richard Cœur de Lion quarrelled with the Duke John of Austria. Thereafter, when the king too rashly came as a pilgrim through the Austrian dominions, the duke planned an ambuscade, and took him prisoner.”

“Good Heaven!” exclaimed Sir Otto, “if King Richard Cœur de Lion be taken prisoner, then the whole spirit of knighthood over the world must at once be crushed and destroyed.”

“For this very reason all true knights must now exert themselves,” answered Sir Heerdegen. “The question is, in what prison, and whether by sea or land, King Richard is now held captive? The Duke John says, on one day, that the king is by no means in his custody; on the next, he affirms, that he has been given up to the emperor; and on the third, that he has already made his escape. What then can an honest Christian knight resolve to do in the midst of such contradictions?--To say the truth, one’s brain grows confused when he thinks of such treachery,--our hearts are almost broken,--and, even with the most undaunted courage, we cannot perform any one exploit of which the world could say, that it had brought us even halfway to our grand object.”

“Truly,” said Sir Otto, “this world begins ill my estimation to become wearisome. At a distance, perchance, it may seem, both to angels and demons, pleasant and full of pastime; but to him who is in the midst of its occupations and sorrows, life is indeed but a sorry jest.”

At these words, which were spoken with a bitter coldness, that strangely contrasted with the knight’s usual manner, all eyes were turned upon him; and, as if one had suddenly come to a district of country which before used to present only rich gardens and pleasant villas, but where one now finds only ruin and devastation, without knowing whence that fearful change has proceeded, all of them now remained in silent astonishment, till at length the Lady Minnatrost addressed him,--“In God’s name! young hero, what new misfortune hast thou encountered?”

“Nothing--nothing,” answered Sir Otto, with the same frightful coldness; “only my bride has proved unfaithful, and my father is now dead; so that for the future I am alone in the world. More I have not to tell.”

Thereupon, when Sir Heerdegen and the sea-monarch started up, and in their sympathy ran with open arms to embrace him, suddenly, with a changed and faltering voice, he said,--“Do not afflict yourselves, noble comrades, for these events are past, and cannot be retrieved. Truly you have proved yourselves faithful and loving friends, yet not the less I feel, that I am from henceforth alone; for unless with the inmost heart of man be entwined some bond of affection towards father, mother, brothers, and sisters, or, more than all, to wife and child, then is this world but a desolate wilderness, and life is but like a shadow that at evening glides over the lonely meadow.--Good night!”

With these words he gently, but resolutely, disengaged himself from the arms of his friends, and walked in his affliction sternly and proudly towards the door. Then the Lady Minnatrost rose from the table, and came forward. With noiseless steps, and as if floating along like a spirit, she placed herself beside the Knight of Trautwangen. Like a mist-wreath dispersed by the pale gentle moonbeams, her veil was now uplifted. The mild light of her pensive eyes shone upon him; she embraced the youth with many tears, and said,--“No; thou art not a shadow that floats and perishes on the meadow,--nor art thou left alone in the world;--for thou art my son, and I am Hildiridur, the loving and faithful wife of the stern Sir Hugur!”