Furin Chime Press™

Tag: Serialized novel

  • Cobb’s False Knight: 10. Flight

    Cobb’s False Knight: 10. Flight

    The first impression of a flight from danger I can remember was that of the Von Trapp family. Good heavens, no, I’m not one of those people that would mar an otherwise perfectly enchanting visit to a beautiful city like Salzburg by insisting on trying to sing songs from The Sound of Music at every turn when a possibly familiar backdrop comes into sight. Remind me to take earplugs with me, however, when I do next visit.

    Peggy Wood as Mother Abbess in Sound of Music (1965; dir/prod Robert Wise). (Dubbed vocals by Margery MacKay.)

    At the time, the family escaping over the Swiss Alps to the tune of “Climb Every Mountain” might have seemed a tad less corny before the fifty millionth re-run. There actually are countless tours of Salzburg and ferry rides across Lake Wolfgang where costume wearing “entertainers” endlessly yodel to visitors or sing “Doe, a deer” and so on.

    On the subject of such fiendish and dastardly torture: Will Ernest von Linden and Electra make it to safety? Or will a fake Mother Superior belting out “How do you solve a problem like Electra” in the guise of Sir Pascal Dunwolf thwart their plan? That haunting image must be something acquired from TV news coverage of the Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras or something. Not that I have any problem at all with that event, no, it’s the evil nuns that get me. Is there a known phobia of nuns by the way? I looked it up. There is! It’s called sphenisciphobia. Oh well, I guess there had to be. If there’s one of clowns, then evil nuns surely must be right up there with them when it comes to having a phobia attributed to them. Let alone fake ones with beards…

    What will happen at Martin Oberwald’s? Will our heroes find safety and protection? Or could a seemingly far too easy escape from a dark dungeon be an overture to doing away with a problem? “How do you solve a problem like Von Linden”? Oh no, not one of those ghastly songs stuck in my ear now, I hope. Worse still, I could have made it stick in your ear!

    CHAPTER 10

    Flight

    The baroness and her daughter were in an agony of unrest and disquiet. They had been told that Ernest had returned, and they had not seen him. More than an hour had elapsed since the word of his arrival had been brought to them. A servant had seen him ascending the hill. She knew it was Ernest von Linden, and no one else. Then Electra had bethought her of the horse, and she sent a boy—one whom she could trust—to the stable to see if the captain’s horse was there. He had been upon the mission, and had returned with word that the horse was there. He knew the animal, and could not be mistaken. Then mother and daughter had sought Sir Pascal, but had not been able to find him. At length they came across the dwarf, Balthazar, who had informed them that his master was lying down. He had not felt well, and had sought recovery in sleep, which he often found efficacious. He promised them, however, that he would come to them, if they would permit him, and inform them when the knight had risen.

    Before giving him this permission, they asked him concerning the young captain. He was simply surprised. He had not seen the man, nor had he left the castle on his journey to Baden-Baden, The ladies then told him that he might come to them when his master was astir.

    And for this they were now waiting. Meantime, however, they had made other enquiries, but without avail. At length, when their patience had become well nigh exhausted, the dwarf appeared, and directly behind him came Sir Pascal. Lady Bertha arose quickly to her feet and took a stop forward.

    “Sir Pascal! you find me in great distress of mind. Can you tell me where Captain von Linden is?”

    She spoke eagerly and impulsively, with her whole heart in her face. The knight was not prompt in his answer. He seemed to be gloating over the unrest he had been able to give these proud suppliants. So long did he hesitate that the widow spoke again:

    “Sir Pascal Dunwolf! You heard my question. Will you tell me if you know what has become of the young man? Where has he gone? He returned here more than an hour ago, and I have had no sign of him I cannot understand it.”

    “My dear, dear Baroness!” exclaimed the false knight, with fulsome effusiveness, “the absence of the young captain is very simple. He returned, as you say, an hour or more ago, arriving fresh and well, and in the best of spirits. He found here a messenger who had just arrived in hot haste from the village in quest of him. What was wanted I do not know, for I was not informed. I can only tell you that the young man turned him about instantly and went with the courier. This, you will understand, was told to me by the sentinel at the gate. I did not see the captain myself.”

    “It is very strange that a messenger should have come from the village and not inquired for me,” the baroness said, looking the knight straight in the eye.

    “I thought so myself, madam; but I had no opportunity to investigate. However, I can see no occasion for alarm. Doubtless our young friend will pretty soon return; and then we shall know all about it.”

    Something in the man’s manner—something in his look, in his averted eye—an unmistakable malevolence of expression—impressed her ladyship with distrust. She did not tell herself that the man was flatly lying, but he was not telling the whole truth. At all events, she would not question him further. She thanked him for his trouble in waiting upon her, and then dismissed him. He would have offered further help, but the lady would not listen. His presence was painfully disagreeable to her, and she could not wholly hide it. This he saw, and without further remark he turned away, his mutterings of wrath breaking the air as he went.

    “O! mamma! mamma! what can we do? Where do you think dear Ernest is? Has that bad man done him harm?”

    “Hush! my child. Let us wait for a little time. It may be that he has been called to the village, as Sir Pascal says. If he has, he will surely be with us before we retire. Put away your fears, and let us give our thoughts to pleasant subjects.”

    It was easily said, but it was hard to do. Pleasant subjects were not readily found. At length, however, the baroness spoke of Ernest’s brave and noble qualities, and of the assurance she felt that the grand duke would unhesitatingly befriend him when he came to know him, thus bringing her daughter to a theme that for a time led her thoughts away from the dark fears of the hour.

    Thus passed the time until the little Strasburg clock on the mantel struck the hour of nine. As the silvery chime broke the air Electra sprang to her feet with her hands clasped, exclaiming:

    “Have you been uneasy?” was Ernest’s first speech, after he had seen who were present, and had succeeded in freeing himself from the attentions of the happy staghound.

    “Mamma! mamma! I cannot endure it. I must go down to the village and make inquiries. Don’t say me nay. My noble Fritz will give me safe conduct. I can go out by the private postern, which Dunwolf knows nothing about.”

    Before her mother could reply, the staghound, who had been crouched away in a corner ever since Dunwolf had made his appearance in the chamber, sprung up with a sharp sniff and rushed to the door and tried to open it, which he would have done had not the baroness turned the key after the dark-visaged knight had gone out. Presently, above the dog’s eager whining, was heard a rap.

    ”It is a friend—I know it is a friend!” Electra cried, starting forward. “O, mamma!— don’t stop me. Don’t you know dear old Fritz’s meaning when he acts like that? It is my darling—my darling!”

    Staghound and Hind (1868); Richard Ansdell. Lytham Art Collection of Fylde Borough Council .

    She turned the key and lifted the latch, and in another moment was in the arms of her dear lover. Without a word, he lifted her from her feet and bore her back into the room; then closed and locked the door behind him.

    “O! Ernest! we cannot tell you how uneasy. Where have you been? Did that bad man tell us the truth?”

    “What did he tell you?”

    Electra told him the whole story from beginning to end, but in a very few words and disconnectedly.

    He shook his head very slowly and significantly, and with a very significant smile as he replied:

    “I will tell you all about it in a very few moments. But, first, dear lady,” to the baroness, “you and Electra must prepare at once to leave the castle.  If I can convince you that your safety and well-being demand it, will you go with me?”

    “Let me hear what you have to say, dear boy. You know that I will do what is right.”

    Ernest made sure that all was safe—that the doors were fast, and that no eavesdroppers were near,—and then he sat down and told his story. He told, first, of the coming of the dwarf, Balthazar, to his chamber, on the morning of his departure, with letters from his master to be delivered in Baden Baden. Then of his meeting with the wolf, and his discovery of the trick that had been played with his pistols. When he came to tell of his being waylaid by the two assassins, and of the scene that followed, his hearers were excited indeed.

    Of his meeting with his old tutor, and of their conversation, he told minutely. And then came his return. He told how he had been met by the lieutenant, at the gate, and how he had suffered himself to be led into the trap that had been set for him, and how that trap had been sprung upon him. Many times he was stopped, and forced to go over certain parts of his story; and more than once he had been called upon to assure Electra that he had not suffered harm.

    “When I had been thus bound and gagged,” he went on, “the two burly ruffians took me by the arms, and led me away, Sir Pascal going on in advance with a lighted candle. Then came the torch, and the descent into the dungeons.

    “Here,” he said, “I became anxious. Down in those dismal depths are three entrances to the secret subterranean passes to and from the castle. The main shaft connects the dungeon at the extreme corner towards the east. I asked myself, would they carry me thither? I thought they would, for two reasons. First,—that cell is the farthest removed from any possible point of hearing by those in the apartments above; and, second, it is in the best order and apparently the most secure. If they should take me to that place, I need have nothing to fear.

    “And thither I was led. Perhaps you can imagine how I had to struggle to hide my emotions of satisfaction; but I fancy I did it. I asked but one favor—a candle— which was granted. My bond and my gag were removed, and the door shut upon me. An hour later food and drink were brought, with straw for a bed, and some candles. When I had been left for the night I ate a hearty meal; for I was hungry; and then turned my attention to the opening of the secret pass. It was very familiar to me, and without the slightest difficulty I tipped up the broad flag, and found the stairs clear.

    “You are aware, dear lady, that there are several entrance to the pass in the upper apartments of the keep. There is one in the upper wall of the great library; one in the baron’s sleeping-room; one in the extreme rear of the banqueting-room, and one in your own dressing-room. It was by way of the latter that I just came.”

    It would be impossible to tell the variety of emotions that had been called up in the bosoms of the listeners while Ernest had been telling his story. Electra’s chief thought was of what the wicked man’s final plan had been. What had he meant to do with her dear lover in the end?

    “What he would have done with me,” said the captain, “did not give me so much concern as did the thought of what he certainly would have done with you, my beloved. Remembering what good old Arnbeck told me, of the power which the grand duke’s commission had placed in the villain’s hands, I could see his plan was to make you his wife, and himself lord of this castle, as quickly as possible. Did you understand, my darling,—and do you, dear lady,—that by the will of the grand duke, the man marrying with the heiress of Deckendorf may take her name, and become feudal lord of the domain?”

    “I supposed it was so,” the baroness replied.

    “Yes—so it is. Pascal Dunwolf is very eager to become baron Deckendorf; and to that end he knows he must get rid of me. I think, had he succeeded in this bold scheme—had he managed to seal me up in a dungeon from which there was no escape, save at his own will and pleasure—he would not have delayed a great while the marriage ceremony. He has his own priest with him—a man ready to do his bidding. The consent of the bride would not have been asked, nor would it have been needful, so far as the black-visaged and black-hearted man cared. And now, dear lady,—knowing what you do, are you ready to go with me, and seek safety elsewhere?”

    “Yes, yes, yes!” was Electra’s response, quickly and earnestly.

    But the older lady was more thoughtful. She would know first whither they were to go.

    “To the cot of good Martin Oberwald,” was Ernest’s answer. “He has secrets about his dwelling that are more wonderful than anything connected with the castle. He can give us a safe and comfortable place of hiding, where no enemy can find us. And, moreover, he is himself a true and noble man.”

    “Noble in more ways than you think, perhaps,” said Lady Bertha, with a curious smile.

    ”Eh!” cried the youth, quickly, at  the same time laying a hand upon her arm. ”What mean you by that? I have heard something—I remember once hearing the baron make an allusion to the hunter that puzzled me. Is he—”

    “Hush! Oberwald’s secrets are his own.”

    “O, but, mamma, you can tell us!” pleaded Electra. I have been puzzled more than once by remarks I have heard him drop. Is he—”

    “There. No more. I cannot—”

    “But, mamma, you have made us both so anxious.”

    The baroness smiled, and finally said:

    “Well, well, if you will promise to keep what I now tell you to yourselves, as I have never been bound to silence,—I will tell you this: Martin Oberwald was a baron of the empire. In his younger days he was gay and reckless. He married a lovely wife, whom he well nigh worshipped. She was taken from him by a cruel death—killed by an accident—shot by a bullet intended for himself; and in the depth of his despair he surrendered his barony, together with his estate, to a cousin—he had no brother—and, with an infant daughter, retired from the world. He came to this place, and here he has been ever since. Electra, I charge you, never a word of this to Irene. I have told you the truth, that you may know better how to value that beautiful girl’s friendship.”

    “Ah, mamma, it needed not that to make me appreciate Irene. She is an angel. I love her.”

    “And now, Ernest, which way do you propose to go?”

    “There is but one. We must, of course, go by way of the secret passage, through a part of which I have just come. We will enter from your apartment, and go the course towards the Schwarzwolf. It is very nearly in the direction of the hunter’s cot.”

    The baroness required no further urging. Ernest’s plan was that she and her daughter should remain in hiding until he could see the grand duke, being well assured that the true-hearted prince, when he should have been made to understand the situation, and to know the true character of Dunwolf, would do them ample justice.

    Only one other person would they call to bear them company. Lady Bertha’s faithful maid, Gretchen, who had nursed Electra, and who was at heart one of themselves, must go. Not only did they need her services, but the devoted creature would go fairly frantic were they to leave her behind.

    Mistress and Maid (1666-7), Johanness Vermeer. Frick Collection, NY.

    So Gretchen was summoned—a hearty, buxom woman of five-and-forty, or thereabouts, whose chief beauty was in her goodness, and who had been an inmate of the castle long before the baroness ever entered it. She required but little instruction. She had already conceived an utter horror of Sir Pascal, and was rejoiced when she know they were to leave the place, made dark and dangerous by his presence.

    With her aid the necessary preparations wore soon made. Her jewels and her money, the baroness collected, having no confidence in their safety if left behind. Ernest gave to Gretchen particular directions with regard to the things he would have brought from his room, and told her where she would find the key. She was quick and prompt in her movements, and in less than an hour from the time of beginning the preparations they were complete, and the party ready to set forth.

    It was close upon eleven o’clock when Ernest placed his hand upon the secret spring which set free the sliding panel that closed the entrance to the passage they were to enter. They were careful to lock all the doors behind them, so that their absence might not be accidently discovered. First beyond the panel was a broad step, and then a flight of narrow steps descending. When all had entered, the Captain closed the panel, which locked itself, and then, went on in advance with a convenient lantern, Gretchen bringing up the rear with another light—also a lantern, as they were liable to strong currents of air which might extinguish the flame of a candle.

    For a considerable distance the way for the most part was descending. They passed quite near the dungeons, but did not care to look into them. Beyond this point, a natural fissure, made easily passable by the hand of man, served them until they had reached the top of an abrupt descent, down which they went over a flight of rough stone stops, cut in the native rock. At the foot of this they were at their lowest point, the guide informing them that the rumbling noise they heard overhead was the brook that flowed through the valley between the castle and the Schwarzwolf Mountain.

    Beyond this they began to ascend. The way was somewhat tedious and toilsome, all having more or less of luggage to carry; but they pushed on bravely, glad at heart that they were leaving the castle under its present control, farther and farther behind them. At the end of twenty minutes after commencing the ascent, and more than an hour from the point of starting, the guide stopped before what appeared to be the solid face of rock, cutting all further progress; but he very soon found a way through it. A concealed door was opened—a door formed by a rock that turned on a central pivot—and upon passing through the aperture thus afforded the party found themselves in a deep mountain cavern—a cavern which Electra knew very well; and here for the first time the staghound was inclined to be frisky and obtrusive; but a persuasive word from his mistress quickly calmed him.

    Though we have not before spoken of the dog as one of the journeying party, he had been with it, and had been an important and useful member. Upon his strong back he bore a goodly store of Electra’s raiment; and more than that, on the dark and dubious way he had gone far enough in advance to give timely warning had there been danger ahead.

    Our heroine recognized the cave as one in which she and Irene had often stopped, about half way from the foot of the mountain to the hunter’s abode.

    As soon as Ernest had been assured that Fritz would not bark, he went out and took a survey of the surroundings. It was now not far from midnight; the heavens were clear; and the moon, within an hour of setting, gave plenty of light to guide them on their way up the mountains; so the lights were extinguished, and as soon as the baroness had signified her readiness to proceed they moved on. They very soon struck the main path, and in less than half an hour more, without accident of any kind, they stopped before the door of Oberwald’s cot, where Fritz, with a desire to make himself useful, with a loud voice demanded admission.

    Irene’s St. Bernard was the first to make answer from within, but the hunter himself appeared shortly after, with a lighted flambeau in his hand, not a little surprised at the sight of his midnight visitors. His first movement, without question, was to step back, and allow the women to enter; and after he had closed the door behind Ernest and Fritz, he found voice to ask what had happened.

    Notes

    • Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras…: Popular annual LGBT pride festival and parade. The Sisters and Brothers of the Order of Perpetual Indulgence, Sydney, are prominent regular participants.
    • flag: (n) or flagstone. “A grit or sandstone naturally separating in layers of suitable thickness for flagging; any rock which splits or is capable of being readily split into tabular plates or flags. Usually the layers are parallel to the bedding or stratification of the rock; but there are cases in which the lamination of the material available for flagging is the result of cleavage or jointing” (finedictionary.com; New Century Dictionary). Hence, as here, an individual flat piece of paving, having been split from such stratified rock.

    NIGHTSHIFT byTony Reck © 2025

  • Cobb’s False Knight: 9. The Trap is Sprung

    Cobb’s False Knight: 9. The Trap is Sprung

    The German word for “dungeon” is “Verlies“. An unusual word, originating in Low German and Dutch, meaning loss, or leaving. Verlies sounds like the past form of “verlassen“, which means to leave. A place where you leave people, to an awful fate? There were dungeons like that in Germany. A famous one you can visit today is in Penzlin Castle in Mecklenburg, where alleged witches were tortured to death. There were more recent places, which are just as terrible. Some we barely even know about…

    Alte Burg Penzlin – dungeon (so-called witch cellar). Photograph by Norbert Radtke

    In today’s Poland, there is a village on the former German state of Upper Silesia which is now called Ludwikowice-Milkow. A small, quiet place. Hardly worthy of visiting. The former German name was Ludwigsdorf-Moelke.

    A coal mining area, it was declared a military and exclusion area when it was given to Poland after the war in exchange for territory ceded to the Soviet Union. This lasted for more than ten years, while the probable reason for secrecy was investigated and then obliterated.

    There are many mine shafts in the area. But one was only excavated in the early 1940s. Strange, for it to have been dug, far from any known coal seams. A brand new pithead building appeared in an allied aerial surveillance photo. A tower with a lift to access area half a kilometre below. Why was it built? At a time when resources such as building materials had become scarce?

    Those who had been forced to work there, to excavate the tunnels, were inmates of the nearby concentration camp at Gross Rosen. Today, only a memorial marks their fate. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, were forced to dig tunnels in a project that some say was to provide Germany with purified uranium for an atomic bomb (see, for e.g., Tuft, ‘Secret Nazi Nuclear Bunker’).

    When allied forces approached, the SS blew up the tunnels. Many say, with the forced labourers still inside. After the war, the Soviet Union filled in the half kilometer deep new mine shafts and dismantled the pithead building. Strange, because all the surrounding pits remain open. Only this one has been filled in. Half a kilometre deep. Tiny ventilation shafts are the only remaining access. Remote controlled cameras have been tried, but nobody has even been able to access what is left of the tunnels below. Or those who were abandoned in them. Verlassen. As in a Verlies. Or dungeon.

    The horror of what forced labourers had to endure there is unimaginable, but it was very real. A museum now tries to capitalise on tourism, with the little that remains on the surface, like the bottom ring of an old cooling tower, added to the power station when electricity output was increased during the war. Some even claimed that this concrete “Stonehenge” was a landing facility for UFOs. A wrought iron slogan across the entrance reads “Museum Molke, Ludwigsdorf Riese“. It was only added recently and made to resemble the “Arbeit Macht Frei” slogan at the gates of Auschwitz.

    However, the Ludwigsdorf tunnels and the new mine shaft were not a part of nearby “Project Riese”. Some are still accessible, many are partly flooded, but those connected to that new mine shaft built in the early 1940s are completely sealed. Their purpose is still a mystery, however proximity to the upgraded power station lets you wonder if there was any truth to rumours of centrifuges having been used in chambers connected by the tunnels under the shaft to enrich uranium. Nazi Germany used Uranium mined at Leopoldshall in Saxony Anhalt. (See ‘Project Riese‘, Wikipedia)

    Sorry to diverge so much from our story and Ernest Von Linden’s plight in the castle dungeon. Let’s hope that at least he can escape…

    CHAPTER 9

    THE TRAP IS SPRUNG

    The sun was just sinking to rest as Ernest von Linden rode over the draw-bridge of the castle on his return from Baden-Baden. At the gate he was met by lieutenant Franz, who expressed a great deal of satisfaction at seeing him.

    “Captain, you have arrived just in season. There is a terrible fright in the village on account of the famed robber, Thorbrand, and a deputation of the villagers are at this present moment with the governor. They came inquiring for you. Her ladyship, the baroness, is anxious that they should have protection. We were told by one of your men that you were coming up the hill, and I was sent to ask you to come in. I think there is no doubt that Thorbrand is lurking somewhere in the neighborhood. You are acquainted with the various defiles and fastnesses, and your council is needed.”

    “Who sent for me?” was the youth’s first question.

    Had the man hesitated Ernest would have taken the alarm; but he did not. He answered promptly and with every appearance of truth:

    “Sir Pascal sent me, sir; but it was the lady who suggested it, when she was told that you had been seen at the foot of the hill.”

    The lieutenant was so earnest and wore such a look of truth in his face that the young captain could not disbelieve him. For a moment the thought of treachery occurred to him; but he did not fear. It was vastly different in the castle from his situation in the forest; and, further, he was well armed, and should be on his guard.

    “You say the villagers are still in the castle?”

    “Yes, six or seven of them; and the old inn-keeper heads the deputation.”

    With that Ernest slipped from his saddle; and having taken off his saddle-bags and thrown them over his left arm, he gave up his horse to an orderly who stood at hand ready to take him, and then signified his readiness to follow his guide.

    Lieutenant Franz was an accomplished liar. On the way across the broad court he asked Ernest concerning matters in Baden-Baden, speaking as to a trusted friend, and blandly smiling while he spoke. He kept up the chat until the vestibule was reached, where he politely opened the door, allowing the other to pass in first. As he followed and closed the door behind him, he said smiling still:

    “We shall find them this way, sir, and very glad they will be to see you.”

    A single moment at this point our hero hesitated. His guide was smiling altogether too much, he thought; and the last smile he fancied, had something sinister in it. But why should he fear? Surely no harm could come to him while he had his wits and his strength. Yet, when he had made up his mind to go forward he felt in his bosom to make sure that his double-barrelled pistol was within easy reach.

    The lieutenant had turned to the left towards a room which he—Ernest—had been wont to use as a study and a private sitting room; and upon reaching the door, which opened inward, he pushed it open, and, as before, stepped aside for his companion to pass in first. Von Linden did not stop to think, but went quickly on, nor did he fully realize the situation until the door had been closed behind him, and his conductor had come to his side.

    ”Why, where are the villagers? Where is the baroness?” cried Franz, by way of giving his chief the cue.

    “Tut! tut!” exclaimed Sir Pascal, as the entrapped youth put his hand into his bosom and exposed the butt of his pistol. “What in the world are you thinking of? Do you fancy we mean to do you harm?”

    Ernest had already taken a survey of the apartment, and discovered that the lieutenant was at his side, the knight before him, and not another soul, that he could see, was present.

    ”Sir Pascal Dunwolf, what does this mean? Why have I been brought hither? Answer me, or I will force you to speak at the muzzle of the—”

    He had snatched the pistol from his bosom and cocked both hammers, and was raising it to an aim as he spoke; but before he could finish his sentence he heard a rushing sound behind him, and on the next instant a pair of strong hands had caught his arms from behind and held them, while a second pair, equally strong, proceeded to bind them fast. Ernest was very strong—much stronger than the average of even strong men—but, he could do nothing towards overcoming a power thus unexpectedly and unfairly brought into operation against him.

    Dunwolf’s two ruffians had been hidden away behind a tall case of books directly back of where the youth had stood, and at a signal from their master they had acted—had acted so entirely in concert, and so adroitly that no human being, though he had been a giant, could have overcome their combined efforts towards capture. At the very first onset they had their victim at their mercy, he not having had a thought in that direction.

    As soon as Ernest realized that further struggling would be worse than useless, he gave over his efforts, and proudly lifted his head. His wrists had been tightly bound behind him, but he had not been gagged; he saw, however, as one of the ruffians stepped into sight, that means for closing his mouth had been prepared. From this he turned his gaze upon the treacherous knight, who stood directly before him. Dunwolf was the first to speak.

    “Well, young gentleman, I trust your mission to the grand duke was a success.”

    Bitter, burning words were crowding upon the victim’s lips for utterance, but a moment’s reflection told him that he would only lower himself by giving way to his passion. Doubtless his enemy could beat him in the exchange of vile epithets. In the end he spoke more simply and calmly than he could have believed possible a few seconds before.

    “Sir Pascal Dunwolf,” he said, looking the man straight in the eye, and without a quiver of either voice or person, “will you kindly inform me what, this means? What object have you in view in thus entrapping me?”

    “My object, young sir, is to prevent you from doing any more mischief. You have already put to death two of my best men.”

    “Pshaw! Be a gentleman, if you can; and remember that one of the chief qualifications for that character is truth.”

    “Eh! what do you mean by that?”

    “You know very well what I mean. When you say that 1 put to death two of your best men, you are speaking the worst kind of falsehood known— the twisting of stern truth into a contemptible lie.”

    “How! Do you call me a liar?”

    “I call you nothing. I tell you what you do; and you kuow that I speak truly.”

    “Enough! You have sealed your own fate. Oho! You were determined to go and see the grand duke. Did you see him?”

    The knight did not wait for an answer, but as he spoke he made a sign to his two executioners, and on the instant they proceeded to the work that had been given them to do. A thick scarf—a kind of Turkish shawl—was thrown over the prisoner’s head, brought down over his mouth and nose, and then securely and tightly knotted at the back of his neck. Then his sword was taken from him—his pistol he had dropped—after which the ruffians took him by the arms, one on each side, and awaited further orders.

    By this time the sun had been for quite a time below the horizon, and in order to see plainly it was necessary to light candles. This the lieutenant did with flint and steel; and when he had done it his chief sent him out to see that the way was clear. He was gone several minutes, but his report was favourable when he came back.

    “Go on,” said Dunwolf to his two brutal familiars. “Look to your hold upon him. He may be stronger and quicker than you think.”

    If the prisoner was strong at that moment, he was not likely to remain so a great while, for the compress over his mouth and nostrils was so nearly air-tight that he could scarcely breathe. By a mighty effort—an effort that exhausted the last atom of muscular power—he managed to draw enough into this lungs to keep up a sluggish circulation, but he felt that he could not live a great while so. They must have been simple brutes who could thus wantonly put him to useless torture; their ignorance could not excuse them.

    As Dunwolf spoke the grips of the ruffians closed more tightly upon Ernest’s arms; and they looked and acted as though they found pleasure in giving pain to another. They pulled him roughly around, and followed the lieutenant from the room out into the passage beyond, where, when their chief had come out and taken the lead, they turned to the right, very soon arriving at the head of a flight of descending stairs, down which they went, reaching a point that would have been utter darkness but for Franz’s candle.

    Here a better light was procured—a large torch, or flambeau—which was lighted by the candle, and which the knight then took into his own hand, bidding the others follow carefully as he should lead. He had been over the way he was to go within a few hours, so knew it well.

    And Ernest knew it. He knew he was being conducted down into the dungeons beneath the great tower. They were deep, dark, noisome crypts, partly hewn from the native rock, with walls so massive and brazen doors so thick and so strong, with triple plates and many bolts, that no human might or skill could prevail against them. As boy he had gazed into their dismal depths with horror; as man he had thought how dreadful imprisonment therein must be, little dreaming that he should ever be doomed to the terrible fate.

    “Look out!” cried the guide, as he came to a pass where the vaulted roof was so low that he was forced to stoop.

    In a moment more a double accident happened. One of the ruffians—he who held the prisoner’s right arm—found his head in contact with the low-hanging rock, and as a terrible imprecation broke from his lips, Ernest felt his own head brought up against the same obstruction. He uttered a quick, smothered groan, then bowed his head and was led on. The accident had proved a blessing—perhaps it had saved his life; for the thick, heavy muffler had caught against a projecting point of rock, lifting it so as to partially uncover his mouth. He was careful to make no sound, fearing that the gag would be replaced if he did. O, how grateful that breath of air was Until that moment it had seemed to him that he must give up. He could feel that his face was swollen, that his eyes were starting from their sockets, and that the last atom of strength was gone. Now, however, he filled his lungs to their utmost, and very soon felt his vitality returning.

    The next flight of stairs—a descent of rough rock, broken out from the native ledge on which the keep was built—after passing the low arch where the heads had been bumped, was the last. At the bottom they found themselves in a sort of well, or circular hallway, from which ran two narrow, vaulted passages, in opposite directions. Dunwolf turned to the right, and as the others followed, only one of the familiars could walk by the prisoner’s side, but the other came close behind, with a hand upon his shoulder, ready for action in case of need.

    Would they go to the utter extremity? the captive asked himself. He knew well the dungeon that lay at the end of that passage—one of the darkest and strongest of the strong places beneath the castle—a dungeon mostly hewn from the foundation rock, with only a single wall—that in front—of masonry. He knew it well. He had looked into it many times, but with never a thought of abiding therein.

    Yes,—to that dungeon the knight made his way. The door was open, and our hero could see that it had been opened very recently, as he saw the finger-marks on the moist surface. Here the knight stopped, standing aside so that the man Walbeck could pass in with the prisoner.

    The dungeon was very nearly square, not far from ten feet on a side—making it of fair size; the roof arching, and of heavy masonry. As has been already stated, the walls on three sides were of the native rock, the place having been hewn out from the solid ledge—only that side on which was the door was masonry. The door was of bronze, very thick, and firmly riveted, and armed on the outside with ponderous cross-bars and massive bolts. In the wall opposite the door had been cut an alcove, the bottom of which was about knee-high from the floor, and broad enough for a bed—also long enough; but that was all; there was no bed save the hard rock. There was nothing of wood in the place. Two seats were of stone—one a narrow shelf projecting from one of the other walls; the second, a moveable block that had been left from the debris of the builders.

    The Prophet, Emil Nolde, 1912 (cropped). Art Institute of Chicago. Public Domain (Wikiart).

    At a sign from Dunwolf the muffler was taken from the prisoner’s head; after which the false knight said:

    “Look ye, Meinherr—I am about to leave you in this snug, cosy place, where you will have an opportunity to reflect upon the past and make resolves for the future. I have no desire to give you unnecessary suffering. Your liberty is the only thing that I will take from you. In due time, you shall have food and drink brought to you; and a bed of good, clean straw; together with such other articles as may be needful for your comfort. And now I have one caution for you; your life I do not want; but if you make the first sign of a movement against any person sent to wait upon you, you will be shot down on the instant; or, if the man by you attacked chooses to defend himself and overcome you, the heaviest irons I can find shall be placed upon your limbs, and you be chained to yonder bolt, which I fancy was put there for that especial purpose. Are you ready, on those terms, to have the bond taken from your arms?”

    The youth answered simply in the affirmative, whereupon, at a sign from their chief, the familiars cast off the lashing from his wrists, thus freeing his limbs from restraint. His hands had become numb and swollen from the tightness of the cord, but the sense was one of great relief, nevertheless.

    “If I might ask a single favor at your hands, sir, I should be glad,” the prisoner said, respectfully.

    “Ask it,” returned the knight, evidently, impressed by the youth’s humble bearing.

    “I have never been subjected to the ordeal, sir; but I can fancy that the most terrible infliction of solitary confinement must be a never-ending darkness. If you would let me have one poor candle, and replace it when it is consumed, I will ask no more. Or, I will leave you to supply what else you will.”

    “You shall have the candle, Captain. I will send one down when I send your supper and your bed; and you shall have a flint and steel, and punk-wood.

    With that the ruffians left the dungeon, after which the door was shut and the ponderous fastenings made secure. Then came the dull echo of falling feet, growing less and less in the distance, until in the end, the prisoner was left alone with his thoughts, listening only to his own breathing, and the beating of his burdened heart. The darkness was utter. Truly, its continuance for a long time would be dreadful. It was too dark even for sleep. With his eyes tightly closed he could feel it like a pall, chilling him to the marrow. But he knew it was not for long, and he did not worry.

    He remembered where the seats were, and having found the wall, he felt his way to one of them, and sat down. His first thought thereafter was of his wrists. Already the pain had become less, and after a little rubbing and laying them for a time against the chill, damp rock, the numbness was gone, and his hands were free and well.

    Of sleep he had not thought at all; yet, when the pain was gone, a sense of fatigue gradually overpowered him. He had slept but very little during the previous night, spent at the inn at Baden-Baden; he had been early on the road, and had ridden during the long day, and no wonder that his lids were now heavy. He was thinking of Electra—of the baroness—of the outrage of which he was now the victim; and anon his thoughts became confused—sadly mixed—and—with his head pillowed against the hard rock, he fell asleep.

    And as he slept he dreamed. He dreamed that he was again on the road, on his homeward way from Baden-Baden. As he approached the castle, he saw the many windows and embrasures and loopholes brilliantly lighted. It had been until that scene, broad daylight; but now it was night, and the grim old castle lifted its walls and turrets into the surrounding darkness like a huge monster, with a thousand eyes of bright flame. Anon the pound of music came to his ears, and the voice of song. He spurred on his jaded steed, and when he had gained the court he asked the first whom he met what was the occasion of the revel.

    He was told that it was a wedding. Then, as he would have pushed on in hot haste, two ugly looking men, with heads like wolves, appeared in his path and barred his passage. On the instant he drew a pistol, and aimed at the nearest. He pulled the trigger, but only a flash in the pan followed. Upon that the monsters set up a loud, horrible laugh, at which he drew his sword and attacked them; and a wonderful thing followed. At the first sweep of his blade, both the wolves’ heads fell, cut off at one and the same stroke, after which he spurred on.

    He did not stop to leave his saddle; but as the uproar increased, and the song grew louder, he spurred on up the broad stone steps into the vestibule, his faithful beast obeying his slightest touch. And so he rode on until he had gained the open doorway of the great hall; and there he saw the wedding party. It was his darling being married to Sir Pascal Dunwolf. A short, fat, bacchanal priest had just pronounced the final words, and the new-made wife fell to the floor like one dead. As he would have plunged forward, with his reeking sword still in his hand, he felt a tremendous blow on the back of his head; a thunderbolt seemed to burst above him, and—

    He awoke. A bright light was in the dungeon, and the two ruffianly troopers who had captured and bound him and led him to his prison, one of whom stood before him, and the other was putting straw into the niche in the wall.

    “Mercy on me! how you sleep, Meinherr! That door made noise enough to wake a dead man. There’s your supper—bread and meat, and three eggs; likewise a bottle of wine and a jug of water; and there’s other things. I guess you’ll make out.”

    “The candle—have you—”

    “O! we didn’t forgot; there’s three of em in that bucket, and a candlestick to hold em up. How’s that?”

    The prisoner asked no questions. He simply thanked the men for their kindness, and having lighted one of his candles, he intimated to them that they might go.

    “Upon my life, you take it sort of easy, Meinherr.”

    “Why should l do otherwise? I am out of harm’s way here, with no watch to stand, and nobody to trouble me. If I can have enough to eat and drink, what more can I ask?”

    “By the great Jericho! there’s something in that!” the follow muttered. His intellect was just fit to grasp it, and he could appreciate it. ‘

    Yes, the youth did take it easy. After the soldiers were gone, and bolted and barred the door behind them, he went to the corner of the dungeon at the foot of the niche, where he went down upon his knees, holding the candle close to the floor, apparently in search of something which he was very eager to find. Whatever it was, he quickly found it, as was evident from the exclamation of satisfaction that escaped him.

    Then he returned to the little stone ledge, where he had laid his supper, and proceeded to eat a hearty meal, vastly better satisfied with the situation, if appearances were to be relied upon, than was the man who had brought it about.

    Notes and Reference

    • defiles: noun, from ‘defilade’, which is a protection (in this case, in terms of the castle’s fortifications) against ‘enfilading fire’, or particular directions of artillery attack. See Wikia Military
    • noisome: disgusting, ill-smelling (Century Dictionary.
    • familiar: close to the sense, “a person attached to the household of a high official” (finedictionary.com)
    • punk-wood: ‘punk’ apparently reduced from ‘spunk’, same L. root as ‘sponge’ (spongia), a kind of tinder made from a fungus, or by timber affected by a fungus, so as to become light and porous, thus easily lit (Century Dictionary).
    • pall: from L. pallium: robe, mantle, cloak.
    • anon: soon.
    • embrasure: In fortification: “An aperture with slant sides in a wall or parapet, through which cannon are pointed and discharged; a crenelle” (finedictionary.com).
    • loophole: hole in a fortified wall for observation or firing (finedictionary.com).
    • reeking: generally means strongly smelling, of course. However, derives from German, Icelandic, Danish words for vapour, smoke, steam, etc., so perhaps better read here as an unreal, metaphorical sense, along the lines of ‘steaming’.
    • By the great Jericho!: 2 Sam. X. 4,5: ‘Wherefore David took Hanun’s servants, and shaved off the one half of their beards,… and sent them away… And the king said, Tarry at Jericho until your beards be grown, and then return.’ Thus, a place of tarrying, hence ironical reference to a prison or to a place far away (such as Jericho).

    Ben Tuft, ‘Secret Nazi nuclear bunker discovered in Austria by filmmaker‘, Independent, 2014.

    NIGHTSHIFT byTony Reck © 2025

  • Cobb’s False Knight: 8. Another Trap

    Cobb’s False Knight: 8. Another Trap

    Confusion in the Castle. The plot thickens, while dastardly villains conspire. Two assassins already dead in the forest, replacements dispatched. Guns that shouldn’t have been working, but which our hero had repaired… History is of course full of foul assassinations. Have you heard of any that occurred in that part of Germany? There were perhaps a few. Not with guns that shouldn’t have been working, but perhaps with guns which should not even have been there …

    I don’t mean Stauffenberg’s failed attempt to eliminate Hitler of course, he had tried to do that with a bomb. No, far more recent. In the 1970s, the “Baader Meinhof Gang“, a nasty and extreme bunch of nutcase terrorists that had called themselves the “Red Army Faction” had been causing mayhem. They murdered a Federal Attorney General by the name of Buback and tried to kill an American general by firing a rocket propelled grenade at his car.

    Bomb threats and sightings here and there resulted in trigger happy police with machine guns all over Germany. When many of them had finally been captured, the hard core having been placed in the high security wing of Stuttgart prison, the concern was that those inside had still been orchestrating terror plots via secret messages transported by their legal counsels.

    Red Army Faction leader Ulrike Meinhof (1934-76) when a young journalist, in 1964. Source: Wikimedia Commons

    In the opinion of some in power, they had to go. How do you kill known terrorists in maximum security wings of several prisons? Some say, a “suicide plot” was hatched. On the 18th of October, 1977, gang leaders Andreas Baader, Gudrun Ensslin and Jan-Karl Raspe allegedly shot themselves inside their cells, in different cells, at exactly the same time, with pistols that had allegedly been concealed behind skirting boards.

    A fourth, Irmgard Modeller, survived the attempt. Some say that they had been murdered. How could anyone have got multiple guns past metal detectors and body searches? To hide them in holes dug into concrete walls and behind skirting boards? You can see why some suspected a plot by the authorities to rid themselves of a perceived (and probably quite real) ongoing threat to state security…

    Now what will Cobb’s replacement assassins do? Make it look like Ernest von Linden killed himself? While poisoning is perhaps the preferred method of assassinating any possible threat to today’s Russian Mafia state, it was always seen as the preferred method of killing for females. Kaiser Otto III was possibly poisoned in the year 1002 by a woman whose husband he had put to death. She had allegedly sent him a pair of gloves, the insides of which she had laced with poison, but this was never proven. He died of a sudden fever at the age of just 22.

    Should our hero be careful about what he eats and drinks or wears while inside Electra’s castle?

    CHAPTER 8

    ANOTHER TRAP

    Let us now look back and see what Sir Pascal Dunwolf had been doing the while that we have been with Ernest on his adventurous journey.

    To the very summit of the highest pinnacle of the castle the knight made his way as soon as the youth had departed, and here watched in order to make sure that here had been no deception—that he was really and truly going towards the capital, and not into the opposite mountain. Having satisfied himself that all was right in that direction, he came down and ate his breakfast, after which he took a stroll on the battlements, with his lieutenant for a companion.

    “My dear Franz, you are looking unusually glum this morning. What has happened to give you such a turn?”

    “Pshaw! It’s nothing, Meinherr. I am not feeling just right; that’s all.”

    ”You have not had a bout with Balthazar so early as this, have you?”

    “Eh! Who told you that? Has the little traitor betrayed me?”

    “Easy, easy, Lieutenant. The little rascal has told me nothing. In fact, I have not set eyes on him since I arose.”

    “Then how—”

    “Hold! I’ll make a clean breast of it. I last evening gave Balthazar a piece of work to do for me, promising him, if he was successful, that I would bestow upon him the wherewith to enable him to take revenge on you at dice. He did the work—did it completely—and I gave him the money before I was out of bed this morning. And now, hark ye: If in my present undertaking I succeed as I think I shall, I will give you far more than I gave to him.”

    “Ha! you have the young tiger on the hip [at a disadvantage], eh?”

    “Aye. What did you suppose I sent Roger and Otto in the forest for?”

    “I knew what you sent them for, but I did not know what their chances of success were.”

    “Ha—they have a sure thing. The boy’s wings are clipped entirely—the charges of his pistols withdrawn, and they so left that no human eye can detect the work without trial.”

    “Good! With him out of the way our work is wonderfully simplified. And now for our renowned chieftan—Thorbrand. You have not yet heard from him?”

    “No, and I am a little anxious. He was to have reported to me immediately on my arrival.”

    “Very likely he has been detained away. A man upon whose head is fixed the price of a prince’s ransom cannot go and come at will.”

    “But,” said the knight, with a dubious shake of the head, “the old inn-keeper at Hasslach told me that Thorbrand in company with his chief lieutenant—Wolfgang—stopped with him only two nights before our arrival, and that they were on their way towards this castle. He said, further, that they spoke of me—that is, spoke of an expected arrival from Baden-Baden, about which they were somewhat anxious. So, you see, the chieftain must be somewhere near here.”

    “It cannot be,” ventured Franz, “that— he— would—”

    “What do you mean?” cried Dunwolf, as his subaltern came to a dead stop. “Do you mean to ask if Thorbrand could prove treacherous? By all the bones of all the saints! If I thought he could do that— But, pshaw! Why do I doubt? By our compact he has everything to gain and not a thing to lose; while I— all! it would be a very sore thing for me were I to fail in this.”

    “If Thorbrand is true, and the barons of Wurtemberg keep faith with us, failure is impossible,” said the lieutenant with entire assurance.”

    “You are right. Thorbrand will soon show himself, I have no doubt; and meantime I must think of other matters. The sooner I secure the hand of the heiress the better for me.”

    “And the better for me, I trust, added the other, significantly.

    “Yes, my true heart—I will make it a golden occasion for you, never fear. And with that the twain descended into the court, the knight remarking, on the way down:

    “By the way,— this, I believe, is Sabbath day. Suppose we give Father Alexis an opportunity to manifest himself.”

    The lieutenant thought the plan a good one. They ought, he said, to assume the garb of sanctity once in a while.

    Sir Pascal had brought with him a priest—a man of middle age, reared in camps, who had spent several years of his life in the saddle as a trooper, and who could now lead in a religious service, or in the wassail of high carnival. He was a short, thick necked, rotund specimen of humanity, not absolutely evil at heart, and incapable of a great crime, but ready and willing to serve the master who fed and clothed him, and never curtailed his allowance of wine, even though such service might rend the heart strings of another.

    Towards the middle of the forenoon the herald sounded the call for the assembling of all who heard within the chapel, and the priest in full canonicals, accompanied by a choir he had selected from among the musical ones of the troopers, made his way to the altar, and in due time commenced the service.

    “The devil is selling indulgences” (1490-1510), Jenský kodex. Source: Wikimedia Commons

    The baroness and Electra, when they had been told what was going forward, considered what they had better do. It had been their custom, in pleasant weather, to attend mass in the old church in the village; and when they could not go out, good Father Paul would come up to the castle and perform mass in the chapel. Of course, they could not, with Ernest absent, go to the village; nor would they ask Father Paul to come to them; so, after talking the matter over for a time they concluded that they would call together the female servants, and attend the service of the strange priest. And this they did.

    Sir Pascal received them very politely at the chapel entrance; and, moreover, they became interested, despite their prejudices, in the strange priest’s homily. Yet his fervid speech, his brilliant flights of fancy, and his pleasing pictures of life, did not blind them to his entire lack of true godliness. His discourse was rather flippant than sincere, and strained for effect, and they were glad when it had been brought to an end, and they were permitted to return to their own apartments.

    “Mamma,” said the daughter, “did you mark how Sir Pascal looked at us?”

    “I did, my child; and I thought when marked I the evil glance he gave us, that nothing would induce me to remain here if Ernest were not very soon to return.”

    “But, would the bad man suffer us to leave, do you think?”

    “I should not ask him. There are methods of leaving the castle without disturbing sentinel or warder.”

    “Certainly, l know. Were you ever in the underground passes, mamma?”

    “Once. Shortly before your father went away to his death he took me through them.”

    “Does Ernest know the secret?”

    “Yes. He is thoroughly instructed. There are passages which I do not understand; but I have a key to them all, which your father had prepared on purpose for me. Ernest knows every secret, I believe; and for that reason I have felt no anxiety about instructing you.”

    While the ladies had been making their way back to their apartments Sir Pascal had ascended to the summit of the tower overlooking the path which the young captain had taken, out upon which he now looked for the return of the two bravos. If they had done their work as they ought they should be on their way back by this time. But he saw nothing of them. After remaining until he had become weary, he descended, and sent up a servant, whom he directed to keep strict watch for the return of two messengers he had sent out, and to give him intelligence instantly when they were seen.

    The hours passed; the knight ate his dinner; after which he went up to take a look from the tower. He found the lookout awake and watchful, but with nothing at all to report. Ten minutes or more he stood peering away down the mountain path; and then, nervous and uneasy, he again descended, and considered over the matter.

    It was now past two o’clock in the afternoon. Certainly, his men should have done their work, and returned, long ere this. If they had stopped, and intercepted Von Linden at the point he had laid down for them, they would have met him within two hours after he had set forth. Certainly, they should have had him in their hands by nine o’clock. Then they should have dispatched him at once, and returned before noon.

    While he was thus discussing the matter within himself, his hunchback page came in.

    “Balthazar! Look me in the eye. Now tell me, did you draw the charges from Captain von Linden’s pistols?”

    “Why do you ask me a question like that? I have a mind not to answer you. But, as I see you are in trouble, I will relieve you.”

    And he then went on and told the story of his morning’s adventure. When he had done, his master exclaimed:

    “I believe you, sirrah. But why don’t my men return?”

    “Look ye, brave sir,” the page replied, with a look of keen intelligence, “you should remember that we are dealing with a man who has his wits about him. I can swear that he left this castle this morning without a grain of powder, saving only the priming, and without a bullet in either one of his pistols; for I kept my eye upon him from the time I drew the charges to the moment of his leaping into the saddle; but who shall say how far he rode in ignorance of his defenceless condition? I am told that the old wolves in this forest are bold and fearless, and that often a veteran will sit on his haunches while horse and rider come very near to him. Suppose the captain should have had an experience of that kind—what more likely than that he should have drawn a pistol and thought to fire upon the brute?”

    Dunwolf wanted to hear no more. Bidding the dwarf to hold his peace, he hastened away to the barracks, where he called out two of the most reliable of his sworn men—men sworn to stand by him to the bitter end, let him lead where he would, so that he led them to plunder. These men—Zillern and Walbeck by name—were directed to saddle and bridle their horse immediately, and report to him at the great gate.

    And at the gate he awaited them. When they came he told them what they were to do. Roger Vadas and Otto Orson had been sent out upon the road early that morning, on a particular mission. They should have returned long ago.

    “You know the paths toward Zell?” said the knight.

    Yes, they knew them well.

    “Then ride on till you find those men, or some trace of them. In the deep vale, beyond the first mountain, they were to stop. A small stream of water runs through it. Search well and carefully in that neighborhood.”

    The sun was setting, and Sir Pascal was fairly beside himself with anxiety, when his two messengers last sent out returned. They found him in the apartment which he had appropriated as an office, and his hunchback page was with him.

    “Well,” as he saw one of the men making a search in his pocket, “what have you to tell me?”

    “Meiherr,”answered the man called Zillern—the same who had been searching in his pocket—”we found nothing until we had reached the top of the high ridge that snakes down from the Schwarzwolf Mountains, and there, on the grass, by the wayside, I picked up these bits of paper, which, as you can see, have never been wet by either dew or rain, but which have certainly—”

    Before he could finish the sentence the dwarf had sprung nimbly forward, and taken the crumpled bits of paper from his hand.

    “Oho! D’ye see, my lord and master? The very paper I tore from one of the gallant captain’s—”

    The knight gave him a rap on the side of the head to stop his tongue, and then bade the trooper go on with his story. The truth was already breaking upon him. If the captain had reloaded his pistols the summit of that spur, the end was easy to guess; for not only would he be efficiently armed, but he would have had a warning that would lead him to be on his guard, and give him to know the mission of Vadas and Orson the moment he should see them.

    “Go on,” he said to Zillern, clutching his hands tightly in his effort to hide his deep agitation.

    “Well, Meinherr, after I had picked up the paper we kept on down into the valley, and when we came to the brook, there, by the side of the path, we found the men we were looking for, both of ’em shot through the heart!”

    “Shot?”

    “Aye, Meinherr, by a hand that must have been wonderfully steady, and with a keen pair of eyes behind it. Orson’s pistols had both been fired, but neither of Vadas’s, though he had drawn one from his holster. We put the bodies out of sight, and covered them with leaves and brushwood, leaving them to be got tonight.”

    Dunwolf took a turn across the room, after the story had been told, and when he stopped he had so far regained his composure that he spoke very calmly.

    “Look ye, my men,” he said, with a strong glance in their coarse, brutal faces, “can you hold your tongues?”

    They asserted their undoubted ability in that direction.

    “Because,” the knight continued, “I want you to maintain an utter silence about what you have this day heard and seen in relation to those two men. If you are asked where you have been, simply say that you have been on business for the governor, and suffer them to ask no more questions. We will have the bodies buried where they are. Do you think you can smuggle out a couple of spades without exposing them?”

    “Aye, sir, we can do that; and if you would give us a bottle of good old wine, it would help us. It’s a kind of dubersome work, and a bit of something to shorten the time would make it easier.”

    Without question Sir Pascal turned to the sideboard behind him, and brought forth a bottle that had never been opened. This the men took, and went their way, promising that the bodies should be buried, and that none others should be the wiser.

    “Now, my master, what will you do?” demanded the dwarf, when he and the knight had been left alone.” He exercised a jester’s privilege of freedom when he felt in the mood, and as his wits were keen and his advice often of value, no offence was taken.

    “What can I do?” was the response, spoken half to himself.

    “Of course,” pursued Balthazar, “the youngster will make his way straight to Baden-Baden.”

    “Aye, and there’s the mischief.”

    “The mischief I don’t see, my lord. If you fear he will fill the ears of the grand duke with his complaints, I can inform you that he will not do any such thing.”

    “How? Not do it?” cried the knight, with a violent start.

    “He cannot do it; for his majesty isn’t there. Oho! see what I learned for you by remaining a night behind you when you left the capital! The grand duke has gone to Heidelberg. That I can swear.”

    “Von Linden may keep on after him.”

    “I don’t believe it, sir. He will learn at Baden-Baden that the chances are in favor of his losing the prince, even at Heidelberg, for I don’t think he intended to stop there.”

    “In the name of wonder how did you learn all this?”

    “Why, don’t you know that Leopold’s page is my very dear friend? He told me all about it.”

    “But how could you have seen him if he had gone to—”

    “Pshaw! There it is. He didn’t go, and he was full of wrath. His master wouldn’t take him.”

    “Balthazar, you are a jewel! You have given me great relief.”

    “And now, Meinherr, let me advise you to clip that young gentleman’s wings with your own hands. Don’t trust any more of your troopers.”

    “What!— I—”

    “O! don’t you understand? I do not mean that you are to shed his blood. Are there not strong dungeons somewhere beneath this ancient pile where he can be put behind bolts and bars that will hold him safely?”

    “Balthazar, if ever Franz empties your purse again come to me and I will fill it. I don’t offer it now, because I know you broke him at your last essay.”

    “Oho! he has been complaining to you, then.”

    “No, no; I laughed at his sober face, and he confessed the truth. Ah! who is this?”

    It was Franz himself, come to inform his chief that he had just passed two men out at the smaller postern with spades. He hoped he had done right.

    Sir Pascal relieved his mind at once, after which they sat at the table, and Balthazar waited upon them, filling their glasses as they drank, and at the same time taking his own glass as he liked’.

    Later the knight called his officers, with Father Alexis, to join him at supper, and there he made a night of it.

    * * *

    On the following morning—the morning of Monday—Sir Pascal made arrangement with his lieutenant for the keeping of the men-at-arms who belonged to the castle away from the gates. He wished them during the day and the night, and for another day and another night, to be under the charge of his own men. He was anxious that Von Linden, when he returned, should be brought directly to him, and, if it were possible, he wanted his coming to be kept a secret from the young man’s friends. Franz promised that he would do all that lay in his power.

    Dunwolf gave the youth one day of tarrying in Baden-Baden, and if he should conclude to return speedily to Deckendorf, he would come on Tuesday.

    Twice during the two days—Monday and Tuesday—Sir Pascal saw the baroness, and once he met the daughter. On these occasions he was very polite, and, what was of greater moment to them, he allowed them to pass without forcing upon them his conversation.

    As Tuesday’s sun drew near to its setting the dark-browed knight paced up and down his office in a depth of anxiety that would not let him remain seated. At the very slightest sound he stopped and listened, and as nothing came of it, he uttered an oath and resumed his walk. At length, however, his terrible anxiety was relieved by Balthazar, who came down from the turret with the light of gladness in his wicked eyes.

    “Your man is coming my lord,” said the dwarf.

    “Alone?”

    “Yes.”

    “Where is he now?”

    “He broke cover not five minutes ago, and his horse is walking up the hill. He will be at the gate in ten minutes from the present moment.”

    “Make haste. Send Franz to me; and then call Zillern and Walbeck—the men who went in search—”

    “All right, my lord; I know them. Is that all?”

    “That is all at present. Fly for once, my lad.”

    The dwarf glided out with wonderful agility, and five minutes later the lieutenant was in the room.

    “To the gate, Franz; and when Captain von Linden arrives bring him hither. I leave it to your own wits to invent the best method of bringing him.”

    “I will find a way, sir.”

    “Let half a dozen safe men be on the watch, at a respectful distance, so that if a forcible arrest should become absolutely necessary, it can be done without failure. Mark you: He must not be permitted to see the women.”

    The lieutenant promised that he would look well to it, and then took his leave. As he went out, the men Zillern and Walbeck, came in—the same who had been sent in search of Vadas and Orson, They were armed with short, heavy clubs of ironwood—just the weapon for the work they had to do.

    Dunwolf had not quite the heart to order the youth’s assassination within those walls. He would seize him and lock him up where no human being could find him, after which he could consider at his leisure. Perhaps, when he had made the heiress of Deckendorf his wife, he might set him free.

    The two ruffians had scarcely received their instructions, and effectually concealed themselves, when the jingle of the lieutenant’s spurs was heard in the adjacent hall.

    Notes and Reference

    • on the hip: at a disadvantage (originally a wrestling reference) (Collins Dictionary).
    • bravos: assassins, murderers (New Century Dictionary).
    • Zell: located in the Central Black Forest.
    • dubersome: doubtful, tough, cumbersome.
    • essay: attempt.

    “Who were Germany’s Red Army Faction Militants?” BBC News, 19 Jan, 2016

    This edition © 2020 Furin Chime, Oliver Raven

  • Cobb’s False Knight: 7. Cause for Alarm

    Cobb’s False Knight: 7. Cause for Alarm

    Baden Baden. The German Wagga Wagga? For the non-Australians among you, the latter is a town in western New South Wales which does not derive its name from “the Aboriginal word for Italians” (an old joke based on the no longer so insulting term “wog”). But what of Baden Baden? A city in the state of Baden, which is famous for being a health spa, where, in Cobb’s time, upper class Germans used to “take the waters”.

    Poster (1924): Water-fountains, the Black Forest, and a red sunset, representing the health resort Wildbad im Schwarzwald (Baden-Württemberg). Colour lithograph after A. Fischinger. CC by 4.0. Wellcome Images

    In the Middle Ages, it was also a spa town, and had been since the times of Roman emperor Caracalla, as excavated ruins below the New Castle have proven. The German word for taking a bath is “baden”; so does the funny sounding double name simply refer to the town in Baden where people take baths? With such a history, one could be forgiving for thinking it did, but it’s just an older plural form for “the city of Baden in the state of Baden”. Whether you go for one in mud, water, or in the casino, the name of the town has nothing to do with taking a bath.

    Casino? Yes, there’s also been a casino there since the 1830s, so Cobb would have heard of it. Surely you can’t go for a bath in the casino. Well, perhaps not, except for diving into roulette, baccarat or blackjack, but the word “baden” also has another meaning in German, “baden gehen“: not only to go for a bath or to go swimming, but “to go under“, in the sense of losing everything, which one often does in a casino.

    Hopefully, our hero’s hopes won’t “go swimming” in this German sense in Baden Baden because of the recipient of his letter, the Grand Duke, being away in Heidelberg. Oh, by the way, there’s an old German schlock of a song called “Du hast Dein Herz in Heidelberg verloren” (“You lost your heart in Heidelberg”, meaning not that you went there for a transplant of this vital organ, but that you fell in love there). Will our hero get shot through the heart in this supposedly most romantic German town? Surely, not, but this terribly sentimental old tune reminded me of another when there was mention of the Grand Duke being saved from drowning off the Island of Capri.

    Rudi Schuricke – Capri Fischer 1943

    I’ve added a link to this cheesier song about the island: “Wenn bei Capri die rote Sonne im Meer versinkt” (“When the red sun sinks into the sea near Capri”), which a German comedian turned into “Wenn bei Capri die rote Nonne im Meer versinkt“, which, sung to the same tune, translates to, “When the Red Nun sinks into the sea near Capri”. Perhaps you could change it to a Grand Duke almost sinking beneath the waves near Capri, instead of a suicidal or perhaps tipsy, drowning communist nun? — the former, however, being allegedly saved by none other than Sir Pascal Dunwolf?

    Is it just me, but after remembering two terrible tunes, do things not bode well for the desperate mission of Ernest von Linden?

    CHAPTER 7

    CAUSE FOR ALARM

    As Captain von Linden came near to the crystal stream the two ruffians pulled up the heads of their horses, and faced them about to the northward — towards their objective point; but the youth clearly detected some signal and a response pass between them, and he was sure they loosened their pistols in the holsters at the same time.

    Ernest’s only trouble was this: He could not, in good conscience, fire a deadly shot upon one who had not made a demonstration of the same character against himself; and yet, if he waited for that, he was liable to he shot down like a dog before he could make preparations for his defence. He thus felt it to be a critical moment, knowing, as he did, that his life hung by a thread.

    Once more, as the two men turned their horses as though to ride forward, he recalled all the circumstances to mind. He passed them critically in review, from the beginning to the end — from Sir Pascal’s prompt refusal, when his journey to the court of the grand duke had been first proposed, to the present time. He could now understand why the knight had so readily and with such apparent cheerfulness withdrawn his opposition to the visit. He had allowed him to set out upon his journey for the very purpose of leading him into this trap. In every way he stood dangerously in Dunwolf’s path of greed and ambition; and, if he could be stricken down in the wild depths of the dark forest, none save himself and his sworn tools would be the wiser.

    There could be no mistaking the signs as he had thus passed them in review, and his resolution was quickly taken.

    Even at a little risk he must make the rascals avow themselves, to which end he rode on a few paces beyond the brook, and there ordered them to halt. They obeyed instantly, and, without further orders, turned about and faced him.

    “Roger Vadas, answer me. Wherefore have you hung upon my steps? — why thus waylaid me? Seek not to deceive me, for I know more than you think. Will you speak?”

    The man thus addressed glanced towards his companion, but gained no help from the stolid look he there met. Then he looked towards the young officer, and, with a grin almost idiotic in its utter brutishness, he said:

    “Look ye, Meinherr, I s’pose w’eve a right to travel this path, haven’t we? If you don’t like to see us ahead, just go on yourself, and we will follow.”

    “That does not happen to suit me,” said Ernest, “and,” he added, drawing a pistol from his right-hand hoister, and cocking it, “you will answer my question, or I will put you beyond the power of answering forever-more.”

    “Oho! That’s the business, is it? I rather think I can take a hand of the same kind.”

    Then, to his companion, as he drew a pistol from its case, he said:

    “Now’s our time Otto! Let’s finish it quickly!”

    To hesitate longer would have been simply suicidal.

    “Hold!” thundered the youth, rising in his stirrups, and taking a sure aim. “Mark me. If you raise that pistol I shall fire, and I am not apt to miss my mark.”

    “Fire away, Captain. Such things as those you’ve got won’t hurt.” And he raised
    his weapon to take aim.

    That was enough for our hero. It told him that he had not been mistaken in his judgment, and that his life was aimed at. With a quick, sure aim, his finger pressed the trigger, and this time the faithful weapon did not fail him. A sharp report broke upon the air, and the ruffian reeled, and fell backward, lying for a moment supine upon his horse’s back, and then rolling off upon the ground.

    With a fierce oath Otto Orson raised his pistol and fired; but he was not a marksman. In his mingled wrath and astonishment he had discharged his piece without due caution, and the bullet flew wide of its mark.

    “Beware!” shouted the youth, as the ruffian drew his second pistol. “You are a dead man if you —“

    A fierce oath was the response; the pistol was raised, but not fired. “Quick as thought Ernest had covered the mans heart, and when he saw that quarter was not to be thought of he pulled the trigger, and ruffian Number Two fell from his saddle, his weapon being discharged as he went down.

    Our hero now dismounted and went to where lay the man last shot. He struggled to his elbow as the youth came up, and pressed a hand over the sore spot on his breast.

    “Ah! Captain,” he groaned gaspingly, “you’ve done for me! Your pistols were loaded.”

    “Of course they were loaded,” Ernest said, at the same time lifting the man’s head and offering him a drink from his flask. You did not suppose I travelled with empty pistols, did you?”

    “But,” gargled the expiring wretch, brightening somewhat under the stimulating influence of the cordial, “you said Balthazar came to your chamber with the letter.”

    “Ah! — and he was to have drawn the charges, was he?”

    “O! — O! — O! What care I now? Yes, he was to have done that thing- Sir Pascal — 0! him! — swore that it should be done.”

    “And Sir Pascal sent you out to waylay and kill me?”

    “Yes, yes. O! If I’d known that your pistols were —“

    Ernest offered him another pull at the flask, but he could not swallow. His eyes glared wildly for a moment; his lips paled arid parted; a deep moan escaped him, another imprecation, half uttered, upon the man who had sent him to his death, and he breathed his last.

    The youth arose, and went to the side of the other; but he was beyond human aid. He had been shot through the heart, and had died instantly.

    For a little time Ernest gazed upon his work in solemn silence. It was not a pleasant thought that he had taken two human lives; but he could not blame himself for the deed. He was only sorry that the deeper, darker villain who had planned the wickedness had not himself come out to execute it. However, upon looking down upon the two faces, and marking the characters unmistakably stamped thereon, he felt in his heart that the world would be the grainer in their deaths.

    He pulled the bodies on the side of the path, leaving them in such position that any who might be sent out in search of them would readily find them; then he reloaded his pistols and resumed his journey, destined to no more adventure on the road.

    Baden-Baden, by Edward Harrison Compton, 1912. Public domain. Source: Wikimedia Commons.

    It was after nightfall when he reached Baden-Baden — too late to think of waiting upon the grand duke on that day — so he sought a comfortable inn, where he was acquainted, and secured lodgings. On the following morning his first movement, after having eaten his breakfast, was to call upon the banker of the baroness, from whom he obtained all the money he required, and then he bent his steps to the ducal residence. But only disappointment awaited him. The grand duke had gone to Heidelberg, and none could tell when he would return; and he was further informed that it was seriously in contemplation to remove the seat of government to that old city. The ancient palace of the Electors Palatine was being repaired and refurnished, and in all probability Leopold would ere long make it his permanent abode.

    Residing at Baden-Baden and connected with the court, was a justice, named Arnbeck, who had in other years been Ernest’s tutor, and upon him our hero determined to call, thinking he might gain information that would be of value.

    Herr Arnbeck was an elderly man; a professor in the college in his younger days, and now a judge in the higher court of law. He had been tutor of Leopold, the present grand duke, having in that capacity accompanied him during a two or three years’ residence abroad. He received Ernest with marked kindness, glad always to meet those pupils whom he had loved and respected; and he cheerfully offered any assistance in his power to render.

    After a brief conversation upon current topics, chiefly of the grand duke and his contemplated change of residence, the young man stated the particular business that had brought him to Baden-Baden. He knew that his hearer was to be trusted, and that his sympathy would-be with him: so he told the story plainly from beginning to end; told of his love Electra von Deckendorf, of their betrothment at the baron’s own desire; told how they had grown up in love, looking upon marriage as a settled fact; and then he told of the coming of Sir Pascal Dunwolf, together with the strange plan of the grand duke for his marriage with the beautiful heiress.

    Arnbeck listened with deep interest, asking several questions for further information, and in the end he was sensibly affected.

    Porträt Caspar David Friedrichs (1840) by Caroline Bardua. Public domain. Source: Wikimedia Commons

    “My dear boy,” he said, speaking with something of the old school-day familiarity, “had one whom I had not known told me your story I should have doubted its correctness, but I cannot doubt you; and moreover the whole thing bears the stamp of fact. Let me tell you one thing in the outset: Leopold was unfortunate enough to have his life saved by this Sir Pascal Dunwolf. It happened in the Bay of Naples. Sir Pascal had been appointed on Leopold’s suite by his father, the Grand Duke Rudolf. Off the island of Capri my dear pupil was knocked overboard by the jibing of a boom, and Pascal, who had been sitting by his side, leaped into the sea, and upheld him until the sailors could bring the boat around and come up with them.”

    “But surely,” said Ernest,”he would not on that account suffer —“

    The old justice put out his hand.

    “Listen to me, my son. Think no evil of Leopold. He is young and impulsive; his affections are strong, and his gratitude deep and abiding. He never forgets a favor. So I can see how he has hoped to bestow a benefit upon the man to whom he owes so much. You may be sure, however, that Dunwolf has misrepresented matters to the grand duke. Was he ever at the castle before? Did the baroness know him of old?”

    He was there several times, I believe, in the baron’s time. I think he was attachcd to the staff of Rudolf.”

    “Yes — as due of his aides. There is no doubt in my mind that he has represented to Leopold that he would be warmly welcomed by both the baroness and her daughter. He had probably seen the young lady.”

    “Yes. He had seen her at court. She was there with her mother about two years ago.”

    After a little further discussion of the subject it was arranged that Ernest should remain and dine with his old tutor, and meantime he — the tutor — would go out and make enquiries. Business called him to court, and he would there investigate.

    Herr Arnbeck was gone longer than he had anticipated; and when he returned there was a cloud upon his face which he could not hide; but he would say nothing until after they had eaten their dinner; nor would there have been opportunity, for, on entering the eating-room, they met there the justice’s wife and two daughters, all of whom remembered the visitor well and kindly, and even affectionately.

    At length Herr Arnbeck and Ernest were again alone together, the latter being very anxious to know what his aged friend and counsellor had to say to him. The host did not offer his visitor a seat; but, standing before him, he laid a hand kindly and paternally upon his shoulder, saying as he did so:

    “My dear boy I have made all possible inquiry, and such information as I have is at your service. Sir Pascal did certainly represent to the grand, duke — in short, he told him, in direct terms, — that the Baroness von Deckendorf would gladly welcome him as a son-in-law; and that she was the more anxious since her daughter had conceived an unfortunate attachment for a vagabond hunter, who, in all probability, belonged to the band of the notorious Thorbrand. This he told her so soberly, and with so much of apparent feeling, picturing in vivid colors the grief and chagrin of the outraged mother, — that Leopold believed him, and at once turned his attention to mending the matter, which he would do by exercising his regal prerogative of guardian of the orphan heiress, and bestowing her hand upon the valiant knight.

    Several times during this brief recital the youth had seemed ready to go wild in his wrathful indignation; but thought brought deeper and calmer feeling; and his first coherent speech was of what course he should pursue. Would it be well for him to push on to Heidelberg, and see the grand duke?

    “No,” said Arnbeck, with a solemn shake of the head. Though I am confident Leopold would givn you quick relief, were you to see him, yet you had better not waste time in running after him. It is his plan to visit Wurtemberg before he returns, to make investigation into the matter of an uprising — a revolt — led by the very Thorbrand of whom we have spoken.”

    “I have heard a whispering of something of that kind,” said Ernest, “but I gave it no credit.”

    “Nor did I, at first, returned the justice; “but I am now forced to the belief that there is much to fear, if prompt measures are not taken to nip the mischief in the bud. In the depths of the Schwarzwald, on the confines of the two principalities, there is a large number of disaffected people, with no grievance save poverty, who are ready to join the robbers, thus making a host capable of terrible work of plunder and devastation. It was to look after this rebellion, and to assist in crushing it; and, afterwards, to hold the uneasy ones in subjection, that Dunwolf was sent to Deckendorf.”

    “My dear old friend,” said our hero, with a proud flush in his face, and a kindling of his truthful eyes, “I may say to you what I would not say to another. Leopold of Baden had better trust me with that command, than trust the man he has sent thither.”

    “I believe you, my dear boy; and I will bring it to pass, if I can. Meantime, my advice to you is, — Return at once to Deckendorf. Since that bad man has been so boldly wicked as to attempt your life, there is no telling what he may do next. Now that he fancies he has put you out of the way he may carry a high hand with the marriage. With the commission as given him by the grand duke, and the consent to the union therein implied, there is nothing in the world to prevent him from forcing the marriage at his will. He has only to find a priest ready and willing to do his wicked work, and they, I am sorry to say, are plenty. So, my son, — back to the castle, and look to those who may need your protection.”

    For a little time the startled youth was utterly unable to speak. So confounded was he that he could scarcely think. The danger that threatened his beloved had come upon him like a thunderbolt from a clear sky. He had not dreamed of such a possibility. The idea that any living man, less than the emperor, or the grand duke himself, could do such a deed as force an unhallowed, unwelcome marriage upon the heiress of Deckendorf, would have been too wild and ridiculous for belief.

    “Herr Arnbeck!” he gasped, as soon as he could command speech, “would such a marriage as that — forced upon the lady against the earnest protest of herself and her mother — be valid?”

    “I am pained to say, Yes. Electra von Deckendorf is, in the eye of the law, a ward of the grand duke, and he has given his consent to her union with Pascal Dunwolf, which consent the prospective husband has in his possession in writing, in the prince’s own hand. You can see for yourself the power possessed by that dark-browed knight. But, mark you, he must act quickly if he hopes to succeed in his nefarious purpose; for, as I have promised you, the moment Leopold knows the truth, that moment Dunwolf’s power falls.”

    “O! why is not the grand duke here? Why can I not find him? Heaven have mercy!” And the quivering youth wrung his hands in the uttermost depths of anguish.

    “Hush!” said the aged justice, laying a hand upon his arm. “Be up and doing. Do you look to Deckendorf, and I will look for the grand duke. I know you will not find him if you go to Heidelberg. I shall hear from him on the arrival of his first budget, and I will not fail to notify him.”

    With a mighty effort Ernest recovered himself, and as soon as he could think consecutively, and speak coherently, he thanked the good old man for his kindness, and promised that he would return to Deckendorf as speedily as possible. It was now too late to set out that day. The weather was thick and threatening, and the night was likely to be stormy; but he would be on the road early in the morning.

    He took tea with the justice, and with him spent a portion of the evening. The conversation turned upon the trouble in the Schwarzwald, neither of them having any heart to talk further of Dunwolf and his villainy. Ernest asked if there were any men of standing and influence engaged in the insurrection.

    His host answered that there probably were, but they were not positively known. The plan, as nearly as it could be arrived at, was to form a vast and powerful organisation of freebooters. They would organize a government, and live by general plunder. Having gained possession of a few of the strongest castles in the heart of the Schwarzwald, they might bid defiance in their mountain fastnesses to the world. It was known that Thorbrand was engaged in the enterprise, and he appeared to be the ostensible head of the movement, but it was doubtful if he was the responsible head.

    “Have you any idea who is the responsible head?” asked the youth, earnestly.

    The old man returned him a sharp piercing glance, and then arose from his seat and took two or three turns around the room. By-and-by he stopped by the side of his guest, and laid a hand upon his shoulder.

    “Ernest, what I now say to you, you will sacredly keep as a trust reposed under seal of your honour. You have asked me a direct question. I will give you a direct answer: SIR PASCAL DUNWOLF!”

    The young captain started as though he had been stricken a heavy blow.

    “Hush! Not a word!” added Arnbeck. “I have never thought this until within the present hour; but now I sincerely believe it. Bury it in your bosom — bury it deeply — and keep your eyes open. And now I must bid you good-night. I have work to do; and you must gain sleep, if you would perform your journey on the morrow.”

    A little later our hero returned to his inn and sought his rest; and on the following morning, bright and early, he was on the road. There had been rain during the night, but the rising sun soon banished the clouds, and the day promised to be clear and pleasant.

    Notes

    • his sworn tools: his lackeys, flunkeys.
    • be the grainer: this obsolete idiom carries the sense, “be the beneficiary,” presumably after the agricultural metaphor.
    • Electors Palatine: “[A palatinate was] Either of two historical districts and former states of southern Germany. The Lower Palatinate is in southwest Germany between Luxembourg and the Rhine River; the Upper Palatinate is to the east in eastern Bavaria. They were once under the jurisdiction of the counts palatine, who became electors of the Holy Roman Empire in 1356 and were then known as electors palatine” (yourdictionary.com). Elector: “a German prince entitled to take part in the election of the Holy Roman Emperor; [E.g.], the Elector of Brandenburg’” (Oxford Languages).
    • Wurtemberg: “The Kingdom of Württembe.rg was a German state that existed from 1805 to 1918, located within the area that is now Baden-Württemberg” (Wikipedia).
    • arrival of his first budget: “budget” from OF bouge, “a bag”; so carries the sense, “immediately on his arrival.”
    • freebooter: robber, plunderer.
    • fastness: stronghold (see also Chapter 6 and n.)
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  • Cobb’s False Knight: 5. Plotting — Deep and Deadly

    Cobb’s False Knight: 5. Plotting — Deep and Deadly

    Inheritances. There’s an old German saying, “Wenn’s ums Erben geht, besser frueh handeln, als zu spaet…” (“When it’s a matter of inheritance, it’s better to act early, than too late …”) There’s a fairytale castle Iocked in a bitter dispute about the matter of who inherited it. A story from the middle ages? No, the dispute erupted in Lower Saxony only last year (Burghardt, “Adel vernichtet,” SZ-Magazin).

    Marienburg Palace is the home castle of the Welf family, the current head of which, Ernest August von Hannover, born on 1954, willed the castle to his son, Ernest August, born in 1983. These days, it’s not threats with soldiers, it’s legal battles.

    Schloss Marienburg bei Pattensen by Raycer (2018). CC BY-SA 4.0, Jump to panorama. Jump to snow covered.

    The head of the Welf family is suing the Prince of Liechtenstein for allegedly conspiring with his son to defraud Ernest August senior of his property, believe it or not. Ernest August Junior has, as opposed to his father, not often appeared in the Boulevarde press, while Ernest August Senior was given the nickname “Priegel Prinz” (The bashing prince) or even “Pinkel Prinz” (The peeing prince, in reference to the result of drinking binges) because of many drunken escapades resulting in court appearances.

    Unfortunately, however, he married a very beautiful Russian “commoner”, Ekaterina Malysheva, in 2017, which, in the eyes of Ernest August Senior, brought about all sorts of complications relating to the future inheritance of the family fortune. In 2005, around 20,000 art objects from the castle’s vast collection were auctioned, for 44 Million Euros.

    I remember seeing the interior decades ago: tapestries, battle standards from the Thirty Years War, Battle drums, knight armour, muskets, pikes… A fairytale hilltop castle balcony overlooking the River Leine below and the distant city of Hannover.

    Ernest August Senior is now trying to sell the castle to the State for a single Euro. A plot to disinherited his son, who married the commoner?? Ah, the problems related to owning castles. The upkeep, well, keeping up the keep. Oiling the drawbridge, that peeling wallpaper in the royal lounge, the rising damp. In the case of this particular castle, all that peeing after too many drinking binges, I wonder? Things might have been more straightforward in the Middle Ages. You marry me, I get your Castle and all the soldiers? Or else? What will the lovely Electra DO?

    CHAPTER 5

    PLOTTING — DEEP AND DEADLY

    While the scene which we have just recorded had been transpiring at the hunter’s cot, Sir Pascal Dunwolf had been making himself known and felt at the castle. During the previous evening he had done nothing more than attend to the quartering of his troop, and to making the acquaintance of the baroness and her fair daughter, with a passing salutation to Ernest von Linden. He had delivered to Lady Bertha his commission from the grand duke, by which he was empowered to possess Deckendorf Castle, and assume entire control of the fortress, together with whatever of military force there might be within its walls. She had received it and read it, and handed it over to Ernest, remarking that he was now her chief reliance, and she must refer to him the surrender of the castle. The young captain had looked the document over; had marked the salient points, and made sure that Leopold’s sign-manual was attached and then, with a low bow, passed it back to its owner, saying that he recognised the authority, and would promptly turn over the command whenever the knight was ready to assume it.

    The knight’s presence was extremely chilling and disagreeable to the ladies, and they could not hide it. Nor could Dunwolf fail to see, and he did not press his company upon them, nor did he at the time manifest to them any ill-feeling on account thereof. They retired to their own apartments, while he gathered together his chief officers in the great banqueting hall, where they held high wassail far into the night. Ernest had been invited to join them, but without hesitation, had respectfully declined.

    It was quite late in the day — past nine o’clock — when Sir Pascal made his appearance from his drunken sleep; so he was not ready for business until near noon. It was very near high twelve when Ernest von Linden, walking with Electra in the little private flower garden beneath the windows of the baroness, was saluted by an orderly, and informed that “the lord of the castle” wished to see him in the armory.

    And who is “the lord of the castle?” asked our Hero, unable to hide his deep indignation.

    “Be careful! O for my sake be careful!” whispered Electra. “That man is terribly vengeful, as his dark and forbidding face plainly shows. Do not anger him.”

    He promised her that he would exercise due caution — that he would not let his passions betray him; and then, having handed her to the foot of the stairs leading to her mother’s apartments, he turned and thanked the orderly for his information — said information being that the noble knight, Sir Pascal Dunwolf, was present lord of the castle — and having thanked him, he signified to him that he was ready to follow his lead.

    Ernest found Sir Pascal in the large armory, with a score or more of the officers and men-at-arms of the castle about him.

    We may state here that the force of the castle, under our youthful captain’s command, consisted of five-and-forty men-at arms, about equally divided into cannoneers, arquebusiers, and pikeman, the latter being trained to the use of the crossbow and the javelin, for, though firearms had come into general use, the modern cross-bow of steel, with short, steel arrows, or bolts, was still held as an effective weapon in the hands of men capable of properly using it. Then there were six corporals, three sergeants, and a lieutenant — forty-five men all told.

    Sir Pascal Dunwolf was evidently feeling far from well. His eyes were bloodshot and inflamed, and he carried his hand over and anon to his forehead, as though he had an ache there.

    “Captain von Linden,” he said, hoarsely and brusquely, “you are ordered to report to me with your command, I think you will remember.”

    “Excuse me, sir. I am ordered to turn over to you my command, which I am ready
    to do.”

    “It is one and the same thing, Captain. When your command is turned over, you will, of course, come with it to me, as you are of the military force of the castle.”

    “Not at all, Meinherr,” said Ernest, respectfully, but with emphasis. I am an officer of the Baroness von Deckendorf, by her appointed and by her commissioned.”

    “By a woman! How can a woman grant a military commission, I would like to know? Whoever heard of such a thing? Franz!” to his lieutenant, “did ever you hear of such a thing as a woman’s giving a military commission?”

    “Never, Meinherr,” was the prompt response, as in duty bound.

    “What do you think now, my youthful Captain? Where do you stand?”

    “I would refer you to Elizabeth of England, Sir Pascal.”

    “Ah!– but — ugh! — she was a queen — a queen, on the throne of a great nation.”

    “Exactly; and the Lady Bertha, was Baroness of this powerful fortress — so recognised by the Archduke Rudolph, father of our present ruler, and by the Emperor Ferdinand. If you wish for further proof, I will refer you to the grand duke himself.”

    “I will be my own judge, young sir,” retorted the knight, angrily; and, mark you; I hold you to service under me. You will disobey me at your peril!”

    Our hero bowed, but held his peace. He was too indignant to trust his tongue with speech. As briefly and quick as possible he gave the knight an inventory of the force and the arms and the ammunition of the castle, together with the horses and the forage; also he gave him the steward’s account of the provisions on hand. His heart ached as he did it — not for himself, but for the baroness. Surely the grand duke could not have known the situation. If he had, he would never have given this man such power, in such a place. And further, his heart was sore when he thought of his journey to the court of the grand duke. How could he got away if Sir Pascal should forbid him? And that thing he was certainly likely to do. He must report to the baroness, and with her confer. She could be strong and resolute upon occasion.

    He had turned to leave, when the knight again addressed him:

    “Captain, you understand that you will report to me for duty.”

    “I will confer with my lady, Meinherr, and by her orders I shall be governed. You are certainly soldier enough to see and acknowledge the propriety of that.”

    Dunwolf was upon the point of making an angry response, when his lieutenant, Franz, plucked him by the sleeve, and whispered into his ear. A little later he swallowed his wrath as best he could, and said to the stubborn youth:

    “Be it as you will for the present, but remember — the means for enforcing obedience are in my hands, and I think you will give me the credit of knowing how to use them.”

    With this Ernest left the armory, and made his way at once to the apartment of the baroness, whom he found anxious to see him.

    In as few words as possible to told the story of his late interview with Sir Pascal, at the same time assuring her that he had been respectful through the whole trial. After a few questions had been asked and answered, the lady gave herself for a little time to thought, neither Ernest not Electra disturbing her. At length she said, in a calm, resolute tone:

    “Ernest, I must send you to Baden-Baden tomorrow. I shall give you no written instructions nor messages. I shall trust you to tell the story to the grand duke, and I have faith to believe that he will do justice. Some time during the day I will see Sir Pascal, and make known my plan. Should he oppose me, I think that I can make him see that it will be for his interest to submit. Further, I shall demand that you be left entirely to me. You can be making your preparations, for I am confident that no opposition will be made to your departure.”

    Later in the day, by the baroness’s request. Sir Pascal met her in one of the salons. He was exceedingly polite, and was inclined to be effusive; but she did not unbend from her true dignity.

    “Sir Pascal,” she said, after she had waved him to a seat, and had seated herself, “it is my purpose to send Captain von Linden, on the morrow, to Baden-Baden. I give you notice of my intent, first, because you are in charge of the fortress, and second, that you may, if you desire, send by his hand any message you may have to transmit.”

    “Dear lady,” said the knight, with a perceptible quiver of the nether lip, “there is no need that you should trouble yourself. I shall be sending messengers of my own almost every day, and any message you have for the capital I will gladly forward for you.”

    “You are very kind, sir but I prefer to select my own courier. I shall despatch Ernest on the morrow. Of course, you will not prevent me from so doing.”

    “I fear I must, madam,” said the knight, with a strong effort to appear calm. “Captain von Linden is an important officer, and I cannot spare him so soon after taking command here.”

    “Whose officer do you consider Captain von Linden?” the baroness asked, with calm, unruffled dignity.

    “Of course, dear lady, we must regard him as subject to my orders. Where would be our military discipline if there could be two commanders in the fortress? He shall be at your service at all proper times, but I must consider him as owing fealty to me.”

    “Very well, sir,” said the lady, rising from her seat as she spoke and standing proudly erect. “We will not argue the matter. I will go myself to Baden-Baden; for most surely you will not claim that I am under your command.”

    “Perhaps not, madam,” the knight returned, plainly showing his temper, “but I fancy I could find means of preventing you from doing so foolish a thing as that. You will remember that the castle is under my command, and those only will pass the gate who have my permission.”

    The eyes of the baroness fairly blazed, yet she did not lose an atom of her dignity. Drawing herself up to her proudest stature she said, with her hand extended, without a finger quivering:

    “Sir Pascal Dunwolf, I shall send a message to Baden-Baden. If Ernest von Linden cannot go, I will go. If you attempt to prevent me, I will call on my tried and trusty retainers to stand by me. Of men-at-arms and officers capable of bearing arms, I have within these walls fifty-six. You will say they are now your men; but let me civil them to my aid and you will see whose men they are. You have, counting yourself, ten men less than that. Then from my battlements I will summon my true henchmen from the town. Beware, sir! If you push me to it, you will find yourself in a sorry plight! I beg you not to forget that I am, in my own right, a baroness of the empire, with all the powers and privileges of a feudal lord. Now, sir, think this matter over. Reflect upon it, and when you are ready to make known your final determination, let me know.”

    She bowed as though to dismiss him; but he did not offer to go. As she started to turn away he put out his hand and begged her to remain.

    “Dear lady,” he said, with a great gulp. “I was wrong. I see it now, and I beg you will overlook my error, an error not of the heart, but of judgment. If you will give your message to Captain von Linden, he will carry it for you. Let me hear that I am forgiven.”

    The baroness ought to have known the man better than she did. She should have known that such a man — a man with that face, and those treacherous eyes — was not to be trusted under any circumstances. But she had strained herself up to so high a pitch, and had endured so much, that the reaction was weakening; and she was so greatly relieved when he had apparently surrendered, that she felt only gratitude.

    “You are forgiven, Sir Pascal, gladly forgiven.” And with that she turned away. She wished to find a purer atmosphere, and regain her breath.

    The dark-visaged knight stood where the baroness had left him until she had disappeared from sight, and when the door had been closed behind her his countenance underwent a wondrous change. It was like the settling of a thunder-cloud over a broken landscape.

    “Aye!” he muttered, between his clenched teeth, and compressed bloodless lips, “you may send your gallant young captain, and he shall freely set forth upon his journey. But — let him look to himself on the road! By my life! I could not ask for a better opportunity to make an end of that impediment!”

    An hour later Sir Pascal was closeted with two of his stoutest and most trusty troopers — most trusty, because they were his tools — both of them culprits whom a word from his lips would consign to the rack and the wheel! — two murderers they were, whom he had saved from exposure on condition that they would give themselves to him, body and soul. And they had done it. And during the night that followed, these two men — Roger Vadas and Otto Orson were their names — fully armed, and well mounted, left the castle by a postern, the knight standing by to watch their departure and give them their final instructions.

    Haying seen his two cut-throats depart — being well-assured that no other eyes had been watching — Sir Pascal re-entered the keep, and having reached his private chamber, he summoned his page.

    The Dwarf, Sebastián de Morra, at the Court of Felipe IV (1644). Diego Velázquez (Museo del Prado)

    And this page is worth an introduction. Balthazar was his name. He was a dwarf, slightly hump-backed, not far from five-and-thirty years of age. He was from the mountains of Tyrol, as swarthy as a Moor; with features sharp and angular; a pair of eyes intensely black, that gleamed like sparks of fire; and his height not quite four feet. He was clad in a quaint garb of velvet and silk, with embroidery of gold and silver; in his bonnet, of bright crimson velvet, was a triple plume of red and white ostrich feathers; and in a crimson girdle, of knitted silk, he wore a silver-hilted dagger. Bodily he was lithe and agile, turning a summersault with entire ease, and performing tricks of legerdemain that might have astonished an Indian juggler.

    “Balthazar,” said the knight, when he had assured himself that no other ears were near, “how do you and Lieutenant Franz stand in the sum and substance of your playing? Didn’t he rather get the best of you at the dice last night?”

    “Look ’e my dear master, much revered,” piped the dwarf, with serio-comic expression, “if you mean to mend my fortunes, I can honestly assure you, there was never a more fitting occasion. My purse is as empty as is your lieutenant’s head.”

    “Well, well, we will try to mend the matter for you. But, really, my noble Festus, you should be more careful in your play with Franz. Did you use your own dice, or his?”

    “We used his, my lord; but, hark ye,” said the page, with a finger laid significantly against the side of his nose, “we will use mine on the next occasion; for he has promised me my revenge. Ho! let the doughty warrior look to himself.”

    “That is right, Balthazar. And now listen; you know the former commander here — Captain von Linden?”

    “Yes.”

    The knight cast a quick glance around the apartment, and then in a low, guarded tone, he said:

    “Captain von Linden proposes that tomorrow morning he will set out for the court of the grand duke. The proud lady of this old pile of granite has a big chapter of complaints made up lo send; and I am not ready, just yet, that our good Leopold — Heaven save him! — should receive them, to which end I have sent Vadus and Orson out upon the road to overhaul the youth and borrow his dispatches.”

    “And you want me to clip his wings,” suggested the dwarf.

    “Exactly. He has three pistols — two large ones, which he carries in his holsters, and a smaller affair, with two barrels, richly mounted with silver, which he carries in his bosom, or in a pocket of the vest. I want the charges of those playthings drawn out. Be sure and leave the priming.”

    “Aye,” cried the little rascal — “I’ll do better than that, Not only will I leave the priming intact, but I will down a charge of paper in each of the three barrels corresponding with the charges withdrawn.”

    “Good! And now for good and sufficient cause for your visit. Here are two letters, for two officers of Leopold’s court. I told the young fellow that I should have one or two messages to send by him, and these will make my promise good. The rest I must leave with you. Let me give you one caution: Von Linden is a man of keen penetration, and quick of wit. You will have to be wary. I would not have him set forth with those pistols fully charged on any account. I am told he is an unerring shot, and wonderfully quick to act.”

    “Let me alone for that, my master. But, look ye: I might work with more spirit if I knew how much you were to give me.”

    “I’ll tell you,” said the knight, after a moment’s thought, — “when you shall come to me, and assure me upon your honour, that the barrels of Captain Von Linden’s pistols are empty of powder and ball, I will give you, in shining gold, a sum just double that which you owe to Franz, let it be more or less.”

    “All right! It is a bargain. Give me the letters, and consider the work done. I shall not fail.” With that Balthazar took the two letters, carefully superscribed, bound, and sealed, and having accepted a draught of wine, he departed.

    On the following morning, while he was dressing, Ernest von Linden was interrupted in his toilet by a rap upon his door, which he had locked upon retiring. He went and opened it and gave entrance to Sir Pascal’s hunchback page.

    The fellow came in without ceremony, with the two letters in his hand.

    “A plague on all early risers, say I!” he exclaimed, rubbing his eyes, as though to get them fairly open. “Here must I, just in the very sweetest chapter of my morning’s nap, be bundled out of bed to bring your honour these two lotters, which old Evil-Eye says you have promised to deliver as directed.” A quick, furtive glance, under shadow of his overhanging brows while he spoke, revealed to him the three pistols lying upon the light stand at the head of the bed.

    Ernest could not repress a smile at the dwarf’s intensely comical and humorous manner. He took the letters, and promised that he would deliver them as addressed, and then asked if the knight had any verbal orders.

    “Nothing of importance. He isn’t out of bed yet. He bade me bring these immediately, as he thought you might be early on the road. Shall I tell him that you will see him before you go?”

    “That depends upon how much longer he remains in his bed. I am very nearly dressed as you see; and I plan to set forth as soon as I have eaten my breakfast.”

    “Then I doubt if you see his bibulous majesty today. However, I guess there’s nothing of importance. He won’t send for orders, — be, sure of that. A pleasant journey to you, fair sir; and give my love to all the pretty frauleins who inquire for me.”

    “I will not fail,” said the captain with a light laugh; and with that the dwarf made a low bow, and departed.

    Ten minutes later Earnest took up his pistols, and examined them critically. Into the pans of the larger pair he put fresh priming, the other having been primed on the previous evening. Then he went out, carefully locking the door behind him, and putting the key into his pocket; and then away to his breakfast.

    Five minutes had elapsed after the young captain’s departure, when the hunchback page glided out from a deep alcove near at hand, and crept to the door. From his pocket he took Several skeleton keys; but only one was needed. At the very first trial the bolt was thrown back, the door was noiselessly opened, and the dwarf glided into the chamber.

    He was there not many minutes; for his fingers were exceedingly nimble, and his manipulations sure. By-and-by he came forth with an evil smile lurking about his lips; he closed and relocked the door behind him; and then away to claim at the hands of his master the golden means whereby he was to be enabled to take his revenge at dice upon Lieutenant Franz.

    Notes and Reference

    • sign-manual: “a personal signature, especially that of a sovereign or official on a public document” (Dictionary.com).
    • high wassail: revelrous drinking.
    • arquebusier: Infantryman armed with an arquebus. “The arquebus (/ˈɑːrk(w)ɪbəs/ AR-k(w)ib-əs) derived from the German word Hakenbüchse (‘hook gun’), was a form of long gun that appeared in Europe and the Ottoman Empire during the 15th century.” (Wikipedia; see illustration,)
    • postern: back or side entrance (lexico.com). Example image of castle postern.
    • keep: fortified tower within a castle.
    • Balthazar: In the Bible, one of the three wise men (gave the gift of myrrh, which evidently prefigures the death of Christ).
    • dwarf: Court dwarfs were employed from early times, as early as the Egyptian empire (See for e.g, Thompson, “Dwarfs in the Old Kingdom in Egypt,” in Bulletin of the Australian Centre for Egyptology, v. 1, 1991). Sebastián de Morra, painted by Velázquez, was one of the most famous in Europe.
    • bibulous: partial to alcohol.
    • legerdemain: (/ˌlɛdʒədɪˈmeɪn/) skilful use of the hands in conjuring.
    • Felix … Festus: names of the successive Roman procurators of Judea from ca 52-58 CE, the latter of whom stands in judgement of Paul (Acts 26).
    • doughty: Brave and persistent (lexico.com).
    • charges … priming: When a flintlock pistol of the time (“first half of the seventeenth century”) is fired, a piece of flint attached to a spring-loaded hammer (or “cock”) strikes a piece of steel causing a spark that ignites an amount of priming or detonating powder, which in turn ignites the main charge of gunpowder. Thus if the charge is removed and the priming left intact, there will be a fizz but no bang.

    Burghardt, Peter. “Adel vernichtet” (“Nobility Destroyed”), SZ-Magazin, 17 Feb 2019.

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