For a moment there was silence. The people had not taken sides as yet. They awaited a leader. Old Von der Tann scrutinized the American closely.
“How may we know that you are Leopold?” he asked. “For ten years we have not seen our king.”
“The governor of Blentz has already acknowledged his identity,” cried Butzow. “Maenck was the first to proclaim the presence of the putative king.”
At that someone near the chancel cried: “Long live Leopold, king of Lutha!” and at the words the whole assemblage raised their voices in a tumultuous: “Long live the king!”
Peter of Blentz turned toward Maenck. “The guard!” he cried. “Arrest those traitors, and restore order in the cathedral. Let the coronation proceed.”
Maenck took a step toward Barney and Butzow, when old Prince von der Tann interposed his giant frame with grim resolve.
“Hold!” He spoke in a low, stern voice that brought the cowardly Maenck to a sudden halt.
The men of Tann had pressed eagerly forward until they stood, with bared swords, a solid rank of fighting men in grim semicircle behind their chief. There were cries from different parts of the cathedral of: “Crown Leopold, our true king! Down with Peter! Down with the assassin!”
“Enough of this,” cried Peter. “Clear the cathedral!”
He drew his own sword, and with half a hundred loyal retainers at his back pressed forward to clear the chancel. There was a brief fight, from which Barney, much to his disgust, was barred by the mighty figure of the old prince and the stalwart sword-arm of Butzow. He did get one crack at Maenck, and had the satisfaction of seeing blood spurt from a flesh wound across the fellow’s cheek.