CHAPTER XXXVIII.
Imbibing somewhat of the spirit of the age whereof I write, I have, perhaps, in this true history, neglected to a certain degree the inferior persons of the tale, keeping myself among lords and ladies, counts and barons, to the exclusion from consideration of not less worthy and serviceable people; but the events at which I am now arrived, require me absolutely to descend from this high elevation, and to notice the fate of one whom, in a former part of the story, I have spoken of with some partiality.
It will not be difficult for the reader to recollect, that when Adelaide of Ehrenstein fled in terror towards the woodman's shed, she imagined that her maid Bertha was following as fast as 'the four legs of her horse would carry her, and that soon after she discovered, to her consternation and surprise, that such was not the case. What became of Bertha in the mean time? In truth, the good gay girl had every inclination in the world to do as she was told; but, nevertheless, she did not follow her mistress ten steps; for, in the hurry and confusion of the moment, while endeavouring to extricate herself from the men and horses that were pressing to the front in order to favour the lady's escape, the long nun's gown, with which she was covered, caught in one of the large stirrup-irons of those days, and pulled her from her horse, as the beast hurried on in the direction which had been given to it.
She fell heavily, and was somewhat confused and stunned by the concussion, so that a moment or two went by without her being aware of anything that passed around. She felt herself raised from the earth, however, heard a number of voices speaking, saw various indistinct objects moving quickly about, and, as sense began to return fully, beheld a party of armed men surrounding her companions of the way and herself, although the body which had quitted the abbey in the morning, seemed to be diminished by two or three.
The first words which she heard clearly, were pronounced in a loud but melodious tone, and were as follows:--"Pursue them quickly, and bring them back. Seek for the girl's horse also. We must know what all this means."
Looking up in the direction of the sounds, Bertha beheld a tall, powerful man on horseback, some five or ten yards before her, with fifteen or sixteen other gentlemen; some fully armed according to the custom of the day, but others in the garb of peace. Round about, and in the open space behind, were not less than two or three hundred soldiers, but the principal personage of the whole, he who had spoken, displayed no arms whatever, except the ordinary sword and dagger. He was clothed in a loose coat of buff leather, trimmed with rich fur, and embroidered with gold thread in various quaint devices. Some careful and laborious needle had worked all over it the figures of birds, and flowers, and leaves, of syrens and armed men, and stags, and hounds, and mermaids; and on his head he wore a bonnet of crimson velvet, and a high plume of feathers, white as snow. His age might be between forty and fifty, but his beard and hair were black as jet, and his teeth white and fine. His countenance was pleasing, though there was something of a cold and sarcastic smile upon it, and the air with which he sat his horse was graceful but somewhat haughty. For a minute or two he said no more; but continued to gaze over the heads of those before him down the road into the wood, then turning his horse with a light hand, he exclaimed: "Wait, Rudolph, till they have brought those men back, then follow me, bringing them with you."
Leading the way onward at the head of the troop, the person who had spoken pursued the same course which the party at the abbey had been taking. About fifty of his followers remained behind, guarding those who might now be considered prisoners; and though a deep silence succeeded to the great man's departure, Bertha, whose tongue was not under the most strict control, ventured at length to ask the man next her, "Who was that who has just ridden away?"
The person she addressed was one of her fellow-captives, and he answered in a low voice, "The Emperor, going to Spires, they say."
He immediately relapsed into silence, and Bertha's brain began to revolve the circumstances in which she was placed, and to inquire whether there was no chance of her being able to extract good out of evil, and to turn her captivity to some advantage. There were difficulties, however, which she saw not how to overcome: for, in the very first instance, she knew not what to do in regard to her fair mistress. "If I leave her in the wood, poor simple thing," said Bertha to herself, "Heaven only knows what will become of her. She has not wit nor experience enough to get herself out of a difficulty, and, like a bird fresh from a cage, she will go fluttering about hither and thither till she is starved to death, or pecked to pieces by birds of prey. Then, again, if I tell these people where she is to be found, a thousand to one they will send her back at once to her father, and that will be worse than all. I wish to Heaven I could get a word with the man he called Rudolph, just to see what stuff he is made off."
A moment or two after, the sound of horses coming up the road was heard, and Bertha, looking round, perceived several of the Emperor's soldiers, bringing with them two of the men of the abbey, who had fled some minutes before. The leader of the party which had remained to guard the prisoners, saw the same objects, and pushed his horse a little forward, till he was nearly by the girl's side. Taking advantage of the opportunity, which she thought might not occur again, Bertha drew near to him, saying: "My lord, I wish to speak with you."