In June, 1386, Duke Leopold went to Baden, where he was assembling an army of knights. Besides his own vassals, knights came from adjoining countries with their horsemen, as well as the Margrave of Baden and the counts of Würtemberg. The army was nine thousand strong, including a large contingent of foot soldiers. The League naturally armed its followers and barricaded the cities. Zurich was the first point threatened. It was only a few miles from Baden and was the bulwark of the League. Its people soon learned that the Baron of Bonstetten, one of the ablest of the Austrian generals, was advancing against the city to lay siege to it. Although Zurich at that time was supplied with good walls and gates, it had not sufficient fighting men to withstand a siege any great length of time, and so had to send to the Four Forest Cantons for help. As soon as the request was received fourteen hundred men were sent. Rather than remain in idleness the League’s auxiliaries undertook expeditions into Kiburg and Thurgau and captured supplies in these unfriendly places, which would be needed during the siege.
Not far from Zurich and a little off the road leading to Baden, there was a wretched inn which served as a lodging house for all kinds of lawless adventurers and a rendezvous for the robber knights of the neighborhood. On the night of June third, during a fearful thunder storm which had raged for hours, there was a knock upon its rickety window. The hostess, an ill-favored old woman, opened the door and found two knights dismounting from their horses.
“Put our steeds in your stable, Mother Ruschen, and give them some fodder,” said one of them, addressing her familiarly. He and his companion then entered the apartment, whose entire furnishings consisted of a few wooden tables and benches, and shelves upon which were filthy bottles and glasses. The two newcomers were our old acquaintances, Jörgel of Reienstein and Conrad of Waltihof.
“He has not come yet,” said the latter, glancing around the miserable place which was so dimly lighted by a half burned candle that only objects close at hand could be discerned. “I begin to think we have come too late.”
“This beastly storm may have detained him, as it did us,” said Jörgel.
“No storm could stop him, even if it rained rocks and poured down fire from the sky,” replied Conrad. “I am afraid he was angry at our delay and has gone on his way home alone.”
“Mother Ruschen,” said Jörgel to the old woman, who had just come in, “has the Mörsperger been here?” She replied in the negative. “Then bring us some wine, the best you have,” said Jörgel.
“And the dice,” added Conrad.
The old woman set a bottle of wine and two glasses on the table at which her guests were seated, and brought the dice; whereupon the two began playing and soon forgot everything else, while the old woman, as was her usual practice, sat by the fireplace and dozed. Suddenly she awoke. The quarrelling of the two players, and their shouts of exultation or curses, as one lost and the other won, had not disturbed her in the least, but the tramp of horses outside, which the excited players had not noticed, the old woman heard plainly. She arose and notified them that the man they were expecting had come. She then left the room, found Veit and his attendants just dismounting, and informed him his friends were waiting for him.
“Good,” said Veit. “I cannot stay long with you this time. Just give the horses a bundle of hay; and a good stout drink to the men.”