So that same afternoon a little cavalcade wended its way through the woods, over the carpet of leaves that late autumn had whipped from the trees. It was Willeswind and her attendants, bound for the home of another baron, where she would be protected until the return of Othmar and his men. Beside her rode Hulda the maid, and on her shoulder sat the pet raven.
But they did not go far. Suddenly from behind some thickly growing brush a band of horsemen appeared. One rider, taller and heavier than the others, called out orders to his men.
“To my castle!” he shouted.
Willeswind knew well they were the tones of the robber baron, and that she was now a prisoner in his power.
Sad indeed was her heart as the men turned her horse’s head away from her road to safety, and tears came into her blue eyes as she caught a glimpse of the Stolzenfels towers.
“Oh, my home,” she murmured, “when shall I see you again?”
On they went through the forest, along that part of the river whose gray cliffs she had known since childhood, then into unfamiliar country as they neared the castle of the robber chief.
“If only they will let us stay together,” she murmured to Hulda as they drew rein at the gate.
They rode in through the courtyard, and then, dismounting, the baron led the two women up a winding stairway to the tower.
“Here you may stay,” he said savagely, “and decide what to do.”