"For what purpose?" asked the Count Palatine.
"That is,—as we choose!" replied the ruffian.
By this time the archers had mounted the roof of the palace, while Count Ludeger stood in the foreground. To him the routing of such a rabble seemed a task not worth speaking of, and it was not his intention to parley. He dared not open the gates until he was prepared to act, therefore mounting a balcony in the upper story of the palace, which looked over the entrance, he stood fully visible from where the invaders stood, whose numbers swelled with every moment. Then advancing to the parapet, he made a signal, demanding silence, and spoke in a voice audible to every ear in the throng:
"Dogs! You came hither thinking the palace was defenceless. You wish to see the King. Off! Away with your foul odours and your yelping throats! And if when you have turned tail, any cur among you dares bark back, he shall pay for it with an arrow through his chine! Away with you!"
The crowd seemed to waver and to look for their leader, but the Count Palatine gave them little time. Raising his hand he waved a signal to the archers. The low growling and snarling of the mob swelled to a yell of terror, as three score or more of their number fell under the hail of arrows. At the same moment the gate of the palace was thrown open and the guards charged the Roman mob with drawn swords, mowing down all that were in their path. Back fell the first rank of the rioters, pressing against those in the rear, and with an outcry of terror the crowd scattered in flight.
From the balcony of his palace, Otto had witnessed the scene which had just come to a close. He saw hatred and vengeance around him in the eyes of the populace. He knew himself to be hated, deserted, betrayed, most unjustly, most cruelly, despite all he had done for the state and the people. After the mob had departed, he retreated to his chamber. Here his strength seemed utterly to forsake him. Calling his attendants, they took from him his cloak, his diadem, and his sword of state, they unlaced the imperial buskins and gilt mail, in which he was encased. He seemed eager to fling from him his gilded trappings, while his attendants watched him in perplexity and fear. He spoke not, nor gave any sign.
At length Count Ludeger, presuming on his high office, broke the silence.
"By the Mother of God, we pray you, shake off this grief and take heed of the manifold perils which surround your throne and life. You are surrounded with traitors, intrigues and plots! And the one—once nearest to your heart is your greatest foe!"
Otto raised his head and glared at the speaker like a lion at bay, but spoke not, and again covered his face and sank upon the couch.
The storm clouds gathering over Rome were scarce as dark as those on Count Ludeger's brow. For a time intense silence prevailed. At last, carried away by Otto's mute despair, the Curopalates ventured to approach the King and whispered a word in his ear.