"His Majesty, the Emperor, has proven himself a warrior not only of great personal bravery, but one who is a redoubted general as well. He has displayed marvellous knowledge of the arts of war, and has routed the infidels, horse and foot, wherever he encountered them, scattering them like chaff before the wind. Threescore of their bravest leaders has he slain with his own hand, until now his very name spreads terror throughout the land. When it is known he leads the Christian host, the Saracens fly without giving battle, and cannot be lured into the field to face him."
"In God's name, then," cried the irate Count, "why doesn't he take Palestine with his own hand, and return so that he may reduce at least two of his truculent Princes to order and some respect for him? Germany is languishing for a ruler of such prowess. Told you the Archbishops of all this?"
"I did, my Lord."
"And what said they?"
"They prayed that he might be long spared to perform such deeds in the Holy Land, and are about to offer Mass in honour of his victories over the heathen."
"I can well believe it. If masses will keep him in the East he will never return to Germany. I have no patience with such old wives' tales."
The Count rose from his bench and strode from the room, saying to Steinmetz as he departed:
"See that this relator of fables is carefully deposited outside the walls in the way he came, and allow no loitering in the courtyard."
"My Lord," cried Rodolph as the Count approached the door, "I wish to have some converse with the good Father alone, and I desire to offer him refreshment before he departs from us. Have I your sanction?"
The Black Count paused near the door and looked back at the assemblage before answering. Then he said: