"What mean you by that, my Lord?" asked Cologne, flushing with anger. "Have I then hampered your attack? I wish to God you had said as much two years ago. I was willing enough to withdraw."
"I have never made complaint, my Lord, of your lack of energy in retreat," replied Arnold with a smile and a bow, and a general air of saying the most polite thing that could readily come to a man's tongue.
Konrad, glaring menacingly at his foe, half rose in his place, and put his right hand to the hilt of the sword by his side.
"Now by the three Kings of Cologne—" he cried, but the other interrupted him, saying with gentle suggestion:
"And add the Holy Coat of Treves, in token of our amicable compact. When I swear, which is seldom, so few occasions being worth the effort, I always use the Coat and the Kings in conjunction, as tending towards strength in their union, and as evidence of the loyalty of my partnership with the guardian of the bones of the Magi, presented by Frederick Barbarossa, God rest his soul, to Archbishop von Dassele of Cologne, God rest his soul also, something less than a century ago. You will find great merit, my Lord, in swearing by the combination."
"Our partnership, Arnold of Treves, is at an end, a fact of which I have already formally given you intimation. It is at an end because of continued deceit and treachery in the compact."
"You grieve me deeply by your confession, my Lord, and I am loath to credit anything to your disadvantage, even though the admission come from your own lips. Had another made such charge against you, he should have had to answer personally to me. I hold your honor as dearly as my own."
"I cannot pretend to follow your subtleties. I am an outspoken man, and do not feign friendship where there is none. Confession? Charge against me? I do not know what you mean."
"There are but two to our compact, my Lord. You say there has been treachery in it. There has been none on my part, therefore if truth dwells in your statement, and—I am put in the invidious position of being compelled to believe either that you have been treacherous or that you speak falsely—the deceit must have been practised by you. So I termed your remark a confession, and added in deep humility, that I was slow to believe it. I know of no deceit on your part, as I know of none on my own."
The Archbishop of Cologne stood for a moment staring at his antagonist, then thrusting his half-drawn sword back into its scabbard, he sank again into his seat, and took a long draught from the flagon with shaking hand. Many of his followers drank as deeply as himself, and were clamorous, shouting boisterously when he spoke; but others looked with anxiety towards their leader, fearing an outbreak, the consequences of which no one could foretell.