The interior of the great tent was hung with priceless tapestries and rich stuffs from the East, which softened the light that came from the sides and roof. At the further end from the entrance was a semi-circular dais, rendered accessible by three steps, and on this platform had been placed, under an awning of purple, a throne, on the apex of the high carved back of which rested a golden crown, a beautiful specimen of the skilled craftsmanship of Nuremburg, where it had been made for the Emperor Henry IV. during his residence in that famous city of the empire. The hard ground which formed the floor of the tent was covered by soft rugs, making noiseless the footfalls of those within. The Emperor, seated on his throne, had on either hand those high nobles of the realm who had flocked to his standard when the news of his return had spread like wildfire, and who, perhaps because he did not need their help, had made lavish proffers to him of all the forces at their command. These offers he had received with a graciousness that charmed all the would-be givers, and although he declined assistance, he somehow managed to make it felt that this prompt support was most gratifying to him. The nobles were delighted with the reception accorded them, and saw that they had in the Emperor a liege who appreciated their worth; so held themselves proudly, as was their right, for most of them at one time or another had been treated with haughty scorn by those proud and powerful Prelates who for generations had been the real rulers of the country. At the immediate right of the Emperor stood Baron von Brunfels, a man universally esteemed by all who knew him, a stickler for the privileges of his order, and yet the last in the empire who would infringe on the rights of others. During the march down the Rhine, nobles had joined the imperial forces at various points, coming from all quarters, for what purpose they themselves only knew, but apparently with the sole intention of being of service to his Majesty in whatever expedition he was undertaking, the cause of which they could but guess. So much at least was to be gathered from their warm expressions of loyalty, which did not diminish on their viewing the formidable force which his Majesty commanded.
At the Emperor's left hand stood the Archbishop of Mayence, who, on hearing that his Majesty was to pass down the Rhine, had hastily collected his army, and as hastily disbanded it when there marched through his town thirty thousand men, to be followed shortly by the Emperor himself, accompanied by a regiment of horse that alone outnumbered the little company which the Archbishop was able to assemble at the moment.
Thus it was that the Archbishop contented himself by greeting his Sovereign with merely a group of his clergy behind him, humbly placing the good city of Mayence unreservedly at the disposal of the Emperor, and begging permission to extend his benediction upon the expedition that had swung so jauntily along the stoned-paved river-front of the town, asking no one's leave, and making the air ring with patriotic songs. The Emperor had dismounted, standing with bowed head to receive the Prelate's blessing, and afterwards extended a cordial invitation to his Lordship to accompany him, which overture was gratefully accepted. Thus the Prelate stood on the Emperor's left, and the nobles were pleased to note that this position seemed to indicate that, while his Majesty welcomed the co-operation of the Church, still it would not be paramount in his counsels, as one of their own order occupied the first place.
Some rumour of what was about to occur had gone forth, and as the moment approached at which the Archbishops were to appear before the throne, to plead perhaps for their lives, the face of his Lordship of Mayence was a study that might have afforded satisfaction to a physiognomist. He endeavoured to assume that air of superior righteousness which so well becomes a somewhat expansive and benign countenance. Occasionally a smirk of satisfaction appeared, only to be smoothed instantly away, giving place to an expression of that deep resignation which is frequently bestowed, like a benediction, on a good man called upon to endure a sight of the humiliation of his enemies. He clasped his fat fingers before him—he was rather corpulent, and his hands had thus a resting place—essaying to compose his placid features into an unctuous semblance that betokened dim knowledge of the wickedness which is rampant in this world, and a solemn grief for the same, mitigated by a subdued confidence that virtue has other rewards than the mere satisfaction of possession.
On the dais and on its steps, and along each wall, nobles were grouped according to their degree, while in the centre, between the dais and the entrance to the tent, a wide space was left vacant until their Lordships of Treves and Cologne should arrive, which they did promptly at the hour named. They came in unattended, save by their two secretaries, the large escort which accompanied them from their camp being, by order of von Brunfels, halted outside the pavilion.
The Archbishop of Treves turned an unflinching look upon his sovereign, whom he now beheld for the first time, but the Prelate of Cologne took time by the forelock, and, without waiting to be addressed, flung himself prostrate on the lower steps of the dais, crying:
"Your Gracious Majesty, I implore your pardon. I have been deeply to blame, and bitterly do I regret my fault. Had I known that my action was contrary to your Majesty's will, I would have abandoned all my offices and honours, retiring humbly to the poorest monastery in my Archbishopric rather than have offended your Majesty."
Rodolph seemed taken aback by the unexpected and abject impetuosity of his Lordship of Cologne, and for a moment he sat silent, gazing with compassion in his glance upon the grovelling figure of the man at his feet. When at last he spoke, his accent was kindly.
"My Lord, I ask you to arise. We are all prone to error, and a man can but say, 'I am culpable, and I regret it.' If he make amends in after conduct there is little to be said against him, and I have small inclination to enact the implacable judge, hoping myself for mercy rather than for justice, as our Holy Church gives us assurance to expect. Rise, therefore, my Lord, and make answer to some questions I wish now to propound to you. Are you content to return to your fair city of Cologne and there busy yourself with what pertains to your office of Archbishop, leaving me to deal with such nobles as Count Heinrich, should their punishment become necessary?"