“My Lord of Brunfels,” said the King, calmly, “sheath your sword. Your ancestors have often drawn it, but always for, and never against the occupant of the Throne. Now, gentlemen, hear my decision, and abide faithfully by it. Seat yourselves at the table, ten on each side, the dice-box between you. You shall not be disappointed, but shall play out the game of life and death. Each dices with his opposite. He who throws the higher number escapes. He who throws the lower places his weapons on the empty chair, and stands against yonder wall to be executed for the traitor that he is. Thus half of your company shall live, and the other half seek death with such courage as may be granted them. Do you agree, or shall I give the signal?”
With unanimous voice they agreed, all excepting Baron Brunfels, who spoke not.
“Come, Baron, you and my devoted ex-Chancellor were about to play when I came in. Begin the game.”
“Very well,” replied the Baron nonchalantly. “Steinmetz, the dice-box is near your hand: throw.”
Some one placed the cubes in the leathern cup and handed it to the ex-Chancellor, whose shivering fingers relieved him of the necessity of shaking the box. The dice rolled out on the table; a three, a four, and a one. Those nearest reported the total.
“Eight!” cried the King. “Now, Baron.”
Baron Brunfels carelessly threw the dice into their receptacle, and a moment after the spotted bones clattered on the table.
“Three sixes!” cried the Baron. “Lord, if I only had such luck when I played for money!”
The ex-Chancellor’s eyes were starting from his head, wild with fear.
“We have three throws,” he screamed.