“Did the merchant agree to capitalize you?”
“He, too, was a cautious man, Lieutenant. He wished first to see the contract, and know who stood responsible for payment.”
“Wise man,” commented the officer; “and so, disheartened, I suppose, you returned here?”
“No, Lieutenant; the day has been warm, and I have traveled a good deal. I went from the merchant’s house to the Rheingold tavern, there to drink a tankard of wine with my comrades, a score of men who have formed what they call the ironworkers’ guild. I drank a tankard with them, and then came direct here, where I arrived but a few moments ago.”
The officer was more and more puzzled. Despite this young man’s deferential manner, his language was scarcely that of a mechanic, yet this certainly was his own room, and he had told the absolute truth about his wanderings, as one who has nothing to fear.
The Lieutenant stood for a space of time with eyes to the floor, as silent as the soldiers behind him. Suddenly he looked up.
“Show me the sword. I’ll tell you where it’s made!”
If he expected hesitation he was mistaken. Roland gave a joyful cry, swept aside the cloak, whisked forth the sword, flung it up, and caught it by the blade, then with a low bow handed it to the officer, who flashed it through the air, bent the blade between finger and thumb, then took it near the lamp and scrutinized it with the eye of an expert.
“A good weapon, my friend. Where was it made? I have never seen one like it.”
“It was made by my own hands here in Frankfort. Of course I go first to those who know least about the matter, but if I can get an introduction to his Lordship of Mayence, his officers will know a sword when they see it; and I hope to-night fortune, in leading you to my door, has brought me an officer of Mayence.”