The Sword Maker | Page 3

their
number were three of the most expert sword makers in all Germany.
These three sword makers had been instrumental in introducing to their
order the man who was now its leader. This youth came to one of them
with ideas concerning the proper construction of a sword, and the
balancing of it, so that it hung easily in the hand as though part of the
fore-arm. Usually, the expert has small patience with the theories of an
amateur; but this young fellow, whose ambition it was to invent a
sword, possessed such intimate knowledge of the weapon as it was
used, not only in Germany, but also in France and Italy, that the sword
maker introduced him to fellow-craftsmen at other shops, and they
taught him how to construct a sword. These instructors, learning that
although, as Roland laughingly said, he was not allowed to wear a
sword, he could wield it with a precision little short of marvelous, the
guild gave permission for this stranger to be a guest at one of their
weekly meetings at the Kaiser cellar, where he exhibited his wonderful
skill.

Not one of them, nor, indeed, all of them together, stood any chance
when confronting him. They clamored to be taught, offering good
money for the lessons, believing that if they acquired but a tithe of his
excellence with the blade they might venture to wear it at night, and let
their skill save them from capture. But the young fellow refused their
money, and somewhat haughtily declined the rôle of fencing-master,
whereupon they unanimously elected him a member of the coterie,
waiving for this one occasion the rule which forbade the choice of any
but a metal-worker. When the stranger accepted the election, he was
informed that it was the duty of each member to come to the aid of his
brethren when required, and they therefore requested him to teach them
swordsmanship. Roland, laughing, seeing how he had been trapped, as
it were, with his own consent, acceded to the universal wish, and before
a year had passed his twenty comrades were probably the leading
swordsmen in the city of Frankfort.
Shortly after the disaster to the merchants' fleet at the Lorely, Roland
disappeared without a word of farewell to those who had come to think
so much of him. He had been extremely reticent regarding his
profession, if he had one, and no one knew where he lodged. It was
feared that the authorities had arrested him with the sword in his
possession, for he grew more reckless than any of the others in carrying
the weapon. One night, however, he reappeared, and took his seat at the
head of the table as if nothing had happened. Evidently he had traveled
far and on foot, for his clothes were dusty and the worse for wear. He
refused to give any account of himself, but admitted that he was hungry,
thirsty, and in need of money.
His hunger and thirst were speedily satisfied, but the money scarcity
was not so easily remedied. All the score were out of employment, with
the exception of the three sword makers, whose trade the uncertainty of
the times augmented rather than diminished. To cheer up Roland, who
was a young fellow of unquenchable geniality, they elected him to the
empty honor of being their leader, Kurzbold's term of office having
ended.
The guild met every night now, instead of once a week, and it may be

shrewdly suspected that the collation of black bread and sausage
formed the sole meal of the day for many of them. Nevertheless, their
hilarity was undiminished, and the rafters rang with song and laugh,
and echoed also maledictions upon a supine Government, and on the
rapacious Rhine lords. But the bestowal of even black bread and the
least expensive of wine could not continue indefinitely. They owed a
bill to the landlord upon which that worthy, patient as he had proved
himself, always hoping for better times, wished for at least something
on account. All his other customers had deserted him, and if they drank
at all, chose some place where the wine was thin and cheap. The
landlord held out bravely for three months after Roland was elected
president, then, bemoaning his fate, informed the guild that he would
be compelled to close the Rheingold tavern.
"Give me a week!" cried Roland, rising in his place at the head of the
table, "and I will make an effort to get enough gold to settle the bill at
least, with perhaps something over for each of our pockets."
This promise brought forth applause and a rattle of flagons on the table,
so palpably empty that the ever-hopeful landlord proceeded forthwith
to fill them.
"There is one proviso," said Roland, as they