Kurzbold and his lieutenant broke out into alternate curses and appeals, protesting that Greusel and Ebearhard had not been expelled from the guild, and calling upon them by their solemn oath of brotherhood to release them now that they possessed the power.  To these appeals the newly-appointed judges made no reply, and for once Ebearhard did not laugh.

The other four directed their supplications to Roland himself.  They had been misled, they cried, and deeply regretted it.  Already they suffered punishment of a severity almost beyond power of human endurance, and they feared their bones were broken with the cudgeling, since which assault their bonds grievously tortured them.  All swore amendment, and their grim commander still remaining silent, they asked him in what respect they were more guilty than the dozen others whom seemingly he intended to spare.  At last Roland replied.

“You four,” he said sternly, “dared to lay hands upon me, and for that I demand from the judges a sentence of death.”

Even his two lieutenants gazed at him in amazement, that he should make so much of an action which they themselves had endured and nothing said of it.  Surely the laying-on of hands, even in rudeness, was not a capital crime, yet they saw to their astonishment that Roland was in deadly earnest.

The leader turned a calm face toward their scrutiny, but there was a frown upon his brow.

“Work while ye have the light,” he said.  “Judges, consider your decision, and deliver your verdict.”

Greusel and Ebearhard turned their backs on every one, walked slowly aft, and down into the cabin.  Roland resumed his seat on the bale of cloth, elbows on his knees, and face in his hands.  All appeals had ceased, and deep silence reigned, every man aboard the boat in a state of painful tension.  The fire in the distant castle lowered and lowered, and darkness was returning to the deck of the barge.  At last the judges emerged from the cabin, and came slowly forward.

It was Greusel who spoke.

“We wish to know if only these six are on trial?”

“Only these six,” replied Roland.

“Our verdict is death,” said Greusel.  “Kurzbold and Gensbein are to be thrown into the Rhine bound as they lie, but the other four receive one chance for life, in that the cords shall be cut, leaving their limbs free.”

This seeming mercy brought no consolation to the quartette, for each plaintively proclaimed that he could not swim.

“I thank you for your judgment,” said Roland, “which I am sure you must have formed with great reluctance.  Having proven yourself such excellent judges, I doubt not you will now act with equal wisdom as advisers.  A phrase of yours, Ebearhard, persists in my mind, despite all efforts to dislodge it.  You uttered on the ledge of rock yonder something to the effect that we left Frankfort as comrades together.  That is very true, and