After the futile bread riots earlier in the year, put down so drastically by the Archbishops, the population of the city greatly diminished, and the country round about swarmed with homeless wanderers, who at least were sure of something to eat, but being city-bred, and consequently useless for agricultural employment, they gradually joined into groups and marauding bands, greatly to the menace of the provinces they traversed.  Indeed, rumor had it that the robberies from certain castles on the Rhine, and the burning of Furstenberg, were the work of these free companies, consequently a sense of uneasiness permeated the Empire, whose rulers, great and small, began to foresee that a continuance of this state of things meant disaster to the rich as well as misery to the poor.  Charity, spasmodic and unorganized, proved wholly unable to cope with the disaster that had befallen the capital city.

When darkness set in on the third night after Roland’s return to Frankfort, he made his way out into the unlighted streets, acting with caution until certain he was not followed, then betook himself to the Palace belonging to the Archbishop of Cologne.

The porter at first refused him entrance, and Roland, not wishing to make himself known, declared he had an appointment with his Lordship.  Trusting that the underling could not read, he presented his parchment safe-conduct, asking him to give that to his Lordship, with a message that the bearer awaited his pleasure.  The suspicious servant, seeing the Grand Seal of the Empire upon the document, at once conducted Roland to a room on the ground floor, then departed with the manuscript to find his master.

The Archbishop returned with him, the Imperial scroll in his hand, and a distinctly perceptible frown on his brow.  When the servant withdrew, closing the door, the prelate said: 

“Highness, this is a very dangerous procedure on your part.”

“Why, my Lord?”

“Because you are certain to have been followed.”

“What matter for that?” asked the young man.  “I am quite unknown in Frankfort.”

“Prince Roland,” said the Archbishop gravely, “until your Election is actually accomplished, you would be wise to do nothing that might arouse the suspicion of Mayence.  This house is watched night and day, and all who come and go are noted.  I dare say that within fifteen minutes Mayence will know you have visited me.”

“My dear Archbishop, they cannot note an unknown man.  The uneasiness of Frankfort has already taken hold of me, and therefore I saw to it that I was not followed.”

“If you were not followed when you came, you will certainly be followed as you return.”

“In that case, my Lord, the spies will track me to the innocent home of Herr Goebel, the merchant, in the Fahrgasse.”

“They will shadow you when you leave his house.”

“Then their industry will be rewarded by an enjoyable terminus; in other words, the drinking cellar of the Rheingold.”