“Knowest thou the purport of this missive?” he said at last.

“It concerns me not,” answered Gerbert simply.

“Nay, my son,” said the prior, “it doth concern thee, and deeply, too.  Know that it is thy death-warrant, boy!  The Freiherr has requested me to send thee to the wars in Palestine, and so to place thee that death will be a certainty.  This he asks in the name of our ancient friendship and for the sake of our order, to which he has ever shown himself well disposed.”

Seeing the dismay and incredulity which were depicted in his listener’s face, the prior hastened to read aloud a passage describing von Metternich’s discovery of his daughter’s love for the humble squire, and Gerbert could no longer doubt that his fate was sealed.

The prior looked at him kindly.

“Gerbert,” he said, “I am not going to put the cruel order into execution.  Though I lose friendship, the honour of our order, life itself, the son of Guba von Isenburg shall not suffer at my hands.  I sympathize with thy passion for the fair Ida.  I myself loved thy mother.”  The impetuous Gerbert started to his feet, hand on sword, at the mention of his mother, whose good name he set before all else; but with a dignified gesture the prior motioned him to his seat.

Then in terse, passionate phrases the elder man told how he had loved the gentle Guba for years, always hesitating to declare his passion lest the lady should scorn him.  At length he could bear it no longer, and made up his mind to reveal his love to her.  With this intent he rode toward her home, only to learn from a passing page that Guba, his mistress, was to be married that very day to von Isenburg.  He gave to the page a ring, bidding him carry it to his mistress with the message that it was from one who loved her greatly, and who for her sake renounced the world.  “The ring,” he concluded, “is on thy finger, and in thy face and voice are thy mother’s likeness.  Canst thou wonder that I would spare thy life?”

Gerbert listened in respectful silence.  His love for Ida enabled him to sympathize with the pathetic tale unfolded by the prior.  Tears fell unchecked from the eyes of both.  “And now,” said the prior at last, “we must look to thy safety.”

“I would not bring misfortune on thee,” said Gerbert.  “May I not go to Palestine and win my way through with my sword?”

“It is impossible,” said the elder man.  “Von Metternich would see to it that thou wert slain.  Thou must go to Swabia, where a prior of our order will look after thy safety in the meantime.”

The same day Gerbert was conveyed to Swabia, where, for a time at least, he was safe from persecution.

The Dance of Death

In the nunnery of Oberwoerth, on a pallet in a humble cell, Ida lay dying.  A year had gone past since she had been separated from her lover, and every day had seen her grow weaker and more despondent.  Forget Gerbert?  That would she never while life remained to her.  Wearily she tossed on her pallet, her only companion a sister of the convent.  Willingly now would the Freiherr give his dearest possessions to save his daughter, but already she was beyond assistance, her only hope the peace of the grave.