Wallenstein knew nothing of what had taken place in the castle, and had just retired to bed when a band of Butler’s soldiers, led by Captain Devereux, an Irishman, burst into his apartment.  The duke leaped from his bed, but before he could snatch up a sword he was pierced through and through by the murderers’ halberts.

So fell one of the greatest men of his age.  Even to the present day there are differences of opinion as to the extent of his guilt, but none as to the treachery with which he was murdered by his most trusted officers.  That Wallenstein owed much gratitude to the emperor is unquestionable, but upon the other hand he had even a greater title to the gratitude of Ferdinand, whose crown and empire he had repeatedly saved.  Wallenstein was no bigot, his views were broad and enlightened, and he was therefore viewed with the greatest hostility by the violent Catholics around the king, by Maximilian of Bavaria, by the Spaniards, and by the Jesuits, who were all powerful at court.  These had once before brought about his dismissal from the command, after he had rendered supreme services, and their intrigues against him were again at the point of success when Wallenstein determined to defy and dethrone the emperor.  The coldness with which he was treated at court, the marked inattention to all his requests, the consciousness that while he was winning victories in the field his enemies were successfully plotting at court, angered the proud and haughty spirit of Wallenstein almost to madness, and it may truly be said that he was goaded into rebellion.  The verdict of posterity has certainly been favourable to him, and the dastardly murder which requited a lifetime of brilliant services has been held to more than counterbalance the faults which he committed.

CHAPTER XXIV MALCOLM’S ESCAPE

After the fall of Wallenstein’s colonels Malcolm was led away a prisoner, and was conducted to a dungeon in the castle.  It was not until the door closed behind him that he could fairly realize what had taken place, so sudden and unexpected had been the scene in the banqueting hall.  Five minutes before he had been feasting and drinking the health of Wallenstein, now he was a prisoner of the Imperialists.  Wallenstein’s adherents had been murdered, and it was but too probable that a like fate would befall the general himself.  The alliance from which so much had been hoped, which seemed to offer a prospect of a termination of the long and bloody struggle, was cut short at a blow.

As to his own fate it seemed dark enough, and his captivity might last for years, for the Imperialists’ treatment of their prisoners was harsh in the extreme.  The system of exchange, which was usual then as now, was in abeyance during the religious war in Germany.  There was an almost personal hatred between the combatants, and, as Malcolm knew, many of his compatriots who had fallen into the hands of the Imperialists had been treated with such harshness in prison that they had died there.  Some, indeed, were more than suspected of having been deliberately starved to death.