He was some years older, his form was stouter and broader. Low down
upon his bull-neck grew his short, thick, and curly brown hair. He was
of almost gigantic height and strength. There were wanting in his face
the sunny shimmer, the trusting joy and hope which illumined the
features of his younger brother. Instead of these, there was in his
whole appearance an expression of bear-like strength and bear-like
courage; he wore a shaggy wolf-skin, the jaws of which shaded his head
like a cowl, a simple woollen doublet beneath, and on his right
shoulder he carried a short and heavy club made of the hard root of an
oak.
The third comer followed the others with a cautious step; a middle-aged
man with a dignified and prudent expression of countenance. He wore the
steel helmet, the sword, and the brown war-mantle of the Gothic
footmen. His straight light-brown hair was cut square across the
forehead--an ancient Germanic mode of wearing the hair, which one often
sees represented on Roman triumphal columns, and which has been
preserved by the German peasant to this day. The regular features of
his open face, his grey and steady eyes, were full of reflective
manliness and sober repose.
When he, too, had reached the cella of the temple, and had greeted the
old man, the torch-bearer cried in an eager voice:
"Well, old Master Hildebrand, a fine adventure must it be to which thou
hast bidden us on such an inhospitable night, and in this wilderness of
art and nature! Speak--what is it?"
Instead of replying, the old man turned to the last comer and asked:
"Where is the fourth whom I invited?"
"He wished to go alone. He shunned us all. Thou knowest his manner
well."
"There he comes!" cried the beautiful youth, pointing to another side
of the hill. And, in fact, a man of very peculiar appearance now drew
near.
The full glare of the torch illumined a ghastly-pale face that seemed
almost bloodless. Long and shining black locks, like dark snakes, hung
dishevelled from his uncovered head. Arched black brows and long lashes
shaded large and melancholy dark eyes, full of repressed fire. A
sharply-cut eagle nose bent towards the fine and smoothly-shaven mouth,
around which resigned grief had traced deep lines.
His form and bearing were still young; but pain seemed to have
prematurely ripened his soul.
He wore a coat of mail and greaves of black steel, and in his right
hand gleamed a battle-axe with a long lance-like shaft. He merely
greeted the others with a nod of the head, and placing himself behind
the old man, who now bade them all four step close to the pillar on
which the torch was fixed, began in a suppressed voice:
"I appointed you to meet me here to listen to earnest words, which must
be spoken, unheard, to faithful men. I have sought for months in all
the nation, and have chosen you. You are the right men. When you have
heard me, you will yourselves feel that you must be silent about this
night's meeting."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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