Otho the Archer

By Alexandre Dumas

This 1840 short novel is based on tales Dumas heard during his trip to Germany and is set on the banks of the Rhine in 1340. It features a melodramatic plot which keeps veering off in unexpected directions as Dumas explores various German tales.
In the narrative, the Landgrave (Prince) Ludwig of Godesburg, is struck by the resemblance of his son to a friend of his wife’s, and so decides that he has been cuckolded. He sends his wife off to a nunnery and ships his son, Otho, to a monastery.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Classica Libris
• Release date: Feb 6, 2020
• ISBN: 9788835368533

Alexandre Dumas

Alexandre Dumas (1802-1870), one of the most universally read French authors, is best known for his extravagantly adventurous historical novels. As a young man, Dumas emerged as a successful playwright and had considerable involvement in the Parisian theater scene. It was his swashbuckling historical novels that brought worldwide fame to Dumas. Among his most loved works are The Three Musketeers (1844), and The Count of Monte Cristo (1846). He wrote more than 250 books, both Fiction and Non-Fiction, during his lifetime.

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Copyright

First published in 1840

Copyright © 2020 Classica Libris

Chapter 1

Towards the end of the year 1340, on a cold but still beautiful autumn night, a horseman was riding along the narrow road that follows the left bank of the Rhine. You might have thought, considering the lateness of the hour and the rapid pace at which he urged his horse, tired as it was with the long day’s journey already done, that he was going to stop for a few hours in the little town of Oberwinter, which he had just reached. But nothing of the kind; without slackening his pace and like a man who is familiar with them, he plunged into the midst of narrow tortuous streets that might shorten his way by a few minutes, and soon reappeared on the other side of the town, going out by the opposite Gate, to that by which he had come in.

Just as the portcullis was dropped behind him, the moon, which had hitherto been clouded, now entered a space of sky clear and brilliant as a peaceful lake amid the sea of clouds rolling its fantastic waves over the heavens, and so we will use this passing gleam to take a rapid glance at the belated traveller.

He was a man of from forty-five to fifty years of age, of medium height, but of an athletic and square-shouldered build; and so entirely were his movements in harmony with those of his horse that the two appeared as if cut out of one and the same piece of rock. As he was in a friendly country and thus secure from all danger, he had hung his helmet from his saddle-bow, and to protect his head from the dank night air wore only a little hood of mail lined with cloth, which when his helmet was on his head fell back in a point between his shoulders.

True a head of long and abundant hair just turning grey served its owner for the same purpose as the most comfortable head-dress could have done, besides surrounding as with a natural frame a face dignified and reposeful as a lion’s.

His rank could have been a secret only to the few people who at this period were ignorant of heraldic language; for if you looked at his helmet, you saw rising through an Earl’s coronet — which combined with it formed a crest — a bare arm supporting a naked sword, while on the other side of the saddle hung a shield face outwards, on which glittered on a background gules the three gold stars — two in line and one under — of the house of Homburg, one of the oldest and most highly esteemed in all Germany.

Now if you would know more of the character we have just introduced, we will add that Count Karl was on his way back from Flanders, where he had gone at the command of the Emperor Louis V. of Bavaria, to lend the assistance of his brave sword to Edward III., of England, nominated eighteen months previously Vicegerent of the Empire. And this monarch, in virtue of the year’s truce he had just signed with Philip of Valois at the intercession of the Lady Jeanne, sister of the King of France, and mother of the Count de Hainault, had for the time being given our friend his freedom.

Arrived near the little village of Melheim, the traveller left the riverside road he had followed since Coblentz, to take a pathway leading directly inland. Horse and rider plunged into a ravine, to emerge shortly on the other side, and then pursue across the open plain a road that seemed well known to both of them.

In fact in another five minutes, the horse tossed his head and neighed, as if to announce his arrival, and then without his master finding it necessary to urge him on by word or spur, his eagerness increased so much that in a few moments they passed on their left in the darkness the little village of Godesberg, hidden in its clump of trees, and quitting the road from Rolandseck to Bonn, and turning a second time to the left, made straight for the Castle situated on the top of a hill, and bearing the same name as the town, though which of the two gave the name to the other is uncertain.

It was now clear the Castle of Godesberg was the goal of Count Karl’s journey, but it was even more evident that he was about to reach his destination in the midst of great festivities. As he climbed higher up the road ascending spirally from the foot of the mountain to the Great Gate, he saw each face of the Donjon Keep gleaming with lights from all its windows, and behind the redly glowing window-hangings numerous figures moving, continually forming and reforming in diversified groups. Though it was easy to discern by the slight frowning of his brows that he would rather have lighted in the midst of the family circle than amid the confusion of a ball, he pushed on his way all the same, so that in a few moments he was passing through the Castle Gate.

The Bailey was crowded with squires, grooms, horses and litters; for, as we have said, there was high festival at Godesberg. Scarcely had Count Karl put foot to ground ere a crowd of grooms and serving- men ran forward to take his horse and lead it to the stables. But not so readily would the Knight part with his faithful companion, neither would he trust the care of it to anyone but himself; taking the bridle, he led the animal to a stable apart from the others, where the Landgrave of Godesberg’s own horses were kept.

The grooms did not interfere, though astonished at his boldness, for the Knight had acted with an assurance which convinced them that he was entitled to do what he pleased.

When Hans — this was the Count’s name for his horse — was securely placed in a vacant stall, and this stall was supplied with sufficient straw for his comfort, his manger with oats, his rack with hay, the Knight then began to think of himself, and after again stroking his noble animal, which turned aside from its meal to acknowledge the attention by a grateful neigh — he proceeded to the Great Staircase, and in spite of the hindrance of pages and squires blocking the way, he reached the rooms where all the nobility of the country-side were then gathered together.

Count Karl paused a moment at one of the doors of the principal withdrawing room to look at the most brilliant portion of the assemblage. Here was an animated and noisy scene, gay with young men dressed in velvet and noble ladies with embroidered robes; and amongst the young men and noble ladies, the handsomest was Otho, and the fairest the Lady Emma, the one the son and the other the wife of the Landgrave Ludwig of Godesberg, Lord of the Castle and companion in arms of the newly-arrived Knight.

The appearance of the latter had roused attention.

Alone in the midst of all the guests, he appeared like Wilhelm to Lenora, still wearing his armour, the dark steel of which contrasted strangely with the bright, joyous hues of velvet and silk. Immediately, all looks were turned in his direction, except only the Count Ludwig’s, who standing at the opposite door seemed rapt in such a profound meditation that his eyes remained set in a fixed gaze.

Karl recognised his old friend, and without troubling himself further as to the cause of his preoccupation, he made his way through the rooms, and after a desperate but successful struggle with the crowd he reached the retired apartment, at one door of which he saw, as he entered by the other, Count Ludwig who had not changed his posture, and still stood there with the same gloomy look.

Karl again paused a moment to observe the host’s strange melancholy, the more strange as, while lavishing pleasure upon others, he seemed to have kept only gloom and anxiety for himself; then he stepped forward, and seeing that he had reached his friend without the sound of his steps attracting attention, he placed his hand on his shoulder.

The Landgrave turned round with a start. His mind and thought were so deeply immersed in a range of ideas far removed from the man who now broke in upon him, that he looked at him for some time without recognising him, though his face was now uncovered — and this the man whom on any other occasion he would have named, even with the visor lowered, amid all the Emperor’s Court. But Karl, holding out his arms, said, Ludwig, and the charm was broken.

Ludwig flung himself on his comrade’s breast, rather as a man who seeks refuge from a great sorrow than as a friend full of joy at beholding his friend once more.

But this unexpected return produced a happy distraction for the care-worn host of the gay festival. He drew the newcomer to the other end of the room, and there making him sit on a spacious oaken settle overhung by a canopy of cloth-of-gold, he took a seat beside him, and hiding his head in the shadow and taking his hand, asked him for an account of his fortunes during the three long years of absence which had separated