“Your capable lieutenant, sir,” said Ebearhard, before his slower companion could begin to frame a sentence, “allowed the men to think they were having their own way, but in reality diverted them into his, so they are now enjoying a credit of one liter each at the tavern of the Golden Anker.”

“That,” said Roland, “is but as a drop of water in a parched desert.  Have they discovered you hold the money, Greusel?”

“No, not yet; but I fear they will begin to suspect by and by.  I suppose you went down the valley of the brook to the Rhine, and overhauled the barge there?”

“I suppose so,” said Roland.  “What else did you think I could do?”

“I was sure you had done that, but I feared you would turn the barge back to Frankfort.”

“I never thought of such a thing.  Indeed, the captain told me he met difficulty enough navigating the shallow Main, and I think he prefers the deeper Rhine.  Of course, you know why I left you.”

The men looked at each other without reply, and Roland laughed.

“I see you have been harboring dark suspicions, but the case is very simple.  The pious monks tell us that the Scriptures say if a man asks us to go one league with him, we should go two.  My good friends of the guild last night made a most reasonable request, namely, that I should bestow upon them three thalers each, and surely, to quote the monks again, the laborer is worthy of his hire.”

“Oh, that is the way you look upon it, then,” said Greusel.

“From a scriptural point of view, yes; and I am going to better the teachings of my young days by giving each of the men ten times the amount he desired.  Thirty thalers each are waiting in this bag for them.”

“By my sword!” cried Ebearhard, “if that isn’t setting a premium on mutiny it comes perilously close.”

“Not so, Ebearhard; not so.  You and Greusel did not mutiny, therefore to each of you I give a hundred and thirty thalers, which is the thirty thalers the mutineers receive, and a hundred thalers extra, as a reward of virtue because you did not join them.  After all, there is much to be said for the men’s point of view.  I had led them ruthlessly under a burning July sun, along a rough and shadeless road, then dragged them away from the ample wine-vaults of Sonnenberg; next guided them on through brambles, over streams, into bogs and out again; and lastly, when they were dog-tired, hungry and ill-tempered, I carelessly pointed to a section of the landscape, and said, ’There, my dear chaps, is your bedroom’; lads who had never before slept without blankets and a roof.  No wonder they mutinied; but even then, by the love of God for His creatures, they did not actually attack me when I stood up with drawn sword in my hand.”

“Of course you have that at least to be thankful for,” said Ebearhard.  “Eighteen to one was foul odds.”

“I be thankful!  Surely you are dreaming, Ebearhard.  Why should I be thankful, except that I escaped the remorse for at least killing a dozen of them!”