Roland smiled in sympathy as he turned towards him,
but his next words banished all expression of pleasure from the face of
Mayence.
"I hope to succeed better with you, my Lord. Of course I recognize I
have no standing with this Court since my refusal of the gift you
intended to bestow. I ask you to draft into this city seven thousand
men;" then after a pause: "_the seven thousand will not have far to
march, my Lord._"
He caught an expression almost of fear in the Archbishop's eyes, which
were quickly veiled, but his Lordship's tone was as unwavering as ever
when he asked:
"What do you mean by that?"
"I mean that the city of Mayence is nearer to Frankfort than either
Cologne or Treves."
"Your geographical point is undeniable. What am I to do with my ten
thousand once they are here?"
"My Lord, I admire the rigid discipline of your men, and estimate from
that the genius of organization possessed by your officers; a genius
imparted, I believe, by you. No one knows better than I the state of
confusion which this effort at relief has brought upon the city.
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