Louis, that the champion of the Church, after a mock trial, by the sentence of one judge, Robert di Lavena⁠—after an unanswerable pleading by Guido de Suzaria, a famous jurist⁠—had condemned the last heir of the Swabian house⁠—a rival king who had fought gallantly for his hereditary throne⁠—to be executed as a felon and a rebel on a public scaffold. So little did Conradin dread his fate, that, when his doom was announced, he was playing at chess with Frederick of Austria. ‘Slave,’ said Conradin to Robert of Bari, who read the fatal sentence, ‘do you dare to condemn as a criminal the son and heir of kings? Knows not your master that he is my equal, not my judge?’ He added, ‘I am a mortal, and must die; yet ask the kings of the earth if a prince be criminal for seeking to win back the heritage of his ancestors. But if there be no pardon for me, spare, at least, my faithful companions; or if they must die, strike me first, that I may not behold their death.’ They died devoutly, nobly. Every circumstance aggravated the abhorrence; it was said⁠—perhaps it was the invention of that abhorrence⁠—that Robert of Flanders, the brother of Charles, struck dead the judge who had presumed to read the iniquitous sentence.