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      The Project Gutenberg eBook of Joan of the Sword Hand, by S. R. Crockett.
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<body>
<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 41803 ***</div>

<p class="ft120">JOAN OF THE SWORD HAND</p>


<hr style="width: 85%;" />

<div class='bbox'>
<p class="center"><i>WORKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR.</i></p>

<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="">
<tr><td align='left' class='bt'>
  THE STICKIT MINISTER.<br />
  THE RAIDERS.<br />
  THE PLAYACTRESS.<br />
  THE LILAC SUNBONNET.<br />
  BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT.<br />
  THE MEN OF THE MOSS HAGS.<br />
  CLEG KELLY.<br />
  THE GREY MAN.<br />
  LADS' LOVE.<br />
  LOCHINVAR.<br />
  THE STANDARD BEARER.<br />
  THE RED AXE.<br />
  THE BLACK DOUGLAS.<br />
  IONE MARCH.<br />
  KIT KENNEDY.<br />
</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left' class='bt'>
  SWEETHEART TRAVELLERS.<br />
  SIR TOADY LION.
</td></tr>
</table>
</div>


<hr style="width: 85%;" />

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 60%;">
<img src="images/i_frontis.jpg" width="100%" alt="She met on the middle flight a grey-bearded man." title="" />
<span class="caption">"She met on the middle flight a grey-bearded man." (Page 25.)</span>
<p class="ralign">[<i>Frontispiece</i></p>
</div>

<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<div class="center">
<h1 class="smcap">Joan of the Sword Hand</h1>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<h3>BY</h3>
<h2>S. R. CROCKETT</h2>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
LONDON<br />
WARD, LOCK &amp; CO., LIMITED<br />
NEW YORK AND MELBOURNE<br />
1900<br />
</div>


<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<p class="center">
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>The Illustrations to this edition of<br />
"Joan of the Sword Hand" are by</i><br />
<br />
<i>FRANK RICHARDS.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2>

<div class="center">
<table width="80%" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="2" border="0" summary="Table of Contents">
  <tbody>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc" style="width: 15%;"><span style="font-size: 70%;">CHAP.</span></td>
      <td class="tdl" style="width: 85%;">&nbsp;</td>
      <td class="tdr" style="width: 20%;"><span style="font-size: 70%;">PAGE</span></td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">I.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">THE HALL OF THE GUARD</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">7</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">II.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">THE BAITING OF THE SPARHAWK</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">14</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">III.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">JOAN DRAWS FIRST BLOOD</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">19</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">IV.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">THE COZENING OF THE AMBASSADOR</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">25</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">V.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">JOHANN THE SECRETARY</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">30</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">VI.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">AN AMBASSADOR'S AMBASSADOR</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">38</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">VII.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">H.R.H. THE PRINCESS IMPETUOSITY</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">47</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">VIII.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">JOHANN IN THE SUMMER PALACE</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">52</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">IX.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">THE ROSE GARDEN</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">59</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">X.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">PRINCE WASP</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">64</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">XI.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">THE KISS OF THE PRINCESS MARGARET</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">70</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">XII.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">JOAN FORSWEARS THE SWORD</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">79</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">XIII.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">THE SPARHAWK IN THE TOILS</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">84</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">XIV.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">AT THE HIGH ALTAR</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">90</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">XV.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">WHAT JOAN LEFT BEHIND</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">99</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">XVI.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">PRINCE WASP'S COMPACT</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">105</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">XVII.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">WOMAN'S WILFULNESS</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">111</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">XVIII.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">CAPTAINS BORIS AND JORIAN PROMOTE PEACE</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">120</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">XIX.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">JOAN STANDS WITHIN HER DANGER</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">126</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">XX.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">THE CHIEF CAPTAIN'S TREACHERY</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">131</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">XXI.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">ISLE RUGEN</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">139</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">XXII.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">THE HOUSE ON THE DUNES</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">144</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">XXIII.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">THE FACE THAT LOOKED INTO JOAN'S</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">150
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span>
      </td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">XXIV.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">THE SECRET OF THERESA VON LYNAR</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">156</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">XXV.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">BORNE ON THE GREAT WAVE</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">163</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">XXVI.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">THE GIRL BENEATH THE LAMP</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">169</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">XXVII.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">WIFE AND PRIEST</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">175</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">XXVIII.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">THE RED LION FLIES AT KERNSBERG</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">182</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">XXIX.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">THE GREETING OF THE PRINCESS MARGARET</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">191</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">XXX.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">LOVE'S CLEAR EYE</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">197</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">XXXI.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI">THE ROYAL MINX</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">204</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">XXXII.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII">THE PRINCESS MARGARET IS IN A HURRY</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">212</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">XXXIII</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII">A WEDDING WITHOUT A BRIDEGROOM</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">217</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">XXXIV.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIV">LITTLE JOHANNES RODE</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">222</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">XXXV.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXV">A PERILOUS HONEYMOON</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">229</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">XXXVI.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVI">THE BLACK DEATH</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">236</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">XXXVII.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVII">THE DROPPING OF A CLOAK</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">245</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">XXXVIII.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVIII">THE RETURN OF THE BRIDE</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">251</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">XXXIX.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIX">PRINCE WASP STINGS</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">258</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">XL.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XL">THE LOVES OF PRIEST AND WIFE</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">266</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">XLI.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLI">THERESA KEEPS TROTH</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">277</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">XLII.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLII">THE WORDLESS MAN TAKES A PRISONER</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">287</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">XLIII.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLIII">TO THE RESCUE</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">295</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">XLIV.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLIV">THE UKRAINE CROSS</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">301</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">XLV.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLV">THE TRUTH-SPEAKING OF BORIS AND JORIAN</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">310</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">XLVI.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLVI">THE FEAR THAT IS IN LOVE</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">315</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">XLVII.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLVII">THE BROKEN BOND</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">324</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">XLVIII.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLVIII">JOAN GOVERNS THE CITY</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">332</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">XLIX.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLIX">THE WOOING OF BORIS AND JORIAN</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">338</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">L.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_L">THE DIN OF BATTLE</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">345</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">LI.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_LI">THERESA'S TREACHERY</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">355</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">LII.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_LII">THE MARGRAF'S POWDER CHESTS</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">366</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">LIII.</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_LIII">THE HEAD OF THE CHURCH VISIBLE</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">380</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td class="tdc">&nbsp;</td>
      <td class="tdl"><a href="#EPILOGUE">EPILOGUE OF EXPLICATION</a></td>
      <td class="tdr">388</td>
    </tr>
  </tbody>
</table>
</div>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p>

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2>

<h3>THE HALL OF THE GUARD</h3>


<p>Loud rang the laughter in the hall of the men-at-arms
at Castle Kernsberg. There had come an
embassy from the hereditary Princess of Plassenburg,
recently established upon the throne of her ancestors,
to the Duchess Joan of Hohenstein, ruler of that cluster
of hill statelets which is called collectively Masurenland,
and which includes, besides Hohenstein the
original Eagle's Eyrie, Kernsberg also, and Marienfield.</p>

<p>Above, in the hall of audience, the ambassador, one
Leopold von Dessauer, a great lord and most learned
councillor of state, sat alone with the young Duchess.
They were eating of the baked meats and drinking the
good Rhenish up there. But, after all, it was much
merrier down below with Werner von Orseln, Alt
Pikker, Peter Balta, and John of Thorn, though what
they ate was mostly but plain ox-flesh, and their drink
the strong ale native to the hill lands, which is called
Wendish mead.</p>

<p>"Get you down, Captains Jorian and Boris," the
young Duchess had commanded, looking very handsome
and haughty in the pride of her twenty years,
her eight strong castles, and her two thousand men
ready to rise at her word; "down to the hall of guard,
where my officers send round the wassail. If they do
not treat you well, e'en come up and tell it to me."</p>

<p>"Good!" responded the two soldiers of the Princess
of Plassenburg, turning them about as if they had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span>
been hinged on the same stick, and starting forward
with precisely the same stiff hitch from the halt, they
made for the door.</p>

<p>"But stay," Joan of Hohenstein had said, ere they
reached it, "here are a couple of rings. My father left
me one or two such. Fit them upon your fingers, and
when you return give them to the maidens of your
choice. Is there by chance such an one, Captain
Jorian, left behind you at Plassenburg?"</p>

<p>"Aye, madam," said Jorian, directing his left eye, as
he stood at attention, a little slantwise in the direction
of his companion.</p>

<p>"What is her name?"</p>

<p>"Gretchen is her name," quoth the soldier.</p>

<p>"And yours, Captain Boris?"</p>

<p>The second automaton, a little slower of tongue than
his companion, hesitated a moment.</p>

<p>"Speak up," said his comrade, in an undergrowl;
"say 'Katrin.'"</p>

<p>"Katrin!" thundered Captain Boris, with bluff apparent
honesty.</p>

<p>"It is well," said the Duchess Joan; "I think no less
of a sturdy soldier for being somewhat shamefaced as
to the name of his sweetheart. Here is a ring apiece
which will not shame your maidens in far Plassenburg,
as you walk with them under the lime-trees, or buy
ribbons for them in the booths that cluster about
the Minster walls."</p>

<p>The donor looked at the rings again. She espied the
letters of a posy upon them.</p>

<p>"Ha!" she cried, "Captain Boris, what said you was
the name of your betrothed?"</p>

<p>"Good Lord!" muttered Boris lowly to himself,
"did I not tell the woman even now?&mdash;Gretchen!"</p>

<p>"Hut, you fool!" Jorian's undergrowl came to his
ear, "Katrin&mdash;not Gretchen; Gretchen is mine."</p>

<p>"I mean Katrin, my Lady Duchess," said Boris, putting
a bold face on the mistake.</p>

<p>The young mistress of the castle smiled. "Thou art
a strange lover," she said, "thus to forget the name of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span>
thy mistress. But here is a ring with a K writ large
upon it, which will serve for thy Katherina. And here,
Captain Jorian, is one with a G scrolled in Gothic, which
thou wilt doubtless place with pride upon the finger of
Mistress Gretchen among the rose gardens of Plassenburg."</p>

<p>"Good!" said Jorian and Boris, making their bows
together; "we thank your most gracious highness."</p>

<p>"Back out, you hulking brute!" the undertone came
again from Jorian; "she will be asking us for their surnames
if we bide a moment longer. Now then, we are
safe through the door; right about, Boris, and thank
Heaven she had not time for another question, or we
were men undone!"</p>

<p>And with their rings upon their little fingers the two
burly captains went down the narrow stair of Castle
Kernsberg, nudging each other jovially in the dark
places as if they had again been men-at-arms and no
captains, as in the old days before the death of Karl the
Usurper and the coming back of the legitimate Princess
Helene into her rights.</p>

<p>Being arrived at the hall beneath they soon found
themselves the centre of a hospitable circle. Gruff,
bearded Wendish men were these officers of the young
Duchess; not a butterfly youngling or a courtly carpet
knight among them, but men tanned like shipmen of
the Baltic, soldiers mostly who had served under her
father Henry, foraging upon occasion as far as the Mark
in one direction and into Bor-Russia in the other, men
grounded and compacted after the hearts of Jorian and
Boris.</p>

<p>It was small wonder that amid such congenial
society the ex-men-at-arms found themselves presently
very much at home. Scarcely were they seated when
Jorian began to brag of the gift the Duchess had given
him for the maiden of his troth.</p>

<p>"And Boris here, that hulking cobold, that Hans
Klapper upon the housetops, had well-nigh spoiled the
jest; for when her ladyship asked him a second time in
her sweet voice for the name of his 'betrothed,' he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span>
must needs lay his tongue to 'Gretchen,' instead of
'Katrin,' as he had done at the first!"</p>

<p>Then all suddenly the bearded, burly officers of the
Duchess Joan looked at each other with a little scared
expression on their faces, through which gradually
glimmered up a certain grim amusement. Werner von
Orseln, the eldest and gravest of all, glanced round the
full circle of his mess. Then he looked back at the two
captains of the embassy guard of Plassenburg with a
pitying glance.</p>

<p>"And you lied about your sweethearts to the Duchess
Joan?" he said.</p>

<p>"Ha, ha! Yes! I trow yes," quoth Jorian jovially.
"Wine may be dear, but this ring will pay the sweets of
many a night!"</p>

<p>"Ha, ha! It will, will it?" said Werner, the chief
captain, grimly.</p>

<p>"Aye, truly," echoed Boris, the mead beginning to
work nuttily under his steel cap, "when we melt this&mdash;ha,
ha!&mdash;Katrin's jewel, we'll quaff many a beaker.
The Rhenish shall flow-ow-ow! And Peg and Moll
and Elisabet shall be there&mdash;yes, and many a good
fellow-ow-ow&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Shut the door!" quoth Werner, the chief captain,
at this point. "Sit down, gentlemen!"</p>

<p>But Jorian and Boris were not to be so easily turned
aside.</p>

<p>"Call in the ale-drawer&mdash;the tapster, the pottler, the
over-cellarer, whatever you call him. For we would
have more of his vintage. Why, is this a night of
jewels, and shall we not melt them? We may chance
to get another for a second mouthful of lies to-morrow
morning. A good duchess as ever was&mdash;a soft princess,
a princess most gullible is this of yours, gentlemen of
the Eagle's Nest, kerns of Kernsberg!"</p>

<p>"Sit down," said Werner yet more gravely. "Captains
Jorian and Boris, you do not seem to know that
you are no longer in Plassenburg. The broom bush
does not keep the cow betwixt Kernsberg and Hohenstein.
Here are no Tables of Karl the Miller's Son to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span>
hamper our liege mistress. Do you know that you have
lied to her and made a jest of it?"</p>

<p>"Aye," cried Jorian, holding his ring high; "a
sweet, easy maid, this of yours, as ever was cozened.
An easy service yours must be. Lord! I could feather
my nest well inside a year&mdash;one short year with such a
mistress would do the business. Why, she will believe
anything!"</p>

<p>"So," said Werner von Orseln grimly, "you think so,
do you, Captains Boris and Jorian, of the embassy
staff? Well, listen!"</p>

<p>He spoke very slowly, leaning towards them and
punctuating his meaning upon the palm of his left
hand with the fingers of his right. "If I, Werner of
Orseln, were now to walk upstairs, and in so many
words tell my lady, 'the sweet, easy princess,' as you
name her, Joan of the Sword Hand, as we are proud&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"<i>Joan of the Sword Hand! Hoch!</i>"</p>

<p>The men-at-arms at the lower table, the bearded
captains at the high board, the very page boys lounging
and scuffling in the niches, rose to their feet at the
name, pronounced in a voice of thunder-pride by
Chief Captain Werner.</p>

<p>"Joan of the Sword Hand! <i>Hoch!</i> Hent yourselves
up, Wends! Up, Plassenburg! Joan of the
Sword Hand! Our Lady Joan! <i>Hoch!</i> And three
times <i>hoch</i>!"</p>

<p>The hurrahs ran round the oak-panelled hall.
Jorian and Boris looked at each other with surprise,
but they were stout fellows, and took matters, even
when most serious, pretty much as they came.</p>

<p>"I thank you, gentlemen, on behalf of my lady, in
whose name I command here," said Werner, bowing
ceremoniously to all around, while the others settled
themselves to listen. "Now, worthy soldiers of
Plassenburg," he went on, "be it known to you
that if (to suppose a case which will not happen) I
were to tell our Lady Joan what you have confessed to
us here and boasted of&mdash;that you lied and double lied
to her&mdash;I lay my life and the lives of these good fellows<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span>
that the pair of you would be aswing from the corner
gallery of the Lion's Tower in something under five
minutes."</p>

<p>"Aye, and a good deed it were, too!" chorussed the
round table of the guard hall. "Heaven send it, the
jackanapes! To rail at our Duchess!"</p>

<p>Jorian rose to his feet. "Up, Boris!" he cried;
"no Bor-Russian, no kern of Hohenstein that ever
lived, shall overcrow a captain of the armies of Plassenburg
and a soldier of the Princess Helene&mdash;Heaven
bless her! Take your ring in your hand, Boris, for we
will go up straightway, you and I. And we will tell
the Lady Duchess Joan that, having no sweetheart of
legal standing, and no desire for any, we choused her
into the belief that we would bestow her rings upon
our betrothed in the rose-gardens of Plassenburg.
Then will we see if indeed we shall be aswing in five
minutes. Ready, Boris?"</p>

<p>"Aye, thrice ready, Jorian!"</p>

<p>"About, then! Quick march!"</p>

<p>A great noise of clapping rose all round the hall as
the two stout soldiers set themselves to march up the
staircase by which they had just descended.</p>

<p>"Stand to the doors!" cried Werner, the chief
captain; "do not let them pass. Up and drink a
deep cup to them, rather! To Captains Jorian and
Boris of Plassenburg, brave fellows both! Charge
your tankards. The mead of Wendishland shall not
run dry. Fill them to the brim. A caraway seed in
each for health's sake. There! Now to the honour
and long lives of our guests. Jorian and Boris&mdash;<i>hoch</i>!"</p>

<p>"<i>Jorian and Boris&mdash;hoch!</i>"</p>

<p>The toast was drunk amid multitudinous shoutings
and handshakings. The two men had stopped, perforce,
for the doors were in the hands of the soldiers of the
guard, and the pike points clustered thick in their path.
They turned now in the direction of the high table
from which they had risen.</p>

<p>"Deal you so with your guests who come on embassy?"
said Jorian, smiling. "First you threaten them<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span>
with hanging, and then you would make them drunk
with mead as long in the head as the devil of Trier
that deceived the Archbishop-Elector and gat the holy
coat for a foot-warmer!"</p>

<p>"Sit down, gentlemen, and I also will sit. Now,
hearken well," said Werner; "these honest fellows of
mine will bear me out that I lie not. You have done
bravely and spoken up like good men taken in a fault.
But we will not permit you to go to your deaths. For
our Lady Joan&mdash;God bless her!&mdash;would not take a
false word from any&mdash;no, not if it were on Twelfth
Night or after a Christmas merry-making. She would
not forgive it from your old Longbeard upstairs, whose
business it is&mdash;that is, if she found it out. 'To the
gallows!' she would say, and we&mdash;why then we should
sorrow for having to hasten the stretching of two good
men. But what would you, gentlemen? We are her
servants and we should be obliged to do her will.
Keep your rings, lads, and keep also your wits about
you when the Duchess questions you again. Nay,
when you return to Plassenburg, be wise, seek out a
Gretchen and a Katrin and bestow the rings upon them&mdash;that
is, if ever you mean again to stand within the
danger of Joan of the Sword Hand in this her castle
of Kernsberg."</p>

<p>"Gretchens are none so scarce in Plassenburg,"
muttered Jorian. "I think we can satisfy a pair of
them&mdash;but at a cheaper price than a ring of rubies set
in gold!"</p>

<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p>

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2>

<h3>THE BAITING OF THE SPARHAWK</h3>


<p>"Bring in the Danish Sparhawk, and we will
bait him!" said Werner. "We have shown
our guests but a poor entertainment. Bring in the
Sparhawk, I say!"</p>

<p>At this there ensued unyoked merriment. Each
stout lad, from one end of the hall to the other,
undid his belt as before a nobler course and nudged
his fellow.</p>

<p>"'Ware, I say, stand clear! Here comes the Wild
Boar of the Ardennes, the Wolf of Thuringia, the
Bear from the Forests of Bor-Russia! Stand clear&mdash;stand
clear!" cried Werner von Orseln, laughing and
pretending to draw a dagger to provide for his own
safety.</p>

<p>The inner door which led from the hall of the men-at-arms
to the dungeons of the castle was opened, and
all looked towards it with an air of great amusement
and expectation.</p>

<p>"Now we shall have some rare sport," each man
said to his neighbour, and nodded.</p>

<p>"The baiting of the Sparhawk! The Sparhawk
comes!"</p>

<p>Jorian and Boris looked with interest in the direction
of the door through which such a remarkable bird was
to arrive. They could not understand what all the
pother could be about.</p>

<p>"What the devil&mdash;&mdash;?" said Jorian.</p>

<p>And, not to be behindhand, "What the devil&mdash;&mdash;?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span>
echoed Boris. For mostly these two ran neck and neck
from drop of flag to winning-post.</p>

<p>Through the black oblong of the dungeon doorway
there came a lad of seventeen or eighteen, tall, slim, dark-browed,
limber. He walked between a pair of men-at-arms,
who held his wrists firmly at either side. His
hands were chained together, and from between them
dangled a spiked ball that clanked heavily on the floor
as he stumbled forward rather than walked into the
room. He had black hair that waved from his forehead
in a backward sweep, a nose of slightly Roman
shape, which, together with his bold eagle's eyes, had
obtained him the name of the Spar or Sparrow-hawk.
And on his face, handsome enough though pale, there
was a look of haughty disdain and fierce indignation
such as one may see in the demeanour of a newly
prisoned bird of prey, which hath not yet had time to
forget the blue empyrean spaces and the stoop with
half-closed wings upon the quarry trembling in the
vale.</p>

<p>"Ha, Sparhawk!" cried Werner, "how goes it,
Sparhawk? Any less bold and peremptory than when
last we met? Your servant, Count Maurice von
Lynar! We pray you dance for us the Danish dance
of shuffle-board, Count Maurice, if so your Excellency
pleases!"</p>

<p>The lad looked up the table and down with haughty
eyes that deigned no answer.</p>

<p>Werner von Orseln turned to his guests and said,
"This Sparhawk is a little Dane we took on our last
excursion to the north. It is only in that direction we
can lead the foray, since you have grown so law-abiding
and strong in Plassenburg and the Mark. His uncles
and kinsfolk were all killed in the defence of Castle
Lynar, on the Northern Haff. We know not which of
these had also the claim of fatherhood upon him. At all
events, his grandad had a manor there, and came from
the Jutland sand-dunes to build a castle upon the Baltic
shores. But he had better have stayed at home, for he
would not pay the Peace Geld to our Henry. So the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span>
Lion roared, and we went to Castle Lynar and made
an end&mdash;save of this spitting Sparhawk, whom our
master would not let us kill, and whom now we keep
with clipped wings for our sport."</p>

<p>The lad listened with erected head and haughty eyes
to the tale, but answered not a word.</p>

<p>"Now," cried Werner, with his cup in his hand and
his brows bent upon the youth, "dance for us as you
used to do upon the Baltic, when the maids came in
fresh from their tiring and the newest kirtles were
donned. Dance, I say! Foot it for your life!"</p>

<p>The lad Maurice von Lynar stood with his bold eyes
upon his tormentors. "Curs of Bor-Russia," he said
at last, in speech that trembled with anger, "you may
vex the soul of a Danish gentleman with your aspersions,
you may wound his body, but you will never be
able to stand up to him in battle. You will never be
worthy to eat or drink with him, to take his hand in
comradeship, or to ride a tilt with him. Pigs of the
sty you are, man by man of you&mdash;Wends and boors,
and no king's gentlemen."</p>

<p>"Bravo!" said Boris, under his breath, "that is
none so dustily said for a junker!"</p>

<p>"Silence with that tongue of yours!" muttered his
mate. "Dost want to be yawing out of that window
presently, with the wind spinning you about and about
like a capon on a jack-spit? They are uncanny folk,
these of the woman's castle&mdash;not to trust to. One
knows not what they may do, nor where their jest may
end."</p>

<p>"Hans Trenck, lift this springald's pretty wrist-bauble!"
said Werner.</p>

<p>A laughing man-at-arms went up, his partisan still
over his shoulder, and laying his hand upon the
chain which depended between the manacled wrists
of the boy Maurice, he strove to lift the spiked ball.</p>

<p>"What!" cried Werner, "canst thou, pap-backed
babe, not lift that which the noble Count Maurice
of Lynar has perforce to carry about with him
all day long? Down with your weapon, man, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>
to it like an apothecary compounding some blister
for stale fly-blown rogues!"</p>

<p>At the word the man laid down his partisan and
lifted the ball high between his two hands.</p>

<p>"Now dance!" commanded Werner von Orseln,
"dance the Danish milkmaid's coranto, or I will bid
him drop it on your toes. Dost want them jellied,
man?"</p>

<p>"Drop, and be damned in your low-born souls!"
cried the lad fiercely. "Untruss my hands and let
me loose with a sword, and ten yards clear on the
floor, and, by Saint Magnus of the Isles, I will disembowel
any three of you!"</p>

<p>"You will not dance?" said Werner, nodding at him.</p>

<p>"I will see you fry in hell fire first!"</p>

<p>"Down with the ball, Hans Trenck!" cried Werner.
"He that will not dance at Castle Kernsberg must learn
at least to jump."</p>

<p>The man-at-arms, still grinning, lifted the ball a little
higher, balancing it in one hand to give it more force.
He prepared to plump it heavily upon the undefended
feet of young Maurice.</p>

<p>"'Ware toes, Sparhawk!" cried the soldiers in chorus,
but at that moment, suddenly kicking out as far as his
chains allowed, the boy took the stooping lout on the
face, and incontinently widened the superficial area
of his mouth. He went over on his back amid the
uproarious laughter of his fellows.</p>

<p>"Ha! Hans Trenck, the Sparhawk hath spurred
you, indeed! A brave Sparhawk! Down went poor
Hans Trenck like a barndoor fowl!"</p>

<p>The fellow rose, spluttering angrily.</p>

<p>"Hold his legs, some one," he said, "I'll mark his
pretty feet for him. He shall not kick so free another
time."</p>

<p>A couple of his companions took hold of the boy on
either side, so that he could not move his limbs, and
Hans again lifted high the ball.</p>

<p>"Shall we stand this? They call this sport!" said
Boris; "shall I pink the brutes?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p>

<p>"Sit down and shut your eyes. Our Prince Hugo
will harry this nest of thieves anon. For the present
we must bear their devilry if we want to escape
hanging!"</p>

<p>"Now then, for marrow and mashed trotters!" cried
Hans, spitting the blood from the split corners of his
mouth.</p>

<p>"<i>Halt!</i>"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2>

<h3>JOAN DRAWS FIRST BLOOD</h3>


<p>The word of command came full and strong from
the open doorway of the hall.</p>

<p>Hans Trenck came instantly to the salute with the
ball in his hand. He had no difficulty in lifting it now.
In fact, he did not seem able to let it down. Every
man in the hall except the two captains of Plassenburg
had risen to his feet and stood as if carved in marble.</p>

<p>For there in the doorway, her slim figure erect and
exceedingly commanding, and her beautiful eyes shining
with indignation, stood the Duchess Joan of Hohenstein.</p>

<p>"Joan of the Sword Hand!" said Jorian, enraptured.
"Gott, what a wench!"</p>

<p>In stern silence she advanced into the hall, every
man standing fixed at attention.</p>

<p>"Good discipline!" said Boris.</p>

<p>"Shut your mouth!" responded Jorian.</p>

<p>"Keep your hand so, Hans Trenck," said their
mistress; "give me your sword, Werner! You shall
see whether I am called Joan of the Sword Hand for
naught. You would torture prisoners, would you, after
what I have said? Hold up, I say, Hans Trenck!"</p>

<p>And so, no man saying her nay, the girl took the
shining blade and, with a preliminary swish through
the air and a balancing shake to feel the elastic return,
she looked at the poor knave fixed before her in the
centre of the hall with his wrist strained to hold the
prisoner's ball aloft at the stretch of his arm. What<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span>
wonder if it wavered like a branch in an uncertain
wind?</p>

<p>"Steady there!" said Joan.</p>

<p>And she drew back her arm for the stroke.</p>

<p>The young Dane, who, since her entrance, had looked
at nothing save the radiant beauty of the figure before
him, now cried out, "For Heaven's sake, lady, do not
soil the skirts of your dress with his villain blood. He
but obeyed his orders. Let me be set free, and I will
fight him or any man in the castle. And if I am
beaten, let them torture me till I am carrion fit only to
be thrown into the castle ditch."</p>

<p>The Duchess paused and leaned on the sword, holding
it point to the floor.</p>

<p>"By whose orders was this thing done?" she
demanded.</p>

<p>The lad was silent. He disdained to tell tales even
on his enemies. Was he not a gentleman and a Dane?</p>

<p>"By mine, my lady!" said Werner von Orseln, a
deep flush upon his manly brow.</p>

<p>The girl looked severely at him. She seemed to
waver. "Good, then!" she said, "the Dane shall
fight Werner for his life. Loose him and chafe his
wrists. Ho! there&mdash;bring a dozen swords from the
armoury!"</p>

<p>The flush was now rising to the boy's cheek.</p>

<p>"I thank you, Duchess," he said. "I ask no more
than this."</p>

<p>"Faith, the Sparhawk is not tamed yet," said Boris;
"we shall see better sport ere all be done!"</p>

<p>"Hold thy peace," growled Jorian, "and look."</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;" />

<p>"Out into the light!" cried the young Duchess Joan,
pointing the way with Werner's sword, which she still
held in her hand. And going first she went forth from
the hall of the soldiery, down the broad stairs, and soon
through a low-arched door with a sculptured coat-of-arms
over it, out into the quadrangle of the courtyard.</p>

<p>"And now we will see this prisoner of ours, this
cock of the Danish marches, make good his words.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>
That, surely, is better sport than to drop caltrops upon
the toes of manacled men."</p>

<p>Werner followed unwillingly and with deep flush of
shame upon his brow.</p>

<p>"My lady," he said, going up to his mistress,
"I do not need to prove my courage after I have
served Kernsberg and Hohenstein for thirty-eight
years&mdash;or well-nigh twice the years you have lived&mdash;fought
for you and your father and shed my blood
in a score of pitched battles, to say nothing of forays.
Of course I will fight, but surely this young cockerel
might be satisfied to have his comb cut by younger
hands."</p>

<p>"Was yours the order concerning the dropping of
the ball?" asked the Duchess Joan.</p>

<p>The grey-headed soldier nodded grimly.</p>

<p>"I gave the order," he said briefly.</p>

<p>"Then by St. Ursula and her boneyard, you must
stand to it!" cried this fiery young woman. "Else
will I drub you with the flat of your own sword!"</p>

<p>Werner bowed with a slightly ironic smile on his
grizzled face.</p>

<p>"As your ladyship wills," he said; "I do not give
you half obedience. If you say that I am to get down
on my knees and play cat's cradle with the Kernsberg
bairns, I will do it!"</p>

<p>Joan of the Sword here looked calmly at him with a
certain austerity in her glance.</p>

<p>"Why, of course you would!" she said simply.</p>

<p>Meanwhile the lad had been freed from his bonds
and stood with a sword in his hand suppling himself
for the work before him with quick little guards and
feints and attacks. There was a proud look in his
eyes, and as his glance left the Duchess and roved round
the circle of his foes, it flashed full, bold, and defiant.</p>

<p>Werner turned to a palish lean Bohemian who stood
a little apart.</p>

<p>"Peter Balta," he said, "will you be my second?
Agreed! And who will care for my honourable
opponent?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p>

<p>"Do not trouble yourself&mdash;that will arrange itself!"
said Joan to her chief captain.</p>

<p>With that she flashed lightfoot into one of the low
doors which led into the flanking turrets of the quadrangle,
and in a tierce of seconds she was out again, in
a forester's dress of green doublet and broad pleated
kirtle that came to her knee.</p>

<p>"I myself," she said, challenging them with her
eyes, "will be this young man's second, in this place
where he has so many enemies and no friends."</p>

<p>As the forester in green and the prisoner stood up
together, the guards murmured in astonishment at the
likeness between them.</p>

<p>"Had this Dane and our Joan been brother and
sister, they could not have favoured each other more,"
they said.</p>

<p>A deep blush rose to the youth's swarthy face.</p>

<p>"I am not worthy," he said, and kept his eyes upon
the lithe figure of the girl in its array of well-fitting
velvet. "I cannot thank you!" he said again.</p>

<p>"Tut," she answered, "worthy&mdash;unworthy&mdash;thank&mdash;unthank&mdash;what
avail these upon the mountains of
Kernsberg and in the Castle of Joan of the Sword
Hand? A good heart, a merry fight, a quick death!
These are more to the purpose than many thanks
and compliments. Peter Balta, are you seconding
Werner? Come hither. Let us try the swords, you
and I. Will not these two serve? Guard! Well
smitten! There, enough. What, you are touched on
the sword arm? Faith, man, for the moment I forgot
that it was not you and I who were to drum. This
tickling of steel goes to my head like wine and I am
bound to forget. I am sorry&mdash;but, after all, a day or
two in a sling will put your arm to rights again, Peter.
These are good swords. Now then, Maurice von
Lynar&mdash;Werner. At the salute! Ready! Fall to!"</p>

<p>The burly figure of the Captain Werner von Orseln
and the slim arrowy swiftness of Maurice the Dane
were opposed in the clear shadow of the quadrangle,
where neither had any advantage of light, and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span>
swords of their seconds kept them at proper distance
according to the fighting rules of the time.</p>

<p>"I give the Sparhawk five minutes," said Boris to
Jorian, after the first parry. It was little more than
formal and gave no token of what was to follow. Yet
for full twenty minutes Werner von Orseln, the oldest
sworder of all the north, from the marshes of Wilna to
the hills of Silesia, could do nothing but stand on
the defensive, so fierce and incessant were the attacks
of the young Dane.</p>

<p>But Werner did not give back. He stood his ground,
warily, steadfastly, with a half smile on his face, a wall
of quick steel in front of him, and the point of his
adversary's blade ever missing him an inch at this side,
and coming an inch short upon that other. The Dane
kept as steadily to the attack, and made his points as
much by his remarkable nimbleness upon his feet as by
the lightning rapidity of his sword-play.</p>

<p>"The Kernsberger is playing with him!" said Boris,
under his breath.</p>

<p>Jorian nodded. He had no breath to waste.</p>

<p>"But he is not going to kill him. He has not the
Death in his eye!" Boris spoke with judgment, for so
it proved. Werner lifted an eyebrow for the fraction of
a second towards his mistress. And then at the end of
the next rally his sword just touched his young adversary
on the shoulder and the blood answered the
thrust, staining the white underdoublet of the Dane.</p>

<p>Then Werner threw down his sword and held out his
hand.</p>

<p>"A well-fought rally," he said; "let us be friends.
We need lads of such metal to ride the forays from the
hills of Kernsberg. I am sorry I baited you, Sparhawk!"</p>

<p>"A good fight clears all scores!" replied the youth,
smiling in his turn.</p>

<p>"Bring a bandage for his shoulder, Peter Balta!"
cried Joan. "Mine was the cleaner stroke which went
so near your great muscle, but Werner's is somewhat
the deeper. You can keep each other company at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span>
dice-box these next days. And, as I warrant neither of
you has a Lübeck guilder to bless yourself with, you
can e'en play for love till you wear out the pips with
throwing."</p>

<p>"Then I am not to go back to the dungeon?" said
the lad, one reason of whose wounding had been that
he also lifted his eyes for a moment to those of his
second.</p>

<p>"To prison&mdash;no," said Joan; "you are one of us
now. We have blooded you. Do you take service
with me?"</p>

<p>"I have no choice&mdash;your father left me none!"
the lad replied, quickly altering his phrase. "Castle
Lynar is no more. My grandfather, my father, and
my uncles are all dead, and there is small service in
going back to Denmark, where there are more than
enough of hungry gentlemen with no wealth but their
swords and no living but their gentility. If you will let
me serve in the ranks, Duchess Joan, I shall be well
content!"</p>

<p>"I also," said Joan heartily. "We are all free in
Kernsberg, even if we are not all equal. We will try you
in the ranks first. Go to the men's quarters. George
the Hussite, I deliver him to you. See that he does
not get into any more quarrels till his arm is better,
and curb my rascals' tongues as far as you can.
Remember who meddles with the principal must
reckon with the second."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2>

<h3>THE COZENING OF THE AMBASSADOR</h3>


<p>The next moment Joan had disappeared, and
when she was seen again she had assumed the
skirt she had previously worn over her dress of
forester, and was again the sedate lady of the castle,
ready to lead the dance, grace the banquet, or entertain
the High State's Councillor of Plassenburg, Leopold
von Dessauer.</p>

<p>But when she went upstairs she met on the middle
flight a grey-bearded man with a skull cap of black
velvet upon his head. His dress also was of black, of
a distinguishing plain richness and dignity.</p>

<p>"Whither away, Ambassador?" she cried gaily at
the sight of him.</p>

<p>"To see to your principal's wound and that of the
other whom your sword countered in the trial bout!"</p>

<p>"What? You saw?" said the Duchess, with a
quick flush.</p>

<p>"I am indeed privileged not to be blind," said Dessauer;
"and never did I see a sight that contented me
more."</p>

<p>"And you stood at the window saying in your heart
(nay, do not deny it) 'unwomanly&mdash;bold&mdash;not like my
lady the Princess of Plassenburg. She would not
thus ruffle in the courtyard with the men-at-arms!'"</p>

<p>"I said no such thing," said the High Councillor.
"I am an old man and have seen many fair women,
many sweet princesses, each perfect to their lovers,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span>
some of them even perfect to their lords. But I have
never before seen a Duchess Joan of Hohenstein."</p>

<p>"Ambassador," cried the girl, "if you speak thus
and with that flash of the eye, I shall have to bethink
me whether you come not as an ambassador for your
own cause."</p>

<p>"I would that I were forty years younger and a
prince in my own right, instead of a penniless old
baron. Why, then, I would not come on any man's
errand&mdash;no, nor take a refusal even from your fair lips!"</p>

<p>"I declare," said the Duchess Joan impetuously,
"you should have no refusal from me. You are the
only man I have ever met who can speak of love and
yet be tolerable. It is a pity that my father left me
the evil heritage that I must wed the Prince of Courtland
or lose my dominions!"</p>

<p>At the sound of the name of her predestined husband
a sudden flashing thought seemed to wake in the
girl's breast.</p>

<p>"My lord," she said, "is it true that you go to Courtland
after leaving our poor eagle's nest up here on the
cliffs of the Kernsberg?"</p>

<p>Von Dessauer bowed, smiling at her. He was
not too old to love beauty and frankness in women.
"It is true that I have a mission from my Prince
and Princess to the Prince of Courtland and Wilna.
But&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>Joan of the Sword clasped her hands and drew a
long breath.</p>

<p>"I would not ask it of any man in the world but
yourself," she said, "but will you let me go with
you?"</p>

<p>"My dear lady," said Dessauer, with swift deprecation,
"to go with the ambassador of another power to
the court and palace of the man you are to marry&mdash;that
were a tale indeed, salt enough even for the
Princes of Ritterdom. As it is&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>The Duchess looked across at Dessauer with great
haughtiness. "As it is, they talk more than enough
about me already," she said. "Well&mdash;I know, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span>
care not. I am no puling maid that waits till she is
authorised by a conclave of the empire before she
dares wipe her nose when she hath a cold in the head.
Joan of the Sword Hand cares not what any prince
may say&mdash;from yours of Plassenburg, him of the Red
Axe, to the fat Margraf George."</p>

<p>"Oh, our Prince, he says naught, but does much,"
said Dessauer. "He hath been a rough blade in his
time, but Karl the Miller's son mellowed him, and by
now his own Princess hath fairly civilised him."</p>

<p>"Well," said Joan of the Sword, with determination,
"then it is settled. I am coming with you to Courtland."</p>

<p>A shade of anxiety passed over Dessauer's countenance.
"My lady," he answered, "you let me use
many freedoms of speech with you. It is the privilege
of age and frailty. But let me tell you that the thing
is plainly foolish. Hardly under the escort of the
Empress herself would it be possible for you to visit,
without scandal, the court of the Prince of Courtland
and Wilna. But in the train of an envoy of Plassenburg,
even if that ambassador be poor old Leopold
von Dessauer, the thing, I must tell you, is frankly
impossible."</p>

<p>"Well, I am coming, at any rate!" said Joan, as
usual rejecting argument and falling back upon assertion.
"Make your count with that, friend of mine,
whether you are shocked or no. It is the penalty a
respectable diplomatist has to pay for cultivating the
friendship of lone females like Joan of Hohenstein."</p>

<p>Von Dessauer held up his hands in horror that was
more than half affected.</p>

<p>"My girl," he said, "I might be your grandfather, it
is true, but do not remind me of it too often. But if
I were your great-great-grandfather the thing you propose
is still impossible. Think of what the Margraf
George and his chattering train would say!"</p>

<p>"Think of what every fathead princeling and beer-swilling
ritter from here to Basel would say!" cried
Joan, with her pretty nose in the air. "Let them say!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span>
They will not say anything that I care the snap of my
finger for. And in their hearts they will envy you the
experience&mdash;shall we say the privilege?"</p>

<p>"Nay, I thought not of myself, my lady," said
Dessauer, "for an old man, a mere anatomy of bones
and parchment, I take strange pleasure in your society&mdash;more
than I ought, I tell you frankly. You are to
me more than a daughter, though I am but a poor
baron of Plassenburg and the faithful servant of the
Princess Helene. It is for your own sake that I say
you cannot come to Wilna with me. Shall the future
Princess of Courtland and Wilna ride in the train of
an ambassador of Plassenburg to the palace in which
she is soon to reign as queen?"</p>

<p>"I said not that I would go as the Duchess," Joan
replied, speaking low. "You say that you saw me at
the fight in the courtyard out there. If you will not
have the Duchess Joan von Hohenstein, what say you
to the Sparhawk's second, Johann the Squire?"</p>

<p>Dessauer started.</p>

<p>"You dare not," he said; "why, there is not a lady
in the German land, from Bohemia to the Baltic, that
dares do as much."</p>

<p>"Ladies," flashed Joan&mdash;"I am sick for ever of
hearing that a lady must not do this or that, go here
or there, because of her so fragile reputation. She
may do needlework or embroider altar-cloths, but she
must not shoot with a pistolet or play with a sword.
Well, I am a lady; let him counter it who durst.
And I cannot broider altar-cloths and I will not try&mdash;but
I can shoot with any man at the flying mark.
She must have a care for her honour, which (poor,
feckless wretch!) will be smirched if she speaks to any
as a man speaks to his fellows. Faith! For me I
would rather die than have such an egg-shell reputation.
I can care for mine own. I need none to
take up my quarrel. If any have a word to say upon
the repute of Joan of the Sword Hand&mdash;why, let
him say it at the point of her rapier."</p>

<p>The girl stood up, tall and straight, her head thrown<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span>
back as it were at the world, with an exact and striking
counterpart of the defiance of the young Dane in the
presence of his enemies an hour before. Dessauer
stood wavering. With quick tact she altered her tone,
and with a soft accent and in a melting voice she added,
"Ah, let me come. I will make such a creditable
squire all in a suit of blue and silver, with just a touch
of nutty juice upon my face that my old nurse knows
the secret of."</p>

<p>Still Dessauer stood silent, weighing difficulties and
chances.</p>

<p>"I tell you what," she cried, pursuing her advantage,
"I will see the man I am to marry as men see him,
without trappings and furbelows. And if you will not
take me, by my faith! I will send Werner there, whom
you saw fight the Dane, as my own envoy, and go
with him as a page. On the honour of Henry the
Lion, my father, I will do it!"</p>

<p>Von Dessauer capitulated. "A wilful woman"&mdash;he
smiled&mdash;"a wilful, wilful woman. Well, I am not
responsible for aught of this, save for my own
weakness in permitting it. It is a madcap freak,
and no good will come of it."</p>

<p>"But you will like it!" she said. "Oh, yes, you
will like it very much. For, you see, you are fond of
madcaps."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2>

<h3>JOHANN THE SECRETARY</h3>


<p>Ten miles outside the boundary of the little hill
state of Kernsberg, the embassage of Plassenburg
was met by another cavalcade bearing additional
instructions from the Princess Helene. The leader was
a slender youth of middle height, the accuracy of
whose form gave evidence of much agility. He was
dark-skinned, of an olive complexion, and with closely
cropped black hair which curled crisply about his small
head. His eyes were dark and fine, looking straightly
and boldly out upon all comers.</p>

<p>With him, as chiefs of his escort, were those two silent
men Jorian and Boris, who had, as it was reported,
ridden to Plassenburg for instructions. None of those
who followed Dessauer had ever before set eyes upon
this youth, who came with fresh despatches, and, in
consequence, great was the consternation and many
the surmises as to who he might be who stood so high
in favour with the Prince and Princess.</p>

<p>But his very first words made the matter clear.</p>

<p>"Your Excellency," he said to the Ambassador, "I
bring you the most recent instructions from their
Highnesses Hugo and Helene of Plassenburg. They
sojourn for the time being in the city of Thorn, where
they build a new palace for themselves. I was brought
from Hamburg to be one of the master-builders. I
have skill in plans, and I bring you these for your
approval and in order to go over the rates of cost<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span>
with you, as Treasurer of Plassenburg and the Wolfsmark."</p>

<p>Dessauer took, with every token of deference, the
sheaf of papers so carefully enwrapt and sealed with
the seal of Plassenburg.</p>

<p>"I thank you for your diligence, good master
architect," he said; "I shall peruse these at my leisure,
and, I doubt not, call upon you frequently for explanations."</p>

<p>The young man rode on at his side, modestly waiting
to be questioned.</p>

<p>"What is your name, sir?" asked Dessauer, so that
all the escort might hear.</p>

<p>"I am called Johann Pyrmont," said the youth
promptly, and with engaging frankness; "my father
is a Hamburg merchant, trading to the Spanish ports
for oil and wine, but I follow him not. I had ever a
turn for drawing and the art of design!"</p>

<p>"Also for having your own way, as is common with
the young," said the Ambassador, smiling shrewdly.
"So, against your father's will, you apprenticed yourself
to an architect?"</p>

<p>The young man bowed.</p>

<p>"Nay, sir," he said, "but my good father could
deny me nothing on which I had set my mind."</p>

<p>"Not he," muttered Dessauer under his breath;
"no, nor any one else either!"</p>

<p>So, bridle by jingling bridle, they rode on over the
interminable plain till Kernsberg, with its noble crown
of towers, became first grey and afterwards pale blue
in the utmost distance. Then, like a tall ship at sea,
it sank altogether out of sight. And still they rode on
through the marshy hollows, round innumerable little
wildfowl-haunted lakelets, and so over the sandy, rolling
dunes to the city of Courtland, where was abiding the
Prince of that rich and noble principality.</p>

<p>It had been a favourite scheme of dead princes of
Courtland to unite to their fat acres and populous
mercantile cities the hardy mountaineers and pastoral
uplands of Kernsberg. But though Wilna and Court<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span>land
were infinitely more populous, the Eagle's Nest
was ill to pull down, and hitherto the best laid plans
for their union had invariably fallen through. But
there had come to Joan's father, Henry called the
Lion, and the late Prince Michael of Courtland a
better thought. One had a daughter, the other a son.
Neither was burdened with any law of succession, Salic
or other. They held their domains by the free tenure
of the sword. They could leave their powers to whomsoever
they would, not even the Emperor having the
right to say, "What doest thou?" So with that frank
carelessness of the private feelings of the individual
which has ever distinguished great politicians, they
decreed that, as a condition of succession, their male
and female heirs should marry each other.</p>

<p>This bond of Heritage-brotherhood, as it was called,
had received the sanction of the Emperor in full Diet,
and now it wanted only that the Duchess Joan of
Hohenstein should be of age, in order that the
provinces might at last be united and the long wars
of highland and lowland make an end.</p>

<p>The scheme had taken everything into consideration
except the private character of the persons principally
affected, Prince Louis of Courtland and the young
Duchess Joan.</p>

<p>As they came nearer to the ancient city of Courtland,
it spread like a metropolis before the eyes of the embassy
of the Prince and Princess of Plassenburg. The city
stretched from the rock whereon the fortress-palace
was built, along a windy, irregular ridge. Innumerable
crow-stepped gables were set at right angles to the
street. The towers of the minster rose against the
sky at the lower end, and far to the southward the
palace of the Cardinal Archbishop cast peaked shadows
from its many towers, walled and cinctured like a city
within a city.</p>

<p>It was a far-seen town this of Courtland, populous,
prosperous, defenced. Its clear and broad river was
navigable for any craft of the time, and already it
threatened to equal if not to outstrip in importance the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span>
free cities of the Hanseatic League&mdash;so far, at least, as
the trade of the Baltic was concerned.</p>

<p>Courtland had long been considered too strong to
be attacked, save from the Polish border, while the
adhesion of Kernsberg, and the drafting of the
Duchess's hardy fighting mountaineers into the lowland
armies would render the princedom safe for many
generations.</p>

<p>Pity it was that plans so far-reaching and purposes
so politic should be dependent upon the whims of a
girl!</p>

<p>But then it is just such whims that make the world
interesting.</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;" />

<p>It was the last day of the famous tournament of the
Black Eagle in the princely city of Courtland. Prince
Louis had sent out an escort to bring in the travellers
and conduct them with honour to the seats reserved
for them. The Ambassador and High Councillor of
Plassenburg must be received with all observance. He
had, he gave notice, brought a secretary with him. For
so the young architect was now styled, in order to give
him an official position in the mission.</p>

<p>The Prince had also sent a request that, as this was
the day upon which all combatants wore plain armour
and jousted unknown, for that time being the Ambassador
should accept other escort and excuse him
coming to receive him in person. They would meet at
dinner on the morrow, in the great hall of the palace.</p>

<p>The city was arrayed in flaming banners, some
streaming high from the lofty towers of the cathedral,
while others (in streets into which the wind came only
in puffs) more languidly and luxuriously unfolded themselves,
as the Black Eagle on its ground of white everywhere
took the air. All over the city a galaxy of lighter
silk and bunting, pennons, bannerettes, parti-coloured
streamers of the national colours danced becking and
bowing from window and roof-tree.</p>

<p>Yet there was a curious silence too in the streets, as
they rode towards the lists of the Black Eagle, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span>
when at last they came within hearing of the hum of
the thousands gathered there, they understood why the
city had seemed so unwontedly deserted. The Courtlanders
surrounded the great oval space of the lists in
clustered myriads, and their eyes were bent inwards.
It was the crisis of the great <i>mêlée</i>. Scarcely an eye
in all that assembly was turned towards the strangers,
who passed quite unobserved to their reserved places
in the Prince's empty box. Only his sister Margaret,
throned on high as Queen of Beauty, looked down
upon them with interest, seeing that they were men
who came, and that one at least was young.</p>

<p>It was a gay and changeful scene. In the brilliant
daylight of the lists a hundred knights charged and
recharged. Those who had been unhorsed drew their
swords and attacked with fury others of the enemy in
like case. The air resounded with the clashing of
steel on steel.</p>

<p>Fifty knights with white plumes on their helmets had
charged fifty wearing black, and the combat still raged.
The shouts of the people rang in the ears of the ambassador
of Plassenburg and his secretary, as they
seated themselves and looked down upon the tide of
combat over the flower-draped balustrades of their box.</p>

<p>"The blacks have it!" said Dessauer after regarding
the <i>mêlée</i> with interest. "We have come in time to
see the end of the fray. Would that we had also seen
the shock!"</p>

<p>And indeed the Blacks seemed to have carried all
before them. They were mostly bigger and stronger
built men, knights of the landward provinces, and their
horses, great solid-boned Saxon chargers, had by sheer
weight borne their way through the lighter ranks of
the Baltic knights on the white horses.</p>

<p>Not more than half a dozen of these were now in
saddle, and all over the field were to be seen black
knights receiving the submission of knights whose
broken spears and tarnished plumes showed that they
had succumbed in the charge to superior weight of
metal. For, so soon as a knight yielded, his steed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span>
became the property of his victorious foe, and he himself
was either carried or limped as best he could to
the pavilion of his party, there to remove his armour
and send it also to the victor&mdash;to whom, in literal fact,
belonged the spoils.</p>

<p>Of the half-dozen white knights who still kept up
the struggle, one shone pre-eminent for dashing valour.
His charger surged hither and thither through the
crowd, his spear was victorious and unbroken, and the
boldest opponent thought it politic to turn aside out of
his path. Set upon by more than a score of riders, he
still managed to evade them, and even when all his
side had submitted and he alone remained&mdash;at the end
of the lists to which he had been driven, he made him
ready for a final charge into the scarce broken array of
his foes, of whom more than twenty remained still on
horseback in the field.</p>

<p>But though his spear struck true in the middle of
his immediate antagonist's shield and his opponent
went down, it availed the brave white knight nothing.
For at the same moment half a score of lances struck
him on the shield, on the breastplate, on the vizor bars
of his helmet, and he fell heavily to the earth. Nevertheless,
scarcely had he touched the ground when he
was again on his feet. Sword in hand, he stood for a
moment unscathed and undaunted, while his foes,
momentarily disordered by the energy of the charge,
reined in their steeds ere they could return to the attack.</p>

<p>"Oh, well ridden!" "Greatly done!" "A most
noble knight!" These were the exclamations which
came from all parts of the crowd which surged about
the barriers on this great day.</p>

<p>"I would that I were down beside him with a sword
in my hand also!" said the young architect, Master
Johann Pyrmont, secretary of the embassage of Plassenburg.</p>

<p>"'Tis well you are where you are, madcap, sitting by
an old man's side, instead of fighting by that of a
young one," growled Dessauer. "Else then, indeed,
the bent would be on fire."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p>

<p>But at this moment the Princess Margaret, sister of
the reigning Prince, rose in her place and threw down
the truncheon, which in such cases stops the combat.</p>

<p>"The black knights have won," so she gave her
verdict, "but there is no need to humiliate or injure a
knight who has fought so well against so many. Let
the white knight come hither&mdash;though he be of the
losing side. His is the reward of highest honour.
Give him a steed, that he may come and receive the
meed of bravest in the tourney!"</p>

<p>The knights of the black were manifestly a little
disappointed that after their victory one of their
opponents should be selected for honour. But there
was no appeal from the decision of the Queen of Love
and Beauty. For that day she reigned alone, without
council or diet imperial.</p>

<p>The black riders had therefore to be contented with
their general victory, which, indeed, was indisputable
enough.</p>

<p>The white knight came near and said something in
a low voice, unheard by the general crowd, to the
Princess.</p>

<p>"I insist," she said aloud; "you must unhelm, that
all may see the face of him who has won the prize."</p>

<p>Whereat the knight bowed and undid his helmet.
A closely-cropped fair-haired head was revealed, the
features clearly chiselled and yet of a grave and
massive beauty, the head of a marble emperor.</p>

<p>"My brother&mdash;you!" cried Margaret of Courtland
in astonishment.</p>

<p>The voice of the Princess had also something of
disappointment in it. Clearly she had wished for some
other to receive the honour, and the event did not
please her. But it was otherwise with the populace.</p>

<p>"The young Prince! The young Prince!" cried
the people, surging impetuously about the barriers.
"Glory to the noble house of Courtland and to the
brave Prince."</p>

<p>The Ambassador looked curiously at his secretary.
That youth was standing with eyes brilliant as those of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span>
a man in fever. His face had paled even under its
dusky tan. His lips quivered. He straightened himself
up as brave and generous men do when they see
a deed of bravery done by another, or like a woman
who sees the man she loves publicly honoured.</p>

<p>"The Prince!" said Johann Pyrmont, in a voice
hoarse and broken; "it is the Prince himself."</p>

<p>And on his high seat the State's Councillor, Leopold
von Dessauer, smiled well pleased.</p>

<p>"This turns out better than I had expected," he
muttered. "God Himself favours the drunkard and
the madcap. Only wise men suffer for their sins&mdash;aye,
and often for those of other people as well."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2>

<h3>AN AMBASSADOR'S AMBASSADOR</h3>


<p>After the tourney of the Black Eagle, Leopold
von Dessauer had gone to bed early, feeling
younger and lighter than he had done for years. Part
of his scheme for these northern provinces of his
fatherland consisted in gradual substitution of a few
strong states for many weak ones. For this reason he
smiled when he saw the eyes of his secretary shining
like stars.</p>

<p>It would yet more have rejoiced him had he known
how uneasy lay that handsome head on its pillow.
Aye, even in pain it would have pleasured him. For
Von Dessauer was lying awake and thinking of the
strange chances which help or mar the lives of men
and women, when a sudden sense of shock, a numbness
spreading upwards through his limbs, the rising
of rheum to his eyes, and a humming in his ears,
announced the approach of one of those attacks to
which he had been subject ever since he had been
wounded in a duel some years before&mdash;a duel in which
his present Prince and his late master, Karl the Miller's
Son, had both been engaged.</p>

<p>The Ambassador called for Jorian in a feeble voice.
That light-sleeping soldier immediately answered him.
He had stretched himself out, wrapped in a blanket
for all covering, on the floor of the antechamber in
Dessauer's lodging. In a moment, therefore, he presented
himself at the door completely dressed. A shake
and a half-checked yawn completed his inexpensive<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span>
toilet, for Jorian prided himself on not being what he
called "a pretty-pretty captainet."</p>

<p>"Your Excellency needs me?" he said, standing at
the salute as if it had been the morning guard changing
at the palace gate.</p>

<p>"Give me my case of medicine," said the old man;
"that in the bag of rough Silesian leather. So! I feel
my old attack coming upon me. It will be three days
before I can stir. Yet must these papers be put in the
hands of the Prince early this morning. Ah, there is
my little Johann; I was thinking about her&mdash;him, I
mean. Well, he shall have his chance. This foul
easterly wind may yet blow us all good!"</p>

<p>He made a wry face as a twinge of pain caught him.
It passed and he resumed.</p>

<p>"Go, Jorian," he said, "tap light upon his chamber
door. If he chance to be in the deep sleep of youth
and health&mdash;not yet distempered by thought and love,
by old age and the eating of many suppers&mdash;rap louder,
for I must see him forthwith. There is much to set
in order ere at nine o'clock he must adjourn to the
summer palace to meet the Prince."</p>

<p>So in a trice Jorian was gone and at the door of the
architect-secretary, he of the brown skin and Greekish
profile.</p>

<p>Johann Pyrmont was, it appeared, neither in bed
nor yet asleep. Instead, he had been standing at the
window watching the brighter stars swim up one by
one out of the east. The thoughts of the young man
were happy thoughts. At last he was in the capital
city of the Princes of Courtland. His many days'
journey had not been in vain. Almost in the first
moment he had seen the noble youthful Prince and
his sister, and he was prepared to like them both.
Life held more than the preparation of plans and the
ordering of bricklayers at their tasks. There was in it,
strangely enough, a young man with closely cropped
head whom Johann had seen storm through the ranks
of the fighting-men that day, and afterwards receive
the guerdon of the bravest.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span></p>

<p>Though what difference these things made to an
architect of Hamburg town it was difficult (on the face
of things) to perceive. Nevertheless, he stood and
watched the east. It was five of a clear autumnal
morning, and a light chill breath blew from the point
at which the sun would rise.</p>

<p>A pale moon in her last quarter was tossed high
among the stars, as if upborne upon the ebbing tide of
night. Translucent greyness filled the wide plain of
Courtland, and in the scattered farms all about the
lights, which signified early horse-tending and the milking
of kine, were already beginning to outrival the
waning stars. Orion, with his guardian four set wide
about him, tingled against the face of the east, and the
electric lamp of Sirius burnt blue above the horizon.
The lightness and the hope of breathing morn, the
scent of fields half reaped, the cool salt wind from off
the sea, filled the channels of the youth's life. It was
good to be alive, thought Johann Pyrmont, architect
of Hamburg, or otherwise.</p>

<p>Jorian rapped low, with more reverence than is
common from captains to secretaries of legations.
The young man was leaning out of the window and
did not hear. The ex-man-at-arms rapped louder. At
the sound Johann Pyrmont clapped his hand to the
hip where his sword should have been.</p>

<p>"Who is there?" he asked, turning about with
keen alertness, and in a voice which seemed at once
sweeter and more commanding than even the most
imperious master-builder would naturally use to his
underlings.</p>

<p>"I&mdash;Jorian! His Excellency is taken suddenly ill
and bade me come for you."</p>

<p>Immediately the secretary opened the door, and in a
few seconds stood at the old man's bedside.</p>

<p>Here they talked low to each other, the young man
with his hand laid tenderly on the forehead of his elder.
Only their last words concern us at present.</p>

<p>"This will serve to begin my business and to finish
yours. Thereafter the sooner you return to Kernsberg<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span>
the better. Remember the moon cannot long be lost
out of the sky without causing remark."</p>

<p>The young man received the Ambassador's papers
and went out. Dessauer took a composing draught
and lay back with a sigh.</p>

<p>"It is humbling," he said to Jorian, "that to compose
young wits you must do it through the heart, but
in the case of the old through the stomach."</p>

<p>"'Tis a strange draught <i>he</i> hath gotten," said the
soldier, indicating the door by which the secretary had
gone forth. "If I be not mistaken, much water shall
flow under bridge ere his sickness be cured."</p>

<p>As soon as he had reached his own chamber Johann
laid the papers upon the table without glancing at
them. He went again to the window and looked
across the city. During his brief absence the stars
had thinned out. Even the moon was now no
brighter than so much grey ash. But the east had
grown red and burned a glorious arch of cool brightness,
with all its cloud edges teased loosely into fretted
wisps and flakes of changeful fire. The wind began to
blow more largely and statedly before the coming
of the sun. Johann drew a long breath and opened
wide both halves of the casement.</p>

<p>"To-day I shall see the Prince!" he said.</p>

<p>It was exactly nine of the clock when he set out for
the palace. He was attired in the plain black dress of
a secretary, with only the narrowest corded edge and
collar of rough-scrolled gold. The slimness of his
waist was filled in so well that he looked no more than
a well-grown, clean-limbed stripling of twenty. A
plain sword in a scabbard of black leather was belted
to his side, and he carried his papers in his hand sealed
with seals and wrapped carefully about with silken
ties. Yet, for all this simplicity, the eyes of Johann
Pyrmont were so full of light, and his beauty of face
so surprising, that all turned to look after him as he
went by with a free carriage and a swing to his gait.</p>

<p>Even the market girls ran together to gaze after the
young stranger. Maids of higher degree called sharply<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span>
to each other and crowded the balconies to look down
upon him. But through the busy morning tumult of
the streets Johann Pyrmont walked serene and unconscious.
Was not he going to the summer palace
to see the Prince?</p>

<p>At the great door of the outer pavilion he intimated
his desire to the officer in charge of the guard.</p>

<p>"Which Prince?" said the officer curtly.</p>

<p>"Why," answered the secretary, with a glad heart,
"there is but one&mdash;he who won the prize yesterday at
the tilting!"</p>

<p>"God's truth!&mdash;And you say true!" ejaculated the
guardsman, starting. "But who are you who dares
blurt out on the steps of the palace of Courtland that
which ordinary men&mdash;aye, even good soldiers&mdash;durst
scarcely think in their own hearts?"</p>

<p>"I am secretary of the noble Ambassador of Plassenburg,
and I come to see the Prince!"</p>

<p>"You are a limber slip to be so outspoken," said the
man; "but remember that you could be right easily
broken on the wheel. So have a care of those slender
limbs of yours. Keep them for the maids of your
Plassenburg!"</p>

<p>And with the freedom of a soldier he put his hand
about the neck of Johann Pyrmont, laying it upon his
far shoulder with the easy familiarity of an elder, who
has it in his power to do a kindness to a younger.
Instinctively Johann slipped aside his shoulder, and
the officer's hand after hanging a moment suspended
in the air, fell to his side. The Courtlander laughed
aloud.</p>

<p>"What!" he cried, "is my young cock of Plassenburg
so mightily particular that he cannot have an
honest soldier's hand upon his shoulder?"</p>

<p>"I am not accustomed," said Johann Pyrmont, with
dignity, "to have men's hands upon my shoulder. It
is not our Plassenburg custom!"</p>

<p>The soldier laughed a huge earth-shaking laugh of
merriment.</p>

<p>"Faith!" he cried, "you are early begun, my lad,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span>
that men's hands are so debarred. 'Not our custom!'
says he. Why, I warrant, by the fashion of your
countenance, that the hands of ladies are not so unwelcome.
Ha! you blush! Here, Paul Strelitz, come
hither and see a young gallant that blushes at a word,
and owns that he is more at home with ladies than
with rough soldiers."</p>

<p>A great bearded Bor-Russian came out of the guard-room,
stretching himself and yawning like one whose
night has been irregular.</p>

<p>"What's ado?&mdash;what is't, that you fret a man in his
beauty-sleep?" he said. "Oh, this young gentleman!
Yes, I saw him yesterday, and the Princess Margaret
saw him yesterday, too. Does he go to visit her so
early this morning? He loses no time, i' faith! But
he had better keep out of the way of the Wasp, if the
Princess gives him many of those glances of hers, half
over her shoulder&mdash;you know her way, Otto."</p>

<p>At this the first officer reiterated his jest about his
hand on Johann's shoulder, being of that mighty faction
which cannot originate the smallest joke without immediately
wearing it to the bone.</p>

<p>The secretary began to be angry. His temper was
not long at the longest. He had not thought of having
to submit to this when he became a secretary.</p>

<p>"I am quite willing, sir captain," he said, with
haughty reserve, "that your hand should be&mdash;where it
ought to be&mdash;on your sword handle. For in that case
my hand will also be on mine, and very much at your
service. But in my country such liberties are not
taken between strangers!"</p>

<p>"What?" cried Otto the guardsman, "do men not
embrace one another when they meet, and kiss each
other on either cheek at parting? How then, so
mighty particular about hands on shoulders? Answer
me that, my young secretary."</p>

<p>"For me," said Johann, instantly losing his head in
the hotness of his indignation, "I would have you
know that I only kiss ladies, or permit them to kiss
me!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span></p>

<p>The Courtlander and the Bor-Russian roared unanimously.</p>

<p>"Is he not precious beyond words, this youngling,
eh, Paul Strelitz?" cried the first. "I would we had
him at our table of mess. What would our commander
say to that? How he would gobble and glower? 'As
for me, I only kiss ladies!' Can you imagine it,
Paul?"</p>

<p>But just then there came a clatter of horse's hoofs
across the wide spaces of the palace front, into which
the bright forenoon sun was now beating, and a lady
of tall figure and a head all a-ripple with sunny, golden
curls dashed up at a canter, the stones spraying forward
and outward as she reined her horse sharply with her
hands low.</p>

<p>"The Princess Margaret!" said the first officer.
"Stand to it, Paul. Be a man, secretary, and hold
your tongue."</p>

<p>The two officers saluted stiffly, and the lady looked
about for some one to help her to descend. She
observed Johann standing, still haughtily indignant, by
the gate.</p>

<p>"Come hither!" she said, beckoning with her
finger.</p>

<p>"Give me your hand!" she commanded.</p>

<p>The secretary gave it awkwardly, and the Princess
plumped rather sharply to the ground.</p>

<p>"What! Do they not teach you how to help ladies
to alight in Plassenburg?" queried the Princess.
"You accompany the new ambassador, do you not?"</p>

<p>"You are the first I ever helped in my life," said
Johann simply. "Mostly&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"What! I am the first? You jest. It is not
possible. There are many ladies in Plassenburg, and I
doubt not they have noted and distinguished a handsome
youth like you."</p>

<p>The secretary shook his head.</p>

<p>"Not so," he said, smiling; "I have never been
so remarked by any lady in Plassenburg in my life."</p>

<p>The Courtlander, standing stiff at the salute, turned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span>
his head the least fraction of an inch towards Paul
Strelitz the Bor-Russian.</p>

<p>"He sticks to it. Lord! I wish that I could lie
like that! I would make my fortune in a trice," he
muttered. "'As for me, I only kiss ladies!' Did you
hear him, Paul?"</p>

<p>"I hear him. He lies like an archbishop&mdash;a divine
liar," muttered the Bor-Russian under his breath.</p>

<p>"Well, at any rate," said the Princess, never taking
her eyes off the young man's face, "you will be good
enough to escort me to the Prince's room."</p>

<p>"I am going there myself," said the secretary curtly.</p>

<p>"Certainly they do not teach you to say pretty things
to ladies," answered the Princess. "I know many that
could have bettered that speech without stressing
themselves. Yet, after all, I know not but I like your
blunt way best!" she added, after a pause, again smiling
upon him.</p>

<p>As she took the young man's arm, a cavalier suddenly
dashed up on a smoking horse, which had evidently
been ridden to his limit. He was of middle size, of a
figure exceedingly elegant, and dressed in the highest
fashion. He wore a suit of black velvet with yellow
points and narrow braidings also of yellow, a broad
golden sash girt his waist, his face was handsome, and
his mustachios long, fierce, and curling. His eye
glittered like that of a snake, with a steady chill sheen,
unpleasant to linger upon. He swung from his horse,
casting the reins to the nearest soldier, who happened
to be our Courtland officer Otto, and sprang up the
steps after the Princess and her young escort.</p>

<p>"Princess," he said hastily, "Princess Margaret, I
beg your pardon most humbly that I have been so
unfortunate as to be late in my attendance upon you.
The Prince sent for me at the critical moment, and I
was bound to obey. May I now have the honour of
conducting you to the summer parlour?"</p>

<p>The Princess turned carelessly, or rather, to tell it
exactly, she turned her head a little back over her
shoulder with a beautiful gesture peculiar to herself.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p>

<p>"I thank you," she said coldly, "I have already
requested this gentleman to escort me. I shall not
need you, Prince Ivan."</p>

<p>And she went in, bending graciously and even confidingly
towards the secretary, on whose arm her hand
reposed.</p>

<p>The cavalier in banded yellow stood a moment with
an expression on his face at once humorous and
malevolent.</p>

<p>He gazed after the pair till the door swung to and
they disappeared. Then he turned bitterly towards
the nearest officer.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 55%;">
<img src="images/i_046fp.jpg" width="100%" alt="He gazed after the pair till the door swung to." title="" />
<span class="caption">"He gazed after the pair till the door swung to."</span>
</div>

<p>"Tell me," he said, "who is the lout in black, that
looks like a priest-cub out for a holiday?"</p>

<p>"He is the secretary of the embassy of Plassenburg,"
said Otto the guardsman, restraining a desire to put his
information in another form. He did not love this
imperious cavalier; he was a Courtlander and holding
a Muscovite's horse. The conjunction brought something
into his throat.</p>

<p>"Ha," said the young man in black and yellow, still
gazing at the closed door, "I think I shall go into the
rose-garden; I may have something further to say to the
most honourable the secretary of the embassy of Plassenburg!"
And summoning the officer with a curt monosyllable
to bring his horse, he mounted and rode off.</p>

<p>"I wonder he did not give me a silver groat," said
the Courtlander. "The secretary sparrow may be
dainty and kiss only ladies, but this Prince of Muscovy
has not pretty manners. I hope he does not marry
the Princess after all."</p>

<p>"Not with her goodwill, I warrant," said Paul
Strelitz; "either you or I would have a better chance,
unless our Prince Ludwig compel her to it for the good
of the State!"</p>

<p>"Prince Wasp seemed somewhat disturbed in his
mind," said the Courtlander, chuckling. "I wish I
were on guard in the rose-garden to see the meeting of
Master Prettyman and his Royal Highness the Hornet
of Muscovy!"</p>


<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p>


<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2>

<h3>H.R.H. THE PRINCESS IMPETUOSITY</h3>


<p>The Princess Margaret spoke low and confidentially
to the secretary of embassy as they
paced along. Johann Pyrmont felt correspondingly
awkward. For one thing, the pressure of the
Princess's hand upon his arm distracted him. He
longed to have her on his other side.</p>

<p>"You are noble?" she said, with a look down at him.</p>

<p>"Of course!" said the secretary quickly. The
opposite had never occurred to him. He had not
considered the pedigree of travelling merchants or
Hamburg architects.</p>

<p>The Princess thought it was not at all of course, but
continued&mdash;</p>

<p>"I understand&mdash;you would learn diplomacy under a
man so wise as the High Councillor von Dessauer. I
have heard of such sacrifices. My brother, who is very
learned, went to Italy, and they say (though he only
laughs when I ask him) worked with his hands in one
of the places where they print the new sort of books
instead of writing them. Is it not wonderful?"</p>

<p>"And he is so brave," said the secretary, whose
interest suddenly increased; "he won the tournament
yesterday, did he not? I saw you give him the crown
of bay. I had not thought so brave a man could be
learned also."</p>

<p>"Oh, my brother has all the perfections, yet thinks
more of every shaveling monk and unfledged chorister
than of himself. I will introduce you to him now. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span>
am a pet of his. You will love him, too&mdash;when you
know him, that is!"</p>

<p>"Devoutly do I hope so!" said the secretary under
his breath.</p>

<p>But the Princess heard him.</p>

<p>"Of course you will," she said gaily; "I love him,
therefore so will you!"</p>

<p>"An agreeable princess&mdash;I shall get on well with
her!" thought Johann Pyrmont. Then the attention
of his companion flagged and she was silent and distrait
for a little, as they paced through courts and
colonnades which to the secretary seemed interminable.
The Princess silently indicated the way by a pressure
upon his arm which was almost more than friendly.</p>

<p>"We walk well together," she said presently, rousing
herself from her reverie.</p>

<p>"Yes," answered the secretary, who was thinking that
surely it was a long way to the summer parlour, where
he was to meet the Prince.</p>

<p>"I fear," said the Princess Margaret quaintly, "that
you are often in the habit of walking with ladies!
Your step agrees so well with mine!"</p>

<p>"I never walk with any others," the secretary
answered without thought.</p>

<p>"What?" cried the Princess, quickly taking away
her hand, "and you swore to me even now that you
never helped a lady from her horse in your life!"</p>

<p>It was an <i>impasse</i>, and the secretary, recalled to
himself, blushed deeply.</p>

<p>"I see so few ladies," he stammered, in a tremor
lest he should have betrayed himself. "I live in the
country&mdash;only my maid&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Heaven's own sunshine!" cried the Princess.
"Have the pretty young men of Plassenburg maids
and tirewomen? Small wonder that so few of them
ever visit us! No blame that you stay in that happy
country!"</p>

<p>The secretary recovered his presence of mind
rapidly.</p>

<p>"I mean," he explained, "the old woman Bette,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span>
my nurse, who, though now I am grown up, comes
every night to see that I have all I want and to fold
my clothes. I have no other women about me."</p>

<p>"You are sure that Bette, who comes for your
clothes and to see that you have all you want, is old?"
persisted the Princess, keeping her eyes sharply upon
her companion.</p>

<p>"She is so old that I never remember her to have
been any younger," replied the secretary, with an air
of engaging candour.</p>

<p>"I believe you," cried the outspoken Princess; "no
one can lie with such eyes. Strange that I should
have liked you from the first. Stranger that in an
hour I should tell you so. Your arm!"</p>

<p>The secretary immediately put his hand within the
arm of the Princess Margaret, who turned upon him
instantly in great astonishment.</p>

<p>"Is that also a Plassenburg custom?" she said
sharply. "Was it old Bette who taught you thus to
take a lady's arm? It is otherwise thought of in our
ignorant Courtland!"</p>

<p>The young man blushed and looked down.</p>

<p>"I am sorry," he said; "it is a common fashion
with us. I crave your pardon if in aught I have
offended."</p>

<p>The Princess Margaret looked quizzically at her
companion.</p>

<p>"I' faith," she said, "I have ever had a curiosity
about foreign customs. This one I find not amiss.
Do it again!"</p>

<p>And with her own princessly hand she took
Johann's slender brown fingers and placed them upon
her arm.</p>

<p>"These are fitter for the pen than for the sword!"
she said, a saying which pleased the owner of them
but little.</p>

<p>The Courtlander Otto, who had been on guard at the
gate, had meantime been relieved, and now followed
the pair through the corridors to the summer palace
upon an errand which he had speciously invented.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span></p>

<p>At this point he stood astonished.</p>

<p>"I would that Prince Wasp were here. We should
see his sting. He is indeed a marvel, this fellow of
Plassenburg. Glad am I that he does not know little
Lenchen up in the Kaiser Platz. No one of us would
have a maid to his name, if this gamester abode in
Courtland long and made the running in this style!"</p>

<p>The Princess and her squire now went out into the
open air. For she had led him by devious ways
almost round the entire square of the palace buildings.
They passed into a thick avenue of acacias and yews,
through the arcades of which they walked silently.</p>

<p>For the Princess was content, and the secretary
afraid of making any more mistakes. So he let the
foreign custom go at what it might be worth, knowing
that if he tried to better it, ten to one a worse thing
might befall.</p>

<p>"I have changed my mind," said the Princess, suddenly
stopping and turning upon her companion; "I
shall not introduce you to my brother. If you come
from the Ambassador, you must have matters of importance
to speak of. I will rest me here in an arbour
and come in later. Then, if you are good, you shall
perhaps be permitted to reconduct me to my lodging,
and as we go, teach me any other pleasant foreign
customs!"</p>

<p>The secretary bowed, but kept his eyes on the
ground.</p>

<p>"You do not say that you are glad," cried the Princess,
coming impulsively a step nearer. "I tell you
there is not one youth&mdash;&mdash;but no matter. I see that it
is your innocence, and I am not sure that I do not
like you the better for it."</p>

<p>Behind an evergreen, Otto the Courtlander nearly
discovered himself at this declaration.</p>

<p>"His innocence&mdash;magnificent Karl the Great! His
Plassenburger's innocence&mdash;God wot! He will not
die of it, but he may be the death of me. Oh, for the
opinion of Prince Wasp of Muscovy upon such innocence."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p>

<p>"Come," said the Princess, holding out her hands,
"bid me goodbye as you do in your country. There
is the Prince my brother's horse at the door. You must
hasten, or he will be gone ere you do your message."</p>

<p>At this the heart of the youth gave a great leap.</p>

<p>"The Prince!" he cried, "he will be gone!" And
would have bolted off without a word.</p>

<p>"Never mind the Prince&mdash;think of me," commanded
the Princess, stamping her foot. "Give me your
hand. I am not accustomed to ask twice. Bid me
goodbye."</p>

<p>With his eyes on the white charger by the door the
secretary hastily took the Princess by both hands.
Then, with his mind still upon the departing Prince,
he drew her impulsively towards him, kissed her
swiftly upon both cheeks, and finished by imprinting
his lips heartily upon her mouth!</p>

<p>Then, still with swift impulse and an ardent glance
upward at the palace front, he ran in the direction of
the steps of the summer palace.</p>

<p>The Princess Margaret stood rooted to the ground.
A flush of shame, anger, or some other violent emotion
rose to her brow and stayed there.</p>

<p>Then she called to mind the straightforward unclouded
eyes, the clear innocence of the youth's
brow, and the smile came back to her lips.</p>

<p>"After all, it is doubtless only his foreign custom,"
she mused. Then, after a pause, "I like foreign
customs," she added, "they are interesting to learn!"</p>

<p>Behind his tree the Courtlander stood gasping with
astonishment, as well he might.</p>

<p>"God never made such a fellow," he said to himself.
"Well might he say he never kissed any but ladies.
Such abilities were lost upon mere men. An hour's
acquaintance&mdash;nay, less&mdash;and he hath kissed the Princess
Margaret upon the mouth. And she, instead of
shrieking and calling the guard to have the insulter
thrust into the darkest dungeon, falls to musing and
smiling. A devil of a secretary this! Of a certainty I
must have little Lenchen out of town!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2>

<h3>JOHANN IN THE SUMMER PALACE</h3>


<p>At the door of the summer palace not a soul was
on guard. A great quiet surrounded it. The
secretary could hear the gentle lapping of the river over
the parapet, for the little pavilion had been erected overhanging
the water, and the leaves of the linden-trees
rustled above. These last were still clamorous with
the hum of bees, whose busy wings gave forth a sort
of dull booming roar, comparable only to the distant
noise of breakers when a roller curls slowly over and
runs league-long down the sandy beach.</p>

<p>It was with a beating heart that Johann Pyrmont
knocked.</p>

<p>"Enter!" said a voice within, with startling suddenness.</p>

<p>And opening the door and grasping his papers, the
secretary suddenly found himself in the presence of
the hero of the tournament.</p>

<p>The Prince was standing by a desk covered with
books and papers. In his hand he held a quill,
wherewith he had been writing in a great book which
lay on a shelf at his elbow. For a moment the
secretary could not reconcile this monkish occupation
with his idea of the gallant white-plumed knight
whom he had seen flash athwart the lists, driving a
clean furrow through the hostile ranks with his single
spear.</p>

<p>But he remembered his sister's description, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span>
looked at him with the reverence of the time for one
to whom all knowledge was open.</p>

<p>"You have business with me, young sir?" said the
Prince courteously, turning upon the youth a regard
full of dignity and condescension. The knees of
Johann Pyrmont trembled. For a full score of
moments his tongue refused its office.</p>

<p>"I come," he said at last, "to convey these documents
to the noble Prince of Courtland and Wilna."
He gained courage as he spoke, for he had carefully
rehearsed this speech to Dessauer. "I am acting as
secretary to the Ambassador&mdash;in lieu of a better.
These are the proposals concerning alliance between
the realms proposed by our late master, the Prince
Karl, before his death; and now, it is hoped, to be
ratified and carried out between Courtland and Plassenburg
under his successors, the Princess Helene and
her husband."</p>

<p>The tall fair-haired Prince listened carefully. His
luminous and steady eyes seemed to pierce through
every disguise and to read the truth in the heart of the
young architect-secretary. He took the papers from
the hand of Johann Pyrmont, and laid them on a desk
beside him, without, however, breaking the seals.</p>

<p>"I will gladly take charge of such proposals. They
do as much credit, I doubt not, to the sagacity of the
late Prince, your great master, as to the kindness and
good-feeling of our present noble rulers. But where
is the Ambassador? I had hoped to see High Councillor
von Dessauer for my own sake, as well as
because of the ancient kindliness and correspondence
that there was between him and my brother."</p>

<p>"His brother," thought the secretary. "I did not
know he had a brother&mdash;a lad, I suppose, in whom
Dessauer hath an interest. He is ever considerate to
the young!" But aloud he answered, "I grieve to
tell you, my lord, that the High Councillor von
Dessauer is not able to leave his bed this morning.
He caught a chill yesterday, either riding hither or at
the tourney, and it hath induced an old trouble which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span>
no leech has hitherto been skilful enough to heal
entirely. He will, I fear, be kept close in his room
for several days."</p>

<p>"I also am grieved," said the Prince, with grave
regret, seeing the youth's agitation, and liking him for
it. "I am glad he keeps the art to make himself so
beloved. It is one as useful as it is unusual in a
diplomatist!"</p>

<p>Then with a quick change of subject habitual to the
man, he said, "How found you your way hither? The
corridors are both confusing and intricate, and the
guards ordinarily somewhat exacting."</p>

<p>The tall youth smiled.</p>

<p>"I was in the best hands," he said. "Your sister, the
Princess Margaret, was good enough to direct me, being
on her way to her own apartment."</p>

<p>"Ah!" muttered the Prince, smiling as if he knew
his sister, "this is the way to the Princess's apartments,
is it? The Moscow road to Rome, I wot!"</p>

<p>He said no more, but stood regarding the youth,
whose blushes came and went as he stood irresolute
before him.</p>

<p>"A modest lad," said the Prince to himself; "this
ingenuousness is particularly charming in a secretary of
legation. I must see more of him."</p>

<p>Suddenly a thought crossed his mind.</p>

<p>"Why, did I not hear that you came to us by way of
Kernsberg?" he said.</p>

<p>The blushes ceased and a certain pallor showed under
the tan which overspread the young man's face as the
Prince continued to gaze fixedly at him. He could
only bow in assent.</p>

<p>"Then, doubtless, you would see the Duchess Joan?"
he continued. "Is she very beautiful? They say so."</p>

<p>"I do not think so. I never thought about it at
all!" answered the secretary. Suddenly he found himself
plunged into deep waters, just as he had seen the
port of safety before him.</p>

<p>The Prince laughed, throwing back his head a little.</p>

<p>"That is surely a strange story to bring here to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span>
Courtland," he said, "whither the lady is to come as
a bride ere long!  Especially strange to tell to me,
who&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"I ask your pardon," said Johann Pyrmont; "your
Highness must bear with me. I have never done an
errand of such moment before, having mostly spent my
life among soldiers and ("he was on his guard now")
in a fortress. For diplomacy and word-play I have no
skill&mdash;no, nor any liking!"</p>

<p>"You have chosen your trade strangely, then,"
smiled the Prince, "to proclaim such tastes. Wherefore
are you not a soldier?"</p>

<p>"I am! I am!" cried Johann eagerly; "at least, as
much as it is allowed to one of my&mdash;of my strength to
be."</p>

<p>"Can you fence?" asked the Prince, "or play with
the broad blade?"</p>

<p>"I can do both!"</p>

<p>"Then," continued his inquisitor, "you must surely
have tried yourself against the Duchess Joan. They
say she has wonderful skill. Joan of the Sword Hand,
I have heard her called. You have often fenced with
her?"</p>

<p>"No," said the secretary, truthfully, "I have never
fenced with the Duchess Joan."</p>

<p>"So," said the Prince, evidently in considerable surprise;
"then you have certainly often seen her fence?"</p>

<p>"I have never seen the Duchess fence, but I have
often seen others fence with her."</p>

<p>"You practise casuistry, surely," cried the Prince. "I
do not quite follow the distinction."</p>

<p>But, nevertheless, the secretary knew that the difference
existed. He would have given all the proceeds
and emoluments of his office to escape at this moment,
but the eye of the Prince was too steady.</p>

<p>"I doubt not, young sir," he continued, "that
you were one of the army of admirers which, they
say, continually surrounds the Duchess of Hohenstein!"</p>

<p>"Indeed, you are in great error, my lord," said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span>
Johann Pyrmont, with much earnestness and obvious
sincerity; "I never said one single word of love to the
Lady Joan&mdash;no, nor to any other woman!"</p>

<p>"No," said a new voice from the doorway, that of
the Princess Margaret, "but doubtless you took great
pleasure in teaching them foreign customs. And I am
persuaded you did it very well, too!"</p>

<p>The Prince left his desk for the first time and came
smilingly towards his sister. As he stooped to kiss her
hand, Johann observed that his hair seemed already to
be thin upon the top of his head.</p>

<p>"He is young to be growing bald," he said to himself;
"but, after all" (with a sigh), "that does not
matter in a man so noble of mien and in every way so
great a prince."</p>

<p>The impulsive Princess Margaret scarcely permitted
her hand to be kissed. She threw her arms warmly
about her brother's neck, and then as quickly releasing
him, she turned to the secretary, who stood deferentially
looking out at the window, that he might not observe
the meeting of brother and sister.</p>

<p>"I told you he was my favourite brother, and that
you would love him, too," she said. "You must leave
your dull Plassenburg and come to Courtland. I, the
Princess, ask you. Do you promise?"</p>

<p>"I think I shall come again to Courtland," answered
the secretary very gravely.</p>

<p>"This young man knows the Duchess Joan of
Hohenstein," said the Prince, still smiling quietly;
"but I do not think he admires her very greatly&mdash;an
opinion he had better keep to himself if he would have
a quiet life of it in Courtland!"</p>

<p>"Indeed," said the Princess brusquely. "I wonder
not at it. I hear she is a forward minx, and at any rate
she shall never lord it over me. I will run away with
a dog-whipper first."</p>

<p>"Your husband would have occasion for the exercise
of his art, sister mine!" said the Prince. "But,
indeed, you must not begin by misliking the poor young
maid that will find herself so far from home."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></p>

<p>"Oh," cried the Princess, laughing outright, "I mislike
her not a whit. But there is no reason in the
world why, because you are all ready to fall down and
worship, this young man or any other should be compelled
to do likewise."</p>

<p>And right princess-like she looked as she pouted her
proud little lips and with her foot patted the polished
oak.</p>

<p>"But," she went on again to her brother, "your poor
beast out there hath almost fretted himself into ribands
by this time. If you have done with this noble youth,
I have a fancy to hear him tell of the countries wherein
he has sojourned. And, in addition, I have promised
to show him the carp in the ponds. You have surely
given him a great enough dose of diplomatics and canon
law by this time. You have, it seems to me, spent half
the day in each other's society."</p>

<p>"On the contrary," returned the Prince, smiling
again, but going towards the desk to put away the
papers which Dessauer's secretary had brought&mdash;"on
the contrary, we talked almost solely about women&mdash;a
subject not uncommon when man meets man."</p>

<p>"But somewhat out of keeping with the dignity of
your calling, my brother!" said the Princess pointedly.</p>

<p>"And wherefore?" he said, turning quickly with the
papers still in his hand. "If to guide, to advise, to
rule, are of my profession, surely to speak of women,
who are the more important half of the human race,
cannot be foreign to my calling!"</p>

<p>"Come," she said, hearing the words without attending
to the sense, "I also like things foreign. The
noble secretary has promised to teach me some more
of them!"</p>

<p>The tolerant Prince laughed. He was evidently
accustomed to his sister's whims, and, knowing how
perfectly harmless they were, he never interfered with
them.</p>

<p>"A good day to you," he said to the young man, by
way of dismissal. "If I do not see you again before
you leave, you must promise me to come back to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span>
wedding of the Duchess Johanna. In that event you
must do me the honour to be my guest on that
occasion."</p>

<p>The red flooded back to Johann's cheek.</p>

<p>"I thank you," he said, bowing; "I <i>will</i> come back
to the wedding of the Duchess Joan."</p>

<p>"And you promise to be my guest? I insist upon
it," continued the kindly Prince, willing to gratify his
sister, who was smiling approval, "I insist that you
shall let me be your host."</p>

<p>"I hope to be your guest, most noble Prince," said
the secretary, looking up at him quickly as he went
through the door.</p>

<p>It was a singular look. For a moment it checked
and astonished the Prince so much that he stood still
on the threshold.</p>

<p>"Where have I seen a look like that before?" he
mused, as he cast his memory back into the past without
success. "Surely never on any man's face?"</p>

<p>Which, after all, was likely enough.</p>

<p>Then putting the matter aside as curious, but of no
consequence, the Prince rode away towards that part
of the city from which the towers of the minster
loomed up. A couple of priests bowed low before
him as he passed, and the people standing still to watch
his broad shoulders and erect carriage, said one to the
other, "Alas! alas! the truest Prince of them all&mdash;to be
thus thrown away!"</p>

<p>And these were the words which the secretary heard
from a couple of guards who talked at the gate of the
rose-garden, as they, too, stood looking after the Prince.</p>

<p>"Wait," said Johann Pyrmont to himself; "wait, I
will yet show them whether he is thrown away or not."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2>

<h3>THE ROSE GARDEN</h3>


<p>The rose garden of the summer palace of Courtland
was a paradise made for lovers' whisperings.
Even now, when the chills of autumn had begun to blow
through its bowers, it was over-clambered with late-blooming
flowers. Its bowers were creeper-tangled.
Trees met over paths bedded with fallen petals, making
a shade in sunshine, a shelter in rain, and delightful in
both.</p>

<p>It was natural that so fair a Princess, taking such a
sudden fancy to a young man, should find her way
where the shade was deepest and the labyrinth most
entangled.</p>

<p>But this secretary Johann of ours, being creditably
hard of heart, would far rather have hied him straight
back to old Dessauer with his news. More than anything
he desired to be alone, that he might think
over the events of the morning.</p>

<p>But the Princess Margaret had quite other intentions.</p>

<p>"Do you know," she began, "that I might well have
lodged you in a dungeon cell for that which in another
had been dire insolence?"</p>

<p>They were pacing a long dusky avenue of tall yew-trees.
The secretary turned towards her the blank
look of one whose thoughts have been far away. But
the Princess rattled on, heedless of his mood.</p>

<p>"Nevertheless, I forgive you," she said; "after all,
I myself asked you to teach me your foreign customs.
If any one be to blame, it is I. But one thing I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span>
would impress upon you, sir secretary: do not practise
these outland peculiarities before my brothers. Either
of them might look with prejudice upon such customs
being observed generally throughout the city. I came
back chiefly to warn you. We do not want that
handsome head of yours (which I admit is well enough
in its way, as, being a man, you are doubtless aware)
to be taken off and stuck on a pole over the Strasburg
Gate!"</p>

<p>It was with an effort that the secretary detached
himself sufficiently from his reveries upon the interview
in the summer palace to understand what the
Princess was driving at.</p>

<p>"All this mighty pother, just because I kissed her on
the cheek," he thought. "A Princess of Courtland is
no such mighty thing&mdash;and why should I not?&mdash;Oh,
of course, I had forgotten again. I am not now the
person I was."</p>

<p>But how can we tell with what infinite condescension
the Princess took the young man's hand and
read his fortune, dwelling frowningly on the lines of
love and life?</p>

<p>"You have too pretty a hand for a man," she said;
"why is it hard here and here?"</p>

<p>"That is from the sword grip," said the secretary,
with no small pride.</p>

<p>"Do you, then, fence well? I wish I could see
you," she cried, clapping her hands. "How splendid
it would be to see a bout between you and Prince
Wasp&mdash;that is, the Prince Ivan of Muscovy, I mean.
He is a great fencer, and also desires to be a great
friend of mine. He would give something to be
sitting here teaching me how they take hands and bid
each other goodbye in Bearland. They rub noses, I
have heard say, a custom which, to my thinking,
would be more provocative than satisfactory. I like
your Plassenburg fashion better."</p>

<p>Whereat, of course there was nothing for it but that the
secretary should arouse himself out of his reverie and do
his part. If the Princess of Courtland chose to amuse<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span>
herself with him, well, it was harmless on either side&mdash;even
more so than she knew. Soon he would be
far away. Meanwhile he must not comport himself
like a puking fool.</p>

<p>"I think in somewise it were possible to improve
upon the customs even of Plassenburg," said the
Princess Margaret, after certain experiments; "but tell
me, since you say that we are to be friends, and I have
admitted your plea, what is your fortune? Nay, do
you know that I do not even know your name&mdash;at
least, not from your own lips."</p>

<p>For, headlong as she had proved herself in making
love, yet a vein of Baltic practicality was hidden
beneath the princess's impetuosity.</p>

<p>"My father was the Count von Löen, and I am his
heir!" said the secretary carefully; "but I do not
usually call myself so. There are reasons why I
should not."</p>

<p>Which there were, indeed&mdash;grave reasons, too.</p>

<p>"Then you are the Count von Löen?" said the
Princess. "I seem to have heard that name somewhere
before. Tell me, are you the Count von Löen?"</p>

<p>"I am certainly the heir to that title," said the
secretary, grilling within and wishing himself a thousand
miles away.</p>

<p>"I must go directly and tell my brother. He will
be back from the cathedral by this time. I am sure he
did not know. And the estates&mdash;a little involved,
doubtless, like those of most well-born folk in these
ill days? Are they in your sole right?"</p>

<p>"The estates are extensive. They are not encumbered
so far as I know. They are all in my own
right," explained the newly styled Count with perfect
truth. But within he was saying, "God help me! I
get deeper and deeper. What a whirling chaos a
single lie leads one into! Heaven give me speedy
succour out of this!" And as he thought of his
troubles, the noble count, the swordsman, the learned
secretary, could scarce restrain a desire to break out
into hysterical sobbing.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p>

<p>A new thought seemed to strike the Princess as he
was speaking.</p>

<p>"But so young, so handsome," she murmured, "so
apt a pupil at love!" Then aloud she said, "You are
not deceiving me? You are not already betrothed?"</p>

<p>"Not to any woman!" said the deceitful Count,
picking his words with exactness.</p>

<p>The gay laugh of the Princess rang out prompt as
an echo.</p>

<p>"I did not expect you to be engaged to a man!"
she cried. "But now conduct me to the entrance of
my chambers" (here she reached him her hand). "I
like you," she added frankly, looking at him with
unflinching eyes. "I am of the house of Courtland,
and we are accustomed to say what we think&mdash;the
women of us especially. And sooner than carry out this
wretched contract and marry the Prince Wasp, I will
do even as I said to my brother, I will run away and
wed a dog-whipper! But perhaps I may do better
than either!" she said in her heart, nodding determinedly
as she looked at the handsome youth before
her, who now stood with his eyes downcast upon the
ground.</p>

<p>They were almost out of the yew-tree walk, and the
voice of the Princess carried far, like that of most very
impulsive persons. It reached the ears of a gay young
fashionable, who had just dismounted at the gate
which led from the rose garden into the wing of
the palace inhabited by the Princess Margaret and her
suite.</p>

<p>"Now," said the Princess, "I will show you how apt
a pupil I make. Tell me whether this is according to
the best traditions of Plassenburg!" And taking his
face between her hands she kissed him rapidly upon
either cheek and then upon the lips.</p>

<p>"There!" she said, "I wonder what my noble
brothers would say to that! I will show them that
Margaret of Courtland can choose both whom she will
kiss and whom she will marry!"</p>

<p>And flashing away from him like a bright-winged<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span>
bird she fled upward into her chambers. Then,
somewhat dazed by the rapid succession of emotions,
Johann the Secretary stepped out of the green gloom
of the yew-tree walk into the broad glare of the
September sun and found himself face to face with
Prince Wasp.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2>

<h3>PRINCE WASP</h3>


<p>Now Ivan, Prince of Muscovy, had business in
Courtland very clear and distinct. He came to
woo the Princess Margaret, which being done, he
wished to be gone. There was on his side the certainty
of an excellent fortune, a possible succession,
and, in any case, a pretty and wilful wife. But as he
thought on that last the Wasp smiled to himself. In
Moscow there were many ways, once he had her there,
of taming the most wilful of wives.</p>

<p>As to the inheritance&mdash;well, it was true there were
two lives between; but one of these, in Prince Ivan's
mind, was as good as nought, and the other&mdash;&mdash;In
addition, the marriage had been arranged by their
several fathers, though not under the same penalty as
that which threatened the Prince of Courtland and
Joan Duchess of Hohenstein.</p>

<p>Prince Wasp had not favourably impressed the
family at the palace. His manners had the strident
edge and blatant self-assertion of one who, unlicensed
at home, has been flattered abroad, deferred to everywhere,
and accustomed to his own way in all things.
Nevertheless, Ivan had managed to make himself
popular with the townsfolk, on account of the largesse
which he lavished and the custom which his numerous
suite brought to the city. Specially, he had been
successful in attaching the rabble of the place to his
cause; and already he had headed off two other<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span>
wooers who had come from the south to solicit the
smiles of the Princess Margaret.</p>

<p>"So," he said, as he faced the secretary, now somewhat
compositely styled&mdash;Johann, Count von Löen,
"so, young springald, you think to court a foolish
princess. You play upon her with your pretty words
and graceful compliments. That is an agreeable relaxation
enough. It passes the time better than fumbling
with papers in front of an escritoire. Only&mdash;you have
in addition to reckon with me, Ivan, hereditary Prince
of Muscovy."</p>

<p>And with a sweep of his hand across his body he
drew his sword from its sheath.</p>

<p>The sword of the young secretary came into his
hand with equal swiftness. But he answered nothing.
A curious feeling of detachment crept over him. He
had held the bare sword before in presence of an
enemy, but never till now unsupported.</p>

<p>"I do you the honour to suppose you noble," said
Prince Wasp, "otherwise I should have you flogged
by my lacqueys and thrown into the town ditch. I
have informed you of my name and pretensions to
the hand of the Princess Margaret, whom you have
insulted. I pray you give me yours in return."</p>

<p>"I am called Johann, Count von Löen," answered
the secretary as curtly as possible.</p>

<p>"Pardon the doubt which is in my mind," said the
Prince of Muscovy, with a black sneering bitterness
characteristic of him, "but though I am well versed
in all the noble families of the north, and especially in
those of Plassenburg, where I resided a full year in
the late Prince's time, I am not acquainted with any
such title."</p>

<p>"Nevertheless, it is mine by right and by birthright,"
retorted the secretary, "as I am well prepared to
maintain with my sword in the meantime. And,
after, you can assure yourself from the mouth of the
High State's Councillor Dessauer that the name and
style are mine. Your ignorance, however, need not
defer your chastisement."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p>

<p>"Follow me, Count von Löen," said the Prince;
"I am too anxious to deal with your insolence as it
deserves to quarrel as to names or titles, legal or illegitimate.
My quarrel is with your fascinating body
and prettyish face, the beauty of which I will presently
improve with some good Northland steel."</p>

<p>And with his lithe and springy walk the Prince of
Muscovy passed again along the alleys of the rose
garden till he reached the first open space, where he
turned upon the secretary.</p>

<p>"We are arrived," he said; "our business is so
pressing, and will be so quickly finished, that there is
no need for the formality of seconds. Though I
honour you by crossing my sword with yours, it is a
mere formality. I have such skill of the weapon, as
I daresay report has told you, that you may consider
yourself dead already. I look upon your chastisement
no more seriously than I might the killing of a
fly that has vexed me with its buzzing. Guard!"</p>

<p>But Johann Pyrmont had been trained in a school
which permitted no such windy preludes, and with the
fencer's smile on his face he kept his silence. His
sword would answer all such boastings, and that in
good time.</p>

<p>And so it fell out.</p>

<p>From the very first crossing of the swords Prince
Wasp found himself opposed by a quicker eye, a
firmer wrist, a method and science infinitely superior
to his own. His most dashing attack was repelled
with apparent ease, yet with a subtlety which interposed
nothing but the most delicate of guards and
parries between Prince Ivan and victory. This gradually
infuriated the Prince, till suddenly losing his
temper he stamped his foot in anger and rushed upon
his foe with the true Muscovite fire.</p>

<p>Then, indeed, had Johann need of all his most constant
practice with the sword, for the sting of the Wasp
flashed to kill as he struck straight at the heart of his
foe.</p>


<p>But lo! the blade was turned aside, the long-delayed
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span>answering thrust glittered out, and the secretary's
sword stood a couple of handbreadths in the boaster's
shoulder.</p>

<p>With an effort Johann recovered his blade and stood
ready for the ripost; but the wound was more than
enough. The Prince staggered, cried out some unintelligible
words in the Muscovite language, and pitched
forward slowly on his face among the trampled leaves
and blown rose petals of the palace garden.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 60%;">
<img src="images/i_067fp.jpg" width="100%" alt="The Prince staggered." title="" />
<span class="caption">"The Prince staggered."</span>
</div>

<p>The secretary grew paler than his wont, and ran to
lift his fallen enemy. But, all unseen, other eyes had
watched the combat, and from the door by which they
had entered, and from behind the trees of the surrounding
glade, there came the noise of pounding
footsteps and fierce cries of "Seize him! Kill him!
Tear him to pieces! He has slain the good Prince,
the friend of the people! The Prince Ivan is dead!"</p>

<p>And ere the secretary could touch the body of his
unconscious foe, or assure himself concerning his
wound, he found himself surrounded by a yelling
crowd of city loafers and gallows'-rats, many of them
rag-clad, others habited in heterogeneous scraps of
cast-off clothing, or articles snatched from clothes-lines
and bleaching greens&mdash;long-mourned, doubtless, by
the good wives of Courtland.</p>

<p>The secretary eyed this unkempt horde with haughty
scorn, and his fearless attitude, as he striped his stained
sword through his handkerchief and threw the linen
away, had something to do with the fact that the
rabble halted at the distance of half-a-dozen yards
and for many minutes contented themselves with
hurling oaths and imprecations at him. Johann Pyrmont
kept his sword in his hand and stood by the
body of his fallen foe in disdainful silence till the
arrival of fresh contingents through the gate aroused
the halting spirit of the crowd. Knives and sword-blades
began to gleam here and there in grimy hands
where at first there had been only staves and chance-snatched
gauds of iron.</p>

<p>"At him! Down with him! He can only strike<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span>
once!"  These and similar cries inspirited the rabble
of Courtland, great haters of the Plassenburg and the
Teutonic west, to rush in and make an end.</p>

<p>At last they did come on, not all together, but
in irregular undisciplined rushes. Johann's sword
streaked out this way and that.  There was an answering
cry of pain, a turmoil among the assailants as
a wounded man whirled his way backward out of the
press.  But this could not last for long.  The odds
were too great.  The droning roar of hate from the
edges of the crowd grew louder as new and ever
newer accretions joined themselves to its changing
fringes.</p>

<p>Then suddenly came a voice.  "Back, on your lives,
dogs and traitors! Germans to the rescue! Danes,
Teuts, Northmen to the rescue!"</p>

<p>Following the direction of the sound, Johann saw a
young man drive through the press, his sword bare in
his hand, his eyes glittering with excitement.  It was
the Danish prisoner of the guard-hall at Kernsberg,
that same Sparhawk who had fought with Werner von
Orseln.</p>

<p>The crowd stared back and forth betwixt him and
that other whom he came to succour.  Far more than
ever his extraordinary likeness to the secretary appeared.
Apparent enough at any time, it was accentuated now
by similarity of clothing.  For, like Johann Pyrmont,
the Sparhawk was attired in a black doublet and trunk
hose of scholastic cut, and as they stood back to back,
little difference could be noted between them, save
that the newcomer was a trifle the taller.</p>

<p>"Saint Michael and all holy angels!" cried the
leader of the crowd, "can it be that there are scores of
these Plassenburg black crows in Courtland, slaying
whom they will?  Here be two of them as like as two
peas, or a couple of earthen pipkins from the same
potter's wheel!"</p>

<p>The Dane flung a word over his shoulder to his
companion.</p>

<p>"Pardon me, your grace," said the Sparhawk, "if I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span>
stand back to back with you.  They are dangerous.
We must watch well for any chance of escape."</p>

<p>The secretary did not answer to this strange style of
address, but placed himself back to back with his
ally, and their two bright blades waved every way.
Only that of Johann Pyrmont was already reddened
well-nigh half its length.</p>

<p>A second time the courage of the crowd worked
itself up, and they came on.</p>

<p>"Death to the Russ, to the lovers of Russians!"
cried the Sparhawk, and his blade dealt thrusts right
and left. But the pressure increased every moment.
Those behind cried, "Kill them!"  For they were out
of reach of those two shining streaks of steel.  Those
before would gladly have fallen behind, but could not
for the forward thrust of their friends. Still the ring
narrowed, and the pair of gallant fighters would doubtlessly
have been swept away had not a diversion come
to alter the face of things.</p>

<p>Out of the gate which led to the wing of the palace
occupied by the Princess Margaret burst a little company
of halberdiers, at sight of whom the crowd gave
suddenly back.  The Princess herself was with them.</p>

<p>"Take all prisoners, and bring them within," she
cried.  "Well you know that my brother is from
home, or you dare not thus brawl in the very precincts
of the palace!"</p>

<p>And at her words the soldiers advanced rapidly. A
further diversion was caused by the Sparhawk suddenly
cleaving a way through the crowd and setting off at
full speed in the direction of the river.  Whereupon
the rabble, glad to combine personal safety with the
pleasures of the chase, took to their heels after him.
But, light and unexpected in motion as his namesake,
the Sparhawk skimmed down the alleys, darted sideways
through gates which he shut behind him with a
clash of iron, and finally plunged into the green rush
of the Alla, swimming safe and unhurt to the further
shore, whither, in the absence of boats at this particular
spot, none could pursue him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2>

<h3>THE KISS OF THE PRINCESS MARGARET</h3>


<p>The Princess and her guard were left alone with
the secretary and the unconscious body of the
Prince of Muscovy.</p>

<p>"Sirrah," she cried severely to the former, "is this
the first use you make of our hospitality, thus to brawl
in the street underneath my very windows with our
noble guest the Prince Ivan?  Take him to my
brother's room, and keep him safely there to await
our lord's return.  We shall see what the Prince will
say to this.  And as for this wounded man, take him
to his own apartments, and let a surgeon be sent to
him.  Only not in too great a hurry!" she added as an
afterthought to the commander of her little company of
palace guards.</p>

<p>So, merely detailing half a dozen to carry the Prince
to his chambers, the captain of the guard conducted
the secretary to the very room in which an hour before
he had met the brother of the Princess.  Here he was
confined, with a couple of guards at the door.  Nor
had he been long shut up before he heard the quick
step of the Princess coming along the passage-way.
He could distinguish it a long way off, for the summer
palace was built mostly of wood, and every sound was
clearly audible.</p>

<p>"So," she said, as soon as the door was shut, "you
have killed Prince Wasp!"</p>

<p>"I trust not," said the secretary gravely; "I meant<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span>
only to wound him. But as he attacked me I could
not do otherwise than defend myself."</p>

<p>"Tut," cried the Princess, "I hope you have killed
him. It will be good riddance, and most like the
Muscovites will send an army&mdash;which, with your
Plassenburg to help us, will make a pretty fight. It
serves him right, in any event, for Prince Wasp must
always be thrusting his sting into honest folk. He
will be none the worse for some of his own poison
applied at a rapier's point to keep him quiet for some
few days."</p>

<p>But Johann was not in a mood to relish the jubilation
of the Princess. He grew markedly uneasy in his
mind. Every moment he anticipated that the Prince
would return. A trial would take place, and he did not
know what might not be discovered.</p>

<p>The Princess Margaret delivered him from his anxiety.</p>

<p>"The laws are strict against duelling," she continued.
"The Prince Ivan is in high favour with my elder
brother, and it will be well that you should be seen no
more in Courtland&mdash;for the present, that is. But in a
little the Prince Wasp will die or he will recover. In
either case the affair will blow over. Then you will
come back to teach me more foreign customs."</p>

<p>She smiled and held out her hand. Johann kissed it,
perhaps without the fervour which might have been expected
from a brisk young man thus highly favoured
by the fairest and sprightliest of princesses.</p>

<p>"To-night," she went on, "there will be a boat
beneath that window. It will be manned by those
whom I can trust. A ladder of rope will be thrown
to your casement. By it you will descend, and with a
good horse and a sufficient escort you can ride either to
Plassenburg&mdash;or to Kernsberg, which is nearer, and
tell Joan of the Sword Hand that her sister the Princess
Margaret sends you to her. I will give you a letter to
the minx, though I am sure I shall not like her. She
is so forward, they say. But be ready at the hour of
midnight. Who was that youth who fled as we came
up?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p>

<p>"A Danish knight who came hither in our train from
Kernsberg," replied Johann. "But for him I should
have been lost indeed!"</p>

<p>"I must have a horse also for him!" cried the
Princess. "He will surely be on the watch and join
you, knowing that his danger is as great as yours.
Hearken&mdash;they are mourning for their precious
Prince Wasp. To-morrow they will howl louder if
by good hap he goes home to&mdash;purgatory!"</p>

<p>And through the open windows came a sound of
distant shoutings as they carried the wounded Prince
to his lodgings.</p>

<p>"Now," said the Princess, "for the present fare you
well&mdash;in the colder fashion of Courtland this time, for
the sake of the guards at the door. But remember that
you are more than ever plighted to me to be my
instructor, dear Count von Löen!"</p>

<p>She went to the door, and with her fingers on the
handle she turned her about with a pretty vixenish
expression. "I am so glad you stung the Wasp. I
love you for it!" she said.</p>

<p>But after she had vanished with these words the
secretary grew more and more downcast in spirit.
Even this naïve declaration of affection failed to cheer
him. He sat down and gave himself up to the most
melancholy anticipations.</p>

<p>At six a servitor silently entered with a well-chosen
and beautifully cooked meal, of which the secretary
partook sparingly. At seven it grew dark, and at
ten all was quiet in the city. The river rushed
swiftly beneath, and the noise of it, as the water
lapped against the foundations of the summer palace,
helped to disguise the sound of oars, as the boat, a
dark shadow upon greyish water, detached itself
from the opposite shore and approached the window
from whose open casement Johann Pyrmont looked
out.</p>

<p>A low whistle came from underneath, and presently
followed the soft reeving <i>whisk</i> of a coil of rope as it
passed through the window and fell at his feet. The
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span>secretary looked about for something to fasten it to,
and finally decided upon the iron uprights of the
great desk at which the Prince had stood earlier in
the day.</p>

<p>No sooner was this done than Johann set his foot on
the top round and began to descend. It was with a
sudden emptiness at the pit of the stomach and a great
desire to cry out for some one to hold the ladder steady
that the secretary found himself swaying over the dark
water. The boat seemed very far away, a mere spot of
blackness upon the river's face.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 60%;">
<img src="images/i_073fp.jpg" width="100%" alt="The Secretary found himself swaying over the dark water." title="" />
<span class="caption">"The Secretary found himself swaying over the dark water."</span>
</div>

<p>But presently, and while making up his mind to
practise the gymnastic of rope ladders quietly at home,
he made out a man holding the ladder, while two
others with grappled boat-hooks kept the boat steady
fore and aft.</p>

<p>A shrouded figure sat in the stern. The secretary
seemed rather to find himself in a boat which rose
swiftly to meet him than to descend into it. He was
handed from one to the other of the rowers till he
reached the shrouded figure in the stern, out of the
folds of whose enveloping cloak a small warm hand
shot forth and pulled him down upon the seat.</p>

<p>"Draw this corner about you, Count," a low voice
whispered; and in another moment Johann found
himself under the shelter of one cloak with that
daring slip of nobility, the Princess Margaret of
Courtland.</p>

<p>"I was obliged to come; there is no danger.
These fellows are of my household and devoted to
me. I did not dare to risk anything going wrong.
Besides, I am a princess, and&mdash;why need not I say it?&mdash;I
wanted to come. I wanted to see you again,
though, indeed, there is small chance of that in such a
night. And 'tis as well, for I am sure my hair is blown
every way about my face."</p>

<p>"The horses are over there," she added after a
pause; "we are almost at the shore now&mdash;alas, too
quickly! But I must not keep you. I want you to
come back the sooner. And remember, if Prince<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span>
Wasp gets better and worries me too much, or my
brother is unkind and insists upon marrying me to the
Bear, I will take one or two of these fellows and come
to seek you at Plassenburg, so make your reckoning
with that, Sir Count von Löen. As I said, what is the
use of being a princess if you cannot marry whom you
will? Most, I know, marry whom they are told; but
then they have not the spirit of a Baltic weevil, let
alone that of Margaret of Courtland."</p>

<p>They touched the shore almost at the place where
the Sparhawk had landed in the morning when he
escaped from the city rabble, and a stone's-throw
further up the bank they found the horses waiting,
ready caparisoned for the journey.</p>

<p>Two men were, by the Princess's orders, to accompany
Johann.</p>

<p>But with great thoughtfulness she had provided a
fourth horse for the companion who, equally with
himself, was under the ban of the law for wounding
the lieges of the Prince of Courtland within the
precincts of the palace.</p>

<p>"He cannot have gone far," said the Princess. "He
would certainly conceal himself till nightfall in the first
convenient hiding-place. He will be on the look-out
for any chance to release you."</p>

<p>And the event proved the wisdom of her prophecy.
For as soon as he had distinguished the slim figure of
the secretary landing from the boat the Sparhawk
appeared on the crest of the hill, though for the
moment he was still unseen by those below.</p>

<p>"Goodbye! For the present, goodbye, dear
Princess," said Johann, with his heart in his voice.
"God knows, I can never thank or repay you. My
heart is heavy for that. I am unworthy of all your
goodness. It is not as you think&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>He paused for words which might warn without
revealing his secret; but the Princess, never long
silent, struck in.</p>

<p>"Let there be no talk of parting except for the
moment," she said. "Go, you are my knight. Perhaps<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span>
one day, if you do not forget me, I may be yet far
kinder to you!"</p>

<p>And with a most tender kiss and a little sob the
Princess sent her lover, more and more downcast and
discouraged by reason of her very kindness, upon
his way. So much did his obvious depression affect
Margaret of Courtland, that after the secretary, with
one of the men-at-arms leading the spare horse, had
reached the top of the river bank, she suddenly bade
the rowers wait a moment before casting loose from
the land.</p>

<p>"Your sword! Your sword!" she called aloud,
risking any listener in her eagerness; "you have forgotten
your sword."</p>

<p>Now it chanced that the Sparhawk had already come
up with the little party of travellers. He kissed the
hand of Johann Pyrmont, placed him on his beast, and
was preparing to mount his steed with a glad heart,
when the voice from beneath startled him.</p>

<p>"Do not trouble, I will bring the sword," said the
Sparhawk to Johann, with his usual impetuosity,
putting the reins into the secretary's hands. And without
a moment's hesitation he flung himself down the
bank. The Princess had leaped nimbly ashore, and
was standing with the sheathed sword in her hand.</p>

<p>When she saw the figure came bounding towards her
down the pebbly bank, she gave a little cry, and dropping
the scabbard, threw her arms impulsively about
the Sparhawk's neck.</p>

<p>"I could not let you go like that&mdash;without ever telling
you that I loved you&mdash;really, I mean," she whispered,
while the youth stood petrified with astonishment,
without sound or motion. "I will marry none but
you&mdash;neither Prince Ivan nor another. A woman
should not tell a man that, I know, lest he despise her;
but a princess may, if the man dare not tell her."</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;" />

<p>"And what answered you?" asked the secretary of
his companion, as they rode together through the night
out on their road to Kernsberg.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p>

<p>"Why, I said nothing&mdash;speech was not needed,"
quoth the Dane coolly.</p>

<p>"She kissed you?"</p>

<p>"Well," said the Sparhawk, "I could not help that,
could I?"</p>

<p>"But what said you to that?"</p>

<p>"Why, of course, I kissed her back again, as a man
ought!" he made answer.</p>

<p>"Poor Princess," mused the secretary; "it is more
than I could ever have done for her!" Aloud he said,
"But you do not love her&mdash;you had not seen her
before! Why then did you kiss her?"</p>

<p>For these things are hidden from women.</p>

<p>The Dane shrugged his shoulders in the dark.</p>

<p>"Well, I take what the gods send," he replied. "She
was a pretty girl, and her Princess-ship made no
difference in her kissing so far as I could see. I serve
you to the death, my Lady Duchess; but if a princess
loves me by the way&mdash;why, I am ready to indulge her
to the limit of her desirings!"</p>

<p>"You are indeed an accommodating youth," sighed
the secretary, and forthwith returned to his own
melancholy thoughts.</p>

<p>And ever as they rode westward they heard all around
them the rustle of corn in the night wind. Stacks of
hay shed a sweet scent momently athwart their path,
and more than once fruit-laden branches swept across
their faces. For they were passing through the garden
of the Baltic, and its fresh beauty was never fresher
than on that September night when these four rode out
of Courtland towards the distant blue hills on which
was perched Kernsberg, built like an eagle's nest on a
crag overfrowning the wealthier plain.</p>

<p>At the first boundaries of the group of little hill principalities
the two soldiers were dismissed, suitably
rewarded by Johann, to carry the news of safety back
to their wayward and impulsive mistress. And thence-forward
the Sparhawk and the secretary rode on alone.</p>

<p>At the little châlet among the hills where the
Duchess Joan had so suddenly disappeared they found<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span>
two of her tire-maidens and an aged nurse impatiently
awaiting their mistress. To them entered that composite
and puzzling youth the ex-architect and secretary
of the embassy of Plassenburg, Johann, Count von
Löen. And wonder of wonders, in an hour afterwards
Joan of the Sword Hand was riding eagerly towards
her capital city with her due retinue, as if she had
merely been taking a little summer breathing space at
a country seat.</p>

<p>Her entrance created as little surprise as her exit.
For as to her exits and entrances alike the Duchess
consulted no man, much less any woman. Werner von
Orseln saluted as impassively as if he had seen his mistress
an hour before, and the acclamations of the guard
rang out as cheerfully as ever.</p>

<p>Joan felt her spirits rise to be once more in her own
land and among her own folk. Nevertheless, there was
a new feeling in her heart as she thought of the day of
her marriage, when the long-planned bond of brotherhood-heritage
should at last be carried out, and she
should indeed become the mistress of that great land
into which she had ventured so strangely, and the
bride of the Prince&mdash;her Prince, the most noble man
on whom her eyes had ever rested.</p>

<p>Then her thoughts flew to the Princess who had
delivered her out of peril so deadly, and her soul grew
sick and sad within her, not at all lest her adventure
should be known. She cared not so much about that
now. (Perhaps some day she would even tell him
herself when&mdash;well, <i>after</i>!)</p>

<p>But since she had ridden to Courtland, Joan, all untouched
before, had grown suddenly very tender to the
smarting of another woman's heart.</p>

<p>"It is in no wise my fault," she told herself, which
in a sense was true.</p>

<p>But conscience, being a thing not subject to reason,
dealt not a whit the more easily with her on that
account.</p>

<p>It was six months afterwards that the Sparhawk, who
had been given the command of a troop of good<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span>
Hohenstein lancers, asked permission to go on a
journey.</p>

<p>He had been palpably restless and uneasy ever since
his return, and in spite of immediate favour and the
prospect of yet further promotion, he could not settle
to his work.</p>

<p>"Whither would you go?" asked his mistress.</p>

<p>"To Courtland," he confessed, somewhat reluctantly,
looking down at the peaked toe of his tanned leather
riding-boot.</p>

<p>"And what takes you to Courtland?" said Joan;
"you are in danger there. Besides, even if you could,
would you leave my service and engage with some
other?"</p>

<p>"Nay, my lady," he burst out, "that will not I, so
long as life lasts. But&mdash;but the truth is"&mdash;he hesitated
as he spoke&mdash;"I cannot get out of my mind the
Princess who kissed me in the dark. The like never
happened before to any man. I cannot forget her, do
what I will. No, nor rest till I have looked upon her
face."</p>

<p>"Wait," said Joan. "Only wait till the spring and it
is my hap to ride to Courtland for my marriage day.
Then I promise you you shall see somewhat of her&mdash;the
Lord send that it be not more than enough!"</p>

<p>So through many bitter winter days the Sparhawk
abode at the castle of Kernsberg, ill content.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2>

<h3>JOAN FORSWEARS THE SWORD</h3>


<p>It was not in accordance with etiquette that two
such nobly born betrothed persons, to be allied
for reasons of high State policy, should visit each other
openly before the day of marriage; but many letters
and presents had at various times come to Kernsberg,
all bearing witness to the lover-like eagerness of the
Prince of Courtland and of his desire to possess so
fair a bride, especially one who was to bring him so
coveted a possession as the hill provinces of Kernsberg
and Hohenstein.</p>

<p>Amongst other things he had forwarded portraits of
himself, drawn with such skill as the artists of the Baltic
at that time possessed, of a man in armour, with a
countenance of such wooden severity that it might
stand (as the Duchess openly declared) just as well
for Werner, her chief captain, or any other man of
war in full panoply.</p>

<p>"But," said Joan within herself, "what care I for
armour black or armour white? Mine eyes have seen&mdash;and
my heart does not forget."</p>

<p>Then she smiled and for a while forgot the coming
inevitable disappointment of the Princess Margaret,
which troubled her much at other times.</p>

<p>The winter was unusually long and fierce in the
mountains of Kernsberg that year, and even along the
Baltic shores the ice packed thicker and the snow lay
longer by a full month than usual.</p>

<p>It was the end of May, and the full bursting glory of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span>
a northern spring, when at last the bridal cavalcade
wound down from the towers of the Castle of Kernsberg.
Four hundred riders there were, every man arrayed
like a prince in the colours of Hohenstein&mdash;four fairest
maids to be bridesmaids to their Duchess, and as many
matrons of rank and years to bring their mistress with
dignity and discretion to her new home. But the
people and the rough soldiers openly mourned for
Joan of the Sword Hand. "The Princess of Courtland
will not be the same thing!" they said.</p>

<p>And they were right, for since the last time she rode
out Joan had thought many thoughts. Could it be that
she was indeed that reckless maid who once had vowed
that she would go and look once at the man her
father had bidden her marry, and then, if she did not
like him, would carry him off and clap him into a dungeon
till he had paid a swinging ransom? But the
knight of the white plume, and the interview she had
had with a certain Prince in the summer palace of
Courtland, had changed all that.</p>

<p>Now she would be sober, grave&mdash;a fit mate for such
a man. Almost she blushed to recall her madcap feats
of only a year ago.</p>

<p>As they approached the city, and each night brought
them closer to the great day, Joan rode more by herself,
or talked with the young Dane, Maurice von
Lynar, of the Princess Margaret&mdash;without, however,
telling him aught of the rose garden or the expositions
of foreign customs which had preceded the duel with
the Wasp.</p>

<p>The heart of the Duchess beat yet faster when at
last the day of their entry arrived. As they rode
toward the gate of Courtland they were aware of a
splendid cavalcade which came out to receive them in
the name of the Prince, and to conduct them with
honour to the palace prepared for them.</p>

<p>In the centre of a brilliant company rode the Princess
Margaret, in a well-fitting robe of pale blue broidered
with crimson, while behind and about her was such a
galaxy of the fashion and beauty of a court, that had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span>
not Joan remembered and thought on the summer
parlour and the man who was waiting for her in the
city, she had almost bidden her four hundred riders
wheel to the right about, and gallop straight back
to Kernsberg and the heights of rustic Hohenstein.</p>

<p>At sight of the Duchess's party the Princess alighted
from off her steed with the help of a cavalier. At the
same moment Joan of the Sword Hand leaped down of
her own accord and came forward to meet her new sister.</p>

<p>The two women kissed, and then held each other at
arm's length for the luxury of a long look.</p>

<p>The face of the Princess showed a trace of emotion.
She appeared to be struggling with some recollection
she was unable to locate with precision.</p>

<p>"I hope you will be very happy with my brother,"
she faltered; then after a moment she added, "Have
you not perchance a brother of your own?"</p>

<p>But before Joan could reply the representative of the
Prince had come forward to conduct the bride-elect to
her rooms, and the Princess gave place to him.</p>

<p>But all the same she kept her eyes keenly about her,
and presently they rested with a sudden brightness upon
the young Dane, Maurice von Lynar, at the head of his
troop of horse. He was near enough for her to see his
face, and it was with a curious sense of strangeness
that she saw his eyes fixed upon herself.</p>

<p>"He is different&mdash;he is changed," she said to herself;
"but how&mdash;wait till we get to the palace, and I shall
soon find out!"</p>

<p>And immediately she caused it to be intimated that
all the captains of troops and the superior officers
of the escort of the Duchess Joan were to be entertained
at the palace of the Princess Margaret.</p>

<p>So that at the moment when Joan was taking a first
survey of her chambers, which occupied one entire
wing of the Palace of the Princes of Courtland,
Margaret the impetuous had already commanded the
presence of the Count von Löen, one of the commanders
of the bridal escort.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p>

<p>The young officer entrusted with the message returned
almost immediately, to find his mistress impatiently
pacing up and down.</p>

<p>"Well?" she said, halting at the upper end of the
reception-room and looking at him.</p>

<p>"Your Highness," he said, "there is no Count von
Löen among the officers of Kernsberg!"</p>

<p>Margaret of Courtland stamped her foot.</p>

<p>"I expected as much," she said. "He shall pay for
this. Why, man, I saw him with my own eyes an
hour ago&mdash;a young man, slender, sits erect in his
saddle, of a dark allure, and with eyes like those of an
eagle."</p>

<p>A flush came over the youth's face.</p>

<p>"Does he look like the brother of the Duchess
Joan?" he said.</p>

<p>"That is the man&mdash;Count von Löen or no. That
is the man, I tell you. Bring him immediately to
me."</p>

<p>The young officer smiled.</p>

<p>"Methinks he will come readily enough. He started
forward as if to follow me when first I told my message.
But when I mentioned the name of the Count von Löen
he stood aside in manifest disappointment."</p>

<p>"At all events, bring him instantly!" commanded
the Princess.</p>

<p>The officer bowed low and retired.</p>

<p>The Princess Margaret smiled to herself.</p>

<p>"It is some more of their precious State secrets," she
said. "Well&mdash;I love secrets, and I can keep them too;
but only my own, or those that are told to me. And
I will make my gentleman pay for playing off his
Counts von Löen on me!"</p>

<p>Presently she heard heavy footsteps approaching the
door.</p>

<p>"Come in&mdash;come in straightway," she said in a loud,
clear voice; "I have a word to speak with you, Sir
Count&mdash;who yet deny that you are a count. And,
prithee, to how many silly girls have you taught the
foreign fashions of linked arms, and all that most<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span>
pleasant ceremony of leave-taking in Kernsberg and
Plassenburg?"</p>

<p>Then the Sparhawk had his long-desired view in full
daylight of the woman whose lips, touched once under
cloud of night, had dominated his fancy and enslaved
his will during all the weary months of winter.</p>

<p>Also he had before him, though he knew it not, a
somewhat difficult and complicated explanation.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2>

<h3>THE SPARHAWK IN THE TOILS</h3>


<p>The Princess Margaret was standing by the
window as the young man entered. Her golden
curls flashed in the late sunshine, which made a kind
of haze of light about her head as she turned the
resentful brilliance of her eyes upon Maurice von
Lynar.</p>

<p>"Is it a safe thing, think you, Sir Count, to jest with
a princess in her own land and then come back to flout
her for it?"</p>

<p>Maurice understood her to refer to the kiss given and
returned in the darkness of the night. He knew not of
how many other indiscretions he was now to bear the
brunt, or he had turned on the spot and fled once more
across the river.</p>

<p>"My lady," he said, "if I offended you once, it was
not done intentionally, but by mistake."</p>

<p>"By mistake, sir! Have a care. I may have been
indiscreet, but I am not imbecile."</p>

<p>"The darkness of the night&mdash;&mdash;" faltered von Lynar,
"let that be my excuse."</p>

<p>"Pshaw!" flashed the Princess, suddenly firing up;
"do you not see, man, that you cannot lie yourself out
of this? And, indeed, what need? If <i>I</i> were a secretary
of embassy, and a princess distinguished me with
her slightest favour, methinks when next I came I
would not meanly deny her acquaintance!"</p>

<p>Von Lynar was distressed, and fortunately for himself
his distress showed in his face.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span></p>

<p>"Princess," he said, standing humbly before her, "I
did wrong. But consider the sudden temptation, the
darkness of the night&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"The darkness of the night," she said, stamping her
foot, and in an instinctively mocking tone; "you are
indeed well inspired. You remind me of what I
ventured that you should be free. The darkness of the
night, indeed! I suppose that is all that sticks in your
memory, because you gained something tangible by it.
You have forgotten the walk through the corridors of
the Palace, all you taught me in the rose garden, and&mdash;and&mdash;how
apt a pupil you said I was. Pray, good Master
Forgetfulness, who hath forgotten all these things,
forgotten even his own name, tell me what you did in
Courtland eight months ago?"</p>

<p>"I came&mdash;I came," faltered the Sparhawk, fearful of
yet further committing himself, "I came to find and
save my dear mistress."</p>

<p>"Your&mdash;dear&mdash;mistress?" The Princess spoke
slowly, and the blue eyes hardened till they overtopped
and beat down the bold black ones of Maurice von
Lynar; "and you dare to tell me this&mdash;me, to whom
you swore that you had never loved woman in the
world before, never spoken to them word of wooing or
compliment! Out of my sight, fellow! The Prince,
my brother, shall deal with you."</p>

<p>Then all suddenly her pride utterly gave way. The
disappointment was too keen. She sank down on a
silk-covered ottoman by the window side, sobbing.</p>

<p>"Oh, that I could kill you now, with my hands&mdash;so,"
she said in little furious jerks, gripping at the pillow;
"I hate you, thus to put a shame upon me&mdash;me,
Margaret of Courtland. Could it have been for such a
thing as you that I sent away the Prince of Muscovy&mdash;yes,
and many others&mdash;because I could not forget you?
And after all&mdash;&mdash;!"</p>

<p>Now Maurice von Lynar was not quick in discernment
where woman was concerned, but on this occasion
he recognised that he was blindly playing the hand of
another&mdash;a hand, moreover, of which he could not hope<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span>
to see the cards. He did the only thing which could
have saved him with the Princess. He came near and
sank on one knee before her.</p>

<p>"Madam," he said humbly and in a moving voice,
"I beseech you not to be angry&mdash;not to condemn me
unheard. In the sense of being in love, I never loved
any but yourself. I would rather die than put the least
slight upon one so surpassingly fair, whose memory
has never departed from me, sleeping or waking, whose
image, dimly seen, has never for a moment been erased
from my heart's tablets."</p>

<p>The Princess paused and lifted her eyes till they
dwelt searchingly upon him. His obvious sincerity
touched her willing heart.</p>

<p>"But you said just now that you came to Courtland
to see 'your dear mistress?'"</p>

<p>The young man put his hand to his head.</p>

<p>"You must bear with me," he said, "if perchance
for a little my words are wild. I had, indeed, no right
to speak of you as my dear mistress."</p>

<p>"Oh, it was of me that you spoke," said the Princess,
smiling a little; "I begin to understand."</p>

<p>"Of what other could I speak?" said the shameless
Von Lynar, who now began to feel his way a little
clearer. "I have indeed been very ill, and when I am
in straits my head is still unsettled. Oftentimes I forget
my very name, so sharp a pang striking through my
forehead that I dote and stare and forget all else. It
springs from a secret wound that at the time I knew
nothing of."</p>

<p>"Yes&mdash;yes, I remember. In the duel with the
Wasp&mdash;in the yew-tree walk it happened. Tell me,
is it dangerous? Did it well-nigh cost you your
life?"</p>

<p>The youth modestly hung down his head.</p>

<p>This sudden spate of falsehood had come upon him,
as it were, from the outside.</p>

<p>"If the truth will not help me," he muttered, "why,
I can lie with any man. Else wherefore was I born a
Dane? But, by my faith, my mistress must have done<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span>
some rare tall lying on her own account, and now I
am reaping that which she hath sown."</p>

<p>As he kneeled thus the Princess bent over him with
a quizzical expression on her face.</p>

<p>"You are sure that you speak the truth now? Your
wound is not again causing you to dote?"</p>

<p>"Nay," said the Sparhawk; "indeed, 'tis almost
healed."</p>

<p>"Where was the wound?" queried the Princess
anxiously.</p>

<p>"There were two," answered Von Lynar diplomatically;
"one in my shoulder at the base of my
neck, and the other, more dangerous because internal,
on the head itself."</p>

<p>"Let me see."</p>

<p>She came and stood above him as he put his hand
to the collar of his doublet, and, unfastening a tie, he
slipped it down a little and showed her at the spring
of his neck Werner von Orseln's thrust.</p>

<p>"And the other," she said, covering it up with a
little shudder, "that on the head, where is it?"</p>

<p>The youth blushed, but answered valiantly enough.</p>

<p>"It never was an open wound, and so is a little
difficult to find. Here, where my hand is, above my
brow."</p>

<p>"Hold up your head," said the Princess. "On
which side was it? On the right? Strange, I cannot
find it. You are too far beneath me. The light falls
not aright. Ah, that is better!"</p>

<p>She kneeled down in front of him and examined
each side of his head with interest, making as she did
so, many little exclamations of pity and remorse.</p>

<p>"I think it must be nearer the brow," she said at
last; "hold up your head&mdash;look at me."</p>

<p>Von Lynar looked at the Princess. Their position
was one as charming as it was dangerous. They were
kneeling opposite to one another, their faces, drawn
together by the interest of the surgical examination,
had approached very close. The dark eyes looked
squarely into the blue. With stuff so inflammable, fire<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span>
and tow in such immediate conjunction, who knows what
conflagration might have ensued had Von Lynar's eyes
continued thus to dwell on those of the Princess?</p>

<p>But the young man's gaze passed over her shoulder.
Behind Margaret of Courtland he saw a man standing
at the door with his hand still on the latch. A dark
frown overspread his face. The Princess, instantly
conscious that the interest had gone out of the situation,
followed the direction of Von Lynar's eyes. She rose
to her feet as the young Dane also had done a moment
before.</p>

<p>Maurice recognised the man who stood by the door
as the same whom he had seen on the ground in the
yew-tree walk when he and Joan of the Sword Hand
had faced the howling mob of the city. For the
second time Prince Wasp had interfered with the
amusements of the Princess Margaret.</p>

<p>That lady looked haughtily at the intruder.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 58%;">
<img src="images/i_088fp.jpg" width="100%" alt="The lady looked haughtily at the intruder." title="" />
<span class="caption">"The lady looked haughtily at the intruder."</span>
</div>

<p>"To what," she said, "am I so fortunate as to owe
the unexpected honour of this visit?"</p>

<p>"I came to pay my respects to your Highness," said
Prince Wasp, bowing low. "I did not know that the
Princess was amusing herself. It is my ill-fortune, not
my fault, that I interrupted at a point so full of interest."</p>

<p>It was the truth. The point was decidedly interesting,
and therein lay the sting of the situation, as
probably the Wasp knew full well.</p>

<p>"You are at liberty to leave me now," said the
Princess, falling back on a certain haughty dignity which
she kept in reserve behind her headlong impulsiveness.</p>

<p>"I obey, madam," he replied; "but first I have a
message from the Prince your brother. He asks you
to be good enough to accompany his bride to the
minster to-morrow. He has been ill all day with his
old trouble, and so cannot wait in person upon his
betrothed. He must abide in solitude for this day at
least. Your Highness is apparently more fortunate!"</p>

<p>The purpose of the insult was plain; but the
Princess Margaret restrained herself, not, however,
hating the insulter less.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p>
<p>"I pray you, Prince Ivan," she said, "return to my
brother and tell him that his commands are ever an
honour, and shall be obeyed to the letter."</p>

<p>She bowed in dignified dismissal. Prince Wasp
swept his plumed hat along the floor with the profundity
of his retiring salutation, and in the same moment
he flashed out his sting.</p>

<p>"I leave your Highness with less regret because I
perceive that solitude has its compensations!" he said.</p>

<p>The pair were left alone, but all things seemed
altered now. Margaret of Courtland was silent and
distrait. Von Lynar had a frown upon his brow, and
his eyes were very dark and angry.</p>

<p>"Next time I must kill the fellow!" he muttered.
He took the hand of the Princess and respectfully
kissed it.</p>

<p>"I am your servant," he said; "I will do your bidding
in all things, in life or in death. If I have forgotten
anything, in aught been remiss, believe me that
it was fate and not I. I will never presume, never
count on your friendship past your desire, never recall
your ancient goodness. I am but a poor soldier, yet
at least I can faithfully keep my word."</p>

<p>The Princess withdrew her hand as if she had been
somewhat fatigued.</p>

<p>"Do not be afraid," she said a little bitterly, "I shall
not forget. <i>I</i> have not been wounded in the head!
<i>Only in the heart!</i>" she added, as she turned away.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2>

<h3>AT THE HIGH ALTAR</h3>


<p>When Maurice von Lynar reached the open
air he stood for full five minutes, light-headed
in the rush of the city traffic. The loud iteration of
rejoicing sounded heartless and even impertinent in his
ear. The world had changed for the young Dane
since the Count von Löen had been summoned by the
Princess Margaret.</p>

<p>He cast his mind back over the interview, but failed
to disentangle anything definite. It was a maze of
impressions out of which grew the certainty that, safely
to play his difficult part, he must obtain the whole
confidence of the Duchess Joan.</p>

<p>He looked about for the Prince of Muscovy, but
failed to see him. Though not anxious about the
result, he was rather glad, for he did not want another
quarrel on his hands till after the wedding. He would
see the Princess Margaret there. If he played his
cards well with the bride, he might even be sent for
to escort her.</p>

<p>So he made his way to the magnificent suite of apartments
where the Duchess was lodged. The Prince
had ordered everything with great consideration. Her
own horsemen patrolled the front of the palace, and
the Courtland guards were for the time being wholly
withdrawn.</p>

<p>It seemed strange that Joan of the Sword Hand, who
not so long ago had led many a dashing foray and
been the foremost in many a brisk encounter, should
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span>be a bride! It could not be that once he had
imagined her the fairest woman under the sun, and
himself, for her sake, the most miserable of men. Thus
do lovers deceive themselves when the new has come
to obliterate the old. Some can even persuade themselves
that the old never had any existence.</p>

<p>The young Dane found the Duchess walking up and
down on the noble promenade which faces the river
to the west. For the water curved in a spacious elbow
about the city of Courtland, and the summer palace was
placed in the angle.</p>

<p>Maurice von Lynar stood awhile respectfully waiting
for the Duchess to recognise him. Werner, John of
Thorn, or any of her Kernsberg captains would have
gone directly up to her. But this youth had been
trained in another school.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%;">
<img src="images/i_091fp.jpg" width="100%" alt="Joan of Hohenstein stood, looking out upon the river." title="" />
<span class="caption">"Joan of Hohenstein stood, looking out upon the river."</span>
</div>

<p>Joan of Hohenstein stood a while without moving,
looking out upon the river. She thought with a kind
of troubled shyness of the morrow, oft dreamed of,
long expected. She saw the man whom she was not
known ever to have seen&mdash;the noble young man of the
tournament, the gracious Prince of the summer parlour,
courteous and dignified alike to the poor secretary of
embassy and to his sister the Princess Margaret of
Courtland. Surely there never was any one like him&mdash;proudly
thought this girl, as she looked across the
river at the rich plain studded with far-smiling farms
and fields just waking to life after their long winter
sleep.</p>

<p>"Ah, Von Lynar, my brave Dane, what good wind
blows you here?" she cried. "I declare I was longing
for some one to talk to." A consciousness of need
which had only just come to her.</p>

<p>"I have seen the Princess Margaret," said the youth
slowly, "and I think that she must mistake me for
some other person. She spoke things most strange to
me to hear. But fearing I might meddle with affairs
wherewith I had no concern, I forebore to correct her."</p>

<p>The eyes of the Duchess danced. A load seemed
suddenly lifted off her mind.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></p>

<p>"Was she very angry?" she queried.</p>

<p>"Very!" returned Von Lynar, smiling in recognition
of her smile.</p>

<p>"What said the Princess?"</p>

<p>"First she would have it that my name and style
were those of the Count Von Löen. Then she reproached
me fiercely because I denied it. After that she spoke
of certain foreign customs she had been taught, recalled
walks through corridors and rose gardens with me, till
my head swam and I knew not what to answer."</p>

<p>Joan of the Sword Hand laughed a merry peal.</p>

<p>"The Count von Löen, did she say?" she meditated.
"Well, so you are the Count von Löen. I create you
the Count von Löen now. I give you the title. It is
mine to give. By to-morrow I shall have done with
all these things. And since as the Count von Löen I
drank the wine, it is fair that you, who have to pay the
reckoning, should be the Count von Löen also."</p>

<p>"My family is noble, and I am the sole heir&mdash;that
is, alive," said Maurice, a little drily. To his mind the
grandson of Count von Lynar, of the order of the
Dannebrog, had no need of any other distinction.</p>

<p>"But I give you also therewith the estates which
pertain to the title. They are situated on the borders
of Reichenau. I am so happy to-night that I would
like to make all the world happy. I am sorry for all
the folk I have injured!"</p>

<p>"Love changes all things," said the Dane sententiously.</p>

<p>The Duchess looked at him quickly.</p>

<p>"You are in love&mdash;with the Princess Margaret?"
she said.</p>

<p>The youth blushed a deep crimson, which flooded
his neck and dyed his dusky skin.</p>

<p>"Poor Maurice!" she said, touching his bowed
head with her hand, "your troubles will not be to
seek."</p>

<p>"My lady," said the youth, "I fear not trouble. I
have promised to serve the Princess in all things. She
has been very kind to me. She has forgiven me all."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span></p>

<p>"So&mdash;you are anxious to change your allegiance,"
said the Duchess. "It is as well that I have already
made you Count von Löen, and so in a manner bound
you to me, or you would be going off into another's
service with all my secrets in your keeping. Not that it
will matter very much&mdash;after to-morrow!" she added,
with a glance at the wing of the palace which held
the summer parlour. "But how did you manage
to appease her? That is no mean feat. She is an
imperious lady and quick of understanding."</p>

<p>Then Maurice von Lynar told his mistress of his
most allowable falsehoods, and begged her not to
undeceive the Princess, for that he would rather bear
all that she might put upon him than that she should
know he had lied to her.</p>

<p>"Do not be afraid," said the Duchess, laughing, "it
was I who tangled the skein. So far you have unravelled
it very well. The least I can do is to leave
you to unwind it to the end, my brave Count von
Löen."</p>

<p>So they parted, the Duchess to her apartment, and
the young man to pace up and down the stone-flagged
promenade all night, thinking of the distracting whimsies
of the Princess Margaret, of the hopelessness of
his love, and, most of all, of how daintily exquisite and
altogether desirable was her beauty of face, of figure,
of temper, of everything!</p>

<p>For the Sparhawk was not a lover to make reservations.</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;" />

<p>The morning of the great day dawned cool and grey.
A sunshade of misty cloud overspread the city and
tempered the heat. It had come up with the morning
wind from the Baltic, and by eight the ships at the
quays, and the tall beflagged festal masts in the streets
through which the procession was to pass, ran clear
up into it and were lost, so that the standards and
pennons on their tops could not be seen any more
than if they had been amongst the stars.</p>

<p>The streets were completely lined with the folk of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span>
the city of Courtland as the Princess Margaret, with
the Sparhawk and his company of lances clattering
behind her, rode to the entrance of the palace where
abode the bride-elect.</p>

<p>"Who is that youth?" asked Margaret of Courtland
of Joan, as they came out together; she looked at the
Dane&mdash;"he at the head of your first troops? He looks
like your brother."</p>

<p>"He has often been taken for such!" said the bride.
"He is called the Count von Löen!"</p>

<p>The Princess did not reply, and as the two fair
women came out arm in arm, a sudden glint of sunlight
broke through the leaden clouds and fell upon
them, glorifying the white dress of the one, and the
blue and gold apparel of the other.</p>

<p>The bells of the minster clanged a changeful thunder
of brazen acclaim as the bride set out for the first time
(so they told each other on the streets) to see her promised
husband.</p>

<p>"'Twas well we did not so manage our affairs,
Hans," said a fishmonger's wife, touching her husband's
arm archly.</p>

<p>"Yea, wife," returned the seller of fish; "whatever
thou beest, at least I cannot deny that I took thee with
my eyes open!"</p>

<p>They reached the Rathhaus, and the clamour grew
louder than ever. Presently they were at the cathedral
and making them ready to dismount. The
bells in the towers above burst forth into yet more
frantic jubilation. The cannons roared from the ramparts.</p>

<p>The Princess Margaret had delayed a little, either
taking longer to her attiring, or, perhaps, gossiping
with the bride. So that when the shouts in the wide
Minster Place announced their arrival, all was in
readiness within the crowded church, and the bridegroom
had gone in well-nigh half an hour before them.
But that was in accord with the best traditions.</p>

<p>Very like a Princess and a great lady looked Joan of
Hohenstein as she went up the aisle, with Margaret of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span>
Courtland by her side. She kept her eyes on the
ground, for she meant to look at no one and behold
nothing till she should see&mdash;that which she longed to
look upon.</p>

<p>Suddenly she was conscious that they had stopped
in the middle of a vast silence. The candles upon the
great altar threw down a golden lustre. Joan saw the
irregular shining of them on her white bridal dress,
and wondered that it should be so bright.</p>

<p>There was a hush over all the assembly, the silence
of a great multitude all intent upon one thing.</p>

<p>"My brother, the Prince of Courtland!" said the
voice of the Princess Margaret.</p>

<p>Slowly Joan raised her eyes&mdash;pride and happiness at
war with a kind of glorious shame upon her face.</p>

<p>But that one look altered all things.</p>

<p>She stood fixed, aghast, turned to stone as she gazed.
She could neither speak nor think. That which she
saw almost struck her dead with horror.</p>

<p>The man whom his sister introduced as the Prince
of Courtland was not the knight of the tournament.
He was not the young prince of the summer palace.
He was a man much older, more meagre of body,
grey-headed, with an odd sidelong expression in his
eyes. His shoulders were bent, and he carried himself
like a man prematurely old.</p>

<p>And there, behind the altar-railing, clad in the scarlet
of a prince of the Church, and wearing the mitre of a
bishop, stood the husband of her heart's deepest thoughts,
the man who had never been out of her mind all these
weary months. He held a service book in his hand,
and stood ready to marry Joan of Hohenstein to
another.</p>

<p>The man who was called Prince of Courtland came
forward to take her hand; but Joan stood with her
arms firmly at her sides. The terrible nature of her
mistake flashed upon her and grew in horror with
every moment. Fate seemed to laugh suddenly and
mockingly in her face. Destiny shut her in.</p>

<p>"Are you the Prince of Courtland?" she asked;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span>
and at the sound of her voice, unwontedly clear in the
great church, even the organ appeared to still itself.
All listened intently, though only a few heard the conversation.</p>

<p>"I have that honour," bowed the man with the bent
shoulders.</p>

<p>"Then, as God lives, I will never marry you!" cried
Joan, all her soul in the disgust of her voice.</p>

<p>"Be not disdainful, my lady," said the bridegroom
mildly; "I will be your humble slave. You shall have
a palace and an establishment of your own, an it like
you. The marriage was your father's desire, and hath
the sanction of the Emperor. It is as necessary for
your State as for mine."</p>

<p>Then, while the people waited in a kind of palpitating
uncertainty, the Princess Margaret whispered to the
bride, who stood with a face ashen pale as her own
white dress.</p>

<p>Sometimes she looked at the Prince of Courtland,
and then immediately averted her eyes. But never,
after the first glance, did Joan permit them to stray
to the face of him who stood behind the altar railings
with his service book in his hand.</p>

<p>"Well," she said finally, "I <i>will</i> marry this man,
since it is my fate. Let the ceremony proceed!"</p>

<p>"I thank you, gracious lady," said the Prince, taking
her hand and leading his bride to the altar. "You
will never regret it."</p>

<p>"No, but you will!" muttered his groomsman, the
Prince Ivan of Muscovy.</p>

<p>The full rich tones of the prince bishop rose and
fell through the crowded minster as Joan of Hohenstein
was married to his elder brother, and with the closing
words of the episcopal benediction an awe fell upon
the multitude. They felt that they were in the presence
of great unknown forces, the action and interaction of
which might lead no man knew whither.</p>

<p>At the close of the service, Joan, now Princess of Courtland,
leaned over and whispered a word to her chosen
captain, Maurice von Lynar, an action noticed by few.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span>
The young man started and gazed into her face; but,
immediately commanding his emotion, he nodded and
disappeared by a side door.</p>

<p>The great organ swelled out. The marriage procession
was re-formed. The prince-bishop had retired to
his sacristy to change his robes. The new Princess of
Courtland came down the aisle on the arm of her
husband.</p>

<p>Then the bells almost turned over in their fury of
jubilation, and every cannon in the city bellowed out.
The people shouted themselves hoarse, and the line of
Courtland troops who kept the people back had great
difficulty in restraining the enthusiasm which threatened
to break all bounds and involve the married pair in a
whirling tumult of acclaim.</p>

<p>In the centre of the Minster Place the four hundred
lances of the Kernsberg escort had formed up, a serried
mass of beautiful well-groomed horses, stalwart men,
and shining spears, from each of which the pennon of
their mistress fluttered in the light wind.</p>

<p>"Ha! there they come at last! See them on the
steps!" The shouts rang out, and the people flung
their headgear wildly into the air. The line of Courtland
foot saluted, but no cheer came from the array of
Kernsberg lances.</p>

<p>"They are sorry to lose her&mdash;and small wonder.
Well, she is ours now!" the people cried, congratulating
one another as they shook hands and the wine
gurgled out of the pigskins into innumerable thirsty
mouths.</p>

<p>On the steps of the minster, after they had descended
more than half-way, the new Princess of Courtland
turned upon her lord. Her hand slipped from his
arm, which hung a moment crooked and empty before
it dropped to his side. His mouth was a little open
with surprise. Prince Louis knew that he was wedding
a wilful dame, but he had not been prepared for
this.</p>

<p>"Now, my lord," said the Princess Joan, loud and
clear. "I have married you. The bond of heritage-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span>brotherhood
is fulfilled. I have obeyed my father to
the letter. I have obeyed the Emperor. I have done
all. Now be it known to you and to all men that I
will neither live with you nor yet in your city. I am
your wife in name. You shall never be my husband
in aught else. I bid you farewell, Prince of Courtland.
Joan of Hohenstein may marry where she is bidden,
but she loves where she will."</p>

<p>The horse upon which she had come to the minster
stood waiting. There was the Sparhawk ready to help
her into the saddle.</p>

<p>Ere one of the wedding guests could move to prevent
her, before the Prince of Courtland could cry an
order or decide what to do, Joan of the Sword Hand
had placed herself at the head of her four hundred
lances, and was riding through the shouting streets
towards the Plassenburg gate.</p>

<p>The people cheered as she went by, clearing the way
that she might not be annoyed. They thought it part
of the day's show, and voted the Kernsbergers a gallant
band, well set up and right bravely arrayed.</p>

<p>So they passed through the gate in safety. The
noble portal was all aflutter with colour, the arms of
Hohenstein and Courtland being quartered together
on a great wooden plaque over the main entrance.</p>

<p>As soon as they were clear the Princess Joan turned in
her saddle and spake to the four hundred behind her.</p>

<p>"We ride back to Kernsberg," she cried. "Joan of
the Sword Hand is wed, but not yet won. If they
would keep her they must first catch her. Are you
with me, lads of the hills?"</p>

<p>Then came back a unanimous shout of "Aye&mdash;to
the death!" from four hundred throats.</p>

<p>"Then give me a sword and put the horses to their
speed. We ride for home. Let them catch us who
can!"</p>

<p>And this was the true fashion of the marrying of
Joan of the Sword Hand, Duchess of Hohenstein, to
the Prince Louis of Courtland, by his brother Conrad,
Cardinal and Prince of Holy Church.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2>

<h3>WHAT JOAN LEFT BEHIND</h3>


<p>After the departure of his bride, the Prince of
Courtland stood on the steps of the minster,
dazed and foundered by the shame which had so suddenly
befallen him. Beneath him the people seethed
tumultuously, their holiday ribands and maypole
dresses making as gay a swirl of colour as when one
looks at the sun through the facets of a cut Venetian
glass. Prince Louis's weak and fretful face worked
with emotion. His bird-like hands clawed uncertainly
at his sword-hilt, wandering off over the golden pouches
that tasselled his baldric till they rested on the sheath
of the poignard he wore.</p>

<p>"Bid the gates be shut, Prince!" The whisper
came over his shoulder from a young man who had
been standing all the time twisting his moustache.
"Bid your horsemen bit and bridle. The plain is fair
before you. It is a long way to Kernsberg. I have a
hundred Muscovites at your service, all well mounted&mdash;ten
thousand behind them over the frontier if these
are not enough! Let no wench in the world put this
shame upon a reigning Prince of Courtland on his
wedding-day!"</p>

<p>Thus Ivan of Muscovy, attired in silk, banded of
black and gold, counselled the disdained Prince Louis,
who stood pushing upward with two fingers the point
of his thin greyish beard and gnawing the straggling
ends between his teeth.</p>

<p>"I say, 'To horse and ride, man!' Will you dare<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span>
tell this folk of yours that you are disdained, slighted
at the very church door by your wedded wife, cast off
and trodden in the mire like a bursten glove? Can
you afford to proclaim yourself the scorn of Germany?
How it will run, that news! To Plassenburg first,
where the Executioner's Son will smile triumphantly
to his witch woman, and straightway send off a messenger
to tickle the well-larded ribs of his friend the
Margraf George with the rare jest."</p>

<p>The Prince Louis appeared to be moved by the
Wasp's words. He turned about to the nearest knight-in-waiting.</p>

<p>"Let us to horse&mdash;every man of us!" he said. "Bid
that the steeds be brought instantly."</p>

<p>The banded Wasp had further counsels to give.</p>

<p>"Give out that you go to meet the Princess at a
rendezvous. For a pleasantry between yourselves, you
have resolved to spend the honeymoon at a distant
hunting-lodge. Quick! Not half a dozen of all the
company caught the true import of her words. You
will tame her yet. She will founder her horses in a
single day's ride, while you have relays along the road
at every castle, at every farm-house, and your borders
are fifty good miles away."</p>

<p>Beneath, in the square, the court jesters leaped and
laughed, turning somersaults and making a flying skirt,
like that of a morrice dancer, out of the long, flapping
points of their parti-coloured blouses. The streets in
front of the cathedral were alive with musicians, mostly
in little bands of three, a harper with his harp of fourteen
strings, his companion playing industriously upon
a Flute-English, and with these two their 'prentice or
servitor, who accompanied them with shrill iterance of
whistle, while both his hands busied themselves with
the merry tuck of tabour.</p>

<p>In this incessant merrymaking the people soon forgot
their astonishment at the sudden disappearance of the
bride. There was, indeed, no understanding these
great folk. But it was a fine day for a feast&mdash;the pretext
a good one. And so the lasses and lads joked as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span>
they danced in the lower vaults of the town house,
from which the barrels had been cleared for the
occasion.</p>

<p>"If thou and I were thus wedded, Grete, would you
ride one way and I the other? Nay, God wot, lass! I
am but a tanner's 'prentice, but I'd abide beside thee,
as close as bark by hide that lies three years in the
same tan-pit&mdash;aye, an' that I would, lass!"</p>

<p>Then Gretchen bridled. "I would not marry thee,
nor yet lie near or far, Hans; thou art but a boy,
feckless and skill-less save to pole about thy stinking
skins&mdash;faugh!"</p>

<p>"Nay, try me, Grete! Is not this kiss as sweet as
any civet-scented fop could give?"</p>

<p>At the command of the Prince the trumpets rang out
again the call of "Boot-and-saddle!" from the steps of
the cathedral. At the sound the grooms, who were here
and there in the press, hasted to find and caparison the
horses of their lords. Meanwhile, on the wide steps
the Prince Louis fretted, dinting his nails restlessly into
his palms and shaking with anger and disappointment
till his deep sleeves vibrated like scarlet flames in a
veering wind.</p>

<p>Suddenly there passed a wave over the people who
crowded the spacious Dom Platz of Courtland. The
turmoil stilled itself unconsciously. The many-headed
parti-coloured throng of women's tall coifs, gay fluttering
ribands, men's velvet caps, gallants' white feathers
that shifted like the permutations of a kaleidoscope, all
at once fixed itself into a sea of white faces, from which
presently arose a forest of arms flourishing kerchiefs
and tossing caps. To this succeeded a deep mouth-roar
of burgherish welcome such as the reigning Prince
had never heard raised in his own honour.</p>

<p>"Conrad&mdash;Prince Conrad! God bless our Prince-Cardinal!"</p>

<p>The legitimate ruler of Courtland, standing where
Joan had left him, with his slim-waisted Muscovite
mentor behind him, half-turned to look. And there
on the highest place stood his brother in the scarlet of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>
his new dignity as it had come from the Pope himself,
his red biretta held in his hand, and his fair and noble
head erect as he looked over the folk to where on the
slope above the city gates he could still see the sun
glint and sparkle on the cuirasses and lanceheads of
the four hundred riders of Kernsberg.</p>

<p>But even as the Prince of Courtland looked back
at his brother, the whisper of the tempter smote his
ear.</p>

<p>"Had Prince Conrad been in your place, and you
behind the altar rails, think you that the Duchess Joan
would have fled so cavalierly?"</p>

<p>By this time the young Cardinal had descended till
he stood on the other side of the Prince from Ivan of
Muscovy.</p>

<p>"You take horse to follow your bride?" he queried,
smiling. "Is it a fashion of Kernsberg brides thus to
steal away?" For he could see the grooms bringing
horses into the square, and the guards beating the
people back with the butts of their spears to make room
for the mounting of the Prince's cavalcade.</p>

<p>"Hark&mdash;he flouts you!" came the whisper over the
bridegroom's shoulder; "I warrant he knew of this
before."</p>

<p>"You have done your priest's work, brother," said
Louis coldly, "e'en permit me to go about that of a
prince and a husband in my own way."</p>

<p>The Cardinal bowed low, but with great self-command
held his peace, whereat Louis of Courtland broke
out in a sudden overboiling fury.</p>

<p>"This is your doing!" he cried; "I know it well.
From her first coming my bride had set herself to scorn
me. My sister knew it. You knew it. You smile as
at a jest. The Pope's favour has turned your head.
You would have all&mdash;the love of my wife, the rule of
my folk, as well as the acclaim of these city swine.
Listen&mdash;'The good Prince Conrad! God save the
noble Prince!' It is worth while living for favour
such as this."</p>

<p>"Brother of mine," said the young man gently, "as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span>
you know well, I never set eyes upon the noble Lady
Joan before. Never spoke word to her, held no communication
by word or pen."</p>

<p>"Von Dessauer&mdash;his secretary!" whispered Ivan,
dropping the suggestion carefully over his shoulder
like poison distilled into a cup.</p>

<p>"You were constantly with the old fox Dessauer,
the envoy of Plassenburg&mdash;who came from Kernsberg,
bringing with him that slim secretary. By my faith,
now, when I think of it, Prince Ivan told me last night
he was as like this madcap girl as pea to pea&mdash;some
fly-blown base-born brother, doubtless!"</p>

<p>Conrad shook his head. His brother had doubtless
gone momentarily distract with his troubles.</p>

<p>"Nay, deny it not! And smile not either&mdash;lest I
spoil the symmetry of that face for your monkish
mummery and processions. Aye, if I have to lie
under ten years' interdict for it from your friend the most
Holy Pope of Rome!"</p>

<p>"Do not forget there is another Church in my
country, which will lay no interdict upon you, Prince
Louis," laughed Ivan of Muscovy. "But to horse&mdash;to
horse&mdash;we lose time!"</p>

<p>"Brother," said the Cardinal, laying his hand on
Louis's arm, "on my word as a knight&mdash;as a Prince
of the Church&mdash;I knew nothing of the matter. I cannot
even guess what has led you thus to accuse me!"</p>

<p>The Princess Margaret came at that moment out of
the cathedral and ran impetuously to her favourite
brother.</p>

<p>He put out his hand. She took it, and instead of
kissing his bishop's ring, as in strict etiquette she
ought to have done, she cried out, "Conrad, do you
know what that glorious wench has done? Dared her
husband's authority at the church door, leaped into the
saddle, whistled up her men, cried to all these Courtland
gallants, 'Catch me who can!' And lo! at this
moment she is riding straight for Kernsberg, and now
our Louis must catch her. A glorious wedding! I
would I were by her side. Brother Louis, you need not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span>
frown, I am nowise affrighted at your glooms! This
is a bride worth fighting for. No puling cloister-maid
this that dares not raise her eyes higher than
her bridegroom's knee! Were I a man, by my faith,
I would never eat or drink, neither pray nor sain me,
till I had tamed the darling and brought her to my
wrist like a falcon to a lure!"</p>

<p>"So, then, madam, you knew of this?" said her
elder brother, glowering upon her from beneath his
heavy brows.</p>

<p>"Nay!" trilled the gay Princess, "I only wish I
had. Then I, too, would have been riding with them&mdash;such
a jest as never was, it would have been. Goodbye,
my poor forsaken brother! Joy be with you on
this your bridal journey. Take Prince Ivan with you,
and Conrad and I will keep the kingdom against your
return, with your prize gentled on your wrist."</p>

<p>So smiling and kissing her hand the Princess
Margaret waved her brother and Prince Ivan off. The
Prince of Courtland neither looked at her nor answered.
But the Muscovite turned often in his saddle as if to
carry with him the picture she made of saucy countenance
and dainty figure as she stood looking up into
the face of the Cardinal Prince Conrad.</p>

<p>"What in Heaven's name is the meaning of all this&mdash;I
do not understand in the least?" he was saying.</p>

<p>"Haste you and unrobe, Brother Con," she said;
"this grandeur of yours daunts me. Then, in the
summer parlour, I will tell you all!"</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2>

<h3>PRINCE WASP'S COMPACT</h3>


<p>"I cannot go back to Courtland dishonoured,"
said Prince Louis to Ivan of Muscovy, as they
stood on the green bank looking down on the rushing
river, broad and brown, which had so lately been
the Fords of Alla. The river had risen almost as it
seemed upon the very heels of the four hundred horsemen
of Kernsberg, and the ironclad knights and men-at-arms
who followed the Prince of Courtland could
not face the yeasty swirl of the flood.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 55%;">
<img src="images/i_105fp.jpg" width="100%" alt="They stood ... looking down at the rushing river." title="" />
<span class="caption">"They stood ... looking down at the rushing river."</span>
</div>

<p>Prince Ivan, left to himself, would have dared it.</p>

<p>"What is a little brown water?" he cried. "Let
the men leave their armour on this side and swim their
horses through. We do it fifty times a month in
Muscovy in the springtime. And what are your hill-fed
brooks to the full-bosomed rivers of the Great
Plain?"</p>

<p>"It is just because they are hill-fed that we know
them and will not risk our lives. The Alla has come
down out of the mountains of Hohenstein. For four-and-twenty
hours nothing without wing may pass and
repass. Yet an hour earlier and our Duchess had
been trapped on the hither side even as we. But now
she will sit and laugh up there in Kernsberg. And&mdash;I
cannot go back to Courtland without a bride!"</p>

<p>Prince Ivan stood a moment silent. Then his eyes
glanced over his companion with a certain severe and
amused curiosity. From foot to head they scanned
him, beginning at the shoes of red Cordovan leather,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span>
following upwards to the great tassel he wore at his
poignard; then came the golden girdle about his waist,
the flowered needlework at his wrists and neck, and
the scrutiny ended with the flat red cap on his head,
from which a white feather nodded over his left eye.</p>

<p>Then the gaze of Prince Ivan returned again slowly
to the pointed red shoes of Cordovan leather.</p>

<p>If there was anything so contemptuous as that eye-blink
in the open scorn of all the burghers of Courtland,
Prince Louis was to be excused for any hesitation
he might show in facing his subjects.</p>

<p>The matter of Prince Wasp's meditation ran somewhat
thuswise: "Thou man, fashioned from a scullion's
nail-paring, and cocked upon a horse, what can I make
of thee? Thou, to have a country, a crown, a wife!
Gudgeon eats stickleback, jack-pike eats gudgeon and
grows fat, till at last the sturgeon in his armour eats
him. I will fatten this jack. I will feed him like the
gudgeons of Kernsberg and Hohenstein, then take him
with a dainty lure indeed, black-tipped, with sleeves
gay as cranes' wings, and answering to the name of
'my lady Joan.' But wait&mdash;I must be wary, and have
a care lest I shadow his water."</p>

<p>So saying within his heart, Prince Wasp became
exceedingly thoughtful and of a demure countenance.</p>

<p>"My lord," he said, "this day's work will not go
well down in Courtland, I fear me!"</p>

<p>Prince Louis moved uneasily, keeping his regard
steadily upon the brown turmoil of the Alla swirling
beneath, whereas the eyes of Ivan were never removed
from his friend's meagre face.</p>

<p>"Your true Courtlander is more than half a Muscovite,"
mused Prince Wasp, as if thinking aloud; "he
wishes not to be argued with. He wants a master,
and he will not love one who permits himself to be
choused of a wife upon his wedding-day!"</p>

<p>Prince Louis started quickly as the Wasp's sting
pricked him.</p>

<p>"And pray, Prince Ivan," he said, "what could I
have done that I left undone? Speak plainly, since<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span>
you are so prodigal of smiles suppressed, so witty
with covert words and shoulder-tappings!"</p>

<p>"My Louis," said Prince Wasp, laying his hand
upon the arm of his companion with an affectation of
tenderness. "I flout you not&mdash;I mock you not. And
if I speak harshly, it is only that I love not to see you
in your turn flouted, mocked, scorned, made light of
before your own people!"</p>

<p>"I believe it, Ivan; pardon the heat of my hasty
temper!" said the Prince of Courtland. The watchful
Muscovite pursued his advantage, narrowing his eyes
that he might the better note every change on the face
of the man whom he held in his toils. He went on,
with a certain resigned sadness in his voice&mdash;</p>

<p>"Ever since I came first to Courtland with the not
dishonourable hope of carrying back to my father a
princess of your house, none have been so amiable
together as you and I. We have been even as David
and Jonathan."</p>

<p>The Prince Louis put out a hand, which apparently
Ivan did not see, for he continued without taking it.</p>

<p>"Yet what have I gained either of solid good or even
of the lighter but not less agreeable matter of my lady's
favour? So far as your sister is concerned, I have
wasted my time. If I consider the union of our peoples,
already one in heart, your brother works against us
both; the Princess Margaret despises me, Prince
Conrad thwarts us. He would bind us in chains and
carry us tinkling to the feet of his pagan master in
Rome!"</p>

<p>"I think not so," answered Prince Louis&mdash;"I
cannot think so of my brother, with all his faults.
Conrad is a brave soldier, a good knight&mdash;though, as is
the custom of our house, it is his lot to be no more
than a prince-bishop!"</p>

<p>The Wasp laughed a little hard laugh, clear and
inhuman as the snap and rattle of Spanish castanets.</p>

<p>"Louis, my good friend, your simplicity, your lack
of guile, do you wrong most grievous! You judge
others as you yourself are. Do you not see that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span>
Conrad your brother must pay for his red hat? He
must earn his cardinalate. Papa Sixtus gives nothing
for nothing. Courtland must pay Peter's pence, must
become monkish land. On every flake of stockfish,
every grain of sturgeon roe, every ounce of marled
amber, your Holy Father must levy his sacred dues.
And the clear ambition of your brother is to make
you chief cat's-paw pontifical upon the Baltic shore.
Consider it, good Louis."</p>

<p>And the Prince of Muscovy twirled his moustache
and smiled condescendingly between his fingers.
Then, as if he thought suddenly of something else and
made a new calculation, he laughed a laugh, quick and
short as the barking of a dog.</p>

<p>"Ha!" he cried, "truly we order things better in
my country. I have brothers, one, two, three. They
are grand dukes, highnesses very serene. One of them
has this province, another this sinecure, yet another
waits on my father. My father dies&mdash;and I&mdash;well, I
am in my father's place. What will my brothers do
with their serene highnesses then? They will take
each one the clearest road and the shortest for the
frontier, or by the Holy Icon of Moscow, there would
very speedily be certain new tablets in the funeral
vault of my fathers."</p>

<p>The Prince of Courtland started.</p>

<p>"This thing I could never imagine of Conrad my
brother. He loves me. At heart he ever cared but
for his books, and now that he is a priest he hath
forsworn knighthood, and tournaments, and wars."</p>

<p>"Poor Louis," said Ivan sadly, "not to see that
once a soldier always a soldier. But 'tis a good fault,
this generous blindness of the eyes. He hath already
the love of your people. He has won already the
voice that speaks from every altar and presbytery. The
power to loose and bind men's consciences is in his
hand. In a little, when he has bartered away your
power for his cardinal's hat, he may be made a greater
than yourself, an elector of the empire, the right-hand
man of Papa Sixtus, as his uncle Adrian was before<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span>
him. Then indeed your Courtland will underlie the
tinkle of Peter's keys!"</p>

<p>"I am sure that Conrad would do nothing against
his fatherland or to the hurt of his prince and
brother!" said Prince Louis, but he spoke in a
wavering voice, like one more than half convinced.</p>

<p>"Again," continued Ivan, without heeding him,
"there is your wife. I am sure that if he had been
the prince and you the priest&mdash;well, she had not slept
this night in the Castle of Kernsberg!"</p>

<p>"Ivan, if you love me, be silent," cried the tortured
Prince of Courtland, setting his hand to his brow.
"This is the mere idle dreaming of a fool. How
learned you these things? I mean how did the
thoughts enter into your mind?"</p>

<p>"I learned the matter from the Princess Margaret,
who in the brief space of a day became your wife's
confidante!"</p>

<p>"Did Margaret tell it you?"</p>

<p>The Prince Ivan laughed a short, self-depreciatory
laugh.</p>

<p>"Nay, truly," he said, smiling sadly, "you and I are
in one despite, Louis. Your wife scorns you&mdash;me, my
sweetheart. Did Margaret tell me? Nay, verily!
Yet I learned it, nevertheless, even more certainly
because she denied it so vehemently. But, after all, I
daresay all will end for the best."</p>

<p>"How so?" demanded Prince Louis haughtily.</p>

<p>"Why, I have heard that your Papa at Rome will
do aught for money. Doubtless he will dissolve this
marriage, which indeed is no more than one in name.
He has done more than that already for his own
nephews. He will absolve your brother from his vows.
Then you can be the monk and he the king. There
will be a new marriage, at which doubtless you shall
hold the service book and he the lady's hand. Then
we shall have no ridings back to Kernsberg, with four
hundred lances, at a word from a girl's scornful
mouth. And the Alla down there may rise or fall at
its pleasure, and neither hurt nor hinder any!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span></p>

<p>The Prince of Courtland turned an angry countenance
upon his friend, but the keen-witted Muscovite
looked so kindly and yet so sadly upon him that after
awhile the severity of his face relaxed as it had been
against his will, and with a quick gesture he added, "I
believe you love me, Ivan, though indeed your words
are no better than red-hot pincers in my heart."</p>

<p>"Love you, Louis?" cried Prince Ivan. "I love
you better than any brother I have, though they will
never live to thwart me as yours thwarts you&mdash;better
even than my father, for you do not keep me out of
my inheritance!"</p>

<p>Then in a gayer tone he went on.</p>

<p>"I love you so much that I will pledge my father's
whole army to help you, first to win your wife, next to
take Hohenstein, Kernsberg, and Marienfeld. And
after that, if you are still ambitious, why&mdash;to Plassenburg
and the Wolfmark, which now the Executioner's
Son holds. That would make a noble kingdom to
offer a fair and wilful queen."</p>

<p>"And for this you ask?"</p>

<p>"Only your love, Louis&mdash;only your love! And, if
it please you, the alliance with that Princess of your
honourable house, of whom we spoke just now!"</p>

<p>"My sister Margaret, you mean? I will do what I
can, Ivan, but she also is wilful. You know she is
wilful! I cannot compel her love!"</p>

<p>The Prince Ivan laughed.</p>

<p>"I am not so complaisant as you, Louis, nor yet so
modest. Give me my bride on the day Joan of the
Sword Hand sleeps in the palace of Courtland as its
princess, and I will take my chance of winning our
Margaret's love!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2>

<h3>WOMAN'S WILFULNESS</h3>


<p>Joan rode on, silent, a furlong before her men.</p>

<p>Behind her sulked Maurice von Lynar. Had
any been there to note, their faces were now
strangely alike in feature, and yet more curiously unlike
in expression. Joan gazed forward into the
distance like a soul dead and about to be reborn, planning
a new life. Maurice von Lynar looked more like
a naughty schoolboy whom some tyrant Fate, rod-wielding,
has compelled to obey against his will.</p>

<p>Yet, in spite of expression, it was Maurice von
Lynar who was planning the future. Joan's heart was
yet too sore. Her tree of life had, as it were, been cut
off close to the ground. She could not go back to the
old so soon after her blissful year of dreams. There
was to be no new life for her. She could not take up
the old. But Maurice&mdash;his thoughts were all for the
Princess Margaret, of the ripple of her golden hair, of
her pretty wilful words and ways, of that dimple on
her chin, and, above all, of her threat to seek him out
if&mdash;but it was not possible that she could mean that.
And yet she looked as though she might make good
her words. Was it possible? He posed himself with
this question, and for half an hour rode on oblivious
of all else.</p>

<p>"Eh?" he said at last, half conscious that some one
had been speaking to him from an infinite distance.
"Eh? Did you speak, Captain von Orseln?"</p>

<p>Von Orseln grunted out a little laugh, almost<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span>
silently, indeed, and expressed more by a heave of his
shoulders than by any alteration of his features.</p>

<p>"Speak, indeed? As if I had not been speaking
these five minutes. Well nigh had I stuck my poignard
in your ribs to teach you to mind your superior officer.
What think you of this business?"</p>

<p>"Think?" the Sparhawk's disappointment burst out.
"Think? Why, 'tis past all thinking. Courtland is
shut to us for twenty years."</p>

<p>"Well," laughed Von Orseln, "who cares for that?
Castle Kernsberg is good enough for me, so we can
hold it."</p>

<p>"Hold it?" cried Maurice, with a kind of joy in his
face; "do you think they will come after us?"</p>

<p>Von Orseln nodded approval of his spirit.</p>

<p>"Yes, little man, yes," he said; "if you have been
fretting to come to blows with the Courtlanders you
are in good case to be satisfied. I would we had only
these lumpish Baltic jacks to fear."</p>

<p>Even as they talked Castle Kernsberg floated up like
a cloud before them above the blue and misty plain,
long before they could distinguish the walls and hundred
gables of the town beneath.</p>

<p>But no word spoke Joan till that purple shadow had
taken shape as stately stone and lime, and she could
discern her own red lion flying abreast of the banner of
Louis of Courtland upon the topmost pinnacle of the
round tower.</p>

<p>Then on a little mound without the town she halted
and faced about. Von Orseln halted the troop with a
backward wave of the hand.</p>

<p>"Men of Hohenstein," said the Duchess, in a clear,
far-reaching alto, "you have followed me, asking no
word of why or wherefore. I have told you nothing,
yet is an explanation due to you."</p>

<p>There came the sound as of a hoarse unanimous
muttering among the soldiers. Joan looked at Von
Orseln as a sign for him to interpret it.</p>

<p>"They say that they are Joan of the Sword Hand's
men, and that they will disembowl any man who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span>
wants to know what it may please you to keep
secret."</p>

<p>"Aye, or question by so much as one lifted eyebrow
aught that it may please your Highness to do," added
Captain Peter Balta, from the right of the first troop.</p>

<p>"I said that our Duchess could never live in such a
dog's hole as their Courtland," quoth George the
Hussite, who, before he took service with Henry the
Lion, had been a heretic preacher. "In Bohemia,
now, where the pines grow&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Hold your prate, all of you," growled Von Orseln,
"or you will find where hemp grows, and why! My
lady," he added, altering his voice as he turned to her,
"be assured, no dog in Kernsberg will bark an interrogative
at you. Shall our young Duchess Joan be wived
and bedded like some little burgheress that sells laces
and tape all day long on the Axel-strasse? Shall the
daughter of Henry the Lion be at the commandment
of any Bor-Russian boor, an it like her not? Shall
she get a burr in her throat with breathing the raw fogs
of the Baltic? Not a word, most gracious lady!
Explain nothing. Extenuate nothing. It is the will
of Joan of the Sword Hand&mdash;that is enough; and, by
the word of Werner von Orseln, it shall be enough!"</p>

<p>"It is the will of Joan of the Sword Hand! It is
enough!" repeated the four hundred lances, like a
class that learns a lesson by rote.</p>

<p>A lump rose in Joan's throat as she tried to shape
into words the thoughts that surged within. She
felt strangely weak. Her pride was not the same as of
old, for the heart of a woman had grown up within
her&mdash;a heart of flesh. Surely that could not be a tear
in her eye? No; the wind blew shrewdly out of the
west, to which they were riding. Von Orseln noted
the struggle and took up his parable once more.</p>

<p>"The pact is carried out. The lands united&mdash;the
will of Henry the Lion done! What more? Shall
the free Princess be the huswife of a yellow Baltic
dwarf? When we go into the town and they ask us,
we will say but this, 'Our Lady misliked the fashion of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span>
his beard!' That will be reason good and broad and
deep, sufficient alike for grey-haired carl and prattling
bairn!"</p>

<p>"I thank you, noble gentlemen," said Joan. "Now,
as you say, let us ride into Kernsberg."</p>

<p>"And pull down that flag!" cried Maurice, pointing
to the black Courtland Eagle which flew so steadily
beside the coronated lion of Kernsberg and Hohenstein.</p>

<p>"And pray, sir, why?" quoth Joan of the Sword
Hand. "Am I not also Princess of Courtland?"</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;" />

<p>From woman's wilfulness all things somehow have
their beginning. Yet of herself she is content with few
things (so that she have what she wants), somewhat
Spartan in fare if let alone, and no dinner-eating
animal. Wine, tobacco, caviare, Strasburg goose-liver&mdash;Epicurus's
choicest gifts to men of this world&mdash;are
contemned by womankind. Left to their own
devices, they prefer a drench of sweet mead or hydromel
laced with water, or even of late the China brew that
filters in black bricks through the country of the Muscovite.
Nevertheless, to woman's wantings may be
traced all restraints and judgments, from the sword
flaming every way about Eden-gate to the last merchant
declared bankrupt and "dyvour" upon the exchange
flags of Hamburg town. Eve did not eat the apple
when she got it. She hasted to give it away. She
only wanted it because it had been forbidden.</p>

<p>So also Joan of Hohenstein desired to go down with
Dessauer that she might look upon the man betrothed
to her from birth. She went. She looked, and, as the
tale tells, within her there grew a heart of flesh. Then,
when the stroke fell, that heart uprose in quick, intemperate
revolt. And what might have issued in the dull
compliance of a princess whose life was settled for her,
became the imperious revolt of a woman against an
intolerable and loathsome impossibility.</p>

<p>So in her castle of Kernsberg Joan waited. But not
idly. All day long and every day Maurice von Lynar<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span>
rode on her service. The hillmen gathered to his word,
and in the courtyard the stormy voices of George the
Hussite and Peter Balta were never hushed. The
shepherds from the hills went to and fro, marching
and countermarching, wheeling and charging, porting
musket and thrusting pike, till all Kernsberg was little
better than a barracks, and the maidens sat wet-eyed at
their knitting by the fire and thought, "Well for Her to
please herself whom she shall marry&mdash;but how about
us, with never a lad in the town to whistle us out in the
gloaming, or to thumb a pebble against the window-lattice
from the deep edges of the ripening corn?"</p>

<p>But there were two, at least, within the realm of the
Duchess Joan who knew no drawbacks to their joy, who
rubbed palm on palm and nudged each other for pure
gladness. These (it is sad to say) were the military
<i>attachés</i> of the neighbouring peaceful State of Plassenburg.
Yet they had been specially cautioned by their
Prince Hugo, in the presence of his wife Helene, the
hereditary Princess, that they were most carefully to
avoid all international complications. They were on
no account to take sides in any quarrel. Above all they
must do nothing prejudicial to the peace, neutrality,
and universal amity of the State and Princedom of
Plassenburg. Such were these instructions.</p>

<p>They promised faithfully.</p>

<p>But, their names being Captains Boris and Jorian,
they now rubbed their hands and nudged each other.
They ought to have been in their chamber in the
Castle of Kernsberg, busily concocting despatches to
their master and mistress, giving an account of these
momentous events.</p>

<p>Instead, how is it that we find them lying on that
spur of the Jägernbergen which overlooks the passes of
Alla, watching the gathering of the great storm which
in the course of days must break over the domains of
the Duchess Joan&mdash;who had refused and slighted her
wedded husband, Louis, Prince of Courtland?</p>

<p>Being both powerfully resourceful men, long lean Boris
and rotund Jorian had found a way out of the apparent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span>
difficulty. There had come with them from Plassenburg
a commission written upon an entire square of sheepskin
by a secretary and sealed with the seal of Leopold
von Dessauer, High Councillor of the United Princedom
and Duchy, bearing that "In the name of Hugo and
Helene our well-loved lieges Captains Boris and Jorian
are empowered to act and treat," and so forth. This
momentous deed was tied about the middle with a red
string, and presented withal so courtly and respectable
an appearance to the uncritical eyes of the ex-men-at-arms
themselves, that they felt almost anything excusable
which they might do in its name.</p>

<p>Before leaving Kernsberg, therefore, Boris placed
this great red-waisted parchment roll in his bed, leaning
it angle-wise against his pillow. Jorian tossed a spare
dagger with the arms of Plassenburg beside it.</p>

<p>"There&mdash;let the civil power and the military for
once lie down together!" he said. "We delegate our
authority to these two during our absence!"</p>

<p>To the silent Plassenburgers who had accompanied
them, and who now kept their door with unswerving
attention, Boris explained himself briefly.</p>

<p>"Remember," he said, "when you are asked, that
the envoys of Plassenburg are ill&mdash;ill of a dangerous
and most contagious disease. Also, they are asleep.
They must on no account be waked. The windows
must be kept darkened. It is a great pity. You are
desolated. You understand. The first time I have more
money than I can spend you shall have ten marks!"</p>

<p>The men-at-arms understood, which was no wonder,
for Boris generally contrived to make himself very
clear. But they thought within them that their chances
of financial benefit from their captain's conditional
generosity were worth about one sole stiver.</p>

<p>So these two, being now free fighting-men, as it
were, soldiers of fortune, lay waiting on the slopes of
the Jägernbergen, talking over the situation.</p>

<p>"A man surely has a right to his own wife!" said
Jorian, taking for the sake of argument the conventional
side.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p>

<p>"<i>Narren-possen</i>, Jorian!" cried Boris, raising his
voice to the indignation point. "Clotted nonsense!
Who is going to keep a man's wife for him if he
cannot do it himself? And he a prince, and within
his own city and fortress, too. She boxed his ears,
they say, and rode away, telling him that if he wanted
her he might come and take her! A pretty spirit, i'
faith! Too good for such a dried stockfish of the
Baltic, with not so much soul as a speckled flounder
on his own mud-flats! Faith! if I were a marrying
man, I would run off with the lass myself. She ought
at least to be a soldier's wife."</p>

<p>"The trouble is that so far she feels no necessity to
be any one's wife," said Jorian, shifting his ground.</p>

<p>"That also is nonsense," said Boris, who, spite his
defence of Joan, held the usual masculine views.
"Every woman wishes to marry, if she can only have
first choice."</p>

<p>"There they come!" whispered Jorian, whose eyes
had never wandered from the long wavering lines of
willow and alder which marked the courses of the
sluggish streams flowing east toward the Alla.</p>

<p>Boris rose to his feet and looked long beneath his
hand. Very far away there was a sort of white tremulousness
in the atmosphere which after a while began
to give off little luminous glints and sparkles, as the sea
does when a shaft of moonlight touches it through a
dark canopy of cloud.</p>

<p>Then there arose from the level green plain first one
tall column of dense black smoke and then another,
till as far as they could see to the left the plain was full
of them.</p>

<p>"God's truth!" cried Jorian, "they are burning the
farms and herds' houses. I thought they had been
Christians in Courtland. But these are more like
Duke Casimir's devil's tricks."</p>

<p>Boris did not immediately answer. His eyes were
busy seeing, his brain setting in order.</p>

<p>"I tell you what," he said at last, in a tone of intense
interest, "these are no fires lighted by Courtlanders.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span>
The heavy Baltic knights could never ride so fast nor
spread so wide. The Muscovite is out! These are
Cossack fires. Bravo, Jorian! we shall yet have our
Hugo here with his axe! He will never suffer the
Bear so near his borders."</p>

<p>"Let us go down," said Jorian, "or we shall miss
some of the fun. In two good hours they will be
at the fords of the Alla!"</p>

<p>So they looked to their arms and went down.</p>

<p>"What do you here? Go back!" shouted Werner
von Orseln, who with his men lay waiting behind the
floodbanks of the Alla. "This is not your quarrel!
Go back, Plassenburgers!"</p>

<p>"We have for the time being demitted our office,"
Boris exclaimed. "The envoys of Plassenburg are at
home in bed, sick of a most sanguinary fever. We
offer you our swords as free fighting-men and good
Teuts. The Muscovites are over yonder. Lord, to
think that I have lived to forty-eight and never yet
killed even one bearded Russ!"</p>

<p>"You may mend that record shortly, to all appearance,
if you have luck!" said Von Orseln grimly.
"And this gentleman here," he added, looking at Jorian,
"is he also in bed, sick?"</p>

<p>"My sword is at your service," said the round one,
"though I should prefer a musketoon, if it is all the
same to you. It will be something to do till these
firebrands come within arm's length of us."</p>

<p>"I have here two which are very much at your
service, if you know how to use them!" said Werner.</p>

<p>The men-at-arms laughed.</p>

<p>"We know their tricks better than those of our
sweethearts!" they said, "and those we know well!"</p>

<p>"Here they be, then," said Von Orseln. "I sent a
couple of men spurring to warn my Lady Joan, and I
bade them leave their muskets and bandoliers till they
came back, that they might ride the lighter to and from
Kernsberg."</p>

<p>Boris and Jorian took the spare pieces with a glow
of gratitude, which was, however, very considerably<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span>
modified when they discovered the state in which their
former owners had kept them.</p>

<p>"Dirty Wendish pigs," they said (which was their
favourite malediction, though they themselves were
Wend of the Wends). "Were they but an hour in
our camp they should ride the wooden horse with these
very muskets tied to their soles to keep them firmly
down. Faugh!"</p>

<p>And Jorian withdrew his finger from the muzzle,
black as soot with the grease of uncleansed powder.</p>

<p>Looking up, they saw that the priest with the little
army of Kernsberg was praying fervently (after the
Hussite manner, without book) for the safety of the
State and person of their lady Duchess, and that the
men were listening bareheaded beneath the green slope
of the water-dyke.</p>

<p>"Go on cleaning," said Boris; "this is some heretic
function, and might sap our morality. We are volunteers,
at any rate, as well as the best of good Catholics.
We do not need unlicensed prayers. If you have quite
done with that rag stick, lend it to me, Jorian!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2>

<h3>CAPTAINS BORIS AND JORIAN PROMOTE PEACE</h3>


<p>Now this is the report which Captains Boris and
Jorian, envoys (very) extraordinary from the
Prince and Princess of Plassenburg to the reigning
Duchess of Hohenstein, made to their home government
upon their return from the fords of the Alla.</p>

<p>They wrote it in collaboration, on the usual plan of
one working and the other assisting him with advice.</p>

<p>Jorian, being of the rotund and complaisant faction,
acquiesced in the proposal that he should do the
writing. But as he never got beyond "To our
honoured Lord and Lady, Hugo and Helene, these&mdash;&mdash;"
there needs not to be any particularity as to his manner
of acting the scribe. He mended at a pen till it looked
like a brush worn to the straggling point. He squared
his elbows suddenly and overset the inkhorn. He
daubed an entire folio of paper with a completeness
which left nothing to the imagination.</p>

<p>Then he remembered that he knew where a secretary
was in waiting. He would go and borrow him. Jorian
re-entered their bedroom with a beaming smile, and
the secretary held by the sleeve to prevent his escape.
Both felt that already the report was as good as written.
It began thus:&mdash;</p>

<p>"With great assiduity (a word suggested by the
secretary) your envoys remembered your Highnesses'
princely advice and command that we should involve
ourselves in no warfare or other local disagreement.
So when we heard that Hohenstein was to be invaded<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span>
by the troops of the Prince of Courtland we were
deeply grieved.</p>

<p>"Nevertheless, judging it to be for the good of our
country that we should have a near view of the fighting,
we left worthy and assured substitutes in our place and
room&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"The parchment commission with a string round
his belly!" explained Jorian, in answer to the young
secretary's lifted eyebrow; "there he is, hiding behind
the faggot-chest."</p>

<p>"Get on, Boris," quoth Jorian, from the settee on
which he had thrown himself; "it is your turn to lie."</p>

<p>"Good!" says Boris. And did it as followeth:&mdash;</p>

<p>"We left our arms behind us&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Such as we could not carry," added Jorian under
his breath. The secretary, a wise youth&mdash;full of the
new learning and of talk concerning certain books
printed on paper and bound all with one <i>druck</i> of a
great machine like a cheese-press&mdash;held his pen suspended
over the paper in doubt what to write.</p>

<p>"Do not mind him," said Boris. "<i>I</i> am dictating
this report."</p>

<p>"Yes, my lord!" replied the secretary from behind
his hand.</p>

<p>"We left our arms and armour behind us, and went
out to make observations in the interest of your Highnesses'
armies. Going down through the woods we
saw many wild swine, exceeding fierce. But having
no means of hunting these, we evaded them, all save
one, which misfortunately met its death by falling
against a spear in the hands of Captain Boris, and
another, also of the male sex, shot dead by Jorian's
pistol, which went off by accident as it was passing."</p>

<p>"I have already written that your arms were left at
home, according to your direction," said the secretary,
who was accustomed to criticise the composition of
diplomatic reports.</p>

<p>"Pshaw!" growled Boris, bending his brow upon
such superfluity of virtue; "a little thing like that will
never be noticed. Besides, a man must carry some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span>thing.
We had no cannon or battering rams with us,
therefore we were unarmed&mdash;to all intents and purposes,
that is."</p>

<p>The secretary sighed. Verily life (as Von Orseln
averred) must be easy in Plassenburg, if such stories
would pass with the Prince. And now it seemed as if
they would.</p>

<p>"We found the soldiers of the Duchess Joan waiting
at the fords of the Alla, which is the eastern border of
their province. There were not many of them, but all
good soldiers. The Courtlanders came on in myriads,
with Muscovites without number. These last burned
and slew all in their path. Now the men of Hohenstein
are good to attack, but their fault is that they are
not patient to defend. So it came to pass that not
long after we arrived at the fords of the Alla, one
Werner von Orseln, commander of the soldiers of the
Duchess, ordered that his men should attack the Courtlanders
in front. Whereupon they crossed the ford,
when they should have stayed behind their shelter. It
was bravely done, but had better have been left undone.</p>

<p>"Remembering, however, your orders and our duty,
we advanced with him, hoping that by some means we
might be able to promote peace.</p>

<p>"This we did. For (wonderful as it may appear)
we convinced no fewer than ten Muscovites whom we
found sacking a farm, and their companions, four
sutlers of Courtland, that it was wrong to slay and
ravish in a peaceful country. In the heat of the argument
Captain Boris received a bullet through his
shoulder which caused us for the time being to cease
our appeal and fall back. The Muscovites, however,
made no attempt to follow us. Our arguments had
been sufficient to convince them of the wickedness
of their deed. We hope to receive your princely
approval of this our action&mdash;peace being, in our
opinion, the greatest blessing which any nation can
enjoy. For without flattery we may say that if others
had argued with equal persuasiveness, the end would
have been happier.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span></p>

<p>"Then, being once more behind the flood-dykes of
the Alla, Captain Jorian examined the hurt of Captain
Boris which he had received in the peace negotiations
with the Muscovites. It was but a flesh wound,
happily, and was soon bound up. But the pain of it
acted upon both your envoys as an additional incentive
to put a stop to the horrors of war.</p>

<p>"So when a company of the infantry of Courtland,
with whom we had hitherto had no opportunity of
wrestling persuasively, attacked the fords, wading as
deep as mid-thigh, we took upon us to rebuke them
for their forwardness. And accordingly they desisted,
some retreating to the further shore, while others,
finding the water pleasant, remained, and floated
peacefully down with the current.</p>

<p>"This also, in some measure, made for peace, and
we humbly hope for the further approval of your Highnesses,
when you have remarked our careful observance
of all your instructions.</p>

<p>"If only we had had with us our several companies
of the Regiment of Karl the Miller's Son to aid us in
the discussion, more Cossacks and Strelits might have
been convinced, and the final result have been different.
Nevertheless, we did what we could, and were successful
with many beyond our hopes.</p>

<p>"But the men of Hohenstein being so few, and those
of Courtland with their allies so many, the river was
overpassed both above and below the fords. Whereupon
I pressed it upon Werner von Orseln that he
should retreat to a place of greater hope and safety,
being thus in danger on both flanks.</p>

<p>"For your envoys have a respect for Werner von
Orseln, though we grieve to report that, being a man
of war from his youth up, he does not display that
desire for peace which your good counsels have so
deeply implanted in our breasts, and which alone
animates the hearts of Boris and Jorian, captains in the
princely guard of Plassenburg."</p>

<p>"Put that in, till I have time to think what is to
come next!" said Boris, waving his hand to the secre<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span>tary.
"We are doing pretty well, I think!" he added,
turning to his companion with all the self-conscious
pride of an amateur in words.</p>

<p>"Let us now tell more about Von Orseln, and how
he would in no wise listen to us!" suggested Jorian.
"But let us not mix the mead too strong! Our Hugo
is shrewd!"</p>

<p>"This Werner von Orseln (be it known to your High
Graciousnesses) was the chief obstacle in the way of our
making peace&mdash;except, perhaps, those Muscovites with
whom we were unable to argue, having no opportunity.
This Werner had fought all the day, and, though most
recklessly exposing himself, was still unhurt. His
armour was covered with blood and black with powder
after the fashion of these wild hot-bloods. His face
also was stained, and when he spoke it was in a
hoarse whisper. The matter of his discourse to us
was this:&mdash;</p>

<p>"'I can do no more. My people are dead, my
powder spent. They are more numerous than the
sea-sands. They are behind us and before, also outflanking
us on either side.'</p>

<p>"Then we advised him to set his face to Hohenstein
and with those who were left to him to retreat in that
direction. We accompanied him, bearing in mind
your royal commands, and eager to do all that in us
lay to advance the interests of amity. The enemy
fetched a compass to close us in on every side.</p>

<p>"Whereupon we argued with them again to the best
of our ability. There ensued some slight noise and
confusion, so that Captain Boris forgot his wound, and
Captain Jorian admits that in his haste he may have
spoken uncivilly to several Bor-Russian gentry who
thrust themselves in his way. And for this unseemly
conduct he craves the pardon of their Highnesses
Hugo and Helene, his beloved master and mistress.
However, as no complaint has been received from the
enemy's headquarters, no breach of friendly relations
may be apprehended. Captain Boris is of opinion
that the Muscovite boors did not understand Captain<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span>
Jorian's Teuton language. At least they were not
observed to resent his words.</p>

<p>"In this manner were the invaders of Hohenstein
broken through, and the remnant of the soldiers of the
Duchess Joan reached Kernsberg in safety&mdash;a result
which, we flatter ourselves, was as much due to the
zeal and amicable persuasiveness of your envoys as to
the skill and bravery of Werner von Orseln and the
soldiers of the Duchess.</p>

<p>"And your humble servants will ever pray for the
speedy triumph of peace and concord, and also for an
undisturbed reign to your Highnesses through countless
years. In token whereof we append our signatures
and seals.</p>

<p class="ralign">
"<span class="smcap">Boris &nbsp; &nbsp;<br />
"Jorian.</span>"<br />
</p>

<p>"Is not that last somewhat overstrained about peace
and concord and so forth?" asked Jorian anxiously.</p>

<p>"Not a whit&mdash;not a whit!" cried Boris, who, having
finished his composition, was wholly satisfied with
himself, after the manner of the beginner in letters.
"Our desire to promote peace needs to be put strongly,
in order to carry persuasion to their Highnesses in
Plassenburg. In fact, I am not sure that it has been
put strongly enough!"</p>

<p>"I am troubled with some few doubts myself!" said
Jorian, under his breath.</p>

<p>And as the secretary jerked the ink from his pen he
smiled.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h2>

<h3>JOAN STANDS WITHIN HER DANGER</h3>


<p>So soon as Werner von Orseln returned to Castle
Kernsberg with news of the forcing of the Alla
and the overwhelming numbers of the Muscovite
hordes, the sad-eyed Duchess of Hohenstein became
once more Joan of the Sword Hand.</p>

<p>Hitherto she had doubted and feared. But now the
thought of Prince Wasp and his Muscovite savages
steadied her, and she was here and there, in every
bastion of the Castle, looking especially to the gates
which commanded the roads to Courtland and Plassenburg.</p>

<p>Her one thought was, "Will <i>he</i> be here?"</p>

<p>And again she saw the knight of the white plume
storm through the lists of Courtland, and the enemy go
down before him. Ah, if only&mdash;&mdash;!</p>

<p>The invading army must have numbered thirty
thousand, at least. There were, all told, about two
thousand spears in Kernsberg. Von Orseln, indeed, could
easily have raised more. Nay, they would have come
in of themselves by hundreds to fight for their Duchess,
but the little hill town could not feed more. Yet Joan
was not discouraged. She joked with Peter Balta upon
the louts of Courtlanders taking the Castle which
Henry the Lion had fortified. The Courtlanders, indeed!
Had not Duke Casimir assaulted Kernsberg in
vain, and even the great Margraf George threatened it?
Yet still it remained a virgin fortress, looking out over
the fertile and populous plain. But now what were
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span>left of the shepherds had fled to the deep-bosomed
mountains with their flocks. The cattle were hidden in
the thickest woods; only the white farm-houses remained
tenantless, silently waiting the coming of the
spoiler. And, stripped for combat, Castle Kernsberg
looked out towards the invader, the rolling plain in
front of it, and behind the grim intricate hill country of
Hohenstein.</p>

<p>When Werner von Orseln and Peter Balta met the
invader at the fords of the Alla, Maurice von Lynar
and Alt Pikker had remained with Joan, nominally to
assist her dispositions, but really to form a check upon
the impetuosity of her temper.</p>

<p>Now Von Orseln was back again. The fords of the
Alla were forced, and the fighting strength of Kernsberg
united itself in the Eagle's Nest to make its final
stand.</p>

<p>Aloft on the highest ramparts there was a terrace
walk which the Sparhawk much affected, especially
when he was on guard at night. It looked towards the
east, and from it the first glimpse of the Courtlanders
would be obtained.</p>

<p>In the great hall of the guard they were drinking
their nightly toast. The shouting might have been
heard in the town, where at street corners were groups
of youths exercising late with wooden spears and
mimic armour, crying "Hurrah, Kernsberg!"</p>

<p>They changed it, however, in imitation of their
betters in the Castle above.</p>

<p>"<i>Joan of the Sword Hand! Hoch!</i>"</p>

<p>The shout went far into the night. Again and yet
again it was repeated from about the crowded board
in the hall of the men-at-arms and from the gloomy
streets beneath.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%;">
<img src="images/i_127fp.jpg" width="100%" alt="Captain Boris was telling a story." title="" />
<span class="caption">"Captain Boris was telling a story."</span>
</div>

<p>When all was over, the Sparhawk rose, belted his sword
a hole or two tighter, set a steel cap without a visor
upon his head, glanced at Werner von Orseln, and
withdrew, leaving the other captains to their free-running
jest and laughter. Captain Boris of Plassenburg
was telling a story with a countenance more than<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span>
ordinarily grave and earnest, while the table round rang
with contagious mirth.</p>

<p>The Sparhawk found the high terrace of the Lion
Tower guarded by a sentry. Him he removed to the
foot of the turret-stair, with orders to permit no one
save Werner von Orseln to pass on any pretext.</p>

<p>Presently the chief captain's step was heard on the
stone turnpike.</p>

<p>"Ha, Sparhawk," he cried, "this is cold cheer!
Why could we not have talked comfortably in hall,
with a beaker of mead at one's elbow?"</p>

<p>"The enemy are not in sight," said the Sparhawk
gloomily.</p>

<p>"Well, that is bad luck," said Werner; "but do not
be afraid, you will have your chance yet&mdash;indeed, all
you want and a little over&mdash;in the way of killing
of Muscovites."</p>

<p>"I wanted to speak with you on a matter we cannot
mention elsewhere," said Maurice von Lynar.</p>

<p>The chief captain stopped in his stride, drew his
cloak about him, rested his thigh on a square battlement,
and resigned himself.</p>

<p>"Well," he said, "youth has ever yeasty brains. Go on."</p>

<p>"I would speak of my lady!" said the youth.</p>

<p>"So would most mooncalves of your age!" growled
Werner; "but they do not usually bring their commanding
officers up to the housetops to do it!"</p>

<p>"I mean our lady, the Duchess Joan!"</p>

<p>"Ah," said Werner, with the persiflage gone out of
his tone, "that is altogether another matter!"</p>

<p>And the two men were silent for a minute, both looking
out into the blackness where no stars shone or
any light twinkled beyond the walls of the little fortified
hill town.</p>

<p>At last Maurice von Lynar spoke.</p>

<p>"How long can we hold out if they besiege us?"</p>

<p>"Two months, certainly&mdash;with luck, three!"</p>

<p>"And then?"</p>

<p>Werner von Orseln shrugged his shoulders, but only
said, "A soldier never anticipates disaster!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p>

<p>"And what of the Duchess Joan?" persisted the
young man.</p>

<p>"Why, in the same space of time she will be dead
or wed!" said Von Orseln, with an affectation of
carelessness easily seen through.</p>

<p>The young man burst out, "Dead she may be! I
know she will never be wife to that Courtland Death's-head.
I saw it in her eyes that day in their cathedral,
when she bade me slip out and bring up our four hundred
lances of Kernsberg."</p>

<p>"Like enough," said Werner shortly. "I, for one,
set no bounds to any woman's likings or mislikings!"</p>

<p>"We must get her away to a place of safety," said
the young man.</p>

<p>Von Orseln laughed.</p>

<p>"Get her? Who would persuade or compel our
lady? Whither would she go? Would she be safer
there than here? Would the Courtlander not find out
in twenty-four hours that there was no Joan of the
Sword Hand in Kernsberg, and follow on her trail?
And lastly&mdash;question most pertinent of all&mdash;what had
you to drink down there in hall, young fellow?"</p>

<p>The Sparhawk did not notice the last question, nor
did he reply in a similarly jeering tone.</p>

<p>"We must persuade her&mdash;capture her, compel her, if
necessary. Kernsberg cannot for long hold out against
both the Muscovite and the Courtlander. Save good
Jorian and Boris, who will lie manfully about their
fighting, there is no help for us in mortal man. So this
is what we must do to save our lady!"</p>

<p>"What? Capture Joan of the Sword Hand and
carry her off? The mead buzzes in the boy's head. He
grows dotty with anxiety and too much hard ale.
'Ware, Maurice&mdash;these battlements are not over high.
I will relieve you, lad! Go to bed and sleep it off!"</p>

<p>"Von Orseln," said the youth, with simple earnestness,
not heeding his taunts, "I have thought deeply.
I see no way out of it but this. Our lady will eagerly
go on reconnaissance if you represent it as necessary.
You must take ten good men and ride north, far north,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span>
even to the edges of the Baltic, to a place I know of,
which none but I and one other can find. There, with
a few trusty fellows to guard her, she will be safe till
the push of the times is over."</p>

<p>The chief captain was silent. He had wholly dropped
his jeering mood.</p>

<p>"There is nothing else that I can see for it," the
young Dane went on, finding that Werner did not
speak. "Our Joan will never go to Courtland alive.
She will not be carried off on Prince Louis' saddle-bow,
as a Cossack might carry off a Circassian slave!"</p>

<p>"But how," said Von Orseln, meditating, "will you
prevent her absence being known? The passage of so
large a party may easily be traced and remembered.
Though our folk are true enough and loyal enough,
sooner or later what is known in the Castle is known in
the town, and what is known in the town becomes
known to the enemy!"</p>

<p>Maurice von Lynar leaned forward towards his chief
captain and whispered a few words in his ear.</p>

<p>"Ah!" he said, and nodded. Then, after a pause for
thought, he added, "That is none so ill thought on for
a beardless younker! I will think it over, sleep on it,
and tell you my opinion to-morrow!"</p>

<p>The youth tramped to and fro on the terrace, muttering
to himself.</p>

<p>"Good-night, Sparhawk!" said Von Orseln, from the
top of the corkscrew stair, as he prepared to descend;
"go to bed. I will send Alt Pikker to command the
house-guard to-night. Do you get straightway between
the sheets as soon as maybe. If this mad scheme
comes off you will need your beauty-sleep with a vengeance!
So take it now!"</p>

<p>"At any rate," the chief captain growled to himself,
"you have set a pretty part for me. I may forthwith
order my shroud. I shall never be able to face my
lady again!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX</h2>

<h3>THE CHIEF CAPTAIN'S TREACHERY</h3>


<p>The Duchess Joan was in high spirits. It had been
judged necessary, in consultation with her chief
officers, to ride a reconnaissance in person in order to
ascertain whether the advancing enemy had cut Kernsberg
off towards the north. On this matter Von Orseln
thought that her Highness had better judge for herself.
Here at last was something definite to be done. It was
almost like the old foraying days, but now in a more
desperate cause.</p>

<p>Ten days before, Joan's maidens and her aged nurse
had been sent for safety into Plassenburg, under escort
of Captains Boris and Jorian as far as the frontier&mdash;who
had, however, returned in time to accompany the
party of observation on their ride northward.</p>

<p>No one in all Castle Kernsberg was to know of the
departure of this cavalcade. Shortly before midnight
the horses were to be ready under the Castle wall.
The Sparhawk was appointed to command the town
during Von Orseln's absence. Ten men only were to
go, and these picked and sifted riders&mdash;chosen because
of their powers of silence&mdash;and because, being unmarried,
they had no wives to worm secrets out of
them. Sweethearts they might have, but then, in
Kernsberg at least, that is a very different thing.</p>

<p>Finally, having written to their princely master in
Plassenburg, that they were leaving on account of the
war&mdash;in which, as envoys extraordinary, they did not
desire to be further mixed up&mdash;Captains Boris and Jorian
made them ready to accompany the reconnaissance. It<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span>
proved to be a dark and desperate night of storm and
rain. The stars were ever and anon concealed by the
thick pall of cloud which the wind from the south
drove hurtling athwart them. Joan herself was in the
highest spirits. She wore a long blue cloak, which
completely concealed the firmly knit slender figure,
clad in forester's dress, from prying eyes.</p>

<p>As for Werner von Orseln, that high captain was
calm and grave as usual, but the rest of the ten men
were plainly nervous, as they fingered their bridle-reins
and avoided looking at each other while they waited
in readiness to mount.</p>

<p>With a clatter of hoofs they were off, none in the
Castle knowing more than that Werner the chief
captain rode out on his occasions. A townsman or two
huddled closer among his blankets as the clatter and
jingle of the horses mingled with the sharp volleying
of the rain upon his wind-beaten lattice, while the long
<i>whoo</i> of the wind sang of troublous times in the twisted
chimneys overhead.</p>

<p>Joan, as the historian has already said, was in high
spirits.</p>

<p>"Werner," she cried, as soon as they were clear of
the town, "if we strike the enemy to-night, I declare
we will draw sword and ride through them."</p>

<p>"<i>If</i> we strike them to-night, right so, my lady!"
returned Werner promptly.</p>

<p>But he had the best of reasons for knowing that they
would not strike any enemy that night. His last spy
from the north had arrived not half an hour before
they started, having ridden completely round the
enemy's host.</p>

<p>Joan and her chief captain rode on ahead, Von
Orseln glancing keenly about him, and Joan riding
free and careless, as in the old days when she overpassed
the hills to drive a prey from the lands of her
father's enemies.</p>

<p>It was grey morning when they came to a goatherd's
hut at the top of the green valley. Already they
had passed the bounds of Hohenstein by half a dozen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span>
miles. The goatherd had led his light-skipping train
to the hills for the day, and the rude and chaotic
remains of his breakfast were still on the table. Boris
and Jorian cleared these away, and, with the trained
alacrity of seasoned men-at-arms, they placed before
the party a breakfast prepared with speed out of what
they had brought with them and those things which
they had found to their hand by foraging in the larder
of the goatherd&mdash;to wit, sliced neat's-tongue dried
in the smoke, and bread of fine wheat which Jorian
had carried all the way in a net at his saddle-bow.
Boris had charge of the wine-skins, and upon a shelf
above the door they found a great butter-pot full of
freshly made curded goats' milk, very delicious both to
taste and smell.</p>

<p>Of these things they ate and drank largely, Joan and
Von Orseln being together at the upper end of the table.
Boris and Jorian had to sit with them, though much
against their wills, being (spite of their sweethearts)
more accustomed to the company of honest men-at-arms
than to the practice of dainty eating in ladies'
society.</p>

<p>Joan undertook to rally them upon their loves, for
whose fair fingers, as it has been related in an earlier
chapter, she had given them rings.</p>

<p>"And how took your Katrin the ring, Boris?" she
said, looking at him past the side of her glass. For
Jorian had bethought him to bring one for the
Duchess, the which he cleansed and cooled at the
spring without. As for the others, they all drank out
of one wooden whey-cog, as was most fitting.</p>

<p>"Why, she took it rarely," said honest Boris, "and
swore to love me more than ever for it. We are to be
married upon my first return to Plassenburg."</p>

<p>"Which, perhaps, is the reason why you are in no
hurry to return thither, seeing that you stopped short
at the frontier last week?" said the Duchess shrewdly.</p>

<p>"Nay, my lady, that grieved me sore&mdash;for, indeed,
we love each other dearly, Katrin and I," persisted
Captain Boris, thinking, as was his custom, to lie him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span>self
out of it by dint of the mere avoirdupois of
asseveration.</p>

<p>"That is the greater marvel," returned the lady,
smiling upon him, "because when last I spoke with
you concerning the matter, her name was not Katrin,
but Gretchen!"</p>

<p>Boris was silent, as well he might be, for even as he
lied he had had some lurking suspicion of this himself.
He felt that he could hope to get no further by this
avenue.</p>

<p>The lady now turned to Jorian, who, having digested
the defeat and shame of Boris, was ready to be very
indignant at his companion for having claimed his
sweetheart.</p>

<p>"And you, Captain Jorian," she said, "how went it
with you? Was your ring well received?"</p>

<p>"Aye, marry," said that gallant captain, "better
than well. Much better! Never did I see woman
so grateful. Katrin, whom this long, wire-drawn,
splenetic fool hath lyingly claimed as his (by some trick
of tongue born of his carrying the malmsey at his
saddle-bow)&mdash;Katrin, I say, did kiss and clip me so
that my very soul fainted within me. She could not
make enough of the giver of such a precious thing as
your Highness's ring?"</p>

<p>Jorian in his own estimation was doing very well.
He thought he could yet better it.</p>

<p>"Her eyes sparkled with joy. Her hands twitched&mdash;she
could not keep them from turning the pretty jewel
about upon her finger. She swore never to part with
it while life lasted&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Then," said Joan, smiling, "have no more to do
with her. She is a false wench and mansworn. For
do not I see it upon the little finger of your left hand
at this moment? Nay, do not turn the stone within.
I know my gift, and will own it even if your Katrin
(was it not?) hath despised it. What say you now to
that, Jorian?"</p>

<p>"My lady," faltered Jorian, striving manfully to
recover himself, "when I came again in the honourable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span>
guise of an ambassador to Kernsberg, Katrin gave it
back again to me, saying, 'You have no signet ring.
Take this, so that you be not ashamed among those
others. Keep it for me. I myself will place it on your
finger with a loving kiss.'"</p>

<p>"Well done, Captain Jorian, you are a somewhat better
liar than your friend. But still your excuses should
accord better. The ring I gave you is not a signet ring.
That Katrin of yours must have been ignorant indeed."</p>

<p>With these words Joan of the Sword Hand rose to
her feet, for the ex-men-at-arms had not so much as a
word to say.</p>

<p>"Let us now mount and ride homeward," she said;
"there are no enemy to be found on this northerly road.
We shall be more fortunate upon another occasion."</p>

<p>Then Werner Von Orseln nerved himself for a battle
more serious than any he had ever fought at the elbow
of Henry the Lion of Hohenstein.</p>

<p>"My lady," he said, standing up and bowing gravely
before her, "you see here eleven men who love you far
above their lives, of whom I am the chief. Two others
also there are, who, though not of our nation, are in
heart joined to us, especially in this thing that we have
done. With all respect, your Highness cannot go back.
We have come out, not to make a reconnaissance, but
to put your Grace in a place of safety till the storm
blows over."</p>

<p>The Duchess had slowly risen to her feet, with her
hand on the sword which swung at her belt.</p>

<p>"You have suddenly gone mad, Werner!" she said;
"let us have no more of this. I bid you mount and
ride. Back to Kernsberg, I say! Ye are not such
fools and traitors as to deliver the maiden castle, the
Eagle's Nest of Hohenstein, into the hands of our
enemies?"</p>

<p>"Nay," said Von Orseln, looking steadily upon the
ground, "that will we not do. Kernsberg is in good
hands, and will fight bravely. But we cannot hold out
with our few folk and scanty provender against the
leaguer of thirty thousand. Nevertheless we will not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span>
permit you to sacrifice yourself for our sakes or for the
sake of the women and children of the city."</p>

<p>Joan drew her sword.</p>

<p>"Werner von Orseln, will you obey me, or must I
slay you with my hand?" she cried.</p>

<p>The chief captain yet further bowed his head and
abased his eyes.</p>

<p>"We have thought also of this," he made answer.
"Me you may kill, but these that are with me will
defend themselves, though they will not strike one they
love more than their lives. But man by man we have
sworn to do this thing. At all hazards you must abide
in our hands till the danger is overpast. For me (this
he added in a deeper tone), I am your immediate officer.
There is none to come between us. It is your right to
slay me if you will. Mine is the responsibility for this
deed, though the design was not mine. Here is my
sword. Slay your chief captain with it if you will.
He has faithfully served your house for five-and-thirty
years. 'Tis perhaps time he rested now."</p>

<p>And with these words Werner von Orseln took his
sword by the point and offered the hilt to his mistress.</p>

<p>Joan of the Sword Hand shook with mingled passion
and helplessness, and her eyes were dark and troublous.</p>

<p>"Put up your blade," she said, striking aside the hilt
with her hand; "if you have not deserved death, no
more have I deserved this! But you said that the
design was not yours. Who, then, has dared to plot
against the liberty of Joan of Hohenstein?"</p>

<p>"I would I could claim the honour," said Werner
the chief captain; "but truly the matter came from
Maurice von Lynar the Dane. It is to his mother, who
after the death of her brother, the Count von Lynar,
continued to dwell in a secret strength on the Baltic
shore, that we are conducting your Grace!"</p>

<p>"Maurice von Lynar?" exclaimed Joan, astonished.
"He remains in Castle Kernsberg, then?"</p>

<p>"Aye," said Werner, relieved by her tone, "he will
take your place when danger comes. In morning
twilight or at dusk he makes none so ill a Lady<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span>
Duchess, and, i' faith, his 'sword hand' is brisk enough.
If the town be taken, better that he than you be found
in Castle Kernsberg. Is the thing not well invented,
my lady?"</p>

<p>Werner looked up hopefully. He thought he had
pleaded his cause well.</p>

<p>"Traitor! Supplanter!" cried Joan indignantly;
"this Dane in my place! I will hang him from the
highest window in the Castle of Kernsberg if ever I
win back to mine own again!"</p>

<p>"My lady," said Werner, gently and respectfully,
"your servant Von Lynar bade me tell you that he
would as faithfully and loyally take your place now
as he did on a former occasion!"</p>

<p>"Ah," said Joan, smiling wanly with a quick change
of mood, "I hope he will be more ready to give up his
privileges on this occasion than on that!"</p>

<p>She was thinking of the Princess Margaret and the
heritage of trouble upon which, as the Count von Löen,
she had caused the Sparhawk to enter.</p>

<p>Then a new thought seemed to strike her.</p>

<p>"But my nurse and my women&mdash;how can he keep
the imposture secret? He may pass before the stupid
eyes of men. But they&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"If your Highness will recollect, they have been sent
out of harm's way into Plassenburg. There is not a
woman born of woman in all the Castle of Kernsberg!"</p>

<p>"Yes," mused Joan, "I have indeed been fairly
cozened. I gave that order also by the Dane's advice.
Well, let him have his run. We will reeve him a firm
collar of hemp at the end of it, and maybe for Werner
von Orseln also, as a traitor alike to his bread and his
mistress. Till then I hope you will both enjoy playing
your parts."</p>

<p>The chief captain bowed.</p>

<p>"I am content, my lady," he said respectfully.</p>

<p>"Now, good jailers all," cried Joan, "lead on. I will
follow. Or would you prefer to carry me with you
handcuffed and chained? I will go with you in whatsoever
fashion seemeth good to my masters!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p>

<p>She paused and looked round the little goatherd's
hut.</p>

<p>"Only," she said, nodding her head, "I warn you I
will take my own time and manner of coming back!"</p>

<p>There was a deep silence as the men drew their belts
tighter and prepared to mount and depart.</p>

<p>"About that time, Jorian," whispered Boris as they
went out, "you and I will be better in Plassenburg
than within the bounds of Kernsberg&mdash;for our health's
sake and our sweethearts', that is!"</p>

<p>"Good!" said Jorian, dropping the bars of his visor;
"but for all that she is a glorious wench, and looks her
bravest when she is angry!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI</h2>

<h3>ISLE RUGEN</h3>


<p>They had travelled for six hours through high
arched pines, their fallen needles making a carpet
green and springy underfoot. Then succeeded oaks,
stricken a little at top with the frosts of years. Alternating
with these came marshy tracts where alder and
white birch gleamed from the banks of shallow runnels
and the margins of black peaty lakes. Anon the broom
and the gorse began to flourish sparsely above wide
sand-hills, heaved this way and that like the waves
of a mountainous sea.</p>

<p>The party was approaching that no-man's-land which
stretches for upwards of a hundred miles along the
southern shores of the Baltic. It is a land of vast
brackish backwaters connected with the outer sea by
devious channels often half silted up, but still feeling
the pulse of the outer green water in the winds which
blow over the sandy "bills," bars, and spits, and
bring with them sweet scents of heather and wild
thyme, and, most of all, of the southernwood which
grows wild on the scantily pastured braes.</p>

<p>It was at that time a beautiful but lonely country&mdash;the
'batable land of half a dozen princedoms, its only
inhabitant a stray hunter setting up his gipsy booth of
wattled boughs, heaping with stones a rude fireplace,
or fixing a tripod over it whereon a pottinger was
presently a-swing, in some sunny curve of the shore.</p>

<p>At eventide of the third day of their journeying the
party came to a great morass. Black decaying trunks<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span>
of trees stood up at various angles, often bristling with
dead branches like <i>chevaux-de-frise</i>. The horses picked
their path warily through this tangle, the rotten sticks
yielding as readily and silently as wet mud beneath
their hoofs. Finally all dismounted except Joan, while
Werner von Orseln, with a rough map in his hand,
traced out the way. Pools of stagnant black water had
to be evaded, treacherous yellow sands tested, bridges
constructed of the firmer logs, till all suddenly they
came out upon a fairylike little half-moon of sand and
tiny shells.</p>

<p>Here was a large flat-bottomed boat, drawn up
against the shore. In the stern a strange figure was
seated, a man, tall and angular, clad in jerkin and
trunks of brown tanned leather, cross-gartered hose of
grey cloth, and home-made shoon of hide with the hair
outside. He wore a black skull cap, and his head had
the strange, uncanny look of a wild animal. It was not
at the first glance nor yet at the second that Boris and
Jorian found out the cause of this curious appearance.</p>

<p>Meanwhile Werner von Orseln was putting into his
hand some pledge or sign which he scrutinised carefully,
when Jorian suddenly gripped his companion's
arm.</p>

<p>"Look," he whispered, "he's got no ears!"</p>

<p>"Nor any tongue!" responded Boris, staring with
all his eyes at the prodigy.</p>

<p>And, indeed, the strange man was pointing to his
mouth with the index finger of his right hand and
signing that they were to follow him into the boat
which had been waiting for them.</p>

<p>Joan of the Sword Hand had never spoken since she
knew that her men were taking her to a place of safety.
Nor did her face show any trace of emotion now that
Werner von Orseln, approaching cap in hand, humbly
begged her to permit him to conduct her to the boat.</p>

<p>But the Duchess leapt from her horse, and without
accepting his hand she stepped from the little pier of
stone beside which the boat lay. Then walking firmly
from seat to seat she reached the stern, where she sat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span>
down without seeming to have glanced at any of the
company.</p>

<p>Werner von Orseln then motioned Captains Boris
and Jorian to take their places in the bow, and having
bared his head he seated himself beside his mistress.
The wordless earless man took the oars and pushed
off. The boat slid over a little belt of still water
through a wilderness of tall reeds. Then all suddenly
the wavelets lapped crisp and clean beneath her bottom,
and the wide levels of a lake opened out before them.
The ten men left on the shore set about building a fire
and making shelters of brushwood, as if they expected
to stay here some time.</p>

<p>The tiny harbour was fenced in on every side with
an unbroken wall of lofty green pines. The lower part
of their trunks shot up tall and straight and opened
long vistas into the black depths of the forest. The
sun was setting and threw slant rays far underneath,
touching with gold the rank marish growths,
and reddening the mouldering boles of the fallen
pines.</p>

<p>The boat passed almost noiselessly along, the strange
man rowing strongly and the boat drawing steadily
away across the widest part of the still inland sea. As
they thus coasted along the gloomy shores the sun
went down and darkness came upon them at a bound.
Then at the far end of the long tunnel, which an hour
agone had been sunny glades, they saw strange flickering
lights dancing and vanishing, waving and leaping
upward&mdash;will-o'-the-wisps kindled doubtless from the
stagnant boglands and the rotting vegetation of that
ancient northern forest.</p>

<p>The breeze freshened. The water clappered louder
under the boat's quarter. Breaths born of the wide
sea unfiltered through forest dankness visited more
keenly the nostrils of the voyagers. They heard ahead
of them the distant roar of breakers. Now and then
there came a long and gradual roll underneath their
quarter, quite distinct from the little chopping waves of
the fresh-water <i>haff</i>, as the surface of the mere heaved<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span>
itself in a great slope of water upon which the boat
swung sideways.</p>

<p>After a space tall trees again shot up overhead, and
with a quick turn the boat passed between walls of
trembling reeds that rustled against the oars like silk,
emerged on a black circle of water, and then, gliding
smoothly forward, took ground in the blank dark.</p>

<p>As the broad keel grated on the sand, the Wordless
Man leapt out, and, standing on the shore, put his
hands to his mouth and emitted a long shout like a
blast blown on a conch shell. Again and again that
melancholy ululation, with never a consonantal sound
to break it, went forth into the night. Yet it was so
modulated that it had obviously a meaning for some
one, and to put the matter beyond a doubt it was
answered by three shrill whistles from behind the
rampart of trees.</p>

<p>Joan sat still in the boat where she had placed herself.
She asked no question, and even these strange
experiences did not alter her resolution.</p>

<p>Presently a light gleamed uncertainly through the
trees, now lost behind brushwood and again breaking
waveringly out.</p>

<p>A tall figure moved forward with a step quick and
firm. It was that of a woman who carried a swinging
lantern in her hand, from which wheeling lights
gleamed through a score of variously coloured little
plates of horn. She wore about her shoulders a great
crimson cloak which masked her shape. A hood of the
same material, attached at the back of the neck to the
cloak, concealed her head and dropped about her face,
partially hiding her features.</p>

<p>Standing still on a little wooden pier she held the
lantern high, so that the light fell directly on those in
the boat, and their faces looked strangely white in that
illumined circle, surrounded as it was by a pent-house
of tense blackness&mdash;black pines, black water, black sky.</p>

<p>"Follow me!" said the woman, in a deep rich voice&mdash;a
voice whose tones thrilled those who heard them
to their hearts, so full and low were some of the notes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p>

<p>Joan of the Sword Hand rose to her feet.</p>

<p>"I am the Duchess of Hohenstein, and I do not
leave this boat till I know in what place I am, and who
this may be that cries 'Follow!' to the daughter of
Henry the Lion!"</p>

<p>The tall woman turned without bowing and looked
at the girl.</p>

<p>"I am the mother of Maurice von Lynar, and this is
the Isle Rugen!" she said simply, as if the answer were
all sufficient.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII</h2>

<h3>THE HOUSE ON THE DUNES</h3>


<p>The woman in the crimson cloak waited for Joan
to be assisted from the boat, and then, without a
word of greeting, led the way up a little sanded path
to a gate which opened in a high stone wall. Through
this she admitted her guests, whereupon they found
themselves in an enclosure with towers and battlements
rising dimly all round. It was planted with
fragrant bushes and fruit trees whose leaves brushed
pleasantly against their faces as they walked in single
file following their guide.</p>

<p>Then came a long grey building, another door, small
and creaking heavily on unaccustomed hinges, a sudden
burst of light, and lo! the wanderers found themselves
within a lighted hall, wherein were many stands
of arms and armour, mingled with skins of wild
animals, wide-spreading many-tined antlers, and other
records of the chase.</p>

<p>The woman who had been their guide now set down
her lantern and allowed the hood of her cloak to slide
from her head. Werner and his two male companions
the captains of Plassenburg, fell back a little at the
apparition. They had expected to see some hag or
crone, fit companion of their wordless guide.</p>

<p>Instead, a woman stood before them, not girlish
certainly, nor yet in the first bloom of her youth, but
glorious even among fair women by reason of the very
ripeness of her beauty. Her hair shone full auburn
with shadows of heavy burnt-gold upon its coils. It<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span>
clustered about the broad low brow in a few simple
locks, then, sweeping back round her head in loose
natural waves, it was caught in a broad flat coil at
the back, giving a certain statuesque and classic dignity
to her head.</p>

<p>The mother of that young paladin, their Sparhawk?
It seemed impossible. This woman was too youthful,
too fair, too bountiful in her gracious beauty to be the
mother of such a tense young yew-bow as Maurice
von Lynar.</p>

<p>Yet she had said it, and women do not lie (affirmatively)
about such a matter. So, indeed, at heart
thought Werner von Orseln.</p>

<p>"My lady Joan," she said, in the same thrilling voice,
"my son has sent me word that till a certain great
danger is overpast you are to abide with me here on
the Isle Rugen. I live alone, save for this one man,
dumb Max Ulrich, long since cruelly maimed at the
hands of his enemies. I can offer you no suite of
attendants beyond those you bring with you. Our
safety depends on the secrecy of our abode, as for
many years my own life has done. I ask you, therefore,
to respect our privacy, as also to impose the same
upon your soldiers."</p>

<p>The Duchess Joan bowed slightly.</p>

<p>"As you doubtless know, I have not come hither of
my own free will," she answered haughtily; "but I
thank you, madam, for your hospitality. Rest assured
that the amenity of your dwelling shall not be endangered
by me!"</p>

<p>The two looked at each other with that unyielding
"at-arm's-length" eyeshot which signifies instinctive
antipathy between women of strong wills.</p>

<p>Then with a large gesture the elder indicated the
way up the broad staircase, and throwing her own
cloak completely off she caught it across her arm as it
dropped, and so followed Joan out of sight.</p>

<p>Werner von Orseln stood looking after them a little
bewildered. But the more experienced Boris and
Jorian exchanged significant glances with each other.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span></p>

<p>Then Boris shook his head at Jorian, and Jorian
shook his head at Boris. And for once they did not
designate the outlook by their favourite adjective.</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;" />

<p>Nevertheless, instinct was so strong that, as soon as
the women had withdrawn themselves upstairs, the
three captains seized the lantern and started towards the
door to make the round of the defences. The Wordless
Man accompanied them unasked. The square
enclosure in which they found themselves seemed liker
an old fortified farmhouse or grange than a regular
castle, though the walls were thick as those of any
fortress, being loopholed for musketry, and (in those
days of bombards few and heavy) capable of standing
a siege in good earnest against a small army.</p>

<p>The doors were of thick oak crossed in all directions
with strengthening iron. The three captains examined
every barred window with keen professional curiosity,
and, coming to another staircase in a distant part of
the house, Von Orseln intimated to the dumb man
that they wished to examine it. In rapid pantomime
he indicated to them that there was an ascending
flight of steps leading round and round a tower till a
platform was reached, from which (gazing out under
his hand and making with his finger the shape of
battlements) he gave them to understand that an extensive
prospect was to be enjoyed.</p>

<p>With an inward resolve to ascend that stair and look
upon that prospect at an early hour on the morrow,
the three captains returned through the hall into a long
dining-room vaulted above with beams of solid oak.
Curtains were drawn close all about the walls. In the
recesses were many stands of arms of good and recent
construction, and opening a cupboard with the freedom
of a man-at-arms, Boris saw ramrods, powder and shot
horns arranged in order, as neatly as though he had
done it himself, than which no better could be said.</p>

<p>In a little while the sound of footsteps descending
the nearer staircase was heard. The Wordless Man
moved to the door and held it open as Joan came in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span>
with a proud high look on her face. She was still
pale, partly with travel and partly from the seething
indignant angers of her heart. Von Lynar's mother
entered immediately after her guest, and it needed
nothing more subtle than Werner von Orseln's masculine
acumen to discern that no word had been
spoken between them while they were alone.</p>

<p>With a queenly gesture the hostess motioned her guest
to the place of honour at her right hand, and indicated
that the three soldiers were to take their places
at the other side of the table. Werner von Orseln
moved automatically to obey, but Jorian and Boris
were already at the sideboard, dusting platters and
making them ready to serve the meal.</p>

<p>"I thank you, madam," said Jorian. "Were we
here as envoys of our master, Prince Hugo of Plassenburg,
we would gladly and proudly sit at meat with
you. But we are volunteers, and have all our lives
been men-at-arms. We will therefore assist this good
gentleman to serve, an it please you to permit us!"</p>

<p>The lady bowed slightly and for the first time smiled.</p>

<p>"You have, then, accompanied the Lady Duchess
hither for pleasure, gentlemen? I fear Isle Rugen is
a poor place for that!" she said, looking across at
them.</p>

<p>"Aye and no!" said Jorian; "Kernsberg is, indeed,
no fit dwelling-place for great ladies just now. The
Duchess Joan will indeed be safer here than elsewhere
till the Muscovites have gone home, and the hill-folk
of Hohenstein have only the Courtlanders to deal with.
All the same, we could have wished to have been
permitted to speak with the Muscovite in the gate!"</p>

<p>"My son remains in Castle Kernsberg?" she asked,
with an upward inflection, an indescribable softness
at the same time overspreading her face, and a warmth
coming into the grey eyes which showed what this
woman might be to those whom she really loved.</p>

<p>"He keeps the Castle, indeed&mdash;in his mistress's
absence and mine," said Werner. "He will make a
good soldier. Our lady has already made him Count<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span>
von Löen, that he may be the equal of those who care
for such titles."</p>

<p>A strange flash as of remembrance and emotion
passed over the face of their hostess.</p>

<p>"And your own title, my lord?" she asked after a
little pause.</p>

<p>"I am plain Werner von Orseln, free ritter and
faithful servant of my mistress the Duchess Joan, as I
was also of her father, Henry the Lion of Hohenstein!"</p>

<p>He bowed as he spoke and continued, "I do not
love titles, and, indeed, they would be wasted on an
ancient grizzle-pate like me. But your son is young,
and deserves this fortune, madam. He will doubtless
do great honour to my lady's favour."</p>

<p>The eyes of the elder lady turned inquiringly to
those of Joan.</p>

<p>"I have now no faithful servants," said the young
Duchess at last, breaking her cold silence; "I have
only traitors and jailers about me."</p>

<p>With that she became once more silent. A painful
restraint fell upon the three who sat at table, and
though their hostess and Werner von Orseln partook
of the fish and brawn and fruit which their three
servitors set before them in silver platters, it was but
sparingly and without appetite.</p>

<p>All were glad when the meal was over and they
could rise from the table. As soon as possible Boris
and Jorian got outside into the long passage which led
to the kitchen.</p>

<p>"Ha!" cried Boris, "I declare I would have burst
if I had stayed in there another quarter hour! It was
solemn as serving Karl the Great and his longbeards
in their cellar under the Hartz. I wonder if they
are going to keep it up all the time after this
fashion!"</p>

<p>"And this is pleasure," rejoined Jorian gloomily;
"not even a good rousing fight on the way. And then&mdash;why,
prayers for the dead are cheerful as dance-gardens
in July to that festal board. Good Lord! give
me the Lady Ysolinde and the gnomes we fought so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span>
long ago at Erdberg. This stiff sword-handed Joan of
theirs freezes a man's internals like Baltic ice."</p>

<p>"Jorian," said Boris, solemnly lowering his voice to
a whisper, "if that Courtland fellow had known what
we know, he would have been none so eager to get
her home to bed and board!"</p>

<p>"Ice will melt&mdash;even Baltic ice!" said Jorian sententiously.</p>

<p>"Yes, but greybeard Louis of Courtland is not the
man to do the melting!" retorted Boris.</p>

<p>"But I know who could!" said Jorian, nodding his
head with an air of immense sagacity.</p>

<p>Boris went on cutting brawn upon a wooden platter
with a swift and careful hand. The old servitor moved
noiselessly about behind them, with feet that made no
more noise than those of a cat walking on velvet.</p>

<p>"Who?" said Boris, shortly.</p>

<p>The door of the kitchen opened slightly and the tall
woman stood a moment with the latch in her hand,
ready to enter.</p>

<p>"Our Sparhawk could melt the Baltic ice!" said
Jorian, and winked at Boris with his left eye in a sly
manner.</p>

<p>Whereupon Boris dropped his knife and, seizing
Jorian by the shoulders, he thrust him down upon a
broad stool.</p>

<p>Then he dragged the platter of brawn before him
and dumped the mustard pot beside it upon the deal
table with a resounding clap.</p>

<p>"There!" he cried, "fill your silly mouth with that,
Fatsides! 'Tis all you are good for. I have stood a
deal of fine larded ignorance from you in my time, but
nothing like this. You will be saying next that my
Lady Duchess is taking a fancy to you!"</p>

<p>"She might do worse!" said Jorian philosophically,
as he stirred the mustard with his knife and looked
about for the ale tankard.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII</h2>

<h3>THE FACE THAT LOOKED INTO JOAN'S</h3>


<p>The chamber to which the Duchess Joan was
conducted by her hostess had evidently been
carefully prepared for her reception. It was a large
low room, with a vaulted roof of carven wood. The
work was of great merit and evidently old. The
devices upon it were mostly coats-of-arms, which
originally had been gilded and painted in heraldic
colours, though neglect through long generations had
tarnished the gold leaf and caused the colours to peel
off in places. Here and there, however, were shields
of more recent design, but in every case the motto and
scutcheon of these had been defaced. At both ends
of the room were windows, through whose stained
glass Joan peered without result into blank darkness.
Then she opened a little square of panes just large
enough to put her head through and saw a walk of
lofty poplars silhouetted against the sky, dark towers of
leaves all a-rustle and a-shiver from the zenith to the
ground, as a moaning and sobbing wind drew inward
and whispered to them of the coming storm.</p>

<p>Then Joan shut the window and looked about her.
A table with a little <i>prie-Dieu</i> stood in the corner,
screened by a curtain which ran on a brazen rod. A
Roman Breviary lay open on a velvet-covered table
before the crucifix. Joan lifted it up and her eyes fell
on the words: "<i>By a woman he overcame. By a woman
he was overcome. A woman was once his weapon. A<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span>
woman is now become the instrument of his defeat. He
findeth that the weak vessel cannot be broken.</i>"</p>

<p>"Nor shall it!" said Joan, looking at the cross
before her; "by the strength of Mary the Mother, the
weak vessel shall not be broken!"</p>

<p>She turned her about and examined with interest
the rest of the room which for many days was to be
her own. The bed was low and wide, with sheets of
fine linen folded back, and over all a richly embroidered
coverlet. At the further end of the chamber was a
fireplace, with a projecting hood of enamelled brick,
looking fresh and new amid so much that was centuries
old. Oaken panels covered the walls, opening mostly
into deep cupboards. The girl tried one or two of
these. They proved to be unlocked and were filled
with ancient parchments, giving forth a faintly aromatic
smell, but without a particle of dust upon their leaves.
The cleanliness of everything within the chamber had
been scrupulously attended to.</p>

<p>For a full hour Joan walked the chamber with her
hands clasped behind her back, thinking how she was
to return to her well-beloved Kernsberg. Her pride
was slowly abating, and with it her anger against those
faithful servants who had risked her favour to convey
her beyond the reach of danger. But none the less
she was resolved to go back. This conflict must not
take place without her. If Kernsberg were captured,
and Maurice von Lynar found personating his mistress,
he would surely be put to death. If he fell into
Muscovite hands that death would be by torture.</p>

<p>At all hazards she would return. And to this
problem she turned her thoughts, knitting her brows
and working her fingers nervously through each
other.</p>

<p>She had it. There was a way. She would wait till
the morrow and in the meantime&mdash;sleep.</p>

<p>As she stooped to blow out the last candle, a motto
on the stem caught her eye. It ran round the massive
silver base of the candelabra in the thick Gothic
characters of a hundred years before. Joan took the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span>
candle out of its socket and read the inscription word
by word&mdash;</p>

<p class="center">
"DA PACEM, DOMINE, IN DIEBUS NOSTRIS."<br />
</p>

<p>It was her own scroll, the motto of the reigning
dukes of Hohenstein&mdash;a strange one, doubtless, to be
that of a fighting race, but, nevertheless, her father's
and her own.</p>

<p>Joan held the candle in her hand a long time, looking
at it, heedless of the wax that dripped on the floor.</p>

<p>What did her father's motto, the device of her house,
upon this Baltic island, far from the highlands of
Kernsberg? Had these wastes once belonged to men
of her race? And this woman, who so regally played
the mistress of this strange heritage, who was she?
And what was the secret of the residence of one in this
wilderness who, by her manner, might in her time
have queened it in royal courts?</p>

<p>And as Joan of Hohenstein blew out the candle she
mused in her heart concerning these things.</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;" />

<p>The Duchess Joan slept soundly, her dark boyish
head pillowed on the full rounded curves of an arm
thrown behind her. On the little velvet-covered table
beside the bed lay her belt and its dependent sword,
a faithful companion in its sheath of plain black
leather. Under the pillow, and within instant reach of
her right hand, was her father's dagger. With it, they
said, Henry the Lion had more than once removed an
enemy who stood in his way, or more honourably
given the <i>coup de grâce</i> to a would-be assassin.</p>

<p>Without, the mood of the night had changed. The
sky, which had hitherto been of favourable aspect,
save for the green light in the north as they rowed
across the waters of the Haff, was now overflowed by
thin wisps of cloud tacking up against the wind.
Towards the sea a steely blue smother had settled
down along the horizon, while the thunder growled
nearer like a roll of drums beaten continuously. The
wind, however, was not regular, but came in little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span>
puffs and bursts, now warm, now cold, from every
point of the compass.</p>

<p>But still Joan slept on, being tired with her journey.</p>

<p>In their chamber in the wing which looks towards
the north the three captains lay wrapped in their several
mantles, Jorian and Boris answering each other nasally,
in alternate trumpet blasts, like Alp calling to Alp.
Werner von Orseln alone could not sleep, and after he
had sworn and kicked his noisy companions in the
ribs till he was weary of the task, he rose and went to
the window to cast open the lattice. The air within
felt thick and hot. He fumbled long at the catch, and
in the unwholesome silence of the strange house the
chief captain seemed to hear muffled feet going to and
fro on the floor above him. But of this he thought
little. For strange places were familiar to him, and
any sense of danger made but an added spice in his
cup of life.</p>

<p>At last he worried the catch loose, the lattice pane
fell sagging inwards on its double hinge of skin. As
Werner set his face to the opening quick flashes of
summer lightning flamed alternately white and lilac
across the horizon, and he felt the keen spit of hailstones
in his face, driving level like so many musket
balls when the infantry fires by platoons.</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;" />

<p>Above, in the vaulted chamber, Joan turned over on
her bed, murmuring uneasily in her sleep. A white
face, which for a quarter of an hour had been bent
down to her dark head as it lay on the pillow, was
suddenly retracted into the blackness at the girl's
slight movement.</p>

<p>Again, apparently reassured, the shadowy visage
approached as the young Duchess lay without further
motion. Without the storm broke in a burst of appalling
fury. The pale blue forks of the lightning flamed
just outside the casement in flash on continuous flash.
The thunder shook the house like an earthquake.</p>

<p>Suddenly, and for no apparent reason, Joan's eyes
opened, and she found herself looking with bewilder<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span>ment
into a face that bent down upon her, a white
face which somehow seemed to hang suspended in the
dark above her. The features were lit up by the
pulsing lightning which shone in the wild eyes and
glittered on a knife-blade about the handle of which
were clenched the tense white fingers of a hand equally
detached.</p>

<p>A quick icy thrill chilled the girl's marrow, darting
like a spear through her body. But Joan of Hohenstein
was the true seed of Henry the Lion. In a
moment her right hand had grasped the sword beside
her pillow. Her left, shooting upward, closed on the
arm which held the threatening steel. At the same
time she flung herself forward, and with the roaring
turmoils of the storm dinning in her ears she grappled
something that withstood her in the interspace of darkness
that had followed the flashes. Joan's spring had
been that of the couchant young wild cat. Almost
without rising from her bed she had projected herself
upon her enemy. Her left hand grasped the wrist so
tightly that the blade fell to the ground, whereupon
Joan of the Sword Hand shifted her grasp upwards
fiercely till she felt her fingers sink deep in the soft
curves of a woman's throat.</p>

<p>Then a shriek, long and terrible, inhuman and
threatening, rang through the house. A light began
to burn yellow and steady through the cracks of the
chamber door, not pulsing and blue like the lightning
without. Presently, as Joan overbore her assailant
upon the floor, the door opened, and glancing upwards
she saw the Wordless Man stand on the
threshold, a candle in one hand and a naked sword
in the other.</p>

<p>The terrible cry which had rung in her ears had
been his. At sight of him Joan unclasped her fingers
from the throat of the woman and rose slowly to her
feet. The old man rushed forward and knelt beside
the prostrate body of his mistress.</p>

<p>At the same moment there came the sound of quick
footsteps running up the stairway. The door flew<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span>
open and Werner von Orseln burst in, also sword in
hand.</p>

<p>"What is the meaning of this?" he shouted. "Who
has dared to harm my lady?"</p>

<p>Joan did not answer, but remained standing tall and
straight by the hooded mantel of the fireplace. As was
her custom, before lying down she had clad herself in
a loose gown of white silk which on all her journeys
she carried in a roll at her saddle-bow.</p>

<p>She pointed to the mother of Maurice von Lynar,
who lay on the floor, still unconscious, with the dumb
man kneeling over her, chafing her hands and murmuring
unintelligible tendernesses, like a mother crooning
over a sick child.</p>

<p>But the face of the chief captain grew stern and
terrible as he saw on the floor a knife of curious
design. He stooped and lifted it. It was a Danish
<i>tolle knife</i>, the edge a little curved outward and keen
as a razor.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV</h2>

<h3>THE SECRET OF THERESA VON LYNAR</h3>


<p>"Go down and bring a cup of wine!" commanded
Joan as soon as he appeared. And Werner
von Orseln, having glanced once at his mistress where
she stood with the point of her sword to the ground
and her elbow on the corner of the mantel, turned
on his heel and departed without a word to do her
bidding.</p>

<p>Meanwhile the Wordless Man had raised his mistress
up from the ground. Her eyes slowly opened
and began to wander vaguely round the room, taking
in the objects one by one. When they fell on Joan,
standing erect by the fireplace, a spasm seemed to pass
across her face and she strove fiercely but ineffectually
to rise.</p>

<p>"Carry your mistress to that couch!" said the young
Duchess, pointing to the tumbled bed from which a
few minutes before she had so hastily launched herself.</p>

<p>The dumb man understood either the words or the
significant action of Joan's hand, for he stooped and
lifted Von Lynar's mother in his arms. Whilst he was
thus engaged Werner came in quickly with a silver cup
in his hand.</p>

<p>Joan took it instantly and going forward she put it
to the lips of the woman on the bed. Her hair had
escaped from its gathered coils and now flowed in
luxuriant masses of red-gold over her shoulders and
showered itself on either side of the pillow before
falling in a shining cataract to the floor.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span></p>

<p>Putting out her hands the woman took the cup and
drank of it slowly, pausing between the draughts to
draw long breaths.</p>

<p>"I must have strength," she said. "I have much to
say. Then, Joan of Hohenstein, yourself shall judge
between thee and me!"</p>

<p>The fluttering of the lightning at the window seemed
to disturb her, for as Joan bowed her assent slightly
and sternly, the tall woman kept looking towards the
lattice as if the pulsing flame fretted her. Joan moved
her hand slightly without taking her eyes away, and
the chief captain, used to such silent orders from his
mistress, strode over to the window and pulled the
curtains close. The storm had by this time subsided
to a rumble, and only round the edges of the arras
could a faint occasional glow be seen, telling of the
turmoil without. But a certain faint tremulousness
pervaded all the house, which was the Baltic thundering
on the pebbly beaches and shaking the walls
to their sandy foundations.</p>

<p>The colour came slowly back to the woman's pale
face, and, after a little, she raised herself on the
pillows. Joan stood motionless and uncompromising
by the great iron dogs of the chimney.</p>

<p>"You are waiting for me to speak, and I will speak,"
said the woman. "You have a double right to know
all. Shall it be told to yourself alone or in the
presence of this man?"</p>

<p>She looked at Von Orseln as she spoke.</p>

<p>"I have no secrets in my life," said Joan; "there
is nothing that I would hide from him. <i>Save one
thing!</i>" She added the last words in her heart.</p>

<p>"I warn you that the matter concerns yourself very
closely," answered the woman somewhat urgently.</p>

<p>"Werner von Orseln is my chief captain!" answered
Joan.</p>

<p>"It concerns also your father's honour!"</p>

<p>"He was my father's chief captain before he was
mine, and had charge of his honour on twenty fields."</p>

<p>Gratefully and silently Von Orseln lifted his mis<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span>tress's
hand to his lips. The tall woman on the bed
smiled faintly.</p>

<p>"It is well that your Highness is so happy in her
servants. I also have one who can hold his peace."</p>

<p>She pointed to the Wordless Man, who now stood
with the candelabra in his hand, mute and immutable
by his mistress's bedhead, as if watching that none
should do her harm.</p>

<p>There was an interval of silence in the room, filled
up by the hoarse persistent booming of the storm
without and the shuddering shocks of the wind on the
lonely house. Then the woman spoke again in a low,
distinct voice.</p>

<p>"Since it is your right to know my name, I am
Theresa von Lynar&mdash;who have also a right to call myself
'of Hohenstein'&mdash;and your dead father's widow!"</p>

<p>In an instant the reserve of Joan's sternly equal
mind was broken up. She dropped her sword clattering
on the floor and started angrily forward towards
the bed.</p>

<p>"It is a lie most foul," she cried; "my father lived
unwed for many years&mdash;nay, ever since my mother's
death, who died in giving me life, he never so much as
looked on woman. It is a thing well known in the
Duchy!"</p>

<p>The woman did not answer directly.</p>

<p>"Max Ulrich, bring the silver casket," she said,
taking from her neck a little silver key.</p>

<p>The Wordless Man, seeing her action, came forward
and took the key. He went out of the room, and after
an interval which seemed interminable he returned with
a peculiarly shaped casket. It was formed like a heart,
and upon it, curiously worked in gold and precious
stones, Joan saw her father's motto and the armorial
bearings of Hohenstein.</p>

<p>The woman touched a spring with well-practised
hand, the silver heart divided, and a roll of parchment
fell upon the bed. With a strange smile she gave
it to Joan, beckoning her with an upward nod to
approach.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p>

<p>"I give this precious document without fear into
your hands. It is my very soul. But it is safe with
the daughter of Henry the Lion."</p>

<p>Joan took the crackling parchment. It had three
seals attached to it and the first part was in her father's
own handwriting.</p>

<blockquote><p>"<i>I declare by these presents that I have married,
according to the customs of Hohenstein and the laws of
the Empire, Theresa von Lynar, daughter of the Count
von Lynar of Jutland. But this marriage shall not, by
any of its occasions or consequents, affect the succession of
my daughter Joanna to the Duchy of Hohenstein and
the Principalities of Kernsberg and Marienfeld. To
which we subscribe our names as conjointly agreeing
thereto in the presence of his High Eminence the Cardinal
Adrian, Archbishop of Cologne and Elector of the Holy
Roman Empire.</i>"</p></blockquote>

<p>Then followed the three signatures, and beneath, in
another handwriting, Joan read the following:&mdash;</p>

<blockquote><p>"<i>These persons, Henry Duke of Hohenstein and Theresa
von Lynar, were married by me subject to the above conditions
mutually agreed upon in the Church of Olsen near
to the Kurische Haff, in the presence of Julius Count von
Lynar and his sons Wolf and Mark, in the year 14&mdash;,
the day being the eve of St. John.&mdash;Adrian, Archiepiscop.
et Elector.</i>"</p></blockquote>

<p>After her first shock of surprise was over Joan noted
carefully the date. It was one year after her own
birth, and therefore the like period after the death of
her mother, the openly acknowledged Duchess of
Hohenstein.</p>

<p>The quick eyes of the woman on the bed had
followed hers as they read carefully down the parchment,
eagerly and also apprehensively, like those of a
mother who for some weighty reason has placed her
child in peril.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p>

<p>Joan folded the parchment and handed it back.
Then she stood silent waiting for an explanation.</p>

<p>The woman took up her parable calmly, like one
who has long comprehended that such a crisis must
one day arrive, and who knows her part thoroughly.</p>

<p>"I, who speak to you, am Theresa von Lynar.
Your father saw me first at the coronation of our late
sovereign, Christian, King of Denmark. And we loved
one another. For this cause I moved my brother and
his sons to build Castle Lynar on the shores of the
Northern Sea. For this cause I accompanied him
thither. For many years at Castle Lynar, and also at
this place, called the Hermitage of the Dunes, Henry
of Kernsberg and I dwelt in such happiness as mortals
seldom know. I loved your father, obeyed him,
adored him, lived only for him. But there came a
spring when my brother, being like your father a hot
and passionate man, quarrelled with Duke Henry,
threatening to go before the Diet of the Empire if I
were not immediately acknowledged Duchess and my
son Maurice von Lynar made the heir of Hohenstein.
But I, being true to my oath and promise, left my
brother and abode here alone with my husband when
he could escape from his Dukedom, living like a
simple squire and his dame. Those were happy days
and made up for much. Then in an evil day I sent
my son to my brother to train as his own son in arms
and the arts of war. But he, being at enmity with my
husband, made ready to carry the lad before the Diet
of the Empire, that he might be declared heir to his
father. Then, in his anger, Henry the Lion rose and
swept Castle Lynar with fire and sword, leaving none
alive but this boy only, whom he meant to take back
and train with his captains. But on the way home,
even as he rode southward through the forest towards
Kernsberg, he reeled in the saddle and passed ere he
could speak a word, even the name of those he loved.
So the boy remained a captive at Kernsberg, called by
my brother's name, and knowing even to this day
nothing of his father."</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span></p>

<p>And as the woman ceased speaking Werner von
Orseln nodded gravely and sadly.</p>

<p>"This thing concerning my lord's death is true," he
said; "I was present. These arms received him as he
fell. He was dead ere we laid him on the ground!"</p>

<p>Theresa von Lynar raised herself. She had spoken
thus far reclining on the bed from which Joan had
risen. Now she sat up and for a little space rested her
hands on her lap ere she went on.</p>

<p>"Then my son, whom, not knowing, you had taken
pity upon and raised to honour, and who is now your
faithful servant, sent a secret messenger that you would
come to abide secretly with me till a certain dark day
had overpassed in Kernsberg. And then there sprang
up in my heart a dreadful conceit that he loved you,
knowing young blood and hearing the fame of your
beauty, and I was afraid for the greatness of the sin&mdash;that
one should love his sister."</p>

<p>Joan made a quick gesture of dissent, but the woman
went on.</p>

<p>"I thought, being a woman alone, and one also, who
had given all freely up for love's sake, that he would
certainly love you even as I had loved. And when I
saw you in my house, so cold and so proud, and when
I thought within me that but for you my son would
have been a mighty prince, a strange terrible anger
and madness came over me, darkening my soul. For
a moment I would have slain you. But I could not,
because you were asleep. And, even as you stirred, I
heard you speak the name of a man, as only one who
loves can speak it. I know right well how that is,
having listened to it with a glad heart in the night.
The name was&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Hold!" cried Joan of the Sword Hand. "I believe
you&mdash;I forgive you!"</p>

<p>"The name," continued Theresa von Lynar, "was
<i>not that of my son</i>! And now," she went on, slowly
rising from the couch to her height, "I am ready. I
bid you slay me for the evil deed my heart was willing
for a moment to do!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%;">
<img src="images/i_161fp.jpg" width="100%" alt="I bid you slay me for the evil deed my heart was willing to do." title="" />
<span class="caption">"I bid you slay me for the evil deed my heart was willing to do."</span>
</div>

<p>Joan looked at her full in the eyes for the space of a
breath. Then suddenly she held out her hand and
answered like her father's daughter.</p>

<p>"Nay," she said, "I only marvel that you did not
strike me to the heart, because of your son's loss and
my father's sin!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV</h2>

<h3>BORNE ON THE GREAT WAVE</h3>


<p>It chanced that in the chamber from which Werner
von Orseln had come so swiftly at the cry of the
Wordless Man, Boris and Jorian, after sleeping through
the disturbances above them and the first burst of the
storm, were waked by the blowing open of the lattice
as the wind reached its height. Jorian lay still on his
pallet and slily kicked Boris, hoping that he would
rise and take upon him the task of shutting it.</p>

<p>Then to Boris, struggling upward to the surface of
the ocean of sleep, came the same charitable thought
with regard to Jorian. So, both kicking out at the
same time, their feet encountered with clash of iron
footgear, and then with surly snarls they hent them on
their feet, abusing each other in voices which could be
heard above the humming of the storm without.</p>

<p>It was tall Boris who, having cursed himself empty,
first made his way to the window. The lattice hung
by one leathern thong. The other had been torn away,
and indeed it was a wonder that the whole framework
had not been blown bodily into the room. For the
tempest pressed against it straight from the north, and
the sticky spray from the waves which broke on the
shingle drove stingingly into the eyes of the man-at-arms.</p>

<p>Nevertheless he thrust his head out, looked a moment
through half-closed eyelids, and then cried, "Jorian,
we are surely lost! The sea is breaking in upon us.
It has passed the beach of shingle out there!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p>

<p>And seizing Jorian by the arm Boris made his way
to the door by which they had entered, and, undoing
the bolts, they reached the walled courtyard, where,
however, they found themselves in the open air, but
sheltered from the utmost violence of the tempest.
There was a momentary difficulty here, because neither
could find the key of the heavy door in the boundary
wall. But Boris, ever fertile in expedient, discovered a
ladder under a kind of shed, and setting it against the
northern wall he climbed to the top. While he
remained under the shelter of the wall his body was
comfortably warm; only an occasional veering flaw
sent a purl downwards of what he was to meet. But
the instant his head was above the copestone, and the
ice-cold northerly blast met him like a wall, he fairly
gasped, for the furious onslaught of the storm seemed
to blow every particle of breath clean out of his body.</p>

<p>The spindrift flew smoking past, momentarily white
in the constant lightning flashes, and before him, and
apparently almost at the foot of the wall, Boris saw a
wonderful sight. The sea appeared to be climbing,
climbing, climbing upwards over a narrow belt of sand
and shingle which separated the scarcely fretted Haff
from the tumbling milk of the outer Baltic.</p>

<p>In another moment Jorian was beside him, crouching
on the top of the wall to save himself from being
carried away. And there, in the steamy smother of
the sea, backed by the blue electric flame of the lightning,
they saw the slant masts of a vessel labouring to
beat against the wind.</p>

<p>"Poor souls, they are gone!" said Boris, trying to
shield his eyes with his palm, as the black hull disappeared
bodily, and the masts seemed to lurch forward into
the milky turmoil. "We shall never see her again."</p>

<p>For one moment all was dark as pitch, and the next
a dozen flashes of lightning burst every way, as many
appearing to rise upwards as could be seen to fall
downwards. A black speck poised itself on the crest
of a wave. "It is a boat! It can never live!" cried
the two men together, and dropping from the top of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span>
the wall they ran down to the shore, going as near as
they dared to the surf which arched and fell with ponderous
roar on the narrow strip of shingle.</p>

<p>Here Jorian and Boris ran this way and that, trying
to pierce the blackness of the sky with their spray-blinded
eyes, but nothing more, either of the ship or
of the boat which had put out from it, did they see.
The mountainous roll and ceaseless iterance of the
oncoming breakers hid the surface of the sea from
their sight, while the sky, changing with each pulse of
the lightning from densest black to green shot with
violet, told nothing of the men's lives which were
being riven from their bodies beneath it.</p>

<p>"Back, Boris, back!" cried Jorian suddenly, as
after a succession of smaller waves a gigantic and
majestic roller arched along the whole seaward front,
stood for a moment black and imminent above them,
and then fell like a whole mountain-range in a snowy
avalanche of troubled water which rushed savagely up
the beach. The two soldiers, who would have faced
unblanched any line of living enemies in the world,
fled terror-stricken at that clutching onrush of that sea
of milk. The wet sand seemed to catch and hold their
feet as they ran, so that they felt in their hearts the
terrible sensation of one who flees in dreams from
some hideous imagined terror and who finds his
powers fail him as his pursuer approaches.</p>

<p>Upward and still upward the wave swept with a
soft universal hiss which drowned and dominated the
rataplan of the thunder-peals above and the sonorous
diapason of the surf around them. It rushed in a
creaming smother about their ankles, plucked at their
knees, but could rise no higher. Yet so fierce was
the back draught, that when the water retreated, dragging
the pebbles with it down the shingly shore with
the rattle of a million castanets, the two stout captains
of Plassenburg were thrown on their faces and lay as
dead on the wet and sticky stones, each clutching a
double handful of broken shells and oozy sand which
streamed through his numbed fingers.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p>

<p>Boris was the first to rise, and finding Jorian still
on his face he caught the collar of his doublet and
pulled him with little ceremony up the sloping bank
out of tide-reach, throwing him down on the shingly
summit with as little tenderness or compunction as if
he had been a bag of wet salt.</p>

<p>By this time the morning was advancing and the
storm growing somewhat less continuous. Instead of
the wind bearing a dead weight upon the face, it came
now in furious gusts. Instead of one grand roar,
multitudinous in voice yet uniform in tone, it hooted
and piped overhead as if a whole brood of evil spirits
were riding headlong down the tempest-track. Instead
of coming on in one solid bank of blackness, the
clouds were broken into a wrack of wild and fantastic
fragments, the interspaces of which showed alternately
paly green and pearly grey. The thunder retreated
growling behind the horizon. The violet lightning
grew less continuous, and only occasionally rose and
fell in vague distant flickerings towards the north, as if
some one were lifting a lantern almost to the sea-line
and dropping it again before reaching it.</p>

<p>Looking back from the summit of the mound, Boris
saw something dark lying high up on the beach amid
a wrack of seaweed and broken timber which marked
where the great wave had stopped. Something odd
about the shape took his eye.</p>

<p>A moment later he was leaping down again towards
the shore, taking his longest strides, and sending the
pebbles spraying out in front and on all sides of him.
He stooped and found the body of a man, tall, well
formed, and of manly figure. He was bareheaded and
stripped to his breeches and underwear.</p>

<p>Boris stooped and laid his hand upon his heart. Yes,
so much was certain. He was not dead. Whereupon
the ex-man-at-arms lifted him as well as he could and
dragged him by the elbows out of reach of the waves.
Then he went back to Jorian and kicked him in the
ribs. The rotund man sat up with an execration.</p>

<p>"Come!" cried Boris, "don't lie there like Reynard<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span>
the Fox waiting for Kayward the Hare. We want no
malingering here. There's a man at death's door down
on the shingle. Come and help me to carry him to
the house."</p>

<p>It was a heavy task, and Jorian's head spun with the
shock of the wave and the weight of their burden long
before they reached the point where the boundary wall
approached nearest to the house.</p>

<p>"We can never hope to get him up that ladder and
down the other side," said Boris, shaking his head.</p>

<p>"Even if we had the ladder!" answered Jorian,
glad of a chance to grumble; "but, thanks to your
stupidity, it is on the other side of the wall."</p>

<p>Without noticing his companion's words, Boris took
a handful of small pebbles and threw them up at a
lighted window. The head of Werner von Orseln
immediately appeared, his grizzled hair blown out like
a misty aureole about his temples.</p>

<p>"Come down!" shouted Boris, making a trumpet
of his hands to fight the wind withal. "We have
found a drowned man on the beach!"</p>

<p>And indeed it seemed literally so, as they carried
their burden round the walls to the wicket door and
waited. It seemed an interminable time before Werner
von Orseln arrived with the dumb man's lantern in his
hand.</p>

<p>They carried the body into the great hall, where the
Duchess and the old servitor met them. There they
laid him on a table. Joan herself lifted the lantern and
held it to his face. His fair hair clustered about his
head in wet knots and shining twists. The features of
his face were white as death and carven like those of a
statue. But at the sight the heart of the Duchess
leaped wildly within her.</p>

<p>"Conrad!" she cried&mdash;that word and no more.
And the lantern fell to the floor from her nerveless
hand.</p>

<p>There was no doubt in her mind. She could make
no mistake. The regular features, the pillar-like neck,
the massive shoulders, the strong clean-cut mouth, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span>
broad white brow&mdash;and&mdash;yes, the slight tonsure of the
priest. It was the White Knight of the Courtland lists,
the noble Prince of the summer parlour, the red-robed
prelate of her marriage-day, Conrad of Courtland,
Prince and Cardinal, but to her&mdash;"<i>he</i>"&mdash;the only
"he."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXVI</h2>

<h3>THE GIRL BENEATH THE LAMP</h3>


<p>When Conrad, Cardinal-designate of the Holy
Roman Church and Archbishop of Courtland,
opened his eyes, it seemed to him that he had passed
through warring waters into the serenity of the Life
Beyond. His hand, on which still glittered his episcopal
ring, lay on a counterpane of faded rose silk, soft
as down. Did he dream that another hand had been
holding it, that gentlest fingers had rested caressingly
on his brow?</p>

<p>A girl, sweet and stately, sat by his bedside. By the
door, to which alone he could raise his eyes, stood a tall
gaunt man, clad in grey from head to foot, his hands
clasped in front of him, and his chin sunk upon his
breast.</p>

<p>The Prince-Bishop's eyes rested languidly on the
girl's face, on which fell the light of a shaded silver lamp.
There was a book in her lap, written upon sheets of
thin parchment, bound in gold-embossed leather. But
she did not read it. Instead she breathed softly and
regularly. She was asleep, with her hand on the
coverlet of rosy silk.</p>

<p>Strange fancies passed through the humming brain
of the rescued man&mdash;as it had been, hunting each other
across a stage&mdash;visions of perilous endeavour, of fights
with wild beasts in shut-in places from which there was
no escape, of brutal fisticuffs with savage men. All
these again merged into the sense of falling from
immense heights only to find that the air upheld him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span>
and that, instead of breaking himself to pieces at the
bottom, he alighted soft as thistledown on couches of
flowers. Strange rich heady scents seemed to rise
about him like something palpable. His brain wavered
behind his brow like a summer landscape when the
sun is hot after a shower. Perfumes, strange and
haunting, dwelt in his nostrils. The scent, at once
sour and sweet, of bee-hives at night, the richness of
honey in the comb, the delicacy of wet banks of
violets, full-odoured musk, and the luxury of sun-warmed
afternoon beanfields dreamily sweet&mdash;these
made his very soul swoon within him. Then followed
odours of rose gardens, of cool walks drenched in
shadow and random scents blown in at open windows.
Yes, he knew now; surely he was again in his own
chamber in the summer pavilion of the palace in
Courtland. He could hear the cool wash of the Alla
under its walls, and with the assurance there came
somehow a memory of a slim lad with clear-cut
features who brought him a message from&mdash;was it his
sister Margaret, or Louis his brother? He could not
remember which.</p>

<p>Of what had he been dreaming? In the endeavour
to recall something he harked back on the terrors of
the night in which, of all on board the ship, his soul
alone had remained serene. He remembered the fury
of the storm, the helpless impotence and blank
cowardice of the sailor folk, the desertion of the
officers in the only seaworthy boat.</p>

<p>Slowly the drifting mists steadied themselves athwart
his brain. The actual recomposed itself out of the
shreds of dreams. Conrad found himself in a long
low room such as he had seen many times in the
houses of well-to-do ritters along the Baltic shores.
The beams of the roof-tree above were carven and
ancient. Arras went everywhere about the halls.
Silver candlesticks, with princely crests graven upon
them, stood by his bedhead. After each survey his
eyes settled on the sleeping girl. She was very young
and very beautiful. It was&mdash;yet it could not be&mdash;the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span>
Duchess Joan, whom he himself had married to his
brother Louis in the cathedral church of his own
archiepiscopal city.</p>

<p>Conrad of Courtland had not been trained a priest,
yet, as was common at that age, birth and circumstance
had made him early a Prince of the Roman Church.
He had been thrust into the hierarchy solely because
of his name, for he had succeeded his uncle Adrian in
his ecclesiastical posts and emoluments as a legal heir
succeeds to an undisputed property. In due time he
received his red hat from a pontiff who distributed
these among his favourites (or those whom he thought
might aggrandise his temporal power) as freely as a
groomsman distributes favours at a wedding.</p>

<p>Nevertheless, Conrad of Courtland had all the warm
life and imperious impulses of a young man within his
breast. Yet he was no Borgia or Della Rovere, cloaking
scarlet sins with scarlet vestments. For with the
high dignities of his position and the solemn work
which lay to his hand in his northern province there
had come the resolve to be not less, but more faithful
than those martyrs and confessors of whom he read
daily in his Breviary. And while, in Rome herself,
vice-proud princes, consorting in the foulest alliance
with pagan popes, blasphemed the sanctuary and openly
scoffed at religion, this finest and most chivalrous of
young northern knights had laid down the weapons of
his warfare to take up the crucifix, and now had set
out joyfully for Rome to receive his cardinal's hat on his
knees as the last and greatest gift of the Vicar of Christ.</p>

<p>He had begun his pilgrimage by express command
of the Holy Father, who desired to make the youthful
Archbishop his Papal assessor among the Electors of
the Empire. But scarcely was he clear of the Courtland
shores when there had come the storm, the
shipwreck, the wild struggle among the white and
foaming breakers&mdash;and then, wondrously emergent,
like heaven after purgatory, the quiet of this sheltered
room and this sleeping girl, with her white hand lying
lax and delicate on the rosy silk.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></p>

<p>The book slipped suddenly from her fingers, falling
on the polished wood of the floor with a startling
sound. The eyes of the gaunt man by the door were
lifted from the ground, glittered beadily for a moment,
and again dropped as before.</p>

<p>The girl did not start, but rather passed immediately
into full consciousness with a little shudder and a quick
gesture of the hand, as if she pushed something or
some one from her. Then, from the pillow on which
his head lay, Joan of Hohenstein saw the eyes of the
Prince Conrad gazing at her, dark and solemn, from
within the purplish rings of recent peril.</p>

<p>"You are my brother's wife!" he said softly, but
yet in the same rich and thrilling voice she had listened
to with so many heart-stirrings in the summer palace,
and had last heard ring through the cathedral church
of Courtland on that day when her life had ended.</p>

<p>A chill came over the girl's face at his words.</p>

<p>"I am indeed the Duchess Joan of Hohenstein," she
answered. "My father willed that I should wed Prince
Louis of Courtland. Well, I married him and rode
away. In so much I am your brother's wife."</p>

<p>It was a strange awaking for a man who had passed
from death to life, but at least her very impetuosity
convinced him that the girl was flesh and blood.</p>

<p>He smiled wanly. The light of the lamp seemed to
waver again before his eyes. He saw his companion
as it had been transformed and glorified. He heard
the rolling of drums in his ears, and merry pipes played
sweetly far away. Then came the hush of many waters
flowing softly, and last, thrumming on the parched
earth, and drunk down gladly by tired flowers, the
sound of abundance of rain. The world grew full of
sleep and rest and refreshment. There was no longer
need to care about anything.</p>

<p>His eyes closed. He seemed about to sink back
into unconsciousness, when Joan rose, and with a few
drops from Dessauer's phial, which she kept by her in
case of need, she called him back from the misty verges
of the Things which are Without.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p>

<p>As he struggled painfully upward he seemed to hear
Joan's last words repeated and re-repeated to the music
of a chime of fairy bells, "<i>In so much&mdash;in so much&mdash;I
am your brother's wife&mdash;your brother's wife!</i>" He came
to himself with a start.</p>

<p>"Will you tell me how I came here, and to whom I
am indebted for my life?" he said, as Joan stood up
beside him, her shapely head dim and retired in the
misty dusk above the lamp, only her chin and the
shapely curves of her throat being illumined by the
warm lamplight.</p>

<p>"You were picked up for dead on the beach in the
midst of the storm," she answered, "and were brought
hither by two captains in the service of the Prince of
Plassenburg!"</p>

<p>"And where is this place, and when can I leave it to
proceed upon my journey?"</p>

<p>The girl's head was turned away from him a trifle
more haughtily than before, and she answered coldly,
"You are in a certain fortified grange somewhere on
the Baltic shore. As to when you can proceed on your
journey, that depends neither on you nor on me. I
am a prisoner here. And so I fear must you also
consider yourself!"</p>

<p>"A prisoner! Then has my brother&mdash;&mdash;?" cried the
Prince-Bishop, starting up on his elbow and instantly
dropping back again upon the pillow with a groan of
mingled pain and weakness. Joan looked at him a
moment and then, compressing her lips with quick
resolution, went to the bedside and with one hand
under his head rearranged the pillow and laid him
back in an easier posture.</p>

<p>"You must lie still," she said in a commanding tone,
and yet softly; "you are too weak to move. Also you
must obey me. I have some skill in leechcraft."</p>

<p>"I am content to be your prisoner," said the Prince-Bishop
smiling&mdash;"that is, till I am well enough to proceed
on my journey to Rome, whither the Holy Father
Pope Sixtus hath summoned me by a special messenger."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span></p>

<p>"I fear me much," answered Joan, "that, spite of
the Holy Father, we may be fellow-prisoners of long
standing. Those of my own folk who hold me here
against my will are hardly likely to let the brother of
Prince Louis of Courtland escape with news of my
hiding-place and present hermitage!"</p>

<p>The young man seemed as if he would again have
started up, but with a gesture smilingly imperious Joan
forbade him.</p>

<p>"To-morrow," she said, "perhaps if you are patient
I will tell you more. Here comes our hostess. It is
time that I should leave you."</p>

<p>Theresa von Lynar came softly to the side of the
bed and stood beside Joan. The young Cardinal
thought that he had never seen a more queenly pair&mdash;Joan
resplendent in her girlish strength and beauty,
Theresa still in the ripest glory of womanhood. There
was a gentler light than before in the elder woman's
eyes, and she cast an almost deprecating glance upon
Joan. For at the first sound of her approach the girl
had stiffened visibly, and now, with only a formal word
as to the sick man's condition, and a cold bow to
Conrad, she moved away.</p>

<p>Theresa watched her a little sadly as she passed
behind the deep curtain. Then she sighed, and turning
again to the bedside she looked long at the young man
without speaking.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXVII</h2>

<h3>WIFE AND PRIEST</h3>


<p>"I have a right to call myself the widow of the
Duke Henry of Kernsberg and Hohenstein,"
said Theresa von Lynar, in reply to Conrad's question
as to whom he might thank for rescue and shelter.</p>

<p>"And therefore the mother of the Duchess Joan?"
he continued.</p>

<p>Theresa shook her head.</p>

<p>"No," she said sadly; "I am not her mother, but&mdash;and
even that only in a sense&mdash;her stepmother. A
promise to a dead man has kept me from claiming any
privileges save that of living unknown on this desolate
isle of sand and mist. My son is an officer in the
service of the Duchess Joan."</p>

<p>The face of the Prince-Bishop lighted up instantaneously.</p>

<p>"Most surely, then, I know him. Did he not come
to Courtland with my Lord Dessauer, the Ambassador
of Plassenburg?"</p>

<p>The lady of Isle Rugen nodded indifferently.</p>

<p>"Yes," she said; "I believe he went to Courtland
with the embassy from Plassenburg."</p>

<p>"Indeed, I was much drawn to him," said the
Prince eagerly; "I remember him most vividly. He
was of an olive complexion, his features without colour,
but graven even as the Greeks cut those of a young god
on a gem."</p>

<p>"Yes," said Theresa von Lynar serenely, "he has his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span>
father's face and carriage, which are those also of the
Duchess Joan."</p>

<p>"And why," said the young man, "if I may ask
without offence, is your son not the heir to the
Dukedom?"</p>

<p>There was a downcast sadness in the woman's voice
and eye as she replied, "Because when I wedded Duke
Henry it was agreed between us that aught which
might be thereafter should never stand between his
daughter and her heritage; and, in spite of deadly
wrong done to those of my house, I have kept my
word."</p>

<p>The Prince-Cardinal thought long with knitted brow.</p>

<p>"The Duchess is my brother Louis's wife," he said
slowly.</p>

<p>"In name!" retorted Theresa, quickly and breathlessly,
like one called on unexpectedly to defend an
absent friend.</p>

<p>"She is his wife&mdash;I married them. I am a priest,"
he made answer.</p>

<p>A gleam, sharp and quick as lightning jetted from a
thunder cloud, sprang into the woman's eye.</p>

<p>"In this matter I, Theresa von Lynar, am wiser than
all the priests in the world. Joan of Hohenstein is no
more his wife than I am!"</p>

<p>"Holy Church, the mother of us all, made them
one!" said the Cardinal sententiously. For such
words come easily to dignitaries even when they are
young.</p>

<p>She bent towards him and looked long into his
eyes.</p>

<p>"No," she said; "you do not know. How indeed is
it possible? You are too young to have learned the
deep things&mdash;too certain of your own righteousness.
But you will learn some day. I, Theresa von Lynar,
know&mdash;aye, though I bear the name of my father and
not that of my husband!" And at this imperious
word the Prince was silent and thought with gravity
upon these things.</p>

<p>Theresa sat motionless and silent by his bed till the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span>
day rose cool and untroubled out of the east, softly
aglow with the sheen of clouded silk, pearl-grey and
delicate. Prince Conrad, being greatly wearied and
bruised inwardly with the buffeting of the waves and the
stones of the shore, slumbered restlessly, with many
tossings and turnings. But as oft as he moved, the
hands of the woman who had been a wife were upon
him, ordering his bruised limbs with swift knowledgeable
tenderness, so that he did not wake, but gradually
fell back again into dreamless and refreshing sleep. This
was easy to her, because the secret of pain was not hid
from Theresa, the widow of the Duke of Hohenstein&mdash;though
Henry the Lion's daughter, as yet, knew it not.</p>

<p>In the morning Joan came to bid the patient good-morrow,
while Werner von Orseln stood in the doorway
with his steel cap doffed in his hand, and Boris
and Jorian bent the knee for a priestly blessing. But
Theresa did not again appear till night and darkness
had wrapped the earth. So being all alone he listened
to the heavy plunge of the breakers on the beach
among which his life had been so nearly sped. The
sound grew slower and slower after the storm, until at
last only the wavelets of the sheltered sea lapsed on the
shingle in a sort of breathing whisper.</p>

<p>"Peace! Peace! Great peace!" they seemed to
say hour after hour as they fell on his ear.</p>

<p>And so day passed and came again. Long nights,
too, at first with hourly tendance and then presently
without. But Joan sat no more with the young man
after that first watch, though his soul longed for her,
that he might again tell the girl that she was his brother's
wife, and urge her to do her duty by him who was her
wedded husband. So in her absence Conrad contented
himself and salved his conscience by thinking austere
thoughts of his mission and high place in the hierarchy
of the only Catholic and Apostolic Church. So that
presently he would rise up and seek Werner von Orseln
in order to persuade him to let him go, that he might
proceed to Rome at the command of the Holy Father,
whose servant he was.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span></p>

<p>But Werner only laughed and put him off.</p>

<p>"When we have sure word of what your brother
does at Kernsberg, then we will talk of this matter.
Till then it cannot be hid from you that no hostage
half so valuable can we keep in hold. For if your
brother loves my Lord Cardinal, then he will desire to
ransom him. On the other hand, if he fear him, then
we will keep your Highness alive to threaten him, as
the Pope did with Djem, the Sultan's brother!"</p>

<p>So after many days it was permitted to the Prince to
walk abroad within the narrow bounds of the Isle
Rugen, the Wordless Man guarding him at fifty paces
distance, impassive and inevitable as an ambulant rock
of the seaboard.</p>

<p>As he went Prince Conrad's eyes glanced this way
and that, looking for a means of escape. Yet they saw
none, for Werner von Orseln with his ten men of
Kernsberg and the two Captains of Plassenburg were
not soldiers to make mistakes. There was but one
boat on the island, and that was locked in a strong
house by the inner shore, and over against it a sentry
paced night and day. It chanced, however, upon
a warm and gracious afternoon, when the breezes
played wanderingly among the garden trees before
losing themselves in the solemn aisles of the pines
as in a pillared temple, that Conrad, stepping painfully
westwards along the beach, arrived at the place of his
rescue, and, descending the steep bank of shingle to
look for any traces of the disaster, came suddenly
upon the Duchess Joan gazing thoughtfully out to
sea.</p>

<p>She turned quickly, hearing the sound of footsteps,
and at sight of the Prince-Bishop glanced east and
west along the shore as if meditating retreat.</p>

<p>But the proximity of Max Ulrich and the encompassing
banks of water-worn pebbles convinced her of
the awkwardness, if not the impossibility, of escape.</p>

<p>Conrad the prisoner greeted Joan with the sweet
gravity which had been characteristic of him as Conrad
the prince, and his eyes shone upon her with the same
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span>affectionate kindliness that had dwelt in them in the
pavilion of the rose garden. But after one glance
Joan looked steadily away across the steel-grey sea.
Her feet turned instinctively to walk back towards
the house, and the Prince turned with her.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 55%;">
<img src="images/i_179fp.jpg" width="100%" alt="Joan looked steadily across the steel-grey sea." title="" />
<span class="caption">"Joan looked steadily across the steel-grey sea."</span>
</div>

<p>"If we are two fellow-prisoners," said Conrad,
"we ought to see more of each other. Is it not
so?"</p>

<p>"That we may concert plans of escape?" said Joan.
"You desire to continue your pilgrimage&mdash;I to return
to my people, who, alas, think themselves better off
without me!"</p>

<p>"I do, indeed, greatly desire to see Rome," replied
the Prince. "The Holy Father Sixtus has sent me the
red biretta, and has commanded me to come to Rome
within a year to exchange it for the Cardinal's hat, and
also to visit the tombs of the Apostles."</p>

<p>But Joan was not listening. She went on to speak
of the matters which occupied her own mind.</p>

<p>"If you were a priest, why did you ride in the great
tournament of the Blacks and the Whites at Courtland
not a year ago?"</p>

<p>The Prince-Cardinal smiled indulgently.</p>

<p>"I was not then fledged full priest; hardly am I one
now, though they have made me a Prince of Holy
Church. Yet the tournaying was in a manner, perhaps,
what her bridal dress is to a nun ere she takes
the veil. But, my Lady Joan, what know you of the
strife of Blacks and Whites at Courtland?"</p>

<p>"Your sister, the Princess Margaret, spoke of it, and
also the Count von Löen, an officer of mine," answered
Joan disingenuously.</p>

<p>"I am indeed a soldier by training and desire," continued
the young man. "In Italy I have played at
stratagem and countermarch with the Orsini and
Colonna. But in this matter the younger son of the
house of Courtland has no choice. We are the
bulwark of the Church alike against heretic Muscovite
to the north and furious Hussite to the south. We
of Courtland must stand for the Holy See along all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span>
the Baltic edges; and for this reason the Pope has
always chosen from amongst us his representative
upon the Diet of the Empire, till the office has become
almost hereditary."</p>

<p>"Then you are not really a priest?" said Joan, woman-like
fixing upon that part of the young man's reply,
which somehow had the greatest interest for her.</p>

<p>"In a sense, yes&mdash;in truth, no. They say that the
Pope, in order to forward the Church's polity, makes
and unmakes cardinals every day, some even for
money payments; but these are doubtless Hussite lies.
Yet though by prescript right and the command of the
head of the Church I am both priest and bishop, in
my heart I am but Prince Conrad of Courtland and a
simple knight, even as I was before."</p>

<p>They paced along together with their eyes on the
ground, the Wordless Man keeping a uniform distance
behind them. Then the Prince laughed a strange
grating laugh, like one who mocks at himself.</p>

<p>"By this time I ought to have been well on my way
to the tombs of the Apostles; yet in my heart I cannot
be sorry, for&mdash;God forgive me!&mdash;I had liefer be walking
this northern shore, a young man along with a
fair maiden."</p>

<p>"A priest walking with his brother's wife!" said
Joan, turning quickly upon him and flashing a look
into the eyes that regarded her with some wonder at
her imperiousness.</p>

<p>"That is true, in a sense," he answered; "yet I am
a priest with no consent of my desire&mdash;you a wife
without love. We are, at least, alike in this&mdash;that we
are wife and priest chiefly in name."</p>

<p>"Save that you are on your way to take on you the
duties of your office, while I am more concerned in
evading mine."</p>

<p>The Cardinal meditated deeply.</p>

<p>"The world is ill arranged," he said slowly; "my
brother Louis would have made a far better Churchman
than I. And strange it is to think that but a year ago
the knights and chief councillors of Courtland came to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span>
me to propose that, because of his bodily weakness,
my brother should be deposed and that I should take
over the government and direction of affairs."</p>

<p>He went on without noticing the colour rising in
Joan's cheek, smiling a little to himself and talking
with more animation.</p>

<p>"Then, had I assented, my brother might have been
walking here with tonsured head by your side, while I
would doubtless have been knocking at the gates of
Kernsberg, seeking at the spear's point for a runaway
bride."</p>

<p>"Nay!" cried Joan, with sudden vehemence; "that
would you not&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>And as suddenly she stopped, stricken dumb by the
sound of her own words.</p>

<p>The Prince turned his head full upon her. He saw
a face all suffused with hot blushes, haughtiest pride
struggling with angry tears in eyes that fairly blazed
upon him, and a slender figure drawn up into an
attitude of defiance&mdash;at sight of all which something
took him instantly by the throat.</p>

<p>"You mean&mdash;you mean&mdash;&mdash;" he stammered, and for
a moment was silent. "For God's sake, tell me what
you mean!"</p>

<p>"I mean nothing at all!" said Joan, stamping her
foot in anger.</p>

<p>And turning upon her heel she left him standing
fixed in wonder and doubt upon the margin of the
sea.</p>

<p>Then the wife of Louis, Prince of Courtland, walked
eastward to the house upon the Isle Rugen with her
face set as sternly as for battle, but her nether lip
quivering&mdash;while Conrad, Cardinal and Prince of Holy
Church, paced slowly to the west with a bitter and
downcast look upon his ordinarily so sunny countenance.</p>

<p>For Fate had been exceeding cruel to these two.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII</h2>

<h3>THE RED LION FLIES AT KERNSBERG</h3>


<p>And meanwhile right haughtily flew the red lion
upon the citadel of Kernsberg. Never had the
Lady Duchess, Joan of the Sword Hand, approven
herself so brave and determined. In her forester's
dress of green velvet, with the links of chain body-armour
glinting beneath its frogs and taches, she went
everywhere on foot. At all times of the day she was
to be seen at the half-moons wherein the cannon were
fixed, or on horseback scouring the defenced posts
along the city wall. She seemed to know neither fear
nor fatigue, and the noise of cheering followed her
about the little hill city like her shadow.</p>

<p>Three only there were who knew the truth&mdash;Peter
Balta, Alt Pikker, and George the Hussite. And when
the guards were set, the lamps lit, and the bars drawn,
a stupid faithful Hohensteiner set on watch at the turnpike
foot with command to let none pass upon his life&mdash;then
at last the lithe young Sparhawk would undo
his belt with huge refreshful gusting of air into his
lungs, amid the scarcely subdued laughter of the
captains of the host.</p>

<p>"Lord Peter of the Keys!" Von Lynar would cry,
"what it is to unbutton and untruss! 'Tis very well
to admire it in our pretty Joan, but 'fore the Lord, I
would give a thousand crowns if she were not so
slender. It cuts a man in two to get within such a
girdle. Only Prince Wasp could make a shift to fit it.
Give me a goblet of ale, fellows."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span></p>

<p>"Nay, lad&mdash;mead! Mead of ten years alone must
thou have, and little enough of that! Ale will make
thee fat as mast-fed pigs."</p>

<p>"Or stay," amended George the Hussite; "mead is
not comely drink for a maid&mdash;I will get thee a little
canary and water, scented with millefleurs and rosemary."</p>

<p>"Check your fooling and help to unlace me, all of
you," quoth the Sparhawk. "Now there is but a silken
cord betwixt me and Paradise. But it prisons me like
iron bars. Ah, there"&mdash;he blew a great breath, filling
and emptying his lungs with huge content&mdash;"I wonder
why we men breathe with our stomachs and women
with their chests?"</p>

<p>"Know you not that much?" cried Alt Pikker.
"'Tis because a man's life is in his stomach; and as
for women, most part have neither heart, stomach, nor
bowels of mercy&mdash;and so breathe with whatever it
liketh them!"</p>

<p>"No ribaldry in a lady's presence, or in a trice thou
shalt have none of these, either!" quoth the false Joan;
"help me off with this thrice-accursed chain-mail. I am
pocked from head to heel like a Swiss mercenary late
come from Venice. Every ring in this foul devil's jerkin
is imprinted an inch deep on my hide, and itches worse
than a hundred beggars at a church door. Ah! better,
better. Yet not well! I had thought our Joan of the
Sword Hand a strapping wench, but now a hop-pole
is an abbot to her when one comes to wear her <i>carapace</i>
and <i>justaucorps</i>!"</p>

<p>"How went matters to-day on your side?" he went
on, speaking to Balta, all the while chafing the calves
of his legs and rubbing his pinched feet, having first
enwrapped himself in a great loose mantle of red and
gold which erstwhile had belonged to Henry the Lion.</p>

<p>"On the whole, not ill," said Peter Balta. "The
Muscovites, indeed, drove in our outposts, but could
not come nearer than a bowshot from the northern
gate, we galled them so with our culverins and bombardels."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span></p>

<p>"Duke George's famous Fat Peg herself could not
have done better than our little leathern vixens," said Alt
Pikker, rubbing his grey badger's brush contentedly.
"Gott, if we had only provender and water we might
keep them out of the city for ever! But in a week
they will certainly have cut off our river and sent it
down the new channel, and the wells are not enough
for half the citizens, to say nothing of the cattle and
horses. This is a great fuss to make about a graceless
young jackanapes of a Jutlander like you, Master
Maurice von Lynar, Count von Löen&mdash;wedded wife of
his Highness Prince Louis of Courtland. Ha! ha! ha!"</p>

<p>"I would have you know, sirrah," cried the Sparhawk,
"that if you do not treat me as your liege lady
ought to be treated, I will order you to the deepest
dungeon beneath the castle moat! Come and kiss my
hand this instant, both of you!"</p>

<p>"Promise not to box our ears, and we will," said Alt
Pikker and George the Hussite together.</p>

<p>"Well, I will let you off this time," said Maurice
royally, stretching his limbs luxuriously and putting
one hosened foot on the mantel-shelf as high as his
head. "Heigh-ho! I wonder how long it will last,
and when we must surrender."</p>

<p>"Prince Louis must send his Muscovites back beyond
the Alla first, and then we will speak with him
concerning giving him up his wife!" quoth Peter Balta.</p>

<p>"I wonder what the craven loon will do with her
when he gets her," said Alt Pikker. "You must not
surrender in your girdle-brace and ring-mail, my liege
lady, or you will have to sleep with them on. It would
not be seemly to have to call up half a dozen lusty
men-at-arms to help untruss her ladyship the Princess
of Courtland!"</p>

<p>"Perhaps your goodman will kiss you upon the
threshold of the palace as a token of reconciliation!"
cackled Hussite George.</p>

<p>"If he does, I will rip him up!" growled Maurice,
aghast at the suggestion. "But there is no doubt that
at the best I shall be between the thills when they get<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span>
me once safe in Courtland. To ride the wooden horse
all day were a pleasure to it!"</p>

<p>But presently his face lighted up and he murmured
some words to himself&mdash;</p>

<p>"Yet, after all, there is always the Princess Margaret
there. I can confide in her when the worst comes.
She will help me in my need&mdash;and, what is better still,
she may even kiss me!"</p>

<p>And, spite of gloomy anticipations, his ears tingled
with happy expectancy, when he thought of opportunities
of intimate speech with the lady of his heart.</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;" />

<p>Nevertheless, in the face of brave words and braver
deeds, provisions waxed scarce and dear in Castle
Kernsberg, and in the town below women grew gaunt
and hollow-cheeked. Then the children acquired eyes
that seemed to stand out of hollow purple sockets.
Last of all, the stout burghers grew thin. And all
three began to dream of the days when the good farm-folk
of the blackened country down below them, where
now stood the leafy lodges of the Muscovites and the
white tents of the Courtlanders, used to come into
Kernsberg to market, the great solemn-eyed oxen
drawing carts full of country sausages, and brown
meal fresh ground from the mill to bake the wholesome
bread&mdash;or better still when the stout market women
brought in the lappered milk and the butter and curds.
So the starving folk dreamed and dreamed and woke,
and cried out curses on them that had waked them,
saying, "Plague take the hands that pulled me back to
this gutter-dog's life! For I was just a-sitting down to
dinner with a haunch of venison for company, and
such a lordly trout, buttered, with green sauce all over
him, a loaf of white bread, crisp and crusty, at my
elbow, and&mdash;Holy Saint Matthew!&mdash;such a noble
flagon of Rhenish, holding ten pints at the least."</p>

<p>About this time the Sparhawk began to take counsel
with himself, and the issue of his meditations the
historian must now relate.</p>

<p>It was in the outer chamber of the Duchess Joan,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span>
which looks to the north, that the three captains
usually sat&mdash;burly Peter Balta, stiff-haired, dry-faced,
keen-eyed&mdash;Alt Pikker, lean and leathery, the life
humour within him all gone to fighting juice, his
limbs mere bone and muscle, a certain acrid and
caustic wit keeping the corners of his lips on the
wicker, and, a little back from these two, George the
Hussite, a smaller man, very solemn even when he was
making others laugh, but nevertheless with a proud
high look, a stiff upper lip, and a moustache so huge
that he could tie the ends behind his head on a windy
day.</p>

<p>These three had been speaking together at the wide,
low window from which one can see the tight little
red-roofed town of Kernsberg and the green Kernswater
lying like a bright many-looped ribbon at the
foot of the hills.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 60%;">
<img src="images/i_186fp.jpg" width="100%" alt="These three had been speaking together." title="" />
<span class="caption">"These three had been speaking together."</span>
</div>

<p>To them entered the Sparhawk, a settled frown of
gloom upon his brow, and the hunger which he shared
equally with the others already sharpening the falcon
hook of his nose and whitening his thin nostrils.</p>

<p>At sight of him the three heads drew apart, and Alt
Pikker began to speak of the stars that were rising in
the eastern dusk.</p>

<p>"The dog-star is white," he said didactically. "In
my schooldays I used to read in the Latin tongue that
it was red!"</p>

<p>But by their interest in such a matter the Sparhawk
knew that they had been speaking of far other things
than stars before he burst open the door. For little
George the Hussite pulled his pandour moustaches and
muttered, "A plague on the dog-star and the foul Latin
tongue. They are only fit for the gabble of fat-fed
monks. Moreover, you do not see it now, at any rate.
For me, I would I were back under the Bohemian pinetrees,
where the very wine smacks of resin, and where
there is a sheep (your own or another's, it matters not
greatly) tied at every true Hussite's door."</p>

<p>"What is this?" cried the Sparhawk. "Do not
deceive me. You were none of you talking of stars
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span>when I came up the stairs. For I heard Peter Balta's
voice say, 'By Heaven! it must come to it, and soon!'
And you Hussite George, answered him, 'Six days will
settle it.' What do you keep from me? Out with it?
Speak up, like three good little men!"</p>

<p>It was Alt Pikker who first found words to answer.</p>

<p>"We spoke indeed of the stars, and said it was six
days till the moon should be gone, and that the time
would then be ripe for a sally by the&mdash;by the&mdash;Plassenburg
Gate!"</p>

<p>"Pshaw!" cried the Sparhawk. "Lie to your
father confessor, not to me. I am not a purblind fool.
I have ears, long enough, it is true, but at least they
answer to hear withal. You spoke of the wells, I tell
you; I saw your heads move apart as I entered; and
then, forsooth, that dotard Alt Pikker (who ran away
in his youth from a monk's cloister-school with the
nun that taught them stocking-mending) must needs
furbish up some scraps of Latin and begin to prate
about dog-stars red and dog-stars white. Faugh!
Open your mouths like men, set truthful hearts behind
them, and let me hear the worst!"</p>

<p>Nevertheless the three captains of Kernsberg were
silent awhile, for heaviness was upon their souls.
Then Peter Balta blurted out, "God help us! There
is but ten days more provender in the city, the river is
turned, and the wells are almost dried up!"</p>

<p>After this the Sparhawk sat awhile on the low
window seat, watching the twinkling fires of the
Muscovites and listening to the hum of the town
beneath the Castle&mdash;all now sullen and subdued, no
merry hucksters chaffering about the church porches, no
loitering lads and lasses linking arms and bartering kisses
in the dusky corners of the linen market, no clattering
of hammers in the armourers' bazaar&mdash;a muffled
buzzing only, as of men talking low to themselves of
bitter memories and yet dismaller expectations.</p>

<p>"I have it!" said the Sparhawk at last, his eyes on
the misty plain of night, with its twinkling pin-points of
fire which were the watch-fires of the enemy.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span></p>

<p>The three men stirred a little to indicate attention,
but did not speak.</p>

<p>"Listen," he said, "and do not interrupt. You must
deliver me up. I am the cause of war&mdash;I, the Duchess
Joan. Hear you? I have a husband who makes war
upon me because I contemn his bed and board. He
has summoned the Muscovite to help him to woo me.
Well, if I am to be given up, it is for us to stipulate that
the armies be withdrawn, first beyond the Alla, and then
as far as Courtland. I will go with them; they will not
find me out&mdash;at least, not till they are back in their own
land."</p>

<p>"What matter?" cried Balta. "They would return
as soon as they discovered the cheat."</p>

<p>"Let us sink or swim together," said Hussite George.
"We want no talk of surrender!"</p>

<p>But grey dry Alt Pikker said nothing, weighing all
with a judicial mind.</p>

<p>"No, they would not come back," said the Sparhawk;
"or, at worst, we would have time&mdash;that is, you
would have time&mdash;to revictual Kernsberg, to fill the
tanks and reservoirs, to summon in the hillmen.
They would soon learn that there had been no Joan
within the city but the one they had carried back with
them to Courtland. Plassenburg, slow to move,
would have time to bring up its men to protect its
borders from the Muscovite. All good chances are
possible if only I am out of the way. Surrender me&mdash;but
by private treaty, and not till you have seen them
safe across the fords of the Alla!"</p>

<p>"Nay, God's truth;" cried the three, "that we will
not do! They would kill you by slow torture as soon
as they found out that they had been tricked."</p>

<p>"Well," said the Sparhawk slowly, "but by that
time they <i>would</i> have been tricked."</p>

<p>Then Alt Pikker spoke in his turn.</p>

<p>"Men," he said, "this Dane is a man&mdash;a better than
any of us. There is wisdom in what he says. Ye
have heard in church how priests preach concerning
One who died for the people. Here is one ready to
die&mdash;if no better may be&mdash;for the people!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span></p>

<p>"And for our Duchess Joan!" said the Sparhawk,
taking his hat from his head at the name of his mistress.</p>

<p>"Our Lady Joan! Aye, that is it!" said the old
man. "We would all gladly die in battle for our lady.
We have done more&mdash;we have risked our own honour
and her favour in order to convey her away from these
dangers. Let the boy be given up; and that he go not
alone without fit attendance, I will go with him as
his chamberlain."</p>

<p>The other two men, Peter Balta and George the
Hussite, did not answer for a space, but sat pondering
Alt Pikker's counsel. It was George the Hussite who
took up the parable.</p>

<p>"I do not see why you, Alt Pikker, and you,
Maurice the Dane, should hold such a pother about
what you are ready to do for our Lady Joan. So
are we all every whit as ready and willing as you
can be; and I think, if any are to be given up, we
ought to draw lots for who it shall be. You fancy
yourselves overmuch, both of you!"</p>

<p>The Sparhawk laughed.</p>

<p>"Great tun-barrelled dolt," he said, clapping Peter
on the back, "how sweet and convincing it would be
to see you, or that canting ale-faced knave George there,
dressed up in the girdle-brace and steel corset of Joan
of the Sword Hand! And how would you do as to
your beard? Are you smooth as an egg on both cheeks
as I am? It would be rare to have a Duchess Joan
with an inch of blue-black stubble on her chin by the
time she neared the gates of Courtland! Nay, lads,
whoever stays&mdash;I must go. In this matter of brides I
have qualities (how I got them I know not) that the
best of you cannot lay claim to. Do you draw lots
with Alt Pikker there, an you will, as to who shall
accompany me, but leave this present Joan of the Sword
Hand to settle her own little differences with him who
is her husband by the blessing of Holy Church."</p>

<p>And he threw up his heels upon the table and plaited
his knees one above the other.</p>

<p>Then it was Alt Pikker's time.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span></p>

<p>"Peter Balta, and you, George the Heretic, listen,"
he cried, vehemently emphasising the points on the
palm of his hand. "You, Peter, have a wife that loves
you&mdash;so, at least, we understand&mdash;and your Marion,
how would she fare in this hard world without you?
Have you laid by a stocking-foot full of gold? Does
it hang inside your chimney? I trow not. Well, you
at least must bide and earn your pay, for Marion's sake.
I have neither kith nor kin, neither sweetheart nor
wife, covenanted or uncovenanted. And for you,
George, you are a heretic, and if they burn you alive
or let out the red sap at your neck, you will go straight
to hell-fire. Think of it, George! I, on the other
hand, am a true man, and after a paltry year or two in
purgatory (just for the experience) will enter straightway
into the bosom of patriarchs and apostles, along with
our Holy Father the Pope, and our elder brothers the
Cardinals Borgia and Delia Rovere!"</p>

<p>"You talk a deal of nothings with your mouth," said
George the Hussite. "It is true that I hold not, as you
do, that every dishclout in a church is the holy veil, and
every old snag of wood with a nail in't a veritable piece
of the true cross. But I would have you know that I
can do as much for my lady as any one of you&mdash;nay,
and more, too, Alt Pikker. For a good Hussite is afraid
neither of purgatory nor yet of hell-fire, because, if he
should chance to die, he will go, without troubling either,
straight to the abode of the martyrs and confessors who
have been judged worthy to withstand and to conquer."</p>

<p>"And as to what you said concerning Marion,"
nodded Peter Balta truculently, "she is a soldier's wife
and would cut her pretty throat rather than stand in
the way of a man's advancement!"</p>

<p>"Specially knowing that so pretty a wench as she is
could get a better husband to-morrow an it liked her!"
commented Alt Pikker drily.</p>

<p>"Well," cried the Sparhawk, "still your quarrel,
gentlemen. At all events, the thing is settled. The
only question is <i>when</i>? How many days' water is
there in the wells?"</p>

<p>Said Peter Balta, "I will go and see."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXIX</h2>

<h3>THE GREETING OF THE PRINCESS MARGARET</h3>


<p>They were making terms concerning treaty of
delivering thus:&mdash;</p>

<p>"When the last Muscovite has crossed the Alla,
when the men of Courtland stand ready to follow&mdash;then,
and not sooner, we will deliver up our Lady Joan.
For this we shall receive from you, Louis, Prince of
Courtland, fifty hogsheads of wine, six hundred wagon-loads
of good wheat, and the four great iron cannon
now standing before the Stralsund Gate. This all to
be completed before we of Kernsberg hand our Lady
over."</p>

<p>"It is a thing agreed!" answered Louis of Courtland,
who longed to be gone, and, above all, to get his
Muscovite allies out of his country. For not only did
they take all the best of everything in the field, but, like
locusts, they spread themselves over the rear, carrying
plunder and rapine through the territories of Courtland
itself&mdash;treating it, indeed, as so much conquered country,
so that men were daily deserting his colours in order
to go back to protect their wives and daughters from the
Cossacks of the Don and the Strelits of Little Russia.</p>

<p>Moreover, above all, Prince Louis wanted that proud
wench, his wife. Without her as his prisoner, he dared
not go back to his capital city. He had sworn an oath
before the people. For the rest, Kernsberg itself could
wait. Without a head it would soon fall in, and,
besides, he flattered himself that he would so sway and
influence the Duchess, when once he had her safe in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span>
his palace by the mouth of Alla, that she would repent
her folly, and at no distant day sit knee by knee with
him on his throne of state in the audience hall when
the suitors came to plead concerning the law.</p>

<p>And even his guest Prince Ivan was complaisant,
standing behind Louis's chair and smiling subtly to
himself.</p>

<p>"Brother of mine," he would say, "I came to help
you to your wife. It is your own affair how you take
her and what you do with her when you get her. For
me, as soon as you have her safe within the summer
palace, and have given me, according to promise, my
heart's desire your sister Margaret, so soon will I
depart for Moscow. My father, indeed, sends daily
posts praying my instant despatch, for he only waits
my return to launch a host upon his enemy the King
of Polognia."</p>

<p>And Prince Louis, reaching over the arm of his
chair, patted his friend's small sweet-scented hand,
and thanked him for his most unselfish and generous
assistance.</p>

<p>Thus the leaguer of Hohenstein attained its object.
Prince Louis had not, it is true, stormed the heights of
Kernsberg as he had sworn to do. He had, in fact,
left behind him to the traitors who delivered their
Duchess a large portion of his stores and munitions of
war. Nevertheless, he returned proud in heart to his
capital city. For in the midst of his most faithful body
of cavalry rode the young Duchess Joan, Princess of
Courtland, on a white Neapolitan barb, with reins that
jingled like silver bells and rosettes of ribbon on the
bosses of her harness.</p>

<p>The beautiful prisoner appeared, as was natural,
somewhat wan and anxious. She was clad in a close-fitting
gown of pale blue, with inch-wide broidering of
gold, laced in front, and with a train which drooped
almost to the ground. Over this a cloak of deeper
blue was worn, with a hood in which the dark, proud
head of the Princess nestled half hidden and half
revealed. The folk who crowded to see her go by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span>
took this for coquetry. She rode with only the one
councillor by her who had dared to share her captivity&mdash;one
Alt Pikker, a favourite veteran of her little army,
and the master-swordsman (they said) who had
instructed her in the use of arms.</p>

<p>No indignity had been offered to her. Indeed, as
great honour was done her as was possible in the
circumstances. Prince Louis had approached and led
her by the hand to the steed which awaited her at the
fords of the Alla. The soldiers of Courtland elevated
their spears and the trumpets of both hosts brayed a
salute. Then, without a word spoken, her husband
had bowed and withdrawn as a gentleman should.
Prince Ivan then approached, and on one knee begged
the privilege of kissing her fair hand.</p>

<p>The traitors of Kernsberg, who had bartered their
mistress for several tuns of Rhenish, could not meet
her eye, but stood gloomily apart with faces sad and
downcast, and from within the town came the sound
of women weeping. Only George the Hussite stood
by with a smile on his face and his thumbs stuck in
his waistband.</p>

<p>The captive Princess spoke not at all, as was indeed
natural and fitting. A woman conquered does not
easily forgive those who have humbled her pride. She
talked little even to Alt Pikker, and then only apart.
The nearest guide, who had been chosen because of
his knowledge of German, could not hear a murmur.
With bowed head and eyes that dwelt steadily on the
undulating mane of her white barb, Joan swayed her
graceful body and compressed her lips like one captured
but in nowise vanquished. And the soldiers
of the army of Courtland (those of them who were
married) whispered one to another, noting her demeanour,
"Our good Prince is but at the beginning of
his troubles; for, by Brunhild, did you ever see such a
wench? They say she can engage any two fencers of
her army at one time!"</p>

<p>"Her eye itself is like a rapier thrust," whispered
another. "Just now I went near her to look, and she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span>
arched an eyebrow at me, no more&mdash;and lo! I went
cold at my marrow as if I felt the blue steel stand out
at my backbone."</p>

<p>"It is the hunger and the anger that have done it,"
said another; "and, indeed, small wonder! She looked
not so pale when I saw her ride along Courtland Street
that day to the Dom&mdash;the day she was to be married.
Then her eyes did not pierce you through, but instead
they shone with their own proper light and were very
gracious."</p>

<p>"A strange wench, a most strange wench," responded
the first, "so soon to change her mind."</p>

<p>"Ha!" laughed his companion, "little do you
know if you say so! She is a woman&mdash;small doubt
of that! Besides, is she not a princess? and wherefore
should our Prince's wife not change her mind?"</p>

<p>They entered Courtland, and the flags flew gaily as
on the day of wedding. The drums beat, and the
populace drank from spigots that foamed red wine.
Then Louis the Prince came, with hat in hand, and
begged that the Princess Joan would graciously allow
him to ride beside her through the streets. He spoke
respectfully, and Joan could only bow her head in
acquiescence.</p>

<p>Thus they came to the courtyard of the palace, the
people shouting behind them. There, on the steps,
gowned in white and gold, with bare head overrun
with ringlets, stood the Princess Margaret among her
women. And at sight of her the heart of the false
Princess gave a mighty bound, as Joan of the Sword
Hand drew her hood closer about her face and tried to
remember in what fashion a lady dismounted from her
horse.</p>

<p>"My lady," said Prince Louis, standing hat in hand
before her barb, "I commit you to the care of my
sister, the Princess Margaret, knowing the ancient
friendship that there is between you two. She will speak
for me, knowing all my will, and being also herself
shortly contracted in marriage to my good friend,
Prince Ivan of Muscovy. Open your hearts to each<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span>
other, I pray you, and be assured that no evil or
indignity shall befall one whom I admire as the fairest
of women and honour as my wedded wife!"</p>

<p>Joan made no answer, but leaped from her horse
without waiting for the hand of Alt Pikker, which
many thought strange. In another moment the arms
of the Princess Margaret were about her neck, and
that impulsive Princess was kissing her heartily on
cheek and lips, talking all the while through her tears.</p>

<p>"Quick! Let us get in from all these staring stupid
men. You are to lodge in my palace so long as it lists
you. My brother hath promised it. Where are your
women?"</p>

<p>"I have no women," said Joan, in a low voice,
blushing meanwhile; "they would not accompany a
poor betrayed prisoner from Kernsberg to a prison
cell!"</p>

<p>"Prison cell, indeed! You will find that I have a
very comfortable dungeon ready for you! Come&mdash;my
maidens will assist you. Hasten&mdash;pray do make
haste!" cried the impetuous little lady, her arm close
about the tall Joan.</p>

<p>"I thank you," said the false bride, with some
reluctance, "but I am well accustomed to wait on
myself."</p>

<p>"Indeed, I do not wonder," cried the ready Princess;
"maids are vexatious creatures, well called 'tirewomen.'
But come&mdash;see the beautiful rooms I have
chosen for you! Make haste and take off your cloak,
and then I will come to you; I am fairly dying to
talk. Ah, why did you not tell me that day? That
was ill done. I would have ridden so gladly with you.
It was a glorious thing to do, and has made you
famous all over the world, they say. I have been
thinking ever since what I can do to be upsides with
you and make them talk about me. I will give them
a surprise one day that shall be great as yours. But
perhaps I may not wait till I am married to do it."</p>

<p>And she took her friend by the hand and with a
light-hearted skipping motion convoyed her to her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span>
summer palace, kissed her again at the door, and
shut her in with another imperious adjuration to be
speedy.</p>

<p>"I will give you a quarter of an hour," she cried, as
she lingered a moment; "then I will come to hear all
your story, every word."</p>

<p>Then the false Princess staggered rather than walked
to a chair, for brain and eye were reeling.</p>

<p>"God wot," she murmured; "strange things to
hear, indeed! Sweet lady, you little know how
strange! This is ten thousand times a straiter place
to be in than when I played the Count von Löen.
Ah, women, women, what you bring a poor innocent
man to!"</p>

<p>So, without unhooking her cloak or even throwing
back the hood, this sadly bewildered bride sat down
and tried to select any hopeful line of action out of
the whirling chaos of her thoughts. And even as she
sat there a knock came sharply at the door.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXX" id="CHAPTER_XXX"></a>CHAPTER XXX</h2>

<h3>LOVE'S CLEAR EYE</h3>


<p>"And now," cried Princess Margaret, clapping
her hands together impulsively, "now at last
I shall hear everything. Why you went away, and
who gave you up, and about the fighting. Ugh! the
traitors, to betray you after all! I would have their
heads off&mdash;and all to save their wretched town and the
lives of some score of fat burghers!"</p>

<p>So far the Princess Margaret had never once looked
at the Sparhawk in his borrowed plumage, as he
stood uneasily enough by the fireplace of the summer
palace, leaning an elbow on the mantelshelf. But
now she turned quickly to her guest.</p>

<p>"Oh, I love you!" she cried, running to Maurice
and throwing her arms about her false sister-in-law in
an impulsive little hug. "I think you are so brave.
Is my hair sadly tangled? Tell me truly, Joan. The
wind hath tumbled it about mine eyes. Not that it
matters&mdash;with you!"</p>

<p>She said the last words with a little sigh.</p>

<p>Then the Princess Margaret tripped across the
polished floor to a dressing-table which had been set
out in the angle between the two windows. She
turned the combs and brushes over with a contumelious
hand.</p>

<p>"Where is your hand-glass?" she cried. "Do not
tell me that you have never looked in it since you
came to Courtland, or that you can put up with that
squinting falsifier up there." She pointed to the oval-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span>framed
Venetian mirror which was hung opposite her.
"It twists your face all awry, this way and that, like
a monkey cracking a nut. 'Twas well enough for
our good Conrad, but the Princess Joan is another
matter."</p>

<p>"I have never even looked in either!" said the
Sparhawk.</p>

<p>Some subtle difference in tone of voice caused the
Princess to stop her work of patting into temporary
docility her fair clustering ringlets, winding them about
her fingers and rearranging to greater advantage the
little golden combs which held her sadly rebellious
tresses in place. She looked keenly at the Sparhawk,
standing with both her shapely arms at the back of her
head and holding a long ivory pin with a head of
bright green malachite between her small white teeth.</p>

<p>"Your voice is hoarse&mdash;somehow you are different,"
she said, taking the pin from her lips and slipping it
through the rebellious plaits with a swift vindictive
motion.</p>

<p>"I have caught a cold riding into the city," quoth
the Sparhawk hastily, blushing uneasily under her
eyes. But for the time being his disguise was safe.
Already Margaret of Courtland was thinking of something
else.</p>

<p>"Tell me," she began, going to the window and
gazing pensively out upon the green white-flecked
pour of the Alla, swirling under the beams of the
Summer Palace, "how many of your suite have
followed you hither?"</p>

<p>"Only Alt Pikker, my second captain!" said the
Sparhawk.</p>

<p>Again the tones of his voice seemed to touch her
woman's ear with some subtile perplexity even in the
midst of her abstraction. Margaret turned her eyes
again upon Maurice, and kept them there till he
shivered in the flowing, golden-belted dress of velvet
which sat so handsomely upon his splendid figure.</p>

<p>"And your chief captain, Von Orseln?" The
Princess seemed to be meditating again, her thoughts<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span>
far from the rush of the Alla beneath and from the
throat voice of the false Princess before her.</p>

<p>"Von Orseln has gone to the Baltic Edge to raise
on my behalf the folk of the marshes!" answered the
Sparhawk warily.</p>

<p>"Then there was&mdash;&mdash;" the Princess hesitated, and
her own voice grew a trifle lower&mdash;"the young man
who came hither as Dessauer's secretary&mdash;what of
him? The Count von Löen, if I mistake not&mdash;that
was his name?"</p>

<p>"He is a traitor!"</p>

<p>The Princess turned quickly.</p>

<p>"Nay," she said, "you do not think so. Your voice
is kind when you speak of him. Besides, I am sure he
is no traitor. Where is he?"</p>

<p>"He is in the place where he most wishes to be&mdash;with
the woman he loves!"</p>

<p>The light died out of the bright face of the Princess
Margaret at the answer, even as a dun snow-cloud wipes
the sunshine off a landscape.</p>

<p>"The woman he loves?" she stammered, as if she
could not have heard aright.</p>

<p>"Aye," said the false bride, loosening her cloak and
casting it behind her. "I swear it. He is with the
woman he loves."</p>

<p>But in his heart the Sparhawk was saying, "Steady,
Master Maurice von Lynar&mdash;or all will be out in five
minutes."</p>

<p>The Princess Margaret walked determinedly from
the window to the fireplace. She was not so tall by
half a head as her guest, but to the eyes of the Sparhawk
she towered above him like a young poplar tree.
He shrank from her searching glance.</p>

<p>The Princess laid her hand upon the sleeve of the
velvet gown. A flush of anger crimsoned her fair
face.</p>

<p>"Ah!" she cried, "I see it all now, madam the
Princess. You love the Count and you think to blind
me. This is the reason of your riding off with him on
your wedding day. I saw you go by his side. You<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span>
sent Count Maurice to bring to you the four hundred
lances of Kernsberg. It was for his sake that you left
my brother Prince Louis at the church door. Like
draws to like, they say, and your eyes even now are
as like as peas to those of the Count von Löen."</p>

<p>And this, indeed, could the Sparhawk in no wise
deny. The Princess went her angry way.</p>

<p>"There have been many lies told," she cried, raising
the pitch of her voice, "but I am not blind. I can
see through them. I am a woman and can gauge a
woman's pretext. You yourself are in love with the
Count von Löen, and yet you tell me that he is with
the woman he loves. Bah! he loves you&mdash;you, his
mistress&mdash;next, that is, to his selfish self-seeking self.
If he is with the woman he loves, as you say, tell me
her name!"</p>

<p>There came a knocking at the door.</p>

<p>"Who is there?" demanded imperiously the Princess
Margaret.</p>

<p>"The Prince of Muscovy, to present his duty to the
Princess of Courtland!"</p>

<p>"I do not wish to see him&mdash;I will not see him!"
said the Sparhawk hastily, who felt that one inquisitor
at a time was as much as he could hope to deal with.</p>

<p>"Enter!" said the Princess Margaret haughtily.</p>

<p>The Prince opened the door and stood on the threshold
bowing to the ladies.</p>

<p>"Well?" queried Margaret of Courtland, without
further acknowledgment of his salutation than the
slightest and chillest nod.</p>

<p>"My service to both, noble Princesses," the answer
came with suave deference. "The Prince Louis sent
me to beg of his noble spouse, the Princess Joan, that
she would deign to receive him."</p>

<p>"Tell Louis that the Princess will receive him at her
own time. He ought to have better manners than to
trouble a lady yet weary from a long journey. And
as for you, Prince Ivan, you have our leave to go!"</p>

<p>Whilst Margaret was speaking the Prince had fixed
his piercing eyes upon the Sparhawk, as if already he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span>
had penetrated his secret. But because he was a man
Maurice sustained the searching gaze with haughty
indifference. The Prince of Muscovy turned upon
the Princess Margaret with a bright smile.</p>

<p>"All this makes an ill lesson for you, my fair
betrothed," he said, bowing to her; "but&mdash;there will
be no riding home once we have you in Moscow!"</p>

<p>"True, I shall not need to return, for I shall never
ride thither!" retorted the Princess. "Moreover,
I would have you remember that I am not your
betrothed. The Prince Louis is your betrothed, if
you have any in Courtland. You can carry him to
Moscow an you will, and comfort each other there."</p>

<p>"That also I may do some day, madam!" flashed
Prince Wasp, stirred to quick irritation. "But in the
meantime, Princess Joan, does it please you to signify
when you will receive your husband?"</p>

<p>"No! no! no!" whispered the Sparhawk in great
perturbation.</p>

<p>The Princess Margaret pointed to the door.</p>

<p>"Go!" she said. "I myself will signify to my
brother when he can wait upon the Princess."</p>

<p>"My Lady Margaret," the Muscovite purred in
answer, "think you it is wise thus to encourage rebellion
in the most sacred relations of life?"</p>

<p>The Princess Margaret trilled into merriest laughter
and reached back a hand to take Joan's fingers in hers
protectingly.</p>

<p>"The homily of the most reverend churchman,
Prince Ivan of Muscovy, upon matrimony; Judas
condemning treachery, Satan rebuking sin, were
nothing to this!"</p>

<p>With all his faults the Prince had humour, the
humour of a torture scene in some painted monkish
Inferno.</p>

<p>"Agreed," he said, smiling; "and what does the
Princess Margaret protecting that pale shrinking flower,
Joan of the Sword Hand, remind you of?"</p>

<p>"That the room of Prince Ivan is more welcome to
ladies than his company!" retorted Margaret of Court<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span>land,
still holding the Sparhawk's hand between both
of hers, and keeping her angry eyes and petulant flower
face indignantly upon the intruder.</p>

<p>Had Prince Ivan been looking at her companion at
that moment he might have penetrated the disguise, so
tender and devoted a light of love dwelt on the Sparhawk's
countenance and beaconed from his eyes. But
he only bowed deferentially and withdrew. Margaret
and the Sparhawk were left once more alone.</p>

<p>The two stood thus while the brisk footsteps of
Prince Wasp thinned out down the corridor. Then
Margaret turned swiftly upon her tall companion and,
still keeping her hand, she pulled Maurice over to the
window. Then in the fuller light she scanned the
Sparhawk's features with a kindling eye and paling
lips.</p>

<p>"God in heaven!" she palpitated, holding him at a
greater distance, "you are not the Lady Joan; you are&mdash;you
are&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"The man who loves you!" said the Sparhawk, who
was very pale.</p>

<p>"The Count von Löen. Oh! Maurice, why did
you risk it?" she gasped. "They will kill you, tear
you to pieces without remorse, when they find out.
And it is a thing that cannot be kept secret. Why did
you do it?"</p>

<p>"For your sake, beloved," said the Sparhawk, coming
nearer to her; "to look once more on your face&mdash;to
behold once, if no more, the lips that kissed me in the
dark by the river brink!"</p>

<p>"But&mdash;but&mdash;you may forfeit your life!"</p>

<p>"And a thousand lives!" cried the Sparhawk,
nervously pulling at his woman's dress as if ashamed
that he must wear it at such a time. "Life without
you is naught to Maurice von Lynar!"</p>

<p>A glow of conscious happiness rose warm and pink
upon the cheeks of the Princess Margaret.</p>

<p>"Besides," added Maurice, "the captains of Kernsberg
considered that thus alone could their mistress be
saved."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span></p>

<p>The glow paled a little.</p>

<p>"What! by sacrificing you? But perhaps you did
it for her sake, and not wholly, as you say, for mine!"</p>

<p>There was no such thought in her heart, but she
wished to hear him deny it.</p>

<p>"Nay, my one lady," he answered; "I was, indeed,
more than ready to come to Courtland, but it was
because of the hope that surged through my heart, as
flame leaps through tow, that I should see you and
hear your voice!"</p>

<p>The Princess held out her hands impulsively and
then retracted them as suddenly.</p>

<p>"Now, we must not waste time," she said; "I must
save you. They would slay you on the least suspicion.
But I will match them. Would to God that Conrad
were here. To him I could speak. I could trust him.
He would help us. Let me see! Let me see!"</p>

<p>She bent her head and walked slowly to the window.
Like every true Courtlander she thought best when she
could watch the swirl of the green Alla against its
banks. The Sparhawk took a step as if to follow, but
instead stood still where he was, drinking in her proud
and girlish beauty. To the eye of any spy they were
no more than two noble ladies who had quarrelled, the
smaller and slighter of whom had turned her back upon
the taller!</p>

<p>They were in the same position still, and the white
foam-fleck which Margaret was following with her eyes
had not vanished from her sight, when the door of the
summer palace was rudely thrown open and an officer
announced in a loud and strident tone, "The Prince
Louis to visit his Princess!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXI" id="CHAPTER_XXXI"></a>CHAPTER XXXI</h2>

<h3>THE ROYAL MINX</h3>


<p>Prince Louis entered, flushed and excited. His
eyes had lost their furtive meanness and blazed
with a kind of reckless fury quite foreign to his nature,
for anger affected him as wine might another man.</p>

<p>He spoke first to the Princess Margaret.</p>

<p>"And so, my fair sister," he said, "you would
foment rebellion even in my palace and concoct conspiracy
with my own married wife. Make ready,
madam, for to-morrow you shall find your master. I
will marry you to the Prince Ivan of Muscovy. He
will carry you to Moscow, where ladies of your breed
are taught to obey. And if they will not&mdash;why, their
delicate skins may chance to be caressed with instruments
less tender than lovers' fingers. Go&mdash;make you
ready. You shall be wed and that immediately. And
leave me alone with my wife."</p>

<p>"I will not marry the Prince of Muscovy," his sister
answered calmly. "I would rather die by the axe of
your public executioner. I would wed with the vilest
scullion that squabbles with the swine for gobbets in
the gutters of Courtland, rather than sit on a throne
with such a man!"</p>

<p>The Prince nodded sagely.</p>

<p>"A pretty spirit&mdash;a true Courtland spirit," he said
mockingly. "I had the same within my heart when I
was young. Conrad hath it now&mdash;priest though he be.
Nevertheless, he is off to Rome to kiss the Pope's toe.
By my faith, Gretchen lass, you show a very pretty
spirit!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span></p>

<p>He wheeled about and looked towards the false Joan,
who was standing gripping nails into palms by the
chimney-mantel.</p>

<p>"And you, my lady," he said, "you have had your
turn of rebellion. But once is enough. You are conquered
now. You are a wedded wife. Your place
is with your husband. You sleep in my palace
to-night!"</p>

<p>"If I do," muttered the Sparhawk, "I know who
will wake in hell to-morrow!"</p>

<p>"My brother Louis," cried the Princess Margaret,
running up to him and taking his arm coaxingly, "do
not be so hasty with two poor women. Neither of us
desire aught but to do your will. But give us time.
Spare us, for you are strong. 'A woman's way is the
wind's way'&mdash;you know our Courtland proverb. You
cannot harness the Northern Lights to your chariot-wheels.
Woo us&mdash;coax us&mdash;aye, even deceive us; but
do not force us. Louis, Louis, I thought you were
wise, and yet I see that you know not the alphabet of
love. Here is your lady. Have you ever said a loving
word to her, bent the knee, kissed her hand&mdash;which,
being persisted in, is the true way to kiss the mouth?"</p>

<p>("If he does either," growled the Sparhawk, "my
sword will kiss his midriff!")</p>

<p>Prince Louis smiled. He was not used to women's
flatteries, and in his present state of exaltation the
cajoleries of the Princess suited his mood. He swelled
with self-importance, puffing his cheeks and twirling
his grey moustache upwards with the finger and thumb
of his left hand.</p>

<p>"I know more of women than you think, sister," he
made answer. "I have had experiences&mdash;in my youth,
that is; I am no puppet princeling. By Saint Mark!
once on a day I strutted it with the boldest; and
to-day&mdash;well, now that I have humbled this proud
madam and brought her to my own city, why, I will
show you that I am no Wendish boor. I can sue a
lady's favour as courteously as any man&mdash;and, Margaret,
if you will promise me to be a good girl and get you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span>
ready to be married to-morrow, I promise you that
Louis of Courtland will solicit his lady's favour with
all grace and observance."</p>

<p>"Gladly will I be married to-morrow," said the
Princess, caressing her brother's sleeve&mdash;"that is, if I
cannot be married to-day!" she added under her
breath.</p>

<p>But she paused a few moments as if embarrassed.</p>

<p>Then she went on.</p>

<p>"Brother Louis, I have spoken with my sister here&mdash;your
wife, the Lady Joan. She hath a scruple concerning
matrimony. She would have it resolved before
she hath speech with you again. Permit our good
Father Clement to advise with her."</p>

<p>"Father Clement&mdash;our Conrad's tutor, why he more
than another?"</p>

<p>"Well, do you not understand? He is old," pleaded
Margaret, "and there are things one can say easiest to
an old man. You understand, brother Louis."</p>

<p>The Prince nodded, well pleased. This was pleasant.
His mentor, Prince Wasp, did not usually flatter him.
Rather he made him chafe on a tight rein.</p>

<p>"And if I send Father Clement to you, chit," he said
patting his sister's softly rounded cheek, "will he both
persuade you and ease the scruples of my Lady Joan?
I am as delicate and understanding as any man. I will
not drive a woman when she desires to be led. But
led or driven she must be. For to my will she must
come at last."</p>

<p>"I knew it, I knew it!" she cried joyously. "Again
you are mine own Louis, my dear sweet brother!
When will Father Clement come?"</p>

<p>"As soon as he can be sent for," the Prince answered.
"He will come directly here to the Summer Palace.
And till then you two fair maids can abide together.
Princess, my wife, I kiss your noble hand. Margaret,
your cheek. Till to-morrow&mdash;till to-morrow!"</p>

<p>He went out with an awkward attempt at airy grace
curiously grafted on his usually saturnine manners.
The door closed behind him. Margaret of Courtland<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span>
listened a moment with bated breath and finger on lip.
A shouted order reached her ear from beneath. Then
came the tramp of disciplined feet, and again they
heard only the swirl of the Alla fretting about the piles
of the Summer Palace.</p>

<p>Then, quickly dropping her lover's fingers, Margaret
took hold of her own dress at either side daintily and
circled about the Sparhawk in a light-tripping dance.</p>

<p>"Ah, Louis&mdash;we will be so good and bidable&mdash;to-morrow.
To-morrow you will see me a loving and
obedient wife. To-morrow I will wed Prince Wasp.
Meantime&mdash;to-day you and I, Maurice, will consult
Father Clement, mine ancient confessor, who will do
anything I ask him. To-day we will dance&mdash;put your
arm about my waist&mdash;firmly&mdash;so! There, we will
dance at a wedding to-day, you and I. For in that
brave velvet robe you shall be married!"</p>

<p>"What?" cried the Sparhawk, stopping suddenly.
His impulsive sweetheart caught him again into the
dance as she swept by in her impetuous career.</p>

<p>"Yes," she nodded, minueting before him. "It is
as I say&mdash;you are to be married all over again. And
when you ride off I will ride with you&mdash;no slipping
your marriage engagements this time, good sir. I
know your Kernsberg manners now. You will not
find me so slack as my brother!"</p>

<p>"Margaret!" cried the Sparhawk. And with one
bound he had her against his breast.</p>

<p>"Oh!" she cried, with a shrug of her pretty shoulders,
as she submitted to his embrace, "I don't love you half
as much in that dress. Why, it is like kissing another
girl at the convent. Ugh, the cats!"</p>

<p>She was not permitted to say any more. The Alla
was heard very clearly in the Summer Palace as it
swept the too swift moments with it away towards the
sea which is oblivion. Then after a time, and a time
and half a time, the Princess Margaret slowly emerged.</p>

<p>"No," she said retrospectively, "it is not like the
convent, after all&mdash;not a bit."</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 25%;" />

<p>"Affection is ever seemly, especially between great
ladies&mdash;also unusual!" said a bass voice, speaking
grave and kindly behind them.</p>

<p>The Sparhawk turned quickly round, the crimson
rushing instant to his cheek.</p>

<p>"Father&mdash;dear Father Clement!" cried Margaret,
running to the noble old man who stood by the door
and kneeling down for his blessing. He gave it simply
and benignantly, and laid his hand a moment on
the rippling masses of her fair hair. Then he turned
his eyes upon the Sparhawk.</p>

<p>The confusion of his beautiful penitent, the flush
which mounted to her neck even as she kneeled,
added to a certain level defiance in the glance of her
taller companion, told him almost at a glance that
which had been so carefully concealed. For the
Father was a man of much experience. A man who
hears a dozen confessions every day of his life through
a wicket in a box grows accustomed to distinguishing
the finer differences of sex. His glance travelled back
and forth, from the Sparhawk to Margaret, and from
Margaret to the Sparhawk.</p>

<p>"Ah!" he said at last, for all comment.</p>

<p>The Princess rose to her feet and approached the
priest.</p>

<p>"My Father," she said swiftly, "this is not the Lady
Joan, my brother's wife, but a youth marvellously like
her, who hath offered himself in her place that she
might escape&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Nay," said the Sparhawk, "it was to see you once
again, Lady Margaret, that I came to Courtland!"</p>

<p>"Hush! you must not interrupt," she went on,
putting him aside with her hand. "He is the Count
von Löen, a lord of Kernsberg. And I love him.
We want you to marry us now, dear Father&mdash;now,
without a moment's delay; for if you do not, they will
kill him, and I shall have to marry Prince Wasp!"</p>

<p>She clasped her hands about his arm.</p>

<p>"Will you?" she said, looking up beseechingly at
him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span></p>

<p>The Princess Margaret was a lady who knew her
mind and so bent other minds to her own.</p>

<p>The Father stood smiling a little down upon her,
more with his eyes than with his lips.</p>

<p>"They will kill him and marry you, if I do. And,
moreover, pray tell me, little one, what will they do to
me?" he said.</p>

<p>"Father, they would not dare to meddle with you.
Your office&mdash;your sanctity&mdash;Holy Mother Church herself
would protect you. If Conrad were here, he would
do it for me. I am sure he would marry us. I could
tell him everything. But he is far, far away, on his
knees at the shrine of Holy Saint Peter, most like."</p>

<p>"And you, young masquerader," said Father
Clement, turning to the Sparhawk, "what say you to
all this? Is this your wish, as well as that of the
Princess Margaret? I must know all before I consent
to put my old neck into the halter!"</p>

<p>"I will do whatever the Princess wishes. Her will
is mine."</p>

<p>"Do not make a virtue of that, young man," said the
priest smiling; "the will of the Princess is also that of
most people with whom she comes in contact. Submission
is no distinction where our Lady Margaret is
concerned. Why, ever since she was so high" (he
indicated with his hand), "I declare the minx hath set
her own penances and dictated her own absolutions."</p>

<p>"You have indeed been a sweet confessor," murmured
Margaret of Courtland, still clasping the Father's
arm and looking up fondly into his face. "And you
will do as I ask you this once. I will not ask for such
a long time again."</p>

<p>The priest laughed a short laugh.</p>

<p>"Nay, if I do marry you to this gentleman, I hope it
will serve for a while. I cannot marry Princesses of the
Empire to carnival mummers more than once a week!"</p>

<p>A quick frown formed on the brow of Maurice von
Lynar. He took a step nearer. The priest put up his
hand, with the palm outspread in a sort of counterfeit
alarm.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span></p>

<p>"Nay, I know not if it will last even a week if bride
and groom are both so much of the same temper.
Gently, good sir, gently and softly. I must go carefully
myself. I am bringing my grey hairs unpleasantly near
the gallows. I must consider my duty, and you must
respect my office."</p>

<p>The Sparhawk dropped on one knee and bent his
head.</p>

<p>"Ah, that is better," said the priest, making the sign
of benediction above the clustered raven locks. "Rise,
sir, I would speak with you a moment apart. My Lady
Margaret, will you please to walk on the terrace there
while I confer with&mdash;the Lady Joan upon obedience,
according to the commandment of the Prince."</p>

<p>As he spoke the last words he made a little movement
towards the corridor with his hand, at the same
moment elevating his voice. The Princess caught his
meaning and, before either of her companions could
stop her, she tiptoed to the door, set her hand softly to
the latch, and suddenly flung it open. Prince Louis
stood without, with head bowed to listen.</p>

<p>The Princess shrilled into a little peal of laughter.</p>

<p>"Brother Louis!" she cried, clapping her hands,
"we have caught you. You must restrain your youthful,
your too ardent affections. Your bride is about to
confess. This is no time for mandolins and serenades.
You should have tried those beneath her windows in
Kernsberg. They might have wooed her better than
arbalist and mangonel."</p>

<p>The Prince glared at his <i>débonnaire</i> sister as if he
could have slain her on the spot.</p>

<p>"I returned," he said formally, speaking to the disguised
Maurice, "to inform the Princess that her rooms
in the main palace were ready for her whenever she
deigns to occupy them."</p>

<p>"I thank you, Prince Louis," returned the false
Princess, bowing. In his character of a woman betrayed
and led prisoner the Sparhawk was sparing of
his words&mdash;and for other reasons as well.</p>

<p>"Come, brother, your arm," said the Princess.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span>
"You and I must not intrude. We will leave the good
Father and his fair penitent. Will you walk with me
on the terrace? I, on my part, will listen to your
lover's confessions and give you plenary absolution&mdash;even
for listening at keyholes. Come, dear brother,
come!"</p>

<p>And with one gay glance shot backward at the
Sparhawk, half over her shoulder, the Lady Margaret
took the unwilling arm of her brother and swept out.
Verily, as Father Clement had said, she was a royal
minx.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXII" id="CHAPTER_XXXII"></a>CHAPTER XXXII</h2>

<h3>THE PRINCESS MARGARET IS IN A HURRY</h3>


<p>The priest waited till their footsteps died away
down the corridor before going to the door to
shut it. Then he turned and faced the Sparhawk with
a very different countenance to that which he had bent
upon the Princess Margaret.</p>

<p>Generally, when women leave a room the thermometer
drops suddenly many degrees nearer the zero
of verity. There is all the difference between velvet
sheath and bare blade, between the courtesies of
seconds and the first clash of the steel in the hands of
principals. There are, let us say, two men and one
woman. The woman is in the midst. Smile answers
smile. Masks are up. The sun shines in. She goes&mdash;and
before the smile of parting has fluttered from her
lips, lo! iron answers iron on the faces of the men.
Off, ye lendings! Salute! Engage! To the death!</p>

<p>There was nothing, however, very deadly in the encounter
of the Sparhawk and Father Clement. It was
only as if a couple of carnival maskers had stepped
aside out of the whirl of a dance to talk a little business
in some quiet alcove. The Father foresaw the difficulty
of his task. The Sparhawk was conscious of the
awkwardness of maintaining a manly dignity in a
woman's gown. He felt, as it were, choked about the
legs in another man's presence.</p>

<p>"And now, sir," said the priest abruptly, "who may
you be?"</p>

<p>"Father, I am a servant to the Duchess Joan of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span>
Hohenstein and Kernsberg. Maurice von Lynar is
my name."</p>

<p>"And pray, how came you so like the Duchess that
you can pass muster for her?"</p>

<p>"That I know not. It is an affair upon which I was
not consulted. But, indeed, I do it but poorly, and
succeed only with those who know her little, and
who are in addition men without observation. Both
the Princess and yourself saw through me easily
enough, and I am in fear every moment I am near
Prince Ivan."</p>

<p>"How came the Princess to love you?"</p>

<p>"Well, for one thing, I loved her. For another, I
told her so!"</p>

<p>"The points are well taken, but of themselves insufficient,"
smiled the priest. "So also have others
better equipped by fortune to win her favour than you.
What else?"</p>

<p>Then, with a certain shamefaced and sulky pride,
the Sparhawk told Father Clement all the tale of the
mission of the Duchess Joan of Courtland, of the
liking the Princess had taken to that lady in her secretary's
attire, of the kiss exchanged upon the dark river's
bank, the fragrant memory of which had drawn him
back to Courtland against his will. And the priest
listened like a man of many counsels who knows that
the strangest things are the truest, and that the naked
truth is always incredible.</p>

<p>"It is a pretty tangle you have made between you,"
said Father Clement when Maurice finished. "I know
not how you could more completely have twisted the
skein. Every one is somebody else, and the devil is
hard upon the hindmost&mdash;or Prince Ivan, which is
apparently the same thing."</p>

<p>The priest now withdrew in his turn to where he
could watch the Alla curving its back a little in mid-stream
as the summer floods rushed seaward from
the hills. To true Courtland folk its very bubbles
brought counsel as they floated down towards the
Baltic.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span></p>

<p>"Let me see! Let me see!" he murmured, stroking
his chin.</p>

<p>Then after a long pause he turned again to the
Sparhawk.</p>

<p>"You are of sufficient fortune to maintain the
Princess as becomes her rank?"</p>

<p>"I am not a rich man," answered Von Lynar, "but
by the grace of the Duchess Joan neither am I a poor
one. She hath bestowed on me one of her father's
titles, with lands to match."</p>

<p>"So," said the priest; "but will Prince Louis and
the Muscovites give you leave to enjoy them?"</p>

<p>"The estates are on the borders of Plassenburg,"
said Maurice, "and I think the Prince of Plassenburg
for his own security will provide against any Muscovite
invasion."</p>

<p>"Princes are but princes, though I grant you the
Executioner's Son is a good one," answered the priest.
"Well, better to marry than to burn, sayeth Holy
Writ. It is touch and go, in any event. I will marry
you and thereafter betake me to the Abbey of Wolgast,
where dwells my very good friend the Abbot Tobias.
For old sake's sake he will keep me safe there till this
thing blows over."</p>

<p>"With my heart I thank you, my Father," said the
Sparhawk, kneeling.</p>

<p>"Nay, do not thank me. Rather thank the pretty
insistency of your mistress. Yet it is only bringing
you both one step nearer destruction. Walking upon
egg-shells is child's play to this. But I never could
refuse your sweetheart either a comfit or an absolution
all my days. To my shame as a servant of God I say
it. I will go and call her in."</p>

<p>He went to the door with a curious smile on his
face. He opened it, and there, close by the threshold,
was the Princess Margaret, her eyes full of a bright
mischief.</p>

<p>"Yes, I was listening," she cried, shaking her head
defiantly. "I do not care. So would you, Father, if
you had been a woman and in love&mdash;&mdash;"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p>

<p>"God forbid!" said Father Clement, crossing himself.</p>

<p>"You may well make sure of heavenly happiness,
my Father, for you will never know what the happiness
of earth is!" cried Margaret. "I would rather be a
woman and in love, than&mdash;than the Pope himself and
sit in the chair of St. Peter."</p>

<p>"My daughter, do not be irreverent."</p>

<p>"Father Clement, were you ever in love? No, of
course you cannot tell me; but I think you must have
been. Your eyes are kind when you look at us. You
are going to do what we wish&mdash;I know you are. I
heard you say so to Maurice. Now begin."</p>

<p>"You speak as if the Holy Sacrament of matrimony
were no more than saying 'Abracadabra' over a
toadstool to cure warts," said the priest, smiling.
"Consider your danger, the evil case in which you
will put me when the thing is discovered&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"I will consider anything, dear Father, if you will
only make haste," said the Princess, with a smiling
natural vivacity that killed any verbal disrespect.</p>

<p>"Nay, madcap, be patient. We must have a witness
whose head sits on his shoulders beyond the risk of
Prince Louis's halter or Prince Ivan's Muscovite dagger.
What say you to the High Councillor of Plassenburg,
Von Dessauer? He is here on an embassy."</p>

<p>The Princess clapped her hands.</p>

<p>"Yes, yes. He will do it. He will keep our secret.
He also likes pretty girls."</p>

<p>"Also?" queried Father Clement, with a grave and
demure countenance.</p>

<p>"Yes, Father, you know you do&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"It is a thing most strictly forbidden by Holy Church
that in fulfilling the duties of sacred office one should
be swayed by any merely human considerations,"
began the priest, the wrinkles puckering about his
eyes, though his lips continued grave.</p>

<p>"Oh, please, save the homily till after sacrament,
dear Father!" cried the Princess. "You know you
like me, and that you cannot help it."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span></p>

<p>The priest lifted up his hand and glanced upward,
as if deprecating the anger of Heaven.</p>

<p>"Alas, it is too true!" he said, and dropped his hand
again swiftly to his side.</p>

<p>"I will go and summon Dessauer myself," she went
on. "I will run so quick. I cannot bear to wait."</p>

<p>"Abide ye&mdash;abide ye, my daughter," said Father
Clement; "let us do even this folly decently and in
order. The day is far spent. Let us wait till darkness
comes. Then when you are rested&mdash;and" (he looked
towards the Sparhawk) "the Lady Joan also&mdash;I will
return with High Councillor Dessauer, who, without
observance or suspicion, may pay his respects to the
Princesses upon their arrival."</p>

<p>"But, Father, I cannot wait," cried the impetuous
bride. "Something might happen long before then.
My brother might come. Prince Wasp might find
out. The Palace itself might fall&mdash;and then I should
never be married at all!"</p>

<p>And the very impulsive and high-strung daughter of
the reigning house of Courtland put a kerchief to her
eyes and tapped the floor with the silken point of her
slipper.</p>

<p>The holy Father looked at her a moment and turned
his eyes to Maurice von Lynar. Then he shook his
head gravely at that proximate bridegroom as one who
would say, "If you be neither hanged nor yet burnt
here in Courtland&mdash;if you get safely out of this with
your bride&mdash;why, then, Heaven have mercy on your
soul!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXIII</h2>

<h3>A WEDDING WITHOUT A BRIDEGROOM</h3>


<p>It was very quiet in the river parlour of the Summer
Palace. A shaded lamp burned in its niche over
the desk of Prince Conrad. Another swung from the
ceiling and filled the whole room with dim, rich light.
The window was a little open, and the Alla murmured
beneath with a soothing sound, like a mother hushing
a child to sleep. There was no one in the great chamber
save the youth whose masquerading was now well nigh
over. The Sparhawk listened intently. Footsteps were
approaching. Quick as thought he threw himself upon
a couch, and drew about him a light cloak or woollen
cloth lined with silk. The footsteps stopped at his
door. A hand knocked lightly. The Sparhawk did
not answer. There was a long pause, and then footsteps
retreated as they had come. The Sparhawk
remained motionless. Again the Alla, outside in the
mild autumnal gloaming, said, "Hush!"</p>

<p>Tired with anxiety and the strain of the day, the
youth passed from musing to real sleep and the stream
of unconsciousness, with a long soothing swirl like
that of the green water outside among the piles of the
Summer Palace, bore him away. He took longer
breaths, sighing in his slumbers like a happy tired
child.</p>

<p>Again there came footsteps, quicker and lighter this
time; then the crisp rustle of silken skirts, a warm
breath of scented air, and the door was closed again.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span>
No knocking this time. It was some one who entered
as of right.</p>

<p>Then the Princess Margaret, with clasped hands and
parted lips, stood still and watched the slumber of the
man she loved. Though she knew it not, it was one
of the crucial moments in the chronicle of love. If a
woman's heart melts from tolerant friendship to a kind
of motherhood at the sight of a man asleep; if something
draws tight about her heart like the strings of
an old-fashioned purse; if there is a pulse beating
where no pulse should be, a pleasurable lump in the
throat, then it is come&mdash;the not-to-be-denied, the long-expected,
the inevitable. It is a simple test, and one
not always to be applied (as it were) without a doctor's
prescription; but, when fairly tried, it is infallible. If
a woman is happier listening to a man's quiet breathing
than she has ever been hearkening to any other's
flattery, it is no longer an affair&mdash;it is a passion.</p>

<p>The Princess Margaret sat down by the couch of
Maurice von Lynar, and, after this manner of which
I have told, her heart was moved within her. As she
bent a little over the youth and looked into his sleeping
face, the likeness to Joan the Duchess came out more
strongly than ever, emerging almost startlingly, as a
race stamp stands out on the features of the dead.
She bent her head still nearer the slightly parted lips.
Then she drew back.</p>

<p>"No," she murmured, smiling at her intent, "I will
not&mdash;at least, not now. I will wait till I hear them
coming."</p>

<p>She stole her hand under the cloak which covered
the sleeper till her cool fingers rested on Maurice's
hand. He stirred a little, and his lips moved. Then
his eyelids quivered to the lifting. But they did not
rise. The ear of the Princess was very near them now.</p>

<p>"Margaret!" she heard him say, and as the low
whisper reached her she sat erect in her chair with
a happy sigh. So wonderful is love and so utterly
indifferent to time or place, to circumstance or
reason.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span></p>

<p>The Alla also sighed a sigh to think that their hour
would pass so swiftly. So Margaret of Courtland,
princess and lover, sat contentedly by the pillow of
him who had once been a prisoner in the dungeon of
Castle Kernsberg.</p>

<p>But in the palace of the Prince of Courtland time
ran even more swiftly than the Alla beneath its walls.</p>

<p>Margaret caught a faint sound far away&mdash;footsteps,
firm footfalls of men who paced slowly together. And
as these came nearer, she could distinguish, mixed with
them, the sharp tapping of one who leans upon a staff.
She did not hesitate a moment now. She bent down
upon the sleeper. Her arm glided under his neck.
Her lips met his.</p>

<p>"Maurice," she whispered, "wake, dearest. They
are coming."</p>

<p>"Margaret!" he would have answered&mdash;but could
not.</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;" />

<p>The greetings were soon over. The tale had already
been told to Von Dessauer by Father Clement. The
pair stood up under the golden glow of the swinging
silver lamps. It was a strange scene. For surely never
was marriage more wonderfully celebrated on earth
than this of two fair maidens (for so they still appeared)
taking hands at the bidding of God's priest and vowing
the solemn vows, in the presence of a prince's chancellor,
to live only for each other in all the world.</p>

<p>Maurice, tall and dark, a red mantle thrown back
from his shoulders, confined at the waist and falling
again to the feet, stood holding Margaret's hand, while
she, younger and slighter, her skin creamily white,
her cheek rose-flushed, her eyes brilliant as with fever,
watched Father Clement as if she feared he would
omit some essential of the service.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 58%;">
<img src="images/i_219fp.jpg" width="100%" alt="Maurice stood ... holding Margaret's hand." title="" />
<span class="caption">"Maurice stood ... holding Margaret's hand."</span>
</div>

<p>Von Dessauer, High Councillor of Plassenburg, stood
leaning on the head of his staff and watching with a
certain gravity of sympathy, mixed with apprehension,
the simple ceremonial.</p>

<p>Presently the solemn "Let no man put asunder"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span>
was said, the blessing pronounced, and Leopold von
Dessauer came forward with his usual courtly grace to
salute the newly made Countess von Löen.</p>

<p>He would have kissed her hand, but with a swift
gesture she offered her cheek.</p>

<p>"Not hands to-day, good friend," she said. "I am
no more a princess, but my husband's wife. They
cannot part us now, can they, High Councillor? I
have gotten my wish!"</p>

<p>"Dear lady," the Chancellor of Plassenburg answered
gently. "I am an old man, and I have observed that
Hymen is the most tricksome of the divinities. His
omens go mostly by contraries. Where much is expected,
little is obtained. When all men speak well
of a wedding, and all the prophets prophesy smooth
things&mdash;my fear is great. Therefore be of good cheer.
Though you have chosen the rough road, the perilous
venture, the dark night, the deep and untried ford, you
will yet come out upon a plain of gladness, into a
day of sunshine, and at the eventide reach a home
of content."</p>

<p>"So good a fortune from so wise a soothsayer
deserves&mdash;this!"</p>

<p>And she kissed the Chancellor frankly on the
mouth.</p>

<p>"Father Clement," she said, turning about to the
priest with a provocative look on her face, "have you
a prophecy for us worthy a like guerdon?"</p>

<p>"Avaunt, witch! Get thee behind me, pretty
impling! Tempt not an old man to forget his office,
or I will set thee such a penance as will take months
to perform."</p>

<p>Nevertheless his face softened as he spoke. He saw
too plainly the perils which encompassed Maurice
von Lynar and his wife. Yet he held out his hand
benignantly and they sank on their knees.</p>

<p>"God bring you well through, beloveds!" he said.
"May He send His angels to succour the faithful and
punish the guilty!"</p>

<p>"I bid you fair good-night!" said Leopold von<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span>
Dessauer at the threshold. But he added in his heart,
"But alas for the to-morrow that must come to you
twain!"</p>

<p>"I care for nothing now&mdash;I have gotten my will!"
said the Princess Margaret, nodding her head to the
Father as he went out.</p>

<p>She was standing on the threshold with her husband's
hand in hers, and her eyes were full of that which no
words can express.</p>

<p>"May that which is so sweet in the mouth now,
never prove bitter in the belly!"</p>

<p>That was the Father's last prayer for them.</p>

<p>But neither Margaret nor Maurice von Lynar so
much as heard him, for they had turned to one another.</p>

<p>For the golden lamp was burning itself out, and
without in the dark the Alla still said, "Hush!" like
a mother who soothes her children to sleep.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXXIV</h2>

<h3>LITTLE JOHANNES RODE</h3>


<p>"But this one day, beloved," the Sparhawk was
saying. "What is one day among our enemies?
Be brave, and then we will ride away together under
cloud of night. Von Dessauer will help us. For love
and pity Prince Hugo of Plassenburg will give us an
asylum. Or if he will not, by my faith! Helene the
Princess will&mdash;or her kind heart is sore belied! Fear
not!"</p>

<p>"I am not afraid&mdash;I have never feared anything in
my life," answered the Princess Margaret. "But now
I fear for you, Maurice. I would give all I possess a
hundred times over&mdash;nay, ten years of my life&mdash;if only
you were safe out of this Courtland!"</p>

<p>"It will not be long," said the Sparhawk soothingly.
"To-morrow Von Dessauer goes with all his train.
He cannot, indeed, openly give us his protection till we
are past the boundaries of the State. But at the Fords of
the Alla we must await him. Then, after that, it is but
a short and safe journey. A few days will bring us to
the borderlands of Plassenburg and the Mark, where
we are safe alike from prince brother and prince
wooer."</p>

<p>"Maurice&mdash;I would it were so, indeed. Do you
know I think being married makes one's soul frightened.
The one you love grows so terrifyingly
precious. It seems such a long time since I was a
wild and reckless girl, flouting those who spoke of
love, and boasting (oh, so vainly!) that love would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span>
never touch me. I used to, not so long ago&mdash;though
you would not think it now, knowing how weak and
foolish I am."</p>

<p>The Sparhawk laughed a little and glanced fondly at
his wife. It was a strange look, full of the peculiar joy
of man&mdash;and that, where the essence of love dwells in
him, is his sense of unique possession.</p>

<p>"Do keep still," said the Princess suddenly, stamping
her foot. "How can I finish the arraying of your
locks, if you twist about thus in your seat? It is
fortunate for you, sir, that the Duchess Joan wears her
hair short, like a Northman or a bantling troubadour.
Otherwise you could not have gone masquerading till
yours had grown to be something of this length."</p>

<p>And, with the innocent vanity of a woman preferred,
she shook her own head backward till the rich golden
tresses, each hair distinct and crisp as a golden wire of
infinite thinness, fell over her back and hung down as
low as the hollows of her knees.</p>

<p>"Joan could not do that!" she cried triumphantly.</p>

<p>"You are the most beautiful woman in the world,"
said the Sparhawk, with appreciative reverence, trying
to rise from the low stool in front of the Venice mirror
upon which he was submitting to having his toilet
superintended&mdash;for the first time by a thoroughly
competent person.</p>

<p>The Princess Margaret bit her lip vixenishly in a
pretty way she had when making a pretext of being
angry, at the same time sticking the little curved golden
comb she was using upon his raven locks viciously into
his head.</p>

<p>"Oh, you hurt!" he cried, making a grimace and
pretending in his turn.</p>

<p>"And so I will, and much worse," she retorted, "if
you do not be still and do as I bid you. How can a
self-respecting tire-woman attend to her business under
such circumstances? I warn you that you may engage
a new maid."</p>

<p>"Wickedest one!" he murmured, gazing fondly up
at Margaret, "there is no one like you!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span></p>

<p>"Well," she drolled, "I am glad of your opinion,
though sorry for your taste. For me, I prefer the
Lady Joan."</p>

<p>"And why?"</p>

<p>"Because she is like you, of course!"</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;" />

<p>So, on the verge perilous, lightly and foolishly they
jested as all those who love each other do (which folly
is the only wisdom), while the green Alla sped swiftly
on to the sea, and the city in which Death waited for
Maurice von Lynar began to hum about them.</p>

<p>As yet, however, there fell no suspicion. For
Margaret had warned her bowermaidens that the
Princess Joan would need no assistance from them.
Her own waiting-women were on their way from
Castle Kernsberg. In any case she, Margaret of
Courtland, would help her sister in person, as well for
love as because such service was the guest's right.</p>

<p>And the Courtland maidens, accustomed to the
whims and sudden likings of their impetuous mistress,
glad also to escape extra duty, hastened their task of
arraying Margaret. Never had she been so restless and
exacting. Her toilet was not half finished when she
rose from her ebony stool, told her favourite Thora of
Bornholm that she was too ignorant to be trusted to
array so much as the tow-head of a Swedish puppet,
endued herself without assistance with a long loose
gown of velvet lined with pale blue silk, and flashed
out again to revisit her sister-in-law.</p>

<p>"And do you, Thora, and the others, wait my
pleasure in the anteroom," she commanded her handmaidens
as she swept through the doorway. "Go
barter love-compliments with the men-at-arms. It is
all such fumblers are good for!"</p>

<p>Behind her back the tiring maids shrugged shoulders
and glanced at each other secretly with lifted eyebrow,
as they put gowns and broidered slippers back in their
places, to signify that if it began thus they were in for
a day of it. Nevertheless they obeyed, and, finding
certain young gentlemen of Prince Louis's guard<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span>
waiting for just such an opportunity without, Thora
and the others proceeded to carry out to the letter the
second part of the instructions of their mistress.</p>

<p>"How now, sweet Thora of the Flaxen Locks?"
cried Justus of Grätz, a slender young man who carried
the Prince's bannerstaff on saints' days, and practised
fencing and the art of love professionally at other
times; "has the Princess boxed all your ears this
morning, that you come trembling forth, pell-mell, like
a flock of geese out of a barn when the farmer's dog
is after them?"</p>

<p>There were three under-officers of the guard in the
little courtyard. Slim Justus of Grätz, his friend and
boon companion Seydelmann, a man of fine presence
and empty head, who on wet days could curl the
wings of his moustaches round his ears, and, sitting a
little apart from these, little Johannes Rode, the only
very brave man of the three, a swordsman and a poet,
yet one who passed for a ninny and a greenhorn
because he chose mostly to be silent. Nevertheless,
Thora of Bornholm preferred him to all others in the
palace. For the eyes of a woman are quick to discern
manhood&mdash;so long, that is, as she is not in love. After
that, God wot, there is no eyeless fish so blind in all
the caverns of the Hartz.</p>

<p>With the Northwoman Thora in her tendance of the
Princess there were joined Anna and Martha Pappenheim,
two maids quicker of speech and more restless in
demeanour&mdash;Franconians, like all their name, of their
persons little and lithe and gay. The Princess had
brought them back with her when at the last Diet she
visited Ratisbon with her brother.</p>

<p>"Ah, Thora, fairest of maids! Hath an east wind
made you sulky this morning, that you will not
answer?" languished Justus. "Then I warrant so are
not Anna and Martha. My service to you, noble
dames!"</p>

<p>"Noble 'dames' indeed&mdash;and to us!" they answered
in alternate jets of speech. "As if we were apple-women
or the fat house-frows of Courtlandish<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span>
burghers. Get away&mdash;you have no manners! You
sop your wits in sour beer. You eat frogs-meat out of
your Baltic marshes. A dozen dozen of you were not
worth one lively lad out of sweet Franconia!"</p>

<p>"Swe-e-et Franconia!" mocked Justus; "why, then,
did you not stop there? Of a verity no lover carried
you off to Courtland across his saddle-bow, that I
warrant! He had repented his pains and killed his
horse long ere he smelt the Baltic brine."</p>

<p>"The most that such louts as you Courtlanders could
carry off would be a screeching pullet from a farmyard,
when the goodman is from home. There is no spirit
in the North&mdash;save, I grant, among the women. There
is our Princess and her new sister the Lady Joan of
the Sword Hand. Where will you see their match?
Small wonder they will have nothing to say to such men
as they can find hereabouts! But how they love each
other! 'Tis as good as a love tale to see them&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Aye, and a very miracle to boot!" interjected
Thora of Bornholm.</p>

<p>The Pappenheims, as before, went on antiphonally,
each answering and anticipating the other.</p>

<p>"The Princesses need not any man to make them
happy! Their affection for each other is past telling,"
said Martha.</p>

<p>"How their eyes shine when they look at each
other!" sighed Anna, while Thora said nothing for a
little, but watched Johannes Rode keenly. She saw he
had something on his mind. The Northwoman was not
of the opinion which Anna Pappenheim attributed to
the Princesses. For the fair-skinned daughters of the
Goth, being wise, hold that there is but one kind of
love, as there is but one kind of gold. Also they
believe that they carry with them the philosopher's
stone wherewith to procure that fine ore. After a
while Thora spoke.</p>

<p>"This morning it was 'The Princess needs not your
help&mdash;I myself will be her tire-woman!' I wot
Margaret is as jealous of any other serving the Lady
Joan&mdash;&mdash;"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span></p>

<p>"As you would be if we made love to Johannes
Rode there!" laughed Martha Pappenheim, getting
behind a pillar and peeping roguishly round in order
that the poet might have an opportunity of seeing the
pretty turn of her ankle.</p>

<p>But little Johannes, who with a nail was scratching a
line or two of a catch on a smooth stone, hardly even
smiled. He minded maids of honour, their gabble and
their ankles, no more than jackdaws crying in the
crevices of the gable&mdash;that is, all except Thora, who was
so large and fair and white that he could not get her
quite out of his mind. But even with Thora of Bornholm
he did his best.</p>

<p>"That is all very well <i>now</i>," put in vain Fritz Seydelmann,
stroking his handsome beard and smiling
vacantly; "but wait till these same Princesses have had
husbands of their own for a year. Then they will spit
at each other and scratch&mdash;like cats. All women are
cats, and maids of honour the worst of all!"</p>

<p>"How so, Sir Wiseman&mdash;because they do not like
puppies? You have found out that?" Anna Pappenheim
struck back demurely.</p>

<p>"You ask me why maids of honour are like cats,"
returned Seydelmann complacently (he had been
making up this speech all night). "Do they not arch
their backs when they are stroked? Do they not
purr? Have you not seen them lie about the house
all day, doing nothing and looking as saintly as so
many abbots at High Mass? But at night and on the
tiles&mdash;phew! 'tis another matter then."</p>

<p>And having thus said vain moustached Seydelmann,
who plumed himself upon his wit, dragged at his moustache
horns and simpered bovinely down upon the girls.</p>

<p>Anna Pappenheim turned to Thora, who was
looking steadily through the self-satisfied Fritz, much
as if she could see a spider crawling on the wall
behind him.</p>

<p>"Do they let things like that run about loose here in
Courtland?" she asked, with some anxiety on her face.
"We have sties built for them at home in Franconia!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span></p>

<p>But Thora was in no mood for the rough jesting of
officers-in-waiting and princesses' tirewomen. She
continued to watch the spider.</p>

<p>Then little Johannes Rode spoke for the first time.</p>

<p>"I wager," he said slowly, "that the Princesses will
be less inseparable by this time to-morrow."</p>

<p>"What do you mean, Johannes Rode?" said Thora,
with instant challenge in her voice, turning the wide-eyed
directness of her gaze full upon him.</p>

<p>The young man did not look at her. He merely
continued the carving of his couplet upon the lower
stone of the sundial, whistling the air as he did so.</p>

<p>"Well," he answered slowly, "the Muscovite guard
of Prince Ivan have packed their own baggage
(together with a good deal that is not their own), and
the minster priests are warned to hold themselves at
the Prince's bidding all day. That means a wedding,
and I warrant you our noble Louis does not mean to
marry his Princess all over again in the Dom-Kirch of
Courtland. They are going to marry the Russ to our
Princess Margaret!"</p>

<p>Blonde Fritz laughed loud and long and tugged at
his moustache.</p>

<p>"Out, you fool!" he cried; "this is a saint's day!
I saw it in the chaplain's Breviary. The Prince goes
to shrive himself, and right wisely he judges. I would
not only confess, but receive extreme unction as well,
before I attempted to come nigh Joan of the Sword
Hand in the way of love! What say you, Justus?"</p>

<p>But before his companion could reply, Thora of
Bornholm had risen and stolen quietly within.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXV" id="CHAPTER_XXXV"></a>CHAPTER XXXV</h2>

<h3>A PERILOUS HONEYMOON</h3>


<p>Never was day so largely and gloriously blue
since Courtland was a city as the first morning
of the married life of Maurice and Margaret von Lynar,
Count and Countess von Löen. The summer floods
had subsided, and the tawny dye had gone clean out of
the Alla, which was now as clear as aquamarine, and
laved rather than fretted the dark green piles of the
Summer Palace.</p>

<p>The Princesses (so they said without) were more
than ever inseparable. They were constantly talking
confidentially together, for all the world like schoolgirls
with a secret. Doubtless Prince Louis's fair sister was
persuading the unruly wife to return to her duty.
Doubtless it was so&mdash;ah, yes, doubtless!</p>

<p>"Better that Prince Louis should do his own
embassage in such a matter in his proper person,"
said the good-wives of Thorn. "For me, I would
not listen to any sister if my man came not to my
feet himself. The Lady Joan is in the right of it&mdash;a
feckless lover, no true man!"</p>

<p>"Aye," said the men, agreeing for once, "a paper-backed
princeling! God wot, were it our Conrad we
should soon hear other of it! There would be none
of this shilly-shallying back-and-forth work then! We
would give half a year's income in golden gulden for
a good lusty heir to the Principalities&mdash;with that foul
Muscovite Ivan yearning to lay the knout across our
backs!"</p>

<p>"There is something toward to-day," said a decent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span>
widow woman who lived in the Königstrasse to her
neighbour. "My son, who as you know is a chorister,
is gone to practise the Wedding Hymn in the cathedral.
I am going thither to get a good place. I will not miss
it, whatever it is. Perhaps they are going to make the
Princess Joan do penance for her fault, in a white sheet
with a candle in her hand a yard long! That would be
rare sport. I would not miss it for so much as four
farthings!"</p>

<p>And with that the chorister's mother hobbled off,
telling everybody she met the same story. And so in
half an hour the news had spread all over the city,
and there began to be the makings of quite a respectable
crowd in the Dom Platz of Courtland.</p>

<p>It was half-past eleven when the archers of the guard
appeared at the entrance of the square which leads
from the palace. Behind them, rank upon rank, could
be seen the lances of the wild Cossacks of Prince
Ivan's escort who had remained behind when the
Muscovite army went back to the Russian plains.
Their dusky goat-hair tents, which had long covered
the banks of the Alla, had now been struck and were
laded upon baggage-horses and sumpter mules.</p>

<p>"The Prince of Muscovy delays only for the ceremony,
whatever it may be!" the people said, admiring
at their own prevision.</p>

<p>And the better sort added privately, "We shall be
well rid of him!" But the baser grieved for the loss
of the largesse which he scattered abroad in good Muscovite
silver, unclipped and unalloyed, with the mint-master's
hammer-stroke clean and clear to the margin.
For with such Prince Ivan knew how to make himself
beloved, holding man's honour and woman's love at
the price of so few and so many gold pieces, and thinking
well or ill of them according to their own valuation.
The rabble of Courtland, whose price was only silver,
he counted as no better than the trodden dirt of the
highway.</p>

<p>Meanwhile, in the river parlour of the Summer
Palace, the two Princesses were talking together even<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span>
as the people had said. The Princess Margaret sat on
a low stool, leaning her elbow on her companion's
knee and gazing up at him. And though she sometimes
looked away, it was not for long, and Maurice,
meeting her ever-recurrent regard, found that a new
thing had come into her eyes.</p>

<p>Presently a low tapping was heard at the inner door,
from which a passage communicated with the rooms of
the Princess Margaret. The Sparhawk would have
risen, for the moment forgetful of his disguise, but with
a slight pressure of her arm upon his knee the Princess
restrained him.</p>

<p>"Enter!" she called aloud in her clear imperious
voice.</p>

<p>Thora entered hurriedly, and, closing the door behind
her, she stood with the latch in her hand. "My
Princess," she said in a voice that was little more than a
whisper, "I have heard ill news. They are making
the cathedral ready for a wedding. The Cossacks
have struck their tents. I think a plot is on foot to
marry you this day to Prince Ivan, and to carry you off
with him to Moscow."</p>

<p>The Sparhawk sprang to his feet and laid his hand
on the place where his sword-hilt should have been.</p>

<p>"Never," he cried; "it is impossible! The Princess
is&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>He was about to add, "She is married already," but
with a quick gesture of warning Margaret stopped him.</p>

<p>"Who told you this?" she queried, turning again to
Thora of Bornholm.</p>

<p>"Johannes Rode of the Prince's guard told me a
moment ago," she answered. "He has just returned
from the Muscovite camp."</p>

<p>"I thank you, Thora&mdash;I shall not forget this faithfulness,"
said Margaret. "Now you have my leave to
go!" The Princess spoke calmly, and to the ear even
a little coldly.</p>

<p>The door closed upon the Swedish maiden.
Margaret and Maurice turned to each other with one
pregnant instinct and took hands.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span></p>

<p>"Already!" said Margaret faintly, going back into the
woman; "they might have left us alone a little longer.
How shall we meet this? What shall we do? I had
counted on this one day."</p>

<p>"Margaret," answered the Sparhawk impulsively,
"this shall not daunt us. We would have told your
brother Louis one day. We will tell him now. Duchess
Joan is safe out of his reach, Kernsberg is revictualled,
the Muscovite army returned. There is no need to
keep up the masquerade any longer. Whatever may
come of it, let us go to your brother. That will end it
swiftly, at all events."</p>

<p>The Princess put away his restraining clasp and
came closer to him.</p>

<p>"No&mdash;no," she cried: "you must not. You do not
know my brother. He is wholly under the influence of
Ivan of Muscovy. Louis would slay you for having
cheated him of his bride&mdash;Ivan for having forestalled
him with me."</p>

<p>"But you cannot marry Ivan. That were an outrage
against the laws of God and man!"</p>

<p>"Marry Ivan!" she cried, to the full as impulsively as
her lover; "not though they set ravens to pick the live
flesh off my bones! But it is the thought of torture
and death for you&mdash;that I cannot abide. We must
continue to deceive them. Let me think!&mdash;let me
think!"</p>

<p>Hastily she barred the door which led out upon the
corridor. Then taking Maurice's hand once more she
led him over to the window, from which she could see
the green Alla cutting its way through the city bounds
and presently escaping into the yet greener corn lands
on its way to the sea.</p>

<p>"It is for this one day's delay that we must plan.
To-night we will certainly escape. I can trust certain of
those of my household. I have tried them before....
I have it. Maurice, you must be taken ill&mdash;lie down on
this couch away from the light. There is a rumour of
the Black Death in the city&mdash;we must build on that.
They say an Astrakhan trader is dead of it already.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span>
For one day we may stave it off with this. It is the
poor best we can do. Lie down, I will call Thora.
She is staunch and fully to be trusted."</p>

<p>The Princess Margaret went to the inner door and
clapped her hands sharply.</p>

<p>The fair-haired Swedish maiden came running to
her. She had been waiting for such a signal.</p>

<p>"Thora," said her mistress in a quick whisper, "we
must put off this marriage. I would sooner die than
marry Ivan. You have that drug you spoke of&mdash;that
which gives the appearance of sickness unto death
without the reality. The Lady Joan must be ill, very
ill. You understand, we must deceive even the Prince's
physicians."</p>

<p>The girl nodded with quick understanding, and,
turning, she sped away up the inner stair to her own
sleeping-chamber, the key of which (as was the custom
in Courtland) she carried in her pocket.</p>

<p>"This will keep you from being suspected&mdash;as
in public places you would have been," whispered
Margaret to her young husband. "What Thora thinks
or knows does not matter. I can trust Thora with my
life&mdash;nay, what is far more, with yours."</p>

<p>A light tap and the girl re-entered, a tall phial in her
hand. With a swift look at her mistress to obtain permission,
she went up to the couch upon which the
Sparhawk had lain down. Then with a deft hand she
opened the bottle, and pouring a little of a colourless
liquid into a cup she gave it him to drink. In a few
minutes a sickly pallor slowly overspread Maurice von
Lynar's brow. His eyes appeared injected, the lips
paled to a grey white, beads of perspiration stood on
the forehead, and his whole countenance took on the
hue and expression of mortal sickness.</p>

<p>"Now," said Thora, when she had finished, "will
the noble lady deign to swallow one of these pellicles,
and in ten minutes not a leech in the country will be
able to pronounce that she is not suffering from a
dangerous disease."</p>

<p>"You are sure, Thora," said the Princess Margaret<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span>
almost fiercely, laying her hand on her tirewoman's
wrist, "that there is no harm in all this? Remember,
on your life be it!"</p>

<p>The placid, flaxen-haired woman turned with the
little silver box in her hand.</p>

<p>"Danger there is, dear mistress," she said softly,
"but not, I think, so great danger as we are already in.
But I will prove my honesty&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>She took first a little of the liquid, and immediately
after swallowed one of the white pellicles she had given
Maurice.</p>

<p>"It will be as well," she said, "when the Prince's wiseacre
physicians come, that they should find another
sickening of the same disease."</p>

<p>Thora of Bornholm passed about the couch and took
up a waiting-maid's station some way behind.</p>

<p>"All is ready," she said softly.</p>

<p>"We will forestall them," answered the Princess.
"Thora, send and bid Prince Louis come hither
quickly."</p>

<p>"And shall I also ask him to send hither his most
skilled doctors of healing?" added the girl. "I will despatch
Johannes Rode. He will go quickly and answer
as I bid him with discretion&mdash;and without asking
questions."</p>

<p>And with the noiseless tread peculiar to most blonde
women of large physique, Thora disappeared through
the private door by which she had entered.</p>

<p>The Princess Margaret kneeled down by the couch
and looked into the face of the Sparhawk. Even she
who had seen the wonder was amazed and almost
frightened by the ghastly effect the drug had wrought
in such short space.</p>

<p>"You are sure that you do not feel any ill effects&mdash;you
are perfectly well?" she said, with tremulous
anxiety in her voice.</p>

<p>The Sparhawk smiled and nodded reassuringly up at
her.</p>

<p>"Never better," he said. "My nerves are iron, my
muscles steel. I feel as if, for my Margaret's sake, I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span>
could vanquish an army of Prince Ivan's single-handed!"</p>

<p>The Princess rose from her place and unlocked the
main door.</p>

<p>"We will be ready for them," she said. "All must
appear as though we had no motive for concealment."</p>

<p>And, having drawn the curtains somewhat closer,
she kneeled down again by the couch. There was no
sound in the room as the youthful husband and wife
thus waited their fate hand in hand, save only the soft
continuous sibilance of their whispered converse, and
from without the deeper note of the Alla sapping the
Palace walls.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXXVI</h2>

<h3>THE BLACK DEATH</h3>


<p>The Princes of Courtland and Muscovy, inseparable
as the Princesses, were on the pleasant
creeper-shaded terrace which looks over the rose garden
of the palace of Courtland down upon the sea plain
of the Baltic, now stretching blue black from verge
to verge under the imminent sun of noon.</p>

<p>Prince Louis moved restlessly to and fro, now biting
his lip, now frowning and fumbling with his sword-hilt,
and anon half drawing his jewelled dagger from its sheath
and allowing it to slip back again with the faintly
musical click of perfectly fitting steel. Ivan of Muscovy,
on the other hand, lounged listlessly in the angle
of an embrasure, alternately contemplating his red-pointed
toes shod in Cordovan leather, and glancing
keenly from under his eyelids at his nervous companion
as often as his back was turned in the course of
his ceaseless perambulations.</p>

<p>"You would desert me, Ivan," Prince Louis was
saying in a tone at once appealing and childishly
aggressive: "you would leave me in the hour of my
need. You would take away from me my sister
Margaret, who alone has influence with the Princess,
my wife!"</p>

<p>"But you do not try to court the lady with any
proper fervour," objected Ivan, half humouring and
half irritating his companion; "you observe none of
the rules. Speak her soft, praise her eyelashes&mdash;surely
they are worthy of all praise; give her a pet lamb for a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span>
playmate. Feed her with conserves of honey and spice.
Surely such comfits would mollify even Joan of the
Sword Hand!"</p>

<p>"Tush!&mdash;you flout me, Ivan&mdash;even you. Every one
despises me since&mdash;since she flouted me. The woman
is a tigress, I tell you. Every time she looks at me her
eyes flick across me like a whip-lash!"</p>

<p>"That is but her maiden modesty. How often is it
assumed to cover love!" murmured Ivan, demurely
smiling at his shoe point, which nodded automatically
before him. "So doth the glance of my sweet bride of
to-day, your own sister Margaret. To all seeming she
loves me as little as the Lady Joan does you. Yet I am
not afraid. I know women. Before I have her a
month in Moscow she will run that she may be allowed
to pull my shoes off and on. She will be out of breath
with hasting to fetch my slippers&mdash;together with other
little domestic offices of that sort, all very profitable for
women's souls to perform. Take pattern by me, Louis,
and teach the tigress to bring your shoes and tie your
hose points. In a little while she will like it and hold
up her cheek to be kissed for a sufficient reward."</p>

<p>At this point an officer came swiftly across the
parterre and stood with uncovered head by the steps
of the terrace, waiting permission to ascend. The
Prince summoned him with a movement of his hand.</p>

<p>"What news?" he said; "have the ladies yet left
the Summer Palace?"</p>

<p>"No, my lord," answered the officer earnestly; "but
Johannes Rode of the Princess Margaret's household
has come with a message that the plague has broken
out there, and that the Lady Princess is the first
stricken!"</p>

<p>"Which Princess?" demanded Ivan, with an instant
incision of tone.</p>

<p>"The Lady Joan, Princess of Courtland, your
Highness," replied the man, without, however, looking
at the Prince of Muscovy.</p>

<p>"The Lady Joan?" cried the Prince Louis. "She is
ill? She has brought the Black Death with her from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span>
Kernsberg! She is stricken with the plague? How
fortunate that, so far, I&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>He clapped his hand upon his brow and shut his
eyes as if giving thanks.</p>

<p>"I see it all now!" he cried. "This is the reason
the Kernsberg traitors were so willing to give her up.
It is all a plot against my life. I will not go near.
Let the court physicians be sent! Cause the doors of
the Summer Palace to be sealed! Set double guards!
Permit none to pass either way, save the doctors only!
And let them change their clothes and perfume themselves
with the smoke of sulphur before they come
out!"</p>

<p>His voice mounted higher and higher as he spoke,
and Ivan of Muscovy watched him without speaking,
as with hands thrust out and distended nostrils he
screamed and gesticulated.</p>

<p>Prince Ivan had never seen a thorough coward
before, and the breed interested him. But when he
had let the Prince run on far enough to shame him
before his own officer, he rose quietly and stood in front
of him.</p>

<p>"Louis," he said, in a low voice, "listen to me&mdash;this
is but a report. It is like enough to be false; it is
certain to be exaggerated. Let us go at once and find
out."</p>

<p>Prince Louis threw out his hands with a gesture of
despair.</p>

<p>"Not I&mdash;not I!" he cried. "You may go if you
like, if you do not value your life. But I&mdash;I do not
feel well even now. Yesterday I kissed her hand. Ah,
would to God that I had not! That is it. I wondered
what ailed me this morning. Go&mdash;stop the court
physicians! Do not let them go to the Summer
Palace; bring them here to me first. Your arm,
officer; I think I will go to my room&mdash;I am not well."</p>

<p>Prince Ivan's countenance grew mottled and greyish,
and his teeth showed in the sun like a thin line of
dazzling white. He grasped the poltroon by the wrist
with a hand of steel.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span></p>

<p>"Listen," he said&mdash;"no more of this; I will not
have it! I will not waste my own time and the blood
of my father's soldiers for naught. This is but some
woman's trick to delay the marriage&mdash;I know it.
Hearken! I fear neither Black Death nor black
devil; I will have the Lady Margaret to-day if I
have to wed her on her death-bed! Now, I cannot
enter your wife's chamber alone. Yet go I must, if
only to see what all this means, and you shall accompany
me. Do you hear, Prince Louis? I swear you
shall go with me to the Summer Palace if I have to
drag you there step by step!"</p>

<p>His grasp lay like a tightening circle of iron about
the wrist of Prince Louis; his steady glance dominated
the weaker man. Louis drew in his breath with a
choking noise.</p>

<p>"I will," he gasped; "if it must&mdash;I will go. But
the Death&mdash;the Black Death! I am sick&mdash;truly, Ivan,
I am very sick!"</p>

<p>"So am I!" said Prince Ivan, smiling grimly. "But
bring his Highness a cup of wine, and send hither
Alexis the Deacon, my own physician."</p>

<p>The officer went out cursing the Muscovite ears that
had listened to such things, and also high Heaven for
giving such a Prince to his true German fatherland.</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;" />

<p>Prince Ivan and Prince Louis stood at the door of
the river parlour. The peculiar moving hush and
tepidly stagnant air of a sick-room penetrated even
through the panels. Ivan still kept hold of his friend,
but now by the hand, not compulsively, but rather like
one who in time of trouble comforts another's sorrow.</p>

<p>At either end of the corridor could be seen a guard
of Cossacks keeping it against all intrusion from without
or exodus from within. So Prince Ivan had ordered
it. His fellows were used to the plague, he said.</p>

<p>At the Princess's door Prince Ivan tapped gently
and inclined his ear to listen. Louis fumbled with his
golden crucifix, and as the Muscovite turned away his
head he pressed it furtively to his lips. Ever since he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span>
set foot in the Summer Palace he had been muttering
the prayers of the Church in a rapid undertone.</p>

<p>"The Prince Louis to see the Princess Joan!" Ivan
answered the low-voiced challenge from within. The
door opened slightly and then more widely. Ivan
pushed his friend forward and they entered, Louis
dragging one foot after the other towards the shaded
couch by which knelt the Princess Margaret. Thora
of Bornholm, pallid and blue-lipped, stood beside her,
swaying a little, but still holding, half unconsciously, as
it seemed, a silver basin, into which Margaret dipped a
fine linen cloth, before touching with it the foam-flecked
lips of the sufferer. Prince Ivan remained a little back,
near to where the court physicians were conferring together
in stage whispers. As he passed, a tall grey-skirted
long-bearded man, girt about the middle with a silver
chain, detached himself from the official group and
approached Prince Ivan. After an instinctive cringing
movement of homage and salutation, he bent to the
young man's ear and whispered half a dozen words.
Prince Ivan nodded very slightly and the man stole
away as he had come. No one in the room had noticed
the incident.</p>

<p>Meanwhile Louis of Courtland, almost as pale as
Thora herself, his lips blue, his teeth chattering, his
fingers clammy with perspiration, stood by the bedside
clutching the crucifix. Presently a hand was laid upon
his arm. He started violently at the touch.</p>

<p>"It is true&mdash;a bad case," said Ivan in his ear. "Let
us get away; I must speak with you at once. The physicians
have given their verdict. They can do nothing!"</p>

<p>With a gasp of relief Prince Louis faced about, and
as he turned he tottered.</p>

<p>"Steady, friend Louis!" said Prince Ivan in his ear,
and passed his arm about his waist.</p>

<p>He began to fear lest he should have frightened his
dupe too thoroughly.</p>

<p>"See how he loves her!" murmured the doctors of
healing, still conferring with their heads together.
"Who would have believed it possible?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span></p>

<p>"Nay, he is only much afraid," said Alexis the
Deacon, the Muscovite doctor; "and small blame to
him, now that the Black Death has come to Courtland.
In half an hour we shall hear the death-rattle!"</p>

<p>"Then there is no need of us staying," said more
than one learned doctor, and they moved softly towards
the door. But Ivan had possessed himself of the key,
and even as the hand of the first was on the latchet bar
the bolt was shot in his face. And the eyes of Alexis
the Deacon glowed between his narrow red lids like
sparks in tinder as he glanced at the whitening faces of
the learned men of Courtland.</p>

<p>Without the door Ivan fixed Prince Louis with his
will.</p>

<p>"Now," he said, speaking in low trenchant tones,
"if this be indeed the Black Death (and it is like it),
there is no safety for us here. We must get without
the walls. In an hour there will be such a panic in
the city as has not been for centuries. I offer you a
way of escape. My Cossacks stand horsed and ready
without. Let us go with them. But the Princess
Margaret must come also!"</p>

<p>"She cannot&mdash;she cannot. I will not permit it.
She may already be infected!" gasped Prince Louis.</p>

<p>"There is no infection till the crisis of the disease
is passed," said Prince Ivan firmly. "We have had
many plagues in Holy Russia, and know the symptoms."</p>

<p>("Indeed," he added to himself, "my physician,
Alexis the Deacon, can produce them!")</p>

<p>"But&mdash;but&mdash;but&mdash;&mdash;" Louis still objected, "the
Princess Joan&mdash;she may die. It will reflect upon my
honour if we all desert her. My sister must continue
to attend her. They are friends. I will go with you....
Margaret can remain and nurse her!"</p>

<p>A light like a spear point glittered momentarily under
the dark brows of the Muscovite.</p>

<p>"Listen, Prince Louis," he said. "Your honour is
your honour. Joan of the Sword Hand and her Black
Plagues are your own affair. She is your wife, not
mine. I have helped you to get her back&mdash;no more.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span>
But the Princess Margaret is my business. I have
bought her with a price. And look you, sir, I will not
ride back to Russia empty-handed, that every petty
boyar and starveling serf may scoff at me, saying, 'He
helped the Prince of Courtland to win his wife, but he
could not bring back one himself.' The whole city,
the whole country from here to Moscow know for
what cause I have so long sojourned in your capital.
No, Prince Louis, will you have me go as your friend
or as your enemy?"</p>

<p>"Ivan&mdash;Ivan, you are my friend. Do not speak to
me so! Who else is my friend if you desert me?"</p>

<p>"Then give me your sister!"</p>

<p>The Prince cast up his hand with a little gesture of
despair.</p>

<p>"Ah," he sighed, "you do not know Margaret!
She is not in my gift, or you should have had her long
ago! Oh, these troubles, these troubles! When will
they be at an end?"</p>

<p>"They are at an end now," said Prince Ivan consolingly.
"Call your sister out of the chamber on a
pretext. In ten minutes we shall be at the cathedral
gates. In another ten she and I can be wedded
according to your Roman custom. In half an hour we
shall all be outside the walls. If you fear the infection
you need not once come near her. I will do all that
is necessary. And what more natural? We will be
gone before the panic breaks&mdash;you to one of your hill
castles&mdash;if you do not wish to come with us to
Moscow."</p>

<p>"And the Princess Joan&mdash;&mdash;?" faltered the coward.</p>

<p>"She is in good hands," said the Prince, truthfully
for once. "I pledge you my word of honour she is in
no danger. Call your sister!"</p>

<p>Even as he spoke he tapped lightly, turned the key
in the lock and whispered, "Now!" to the Prince of
Courtland.</p>

<p>"Tell the Princess Margaret I would speak with her!"
said Prince Louis. "For a moment only!" he added,
fearing that otherwise she might not come.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span></p>

<p>There was a stir in the sick chamber and then quick
steps were heard coming lightly across the floor. The
face of the Princess appeared at the door.</p>

<p>"Well?" she said haughtily to her brother. Prince
Ivan she did not see, for he had stepped back into the
dusk of the corridor. Louis beckoned his sister
without.</p>

<p>"I must speak a word with you," he said. "I would
not have these fellows hear us!" She stepped out
unsuspectingly. Instantly the door was closed behind
her. A dark figure slid between. Prince Ivan turned
the key and laid his hand upon her arm.</p>

<p>"Help!" she cried, struggling; "help me! For
God's grace, let me go!"</p>

<p>But from behind came four Cossacks of the Prince's
retinue who half-carried, half-forced her along towards
the gates at which the Muscovite horses stood ready
saddled. And as Margaret was carried down the
passage the alarmed servitors stood aloof from her
cries, seeing that Prince Louis himself was with her.
Yet she cried out unceasingly in her anger and fear,
"To me, men of Courtland! The Cossacks carry me
off&mdash;I will not go! O God, that Conrad were here!
I will not be silent! Maurice, save me!"</p>

<p>But the people only shrugged their shoulders even
when they heard&mdash;as did also the guards and the
gentlemen-in-waiting, the underlings and the very
porters at the Palace gates. For they said, "They are
strange folk, these Courtland princes and princesses of
ours, with their marriages and givings in marriage.
They can neither wed nor bed like other people, but
must make all this fuss about it. Well&mdash;happily it is
no business of ours!"</p>

<p>Then at the stair foot she sank suddenly down by
the sundial, almost fainting with the sudden alarm and
fear, crying for the last time and yet more piercingly,
"Maurice! Maurice! Come to me, Maurice!" Then
above them in the Palace there began a mighty clamour,
the noise of blows stricken and the roar of many
voices. But Ivan of Muscovy was neither to be hurried<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span>
nor flurried. Impassive and determined, he swung
himself into the saddle. His black charger changed
his feet to take his weight and looked about to welcome
him&mdash;for he, too, knew his master.</p>

<p>"Give the Princess to me," he commanded. "Now
assist Prince Louis into his saddle. To the cathedral,
all of you!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXXVII</h2>

<h3>THE DROPPING OF A CLOAK</h3>


<p>And so, with the mounted guard of his own
Cossacks before him and behind, Prince Ivan
carried his bride to church through the streets of
her native city. And the folk thronged and marvelled
at this new custom of marrying. But none interfered
by word or sign, and the obsequious rabble shouted,
"Long live Prince Ivan!"</p>

<p>Even some of the better disposed, who had no liking
for the Muscovite alliance, said within their hearts,
looking at the calm set face of the Prince, "He is a
man! Would to God that our own Prince were more
like him!"</p>

<p>Also many women nodded their heads and ran to
find their dearest gossips. "You will see," they said,
"this one will have no ridings away. He takes his
wife before him upon his saddle-bow as a man should.
And she will pretend that she does not like it. But
secretly&mdash;ah, we know!"</p>

<p>And they smiled at each other. For there is that in
most women which will never be civilised. They love
not men who walk softly, and still in their heart of
hearts they prefer to be wooed by the primitive method
of capture. For if a woman be not afraid of a man
she will never love him truly. And that is a true word
among all peoples.</p>

<p>So they came at last to the Dom and the groups of
wondering folks, thinly scattered here and there&mdash;women
mostly. For there had been such long delay<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span>
at the Summer Palace that the men had gone back to
their shavings and cooperage tubs or were quaffing
tankards in the city ale-cellars.</p>

<p>The great doors of the cathedral had been thrown
wide open and the leathern curtains withdrawn. The
sun was checkering the vast tesselated pavement with
blurs of purple and red and glorious blue shot through the
western window of the nave. In gloomy chapel and
recessed nook marble princes and battered Crusaders
of the line of Courtland seemed to blink and turn their
faces to the wall away from the unaccustomed glare.
The altar candles and the lamps a-swing in the choir
winked no brighter than yellow willow leaves seen
through an autumnal fog. But as the <i>cortège</i> dismounted
the organ began to roll, and the people
within rose with a hush like that which follows the
opening of a window at night above the Alla.</p>

<p>The sonorous diapason of the great instrument disgorged
itself through the doorway in wave upon wave
of sound. The Princess Margaret found herself again
on her feet, upheld on either side by brother and lover.
She was at first somewhat dazed with the rush of
accumulate disasters. Slowly her mind came back.
The Dom Platz whirled more slowly about her. With
a fresh-dawning surprise she heard the choir sing
within. She began to understand the speech of men.
The great black square of the open doorway slowed
and finally stopped before her. She was on the steps
of the cathedral. What had come to her? Was it the
Duchess Joan's wedding day? Surely no! Then what
was the matter? Had she fainted?</p>

<p>Maurice&mdash;where was Maurice? She turned about.
The small glittering eyes of Prince Ivan, black as
sloes, were looking into hers. She remembered now.
It was her own wedding. These two, her brother and
her enemy, were carrying out their threat. They had
brought her to the cathedral to wed her, against her
will, to the man she hated. But they could not. She
would tell them. Already she was a&mdash;but then, if she
told them that, they would ride back and kill him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span>
Better that she should perjure herself, condemn herself
to hell, than that. Better anything than that. But
what was she to do? Was ever a poor girl so driven?</p>

<p>And there, in the hour of her extremity, her eye fell
upon a young man in the crowd beneath, a youth in a
'prentice's blue jerkin. He was passing his arm softly
about a girl's waist&mdash;slily also, lest her mother should
see. And the maid, first starting with a pretence of
not knowing whence came the pressure, presently
looked up and smiled at him, nestling a moment closer
to his shoulder before removing his hand, only to hold
it covertly under her apron till her mother showed
signs of turning round.</p>

<p>"Ah! why was I born a princess?" moaned the
poor driven girl.</p>

<p>"Margaret, you must come with us into the cathedral."
It was the voice of her brother. "It is necessary
that the Prince should wed you now. It has too long
been promised, and now he can delay no longer.
Besides, the Black Death is in the city, and this is the
only hope of escape. Come!"</p>

<p>It was on the tip of Margaret's tongue to cry out with
wild words even as she had done at the door at the
river parlour. But the thought of Maurice, of the
torture and the death, silenced her. She lifted her
eyes, and there, at the top of the steps, were the
dignitaries of the cathedral waiting to lead the solemn
procession.</p>

<p>"I will go!" she said.</p>

<p>And at her words the Prince Ivan smiled under his
thin moustache.</p>

<p>She laid her hand on her brother's arm and began
the ascent of the long flight of stairs. But even as she
did so, behind her there broke a wave of sound&mdash;the
crying of many people, confused and multitudinous
like the warning which runs along a crowded thoroughfare
when a wild charger escaped from bonds threshes
along with frantic flying harness. Then came the
clatter of horses' hoofs, the clang of doors shut in haste
as decent burghers got them in out of harm's way!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span>
And lo! at the foot of the steps, clad from head to foot
in a cloak, the sick Princess Joan, she whom the Black
Death had stricken, leaped from her foaming steed,
and drawing sword followed fiercely up the stairway
after the marriage procession. The Cossacks of the
Muscovite guard looked at each other, not knowing
whether to stand in her way or no.</p>

<p>"The Princess Joan!" they said from one to the other.</p>

<p>"Joan of the Sword Hand!" whispered the burghers
of Courtland. "The disease has gone to her brain.
Look at the madness in her eye!"</p>

<p>And their lips parted a little as is the wont of those
who, having come to view a comedy, find themselves
unexpectedly in the midst of high tragedy.</p>

<p>"Hold, there!" the pursuer shouted, as she set foot
on the lowest step.</p>

<p>"Lord! Surely that is no woman's voice!" whispered
the people who stood nearest, and their lower
jaws dropped a little further in sheer wonderment.</p>

<p>The Princes turned on the threshold of the cathedral,
with Margaret still between them, the belly of the
church black behind them, and the processional
priests first halting and then peering over each other's
shoulders in their eagerness to see.</p>

<p>Up the wide steps of the Dom flew the tall woman
in the flowing cloak. Her face was pallid as death,
but her eyes were brilliant and her lips red. At the
sight of the naked sword Prince Ivan plucked the
blade from his side and Louis shrank a little behind
his sister.</p>

<p>"Treason!" he faltered. "What is this? Is it
sudden madness or the frenzy of the Black Death?"</p>

<p>"The Princess Margaret cannot be married!" cried
the seeming Princess. "To me, Margaret! I will
slay the man who lays a hand on you!"</p>

<p>Obedient to that word, Margaret of Courtland
broke from between her brother and Prince Ivan and
ran to the tall woman, laying her brow on her breast.
The Prince of Muscovy continued calm and immovable.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span></p>

<p>"And why?" he asked in a tone full of contempt.
"Why cannot the Princess Margaret be married?"</p>

<p>"Because," said the woman in the long cloak,
fingering a string at her neck, "she is married already.
<i>I am her husband!</i>"</p>

<p>The long blue cloak fell to the ground, and the Sparhawk,
clad in close-fitting squire's dress, stood before
their astonished eyes.</p>

<p>A long low murmur, gathering and sinking, surged
about the square. Prince Louis gasped. Margaret
clung to her lover's arm, and for the space of a score
of seconds the whole world stopped breathing.</p>

<p>Prince Ivan twisted his moustache as if he would
pull it out by the roots.</p>

<p>"So," he said, "the Princess is married, is she?
And you are her husband? 'Whom God hath joined'&mdash;and
the rest of it. Well, we shall see, we shall see!"</p>

<p>He spoke gently, meditatively, almost caressingly.</p>

<p>"Yes," cried the Sparhawk defiantly, "we were
married yesterday by Father Clement, the Prince's
chaplain, in the presence of the most noble Leopold
von Dessauer, High Councillor of Plassenburg!"</p>

<p>"And my wife&mdash;the Princess Joan, where is she?"
gasped Prince Louis, so greatly bewildered that he had
not yet begun to be angry.</p>

<p>Ivan of Muscovy put out his hand.</p>

<p>"Gently, friend," he said; "I will unmask this play-acting
springald. This is not your wife, not the
woman you wedded and fought for, not the Lady
Joan of Hohenstein, but some baseborn brother,
who, having her face, hath played her part, in order
to mock and cheat and deceive us both!"</p>

<p>He turned again to Maurice von Lynar.</p>

<p>"I think we have met before, Sir Masquer," he said
with his usual suave courtesy; "I have, therefore, a
double debt to pay. Hither!" He beckoned to the
guards who lined the approaches. "I presume, sir, so
true a courtier will not brawl before ladies. You
recognise that you are in our power. Your sword,
sir!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span></p>

<p>The Sparhawk looked all about the crowded square.
Then he snapped his sword over his knee and threw
the pieces down on the stone steps.</p>

<p>"You are right; I will not fight vainly here," he
said. "I know well it is useless. But"&mdash;he raised his
voice&mdash;"be it known to all men that my name is
Maurice, Count von Löen, and that the Princess
Margaret is my lawfully wedded wife. She cannot
then marry Ivan of Muscovy!"</p>

<p>The Prince laughed easily and spread his hand with
gentle deprecation, as the guards seized the Sparhawk
and forced him a little space away from the clinging
hands of the Princess.</p>

<p>"I am an easy man," he said gently, as he clicked
his dagger to and fro in its sheath. "When I like
a woman, I would as lief marry her widow as maid!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXVIII</h2>

<h3>THE RETURN OF THE BRIDE</h3>


<p>"Prince Louis," continued Ivan, turning to the
Prince, "we are keeping these holy men needlessly,
as well as disappointing the good folk of Courtland
of their spectacle. There is no need that we
should stand here any longer. We have matters to
discuss with this gentleman and&mdash;his wife. Have I
your leave to bring them together in the Palace? We
may have something to say to them more at leisure."</p>

<p>But the Prince of Courtland made no answer. His
late fears of the Black Death, the astonishing turn
affairs had taken, the discovery that his wife was not
his wife, the slowly percolating thought that his
invasion of Kernsberg, his victories there, and his
triumphal re-entry into his capital, had all been in
vain, united with his absorbing fear of ridicule to
deprive him of speech. He moved his hand angrily
and began to descend the stairs towards the waiting
horses.</p>

<p>Prince Ivan turned towards Maurice von Lynar.</p>

<p>"You will come with me to the Palace under escort
of these gentlemen of my staff," he said, with smiling
equality of courtesy; "there is no need to discuss
intimate family affairs before half the rabble of Courtland."</p>

<p>He bowed to Maurice as if he had been inviting him
to a feast. Maurice looked about the crowded square,
and over the pennons of the Cossacks. He knew there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span>
was no hope either in flight or in resistance. All the
approaches to the square had been filled up with
armed men.</p>

<p>"I will follow!" he answered briefly.</p>

<p>The Prince swept his plumed hat to the ground.</p>

<p>"Nay," he said; "lead, not follow. You must go
with your wife. The Prince of Muscovy does not
precede a lady, a princess,&mdash;and a bride!"</p>

<p>So it came about that Margaret, after all, descended
the cathedral steps on her husband's arm.</p>

<p>And as the cavalcade rode back to the Palace the
Princess was in the midst between the Sparhawk and
Prince Wasp, Louis of Courtland pacing moodily
ahead, his bridle reins loose upon his horse's neck, his
chin sunk on his breast, while the rabble cried ever,
"Largesse! largesse!" and ran before them casting
brightly coloured silken scarves in the way.</p>

<p>Then Prince Ivan, summoning his almoner to his
side, took from him a bag of coin. He dipped his
fingers deeply in and scattered the coins with a free
hand, crying loudly, "To the health and long life of
the Princess Margaret and her husband! Health and
riches and offspring!"</p>

<p>And the mob taking the word from him shouted all
along the narrow streets, "To the Princess and her
husband!"</p>

<p>But from the hooded dormers of the city, from the
lofty gable spy-holes, from the narrow windows of
Baltic staircase-towers the good wives of Courtland
looked down to see the great folk pass. And their
comment was not that of the rabble. "Married, is
she?" they said among themselves. "Well, God bless
her comely face! It minds me of my own wedding.
But, by my faith, I looked more at my Fritz than she
doth at the Muscovite. I declare all her eyes are for
that handsome lad who rides at her left elbow&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Nay, he is not handsome&mdash;look at his face. It is
as white as a new-washen clout hung on a drying line.
Who can he be?"</p>

<p>"Minds me o' the Prince's wife, the proud lady that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span>
flouted him, mightily he doth&mdash;I should not wonder if
he were her brother."</p>

<p>"Yes, by my faith, dame&mdash;hast hit it! So he doth.
And here was I racking my brains to think where I
had seen him before, and then, after all, I never <i>had</i>
seen him before!"</p>

<p>"A miracle it is, gossip, and right pale he looks!
Yet I should not wonder if our Margaret loves him the
most. Her eyes seek to him. Women among the
great are not like us. They say they never like their
own husbands the best. What wouldst thou do, good
neighbour Bette, if I loved your Hans better than
mine own stupid old Fritz! Pull the strings off my
cap, dame, sayst thou? That shows thee no great
lady. For if thou wast of the great, thou wouldst no
more than wave thy hand and say, 'A good riddance
and a heartsome change!'&mdash;and with that begin to
make love to the next young lad that came by with his
thumbs in his armholes and a feather in his cap!"</p>

<p>"And what o' the childer&mdash;the house-bairns&mdash;what
o' them? With all this mixing about, what comes o'
them&mdash;answer me that, good dame!"</p>

<p>"What, Gossip Bette&mdash;have you never heard? The
childer of the great, they suck not their own mothers'
milk&mdash;they are not dandled in their own mothers'
arms. They learn not their Duty from their mothers'
lips. When they are fractious, a stranger beats them
till they be good&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Ah," cried the court of matrons all in unison, "I
would like to catch one of the fremit lay a hand on
my Karl&mdash;my Kirsten&mdash;that I would! I would comb
their hair for them, tear the pinner off their backs&mdash;that
I would!" "And I!" "And I!"</p>

<p>"Nay, good gossips all," out of the chorus the voice
of the dame learned in the ways of the great asserted
itself; "that, again, proves you all no better than
burgherish town-folk&mdash;not truly of the noble of the
land. For a right great lady, when she meets a foster-nurse
with a baby at the breast, will go near and say&mdash;I
have heard 'em&mdash;'La! the pretty thing&mdash;a poppet!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span>
Well-a-well, 'tis pretty, for sure! And whose baby
may this be?'</p>

<p>"'Thine own, lady, thine own!'"</p>

<p>At this long and loud echoed the derision of the
good wives of Courtland. Their gossip laughed and
reasserted. But no, they would not hear a word more.
She had overstepped the limit of their belief.</p>

<p>"What, not to know her child&mdash;her own flesh and
blood? Out on her!" cried every mother who had
felt about her neck the clasp of tiny hands, or upon her
breast the easing pressure of little blind lips. "Good
dame, no; you shall not hoodwink us. Were she deaf
and dumb and doting, a mother would yet know her
child. 'Tis not in nature else! Well, thanks be to
Mary Mother&mdash;she who knew both wife-pain and
mother-joy, we, at least, are not of the great. We may
hush our own bairns to sleep, dance with them when
they frolic, and correct them when they be naughty-minded.
Nevertheless, a good luck go with our noble
lady this day! May she have many fair children and
a husband to love her even as if she were a common
woman and no princess!"</p>

<p>So in little jerks of blessing and with much head-shaking
the good wives of Courtland continued their
congress, long after the last Cossack lance with its
fluttering pennon had been lost to view down the
winding street.</p>

<p>For, indeed, well might the gossips thank the Virgin
and their patron saints that they were not as the poor
Princess Margaret, and that their worst troubles concerned
only whether Hans or Fritz tarried a little over-long
in the town wine-cellars, or wagered the fraction
of a penny too much on a neighbour's cock-fight, and
so returned home somewhat crusty because the wrong
bird had won the main.</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;" />

<p>But in the Prince's palace other things were going
forward. Hitherto we have had to do with the
Summer Palace by the river, a building of no strength,
and built more as a pleasure house for the princely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span>
family than as a place of permanent habitation. But
the Castle of Courtland was a structure of another sort.</p>

<p>Set on a low rock in the centre of the town, its walls
rose continuous with its foundations, equally massive
and impregnable, to the height of over seventy feet.
For the first twenty-five neither window nor grating
broke the grim uniformity of those mighty walls of
mortared rock. Above that line only a few small
openings half-closed with iron bars evidenced the
fact that a great prince had his dwelling within. The
main entrance to the Castle was through a gateway
closed by a grim iron-toothed portcullis. Then a
short tunnel led to another and yet stronger defence&mdash;a
deep natural fosse which surrounded the rock on all
sides, and over which a drawbridge conducted into
the courtyard of the fortress.</p>

<p>The Sparhawk knew very well that he was going to
his death as he rode through the streets of the city of
Courtland, but none would have discovered from his
bearing that there was aught upon his mind of graver
concern than the fit of a doublet or, perhaps, the
favour of a pretty maid-of-honour. But with the
Princess Margaret it was different. In these last
crowded hours she had quite lost her old gay defiance.
Her whole heart was fixed on Maurice, and the tears
would not be bitten back when she thought of the fate
to which he was going with so manly a courage and so
fine an air.</p>

<p>They dismounted in the gloomy courtyard, and
Maurice, slipping quickly from his saddle, caught
Margaret in his arms before the Muscovite could
interfere. She clung to him closely, knowing that it
might be for the last time.</p>

<p>"Maurice, Maurice," she murmured, "can you
forgive me? I have brought you to this!"</p>

<p>"Hush, sweetheart," he answered in her ear; "be
my own dear princess. Do not let them see. Be my
brave girl. They cannot divide our love!"</p>

<p>"Come, I beg of you," came the dulcet voice of
Prince Ivan behind them; "I would not for all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span>
Courtland break in upon the billing and cooing of
such turtle-doves, were it not that their affection blinds
them to the fact that the men-at-arms and scullions
are witnesses to these pretty demonstrations. Tarry a
little, sweet valentines&mdash;time and place wait for all
things."</p>

<p>The Princess commanded herself quickly. In
another moment she was once more Margaret of
Courtland.</p>

<p>"Even the Prince of Muscovy might spare a lady
his insults at such a time!" she said.</p>

<p>The Prince bared his head and bowed low.</p>

<p>"Nay," he said very courteously; "you mistake,
Princess Margaret. I insult you not. I may regret
your taste&mdash;but that is a different matter. Yet even
that may in time amend. My quarrel is with this
gentleman, and it is one of some standing, I believe."</p>

<p>"My sword is at your service, sir!" said Maurice
von Lynar firmly.</p>

<p>"Again you mistake," returned the Prince more
suavely than ever; "you have no sword. A prisoner,
and (if I may say so without offence) a spy taken red-hand,
cannot fight duels. The Prince of Courtland
must settle this matter. When his Justiciar is satisfied,
I shall most willingly take up my quarrel with&mdash;whatever
is left of the most noble Count Maurice von Lynar."</p>

<p>To this Maurice did not reply, but with Margaret
still beside him he followed Prince Louis up the
narrow ancient stairway called from its shape the
couch, into the gloomy audience chamber of the
Castle of Courtland.</p>

<p>They reached the hall, and then at last, as though
restored to power by his surroundings, Prince Louis
found his tongue.</p>

<p>"A guard!" he cried; "hither Berghoff, Kampenfeldt!
Conduct the Princess to her privy chamber and
do not permit her to leave it without my permission.
I would speak with this fellow alone."</p>

<p>Ivan hastily crossed over to Prince Louis and
whispered in his ear.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span></p>

<p>In the meantime, ere the soldiers of the guard could
approach, Margaret cried out in a loud clear voice,
"I take you all to witness that I, Margaret of Courtland,
am the wife of this man, Maurice von Lynar, Count
von Löen. He is my wedded husband, and I love him
with all my heart! According to God's holy ordinance
he is mine!"</p>

<p>"You have forgotten the rest, fair Princess,"
suggested Prince Ivan subtly&mdash;"<i>till death you do
part!</i>"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXXIX</h2>

<h3>PRINCE WASP STINGS</h3>


<p>Margaret did not answer her tormentor's taunt.
Her arms went about Maurice's neck, and her
lips, salt with the overflowing of tears, sought his in a
last kiss. The officer of the Prince's guard touched
her on the shoulder. She shook him haughtily off,
and then, having completed her farewells, she loosened
her hands and went slowly backward towards the
further end of the hall with her eyes still upon the
man she loved.</p>

<p>"Stay, Berghoff," said Prince Louis suddenly; "let
the Princess remain where she is. Cross your swords
in front of her. I desire that she shall hear what I
have to say to this young gentleman."</p>

<p>"And also," added Prince Ivan, "I desire the noble
Princess to remember that this has been granted by
the Prince upon my intercession. In the future, it
may gain me more of her favour than I have had the
good fortune to enjoy in the past!"</p>

<p>Maurice stood alone, his tall slender figure supple
and erect. One hand rested easily upon his swordless
thigh, while the other still held the plumed hat he
snatched up as in frantic haste he had followed
Margaret from the Summer Palace.</p>

<p>There ensued a long silence in which the Sparhawk
eyed his captors haughtily, while Prince Louis watched
him from under the grey penthouse of his eyebrows.</p>

<p>Then three several times the Prince essayed to
speak, and as often utterance was choked within him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span>
His feelings could only find vent in muttered imprecations,
half smothered by a consuming rage. Then
Prince Ivan crossed over and laid his hand restrainingly
on his arm. The touch seemed to calm his
friend, and, after swallowing several times as there had
been a knot in his throat, at last he spoke.</p>

<p>For the second time in his life Maurice von Lynar
stood alone among his enemies; but this time in peril
far deadlier than among the roisterous pleasantries of
Castle Kernsberg. Yet he was as little daunted now
as then. Once on a time a duchess had saved him.
Now a princess loved him. And even if she could
not save him, still that was better.</p>

<p>"So," cried Prince Louis, in the curiously uneven
voice of a coward lashing himself into a fury, "you
have played out your treachery upon a reigning Prince
of Courtland. You cheated me at Castle Kernsberg.
Now you have made me a laughing-stock throughout
the Empire. You have shamed a maiden of my house,
my sister, the daughter of my father. What have you
to say ere I order you to be flung out from the battlements
of the western tower?"</p>

<p>"Ere it comes to that I shall have something to say,
Prince Louis," interrupted Prince Wasp, smiling.
"We must not waste such dainty powers of masquerade
on anything so vulgar as the hangman's
rope."</p>

<p>"Gentlemen and princes," Maurice von Lynar
answered, "that which I have done I have done for
the sake of my mistress, the Lady Joan, and I am not
afraid. Prince Louis, it was her will and intent never
to come to Courtland as your wife. She would not
have been taken alive. It was therefore the duty of
her servants to preserve her life, and I offered myself
in her stead. My life was hers already, for she had
preserved it. She had given. It was hers to take.
With the chief captains of Kernsberg I plotted that she
should be seized and carried to a place of refuge wherein
no foe could even find her. There she abides with
chosen men to guard her. I took her place and was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span>
delivered up that Kernsberg might be cleared of its
enemies. Gladly I came that I might pay a little of
my debt to my sovran lady and liege mistress, Joan
Duchess of Kernsberg and Hohenstein."</p>

<p>"Nobly perorated!" cried Prince Ivan, clapping his
hands. "Right sonorously ended. Faith, a paladin,
a deliverer of oppressed damsels, a very carnival masquerader!
He will play you the dragon, this fellow,
or he will act Saint George with a sword of lath! He
will amble you the hobby-horse, or be the Holy Virgin
in a miracle play. Well, he shall play in one more
good scene ere I have done with him. But, listen, Sir
Mummer, in all this there is no word of the Princess
Margaret. How comes it that you so loudly proclaim
having given yourself a noble sacrifice for one fair
lady, when at the same time you are secretly married
to another? Are you a deliverer of ladies by wholesale?
Speak to this point. Let us have another noble
period&mdash;its subject my affianced bride. Already we
have heard of your high devotion to Prince Louis's
wife. Well&mdash;next!"</p>

<p>But it was the Princess who spoke from where she
stood behind the crossed swords of her guards.</p>

<p>"That <i>I</i> will answer. I am a woman, and weak in
your hands, princes both. You have set the grasp of
rude men-at-arms upon the wrist of a Princess of
Courtland. But you can never compel her soul.
Brother Louis, my father committed me to you as a
little child&mdash;have I not been a loving and a faithful
sister to you? And till this Muscovite came between,
were you not good to me? Wherefore have you
changed? Why has he made you cruel to your little
Margaret?"</p>

<p>Prince Louis turned towards his sister, moving his
hands uncertainly and even deprecatingly.</p>

<p>Ivan moved quickly to his side and whispered
something which instantly rekindled the light of anger
in the weakling's eyes.</p>

<p>"You are no sister of mine," he said; "you have
disgraced your family and yourself. Whether it be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span>
true or no that you are married to this man matters
little!"</p>

<p>"It is true; I do not lie!" said Margaret recovering
herself.</p>

<p>"So much the worse, then, and he shall suffer for it.
At least I can hide, if I cannot prevent, your shame!"</p>

<p>"I will never give him up; nothing on earth shall
part our love!"</p>

<p>Prince Ivan smiled delicately, turning to where she
stood at the end of the hall.</p>

<p>"Sweet Princess," he said, "divorce is, I understand,
contrary to your holy Roman faith. But in my land
we have discovered a readier way than any papal bull.
Be good enough to observe this"&mdash;he held a dagger in
his hand. "It is a little blade of steel, but a span long,
and narrow as one of your dainty fingers, yet it will
divorce the best married pair in the world."</p>

<p>"But neither dagger nor the hate of enemies can
sever love," Margaret answered proudly. "You may
slay my husband, but he is mine still. You cannot
twain our souls."</p>

<p>The Prince shrugged his shoulder and opened his
palms deprecatingly.</p>

<p>"Madam," he said, "I shall be satisfied with twaining
your bodies. In holy Russia we are plain men. We
have a saying, 'No one hath ever seen a soul. Let the
body content you!' When this gentleman is&mdash;what I
shall make him, he is welcome to any communion of
souls with you to which he can attain. I promise you
that, so far as he is concerned, you shall find me
neither exigent lover nor jealous husband!"</p>

<p>The Princess looked at Maurice. Her eyes had
dwelt defiantly on the Prince of Muscovy whilst he
was speaking, but now a softer light, gentle yet brave,
crept into them.</p>

<p>"Fear not, my husband," she said. "If the steel
divide us, the steel can also unite. They cannot watch
so close, or bind so tight, but that I can find a way.
Or, if iron will not pierce, fire burn, or water drown, I
have a drug that will open the door which leads to you.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span>
Fear not, dearest, I shall yet meet you unashamed,
and as your loyal wife, without soil or stain, look into
your true eyes."</p>

<p>"I declare you have taught your mistress the trick
of words!" cried the Prince delightedly. "Count von
Löen, the Lady Margaret has quite your manner. She
speaks to slow music."</p>

<p>But even the sneers of Prince Ivan could not filch
the greatness out of their loves, and Prince Louis was
obviously wavering. Ivan's quick eye noted this and
he instantly administered a fillip.</p>

<p>"Are you not moved, Louis?" he said. "How
shamelessly hard is your heart! This handsome
youth, whom any part sets like a wedding favour and
fits like his own delicate skin, condescends to become
your relative. Where is your welcome, your kinsmanlike
manners? Go, fall upon his neck! Kiss him
on either cheek. Is he not your heir? He hath only
sequestrated your wife, married your sister. Your only
brother is a childless priest. There needs only your
decease to set him on the throne of the Princedom.
Give him time. How easily he has compassed all
this! He will manage the rest as easily. And then&mdash;listen
to the shouting in the streets. I can hear it
already. 'Long live Maurice the Bastard, Prince of
Courtland!'"</p>

<p>And the Prince of Muscovy laughed loud and long.
But Prince Louis did not laugh. His eyes glared
upon the prisoner like those of a wild beast caught in
a corner whence it wishes to flee but cannot.</p>

<p>"He shall die&mdash;this day shall be his last. I swear
it!" he cried. "He hath mocked me, and I will slay
him with my hand."</p>

<p>He drew the dagger from his belt. But in the
centre of the hall the Sparhawk stood so still and quiet
that Prince Louis hesitated. Ivan laid a soft hand
upon his wrist and as gently drew the dagger out of
his grasp.</p>

<p>"Nay, my Prince, we will give him a worthier
passing than that. So noble a knight-errant must die<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span>
no common death. What say you to the Ukraine
Cross, the Cross of Steeds? I have here four horses,
all wild from the steppes. This squire of dames, this
woman-mummer, hath, as now we know, four several
limbs. By a strange coincidence I have a wild horse
for each of these. Let limbs and steeds be severally
attached, my Cossacks know how. Upon each flank
let the lash be laid&mdash;and&mdash;well, the Princess Margaret
is welcome to her liege lord's soul. I warrant she will
not desire his fair body any more."</p>

<p>At this Margaret tottered, her knees giving way
beneath her, so that her guards stood nearer to catch
her if she should fall.</p>

<p>"Louis&mdash;my brother," she cried, "do not listen to
the monster. Kill my husband if you must&mdash;because
I love him. But do not torture him. By the last
words of our mother, by the memory of our father, by
your faith in the Most Pitiful Son of God, I charge
you&mdash;do not this devilry."</p>

<p>Prince Ivan did not give Louis of Courtland time to
reply to his sister's appeal.</p>

<p>"The most noble Princess mistakes," he murmured
suavely. "Death by the Cross of Steeds is no torture.
It is the easiest and swiftest of deaths. I have witnessed
it often. In my country it is reserved for the
greatest and the most distinguished. No common
felon dies by the Cross of Steeds, but men whose pride
it is to die greatly. Ere long we will show you on
the plain across the river that I speak the truth. It is
a noble sight, and all Courtland shall be there. What
say you, Louis? Shall this springald seat himself in
your princely chair, or&mdash;shall we try the Cross of the
Ukraine?"</p>

<p>"Have it your own way, Prince Ivan!" said Louis,
and went out without another word. The Muscovite
stood a moment looking from Maurice to Margaret
and back again. He was smiling his inscrutable
Oriental smile.</p>

<p>"The Prince has given me discretion," he said at
last. "I might order you both to separate dungeons,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span>
but I am an easy man and delight in the domestic
affections. I would see the parting of two such faithful
lovers. I may learn somewhat that shall stand me
in good stead in the future. It is my ill-fortune that
till now I have had little experience of the gentler
emotions."</p>

<p>He raised his hand.</p>

<p>"Let the Princess pass," he cried.</p>

<p>The guards dropped their swords to their sides.
They had been restraining her with as much gentleness
as their duty would permit.</p>

<p>Instantly the Princess Margaret ran forward with
eager appeal on her face. She dropped on her knees
before the Prince of Muscovy and clasped her hands
in supplication.</p>

<p>"Prince Ivan," she said, "I pray you for the love of
God to spare him, to let him go. I promise never to
see him more. I will go to a nunnery. I will look no
more upon the face of day."</p>

<p>"That, above all things, I cannot allow," said the
Prince. "So fair a face must see many suns&mdash;soon, I
trust, in Moscow city, and by my side."</p>

<p>"Margaret," said the Sparhawk, "it is useless to
plead. Do not abase yourself in the presence of our
enemy. You cannot touch a man's heart when his
breast covers a stone. Bid me goodbye and be brave.
The time will not be long."</p>

<p>From the place where Margaret the loving woman
had kneeled Margaret the Princess rose to her feet at
the word of her husband. Without deigning even to
glance at Ivan, who had stooped to assist her, she
passed him by and went to Von Lynar. He held out
both his hands and took her little trembling ones in a
strong assured clasp.</p>

<p>The Prince watched the pair with a chill smile.</p>

<p>"Margaret," said Maurice, "this will not be for
long. What matters the ford, so that we both pass
over the river. Be brave, little wife. The crossing
will not be wide, nor the water deep. They cannot
take from us that which is ours. And He who joined<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span>
us, whose priest blessed us, will unite us anew when
and where it seemeth good to Him!"</p>

<p>"Maurice, I cannot let you die&mdash;and by such a
terrible death!"</p>

<p>"Dearest, what does it matter? I am yours. Wherever
my spirit may wander, I am yours alone. I will
think of you when the Black Water shallows to the
brink. On the further side I will wait a day and then
you will meet me there. To you it may seem years. It
will be but a day to me. And I shall be there. So,
little Margaret, good-night. Do not forget that I love
you. I would have made you very happy, if I had had
time&mdash;ah, if I had had time!"</p>

<p>Like a child after its bedside prayer she lifted up her
face to be kissed.</p>

<p>"Good-night, Maurice," she said simply. "Wait for
me; I shall not be long after!"</p>

<p>She laid her brow a moment on his breast. Then
she lifted her head and walked slowly and proudly out
of the hall. The guard fell in behind her, and Maurice
von Lynar was left alone with the Prince of Muscovy.</p>

<p>As the door closed upon the Princess a sudden
devilish grimace of fury distorted the countenance of
Prince Ivan. Hitherto he had been studiously and
even caressingly courteous. But now he strode swiftly
up to his captive and smote him across the mouth
with the back of his gauntleted hand.</p>

<p>"That!" he said furiously, "that for the lips which
have kissed hers! Soon, soon I shall pay the rest of
my debt. Yes, by the most high God, I will pay it&mdash;with
usury thereto!"</p>

<p>A thin thread of scarlet showed upon the white of
Maurice von Lynar's chin and trickled slowly downwards.
But he uttered no word. Only he looked his
enemy very straightly in the eyes, and those of the
Muscovite dropped before that defiant fierce regard.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XL" id="CHAPTER_XL"></a>CHAPTER XL</h2>

<h3>THE LOVES OF PRIEST AND WIFE</h3>


<p>It remains to tell briefly how certain great things
came to pass. We must return to Isle Rugen and
to the lonely grange on the spit of sand which separates
the Baltic from the waters of the Freshwater Haff.</p>

<p>Many things have happened there since Conrad of
Courtland, Cardinal and Archbishop, awaked to find
by his bedside the sleeping girl who was his brother's
wife.</p>

<p>On Isle Rugen, where the pines grew dense and
green, gripping and settling the thin sandy soil with
their prehensile roots, Joan and Conrad found themselves
much alone. The lady of the grange was
seldom to be seen, save when all were gathered
together at meals. Werner von Orseln and the
Plassenburg captains, Jorian and Boris, played cards
and flung harmless dice for white stones of a certain
size picked from the beach. Dumb Max Ulrich went
about his work like a shadow. The ten soldiers
mounted guard and looked out to sea with their
elbows on their knees in the intervals. Three times a
week the solitary boat, with Max Ulrich at the oars,
crossed to the landing-place on the mainland and returned
laden with provisions. The outer sea was empty
before their eyes, generally deep blue and restless with
foam caps. Behind them the Haff lay vacant and still
as oil in a kitchen basin.</p>

<p>But it was not dull on Isle Rugen.</p>

<p>The osprey flashed and fell in the clear waters of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span>
Haff, presently to re-emerge with a fish in his beak, the
drops running like a broken string of pearls from his
scales. Rough-legged buzzards screamed their harsh
and melancholy cry as on slanted wings they glided
down inclines of sunshine or lay out motionless upon
the viewless glorious air. Wild geese swept overhead
out of the north in V-shaped flocks. The sea-gulls
tacked and balanced. All-graceful terns swung thwartways
the blue sky, or plunged headlong into the long
green swells with the curve and speed of falling
stars.</p>

<p>It was a place of forgetting, and in the autumn time
it is good to forget. For winter is nigh, when there
will be time and enough to think all manner of sad
thoughts.</p>

<p>So in the September weather Joan and Conrad
walked much together. And as Joan forgat Kernsberg
and her revenge, Rome and his mission receded
into the background of the young man's thoughts.
Soon they met undisguisedly without fear or shame.
This Isle Rugen was a place apart&mdash;a haven of refuge
not of their seeking. Mars had driven one there,
Neptune the other.</p>

<p>Yet when Conrad woke in his little north-looking
room in the lucid pearl-grey dawn he had some bad
moments. His vows, his priesthood, his princedom
of Holy Church were written in fire before his eyes.
His heart weighed heavy as if cinctured with lead.
And, deeper yet, a rat seemed to gnaw sharp-toothed at
the springs of his life.</p>

<p>Also, when the falling seas, combing the pebbly
beaches with foamy teeth, rattled the wet shingle, Joan
would ofttimes wake from sleep and lie staring wide-eyed
at the casement. Black reproach of self brooded
upon her spirit, as if a foul bird of night had fluttered
through the open window and settled upon her breast.
The poor folk of Kernsberg&mdash;her fatherland invaded
and desolate, the Sparhawk, the man who ought to
have been the ruler she was not worthy to be, the
leader in war, the lawgiver in peace&mdash;these reproachful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span>
shapes filled her mind so that sleep fled and she lay
pondering plans of escape and deliverance.</p>

<p>But of one thing she never thought&mdash;of the cathedral
of Courtland and the husband to whose face she had
but once lifted her eyes.</p>

<p>The sun looked through between the red cloud bars.
These he soon left behind, turning them from fiery
islands to banks of fleecy wool. The shadows shot
swiftly westward and then began slowly to shorten. In
his chamber Prince Conrad rose and went to the
window. A rose-coloured light lay along the sea
horizon, darting between the dark pine stems and
transmuting the bare sand-dunes into dreamy marvels,
till they touched the heart like glimpses of a lost Eden
seen in dreams. The black bird of night flapped its way
behind the belting trees. There was not such a thing
as a ghostly rat to gnaw unseen the heart of man. The
blue dome of sky overhead was better than the holy
shrine of Peter across the tawny flood of Tiber, and
Isle Rugen more to be desired than the seven-hilled
city itself. Yea, better than lifted chalice and wafted
incense, Joan's hand in his&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>And Conrad the lover turned from the window with
a defiant heart.</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;" />

<p>At her casement, which opened to the east, stood at
the same moment the young Duchess of Hohenstein.
Her lips were parted and the mystery of the new day
dwelt in her eyes like the memory of a benediction.
Southward lay the world, striving, warring, sinning,
repenting, elevating the Host, slaying the living, and
burying the dead. But between her and that world
stretched a wide water not to be crossed, a fixed gulf
not to be passed over. It was the new day, and there
beneath her was the strip of silver sand where he and she
had walked yestereven, when the moon was full and the
wavelets of that sheltered sea crisped in silver at their
feet.</p>

<p>An hour afterwards these two met and gave each<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span>
other a hand silently. Then, facing the sunrise, they
walked eastward along the shore, while from the dusk
of the garden gate Theresa von Lynar watched them
with a sad smile upon her face.</p>

<p>"She is learning the lesson even as I learned it," she
murmured, unconsciously thinking aloud. "Well, that
which the father taught it is meet that the daughter
should learn. Let her eat the fruit, the bitter fruit of
love&mdash;even as I have eaten it!"</p>

<p>She watched a little longer, standing there with the
pruning-knife in her hand. She saw Conrad turn
towards Joan as they descended a little dell among the
eastern sand-hills. And though she could not see, she
knew that two hands met, and that they stood still for
a moment, ere their feet climbed the opposite slope of
dew-drenched sand. A swift sob took her unexpectedly
by the throat.</p>

<p>"And yet," she said, "were all to do over, would not
Theresa von Lynar again learn that lesson from Alpha
to Omega, eat the Dead Sea fruit to its bitterest kernel,
in order that once more the bud might open and love's
flower be hers?"</p>

<p>Theresa von Lynar at her garden door spoke truth.
For even then among the sand-hills the bud was
opening, though the year was on the wane and the
winter nigh.</p>

<p>"Happy Isle Rugen!" said Joan, drawing a breath
like a sigh. "Why were we born to princedoms,
Conrad, you and I?"</p>

<p>"I at least was not," answered her companion.
"Dumb Max's jerkin of blue fits me better than any
robe royal."</p>

<p>They stood on the highest part of the island. Joan
was leaning on the crumbling wall of an ancient fort,
which, being set on a promontory from which the pinetrees
drew back a little, formed at once a place of
observation and a point objective for their walks.
She turned at his words and looked at him. Conrad,
indeed, never looked better or more princely than in
that rough jerkin of blue, together with the corded<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span>
forester's breeches and knitted hose which he had
borrowed from Theresa's dumb servitor.</p>

<p>"Conrad," said Joan, suddenly standing erect and
looking directly at the young man, "if I were to tell
you that I had resolved never to return to Kernsberg,
but to remain here on Isle Rugen, what would you
answer?"</p>

<p>"I should ask to be your companion&mdash;or, if not, your
bailiff!" said the Prince-Bishop promptly.</p>

<p>"That would be to forget your holy office!"</p>

<p>A certain gentle sadness passed over the features of
the young man.</p>

<p>"I leave many things undone for the sake of mine
office," he said; "but the canons of the Church do
not forbid poverty, or yet manual labour."</p>

<p>"But you have told me a hundred times," urged
Joan, smiling in spite of herself, "that necessity and
not choice made you a Churchman. Does that necessity
no longer exist?"</p>

<p>"Nay," answered Conrad readily as before; "but
smaller necessities yield to greater?"</p>

<p>"And the greater?"</p>

<p>"Why," he answered, "what say you to the tempest
that drove me hither&mdash;the thews and stout hearts of
Werner von Orseln and his men, not to speak of
Captains Boris and Jorian there? Are they not
sufficient reasons for my remaining here?"</p>

<p>He paused as if he had more to say.</p>

<p>"Well?" said Joan, and waited for him to continue.</p>

<p>"There is something else," he said. "It is&mdash;it is&mdash;that
I cannot bear to leave you! God knows I could
not leave you if I would!"</p>

<p>Joan of Hohenstein started. The words had been
spoken in a low tone, yet with suppressed vehemence,
as though driven from the young man's lips against his
will. But there was no mistaking their purport. Yet
they were spoken so hopelessly, and withal so gently,
that she could not be angry.</p>

<p>"Conrad&mdash;Conrad," she murmured reproachfully,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span>
"I thought I could have trusted you. You promised
never again to forget what we must both remember!"</p>

<p>"In so thinking you did well," he replied; "you
may trust me to the end. But the privilege of speech
and testimony is not denied even to the criminal upon
the scaffold."</p>

<p>A wave of pity passed over Joan. A month before
she would have withdrawn herself in hot anger. But
Isle Rugen had gentled all her ways. The peace of that
ancient fortalice, the wash of its ambient waters, the
very lack of incident, the sense of the mysteries of
tragic life which surrounded her on all sides, the deep
thoughts she had been thinking alone with herself, the
companionship of this man whom she loved&mdash;all these
had wrought a new spirit in Joan of the Sword Hand.
Women who cannot be pitiful are but half women.
They have never yet entered upon their inheritance.
But now Joan was coming to her own again. For to
pity of Theresa von Lynar she was adding pity for
Conrad of Courtland and&mdash;Joan of Hohenstein.</p>

<p>"Speak," she said very gently. "Do not be afraid;
tell me all that is in your heart."</p>

<p>Joan was not disinclined to hear any words that the
young man might speak. She believed that she could
listen unmoved even to his most passionate declarations
of love. Like the wise physician, she would listen,
understand, prescribe&mdash;and administer the remedy.</p>

<p>But the pines of Isle Rugen stood between this
woman and the girl who had ridden away so proudly
from the doors of the Kernsberg minster at the head of
her four hundred lances. Besides, she had not forgotten
the tournament and the slim secretary who had
once stood before this man in the river parlour of the
Summer Palace.</p>

<p>Then Conrad spoke in a low voice, very distinct and
even in its modulation.</p>

<p>"Joan," he said, "once on a time I dreamed of being
loved&mdash;dreamed that among all the world of women
there might be one woman for me. Such things must
come when deep sleep falleth upon a young man.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span>
Waking I put them from me, even as I put arms
and warfare aside. I believed that I had conquered
the lust of the eye. Now I know that I can never
again be true priest, never serve the altar with a clean
heart.</p>

<p>"Listen, my Lady Joan! I love you&mdash;there is no use
in hiding it. Doubtless you yourself have already seen it.
I love you so greatly that vows, promises, priesthoods,
cardinalates are no more to me than the crying of the
seabirds out yonder. Let a worthier than I receive
and hold them. They are not for a weak and sinful
man. My bishopric let another take. I would rather
be your groom, your servitor, your lacquey, than reign
on the Seven Hills and sit in Holy Peter's chair!"</p>

<p>Joan leaned against the crumbling battlement, and
the words of Conrad were very sweet in her ear. They
filled her with pity, while at the same time her heart
was strong within her. None had dared to speak such
things to her before in all her life, and she was a
woman. The Princess Margaret, had she loved a man
as Joan did this man, would have given back vow for
vow, renunciation for renunciation, and, it might be,
have bartered kiss for kiss.</p>

<p>But Joan of the Sword Hand was never stronger,
never more serene, never surer of herself than when
she listened to the words she loved best to hear, from
the lips of the man whom of all others she desired to
speak them. At first she had been looking out upon
the sea, but now she permitted her eyes to rest with
a great kindliness upon the young man. Even as
he spoke Conrad divined the thing that was in her
heart.</p>

<p>"Mark you," he said, "do me the justice to remember
that I ask for nothing. I expect nothing. I hope for
nothing in return. I thought once that I could love
Divine things wholly. Now I know that my heart is
too earthly. But instead I love the noblest and most
gracious woman in all the world. And I love her, too,
with a love not wholly unworthy of her."</p>

<p>"You do me overmuch honour," said Joan quietly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span>
"I, too, am weak and sinful. Or how else would I, your
brother's wife, listen to such words from any man&mdash;least
of all from you?"</p>

<p>"Nay," said Conrad; "you only listen out of your
great pitifulness. But I am no worthy priest. I will
not take upon me the yet greater things for which I
am so manifestly unfitted. I will not sully the holy
garments with my earthliness. Conrad of Courtland,
Bishop and Cardinal, died out there among the
breakers.</p>

<p>"He will never go to Rome, never kneel at the
tombs of the Apostles. From this day forth he is a
servitor, a servant of servants in the train of the
Duchess Joan. Save those with us here, our hostess
and the three captains (who for your sake will hold
their peace), none know that Conrad of Courtland
escaped the waters that swallowed up his companions.
They and you will keep the secret. This shaven crown
will speedily thatch itself again, a beard grow upon
these shaveling cheeks. A dash of walnut juice, and
who will guess that under the tan of Conrad the serf
there is concealed a prince of Holy Church?"</p>

<p>He paused, almost smiling. The picture of his
renunciation had grown real to him even as he spoke.
But Joan did not smile. She waited a space to see if
he had aught further to say. But he was silent,
waiting for her answer.</p>

<p>"Conrad," she said very gently, "that I have
listened to you, and that I have not been angry, may
be deadly sin for us both. Yet I cannot be angry.
God forgive me! I have tried and I cannot be angry.
And why should I? Even as I lay a babe in the cradle,
I was wedded. If a woman must suffer, she ought at
least to be permitted to choose the instrument of her
torture."</p>

<p>"It is verity," he replied; "you are no more true wife
than I am true priest."</p>

<p>"Yet because you have dispensed holy bread, and
I knelt before the altar as a bride, we must keep
faith, you and I. We are bound by our nobility. If<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span>
we sin, let it be the greater and rarer sin&mdash;the sin of
the spirit only. Conrad, I love you. Nay, stand still
where you are and listen to me&mdash;to me, Joan, your
brother's wife. For I, too, once for all will clear my
soul. I loved you long ere your eyes fell on me. I
came as Dessauer's secretary to the city of Courtland.
I determined to see the man I was to wed. I saw the
prince&mdash;my prince as I thought&mdash;storm through the
lists on his white horse. I saw him bare his head and
receive the crown of victory. I stood before him,
ashamed yet glad, hosed and doubleted like a boy, in
the Summer Pavilion. I heard his gracious words. I
loved my prince, who so soon was to be wholly mine.
The months slipped past, and I was ever the gladder
the faster they sped. The woman stirred within the
stripling girl. In half a year, in twenty weeks&mdash;in five&mdash;in
one&mdash;in a day&mdash;an hour, I would put my hand,
my life, myself into his keeping! Then came the
glad tumult of the rejoicing folk, the hush of the
crowded cathedral. I said, 'Oh, not yet&mdash;I will not
lift my eyes to my prince until&mdash;&mdash;' We stopped. I
lifted my eyes. And lo! the prince was not my
prince!"</p>

<p>There was a long and solemn pause between these
two on the old watchtower. Never was declaration of
love so given and so taken. Conrad remained still as
a statue, only his eyes growing great and full of light.
Joan stood looking at him, unashamed and fearless.
Yet neither moved an inch toward either. A brave
woman's will, to do right greatly, stood between
them.</p>

<p>She went on.</p>

<p>"Now you know all, my Conrad," she said. "Isle
Rugen can never more be the isle of peace to us. You
and I have shivered the cup of our happiness. We
must part. We can never be merely friends. I must
abide because I am a prisoner. You will keep my
counsel, promising me to be silent, and together we
will contrive a way of escape."</p>

<p>When Conrad answered her again his voice was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span>
hoarse and broken, almost like one rheumed with
sleeping out on a winter's night. His words whistled
in his windpipe, flying from treble to bass and back
again.</p>

<p>"Joan, Joan!" he said, and the third time "Joan!"
And for the moment he could say no more.</p>

<p>"True love," she said, and her voice was almost
caressing, "you and I are barriered from each other.
Yet we belong&mdash;you to me&mdash;I to you! I will not
touch your hand, nor you mine. Not even as we have
hitherto done. Let ours be the higher, perhaps deadlier
sin&mdash;the sin of soul and soul. Do you go back to
your office, your electorate, while I stay here to do my
duty."</p>

<p>"And why not you to your duchy?" said Conrad,
who had begun to recover himself.</p>

<p>"Because," she answered, "if I refuse to abide by
one of my father's bargains, I have no right to hold by
the other. He would have made me your brother's
wife. That I have refused. He disinherited his
lawful son that I might take the dukedom with me as
my dowry. Can I keep that which was only given me
in trust for another? Maurice von Lynar shall be
Duke Maurice, and Theresa von Lynar shall have her
true place as the widow of Henry the Lion!"</p>

<p>And she stood up tall and straight, like a princess
indeed.</p>

<p>"And you?" he said very low. "What will you do,
Joan?"</p>

<p>"For me, I will abide on Isle Rugen. Nunneries
are not for me. There are doubtless one or two who
will abide with me for the sake of old days&mdash;Werner
von Orseln for one, Peter Balta for another. I shall
not be lonely."</p>

<p>She smiled upon him with a peculiar trustful sweetness
and continued&mdash;</p>

<p>"And once a year, in the autumn, you will come
from your high office. You will lay aside the princely
scarlet, and don the curt hose and blue jerkin, even as
now you stand. You will gather blackberries and help<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span>
me to preserve them. You will split wood and carry
water. Then, when the day is well spent, you and I
shall walk hither in the high afternoon and tell each
other how we stand and all the things that have filled
our hearts in the year's interspace. Thus will we keep
tryst, you and I&mdash;not priest and wedded wife, but man
and woman speaking the truth eye to eye without fear
and without stain. Do you promise?"</p>

<p>And for all answer the Prince-Cardinal kneeled down,
and taking the hem of her dress he kissed it humbly
and reverently.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLI" id="CHAPTER_XLI"></a>CHAPTER XLI</h2>

<h3>THERESA KEEPS TROTH</h3>


<p>But they had reckoned without Theresa von
Lynar.</p>

<p>Conrad and Joan came back from the ruined fortification,
silent mostly, but thrilled with the thoughts of
that which their eyes had seen, their ears heard. Each
had listened to the beating of the other's heart. Both
knew they were beloved. Nothing could alter <i>that</i>
any more for ever. As they had gone out with
Theresa watching them from the dusk of the garden
arcades, their hands had drawn together. Eyes had
sought answering eyes at each dip of the path. They
had listened for the finest shades of meaning in one
another's voices, and taken courage or lost hope from
the droop of an eyelid or the quiver of a syllable.</p>

<p>Now all was changed. They knew that which they
knew.</p>

<p>The orchard of the lonely grange on Isle Rugen was
curiously out of keeping with its barren surroundings.
Enclosed within the same wall as the dwelling-house,
it was the special care of the Wordless Man, whose
many years of pruning and digging and watering,
undertaken each at its proper season, had resulted in a
golden harvest of September fruit. When Joan and
Conrad came to the portal which gave entrance from
without, lo! it stood open. The sun had been shining
in their eyes, and the place looked very slumberous in
the white hazy glory of a northern day. The path<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span>
which led out of the orchard was splashed with cool
shade. Green leaves shrined fair globes of fruitage
fast ripening in the blowing airs and steadfast sun. Up
the path towards them as they stood together came
Theresa von Lynar. There was a smile on her face, a
large and kindly graciousness in her splendid eyes.
Her hair was piled and circled about her head, and
drawn back in ruddy golden masses from the broad
white forehead. Autumn was Theresa's season, and
in such surroundings she might well have stood for
Ceres or Pomona, with apron full enough of fruit for
many a horn of plenty.</p>

<p>Such large-limbed simple-natured women as Theresa
von Lynar appear to greatest advantage in autumn.
It is their time when the day of apple-blossom and
spring-flourish is overpast, and when that which these
foreshadowed is at length fulfilled. Then to see such
an one emerge from an orchard close, and approach
softly smiling out of the shadow of fruit trees, is to
catch a glimpse of the elder gods. Spring, on the
other hand, is for merry maidens, slips of unripe grace,
buds from the schools. Summer is the season of
languorous dryads at rest in the green gloom of
forests, fanning sunburnt cheeks with leafy boughs,
their dark eyes full of the height of living. Winter is
the time of swift lithe-limbed girls with heads proudly
set, who through the white weather carry them like
Dian the Huntress, their dainty chins dimpling out of
softening furs. To each is her time and supremacy,
though a certain favoured few are the mistresses of all.
They move like a part of the spring when cherry
blossoms are set against a sky of changeful April blue.
They rejoice when dark-eyed summer wears scarlet
flowers in her hair, shaded by green leaves and fanned
by soft airs. Well-bosomed Ceres herself, smiling
luxuriant with ripe lips, is not fairer than they at the
time of apple-gathering, nor yet dainty Winter, footing
it lightly over the frozen snow.</p>

<p>Joan, an it liked her, could have triumphed in all
these, but her nature was too simple to care about the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span>
impression she made, while Conrad was too deep in
love to notice any difference in her perfections.</p>

<p>And now Theresa von Lynar, the woman who had
given her beauty and her life like a little Saint Valentine's
gift into the hand of the man she loved, content that
he should take or throw away as pleased him best&mdash;Theresa
von Lynar met these two, who in their new
glory of renunciation thought that they had plumbed
the abysses of love, when as yet they had taken no
more than a single sounding in the narrow seas. She
stood looking at them as they came towards her, with
a sympathy that was deeper far than mere tolerance.</p>

<p>"Our Joan of the Sword Hand is growing into a
woman," she murmured; and something she had
thought buried deep heaved in her breast, shaking her
as Enceladus the Giant shakes Etna when he turns in
his sleep. For she saw in the girl her father's likeness
more strongly than she had ever seen it in her own
son.</p>

<p>"You have faced the sunshine!" Thus she greeted
them as they came. "Sit awhile with me in the shade.
I have here a bower where Maurice loved to play&mdash;before
he left me. None save I hath entered it since
that day."</p>

<p>So saying, she led the way along an alley of pleached
green, at the far end of which they could see the
solitary figure of Max Ulrich, in the full sun, bending
his back to his gardening tasks, yet at the same time,
as was his custom, keeping so near his mistress that a
fluttering kerchief or a lifted hand would bring him
instantly to her side.</p>

<p>It was a small rustic eight-sided lodge, thatched
with heather, its latticed windows wide open and
creeper-grown, to which Theresa led them. It had
been well kept; and when Joan found herself within,
a sudden access of tenderness for this lonely mother,
who for love's sake had offered herself like a sacrifice
upon an altar, took possession of her.</p>

<p>For about the walls was fastened a child's
pitiful armoury. Home-made swords of lath, arrows<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span>
winged with the cast feathers of the woodland, crooked
bows, the broken crockery of a hundred imagined
banquets&mdash;these, and many more, were carefully kept
in place with immediate and loving care. Maurice
would be back again presently, they seemed to say,
and would take up his play just where he left it.</p>

<p>No cobwebs hung from the roof; the bows were
duly unstrung; and though wooden platters and rough
kitchen equipage were mingled with warlike accoutrements
upon the floor, there was not a particle of dust
to be seen anywhere. As they sat down at the mother's
bidding, it was hard to persuade themselves that
Maurice von Lynar was far off, enduring the hardships
of war or in deadly peril for his mistress. He might
have been even then in hiding in the brushwood, ready
to cry bo-peep at them through the open door.</p>

<p>There was silence in the arbour for a space, a
silence which no one of the three was anxious to
break. For Joan thought of her promise, Conrad of
Joan, and Theresa of her son. It was the last who
spoke.</p>

<p>"Somehow to-day it is borne in upon me that
Kernsberg has fallen, and that my son is in his enemy's
hands!"</p>

<p>Joan started to her feet and thrust her hands a little
out in front of her as if to ward off a blow.</p>

<p>"How can you know that?" she cried. "Who&mdash;&mdash;No;
it cannot be. Kernsberg was victualled for a
year. It was filled with brave men. My captains are
staunch. The thing is impossible."</p>

<p>Theresa von Lynar, with her eyes on the waving
foliage which alternately revealed and eclipsed the
ruddy globes of the apples on the orchard trees, slowly
shook her head.</p>

<p>"I cannot tell you how I know," she said; "nevertheless
I know. Here is something which tells me."
She laid her hand upon her heart. "Those who
are long alone beside the sea hear voices and see
visions."</p>

<p>"But it is impossible," urged Joan; "or, if it be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span>
true, why am I kept here? I will go and die with my
people!"</p>

<p>"It is my son's will," said Theresa&mdash;"the will of the
son of Henry the Lion. He is like his father&mdash;therefore
women do his will!"</p>

<p>The words were not spoken bitterly, but as a simple
statement of fact.</p>

<p>Joan looked at this woman and understood for the
first time that she was the strongest spirit of all&mdash;greater
than her father, better than herself. And
perhaps because of this, nobility and sacrifice stirred
emulously in her own breast.</p>

<p>"Madam," she said, looking directly at Theresa von
Lynar, "it is time that you and I understood each
other. I hold myself no true Duchess of Hohenstein
so long as your son lives. My father's compact and
condition are of no effect. The Diet of the Empire
would cancel them in a moment. I will therefore take
no rest till this thing is made clear. I swear that your
son shall be Duke Maurice and sit in his father's place,
as is right and fitting. For me, I ask nothing but the
daughter's portion&mdash;a grange such as this, as solitary
and as peaceful, a garden to delve and a beach to
wander upon at eve!"</p>

<p>As she spoke, Theresa's eyes suddenly brightened.
A proud high look sat on the fulness of her lips, which
gradually faded as some other thought asserted its
supremacy. She rose, and going straight to Joan,
for the first time she kissed her on the brow.</p>

<p>"Now do I know," she said, "that you are Henry
the Lion's daughter. That is spoken as he would have
spoken it. It is greatly thought. Yet it cannot be."</p>

<p>"It shall be!" cried Joan imperiously.</p>

<p>"Nay," returned Theresa von Lynar. "Once on a
time I would have given my right hand that for half a
day, for one hour, men might have said of me that I
was Henry the Lion's wife, and my son his son! It
would have been right sweet. Ah God, how sweet it
would have been!" She paused a moment as if consulting
some unseen presence. "No, I have vowed my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span>
vow. Here was I bidden to stay and here will I abide.
For me there was no sorrow in any hard condition, so
long as <i>he</i> laid it upon me. For have I not tasted
with him the glory of life, and with him plucked out
the heart of the mystery? That for which I paid, I
received. My lips have tasted both of the Tree of Knowledge
and of the Tree of Life&mdash;for these two grow very
close together, the one to the other, upon the banks of
the River of Death. But for my son, this thing is harder
to give up. For on him lies the stain, though the joy
and the sin were mine alone."</p>

<p>"Maurice of Hohenstein shall sit in his father's seat,"
said Joan firmly. "I have sworn it. If I live I will see
him settled there with my captains about him. Werner
von Orseln is an honest man. He will do him justice.
Von Dessauer shall get him recognised, and Hugo of
Plassenburg shall stand his sponsor before the Diet of
the Empire."</p>

<p>"I would it could be so," said Theresa wistfully. "If
my death could cause this thing righteously to come to
pass, how gladly would I end life! But I am bound
by an oath, and my son is bound because I am bound.
The tribunal is not the Diet of Ratisbon, but the faithfulness
of a woman's heart. Have I been loyal to my
prince these many years, so that now shame itself sits on
my brow as gladly as a crown of bay, that I should fail
him now? Low he lies, and I may never stand beside
his sepulchre. No son of mine shall sit in his high chair.
But if in any sphere of sinful or imperfect spirits, be it
hell or purgatory, he and I shall encounter, think you
that for an empire I would meet him shamed. And
when he says, 'Woman of my love, hast thou kept thy
troth?' shall I be compelled to answer 'No?'"</p>

<p>"But," urged Joan, "this thing is your son's birthright.
My father, for purposes of state, bound my
happiness to a man I loathe. I have cast that band
to the winds. The fathers cannot bind the children,
no more can you disinherit your son."</p>

<p>Theresa von Lynar smiled a sad wise smile, infinitely
patient, infinitely remote.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span></p>

<p>"Ah," she said, "you think so? You are young.
You have never loved. You are his daughter, not his
wife. One day you shall know, if God is good to you!"</p>

<p>At this Joan smiled in her turn. She knew what she
knew.</p>

<p>"You may think you know," returned Theresa, her
calm eyes on the girl's face, "but what <i>I</i> mean by
loving is another matter. The band you broke you did
not make. I keep the vow I made. With clear eye,
undulled brain, willing hand I made it&mdash;because he
willed it. Let my son Maurice break it, if he can, if
he will&mdash;as you have broken yours. Only let him
never more call Theresa von Lynar mother!"</p>

<p>Joan rose to depart. Her intent had not been shaken,
though she was impressed by the noble heart of the
woman who had been her father's wife. But she also
had vowed a vow, and that vow she would keep. The
Sparhawk should yet be the Eagle of Kernsberg, and
she, Joan, a home-keeping housewife nested in quietness,
a barn-door fowl about the orchards of Isle
Rugen.</p>

<p>"Madam," she said, "your word is your word. But
so is that of Joan of Kernsberg. It may be that out of
the unseen there may leap a chance which shall bring
all to pass, the things which we both desire&mdash;without
breaking of vows or loosing of the bands of obligation.
For me, being no more than a daughter, I will keep
Duke Henry's will only in that which is just!"</p>

<p>"And I," said Theresa von Lynar, "will keep it, just
or unjust!"</p>

<p>Yet Joan smiled as she went out. For she had been
countered and checkmated in sacrifice. She had met
a nature greater than her own, and that with the truly
noble is the pleasure of pleasures. In such things only
the small are small, only the worms of the earth delight
to crawl upon the earth. The great and the wise look
up and worship the sun above them. And if by chance
their special sun prove after all to be but a star, they
say, "Ah, if we had only been near enough it would
have been a sun!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span></p>

<p>All the while Conrad sat very still, listening with full
heart to that which it did not concern him to interrupt.
But within his heart he said, "Woman, when she is
true woman, is greater, worthier, fuller than any man&mdash;aye,
were it the Holy Father himself. Perhaps
because they draw near Christ the Son through Mary
the Mother!"</p>

<p>But Theresa von Lynar sat silent, and watched the
girl as she went down the long path, the leafy branches
spattering alternate light and shadow upon her slender
figure. Then she turned sharply upon Conrad.</p>

<p>"And now, my Lord Cardinal," she said, "what have
you been saying to my husband's daughter?"</p>

<p>"I have been telling her that I love her!" answered
Conrad simply. He felt that what he had listened to
gave this woman a right to be answered.</p>

<p>"And what, I pray you, have princes of Holy Church
to do with love? They seek after heavenly things, do
they not? Like the angels, they neither marry nor are
given in marriage."</p>

<p>"I know," said Conrad humbly, and without taking
the least offence. "I know it well. But I have put
off the armour I had not proven. The burden is too
great for me. I am a soldier&mdash;I was trained a soldier&mdash;yet
because I was born after my brother Louis,
I must perforce become both priest and cardinal.
Rather a thousand times would I be a man-at-arms and
carry a pike!"</p>

<p>"Then am I to understand that as a soldier you told
the Duchess Joan that you loved her, and that as a priest
you forbade the banns? Or did you wholly forget the
little circumstance that once on a time you yourself
married her to your brother?"</p>

<p>"I did indeed forget," said Conrad, with sincere
penitence; "yet you must not blame me too sorely.
I was carried out of myself&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"The Duchess, then, rejected your suit with contumely?"</p>

<p>Conrad was silent.</p>

<p>"How should a great lady listen to her husband's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span>
brother&mdash;and he a priest?" Theresa went on remorseless.
"What said the Lady Joan when you told her
that you loved her?"</p>

<p>"The words she spoke I cannot repeat, but when
she ended I set my lips to her garment's hem as
reverently as ever to holy bread."</p>

<p>The slow smile came again over the face of Theresa
von Lynar, the smile of a warworn veteran who watches
the children at their drill.</p>

<p>"You do not need to tell me what she answered, my
lord," she said, for the first time leaving out the ecclesiastic
title. "I know!"</p>

<p>Conrad stared at the woman.</p>

<p>"She told you that she loved you from the first."</p>

<p>"How know you that?" he faltered. "None must
hear that secret&mdash;none must guess it!"</p>

<p>Theresa von Lynar laughed a little mellow laugh, in
which a keen ear might have detected how richly and
pleasantly her laugh must once have sounded to her
lover when all her pulses beat to the tune of gladness
and the unbound heart.</p>

<p>"Do you think to deceive me, Theresa, whom Henry
the Lion loved? Have I been these many weeks with
you two in the house and not seen this? Prince
Conrad, I knew it that night of the storm when she
bent her over the couch on which you lay. 'I love,'
you say boldly, and you think great things of your love.
But she loved first as she will love most, and your
boasted love will never overtake hers&mdash;no, not though
you love her all your life....  Well, what do you propose
to do?"</p>

<p>Conrad stood a moment mutely wrestling with himself.
He had never felt Joan's first instinctive aversion
to this woman, a dislike even yet scarcely overcome&mdash;for
women distrust women till they have proven
themselves innocent, and often even then.</p>

<p>"My lady," he said, "the Duchess Joan has showed
me the better way. Like a man, I knew not what I
asked, nor dared to express all that I desired. But I
have learned how souls can be united, though bodies<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span>
are separated. I will not touch her hand; I will not
kiss her lips. Once a year only will I see her in the
flesh. I shall carry out my duty, made at least less
unworthy by her example&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"And think you," said Theresa, "that in the night
watches you will keep this charge? Will not her face
come between you and the altar? Will not her image
float before you as you kneel at the shrine? Will
it not blot out the lines as you read your daily office?"</p>

<p>"I know it&mdash;I know it too well!" said Conrad,
sinking his head on his breast. "I am not worthy."</p>

<p>"What, then, will you do? Can you serve two
masters?" persisted the inquisitor. "Your Scripture
says not."</p>

<p>A larger self seemed to flame and dilate within the
young man.</p>

<p>"One thing I can do," he said&mdash;"like you, I can
obey. She bade me go back and do my duty. I cannot
bind my thought; I cannot change my heart; I
cannot cast my love out. I have heard that which I
have heard, and I cannot forget; but at least with the
body I can obey. I will perform my vow; I will keep
my charge to the letter, every jot and tittle. And if
God condemn me for a hypocrite&mdash;well, let Him!
He, and not I, put this love into my heart. My body
may be my priesthood's&mdash;I will strive to keep it clean&mdash;but
my soul is my lady's. For that let Him cast
both soul and body into hell-fire if He will!"</p>

<p>Theresa von Lynar did not smile any more. She
held out her hand to Conrad of Courtland, priest and
prince.</p>

<p>"Yes," she said, "you do know what love is. In so
far as I can I will help you to your heart's desire."</p>

<p>And in her turn she rose and passed down through
the leafy avenues of the orchard, over which the westering
sun was already casting rood-long shadows.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLII" id="CHAPTER_XLII"></a>CHAPTER XLII</h2>

<h3>THE WORDLESS MAN TAKES A PRISONER</h3>


<p>It was the hour of the evening meal at Isle Rugen.
The September day piped on to its melancholy
close, and the wild geese overhead called down unseen
from the upper air a warning that the storm followed
hard upon their backs. At the table-head sat Theresa
von Lynar, her largely moulded and beautiful face showing
no sign of emotion. Only great quiet dwelt upon
it, with knowledge and the sympathy of the proven for
the untried. On either side of her were Joan and
Prince Conrad&mdash;not sad, neither avoiding nor seeking
the contingence of eye and eye, but yet, in spite of all,
so strange a thing is love once declared, consciously
happy within their heart of hearts.</p>

<p>Then, after a space dutifully left unoccupied, came
Captains Boris and Jorian; while at the table-foot,
opposite to their hostess, towered Werner von Orseln,
whose grey beard had wagged at the more riotous
board of Henry the Lion of Hohenstein.</p>

<p>Werner was telling an interminable story of the old
wars, with many a "Thus said I" and "So did he,"
ending thus: "There lay I on my back, with thirty
pagan Wends ready to slit my hals as soon as they
could get their knives between my gorget and headpiece.
Gott! but I said every prayer that I knew&mdash;they
were not many in those days&mdash;all in two minutes'
space, as I lay looking at the sky through my visor
bars and waiting for the first prick of the Wendish
knife-points.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span></p>

<p>"But even as I looked up, lo! some one bestrode
me, and the voice I loved best in all the world&mdash;no,
not a woman's, God send him rest" ("Amen!" interjected
the Lady Joan)&mdash;"cried, 'To me, Hohenstein!
To me, Kernsberg!' And though my head was
ringing with the shock of falling, and my body weak
from many wounds, I strove to answer that call, as I
saw my master's sword flicker this way and that over
my head. I rose half from the ground, my hilt still in
my hand&mdash;I had no more left after the fight I had
fought. But Henry the Lion gave me a stamp down
with his foot. 'Lie still, man,' he said; 'do not
interfere in a little business of this kind!' And with
his one point he kept a score at bay, crying all the
time, 'To me, Hohenstein! To me, Kernsbergers
all!'</p>

<p>"And when the enemy fled, did he wait till the
bearers came? Well I wot, hardly! Instead, he
caught me over his shoulder like an empty sack when
one goes a-foraging&mdash;me, Werner von Orseln, that am
built like a donjon tower. And with his sword still
red in his right hand he bore me in, only turning aside
a little to threaten a Wendish archer who would have
sent an arrow through me on the way. By the
knights who sit round Karl's table, he was a man!"</p>

<p>And then to their feet sprang Boris and Jorian, who
were judges of men.</p>

<p>"To Prince Henry the Lion&mdash;<i>hoch!</i>" they cried.
"Drink it deep to his memory!"</p>

<p>And with tankard and wreathed wine-cup they
quaffed to the great dead. Standing up, they drank&mdash;his
daughter also&mdash;all save Theresa von Lynar. She
sat unmoved, as if the toast had been her own and in a
moment more she must rise to give them thanks. For
the look on her face said, "After all, what is there so
strange in that? Was he not Henry the Lion&mdash;and
mine?"</p>

<p>For there is no joy like that which you may see on a
woman's face when a great deed is told of the man she
loves.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span></p>

<p>The Kernsberg soldiers who had been trained to
serve at table, had stopped and stood fixed, their duties
in complete oblivion during the tale, but now they
resumed them and the simple feast continued. Meanwhile
it had been growing wilder and wilder without,
and the shrill lament of the wind was distinctly heard
in the wide chimney-top. Now and then in a lull,
broad splashes of rain fell solidly into the red embers
with a sound like musket balls "spatting" on a wall.</p>

<p>Then Theresa von Lynar looked up.</p>

<p>"Where is Max Ulrich?" she said; "why does he
delay?"</p>

<p>"My lady," one of the men of Kernsberg answered,
saluting; "he is gone across the Haff in the boat, and
has not yet returned."</p>

<p>"I will go and look for him&mdash;nay, do not rise, my
lord. I would go forth alone!"</p>

<p>So, snatching a cloak from the prong of an antler
in the hall, Theresa went out into the irregular hooting
of the storm. It was not yet the deepest gloaming,
but dull grey clouds like hunted cattle scoured across
the sky, and the rising thunder of the waves on the
shingle prophesied a night of storm. Theresa stood
a long time bare-headed, enjoying the thresh of the
broad drops as they struck against her face and cooled
her throbbing eyes. Then she pulled the hood of the
cloak over her head.</p>

<p>The dead was conquering the quick within her.</p>

<p>"I have known a <i>man</i>!" she said; "what need I
more with life now? The man I loved is dead. I
thank God that I served him&mdash;aye, as his dog served
him. And shall I grow disobedient now? No, not
that my son might sit on the throne of the Kaiser!"</p>

<p>Theresa stood upon the inner curve of the Haff at
the place where Max Ulrich was wont to pull his boat
ashore. The wind was behind her, and though the
waves increased as the distance widened from the
pebbly bank on which she stood, the water at her feet
was only ruffled and pitted with little dimples under
the shocks of the wind. Theresa looked long south<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span>ward
under her hand, but for the moment could see
nothing.</p>

<p>Then she settled herself to keep watch, with the
storm riding slack-rein overhead. Towards the mainland
the whoop and roar with which it assaulted the
pine forests deafened her ears. But her face was
younger than we have ever seen it, for Werner's story
had moved her strongly. Once more she was by a
great man's side. She moved her hand swiftly, first
out of the shelter of the cloak as if seeking furtively to
nestle it in another's, and then, as the raindrops
plashed cold upon it, she drew it slowly back to her
again.</p>

<p>And though Theresa von Lynar was yet in the prime
of her glorious beauty, one could see what she must
have been in the days of her girlhood. And as
memory caused her eyes to grow misty, and the smile
of love and trust eternal came upon her lips, twenty
years were shorn away; and the woman's face which
had looked anxiously across the darkening Haff
changed to that of the girl who from the gate of
Castle Lynar had watched for the coming of Duke
Henry.</p>

<p>She was gazing steadfastly southward, but it was not
for Max the Wordless that she waited. Towards
Kernsberg, where he whose sleep she had so often
watched, rested all alone, she looked and kissed a
hand.</p>

<p>"Dear," she murmured, "you have not forgotten
Theresa! You know she keeps troth! Aye, and will
keep it till God grows kind, and your true wife can
follow&mdash;to tell you how well she hath kept her
charge!"</p>

<p>Awhile she was silent, and then she went on in the
low even voice of self-communing.</p>

<p>"What to me is it to become a princess? Did not
he, for whose words alone I cared, call me his queen?
And I was his queen. In the black blank day of my
uttermost need he made me his wife. And I am his
wife. What want I more with dignities?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span></p>

<p>Theresa von Lynar was silent awhile and then she
added&mdash;</p>

<p>"Yet the young Duchess, his daughter, means well.
She has her father's spirit. And my son&mdash;why should
my vow bind him? Let him be Duke, if so the Fates
direct and Providence allow. But for me, I will not
stir finger or utter word to help him. There shall be
neither anger nor sadness in my husband's eyes when
I tell him how I have observed the bond!"</p>

<p>Again she kissed a hand towards the dead man
who lay so deep under the ponderous marble at Kernsberg.
Then with a gracious gesture, lingeringly and
with the misty eyes of loving womanhood, she said
her lonely farewells.</p>

<p>"To you, beloved," she murmured, and her voice
was low and very rich, "to you, beloved, where far off
you lie! Sleep sound, nor think the time long till
Theresa comes to you!"</p>

<p>She turned and walked back facing the storm. Her
hood had long ago been blown from her head by the
furious gusts of wind. But she heeded not. She had
forgotten poor Max Ulrich and Joan, and even herself.
She had forgotten her son. Her hand was out in the
storm now. She did not draw it back, though the
water ran from her fingertips. For it was clasped in
an unseen grasp and in an ear that surely heard she
was whispering her heart's troth. "God give it to me
to do one deed&mdash;one only before I die&mdash;that, worthy
and unashamed, I may meet my King."</p>

<p>When Theresa re-entered the hall of the grange the
company still sat as she had left them. Only at the
lower end of the board the three captains conferred
together in low voices, while at the upper Joan and
Prince Conrad sat gazing full at each other as if souls
could be drunk in through the eyes.</p>

<p>With a certain reluctance which yet had no shame
in it, they plucked glance from glance as she entered, as
it were with difficulty detaching spirits which had been
joined. At which Theresa, recalled to herself, smiled.</p>

<p>"In all that touches not my vow I will help you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span>
two!" she thought, as she looked at them. For
true love came closer to her than anything else in the
world.</p>

<p>"There is no sign of Max," she said aloud, to break
the first silence of constraint; "perhaps he has waited
at the landing-place on the mainland till the storm
should abate&mdash;though that were scarce like him,
either."</p>

<p>She sat down, with one large movement of her arm
casting her wet cloak over the back of a wooden settle,
which fronted a fireplace where green pine knots
crackled and explosive jets of steam rushed spitefully
outwards into the hall with a hissing sound.</p>

<p>"You have been down at the landing-place&mdash;on such
a night?" said Joan, with some remains of that curious
awkwardness which marks the interruption of a more
interesting conversation.</p>

<p>"Yes," said Theresa, smiling indulgently (for she
had been in like case&mdash;such a great while ago, when
her brothers used to intrude). "Yes, I have been at
the landing-place. But as yet the storm is nothing,
though the waves will be fierce enough if Max Ulrich
is coming home with a laden boat to pull in the wind's
eye."</p>

<p>It mattered little what she said. She had helped
them to pass the bar, and the conversation could now
proceed over smooth waters.</p>

<p>Yet there is no need to report it. Joan and Conrad
remained and spoke they scarce knew what, all for the
pleasure of eye answering eye, and the subtle flattery
of voices that altered by the millionth of a tone each
time they answered each other. Theresa spoke
vaguely but sufficiently, and allowed herself to dream,
till to her yearning gaze honest, sturdy Werner grew
misty and his bluff figure resolved itself into that one
nobler and more kingly which for years had fronted
her at the table's end where now the chief captain
sat.</p>

<p>Meanwhile Jorian and Boris exchanged meaning
and covert glances, asking each other when this dull<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span>
dinner parade would be over, so that they might loosen
leathern points, undo buttons, and stretch legs on
benches with a tankard of ale at each right elbow,
according to the wont of stout war-captains not quite
so young as they once were.</p>

<p>Thus they were sitting when there came a clamour
at the outer door, the noise of voices, then a soldier's
challenge, and, on the back of that, Max Ulrich's weird
answer&mdash;a sound almost like the howl of a wolf cut off
short in his throat by the hand that strangles him.</p>

<p>"There he is at last!" cried all in the dining-hall of
the grange.</p>

<p>"Thank God!" murmured Theresa. For the man
wanting words had known Henry the Lion.</p>

<p>They waited a long moment of suspense till the
door behind Werner was thrust open and the dumb
man came in, drenched and dripping. He was holding
one by the arm, a man as tall as himself, grey and
gaunt, who fronted the company with eyes bandaged
and hands tied behind his back. Max Ulrich had a
sharp knife in his hand with a thin and slightly curved
blade, and as he thrust the pinioned man before him
into the full light of the candles, he made signs that, if
his lady wished it, he was prepared to despatch his
prisoner on the spot. His lips moved rapidly and he
seemed to be forming words and sentences. His
mistress followed these movements with the closest
attention.</p>

<p>"He says," she began to translate, "that he met this
man on the further side. He said that he had a message
for Isle Rugen, and refused to turn back on any condition.
So Max blindfolded, bound, and gagged him,
he being willing to be bound. And now he waits our
pleasure."</p>

<p>"Let him be unloosed," said Joan, gazing eagerly at
the prisoner, and Theresa made the sign.</p>

<p>Stolidly Ulrich unbound the broad bandage from the
man's eyes, and a grey badger's brush of upright stubble
rose slowly erect above a high narrow brow, like laid
corn that dries in the sun.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span></p>

<p>"Alt Pikker!" said Joan of the Sword Hand, starting
to her feet.</p>

<p>"Alt Pikker!" cried in varied tones of wonderment
Werner von Orseln and the two captains of Plassenburg,
Jorian and Boris.</p>

<p>And Alt Pikker it surely was.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLIII" id="CHAPTER_XLIII"></a>CHAPTER XLIII</h2>

<h3>TO THE RESCUE</h3>


<p>But the late prisoner did not speak at once, though
his captor stood back as though to permit him
to explain himself. He was still bound and gagged.
Discovering which, Max in a very philosophical and
leisurely manner assisted him to relieve himself of a
rolled kerchief which had been placed in his mouth.</p>

<p>Even then his throat refused its office till Werner
von Orseln handed him a great cup of wine from which
he drank deeply.</p>

<p>"Speak!" said Joan. "What disaster has brought
you here? Is Kernsberg taken?"</p>

<p>"The Eagle's Nest is harried, my lady, but that is
not what hath brought me hither!"</p>

<p>"Have they found out this my&mdash;prison? Are they
coming to capture me?"</p>

<p>"Neither," returned Alt Pikker. "Maurice von
Lynar is in the hands of his cruel enemies, and on the
day after to-morrow, at sunrise, he is to be torn to
pieces by wild horses."</p>

<p>"Why?" "Wherefore?" "In what place?" "Who
would dare?" came from all about the table; but the
mother of the young man sat silent as if she had not
heard.</p>

<p>"To save Kernsberg from sack by the Muscovites,
Maurice von Lynar went to Courtland in the guise of
the Lady Joan. At the fords of the Alla we delivered
him up!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span></p>

<p>"You delivered him up?" cried Theresa suddenly.
"Then you shall die! Max Ulrich, your knife!"</p>

<p>The dumb man gave the knife in a moment, but
Theresa had not time to approach.</p>

<p>"I went with him," said Alt Pikker calmly.</p>

<p>"You went with him," repeated his mother after a
moment, not understanding.</p>

<p>"Could I let the young man go alone into the midst
of his enemies?"</p>

<p>"He went for my sake!" moaned Joan. "He is to
die for me!"</p>

<p>"Nay," corrected Alt Pikker, "he is to die for wedding
the Princess Margaret of Courtland!"</p>

<p>Again they cried out upon him in utmost astonishment&mdash;that
is, all the men.</p>

<p>"Maurice von Lynar has married the Princess
Margaret of Courtland? Impossible!"</p>

<p>"And why should he not?" his mother cried out.</p>

<p>"I expected it from the first!" quoth Joan of the
Sword Hand, disdainful of their masculine ignorance.</p>

<p>"Well," put in Alt Pikker, "at all events, he hath
married the Princess. Or she has married him, which
is the same thing!"</p>

<p>"But why? We knew nothing of this! He told
us nothing. We thought he went for our lady's sake
to Courtland! Why did he marry her?" cried
severally Von Orseln and the Plassenburg captains.</p>

<p>"Why?" said Theresa the mother, with assurance.
"Because he loved her doubtless. How? Because
he was his father's son!"</p>

<p>And Theresa being calm and stilling the others, Alt
Pikker got time to tell his tale. There was silence
in the grange of Isle Rugen while it was being
told, and even when it was ended for a space none
spoke. But Theresa smiled well pleased and said in
her heart, "I thank God! My son also shall meet
Henry the Lion face to face and not be ashamed."</p>

<p>After that they made their plans.</p>

<p>"I will go," said Conrad, "for I have influence with
my brother&mdash;or, if not with him, at least with the folk<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span>
of Courtland. We will stop this heathenish abomination."</p>

<p>"I will go," said Theresa, "because he is my son.
God will show me a way to help him."</p>

<p>"We will all go," chorussed the captains; "that is&mdash;all
save Werner&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"All except Boris&mdash;&mdash;!"</p>

<p>"All except Jorian&mdash;&mdash;!"</p>

<p>"Who will remain here on Isle Rugen with the
Duchess Joan?" They looked at each other as they
spoke.</p>

<p>"You need not trouble yourselves! I will not remain
on Isle Rugen&mdash;not an hour," said Joan. "Whoever
stays, I go. Think you that I will permit this
man to die in my stead? We will all go to Courtland.
We will tell Prince Louis that I am no duchess, but
only the sister of a duke. We will prove to him that
my father's bond of heritage-brotherhood is null and
void. And then we will see whether he is willing to
turn the princedom upside down for such a dowerless
wife as I!"</p>

<p>"For such a wife," thought Conrad, "I would
turn the universe upside down, though she stood in a
beggar's kirtle!"</p>

<p>But being loyally bound by his promise he said
nothing.</p>

<p>It was Theresa von Lynar who put the matter
practically.</p>

<p>"At a farm on the mainland, hidden among the salt
marshes, there are horses&mdash;those you brought with you
and others. They are in waiting for such an emergency.
Max will bring them to the landing-place. Three or four
of your guard must accompany him. The rest will
make ready, and at the first hint of dawn we will set
out. There is yet time to save my son!"</p>

<p>She added in her heart, "Or, if not, then to avenge
him."</p>

<p>Strangely enough, Theresa was the least downcast of
the party. Death seemed a thing so little to her, even
so desirable, that though the matter concerned her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span>
son's life, she commanded herself and laid her plans as
coolly as if she had been preparing a dinner in the
grange of Isle Rugen.</p>

<p>But her heart was proud within her with a great
pride.</p>

<p>"He is Henry the Lion's son. He was born a duke.
He has married a princess. He has tasted love and
known sacrifice. If he dies it will be for the sake of
his sister's honour. 'Tis no bad record for twenty
years. These things <i>he</i> will count high above fame and
length of days!"</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;" />

<p>The little company which set out from Isle Rugen to
ride to Courtland had no thought or intention of
rescuing Maurice von Lynar by force of arms. They
knew their own impotence far too exactly. Yet each
of the leaders had a plan of action thought out, to be
pursued when the city was reached.</p>

<p>If her renunciation of her dignities were laughed at,
as she feared, there was nothing for Joan but to deliver
herself to Prince Louis. She had resolved to promise
to be his wife and princess in all that it concerned the
outer world to see. Their provinces would be united,
Kernsberg and Hohenstein delivered unconditionally
into his hand.</p>

<p>On his part, Werner von Orseln was prepared to
point out to the Prince of Courtland that with Joan as
his wife and the armies and levies of Hohenstein added
to his own under the Sparhawk's leadership, he would
be in a position to do without the aid of the Prince of
Muscovy altogether. Further, that in case of attack
from the north, not only Plassenburg and the Mark,
but all the Teutonic Bond must rally to his side.</p>

<p>Boris and Jorian, being stout-hearted captains of
men-at-arms, were ready for anything. But though
their swords were loosened in their sheaths to be prepared
for any assault, they were resolved also to give
what official dignity they could to their mission by a
free use of the names of their master and mistress, the
Prince Hugo and Princess Helene of Plassenburg.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span>
They were sorry now that they had left their credentials
behind them, at Kernsberg, but they meant to make
confidence and assured countenances go as far as they
would.</p>

<p>Conrad, who was intimately acquainted with the
character of his brother, and who knew how entirely
he was under the dominion of Prince Ivan, had
resolved to use all powers, ecclesiastical and secular,
which his position as titular Prince of the Church put
within his reach. To save the Sparhawk from a bloody
and disgraceful death he would invoke upon Courtland
even the dread curse of the Greater Excommunication.
With his faithful priests around him he would seek his
brother, and, if necessary, on the very execution place
itself, or from the high altar of the cathedral, pronounce
the dread "Anathema sit." He knew his brother well
enough to be sure that this threat would shake his soul
with terror, and that such a curse laid on a city like
Courtland, not too subservient at any time, would provoke
a rebellion which would shake the power of
princes far more securely seated than Prince Louis.</p>

<p>The only one of the party wholly without a settled
plan was the woman most deeply interested. Theresa
von Lynar simply rode to Courtland to save her son or
to die with him. She alone had no influence with
Prince Ivan, no weapon to use against him except her
woman's wit.</p>

<p>As the cavalcade rode on, though few, they made a
not ungallant show. For Theresa had clad Prince
Conrad in a coat of mail which had once belonged to
Henry the Lion. Joan glittered by his side in a corselet
of steel rings, while Werner von Orseln and the two
captains of Plassenburg followed fully armed, their
accoutrements shining with the burnishing of many
idle weeks. These, with the men-at-arms behind them,
made up such an equipage as few princes could ride
abroad with. But to all of them the journey was
naught, a mere race against time&mdash;so neither horse
nor man was spared. And the two women held out
best of all.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span></p>

<p>But when in the morning light of the second day
they came in sight of Courtland, and saw on the green
plain of the Alla a great concourse, it did not need Alt
Pikker's shout to urge them forward at a gallop, lest
after all they should arrive too late.</p>

<p>"They have brought him out to die," cried Joan.
"Ride, for the young man's life!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLIV" id="CHAPTER_XLIV"></a>CHAPTER XLIV</h2>

<h3>THE UKRAINE CROSS</h3>


<p>Upon the green plain beside the Alla a great
multitude was assembled. They had come
together to witness a sight never seen in Courtland
before&mdash;the dread punishment of the Ukraine Cross.
It was to be done, they said, upon the body of the
handsome youth with whom the Princess Margaret
was secretly in love&mdash;some even whispered married to
him.</p>

<p>The townsfolk murmured among themselves. This
was certainly the beginning of the end. Who knew
what would come next? If the barbarous Muscovite
punishments began in Courtland, it would end in all
of them being made slaves, liable at any moment to
knout and plet. Ivan had bewitched the Prince.
That was clear, and for a certainty the Princess
Margaret wept night and day. In this fashion ran the
bruit of that which was to be.</p>

<p>"Torn to pieces by wild horses!" It was a thing
often talked about, but one which none had seen in a
civilised country for a thousand years. Where was it
to be done? It was shocking, terrible; but&mdash;it would
be worth seeing. So all the city went out, the men
with weapons under their cloaks pressing as near as the
soldiers would allow them, while the women, being
more pitiful, stood afar off and wept into their aprons&mdash;only
putting aside the corners that they might see
clearly and miss nothing.</p>

<p>At ten a great green square of riverside grass was
held by the archers of Courtland. The people extended<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span>
as far back as the shrine of the Virgin, where at the
city entrance travellers are wont to give thanks for a
favourable journey. At eleven the lances of Prince
Ivan's Cossacks were seen topping the city wall. On
the high bank of the Alla the people were craning
their necks and looking over each other's shoulders.</p>

<p>The wild music of the Cossacks came nearer, each
man with the butt of his lance set upon his thigh, and
the pennon of blue and white waving above. Then a
long pitying "A&mdash;a&mdash;h!" went up from the people.
For now the Sparhawk was in sight, and at the first
glimpse of him they swayed from the Riga Gate to
the shrine of John Evangelist, like a willow copse
stricken by a squall from off the Baltic, so that it shows
the under-grey of its leaves.</p>

<p>"The poor lad! So handsome, so young!"</p>

<p>The first soft universal hush of pity broke presently
into a myriad exclamations of anger and deprecation.
"How high he holds his head! See! They have
opened his shirt at the neck. Poor Princess, how she
must love him! His hands are tied behind his back.
He rides in that jolting cart as if he were a conqueror
in a triumphal procession, instead of a victim going to
his doom."</p>

<p>"Pity, pity that one so young should die such a
death! They say she is to be carried up to the top
of the Castle wall that she may see. Ah, here he
comes! He is smiling! God forgive the butchers,
who by strength of brute beasts would tear asunder
those comely limbs that are fitted to be a woman's
joy! Down with all false and cruel princes, say I!
Nay, mistress, I will not be silent. And there are
many here who will back me, if I be called in question.
Who is the Muscovite, that he should bring his abominations
into Courtland? If I had my way, Prince
Conrad&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Hush, hush! Here they come! Side by side, as
usual, the devil and his dupe. Aha! there is no sound
of cheering! Let but a man shout, 'Long live the
Prince!' and I will slit his wizzand. I, Henry the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span>
coppersmith, will do it! He shall sleep with pennies
on his eyes this night!"</p>

<p>So through the lane by which the city gate communicated
with the tapestried stand set apart for the
greater spectators, the Princes Louis and Ivan, fool and
knave, servant and master, took their way. And they
had scarce passed when the people, mutinous and
muttering, surged black behind the archers' guard.</p>

<p>"Back there&mdash;stand back! Way for their Excellencies&mdash;way!"</p>

<p>"Stand back yourselves," came the growling answer.
"We be free men of Courtland. You will find we are
no Muscovite serfs, and that or the day be done. Karl
Wendelin, think shame&mdash;thou that art my sister's son&mdash;to
be aiding and abetting such heathen cruelty to a
Christen man, all that you may eat a great man's meat
and wear a jerkin purfled with gold."</p>

<p>Such cries and others worse pursued the Princes'
train as it went.</p>

<p>"Cossack&mdash;Cossack! You are no Courtlanders, you
archers! Not a girl in the city will look at you after
this! Butchers' slaughtermen every one? Whipped
hounds that are afraid of ten score Muscovites! Down,
dogs, knock your foreheads on the ground! Here
comes a Muscovite!"</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;" />

<p>Thus angrily ran taunt and jeer, till the Courtland
guard, mostly young fellows with relatives and sweethearts
among the crowd, grew well-nigh frantic with
rage and shame. The rabble, which had hung on the
Prince of Muscovy so long as he scattered his largesse,
had now wheeled about with characteristic fickleness.</p>

<p>"See yonder! What are they doing? Peter Altmaar,
what are they doing? Tell us, thou long man!
Of what use is your great fathom of pump-water? Can
you do nothing for your meat but reach down black
puddings from the rafters?"</p>

<p>At this all eyes turned to Peter, a lanky overgrown
lad with a keen eye, a weak mouth, and the gift of
words.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span>png&mdash;-\C.M  Pg325 png&mdash;-\C.M  Pg325 png&mdash;-\C.M  Pg325 png&mdash;-\C.M  Pg325 png&mdash;-\C.M  Pg325</p>

<p>"Speak up, Peter! Aye, listen to Peter&mdash;a good
lad, Peter, as ever was!"</p>

<p>"Strong Jan the smith, take him up on your back so
that he may see the better!"</p>

<p>"Hush, there! Stop that woman weeping. We
cannot hear for her noise. She says he is like her son,
does she? Well then, there will be time enough to
weep for him afterwards."</p>

<p>"They are bringing up four horses from the
Muscovite camp. The folk are getting as far off as
they can from their heels," began Peter Altmaar,
looking under his hand over the people's heads.
"Half a score of men are at each brute's head. How
they plunge! They will never stand still a moment.
Ah, they are tethering them to the great posts of stone
in the middle of the green square. Between, there is
a table&mdash;no, a kind of square wooden stand like a
priest's platform in Lent when he tells us our sins
outside the church."</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;" />

<p>"The Princes are sitting their horses, watching.
Bravo, that was well done. We came near to seeing
the colour of the Muscovite brains that time. One of
the wild horses spread his hoofs on either side of
Prince Ivan's head!"</p>

<p>"God send him a better aim next time! Tell on,
Peter! Aye, get on, good Peter!"</p>

<p>"The Princes have gone up into their balcony.
They are laughing and talking as if it were a raree-show!"</p>

<p>"What of him, good Peter? How takes he all
this?"</p>

<p>"What of whom?" queried Peter, who, like all
great talkers, was rapidly growing testy under questioning.</p>

<p>"There is but one 'he' to-day, man. The young
lad, the Princess Margaret's sweetheart."</p>

<p>"They have brought him down from the cart. The
Cossacks are close about him. They have put all the
Courtland men far back."</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span></p>

<p>"Aye, aye; they dare not trust them. Oh, for an
hour of Prince Conrad! If we of the city trades had
but a leader, this shame should not blot our name
throughout all Christendom! What now, Peter?"</p>

<p>"The Muscovites are binding the lad to a wooden
frame like the empty lintels of a door. He stands erect,
his hands in the corners above, and his feet in the
corners below. They have stripped him to the waist."</p>

<p>"Hold me higher up, Jan the smith! I would see
this out, that you may tell your children and your
children's children. Aye&mdash;ah, so it is. It is true. Sainted
Virgin! I can see his body white in the sunshine. It
shines slender as a peeled willow wand."</p>

<p>Then the woman who had wept began again. Her
wailing angered the people.</p>

<p>"He is like my son&mdash;save him! He is the very make
and image of my Kaspar. Slender as a young willow,
supple as an ash, eyes like the berries of the sloe-thorn.
Give me a sword! Give an old woman a
sword, and I will deliver him myself, for my Kaspar's
sake. God's grace&mdash;Is there never a man amongst
you?"</p>

<p>And as her voice rose into a shriek there ran through
all the multitude the strange shiver of fear with which
a great crowd expects a horror. A hush fell broad and
equal as dew out of a clear sky. A mighty silence
lay on all the folk. Peter Altmaar's lips moved, but no
sound came from them. For now Maurice was set on
high, so that all could see for themselves. White against
the sky of noon, making the cross of Saint Andrew
within the oblong framework to which he was lashed,
they could discern the slim body of the young man
who was about to be torn in sunder. The executioners
held him up thus a minute or two for a spectacle, and
then, their arrangements completed, they lowered that
living crucifix till it lay flat upon its little platform,
with the limbs extended stark and tense towards the
heels of the wild plunging horses of the Ukraine.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 60%;">
<img src="images/i_305fp.jpg" width="100%" alt="Maurice was set on high." title="" />
<span class="caption">"Maurice was set on high."</span>
</div>

<p>Then again the voice of Peter Altmaar was heard,
now ringing false like an untuned fiddle. "They are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span>
welding the manacles upon his ankles and wrists.
Listen to the strokes of the hammer."</p>

<p>And in the hush which followed, faintly and musically
they could hear iron ring on iron, like anvil
strokes in some village smithy heard in the hush of a
summer's afternoon.</p>

<p>"Blessed Virgin! they are casting loose the horses!
A Cossack with a cruel whip stands by each to lash
him to fury! They are slipping the platform from
under him. God in heaven! What is this?"</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;" />

<p>Hitherto the eyes of the great multitude, which on
three sides surrounded the place of execution, had
been turned inward. But now with one accord they
were gazing, not on the terrible preparations which
were coming so near their bloody consummation, but
over the green tree-studded Alla meads towards a group
of horsemen who were approaching at a swift hand-gallop.</p>

<p>Whereupon immediately Peter, the lank giant, was
in greater request than ever.</p>

<p>"What do they look at, good Peter&mdash;tell us quickly?
Will the horses not pull? Will the irons not hold?
Have the ropes broken? Is it a miracle? Is it a
rescue? Thunder-weather, man! Do not stand and
gape. Speak&mdash;tell us what you see, or we will prod
you behind with our daggers!"</p>

<p>"Half a dozen riding fast towards the Princes'
stand, and holding up their hands&mdash;nay, there are a
dozen. The Princes are standing up to look. The
men have stopped casting loose the wild horses. The
man on the frame is lying very still, but the chains
from his ankles and arms are not yet fastened to the
traces."</p>

<p>"Go on, Peter! How slow you are, Peter! Stupid
Peter!"</p>

<p>"There is a woman among those who ride&mdash;no, two
of them! They are getting near the skirts of the crowd.
Men are shouting and throwing up their hands in the
air. I cannot tell what for. The soldiers have their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span>
hats on the tops of their pikes. They, too, are
shouting!"</p>

<p>As Peter paused the confused noise of a multitude
crying out, every man for himself, was borne across
the crowd on the wind. As when a great stone is cast
into a little hill-set tarn, and the wavelet runs round,
swamping the margin's pebbles and swaying the reeds,
so there ran a shiver, and then a mighty tidal wave of
excitement through all that ring which surrounded
the crucified man, the deadly platform, and the
tethered horses.</p>

<p>Men shouted sympathetically without knowing why,
and the noise they made was half a suppressed groan,
so eager were they to take part in that which should
be done next. They thrust their womenkind behind
them, shouldering their way into the thick of the press
that they might see the more clearly. Instinctively every
weaponed man fingered that which he chanced to
carry. Yet none in all that mighty assembly had the
least conception of what was really about to happen.</p>

<p>By this time there was no more need of Peter
Altmaar. The ring was rapidly closing now all about,
save upon the meadow side, where a lane was kept
open. Through this living alley came a knight and a
lady&mdash;the latter in riding habit and broad velvet cap,
the knight with his visor up, but armed from head to
foot, a dozen squires and men-at-arms following in a
compact little cloud; and as they came they were
greeted with the enthusiastic acclaim of all that mighty
concourse.</p>

<p>About them eddied the people, overflowing and
sweeping away the Cossacks, carrying the Courtland
archers with them in a mad frenzy of fraternisation.
In the stand above Prince Louis could be seen
shrilling commands, yet dumb show was all he could
achieve, so universal the clamour beneath him. But
the Princess Margaret heard the shouting and her
heart leaped.</p>

<p>"Prince Conrad&mdash;our own Prince Conrad, he has
come back, our true Prince? We knew he was no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span>
priest! Courtland for ever! Down with Louis of
the craven heart! Down with the Muscovite! The
young man shall not die! The Princess shall have
her sweetheart!"</p>

<p>And as soon as the cavalcade had come within the
square the living wave broke black over all. The
riders could not dismount, so thick the press. The
halters of the wild horses were cut, and right speedily
they made a way for themselves, the people falling
back and closing again so soon as they had passed out
across the plain with necks arched to their knees and a
wild flourish of unanimous hoofs.</p>

<p>Then the cries began again. Swords and bare fists
were shaken at the grand stand, where, white as death,
Prince Louis still kept his place.</p>

<p>"Prince Conrad and the Lady Joan!"</p>

<p>"Kill the Muscovite, the torturer!"</p>

<p>"Death to Prince Louis, the traitor and coward!"</p>

<p>"We will save the lad alive!"</p>

<p>About the centre platform whereon the living cross
was extended the crush grew first oppressive and then
dangerous.</p>

<p>"Back there&mdash;you are killing him! Back, I
say!"</p>

<p>Then strong men took staves and halberts out of the
hands of dazed soldiermen, and by force of brawny
arms and sharp pricking steel pressed the people back
breast high. The smiths who had riveted the wristlets
and ankle-rings were already busy with their files.
The lashings were cast loose from the frames. A
hundred palms chafed the white swollen limbs. A
burgher back in the crowd slipped his cloak. It was
passed overhead on a thousand eager hands and
thrown across the young man's body.</p>

<p>At last all was done, and dazed and blinded, but
unshaken in his soul, Maurice von Lynar stood totteringly
upon his feet.</p>

<p>"Lift him up! Lift him up! Let us see him! If
he be dead, we will slay Prince Louis and crucify the
Muscovite in his place!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span></p>

<p>"Bah!" another would cry, "Louis is no longer
ruler! Conrad is the true Prince!"</p>

<p>"Down with the Russ, the Cossack! Where are
they? Pursue them! Kill them!"</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;" />

<p>So ran the fierce shouts, and as the rescuers raised
the Sparhawk high on their plaited hands that all men
might see, on the far skirts of the crowd Ivan of
Muscovy, with a bitter smile on his face, gathered
together his scattered horsemen. One by one they had
struggled out of the press while all men's eyes were
fixed upon the vivid centrepiece of that mighty whirlpool.</p>

<p>"Set Prince Louis in your midst and ride for your
lives!" he cried. "To the frontier, where bides the
army of the Czar!"</p>

<p>With a flash of pennons and a tossing of horses'
heads they obeyed, but Prince Ivan himself paused
upon the top of a little swelling rise and looked back
towards the Alla bank.</p>

<p>The delivered prisoner was being held high upon
men's arms. The burgher's cloak was wrapped about
him like a royal robe.</p>

<p>Prince Ivan gnashed his teeth in impotent anger.</p>

<p>"It is your day. Make the most of it," he muttered.
"In three weeks I will come back! And then, by
Michael the Archangel, I will crucify one of you at
every street corner and cross-road through all the land
of Courtland! And that which I would have done to
my lady's lover shall not be named beside that which I
shall yet do to those who rescued him!"</p>

<p>And he turned and rode after his men, in the midst
of whom was Prince Louis, his head twisted in fear
and apprehension over his shoulder, and his slack
hands scarce able to hold the reins.</p>

<p>After this manner was the Sparhawk brought out
from the jaws of death, and thus came Joan of the
Sword Hand the second time to Courtland.</p>

<p>But the end was not yet.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLV" id="CHAPTER_XLV"></a>CHAPTER XLV</h2>

<h3>THE TRUTH-SPEAKING OF BORIS AND JORIAN</h3>


<p>This is the report verbal of Captains Boris and
Jorian, which they gave in face of their sovereigns
in the garden pleasaunce of the palace of Plassenburg.
Hugo and Helene sat at opposite ends of a seat of twisted
branches. Hugo crossed his legs and whistled low
with his thumbs in the slashing of his doublet, a habit
of which Helene had long striven in vain to cure him.
The Princess was busy broidering the coronated double
eagle of a new banner, but occasionally she raised her
eyes to where on the green slope beneath, under the
wing of a sage woman of experience, the youthful hope
of Plassenburg led his mimic armies to battle against
the lilies by the orchard wall, or laid lance in rest to
storm the too easy fortress of his nurse's lap.</p>

<p>"Boris," whispered Jorian, "remember! Do not
lie, Boris. 'Tis too dangerous. You remember the
last time?"</p>

<p>"Aye," growled Boris. "I have good cause to remember!
What a liar our Hugo must have been in
his time, so readily to suspect two honest soldiers!"</p>

<p>"Speak out your minds, good lads!" said Hugo,
leaning a little further back.</p>

<p>"Aye, tell us all," assented Helene, pausing to shake
her head at the antics of the young Prince Karl; "tell us
how you delivered the Sparhawk, as you call him, the
officer of the Duchess Joan!"</p>

<p>So Boris saluted and began.</p>

<p>"The tale is a long one, Prince and Princess," he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span>
said. "Of our many and difficult endeavours to
keep the peace and prevent quarrelling I will say
nothing&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Better so!" interjected Hugo, with a gleam in his
eye. Jorian coughed and growled to himself, "That
long fool will make a mess of it!"</p>

<p>"I will pass on to our entry into Courtland. It was
like the home-coming of a long-lost true prince. There
was no fighting&mdash;alack, not so much as a stroke after
all that pother of shouting!"</p>

<p>"Boris!" said the Princess warningly.</p>

<p>"Give him rope!" muttered Prince Hugo. "He
will tangle himself rarely or all be done!"</p>

<p>"I mean by the blessing of Heaven there was no
bloodshed," Boris corrected himself. "There was, as
I say, no fighting. There was none to fight with.
Prince Louis had not a friend in his own capital city,
saving the Muscovite. And at that moment Prince
Ivan the Wasp was glad enough to win clear off to the
frontier with his Cossacks at his tail. It was a God's
pity we could not ride them down. But though Jorian
and I did all that men could&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Ahem!" said Jorian, as if a fly had flown into his
mouth and tickled his throat.</p>

<p>"I mean, your Highnesses, we did whatever men
could to keep the populace within bounds. But they
broke through and leaped upon us, throwing their arms
about our horses' necks, crying out, 'Our saviours!'
'Our deliverers!' God wot, we might as well have tried
to charge through the billows of the Baltic when it blows
a norther right from the Gulf of Bothnia! But it
almost broke my heart to see them ride off with never
so much as a spear thrust through one single Muscovite
belly-band!"</p>

<p>Here Jorian had a fit of coughing which caused the
Princess to look severely upon him. Boris, recalled to
himself, proceeded more carefully.</p>

<p>"It was all we could do to open up a way to where
the young man Maurice lay stretched on the Cross of
Death. They had loosed the wild horses before we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span>
arrived, and these had galloped off after their companions.
A pity! Oh, a great pity!</p>

<p>"Then came the young man's mother near, she who
was our hostess at Isle Rugen&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Why did you not abide at Kernsberg as you were
instructed?" put in Hugo at this point.</p>

<p>"Never mind&mdash;go on&mdash;tell the tale!" cried Helene,
who was listening breathlessly.</p>

<p>"We thought it our duty to accompany the Duchess
Joan," said Boris, deftly enough; "where the king is,
there is the court!"</p>

<p>And at this point the two captains saluted very dutifully
and respectfully, like machines moved by one
spring.</p>

<p>"Well said for once, thou overly long one," growled
Jorian under his breath.</p>

<p>"Go on!" commanded Helene.</p>

<p>"The young man's mother came near and threw a
cloak across his naked body. Then Jorian and I
unbound him and chafed his limbs, first removing the
gag from his mouth; but so tightly had the cords been
bound about him that for long he could not stand
upright. Then, from the royal pavilion, where she
had been brought for cruel sport to see the death, the
Princess Margaret came running&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Oh, wickedness!" cried Helene, "to make her
look on at her lover's death!"</p>

<p>"She came furiously, though a dainty princess,
thrusting strong men aside. 'Way there!' she cried,
'on your lives make way! I will go to him. I am
the Princess Margaret. Give me a dagger and I will
prick me a way.'"</p>

<p>"And, by Saint Stephen the holy martyr&mdash;if she did
not snatch a bodkin from the belt of a tailor in the
High Street and with it open up her way as featly as
though she were handling a Cossack lance."</p>

<p>"And what happened when she got to him&mdash;when
she found her husband?" cried Helene, her eyes
sparkling. And she put out a hand to touch her own,
just to be sure that he was there.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span></p>

<p>"Truth, a very wondrous thing happened!" said
Jorian, whose fingers also had been twitching, "a
mightily wondrous thing. Thus it was&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Hold your tongue, sausage-bag!" growled Boris,
very low; "who tells this tale, you or I?"</p>

<p>"Get on, then," answered in like fashion Captain
Jorian, "you are as long-winded and wheezy as a
smith's bellows!"</p>

<p>"Yes, a strange thing it was. I was standing by
Maurice von Lynar, undoing the cord from his neck.
His mother was chafing an arm. The Lady Joan was
bending to speak softly to him, for she had dismounted
from her horse, when, all in the snapping of a twig, the
Princess Margaret came bursting through the ring
which Jorian and the Kernsbergers were keeping with
their lance-butts. She thrust us all aside. By my
faith, me she sent spinning like the young Prince's top
there!"</p>

<p>"God save his Excellency!" quoth Jorian, not to be
left out entirely.</p>

<p>"Silence!" cried Helene, with an imperious stamp
of her little foot; "and do you, Boris, tell the tale
without comparisons. What happened then?"</p>

<p>"Only the boy's mother kept her ground! She
went on chafing his arm without so much as raising
her eyes."</p>

<p>"Did the Princess serve Joan of the Sword Hand as
she served you?" interposed Hugo.</p>

<p>"Marry, worse!" cried Boris, growing excited for
the first time. "She thrust her aside like a kitchen
wench, and our lady took it as meekly as&mdash;as&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Go on! Did I not tell you to spare us your
comparatives?" cried Helene the Princess, letting her
broidery slip to the ground in her consuming interest.</p>

<p>"Well," said Boris, quickly sobered, "it was in truth
a mighty quaint thing to see. The Princess Margaret
took the young man in her arms and caught him to
her. The Lady Theresa kept hold of his wrist. They
looked at each other a moment without speech, eye
countering eye like knights at a&mdash;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span>&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Go on!" the Princess thundered, if indeed a
silvern voice can be said to thunder.</p>

<p>"'Give him up to me! He is mine!' cried the
Princess.</p>

<p>"'He is mine!' answered very haughtily the lady of
the Isle Rugen&mdash;'Who are you?' 'And you?' cried
both at once, flinging their heads back, but never for a
moment letting go with their hands. The youth, being
dazed, said nothing, nor so much as moved.</p>

<p>"'I am his mother!' said the Lady Theresa, speaking
first.</p>

<p>"'I am his wife!' said the Princess.</p>

<p>"Then the woman who had borne the young man
gave him into his wife's arms without a word, and the
Princess gathered him to her bosom and crooned over
him, that being her right. But his mother stepped
back among the crowd and drew the hood of her cloak
over her head that no man might look upon her face."</p>

<p>"Bravo!" cried Helene, clapping her hands, "it
was her right!"</p>

<p>"Little one," said her husband, pointing to the boy
on the terrace beneath, who was lashing a toy horse of
wood with all his baby might, "I wonder if you will
think so when another woman takes <i>him</i> from you!"</p>

<p>The Princess Helene caught her breath sharply.</p>

<p>"That would be different!" she said, "yes, very
different!"</p>

<p>"Ah!" said Hugo the Prince, her husband.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLVI" id="CHAPTER_XLVI"></a>CHAPTER XLVI</h2>

<h3>THE FEAR THAT IS IN LOVE</h3>


<p>Thus the climax came about in the twinkling of an
eye, but the universal turmoil and wild jubilation
in which Prince Louis's power and government were
swept away had really been preparing for years, though
the end fell sharp as the thunderclap that breaks the
weather after a season of parching heat.</p>

<p>For all that the trouble was only deferred, not
removed. The cruel death of Maurice von Lynar had
been rendered impossible by the opportune arrival of
Prince Conrad and the sudden revolution which the
sight of his noble and beloved form, clad in armour,
produced among the disgusted and impulsive Courtlanders.</p>

<p>Yet the arch-foe had only recoiled in order that he
might the further leap. The great army of the White
Czar was encamped just across the frontier, nominally
on the march to Poland, but capable of being in a
moment diverted upon the Princedom of Courtland.
Here was a pretext of invasion ripe to Prince Ivan's
hand. So he kept Louis, the dethroned and extruded
prince, close beside him. He urged his father, by
every tie of friendship and interest, to replace that
prince upon his throne. And the Czar Paul, well
knowing that the restoration of Louis meant nothing
less than the incorporation of Courtland with his
empire, hastened to carry out his son's advice.</p>

<p>In Courtland itself there was no confusion. A
certain grim determination took possession of the
people. They had made their choice, and they would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span>
abide by it. They had chosen Conrad to be their
ruler, as he had long been their only hope; and they
knew that now Louis was for ever impossible, save as
a cloak for a Muscovite dominion.</p>

<p>It had been the first act of Conrad to summon to
him all the archpriests and heads of chapels and
monasteries by virtue of his office as Cardinal-Archbishop.
He represented to them the imminent danger
to Holy Church of yielding to the domination of the
Greek heretic. Whoever might be spared, the Muscovite
would assuredly make an end of them. He promised
absolution from the Holy Father to all who would
assist in bulwarking religion and the Church of Peter
against invasion and destruction. He himself would
for the time being lay aside his office and fight as a
soldier in the sacred war which was before them. Every
consideration must give way to that. Then he would
lay the whole matter at the feet of the Holy Father in
Rome.</p>

<p>So throughout every town and village in Courtland
the war of the Faith was preached. No presbytery
but became a recruiting office. Every pulpit was a
trumpet proclaiming a righteous war. There was to
be no salvation for any Courtlander save in defending
his faith and country. It was agreed by all that there
was no hope save in the blessed rule of Prince Conrad,
at once worthy Prince of the Blood, Prince of Holy
Church, and defender of our blessed religion. Prince
Louis was a deserter and a heretic. The Pope would
depose him, even as (most likely) he had cursed him
already.</p>

<p>So, thus encouraged, the country rose behind the
retiring Muscovite, and Prince Louis was conducted
across the boundary of his princedom under the bitter
thunder of cannon and the hiss of Courtland arrows.
And the craven trembled as he listened to the shouted
maledictions of his own people, and begged for a
common coat, lest his archer guard should distinguish
their late Prince and wing their clothyard shafts at him
as he cowered a little behind Prince Ivan's shoulder.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span></p>

<p>Meanwhile Joan, casting aside with an exultant leap
of the heart her intent to make of herself an obedient
wife, rode back to Kernsberg in order to organise all
the forces there to meet the common foe. It was to be
the last fight of the Teuton Northland for freedom and
faith.</p>

<p>The Muscovite does not go back, and if Courtland
were conquered Kernsberg could not long stand. To
Plassenburg (as we have seen) rode Boris and Jorian
to plead for help from their Prince and Princess.
Dessauer had already preceded them, and the armies,
disciplined and equipped by Prince Karl, were already
on the march to defend their frontiers&mdash;it might be to
go farther and fight shoulder to shoulder with Courtland
and Kernsberg against the common foe.</p>

<p>And if all this did not happen, it would not be the
fault of those honest soldiers and admirable diplomatists,
Captains Boris and Jorian, captains of the
Palace Guard of Plassenburg.</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;" />

<p>The presence of Prince Conrad in the city of Courtland
seemed to change entirely the character of the
people. From being somewhat frivolous they became at
once devoted to the severest military discipline. Nothing
was heard but words of command and the ordered
tramp of marching feet. The country barons and
knights brought in their forces, and their tents, all gay
with banners and fluttering pennons, stretched white
along the Alla for a mile or more.</p>

<p>The word was on every lip, "When will they come?"</p>

<p>For already the Muscovite allies of Prince Louis had
crossed the frontier and were moving towards Courtland,
destroying everything in their track.</p>

<p>The day after the deliverance of the Sparhawk, Joan
had announced her intention of riding on the morrow to
Kernsberg. Maurice von Lynar and Von Orseln would
accompany her.</p>

<p>"Then," cried Margaret instantly, "I will go, too!"</p>

<p>"The ride would be over toilsome for you," said
Joan, pausing to touch her friend's hair as she looked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span>
forth from the window of the Castle of Courtland at
the Sparhawk ordering about a company of stout
countrymen in the courtyard beneath.</p>

<p>"I <i>will</i> go!" said Margaret wilfully. "I shall never
let him out of my sight again!"</p>

<p>"We shall be back within the week! You will be
both safer and more comfortable here!"</p>

<p>The Princess Margaret withdrew her head from the
open window, momentarily losing sight of her husband
and, in so doing, making vain her last words.</p>

<p>"Ah, Joan," she said reproachfully, "you are wise
and strong&mdash;there is no one like you. But you do not
know what it is to be married. You never were in love.
How, then, can you understand the feelings of a
wife?"</p>

<p>She looked out of the window again and waved a
kerchief.</p>

<p>"Oh, Joan," she looked back again with a mournful
countenance, "I do believe that Maurice does not love
me as I love him. He never took the least notice of
me when I waved to him!"</p>

<p>"How could he," demanded Joan, the soldier's
daughter, sharply, "he was on duty?"</p>

<p>"Well," answered Margaret, still resentful and unconsoled,
"he would not have done that <i>before</i> we
were married! And it is only the first day we have
been together, too, since&mdash;since&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>And she buried her head in her kerchief.</p>

<p>Joan looked at the Princess a moment with a tender
smile. Then she gave a little sigh and went over to her
friend. She laid her hand on her shoulder and knelt
down beside her.</p>

<p>"Margaret," she whispered, "you used to be so brave.
When I was here, and had to fight the Sparhawk's
battles with Prince Wasp, you were as headstrong as
any young squire desiring to win his spurs. You
wished to see us fight, do you remember?"</p>

<p>The Princess took one corner of her white and
dainty kerchief away from her eyes in order to look
yet more reproachfully at her friend.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span></p>

<p>"Ah," she said, "that shows! Of course, I knew.
You were not <i>he</i>, you see; I knew that in a moment."</p>

<p>Joan restrained a smile. She did not remind her
friend that then she had never seen "him." The
Princess Margaret went on.</p>

<p>"Joan," she cried suddenly, "I wish to ask you
something!"</p>

<p>She clasped her hands with a sweet petitionary grace.</p>

<p>"Say on, little one!" said Joan smiling.</p>

<p>"There will be a battle, Joan, will there not?"</p>

<p>Joan of the Sword Hand nodded. She took a long
breath and drew her head further back. Margaret
noted the action.</p>

<p>"It is very well for you, Joan," she said; "I know
you are more than half a man. Every one says so.
And then you do not love any one, and you like
fighting. But&mdash;you may laugh if you will&mdash;I am not
going to let my husband fight. I want you to let him
go to Plassenburg till it is over!"</p>

<p>Joan laughed aloud.</p>

<p>"And you?" she said, still smiling good-naturedly.</p>

<p>It was now Margaret's turn to draw herself up.</p>

<p>"You are not kind!" she said. "I am asking you
a favour for my husband, not for myself. Of course I
should accompany him! <i>I</i> at least am free to come
and go!"</p>

<p>"My dear, my dear," said Joan gently, "you are at
liberty to propose this to your husband! If he comes
and asks me, he shall not lack permission."</p>

<p>"You mean he would not go to Plassenburg even if
I asked him?"</p>

<p>"I know he would not&mdash;he, the bravest soldier, the
best knight&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>There came a knocking at the door.</p>

<p>"Enter!" cried Joan imperiously, yet not a little
glad of the interruption.</p>

<p>Werner von Orseln stood in the portal. Joan waited
for him to speak.</p>

<p>"My lady," he said, "will you bid the Count von
Löen leave his work and take some rest and sustenance.
He thinks of nothing but his drill."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span></p>

<p>"Oh, yes, he does," cried the Princess Margaret;
"how dare you say it, fellow! He thinks of me! Why,
even now&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>She looked once more out of the window, a smile
upon her face. Instantly she drew in her head again
and sprang to her feet.</p>

<p>"Oh, he is gone! I cannot see him anywhere!"
she cried, "and I never so much as heard them go!
Joan, I am going to find him. He should not have
gone away without bidding me goodbye! It was
cruel!"</p>

<p>She flashed out of the room, and without waiting for
tiring maid or coverture, she ran downstairs, dressed
as she was in her light summer attire.</p>

<p>Joan stood a moment silent, looking after her with
eyes in which flashed a tender light. Werner von
Orseln smiled broadly&mdash;the dry smile of an ancient
war-captain who puts no bounds to the vagaries of
women. It was an experienced smile.</p>

<p>"'Tis well for Kernsberg, my lady," said Werner
grimly, "that you are not the Princess Margaret."</p>

<p>"And why!" said Joan a little haughtily. For she
did not like Conrad's sister to be treated lightly even
by her chief captain.</p>

<p>"Ah, love&mdash;love," said Werner, nodding his head sententiously.
"It is well, my lady, that I ever trained you
up to care for none of these things. Teach a maid to
fence, and her honour needs no champion. Give her
sword-cunning and you keep her from making a fool
of herself about the first man who crosses her path.
Strengthen her wrist, teach her to lunge and parry, and
you strengthen her head. But you do credit to <i>your</i>
instructor. You have never troubled about the follies
of love. Therefore are you our own Joan of the Sword
Hand!"</p>

<p>Joan sighed another sigh, very softly this time, and
her eyes, being turned away from Von Orseln, were
soft and indefinitely hazy.</p>

<p>"Yes," she answered, "I am Joan of the Sword
Hand, and I never think of these things!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span></p>

<p>"Of course not," he cried cheerfully; "why should
you? Ah, if only the Princess Margaret had had an
ancient Werner von Orseln to teach her how to drill a
hole in a fluttering jackanapes! Then we would have
had less of this meauling apron-string business!"</p>

<p>"Silence," said Joan quickly. "She is here."</p>

<p>And the Princess came running in with joy in her
face. Instinctively Werner drew back into the shadow
of the window curtain, and the smile on his face grew
more grimly experienced than ever.</p>

<p>"Oh, Joan," cried the Princess breathlessly, "he had
not really gone off without bidding me goodbye.
You remember I said that I could not believe it of
him, and you see I was right. One cannot be mistaken
about one's husband!"</p>

<p>"No?" said Joan interrogatively.</p>

<p>"Never&mdash;so long as he loves you, that is!" said
Margaret, breathless with her haste; "but when you
really love any one, you cannot help getting anxious
about them. And then Ivan or Louis might have sent
some one to carry him off again to tear him to pieces.
Oh, Joan, you cannot know all I suffered. You must
be patient with me. I think it was seeing him bound
and about to die that has made me like this!"</p>

<p>"Margaret!"</p>

<p>Joan went quickly towards her friend, touched with
compunction for her lack of sympathy, and resolved
to comfort her if she could. It was true, after all,
that while she and Conrad had been happy together
on Isle Rugen, this girl had been suffering.</p>

<p>Margaret came towards her, smiling through her tears.</p>

<p>"But I have thought of something," she said,
brightening still more; "such a splendid plan. I
know Maurice would not want to go away when there
was fighting&mdash;though I believe, if I had him by himself
for an hour, I could persuade him even to that, for my
sake."</p>

<p>A stifled grunt came from behind the curtains,
which represented the injury done to the feelings of
Werner von Orseln by such unworthy sentiments.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span></p>

<p>The Princess looked over in the direction of the
sound, but could see nothing. Joan moved quietly
round, so that her friend's back was towards the
window, behind the curtains of which stood the war
captain.</p>

<p>"This is my thought," the Princess went on more
calmly. "Do you, Joan, send Maurice on an embassy
to Plassenburg till this trouble is over. Then he will
be safe. I will find means of keeping him there&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>A stifled groan of rage came from the window.
Margaret turned sharply about.</p>

<p>"What is that?" she cried, taking hold of her skirts,
as the habit of women is.</p>

<p>"Some one without in the courtyard," said Joan
hastily; "a dog, a cat, a rat in the wainscot&mdash;anything!"</p>

<p>"It sounded like something," answered the Princess,
"but surely not like anything! Let us look."</p>

<p>"Margaret," said Joan, gently taking her by the arm
and walking with her towards the door, "Maurice von
Lynar is a soldier and a soldier's son. You would
break his heart if you took him away from his duty.
He would not love you the same; you would not love
him the same."</p>

<p>"Oh, yes, I would," said Margaret, showing signs
that her sorrow might break out afresh. "I would
love him more for taking care of his life for my
sake!"</p>

<p>"You know you would not, Margaret," Joan persisted.
"No woman can truly and fully love a man
whom she is not proud of."</p>

<p>"Oh, that is before they are married!" cried the
Princess indignantly. "Afterwards it is different.
You find out things then&mdash;and love them all the same.
But, of course, how should I expect you to help me?
You have never loved; you do not understand!"  And,
without another word, Margaret of Courtland, who
had once been so heart-free and <i>débonnaire</i>, went out
sobbing like a fretted child.  Hardly had the door
closed upon her when the sound of stifled laughter
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span>broke from the window-seat. Joan indignantly drew
the curtains aside and revealed Werner von Orseln
shaking all over and vainly striving to govern his
mirth with his hands pressed against his sides.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 60%;">
<img src="images/i_323fp.jpg" width="100%" alt="Joan indignantly drew the curtain aside." title="" />
<span class="caption">"Joan indignantly drew the curtain aside."</span>
</div>

<p>At sight of the face of his mistress, which was very
grave, and even stern, his laughter instantly shut itself
off. As it seemed, with a single movement, he raised
himself to his feet and saluted. Joan stood looking at
him a moment without speech.</p>

<p>"Your mirth is exceedingly ill-timed," she said
slowly. "On a future occasion, pray remember that
the Lady Margaret is a Princess and my friend. You
can go! We ride out to-morrow morning at five.
See that everything is arranged."</p>

<p>Once more Von Orseln saluted, with a face expressionless
as a stone. He marched to the door, turned
and saluted a third time, and with heavy footsteps descended
the stairs communing with himself as he went.</p>

<p>"That was salt, Werner. Faith, but she gave you
the back of the sword-hand that time, old kerl! Yet,
'twas most wondrous humorsome. Ha! ha! But I
must not laugh&mdash;at least, not here, for if she catches me
the Kernsbergers will want a new chief captain. Ha!
ha! No, I will not laugh. Werner, you old fool, be
quiet! God's grace, but she looked right royal! It is
worth a dressing down to see her in a rage. Faith, I
would rather face a regiment of Muscovites single-handed
than cross our Joan in one of her tantrums!"</p>

<p>He was now at the outer door. Prince Conrad was
dismounting. The two men saluted each other.</p>

<p>"Is the Duchess Joan within?" said Conrad, concealing
his eagerness under the hauteur natural to a Prince.</p>

<p>"I have just left her!" answered the chief captain.</p>

<p>Without a word Conrad sprang up the steps three at
a time. Werner turned about and watched the young
man's firm lithe figure till it had disappeared.</p>

<p>"Faith of Saint Anthony!" he murmured, "I am
right glad our lady cares not for love. If she did, and
if you had not been a priest&mdash;well, there might have
been trouble."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLVII" id="CHAPTER_XLVII"></a>CHAPTER XLVII</h2>

<h3>THE BROKEN BOND</h3>


<p>Above, in the dusky light of the upper hall,
Conrad and Joan stood holding each other's
hands. It was the first time they had been alone
together since the day on which they had walked along
the sand-dunes of Rugen.</p>

<p>Since then they seemed to have grown inexplicably
closer together. To Joan, Conrad now seemed much
more her own&mdash;the man who loved her, whom she
loved&mdash;than he had been on the Island. To watch
day by day for his passing in martial attire brought
back the knight of the tournament whose white plume
she had seen storm through the lists on the day when,
a slim secretary, she had stood with beating heart and
shining eyes behind the chair of Leopold von Dessauer,
Ambassador of Plassenburg.</p>

<p>For almost five minutes they stood thus without
speech; then Joan drew away her hands.</p>

<p>"You forget," she said smiling, "that was forbidden
in the bond."</p>

<p>"My lady," he said, "was not the bond for Isle
Rugen alone? Here we are comrades in the strife.
We must save our fatherland. I have laid aside my
priesthood. If I live, I shall appeal to the Holy
Father to loose me wholly from my vows."</p>

<p>Smilingly she put his eager argument by.</p>

<p>"It was of another vow I spoke. I am not the Holy
Father, and for this I will not give you absolution.
We are comrades, it is true&mdash;that and no more! To<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span>-morrow
I ride to Kernsberg, where I will muster
every man, call down the shepherds from the hills, and
be back with you by the Alla before the Muscovite
can attack you. I, Joan of the Sword Hand, promise
it!"</p>

<p>She stamped her foot, half in earnest and half in
mockery of the sonorous name by which she was known.</p>

<p>"I would rather you were Joan of the Grange at
Isle Rugen, and I your jerkined servitor, cleaving the
wood that you might bake the bread."</p>

<p>"Conrad," said Joan, shaking her head wistfully,
"such thoughts are not wise for you and me to harbour.
I may indeed be no duchess and you no prince, but
we must stand to our dignities now when the enemy
threatens and the people need us. Afterwards, an it
like us, we may step down together. But, indeed, I
need not to argue, for I think better of you, my
comrade, than to suppose you would ever imagine
anything else."</p>

<p>"Joan," said Conrad very gravely, "do not fear for
me. I have turned once for all from a career I never
chose. Death alone shall turn me back this time."</p>

<p>"I know it," she answered; "I never doubted it. But
what shall we do with this poor lovesick bride of ours?"</p>

<p>And she told him of her interview that morning with
his sister. Conrad laughed gently, yet with sympathy;
Margaret had always been his "little girl," and her
very petulances were dear to him.</p>

<p>"It had been well if she would have consented to
remain here," he said; "and yet I do not know. She
is not built for rough weather, our Gretchen. We are
near the enemy, and many things may happen. Our
soldiers are mostly levies in Courtland, and the land
has been long at peace. The burghers and country
folk are willing enough, but&mdash;well, perhaps she will be
better with you."</p>

<p>"She swears she will not go without her husband,"
said Joan. "Yet he ought to remain with you. I do
not need him; Werner will be enough."</p>

<p>"Leave me Von Orseln, and do you take the young<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span>
man," said Conrad; "then Margaret will go with you
willingly and gladly."</p>

<p>"But she will want to return&mdash;that is, if Maurice
comes, too."</p>

<p>"Isle Rugen?" suggested Conrad, smilingly. "Send
your ten men who know the road. If they could
carry off Joan of the Sword Hand, they should have
no difficulty with little Margaret of Courtland."</p>

<p>Joan clapped her hands with pleasure and relief, all
unconscious that immediately behind her Margaret
had entered softly and now stood arrested by the
sound of her own name.</p>

<p>"Oh, they will have no trouble, will they not?" she
said in her own heart, and smiled. "Isle Rugen?
Thank you, my very dear brother and sister. You
would get rid of me, separate me from Maurice while
he is fighting for your precious princedoms. What
is a country in comparison with a husband? I would
not care a doit which country I belonged to, so long as
I had Maurice with me!"</p>

<p>A moment or two Conrad and Joan discussed the
details of the capture, while more softly than before
Margaret retired to the door. She would have slipped
out altogether but that something happened just then
which froze her to the spot.</p>

<p>A trumpet blew without&mdash;once, twice, and thrice, in
short and stirring blasts. Hardly had the echoes died
away when she heard her brother say, "Adieu, best-beloved!
It is the signal that tells me that Prince Ivan
is within a day's march of Courtland. I bid you goodbye,
and if&mdash;if we should never meet again, do not forget
that I loved you&mdash;loved you as none else could love!"</p>

<p>He held out his hand. Joan stood rooted to the
spot, her lips moving, but no words coming forth.
Then Margaret heard a hoarse cry break from her who
had contemned love.</p>

<p>"I cannot let you go thus!" she cried. "I cannot
keep the vow! It is too hard for me! Conrad!&mdash;I
am but a weak woman after all!"</p>

<p>And in a moment the Princess Margaret saw Joan<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span>
the cold, Joan of the Sword Hand, Joan Duchess of
Kernsberg and Hohenstein, in the arms of her brother.</p>

<p>Whereupon, not being of set purpose an eavesdropper,
Margaret went out and shut the door softly.
The lovers had neither heard her come nor go. And
the wife of Maurice von Lynar was smiling very
sweetly as she went, but in her eyes lurked mischief.</p>

<p>Conrad descended the stair from the apartments of
the Duchess Joan, divided between the certainty that
his lips had tasted the unutterable joy and the fear lest
his soul had sinned the unpardonable sin.</p>

<p>A moment Joan steadied herself by the window,
with her hand to her breast as if to still the flying
pulses of her heart. She took a step forward that she
might look once more upon him ere he went. But,
changing her purpose in the very act, she turned about
and found herself face to face with the Princess
Margaret, who was still smiling subtly.</p>

<p>"You have granted my request?" she said softly.</p>

<p>Joan commanded herself with difficulty.</p>

<p>"What request?" she asked, for she indeed had
forgotten.</p>

<p>"That Maurice and I should first go with you to
Kernsberg and afterwards to Plassenburg."</p>

<p>"Let me think&mdash;let me think&mdash;give me time!" said
Joan, sinking into a chair and looking straight before
her. The world was suddenly filled with whirling
vapour and her brain turned with it.</p>

<p>"I am in the midst of troubles. I know not what to
do!" she murmured.</p>

<p>"Ah, it was quieter at Isle Rugen, was it not?" suggested
Margaret, who had not forgiven the project of
kidnapping her and carrying her off from her husband.</p>

<p>But Joan was thinking too deeply to answer or even
to notice any taunt.</p>

<p>"I cannot go," she murmured, thinking aloud. "I
cannot ride to Kernsberg and leave him in the front of
danger!"</p>

<p>"A woman's place is at home!" said Margaret in a
low tone, maliciously quoting Joan's words.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span></p>

<p>"He must not fight this battle alone. Perhaps I
shall never see him again!"</p>

<p>"A man must not be hampered by affection in the
hour of danger!"</p>

<p>At this point Joan looked down upon Margaret as
she might have done at a puppy that worried a stick
to attract her attention.</p>

<p>"Do you know," she said, "that Prince Ivan and
his Muscovites are within a day's march of Courtland,
and that Prince Conrad has already gone forth to meet
them?"</p>

<p>"What!" cried Margaret, "within a day's march of
the city? I must go and find my husband."</p>

<p>"Wait!" said Joan. "I see my way. Your husband
shall come hither."</p>

<p>She went to the door and clapped her hands. An
attendant appeared, one of the faithful Kernsberg ten
to whom so much had been committed upon the Isle
Rugen.</p>

<p>"Send hither instantly Werner von Orseln, Alt
Pikker, and the Count von Löen!"</p>

<p>She waited with the latch of the door in her hand till
she heard their footsteps upon the stair. They entered
together and saluted. Margaret moved instinctively
nearer to her husband. Indeed, only the feeling that
the moment was a critical one kept her from running
at once to him. As for Maurice, he had not yet grown
ashamed of his wife's open manifestations of affection.</p>

<p>"Gentlemen," said Joan, "the enemy is at the gate
of the city. We shall need every man. Who will ride
to Kernsberg and bring back succour?"</p>

<p>"Alt Pikker will go!" said Maurice instantly; "he
is in charge of the levies!"</p>

<p>"The Count von Löen is young. He will ride
fastest!" said the chief captain.</p>

<p>"Werner von Orseln, of course!" said Alt Pikker,
"he is in chief command."</p>

<p>"What? You do not wish to go?" said Joan a
little haughtily, looking from one to the other of them.
It was Werner von Orseln who answered.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span></p>

<p>"Your Highness," he said respectfully, "if the enemy
be so near, and a battle imminent, the man is no
soldier who would willingly be absent. But we are
your servants. Choose you one to go; or, if it seem
good to you, more than one. Bid us go, and on our
heads it shall be to escort you safely to Kernsberg and
bring back reinforcements."</p>

<p>The Princess came closer to Joan and slipped a hand
into hers. The witty wrinkle at the corner of Werner
von Orseln's mouth twitched.</p>

<p>"Von Lynar shall go!" said Joan.</p>

<p>Whereat Maurice held down his head, Margaret
clapped her hands, and the other two stood stolidly
awaiting instructions, as became their position.</p>

<p>"At what hour shall I depart, my lady?" said
Maurice.</p>

<p>"Now! So soon as you can get the horses ready?"</p>

<p>"But your Grace must have time to make her preparations!"</p>

<p>"I am not going to Kernsberg. I stay here!" said
Joan, stating a fact.</p>

<p>Werner von Orseln was just going out of the door,
jubilantly confiding to Alt Pikker that as soon as he
saw the Princess put her hand in their lady's he knew
they were safe. At the sound of Joan's words he was
startled into crying out loudly, "What?" At the
same time he faced about with the frown on his face
which he wore when he corrected an irregularity in
the ranks.</p>

<p>"I am not going to Kernsberg. I bide here!" Joan
repeated calmly. "Have you anything to say to that,
Chief Captain von Orseln?"</p>

<p>"But, my lady&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"There are no buts in the matter. Go to your
quarters and see that the arms and armour are all
in good case!"</p>

<p>"Madam, the arms and armour are always in good
case," said Werner, with dignity; "but go to Kernsberg
you must. The enemy is near to the city, and
your Highness might fall into their hands."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span></p>

<p>"You have heard what I have said!" Joan tapped
the oaken floor with her foot.</p>

<p>"But, madam, let me beseech you&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>Joan turned from her chief captain impatiently and
walked towards the door of her private apartments.
Werner followed his mistress, with his hands a little
outstretched and a look of eager entreaty on his face.</p>

<p>"My lady," he said, "thirty years I was the faithful
servant of your father&mdash;ten I have served you. By
the memory of those years, if ever I have served you
faithfully&mdash;"</p>

<p>"My father taught you but little, if after thirty years
you have not learned to obey. Go to your post!"</p>

<p>Werner von Orseln drew himself up and saluted.
Then he wheeled about and clanked out without
adding a word more.</p>

<p>"Faith," he confided to Alt Pikker, "the wench is
her father all over again. If I had gone a step further,
I swear she would have beat me with the flat of my
own sword. I saw her eye full on the hilt of it."</p>

<p>"Faith, I too, wished that I had been better helmeted!"
chuckled Alt Pikker.</p>

<p>"Well," said Werner, like one who makes the best of
ill fortune, "we must keep the closer to her, you and I,
that in the stress of battle she come not to a mischief.
Yet I confess that I am not deeply sorry. I began to
fear that Isle Rugen had sapped our lass's spirit. To my
mind, she seemed somewhat over content to abide there."</p>

<p>"Ah," nodded Alt Pikker, "that is because, after all,
our Joan is a woman. No one can know the secret of
a woman's heart."</p>

<p>"And those who think they know most, know the
least!" concurred the much experienced Werner.</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;" />

<p>For a moment, after the door closed upon the men,
Joan and Margaret stood in silence regarding each other.</p>

<p>"I must go and make me ready," said Margaret,
speaking like one who is thinking deeply. Joan stood
still, conscious that something was about to happen,
uncertain what it might be.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span></p>

<p>"I shall see you before I depart," Margaret was
saying, with her hand on the latch.</p>

<p>Suddenly she dropped the handle of the door and
ran impulsively to Joan, clasping her about the neck.</p>

<p>"<i>I know!</i>" she said, looking up into her face.</p>

<p>With a great leap the blood flew to Joan's neck and
brow, then as slowly faded away, leaving her paler
than before.</p>

<p>"What do you know?" she faltered; and she feared,
yet desired, to hear.</p>

<p>"That you love him!" said Margaret very low. "I
came in&mdash;I could not help it&mdash;I did not know&mdash;when
Conrad was bidding you goodbye. Joan, I am so glad&mdash;so
glad! Now you will understand; now you will
not think me foolish any more!"</p>

<p>"Margaret, I am shamed for ever&mdash;it is sin!"
whispered Joan, with her arms about her friend.</p>

<p>"It is love!" said the wife of Maurice von Lynar,
with glowing eyes and pride in her voice.</p>

<p>"I hope I shall die in battle&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Joan!"</p>

<p>"I a wife, and love a priest&mdash;the brother of the man
who is my husband! I pray God that He will take
my life to atone for the sin of loving him. Yet He
knows that I could neither help it nor yet hinder."</p>

<p>"Joan, you will yet be happy."</p>

<p>The Duchess shook her head.</p>

<p>"It were best for us both that I should die&mdash;that is
what I pray for."</p>

<p>"May Heaven avert this thing&mdash;you know not what
you say. And yet," Margaret continued in a more
meditative tone, "I am not sure. If he were there
with you, death itself would not be so hard; at all
events, it were better than living without each other."</p>

<p>And the two women went into the attiring-room with
arms still locked about each other's waists. And as
often as their eyes encountered they lingered a little,
as if tasting the sweet new knowledge which they had
in common. Then those of Joan of the Sword Hand
were averted and she blushed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLVIII" id="CHAPTER_XLVIII"></a>CHAPTER XLVIII</h2>

<h3>JOAN GOVERNS THE CITY</h3>


<p>It was night in the city of Courtland, and a time of
great fear. The watchmen went to and fro on the
walls, staring into the blank dark. The Alla, running
low with the droughts, lapped gently about the piles of
the Summer Palace and lisped against the bounding
walls of the city.</p>

<p>But ever and anon from the east, where lay the
camps of the opposed forces, there came a sound,
heavy and sonorous, like distant thunder. Whereat
the frighted wives of the burghers of Courtland said,
"I wonder what mother's son lies a-dying now.
Hearken to the talking of Great Peg, the Margraf's
cannon!"</p>

<p>At the western or Brandenberg gate there was yet
greater fear. For the news had spread athwart the city
that a great body of horsemen had paused in front of
it, and were being held in parley by the guard on duty,
till the Lady Joan, Governor of the city, should be
made aware.</p>

<p>"They swear that they are friends"&mdash;so ran the
report&mdash;"which is proof that they are enemies. For
how can there be friends who are not Courtlanders.
And these speak an outland speech, clacking in
their throats, hissing their s's, and laughing 'Ho!
ho!' instead of 'Hoch! hoch!' as all good Christians
do!"</p>

<p>The Governor of the city, roused from a rare slumber,
leaped on her horse and went clattering off with an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span>
escort through the unsleeping streets. When first she
came the folk had cheered her as she went. But they
were too jaded and saddened now.</p>

<p>"Our Governor, the Princess Joan!" they used to
call her with pride. But for all that she found not the
same devotion among these easy Courtlanders as among
her hardy men of Hohenstein. To these she was indeed
the Princess Joan. But to those in Castle Kernsberg
she was Joan of the Sword Hand.</p>

<p>When at last she came to the Brandenburg gate she
found before it a great gathering of the townsfolk.
The city guard manned the walls, fretted with haste
and falling over each other in their uncertainty. There
was yet no strictness of discipline among these raw
train-bands, and, instead of waiting for an officer to
hail the horsemen in front, every soldier, hackbutman,
and halberdier was shouting his loudest, till not a word
of the reply could be heard.</p>

<p>But all this turmoil vanished before the first fierce
gust of Joan's wrath like leaves blown away by the
blasts of January.</p>

<p>"To your posts, every man! I will have the first
man spitted with arrows who disobeys&mdash;aye, or takes
more upon himself than simple obedience to orders.
Let such as are officers only abide here with me.
Silence beneath in the tower there."</p>

<p>Looking out, Joan could see a dark mass of horsemen,
while above them glinted in the pale starlight a
forest of spearheads.</p>

<p>"Whence come you, strangers?" cried Joan, in the
loud, clear voice which carried so far.</p>

<p>"From Plassenburg we are!" came back the
answer.</p>

<p>"Who leads you?"</p>

<p>"Captains Boris and Jorian, officers of the Prince's
bodyguard."</p>

<p>"Let Captains Boris and Jorian approach and deliver
their message."</p>

<p>"With whom are we in speech?" cried the unmistakable
voice of Boris, the long man.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span></p>

<p>"With the Princess Joan of Hohenstein, Governor
of the city of Courtland," said Joan firmly.</p>

<p>"Come on, Boris; those Courtland knaves will not
shoot us now. That is the voice of Joan of the Sword
Hand. There can be no treachery where she is."</p>

<p>"Ho, below there!" cried Joan. "Shine a light on
them from the upper sally port."</p>

<p>The lanterns flashed out, and there, immediately
below her, Joan beheld Boris and Jorian saluting as
of old, with the simultaneous gesture which had grown
so familiar to her during the days at Isle Rugen. She
was moved to smile in spite of the soberness of the
circumstances.</p>

<p>"What news bring you, good envoys?"</p>

<p>"The best of news," they said with one accord, but
stopped there as if they had no more to say.</p>

<p>"And that news is&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"First, we are here to fight. Pray you tell us if it
is all over!"</p>

<p>"It is not over; would to Heaven it were!" said
Joan.</p>

<p>"Thank God for that!" cried Boris and Jorian, with
quite remarkable unanimity of piety.</p>

<p>"Is that all your tidings?"</p>

<p>"Nay, we have brought the most part of the Palace
Guard with us&mdash;five hundred good lances and all
hungry-bellied for victuals and all monstrously thirsty
in their throats. Besides which, Prince Hugo raises
Plassenburg and the Mark, and in ten days he will be
on the march for Courtland."</p>

<p>"God send him speed! I fear me in ten days it will
be over indeed," said Joan, listening for the dull recurrent
thunder down towards the Alla mouth.</p>

<p>"What, does the Muscovite press you so hard?"</p>

<p>"He has thousands to our hundreds, so that he can
hem us in on every side."</p>

<p>"Never fear," cried Boris confidently; "we will
hold him in check for you till our good Hugo comes
to take him on the flank."</p>

<p>Then Joan bade the gates be opened, and the horse<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span>men
of Plassenburg, strong men on huge horses,
trampled in. She held out a hand for the captains to
kiss, and sent the burgomaster to assign them billets in
the town.</p>

<p>Then, without resting, she went to the wool market,
which had been turned into a soldiers' hospital. Here
she found Theresa von Lynar, going from bed to bed
smoothing pillows, anointing wounded limbs, and
assisting the surgeons in the care of those who had
been brought back from the fatal battlefields of the
Alla.</p>

<p>Theresa von Lynar rose to meet Joan as she entered,
with all the respect due to the city's Governor. Silently
the young girl beckoned her to follow, and they went
out between long lines of pallets. Here and there a
torch glimmered in a sconce against the wall, or a
surgeon with a candle in his hand paused at a bedside.
The sough of moaning came from all about, and in a
distant window-bay, unseen, a man distract with fever
jabbered and fought fitfully.</p>

<p>Never had Joan realised so nearly the reverse of
war. Never had she so longed for the peace of Isle
Rugen. She could govern a city. She could lead a
foray. She was not afraid to ride into battle, lance in
rest or sword in hand. But she owned to herself that
she could not do what this woman was doing.</p>

<p>"Remember, when all is over I shall keep my vow!"
Joan began, as they paused and looked down the long
alley of stained pillows, tossing heads, and torn limbs
lying very still on palliasses of straw. Without, some of
the riotous youth of the city were playing martial airs
on twanging instruments.</p>

<p>"And I also will keep mine!" responded Theresa
briefly.</p>

<p>"I am Duchess and city Governor only till the
invader is driven out," Joan continued. "Then Isle
Rugen is to be mine, and your son shall sit in the seat
of Henry the Lion!"</p>

<p>"Isle Rugen shall be yours!" answered Theresa.</p>

<p>"And when you are tired of Castle Kernsberg you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span>
will cross the wastes and take boat to visit me, even as
at the first I came to you!" said Joan, kindling at the
thought of a definite sacrifice. It seemed like an
atonement for her soul's sin.</p>

<p>"And what of Prince Conrad!" said Theresa
quietly.</p>

<p>Joan was silent for a space, then she answered with
her eyes on the ground.</p>

<p>"Prince Conrad shall rule this land as is his duty&mdash;Cardinal,
Archbishop, Prince he shall be; there shall
be none to deny him so soon as the power of the
Muscovite is broken. He will be in full alliance with
Hohenstein. He will form a blood bond with Plassenburg.
And when he dies, all that is his shall belong to
the children of Duke Maurice and his wife Margaret!"</p>

<p>Theresa von Lynar stood a moment weighing Joan's
words, and when she spoke it was a question that she
asked.</p>

<p>"Where is Maurice to-night?" she asked.</p>

<p>"He commands the Kernsbergers in the camp.
Prince Conrad has made him provost-marshal."</p>

<p>"And the Princess Margaret?"</p>

<p>"She abides in the river gate of the city, which
Maurice passes often upon his rounds!"</p>

<p>A strange smile passed over the face of Theresa von
Lynar.</p>

<p>"There are many kinds of love," she said; "but not
after this fashion did I, that am a Dane, love Henry
the Lion. Wherefore should a woman hamper a
man in his wars? Sooner would I have died by his
hand!"</p>

<p>"She loves him," said Joan, with a new sympathy.
"She is a princess and wilful. Moreover, not even a
woman can prophesy what love will make another
woman do!"</p>

<p>"Aye!" retorted Theresa, "I am with you there.
But to help a man, not to hinder. Let her strip herself
naked that he may go forth clad. Let her fall on
the sharp wayside stones that he may march to victory.
Let her efface herself that no breath may sully his great<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span>
name. Let her die unknown&mdash;nay, make of herself a
living death&mdash;that he may increase and fill the mouths
of men. That is love&mdash;the love of women as I have
imagined it. But this love that takes and will not give,
that hampers and sends not forth to conquer, that
keeps a man within call like a dog straining upon a
leash&mdash;pah! that is not the love I know!"</p>

<p>She turned sharply upon Joan, all her body quivering
with excitement.</p>

<p>"No, nor yet is it your way of love, my Lady
Joan!"</p>

<p>"I shall never be so tried, like Margaret," answered
Joan, willing to change her mood. "I shall never
love any man with the love of wife!"</p>

<p>"God forbid," said Theresa, looking at her, "that
such a woman as you should die without living!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLIX" id="CHAPTER_XLIX"></a>CHAPTER XLIX</h2>

<h3>THE WOOING OF BORIS AND JORIAN</h3>


<p>"Jorian," said Boris, adjusting his soft underjerkin
before putting on his body armour, "thou art the
greatest fool in the world!"</p>

<p>"Hold hard, Boris," answered Jorian. "Honour to
whom honour&mdash;thou art greater by at least a foot
than I!"</p>

<p>"Well," said the long man, "let us not quarrel about
the breadth of a finger-nail. At any rate, we two are
the greatest fools in the world."</p>

<p>"There are others," said Jorian, jerking his thumb
over his shoulder in the direction of the women's
apartments.</p>

<p>"None so rounded and tun-bellied with folly!" cried
Boris, with decision. "No two donkeys so thistle-fed
as we&mdash;to have the command of five hundred good
horsemen, and the chances of as warm a fight as ever
closed&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"That is just it," cried Jorian; "our Hugo had no
business to forbid us to engage in the open before he
should come."</p>

<p>"'Hold the city.' quoth he, shaking that great head
of his. 'I know not the sort of general this priest-knight
may be, and till I know I will not have my
Palace Guard flung like a can of dirty water in the face
of the Muscovites. Therefore counsel the Prince to
stand on the defensive till I come.'"</p>

<p>"And rightly spoke the son of the Red Axe," assented<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span>
Boris; "only our good Hugo should have sent other
men than you and me to command in such a campaign.
We never could let well alone all the days of us."</p>

<p>"Save in the matter of marriage or no marriage!"
smiled Boris grimly.</p>

<p>"A plague on all women!" growled the little fat
man, his rubicund and shining face lined with unaccustomed
discontent. "A plague on all women, I
say! What can this Theresa von Lynar want in the
Muscovite camp, that we must promise to convey her
safe through the fortifications, and then put her into
Prince Wasp's hands?"</p>

<p>"Think you that for some hatred of our Joan&mdash;you
remember that night at Isle Rugen&mdash;or some purpose
of her own (she loves not the Princess Margaret
either), this Theresa would betray the city to the enemy?"</p>

<p>"Tush!" Jorian had lost his temper and answered
crossly. "In that case, would she have called us in?
It were easy enough to find some traitor among these
Courtlanders, who, to obtain the favour of Prince
Louis, would help to bring the Muscovite in. But
what, if she were thrice a traitress, would cause her to
fix on the two men who of all others would never turn
knave and spoil-sport&mdash;no, not for a hundred vats of
Rhenish bottled by Noah the year after the Flood!"</p>

<p>"Well," sighed his companion, "'tis well enough
said, my excellent Jorian, but all this does not advance
us an inch. We have promised, and at eleven o' the
clock we must go. What hinders, though, that we
have a bottle of Rhenish now, even though the vintage
be younger than you say? Perhaps, however, the
patron was more respectable!"</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;" />

<p>Thus in the hall of the men-at-arms in the Castle of
Courtland spoke the two captains of Plassenburg. All
this time they were busy with their attiring, Boris in
especial making great play with a tortoiseshell comb
among his tangled locks. Somewhat more spruce was
the arraying of our twin comrades-in-arms than we
have seen it. Perhaps it was the thought of the dan<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span>gerous
escort duty upon which they had promised to
venture forth that night; perhaps&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>"May we come in?" cried an arch voice from the
doorway. "Ah, we have caught you! There&mdash;we
knew it! So said I to my sister not an hour agone.
Women may be vain as peacocks, but for prinking,
dandifying vanity, commend me to a pair of foreign
war-captains. My lords, have you blacked your eyelashes
yet, touched up your eyebrows, scented and
waxed those <i>beautiful</i> moustaches? Sister, can you
look and live?"</p>

<p>And to the two soldiers, standing stiff as at attention,
with their combs in their hands, enter the sisters Anna
and Martha Pappenheim, more full of mischief than
ever, and entirely unsubdued by the presence of the
invader at their gates.</p>

<p>"Russ or Turk, Courtlander or Franconian, Jew,
proselyte, or dweller in Mesopotamia, all is one to us.
So be they are men, we will engage to tie them about
our little fingers!"</p>

<p>"Why," cried Martha, "whence this grand toilet?
We knew not that you had friends in the city. And
yet they tell me you have been in Courtland before,
Sir Boris?"</p>

<p>"Marthe," cried Anna Pappenheim, with vast pretence
of indignation, "what has gotten into you, girl?
Can you have forgotten that martial carriage, those
limbs incomparably knit, that readiness of retort and
delicate sparkle of Wendish wit, which set all the table
in a roar, and yet never once brought the blush to
maiden's cheek? For shame, Marthe!"</p>

<p>"Ha! ha!" laughed Jorian suddenly, short and
sharp, as if a string had been pulled somewhere.</p>

<p>"Ho! ho!" thus more sonorously Boris.</p>

<p>Anna Pappenheim caught her skirts in her hand
and spun round on her heel on pretence of looking
behind her.</p>

<p>"Sister, what was that?" she cried, spying beneath
the settles and up the wide throat of the chimney.
"Methought a dog barked."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span></p>

<p>"Or a grey goose cackled!"</p>

<p>"Or a donkey sang!"</p>

<p>"Ladies," said Jorian, who, being vastly discomposed,
must perforce try to speak with an affectation
of being at his ease, "you are pleased to be witty."</p>

<p>"Heaven mend our wit or your judgment!"</p>

<p>"And we are right glad to be your butts. Yet have
we been accounted fellows of some humour in our
own country and among men&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Why, then, did you not stay there?" inquired
Martha pointedly.</p>

<p>"It was not Boris and I who could not stay
without," retorted Jorian, somewhat nettled, nodding
towards the door of the guard-room.</p>

<p>"Well said!" cried frank Anna. "He had you
there, Marthe. Pricked in the white! Faith, Sir
Jorian pinked us both, for indeed it was we who
intruded into these gentlemen's dressing-room. Our
excuse is that we are tirewomen, and would fain
practise our office when and where we can. Our
Princess hath been wedded and needs us but once a
week. Noble Wendish gentlemen, will not you
engage us?"</p>

<p>She clasped her hands, going a step or two nearer
Boris as if in appeal.</p>

<p>"Do, kind sirs," she said, "have pity on two poor
girls who have no work to do. Think&mdash;we are orphans
and far from home!"</p>

<p>The smiles on the faces of the war-captains
broadened. "Ho! ho! Good!" burst out Boris.</p>

<p>"Ha! ha! Excellent!" assented Jorian, nodding,
with his eyes on Martha.</p>

<p>Anna Pappenheim ran quickly on tip-toe round to
Boris's back and peered between his shoulders. Then
she ran her eyes down to his heels.</p>

<p>"Sister," she cried, "<i>they</i> do it. That dreadful noise
comes from somewhere about them. I distinctly saw
their jaws waggle. They must of a surety be wound
up like an arbalist. Yet I cannot find the string and
trigger! Do come and help me, good Marthe! If<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span>
you find it, I will dance at your wedding in my
stocking-feet!"</p>

<p>And the gay Franconian reached up and pulled a
stray tag of Boris's jerkin, which hung down his back.
The knot slipped, and a circlet of red and gold, ragged
at the lower edges, came off in her hand, revealing
the fact that Boris's noble <i>soubreveste</i> was no more than
a fringe of broidered collar.</p>

<p>"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Jorian irrepressibly.  For
Boris looked mightily crestfallen to have his magnificence
so rudely dealt with.</p>

<p>Anna von Pappenheim clapped her hands.</p>

<p>"I have found it," she cried. "It goes like this. You
touch off the trigger of one, and the other explodes!"</p>

<p>Boris wheeled about with fell intent on his face.
He would have caught the teasing minx in his arms,
but Anna skipped round behind a chair and threatened
him with her finger.</p>

<p>"Not till you engage us," she cried. "Hands off,
there! We are to array you&mdash;not you to disarray us!"</p>

<p>Whereat the two gamesome Southlanders stood
together in ludicrous imitation of Boris and Jorian's
military stiffness, folding their hands meekly and
casting their eyes downward like a pair of most
ingenuous novices listening to the monitions of their
Lady Superior. Then Anna's voice was heard
speaking with almost incredible humility.</p>

<p>"Will my lord with the hook nose so great and
noble deign to express a preference which of us shall
be his handmaid?"</p>

<p>But they had ventured an inch too far. The string
was effectually pulled now.</p>

<p>"I will have this one&mdash;she is so merry!" cried
solemn Boris, seizing Anna Pappenheim about the waist.</p>

<p>"And I this! She pretendeth melancholy, yet has
tricks like a monkey!" said Jorian, quickly following
his example. The girls fended them gallantly, yet, as
mayhap they desired, their case was hopeless.</p>

<p>"Hands off! I will not be called 'this one,'" cried
Anna, though she did not struggle too vehemently.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span></p>

<p>"Nor I a monkey! Let me go, great Wend!"
chimed Martha, resigning herself as soon as she had
said it.</p>

<p>In this prosperous estate was the courtship of
Franconia and Plassenburg, when some instinct drew
the eyes of Jorian to the door of the officers' guard-room,
which Anna had carefully left open at her
entrance, in order to secure their retreat.</p>

<p>The Duchess Joan stood there silent and regardant.</p>

<p>"Boris!" cried Jorian warningly. Boris lifted his
eyes from the smiling challenge upon Anna's upturned
lips, which, after the manner of your war-captains, he
was stooping to kiss.</p>

<p>Unwillingly Boris lifted his eyes. The next moment
both the late envoys of Plassenburg were saluting as
stiffly as if they had still been men-at-arms, while
Anna and Martha, blushing divinely, were busy with
their needlework in the corner, as demure as cats
caught sipping cream.</p>

<p>Joan looked at the four for a while without speaking.</p>

<p>"Captains Boris and Jorian," she said sternly, "a
messenger has come from Prince Conrad to say that
the Muscovites press him hard. He asks for instant
reinforcements. There is not a man fit for duty
within the city saving your command. Will you take
them to the Prince's assistance immediately? Werner
von Orseln fights by his side. Maurice and my Kernsbergers
are already on their way."</p>

<p>The countenances of the two Plassenburg captains
fell as the leathern screen drops across a cathedral
door through which the evening sunshine has been
streaming.</p>

<p>"My lady, it is heartbreaking, but we cannot," said
Boris dolefully. "Our Lord Prince Hugo bade us
keep the city till he should arrive!"</p>

<p>"But I am Governor. I will keep the city," cried
Joan; "the women will mount halberd and carry pike.
Go to the Prince! Were Hugo of Plassenburg here
he would be the first to march! Go, I order you!
Go, I beseech you!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span></p>

<p>She said the last words in so changed a tone that
Boris looked at her in surprise.</p>

<p>But still he shook his head.</p>

<p>"It is certain that if Prince Hugo were here he
would be the first to ride to the rescue. But Prince
Hugo is not here, and my comrade and I are soldiers
under orders!"</p>

<p>"Cowards!" flashed Joan, "I will go myself. The
cripples, the halt, and the blind shall follow me.
Thora of Bornheim and these maidens there, they
shall follow me to the rescue of their Prince. Do you,
brave men of Plassenburg, cower behind the walls
while the Muscovite overwhelms all and the true
Prince is slain!"</p>

<p>And at this her voice broke and she sobbed out,
"Cowards! cowards! cowards! God preserve me
from cowardly men!"</p>

<p>For at such times and in such a cause no woman is
just. For which high Heaven be thanked!</p>

<p>Boris looked at Jorian. Jorian looked at Boris.</p>

<p>"No, madam," said Boris gravely; "your servants
are no cowards. It is true that we were commanded
by our master to keep his Palace Guard within the
city walls, and these must stay. But we two are in
some sense still Envoys Extraordinary, and not strictly
of the Prince's Palace Guard. As Envoys, therefore,
charged with a free commission in the interests of
peace, we can without wrongdoing accompany you
whither you will. Eh, Jorian?"</p>

<p>"Aye," quoth Jorian; "we are at her Highness's
service till ten o' the clock."</p>

<p>"And why till ten?" asked Joan, turning to go out.</p>

<p>"Oh," returned Jorian, "there is guard-changing
and other matters to see to. But there is time for a
wealth of fighting before ten. Lead on, madam. We
follow your Highness!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_L" id="CHAPTER_L"></a>CHAPTER L</h2>

<h3>THE DIN OF BATTLE</h3>


<p>It was a strange uncouth band that Joan had got
together in a handful of minutes in order to accompany
her to the field upon which, sullenly retiring
before a vastly more numerous enemy, Conrad and
his little army stood at bay. Raw lathy lads, wide-hammed
from sitting cross-legged in tailors' workshops;
prentices too wambly and knock-kneed to be
taken at the first draft; old men who had long leaned
against street corners and rubbed the doorways of the
cathedral smooth with their backs; a sprinkling of
stout citizens, reluctant and much afraid, but still more
afraid of the wrath of Joan of the Sword Hand.</p>

<p>Joan was still scouring the lanes and intricate passages
for laggards when Boris and Jorian entered the
little square where this company were assembled, most
of them embracing their arbalists as if they had been
sweeping besoms, and the rest holding their halberds
as if they feared they would do themselves an injury.</p>

<p>The nose of fat Jorian went so high into the air that,
without intending it, he found himself looking up at
Boris; and at that moment Boris chanced to be
glancing at Jorian down the side of his high arched
beak.</p>

<p>To the herd of the uncouth soldiery it simply appeared
as though the two war-captains of Plassenburg
looked at each other. An observer on the opposite
side would have noted, however, that the right eye of
Jorian and the left eye of Boris simultaneously closed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span></p>

<p>Yet when they turned their regard upon the last
levy of the city of Courtland their faces were grave.</p>

<p>"Whence come these churchyard scourings, these
skulls and crossbones set up on end?" cried Jorian in
face of them all. And this saying from so stout a man
made their legs wamble more than ever.</p>

<p>"Rotboss rascals, rogues in grain," Boris took up the
tale, "faith, it makes a man scratch only to look at
them! Did you ever see their marrow?"</p>

<p>The two captains turned away in disgust. They
walked to and fro a little apart, and Boris, who loved
all animals, kicked a dog that came his way. Boris
was unhappy. He avoided Jorian's eye. At last he
broke out.</p>

<p>"We cannot let our Lady Joan set forth for field
with such a compost of mumpers and tun-barrels as
these!" he said.</p>

<p>Boris confided this, as it were to the housetops.
Jorian apparently did not listen. He was clicking his
dagger in its sheath, but from his next word it was
evident that his mind had not been inactive.</p>

<p>"What excuse could we make to Hugo, our Prince?"
he said at last. "Scarcely did he believe us the last
time. And on this occasion we have his direct orders."</p>

<p>"Are we not still Envoys?" queried Boris.</p>

<p>"Extraordinary!" twinkled Jorian, catching his
comrade's idea as a bush of heather catches moorburn.</p>

<p>"And as Envoys of a great principality like Plassenburg&mdash;representatives
of the most noble Prince and
Princess in this Empire, should we not ride with
retinue due and fitting? That is not taking the
Palace Guard into battle. It is only affording due
protection to their Excellencies' representatives."</p>

<p>"That sounds well enough," answered Boris doubtfully,
"but will it stand probation, think you, when
Hugo scowls at us from under his brows, and you see
the bar of the fifteen Red Axes of the Wolfmark stand
red across his forehead?"</p>

<p>"Tut, man, his anger is naught to that of Karl the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span>
Miller's Son. You and I have stood that. Why should
we fear our quiet Hugo?"</p>

<p>"Aye, aye; in our day we have tried one thing and
then another upon Karl and have borne up under his
anger. But then Karl only cursed and used great
horned words, suchlike as in his youth he had heard
the waggoners use to encourage their horses up the
mill brae. But Hugo&mdash;when he is angry he says
nought, only the red bar comes up slowly, and as it
grows dark and fiery you wish he would order you
to the scaffold at once, and be done with it!"</p>

<p>"Well," said Jorian, "at all events, there is always
our Helene. I opine, whatever we do, she will not forget
old days&mdash;the night at the earth-houses belike and
other things. I think we may risk it!"</p>

<p>"True," meditated Boris, "you say well. There is
always Helene. The Little Playmate will not let our
necks be stretched! Not at least for succouring a
Princess in distress."</p>

<p>"And a woman in love?" added Jorian, who, though
he followed the lead of the long man in great things,
had a shrewder eye for some more intimate matters.</p>

<p>"Eh, what's that you say?" said Boris, turning
quickly upon him.  He had been regarding with interest
a shackled-kneed varlet holding a halberd in his
arms as if it had been a fractious bairn.</p>

<p>But Jorian was already addressing the company
before him.</p>

<p>"Here, ye unbaked potsherds&mdash;dismiss, if ye know
what that means. Get ye to the walls, and if ye cannot
stand erect, lean against them, and hold brooms in
your hands that the Muscovite may take them for
muskets and you for men if he comes nigh enough.
Our Lady is not Joan of the Dishclout, that such
draught-house ragpickers as you should be pinned to
her tail. Set bolsters stuffed with bran on the walls!
Man the gates with faggots. Cleave beech billets half
in two and set them athwart wooden horses for
officers. But insult not the sunshine by letting your
shadows fall outside the city. Break off! Dismiss!
Go! Get out o' this!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span></p>

<p>As Jorian stood before the levies and vomited his
insults upon them, a gleam of joy passed across chops
hitherto white like fish-bellies with the fear of death.
Bleared eyes flashed with relief. And there ran a
murmur through the ragged ranks which sounded like
"Thank you, great captain!"</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;" />

<p>In a short quarter of an hour the drums of the
Plassenburg Palace Guard had beaten to arms. From
gate to gate the light sea-wind had borne the cheerful
trumpet call, and when Joan returned, heartless and
downcast, with half a dozen more mouldy rascals,
smelling of muck-rakes and damp stable straw, she
found before her more than half the horsemen of
Plassenburg armed cap-a-pie in burnished steel.
Whereat she could only look at Boris in astonishment.</p>

<p>"Your Highness," said that captain, saluting gravely,
"we are only able to accompany you as Envoys Extraordinary
of the Prince and Princess of Plassenburg.
But as such we feel it our duty in order properly to
support our state, to take with us a suitable attendance.
We are sure that neither Prince Hugo nor yet his
Princess Helene would wish it otherwise!"</p>

<p>Before Joan could reply a messenger came springing
up the long narrow streets along which the disbanded
levies, so vigorously contemned of Jorian, were hurrying
to their places upon the walls with a detail of the
Plassenburg men behind them, driving them like
sheep.</p>

<p>Joan took the letter and opened it with a jerk.</p>

<blockquote><p>"From High Captain von Orseln to the Princess
Joan.</p>

<p>"Come with all speed, if you would be in time. We
are hard beset. The enemy are all about us. Prince
Conrad has ordered a charge!"</p></blockquote>

<p>The face of the woman whitened as she read, but at
the same moment the fingers of Joan of the Sword
Hand tightened upon the hilt. She read the letter<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span>
aloud. There was no comment. Boris cried an order,
Jorian dropped to the rear, and the retinue of the
Envoys Extraordinary swung out on the road towards
the great battle.</p>

<p>Outnumbered and beaten back by the locust flock
which spread to either side, far outflanking and sometimes
completely enfolding his small army, Prince
Conrad still maintained himself by good generalship
and the high personal courage which stimulated his
followers. The hardy Kernsbergers, both horse and
foot, whom Maurice had brought up, proved the backbone
of the defence. Besides which Werner von
Orseln had striven by rebuke and chastening, as well
as by appeals to their honour, to impart some steadiness
into the Courtland ranks. But save the free knights from
the landward parts, who were driven wild by the sight
of the ever-spreading Muscovite desolation, there was
little stamina among the burghers. They were, indeed,
loud and turbulent upon occasion, but they understood
but ill any concerted action. In this they differed conspicuously
from their fellows of the Hansa League, or
even from the clothweavers of the Netherland cities.</p>

<p>As Joan and the war-captains of Plassenburg came
nearer they heard a low growling roar like the distant
sound of the breakers on the outer shore at Isle Rugen.
It rose and fell as the fitful wind bore it towards them,
but it never entirely ceased.</p>

<p>They dashed through the fords of the Alla, the three
hundred lances of the Plassenburg Guard clattering
eagerly behind them. Joan led, on a black horse
which Conrad had given her. The two war-captains
with one mind set their steel caps more firmly on their
heads, and as his steed breasted the river bank Jorian
laughed aloud. Angrily Joan turned in her saddle to
see what the little man was laughing at. But with
quick instinct she perceived that he laughed only as
the war-horse neighs when he scents the battle from
afar. He was once more the born fighter of men.
Jorian and his mate would never be generals, but they
were the best tools any general could have.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</a></span></p>

<p>They came nearer. A few wreaths of smoke, hanging
over the yet distant field, told where Russ and
Teuton met in battle array. A solemn slumberous reverberation
heard at intervals split the dull general
roar apart. It was the new cannon which had come
from the Margraf George to help beat back the common
foe.  Again and again broke in upon their advance that
appalling sound, which set the inward parts of men
quivering. Presently they began to pass limping men
hasting cityward, then fleeing and panic-stricken
wretches who looked over their shoulders as if they
saw steel flashing at their backs.</p>

<p>A camp-marshal or two was trying to stay these,
beating them over the head and shoulders with the flat
of their swords; but not a man of the Plassenburgers
even looked towards them. Their eyes were on that
distant tossing line dimly seen amid clouds of dust,
and those strange wreaths of white smoke going upward
from the cannons' mouths. The roar grew
louder; there were gaps in the fighting line; a banner
went down amid great shouting. They could see the
glinting of sunshine upon armour.</p>

<p>"Kernsberg!" cried Joan, her sword high in the air
as she set spurs in her black stallion and swept onward
a good twenty yards before the rush of the horsemen
of Plassenburg.</p>

<p>Now they began to see the arching arrow-hail, grey
against the skyline like gnat swarms dancing in the
dusk of summer trees. The quarrels buzzed. The
great catapults, still used by the Muscovites, twanged
like the breaking of viol cords.</p>

<p>The horses instinctively quickened their pace to take
the wounded in their stride.  There&mdash;there was the
thickest of the fray, where the great cannon of the
Margraf George thundered and were instantly wrapped
in their own white pall.</p>

<p>Joan's quick glance about her for Conrad told her
nothing of his whereabouts.  But the two war-captains,
more experienced, perceived that the Muscovites were
already everywhere victorious. Their horsemen out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</a></span>flanked
and overlapped the slender array of Courtland.
Only about the cannon and on the far right did any
seem to be making a stand.</p>

<p>"There!" cried Jorian, couching his lance, "there
by the cannon is where we will get our bellyful of
fighting."</p>

<p>He pointed where, amid a confusion of fighting-men,
wounded and struggling horses, and the great black
tubes of the Margraf's cannon, they saw the sturdy form
of Werner von Orseln, grown larger through the
smoke and dusty smother, bestriding the body of a
fallen knight. He fought as one fights a swarm of
angry bees, striking every way with a desperate courage.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 60%;">
<img src="images/i_351fp.jpg" width="100%" alt="The sturdy form of Werner von Orseln, bestriding the body of a fallen knight." title="" />
<span class="caption">"The sturdy form of Werner von Orseln, bestriding the body of a fallen knight."</span>
</div>

<p>The charging squadrons of Plassenburg divided to
pass right and left of the cannon. Joan first of all,
with her sword lifted and crying not Kernsberg now,
but "Conrad! Conrad!" drave straight into the heart
of the Cossack swarm. At the trampling of the horses'
feet the Muscovites lifted their eyes. They had been
too intent to kill to waste a thought on any possible
succour.</p>

<p>Joan felt herself strike right and left. Her heart was
crazed within her so that she set spurs to her steed and
rode him forward, plunging and furious. Then a blowing
wisp of white plume was swept aside, and through
a helmet (broken as a nut shell is cracked and falls
apart) Joan saw the fair head of her Prince. A trickle
of blood wetted a clinging curl on his forehead and
stole down his pale cheek. Werner von Orseln, begrimed
and drunken with battle, bestrode the body of
Prince Conrad. His defiance rose above the din of
battle.</p>

<p>"Come on, cowards of the North! Taste good
German steel! To me, Kernsberg! To me, Hohenstein!
Curs of Courtland, would ye desert your
Prince? Curses on you all, swart hounds of the
Baltic! Let me out of this and never a dog of you
shall ever bite bread again!"</p>

<p>And so, foaming in his battle anger, the ancient war-captain
would have stricken down his mistress. For<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</a></span>
he saw all things red and his heart was bitter within
him.</p>

<p>With all the power that was in her, right and left
Joan smote to clear her way to Conrad, praying that if
she could not save him she might at least die with him.</p>

<p>But by this time Captains Boris and Jorian, leaving
their horsemen to ride at the second line, had wheeled
and now came thrusting their lances freely into
Cossack backs. These last, finding themselves thus
taken in the rear, turned and fled.</p>

<p>"Hey, Werner, good lad, do not slay your comrades!
Down blade, old Thirsty. Hast thou not drunken
enough blood this morning?" So cried the war-captains
as Werner dashed the blood and tears out of
his eyes.</p>

<p>"Back! back!" he cried, as soon as he knew with
whom he had to do. "Go back! Conrad is slain or
hath a broken head. They were lashing at him as
he lay to kill him outright? Ah, viper, would you
sting?" (He thrust a wounded Muscovite through as
he was crawling nearer to Conrad with a broad knife in
his hand.) "These beaten curs of Courtlanders broke
at the first attack. Get him to horse! Quick, I say.
My Lady Joan, what do you do in this place?"</p>

<p>For even while he spoke Joan had dismounted and
was holding Conrad's head on her lap. With the soft
white kerchief which she wore on her helm as a favour
she wiped the wound on his scalp. It was long, but
did not appear to be very deep.</p>

<p>As Werner stood astonished, gazing at his mistress,
Boris summoned the trumpeter who had wheeled with
him.</p>

<p>"Sound the recall!" he bade him. And in a moment
clear notes rang out.</p>

<p>"He is not dead! Lift him up, you two!" Joan
cried suddenly. "No, I will take him on my steed.
It is the strongest, and I the lightest. I alone will bear
him in."</p>

<p>And before any could speak she sprang into the
saddle without assistance with all her old lightness of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</a></span>
action, most like that of a lithe lad who chases the colts
in his father's croft that he may ride them bareback.</p>

<p>So Werner von Orseln lifted the head and Boris the
feet, bearing him tenderly that they might set him upon
Joan's horse. And so firm was her seat (for she rode
as the Maid rode into Orleans with Dunois on one side
and Gilles de Rais on the other), that she did not even
quiver as she received the weight. The noble black
looked round once, and then, as if understanding the
thing that was required of him, he gentled himself and
began to pace slow and stately towards the city. On
either side walked tall Boris and sturdy Werner, who
steadied the unconscious Prince with the palms of their
hands.</p>

<p>Meanwhile the Palace Guard, with Jorian at its head,
defended the slow retreat, while on the flanks Maurice
and his staunch Kernsbergers checked the victorious
advance of the Muscovites. Yet the disaster was complete.
They left the dead, they left the camp, they left
the munitions of war. They abandoned the Margraf's
cannon and all his great store of powder. And there
were many that wept and some that only ground teeth
and cursed as they fell back, and heard the wailing of
the women and saw the fear whitening on the faces
they loved.</p>

<p>Only the Kernsbergers bit their lips and watched the
eye of Maurice, by whose side a slim page in chain-mail
had ridden all day with visor down. And the men
of the Palace Guard prayed for Prince Hugo to come.</p>

<p>As for Joan, she cared nothing for victory or defeat,
loss or gain, because that the man she loved leaned on
her breast, bleeding and very still.</p>

<p>Yet with great gentleness she gave him down into
loving hands, and afterwards stood marble-pale beside
the couch while Theresa von Lynar unlaced his
armour and washed his wounds. Then, nerving herself
to see him suffer, she murmured over to herself,
once, twice, and a hundred times, "God help me to do
so and more also to those who have wrought this&mdash;specially
to Louis of Courtland and Ivan of Muscovy."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</a></span></p>

<p>"Abide ye, little one&mdash;be patient. Vengeance will
come to both!" said Theresa. "I, who do not promise
lightly, promise it you!"</p>

<p>And she laid her hand on the girl's shoulder. Never
before had the Duchess Joan been called "little one!"
Yet for all her brave deeds she laid her head on
Theresa's shoulder, murmuring, "Save him&mdash;save
him! I cannot bear to lose him. Pray for him and
me!"</p>

<p>Theresa kissed her brow.</p>

<p>"Ah," she said, "the prayers of such as Theresa von
Lynar would avail little. Yet she may be a weapon in
the hand of the God of vengeance. Is it not written
that they that take the sword shall perish by the
sword?"</p>

<p>But already Joan had forgotten vengeance. For
now the surgeons of Courtland stood about, and she
murmured, "Must he die? Tell me, will he die?"</p>

<p>And as the wise men silently shook their heads, the
crying of the victorious Muscovites could be heard
outside the wall.</p>

<p>Then ensued a long silence, through which broke a
gust of iron-throated laughter. It was the roar of the
Margraf's captured cannon firing the salvo of victory.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LI" id="CHAPTER_LI"></a>CHAPTER LI</h2>

<h3>THERESA'S TREACHERY</h3>


<p>That night the whole city of Courtland cowered
in fear before its triumphant enemy. At the
nearest posts the Muscovites were in great strength,
and the sight of their burnings fretted the souls of the
citizens on guard. Some came near enough to cry
insults up to the defenders.</p>

<p>"You would not have your own true Prince. Now
ye shall have ours. We will see how you like the
exchange!"</p>

<p>This was the cry of some renegade Courtlander, or
of a Muscovite learned (as ofttimes they are) in the
speech of the West.</p>

<p>But within the walls and at the gates the men of
Kernsberg and Hohenstein rubbed their hands and
nudged each other.</p>

<p>"Brisk lads," one said, "let us make our wills and
send them by pigeon post. I am leaving Gretchen my
Book of Prayers, my Lives of the Saints, my rosary,
and my belt pounced with golden eye-holes&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Methinks that last will do thy Gretchen most service,"
said his companion, "since the others have gone
to the vintner's long ago!"</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;" />

<p>"Thou art the greater knave to say so," retorted his
companion; "and if by God's grace we come safe out
of this I will break thy head for thy roguery!"</p>

<p>The Muscovites had dragged the captured cannon in
front of the Plassenburg Gate, and now they fired<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</a></span>
occasionally, mostly great balls of quarried stone, but
afterward, as the day wore later, any piece of metal
or rock they could find. And the crash of wooden
galleries and stone machicolations followed, together
with the scuttling of the Courtland levies from the
post of danger. A few of the younger citizens, indeed,
were staunch, but for the most part the Plassenburgers
and Kernsbergers were left to bite their lips and confide
to each other what their Prince Hugo or their Joan of
the Hand Sword would have done to bring such
cowards to reason and right discipline.</p>

<p>"An it were not for our own borders and that brave
priest-prince, no shaveling he," they said, "faith, such
curs were best left to the Muscovite. The plet and the
knout were made for such as they!"</p>

<p>"Not so," said he who had maligned Gretchen;
"the Courtlanders are yea-for-soothing knaves, truly;
but they are Germans, and need only to know they
must, to be brave enough. One or two of our Karl's
hostelries, with thirteen lodgings on either side,
every guest upright and a-swing by the neck&mdash;these
would make of the Courtlanders as good soldiers as
thyself, Hans Finck!"</p>

<p>But at that moment came Captain Boris by and
rebuked them sharply for the loudness of their speech.
It was approaching ten of the clock. Boris and Jorian
had already visited all the posts, and were now ready to
make their venture with Theresa von Lynar.</p>

<p>"No fools like old fools!" grumbled Jorian sententiously,
as he buckled on his carinated breastplate,
that could shed aside bolts, quarrels, and even bullets
from powder guns as the prow of a vessel sheds the
waves to either side in a good northerly wind.</p>

<p>"'Tis you should know," retorted Boris, "being both
old and a fool."</p>

<p>"A man is known by the company he keeps!"
answered Jorian, adjusting the lining of his steel cap,
which was somewhat in disarray after the battle of the
morning.</p>

<p>"Ah!" sighed his companion. "I would that I had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</a></span>
the choosing of the company I am to keep this
night!"</p>

<p>"And I!" assented Jorian, looking solemn for once
as he thought of pretty Martha Pappenheim.</p>

<p>"Well, we do it from a good motive," said Boris;
"that is one comfort. And if we lose our lives, Prince
Conrad will order many masses (they will need to be
very many) for your soul's peace and good quittance
from purgatory!"</p>

<p>"Humph!" said Jorian, as if he did not see much
comfort in that, "I would rather have a box on the ear
from Martha Pappenheim than all the matins of all the
priests that ever sung laud!"</p>

<p>"Canst have that and welcome&mdash;if her sister will do
as well!" cried Anna, as the two men went out into
the long passage. And she suited the deed to the
word.</p>

<p>"Oh! I have hurt my hand against that hard helmet.
It serves me right for listening! Marthe!"&mdash;she
looked about for her sister before turning to the
soldiers&mdash;"see, I have hurt my hand," she added.</p>

<p>Then she made the tears well up in her eyes by an
art of the tongue in the throat she had.</p>

<p>"Kiss it well, Marthe!" she said, looking up at her
sister as she came along the passage swinging a lantern
as carelessly as if there were not a Muscovite in the
world.</p>

<p>But Boris forestalled the newcomer and caught up the
small white hand in the soft leathern grip of his palm
where the ring-mail stopped.</p>

<p>"<i>I</i> will do that better than any sister!" he said.</p>

<p>"That, indeed, you cannot; for only the kiss of love
can make a hurt better!"</p>

<p>Anna glanced up at him with wet eyes, a little maid
full of innocence and simplicity. Most certainly she
was all unconscious of the danger in which she was
putting herself.</p>

<p>"Well, then, I love you!" said Boris, who did his
wooing plainly.</p>

<p>And did not kiss her hand.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</a></span></p>

<p>Meanwhile the others had wandered to the end of the
passage and now stood at the turnpike staircase, the
light of Martha Pappenheim's lantern making a dim
haze of light about them.</p>

<p>Anna looked at Boris as often as she could.</p>

<p>"You really love me?" she questioned. "No, you
cannot; you have known me too brief a time. Besides,
this is no time to speak of love, with the enemy at the
gates!"</p>

<p>"Tush!" said Boris, with the roughness which
Anna had looked for in vain among all the youth of
Courtland. "I tell you, girl, it is the time. You and I
are no Courtlanders, God be thanked! In a little
while I shall ride back to Plassenburg, which is a place
where men live. I shall not go alone. You, little
Anna, shall come, too!"</p>

<p>"You are not deceiving me?" she murmured, looking
up upon occasion. "There is none at Plassenburg
whom you love at all?"</p>

<p>"I have never loved any woman but you!" said
Boris, settling his conscience by adding mentally,
"though I may have thought I did when I told them
so."</p>

<p>"Nor I any man!" said Anna, softly meditative,
making, however, a similar addition.</p>

<p>Thus Greek met Greek, and both were very happy
in the belief that their own was the only mental
reservation.</p>

<p>"But you are going out?" pouted Anna, after a
while. "Why cannot you stay in the Castle to-night?"</p>

<p>"To-night of all nights it is impossible," said Boris.
"We must make the rounds and see that the gates are
guarded. The safety of the city is in our hands."</p>

<p>"You are sure that you will not run into any danger!"
said Anna anxiously. She remembered a certain precariousness
of tenure among some of her previous&mdash;mental
reservations. There was Fritz Wünch, who
had laughed at the red beard of a Prussian baron;
Wilhelm of Bautzen, who went once too often on a
foray with his uncle, Fighting Max of Castelnau&mdash;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</a></span>&mdash;</p>

<p>For answer the staunch war-captain kissed her, and
the girl clung to her lover, this time in real tears.
Martha's candle had gone out, and the two had perforce
to go down the stair in the dark. They reached
the foot at last.</p>

<p>"None of them were quite like him," she owned that
night to her sister. "He takes you up as if he would
break you in his arms. And he could, too. It is good
to feel!"</p>

<p>"Jorian also is just like that&mdash;so satisfactory!"
answered Martha. Which shows the use Jorian must
have made of his time at the stairhead, and why Martha
Pappenheim's light went out.</p>

<p>"He swears he has never loved any woman before."</p>

<p>"Jorian does just the same."</p>

<p>"I suppose we must never tell them&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Marthe&mdash;if you should dare, I will&mdash;&mdash; Besides,
you were just as bad!"</p>

<p>"Anna, as if I would dream of such a thing!"</p>

<p>And the two innocents fell into each other's arms and
embraced after the manner of women, each in her own
heart thinking how much she preferred "the way of a
man with a maid"&mdash;at least that form of it cultivated
by stout war-captains of Plassenburg.</p>

<p>Without, Boris and Jorian trampled along through a
furious gusting of Baltic rain, which came in driving
sheets from the north and splashed its thumb-board
drops equally upon the red roofs of Courtland, the tented
Muscovites drinking victory, and upon the dead men
lying afield. Worse still, it fell on many wounded, and
to such even the thrust of the thievish camp-follower's
tolle-knife was merciful. Never could monks more
fitly have chanted, "Blessed are the dead!" than concerning
those who lay stiff and unconscious on the
field where they had fought, to whose ears the Alla
sang in vain.</p>

<p>Attired in her cloak of blue, with the hood pulled
low over her face, Theresa von Lynar was waiting for
Boris and Jorian at the door of the market-hospital.</p>

<p>"I thank you for your fidelity," she said quickly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</a></span>
"I have sore need of you. I put a great secret into
your hands. I could not ask one of the followers of
Prince Conrad, nor yet a soldier of the Duchess Joan,
lest when that is done which shall be done to-night the
Prince or the Duchess should be held blameworthy,
having most to gain or lose thereto. But you are of
Plassenburg and will bear me witness!"</p>

<p>Boris and Jorian silently signified their obedience
and readiness to serve her. Then she gave them their
instructions.</p>

<p>"You will conduct me past the city guards, out
through the gates, and take me towards the camp of
the Prince of Muscovy. There you will leave me, and
I shall be met by one who in like manner will lead me
through the enemy's posts."</p>

<p>"And when will you return, my Lady Theresa?
We shall wait for you!"</p>

<p>"Thank you, gentlemen. You need not wait. I
shall not return!"</p>

<p>"Not return?" cried Jorian and Boris together,
greatly astonished.</p>

<p>"No," said Theresa very slowly and quietly, her eyes
set on the darkness. "Hear ye, Captains of Plassenburg&mdash;I
will give you my mind. You are trusty
men, and can, as I have proved, hold your own
counsel."</p>

<p>Boris and Jorian nodded. There was no difficulty
about that.</p>

<p>"Good!" they said together as of old.</p>

<p>As they grew older it became more and more easy
to be silent. Silence had always been easier to them
than speech, and the habit clave to them even when
they were in love.</p>

<p>"Listen, then," Theresa went on. "You know, and
I know, that unless quick succour come, the city is
doomed. You are men and soldiers, and whether ye
make an end amid the din of battle, or escape for this
time, is a matter wherewith ye do not trouble your
minds till the time comes. But for me, be it known to
you that I am the widow of Henry the Lion of Kerns<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</a></span>berg.
My son Maurice is the true heir to the Dukedom.
Yet, being bound by an oath sworn to the man who
made me his wife, I have never claimed the throne for
him. But now Joan his sister knows, and out of her
great heart she swears that she will give up the Duchy
to him. If, therefore, the city is taken, the Muscovite
will slay my son, slay him by their hellish tortures, as
they have sworn to do for the despite he put upon
Prince Ivan. And his wife, the Princess Margaret, will
die of grief when they carry her to Moscow to make a
bride out of a widow. Joan will be a prisoner, Conrad
either dead or a priest, and Kernsberg, the heritage of
Henry the Lion, a fief of the Czar. There is no help
in any. Your Prince would succour, but it takes time
to raise the country, and long ere he can cross the
frontier the Russian will have worked his will in Courtland.
Now I see a way&mdash;a woman's way. And if I
fall in the doing of it, well&mdash;I but go to meet him for
the sake of whose children I freely give my life. In
this bear me witness."</p>

<p>"Madam," said Boris, gravely, "we are but plain
soldiers. We pretend not to understand the great
matters of State of which you speak. But rest assured
that we will serve you with our lives, bear true witness,
and in all things obey your word implicitly."</p>

<p>Without difficulty they passed through the streets
and warded gates. Werner von Orseln, indeed, tramping
the inner rounds, cried "Whither away?" Then,
seeing the lady cloaked between them, he added after
his manner, "By my faith, you Plassenburgers beat
the world. Hang me to a gooseberry bush if I do not
tell Anna Pappenheim of it ere to-morrow's sunset. As
I know, she will forgive inconstancy only in herself!"</p>

<p>They plunged into the darkness of the outer night.
As soon as they were beyond the gates the wind drave
past them hissing level. The black trees roared overhead.
At first in the swirl of the storm the three could
see nothing; but gradually the watchfires of the
Muscovite came out thicksown like stars along the rising
grounds on both sides of the Alla. Boris strode on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</a></span>
ahead, peering anxiously into the night, and a little
behind Jorian gave Theresa his hand over the rough
and uneven ground. A pair of ranging stragglers,
vultures that accompany the advance of all great
armies, came near and examined the party, but retreated
promptly as they caught the glint of the firelight upon
the armour of the war-captains. Presently they began
to descend into the valley, the iron-shod feet of the
men clinking upon the stones. Theresa walked silently,
steeped in thought, laying a hand on arm or shoulder
as she had occasion. Suddenly tall Boris stopped dead
and with a sweep of his arm halted the others.</p>

<p>"There!" he whispered, pointing upward.</p>

<p>And against the glow thrown from behind a ridge
they could see a pair of Cossacks riding to and fro
ceaselessly, dark against the ruddy sky.</p>

<p>"Gott, would that I had my arbalist! I could put
gimlet holes in these knaves!" whispered Jorian over
Boris's shoulder.</p>

<p>"Hush!" muttered Boris; "it is lucky for Martha
Pappenheim that you left it at home!"</p>

<p>"Captains Boris and Jorian," Theresa was speaking
with quietness, raising her voice just enough to make
herself heard over the roar of the wind overhead, for
the nook in which they presently found themselves
was sheltered, "I bid you adieu&mdash;it may be farewell.
You have done nobly and like two valiant captains
who were fit to war with Henry the Lion. I thank
you. You will bear me faithful witness in the things
of which I have spoken to you. Take this ring from
me, not in recompense, but in memory. It is a bauble
worth any lady's acceptance. And you this dagger."
She took two from within her mantle, and gave one to
Jorian. "It is good steel and will not fail you. The
fellow of it I will keep!"</p>

<p>She motioned them backward with her hand.</p>

<p>"Abide there among the bushes till you see a man
come out to meet me. Then depart, and till you have
good reason keep the last secret of Theresa, wife of
Henry the Lion, Duke of Kernsberg and Hohenstein!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</a></span></p>

<p>Boris and Jorian bowed themselves as low as the
straitness of their armour would permit.</p>

<p>"We thank you, madam," they said; "as you have
commanded, so will we do!"</p>

<p>And as they had been bidden they withdrew into a
clump of willow and alder whose leaves clashed together
and snapped like whips in the wind.</p>

<p>"Yonder woman is braver than you or I, Jorian,"
said Boris, as crouching they watched her climb the
ridge. "Which of us would do as much for any on
the earth?"</p>

<p>"After all, it is for her son. If you had children,
who can say&mdash;&mdash;?"</p>

<p>"Whether I may have children or no concerns you
not," returned Boris, who seemed unaccountably ruffled.
"I only know that I would not throw away my life for
a baker's dozen of them!"</p>

<p>Upon the skyline Theresa von Lynar stood a moment
looking backward to make sure that her late escort was
hidden. Then she took a whistle from her gown and
blew upon it shrilly in a lull of the storm. At the
sound the war-captains could see the Cossacks drop
their lances and pause in their unwearying ride. They
appeared to listen eagerly, and upon the whistle being
repeated one of them threw up a hand. Then between
them and on foot the watchers saw another man stand,
a dark shadow against the watchfires. The sentinels
leaned down to speak with him, and then, lifting their
lances, they permitted him to pass between them. He
was a tall man, clad in a long caftan which flapped
about his feet, a sheepskin posteen or winter jacket,
and a round cap of fur, high-crowned and flat-topped,
upon his head.</p>

<p>He came straight towards Theresa as if he expected
a visitor.</p>

<p>The two men in hiding saw him take her hand as a
host might that of an honoured guest, kiss it reverently,
and then lead her up the little hill to where the sentinels
waited motionless on their horses. So soon as the pair
had passed within the lines, their figures and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</a></span>
Cossack salute momentarily silhouetted against the
watchfires, the twin horsemen resumed their monotonous
ride.</p>

<p>By this time Jorian's head was above the bushes and
his eyes stood well nigh out of his head.</p>

<p>"Down, fool!" growled Boris, taking him by the
legs and pulling him flat; "the Cossacks will see
you!"</p>

<p>"Boris," gasped Jorian, who had descended so
rapidly that the fall and the weight of his plate had
driven the wind out of him, "I know that fellow. I
have seen him before. It is Prince Wasp's physician,
Alexis the Deacon. I remember him in Courtland
when first we came thither!"</p>

<p>"Well, and what of that?" grunted Boris, staring
at the little detached tongues of willow-leaf flame
which were blown upward from the Muscovite watchfires.</p>

<p>"What of that, man?" retorted Boris. "Why, only
this. We have been duped. She was a traitress, after
all. This has been planned a long while."</p>

<p>"Traitress or saint, it is none of our business," said
Boris grimly. "We had better get ourselves within
the walls of Courtland, and say nothing to any of this
night's work!"</p>

<p>"At any rate," added the long man as an afterthought,
"I have the ring. It will be a rare gift for
Anna."</p>

<p>Jorian looked ruefully at his dagger, holding it between
the rustling alder leaves, so as to catch the light
from the watchfires. The red glow fell on a jewel in
the hilt.</p>

<p>"'Tis a pretty toy enough, but how can I give that
to Marthe? It is not a fit keepsake for a lady!"</p>

<p>"Well," said Boris, suddenly appeased, "I will
swop you for it. I am not so sure that my pretty
spitfire would not rather have it than any ring I could
give her. Shall we exchange?"</p>

<p>"But we promised to keep them as souvenirs?"
urged Jorian, whose conscience smote him slightly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</a></span>
"One does not tell lies to a lady&mdash;at least where one
can help it."</p>

<p>"It depends upon the lady!" said Boris practically.
"You can tell your Marthe the truth. I will please
myself with Anna. Hand over the dagger."</p>

<p>So wholly devoid of sentiment are war-captains
when they deal with keepsakes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LII" id="CHAPTER_LII"></a>CHAPTER LII</h2>

<h3>THE MARGRAF'S POWDER CHESTS</h3>


<p>It was indeed Alexis the Deacon who met the Lady
Theresa. And the matter had been arranged, just
as Boris said. Alexis the Deacon, a wise man of
many disguises, remained in Courtland after the abrupt
departure of Prince Ivan. Theresa had found him
in the hospital, where, sheltered by a curtain, she
heard him talk with a dying man&mdash;the son of a Greek
merchant domiciled in Courtland, whose talent for
languages and quick intelligence had induced Prince
Conrad to place him on his immediate staff of officers.</p>

<p>"I bid you reveal to me the plans and intents of the
Prince," Theresa heard Alexis say, "otherwise I cannot
give you absolution. I am priest as well as doctor."</p>

<p>At this the young Greek groaned and turned aside
his head, for he loved the Prince. Nevertheless,
he spoke into the ear of the physician all he knew, and
as reward received a sleeping draught, which induced
the sleep from which none waken.</p>

<p>And afterwards Theresa had spoken also.</p>

<p>So it was this same Alexis&mdash;spy, priest, surgeon,
assassin, and chief confidant of Ivan Prince of Muscovy&mdash;who,
in front of the watchfires, bent over the
hand of Theresa von Lynar on that stormy night
which succeeded the crowning victory of the Russian
arms in Courtland.</p>

<p>"This way, madam. Fear not. The Prince is
eagerly awaiting you&mdash;both Princes, indeed," Alexis<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</a></span>
said, as he led her into the camp through lines of
lighted tents and curious eyes looking at them from
the darkness. "Only tell them all that you have to
tell, and, trust me, there shall be no bounds to the
gratitude of the Prince, or of Alexis the Deacon, his
most humble servant."</p>

<p>Theresa thought of what this boundless gratitude
had obtained for the young Greek, and smiled. They
came to an open space before a lighted pavilion.
Before the door stood a pair of officers trying in vain
to shield their gay attire under scanty shoulder cloaks
from the hurtling inclemency of the night. Their ready
swords, however, barred the way.</p>

<p>"To see the Prince&mdash;his Highness expects us," said
Alexis, without any salute. And with no further objection
the two officers stood aside, staring eagerly and
curiously however under the hood of the lady's cloak
whom Alexis brought so late to the tent of their master.</p>

<p>"Ha!" muttered one of them confidentially as the
pair passed within, "I often wondered what kept our
Ivan so long in Courtland. It was more than his
wooing of the Princess Margaret, I will wager!"</p>

<p>"Curse the wet!" growled his fellow, turning away.
He felt that it was no time for speculative scandal.</p>

<p>Theresa and her conductor stood within the tent of
the commander of the Muscovite army. The glow of
light, though it came only from candles set within
lanterns of horn, was great enough to be dazzling to
her eyes. She found herself in the immediate presence
of Prince Ivan, who rose with his usual lithe grace to
greet her. An older man, with a grey pinched face,
sat listlessly with his elbow on the small camp table.
He leaned his forehead on his palm, and looked down.
Behind, in the half dark of the tent, a low wide divan
with cushions was revealed, and all the upper end of
the tent was filled up with a huge and shadowy pile of
kegs and boxes, only half concealed behind a curtain.</p>

<p>"I bid you welcome, my lady," said Prince Ivan,
taking her hand. "Surely never did ally come
welcomer than you to our camp to-night. My servant<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</a></span>
Alexis has told me of your goodwill&mdash;both towards
ourselves and to Prince Louis." (He indicated the
silent sitting figure with a little movement of his hand
sufficiently contemptuous.) "Let us hear your news,
and then will we find you such lodging and welcome
as may be among rough soldiers and in a camp of
war."</p>

<p>As he was speaking Theresa von Lynar loosened
her long cloak of blue, its straight folds dank and
heavy with the rains. The eyes of the Prince of
Muscovy grew wider. Hitherto this woman had been
to him but a common traitress, possessed of great
secrets, doubtless to be flattered a little, and then&mdash;afterwards&mdash;thrown
aside. Now he stood gazing at her
his hands resting easily on the table, his body a little
bent. As she revealed herself to him the pupils of his
eyes dilated, and amber gleams seemed to shoot across
the irises. He thought he had never seen so beautiful a
woman. As he stood there, sharpening his features
and moistening his lips, Prince Ivan looked exceedingly
like a beast of prey looking out of his hole upon a quarry
which comes of its own accord within reach of his
claws.</p>

<p>But in a moment he had recovered himself, and
came forward with renewed reverence.</p>

<p>"Madam," he said, bowing low, "will you be pleased
to sit down? You are wet and tired."</p>

<p>He went to the flap of the pavilion and pushed aside
the dripping flap.</p>

<p>"Alexis!" he cried, "call up my people. Bid them
bring a brazier, and tell these lazy fellows to serve
supper in half an hour on peril of their heads!"</p>

<p>He returned and stood before Theresa, who had
sunk back as if fatigued on an ottoman covered with
thick furs. Her feet nestled in the bearskins which
covered the floor. The Prince looked anxiously
down.</p>

<p>"Pardon me, your shoes are wet," he said. "We
are but Muscovite boors, but we know how to make
ladies comfortable. Permit me!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[Pg 369]</a></span></p>

<p>And before Theresa could murmur a negative the
Prince had knelt down and was unloosing the latchets
of her shoes.</p>

<p>"A moment!" he said, as he sprang again to his
feet with the lithe alertness which distinguished him.
Prince Ivan ran to a corner where, with the brusque
hand of a master, he had tossed a score of priceless
furs to the ground. He rose again and came towards
Theresa with a flash of something scarlet in his hand.</p>

<p>"You will pardon us, madam," he said, "you are
our guest&mdash;the sole lady in our camp. I lay it upon
your good nature to forgive our rude makeshifts."</p>

<p>And again Prince Ivan knelt. He encased Theresa's
feet in dainty Oriental slippers, small as her own, and
placed them delicately and respectfully on the couch.</p>

<p>"There, that is better!" he said, standing over her
tenderly.</p>

<p>"I thank you, Prince." She answered the action
more than the words, smiling upon him with her
large graciousness; "I am not worthy of so great
favour."</p>

<p>"My lady," said the Prince, "it is a proverb of our
house that though one day Muscovy shall rule the
world, a woman will always rule Muscovy. I am as
my fathers were!"</p>

<p>Theresa did not answer. She only smiled at the
Prince, leaning a little further back and resting her
head easily upon the palm of her hand. The servitors
brought in more lamps, which they slung along the
ridge-pole of the roof, and these shedding down a
mellow light enhanced the ripe splendour of Theresa's
beauty.</p>

<p>Prince Ivan acknowledged to himself that he had
spoken the truth when he said that he had never seen
a woman so beautiful. Margaret?&mdash;ah, Margaret was
well enough; Margaret was a princess, a political
necessity, but this woman was of a nobler fashion,
after a mode more truly Russ. And the Prince of
Muscovy, who loved his fruit with the least touch of
over-ripeness, would not admit to himself that this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</a></span>
woman was one hour past the prime of her glorious
beauty. And indeed there was much to be said for
this judgment.</p>

<p>Theresa's splendid head was set against the dusky
skins. Her rich hair of Venice gold, escaping a little
from the massy carefulness of its ordered coils, had
been blown into wet curls that clung closely to her white
neck and tendrilled about her broad low brow. The
warmth of the tent and the soft luxury of the rich
rugs had brought a flush of red to a cheek which yet
tingled with the volleying of the Baltic raindrops.</p>

<p>"Alexis never told me this woman was so beautiful,"
he said to himself. "Who is she? She cannot be of
Courtland. Such a marvel could not have been hidden
from me during all my stay there!"</p>

<p>So he addressed himself to making the discovery.</p>

<p>"My lady," he said, "you are our guest. Will you
deign to tell us how more formally we may address
you? You are no Courtlander, as all may see!"</p>

<p>"I am a Dane," she answered smiling; "I am called
the Lady Theresa. For the present let that suffice. I
am venturing much to come to you thus! My father
and brothers built a castle upon the Baltic shore on
land that has been the inheritance of my mother.
Then came the reivers of Kernsberg and burned the
castle to the ground. They burned it with fire from
cellar to roof-tree. And they slackened the fire with
the blood of my nearest kindred!"</p>

<p>As she spoke Theresa's eyes glittered and altered.
The Prince read easily the meaning of that excitement.
How was he to know all that lay behind?</p>

<p>"And so," he said, "you have no good-will to the
Princess Joan of Hohenstein&mdash;and Courtland. Or to
any of her favourers?" he added after a pause.</p>

<p>At the name the grey-headed man, who had been
sitting unmoved by the table with his elbow on the
board, raised a strangely wizened face to Theresa's.</p>

<p>"What"&mdash;he said, in broken accents, stammering
in his speech and grappling with the words as if, like a
wrestler at a fair, he must throw each one severally<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[Pg 371]</a></span>&mdash;"what&mdash;who
has a word to say against the Lady Joan,
Princess of Courtland? Whoso wrongs her has me to
reckon with&mdash;aye, were it my brother Ivan himself!"</p>

<p>"Not I, certainly, my good Louis," answered Ivan
easily. "I would not wrong the lady by word or deed
for all Germany from Bor-Russia to the Rhine-fall!"</p>

<p>He turned to Alexis the Deacon, who was at his
elbow.</p>

<p>"Fill up his cup&mdash;remember what I bade you!" he
said sharply in an undertone.</p>

<p>"His cup is full, he will drink no more. He pushes
it from him!" answered Alexis in the same half-whisper.
But neither, as it seemed, took any particular
pains to prevent their words carrying to the ear
of Prince Louis. And, indeed, they had rightly judged.
For swiftly as it had come the momentary flash of
manhood died out on the meagre face. The arm
upon which he had leaned swerved limply aside, and
the grey beard fell helplessly forward upon the table.</p>

<p>"So much domestic affection is somewhat belated,"
said Prince Ivan, regarding Louis of Courtland with
disgust. "Look at him! Who can wonder at the lady's
taste? He is a pretty Prince of a great province.
But if he live he will do well enough to fill a chair and
hold a golden rod. Take him away, Alexis!"</p>

<p>"Nay," said Theresa, with quick alarm, "let him
stay. There are many things to speak of. We may
need to consult Prince Louis later."</p>

<p>"I fear the Prince will not be of great use to us,"
smiled Prince Ivan. "If only I had known, I would
have conserved his princely senses more carefully.
But for heads like his the light wine of our country is
dangerously strong."</p>

<p>He glanced about the pavilion. The servants had
not yet retired.</p>

<p>"Convey his Highness to the rear, and lay him
upon the powder barrels!" He indicated with his
hand the array of boxes and kegs piled in the dusk of
the tent. The servitors did as they were told; they
lifted Prince Louis and would have carried him to that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[Pg 372]</a></span>
grim couch, but, struck with some peculiarity, Alexis
the Deacon suddenly bent over his lax body and
thrust his hand into the bosom of his princely habit,
now tarnished thick with wine stains and spilled
meats.</p>

<p>"Excellency," he said, turning to his master, "the
Prince is dead! His heart does not beat. It is the
stroke! I warned you it would come!"</p>

<p>Prince Ivan strode hastily towards the body of Louis
of Courtland.</p>

<p>"Surely not?" he cried, in seeming astonishment.
"This may prove very inconvenient. Yet, after all,
what does it matter? With your assistance, madam,
the city is ours. And then, what matters dead prince
or living prince? A garrison in every fort, a squadron
of good Cossacks pricking across every plain, a tax-collector
in every village&mdash;these are the best securities
of princedom. But this is like our good Louis. He
never did anything at a right time all his life."</p>

<p>Theresa stood on the other side of the dead man as
the servitors lowered him for the inspection of their
lord. The weary wrinkled face had been smoothed as
with the passage of a hand. Only the left corner of
the mouth was drawn down, but not so much as to be
disfiguring.</p>

<p>"I am glad he spoke kindly of his wife at the last,"
she murmured. And she added to herself, "This falls
out well&mdash;it relieves me of a necessity."</p>

<p>"Spoken like a woman!" cried Prince Ivan, looking
admiringly at her. "Pray forgive my bitter
speech, and remember that I have borne long with
this man!"</p>

<p>He turned to the servitors and directed them with a
motion of his hand towards the back of the pavilion.</p>

<p>"Drop the curtain," he said.</p>

<p>And as the silken folds rustled heavily down the
curtain fell upon the career and regality of Louis,
Prince of Courtland, hereditary Defender of the Holy
See.</p>

<p>The men did not bear him far. They placed him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[Pg 373]</a></span>
upon the boxes of the powder for the Margraf's cannon,
which for safety and dryness Ivan had bade them
bring to his own pavilion. The dead man lay in the
dark, open-eyed, staring at the circling shadows as
the servitors moved athwart the supper table, at
which a woman sat eating and drinking with her
enemy.</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;" />

<p>Theresa von Lynar sat directly opposite the Prince
of Muscovy. The board sparkled with mellow lights
reflected from many lanterns. The servitors had departed.
Only the measured tread of the sentinels was
heard without. They were alone.</p>

<p>And then Theresa spoke. Very fully she told
what she had learned of the defences of the place,
which gates were guarded by the Kernsbergers, which
by the men of Plassenburg, which by the remnants
of the broken army of Courtland. She spoke in a
hushed voice, the Prince sipping and nodding as he
looked into her eyes. She gave the passwords of the
inner and outer defences, the numbers of the defenders
at each gate, the plans for bringing provisions up the
Alla&mdash;indeed, everything that a besieging general
needs to know.</p>

<p>And so soon as she had told the passwords the
Prince asked her to pardon him a moment. He
struck a silver bell and with scarce a moment's delay
Alexis entered.</p>

<p>"Go," said the Prince; "send one of our fellows
familiar with the speech of Courtland into the city by
the Plassenburg Gate. The passwords are '<i>Henry the
Lion</i>' at the outer gate and '<i>Remember</i>' at the inner
port. Let the man be dressed in the habit of a
countryman, and carry with him some wine and
provend. Follow him and report immediately."</p>

<p>While the Prince was speaking he had never taken
his eyes off Theresa von Lynar, though he had appeared
to be regarding Alexis the Deacon. Theresa
did not blanch. Not a muscle of her face quivered.
And within his Muscovite heart, full of treachery as an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[Pg 374]</a></span>
egg of meat, Prince Ivan said, "She is no traitress,
this dame; but a simpleton with all her beauty. The
woman is speaking the truth."</p>

<p>And Theresa was speaking the truth. She had expected
some such test and was prepared; but she
only told the defenders' plans to one man; and as for
the passwords, she had arranged with Boris that at the
earliest dawn they were to be changed and the forces
redistributed.</p>

<p>While these two waited for the return of Alexis, the
Prince encouraged Theresa to speak of her wrongs.
He watched with approbation the sparkle of her eye
as he spoke of Joan of the Sword Hand. He noted
how she shut down her lips when Henry the Lion was
mentioned, how her voice shook as she recounted the
cruel end of her kin.</p>

<p>Though at ordinary times most sober, the Prince
now added cup to cup, and like a Muscovite he grew
more bitter as the wine mounted to his head. He
leaned forward and laid his hand upon his companion's
white wrist. Theresa quivered a little, but
did not take it away. The Prince was becoming
confidential.</p>

<p>"Yes," he said, leaning towards her, "you have
suffered great wrongs, and do well to hate with the
hate that craves vengeance. But even you shall be
satisfied. To-morrow and to-morrow's to-morrow you
and I shall have out our hearts' desire upon our enemies.
Yes, for many days. Sweet&mdash;sweet it shall be&mdash;sweet,
and very slow; for I, too, have wrongs, as you shall
hear."</p>

<p>"Truly, I did well to come to you!" said Theresa,
giving her hand willingly into his. He clasped her
fingers and would have kissed her but for the table
between.</p>

<p>"You speak truth." He hissed the words bitterly.
"Indeed, you did better than well. I also have
wrongs, and Ivan of Muscovy will show you a
Muscovite vengeance.</p>

<p>"This Prince Conrad of theirs baulked me of my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[Pg 375]</a></span>
revenge and drove me from the city. Him will I take
and burn at the stake in his priest's robes, as if he
were saying mass&mdash;or, better still, in the red of the
cardinal's habit with his hat upon his head. And ere
he dies he shall see his paramour carried to her
funeral. For I will give you the life of the woman
for whose sake he thwarted Ivan of Muscovy. If you
will it, no hand but yours shall have the shedding of
the blood of your house's enemy. Is not this your
vengeance already sweet in prospect?"</p>

<p>"It is sweet indeed!" answered Theresa.</p>

<p>"Your Highness!" said the voice of Alexis at the
tent door, "am I permitted to speak?"</p>

<p>"Speak on!" cried Ivan, without relaxing his clasp
upon the hand of Theresa von Lynar. Indeed,
momentarily it became a grip.</p>

<p>"The man went safely through at the Plassenburg
Gate. The passwords were correct. The man who
challenged spoke with a Kernsberg accent!"</p>

<p>The Prince's grasp relaxed.</p>

<p>"It is well," he said. "Now go to the captains and
tell them to be in their posts about the city according
to the plan&mdash;the main assault to be delivered by the
gate of the sea. At dawn I will be with you! Go!
Above all, do not forget the passwords&mdash;first '<i>Henry
the Lion!</i>' then '<i>Remember!</i>'"</p>

<p>Alexis the Deacon saluted and went.</p>

<p>The Prince rose and came about the table nearer to
Theresa von Lynar. She drew her breath quickly and
checked it as sharply with a kind of sob. Her left
hand went down to her side as naturally as a nun's
to her rosary. But it was no rosary her fingers
touched. The action steadied her, and she threw back
her head and smiled up at her companion debonairly
as though she had no care in the world.</p>

<p>Theresa repeated the passwords slowly and audibly.</p>

<p>"'<i>Henry the Lion!</i>' '<i>Remember!</i>' Ah!" (she
broke off with a laugh) "I am not likely to forget."
Ivan laid his hand on her shoulder, glad to see her so
resolute.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[Pg 376]</a></span></p>

<p>"All in good time," he said, sitting down on a
stool at her feet and taking her hand&mdash;her right hand.
The other he did not see. Then he spoke confidentially.</p>

<p>"One other revenge I have which I shall keep till
the last. It shall be as sweet to me as yours to you.
I shall draw it out lingeringly that I may drain all its
sweetness. It concerns the upstart springald whom the
Princess Margaret had the bad taste to prefer to me.
Not that I cared a jot for the Princess. My taste is
far other" (here he looked up tenderly); "but the
Princess I must wed, as maid or widow I care not. I
take her provinces, not herself; and these must be
mine by right of fief and succession as well as by
right of conquest. The way is clear. That piece of
carrion which men called by a prince's name was carried
out a while ago. Conrad the priest, who is a man,
shall die like a man. And I, Ivan, and Holy Russia
shall enter in. By the right of Margaret, sole heir of
Courtland, city and province shall be mine; Kernsberg
shall be mine; Hohenstein shall be mine. Then mayhap
I will try a fall for Plassenburg and the Mark with
the Executioner's Son and his little housewife. But
sweeter than all shall be my revenge upon the man I
hate&mdash;upon him who took his betrothed wife from
Ivan of Muscovy."</p>

<p>"Ah," said Theresa von Lynar, "it will indeed be
sweet! And what shall be your worthy and terrible
revenge?"</p>

<p>"I have thought of it long&mdash;I have turned it over,
this and that have I thought&mdash;of the smearing with
honey and the anthill, of trepanning and the worms
on the brain&mdash;but I have fixed at last upon something
that will make the ears of the world tingle&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>He leaned forward and whispered into the ear of
Theresa von Lynar the terrible death he had prepared
for her only son. She nodded calmly as she listened,
but a wonderful joy lit up the woman's face.</p>

<p>"I am glad I came hither," she murmured, "it is
worth it all."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[Pg 377]</a></span></p>

<p>Prince Ivan took her hand in both of his and pressed
it fondly.</p>

<p>"And you shall be gladder yet," he said, "my Lady
Theresa. I have something to say. I had not thought
that there lived in the world any woman so like-minded,
even as I knew not that there lived any woman so
beautiful. Together you and I might rule the world.
Shall it be together?"</p>

<p>"But, Prince Ivan," she interposed quickly, but still
smiling, "what is this? I thought you were set on
wedding the Princess Margaret. You were to make
her first widow and then wife."</p>

<p>"Theresa," he said, looking amorously up at her,
"I marry for a kingdom. But I wed the woman who
is my mate. It is our custom. I must give the left
hand, it is true, but with it the heart, my Theresa!"</p>

<p>He was on his knees before her now, still clasping
her fingers.</p>

<p>"You consent?" he said, with triumph already in
his tone.</p>

<p>"I do not say you nay!" she answered, with a
sigh.</p>

<p>He kissed her hand and rose to his feet. He would
have taken her in his arms, but a noise in the pavilion
disturbed him. He went quickly to the curtain and
peeped through.</p>

<p>"It is nothing," he said, "only the men come to
fetch the powder for the Margraf's cannon. But the
night speeds apace. In an hour we assault."</p>

<p>With an eager look on his face he came nearer to
her.</p>

<p>"Theresa," he said, "a soldier's wooing must needs
be brisk and speedy. Yours and mine yet swifter.
Our revenge beckons us on. Do you abide here till I
return&mdash;with those good friends whose names we have
mentioned. But now, ere I go forth, pledge me but
once your love. This is our true betrothal. Say, 'I
love you, Ivan!' that I may keep it in my heart till my
return!"</p>

<p>Again he would have taken her in his arms, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[Pg 378]</a></span>
Theresa turned quickly, finger on lip. She looked
anxiously towards the back of the tent where lay the
dead prince. "Hush! I hear something!" she said.</p>

<p>Then she smiled upon him&mdash;a sudden radiance like
sunshine through rain-clouds.</p>

<p>"Come with me&mdash;I am afraid of the dark!" she said,
almost like a child. For great is the guile of woman
when her all is at stake.</p>

<p>Theresa von Lynar opened the latch of a horn
lantern which dangled at a pole and took the taper
in her left. She gave her right hand with a certain
gesture of surrender to Prince Ivan.</p>

<p>"Come!" she said, and led him within the inner
pavilion. A dim light sifted through the open flap by
which the men had gone out with their load of powder.
Day was breaking and a broad crimson bar lay across
the path of the yet unrisen sun. Theresa and Prince
Ivan stood beside the dead. He had been roughly
thrown down on the pile of boxes which contained
the powder manufactured by the Margraf's alchemists
according to the famous receipt of Bertholdus Schwartz.
The lid of the largest chest stood open, as if the men
were returning for yet another burden.</p>

<p>"Quick!" she said, "here in the presence of the
dead, I will whisper it here, here and not elsewhere."</p>

<p>She brought him close to her with the gentle compulsion
of her hand till he stood in a little angle where
the red light of the dawn shone on his dark handsome
face. Then she put an arm strong as a wrestler's
about him, pinioning him where he stood. Yet the
gracious smile on the woman's lips held him acquiescent
and content.</p>

<p>She bent her head.</p>

<p>"Listen," she said, "this have I never done for any
man before&mdash;no, not so much as this! And for you
will I do much more. Prince Ivan, you speak true&mdash;death
alone must part you and me. You ask me for a
love pledge. I will give it. Ivan of Muscovy, you have
plotted death and torture&mdash;the death of the innocent.
Listen! I am the wife of Henry of Kernsberg, the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[Pg 379]</a></span>mother of the young man Maurice von Lynar whom
you would slay by horrid devices. Prince, truly you
and I shall die together&mdash;and the time is <i>now</i>!"</p>

<p>Vehemently for his life struggled Prince Ivan,
twisting like a serpent, and crying, "Help! Help!
Treachery! Witch, let me go, or I will stab you
where you stand." Once his hand touched his dagger.
But before he could draw it there came a sound of
rushing feet. The forms of many men stumbled up
out of the gleaming blood-red of the dawn.</p>

<p>Then Theresa von Lynar laughed aloud as she held
him helpless in her grasp.</p>

<p>"The password, Prince&mdash;do not forget the password!
You will need it to-night at both inner and
outer guard! I, Theresa, have not forgotten. It is
'<i>Henry the Lion</i>! <i>Remember!</i>'"</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 54%;">
<img src="images/i_379fp.jpg" width="100%" alt="'The password, Prince&mdash;do not forget the password!'" title="" />
<span class="caption">"'The password, Prince&mdash;do not forget the password!'"</span>
</div>

<p>And Theresa dropped the naked candle she had
been holding aloft into the great chest of dull black
grains which stood open by her side.</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;" />

<p>And after that it mattered little that at the same
moment beyond the Alla the trumpets of Hugo, Prince
of Plassenburg, blew their first awakening blast.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[Pg 380]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LIII" id="CHAPTER_LIII"></a>CHAPTER LIII</h2>

<h3>THE HEAD OF THE CHURCH VISIBLE</h3>


<p>"So," said Pope Sixtus amicably, "your brother
was killed by the great explosion of Friar
Roger's powder in the camp of the enemy! Truly, as
I have often said, God is not with the Greek Church.
They are schismatics if not plain heretics!"</p>

<p>He was a little bored with this young man from the
North, and began to remember the various distractions
which were waiting for him in his own private wing of
the Vatican. Still, the Church needed such young
war-gods as this Prince Conrad. There were signs,
too, that in a little she might need them even more.</p>

<p>The Pope's mind travelled fast. He had a way of
murmuring broken sentences to himself which to his
intimates showed how far his thoughts had wandered.</p>

<p>It was the Vatican garden in the month of April.
Holy Week was past, and the mind of the Vicar of
Christ dwelt contentedly upon the great gifts and
offerings which had flowed into his treasury. Conrad
could not have arrived more opportunely. Beneath,
the eye travelled over the hundred churches of Rome
and the red roofs of her palaces&mdash;to the Tiber no
longer tawny, but well-nigh as blue as the Alla itself;
then further still to the grey Campagna and the blue
Alban Hills. But the Pope's eye was directed to something
nearer at hand.</p>

<p>In an elevated platform garden they sat in a bower
sipping their after-dinner wine. Beyond answering<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[Pg 381]</a></span>
questions Conrad said little. He was too greatly
astonished. He had expected a saint, and he had found
himself quietly talking politics and scandal with an
Italian Prince. The Holy Father's face was placid.
His lips moved. Now and then a word or two escaped
him. Yet he seemed to be listening to something else.</p>

<p>That which he looked at was an excavation over
which thousands of men crawled, thick as ants about a
mound when you thrust your stick among their piled
pine-needles on Isle Rugen. Already at more than one
point massive walls began to rise. Architects with
parchment rolls in their hands went to and fro talking
to overseers and foremen. These were clad in black
coats reaching below the waist, which made inky blots
on the white earth-glare and contrasted with the striped
blouses of the overseers and the naked bodies and red
loin-cloths of the workmen.</p>

<p>Conrad blessed his former sojourns in Italy which
enabled him to follow the fast-running river of the
Pontiff's half-unconscious meditation, which was
couched not in crabbed monkish Latin, but in the
free Italic to which as a boy the Head of the Church
had been accustomed.</p>

<p>"So your brother is dead!&mdash;(Yes, yes, he told me so
before.) And a blessing of God, too. I never liked
my brothers. Nephews and nieces are better, so be
they are handsome. What, you have none? Then
you are the heir to the kingdom&mdash;you must marry&mdash;you
must marry!"</p>

<p>Conrad suddenly flushed fiery red.</p>

<p>"Holy Father," he said nervously, his eyes on the
Alban Hills, "it was concerning this that I made pilgrimage
to Rome&mdash;that I might consult your
Holiness!"</p>

<p>The Pontiff nodded amicably and looked about him.
At the far end of the garden, in a second creeper-enclosed
arbour similar to that in which they sat, the
Pope's personal attendants congregated. These were
mostly gay young men in parti-coloured raiment, who
jested and laughed without much regard for appear<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[Pg 382]</a></span>ances,
or at all fearing the displeasure of the Church's
Head. As Conrad looked, one of them stood up and
tossed over the wall a delicately folded missive, winged
like a dart and tied with a ribbon of fluttering blue.
Then, the moment afterwards, from beneath came the
sound of girlish laughter, whereat all the young men,
save one, craned their necks over the wall and shouted
jests down to the unseen ladies on the balcony below.</p>

<p>All save one&mdash;and he, a tall stern-faced dark young
man in a plain black soutane, walked up and down in
the sun, with his eyes on the ground and his hands
knotting themselves behind his back. The fingers
were twisting nervously, and he pursed his lips in
meditation. He did not waste even one contemptuous
glance on the riotous crew in the arbour.</p>

<p>"Aha&mdash;you came to consult me about your marriage,"
chuckled the Holy Father. "Well, what have
you been doing? Young blood&mdash;young blood!
Once I was young myself. But young blood must pay.
I am your father confessor. Now, proceed. (This
may be useful&mdash;better, better, better!)"</p>

<p>And with a wholly different air of interest, the Pope
poured himself a glass of the rich wine and leaned
back, contemplating the young man now with a sort of
paternal kindliness. The thought that he had certain
peccadillos to confess was a relish to the rich Sicilian
vintage, and created, as it were, a common interest
between them. For the first time Pope Sixtus felt
thoroughly at ease with his guest.</p>

<p>"I have, indeed, much to confess, Holy Father, much
I could not pour into any ears but thine."</p>

<p>"Yes&mdash;yes&mdash;I am all attention," murmured the
Pontiff, his ears pricking and twitching with anticipation,
and the famous likeness to a goat coming out in
his face. "Go on! Go on, my son. Confession is the
breathing health of the soul! (If this young man can
tell me aught I do not know&mdash;by Peter, I will make
him my private chaplain!)."</p>

<p>Then Conrad summoned up all his courage and
put his soul's sickness into the sentence which he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[Pg 383]</a></span>
had been conning all the way from the city of Courtland.</p>

<p>"My father," he said, very low, his head bent down,
"I, who am a priest, have loved the Lady Joan, my
brother's wife!"</p>

<p>"Ha," said Sixtus, pursing his lips, "that is bad&mdash;very
bad. (Bones of Saint Anthony! I did not think
he had the spirit!) Penance must be done&mdash;yes, penance
and payment! But hath the matter been secret?
There has, I hope, been no open scandal; and of
course it cannot continue now that your brother is
dead. While he was alive all was well; but dead&mdash;oh,
that is different! You have now no cloak for your
sin! These open sores do the Church much harm!
I have always avoided such myself!"</p>

<p>The young man listened with a swiftly lowering
brow.</p>

<p>"Holy Father," he said; "I think you mistake me.
I spoke not of sin committed. The Princess Joan is
pure as an angel, unstained by evil or the thought of
it! She sits above the reach of scandalous tongues!"</p>

<p>("Humph&mdash;what, then, is the man talking about?
Some cold northern snowdrift! Strange, strange! I
thought he had been a lad of spirit!")</p>

<p>But aloud Sixtus said, with a surprised accent,
"Then why do you come to me?"</p>

<p>"Sire, I am a priest, and even the thought of love is
sin!"</p>

<p>"Tut-tut; you are a prince-cardinal. In Rome at
least that is a very different thing!"</p>

<p>He turned half round in his seat and looked with a
certain indulgent fondness upon the gay young men
who were conducting a battle of flowers with the
laughing girls beneath them. Two of them had laid
hold of another by the legs and were holding him over
the trellised flowers that he might kiss a girl whom her
companions were elevating from below for a like purpose.
As their young lips met the Pontiff slapped the
purple silk on his thigh and laughed aloud.</p>

<p>"Ah, rascals, merry rascals!" (here he sighed).<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[Pg 384]</a></span>
"What it is to be young! Take an old man's advice,
Live while you are young. Yes, live and leave penance,
for old age is sufficient penance in itself. (Tut&mdash;what
am I saying? Let his pocket do penance!) He who
kissed was my nephew Girolamo, ever the flower of the
flock, my dear Girolamo. I think you said, Prince
Conrad, that you were a cardinal. Well, most of these
young men are cardinals (or will be, so soon as I can
get the gold to set them up. They spend too much
money, the rascals)."</p>

<p>"These are cardinals? And priests?" queried
Conrad, vastly astonished.</p>

<p>The Holy Father nodded and took another sip of
the perfumed Sicilian.</p>

<p>"To be a cardinal is nothing," he said calmly. "It
is a step&mdash;nothing more. The high road of advancement,
the spirit of the time. When I have princedoms
for them all, why, they must marry and settle&mdash;raise
dynasties, found princely houses. So it shall be with
you, son Conrad. Your brother was alive, Prince of
Courtland, married to this fair lady (what was her
name? Yes, yes, Joanna). You, a younger son, must
be provided for, the Church supported. Therefore you
received that which was the hereditary right of your
family&mdash;the usual payments to Holy Church being
made. You were Archbishop, Cardinal, Prince of the
Church. In time you would have been Elector of the
Empire and my assessor at the Imperial Diet. That
was your course. What harm, then, that you should
make love to your brother's wife? Natural&mdash;perfectly
natural. Fortunate, indeed, that you had a brother so
complaisant&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Sir," said Conrad, half rising from his seat, "I have
already had the honour of informing you&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Yes, yes, I forgot&mdash;pardon an old man. (Ah, the
rascal, would he? Served him right! Ha, ha, well
smitten&mdash;a good girl!)"</p>

<p>Another had tried the trick of being held over the
balcony, but this time the maiden below was coy, and,
instead of a kiss, the youth had received only a sound<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[Pg 385]</a></span>
smack on the cheek fairly struck with the palm of a
willing hand.</p>

<p>"Yes, I remember. It was but a sin of the soul.
(Stupid fellow! stupid fellow! Girolamo is a true
Delia Rovere. He would not have been served so.)
Yes, a sin of the soul. And now you wish to marry?
Well, I will receive back your hat. I will annul your
orders&mdash;the usual payments being made to Holy
Church. I have so many expenses&mdash;my building, the
decorations of my chapel, these young rascals&mdash;ah,
little do you know the difficulties of a Pope. But
whom do you wish to marry? What, your brother's
widow? Ah, that is bad&mdash;why could you not be content&mdash;&mdash;?
Pardon, your pardon, my mind is again
wandering."</p>

<p>"Tsut&mdash;tsut&mdash;this is a sad business, a matter infinitely
more difficult, forbidden by the Church. What? They
parted at the church door? A wench of spirit, I
declare. I doubt not like that one who smote Pietro
just now. I wonder not at you, save at your moderation&mdash;that
is, if you speak the truth."</p>

<p>"I do speak the truth!" said Conrad, with northern
directness, beginning to flush again.</p>

<p>"Gently&mdash;gently," said Sixtus; "there are many
minutes in a year, many people go to make a world. I
have never seen a man like you before. Be patient,
then, with me. I am giving you a great deal of my time.
It will be difficult, this marriage&mdash;difficult, but not impossible.
Peter's coffers are very empty, my son."</p>

<p>The Pontiff paused to give Conrad time to speak.</p>

<p>"I will pay into the treasury of the Holy Father on the
day of my marriage a hundred thousand ducats," said
Conrad, blushing deeply. It seemed like bribing God.</p>

<p>The Vicegerent of Christ stretched out a smooth
white hand, and his smile was almost as gracious as
when he turned it upon his nephew Girolamo.</p>

<p>"Spoken like a true prince," he cried, "a son of the
Church indeed. Her works&mdash;the propagation of the
Faith, the Holy Office&mdash;these shall benefit by your
generosity."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[Pg 386]</a></span></p>

<p>He turned about again and beckoned to the tall
young man in the black soutane.</p>

<p>"Guliano, come hither!" he cried, and as he came
he explained in his low tones, "My nephew, between
ourselves, a dull dog, but will be great. He choked a
ruffian who attacked him on the street; so, one day,
he will choke this Italy between his hands. He will
sit in this chair. Ah, there is one thing that I am
thankful for, and it is that I shall be dead when our
Julian is Pope. I know not where I shall be&mdash;but
anything were preferable to being in Rome under
Julian&mdash;purgatory or&mdash;&mdash;Yes, my dear nephew,
Prince Conrad of Courtland! You are to go and
prepare documents concerning this noble prince. I
will instruct you as to their nature presently. Await
me in the hither library."</p>

<p>The young man had been looking steadily at Conrad
while his uncle was speaking. It was a firm and manly
look, but there was cruelty lurking in the curve of the
upper lip. Guliano della Rovere looked more <i>condottiere</i>
than priest. Nevertheless, without a word he
bowed and retired.</p>

<p>When he was gone the Pope sat a moment absorbed
in thought.</p>

<p>"I will send him to Courtland with you. (Yes, yes,
he is staunch and to be trusted with money.) He will
marry you and bring back the&mdash;the&mdash;benefaction.
Your hand, my son. I am an old man and need help.
May you be happy! Live well and honour Holy
Church. Be not too nice. The commons like not a
precisian. And, besides, you cannot live your youth
over. Girolamo! Girolamo! Where is that rascal?
Ah, there you are. I saw you kiss yonder pretty
minx! Shame, sir, shame! You shall do penance&mdash;I
myself will prescribe it. What kept you so long when
I called you? Some fresh rascality, I will wager!"</p>

<p>"No, my father," said Girolamo readily. "I went to
the dungeons of the Holy Office to see if they had
finished off that ranting philosopher who stirred up
the people yesterday!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[Pg 387]</a></span></p>

<p>"Well, and have they?" asked the Pontiff.</p>

<p>"Yes, the fellow has confessed that six thousand
pieces are hidden under the hearthstone of his country
house. So all is well ended. He is to be burned to-morrow."</p>

<p>"Good&mdash;good. So perish all Jews, heretics, and
enemies of Holy Church!" said Pope Sixtus piously.
"And now I bid you adieu, son Conrad! You set out
to-morrow. The papers shall be ready. A hundred
thousand ducats, I think you said&mdash;<i>and</i> the fees for
secularisation. These will amount to fifty thousand
more. Is it not so, my son?"</p>

<p>Conrad bowed assent. He thought it was well that
Courtland was rich and his brother Louis a careful
man.</p>

<p>"Good&mdash;good, my son. You are a true standard-bearer
of the Church. I will throw in a perpetual
indulgence&mdash;with blanks which you may fill up. No,
do not refuse! You think that you will never want it,
because you do not want it now. But you may&mdash;you
may!"</p>

<p>He stretched out his hand. The blessed ring of Saint
Peter shone upon it. Conrad fell on his knees.</p>

<p>"<i>Pater Domini nostri Jesu Christi benedicat te in omni
benedictione spirituali. Amen!</i>"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[Pg 388]</a></span></p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h2><a name="EPILOGUE" id="EPILOGUE"></a>EPILOGUE OF EXPLICATION</h2>


<p>It was the morning of a white day. The princely
banner flew from every tower in Castle Kernsberg,
for that day it was to lose a duchess and gain a duke. It
was Joan's second wedding-day&mdash;the day of her first
marriage.</p>

<p>Never had the little hill town seen so brave a gathering
since the northern princes laid Henry the Lion in
his grave. In the great vault where he slept there was
a new tomb, a plain marble slab with the inscription&mdash;</p>

<p class="center">
<span style="font-size: 70%;">"THERESA, WIFE OF HENRY,<br />
DUKE OF KERNSBERG AND HOHENSTEIN."</span>
</p>

<p>And underneath, and in Latin, the words&mdash;</p>

<p class="center">
<span style="font-size: 70%;">"AFTER THE TEMPEST, PEACE!"</span>
</p>

<p>For strangely enough, by the wonder of Providence or
some freak of the exploding powder, they had found
Theresa fallen where she had stood, blackened indeed
but scarce marred in face or figure. So from that
burnt-out hell they had brought her here that at the last
she might rest near the man whom her soul loved.</p>

<p>And as they moved away and left her, little Johannes
Rode, the scholar, murmured the words, "<i>Post tempestatem,
tranquillitas!</i>"</p>

<p>Prince Conrad heard him, and he it was who had
them engraven on her tomb.</p>

<p>But on this morning of gladness only Joan thought
of the dead woman.</p>

<p>"To-day I will do the thing she wished," the Duchess
thought, as she looked from the window towards her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[Pg 389]</a></span>
father's tomb. "She would take nothing for herself,
yet shall her son sit in my place and rule where his
father ruled. I am glad!"</p>

<p>Here she blushed.</p>

<p>"Yet, why should I vaunt? It is no sacrifice, for I
shall be&mdash;what I would rather a thousand times be.
Small thanks, then, that I give up freely what is worth
nothing to me now!"</p>

<p>And with the arm that had wielded a sword so often
and so valiantly, Joan the bride went on arraying her
hair and making her beautiful for the eyes of her lord.</p>

<p>"My lord!" she said, and again with a different
accent. "<i>My</i> lord!"</p>

<p>And when these her living eyes met those others in
the Venice mirror, lo! either pair was smiling a new
smile.</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;" />

<p>Meantime, beneath in her chamber, the Princess
Margaret was making her husband's life a burden to
him, or rather, first quarrelling with him and the next
moment throwing her arms about his neck in a passion
of remorse. For that is the wont of dainty Princess
Margarets who are sick and know not yet what aileth
them.</p>

<p>"Maurice," she was saying, "is it not enough to
make me throw me over the battlements that they
should all forsake me, on this day of all others, when
you are to be made a Duke in the presence of the
Pope's Legate and the Emperor's <i>Alter</i>&mdash;what is it?&mdash;<i>Alter
ego?</i> What a silly word! And you might have
told it to me prettily and without laughing at me. Yes,
you did, and you also are in league against me. And I
will not go to the wedding; no, not if Joan were to
beg of me on my knees! I will not have any of these
minxes in to do my hair. Nay, do not you touch it. I
am nobody, it seems, and Joan everything. Joan&mdash;Joan!
It is Joan this and Joan that! Tush, I am sick
of your Joans.</p>

<p>"She gives up the duchy to us&mdash;well, that is no great
gift. She is getting Courtland for it, and my brother.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">[Pg 390]</a></span>
Even he will not love me any more. Conrad is like the
rest. He eats, drinks, sleeps, wakes, talks Joan. He is
silent, and thinks Joan. So, I believe, do you. You
are only sorry that she did not love you best!</p>

<p>"Well, if you <i>are</i> her brother, I do not care. Who
was speaking about marrying her? And, at any rate,
you did not know she was your sister. You might
very well have loved her. And I believe you did.
You do not love me, at all events. <i>That</i> I do know!</p>

<p>"No, I will not 'hush,' nor will I come upon your
knee and be petted. I am not a baby! '<i>What is the
matter betwixt me and the maidens?</i>' If you had let
me explain I would have told you long ago. But I
never get speaking a word. I am not crying, and I
shall cry if I choose. Oh yes, I will tell you, Duke
Maurice, if you care to hear, why I am angry with the
maids. Well, then, first it was that Anna Pappenheim.
She tugged my hair out by the roots in handfuls, and
when I scolded her I saw there were tears in her eyes.
I asked her why, and for long she would not tell me.
Then all at once she acknowledged that she had promised
to marry that great overgrown chimney-pot,
Captain Boris, and must hie her to Plassenburg, if I
pleased. I did not please, and when I said that surely
Marthe was not so foolish thus to throw herself away,
the wretched Marthe came bawling and wringing hands,
and owned that she was in like case with Jorian.</p>

<p>"So I sent them out very quickly, being justly angry
that they should thus desert me. And I called for
Thora of Bornholm, and began easing my mind concerning
their ingratitude, when the Swede said calmly,
'I fear me, madam, I am not able to find any fault
with Anna and Martha. For I am even as they, or
worse. I have been married for over six months.'</p>

<p>"'And to whom?' I cried; 'tell me, and he shall
hang as surely as I am a Princess of Courtland.' For
I was somewhat disturbed.</p>

<p>"'To-day your Highness is Duchess of Kernsberg,'
said the minx, as calmly as if at sacrament. 'My
husband's name is Johannes Rode!'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391">[Pg 391]</a></span></p>

<p>"And when I have told you, instead of being sorry
for me, you do nothing but laugh. I will indeed fling
me over the window!"</p>

<p>And the fiery little Princess ran to the window and
pretended to cast herself headlong. But her husband
did not move. He stood leaning against the mantelshelf
and smiling at her quietly and lovingly.</p>

<p>Hearing no rush of anxious feet, and finding no
restraining arm cast about her, Margaret turned, and
with fresh fire in her gesture stamped her foot at
Maurice.</p>

<p>"That just proves it! Little do you care whether or
no I kill myself. You wish I would, so that you might
marry somebody else. You dare not deny it!"</p>

<p>Maurice knew better than to deny it, nor did he
move till the Princess cast herself down on the coverlet
and sobbed her heart out, with her face on the
pillow and her hair spraying in linked tendrils about
her white neck and shoulders. Then he went gently
to her and laid his hand on her head, regardless of the
petulant shrug of her shoulders as he touched her.
He gathered her up and sat down with her in his
arms.</p>

<p>"Little one," he said, "I want you to be good.
This is a great and a glad day. To-day my sister finds
the happiness that you and I have found. To-day I
am to sit in my father's seat and to have henceforth
my own name among men. You must help me.
Will you, little one? For this once let me be your
tire-woman. I have often done my own tiring when,
in old days, I dared death in women's garments for
your sweet sake. Dearest, do not hurt my heart any
more, but help me."</p>

<p>His wife smiled suddenly through her tears, and cast
her arms about his neck.</p>

<p>"Oh, I am bad&mdash;bad&mdash;bad," she cried vehemently.
"It were no wonder if you did not love me. But do
keep loving me. I should die else. I will be better&mdash;I
will&mdash;I will! I do not know why I should be so bad.
Sometimes I think I cannot help it."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392">[Pg 392]</a></span></p>

<p>But Maurice kissed her and smiled as if he knew.</p>

<p>"We will live like plain and honest country folk, you
and I," he said. "Let Anna and Martha follow their
war-captains. Thora at least will remain with us, and
we will make Johannes Rode our almoner and court
poet. Now smile at me, little one! Ah, that is better."</p>

<p>In Margaret's April eyes the sun shone out again,
and she clung lovingly to her husband a long moment
before she would let him go.</p>

<p>Then she thrust him a little away from her, that she
might see his face, as she asked the question of all
loving and tempestuous Princess Margarets, "Are you
sure you love me just the same, even when I am
naughty?"</p>

<p>Maurice was sure.</p>

<p>And taking his face between her hands in a fierce
little clutch, she asked a further assurance. "Are you
quite, quite sure?" she said.</p>

<p>And Maurice was quite, quite sure.</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;" />

<p>Not in a vast and solemn cathedral was Joan married,
but in the old church of Kernsberg, which had so often
raised the protest of the Church against the exactions
of her ancestors. The bridal escort was of her own
tried soldiery, now to be hers no more, and all of them
a little sad for that. Hugo and Helene of Plassenburg
had come&mdash;Hugo because he was the representative of
the Emperor, and Helene because she was a sweet and
loving woman who delighted to rejoice in another's
joy.</p>

<p>With these also arrived, and with these was to depart,
the dark-faced stern young cardinal of San Pietro in
Vincoli. He must have good escort, he said, for he
carried many precious relics and tokens of the affection
of the faithful for the Church's Head. The simple
priesthood of Kernsberg shrank from his fiery glances,
and were glad when he was gone. But, save at the
hour of bridal itself, he spent all his time with the
treasurer of the Princedom of Courtland.</p>

<p>When at last they came down the aisle together, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">[Pg 393]</a></span>
the sweet-voiced choristers sang, and the white-robed
maidens scattered flowers for their feet to walk upon,
the bride found opportunity to whisper to her husband,
"I fear me I shall never be Joan of the Sword Hand
any more!"</p>

<p>He smiled back at her as they came out upon the
tears and laughter and acclaim of the many-coloured
throng that filled the little square.</p>

<p>"Be never afraid, beloved," he said, and his eyes
were very glad and proud, "only be Joan to me, and I
will be your Sword Hand!"</p>


<p class="center">
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 70%">THE END</span></p>




<hr style="width: 25%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394">[Pg 394]</a></span></p>
<p class="center">
<br />
<b>The Gresham Press</b>,<br />
<small>UNWIN BROTHERS,<br />
WOKING AND LONDON.</small><br />
<br /></p>


<hr style="width: 85%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">[Pg 395]</a></span></p>
<h2><span style="font-size: 125%;">Novels by Guy Boothby.</span></h2>

<div class="center"><i>SPECIAL &amp; ORIGINAL DESIGNS.</i><br />
<br />
Each volume attractively illustrated by Stanley L. Wood and others.<br />
<br />
<i>Crown 8vo, Cloth Gilt, Trimmed Edges, <b>5</b>s.</i><br /><br />
</div>

<p class="center"><b><span class="smcap">Mr. Rudyard Kipling Says</span>:</b></p>

<p style="margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;">"Mr. <span class="smcap">Guy Boothby</span> has come to great honours now. His name
is large upon hoardings, his books sell like hot cakes, and he keeps
a level head through it all. I've met him several times in England,
and he added to my already large respect for him."</p>


<div class='center'>
<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="">
<tr><td align='left'>
A MAKER OF NATIONS.<br />
THE RED RAT'S DAUGHTER.<br />
LOVE MADE MANIFEST.<br />
PHAROS, THE EGYPTIAN.<br />
ACROSS THE WORLD FOR A WIFE.<br />
THE LUST OF HATE.<br />
BUSHIGRAMS.<br />
THE FASCINATION OF THE KING.<br />
DR. NIKOLA.<br />
THE BEAUTIFUL WHITE DEVIL.<br />
A BID FOR FORTUNE; or, Dr. Nikola's Vendetta.<br />
IN STRANGE COMPANY: A Story of Chili and the
Southern Seas.<br />
THE MARRIAGE OF ESTHER: A Torres Straits Sketch.
</td></tr>
</table></div>


<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396">[Pg 396]</a></span></p>

<h2><span class="smcap">New Complete Library Edition</span><br />
<span style="font-size:  70%;">.. OF ..</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 125%;">G.J. Whyte-Melville's Novels.</span></h2>

<div class="center">
<span class="smcap">Complete in about 25 Volumes.</span><br /><br />
<i>Large Crown 8vo, Cloth Gilt, <b>3s. 6d.</b> each.</i>
</div>

<p class="center" style="margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;">Each volume is well printed from type specially cast, on best antique
paper, illustrated by front-rank artists, and handsomely bound.</p>



<div class='center'>
<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="">
<tr><td align='right'>1&nbsp; </td><td align='left'><b>KATERFELTO.</b></td><td align='right'>Illustrated by <span class="smcap">Lucy E. Kemp-Welch</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='right'>2&nbsp; </td><td align='left'><b>CERISE.</b></td><td align='right'>Illustrated by <span class="smcap">G.P. Jacomb-Hood</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='right'>3&nbsp; </td><td align='left'><b>SARCHEDON.</b></td><td align='right'>Illustrated by <span class="smcap">S.E. Waller</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='right'>4&nbsp; </td><td align='left'><b>SONGS AND VERSES</b> and <b>THE TRUE CROSS</b>.</td><td align='right'>Illustrated by <span class="smcap">S.E. Waller</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='right'>5&nbsp; </td><td align='left'><b>MARKET HARBOROUGH</b>, and <b>INSIDE THE BAR</b>.</td><td align='right'>Illustrated by <span class="smcap">John Charlton</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='right'>6&nbsp; </td><td align='left'><b>BLACK BUT COMELY.</b></td><td align='right'>Illustrated by <span class="smcap">S.E. Waller</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='right'>7&nbsp; </td><td align='left'><b>ROY'S WIFE.</b></td><td align='right'>Illustrated by <span class="smcap">G.P. Jacomb-Hood</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='right'>8&nbsp; </td><td align='left'><b>ROSINE</b>, and <b>SISTER LOUISE</b>.</td><td align='right'>Illustrated by <span class="smcap">G.P. Jacomb-Hood</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='right'>9&nbsp; </td><td align='left'><b>KATE COVENTRY.</b></td><td align='right'>Illustrated by <span class="smcap">Lucy E. Kemp-Welch</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='right'>10&nbsp; </td><td align='left'><b>THE GLADIATORS.</b></td><td align='right'>Illustrated by <span class="smcap">J. Ambrose Walton</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='right'>11&nbsp; </td><td align='left'><b>RIDING RECOLLECTIONS.</b></td><td align='right'>Illustrated by <span class="smcap">John Charlton</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='right'>12&nbsp; </td><td align='left'><b>THE BROOKES OF BRIDLEMERE.</b></td><td align='right'>Illustrated by <span class="smcap">S.E. Waller</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='right'>13&nbsp; </td><td align='left'><b>SATANELLA.</b></td><td align='right'>Illustrated by <span class="smcap">Lucy E. Kemp-Welch</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='right'>14&nbsp; </td><td align='left'><b>HOLMBY HOUSE.</b></td><td align='right'>Illustrated by <span class="smcap">Lucy E. Kemp-Welch</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='right'>15&nbsp; </td><td align='left'><b>THE WHITE ROSE.</b></td><td align='right'>Illustrated by <span class="smcap">S.E. Waller</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='right'>16&nbsp; </td><td align='left'><b>TILBURY NOGO.</b></td><td align='right'>Illustrated by <span class="smcap">Stanley L. Wood</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='right'>17&nbsp; </td><td align='left'><b>UNCLE JOHN.</b></td><td align='right'>Illustrated by <span class="smcap">S.E. Waller</span></td></tr>
</table></div>

<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_397" id="Page_397">[Pg 397]</a></span></p>

<h2><span style="font-size: 125%;">Novels by Joseph Hocking.</span></h2>

<div class="center">
<i>CROWN 8vo, CLOTH GILT, <b>3</b>s. <b>6</b>d. EACH.</i><br />
<span style="font-size: 70%;">(EACH VOLUME UNIFORM.)</span>
</div>

<p style="margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;"><span style="font-size: 180%;">T</span>hough Mr. <span class="smcap">Joseph Hocking's</span> novels have been (by the
<i>Spectator</i>) compared to Mr. <span class="smcap">Baring-Gould's</span> and (by the <i>Star</i>)
to Mr. <span class="smcap">Thomas Hardy's</span>&mdash;next to whom it placed him as a writer
of country life&mdash;and by other journals to Mr. <span class="smcap">Hall Caine's</span> and Mr.
<span class="smcap">Robert Buchanan's</span>, they are, one and all, stamped with striking and
original individuality. Bold in conception, pure in tone, strenuously
high and earnest in purpose, daring in thought, picturesque and life-like
in description, worked out with singular power and in nervous
and vigorous language, it is not to be wondered at that Mr. <span class="smcap">Hocking's</span>
novels are eagerly awaited by a large and ever increasing public.</p>

<p style="margin-left: 5%;">
<b>THE PURPLE ROBE.</b><br />
<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Illustrated by <span class="smcap">J. Barnard Davis</span>.</span><br />
<br />
<b>WEAPONS OF MYSTERY.</b><br />
<span style="margin-left: 3em;">With Frontispiece and Vignette.</span><br />
<br />
<b>FIELDS OF FAIR RENOWN.</b><br />
<span style="margin-left: 3em;">With Frontispiece and Vignette by <span class="smcap">J. Barnard Davis</span>.</span><br />
<br />
<b>ALL MEN ARE LIARS.</b><br />
<span style="margin-left: 3em;">With Frontispiece and Vignette by <span class="smcap">Gordon Browne</span>.</span><br />
<br />
<b>ISHMAEL PENGELLY: An Outcast.</b><br />
<span style="margin-left: 3em;">With Frontispiece and Vignette by <span class="smcap">W. S. Stacey</span>.</span><br />
<br />
<b>THE STORY OF ANDREW FAIRFAX.</b><br />
<span style="margin-left: 3em;">With Frontispiece and Vignette by <span class="smcap">Geo. Hutchinson</span>.</span><br />
<br />
<b>JABEZ EASTERBROOK.</b><br />
<span style="margin-left: 3em;">With Frontispiece and Vignette by <span class="smcap">Stanley L. Wood</span>.</span><br />
<br />
<b>ZILLAH.</b><br />
<span style="margin-left: 3em;">With Frontispiece by <span class="smcap">Powell Chase</span>.</span><br />
<br />
<b>THE MONK OF MAR-SABA.</b><br />
<span style="margin-left: 3em;">With Frontispiece and Vignette by <span class="smcap">W. S. Stacey</span>.</span><br />
</p>



<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_398" id="Page_398">[Pg 398]</a></span></p>

<h2><span style="font-size: 125%;"><b>Recent Novels.</b></span></h2>

<p class="novel"><b>LADY BARBARITY.</b> By <span class="smcap">J. C. Snaith</span>, Author of
"Mistress Dorothy Marvin," "Fierceheart, the
Soldier," &amp;c. Illustrated by <span class="smcap">W. D. Almond</span>.
Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, 6s.</p>

<p class="quote">"'Lady Barbarity' would cheer a pessimist in a November fog;
it is so gay, so good humoured, so full of the influence of youth
and beauty, that he must be a dull dog who finds no enjoyment in
the reading of it."&mdash;<i>Black and White.</i></p>

<p class="novel"><b>WILLOW THE KING.</b> By the same Author. Illustrated
by <span class="smcap">Lucien Davis</span>, R.I. Crown 8vo, cloth
gilt, 6s.</p>

<p class="quote">"The best cricket novel I have ever read. The heroine is drawn
with amazing vigour and vividness. Her wit, her volleying repartee,
her humour, are almost incredibly brilliant."&mdash;<i>The Star.</i></p>

<p class="novel"><b>THE SANCTUARY CLUB.</b> By Mrs. <span class="smcap">L. T. Meade</span>,
Author of "The Medicine Lady," &amp;c., &amp;c. Illustrated
by <span class="smcap">Sidney Paget</span>. Crown 8vo, cloth gilt,
5s.</p>

<p class="quote">In the "Sanctuary Club" the author has excelled her own
brilliant record, and has written a novel as full of incident and
breathless adventure as has been published for many a day.</p>

<p class="novel"><b>THE GOLD STAR LINE.</b> By the same Author.
Illustrated by <span class="smcap">Adolf Thiede</span>. Crown 8vo, cloth
gilt, 5s.</p>

<p class="quote">"Tales of mystery never fail to attract.... There is plenty of
variety and excitement to be got out of this volume."&mdash;<i>Bristol Times.</i></p>

<p class="novel"><b>A DAUGHTER OF THE MARIONIS.</b> By <span class="smcap">E. P.
Oppenheim</span>, Author of "False Evidence," "The
World's Great Snare," &amp;c. Illustrated by <span class="smcap">Adolf
Thiede</span>. Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, 3s. 6d.</p>

<p class="quote">"Mr. Oppenheim has boundless imagination. There is good
thrilling mystery in his books, and not a few excellent characters."&mdash;<i>British
Weekly.</i></p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_399" id="Page_399">[Pg 399]</a></span></p>

<p class="novel"><b>THE MAN AND HIS KINGDOM</b>. By <span class="smcap">E. P. Oppenheim</span>,
Author of "A Daughter of the Marionis."
Illustrated by <span class="smcap">J. Ambrose Walton</span>. Crown 8vo,
cloth gilt, 3s. 6d.</p>

<p class="quote">"Humdrum is the very last word you could apply to (a tale by)
E. P. Oppenheim."&mdash;<i>Illustrated London News.</i></p>

<p class="novel"><b>A MAN OF HIS AGE.</b> By <span class="smcap">Hamilton Drummond</span>,
Author of "For the Religion." Illustrated by <span class="smcap">J.
Ambrose Walton</span>. Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, 3s. 6d.</p>

<p class="quote">This is a tale of the Hugenôts, and is told with such dramatic
power and such intense personal interest that the reader identifies
himself or herself with the hero or heroine throughout.</p>

<p class="novel"><b>A FAIR BRIGAND.</b> By <span class="smcap">George Horton</span>, Author
of "Constantine," "In Unknown Seas," &amp;c., &amp;c.
Illustrated by <span class="smcap">Edmund J. Sullivan</span>. Crown 8vo,
cloth gilt, 3s. 6d.</p>

<p class="quote">The scene of this tale is laid in modern Greece, and is a funny,
frolicsome story that will amuse every one, and likely take a lasting
place in the reader's mind.</p>

<p class="novel"><b>AGATHA WEBB.</b> By <span class="smcap">A. K. Green</span>, Author of "The
Leavenworth Case," "X. Y. Z.," &amp;c. Illustrated
by <span class="smcap">Adolf Thiede</span>. Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, 3s. 6d.</p>

<p class="quote">Readers of "The Leavenworth Case" need not be told that A.
K. Green can write a detective story with consummate ability, and
the present story is in many ways her masterpiece.</p>

<p class="novel"><b>THE EYE OF FATE.</b> By <span class="smcap">Alice Maud Meadows</span>,
Author of "Out from the Night." Illustrated by
<span class="smcap">T. W. Henry</span>. Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, 3s. 6d.</p>

<p class="quote">"A weird and exciting story, very well written, the characters
faithfully described, the interest vividly sustained from beginning
to end."&mdash;<i>The Queen.</i></p>

<p class="novel"><b>PAUL: A Herald of the Cross.</b> By <span class="smcap">Florence M.
Kingsley</span>, Author of "Titus," "Stephen," &amp;c.
Illustrated by <span class="smcap">Henry Austin</span>. Crown 8vo, cloth
gilt, 3s. 6d.</p>

<p class="quote">"A book not to be missed. In a word ... a triumph. It is rare
to meet a book so contenting in all its features."&mdash;<i>Literary World.</i></p>

<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_400" id="Page_400">[Pg 400]</a></span></p>

<p class="center"><big><span class="u">You cannot beat the Best.</span></big></p>

<p class="center"><span style="font-size: 70%;">THE</span></p>

<h2><span style="font-size: 200%;" class="smcap">Windsor<br />
magazine</span></h2>

<p class="center">
.. Always contains the ..<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">BEST WORK by the</span><br />
<br />
<span style="margin-left: 3em;">.. BEST AUTHORS ..</span><br />
<br />
<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><span class="smcap">and BEST ARTISTS</span>.</span><br />
</p>

<p class="center" style="margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;">It has eclipsed every other Sixpenny Magazine, and has<br />
achieved the most Brilliant Success of the day.</p>

<p><b>Holds the Record</b><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">for giving the Best Serial Story of
the Year.</span><br />
<br />
<b>Holds the Record</b><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">for giving Splendid Exclusive Articles by
recognised specialists.</span><br />
<br />
<b>Holds the Record</b><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">for being the Most Varied, the Most
Entertaining, and the Most Instructive of Magazines.</span>
</p>

<p>The "Times" calls it "Wonderful."</p>

<hr style="width: 25%;" />
<p class="center">LONDON: WARD, LOCK &amp; CO., LTD.</p>

<hr style="width: 85%;" />

<div class="notebox">
<p><b>Transcriber's Notes:</b>
Obvious errors in spelling and punctuation have
been corrected. Variant spellings have been left in place.
</p></div>

<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 41803 ***</div>
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