WHO IS YOLANDA?
Next morning Yolanda came to breakfast smiling, bedimpled, and sparkling
as a sunlit mountain brook. Max, who was gloomy, took her sprightliness
amiss, thinking, no doubt, that her life also ought to be darkened by
the cloud that he thought was over-shadowing him. There was no doubt in
my mind that Yolanda had inspired a deep and lasting passion in Max,
though he was, I hoped, mistaken in the belief that it would darken his
life. But I would not give a kreutzer for a young fellow who does not
feel that life is worthless without his lady-love.
Yolanda did not take kindly to clouds of any sort, and she soon
scattered those that Max had conjured up. After we had resumed our
journey Max fell back to ride with her.
"Sir Max," she said, "if you allow yourself to become The Knight
Doleful, I will not only cease having speech with you, but I will
laugh at you."
The latter she did then and there. This from a burgher girl of Peronne
to a prince of the House of Hapsburg! The good duke and duchess would
have swooned with horror had they known of it. Max was inclined to be
angry, but, unfortunately for his ill-humor, he caught a glimpse of her
face, and he, too, laughed.
"I fear I am a great fool," he said. Yolanda did not contradict him. She
simply shrugged her shoulders as if to say, "That unfortunate condition
is apt, at times, to overtake the best of men."
Soon our little cavalcade came together, and we rode, laughing, and all
talking at once, for a league or more.
Our road had parted from the river at one of its great bends, and for an
hour we had been slowly climbing a long hill. When we reached the top,
we unsaddled for dinner in the shade of a tree by the wayside. A hundred
yards from the road was a dense copse of undergrowth and bushes on the
edge of the forest. Off to the east flowed the majestic Rhine, a league
distant, and to the north ran the road like a white ribbon, stretching
downhill to the valley and up again to the top of another hill, distant
perhaps a half-league.
While we were eating dinner, a cloud of dust arose from the hilltop
north of us, and immediately began descending in our direction. At
intervals, in the midst of the dust-cloud, we caught glimpses of men on
horseback riding at full gallop. This unwelcome sight brought our dinner
to an end. I at once ordered the sumpter mules taken to the copse on
the forest's edge, and directed every man to look to his arms and armor.
I asked Twonette and Yolanda to go with the mules, and Yolanda
became angry.
"_I_ go with the mules? Sir Karl, you forget yourself," cried the young
lady, drawing herself up with the dignity of a princess royal. Twonette
ran as rapidly as her feet could take her to seek refuge with the mules,
but Yolanda, with flashing eyes, declared:
"I will remain here."
I felt that an apology was due to this burgher girl.
"I will gladly apologize later, Fräulein, but now I have only time to
beg that you will conceal yourself. These men probably are robbers. If
they see you, we shall be compelled to fight them, however great their
numbers. If we find their force too large for us, we may easily ransom
the mules and their packs, but we could make no terms for you. If they
are Black Riders, they will prefer a little gold to a great deal of
silk, but they will prefer you and Fräulein Twonette to a great deal
of gold."
"I would not pay them one piece of gold," cried Yolanda, defiantly.
"Give me an arquebuse. I will help you fight."
The brave little heroine astonished me.
"Would you prefer that Max or your good uncle and perhaps some of our
poor mule-leaders should be killed by these pigstickers," I asked, "or
would you compound with them in some reasonable way? Shall we
fight them?"
"No, no," she answered, "wise bravery is better. I suppose I shall learn
the lesson some day."
While the troop of horsemen were under the crest of the hill, Yolanda
ran across the open to a place of concealment beside Twonette. Hardly
was she hidden when the dust-cloud rose from the brink of the hill, and
five men, well though roughly armed, galloped up to us and drew their
horses back upon their haunches.
"What have we here?" demanded the captain, a huge German. Their grimy
armor and bearded faces besmeared with black marked them as Black
Riders. I was overjoyed to see that they numbered but five.
"What is that to you?" I asked, putting on a bold front, though I feared
our mule-leaders would make but a sorry fight should we come to blows.
"That depends on what you have," responded our swart friend, coolly.
"Whatever you have, so much it is to us."
"What will you take in gold, my good man, and let us go our way in peace
with our cargo of silks?" asked Castleman.
"By your leave, friend," said I, interrupting the negotiations, "I am
in command when fighting is to be done. Let me settle with this fellow."
"Settle now, if you are so keen," cried the big German, drawing his
sword and spurring his horse upon me. I could not have withstood the
unexpected onrush, and certainly would have met with hard blows or
worse, had not Max come to my rescue. I hurriedly stepped back, and the
German, in following me, rode near a large stone by the roadside. He
had, doubtless, passed the stone many times in his travels up and down
the road, but the thought probably had never occurred to him that it
would be the cause of his death. The most potential facts in our lives
are usually too insignificant to attract attention.
When the German charged me, Max sprang upon the stone and dealt the
swart ruffian a blow such as no man may survive. Max's great battle-axe
crushed the Black Eider's helmet as if it were an egg-shell, and the
captain of our foes fell backward, hanging by his stirrups. One of our
squires shot one of the robbers, and the remaining three took flight.
Max caught the captain's horse, and coolly extricated the dead man's
feet from the stirrups. Then he thrust the body to the roadside with the
indifference of a man whose life has been spent in slaughter. Among his
many inheritances, Max probably had taken this indifference, together
with his instinctive love of battle. He was not quarrelsome, but he
took to a fight as naturally as a duck takes to water.
When the robbers had left, Yolanda came running from her hiding-place.
She was not frightened; she was aglow with excitement. She, too, must
have inherited the love of battle. Twonette was trembling with fear.
"Ah, Sir Max, it was beautifully done," said Yolanda. "You sprang upon
the rock with the quickness of a panther, and the blow was dealt with
the strength of a lion. I saw it all. When your battle-axe rose above
the robber's head, death was written on the steel. It was beautiful to
see you kill him, Sir Max. Strength is always beautiful in the eyes of a
woman, but it is doubly so when used in her defence and linked with
'wise bravery.' I thank you, Sir Karl, for teaching me that word. Sir
Max, I--I cannot thank you now."
She stopped speaking and covered her face with her hands. In a moment
she partly recovered composure and smiled her gratitude through a little
shower of tears. Max was, of course, aglow with pleasure at Yolanda's
praise, but he bore his honors meekly. He did not look upon his
tremendous feat of arms as of much importance.
Fearing the return of the Schwartreiter with reënforcements, we lost no
time in resuming our journey, Max and Yolanda quickly finished their
dinner, but Castleman, Twonette, and myself did not care to eat.
Within ten minutes after Max had killed the captain of the Black Riders
we were on our road travelling downhill, very joyful in our victory and
very proud of our knight, Sir Max. We left the dead men by the roadside,
but took with us two fine horses as compensation for our trouble. The
captain's great charger Max appropriated for his own. He will appear
again in this chronicle.
We rode silently but joyfully. Twonette slowly recovered from her
fright, and the pink crept back to her cheeks. The pink had not left
Yolanda's cheeks, nor had her nerves been disturbed by the adventures of
the morning. Max tried hard to suppress his exuberance of spirit, and
Yolanda laved him in the sunshine of her smiles.
Within three hours we were safely housed at a village by the Rhine.
Castleman, finding me alone, said:--
"You, Sir Karl, and Sir Max little know the value of the friend you have
made this day."
"I thank you, good Castleman," I answered, hardly liking so great an air
of condescension on the part of a burgher. An afterthought suggested
that perhaps Castleman had not referred to himself as the friend we had
made. Strange thoughts and speculations had of late been swarming in my
mind until they had almost taken the form of a refrain, "Who is
Yolanda?" Though the question repeated itself constantly by day and by
night, I received no whisper of an answer.
We travelled slowly, and it was not until the second day after our
conflict with the Black Riders that we found ourselves near Strasburg. A
league from the city gates we met Raoul de Rose, a herald of the Duke of
Burgundy. Yolanda recognized his banner at a distance and hastily veiled
herself. Twonette remained unveiled.
We halted, and De Rose, who was travelling alone, safe under a herald's
privileges, drew rein beside Castleman and me, who had been riding in
advance of our cavalcade. While Castleman was talking to De Rose,
Yolanda and Twonette rode forward, passing on that side of the highway
which left Castleman and me between them and the herald.
"Ah, good Castleman," said De Rose, "you are far from home these
troublous times."
"Your words imply bad news, monsieur," returned Castleman. "I have
already heard hints of trouble, though all was quiet when I
left Peronne."
"When did you leave?" asked the herald.
"More than two months ago," answered Castleman.
"With our rapidly moving duke, two months is ample time to make a deal
of trouble, to gain victories, and to compel peace among his
quarrelsome neighbors," answered De Rose. "It is publicly known that I
carry defiance to the Swiss. They cannot comply with Burgundy's terms,
and war will surely follow. Our duke will teach these Swiss sheep to
stop bleating, and when this war is finished, the dominion of Burgundy
will include the Alps. Duke Charles will have fresh ice for his dinner
every day--ice from the mountain tops."
"That is all he will get from the barren Swiss land, I fear," remarked
Castleman.
"But if he wants it?" answered De Rose, shrugging his shoulders.
"Yes," returned Castleman, "if the duke wants it, God give it him; but I
am sorry to see war with so peaceful a people as the Swiss."
"There are many persons in Burgundy foolish enough to agree with you,"
answered De Rose, laughingly, "but for my part, the will of my master
is my will."
"Amen!" said the cautious burgher.
De Rose smiled, and said:--
"There is but one will in Burgundy, and that will be done."
"Where is the duke?" asked Castleman.
"He is at home in Ghent," answered the herald.
"Is he to remain there?" asked the burgher, displaying a sudden
interest.
"I believe he goes soon to Peronne to look after his affairs, on the
French border, and to see the duchess and the princess before leaving
for Switzerland. It is also publicly known that the duke, while at
Peronne, intends to arrange for the immediate marriage of the princess
to the Dauphin. He wishes to tie the hands of King Louis before making
war elsewhere, and he is going to Peronne to cause this marriage to be
celebrated before he leaves Burgundy."
"Sacred God!" exclaimed the usually phlegmatic burgher. "We must hasten
home. Farewell, Monsieur de Rose. Your news indeed is bad--your news
of war."
Castleman urged "Last Week" to an unwonted pace, and drew rein beside
Yolanda. I followed slowly, and unintentionally overhead him say:--
"Your father will soon be in Peronne. The duke leaves Ghent within a day
or two."
"Holy Virgin!" cried Yolanda, excitedly. "We must make all haste, good
uncle. Hereafter we must travel night and day. We must double our
retinue at Strasburg and hasten forward regardless of danger and
fatigue. I wish we were across Lorraine and well out of Metz. If this
war begins, Lorraine will surely turn upon Burgundy."
"I begged you not to come upon this journey," said Castleman,
complainingly.
"I know you did, uncle," returned Yolanda, repentantly.
"But you would come," continued Castleman, determined to give vent to
his feelings. "I could not dissuade you, and now if the duke leaves
Ghent--if your father reaches Peronne--before we return, God help
us all."
"Yes, dear uncle," said Yolanda, humbly; "as usual, I was at fault. I
have been a source of trouble and danger to you nearly all my life, and
you, of all persons in the world, I would make happy."
I was riding ten paces behind Castleman, but the wind came toward me,
and I was an involuntary listener. What I had heard was of such
tremendous import to Max that I could not bring myself to rein back my
horse, though I despised myself for listening. I believe that moment
was, of all my life, the greatest test of my love for Max. No less a
motive could have induced me to become an eavesdropper. Castleman was
silent for a short time, and then I heard him say:--
"You have also brought me happiness, Yolanda, and I shall be wretched
when your father takes you from me. Twonette is not dearer to me than
you. Whatever befalls, I shall still thank God for the happiness He has
given me in you."
"Ah, uncle, your kind words almost break my heart," said Yolanda,
placing her kerchief to her eyes. "I wish you would not forgive me for
having brought you into this hard case. I wish you would upbraid me. I
will pray to the Blessed Virgin night and day to protect you from this
trouble my wilfulness has brought upon you. Never again will I be
wilful, dear uncle, never again--with you. At Strasburg I will make an
offering to the Virgin."
"Make her an offering of this young man on whom you are smiling,"
suggested Castleman. "I would have left him at Basel but for your
wilfulness and entreaties. We know nothing of him save that he is big,
honest, brave, gentle, and good to look upon. I have already warned you
against the great favor you show him. I shall not do so again. I advise
that we leave him at Metz."
"I will do as you advise," said Yolanda, mournfully. "I will offer even
this, my first great happiness, to the Virgin. Surely it will
propitiate her."
This conversation almost deprived me of the power to think. In a dimly
conscious fashion, I wondered whether Castleman could possibly have
meant the Duke of Burgundy when he told Yolanda that her father would
soon be at Peronne. I could find no other meaning for his words, and I
was almost ready to believe that the brown-eyed, laughing Yolanda was
none other than the far-famed Mary of Burgundy, whose tiny hand was
sought by every nation of Europe having a marriageable king or prince.
Kings in their dotage and princes in their nonage wooed her. Old men
and babes eagerly sought the favor of this young girl, and stood ready
to give their gold, their blood, and the lives of their subjects on even
the shadow of a chance to win her. The battle-field and the bower alike
had been wooing-ground for her smiles. After all this, she had been
affianced to the Dauphin of France, and her father would bring the
marriage about within a few weeks. To this girl I had thought to be
gracious, and had feared that I might be too condescending. I then
realized what a pitiable ass a man may make of himself by giving his
whole time and attention to the task.
Of course I was not sure that Yolanda was the princess. Her father,
spoken of by Castleman, might be, and probably was, a great lord in the
duke's train. Yolanda might be the love-daughter of Charles of Burgundy.
Many explanations might be given to Castleman's remarks; but I could not
help believing that Yolanda was the far-famed Burgundian princess. If
so, what a marvellous romance was this journey that Max and I had
undertaken, and what a fantastic trick fate had played in bringing these
two from the ends of the earth to meet in the quaint old Swiss city. It
seemed almost as if their souls had journeyed toward each other, since
the beginning of time.
That the princess should be abroad with Castleman and his daughter
unattended by even a lady-in-waiting seemed improbable--almost
impossible.
My wavering mind veered with each moment from the conviction that
Yolanda was the princess to a feeling of certainty that she was not, and
back again. That she was the princess seemed at one moment indubitably
true; the next moment it appeared absurdly impossible. Still,
Castleman's words rang in my ears.
I was glad that Max was riding a hundred yards behind me. My first
determination was that he should know nothing of what I had heard. My
second was that he and I should leave the party at Metz. If I were to
disclose to Max my suspicions concerning Yolanda, I well knew that it
would be beyond my power or that of any man to prevent his journeying
to Peronne.
This meeting with the princess far from home, one might suppose, was the
event of all others that I desired, but the situation presented many
points to be considered. If we should conduct Yolanda to Peronne and
should reach that city after the duke's arrival, there would be untold
trouble for us, if (oh, that mighty if!) she were the Princess Mary. I
was thoroughly frightened, since I could not know what trouble I might
bring to Max. We might, with comparative safety, visit Peronne at a
later period; but I sincerely hoped that Yolanda would offer Max to the
Virgin when we reached Metz.
If Yolanda were the princess, and if the duke with his intentions
regarding her immediate marriage, should reach Peronne and find his
daughter absent, his wrath against all concerned would be unappeasable.
If he should learn that she had been absent from Peronne on this
journey, even though she reached home before her father, Castleman would
probably lose his head for the crime of taking her, and all concerned in
the journey might meet with evil fortune. Any of these catastrophes
might occur if she were the princess. If she were not the princess, some
other great catastrophe, hinted by Castleman and dreaded by Yolanda,
might happen; and it is well for disinterested persons to remain away
from the scene of impending trouble.
Aside from all these good reasons for cutting short our journey to
Peronne, was the fact that our motive for going there had ceased to
exist. The princess was soon to become the wife of the Dauphin. If
Yolanda were not the princess, there was still good reason why we should
abandon her at Metz. She was dangerously attractive and was gaining too
great a hold on Max. We were under contract to escort Castleman to
Peronne, and no danger should prevent us from fulfilling our agreement;
but if Castleman should voluntarily release us, our obligation
would cease.
As we passed under the portcullis at Strasburg, Max spurred his horse
to Yolanda's side. She neither lifted her veil nor gave any sign of
recognition. The news of impending war had been discussed, and Max
supposed Yolanda was frightened. He spoke reassuringly to her, and she
answered:--
"I thank you, Sir Max, but our danger is greater than you know."
It was four o'clock when we reached Strasburg, where we stopped at The
Cygnet. Soon after we entered the inn, Twonette and Yolanda went forth,
heavily veiled, and walked rapidly in the direction of the cathedral.
Yolanda was going to make her offering to the Virgin of the man she
loved; surely woman could make no greater.
When Yolanda and Twonette had gone, Castleman asked me to assist him in
procuring a score of men-at-arms. They might be needed in crossing
Lorraine from Strasburg to Metz.
"I shall travel night and day till we reach home," said Castleman. "I
have news of war that hastens us, and--and it is most important that
Yolanda should deliver certain papers at the castle before the duke
arrives at Peronne. If she reaches the castle one hour or one minute
after the duke, the results will be evil beyond remedy."
"I sincerely hope there may be no delay," I answered, believing that the
papers were an invention of Castleman's.
"Yes," responded the burgher; "and, Sir Karl, I deem it best for all
concerned that you and Sir Max part company with us at Metz. I thank you
for your services, and hope you will honor us by visiting Peronne at
some future time. But now it is best that you leave us to pursue our
journey without you."
Castleman's suggestion was most welcome to me, and I communicated it to
Max when I returned to the inn. He was sorrowful; but I found that he,
too, felt that he should part from Yolanda.
Castleman and I found the burgomaster, to whom we paid five hundred
guilders (a sum equal to his entire annual salary), and within an hour a
troop of twenty men-at-arms awaited us in the courtyard of The Cygnet.
Castleman barely touched his meat at supper, though he drank two bottles
of Johannesburg; Max ate little, and I had no appetite whatever.
When Yolanda returned, I said:--
"Fräulein, will you not eat?"
"I do not care to eat," she replied, and I could easily see that she was
struggling to keep back the tears. "Let us resume our journey at once. I
see the men-at-arms are waiting."
Our rare days of sunshine had surely been weather-breeders. We were all
under a dark cloud.
We left Strasburg by the north gate, and, as the city fell back of us,
Max, riding by my side, asked:--
"What is the evil news that has cast this gloom over Yolanda and good
Castleman? If our friends are in danger, I would not leave them at Metz,
and you would not have me do so."
"The evil news grows out of the war," I answered evasively. "I heard
every word spoken by the herald and Castleman. The burgher is wise to
hasten home. If he delays his journey even for a day, he may find
Burgundy--especially Lorraine--swarming with lawless men going to the
various rendezvous. He also tells me he has important papers that must
be delivered in the castle before the duke arrives at Peronne."
"It is strange," said Max, "that news of merely a general nature should
produce so gloomy an effect; but, if you heard all that De Rose said,
that must be the only cause."
"I cannot say," I responded, "what the cause may be. All I know is that
De Rose spoke of the impending war, and said that the duke was hastening
to Peronne for the purpose of consummating the French marriage at once.
There is now no reason why we should journey to Peronne. My air-castles
have crumbled about my ears in fine shape."
"I am not sorry, Karl," replied Max. "During the last fortnight I have
changed. Should my marriage with the princess, by any marvellous
chance, become possible, it would now be wholly for the sake of her
estates, and I despise myself when I try to think that I wish to bring
it about. Ah, Karl, it is now impossible even to hope for this marriage,
and I tell you I am glad of it. We will see the world, then we will
return to Styria; and I shall thank you all my life for having made a
man of me."