THE FIRE ALIGHT.
I laughed at my own fears when the morning came, and showed no change
except that cheerful one, which our guest's presence had worked inside
the castle. Below, today was as yesterday. The sun shone as brightly
on the roofs, the smoke of the chimneys rose as peacefully in the air;
the swallows circling round the eaves swung this way and that as
swiftly and noiselessly as of old. The common sounds of everyday life,
the clank of the pump in the market-place as the old crones drew
water, and the cry of the wood-cutter hawking his stuff, alone broke
the stillness. I sniffed the air, and smiling at Fraulein Anna's
warning, went back into the house, where any fears which yet lingered
in my mind took instant flight at sound of the Waldgrave's voice, so
cheerful was it, so full of life and strength and confidence.
I do not know what it was in him, but something there was which
carried us all the way he wished us to go. Did he laugh at the thought
of danger; straightway we laughed too, and this though I knew
Heritzburg and he did not. Did he speak scornfully of the burghers;
forthwith they seemed to us a petty lot. When he strode up and down
the terrace, showing us how a single gun placed here or there, or in
the corner, would in an hour reduce the town; on the instant we deemed
him a Tilly. When he dubbed Hofman and Dietz, 'Old Fat and Lean,' the
groom-boys, who could not be kept from his heels, sniggered, and had
to be whipped back to the stables. In a word, he won us all. His
youth, his gaiety, his confidence, were irresistible.
He dared even to scold my lady, saying that she had cosseted the
townsfolk and brought this trouble on herself by pleasuring them; and
she, who seemed to us the proudest of the proud, took it meekly,
laughing in his face. It required no conjuror to perceive that he
admired her, and would fain shine in her presence. That was to be
expected. But about my mistress I was less certain, until after
breakfast nothing would suit her but an immediate excursion to the
White Maiden--the great grey spire which stands on the summit of the
Oberwald. Then I knew that she had it in her mind to make the best
figure she could; for though she talked of showing him game in that
direction, and there was a grand parade of taking dogs, all the world
knows that the other side of the valley is the better hunting-ground.
I was left to guess that the White Maiden was chosen because all the
wide Heritzburg land can be seen from its foot, and not corn and
woodland, pasture and meadow only, but the gem of all--the town
nestling babelike in the lap of the valley, with the grey towers
rising like the face of some harsh nurse above it.
My lord jumped at the plan. Doubtless he liked the prospect of a ride
through the forest by her side. When she raised some little demur,
stepping in the way of her own proposal, as I have noticed women will,
and said something about the safety of the castle, if so many left it,
he cried out eagerly that she need not fear.
'I will leave my people,' he said. 'Then you will feel quite sure that
the place is safe. I will answer for them that they will hold your
castle against Wallenstein himself.'
'But how many are with you?' my lady asked curiously; a little in
mischief too, perhaps, for I think she knew.
His handsome face reddened and he looked rather foolish for a moment.
'Well, only four, as a fact,' he said. 'But they are perfect paladins,
and as good as forty. In your defence, cousin, I would pit them
against a score of the hardiest Swedes that ever followed the King.'
My lady laughed gaily.
'Well, for this day, I will trust them,' she said. 'Martin, order the
grooms to saddle Pushka for me. And you, cousin, shall have the honour
of mounting me. It is an age since I have had a frolic.'
Sometimes I doubt if my lady ever had such a frolic again. Happier
days she saw, I think, and many and many of them, I hope; but such a
day of careless sunny gaiety, spent in the May greenwood, with joy and
youth riding by her, with old servants at her heels, and all the
beauties of her inheritance spread before her in light and shadow, she
never again enjoyed. We went by forest paths, which winding round the
valley, passed through woodlands, where the horses sank fetlock-deep
in moss, and the laughing voices of the riders died away among the
distant trunks. Here were fairy rings deep-plunged in bracken, and
chalky bottoms whence springs rose bright as crystal, and dim aisles
of beeches narrowing into darkness, where last year's leaves rustled
ghostlike under foot, and the shadow of a squirrel startled the
boldest. Once, emerging on the open down where the sun lay hot and
bright, my lady gave her horse the rein, and for a mile or more we
sped across the turf, with hoofs thundering on either hand, and bits
jingling, and horses pulling, only to fall into a walk again with
flushed cheeks and brighter eyes, on the edge of the farther wood.
Thence another mile, athwart the steep hillside through dwarf oaks and
huge blackthorn trees, brought us to the foot of the Maiden, and we
drew rein and dismounted, and stood looking down on the vale of
Heritzburg, while the grooms unpacked the dinner.
There is a niche in the great pillar, a man's height from the ground,
in which one person may conveniently sit. The young Waldgrave spied
it.
'Up to the throne, cousin!' he cried, and he helped her to it, sitting
himself on the ledge at her feet, with his legs dangling. 'Why, there
is the Werra!' he continued.
A large quantity of rain had fallen that spring, and the river which
commonly runs low between its banks, was plainly visible, a silver
streak crossing the distant mouth of the valley.
'Yes,' my lady answered. 'That is the Werra, and beyond it is, I
suppose, the world.'
'Whither I must go back this day week,' he said, between sighing and
smiling. 'Then, hey for the south and Nuremberg, the good cause and
the great King.'
'You have seen him?'
'Once only.'
'And is he so great a fighter?' my lady asked curiously.
'How can he fail to be when he and his men fight and pray
alternately,' the Waldgrave answered; 'when there is no license in the
camp, and a Swede thinks death the same as victory?'
'Where is he now?'
'At Munich, in Bavaria.'
'How it would have grieved my uncle,' my lady said, with a sigh.
'He died as he would have wished to die,' the Waldgrave answered
gently. 'He believed in his cause, as the King of Sweden believes in
his; and he died for it. What more can a man ask? But here is Franz
with all sorts of good things. And I am afraid a feast of beauty,
however perfect, does not prevent a man getting hungry.'
'That is a very pretty compliment to Heritzburg,' my lady said,
laughing.
'Or its chatelaine!' I heard him murmur, with a tender look. But my
lady only laughed again and called to me to come and name the hills,
and tell my lord what land went with each of the three hamlets between
which the lower valley is divided.
Doubtless that was but one of a hundred gallant things he said to her,
and whereat she laughed, during the pleasant hour they whiled away at
the foot of the pillar, basking in the warm sunshine, and telling the
valley farm by farm. For the day was perfect, the season spring. I lay
on my side and dreamed my own dream under the trees, with the hum of
insects in my ears. No one was in a hurry to rise, or set a term to
such a time.
Still we had plenty of daylight before us when my lady mounted and
turned her face homewards, thinking to reach the castle a little after
five. But a hare got up as we crossed the open down, and showing good
sport, as these long-legged mountain hares will, led us far out of our
way, and caused us to spend nearly an hour in the chase. Then my lady
spied a rare flower on the cliffside; and the young Waldgrave must
needs get it for her. And so it wanted little of sunset when we came
at last in sight of the bridge which spans the ravine at the back of
the castle. I saw in the distance a lad seated on the parapet,
apparently looking out for us, but I thought nothing of it. The
descent was steep and we rode down slowly, my lady and the Waldgrave
laughing and talking, and the rest of us sitting at our ease. Nor did
the least thought of ill occur to my mind until I saw that the lad had
jumped down from the wall and was running towards us waving his cap.
My lady, too, saw him.
'What is it, Martin?' she said, turning her head to speak to me.
I told her I would see, and trotted forward along the side of the path
until I came within call. Then I cried sharply to the lad to know what
it was. I saw something in his face which frightened me; and being
frightened and blaming myself, I was ready to fall on the first I met.
'The town!' he answered, panting up to my stirrup. 'There is fighting
going on, Master Martin. They are pulling down Klink's house.'
'So, so,' I answered, for at the first sight of his face I had feared
worse. 'Have you closed the gate at the head of the steps?'
'Yes,' he said, 'and my lord's men are guarding it.'
'Right!' I answered. And then my lady came up, and I had to break the
news to her. Of course the young Waldgrave heard also, and I saw his
eyes sparkle with pleasure.
'Ha! the rascals!' he cried. 'Now we will trounce them! Trust me,
cousin, we will teach these boors such a lesson as they shall long
remember. But what is it?' he continued, turning to my lady who had
not spoken. 'The Queen of Heritzburg is not afraid of her rebellious
subjects?'
My lady's eyes flashed. 'No, I am not afraid,' she said, with
contempt. 'But Klink's house? Do you mean the Red Hart, Martin?'
I said I did.
She plucked her horse by the head, and stopped short under the arch of
the gateway. I think I see her now bending from her saddle with the
light on the woods behind her, and her face in shadow. 'Then those
people are in danger!' she said, her voice quivering with excitement.
'Martin, take what men you have and go down into the town. Bring them
off at all risks! See to it yourself. If harm come to them, I shall
not forgive you easily.'
The Waldgrave sprang from his horse, and cried out that he would go.
But my lady called to him to stay with her.
'Martin knows the streets, and you do not,' she said, sliding
unassisted to the ground. 'But he shall take your men, if you do not
object.'
We dismounted, in a confused medley of men and horses, in the stable
court, which is small, and being surrounded by high buildings, was
almost dark. The grooms left at home had gone to the front of the
house to see the sight, and there was no one to receive us. I bade the
five men who had ridden with us get their arms, and leaving the horses
loose to be caught and cared for by the lad who had met us, I hastened
after my lady and the Waldgrave, who had already disappeared under the
arch which leads to the Terrace Court.
To pass through this was to pass from night to day, so startling was
the change. From one end to the other the terrace was aglow with red
light. The last level beams of the sun shone straight in our eyes as
we emerged, and so blinded us, that I advanced, seeing nothing before
me but a row of dark figures leaning over the parapet. If we could not
see, however, we could hear. A hoarse murmur, unlike anything I had
heard before, came up from the town, and rising and falling in waves
of sound, now a mere whisper, and now a dull savage roar, caused the
boldest to tremble. I heard my lady cry, 'Those poor people! Those
poor people!' and saw her clench her hands in impotent anger; and that
sight, or the sound--which seemed the more weirdly menacing as the
town lay in twilight below us, and we could make out no more than a
few knots of women standing in the market-place--or it may be some
memory of the helpless girl I had seen at Klink's, so worked upon me
that I had got the gate unbarred and was standing at the head of the
steps outside before I knew that I had stirred or given an order.
Some one thrust a half pike into my hand, and mechanically I counted
out the men--four of the Waldgrave's and five, six, seven of our own.
A strange voice--but it may have been my own--cried, 'Not by the High
Street. Through the lane by the wall!' and the next moment we were
down out of the sunlight and taking the rough steps three at a time.
The High Street reached, we swung round in a body to the right, and
plunging into Shoe Wynd, came to the locksmith's, and thence went on
by the way I had gone that other evening.
The noise was less down in the streets. The houses intervened and
deadened it. At some of the doors women were standing, listening and
looking out with grey faces, but one and all fled in at our approach,
which seemed to be the signal, wherever we came, for barring doors and
shooting bolts; once a man took to his heels before us, and again near
the locksmith's we encountered a woman bare-headed and carrying
something in her arms. She almost ran into the midst of us, and at the
last moment only avoided us by darting up the side-alley by the forge.
Whether these people knew us for what we were, and so fled from us, or
took us for a party of the rioters, it was impossible to say. The
narrow lanes were growing dark, night was falling on the town; only
the over-hanging eaves showed clear and black against a pale sky. The
way we had to go was short, but it seemed long to me; for a dozen
times between the castle steps and Klink's house I thought of the poor
girl at her prayers, and pictured what might be happening.
Yet we could not have been more than five minutes going from the steps
to the corner beyond the forge, whence we could see Klink's side
window. A red glare shone though it, and cleaving the dark mist which
filled the alley fell ruddily on the town wall. It seemed to say that
we were too late; and my heart sank at the sight. Nor at the sight
only, for as we turned the corner, the hoarse murmur we had heard on
the Terrace, and which even there had sounded ominous, swelled to an
angry roar, made up of cries and cursing, with bursts of reckless
cheering, and now and again a yell of pain. The street away before us,
where the lane ran into it, was full of smoky light and upturned
faces; but I took no heed of it, my business was with the window. I
cried to the men behind me and hurried on till I stood before it, and
clutching the bars--the glass was broken long ago--looked in.
The room was full of men. For a moment I could see nothing but heads
and shoulders and grim faces, all crowded together, and all alike
distorted by the lurid light shed by a couple of torches held close to
the ceiling. Some of the men standing in such groups as the constant
jostling permitted, were talking, or rather shouting to one another.
Others were savagely forcing back their fellows who wished to enter;
while a full third were gathered with their faces all one way round
the corner where I had seen the sick man. Here the light was
strongest, and in this direction I gazed most anxiously. But the
crowded figures intercepted all view; neither there nor anywhere else
could I detect any sign of the girl or child. The men in that corner
seemed to be gazing at something low down on the floor, something I
could not see. A few were silent, more were shouting and
gesticulating.
I stretched my hands through the bars, and grasping a man by the
shoulders, dragged him to me. 'What is it?' I cried in his ear,
heedless whether he knew me, or took me for one of the ruffians who
were everywhere battling to get into the house--at the window we had
anticipated some by a second only. 'What is it?' I repeated fiercely,
resisting all his efforts to get free.
'Nothing!' he answered, glaring at me. 'The man is dead; cannot you
see?'
'I can see nothing!' I retorted. 'Dead is he?'
'Ay, dead, and a good job too!' the rascal answered, making a fresh
attempt to get away. 'Dead when we came in.'
'And the girl?'
'Gone, the Papist witch, on a broomstick!' he answered. 'Through the
wall or the ceiling or the keyhole, or through this window; but only
on a broomstick. The bars would skin a cat!'
I let him go and looked at the bars. They were an inch thick, and a
very few inches apart. It seemed impossible that a child, much more a
grown woman, could pass between them. As the fellow said, there was
barely room for a cat to pass.
Yet my mind clung to the bars. Klink might have hidden the girl, for
without doubt he had neither foreseen nor meant anything like this.
But something told me that she had gone by the window, and I turned
from it with renewed hope.
It was time I did turn. The crowd had got wind of our presence and
resented it. All who could not get into the house to slake their
curiosity or anger, had pressed into the narrow alley where we stood,
while the air rang with cries of 'No Popery! Down with the Papists!'
When I turned I found my fellows hard put to it to keep their
position. To retreat, close pressed as we were, seemed as difficult as
to stand; but by making a resolute movement all together, we charged
to the front for a moment, and then taking advantage of the interval,
fell back as quickly as we could, facing round whenever it seemed that
our followers were coming on too boldly for safety.
In this way, the knaves with me being stout and some of them used to
the work, we retreated in good order and without hurt as far as the
end of Shoe Wynd. Then I discovered to my dismay that a portion of the
mob had made along the High Street and were waiting for us on the
steep ascent where the wynd runs into the street.
Hitherto no harm had been done on either side, but we now found
ourselves beset front and back, and to add to the confusion of the
scene night had set in. The narrow wynd was as dark as pitch, save
where the light of a chance torch showed crowded forms and snarling
faces, while the din and tumult were enough to daunt the boldest.
That moment, I confess, was one of the worst I have known. I felt my
men waver; a little more and they might break and the mob deal with us
as it would. On the other hand? I knew that to plunge, exposed to
attack as we were from behind, into the mass of men who blocked the
way to the steps, would be madness. We should be surrounded and
trodden down. There were not perhaps fifty really dangerous fellows in
the town; but a mob I have noticed is a strange thing. Men who join
it, intending merely to look on, are carried away by excitement, and
soon find themselves cursing and fighting, burning and raiding with
the foremost.
A brief pause and I gave the word to face about again. As I expected,
the gang in the alley gave way before us, and the pursued became the
pursuers. My men's blood was up now, their patience exhausted; and for
a few moments pike and staff played a merry tune. But quickly the mob
behind closed up on our heels. Stones began to be thrown, and
presently one, dropped I think from a window, struck a man beside me
and felled him to the ground.
That was our first loss. Drunken Steve, a great gross fellow, always
in trouble, but a giant in strength, picked him up--we could not leave
the man to be murdered--and plunged on with us bearing him under his
arm.
'Good man!' I cried between my teeth. And I swore it should save the
drunkard from many a scrape. But the next moment another was down, and
him I had to pick up myself. Then I saw that we were as good as
doomed. Against the stones we had no shield.
The men saw it too, and cried out, beside themselves with rage. We
were as rats, set in a pit to be worried--in the dark with a hundred
foes tearing at us. And the town seemed to have gone mad--mad! Above
the screams and wicked laughter, and all the din about us, I heard the
great church bell begin to ring, and hurling its notes, now sharp, now
dull, down upon the seething streets, swell and swell the tumult until
the very sky seemed one in the league against us!
Blind with fury--for what had we done?--we turned on the mob which
followed us and hurled it back--back almost to the High Street. But
that way was no exit for us; the crowd stood so close that they could
not even fly. Round we whirled again, wild and desperate now, and
charged down the alley towards the West Gate, thinking possibly
to win through and out by that way. We had almost reached the
locksmith's--then another man fell. He was of the Waldgrave's
following, and his comrade stooped to raise him; but only to fall over
him, wounded in his turn.
What happened after that I only knew in part, for from that moment all
was a medley of random blows and stragglings in the dark. The crowd
seeing half of us down, and the rest entangled, took heart of grace to
finish us. I remember a man dashing a torch in my face, and the blow
blinding me. Nevertheless I staggered forward to close with him. Then
something tripped me up, something or some one struck me from behind
as I fell. I went down like an ox, and for me the fight was over.
Drunken Steve and two of the Waldgrave's men fought across me, I am
told, for a minute or more. Then Steve fell and an odd thing happened.
The mob took fright at nothing--took fright at their own work, and
coming suddenly to their senses, poured pell-mell out of the alley
faster than they had come into it. The two strangers, knowing nothing
of the way or the town, knocked at the nearest door and were taken in,
and sheltered till morning.