JOAN OF THE SWORD HAND
_WORKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR._
THE STICKIT MINISTER.
THE RAIDERS.
THE PLAYACTRESS.
THE LILAC SUNBONNET.
BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT.
THE MEN OF THE MOSS HAGS.
CLEG KELLY.
THE GREY MAN.
LADS' LOVE.
LOCHINVAR.
THE STANDARD BEARER.
THE RED AXE.
THE BLACK DOUGLAS.
IONE MARCH.
KIT KENNEDY.
SWEETHEART TRAVELLERS.
SIR TOADY LION.
[Illustration: "She met on the middle flight a grey-bearded man."
(Page 25.) _Frontispiece_]
JOAN OF THE SWORD HAND
BY
S. R. CROCKETT
LONDON
WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED
NEW YORK AND MELBOURNE
1900
_The Illustrations to this edition of
"Joan of the Sword Hand" are by
FRANK RICHARDS._
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. THE HALL OF THE GUARD 7
II. THE BAITING OF THE SPARHAWK 14
III. JOAN DRAWS FIRST BLOOD 19
IV. THE COZENING OF THE AMBASSADOR 25
V. JOHANN THE SECRETARY 30
VI. AN AMBASSADOR'S AMBASSADOR 38
VII. H.R.H. THE PRINCESS IMPETUOSITY 47
VIII. JOHANN IN THE SUMMER PALACE 52
IX. THE ROSE GARDEN 59
X. PRINCE WASP 64
XI. THE KISS OF THE PRINCESS MARGARET 70
XII. JOAN FORSWEARS THE SWORD 79
XIII. THE SPARHAWK IN THE TOILS 84
XIV. AT THE HIGH ALTAR 90
XV. WHAT JOAN LEFT BEHIND 99
XVI. PRINCE WASP'S COMPACT 105
XVII. WOMAN'S WILFULNESS 111
XVIII. CAPTAINS BORIS AND JORIAN PROMOTE PEACE 120
XIX. JOAN STANDS WITHIN HER DANGER 126
XX. THE CHIEF CAPTAIN'S TREACHERY 131
XXI. ISLE RUGEN 139
XXII. THE HOUSE ON THE DUNES 144
XXIII. THE FACE THAT LOOKED INTO JOAN'S 150
XXIV. THE SECRET OF THERESA VON LYNAR 156
XXV. BORNE ON THE GREAT WAVE 163
XXVI. THE GIRL BENEATH THE LAMP 169
XXVII. WIFE AND PRIEST 175
XXVIII. THE RED LION FLIES AT KERNSBERG 182
XXIX. THE GREETING OF THE PRINCESS MARGARET 191
XXX. LOVE'S CLEAR EYE 197
XXXI. THE ROYAL MINX 204
XXXII. THE PRINCESS MARGARET IS IN A HURRY 212
XXXIII. A WEDDING WITHOUT A BRIDEGROOM 217
XXXIV. LITTLE JOHANNES RODE 222
XXXV. A PERILOUS HONEYMOON 229
XXXVI. THE BLACK DEATH 236
XXXVII. THE DROPPING OF A CLOAK 245
XXXVIII. THE RETURN OF THE BRIDE 251
XXXIX. PRINCE WASP STINGS 258
XL. THE LOVES OF PRIEST AND WIFE 266
XLI. THERESA KEEPS TROTH 277
XLII. THE WORDLESS MAN TAKES A PRISONER 287
XLIII. TO THE RESCUE 295
XLIV. THE UKRAINE CROSS 301
XLV. THE TRUTH-SPEAKING OF BORIS AND JORIAN 310
XLVI. THE FEAR THAT IS IN LOVE 315
XLVII. THE BROKEN BOND 324
XLVIII. JOAN GOVERNS THE CITY 332
XLIX. THE WOOING OF BORIS AND JORIAN 338
L. THE DIN OF BATTLE 345
LI. THERESA'S TREACHERY 355
LII. THE MARGRAF'S POWDER CHESTS 366
LIII. THE HEAD OF THE CHURCH VISIBLE 380
EPILOGUE OF EXPLICATION 388
CHAPTER I
THE HALL OF THE GUARD
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.
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.
"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."
"Good!" responded the two soldiers of the Princess of Plassenburg,
turning them about as if they had been hinged on the same stick, and
starting forward with precisely the same stiff hitch from the halt, they
made for the door.
"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?"
"Aye, madam," said Jorian, directing his left eye, as he stood at
attention, a little slantwise in the direction of his companion.
"What is her name?"
"Gretchen is her name," quoth the soldier.
"And yours, Captain Boris?"
The second automaton, a little slower of tongue than his companion,
hesitated a moment.
"Speak up," said his comrade, in an undergrowl; "say 'Katrin.'"
"Katrin!" thundered Captain Boris, with bluff apparent honesty.
"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."
The donor looked at the rings again. She espied the letters of a posy
upon them.
"Ha!" she cried, "Captain Boris, what said you was the name of your
betrothed?"
"Good Lord!" muttered Boris lowly to himself, "did I not tell the woman
even now?--Gretchen!"
"Hut, you fool!" Jorian's undergrowl came to his ear, "Katrin--not
Gretchen; Gretchen is mine."
"I mean Katrin, my Lady Duchess," said Boris, putting a bold face on the
mistake.
The young mistress of the castle smiled. "Thou art a strange lover," she
said, "thus to forget the name of 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."
"Good!" said Jorian and Boris, making their bows together; "we thank
your most gracious highness."
"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!"
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.
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.
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.
"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 must needs lay his tongue to 'Gretchen,' instead of 'Katrin,' as he
had done at the first!"
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.
"And you lied about your sweethearts to the Duchess Joan?" he said.
"Ha, ha! Yes! I trow yes," quoth Jorian jovially. "Wine may be dear, but
this ring will pay the sweets of many a night!"
"Ha, ha! It will, will it?" said Werner, the chief captain, grimly.
"Aye, truly," echoed Boris, the mead beginning to work nuttily under his
steel cap, "when we melt this--ha, ha!--Katrin's jewel, we'll quaff many
a beaker. The Rhenish shall flow-ow-ow! And Peg and Moll and Elisabet
shall be there--yes, and many a good fellow-ow-ow----"
"Shut the door!" quoth Werner, the chief captain, at this point. "Sit
down, gentlemen!"
But Jorian and Boris were not to be so easily turned aside.
"Call in the ale-drawer--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--a soft princess, a princess most gullible is this of yours,
gentlemen of the Eagle's Nest, kerns of Kernsberg!"
"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 hamper our liege mistress. Do you
know that you have lied to her and made a jest of it?"
"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--one short year with such a mistress
would do the business. Why, she will believe anything!"
"So," said Werner von Orseln grimly, "you think so, do you, Captains
Boris and Jorian, of the embassy staff? Well, listen!"
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----"
"_Joan of the Sword Hand! Hoch!_"
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.
"Joan of the Sword Hand! _Hoch!_ Hent yourselves up, Wends! Up,
Plassenburg! Joan of the Sword Hand! Our Lady Joan! _Hoch!_ And three
times _hoch_!"
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.
"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--that you lied and double lied to her--I lay my life and
the lives of these good fellows that the pair of you would be aswing
from the corner gallery of the Lion's Tower in something under five
minutes."
"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!"
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--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?"
"Aye, thrice ready, Jorian!"
"About, then! Quick march!"
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.
"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--_hoch_!"
"_Jorian and Boris--hoch!_"
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.
"Deal you so with your guests who come on embassy?" said Jorian,
smiling. "First you threaten them 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!"
"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--God
bless her!--would not take a false word from any--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--that is, if
she found it out. 'To the gallows!' she would say, and we--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--that is, if ever you mean again to stand within the
danger of Joan of the Sword Hand in this her castle of Kernsberg."
"Gretchens are none so scarce in Plassenburg," muttered Jorian. "I think
we can satisfy a pair of them--but at a cheaper price than a ring of
rubies set in gold!"