PRINCE WASP
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.
As to the inheritance--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----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.
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 wooers who had come from the south to solicit the smiles of the
Princess Margaret.
"So," he said, as he faced the secretary, now somewhat compositely
styled--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--you have in addition to reckon with me, Ivan, hereditary Prince of
Muscovy."
And with a sweep of his hand across his body he drew his sword from its
sheath.
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.
"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."
"I am called Johann, Count von Löen," answered the secretary as curtly
as possible.
"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."
"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."
"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."
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.
"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!"
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.
And so it fell out.
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.
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.
[Illustration: "The Prince staggered." [_Page 67_]]
But lo! the blade was turned aside, the long-delayed answering thrust
glittered out, and the secretary's sword stood a couple of handbreadths
in the boaster's shoulder.
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.
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!"
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--long-mourned,
doubtless, by the good wives of Courtland.
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.
"At him! Down with him! He can only strike 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.
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.
Then suddenly came a voice. "Back, on your lives, dogs and traitors!
Germans to the rescue! Danes, Teuts, Northmen to the rescue!"
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.
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.
"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!"
The Dane flung a word over his shoulder to his companion.
"Pardon me, your grace," said the Sparhawk, "if I stand back to back
with you. They are dangerous. We must watch well for any chance of
escape."
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.
A second time the courage of the crowd worked itself up, and they came
on.
"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.
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.
"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!"
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.