THE KISS OF THE PRINCESS MARGARET
The Princess and her guard were left alone with the secretary and the
unconscious body of the Prince of Muscovy.
"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.
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.
"So," she said, as soon as the door was shut, "you have killed Prince
Wasp!"
"I trust not," said the secretary gravely; "I meant only to wound him.
But as he attacked me I could not do otherwise than defend myself."
"Tut," cried the Princess, "I hope you have killed him. It will be good
riddance, and most like the Muscovites will send an army--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."
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.
The Princess Margaret delivered him from his anxiety.
"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--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."
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.
"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--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?"
"A Danish knight who came hither in our train from Kernsberg," replied
Johann. "But for him I should have been lost indeed!"
"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--they are mourning for their precious Prince Wasp.
To-morrow they will howl louder if by good hap he goes home
to--purgatory!"
And through the open windows came a sound of distant shoutings as they
carried the wounded Prince to his lodgings.
"Now," said the Princess, "for the present fare you well--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!"
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.
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.
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.
[Illustration: "The Secretary found himself swaying over the dark
water." [_Page 75_]]
A low whistle came from underneath, and presently followed the soft
reeving _whisk_ of a coil of rope as it passed through the window and
fell at his feet. The 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.
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.
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.
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.
"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.
"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--why need not I say it?--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."
"The horses are over there," she added after a pause; "we are almost at
the shore now--alas, too quickly! But I must not keep you. I want you to
come back the sooner. And remember, if Prince 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."
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.
Two men were, by the Princess's orders, to accompany Johann.
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.
"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."
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.
"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----"
He paused for words which might warn without revealing his secret; but
the Princess, never long silent, struck in.
"Let there be no talk of parting except for the moment," she said. "Go,
you are my knight. Perhaps one day, if you do not forget me, I may be
yet far kinder to you!"
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.
"Your sword! Your sword!" she called aloud, risking any listener in her
eagerness; "you have forgotten your sword."
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.
"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.
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.
"I could not let you go like that--without ever telling you that I loved
you--really, I mean," she whispered, while the youth stood petrified
with astonishment, without sound or motion. "I will marry none but
you--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."
* * * * *
"And what answered you?" asked the secretary of his companion, as they
rode together through the night out on their road to Kernsberg.
"Why, I said nothing--speech was not needed," quoth the Dane coolly.
"She kissed you?"
"Well," said the Sparhawk, "I could not help that, could I?"
"But what said you to that?"
"Why, of course, I kissed her back again, as a man ought!" he made
answer.
"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--you had not seen
her before! Why then did you kiss her?"
For these things are hidden from women.
The Dane shrugged his shoulders in the dark.
"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--why, I am ready to indulge her to the limit of her
desirings!"
"You are indeed an accommodating youth," sighed the secretary, and
forthwith returned to his own melancholy thoughts.
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.
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.
At the little châlet among the hills where the Duchess Joan had so
suddenly disappeared they found 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.
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.
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--her Prince, the most
noble man on whom her eyes had ever rested.
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--well,
_after_!)
But since she had ridden to Courtland, Joan, all untouched before, had
grown suddenly very tender to the smarting of another woman's heart.
"It is in no wise my fault," she told herself, which in a sense was
true.
But conscience, being a thing not subject to reason, dealt not a whit
the more easily with her on that account.
It was six months afterwards that the Sparhawk, who had been given the
command of a troop of good Hohenstein lancers, asked permission to go
on a journey.
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.
"Whither would you go?" asked his mistress.
"To Courtland," he confessed, somewhat reluctantly, looking down at the
peaked toe of his tanned leather riding-boot.
"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?"
"Nay, my lady," he burst out, "that will not I, so long as life lasts.
But--but the truth is"--he hesitated as he spoke--"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."
"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--the Lord send that it be not more than enough!"
So through many bitter winter days the Sparhawk abode at the castle of
Kernsberg, ill content.