JOAN STANDS WITHIN HER DANGER
So soon as Werner von Orseln returned to Castle Kernsberg with news of
the forcing of the Alla and the overwhelming numbers of the Muscovite
hordes, the sad-eyed Duchess of Hohenstein became once more Joan of the
Sword Hand.
Hitherto she had doubted and feared. But now the thought of Prince Wasp
and his Muscovite savages steadied her, and she was here and there, in
every bastion of the Castle, looking especially to the gates which
commanded the roads to Courtland and Plassenburg.
Her one thought was, "Will _he_ be here?"
And again she saw the knight of the white plume storm through the lists
of Courtland, and the enemy go down before him. Ah, if only----!
[Illustration: "Captain Boris was telling a story." [_Page 127_]]
The invading army must have numbered thirty thousand, at least. There
were, all told, about two thousand spears in Kernsberg. Von Orseln,
indeed, could easily have raised more. Nay, they would have come in of
themselves by hundreds to fight for their Duchess, but the little hill
town could not feed more. Yet Joan was not discouraged. She joked with
Peter Balta upon the louts of Courtlanders taking the Castle which Henry
the Lion had fortified. The Courtlanders, indeed! Had not Duke Casimir
assaulted Kernsberg in vain, and even the great Margraf George
threatened it? Yet still it remained a virgin fortress, looking out over
the fertile and populous plain. But now what were left of the
shepherds had fled to the deep-bosomed mountains with their flocks. The
cattle were hidden in the thickest woods; only the white farm-houses
remained tenantless, silently waiting the coming of the spoiler. And,
stripped for combat, Castle Kernsberg looked out towards the invader,
the rolling plain in front of it, and behind the grim intricate hill
country of Hohenstein.
When Werner von Orseln and Peter Balta met the invader at the fords of
the Alla, Maurice von Lynar and Alt Pikker had remained with Joan,
nominally to assist her dispositions, but really to form a check upon
the impetuosity of her temper.
Now Von Orseln was back again. The fords of the Alla were forced, and
the fighting strength of Kernsberg united itself in the Eagle's Nest to
make its final stand.
Aloft on the highest ramparts there was a terrace walk which the
Sparhawk much affected, especially when he was on guard at night. It
looked towards the east, and from it the first glimpse of the
Courtlanders would be obtained.
In the great hall of the guard they were drinking their nightly toast.
The shouting might have been heard in the town, where at street corners
were groups of youths exercising late with wooden spears and mimic
armour, crying "Hurrah, Kernsberg!"
They changed it, however, in imitation of their betters in the Castle
above.
"_Joan of the Sword Hand! Hoch!_"
The shout went far into the night. Again and yet again it was repeated
from about the crowded board in the hall of the men-at-arms and from the
gloomy streets beneath.
When all was over, the Sparhawk rose, belted his sword a hole or two
tighter, set a steel cap without a visor upon his head, glanced at
Werner von Orseln, and withdrew, leaving the other captains to their
free-running jest and laughter. Captain Boris of Plassenburg was telling
a story with a countenance more than ordinarily grave and earnest,
while the table round rang with contagious mirth.
The Sparhawk found the high terrace of the Lion Tower guarded by a
sentry. Him he removed to the foot of the turret-stair, with orders to
permit no one save Werner von Orseln to pass on any pretext.
Presently the chief captain's step was heard on the stone turnpike.
"Ha, Sparhawk," he cried, "this is cold cheer! Why could we not have
talked comfortably in hall, with a beaker of mead at one's elbow?"
"The enemy are not in sight," said the Sparhawk gloomily.
"Well, that is bad luck," said Werner; "but do not be afraid, you will
have your chance yet--indeed, all you want and a little over--in the way
of killing of Muscovites."
"I wanted to speak with you on a matter we cannot mention elsewhere,"
said Maurice von Lynar.
The chief captain stopped in his stride, drew his cloak about him,
rested his thigh on a square battlement, and resigned himself.
"Well," he said, "youth has ever yeasty brains. Go on."
"I would speak of my lady!" said the youth.
"So would most mooncalves of your age!" growled Werner; "but they do not
usually bring their commanding officers up to the housetops to do it!"
"I mean our lady, the Duchess Joan!"
"Ah," said Werner, with the persiflage gone out of his tone, "that is
altogether another matter!"
And the two men were silent for a minute, both looking out into the
blackness where no stars shone or any light twinkled beyond the walls of
the little fortified hill town.
At last Maurice von Lynar spoke.
"How long can we hold out if they besiege us?"
"Two months, certainly--with luck, three!"
"And then?"
Werner von Orseln shrugged his shoulders, but only said, "A soldier
never anticipates disaster!"
"And what of the Duchess Joan?" persisted the young man.
"Why, in the same space of time she will be dead or wed!" said Von
Orseln, with an affectation of carelessness easily seen through.
The young man burst out, "Dead she may be! I know she will never be wife
to that Courtland Death's-head. I saw it in her eyes that day in their
cathedral, when she bade me slip out and bring up our four hundred
lances of Kernsberg."
"Like enough," said Werner shortly. "I, for one, set no bounds to any
woman's likings or mislikings!"
"We must get her away to a place of safety," said the young man.
Von Orseln laughed.
"Get her? Who would persuade or compel our lady? Whither would she go?
Would she be safer there than here? Would the Courtlander not find out
in twenty-four hours that there was no Joan of the Sword Hand in
Kernsberg, and follow on her trail? And lastly--question most pertinent
of all--what had you to drink down there in hall, young fellow?"
The Sparhawk did not notice the last question, nor did he reply in a
similarly jeering tone.
"We must persuade her--capture her, compel her, if necessary. Kernsberg
cannot for long hold out against both the Muscovite and the Courtlander.
Save good Jorian and Boris, who will lie manfully about their fighting,
there is no help for us in mortal man. So this is what we must do to
save our lady!"
"What? Capture Joan of the Sword Hand and carry her off? The mead buzzes
in the boy's head. He grows dotty with anxiety and too much hard ale.
'Ware, Maurice--these battlements are not over high. I will relieve you,
lad! Go to bed and sleep it off!"
"Von Orseln," said the youth, with simple earnestness, not heeding his
taunts, "I have thought deeply. I see no way out of it but this. Our
lady will eagerly go on reconnaissance if you represent it as necessary.
You must take ten good men and ride north, far north, even to the edges
of the Baltic, to a place I know of, which none but I and one other can
find. There, with a few trusty fellows to guard her, she will be safe
till the push of the times is over."
The chief captain was silent. He had wholly dropped his jeering mood.
"There is nothing else that I can see for it," the young Dane went on,
finding that Werner did not speak. "Our Joan will never go to Courtland
alive. She will not be carried off on Prince Louis' saddle-bow, as a
Cossack might carry off a Circassian slave!"
"But how," said Von Orseln, meditating, "will you prevent her absence
being known? The passage of so large a party may easily be traced and
remembered. Though our folk are true enough and loyal enough, sooner or
later what is known in the Castle is known in the town, and what is
known in the town becomes known to the enemy!"
Maurice von Lynar leaned forward towards his chief captain and whispered
a few words in his ear.
"Ah!" he said, and nodded. Then, after a pause for thought, he added,
"That is none so ill thought on for a beardless younker! I will think it
over, sleep on it, and tell you my opinion to-morrow!"
The youth tramped to and fro on the terrace, muttering to himself.
"Good-night, Sparhawk!" said Von Orseln, from the top of the corkscrew
stair, as he prepared to descend; "go to bed. I will send Alt Pikker to
command the house-guard to-night. Do you get straightway between the
sheets as soon as maybe. If this mad scheme comes off you will need your
beauty-sleep with a vengeance! So take it now!"
"At any rate," the chief captain growled to himself, "you have set a
pretty part for me. I may forthwith order my shroud. I shall never be
able to face my lady again!"