THE GREETING OF THE PRINCESS MARGARET
They were making terms concerning treaty of delivering thus:--
"When the last Muscovite has crossed the Alla, when the men of Courtland
stand ready to follow--then, and not sooner, we will deliver up our Lady
Joan. For this we shall receive from you, Louis, Prince of Courtland,
fifty hogsheads of wine, six hundred wagon-loads of good wheat, and the
four great iron cannon now standing before the Stralsund Gate. This all
to be completed before we of Kernsberg hand our Lady over."
"It is a thing agreed!" answered Louis of Courtland, who longed to be
gone, and, above all, to get his Muscovite allies out of his country.
For not only did they take all the best of everything in the field, but,
like locusts, they spread themselves over the rear, carrying plunder and
rapine through the territories of Courtland itself--treating it, indeed,
as so much conquered country, so that men were daily deserting his
colours in order to go back to protect their wives and daughters from
the Cossacks of the Don and the Strelits of Little Russia.
Moreover, above all, Prince Louis wanted that proud wench, his wife.
Without her as his prisoner, he dared not go back to his capital city.
He had sworn an oath before the people. For the rest, Kernsberg itself
could wait. Without a head it would soon fall in, and, besides, he
flattered himself that he would so sway and influence the Duchess, when
once he had her safe in his palace by the mouth of Alla, that she would
repent her folly, and at no distant day sit knee by knee with him on his
throne of state in the audience hall when the suitors came to plead
concerning the law.
And even his guest Prince Ivan was complaisant, standing behind Louis's
chair and smiling subtly to himself.
"Brother of mine," he would say, "I came to help you to your wife. It is
your own affair how you take her and what you do with her when you get
her. For me, as soon as you have her safe within the summer palace, and
have given me, according to promise, my heart's desire your sister
Margaret, so soon will I depart for Moscow. My father, indeed, sends
daily posts praying my instant despatch, for he only waits my return to
launch a host upon his enemy the King of Polognia."
And Prince Louis, reaching over the arm of his chair, patted his
friend's small sweet-scented hand, and thanked him for his most
unselfish and generous assistance.
Thus the leaguer of Hohenstein attained its object. Prince Louis had
not, it is true, stormed the heights of Kernsberg as he had sworn to do.
He had, in fact, left behind him to the traitors who delivered their
Duchess a large portion of his stores and munitions of war.
Nevertheless, he returned proud in heart to his capital city. For in the
midst of his most faithful body of cavalry rode the young Duchess Joan,
Princess of Courtland, on a white Neapolitan barb, with reins that
jingled like silver bells and rosettes of ribbon on the bosses of her
harness.
The beautiful prisoner appeared, as was natural, somewhat wan and
anxious. She was clad in a close-fitting gown of pale blue, with
inch-wide broidering of gold, laced in front, and with a train which
drooped almost to the ground. Over this a cloak of deeper blue was worn,
with a hood in which the dark, proud head of the Princess nestled half
hidden and half revealed. The folk who crowded to see her go by took
this for coquetry. She rode with only the one councillor by her who had
dared to share her captivity--one Alt Pikker, a favourite veteran of her
little army, and the master-swordsman (they said) who had instructed her
in the use of arms.
No indignity had been offered to her. Indeed, as great honour was done
her as was possible in the circumstances. Prince Louis had approached
and led her by the hand to the steed which awaited her at the fords of
the Alla. The soldiers of Courtland elevated their spears and the
trumpets of both hosts brayed a salute. Then, without a word spoken, her
husband had bowed and withdrawn as a gentleman should. Prince Ivan then
approached, and on one knee begged the privilege of kissing her fair
hand.
The traitors of Kernsberg, who had bartered their mistress for several
tuns of Rhenish, could not meet her eye, but stood gloomily apart with
faces sad and downcast, and from within the town came the sound of women
weeping. Only George the Hussite stood by with a smile on his face and
his thumbs stuck in his waistband.
The captive Princess spoke not at all, as was indeed natural and
fitting. A woman conquered does not easily forgive those who have
humbled her pride. She talked little even to Alt Pikker, and then only
apart. The nearest guide, who had been chosen because of his knowledge
of German, could not hear a murmur. With bowed head and eyes that dwelt
steadily on the undulating mane of her white barb, Joan swayed her
graceful body and compressed her lips like one captured but in nowise
vanquished. And the soldiers of the army of Courtland (those of them who
were married) whispered one to another, noting her demeanour, "Our good
Prince is but at the beginning of his troubles; for, by Brunhild, did
you ever see such a wench? They say she can engage any two fencers of
her army at one time!"
"Her eye itself is like a rapier thrust," whispered another. "Just now I
went near her to look, and she arched an eyebrow at me, no more--and
lo! I went cold at my marrow as if I felt the blue steel stand out at my
backbone."
"It is the hunger and the anger that have done it," said another; "and,
indeed, small wonder! She looked not so pale when I saw her ride along
Courtland Street that day to the Dom--the day she was to be married.
Then her eyes did not pierce you through, but instead they shone with
their own proper light and were very gracious."
"A strange wench, a most strange wench," responded the first, "so soon
to change her mind."
"Ha!" laughed his companion, "little do you know if you say so! She is a
woman--small doubt of that! Besides, is she not a princess? and
wherefore should our Prince's wife not change her mind?"
They entered Courtland, and the flags flew gaily as on the day of
wedding. The drums beat, and the populace drank from spigots that foamed
red wine. Then Louis the Prince came, with hat in hand, and begged that
the Princess Joan would graciously allow him to ride beside her through
the streets. He spoke respectfully, and Joan could only bow her head in
acquiescence.
Thus they came to the courtyard of the palace, the people shouting
behind them. There, on the steps, gowned in white and gold, with bare
head overrun with ringlets, stood the Princess Margaret among her women.
And at sight of her the heart of the false Princess gave a mighty bound,
as Joan of the Sword Hand drew her hood closer about her face and tried
to remember in what fashion a lady dismounted from her horse.
"My lady," said Prince Louis, standing hat in hand before her barb, "I
commit you to the care of my sister, the Princess Margaret, knowing the
ancient friendship that there is between you two. She will speak for me,
knowing all my will, and being also herself shortly contracted in
marriage to my good friend, Prince Ivan of Muscovy. Open your hearts to
each other, I pray you, and be assured that no evil or indignity shall
befall one whom I admire as the fairest of women and honour as my wedded
wife!"
Joan made no answer, but leaped from her horse without waiting for the
hand of Alt Pikker, which many thought strange. In another moment the
arms of the Princess Margaret were about her neck, and that impulsive
Princess was kissing her heartily on cheek and lips, talking all the
while through her tears.
"Quick! Let us get in from all these staring stupid men. You are to
lodge in my palace so long as it lists you. My brother hath promised it.
Where are your women?"
"I have no women," said Joan, in a low voice, blushing meanwhile; "they
would not accompany a poor betrayed prisoner from Kernsberg to a prison
cell!"
"Prison cell, indeed! You will find that I have a very comfortable
dungeon ready for you! Come--my maidens will assist you. Hasten--pray do
make haste!" cried the impetuous little lady, her arm close about the
tall Joan.
"I thank you," said the false bride, with some reluctance, "but I am
well accustomed to wait on myself."
"Indeed, I do not wonder," cried the ready Princess; "maids are
vexatious creatures, well called 'tirewomen.' But come--see the
beautiful rooms I have chosen for you! Make haste and take off your
cloak, and then I will come to you; I am fairly dying to talk. Ah, why
did you not tell me that day? That was ill done. I would have ridden so
gladly with you. It was a glorious thing to do, and has made you famous
all over the world, they say. I have been thinking ever since what I can
do to be upsides with you and make them talk about me. I will give them
a surprise one day that shall be great as yours. But perhaps I may not
wait till I am married to do it."
And she took her friend by the hand and with a light-hearted skipping
motion convoyed her to her summer palace, kissed her again at the door,
and shut her in with another imperious adjuration to be speedy.
"I will give you a quarter of an hour," she cried, as she lingered a
moment; "then I will come to hear all your story, every word."
Then the false Princess staggered rather than walked to a chair, for
brain and eye were reeling.
"God wot," she murmured; "strange things to hear, indeed! Sweet lady,
you little know how strange! This is ten thousand times a straiter place
to be in than when I played the Count von Löen. Ah, women, women, what
you bring a poor innocent man to!"
So, without unhooking her cloak or even throwing back the hood, this
sadly bewildered bride sat down and tried to select any hopeful line of
action out of the whirling chaos of her thoughts. And even as she sat
there a knock came sharply at the door.