THE FEAR THAT IS IN LOVE
Thus the climax came about in the twinkling of an eye, but the universal
turmoil and wild jubilation in which Prince Louis's power and government
were swept away had really been preparing for years, though the end fell
sharp as the thunderclap that breaks the weather after a season of
parching heat.
For all that the trouble was only deferred, not removed. The cruel death
of Maurice von Lynar had been rendered impossible by the opportune
arrival of Prince Conrad and the sudden revolution which the sight of
his noble and beloved form, clad in armour, produced among the disgusted
and impulsive Courtlanders.
Yet the arch-foe had only recoiled in order that he might the further
leap. The great army of the White Czar was encamped just across the
frontier, nominally on the march to Poland, but capable of being in a
moment diverted upon the Princedom of Courtland. Here was a pretext of
invasion ripe to Prince Ivan's hand. So he kept Louis, the dethroned and
extruded prince, close beside him. He urged his father, by every tie of
friendship and interest, to replace that prince upon his throne. And the
Czar Paul, well knowing that the restoration of Louis meant nothing less
than the incorporation of Courtland with his empire, hastened to carry
out his son's advice.
In Courtland itself there was no confusion. A certain grim determination
took possession of the people. They had made their choice, and they
would abide by it. They had chosen Conrad to be their ruler, as he had
long been their only hope; and they knew that now Louis was for ever
impossible, save as a cloak for a Muscovite dominion.
It had been the first act of Conrad to summon to him all the archpriests
and heads of chapels and monasteries by virtue of his office as
Cardinal-Archbishop. He represented to them the imminent danger to Holy
Church of yielding to the domination of the Greek heretic. Whoever might
be spared, the Muscovite would assuredly make an end of them. He
promised absolution from the Holy Father to all who would assist in
bulwarking religion and the Church of Peter against invasion and
destruction. He himself would for the time being lay aside his office
and fight as a soldier in the sacred war which was before them. Every
consideration must give way to that. Then he would lay the whole matter
at the feet of the Holy Father in Rome.
So throughout every town and village in Courtland the war of the Faith
was preached. No presbytery but became a recruiting office. Every pulpit
was a trumpet proclaiming a righteous war. There was to be no salvation
for any Courtlander save in defending his faith and country. It was
agreed by all that there was no hope save in the blessed rule of Prince
Conrad, at once worthy Prince of the Blood, Prince of Holy Church, and
defender of our blessed religion. Prince Louis was a deserter and a
heretic. The Pope would depose him, even as (most likely) he had cursed
him already.
So, thus encouraged, the country rose behind the retiring Muscovite, and
Prince Louis was conducted across the boundary of his princedom under
the bitter thunder of cannon and the hiss of Courtland arrows. And the
craven trembled as he listened to the shouted maledictions of his own
people, and begged for a common coat, lest his archer guard should
distinguish their late Prince and wing their clothyard shafts at him as
he cowered a little behind Prince Ivan's shoulder.
Meanwhile Joan, casting aside with an exultant leap of the heart her
intent to make of herself an obedient wife, rode back to Kernsberg in
order to organise all the forces there to meet the common foe. It was to
be the last fight of the Teuton Northland for freedom and faith.
The Muscovite does not go back, and if Courtland were conquered
Kernsberg could not long stand. To Plassenburg (as we have seen) rode
Boris and Jorian to plead for help from their Prince and Princess.
Dessauer had already preceded them, and the armies, disciplined and
equipped by Prince Karl, were already on the march to defend their
frontiers--it might be to go farther and fight shoulder to shoulder with
Courtland and Kernsberg against the common foe.
And if all this did not happen, it would not be the fault of those
honest soldiers and admirable diplomatists, Captains Boris and Jorian,
captains of the Palace Guard of Plassenburg.
* * * * *
The presence of Prince Conrad in the city of Courtland seemed to change
entirely the character of the people. From being somewhat frivolous they
became at once devoted to the severest military discipline. Nothing was
heard but words of command and the ordered tramp of marching feet. The
country barons and knights brought in their forces, and their tents, all
gay with banners and fluttering pennons, stretched white along the Alla
for a mile or more.
The word was on every lip, "When will they come?"
For already the Muscovite allies of Prince Louis had crossed the
frontier and were moving towards Courtland, destroying everything in
their track.
The day after the deliverance of the Sparhawk, Joan had announced her
intention of riding on the morrow to Kernsberg. Maurice von Lynar and
Von Orseln would accompany her.
"Then," cried Margaret instantly, "I will go, too!"
"The ride would be over toilsome for you," said Joan, pausing to touch
her friend's hair as she looked forth from the window of the Castle of
Courtland at the Sparhawk ordering about a company of stout countrymen
in the courtyard beneath.
"I _will_ go!" said Margaret wilfully. "I shall never let him out of my
sight again!"
"We shall be back within the week! You will be both safer and more
comfortable here!"
The Princess Margaret withdrew her head from the open window,
momentarily losing sight of her husband and, in so doing, making vain
her last words.
"Ah, Joan," she said reproachfully, "you are wise and strong--there is
no one like you. But you do not know what it is to be married. You never
were in love. How, then, can you understand the feelings of a wife?"
She looked out of the window again and waved a kerchief.
"Oh, Joan," she looked back again with a mournful countenance, "I do
believe that Maurice does not love me as I love him. He never took the
least notice of me when I waved to him!"
"How could he," demanded Joan, the soldier's daughter, sharply, "he was
on duty?"
"Well," answered Margaret, still resentful and unconsoled, "he would not
have done that _before_ we were married! And it is only the first day we
have been together, too, since--since----"
And she buried her head in her kerchief.
Joan looked at the Princess a moment with a tender smile. Then she gave
a little sigh and went over to her friend. She laid her hand on her
shoulder and knelt down beside her.
"Margaret," she whispered, "you used to be so brave. When I was here,
and had to fight the Sparhawk's battles with Prince Wasp, you were as
headstrong as any young squire desiring to win his spurs. You wished to
see us fight, do you remember?"
The Princess took one corner of her white and dainty kerchief away from
her eyes in order to look yet more reproachfully at her friend.
"Ah," she said, "that shows! Of course, I knew. You were not _he_, you
see; I knew that in a moment."
Joan restrained a smile. She did not remind her friend that then she had
never seen "him." The Princess Margaret went on.
"Joan," she cried suddenly, "I wish to ask you something!"
She clasped her hands with a sweet petitionary grace.
"Say on, little one!" said Joan smiling.
"There will be a battle, Joan, will there not?"
Joan of the Sword Hand nodded. She took a long breath and drew her head
further back. Margaret noted the action.
"It is very well for you, Joan," she said; "I know you are more than
half a man. Every one says so. And then you do not love any one, and you
like fighting. But--you may laugh if you will--I am not going to let my
husband fight. I want you to let him go to Plassenburg till it is over!"
Joan laughed aloud.
"And you?" she said, still smiling good-naturedly.
It was now Margaret's turn to draw herself up.
"You are not kind!" she said. "I am asking you a favour for my husband,
not for myself. Of course I should accompany him! _I_ at least am free
to come and go!"
"My dear, my dear," said Joan gently, "you are at liberty to propose
this to your husband! If he comes and asks me, he shall not lack
permission."
"You mean he would not go to Plassenburg even if I asked him?"
"I know he would not--he, the bravest soldier, the best knight----"
There came a knocking at the door.
"Enter!" cried Joan imperiously, yet not a little glad of the
interruption.
Werner von Orseln stood in the portal. Joan waited for him to speak.
"My lady," he said, "will you bid the Count von Löen leave his work and
take some rest and sustenance. He thinks of nothing but his drill."
"Oh, yes, he does," cried the Princess Margaret; "how dare you say it,
fellow! He thinks of me! Why, even now----"
She looked once more out of the window, a smile upon her face. Instantly
she drew in her head again and sprang to her feet.
"Oh, he is gone! I cannot see him anywhere!" she cried, "and I never so
much as heard them go! Joan, I am going to find him. He should not have
gone away without bidding me goodbye! It was cruel!"
She flashed out of the room, and without waiting for tiring maid or
coverture, she ran downstairs, dressed as she was in her light summer
attire.
Joan stood a moment silent, looking after her with eyes in which flashed
a tender light. Werner von Orseln smiled broadly--the dry smile of an
ancient war-captain who puts no bounds to the vagaries of women. It was
an experienced smile.
"'Tis well for Kernsberg, my lady," said Werner grimly, "that you are
not the Princess Margaret."
"And why!" said Joan a little haughtily. For she did not like Conrad's
sister to be treated lightly even by her chief captain.
"Ah, love--love," said Werner, nodding his head sententiously. "It is
well, my lady, that I ever trained you up to care for none of these
things. Teach a maid to fence, and her honour needs no champion. Give
her sword-cunning and you keep her from making a fool of herself about
the first man who crosses her path. Strengthen her wrist, teach her to
lunge and parry, and you strengthen her head. But you do credit to
_your_ instructor. You have never troubled about the follies of love.
Therefore are you our own Joan of the Sword Hand!"
Joan sighed another sigh, very softly this time, and her eyes, being
turned away from Von Orseln, were soft and indefinitely hazy.
"Yes," she answered, "I am Joan of the Sword Hand, and I never think of
these things!"
"Of course not," he cried cheerfully; "why should you? Ah, if only the
Princess Margaret had had an ancient Werner von Orseln to teach her how
to drill a hole in a fluttering jackanapes! Then we would have had less
of this meauling apron-string business!"
"Silence," said Joan quickly. "She is here."
And the Princess came running in with joy in her face. Instinctively
Werner drew back into the shadow of the window curtain, and the smile on
his face grew more grimly experienced than ever.
"Oh, Joan," cried the Princess breathlessly, "he had not really gone off
without bidding me goodbye. You remember I said that I could not believe
it of him, and you see I was right. One cannot be mistaken about one's
husband!"
"No?" said Joan interrogatively.
"Never--so long as he loves you, that is!" said Margaret, breathless
with her haste; "but when you really love any one, you cannot help
getting anxious about them. And then Ivan or Louis might have sent some
one to carry him off again to tear him to pieces. Oh, Joan, you cannot
know all I suffered. You must be patient with me. I think it was seeing
him bound and about to die that has made me like this!"
"Margaret!"
Joan went quickly towards her friend, touched with compunction for her
lack of sympathy, and resolved to comfort her if she could. It was true,
after all, that while she and Conrad had been happy together on Isle
Rugen, this girl had been suffering.
Margaret came towards her, smiling through her tears.
"But I have thought of something," she said, brightening still more;
"such a splendid plan. I know Maurice would not want to go away when
there was fighting--though I believe, if I had him by himself for an
hour, I could persuade him even to that, for my sake."
A stifled grunt came from behind the curtains, which represented the
injury done to the feelings of Werner von Orseln by such unworthy
sentiments.
The Princess looked over in the direction of the sound, but could see
nothing. Joan moved quietly round, so that her friend's back was towards
the window, behind the curtains of which stood the war captain.
"This is my thought," the Princess went on more calmly. "Do you, Joan,
send Maurice on an embassy to Plassenburg till this trouble is over.
Then he will be safe. I will find means of keeping him there----"
A stifled groan of rage came from the window. Margaret turned sharply
about.
"What is that?" she cried, taking hold of her skirts, as the habit of
women is.
"Some one without in the courtyard," said Joan hastily; "a dog, a cat, a
rat in the wainscot--anything!"
"It sounded like something," answered the Princess, "but surely not like
anything! Let us look."
"Margaret," said Joan, gently taking her by the arm and walking with her
towards the door, "Maurice von Lynar is a soldier and a soldier's son.
You would break his heart if you took him away from his duty. He would
not love you the same; you would not love him the same."
"Oh, yes, I would," said Margaret, showing signs that her sorrow might
break out afresh. "I would love him more for taking care of his life for
my sake!"
"You know you would not, Margaret," Joan persisted. "No woman can truly
and fully love a man whom she is not proud of."
[Illustration: "Joan indignantly drew the curtain aside." [_Page 323_]]
"Oh, that is before they are married!" cried the Princess indignantly.
"Afterwards it is different. You find out things then--and love them all
the same. But, of course, how should I expect you to help me? You have
never loved; you do not understand!" And, without another word, Margaret
of Courtland, who had once been so heart-free and _débonnaire_, went out
sobbing like a fretted child. Hardly had the door closed upon her when
the sound of stifled laughter broke from the window-seat. Joan
indignantly drew the curtains aside and revealed Werner von Orseln
shaking all over and vainly striving to govern his mirth with his hands
pressed against his sides.
At sight of the face of his mistress, which was very grave, and even
stern, his laughter instantly shut itself off. As it seemed, with a
single movement, he raised himself to his feet and saluted. Joan stood
looking at him a moment without speech.
"Your mirth is exceedingly ill-timed," she said slowly. "On a future
occasion, pray remember that the Lady Margaret is a Princess and my
friend. You can go! We ride out to-morrow morning at five. See that
everything is arranged."
Once more Von Orseln saluted, with a face expressionless as a stone. He
marched to the door, turned and saluted a third time, and with heavy
footsteps descended the stairs communing with himself as he went.
"That was salt, Werner. Faith, but she gave you the back of the
sword-hand that time, old kerl! Yet, 'twas most wondrous humorsome. Ha!
ha! But I must not laugh--at least, not here, for if she catches me the
Kernsbergers will want a new chief captain. Ha! ha! No, I will not
laugh. Werner, you old fool, be quiet! God's grace, but she looked right
royal! It is worth a dressing down to see her in a rage. Faith, I would
rather face a regiment of Muscovites single-handed than cross our Joan
in one of her tantrums!"
He was now at the outer door. Prince Conrad was dismounting. The two men
saluted each other.
"Is the Duchess Joan within?" said Conrad, concealing his eagerness
under the hauteur natural to a Prince.
"I have just left her!" answered the chief captain.
Without a word Conrad sprang up the steps three at a time. Werner turned
about and watched the young man's firm lithe figure till it had
disappeared.
"Faith of Saint Anthony!" he murmured, "I am right glad our lady cares
not for love. If she did, and if you had not been a priest--well, there
might have been trouble."