THE MARGRAF'S POWDER CHESTS
It was indeed Alexis the Deacon who met the Lady Theresa. And the matter
had been arranged, just as Boris said. Alexis the Deacon, a wise man of
many disguises, remained in Courtland after the abrupt departure of
Prince Ivan. Theresa had found him in the hospital, where, sheltered by
a curtain, she heard him talk with a dying man--the son of a Greek
merchant domiciled in Courtland, whose talent for languages and quick
intelligence had induced Prince Conrad to place him on his immediate
staff of officers.
"I bid you reveal to me the plans and intents of the Prince," Theresa
heard Alexis say, "otherwise I cannot give you absolution. I am priest
as well as doctor."
At this the young Greek groaned and turned aside his head, for he loved
the Prince. Nevertheless, he spoke into the ear of the physician all he
knew, and as reward received a sleeping draught, which induced the sleep
from which none waken.
And afterwards Theresa had spoken also.
So it was this same Alexis--spy, priest, surgeon, assassin, and chief
confidant of Ivan Prince of Muscovy--who, in front of the watchfires,
bent over the hand of Theresa von Lynar on that stormy night which
succeeded the crowning victory of the Russian arms in Courtland.
"This way, madam. Fear not. The Prince is eagerly awaiting you--both
Princes, indeed," Alexis said, as he led her into the camp through
lines of lighted tents and curious eyes looking at them from the
darkness. "Only tell them all that you have to tell, and, trust me,
there shall be no bounds to the gratitude of the Prince, or of Alexis
the Deacon, his most humble servant."
Theresa thought of what this boundless gratitude had obtained for the
young Greek, and smiled. They came to an open space before a lighted
pavilion. Before the door stood a pair of officers trying in vain to
shield their gay attire under scanty shoulder cloaks from the hurtling
inclemency of the night. Their ready swords, however, barred the way.
"To see the Prince--his Highness expects us," said Alexis, without any
salute. And with no further objection the two officers stood aside,
staring eagerly and curiously however under the hood of the lady's cloak
whom Alexis brought so late to the tent of their master.
"Ha!" muttered one of them confidentially as the pair passed within, "I
often wondered what kept our Ivan so long in Courtland. It was more than
his wooing of the Princess Margaret, I will wager!"
"Curse the wet!" growled his fellow, turning away. He felt that it was
no time for speculative scandal.
Theresa and her conductor stood within the tent of the commander of the
Muscovite army. The glow of light, though it came only from candles set
within lanterns of horn, was great enough to be dazzling to her eyes.
She found herself in the immediate presence of Prince Ivan, who rose
with his usual lithe grace to greet her. An older man, with a grey
pinched face, sat listlessly with his elbow on the small camp table. He
leaned his forehead on his palm, and looked down. Behind, in the half
dark of the tent, a low wide divan with cushions was revealed, and all
the upper end of the tent was filled up with a huge and shadowy pile of
kegs and boxes, only half concealed behind a curtain.
"I bid you welcome, my lady," said Prince Ivan, taking her hand. "Surely
never did ally come welcomer than you to our camp to-night. My servant
Alexis has told me of your goodwill--both towards ourselves and to
Prince Louis." (He indicated the silent sitting figure with a little
movement of his hand sufficiently contemptuous.) "Let us hear your news,
and then will we find you such lodging and welcome as may be among rough
soldiers and in a camp of war."
As he was speaking Theresa von Lynar loosened her long cloak of blue,
its straight folds dank and heavy with the rains. The eyes of the Prince
of Muscovy grew wider. Hitherto this woman had been to him but a common
traitress, possessed of great secrets, doubtless to be flattered a
little, and then--afterwards--thrown aside. Now he stood gazing at her
his hands resting easily on the table, his body a little bent. As she
revealed herself to him the pupils of his eyes dilated, and amber gleams
seemed to shoot across the irises. He thought he had never seen so
beautiful a woman. As he stood there, sharpening his features and
moistening his lips, Prince Ivan looked exceedingly like a beast of prey
looking out of his hole upon a quarry which comes of its own accord
within reach of his claws.
But in a moment he had recovered himself, and came forward with renewed
reverence.
"Madam," he said, bowing low, "will you be pleased to sit down? You are
wet and tired."
He went to the flap of the pavilion and pushed aside the dripping flap.
"Alexis!" he cried, "call up my people. Bid them bring a brazier, and
tell these lazy fellows to serve supper in half an hour on peril of
their heads!"
He returned and stood before Theresa, who had sunk back as if fatigued
on an ottoman covered with thick furs. Her feet nestled in the bearskins
which covered the floor. The Prince looked anxiously down.
"Pardon me, your shoes are wet," he said. "We are but Muscovite boors,
but we know how to make ladies comfortable. Permit me!"
And before Theresa could murmur a negative the Prince had knelt down and
was unloosing the latchets of her shoes.
"A moment!" he said, as he sprang again to his feet with the lithe
alertness which distinguished him. Prince Ivan ran to a corner where,
with the brusque hand of a master, he had tossed a score of priceless
furs to the ground. He rose again and came towards Theresa with a flash
of something scarlet in his hand.
"You will pardon us, madam," he said, "you are our guest--the sole lady
in our camp. I lay it upon your good nature to forgive our rude
makeshifts."
And again Prince Ivan knelt. He encased Theresa's feet in dainty
Oriental slippers, small as her own, and placed them delicately and
respectfully on the couch.
"There, that is better!" he said, standing over her tenderly.
"I thank you, Prince." She answered the action more than the words,
smiling upon him with her large graciousness; "I am not worthy of so
great favour."
"My lady," said the Prince, "it is a proverb of our house that though
one day Muscovy shall rule the world, a woman will always rule Muscovy.
I am as my fathers were!"
Theresa did not answer. She only smiled at the Prince, leaning a little
further back and resting her head easily upon the palm of her hand. The
servitors brought in more lamps, which they slung along the ridge-pole
of the roof, and these shedding down a mellow light enhanced the ripe
splendour of Theresa's beauty.
Prince Ivan acknowledged to himself that he had spoken the truth when he
said that he had never seen a woman so beautiful. Margaret?--ah,
Margaret was well enough; Margaret was a princess, a political
necessity, but this woman was of a nobler fashion, after a mode more
truly Russ. And the Prince of Muscovy, who loved his fruit with the
least touch of over-ripeness, would not admit to himself that this
woman was one hour past the prime of her glorious beauty. And indeed
there was much to be said for this judgment.
Theresa's splendid head was set against the dusky skins. Her rich hair
of Venice gold, escaping a little from the massy carefulness of its
ordered coils, had been blown into wet curls that clung closely to her
white neck and tendrilled about her broad low brow. The warmth of the
tent and the soft luxury of the rich rugs had brought a flush of red to
a cheek which yet tingled with the volleying of the Baltic raindrops.
"Alexis never told me this woman was so beautiful," he said to himself.
"Who is she? She cannot be of Courtland. Such a marvel could not have
been hidden from me during all my stay there!"
So he addressed himself to making the discovery.
"My lady," he said, "you are our guest. Will you deign to tell us how
more formally we may address you? You are no Courtlander, as all may
see!"
"I am a Dane," she answered smiling; "I am called the Lady Theresa. For
the present let that suffice. I am venturing much to come to you thus!
My father and brothers built a castle upon the Baltic shore on land that
has been the inheritance of my mother. Then came the reivers of
Kernsberg and burned the castle to the ground. They burned it with fire
from cellar to roof-tree. And they slackened the fire with the blood of
my nearest kindred!"
As she spoke Theresa's eyes glittered and altered. The Prince read
easily the meaning of that excitement. How was he to know all that lay
behind?
"And so," he said, "you have no good-will to the Princess Joan of
Hohenstein--and Courtland. Or to any of her favourers?" he added after a
pause.
At the name the grey-headed man, who had been sitting unmoved by the
table with his elbow on the board, raised a strangely wizened face to
Theresa's.
"What"--he said, in broken accents, stammering in his speech and
grappling with the words as if, like a wrestler at a fair, he must throw
each one severally--"what--who has a word to say against the Lady Joan,
Princess of Courtland? Whoso wrongs her has me to reckon with--aye, were
it my brother Ivan himself!"
"Not I, certainly, my good Louis," answered Ivan easily. "I would not
wrong the lady by word or deed for all Germany from Bor-Russia to the
Rhine-fall!"
He turned to Alexis the Deacon, who was at his elbow.
"Fill up his cup--remember what I bade you!" he said sharply in an
undertone.
"His cup is full, he will drink no more. He pushes it from him!"
answered Alexis in the same half-whisper. But neither, as it seemed,
took any particular pains to prevent their words carrying to the ear of
Prince Louis. And, indeed, they had rightly judged. For swiftly as it
had come the momentary flash of manhood died out on the meagre face. The
arm upon which he had leaned swerved limply aside, and the grey beard
fell helplessly forward upon the table.
"So much domestic affection is somewhat belated," said Prince Ivan,
regarding Louis of Courtland with disgust. "Look at him! Who can wonder
at the lady's taste? He is a pretty Prince of a great province. But if
he live he will do well enough to fill a chair and hold a golden rod.
Take him away, Alexis!"
"Nay," said Theresa, with quick alarm, "let him stay. There are many
things to speak of. We may need to consult Prince Louis later."
"I fear the Prince will not be of great use to us," smiled Prince Ivan.
"If only I had known, I would have conserved his princely senses more
carefully. But for heads like his the light wine of our country is
dangerously strong."
He glanced about the pavilion. The servants had not yet retired.
"Convey his Highness to the rear, and lay him upon the powder barrels!"
He indicated with his hand the array of boxes and kegs piled in the dusk
of the tent. The servitors did as they were told; they lifted Prince
Louis and would have carried him to that grim couch, but, struck with
some peculiarity, Alexis the Deacon suddenly bent over his lax body and
thrust his hand into the bosom of his princely habit, now tarnished
thick with wine stains and spilled meats.
"Excellency," he said, turning to his master, "the Prince is dead! His
heart does not beat. It is the stroke! I warned you it would come!"
Prince Ivan strode hastily towards the body of Louis of Courtland.
"Surely not?" he cried, in seeming astonishment. "This may prove very
inconvenient. Yet, after all, what does it matter? With your assistance,
madam, the city is ours. And then, what matters dead prince or living
prince? A garrison in every fort, a squadron of good Cossacks pricking
across every plain, a tax-collector in every village--these are the best
securities of princedom. But this is like our good Louis. He never did
anything at a right time all his life."
Theresa stood on the other side of the dead man as the servitors lowered
him for the inspection of their lord. The weary wrinkled face had been
smoothed as with the passage of a hand. Only the left corner of the
mouth was drawn down, but not so much as to be disfiguring.
"I am glad he spoke kindly of his wife at the last," she murmured. And
she added to herself, "This falls out well--it relieves me of a
necessity."
"Spoken like a woman!" cried Prince Ivan, looking admiringly at her.
"Pray forgive my bitter speech, and remember that I have borne long with
this man!"
He turned to the servitors and directed them with a motion of his hand
towards the back of the pavilion.
"Drop the curtain," he said.
And as the silken folds rustled heavily down the curtain fell upon the
career and regality of Louis, Prince of Courtland, hereditary Defender
of the Holy See.
The men did not bear him far. They placed him upon the boxes of the
powder for the Margraf's cannon, which for safety and dryness Ivan had
bade them bring to his own pavilion. The dead man lay in the dark,
open-eyed, staring at the circling shadows as the servitors moved
athwart the supper table, at which a woman sat eating and drinking with
her enemy.
* * * * *
Theresa von Lynar sat directly opposite the Prince of Muscovy. The board
sparkled with mellow lights reflected from many lanterns. The servitors
had departed. Only the measured tread of the sentinels was heard
without. They were alone.
And then Theresa spoke. Very fully she told what she had learned of the
defences of the place, which gates were guarded by the Kernsbergers,
which by the men of Plassenburg, which by the remnants of the broken
army of Courtland. She spoke in a hushed voice, the Prince sipping and
nodding as he looked into her eyes. She gave the passwords of the inner
and outer defences, the numbers of the defenders at each gate, the plans
for bringing provisions up the Alla--indeed, everything that a besieging
general needs to know.
And so soon as she had told the passwords the Prince asked her to pardon
him a moment. He struck a silver bell and with scarce a moment's delay
Alexis entered.
"Go," said the Prince; "send one of our fellows familiar with the speech
of Courtland into the city by the Plassenburg Gate. The passwords are
'_Henry the Lion_' at the outer gate and '_Remember_' at the inner port.
Let the man be dressed in the habit of a countryman, and carry with him
some wine and provend. Follow him and report immediately."
While the Prince was speaking he had never taken his eyes off Theresa
von Lynar, though he had appeared to be regarding Alexis the Deacon.
Theresa did not blanch. Not a muscle of her face quivered. And within
his Muscovite heart, full of treachery as an egg of meat, Prince Ivan
said, "She is no traitress, this dame; but a simpleton with all her
beauty. The woman is speaking the truth."
And Theresa was speaking the truth. She had expected some such test and
was prepared; but she only told the defenders' plans to one man; and as
for the passwords, she had arranged with Boris that at the earliest dawn
they were to be changed and the forces redistributed.
While these two waited for the return of Alexis, the Prince encouraged
Theresa to speak of her wrongs. He watched with approbation the sparkle
of her eye as he spoke of Joan of the Sword Hand. He noted how she shut
down her lips when Henry the Lion was mentioned, how her voice shook as
she recounted the cruel end of her kin.
Though at ordinary times most sober, the Prince now added cup to cup,
and like a Muscovite he grew more bitter as the wine mounted to his
head. He leaned forward and laid his hand upon his companion's white
wrist. Theresa quivered a little, but did not take it away. The Prince
was becoming confidential.
"Yes," he said, leaning towards her, "you have suffered great wrongs,
and do well to hate with the hate that craves vengeance. But even you
shall be satisfied. To-morrow and to-morrow's to-morrow you and I shall
have out our hearts' desire upon our enemies. Yes, for many days.
Sweet--sweet it shall be--sweet, and very slow; for I, too, have wrongs,
as you shall hear."
"Truly, I did well to come to you!" said Theresa, giving her hand
willingly into his. He clasped her fingers and would have kissed her but
for the table between.
"You speak truth." He hissed the words bitterly. "Indeed, you did better
than well. I also have wrongs, and Ivan of Muscovy will show you a
Muscovite vengeance.
"This Prince Conrad of theirs baulked me of my revenge and drove me
from the city. Him will I take and burn at the stake in his priest's
robes, as if he were saying mass--or, better still, in the red of the
cardinal's habit with his hat upon his head. And ere he dies he shall
see his paramour carried to her funeral. For I will give you the life of
the woman for whose sake he thwarted Ivan of Muscovy. If you will it, no
hand but yours shall have the shedding of the blood of your house's
enemy. Is not this your vengeance already sweet in prospect?"
"It is sweet indeed!" answered Theresa.
"Your Highness!" said the voice of Alexis at the tent door, "am I
permitted to speak?"
"Speak on!" cried Ivan, without relaxing his clasp upon the hand of
Theresa von Lynar. Indeed, momentarily it became a grip.
"The man went safely through at the Plassenburg Gate. The passwords were
correct. The man who challenged spoke with a Kernsberg accent!"
The Prince's grasp relaxed.
"It is well," he said. "Now go to the captains and tell them to be in
their posts about the city according to the plan--the main assault to be
delivered by the gate of the sea. At dawn I will be with you! Go! Above
all, do not forget the passwords--first '_Henry the Lion!_' then
'_Remember!_'"
Alexis the Deacon saluted and went.
The Prince rose and came about the table nearer to Theresa von Lynar.
She drew her breath quickly and checked it as sharply with a kind of
sob. Her left hand went down to her side as naturally as a nun's to her
rosary. But it was no rosary her fingers touched. The action steadied
her, and she threw back her head and smiled up at her companion
debonairly as though she had no care in the world.
Theresa repeated the passwords slowly and audibly.
"'_Henry the Lion!_' '_Remember!_' Ah!" (she broke off with a laugh) "I
am not likely to forget." Ivan laid his hand on her shoulder, glad to
see her so resolute.
"All in good time," he said, sitting down on a stool at her feet and
taking her hand--her right hand. The other he did not see. Then he spoke
confidentially.
"One other revenge I have which I shall keep till the last. It shall be
as sweet to me as yours to you. I shall draw it out lingeringly that I
may drain all its sweetness. It concerns the upstart springald whom the
Princess Margaret had the bad taste to prefer to me. Not that I cared a
jot for the Princess. My taste is far other" (here he looked up
tenderly); "but the Princess I must wed, as maid or widow I care not. I
take her provinces, not herself; and these must be mine by right of fief
and succession as well as by right of conquest. The way is clear. That
piece of carrion which men called by a prince's name was carried out a
while ago. Conrad the priest, who is a man, shall die like a man. And I,
Ivan, and Holy Russia shall enter in. By the right of Margaret, sole
heir of Courtland, city and province shall be mine; Kernsberg shall be
mine; Hohenstein shall be mine. Then mayhap I will try a fall for
Plassenburg and the Mark with the Executioner's Son and his little
housewife. But sweeter than all shall be my revenge upon the man I
hate--upon him who took his betrothed wife from Ivan of Muscovy."
"Ah," said Theresa von Lynar, "it will indeed be sweet! And what shall
be your worthy and terrible revenge?"
"I have thought of it long--I have turned it over, this and that have I
thought--of the smearing with honey and the anthill, of trepanning and
the worms on the brain--but I have fixed at last upon something that
will make the ears of the world tingle----"
He leaned forward and whispered into the ear of Theresa von Lynar the
terrible death he had prepared for her only son. She nodded calmly as
she listened, but a wonderful joy lit up the woman's face.
"I am glad I came hither," she murmured, "it is worth it all."
Prince Ivan took her hand in both of his and pressed it fondly.
"And you shall be gladder yet," he said, "my Lady Theresa. I have
something to say. I had not thought that there lived in the world any
woman so like-minded, even as I knew not that there lived any woman so
beautiful. Together you and I might rule the world. Shall it be
together?"
"But, Prince Ivan," she interposed quickly, but still smiling, "what is
this? I thought you were set on wedding the Princess Margaret. You were
to make her first widow and then wife."
"Theresa," he said, looking amorously up at her, "I marry for a kingdom.
But I wed the woman who is my mate. It is our custom. I must give the
left hand, it is true, but with it the heart, my Theresa!"
He was on his knees before her now, still clasping her fingers.
"You consent?" he said, with triumph already in his tone.
"I do not say you nay!" she answered, with a sigh.
He kissed her hand and rose to his feet. He would have taken her in his
arms, but a noise in the pavilion disturbed him. He went quickly to the
curtain and peeped through.
"It is nothing," he said, "only the men come to fetch the powder for the
Margraf's cannon. But the night speeds apace. In an hour we assault."
With an eager look on his face he came nearer to her.
"Theresa," he said, "a soldier's wooing must needs be brisk and speedy.
Yours and mine yet swifter. Our revenge beckons us on. Do you abide here
till I return--with those good friends whose names we have mentioned.
But now, ere I go forth, pledge me but once your love. This is our true
betrothal. Say, 'I love you, Ivan!' that I may keep it in my heart till
my return!"
Again he would have taken her in his arms, but Theresa turned quickly,
finger on lip. She looked anxiously towards the back of the tent where
lay the dead prince. "Hush! I hear something!" she said.
Then she smiled upon him--a sudden radiance like sunshine through
rain-clouds.
"Come with me--I am afraid of the dark!" she said, almost like a child.
For great is the guile of woman when her all is at stake.
Theresa von Lynar opened the latch of a horn lantern which dangled at a
pole and took the taper in her left. She gave her right hand with a
certain gesture of surrender to Prince Ivan.
"Come!" she said, and led him within the inner pavilion. A dim light
sifted through the open flap by which the men had gone out with their
load of powder. Day was breaking and a broad crimson bar lay across the
path of the yet unrisen sun. Theresa and Prince Ivan stood beside the
dead. He had been roughly thrown down on the pile of boxes which
contained the powder manufactured by the Margraf's alchemists according
to the famous receipt of Bertholdus Schwartz. The lid of the largest
chest stood open, as if the men were returning for yet another burden.
"Quick!" she said, "here in the presence of the dead, I will whisper it
here, here and not elsewhere."
She brought him close to her with the gentle compulsion of her hand till
he stood in a little angle where the red light of the dawn shone on his
dark handsome face. Then she put an arm strong as a wrestler's about
him, pinioning him where he stood. Yet the gracious smile on the woman's
lips held him acquiescent and content.
She bent her head.
[Illustration: "'The password, Prince--do not forget the password!'"
[_Page 379_]]
"Listen," she said, "this have I never done for any man before--no, not
so much as this! And for you will I do much more. Prince Ivan, you speak
true--death alone must part you and me. You ask me for a love pledge. I
will give it. Ivan of Muscovy, you have plotted death and torture--the
death of the innocent. Listen! I am the wife of Henry of Kernsberg, the
mother of the young man Maurice von Lynar whom you would slay by
horrid devices. Prince, truly you and I shall die together--and the time
is _now_!"
Vehemently for his life struggled Prince Ivan, twisting like a serpent,
and crying, "Help! Help! Treachery! Witch, let me go, or I will stab you
where you stand." Once his hand touched his dagger. But before he could
draw it there came a sound of rushing feet. The forms of many men
stumbled up out of the gleaming blood-red of the dawn.
Then Theresa von Lynar laughed aloud as she held him helpless in her
grasp.
"The password, Prince--do not forget the password! You will need it
to-night at both inner and outer guard! I, Theresa, have not forgotten.
It is '_Henry the Lion_! _Remember!_'"
And Theresa dropped the naked candle she had been holding aloft into the
great chest of dull black grains which stood open by her side.
* * * * *
And after that it mattered little that at the same moment beyond the
Alla the trumpets of Hugo, Prince of Plassenburg, blew their first
awakening blast.