THE EARTH-DWELLERS OF NO MAN'S LAND
Then presently we came to a strange place, the like of which I have never
seen, save here on the borders of the Mark and the northern Wendish
lands. An amalgam of lime, or binding stuff of some sort, had glued the
clay of the ravines together, and set it stiff and fast like dried
plaster. So, as we went up the narrow, perilous path, our horses had to
tread very warily lest, going too near the edge, they should chip off
enough of the foothold to send themselves and their riders whirling
neck-over-toes to the bottom.
All at once the Little Playmate, who was riding immediately before me,
screamed out sharp and shrill, and I hastened up to her, thinking she had
fallen upon a misfortune. I found her palfrey with ears pricked and
distended nostril, gazing at a head in a red nightcap which was set out
of a hole in the red clay.
"The country of gnomes! Of a surety, yes! And hitherto I had thought it
had been but the nonsense of folk-tales!" said I to myself.
Which is what we shall say one day of more things than
red-nightcapped heads.
But the Little Playmate uttered scream after scream, for the head
continued coolly to stare at her, as if fixed alive over the gateway by
the craft of some cave-dwelling imp of the Red Axe.
I noticed, however, that the head chewed a straw and spat, which I
deemed a gnome would not do--though wherefore straws and spitting are
not free to gnomes I do not know and could not have told. Yet, at all
events, such was my belief. And a serviceable one enough it was, since
it took the fear out of me and gave me back my speech. And when a man
can speak he can fight. Contrariwise, it is when a woman will not fight
that she can talk best, as one may see in any congress of two angry
vixens. So long as they rail there is but threatening and safe
recriminations, but when one waxes silent, then 'ware nails and teeth!
And I am _not_ in my dotage to use such illustrations--as not
unnaturally sayeth the first to read my history.
"Good man," cried I, to Sir Red Cap in the wall, "I know not why you
stick your ugly head out of the mud, but retract it, I pray you! For do
you not see that it alarms the lady and affrights her beast?"
The man nodded intelligently, but went on coolly chewing his straw.
Then I went up to him, and, as civilly as I could, took him by the chin
and thrust his head back into the hole. And as I did so I saw for the
first time that the wall of the clay cliff, tough and gritty with its
alloy of lime, had been cut and hewn into houses and huts having doors of
wood of exactly the same color, and in some cases even windows with
bars--very marvellous to see, and such as I have never witnessed
elsewhere. Presently, at the trampling of the feet of so many horses,
people began to throng to their doors, and children peered out at windows
and cried to each other shrilly: "See the Christians!"
For so, being but lately pagans themselves, if not partly so to this
day, these outlandish men of the border No Man's Land denominated us of
the south.
Presently we came to an open space sloping away from the sheer cliff,
where was a wall and a door greater than the others.
Jorian rode directly up to the gate, which was of the same dull
brick-red as the rest of the curious town. He took the butt of his lance
and thumped and banged lustily upon it. For a time there was no reply,
but the number of heads thrust out at neighboring windows and the swarms
of townsfolk on the pathways before and behind us enormously increased.
Jorian thundered again, kicking with his foot and swearing explosively in
mingled Wendish and German. Then he took the point of his spear, and,
setting it to a hole in the wall above his head, he hooked out an entire
wooden window-frame, as one is taught to pull out a shrimp with a pin on
the shore of the Baltic Sea.
Whereupon a sudden outcry arose within the house, and a head popped
angrily out of the aperture so suddenly created. But as instantly it
returned within. For Jorian tossed the lattice to the ground by the door
and thrust his spear-head into the cravat of red which the man had about
his throat, shouting to him all the while in the name of the Prince, of
the Duke, of the Emperor, of the Archbishop, of all potentates, lay and
secular, to come down and open the gates. The man in the red cravat was
threatened with the strappado, with the water-torture, with the
brodequins, and finally with the devil's cannon--which, according to our
man-at-arms, was to be planted on the opposite bank of the ravine, and
which would infallibly bring the whole of their wretched town tumbling
down into the gulf like swallows' nests from under the eaves.
And this last threat seemed to have more weight than all the rest,
probably because the Prince of Plassenburg had already done something of
the kind to some other similar town, and the earth-burrowers of Erdborg
had good reason to fear the thunder of his artillery.
At all events, the great door opened, and a man of the same brick-red as
all the other inhabitants of the town appeared at the portal. He bowed
profoundly, and Jorian addressed him in some outlandishly compounded
speech, of which I could only understand certain oft-recurring words, as
"lodging," "victualling," and "order of the Prince."
So, presently, after a long, and on the side of our escort a stormy,
conference, we were permitted to enter. Our horses were secured at the
great mangers, which extended all along one side; while, opposite to the
horses, but similar to their accommodation in every respect, were stalls
wherein various families seemed to be encamped for the night.
With all the air of a special favor conferred, we were informed that we
must take up our quarters in the middle of the room and make the best of
the hardened floor there. This information, conveyed with a polite wave
of the hand and a shrug of the shoulders by our landlord, seemed not
unnaturally to put Jorian and Boris into a furious passion, for they drew
their swords, and with a unanimous sweep of the hand cleared the capes of
their leathern jacks for fighting. So, not to be outdone, I drew my
weapon also, and stood by to protect Helene and the Lady Ysolinde.
These two stood close together behind us, but continued to talk
indifferently, chiefly of dress and jewels--which surprised me, both in
the strange circumstances, and because I knew that Helene had seen no
more of them than the valueless trinkets that had belonged to my mother,
and which abode in a green-lined box in the Red Tower. Yet to speak of
such things seems to come naturally to all women.
As if they had mutually arranged it "from all eternity," as the clerks
say, Jorian and Boris took, without hesitation, each a door on the
opposite wall, and, setting their shoulders to them, they pushed them
open, and went within sword in hand, leaving me alone to protect the
ladies and to provide for the safety of the horses.
Presently out from the doors by which our conductors had entered there
came tumbling a crowd of men and women, some carrying straw bolsters and
wisps of hay, others bearing cooking utensils, and all in various
_dishabille._ Then ensued a great buzzing and stirring, much angry
growling on the part of the disturbed men, and shrill calling of women
for their errant children.
Our little Helene looked sufficiently pitiful and disturbed as these
preparations were being made. But the Lady Ysolinde scarcely noticed
them, taking apparently all the riot and delay as so much testimony to
the important quality of such great ones of the earth as could afford to
travel under the escort of two valiant men-at-arms.
Presently came Jorian and Boris out at a third door, having met somewhere
in the back parts of the warren.
They came up to the Lady Ysolinde and bowed humbly.
"Will your ladyship deign to choose her chamber? They are all empty.
Thereafter we shall see that proper furniture, such as the place affords,
is provided for your Highness."
I could not but wonder at so much dignity expended upon the daughter of
Master Gerard, the lawyer of Thorn. But Ysolinde took their reverence as
a matter of course. She did not even speak, but only lifted her right
hand with a little casual flirt of the fingers, which said, "Lead on!"
Then Jorian marshalled us within, Boris standing at the door to let us
pass, and bringing his sword-blade with a little click of salute to the
perpendicular as each of us passed. But I chanced to meet his eye as I
went within, whereat the rogue deliberately winked, and I could plainly
see his shoulders heave. I knew that he was still chewing the cud of his
stale and ancient jest: "The Prince hath a Princess, and she--"
I could have disembowelled the villain. But, after all, he was
certainly doing us some service, though in a most provocative and
high-handed manner.