I STAND SENTRY
There are (say some) but two things worth the trouble of making in the
world--war and love. So once upon a time I believed. But since--being
laid up during the unkindly monotony of our Baltic spring by an ancient
wound--I fell to the writing of this history, I would add to these two
worthy adventures--the making of books. Which, till I tried my hand at
the task myself, I would in no wise have allowed. But now, when the days
are easterly of wind and the lashing water beats on the leaded lozenges
of our window lattice, I am fain to stretch myself, take up a new pen,
and be at it again all day.
But I must e'en think of them that are to read me, and of their pain if I
overstretch my privilege. Besides, if I prove over-long in the wind they
may not read me at all, which, I own it, would somewhat mar my purpose.
I was speaking, therefore, of being in the watch and ward of two women,
each of whom (in my self-conceit I thus imagined it) certainly regarded
me without dislike. God forgive me for thinking so much when they had
never plainly told me! Nevertheless I took the thing for granted, as it
were. And, as I said before, it has been my experience that, if it be
done with a careful and delicate hand, more is gained with women by
taking things for granted than by the smoothest tongue and longest
Jacob-and-Rachael service. The man who succeeds with good women is the
man who takes things for granted. Only he must know exactly what things,
otherwise I am mortally sorry for him--he will have a rough road to
travel. But to my tale.
Jorian ushered Ysolinde and Helene into the rooms from which he had so
unceremoniously ousted the former tenants. How these chambers were
lighted in the daytime I could not at first make out, but by going to the
end of the long earth-hewn passage and leaning out of a window the
mystery was made plain. The ravine took an abrupt turn at this point, so
that we were in a house built round an angle, and so had the benefit of
light from both sides.
"And where are our rooms to be?" I asked of the stout soldier when
he returned.
Jorian pointed to the plain, hard earth of the passage.
"That is poor lodging for tired bones!" I said; "have they no other rooms
to let anywhere in this hostelry?"
He laughed again; indeed, he seemed to be able to do little else whenever
he spoke to me.
"Tired bones will lie the stiller!" said he, at last, sententiously.
"There is some wheaten straw out there which you can bring in for a
bolster, if you will. But I think it likely that we shall get no more
sleep than the mouse in the cat's dining-room this night. These border
rascals are apt to be restless in the dark hours, and their knives prick
most consumedly sharp!"
With that he went out, leaving the doors into the passages all open, and
presently I could hear him raging and rummaging athwart the house,
ordering this one to find him "Graubunden fleisch," the next to get him
some good bread, and not to attempt to palm off "cow-cake" upon honest
soldiers on pain of getting his stomach cut open--together with other
amenities which occur easily to a seasoned man-at-arms foraging in an
unfriendly country.
Then, having returned successful from this quest, what was my admiration
to see Jorian (whom I had so lately called, and I began to be sorry for
it, a Wendish pig) strip his fine soldier's coat and hang it upon a peg
by the door, roll up his sleeves, and set to at the cooking in the great
open fireplace with swinging black crooks against the front wall, while
Boris stood on guard with a long pistolet ready in the hollow of his arm,
and his slow-match alight, by the doorway of the ladies' apartment.
I went and stood by the long man for company. And after a little he
became much more friendly.
"Why do you stand with your match alight?" I asked of him after we had
been a while silent.
"Why, to keep a border knife out of Jorian's back, of course, while he is
turning the fry in the pan," said he, as simply as if he had said that
'twas a fine night without, or that the moon was full.
"I wish I could help," I sighed, a little wistfully, for I wished him to
think well of me.
"What!" he exclaimed--"with the frying-pan? Well, there is the basting
ladle!" he retorted, and laughed in his old manner.
I own that, being yet little more than a lad, the tears stood in my eyes
to be so flouted and made nothing of.
"I will show you perhaps sooner than you think that I am neither a coward
nor a babe!" I said, in high dudgeon.
And so went and stood by myself over against the farther door of the
three, which led from the outer hall to the apartments in which I could
hear the murmur of women's voices. And it was lucky that I did so. For
even as I reached the door a sharp cry of terror came from within, and
there at the inner portal I caught sight of a narrow, foxy, peering
visage, and a lean, writhing figure, prone like a worm on its belly. The
rascal had been crawling towards Helene's room, for what purpose I know
not. Nor did I stop to inquire, for, being stung by the taunt of the
man-at-arms, I was on Foxface in a moment, stamping upon him with my
iron-shod feet, and then lifting him unceremoniously up by the slackness
of his back covertures, I turned him over and over like a wheel, tumbling
him out of the doorway into the outer hall with an astonishing clatter,
shedding knives and daggers as he went.
It was certainly a pity for the fellow that Boris had taunted me so
lately. But the abusing of him gave me great comfort. And as he whirled
past the group at the fire, Jorian caught him handily in the round of his
back with a convenient spit, also without asking any questions, whereat
the fellow went out at the wide front door by which we had first entered,
revolving in a cloud of dust. And where he went after that I have no
idea. To the devil, for all I care!
But Boris, standing quietly by his own door, was evidently somewhat
impressed by my good luck. For soon after this he came over to me. I
thought he might be about to apologize for his rudeness. And so perhaps
he did, but it was in his own way.
"Did you spoil your dagger on him?" he said, anxiously, for the first
time speaking to me as a man speaks to his equal.
"No," said I, "but I stubbed my toe most confoundedly, jarring it upon
the rascal's backbone as he went through the door."
"Ah!" he replied, thoughtfully, nodding his head, "that was more fitting
for such as he. But you may get a chance at him with the dagger yet or
the night be over."
And with that he went back to his door, blowing up his slow-match
as he went.
Presently the supper was pronounced cooked, and, after washing his hands,
Jorian resumed his coat, amid the universal attention of the motley crew
in the great hall, and began to dish up the fragrant stew. Ho had been
collecting for it all day upon the march, now knocking over a rabbit with
a bolt from his gun, now picking some leaves of lettuce and watercress
when he chanced upon a running stream or a neglected garden--of which
last (thanks to Duke Casimir and his raiders) there were numbers along
the route we had traversed.
Then, when he had made all ready, our sturdy cook dished the stew into a
great wooden platter--rabbits, partridges, scraps of dried flesh, bits of
bacon for flavoring, fresh eggs, vegetables in handfuls, all covered with
a dainty-smelling sauce, deftly compounded of milk, gravy, and red wine.
Then Jorian and Boris, one taking the heap of wooden platters and the
other the smoking bowl of stew, marched solemnly within. But before he
went, Boris handed me his pistolet without a word, and the slow-match
with it. Which, as I admit, made me feel monstrously unsafe. However, I
took the engine across my arm and stood at attention as I had seen him
do, with the match thrust through my waistband.
Then I felt as if I had suddenly grown at least a foot taller, and my joy
was changed to ecstasy when the Lady Ysolinde, coming out quickly, I knew
not at first for what purpose, found me thus standing sentinel and
blowing importantly upon my slow-match.
"Hugo," she said, kindly, looking at me with the aqua-marine eyes that
had the opal glints in them, "come thy ways in and sit with us."
I made her a salute with my piece and thanked her for her good thought.
"But," said I, "Lady Ysolinde, pray remember that this is a place of
danger, and that it is more fitting that we who have the honor to be your
guards should dine together without your chamber doors."
"Nay," she said, impetuously, "I insist. It is not right that you, who
are to be an officer, should mess with the common soldiers."
"My lady," said I, "I thank you deeply. And it shall be so, I promise
you, when we are in safety. But let me have my way here and now."
She smiled upon me--liking me, as I think, none the worse for my
stiffness. And so went away, and I was right glad to see her go. For I
would not have lost what I had gained in the good opinion of these two
men-at-arms--no, not for twenty maidens' favors.
But in that respect also I changed as the years went on. For of all
things a boy loves not to be flouted and babyfied when he thinks himself
already grown up and the equal of his elders in love and war.
So in a little while came out Jorian and Boris, and, having carried in
the bread and wine, we three sat down to the remains of the stew.
Indeed, I saw but little difference as to quantity from the time that
Jorian had taken it in. For maids' appetites when they are anyways in
love are precarious, but, after they are assured of their love's return,
then the back hunger comes upon them and the larder is made to pay for
all arrears.
Not that I mean to assert that either of these ladies was in love
with me--far otherwise indeed. For this it would argue the conceit
of a jack-a-dandy to imagine, much more to write such a thing.
But, nevertheless, certain is it that this night they were both of
small appetite.