My Lady Rotha: A Romance

by Stanley John Weyman

  CHAPTER XX.

  MORE HASTE, LESS SPEED.

  The dawn came slowly. Night, loth to unveil what the valley had toshow, hung there long after the wooded knobs that rose along the ridgehad begun to appear, looking like grey and misty islands in a sea ofvapour. Many cried for the light--what night passes that some donot?--but none more impatiently than a woman, whose unquiet figurebegan with the first glimmer to pace the top of the hill. Sometimesshe walked to and fro with her face to the sky; sometimes she stoodand peered into the depths where the fires still glowed fitfully; oragain listened with shrinking ears to the wailing that rose out of thedarkness.

  It was the Countess. She had lain down, because they had bidden her doso, and told her that nothing could be done while night lasted. Butwith the first dawn she was on foot, so impatient that her own peopledared not come near her, so imperious that the general's trooperscrept away abashed.

  The fight in the valley and the dreadful things she had seen and heardat nightfall had shaken her nerves. The absence of her friends hadfinished the work. She was almost distraught this morning. If this waswar--this merciless butchery, this infliction of horrible pain on manand beast--their screams still rang in her ears--she had seen enough.Only let her get her friends back, and escape to some place wherethese things would not happen, and she asked no more.

  The light, as it grew stronger, the sun, as it rose, filling the skywith glory, failed to comfort her; for the one disclosed the dead,lying white and stripped in the valley below, like a flock of sheepgrazing, the other seemed by its very cheerfulness to mock her. Shewas raging like a lioness, when the general at last appeared, and cametowards her, his hat in his hand.

  His eye had still the brightness, his cheek the flush of victory. Hehad lain much of the night, thinking his own thoughts, until he hadbecome so wrapped in himself and his plans that his shrewdness was foronce at fault, and he failed to read the signs in her face which hisown soldiers had interpreted. He was all fire and triumph; she, sickof bloodshed and ambition. For the first time since they had cometogether, she was likely to see him as he was.

  'Countess,' he said, as he stopped before her, 'you will do yourselfharm, I fear. You were on foot, I am told, before it was light.'

  'It is true,' she said, shuddering and restraining herself by aneffort.

  'It was foolish,' he replied. 'You may be sure that as soon asanything is heard the news will be brought to you. And to be missingis not to be dead--necessarily.'

  'Thank you,' she answered, her lip quivering. She flashed a look ofscorn at him, but he did not see it. Her hands opened and closedconvulsively.

  'He was last seen in the pursuit,' the general continued smoothly,flattering himself that in suppressing his own triumphant thoughts andpurposes and talking her talk he was doing much. 'A score or more, ofthem got away together. It is quite possible that they carried him offa prisoner.'

  'And Martin?' she said in a choking voice. She could not stand still,and had begun already to pace up and down again. He walked beside her.

  He shrugged his shoulders. 'I know nothing about him,' he said,scarcely concealing a sneer. 'The man went where he was not sent. Ihope for the best, but----' He spread out his hands and shook hishead.

  'Oh!' she said. She was bursting with indignation. The sight of thedead lying below had stirred her nature to its depths. She feltintuitively the shallowness of his sympathy, the selfishness of histhoughts. She knew that he had it on his lips to talk to her of histriumph, and hated him for it. The horror which the day-oldbattlefield sometimes inspires in the veteran was on her. She wastrembling all over, and only by a great effort kept herself from tearsand fainting.

  'The man is useful to you?' he said after a pause. He felt that he hadgone wrong.

  She bowed in silence.

  'Almost necessary, I suppose?'

  She bowed again. She could not speak. It was wonderful. Yesterday shehad liked this man, to-day she almost hated him.

  But he knew nothing of that, as he looked round with pride. Below, inthe valley, parties of men were going to and fro with a sparkle andsheen of pikes. Now and again a trumpet spoke, giving an order. On thehill, not far from where they walked, a group of officers who hadascended with him sat round a fire watching the preparation ofbreakfast. And of all he was the lord. He had only to raise a fingerto be obeyed. He saw before him a vista of such battles and victories,ending--God knows in what. The Emperor's throne was not above thedreams of such a man. And it moved him to speak.

  The flush on his cheek was deeper when he turned to her again. 'Yes, Isuppose he was necessary to you,' he said, 'but it should not be so.The Countess of Heritzburg should look elsewhere for help than to aservant. Let me speak plainly, Countess,' he continued earnestly. 'Itis becoming I should so speak, for I am a plain man. I am neitherBaron, Count, nor Prince, Margrave, nor Waldgrave. I have no title butmy sword, and no heritage save these who follow me. Yet, if I cannotwith the help of the one and the other carve out a principality aslong and as wide as Heritzburg, I am not John Tzerclas!'

  'Poor Germany!' the Countess said with a faint smile.

  He interpreted the words in his own favour, and shrugged hisshoulders. '_V[oe] victis!_' he said proudly. 'There was a time whenyour ancestors took Heritzburg with the strong hand. Such another timeis coming. The future is for those who dare, for those who can raisethemselves above an old and sinking system, and on its ruins buildtheir fortunes. Of these men I intend to be one.'

  The Countess was an ambitious woman. At another time she might haveheard his tale with sympathy. But at this moment her heart was full ofanxiety for others, and she saw with perfect clearness theselfishness, the narrowness, the hardness of his aims. She was angry,too, that he should speak to her now--with the dead lying unburied,and the lost unfound, and strewn all round them the ghastly relics ofthe fight. She looked at him hardly, but she did not say a word; andhe, following the exultant march of his own thoughts, went on.

  'Albert of Wallenstein, starting from far less than I stand here,has become the first man in Germany,' he said, heedless of hersilence--'Emperor in all but the name. Your uncle and mine, from acountry squire, became Marshal and Count of the Empire, and saw thegreatest quail before him. Ernest of Mansfeld, he was base-born andcrook-backed too, but he lay softly and ruled men all his days, andleft a name to tremble at. Countess,' the general continued, speakingmore hurriedly, and addressing himself, though he did not know it, tothe feeling which was uppermost in her mind, 'you may think that insaying what I am going to say, I am choosing an untimely moment; thatwith this round us, and the air scarce free from powder, I am a foolto talk of love. But'--he hesitated, yet waved his hand abroad with aproud gesture, as if to show that the pause was intentional--'I thinkI am right. For I offer you no palace, no bed of down, but only myselfand my sword. I ask you to share a soldier's fortunes, and be the wifeand follow the fate of John Tzerclas. May it be?'

  His form seemed to swell as he spoke. He had an air half savage, halftriumphant as he turned to her with that question. The joy of battlewas still in his veins; he seemed but half sober, though he had drunknothing. A timid woman might have succumbed to him, one of lesser soulmight have shrunk before him; but the Countess faced him with a prideas great as his own.

  'You have spoken plainly,' she said, undaunted. 'Perhaps you willpardon me if I speak plainly too.'

  'I ask no more, sweet cousin,' he answered.

  'Then let me remind you,' she replied, 'that you have said much aboutJohn Tzerclas, and little about the Countess of Heritzburg. You havegiven excellent reasons why you should speak here, but none why Ishould answer. For shame, sir,' the Countess continued tremulously,letting her indignation appear. 'I lost last night my nearest relativeand my old servant. I am still distracted with anxiety on theiraccount. Yet, because I stand alone, unprotected, and with none of mykin by my side, you choose this time to press your suit. For shame,General Tzerclas!'

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sp; 'Himmel!' he exclaimed, forgetting himself in his annoyance--the feverof excitement was still in his blood--'do you think the presence ofthat dandified silken scarf would have kept me silent? No, my lady!'

  She looked at him for a moment, astonished. The contemptuous referenceto the Waldgrave, the change of tone, opened her eyes still wider.

  'I think you do not understand me,' she said coldly.

  'I do more; I love you,' he answered hotly. And his eyes burned as helooked at her. 'You are fit to be a queen, my queen! And if I live,sweet cousin, I will make you one!'

  'Let that go by,' she said contemptuously, bearing up against his lookof admiration as well as she could and continuing to move, so that hehad to walk also. 'What you do not understand is my nature--which is,not to desert my friends when they are in trouble, nor to play whenthose who have served me faithfully are missing.'

  'I can help neither the one nor the other,' he answered. But his browbegan to darken, and he stood silent a moment. Then he broke out in adifferent tone. 'By Heaven!' he said, 'I am in no mood for play. And Ithink that you are playing with me!'

  'I do not understand you!' she said. Her tone should have frozen him.

  'I have asked a question. Will you answer me yes or no,' he persisted.'Will you be my wife, or will you not?'

  She did not blench. 'This is rather rough wooing, is it not?' she saidwith fine scorn.

  'This is a camp, and I am a soldier.'

  She shrugged her shoulders. 'I do not think I like rough ways,' shesaid.

  He controlled himself by a mighty effort. 'Pardon me,' he said with asickly smile, which sat ill on his flushed and angry face. 'Perhaps Iam somewhat spoiled, and forget myself. But, like the man in theBible, I am accustomed to say to some, "Go," and they go, and toothers, "Do it," and it is done. And woe to those who disobey me.Possibly this makes me a rough wooer. But, Countess, the ways of theworld are rough; the times are rough. We do not know what to-morrowwill bring forth, and whatever we want we want quickly. More,sweetheart,' he continued, drawing a step nearer to her and speakingin a voice he vainly strove to modulate, 'a little roughness beforemarriage is better than ill-treatment afterwards. I have known men whowooed on their knees bring their wives to theirs very quickly afterthe knot was tied. I am not of that kind.'

  My lady's heart sickened. Despite the assurance of his last words, shesaw the man as he was; she read his will in his eyes; and though hissudden frankness was in reality the result of overmasteringexcitement, she had the added horror of supposing it to be dictated byher friendless position and the absence of the last men who might haveprotected her. She knew that her only hope lay in her courage, and,though her heart leapt under her bodice, she faced him boldly.

  'You wish for an answer?' she asked.

  'I have said so,' he answered.

  'Then I shall not give you one now,' she replied with a quiet smile.'You see, general, I am not one of those to whom you can say "Go," andthey go, and "Do," and it is done. I must choose my own time forsaying yes or no. And this time'--she continued, looking round, andsuffering a little shudder to escape her, as she pointed to the valleybelow--'I do not like. I am no coward, but I do not love the smell ofblood. I will take time to consider your offer, if you please; and,meanwhile, I think you gallant gentleman enough not to press meagainst my will.'

  She had a fan in her hand, and she began to walk again; she held itup, between her face and the sun, which was still low. He walked byher side, his brow as black as thunder. He read her thoughts so farcorrectly that he felt the evasion boded him no good; but theinfluence of her courage and pride was such that he shrank fromthrowing down the mask altogether, or using words which only forcecould make good. True, it wanted only a little to urge him over theedge, but her lucky star and bold demeanour prevailed for the time,and perhaps the cool, fresh air had sobered him.

  'I suppose a lady's wish must be law,' he muttered, though still hescowled. 'But I hope that you will not make a long demand on mypatience.'

  'That, too, you must leave to me,' she replied with a flash ofcoquetry, which it cost her much to assume. 'This morning I am so fullof anxiety, that I scarcely know what I am saying. Surely your peoplemust know by this time if they--they are among the dead?'

  'They are not,' he answered sulkily.

  'Then they must have been captured?' she said, a tremor in her voice.

  He nodded. At that moment a man came up to say that breakfast wasready. The general repeated the message to her.

  'With your leave I will take it with my women,' she answered withpresence of mind. 'I slept ill, and I am poor company this morning,'she added, smiling faintly.

  The ordeal over, she could scarcely keep her feet. She longed to weep.She felt herself within an inch of swooning.

  He saw that she had turned pale, and he assented with a tolerablegrace. 'Let me give you my hand to your fire,' he said anxiously.

  'Willingly,' she answered.

  It was the last effort of her diplomacy, and she hated herself for it.Still, it won her what she wanted--peace, a respite, a little time tothink.

  Yet as she sat and shivered in the sunshine, and made believe to eat,and tried to hide her thoughts, even from her women, a crushing senseof her loneliness took possession of her. She had read often andoften, with scarce a quickening of the pulse, of men and women intragic straits--of men and women brought face to face with death, nay,choosing it. But she had never pictured their feelings till now--theirdespair, their shrinkings, their bitter lookings back, as the irondoors closed upon them. She had never considered that such facts mightenter into her own life.

  Now, on a sudden, she found herself face to face with inexorablethings, with the grim realities that have closed, like the narrowingwalls of the Inquisition dungeons, on many a gay life. In the valleybelow they were burying men like rotten sheep. The Waldgrave was gone,captured or killed. Martin was gone. She was alone. Life seemed acheap and uncertain thing, death very near. Pleasure--folly--a dancingon the grave.

  Of her own free will she had placed herself in the power of a man wholoved her, and whom she now hated with an untimely hatred, that washalf fear and half loathing. In his power! Her heart stood still, andthen beat faster, as she framed the thought. The sunshine, though itwas summer, seemed to fall grey and pale on the hill sward; themorning air, though the day was warm, made her shiver. The trumpetcall, the sharp command, the glitter of weapons, that had so oftencharmed her imagination, startled her now. The food was like ashes inher mouth; she could not swallow it. She had been blind, and now shemust pay for her folly.

  She bad passed the night in the lee of one of the wooded knolls thatstudded the ridge, and her fire had been kindled there. The nearestgroup of soldiers--Tzerclas' staff, whose harsh voices and recklesslaughter came to her ears at intervals--had their fire full a hundredpaces away. For a moment she entertained the desperate idea that shemight slip away, alone, or with her women, and, passing from clump toclump, might gain the valley from which she had ascended, and, hidingin the woods, get somehow to Cassel. The smallest reflection showedher that the plan was not possible, and it was rejected as soon asformed. But a moment later she was tempted to wish that she had put itinto effect. An officer made his appearance, with his hat in his handand an air of haste, and wished to know, with the general's service,whether she could be ready in an hour.

  'For what?' she asked, rising. She had been sitting on the grass.

  'To start, your excellency,' he replied politely.

  'To start!' she exclaimed, taken by surprise. 'Whither, sir?'

  'On the return journey. To the camp.'

  The blood rushed to her face. 'To the camp?' she repeated. 'But is thegeneral going to start this morning? Now?'

  'In an hour, madam.'

  'And leave the Waldgrave Rupert--and my servant?' she cried, in avoice of burning indignation. 'Are they to be abandoned? It isimpossible! I will see the general. Where is he?' she continuedimpetuously.

  'He is in the valley,' the
man answered.

  'Then take me to him,' she said, stepping forward. 'I will speak tohim. He cannot know. He has not thought.'

  But the officer stood silent, without offering to move. The Countess'seyes flashed. 'Do you hear, sir?' she cried. 'Lead on, if you please.I asked you to take me to him.'

  'I heard, madam,' he replied in a low voice, 'and I crave your pardon.But this is an army, and I am part of it. I can take orders only fromGeneral Tzerclas. I have received them, and I cannot go beyond them.'

  For a moment the Countess stood glaring at him, her face on fire withwrath and indignation. She had been so long used to command, she wasof a nature so frank and imperious, that she trembled on the verge ofan outburst that could only have destroyed the little dignity it wasstill possible for her to retain. Fortunately in the nick of time hereyes met those of a group of officers who stood at a distance,watching her. She thought that she read amusement in their gaze, and apride greater than that which had impelled her to anger came to heraid. She controlled herself by a mighty effort. The colour left hercheeks as quickly as it had flown to them. She looked at the mancoldly and disdainfully.

  'True,' she said, 'you do well to remind me. It is not easy toremember that in war many things must give way. You may go, sir. Ishall be ready.'

  But as she stood and saw her horses saddled, her heart sank like lead.All the misery of her false position came home to her. She felt thatnow she was alone indeed, and powerless. She was leaving behind herthe only chance that remained of regaining her friends. She was goingback to put herself more completely, if that were possible, in thegeneral's hands. Yet she dared not resist! She dared not court defeat!As her only hope and reserve lay in her wits and in the prestige ofher rank and beauty, to lower that prestige by an unavailing struggle,by an unwomanly display, would be to destroy at a blow half herdefences.

  The Countess saw this; and though her heart ached for her friends, andher eyes often turned back in unavailing hope, she mounted with aserene brow. Her horses had been brought to the top of the hill, andshe rode down by a path which had been discovered. When she had gone aleague on the backward road she came upon the foremost part of thecaptured convoy; which, was immediately halted and drawn aside, thatshe might pass more conveniently and escape the noise and dust itoccasioned.

  Among the rest were three waggons laden with wounded. Awnings had beenspread to veil them from the sun, and she was spared the sight oftheir sufferings. But their meanings and cries, as the waggons joltedand creaked over the rough road, drove the blood from her cheeks. Shepassed them quickly--they were many and she was one, and she could donothing--and rode on, little thinking who lay under the awnings, orwhose eyes followed her as she went.