Joan of the Sword Hand
Page 3
CHAPTER II
THE BAITING OF THE SPARHAWK
"Bring in the Danish Sparhawk, and we will bait him!" said Werner. "Wehave shown our guests but a poor entertainment. Bring in the Sparhawk, Isay!"
At this there ensued unyoked merriment. Each stout lad, from one end ofthe hall to the other, undid his belt as before a nobler course andnudged his fellow.
"'Ware, I say, stand clear! Here comes the Wild Boar of the Ardennes,the Wolf of Thuringia, the Bear from the Forests of Bor-Russia! Standclear--stand clear!" cried Werner von Orseln, laughing and pretending todraw a dagger to provide for his own safety.
The inner door which led from the hall of the men-at-arms to thedungeons of the castle was opened, and all looked towards it with an airof great amusement and expectation.
"Now we shall have some rare sport," each man said to his neighbour, andnodded.
"The baiting of the Sparhawk! The Sparhawk comes!"
Jorian and Boris looked with interest in the direction of the doorthrough which such a remarkable bird was to arrive. They could notunderstand what all the pother could be about.
"What the devil----?" said Jorian.
And, not to be behindhand, "What the devil----?" echoed Boris. Formostly these two ran neck and neck from drop of flag to winning-post.
Through the black oblong of the dungeon doorway there came a lad ofseventeen or eighteen, tall, slim, dark-browed, limber. He walkedbetween a pair of men-at-arms, who held his wrists firmly at eitherside. His hands were chained together, and from between them dangled aspiked ball that clanked heavily on the floor as he stumbled forwardrather than walked into the room. He had black hair that waved from hisforehead in a backward sweep, a nose of slightly Roman shape, which,together with his bold eagle's eyes, had obtained him the name of theSpar or Sparrow-hawk. And on his face, handsome enough though pale,there was a look of haughty disdain and fierce indignation such as onemay see in the demeanour of a newly prisoned bird of prey, which hathnot yet had time to forget the blue empyrean spaces and the stoop withhalf-closed wings upon the quarry trembling in the vale.
"Ha, Sparhawk!" cried Werner, "how goes it, Sparhawk? Any less bold andperemptory than when last we met? Your servant, Count Maurice von Lynar!We pray you dance for us the Danish dance of shuffle-board, CountMaurice, if so your Excellency pleases!"
The lad looked up the table and down with haughty eyes that deigned noanswer.
Werner von Orseln turned to his guests and said, "This Sparhawk is alittle Dane we took on our last excursion to the north. It is only inthat direction we can lead the foray, since you have grown solaw-abiding and strong in Plassenburg and the Mark. His uncles andkinsfolk were all killed in the defence of Castle Lynar, on the NorthernHaff. We know not which of these had also the claim of fatherhood uponhim. At all events, his grandad had a manor there, and came from theJutland sand-dunes to build a castle upon the Baltic shores. But he hadbetter have stayed at home, for he would not pay the Peace Geld to ourHenry. So the Lion roared, and we went to Castle Lynar and made anend--save of this spitting Sparhawk, whom our master would not let uskill, and whom now we keep with clipped wings for our sport."
The lad listened with erected head and haughty eyes to the tale, butanswered not a word.
"Now," cried Werner, with his cup in his hand and his brows bent uponthe youth, "dance for us as you used to do upon the Baltic, when themaids came in fresh from their tiring and the newest kirtles weredonned. Dance, I say! Foot it for your life!"
The lad Maurice von Lynar stood with his bold eyes upon his tormentors."Curs of Bor-Russia," he said at last, in speech that trembled withanger, "you may vex the soul of a Danish gentleman with your aspersions,you may wound his body, but you will never be able to stand up to him inbattle. You will never be worthy to eat or drink with him, to take hishand in comradeship, or to ride a tilt with him. Pigs of the sty youare, man by man of you--Wends and boors, and no king's gentlemen."
"Bravo!" said Boris, under his breath, "that is none so dustily said fora junker!"
"Silence with that tongue of yours!" muttered his mate. "Dost want to beyawing out of that window presently, with the wind spinning you aboutand about like a capon on a jack-spit? They are uncanny folk, these ofthe woman's castle--not to trust to. One knows not what they may do, norwhere their jest may end."
"Hans Trenck, lift this springald's pretty wrist-bauble!" said Werner.
A laughing man-at-arms went up, his partisan still over his shoulder,and laying his hand upon the chain which depended between the manacledwrists of the boy Maurice, he strove to lift the spiked ball.
"What!" cried Werner, "canst thou, pap-backed babe, not lift that whichthe noble Count Maurice of Lynar has perforce to carry about with himall day long? Down with your weapon, man, and to it like an apothecarycompounding some blister for stale fly-blown rogues!"
At the word the man laid down his partisan and lifted the ball highbetween his two hands.
"Now dance!" commanded Werner von Orseln, "dance the Danish milkmaid'scoranto, or I will bid him drop it on your toes. Dost want them jellied,man?"
"Drop, and be damned in your low-born souls!" cried the lad fiercely."Untruss my hands and let me loose with a sword, and ten yards clear onthe floor, and, by Saint Magnus of the Isles, I will disembowel anythree of you!"
"You will not dance?" said Werner, nodding at him.
"I will see you fry in hell fire first!"
"Down with the ball, Hans Trenck!" cried Werner. "He that will not danceat Castle Kernsberg must learn at least to jump."
The man-at-arms, still grinning, lifted the ball a little higher,balancing it in one hand to give it more force. He prepared to plump itheavily upon the undefended feet of young Maurice.
"'Ware toes, Sparhawk!" cried the soldiers in chorus, but at thatmoment, suddenly kicking out as far as his chains allowed, the boy tookthe stooping lout on the face, and incontinently widened the superficialarea of his mouth. He went over on his back amid the uproarious laughterof his fellows.
"Ha! Hans Trenck, the Sparhawk hath spurred you, indeed! A braveSparhawk! Down went poor Hans Trenck like a barndoor fowl!"
The fellow rose, spluttering angrily.
"Hold his legs, some one," he said, "I'll mark his pretty feet for him.He shall not kick so free another time."
A couple of his companions took hold of the boy on either side, so thathe could not move his limbs, and Hans again lifted high the ball.
"Shall we stand this? They call this sport!" said Boris; "shall I pinkthe brutes?"
"Sit down and shut your eyes. Our Prince Hugo will harry this nest ofthieves anon. For the present we must bear their devilry if we want toescape hanging!"
"Now then, for marrow and mashed trotters!" cried Hans, spitting theblood from the split corners of his mouth.
"_Halt!_"