CHAPTER X
PRINCE WASP
Now Ivan, Prince of Muscovy, had business in Courtland very clear anddistinct. He came to woo the Princess Margaret, which being done, hewished to be gone. There was on his side the certainty of an excellentfortune, a possible succession, and, in any case, a pretty and wilfulwife. But as he thought on that last the Wasp smiled to himself. InMoscow there were many ways, once he had her there, of taming the mostwilful of wives.
As to the inheritance--well, it was true there were two lives between;but one of these, in Prince Ivan's mind, was as good as nought, and theother----In addition, the marriage had been arranged by their severalfathers, though not under the same penalty as that which threatened thePrince of Courtland and Joan Duchess of Hohenstein.
Prince Wasp had not favourably impressed the family at the palace. Hismanners had the strident edge and blatant self-assertion of one who,unlicensed at home, has been flattered abroad, deferred to everywhere,and accustomed to his own way in all things. Nevertheless, Ivan hadmanaged to make himself popular with the townsfolk, on account of thelargesse which he lavished and the custom which his numerous suitebrought to the city. Specially, he had been successful in attaching therabble of the place to his cause; and already he had headed off twoother wooers who had come from the south to solicit the smiles of thePrincess Margaret.
"So," he said, as he faced the secretary, now somewhat compositelystyled--Johann, Count von Loeen, "so, young springald, you think to courta foolish princess. You play upon her with your pretty words andgraceful compliments. That is an agreeable relaxation enough. It passesthe time better than fumbling with papers in front of an escritoire.Only--you have in addition to reckon with me, Ivan, hereditary Prince ofMuscovy."
And with a sweep of his hand across his body he drew his sword from itssheath.
The sword of the young secretary came into his hand with equalswiftness. But he answered nothing. A curious feeling of detachmentcrept over him. He had held the bare sword before in presence of anenemy, but never till now unsupported.
"I do you the honour to suppose you noble," said Prince Wasp, "otherwiseI should have you flogged by my lacqueys and thrown into the town ditch.I have informed you of my name and pretensions to the hand of thePrincess Margaret, whom you have insulted. I pray you give me yours inreturn."
"I am called Johann, Count von Loeen," answered the secretary as curtlyas possible.
"Pardon the doubt which is in my mind," said the Prince of Muscovy, witha black sneering bitterness characteristic of him, "but though I am wellversed in all the noble families of the north, and especially in thoseof Plassenburg, where I resided a full year in the late Prince's time, Iam not acquainted with any such title."
"Nevertheless, it is mine by right and by birthright," retorted thesecretary, "as I am well prepared to maintain with my sword in themeantime. And, after, you can assure yourself from the mouth of the HighState's Councillor Dessauer that the name and style are mine. Yourignorance, however, need not defer your chastisement."
"Follow me, Count von Loeen," said the Prince; "I am too anxious to dealwith your insolence as it deserves to quarrel as to names or titles,legal or illegitimate. My quarrel is with your fascinating body andprettyish face, the beauty of which I will presently improve with somegood Northland steel."
And with his lithe and springy walk the Prince of Muscovy passed againalong the alleys of the rose garden till he reached the first openspace, where he turned upon the secretary.
"We are arrived," he said; "our business is so pressing, and will be soquickly finished, that there is no need for the formality of seconds.Though I honour you by crossing my sword with yours, it is a mereformality. I have such skill of the weapon, as I daresay report has toldyou, that you may consider yourself dead already. I look upon yourchastisement no more seriously than I might the killing of a fly thathas vexed me with its buzzing. Guard!"
But Johann Pyrmont had been trained in a school which permitted no suchwindy preludes, and with the fencer's smile on his face he kept hissilence. His sword would answer all such boastings, and that in goodtime.
And so it fell out.
From the very first crossing of the swords Prince Wasp found himselfopposed by a quicker eye, a firmer wrist, a method and scienceinfinitely superior to his own. His most dashing attack was repelledwith apparent ease, yet with a subtlety which interposed nothing but themost delicate of guards and parries between Prince Ivan and victory.This gradually infuriated the Prince, till suddenly losing his temper hestamped his foot in anger and rushed upon his foe with the trueMuscovite fire.
Then, indeed, had Johann need of all his most constant practice with thesword, for the sting of the Wasp flashed to kill as he struck straightat the heart of his foe.
"The Prince staggered." [_Page 67_]]
But lo! the blade was turned aside, the long-delayed answering thrustglittered out, and the secretary's sword stood a couple of handbreadthsin the boaster's shoulder.
With an effort Johann recovered his blade and stood ready for theripost; but the wound was more than enough. The Prince staggered, criedout some unintelligible words in the Muscovite language, and pitchedforward slowly on his face among the trampled leaves and blown rosepetals of the palace garden.
The secretary grew paler than his wont, and ran to lift his fallenenemy. But, all unseen, other eyes had watched the combat, and from thedoor by which they had entered, and from behind the trees of thesurrounding glade, there came the noise of pounding footsteps and fiercecries of "Seize him! Kill him! Tear him to pieces! He has slain the goodPrince, the friend of the people! The Prince Ivan is dead!"
And ere the secretary could touch the body of his unconscious foe, orassure himself concerning his wound, he found himself surrounded by ayelling crowd of city loafers and gallows'-rats, many of them rag-clad,others habited in heterogeneous scraps of cast-off clothing, or articlessnatched from clothes-lines and bleaching greens--long-mourned,doubtless, by the good wives of Courtland.
The secretary eyed this unkempt horde with haughty scorn, and hisfearless attitude, as he striped his stained sword through hishandkerchief and threw the linen away, had something to do with the factthat the rabble halted at the distance of half-a-dozen yards and formany minutes contented themselves with hurling oaths and imprecations athim. Johann Pyrmont kept his sword in his hand and stood by the body ofhis fallen foe in disdainful silence till the arrival of freshcontingents through the gate aroused the halting spirit of the crowd.Knives and sword-blades began to gleam here and there in grimy handswhere at first there had been only staves and chance-snatched gauds ofiron.
"At him! Down with him! He can only strike once!" These and similarcries inspirited the rabble of Courtland, great haters of thePlassenburg and the Teutonic west, to rush in and make an end.
At last they did come on, not all together, but in irregularundisciplined rushes. Johann's sword streaked out this way and that.There was an answering cry of pain, a turmoil among the assailants as awounded man whirled his way backward out of the press. But this couldnot last for long. The odds were too great. The droning roar of hatefrom the edges of the crowd grew louder as new and ever newer accretionsjoined themselves to its changing fringes.
Then suddenly came a voice. "Back, on your lives, dogs and traitors!Germans to the rescue! Danes, Teuts, Northmen to the rescue!"
Following the direction of the sound, Johann saw a young man drivethrough the press, his sword bare in his hand, his eyes glittering withexcitement. It was the Danish prisoner of the guard-hall at Kernsberg,that same Sparhawk who had fought with Werner von Orseln.
The crowd stared back and forth betwixt him and that other whom he cameto succour. Far more than ever his extraordinary likeness to thesecretary appeared. Apparent enough at any time, it was accentuated nowby similarity of clothing. For, like Johann Pyrmont, the Sparhawk wasattired in a black doublet and trunk hose of scholastic cut, and as theystood back to back, little difference could be noted between t
hem, savethat the newcomer was a trifle the taller.
"Saint Michael and all holy angels!" cried the leader of the crowd, "canit be that there are scores of these Plassenburg black crows inCourtland, slaying whom they will? Here be two of them as like as twopeas, or a couple of earthen pipkins from the same potter's wheel!"
The Dane flung a word over his shoulder to his companion.
"Pardon me, your grace," said the Sparhawk, "if I stand back to backwith you. They are dangerous. We must watch well for any chance ofescape."
The secretary did not answer to this strange style of address, butplaced himself back to back with his ally, and their two bright bladeswaved every way. Only that of Johann Pyrmont was already reddenedwell-nigh half its length.
A second time the courage of the crowd worked itself up, and they cameon.
"Death to the Russ, to the lovers of Russians!" cried the Sparhawk, andhis blade dealt thrusts right and left. But the pressure increased everymoment. Those behind cried, "Kill them!" For they were out of reach ofthose two shining streaks of steel. Those before would gladly havefallen behind, but could not for the forward thrust of their friends.Still the ring narrowed, and the pair of gallant fighters woulddoubtlessly have been swept away had not a diversion come to alter theface of things.
Out of the gate which led to the wing of the palace occupied by thePrincess Margaret burst a little company of halberdiers, at sight ofwhom the crowd gave suddenly back. The Princess herself was with them.
"Take all prisoners, and bring them within," she cried. "Well you knowthat my brother is from home, or you dare not thus brawl in the veryprecincts of the palace!"
And at her words the soldiers advanced rapidly. A further diversion wascaused by the Sparhawk suddenly cleaving a way through the crowd andsetting off at full speed in the direction of the river. Whereupon therabble, glad to combine personal safety with the pleasures of the chase,took to their heels after him. But, light and unexpected in motion ashis namesake, the Sparhawk skimmed down the alleys, darted sidewaysthrough gates which he shut behind him with a clash of iron, and finallyplunged into the green rush of the Alla, swimming safe and unhurt to thefurther shore, whither, in the absence of boats at this particular spot,none could pursue him.
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