CHAPTER XXVI
THE GIRL BENEATH THE LAMP
When Conrad, Cardinal-designate of the Holy Roman Church and Archbishopof Courtland, opened his eyes, it seemed to him that he had passedthrough warring waters into the serenity of the Life Beyond. His hand,on which still glittered his episcopal ring, lay on a counterpane offaded rose silk, soft as down. Did he dream that another hand had beenholding it, that gentlest fingers had rested caressingly on his brow?
A girl, sweet and stately, sat by his bedside. By the door, to whichalone he could raise his eyes, stood a tall gaunt man, clad in grey fromhead to foot, his hands clasped in front of him, and his chin sunk uponhis breast.
The Prince-Bishop's eyes rested languidly on the girl's face, on whichfell the light of a shaded silver lamp. There was a book in her lap,written upon sheets of thin parchment, bound in gold-embossed leather.But she did not read it. Instead she breathed softly and regularly. Shewas asleep, with her hand on the coverlet of rosy silk.
Strange fancies passed through the humming brain of the rescued man--asit had been, hunting each other across a stage--visions of perilousendeavour, of fights with wild beasts in shut-in places from which therewas no escape, of brutal fisticuffs with savage men. All these againmerged into the sense of falling from immense heights only to find thatthe air upheld him and that, instead of breaking himself to pieces atthe bottom, he alighted soft as thistledown on couches of flowers.Strange rich heady scents seemed to rise about him like somethingpalpable. His brain wavered behind his brow like a summer landscape whenthe sun is hot after a shower. Perfumes, strange and haunting, dwelt inhis nostrils. The scent, at once sour and sweet, of bee-hives at night,the richness of honey in the comb, the delicacy of wet banks of violets,full-odoured musk, and the luxury of sun-warmed afternoon beanfieldsdreamily sweet--these made his very soul swoon within him. Then followedodours of rose gardens, of cool walks drenched in shadow and randomscents blown in at open windows. Yes, he knew now; surely he was againin his own chamber in the summer pavilion of the palace in Courtland. Hecould hear the cool wash of the Alla under its walls, and with theassurance there came somehow a memory of a slim lad with clear-cutfeatures who brought him a message from--was it his sister Margaret, orLouis his brother? He could not remember which.
Of what had he been dreaming? In the endeavour to recall something heharked back on the terrors of the night in which, of all on board theship, his soul alone had remained serene. He remembered the fury of thestorm, the helpless impotence and blank cowardice of the sailor folk,the desertion of the officers in the only seaworthy boat.
Slowly the drifting mists steadied themselves athwart his brain. Theactual recomposed itself out of the shreds of dreams. Conrad foundhimself in a long low room such as he had seen many times in the housesof well-to-do ritters along the Baltic shores. The beams of theroof-tree above were carven and ancient. Arras went everywhere about thehalls. Silver candlesticks, with princely crests graven upon them, stoodby his bedhead. After each survey his eyes settled on the sleeping girl.She was very young and very beautiful. It was--yet it could not be--theDuchess Joan, whom he himself had married to his brother Louis in thecathedral church of his own archiepiscopal city.
Conrad of Courtland had not been trained a priest, yet, as was common atthat age, birth and circumstance had made him early a Prince of theRoman Church. He had been thrust into the hierarchy solely because ofhis name, for he had succeeded his uncle Adrian in his ecclesiasticalposts and emoluments as a legal heir succeeds to an undisputed property.In due time he received his red hat from a pontiff who distributed theseamong his favourites (or those whom he thought might aggrandise histemporal power) as freely as a groomsman distributes favours at awedding.
Nevertheless, Conrad of Courtland had all the warm life and imperiousimpulses of a young man within his breast. Yet he was no Borgia or DellaRovere, cloaking scarlet sins with scarlet vestments. For with the highdignities of his position and the solemn work which lay to his hand inhis northern province there had come the resolve to be not less, butmore faithful than those martyrs and confessors of whom he read daily inhis Breviary. And while, in Rome herself, vice-proud princes, consortingin the foulest alliance with pagan popes, blasphemed the sanctuary andopenly scoffed at religion, this finest and most chivalrous of youngnorthern knights had laid down the weapons of his warfare to take up thecrucifix, and now had set out joyfully for Rome to receive hiscardinal's hat on his knees as the last and greatest gift of the Vicarof Christ.
He had begun his pilgrimage by express command of the Holy Father, whodesired to make the youthful Archbishop his Papal assessor among theElectors of the Empire. But scarcely was he clear of the Courtlandshores when there had come the storm, the shipwreck, the wild struggleamong the white and foaming breakers--and then, wondrously emergent,like heaven after purgatory, the quiet of this sheltered room and thissleeping girl, with her white hand lying lax and delicate on the rosysilk.
The book slipped suddenly from her fingers, falling on the polished woodof the floor with a startling sound. The eyes of the gaunt man by thedoor were lifted from the ground, glittered beadily for a moment, andagain dropped as before.
The girl did not start, but rather passed immediately into fullconsciousness with a little shudder and a quick gesture of the hand, asif she pushed something or some one from her. Then, from the pillow onwhich his head lay, Joan of Hohenstein saw the eyes of the Prince Conradgazing at her, dark and solemn, from within the purplish rings of recentperil.
"You are my brother's wife!" he said softly, but yet in the same richand thrilling voice she had listened to with so many heart-stirrings inthe summer palace, and had last heard ring through the cathedral churchof Courtland on that day when her life had ended.
A chill came over the girl's face at his words.
"I am indeed the Duchess Joan of Hohenstein," she answered. "My fatherwilled that I should wed Prince Louis of Courtland. Well, I married himand rode away. In so much I am your brother's wife."
It was a strange awaking for a man who had passed from death to life,but at least her very impetuosity convinced him that the girl was fleshand blood.
He smiled wanly. The light of the lamp seemed to waver again before hiseyes. He saw his companion as it had been transformed and glorified. Heheard the rolling of drums in his ears, and merry pipes played sweetlyfar away. Then came the hush of many waters flowing softly, and last,thrumming on the parched earth, and drunk down gladly by tired flowers,the sound of abundance of rain. The world grew full of sleep and restand refreshment. There was no longer need to care about anything.
His eyes closed. He seemed about to sink back into unconsciousness, whenJoan rose, and with a few drops from Dessauer's phial, which she kept byher in case of need, she called him back from the misty verges of theThings which are Without.
As he struggled painfully upward he seemed to hear Joan's last wordsrepeated and re-repeated to the music of a chime of fairy bells, "_In somuch--in so much--I am your brother's wife--your brother's wife!_" Hecame to himself with a start.
"Will you tell me how I came here, and to whom I am indebted for mylife?" he said, as Joan stood up beside him, her shapely head dim andretired in the misty dusk above the lamp, only her chin and the shapelycurves of her throat being illumined by the warm lamplight.
"You were picked up for dead on the beach in the midst of the storm,"she answered, "and were brought hither by two captains in the service ofthe Prince of Plassenburg!"
"And where is this place, and when can I leave it to proceed upon myjourney?"
The girl's head was turned away from him a trifle more haughtily thanbefore, and she answered coldly, "You are in a certain fortified grangesomewhere on the Baltic shore. As to when you can proceed on yourjourney, that depends neither on you nor on me. I am a prisoner here.And so I fear must you also consider yourself!"
"A prisoner! Then has my brother----?" cried the Prince-Bishop, startingup on his elbow and instantly dropping back again upon
the pillow with agroan of mingled pain and weakness. Joan looked at him a moment andthen, compressing her lips with quick resolution, went to the bedsideand with one hand under his head rearranged the pillow and laid him backin an easier posture.
"You must lie still," she said in a commanding tone, and yet softly;"you are too weak to move. Also you must obey me. I have some skill inleechcraft."
"I am content to be your prisoner," said the Prince-Bishopsmiling--"that is, till I am well enough to proceed on my journey toRome, whither the Holy Father Pope Sixtus hath summoned me by a specialmessenger."
"I fear me much," answered Joan, "that, spite of the Holy Father, we maybe fellow-prisoners of long standing. Those of my own folk who hold mehere against my will are hardly likely to let the brother of PrinceLouis of Courtland escape with news of my hiding-place and presenthermitage!"
The young man seemed as if he would again have started up, but with agesture smilingly imperious Joan forbade him.
"To-morrow," she said, "perhaps if you are patient I will tell you more.Here comes our hostess. It is time that I should leave you."
Theresa von Lynar came softly to the side of the bed and stood besideJoan. The young Cardinal thought that he had never seen a more queenlypair--Joan resplendent in her girlish strength and beauty, Theresa stillin the ripest glory of womanhood. There was a gentler light than beforein the elder woman's eyes, and she cast an almost deprecating glanceupon Joan. For at the first sound of her approach the girl had stiffenedvisibly, and now, with only a formal word as to the sick man'scondition, and a cold bow to Conrad, she moved away.
Theresa watched her a little sadly as she passed behind the deepcurtain. Then she sighed, and turning again to the bedside she lookedlong at the young man without speaking.
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