Joan of the Sword Hand
Page 38
CHAPTER XXXVII
THE DROPPING OF A CLOAK
And so, with the mounted guard of his own Cossacks before him andbehind, Prince Ivan carried his bride to church through the streets ofher native city. And the folk thronged and marvelled at this new customof marrying. But none interfered by word or sign, and the obsequiousrabble shouted, "Long live Prince Ivan!"
Even some of the better disposed, who had no liking for the Muscovitealliance, said within their hearts, looking at the calm set face of thePrince, "He is a man! Would to God that our own Prince were more likehim!"
Also many women nodded their heads and ran to find their dearestgossips. "You will see," they said, "this one will have no ridings away.He takes his wife before him upon his saddle-bow as a man should. Andshe will pretend that she does not like it. But secretly--ah, we know!"
And they smiled at each other. For there is that in most women whichwill never be civilised. They love not men who walk softly, and still intheir heart of hearts they prefer to be wooed by the primitive method ofcapture. For if a woman be not afraid of a man she will never love himtruly. And that is a true word among all peoples.
So they came at last to the Dom and the groups of wondering folks,thinly scattered here and there--women mostly. For there had been suchlong delay at the Summer Palace that the men had gone back to theirshavings and cooperage tubs or were quaffing tankards in the cityale-cellars.
The great doors of the cathedral had been thrown wide open and theleathern curtains withdrawn. The sun was checkering the vast tesselatedpavement with blurs of purple and red and glorious blue shot through thewestern window of the nave. In gloomy chapel and recessed nook marbleprinces and battered Crusaders of the line of Courtland seemed to blinkand turn their faces to the wall away from the unaccustomed glare. Thealtar candles and the lamps a-swing in the choir winked no brighter thanyellow willow leaves seen through an autumnal fog. But as the _cortege_dismounted the organ began to roll, and the people within rose with ahush like that which follows the opening of a window at night above theAlla.
The sonorous diapason of the great instrument disgorged itself throughthe doorway in wave upon wave of sound. The Princess Margaret foundherself again on her feet, upheld on either side by brother and lover.She was at first somewhat dazed with the rush of accumulate disasters.Slowly her mind came back. The Dom Platz whirled more slowly about her.With a fresh-dawning surprise she heard the choir sing within. She beganto understand the speech of men. The great black square of the opendoorway slowed and finally stopped before her. She was on the steps ofthe cathedral. What had come to her? Was it the Duchess Joan's weddingday? Surely no! Then what was the matter? Had she fainted?
Maurice--where was Maurice? She turned about. The small glittering eyesof Prince Ivan, black as sloes, were looking into hers. She rememberednow. It was her own wedding. These two, her brother and her enemy, werecarrying out their threat. They had brought her to the cathedral to wedher, against her will, to the man she hated. But they could not. Shewould tell them. Already she was a--but then, if she told them that,they would ride back and kill him. Better that she should perjureherself, condemn herself to hell, than that. Better anything than that.But what was she to do? Was ever a poor girl so driven?
And there, in the hour of her extremity, her eye fell upon a young manin the crowd beneath, a youth in a 'prentice's blue jerkin. He waspassing his arm softly about a girl's waist--slily also, lest her mothershould see. And the maid, first starting with a pretence of not knowingwhence came the pressure, presently looked up and smiled at him,nestling a moment closer to his shoulder before removing his hand, onlyto hold it covertly under her apron till her mother showed signs ofturning round.
"Ah! why was I born a princess?" moaned the poor driven girl.
"Margaret, you must come with us into the cathedral." It was the voiceof her brother. "It is necessary that the Prince should wed you now. Ithas too long been promised, and now he can delay no longer. Besides, theBlack Death is in the city, and this is the only hope of escape. Come!"
It was on the tip of Margaret's tongue to cry out with wild words evenas she had done at the door at the river parlour. But the thought ofMaurice, of the torture and the death, silenced her. She lifted hereyes, and there, at the top of the steps, were the dignitaries of thecathedral waiting to lead the solemn procession.
"I will go!" she said.
And at her words the Prince Ivan smiled under his thin moustache.
She laid her hand on her brother's arm and began the ascent of the longflight of stairs. But even as she did so, behind her there broke a waveof sound--the crying of many people, confused and multitudinous like thewarning which runs along a crowded thoroughfare when a wild chargerescaped from bonds threshes along with frantic flying harness. Then camethe clatter of horses' hoofs, the clang of doors shut in haste as decentburghers got them in out of harm's way! And lo! at the foot of thesteps, clad from head to foot in a cloak, the sick Princess Joan, shewhom the Black Death had stricken, leaped from her foaming steed, anddrawing sword followed fiercely up the stairway after the marriageprocession. The Cossacks of the Muscovite guard looked at each other,not knowing whether to stand in her way or no.
"The Princess Joan!" they said from one to the other.
"Joan of the Sword Hand!" whispered the burghers of Courtland. "Thedisease has gone to her brain. Look at the madness in her eye!"
And their lips parted a little as is the wont of those who, having cometo view a comedy, find themselves unexpectedly in the midst of hightragedy.
"Hold, there!" the pursuer shouted, as she set foot on the lowest step.
"Lord! Surely that is no woman's voice!" whispered the people who stoodnearest, and their lower jaws dropped a little further in sheerwonderment.
The Princes turned on the threshold of the cathedral, with Margaretstill between them, the belly of the church black behind them, and theprocessional priests first halting and then peering over each other'sshoulders in their eagerness to see.
Up the wide steps of the Dom flew the tall woman in the flowing cloak.Her face was pallid as death, but her eyes were brilliant and her lipsred. At the sight of the naked sword Prince Ivan plucked the blade fromhis side and Louis shrank a little behind his sister.
"Treason!" he faltered. "What is this? Is it sudden madness or thefrenzy of the Black Death?"
"The Princess Margaret cannot be married!" cried the seeming Princess."To me, Margaret! I will slay the man who lays a hand on you!"
Obedient to that word, Margaret of Courtland broke from between herbrother and Prince Ivan and ran to the tall woman, laying her brow onher breast. The Prince of Muscovy continued calm and immovable.
"And why?" he asked in a tone full of contempt. "Why cannot the PrincessMargaret be married?"
"Because," said the woman in the long cloak, fingering a string at herneck, "she is married already. _I am her husband!_"
The long blue cloak fell to the ground, and the Sparhawk, clad inclose-fitting squire's dress, stood before their astonished eyes.
A long low murmur, gathering and sinking, surged about the square.Prince Louis gasped. Margaret clung to her lover's arm, and for thespace of a score of seconds the whole world stopped breathing.
Prince Ivan twisted his moustache as if he would pull it out by theroots.
"So," he said, "the Princess is married, is she? And you are herhusband? 'Whom God hath joined'--and the rest of it. Well, we shall see,we shall see!"
He spoke gently, meditatively, almost caressingly.
"Yes," cried the Sparhawk defiantly, "we were married yesterday byFather Clement, the Prince's chaplain, in the presence of the most nobleLeopold von Dessauer, High Councillor of Plassenburg!"
"And my wife--the Princess Joan, where is she?" gasped Prince Louis, sogreatly bewildered that he had not yet begun to be angry.
Ivan of Muscovy put out his hand.
"Gently, friend," he said; "I will unmask this play-acting springald.This is not your w
ife, not the woman you wedded and fought for, not theLady Joan of Hohenstein, but some baseborn brother, who, having herface, hath played her part, in order to mock and cheat and deceive usboth!"
He turned again to Maurice von Lynar.
"I think we have met before, Sir Masquer," he said with his usual suavecourtesy; "I have, therefore, a double debt to pay. Hither!" He beckonedto the guards who lined the approaches. "I presume, sir, so true acourtier will not brawl before ladies. You recognise that you are in ourpower. Your sword, sir!"
The Sparhawk looked all about the crowded square. Then he snapped hissword over his knee and threw the pieces down on the stone steps.
"You are right; I will not fight vainly here," he said. "I know well itis useless. But"--he raised his voice--"be it known to all men that myname is Maurice, Count von Loeen, and that the Princess Margaret is mylawfully wedded wife. She cannot then marry Ivan of Muscovy!"
The Prince laughed easily and spread his hand with gentle deprecation,as the guards seized the Sparhawk and forced him a little space awayfrom the clinging hands of the Princess.
"I am an easy man," he said gently, as he clicked his dagger to and froin its sheath. "When I like a woman, I would as lief marry her widow asmaid!"