CHAPTER XLIV
THE UKRAINE CROSS
Upon the green plain beside the Alla a great multitude was assembled.They had come together to witness a sight never seen in Courtlandbefore--the dread punishment of the Ukraine Cross. It was to be done,they said, upon the body of the handsome youth with whom the PrincessMargaret was secretly in love--some even whispered married to him.
The townsfolk murmured among themselves. This was certainly thebeginning of the end. Who knew what would come next? If the barbarousMuscovite punishments began in Courtland, it would end in all of thembeing made slaves, liable at any moment to knout and plet. Ivan hadbewitched the Prince. That was clear, and for a certainty the PrincessMargaret wept night and day. In this fashion ran the bruit of that whichwas to be.
"Torn to pieces by wild horses!" It was a thing often talked about, butone which none had seen in a civilised country for a thousand years.Where was it to be done? It was shocking, terrible; but--it would beworth seeing. So all the city went out, the men with weapons under theircloaks pressing as near as the soldiers would allow them, while thewomen, being more pitiful, stood afar off and wept into theiraprons--only putting aside the corners that they might see clearly andmiss nothing.
At ten a great green square of riverside grass was held by the archersof Courtland. The people extended as far back as the shrine of theVirgin, where at the city entrance travellers are wont to give thanksfor a favourable journey. At eleven the lances of Prince Ivan's Cossackswere seen topping the city wall. On the high bank of the Alla the peoplewere craning their necks and looking over each other's shoulders.
The wild music of the Cossacks came nearer, each man with the butt ofhis lance set upon his thigh, and the pennon of blue and white wavingabove. Then a long pitying "A--a--h!" went up from the people. For nowthe Sparhawk was in sight, and at the first glimpse of him they swayedfrom the Riga Gate to the shrine of John Evangelist, like a willow copsestricken by a squall from off the Baltic, so that it shows theunder-grey of its leaves.
"The poor lad! So handsome, so young!"
The first soft universal hush of pity broke presently into a myriadexclamations of anger and deprecation. "How high he holds his head! See!They have opened his shirt at the neck. Poor Princess, how she must lovehim! His hands are tied behind his back. He rides in that jolting cartas if he were a conqueror in a triumphal procession, instead of a victimgoing to his doom."
"Pity, pity that one so young should die such a death! They say she isto be carried up to the top of the Castle wall that she may see. Ah,here he comes! He is smiling! God forgive the butchers, who by strengthof brute beasts would tear asunder those comely limbs that are fitted tobe a woman's joy! Down with all false and cruel princes, say I! Nay,mistress, I will not be silent. And there are many here who will backme, if I be called in question. Who is the Muscovite, that he shouldbring his abominations into Courtland? If I had my way, PrinceConrad----"
"Hush, hush! Here they come! Side by side, as usual, the devil and hisdupe. Aha! there is no sound of cheering! Let but a man shout, 'Longlive the Prince!' and I will slit his wizzand. I, Henry thecoppersmith, will do it! He shall sleep with pennies on his eyes thisnight!"
So through the lane by which the city gate communicated with thetapestried stand set apart for the greater spectators, the Princes Louisand Ivan, fool and knave, servant and master, took their way. And theyhad scarce passed when the people, mutinous and muttering, surged blackbehind the archers' guard.
"Back there--stand back! Way for their Excellencies--way!"
"Stand back yourselves," came the growling answer. "We be free men ofCourtland. You will find we are no Muscovite serfs, and that or the daybe done. Karl Wendelin, think shame--thou that art my sister's son--tobe aiding and abetting such heathen cruelty to a Christen man, all thatyou may eat a great man's meat and wear a jerkin purfled with gold."
Such cries and others worse pursued the Princes' train as it went.
"Cossack--Cossack! You are no Courtlanders, you archers! Not a girl inthe city will look at you after this! Butchers' slaughtermen every one?Whipped hounds that are afraid of ten score Muscovites! Down, dogs,knock your foreheads on the ground! Here comes a Muscovite!"
* * * * *
Thus angrily ran taunt and jeer, till the Courtland guard, mostly youngfellows with relatives and sweethearts among the crowd, grew well-nighfrantic with rage and shame. The rabble, which had hung on the Prince ofMuscovy so long as he scattered his largesse, had now wheeled about withcharacteristic fickleness.
"See yonder! What are they doing? Peter Altmaar, what are they doing?Tell us, thou long man! Of what use is your great fathom of pump-water?Can you do nothing for your meat but reach down black puddings from therafters?"
At this all eyes turned to Peter, a lanky overgrown lad with a keen eye,a weak mouth, and the gift of words.
"Speak up, Peter! Aye, listen to Peter--a good lad, Peter, as ever was!"
"Strong Jan the smith, take him up on your back so that he may see thebetter!"
"Hush, there! Stop that woman weeping. We cannot hear for her noise. Shesays he is like her son, does she? Well then, there will be time enoughto weep for him afterwards."
"They are bringing up four horses from the Muscovite camp. The folk aregetting as far off as they can from their heels," began Peter Altmaar,looking under his hand over the people's heads. "Half a score of men areat each brute's head. How they plunge! They will never stand still amoment. Ah, they are tethering them to the great posts of stone in themiddle of the green square. Between, there is a table--no, a kind ofsquare wooden stand like a priest's platform in Lent when he tells usour sins outside the church."
* * * * *
"The Princes are sitting their horses, watching. Bravo, that was welldone. We came near to seeing the colour of the Muscovite brains thattime. One of the wild horses spread his hoofs on either side of PrinceIvan's head!"
"God send him a better aim next time! Tell on, Peter! Aye, get on, goodPeter!"
"The Princes have gone up into their balcony. They are laughing andtalking as if it were a raree-show!"
"What of him, good Peter? How takes he all this?"
"What of whom?" queried Peter, who, like all great talkers, was rapidlygrowing testy under questioning.
"There is but one 'he' to-day, man. The young lad, the PrincessMargaret's sweetheart."
"They have brought him down from the cart. The Cossacks are close abouthim. They have put all the Courtland men far back."
"Maurice was set on high." [_Page 305_]]
"Aye, aye; they dare not trust them. Oh, for an hour of Prince Conrad!If we of the city trades had but a leader, this shame should not blotour name throughout all Christendom! What now, Peter?"
"The Muscovites are binding the lad to a wooden frame like the emptylintels of a door. He stands erect, his hands in the corners above, andhis feet in the corners below. They have stripped him to the waist."
"Hold me higher up, Jan the smith! I would see this out, that you maytell your children and your children's children. Aye--ah, so it is. Itis true. Sainted Virgin! I can see his body white in the sunshine. Itshines slender as a peeled willow wand."
Then the woman who had wept began again. Her wailing angered the people.
"He is like my son--save him! He is the very make and image of myKaspar. Slender as a young willow, supple as an ash, eyes like theberries of the sloe-thorn. Give me a sword! Give an old woman a sword,and I will deliver him myself, for my Kaspar's sake. God's grace--Isthere never a man amongst you?"
And as her voice rose into a shriek there ran through all the multitudethe strange shiver of fear with which a great crowd expects a horror. Ahush fell broad and equal as dew out of a clear sky. A mighty silencelay on all the folk. Peter Altmaar's lips moved, but no sound came fromthem. For now Maurice was set on high, so that all could see forthemselves. White against the sky of noon, making the cross of SaintAndrew within
the oblong framework to which he was lashed, they coulddiscern the slim body of the young man who was about to be torn insunder. The executioners held him up thus a minute or two for aspectacle, and then, their arrangements completed, they lowered thatliving crucifix till it lay flat upon its little platform, with thelimbs extended stark and tense towards the heels of the wild plunginghorses of the Ukraine.
Then again the voice of Peter Altmaar was heard, now ringing false likean untuned fiddle. "They are welding the manacles upon his ankles andwrists. Listen to the strokes of the hammer."
And in the hush which followed, faintly and musically they could heariron ring on iron, like anvil strokes in some village smithy heard inthe hush of a summer's afternoon.
"Blessed Virgin! they are casting loose the horses! A Cossack with acruel whip stands by each to lash him to fury! They are slipping theplatform from under him. God in heaven! What is this?"
* * * * *
Hitherto the eyes of the great multitude, which on three sidessurrounded the place of execution, had been turned inward. But now withone accord they were gazing, not on the terrible preparations which werecoming so near their bloody consummation, but over the greentree-studded Alla meads towards a group of horsemen who were approachingat a swift hand-gallop.
Whereupon immediately Peter, the lank giant, was in greater request thanever.
"What do they look at, good Peter--tell us quickly? Will the horses notpull? Will the irons not hold? Have the ropes broken? Is it a miracle?Is it a rescue? Thunder-weather, man! Do not stand and gape. Speak--tellus what you see, or we will prod you behind with our daggers!"
"Half a dozen riding fast towards the Princes' stand, and holding uptheir hands--nay, there are a dozen. The Princes are standing up tolook. The men have stopped casting loose the wild horses. The man on theframe is lying very still, but the chains from his ankles and arms arenot yet fastened to the traces."
"Go on, Peter! How slow you are, Peter! Stupid Peter!"
"There is a woman among those who ride--no, two of them! They aregetting near the skirts of the crowd. Men are shouting and throwing uptheir hands in the air. I cannot tell what for. The soldiers have theirhats on the tops of their pikes. They, too, are shouting!"
As Peter paused the confused noise of a multitude crying out, every manfor himself, was borne across the crowd on the wind. As when a greatstone is cast into a little hill-set tarn, and the wavelet runs round,swamping the margin's pebbles and swaying the reeds, so there ran ashiver, and then a mighty tidal wave of excitement through all that ringwhich surrounded the crucified man, the deadly platform, and thetethered horses.
Men shouted sympathetically without knowing why, and the noise they madewas half a suppressed groan, so eager were they to take part in thatwhich should be done next. They thrust their womenkind behind them,shouldering their way into the thick of the press that they might seethe more clearly. Instinctively every weaponed man fingered that whichhe chanced to carry. Yet none in all that mighty assembly had the leastconception of what was really about to happen.
By this time there was no more need of Peter Altmaar. The ring wasrapidly closing now all about, save upon the meadow side, where a lanewas kept open. Through this living alley came a knight and a lady--thelatter in riding habit and broad velvet cap, the knight with his visorup, but armed from head to foot, a dozen squires and men-at-armsfollowing in a compact little cloud; and as they came they were greetedwith the enthusiastic acclaim of all that mighty concourse.
About them eddied the people, overflowing and sweeping away theCossacks, carrying the Courtland archers with them in a mad frenzy offraternisation. In the stand above Prince Louis could be seen shrillingcommands, yet dumb show was all he could achieve, so universal theclamour beneath him. But the Princess Margaret heard the shouting andher heart leaped.
"Prince Conrad--our own Prince Conrad, he has come back, our truePrince? We knew he was no priest! Courtland for ever! Down with Louisof the craven heart! Down with the Muscovite! The young man shall notdie! The Princess shall have her sweetheart!"
And as soon as the cavalcade had come within the square the living wavebroke black over all. The riders could not dismount, so thick the press.The halters of the wild horses were cut, and right speedily they made away for themselves, the people falling back and closing again so soon asthey had passed out across the plain with necks arched to their kneesand a wild flourish of unanimous hoofs.
Then the cries began again. Swords and bare fists were shaken at thegrand stand, where, white as death, Prince Louis still kept his place.
"Prince Conrad and the Lady Joan!"
"Kill the Muscovite, the torturer!"
"Death to Prince Louis, the traitor and coward!"
"We will save the lad alive!"
About the centre platform whereon the living cross was extended thecrush grew first oppressive and then dangerous.
"Back there--you are killing him! Back, I say!"
Then strong men took staves and halberts out of the hands of dazedsoldiermen, and by force of brawny arms and sharp pricking steel pressedthe people back breast high. The smiths who had riveted the wristletsand ankle-rings were already busy with their files. The lashings werecast loose from the frames. A hundred palms chafed the white swollenlimbs. A burgher back in the crowd slipped his cloak. It was passedoverhead on a thousand eager hands and thrown across the young man'sbody.
At last all was done, and dazed and blinded, but unshaken in his soul,Maurice von Lynar stood totteringly upon his feet.
"Lift him up! Lift him up! Let us see him! If he be dead, we will slayPrince Louis and crucify the Muscovite in his place!"
"Bah!" another would cry, "Louis is no longer ruler! Conrad is the truePrince!"
"Down with the Russ, the Cossack! Where are they? Pursue them! Killthem!"
* * * * *
So ran the fierce shouts, and as the rescuers raised the Sparhawk highon their plaited hands that all men might see, on the far skirts of thecrowd Ivan of Muscovy, with a bitter smile on his face, gatheredtogether his scattered horsemen. One by one they had struggled out ofthe press while all men's eyes were fixed upon the vivid centrepiece ofthat mighty whirlpool.
"Set Prince Louis in your midst and ride for your lives!" he cried. "Tothe frontier, where bides the army of the Czar!"
With a flash of pennons and a tossing of horses' heads they obeyed, butPrince Ivan himself paused upon the top of a little swelling rise andlooked back towards the Alla bank.
The delivered prisoner was being held high upon men's arms. Theburgher's cloak was wrapped about him like a royal robe.
Prince Ivan gnashed his teeth in impotent anger.
"It is your day. Make the most of it," he muttered. "In three weeks Iwill come back! And then, by Michael the Archangel, I will crucify oneof you at every street corner and cross-road through all the land ofCourtland! And that which I would have done to my lady's lover shall notbe named beside that which I shall yet do to those who rescued him!"
And he turned and rode after his men, in the midst of whom was PrinceLouis, his head twisted in fear and apprehension over his shoulder, andhis slack hands scarce able to hold the reins.
After this manner was the Sparhawk brought out from the jaws of death,and thus came Joan of the Sword Hand the second time to Courtland.
But the end was not yet.
Joan of the Sword Hand Page 45