The Outlaws of Falkensteig

by Rafael Sabatini

But once we were alone in our splendid apartments, great indeed was my wonder to see the vacant leer die from Felsheim's countenance, and in its place a look of merry, sober cunning. He dropped into the nearest chair, and with his hands on his sides, he laughed as I had never heard him laugh before.

  "Herr Gott!" he cried, “was there ever a fish so easily angled as Ludwig the Sot?"

  "Did you but act the drunkard, Andreas?” I cried, staring askance at him.

  "What? You, too, Gessler? You were all deceived? You will understand all to-morrow, my friend. We hunt the boar to-morrow! Ho, ho!"

  And so an hour before noon next day, a merry company in buff and green and gold lace assembled in the Schloss courtyard, and with the King rode forth into the park of Schwerlingen.

  Felsheim, armed with a formidable spear, rode beside Ludwig, whose face bore traces of last night's carouse. The outlaw had said a dozen words to me that morning that well-nigh set my hair on end at the awful daring of the plan he had conceived, and for the execution of which he had lured the King to hunt the boar. For a while we rode surrounded by a little group of chattering courtiers, His Majesty keeping Felsheim at his side, desirous of, himself, putting the Ambassador to the blush for his sneers of the night before. But the chase commenced in earnest when the animal had been sighted, and gradually those courtiers who had hovered near us began to disappear, one by one, in their eagerness to earn the jewel which it was the King's custom to offer to the man whose spear was first in the quarry's hide.

  In this manner it fell out that at the end of an hour or thereabouts the only follower left the King, besides Felsheim and myself, was my Lord of Ronshausen, the favourite.

  We were riding through one of the densest parts of the forest, when suddenly Felsheim half turned in his saddle with the words:

  "I am consumed with impatience, sir, to be at close quarters with the boar."

  This was the preconcerted signal between us for the execution of Felsheim's desperate plan.

  Accordingly, whilst drawing my Lord of Ronshausen's attention to some shrubs on his right, I caught his horse a smart cut behind the ears with my whip. Stung with the pain, the brute reared, pawing the air for a second; then, with a bound that went near to unhorsing his rider, he was off like a bolt from an arbalest at a pace which bid fair to keep the favourite from dismounting for some miles, unless some overhanging bough chanced to help him from the saddle.

  As Ronshausen thundered past the King—who was at the moment deep in conversation with his companion—Ludwig turned to seek a reason for such mad riding, when of a sudden Felsheim flung his right arm round the Royal neck, and with a sharp jerk laid the King sideways across his saddle so violently that he all but dragged him from his horse. Thus, taken by surprise, and rightly deeming Felsheim's attention other than affectionate, Ludwig opened his mouth to shout for help, when, with the quickness of lightning—whilst gripping his horse with his knees alone—Felsheim's disengaged hand crammed a choke-pear between the monarch's teeth.

  Then began a struggle on horseback which went near to driving the poor brutes frantic. The King wriggled like an eel. Yet with his arms he clung to Felsheim, as otherwise he must have fallen, whilst with his legs he still endeavoured to grip his own saddle. In a few seconds I had made him fast with the straps which Felsheim had bidden me bring. Then, bound hand and foot, Andreas took him bodily across the neck of his horse, and driving his spurs deep, set off to the right at a hard gallop, whilst I followed as best I might, leading the horse from which we had plucked the King. In this manner we went for perhaps half-an-hour, until we reached the outskirts of the park, and had set a good two leagues between the hunters and ourselves.

  There we paused whilst Andreas set a mask upon the King's face, which was livid with anger.

  We then turned the King's horse loose, and rode on with great precaution, shunning all frequented places. By nightfall we reached Bridewald without mishap, and finding some horses grazing in a field, we changed the saddles, with scant ceremony, from our jaded beasts to the backs of the ablest couple, and so rode on again.

  All night we went on in silence and for my own part nearly dead with hunger and fatigue. As dawn was breaking we reached Hohenburg, and brought our worn horses to a halt at the door of the “Golden Goblet."

  Old Schwarz was quick to answer our knock, and with many inquiries concerning our masked companion, he led us upstairs. Felsheim deposited the King in a corner, and called for wine, food, and lights. When these were brought, he bid old Schwarz return to bed, and locked the door.

  We cut the bonds that fastened our captive, removed his mask and gag, and set him upon his feet. His face wore a terrible look, and his eyes blazed ominously. By the Mass, it is well for us that choke-pear had so cramped his jaw as to render articulation difficult for the moment, else Heaven only knows what blasphemies might not have visited our ears.

  "You are doubtless bewildered, sire, by the strange behaviour of the French Ambassador,” quoth Felsheim gravely.” “And, indeed, were I the French Ambassador your bewilderment would not be amiss. Unfortunately for myself I am no such exalted personage; I am simply Andreas von Felsheim, the outlaw of Falkensteig."

  "Der Teufel!" bellowed the King, finding speech at last—and his eyes, methought, would have dropped from his head—"You shall hang, you knave; as God lives you shall!"

  With that Ludwig went off into a torrent of abuse, which Andreas interrupted in full flow.

  "Your Majesty would do well to remember your own position. It is not wise to threaten to hang the man who holds you in his hands. I doubt not that some day, if you can catch me, you'll deliver me to the hangman or have me broken on the wheel, perchance—but let that pass. There are others nearer the rope than I at present, the love of whom has driven me to the desperate expedient of seizing your sacred person as a hostage for their safety."

  "If you allude to the twelve knaves taken by Stoffel, let me tell you that they shall hang as surely—as surely—as you shall hang, you hound, when I have you."

  "I think not, sire,” answered Felsheim in tones of terrible coolness. “If Dietrich or any one of his companions come to harm at the hands of the law, I swear, as Heaven is my witness, that with these my own hands I will hang you, King though you be, on the highest pine tree of the Falkensteig."

  The King went white at the threat.

  "Do you dare menace?"

  "I shall dare more if you are not reasonable. Come, sire, ‘tis the fortune of war. Sign the pardon of twelve comrades now lying in Schwerlingen, and in exchange I grant you your liberty, as well as that of the French Ambassador, who is a prisoner in the cellar of this very inn, and for whose safety methinks that Sachsenberg is responsible to France."

  "You are mad, sir,” blazed the King. “I will not bargain with you."

  "Then I'll take the pair of you to the Falkensteig, and hang you as near Heaven as you'll ever chance in this world or the next. Call Schwarz, Gessler. Bid him awaken Wittenberg, and have a carriage ready to start in a couple of hours.” Then turning to Ludwig: “Will your Majesty deign to honour this poor table? I doubt not you are hungry?"

  "Insolent!” cried the King, whereupon Felsheim shrugged his shoulders, and turned his attention to a capon, in which profitable occupation I did presently join him, whilst Wittenberg stood guard over our prisoner.

  Presently Felsheim rose, and bowing to the King, drew me from the room.

  "Gessler,” he said, “can I trust you and Wittenberg to get the King and M. de Coraille safely to the Falkensteig?"

  "Surely you may."

  "But you must not fail. If you do my neck will pay forfeit. In an hour I shall set out for Schwerlingen. I shall explain matters to my Lords of Ronshausen and Barnabatt. I shall bargain with them for Dietrich's release, and I doubt not that they will prove more reasonable than His Majesty. But if in a week from to-morrow I am not at the Falkensteig with Dietrich and the others to release our captives, you will know that I have failed, that I am probably
dead, and you will do with the King as you deem best for the future welfare of our company."

  Since I did not accompany him to Schwerlingen, I may not depict the manner of his reception there. I reached our mountain stronghold in the ruined castle of the Falkensteig with my prisoners two days later. And there, in deep anxiety, I waited, for the outlaws swore that if harm befell their captain they would wreak summary vengeance upon the King.

  But on the seventh day after Felsheim and I parted at Hohenburg my suspense was ended by the arrival of Andreas with Dietrich and his eleven companions, besides an officer of the guards, who came blindfolded, and who was in like manner reconducted with the King and the Ambassador to the spurs of the mountain. Thence they rode out towards the hamlet of Moetlingen, where a mounted troop waited to escort the King back to his capital.

  That night the outlaws of the Falkensteig made merry, and drank deep to the boldest man amongst us—Andreas von Felsheim.

  THE NUPTIALS OF LINDENSTEIN

  In a chance encounter with a party of the Falkensteig outlaws I had received at the hands of one of the bandits a wound which laid me balancing twixt life and death for nigh upon two months. And when at length I rose from my bed of sickness, and was filled with the joy of life to that glorious extent which only those who in youth have been near to losing it can experience, it was but to make a discovery which impelled me to wish that His Majesty's physicians had been less skilful.

  The Ritter von Grünhain had broken faith with me. He had ever looked upon my wooing of his daughter with marked disfavour, but seeing that both the maid and I were of one mind, and that his resistance must in the end prove unavailing, he had at last consented—with a bad grace, it is true—when once I had earned my captaincy, to suffer us to be united.

  Now that I was restored to health, and at last was able to seek from the Ritter von Grünhain the fulfilment of his promise, I was dismayed in truth to find that during my illness the knight had changed his mind and was seeking by force to change his daughter's also.

  The powerful, wealthy, and dissolute young Count of Lindenstein had fallen enslaved by my lovely Agathe's charms, and had presented himself as a suitor for her hand. The temptation of seeing his daughter Countess of Lindenstein, instead of merely the wife of Captain Hans Stoffel, had proved too strong for Grünhain, even to the extent of causing him to forget his plighted word.

  But my sweet Agathe had proven rebellious. ‘Twas Hans Stoffel she loved, and Hans Stoffel she would wed, albeit a hundred counts turned lovesick, and were consumed by their passions for her. When the Ritter von Grünhain heard that I was all but recovered, he had—fearing my intervention and a probable elopement—spirited his daughter away, none knew whither. But my kind informer was able to add the opinion from news that he had culled that she was at a certain castle, in the neighbourhood of Fortstadt, belonging to an aunt of hers who shared her father's views. In this castle it was intended she should be kept a close prisoner until—as her father had it—she saw fit to come to her senses and marry Lindenstein.

  And so it came to pass that one summer night, some three weeks after my recovery, I found myself in a narrow street of Fortstadt, with my back against the wall, defending myself against the swords of three cowardly ruffians who had waylaid me.

  Men spoke of my sword-play as formidable. But it was like to have gone ill with me on this occasion had not (even as despair was fastening on me) a fourth blade flashed before my eyes, whilst in a voice which was curiously familiar to my ears came the welcome shout:

  "To me, you cowardly knaves! To me!"

  I heard his sword clatter against that of one of my opponents who turned to meet him, and a second later the ruffian's body rolled over at my feet. With a bound the newcomer ranged himself at my side to face the remaining two. More was not needed. They drew back, then turning, set off at a run.

  In the fittest words I could hit upon did I thank my rescuer for the service he had rendered me, and which he belittled as becomes a gentleman. He was, so far as I could discern in that semi-darkness, a cavalier of medium stature, and appeared to be well dressed. His face I could not see for the shadows cast upon it by his hat, but his voice I had heard before, and I was puzzled to think where.

  Presently he knelt beside the man he had wounded and turned him over. As he did so the cloak the fellow wore fell away revealing the outline of a white horse embroidered on his doublet.

  "Himmel!" ejaculated the cavalier. “He wears the livery of the Lindensteins. So, my master, you have enemies in high places."

  The livery of the Lindensteins! There lay the explanation of the assault. The Count had heard of my arrival at Fortstadt, and had attempted by this means to have me removed. Clearly the information I had received was correct, for only upon realising that I was hot upon the scent, would Lindenstein resort to employing his sbirri.

  "Come,” said my rescuer, “if the patrol chance this way, it will be hardly well for us that they find us here. I'll crack a bottle with you if you will honour me."

  I assented willingly, and we made our way together to the hostelry of “The Pilgrim” where I had taken a room that morning on my arrival at Fortstadt.

  Once in that apartment, as we stood face to face in the light of the tapers—having doffed our hats—a cry of mutual recognition burst from our lips simultaneously.

  "Hauptmann Stoffel!” he ejaculated.

  "Andreas von Felsheim!” I gasped.

  In bewilderment we stood, staring open-mouthed at each other, and no doubt marvelling at the coincidence which had brought the famous outlaw of Falkensteig to save the life of the one man in Sachsenberg whom he had most reason to wish dead. At last Felsheim broke into a hearty laugh.

  "Beim Teufel, ‘tis a droll affair. I had little thought yesterday to fight by your side at our next meeting. I should beyond measure enjoy the honour of supping with you, Sir Captain, but I fear that your reputation might suffer were you seen in my company. Also, Gute nacht!"

  He reached out for his hat, and was indeed bent upon leaving me, but I detained him. Had he gone, this story would not have been told.

  "Herr von Felsheim,” I cried, “you have rendered me a great service to-night, and although you may be the most arrant outlaw in Sachsenberg, and I, the captain of the King's Guard, still I see no reason why we should not sup amicably together. To-morrow we go our separate ways, and I promise you an amnesty of three days during which you shall go unmolested. What say you?"

  "That you speak like a prophet of old—words of wisdom and love which it is not well to disregard. Your health, Sir Captain."

  We supped together, the hunter and his quarry—and as I live, I never spent a merrier night. We sat late and drank deep, and when at length he left me, I could not repress a sigh at the thought that we should never come face to face again as friends.

  But my surmise was incorrect; Fate had planned that we should again meet as comrades, and that upon the next day.

  I sat repairing a rent made in my doublet during the fray of the night before, and ruminating over my position in Fortstadt, and that of my beloved Agathe at the Schloss Eberholz in the neighbourhood, when there came a tap at the door, and to my infinite surprise the courtly figure of Felsheim stood before me.

  "I am fortunate to find you here, Herr Hauptmann,” quoth he, as he doffed his hat and came forward into the room. “The business which brings me is of importance. It concerns yourself and the lady whom you desire to make your wife."

  I sprang to my feet.

  "What know you of that?” I exclaimed.

  "Enough to make me think that were I in your position I should not sit there playing the tailor. Cast aside the needle, Captain, and get your sword out."

  "You presume,” I cried angrily, liking not his sneering banter.

  For answer Felsheim laughed, and drawing up a chair sat down.

  "I am possessed,” he said, “of the explanation of the attack whereof you were last night the victim. Listen. When I left you I rep
aired to the “Zwei Tauben"—the landlord is a man whom I could trust not to betray my presence. I took a room, and had intended to set out at dawn for the Falkensteig. I slept late, however, and when I awakened the sun was high in the heavens, and there were voices in the next room.

  "The wall between was thin, and of a sudden I distinctly heard your name. To this I attached little importance. You are a great personage—albeit, you mend your own doublets—and men talk of you in Sachsenberg. But a moment later I heard the name of Lindenstein. Like a flash the livery of that carrion we left in the Königstrasse occurred to me. I bounded from my bed and set my ear against the wall, for methought I might profit by hearing what was said. Well, Sir Captain, I will not pester you with the precise words of that most interesting dialogue which passed between my Lord of Lindenstein and Hermann Wulff, his associate—and as arrant a knave as you'll find in Germany. You may thank your patron saint that Andreas von Felsheim played the eavesdropper this morning, and learnt that wearied by the maid's persistent refusal to listen to his suit, the Count has, by the aid of that scoundrel Wulff, hit upon as damnable a plot for your undoing, and that of Mistress Agathe, as ever the devil put into the mind of man.

  "Hermann Wulff is to present himself to Mistress Agathe in the role of an agent of yours who comes to rescue her from the clutches of her aunt, and who is to conduct her to you. Wulff will repair with her to the little chapel of St. Christopher in the hamlet of Abenthurn, where Lindenstein awaits them with a priest whom he has bribed to mumble the marriage service so that no names be heard. He commits the sacrilege of masquerading as Hans Stoffel, and trusts to the darkness—for the plot is to be carried out to-night—and to the necessity for haste wherewith they will impress the lady, and which they hope will prevent her from asking pertinent questions."

  "Herrgott!" I cried; “It is monstrous! But Agathe will surely not fall a victim to such an imposture. She will detect the fraud when Lindenstein attempts to impersonate me!"

  "In that case these brave gentlemen will have recourse to the strength which God gave them for the protection of the weak, and as there is no better way of protecting a woman than by becoming her husband, whether the maid wills it or no, they'll marry her to Graf von Lindenstein."