Complete Works of Stanley J Weyman

by Stanley J Weyman

  My lady looked at him. He had uncovered and stood before her, a smile that was almost a laugh in his eyes. ‘And I,’ he said, ‘have the honour to be her excellency’s humble and distant cousin, General John Tzerclas, sometimes called, of Tilly.’

  CHAPTER X.

  THE CAMP IN THE FOREST.

  As the stranger made his announcement, I chanced to turn my eyes on the Waldgrave’s face; and if there was one thing more noteworthy at the moment than the speaker’s air of perfect and assured composure, it was my lord’s look of chagrin. I could imagine that this sudden and unexpected discovery of a kinsman was little to his mind; while the stranger’s manner was as little calculated to reconcile him to it. But there was something more than this. I fancy that from the moment he heard Tzerclas’ name he scented a rival.

  My lady, on the other hand, did not disguise her satisfaction. ‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance,’ she exclaimed, looking at the stranger with frank surprise. ‘Your name, General Tzerclas, has long been known to me. But I was under the impression that you were at present in command of a body of Saxon troops in Bohemia.’

  ‘My troops, such as they are, lie a little nearer,’ he answered, smiling; ‘so near that they and their leader are equally at your service, Countess.’

  ‘For the present I shall be content to claim your hospitality only,’ my lady answered lightly. ‘This is my cousin, the Waldgrave Rupert.’

  ‘Of Weimar?’ the general said, bowing.

  ‘Of Weimar, sir,’ the young lord answered.

  The stranger said no more, but saluting him with a kind of careless punctilio, took hold of my lady’s rein and led her horse forward into the firelight.

  While he assisted her to dismount I had time to glance round; and the cheerful glow of the fire, which disclosed arms and accoutrements and camp equipments flung here and there in splendid profusion, did not blind me to other appearances less pleasant. Indeed, that very profusion did something to open my eyes to those appearances, and thereby to the nature of the men amongst whom we had come. The glittering hilts and battered plate, the gaudy cloaks and velvet housings which I saw lying about the roots of the trees, seemed to smack less of a travellers’ camp than a robbers’ bivouac; while the fierce, swarthy faces which clustered round the farther fire, reminded me of nothing so much as of the swash-buckling escort which had more than once accompanied Count Tilly to Heritzburg. Then, indeed, under the old tiger’s paw Tilly’s riders had been as lambs. But we were not now at Heritzburg, nor was Count Tilly here. And whether these knaves would be as amenable in the greenwood, whether the Waldgrave had not done us all an ill service when he voted for moving on, were questions I had a difficulty in answering to my satisfaction; the more as, even before we were off our horses, the rude stare the men fixed on my lady raised my choler.

  On the other hand their leader’s bearing left nothing to be desired. He welcomed my mistress to the camp with perfect good breeding, the Waldgrave with civility. He hastened the preparation of supper, and in every way seemed bent on making us comfortable; sending his knaves to and fro with a hearty good-will, which showed that whoever stood in awe of them, he did not.

  Meanwhile, I had a third fire kindled a score of paces away, where a small thicket held out the hope of privacy, and here I placed our women, bidding three or four of the steadier men remain with them. The injunction was scarcely needed however. Our servants were simple fellows born in Heritzburg. They eyed with shyness and awe the swaggering airs and warlike demeanour of Tzerclas’ followers, and would not for a year’s wages have intruded on their circle without invitation.

  The moment I had seen to this I returned to my lady, and then for the first time I had an opportunity of examining our host. A man of middle height, sinewy and well-formed, with an upright carriage, he looked from head to foot the model of a soldier of fortune, and moved with a careless grace, which spoke of years of manly exercise. His face was handsome, cold, dark, stern; the nose prominent, the forehead high and narrow. Trimly pointed moustachios and a small pointed beard, both perfectly black, gave him a peculiar and somewhat cynical aspect; and nothing I ever witnessed of his dealings with his troops led me to suppose that this belied the man. He could be, as he was now, courteous, polished, almost genial. I judged that he could be also the reverse. He was richly, even splendidly, dressed, and seemed to be about forty years of age.

  My lady sent me for Fraulein Max, who had been overlooked, and was found cowering beside the newly kindled fire in company with Marie Wort and the women. Though I think she had only herself to thank for her effacement, she was inclined to be offended. But I had no time to waste on words, and disregarding her ill temper I brought her, feebly sniffing, to my lady, who introduced her to her new-found kinsman.

  ‘Pardon me,’ he said, looking negligently round him. ‘That reminds me. I, too, have a presentation to make. Where is — oh yes, here is friend Von Werder. I thought, my friend,’ he continued, addressing the other and older man whom we had seen by his fire, ‘that you had disappeared as mysteriously as you came. Herr von Werder, Countess, was my first chance guest to-night. You are the second.’

  He spoke in a tone of easy patronage, with his back half turned to the person he mentioned. I looked at the man. He seemed to be over fifty years old, tall, strong, and grey-moustachioed. And that was almost all I could see, for, as if acknowledging an inferiority, and admitting that the terms on which he had been with his host were now altered, he had withdrawn himself a pace from the fire. Sitting on the opposite side of it near the outer edge of light and wearing a heavy cloak, he disclosed little of his appearance, even when he rose in acknowledgment of my lady’s salute.

  ‘Herr von Werder is not travelling with you, then?’ my lady said; chiefly, I think, for the sake of saying something that should include the man.

  ‘No, he is not of my persuasion,’ the general answered in the same tone of good-natured contempt. ‘Whither are you bound, my friend?’ he continued, glancing over his shoulder and throwing a note of command into his voice. ‘I did not ask you, and you did not tell me.’

  ‘I am going north,’ the stranger answered in a husky tone. ‘It may be as far as Magdeburg, general.’

  ‘And you come from?’

  ‘Last, sir? Frankfort.’

  ‘Well, as you say last, whence before that?’

  ‘The Rhine Bishoprics.’

  ‘Ah! Then you have seen something of the war? If you were there before it swept into Bavaria, that is. But a truce to this,’ he continued. ‘Here is supper. I beg you not to judge of my hospitality by this night’s performance, Countess. I hope to entertain you more fittingly before we part.’

  Though he made this apology, the supper needed none. Indeed, it was such as made me stare — there in the forest — and was served in a style and with accompaniments I little expected to find in a soldiers’ camp. Silver dishes and chased and curious flagons, flasks of old Rhenish and Burgundy, glass from Nuremberg, a dozen things which made my lady’s road equipage seem poor and trifling, appeared on the board. And the cooking was equal to the serving. The wine had not gone round many times before the Waldgrave lost his air of reserve. He complimented our host, expressed his surprise at the excellence of the entertainment, asked with a laugh how it was done, and completely resumed his usual manner. Perhaps he talked a little too freely, a little too fast, and viewed by the other’s side, he grew younger.

  What my lady saw or thought as she sat between the two men it was impossible to say, but she seemed in high spirits. She too talked gaily and laughed often; and doubtless the novelty of the scene, the great fires, the dark background, the burnished trunks of the beeches, the bizarre splendour of the feast, the laughter and snatches of song which came from the other fire, were well calculated to excite and amuse her.

  ‘These are not all your troops?’ I heard her ask.

  ‘Not quite,’ the general answered drily. ‘My men lie six hours south of us. I hope that you will do me t
he honour of reviewing them to-morrow.’

  ‘You are marching south, then?’

  ‘Yes. Everything and every one goes south this year.’

  ‘To join the King of Sweden?’

  ‘Yes,’ the general answered, holding out his silver cup to be filled, and for that reason perhaps speaking very deliberately, ‘to join the King of Sweden — at Nuremberg. But you have not yet told me, countess,’ he continued, ‘why you are afield. This part is not in a very settled state, and I should have thought that the present time was — —’

  ‘A bad one for travelling?’ my lady answered. ‘Yes. But, I regret to say, Heritzburg is not in a very settled state either.’ And thereon, without dwelling much on the cause of her troubles, she told him the main facts which had led to her departure.

  I saw his lip curl and his eyes flicker with scorn. ‘But had you no gunpowder?’ he said, turning to the Waldgrave.

  ‘We had, but no cannon,’ he answered confidently.

  ‘What of that?’ the general retorted icily. ‘I would have made a bomb, no matter of what, and fired it out of a leather boot hooped with cask-irons! I would have had half a dozen of their houses burning about their ears before they knew where they were, the insolents!’

  The Waldgrave looked ashamed of himself. ‘I did not think of that,’ he said; and he hastened to hide his confusion in his glass.

  ‘Well, it is not too late,’ General Tzerclas rejoined, showing his teeth in a smile. ‘If the Countess pleases, we will soon teach her subjects a lesson. I am not pushed for time. I will detach four troops of horse and return with you to-morrow, and settle the matter in a trice.’

  But my lady said that she would not have that, and persisted so firmly in her refusal that though he pressed the offer upon her, and I could see was keenly interested in its acceptance, he had to give way. The reasons she put forward were the loss of his time and the injury to his cause; the real one consisted, I knew, in her merciful reluctance to give over the town to his troops, a reluctance for which I honoured her. To appease him, however, for he seemed inclined to take her refusal in bad part, she consented to go out of her way to visit his camp.

  At this point my lady sent me on an errand to her women, which caused me to be away some minutes. When I came back I found that a change had taken place. The Waldgrave was speaking, and, from his heated face and the tone of his voice, it was evident that the old wine which had begun by opening his heart had ended by rousing his pugnacity.

  ‘Pooh! I protest in toto!’ he said as I came up. ‘I deny it altogether. You will tell me next that the Germans are worse soldiers than the Swedes!’

  ‘Pardon me, I did not say so,’ General Tzerclas answered. The wine had taken no effect on him, or perhaps he had drunk less. He was as suave and cold as ever.

  ‘But you meant it!’ the younger man retorted.

  ‘No, I did not mean it,’ the general answered, still unmoved. ‘What I said was that Germany had produced no great commander in this war, which has now lasted thirteen years.’

  ‘Prince Bernard of Weimar, my kinsman!’ the Waldgrave cried.

  ‘Pardon me,’ Tzerclas replied politely. ‘Pardon me again if I say that I do not think he has earned that title. He is a soldier of merit. No more.’

  ‘Wallenstein, then?’

  ‘You forget. He is a Bohemian.’

  ‘Count Tilly, then?’

  ‘A Walloon,’ the general answered with a shrug. ‘The King of Sweden? A Swede, of course.’

  ‘A German by the mother’s side,’ my lady said with a smile.

  ‘As you, Countess, are a Walloon,’ Tzerclas answered with a low bow. ‘Yet doubtless you count yourself a German?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, blushing. ‘I am proud to do so.’

  What courteous answer he would have made to this I do not know. She had scarcely spoken before a deep voice on the farther side of the fire was heard to ask ‘What of Count Pappenheim?’

  The speaker was Von Werder, who had long sat so modestly silent that I had forgotten his presence. He seemed scarcely to belong to the party; though Fraulein Max, who sat on the Waldgrave’s left hand, formed a sort of link stretched out towards him. Tzerclas had forgotten him too, I think, for he started at the sound of his voice and gave him but a curt answer.

  ‘He is no general,’ he said sharply. ‘A great leader of horse he is; great at fighting, great at burning, greatest at plundering. No more.’

  ‘It seems that you allow no merit in a German!’ the Waldgrave cried with a sneer. He had drunk too much.

  But Tzerclas was not to be moved. There was something fine in the toleration he extended to the younger man. ‘Not at all,’ he said quietly. ‘Yet I am of opinion that, even apart from arms, Germany has shown since the beginning of this war few men of merit.’

  ‘The Duke of Bavaria,’ the same deep voice beyond the fire suggested.

  ‘Maximilian?’ Tzerclas answered. This time he did not seem to resent the stranger’s interference. ‘Yes, he is something of a statesman. You are right, my friend. He and Leuchtenstein, the Landgrave’s minister — he too is a man. I will give you those two. But even they play second parts. The fate of Germany lies in no German hands. It lies in the hands of Gustavus Adolphus and Oxenstierna, Swedes; of Wallenstein, a Bohemian; of — I know not who will be the next foreigner.’

  ‘That is all very well; but you are a foreigner yourself,’ the Waldgrave cried.

  ‘Yes, I am a Walloon,’ Tzerclas said, still quietly, though this time I saw his eyes flicker. ‘It is true; why should I deny it? You represent the native, and I the foreign element. The Countess stands between us, representing both.’

  The Waldgrave rose with an oath and a flushed face, and for a moment I thought that we were going to have trouble. But he remembered himself in time, and sitting down again in silence, gazed sulkily at the fire.

  The movement, however, was enough for my lady. She rose to her feet to break up the party; and turning her shoulder to the offender, began to thank General Tzerclas for his entertainment. This made the Waldgrave, who was compelled to stand by and listen, look more sulky than ever; but she continued to take no notice of him, and though he remained awkwardly regarding her and waiting for a word, as long as she stood, she went away without once turning her eyes on him. The general snatched a torch from me and lighted her with his own hand to our part of the camp, where he took a respectful leave of her; adding, as he withdrew, that he would march at any hour in the morning that might suit her, and that in all things she might command his servants and himself.

  He had sent over for her use a small tent, provided originally, no doubt, for his own sleeping quarters; and we found that in a hundred other ways he had shown himself thoughtful for her comfort. She stood a moment looking about her with satisfaction; and when she turned to dismiss me, there was, or I was mistaken, a gleam of amusement in her eye. After all, she was a woman.

  CHAPTER XI.

  STOLEN!

  The night was still young, and when I had seen my mistress and her women comfortably settled, I sauntered back towards the middle of the camp. The three fires stood here, and there, and there, among the trees, like the feet of a three-legged stool; while between them lay a middle space which partook of the light of all, and yet remained shadowy and ill-defined. A single beech which stood in this space, and served in some degree to screen our fire from observation, added to the darkness of the borderland. At times the flames blazed up, disclosing trunk and branches; again they waned, and only a shadowy mass filled the middle space.

  I went and stood under this tree and looked about me. The Waldgrave had disappeared, probably to his couch. So had Von Werder. Only General Tzerclas remained beside the fire at which we had supped, and he no longer sat erect. Covered with a great cloak he lay at his ease on a pile of furs, reading by the light of the fire in a small fat book, which even at that distance I could see was thumbed and dog’s-eared. Such an employment in such a man — in huge contras
t with the noisy brawling and laughter of his following — struck me as remarkable. I felt a great curiosity to know what he was studying, and in particular whether it was the Bible. But the distance between us was too great and the light too uncertain; and after straining my eyes awhile I gave up the attempt, consoling myself with the thought that had I been nearer I had perhaps been no wiser.

  I was about to withdraw, tolerably satisfied, to seek my own rest, when a stick snapped sharply behind me. Unwilling to be caught spying, I turned quickly and found myself face to face with a tall figure, which had come up noiselessly behind me. The unknown was so close to me, I recoiled in alarm; but the next moment he lowered his cloak from his face, and I saw that it was Von Werder.

  ‘Hush, man!’ he said, raising his hand to enforce caution. ‘A word with you. Come this way.’

  He gave me no time to demur or ask questions, but taking obedience for granted, turned and led the way down a narrow path, proceeding steadily onwards until the glare of the fire sank into a distant gleam behind us. Then he stopped suddenly and faced me, but the darkness in which we stood among the tree-trunks still prevented me seeing his features, and gave to the whole interview an air of mystery.

  ‘You are the Countess of Heritzburg’s steward?’ he said abruptly.

  ‘I am,’ I answered, wondering at the change in his tone, which, deep before, had become on a sudden imperative. By the fire and in Tzerclas’ company he had spoken with a kind of diffidence, an air of acknowledged inferiority. Not a trace of that remained.

  ‘The Waldgrave Rupert,’ he continued— ‘he is a new acquaintance?’

  ‘He is not an old friend,’ I replied. I could not think what he would be at with his questions. All my instincts were on the side of refusing to answer them. But his manner imposed upon me, though his figure and face were hidden; and though I wondered, I answered.

  ‘He is young,’ he said, as if to himself.