‘Yes, he is young,’ I answered dryly. ‘He will grow older.’
He remained silent a moment, apparently in thought. Then he spoke suddenly and bluntly. ‘You are an honest man, I believe,’ he said. ‘I watched you at supper, and I think I can trust you. I will be plain with you. Your mistress had better have stayed at Heritzburg, steward.’
‘It is possible,’ I said. I was more than half inclined to think so myself.
‘She has come abroad, however. That being so, the sooner she is in Cassel, the better.’
‘We are going thither,’ I answered.
‘You were!’ he replied; and the meaning in his voice gave me a start. ‘You were, I say?’ he continued strenuously. ‘Whither you are going now will depend, unless you exert yourself and are careful, on General John Tzerclas of the Saxon service. You visit his camp to-morrow. Take a hint. Get your mistress out of it and inside the walls of Cassel as soon as you can.’
‘Why?’ I said stubbornly. ‘Why?’ For it seemed to me that I was being asked all and told nothing. The man’s vague warnings chimed in with my own fears, and yet I resented them coming from a stranger. I tried to pierce the darkness, to read his face, to solve the mystery of his altered tone. But the night baffled me; I could see nothing save a tall, dark form, and I fell back upon words and obstruction. ‘Why?’ I asked jealously. ‘He is my lady’s cousin.’
‘After a fashion,’ the stranger rejoined coldly and slowly, and not at all as if he meant to argue with me. ‘I should be better content, man, if he were her uncle. However, I have said enough. Do you bear it in mind, and as you are faithful, be wary. So much for that. And now,’ he continued, in a different tone, a tone in which a note of anxiety lurked whether he would or no, ‘I have a question to ask on my own account, friend. Have you heard at any time within the last twelve months of a lost child being picked up to the north of this, in Heritzburg or the neighbourhood?’
‘A lost child?’ I repeated in astonishment.
‘Yes!’ he retorted impatiently. And I felt, though I could not see, that he was peering at me as I had lately peered at him. ‘Isn’t that plain German? A lost child, man? There is nothing hard to understand in it. Such a thing has been heard of before — and found, I suppose. A little boy, two years old.’
‘No,’ I said, ‘I have heard nothing of one. A child two years old? Why, it could not go alone; it could not walk!’
In the darkness, which is a wonderful sharpener of ears, I heard the man move hastily. ‘No,’ he said with a stern note in his voice, ‘I suppose not; I suppose it could not. At any rate, you have not heard of it?’
‘No,’ I said, ‘certainly not.’
‘If it had been found Heritzburg way,’ he continued jealously, ‘you would have, I suppose?’
‘I should have — if any one,’ I answered.
‘Thank you,’ he said curtly. ‘That is all now. Good night.’
And suddenly, with that only, and no warning or further farewell, he turned and strode off. I heard him go plunging through the last year’s leaves, and the noise told me that he trod them sternly and heavily, with the foot of a man disappointed, and not for the first time.
‘It must be his child,’ I thought, looking after him.
I waited until the last sound of his retreat had died away, and then I made my own way back to the camp. As chance would have it, I hit it close to the servants’ fire, and before I could turn was espied by some of those who sat at it. One, a stout, swarthy fellow, with bright black eyes, and a small feather in his cap, sprang up and came towards me.
‘Why so shy, comrade?’ he cried, with a hiccough in his voice. ‘Himmel! There are a pair of us!’ And he raised his hand and laid it on my head — with an effort, for I am six feet and two inches. ‘Peace!’ and he touched me on the breast. ‘War!’ and he touched himself. ‘And a good broad piece you are, and a big piece, and a heavy piece, I’ll warrant!’ he continued.
‘I might say the same for you!’ I retorted, suffering him to lead me to the fire.
‘Oh, I?’ he cried with a drunken swagger. ‘I am a double gold ducat, true metal, stamped with the Emperor’s man-at-arms! Melted in the Low Countries under Spinola — that is, these thirteen years back — minted by Wallenstein, tried by the noble general!
“Clink! Clink! Clink!
Sword and stirrup and spur.
Ride! Ride! Ride!
Fast as feather or fur!”
That is my sort! But come, welcome! Will you drink? Will you play? Will you ‘list? Come, the night is young,
“For the night-sky is red,
And the burgher’s abed,
And bold Pappenheim’s raiding the lea!”
Which shall it be, friend?’
‘I will drink with you or play with you, captain,’ I answered, seeing nothing else for it, ‘so far as a poor man may; but as for enlisting, I am satisfied with my present service.’
‘Ha! ha! I can quite understand that!’ he answered, winking tipsily. ‘Woman, lovely woman! Here’s to her! Here’s to her! Here’s to her, lads of the free company!
“Drink, lads, drink!
Firkin and flagon and flask.
Hands, lads, hands!
A round to the maid in the mask!”
Why, man, you look like a death’s head! You are too sober! Shame on you, and you a German!’
‘An Italian were as good a toper!’ one of the men beside him growled.
‘Or a whey-fed Switzer!’
‘Perhaps you are better with the dice!’ the captain, intendant, or what he was, continued. ‘You will throw a main? Come, for the honour of your mistress!’
I had nearly a score of ducats of my own in my pouch, and so far I could pay if I lost. I thought that I might get some clue to Tzerclas’ nature and plans by humouring the man, and I assented.
‘The dice, lads, the dice!’ he cried. Ludwig, the others called him.
‘“Ho, the roof shall be red
O’er the heretic’s head,
For bold Pappenheim’s raiding the lea!”
The dice, the dice!’
‘Your guest looks scared,’ one said, looking at me grimly. ‘Perhaps he is a heretic!’
‘Chut! we are all heretics for the present!’ Ludwig answered recklessly. ‘A fig for a credo and a fig for a psalm! Give me a good horse and a good sword and fat farmhouses. I ask no more. Shall it be a short life and a merry one? The highest to have it?’
‘Content,’ I said, trying to fall into his humour.
‘A ducat a throw?’ he asked, posing the caster. A man, as he spoke, placed a saddle between us, while half a dozen others pressed round to watch us. The flame leaping up shone on their dark, lean faces and gleaming eyes, or picked out here and there the haft of a knife or the butt of a pistol. Some wore steel caps, some caps of fur, some gaudy handkerchiefs twisted round their heads. There were Spaniards, Bohemians, Walloons among them; a Croat or two; a few Saxons. ‘Come,’ cried the captain, rattling the dice-box. ‘A ducat a throw, Master Peace? Between gentlemen?’
‘Content,’ I said, though my heart beat fast. I had never even seen men play so high.
‘So!’ growled a German who crouched beside me — a one-eyed man, fat and fair, the one fair-faced man in the company; ‘’tis a cock of a fine hackle!’
‘See me strip him!’ Captain Ludwig rejoined gleefully. And he threw and I threw, and I won; while the flame, leaping and sinking, flung its ruddy light on the walls of our huge, leafy chamber. Then he won. Then I won. I won again, again, again!
‘He has the fiend’s own luck!’ a Pole cried with a curse.
‘Steady, Ludwig!’ quoth another. ‘Will you be beaten by a clod-pate?’
‘Fill his cup!’ my opponent cried hardily. ‘He has the knack of it! But I will strip him! Beat up the fire there! I can’t see the spots. That is nine ducats you have won, good broad-piece! Throw away!’
I threw, and at it we went again, but now luck began to run against me, t
hough slowly. The hollow rattle of the dice, the voices calling the numbers, the oath and the cry of triumph want on monotonously: went on — and I think the spirit of play had fairly got hold of me — when a stern voice suddenly broke in on our game.
‘Put up, there, you rascals!’ Tzerclas cried from his fire. ‘Have done, do you hear, or it will be the worse for you! Kennel, I say!’
Captain Ludwig swore under his breath. ‘Ugh!’ he muttered, ‘just as I was getting my hand in! What is the score? Seven ducats to me; and little enough for the trouble. Hand over, comrade. You know the proverb.’
In haste to be gone after the warning we had received, I plunged my hand into my pouch, and drew out in a hurry, not a fistful of ducats as I intended, but a score of links of gold chain, which for a moment glittered in the firelight. As quickly as I could I thrust the chain — it was Marie Wort’s, of course — back into my pocket, but not before the German sitting beside me had seen it. I looked at him guiltily while I fumbled for the money, and he tried to look as if he had seen nothing. But his one eye sparkled evilly, and I saw his lips tremble with greed. He made no remark, however, and in a moment I found the money and paid my debt.
Most of the men had already laid themselves down and were snoring, with their feet to the fire. I muttered good night, and seizing my cap went off. To gain my quarters, I had to walk across the open under the beech-tree. I had just reached this tree, and was passing through the shadow under the branches, when the sound of a light footstep at my heels startled me, and turning in my tracks I surprised the one-eyed German.
‘Well,’ I said wrathfully — I was not in the best of tempers at losing— ‘what do you want?’
The action and the challenge took him aback. ‘Want?’ he grumbled, recoiling a step. ‘Nothing. Is this your private property?’
He had thief written all over his fat, pale face, and I knew very well what private property he wanted. If I ever saw a sneaking, hang-dog visage it was his! The more I looked at him the more I loathed him.
‘Go!’ I said; ‘get home, you cur! or I will break every bone in your body.’
He glared at me with a curse in his one eye, but he saw that I was too big for him. Besides, General Tzerclas lay reading by his fire thirty paces away. Baffled and furious, the rascal slunk off with a muttered word, and went back the way he had come.
I found Ernst on guard, and after seeing to the fire and hearing that all was well, I lay down beside him in my cloak. But I found it less easy to sleep. The firelight, playing among the leaves and branches overhead, formed likenesses of the men I had left, now grotesque masks, and now scowling faces, fierce-eyed and grim. Von Werder’s warning, too, recurred to me with added weight and would not leave me at peace. I wondered what he meant; I wondered what he suspected, still more, what he knew.
And yet had I need to wonder, or do more than look round and use my wits? What was our position? How were we situate? In the camp and in the hands of a soldier of fortune; a man cold and polite, probably cruel and possibly brutal, lacking enthusiasm, lacking, or I was mistaken, religion, without any check save such as his ambition or fears imposed upon him. And for his power, I saw him surrounded by desperadoes, soldiers in name, banditti in fact, savage, reckless, and unscrupulous; the men, or the twin-brothers of the men, who under another banner had sacked Magdeburg and ravaged Halle.
What was to prevent such a man making his advantage out of us? What was to prevent him marching back to Heritzburg and seizing town and castle under cover of my lady’s name, or detaining us as long as he saw fit, or as suited his purpose? The Landgrave and his Minister were far away, plunged in the turmoil of a great war. The Emperor’s authority was at an end. The Saxon circle to which we belonged was disorganized. All law, all order, all administration outside the walls of the cities were in abeyance. In his own camp and as far beyond it as his sword could reach the soldier of fortune was lord, absolute and uncontrolled.
This trouble kept me turning and tossing for a good hour. At one moment, I made up my mind to rouse my lady before it was light and be gone with the dawn, if I could persuade her; at another, I judged it better to wait until the camp was struck and the horses were saddled, and then to bid Tzerclas, while our numbers were something like equal, go his way and let us go ours — to Frankfort or Cassel, or wherever strong walls and honest citizens, with wives and daughters of their own, held out a prospect of safety.
The mind once roused to activity works, whether a man will or no. When I had thought that matter threadbare, I fell, in my own despite and to my great torment, on another; the gold necklace. Through the day, and pending some opportunity of restoring the chain by stealth, I had shunned its owner. Her dejection, her silence, the way in which she drooped in the saddle, all had reproached me. To avoid that reproach, still more to avoid the meekness of her eyes, I had ridden at a distance from her, sometimes at the head of our company, sometimes at the tail, but never where she rode. And all day I had had a dozen things to consider.
Yet, in spite of this care and preoccupation, I had not succeeded in keeping her out of my mind. At fords and broken bits of the road, or at steep places where the track wound above the Werra, the thought, ‘How will she cross this?’ had occurred to me, so that I had found it hard to hold off from her at such places. And, then, there was the necklace. It burned in my pocket. It made me feel, whenever my hand lighted on it, like a thief, and as mean as the meanest. For a time, it is true, after our meeting with Tzerclas, I had managed to forget it; but now, in the watches of the night, I was consumed with longing to be rid of the thing, to see it back in her possession, to close the matter before some inconceivable trick of spiteful fortune put it out of my power to do so. For, what if an accident happened to me and the chain were found in my pocket? What would she think of me then? Or if the last accident of all befell me, and she never got her own?
These imaginations, working in a mind already fevered, spurred me so painfully that I felt I could hardly wait till morning. Two or three times in the night I rose on my elbow and looked round the sleeping camp, and wished that I could return the chain to her then and there.
I could not. And at last, not long before daybreak, I fell asleep. But even then the chain did not leave me at peace. It haunted my dreams. It slid through my fingers and fell away into unfathomable depths. Or a man with his face hidden dangled it before my eyes, and went away, away, away, while I stood unable to move hand or foot. Or I was digging in a pit for it, digging with nails and bleeding fingers, believing it to be another inch, always another inch below, yet never able to reach it however hard I worked.
I awoke at last, bathed in perspiration and unrefreshed, to find the sun an hour up and the camp beginning to stir itself. Here and there a man was renewing the fires, while his fellows sat up yawning, or, crouching chin and knees together, looked on drowsily. The chill morning air, the curling smoke, the song of the lark as it soared into the blue heaven, the snort and neigh of the tethered horses, the sounds of waking life and reality seemed to bless me. I thanked Heaven it was a dream.
Young Jacob was tending our fire, and I sat awhile, watching him sleepily. ‘It will be a fine day,’ I said at last, preparing to get to my feet.
‘For certain,’ he answered. Then he looked at me shyly. ‘You were in the wars, last night, Master Martin?’ he said.
‘In the wars?’ I exclaimed. ‘What do you mean?’ And I stared at him; waiting, with one knee and one foot on the ground for his answer.
He pointed to my cloak. I looked down, and saw to my surprise a great slit in it — a clean cut in the stuff, a foot long. For a moment I looked at the slit, wondering stupidly and trying to remember how I could have done it. Then a sudden flash, of intelligence entered my mind, and with a dreadful pang of terror, I thrust my hand into my pouch. The chain was gone!
I sprang to my feet. I tore off the pouch and peered into it. I shook my clothes like one possessed. I stooped and searched the ground where I had lain. But all frui
tlessly. The chain was gone!
As soon as I knew this for certain, I turned on Jacob, and seizing him by the throat, shook him to and fro. ‘Wretch!’ I said. ‘You have slept! You have slept and let us be robbed! You have ruined me!’
He gurgled out a startled denial, and the others came round us and got him from me. But my outcry had roused all our part of the camp; even my lady put her head out of the tent and asked what was the matter. Some one told her.
‘That is bad,’ she said kindly. ‘What is it you have lost, Martin?’
Over her shoulder I saw a pale face peer out — Marie Wort’s; and on the instant I felt my rage die down into a miserable chill, the chill of despair.
‘Seven ducats,’ I said sullenly, looking down at the ground, for the truth, at sight of her, crushed me. I was a thief! This had made me one. Who was I to cry out that I was robbed?
‘It must be one of the strangers,’ my lady said in a low voice and with an air of disturbance. ‘Do you — —’
I sprang away without waiting to hear more — they must have thought me mad. I tore to the spot where I had diced the night before. Three or four men sat round the fire, swearing and grumbling, as is the manner of their kind in the morning; but the man I wanted was not among them.
‘Where is Ludwig?’ I panted. ‘Where is he?’
A form, wrapped head and all in a cloak, struggled for a moment with its coverings, and freeing itself at last, rose to a sitting posture. It was Captain Ludwig.
‘Who wants me?’ he muttered sleepily.
‘I!’ I cried, stooping and seizing him by the shoulder. I was trembling with excitement. ‘I have been robbed! Do you hear, man? I have been robbed! In the night!’
He shook me off impatiently. ‘Well, what is that to me?’ he grunted. And he turned to warm himself.
‘Where is the Saxon who sat by me last night?’ I demanded, almost beside myself with fury.
‘How do I know?’ he answered, shrugging his shoulders peevishly. ‘Robbed? Well, you are not the first person that has been robbed. You need not make such an outcry about it. There is more than one thief about, eh, Taddeo?’ And he winked cunningly at his comrade.
Complete Works of Stanley J Weyman Page 137