CHAPTER XIII.
OUR QUARTERS.
At this time I had never seen a camp, nor viewed any large number ofarmed men together, and my curiosity, as we dropped gently down thehill, while the sun set and the shadows of evening fell upon the busyscene, was mingled with some uneasiness. The babble of voices, oftraders crying their wares, of men quarrelling at play, of womenscreaming and scolding, rose up continually, as from a fair; and thenearer we approached the more like a fair, the less like myanticipations, seemed the place we were entering. I looked to seesomething gay and splendid, the glitter of weapons and the gleam offlags, some reflection of the rich surroundings the general allowedhimself. I saw nothing of the kind; no show of ordered lines, nobattalia drilling, no picquets, outposts, or sentinels. On thecontrary, all before us seemed squalid, noisy, turbulent; so that as Idescended into the midst of it, and left the quiet uplands and theevening behind us, I felt my gorge rise, and shivered as with cold.
A furlong short of the camp a troop of officers on horseback came tomeet us, and saluting their general--some with hiccoughs--fell intumultuously behind us; and their feathered hats and haphazard armourtook the eye finely. But the next to meet us were of a differentkind--beggars; troops of whom, men, women, and children, assailed uswith loud cries, and, wailing and imploring aid, ran beside ourhorses, until Tzerclas' men rode out at them and beat them off. Tothese succeeded a second horde, this time of gaudy, slatternly women,who hung about the entrance to the camp, with hucksters, peddlers,thieves, and the like, without number; so that our way seemed to liethrough the lowest haunts of a great city. Not one in four of all Isaw had the air of a soldier or counted himself one.
And this was the case inside the camp as well as outside. Everywherebooths and stalls stood among the huts, and sutlers plied their trade.Everywhere men wrangled, and women screamed, and naked childrenscuttered up and down. While we passed, the general's presenceprocured momentary respect and silence. The moment we were gone, thestream of ribaldry poured across our path, and the tide of riot setin. I saw plenty of bearded ruffians, dark men with scowling faces,chaffering, gaming or sleeping; but little that was soldierly, littlethat was orderly, nothing to proclaim that this was the lager of amilitary force, until we had left the camp itself behind us andentered the village.
Here in a few scattered houses were the quarters of the principalofficers; and here a degree of quiet and decency and some show met theeye. A watch was set in the street, which was ankle-deep in filth. Afew pennons fluttered from the eaves, or before the doors. In front ofthe largest house a dozen cannon, the wheels locked together withchains, were drawn up, and behind the buildings were groups oftethered horses. Two trumpeters, who seemed to be waiting for us, blewa blast as we appeared, and a dozen officers on foot, some with pikesand some with partisans, came up to greet the general. But even hereugly looks and insolent faces were plentiful. The splendour was faded,the rich garments were set on awry. Hard by the cannon, in the shadowof the house, a corpse hung and dangled from the branch of an oak. Theman had kicked off his shoes before he died, or some one had takenthem, and the naked feet, shining in the dusk, brushed the shouldersof the passers-by.
Some might have taken it for an evil omen; I found it a good one, yetwished more than ever that we had not met General Tzerclas. But mylady, riding beside him and listening to his low-voiced talk, seemednot a whit disappointed by what she saw, by the lack of discipline, orthe sordid crowd. Either she had known better than I what to expect ina camp, or she had eyes only for such brightness as existed. PossiblyVon Werder's warning had so coloured my vision that I saw everythingin sombre tints.
We found quarters prepared for us, not in the general's house, thelarge one by the cannon, but in a house of four rooms, a littlefarther down the street. It was convenient, it had been cleaned forus, and we found a meal awaiting us; and so far I was bound to confessthat we had no ground for complaint. The general accompanied my ladyto the door, and there left her with many bows, requesting permissionto wait on her next day, and begging her in the mean time to send tohim for anything that was lacking to her comfort.
When he was gone, and my lady had surveyed the place, she let hersatisfaction be seen. The main room had been made habitable enough.She stood in her redingote, tapping the table with her whip.
'Well, Martin, this is better than the forest,' she said.
'Yes, your excellency,' I answered reluctantly.
'I think we have done very well,' she continued; and she smiled toherself.
'We are safe from the rain, at any rate,' I said bluntly. My tongueitched to tell her Von Werder's warning, but Fraulein Anna and MarieWort were in the room, and I did not think it safe to speak.
I could not stay and not tell, however, and I jumped at the firstexcuse for retiring. There was a kind of wooden platform in front ofthe houses, and running their whole length; a walk, raised out of themud of the street and sheltered overhead by the low, wide eaves. Awoman and some children had climbed on to it, and begging with theirpalms through the windows almost deafened us. I ran out and drove themoff, and set a man in front to keep the place free. But the wretchedcreatures' entreaties haunted me, and when I returned I was in a worsetemper than before.
The Waldgrave met me at the door, and to my surprise laid his hand onmy shoulder. 'This way, Martin,' he said in a low voice. 'I want aword with you.'
I went with him across the road, and leaned against the fallen trunkof a tree, which was just visible in the darkness. Through theunglazed windows of the house we could see the lighted rooms, theCountess and her attendants moving about, Fraulein Anna sitting withher feet tucked up in a corner, the servants bringing in the meal. Allin a frame of blackness, with the hoarse sounds of the camp in ourears, and the pitiful wailing of the beggars dying away in thedistance. It was a dark night, and still.
The Waldgrave laughed. 'Dilly, dilly, dilly! Come and be killed,' hemuttered. 'Two thousand soldiers? Two thousand cut-throats, Martin.Pappenheim's black riders were gentlemen beside these fellows!'
'Things may look more cheerful by daylight,' I said.
'Or worse!' he answered.
I told him frankly that I thought the sooner we were out of the campthe better.
'If we can get out! Of course, it is better for the mouse when it isout of the trap!' he answered with a sneer. 'But there is the rub.'
'He would not dare to detain us,' I said. I did not believe my words,however.
'He will dare one of two things,' the Waldgrave answered firmly, 'youmay be sure of that: either he will march your lady back toHeritzburg, and take possession in her name, with this tail at hisheels--in which case, Heaven help her and the town. Or he will keepher here.'
I tried to think that he was prejudiced in the matter, and that hisjealousy of General Tzerclas led him to see evil where none was meant.But his fears agreed so exactly with my own, that I found it difficultto treat his suggestions lightly. What the camp was, I had seen; howhelpless we were in the midst of it, I knew; what advantage might betaken of us, I could imagine.
Presently I found an argument. 'You forget one thing, my lord,' Isaid. 'General Tzerclas is on his way to the south. In a week we shallbe with the main army at Nuremberg, and able to appeal to the King ofSweden or the Landgrave or a hundred friends, ready and willing tohelp us.'
The Waldgrave laid his hand on my arm. 'He does not intend to gosouth,' he said.
I could not believe that; and I was about to state my objections whenthe noisy march of a body of men approaching along the road disturbedus. The Waldgrave raised his hand and listened.
'Another time!' he muttered--already we began to fear and besecret--'Go now!'
In a trice he disappeared in the darkness, while I went more slowlyinto the house, where I found my lady inquiring anxiously after him. Ithought that the young lord would follow me in, and I said I had seenhim. But he did not come, and presently wild strains of music, risingon the air out
side, took us all by surprise and effectually divertedmy lady's thoughts.
The players proved to be the general's band, sent to serenade us.As the weird, strange sweetness of the air, with its southern turnsand melancholy cadences, stole into the room and held the womenentranced--while moths fluttered round the lights and the servantspressed to the door to listen, and now and then a harsh scream or adistant oath betrayed the surrounding savagery--I felt my eyes drawnto my lady's face. She sat listening with a rapt expression. Her eyeswere downcast, her lashes drooped and veiled them; but some pleasantthought, some playful remembrance curved her full lips and dimpled herchin. What was the thought, I wondered? was it gratification,pleasure, complacency, or only amusement? I longed to know.
On one point I was resolved. My lady should not sleep that night untilshe had heard the warning I had received from Von Werder. To that endI did all I could to catch her alone, but in the result I had tocontent myself with an occasion when only Fraulein Anna was with her.Time pressed, and perhaps the Dutch girl's presence confused me, orthe delicacy of the position occurred to me _in mediis rebus_, as Ithink the Fraulein called it. At any rate, I blurted out the story alittle too roughly, and found myself called sharply to order.
'Stay!' my lady said, and I saw too late that her colour was high.'Not so fast, man! I think, Martin, that since we left Heritzburg youhave lost some of your manners! See to it, you recover them. Who toldyou this tale?'
'Herr von Werder,' I answered with humility; and I was going on withmy story. But she raised her hand.
'Herr von Werder!' she said haughtily. 'Who is he?'
'The gentleman who supped with us last night,' I reminded her.
She stamped the floor impatiently. 'Fool!' she cried, 'I know that!But who is he? Who is he? He should be some great man to prate of myaffairs so lightly.'
I stuttered and stammered, and felt my cheek redden with shame. _I didnot know_. And the man was not here, and I could not reproduce for herthe air of authority, the tone and look which had imposed on me: whichhad given weight to words I might otherwise have slighted, andimportance to a warning that I now remembered was a stranger's. Istood, looking foolish.
My lady saw her advantage. 'Well,' she said harshly, 'who is he? Outwith it, man! Do not keep us waiting.'
I muttered that I knew no more of him than his name.
'Perhaps not that,' she retorted scornfully.
I admitted that it might be so.
My lady's eyes sparkled and her cheeks flamed. 'Before Heaven, you area fool!' she cried. 'How dare you come to me with such a story? Howdare you traduce a man without proof or warranty! And my cousin! Why,it passes belief. On the word of a nameless wanderer admitted to ourtable on sufferance you accuse an honourable gentleman, our kinsmanand our host, of--Heaven knows of what, I don't! I tell you, you shameme!' she continued vehemently. 'You abuse my kindness. You abuse theshelter given to us. You must be mad, stark mad, to think such things.Or----'
She stopped on a sudden and looked down frowning. When she looked upagain her face was changed. 'Tell me,' she said in a constrainedvoice, 'did any one--did the Waldgrave Rupert suggest this to you?'
'God forbid!' I said.
The answer seemed to embarrass her. 'Where is he?' she asked, lookingat me suspiciously.
I told her that I did not know.
'Why did he not come to supper?' she persisted.
Again I said I did not know.
'You are a fool!' she replied sharply. But I saw that her anger haddied down, and I was not surprised when she continued in a changedtone, 'Tell me; what has General Tzerclas done to you that you dislikehim so? What is your grudge against him, Martin?'
'I have no grudge against him, your excellency,' I answered.
'You dislike him?'
I looked down and kept silence.
'I see you do,' my lady continued. 'Why? Tell me why, Martin.'
But I felt so certain that every word I said against him would in herpresent mood only set him higher in her favour that I was resolved notto answer. At last, being pressed, I told her that I distrusted him asa soldier of fortune--a class the country folk everywhere hold inabhorrence; and that nothing I had seen in his camp had tended tolessen the feeling.
'A soldier of fortune!' she replied, with a slight tinge of wonder andscorn. 'What of that? My uncle was one. Lord Craven, the Englishman,the truest knight-errant that ever followed banished queen--if all Ihear be true--he is one; and his comrade, the Lord Horace Vere. AndCount Leslie, the Scotchman, who commands in Stralsund for the Swede,I never heard aught but good of him. And Count Thurn of Bohemia--him Iknow. He is a brave man and honourable. A soldier of fortune!' shecontinued thoughtfully, tapping the table with her fingers. 'And whynot? Why not?'
My choler rose at her words. 'He has the sweepings of Germany in histrain,' I muttered. 'Look at his camp, my lady.'
She shrugged her shoulders. 'A camp is not a nunnery,' she said. 'Andat any rate, he is on the right side.'
'His own!' I exclaimed.
I could have bitten my tongue the next moment, but it was too late. Mylady looked at me sternly. 'You grow too quick-witted,' she said. 'Ihave talked too much to you, I see. I am no longer in Heritzburg, butI will be respected, Martin. Go! go at once, and to-morrow be morecareful.'
Result--that I had offended her and done no good. I wondered what theWaldgrave would say, and I went to bed with a heart full of fanciesand forebodings, that, battening on themselves, grew stronger and moreformidable the longer I lay awake. The night was well advanced and theimmediate neighbourhood of our quarters was quiet. The sentry'sfootsteps echoed monotonously as he tramped up and down the woodenplatform before them. I could almost hear the breathing of thesleepers in the other rooms, the creak of the floor as one rose oranother turned. There was nothing to keep me from sleep.
But my thoughts would not be confined to the four walls or theneighbourhood; my ears lent themselves to every sound that came fromthe encircling camp, the coarse song chanted by drunken revellers, theoath of anger, the shrill taunt, the cry of surprise. And once, alittle before midnight, I heard something more than these: a suddenroar of voices that swelled up and up, louder and fiercer, and thendied in a moment into silence--to be followed an instant later byfierce screams of pain--shriek upon shriek of such mortal agony andwrithing that I sat up on my pallet, trembling all over and bathed inperspiration; and even the sleepers turned and moaned in their dreams.The cries grew fainter. Then, thank Heaven! silence.
But the incident left me in no better mood for sleep, and with everynerve on the stretch I was turning on the other side for the twentiethtime when I fancied I heard whispering outside; a faint muttering asof some one talking to the sentinel. The sentry's step still kepttime, however, and I was beginning to think that my imagination hadplayed me a trick, when the creak of a door in the house, followed bya rustling sound, confirmed my suspicions. I rose to my feet. The nextinstant a low scream and the harsh voice of the watchman told me thatsomething had happened.
I passed out of the house, without alarming any one, and was notsurprised to find Jacob pinning a captive against the wall with onehand, while he threatened him with his pike. There was just lightenough to see this, and no more, the wide eaves casting a black shadowon the prisoner's face.
'What is it, Jacob?' I said, going to his assistance. 'Whom have yougot?'
'I do not know,' he answered sturdily, 'but I'll keep him. He wastrying to get in or out. Steady now,' he added gruffly to his captive,'or I will spoil your beauty for you!'
'In or out?' I said.
'Ay, I think he was coming out.'
There was a fire burning in the road a score of paces away. I ran toit and fetched a brand, and blowing the smouldering wood into a blaze,threw the light on the fellow's face. Jacob dropped his hand with acry of surprise, and I recoiled. His prisoner was a woman--Marie Wort.
She hung down her head, trembling violently. Jacob had thrust back thehood from her face, and her loosened
hair covered her shoulders.
'What does it mean?' I cried, struggling with my bewilderment. 'Whyare you here, girl?'
Instead of answering she cowered nearer the wall, and I saw that shewas trying to hide something behind her under cover of her cloak.
'What have you got there?' I said quickly, laying my hand on herwrist.
She flashed a look at me, her small teeth showing, a mutinous glare onher little pale face. 'Not my chain!' she snapped.
I dropped her arm and recoiled as if she had struck me; though thewords did not so much hurt as surprise me. And I was quick to recovermyself. 'What is it, then?' I said, returning to the attack. 'I mustknow, Marie, and what you are doing here at this time of night.'
As she did not answer I put her cloak aside, and discovered, to mygreat astonishment, that she was holding a platter full of food. Itshook in her hand. She began to cry.
'Heavens, girl!' I exclaimed in my wonder, 'have you not had enough toeat?'
She lifted her head and looked at me through her tears, her eyessparkling with indignation. 'I have!' she said almost fiercely. 'Butwhat of these?'--and she flung her disengaged hand abroad, with agesture I did not at once comprehend. 'Can you sleep in their beds,and lie in their houses, and eat from their meal-tubs, and think ofthem starving, and not get up and help them? Can you hear them whiningfor food like dogs, and starve them as you would not starve a dog? Icannot. I cannot!' she repeated wildly. 'But you, you others, you ofthe north, you have no hearts! You lie soft and care nothing!'
'But what--who are starving?' I said in amazement. Her words outran mywits. 'And where is the man in whose bed I am lying?'
'Under the sky! In the ditch!' she answered passionately. 'Are youblind?' she continued, speaking more quietly and drawing nearer. 'Doyou think your general built this village? If not, where are thepeople who lived in it a month ago? Whining for a crust at the campgate. Living on offal, or starving. Fighting with the dogs for bones.I heard a man outside this house cry that it was all his, and that hewas starving. You drove him off. I heard his wife and babes wailingoutside a while ago, and I came out. I could not bear it.'
I looked at Jacob. He nodded gravely. 'There was a woman here, with achild,' he said.
'Heaven forgive us!' I cried. Then--'Go in, girl,' I continued. 'Iwill see the food put where they will get it; but do you go to bed.'
She obeyed meekly, leaving me wondering at the strange mixture ofcourage and fearfulness which makes up some women, and those the best;who fly from a rat, yet face every extremity of pain withoutflinching. A Romanist? And what of that? It seemed to me a smallthing, as I watched her gliding in. If she knew little and that awry,she loved much.
I looked at Jacob and he at me. 'Is it true, do you think?' I said.
'I doubt it is,' he answered stolidly, dropping the smouldering brandon the ground and treading, it out with his heel. 'I have seensoldiers and sutlers and women since I came into camp; and beggars.But peasants not one. I doubt we have eaten them out, Master Martin.But soldiers must live.'
The little heap of red embers glowed dully in the road and gave nolight. The darkness shut us in on every side, even as the camp shut usin. I looked out into it and shuddered. It seemed to my eyes peopledwith horrors: with gaping mouths that cursed us as they set in death,with lean hands that threatened us, and tortured faces of maids andchildren; with the despair of the poor. Ghosts of starving men andwomen glared at us out of spectral eyes. And the night seemed full ofomens.