CHAPTER XXXIX
THE FLAG ON THE BED TOWER
It took us all our powers of persuasion with the Prince to induce himto depart homeward on the morrow, under escort of a dozen sturdy andwell-armed lanzknechte attached to the monastery. But the thing wasdone at last.
"And remember," said our Karl, as he embraced us, "that if ye return noton the eighth day at eventide, the forces of Plassenburg will e'en bebattering on the gates of Thorn by the hour of dusk. I am not going tohave my farms burned, my peasants disembowelled and cast to theblood-hounds, my women ravished in their kindly home-steadings. God wot!the cup of Duke Casimir hath been brimming this many a day, and we willgive him a deep and bitter draught to drink when we set it to his lips."
Thereupon we bade our dear and brave master a respectful adieu. KarlMiller's Son he might be, but for all that he was every inch a king--aright royal man, whom I would rather serve than the Kaiser himself.
And after he had gone from us a little way he turned again and waved hishand, crying: "On the eighth day report you without fail, friends ofmine, unless ye wish me to come asking for you at the gates of Thorn,with some din and the spilling of much blood."
The worthy Abbot Tobias gave us a paper to the Bishop Peter, now restoredto his bishopric of Thorn, and in some measure dwelling at peace with theDuke Casimir since that ruler's reconciliation with Holy Church. In thispaper it was set forth that the most learned Doctor of Law, LeonardSchmidt, with his servant Johann, were on their way to Ratisbon todispute concerning the Practice of Law and Reason with another mostlearned Doctor of the Empire, and that, desiring to remain a day of twoin Thorn, they were by the Abbot Tobias of Wolgast commended to BishopPeter's kind hospitality.
For indeed the inns of Germany, and especially of the North, were not atthat time such as wise and learned men could readily submit to--neitherabide in, to be herded with dull, landward peasants and all thetankard-swilling gutter-knaves of the town.
Of the remainder of our journey I need not speak, seeing that more thanonce I have had to tell of that journey from Thorn to Plassenburg. It issufficient that by evening the dark, frowning mass of the Wolfsberg layimminent before us, each tower black against the sky. For even the newportions which Casimir had builded were of intention blackened withsoot--mingled with the plaster and mortar, so that they should be of onepiece of grim terror with the rest of the building.
"After all it is not strange," said I to the Councillor, for whenthere was no one in sight or very near us I rode with him instead ofbehind him, "that the man who shakes at every breeze among the aspensshould take such pains to create the fiction and shadow of terrorabout him, when the substance and reality is dominant all the while inhis own bosom."
Since we had come within the distressed and depopulated territory of theWolfmark we had not spoken to any soul. Indeed, except a few poor,desolate peasant folk, burned black with the sun, scuttling from den toden at the sight of mounted men, we had not seen any living creatures.The cruelty which had marked the reign of the Black Duke seemed to haveafflicted the very face of the country with a visible curse.
But the day of deliverance was at hand.
As we came nearer to Thorn, there before us was the Red Tower, at firstdimly apparent, then prominent, then commanding, finally rising higherthan all the buildings of the Wolfsberg. How many days had I not lookeddown from those windows! And my father was even now up there in his grimgarret, his heart stirring calm and kindly within him, in spite of allthe atmosphere of blood in which his life had moved, as untouched asthough he had been a gardener working among the flowers of the parterre.Also the block was there, and against it the Red Axe was leaning.
Then I called to mind the prophecy of the Lady Ysolinde, that I shouldreturn to take up my father's dreadful trade. And I smiled thereat.For I thought that now I came in other circumstances--aye, even thoughriding in at The tail of the learned Doctor Schmidt with my shaven andchestnut-stained face, my flowing hair cropped to the roots, as in themanner of the servant tribe! Yet for all that was I not the virtualmilitary commander of the Plassenburg and the right hand of thePrince, whose forces would soon be clamoring against the walls ofThorn and bringing down to destruction the hateful tyranny of theBlack Duke Casimir?
"What is that?" said I, pointing to a standard of immense size whichdrooped from the Red Tower. It had been hanging limp and straight aboutthe staff, and till now we had not observed it. But as we went toiling upto the Weiss Thor, and the last links of road lengthened themselvesindefinitely out before us in their own familiar manner, suddenly a waftof hot wind from the sun-beaten plain of the Wolfmark blew out an immenseblack flag, which spread itself, fluttered feebly, and died down againflat against the pole.
"Nay," said the Doctor, "that I cannot tell. Surely you should know thecustoms of your own city better than I!"
For the heat had made the High Chancellor a little snappish, as wellperhaps as the length of the way.
"Never in my time have I seen such a thing float above the Red Tower," Imade answer. "Can it be a flag of pestilence?"
It seemed a likely thing enough. Cities were often made desolate in a fewdays by the plague--the people running to the hills, a weird devil'ssilence all about the gates. These might well betoken the presence of afoe to which the army of Plassenburg would seem as a friend.
As we rode under the Arch of the White Gate of Thorn we were summarilyhalted to be examined. We gave our names, and the Doctor showed hisletters of authorization from a dozen learned universities. The BlackHussar who examined our credentials was of a taciturn disposition, andevidently no scholar, for he studied the parchments intently upsidedown,and appeared to have an idea that their genuineness was best investigatedby smelling the seals.
"Where are you bound?" he asked.
"To the house of the learned and venerable Bishop of Thorn!" said theDoctor Schmidt.
So the Hussar, having finally approved of the quality of thescholastic wax, called a subordinate, and bade him guide us to thehouse of Bishop Peter.
In an instant we were in the familiar streets, narrow, sunken, andindescribably dirty, as they now appeared to me. For I had beenaccustomed to the wider, airier spaces, and to the bickering rivuletswhich ran down most of the steeper streets of Plassenburg, and which madeit one of the cleanest towns in the world. So that the ancient andunreformed filth and wretchedness of Thorn appealed to my senses as theyhad never done before.
There were evidences too of the terror in which the inhabitants had longlived. The houses of the rich burghers were sadly dilapidated. No manthought it worth while to spend a pot of paint on a house which might beknocked about his ears that very night, if the Duke conceived there wasmoney or gear to be found within the walls of it.
Here and there the same black banner appeared.
I asked the reason of it from our guide.
"Is it that the plague is in the city?"
"The plague has, indeed, been in the city--yes! But that is not thereason of the flag."
"And what then is the meaning of the black flag?" said I.
"Ye are strangers indeed!" answered the man. "Did you not know that thegreat Duke Casimir is dead, and that the black flag flies for him, andmust fly on the Wolfsberg till his successor be crowned."
"And who is his successor?" said I.
"Who but young Otho, the worst of the Wolfs litter. But perhaps you arehis friend?"
He turned with a keen look, like one who has been accustomed to deliverhimself in company where he is sure of sympathy, and who suddenly has toconsider his words in society the tone of which he is not sure of.
"Nay," said I, "we are travelling strangers and know nothing of yourpolitics. But this Duke Otho, wherefore has he not been crowned?"
"Because," said the man, "the Duke Casimir, they say, hath been foullymurdered, and that through the witchcraft of a woman. So by our laws,till the murderer is punished, the young Duke may not be crowned."
By this time we were at the entering in of
the long, dull mass ofbuilding, which during most of my boyhood had stood unoccupied, owing tothe quarrel between Bishop Peter and the Duke. Our guide led usunchallenged into the quadrangle, and then abruptly vanished withoutpausing to bid us good-day, or even deigning to accept the modestgratuity which my master, the learned Doctor, had in his front pouchready for him.
As for me, I stood holding the horses and looking about for any of my ownquality who might show me the way to the stables.
Presently a long, lean, lathy youth slouched out of one of the gloomyentries. He stood amazed at the sight of me. I went to him to ask where Imight bestow the horses, now standing weary-footed, hanging their headsafter the long journey and the toil of the final ascent from the plain.
"Will you fight, outlander?" were the first words of my lathy friend fromthe entry. He seemed to have been drawn up recently from a period ofdetention in some deep draw-well, and to have the mould of the stonesstill upon him.
"Why," said I, "of course I will fight, and that gladly, if you will findme a man to fight with !"
"I will fight you myself," he said, swelling himself. "For the end ofthis candle I will fight half a dozen such Baltic sausages as you be."
"Like enough," said I, "all in good time. But in the mean time show methe stables, that I may put up my master's horses."
"What know I about you or your master's horses?" cried my Lad of Lath;"and pray why should I show the way to Bishop Peter's good stables toevery wastrel that comes sneaking in off the street and asks the freedomof our house. For aught I know you may have come to steal corn. Though,if that be so, Lord love you, you have come to the wrong place."
"Come, stable-master," said I, placably, "let me see a corner and a wispof straw and I will ease the poor beasts. That will not harm the BishopPeter, whom my master has gone to visit. He is a friend of his, a manlearned in ecclesiastical affairs, who comes to hold disputations withthe Bishop--"
"Disputations--what be those? Anything with money at the end of them? Ifso, he will be a welcome guest at this house. There is very little moneyat the tail of anything in this town."
I thought I would try the effect of a broad silver piece upon him, at thesame time giving the lad the information that disputations were kinds offights with the tongues of men instead of with their fists.
The silver sweetened his face like a charm. He seized me by the hand.
"My name," he cried, "is Peter of the Pigs. I am not stable-master, butfeed the grouting piglings. And yet in a way I am indeed stable-master.For the Bishop hath had no horses since the Duke took them away to mounthis cavalry for the raids into Plassenburg. So Peter of the Pigs looksafter all about the yard, and precious little there is to lookafter--except one's own legs getting longer and leaner every day."
"And where is the Bishop this afternoon?" I said.
"Where should he be," cried Peter of the Pigs, "but at the trial of thewitch-woman in the Hall of Justice? It must be a rare sight. They sayshe is to be put to the torture, and that they want a new executionerto do it."
"Why," said I, struck to the heart by his words, "what is the matter withthe old one?"
"Oh," said the lad, "he is mortal sick abed. He happened an accident, orsome one stuck a dagger into him--no great matter if he had stuck itthrough him, or cloven him to the chine with his own Red Axe!"