Kitabı oku: «Two Penniless Princesses», sayfa 12
Sir Robert, after many imprecations, turned back to the governor, who heard the story in a far more complete form than if it had been related to him by Ringan and the friar.
But his hands were tied till he could communicate with King Rene, for border warfare was strictly forbidden, and unfortunately Duke Sigismund had left Nanci some days before for Luxembourg to meet the Duke of Burgundy.
However, just as George Douglas had persuaded the infirmarer to let him put on his clothes, there had been a clanging and jangling in the outer court, and the Lion and Eagle banner was visible. Duke Sigismund had drawn up there to water the horses, and to partake of any hospitality the Prior might offer him.
The first civilities were passing between them, when a tall figure, his red hair crossed by a bandage, his ruddy face paled, his steps faltering, came stumbling forward to the porch, crying, in his wonderful dialect between Latin and French, ‘Sire, Domine Dux! Justitia! You loved the Lady Eleanor. Free her! They are prisoners to latroni—un routier—sceleratissimo—reiver—Balchenburg!’
Sigismund, ponderous and not very rapid, opened wide his big blue eyes, while the Prior explained in French, ‘It is even so, beau sire. This poor man-at-arms was found bleeding on the way-side by our brethren, having been left for dead by the robbers of Balchenburg, who, it seems, descended on the ladies, dispersed their escort, and carried them off to the castle.’
Sigismund made some tremendously emphatic exclamation in German, and turned upon Douglas to interrogate him. They had very little of common language, but Sigismund knew French, though he hated it, and was not devoid of Latin, so that the narrative was made tolerably clear to him, and he had no doubts or scruples as to instantly calling the latrones to account, and releasing the ladies. He paced up and down the guest-chamber, his spurs clattering against the stone pavement, growling imprecations in guttural German, now and then tugging at his long fair hair as he pictured Eleanor in the miscreants’ power, putting queries to George, more than could be understood or answered, and halting at door or window to shout orders to his knights to be ready at once for the attack. George was absolutely determined that, whatever his own condition, he would not be left behind, though he could only go upon Ringan’s pony, and was evidently in Sigismund’s opinion only a faithful groom.
It was hard to say whether he was relieved or not when there was evidently a vehement altercation in German between the Duke and a tough, grizzled old knight, the upshot of which turned out to be that the Ritter Gebhardt von Fuchstein absolutely refused to proceed through those pine and beech forests so late in the day; since it would be only too easy to lose the way, and there might be ambuscades or the like if Balchenburg and his crew were on the watch, and there was no doubt that they were allied with all the rentiers in the country.
Sigismund raged, but he was in some degree under the dominion of his prudent old Marskalk, and had to submit, while George knew that another night would further restore him, and would besides bring back his attendant.
The next hour brought more than he had expected. Again there was a clattering of hoofs, a few words with the porter, and to the utter amazement of the Prior, as well as of Duke Sigismund, who had just been served with a meal of Franciscan diet, a knight in full armour, with the crowned heart on his breast, dashed into the hall, threw a hasty bow to the Prior, and throwing his arms round the wounded man-at-arms, cried aloud, ‘Geordie—the Master—ye daft callant! See what you have brought yourself to! What would the Yerl your father say?’
‘I trow that I have been striving to do my devoir to my liege’s sisters,’ answered George. ‘How does my father?—and my mother? Make your obeisance to the Duke of the Tirol, Rab. Ye can knap the French with him better than I. Now I can go with him as becomes a yerl’s son, for the freedom of the lady!’
Sir Robert, a veteran Scot, who knew the French world well, was soon explaining matters to Duke Sigismund, who presently advanced to the heir of Angus, wrung his hand, and gave him to understand that he accepted him as a comrade in their doughty enterprise, and honoured his proceeding as a piece of knight-errantry. He was free from any question whether George was to be esteemed a rival by hearing it was the Lady Joanna for whose sake he thus adventured himself, whereas it was not her beauty, but her sister’s intellect that had won the heart of Sigismund. Perhaps Sir Robert somewhat magnified the grandeur of the house of Douglas, for Sigismund seemed to view the young man as an equal, which he was not, as the Hapsburgs of Alsace and the Tirol were sovereign princes; but, on the other hand, George could count princesses among his ancestresses, and only Jean’s personal ambition had counted his as a mesalliance.
It was determined to advance upon the Castle of Balchenburg the next morning, the ten Scottish lances being really forty men, making the Douglas’s troop not much inferior to the Alsatian.
A night’s rest greatly restored George, and equipments had been brought for him, which made him no longer appear only the man-at-arms, but the gallant young nobleman, though not yet entitled to the Golden Spurs.
Ringan served as their guide up the long hills, through the woods, up steep slippery slopes, where it became expedient to leave behind the big heavy war-horses under a guard, while the rest pushed forward, the Master of Angus’s long legs nearly touching the ground, as, not to waste his strength, he was mounted on Ringan’s sure-footed pony, which seemed at home among mountains. Sigismund himself, and the Tirolese among his followers, were chamois-hunters and used enough to climbing, and thus at length they found themselves at the foot of the green rounded slopes of the talchen or ballon, crowned by the fortress with its eight corner-turrets and the broader keep.
Were Elleen and Jean looking out—when the Alsatian trumpeter came forward in full array, and blew three sonorous blasts, echoing among the mountains, and doubtless bringing hope to the prisoners? The rugged walls of the castle had, however, an imperturbable look, and there was nothing responsive at the gateway.
A pursuivant then stood forth—for Sigismund had gone in full state to his intended wooing at Nanci—and called upon the Baron of Balchenburg to open his gates to his liege lord the Duke of Alsace.
On this a wicket was opened in the gate; but the answer, in a hoarse shout, was that the Baron of Balchenburg owned allegiance only, under the Emperor Frederick, to King Rene, Duke of Lorraine.
What hot words were thereupon spoken between Sigismund, Gebhardt, and the two Douglases it scarcely needs to tell; but, looking at the strength of the castle, it was agreed that it would be wiser to couple with the second summons an assurance that, though Duke Sigismund was the lawful lord of the mountain, and entrance was denied at the peril of the Baron, yet he would remit his first wrath, provided the royal ladies, foully and unjustly detained there in captivity, were instantly delivered up in all safety.
To this the answer came back, with a sound of derisive mockery—One was the intended wife of Baron Rudiger; the other should be delivered up to the Duke upon ransom according to her quality.
‘The ransom I will pay,’ roared Sigismund in German, ‘shall be by the axe and cord!’
The while George Douglas gnashed his teeth with rage when the reply as to Jean had been translated to him. The Duke hurled his fierce defiance at the castle. It should be levelled with the ground, and the robbers should suffer by cord, wheel, and axe.
But what was the use of threats against men within six or eight feet every way of stone wall, with a steep slippery slope leading up to it? Heavily armed horsemen were of no avail against it. Even if there were nothing but old women inside, there was no means of making an entrance. Sigismund possessed three rusty cannon, made of bars of iron hooped together; but they were no nearer than Strasburg, and if they had been at hand, there was no getting them within distance of those walls.
There was nothing for it but to blockade the castle while sending after King Rene for assistance and authority. The worst of it was, that starving the garrison would be starving the captives; and likewise, so far up on the mountain, a troop of eighty or ninety men and horses were as liable to lack of provisions as could be the besieged garrison. Villages were distant, and transport not easy to find. Money was never abundant with Duke Sigismund, and had nearly all been spent on the entertainments at Nanci; nor could he make levies as lord of the country-folk, since the more accessible were not Alsatian, but Lorrainers, and to exasperate their masters by raids would bring fresh danger. Indeed, the two nearest castles were on Lorraine territory; their masters had not a much better reputation than the Balchenburgs, and, with the temptation of war-horses and men in their most holiday equipment, were only too likely to interpret Sigismund’s attack as an invasion of their dukedom, and to fall in strength upon the party.
All this Gebhardt represented in strong colours, recommending that this untenable position should not be maintained.
Sigismund swore that nothing should induce him to abandon the unhappy ladies.
‘Nay, my Lord Duke, it is only to retreat till King Rene sends his forces, and mayhap the French Dauphin.’
‘To retreat would be to prolong their misery. Nay, the felons would think them deserted, and work their will. Out upon such craven counsel!’
‘The captive ladies may be secured from an injury if your lordship holds a parley, demands the amount of ransom, and, without pledging yourself, undertakes to consult the Dauphin and their other kinsmen on the matter.’
‘Detained here in I know not what misery, exposed to insults endless? Never, Gebhardt! I marvel that you can make such proposals to any belted knight!’
Gebhardt grumbled out, ‘Rather to a demented lover! The Lord Duke will sing another tune ere long.’
Certainly it looked serious the next day when Sir Robert Douglas had had the greatest difficulty in hindering a hand-to-hand fight between the Scots and Alsatians for a strip of meadow land for pasture for their horses; when a few loaves of black bread were all that could be obtained from one village, and in another there had been a fray with the peasants, resulting in blows by way of payment for a lean cow and calf and four sheep. The Tirolese laid the blame on the Scots, the Scots upon the Tirolese; and though disputes between his Tirolese and Alsatian followers had been the constant trouble of Sigismund at Nanci, they now joined in making common cause against the Scots, so that Gebhardt strongly advised that these should be withdrawn to Nanci for the present, the which advice George Douglas hotly resented. He had as good a claim to watch the castle as the Duke. He was not going to desert his King’s sisters, far less the lady he had followed from Scotland. If any one was to be ordered off, it should be the fat lazy Alsatians, who were good for nothing but to ride big Flemish horses, and were useless on a mountain.
Gebhardt and Robert Douglas, both experienced men of the world, found it one of their difficulties to keep the peace between their young lords; and each day was likely to render it more difficult. They began to represent that it could be made a condition that the leaders should be permitted to see the ladies and ascertain whether they were treated with courtesy; and there was a certain inclination on Sigismund’s part, when he was driven hard by his embarrassments, to allow this to be proposed.
The very notion of coming to any terms made Geordie furious. If the craven Dutchman chose to sneak off and go in search of a ransom, forsooth, he would lie at the foot of the castle till he had burrowed through the walls or found a way over the battlements.
‘Ay,’ said Douglas of Harside drily, ‘or till the Baron sticks you in the thrapple, or his next neighbour throws you into his dungeon.’
In the meantime the captives themselves were suffering, as may well be believed, agonies of suspense. Their loophole did not look out towards the gateway, but they heard the peals of the trumpet, started up with joy, and thought their deliverance was come. Eleanor threw herself on her knees; Lady Lindsay began to collect their properties; Jean made a rush for the stair leading to the top of the turret, but she found her way barred by one of the few men-at-arms, who held his pike towards her in a menacing manner.
She tried to gaze from the window, but it told her nothing, except that a certain murmur of voices broke upon the silence of the woods. Nothing more befell them. They eagerly interrogated Barbe.
‘Ah yes, lady birds!’ she said, ‘there is a gay company without, all in glittering harness, asking for you, but my Lords know ‘tis like a poor frog smelling at a walnut, for any knight of them all to try to make way into this castle!’
‘Who are they? For pity’s sake, tell us, dear Barbe,’ entreated Eleanor.
‘They say it is the Duke himself; but he has never durst meddle with my Lords before. All but the Hawk’s tower is in Lorraine, and my Lord can bring a storm about his ears if he lifts a finger against us. A messenger would soon bring Banget and Steintour upon him. But never you fear, fair ladies, you have friends, and he will come to terms,’ said good old Barbe, divided between pity for her guests and loyalty to her masters.
‘If it is the Duke, he will free you, Elleen,’ said Jean weeping; ‘he will not care for me!’
‘Jeanie, Jeanie, could you think I would be set free without you?’
‘You might not be able to help yourself. ‘Tis you that the German wants.’
‘Never shall he have me if he be such a recreant, mansworn fellow as to leave my sister to the reiver. Never!’
‘Ah! if poor Geordie were there, he would have moved heaven and earth to save me; but there is none to heed me now,’ and Jean fell into a passion of weeping.
When they had to go down to supper, the younger Baron received them with the news—‘So, ladies, the Duke has been shouting his threats at us, but this castle is too hard a nut for the like of him.’
‘I have seen others crack their teeth against it,’ said his father; and they both laughed, a hoarse derisive laugh.
The ladies vouchsafed not a word till they were allowed to retire to their chamber.
They listened in the morning for the sounds of an assault, but none came; there was absolutely nothing but an occasional hum of voices and clank of armour. When summoned to the mid-day meal, it was scanty.
‘Ay,’ said the elder Baron, we shall have to live hard for a day or two, but those outside will live harder.’
‘Till they fall out and cut one another’s throats,’ said his son. ‘Fasting will not mend the temper of Hans of Schlingen and Michel au Bec rouge.’
‘Or till Banget descends on him for meddling on Lorraine ground,’ added old Balchenburg. ‘Eat, lady,’ he added to Jean; ‘your meals are not so large that they will make much odds to our stores. We have corn and beer enough to starve out those greedy knaves outside!’
Poor Jean was nearly out of her senses with distress and uncertainty, and being still weak, was less able to endure. She burst into violent hysterical weeping, and had to be helped up to her own room, where she sometimes lay on her bed; sometimes raged up and down the room, heaping violent words on the head of the tardy cowardly German; sometimes talking of loosing Skywing to show they were in the castle and cognisant of what was going on; but it was not certain that Skywing, with the lion rampant on his hood, would fly down to the besiegers, so that she would only be lost.
Eleanor, by the very need of soothing her sister, was enabled to be more tranquil. Besides, there was pleasure in the knowledge that Sigismund had come after her, and there was imagination enough in her nature to trust to the true knight daring any amount of dragons in his lady’s cause. And the lady always had to be patient.
CHAPTER 11. FETTERS BROKEN
Then long and loud the victor shout
From turret and from tower rang out;
The rugged walls replied.
SCOTT, Lord of the Isles.
‘Sir, I have something to show you.’
It was the early twilight of a summer’s morning when Ringan crept up to the shelter of pine branches under which George Douglas was sleeping, after hotly opposing Gebhardt, who had nearly persuaded his master that retreat was inevitable, unless he meant to be deserted by more than half his men.
George sat up. ‘Anent the ladies?’ he said.
Ringan bowed his head, with an air of mystery and George doubted no longer, but let him lead the way, keeping among the brushwood to the foot of the quarry whence the castle had been built. It had once been absolutely precipitous, no doubt, but the stone was of a soft quality, on which weather told: ivy and creepers had grown on it, and Ringan pointed to what to dwellers on plains might have seemed impracticable, but to those who had bird’s-nested on the crags of Tantallon had quite a different appearance. True, there was castle wall and turret above, but on this, the weather side, there had likewise been a slight crumbling, which had been neglected, perhaps from over security, perhaps on account of the extreme difficulty of repairing, where there was the merest ledge for foothold above the precipitous quarry; indeed, the condition of the place might never even have been perceived by the inhabitants, as there were no traces of the place below having been frequented.
‘Tis a mere staircase as far as the foot of the walls compared with the Guillemot’s crag,’ observed Ringan.
‘And a man with a heart and a foot could be up the wall in the corner where the ivy grows,’ added George. ‘It is well, Ringan, thou hast done good service. Here is the way.’
‘With four or five of our own tall carles, we may win the castle, and laugh at the German pock-puddings,’ added Ringan. ‘Let them gang their gate, and we’ll free our leddies.’
George was tempted, but he shook his head. ‘That were scarce knightly towards the Duke,’ he said. ‘He has been gude friend to me, and I may not thus steal a march on him. Moreover, we ken na the strength of the loons within.’
‘I misdoot there being mair than ten of them,’ said Ringan. ‘I have seen the same faces too often for there to be many. And what there be we shall take napping.’
That was true; nevertheless George Douglas felt bound in honour not to undertake the enterprise without the cognisance of his ally, though he much doubted the Germans being alert or courageous enough to take advantage of such a perilous clamber.
Sigismund had a tent under the pine-trees, and a guard before the entrance, who stood, halbert in hand, like a growling statue, when the young Scot would have entered, understanding not one word of his objurgations in mixed Scotch and French, but only barring the way, till Sigismund’s own ‘Wer da?’ sounded from within.
‘Moi—George of Angus!’ shouted that individual in his awkward French. ‘Let me in, Sir Duke; I have tidings!’
Sigismund was on foot in a moment. ‘And from King Eene?’ he asked.
‘Far better, strong heart and steady foot can achieve the adventure and save the ladies unaided! Come with me, beau sire! Silently.’
George had fully expected to see the German quail at the frightful precipice and sheer wall before him, but the Hapsburg was primarily a Tirolean mountaineer, and he measured the rock with a glistening triumphant eye.
‘Man can,’ he said. ‘That will we. Brave sire, your hand on it.’
The days were almost at their longest, and it was about five in the morning, the sun only just making his way over the screen of the higher hills to the north-east, though it had been daylight for some time.
Prudence made the two withdraw under the shelter of the woods, and there they built their plan, both young men being gratified to do so without their two advisers.
Neither of them doubted his own footing, and George was sure that three or four of the men who had come with Sir Robert were equally good cragsmen. Sigismund sighed for some Tirolese whom he had left at home, but he had at least one man with him ready to dare any height; and he thought a rope would make all things sure. Nothing could be attempted till the next night, or rather morning, and Sigismund decided on sending a messenger down to the Franciscans to borrow or purchase a rope, while George and Ringan, more used to shifts, proceeded to twist together all the horses’ halters they could collect, so as to form a strong cable.
To avert suspicion, Sigismund appeared to have yielded to the murmurs of his people, and sent more than half his troop down the hill, in the expectation that he was about to follow. The others were withdrawn under one clump of wood, the Scotsmen under another, with orders to advance upon the gateway of the castle so soon as they should hear a summons from the Duke’s bugle, or the cry, ‘A Douglas!’ Neither Sir Gebhardt nor Sir Robert was young enough or light enough to attempt the climb, each would fain have withheld his master, had it been possible, but they would have their value in dealing with the troop waiting below.
So it came to pass that when Eleanor, anxious, sorrowful, heated, and weary, awoke at daydawn and crept from the side of her sleeping sister to inhale a breath of morning breeze and murmur a morning prayer, as she gazed from her loophole over the woods with a vague, never-quenchable hope of seeing something, she became aware of something very stealthy below—the rustling of a fox, or a hare in the fern mayhap, though she could not see to the bottom of the quarry, but she clung to the bar, craned forward, and beheld far down a shaking of the ivy and white-flowered rowan; then a hand, grasping the root of a little sturdy birch, then a yellow head gradually drawn up, till a thin, bony, alert figure was for a moment astride on the birch. Reaching higher, the sunburnt, freckled face was lifted up, and Eleanor’s heart gave a great throb of hope. Was it not the wild boy, Ringan Raefoot? She could not turn away her head, she durst not even utter a word to those within, lest it should be a mere fancy, or a lad from the country bird’s-nesting. Higher, higher he went, lost for a moment among the leaves and branches, then attaining a crag, in some giddy manner. But, but—what was that head under a steel cap that had appeared on the tree? What was that face raised for a moment? Was it the face of the dead? Eleanor forced back a cry, and felt afraid of wakening herself from what she began to think only a blissful dream,—all the more when that length of limb had reared itself, and attained to the dizzy crag above. A fairer but more solid face, with a long upper lip, appeared, mounting in its turn. She durst not believe her eyes, and she was not conscious of making any sound, unless it was the vehement beating of her own heart; but perhaps it was the power of her own excitement that communicated itself to her sleeping sister, for Jean’s voice was heard, ‘What is it, Elleen; what is it?’
She signed back with her hand to enjoin silence, for her sense began to tell her that this must be reality, and that castles had before now been thus surprised by brave Scotsmen. Jean was out of bed and at the loophole in a moment. There was room for only one, and Eleanor yielded the place, the less reluctantly that the fair head had reached the part veiled by the tree, and Jean’s eyes would be an evidence that she herself might trust her own sight.
Jean’s glance first fell on the backs of the ascending figures, now above the crag. ‘Ah! ah!’ she cried, under her breath, ‘a surprise—a rescue! Oh! the lad—stretching, spreading! The man below is holding his foot. Oh! that tuft of grass won’t bear him. His knees are up. Yes—yes! he is even with the top of the wall now. Elleen! Hope! Brave laddie! Why—‘tis—yes—‘tis Ringan. Now the other, the muckle carle—Ah!’ and then a sudden breathless silence came over her.
Eleanor knew she had recognised that figure!
Madame de Ste. Petronelle was awake now, asking what this meant.
‘Deliverance!’ whispered Eleanor. ‘They are scaling the wall. Oh, Jean, one moment—’
‘I canna, I canna,’ cried Jean, grasping the iron bar with all her might: ‘I see his face; he is there on the ledge, at fit of the wall, in life and strength. Ringan—yes, Ringan is going up the wall like a cat!’
‘Where is he? Is he safe—the Duke, I would say?’ gasped Eleanor. ‘Oh, let me see, Jeanie.’
‘The Duke, is it? Ah! Geordie is giving a hand to help him on the ground. Tak’ tent, tak’ tent, Geordie. Dinna coup ower. Ah! they are baith there, and one—two—three muckle fellows are coming after them.’
‘Climbing up there!’ exclaimed the Dame, bustling up. ‘God speed them. Those are joes worth having, leddies!’
‘There! there—Geordie is climbing now. St. Bride speed him, and hide them. Well done, Duke! He hoisted him so far. Now his hand is on that broken stone. Up! up! His foot is in the cleft now! His hand—oh!—clasps the ivy! God help him! Ah, he feels about. Yes, he has it. Now—now the top of the battlement. I see no more. They are letting down a rope. Your Duke disna climb like my Geordie, Elleen!’
‘Oh, for mercy’s sake, to your prayers, dinna wrangle about your joes, bairns,’ cried Madame de Ste. Petronelle. ‘The castle’s no won yet!’
‘But is as good as won,’ said Eleanor. ‘There are barely twelve fighting men in it, and sorry loons are the maist. How many are up yet, Jeanie?’
‘There’s a fifth since the Duke yet to come up,’ answered Jean, ‘eight altogether, counting the gallant Ringan. There!’
‘’Tis the warder’s horn. They have been seen!’ and the poor women clasped their hands in fervent prayer, with ears intent; but Jean suddenly darted towards her clothes, and they hastily attired themselves, then cautiously peeped out at their door, since neither sight nor sound came to them from either window. The guard who had hindered their passage was no longer there, and Jean led the way down the spiral stairs. At the slit looking into the court they heard cries and the clash of arms, but it was too high above their heads for anything to be seen, and they hastened on.
There also in the narrow court was a fight going on—but nearly ended. Geordie Douglas knelt over the prostrate form of Rudiger von Balchenburg, calling on him to yield, but meeting no answer. One or two other men lay overthrown, three or four more were pressed up against a wall, howling for mercy. Sigismund was shouting to them in German—Ringan and the other assailants standing guard over them; but evidently hardly withheld from slaughtering them. The maidens stood for a moment, then Jean’s scream of welcome died on her lips, for as he looked up from his prostrate foe, and though he had not yet either spoken or risen, Sigismund had stepped to his side, and laid his sword on his shoulder.
‘Victor!’ said he, ‘in the name of God and St. Mary, I make thee Chevalier. Rise, Sire George of Douglas!’
‘True knight!’ cried Jean, leaping to his side. ‘Oh, Geordie, Geordie, thou hast saved us! Thou noblest knight!’
‘Ah! Lady, it canna be helpit,’ said the new knight. ‘’Tis no treason to your brother to be dubbed after a fair fight, though ‘tis by a Dutch prince.’
‘Thy King’s sister shall mend that, and bind your spurs,’ said Jean. ‘Is the reiver dead, Geordie?’
‘Even so,’ was the reply. ‘My sword has spared his craig from the halter.’
Such were the times, and such Jean’s breeding, that she looked at the fallen enemy much as a modern lady may look at a slain tiger.
Eleanor had meantime met Sigismund with, ‘Ah! well I knew that you would come to our aid. So true a knight must achieve the adventure!’
‘Safe, safe, I am blessed and thankful,’ said the Duke, falling on one knee to kiss her hand. ‘How have these robbers treated my Lady?’
‘Well, as well as they know how. That good woman has been very kind to us,’ said Eleanor, as she saw Barbe peeping from the stair. ‘Come hither, Barbe and Trudchen, to the Lord Duke’s mercy.’
They were entering the hall, and, at the same moment, the gates were thrown open, and the men waiting with Gebhardt and Robert Douglas began to pour in. It was well for Barbe and her daughter that they could take shelter behind the ladies, for the men were ravenous for some prize, or something to wreak their excitement upon, besides the bare walls of the castle, and its rude stores of meal and beer. The old Baron was hauled down from his bed by half-a-dozen men, and placed before the Duke with bound hands.
‘Hola, Siege!’ said he in German, all unabashed. ‘You have got me at last—by a trick! I always bade Rudiger look to that quarry; but young men think they know best.’
‘The old traitor!’ said George in French. ‘Hang him from his tower for a warning to his like, as we should do in Scotland.’
‘What cause have you to show why we should not do as saith the knight?’ said Sigismund.
‘I care little how it goes with my old carcase now,’ returned Balchenburg, in the spirit of the Amalekite of old. ‘I only mourn that I shall not be there to see the strife you will breed with the lute-twanger or his fellows at Nanci.’
Gebhardt here gave his opinion that it would be wise to reserve the old man for King Rene’s justice, so as to obviate all peril of dissension. The small garrison, to be left in the castle under the most prudent knight whom Gebhardt could select, were instructed only to profess to hold it till the Lords of Alsace and Lorraine should jointly have determined what was to be done with it.
It was not expedient to tarry there long. A hurried meal was made, and then the victors set out on the descent. George had found his good steed in the stables, together with the ladies’ palfreys, and there had been great joy in the mutual recognition; but Jean’s horse was found to show traces of its fall, and her arm was not yet entirely recovered, so that she was seated on Ringan’s sure-footed pony, with the new-made knight walking by her side to secure its every step, though Ringan grumbled that Sheltie would be far safer if left to his own wits.
