The Mercenary Part 10

At last Pietro looked up from his calculations. There was a slight gleam in his worn eyes as of satisfaction, and he brought them his parchment.

"The line of this life, sirs, from the figures of the birth, when affected by the influences which the constellations exercise, must pa.s.s through these points," and he showed points upon the parchment marked with Greek letters. "Now if I join these points," and he did so with the point of his pen, "a curve is produced." Again he extinguished the flame of his lamp.

"Now, compare it with the curve I have just shown to you," and it was visible on the extinction of the other flame. "It is the same curve without doubt!"

Nigel was aware of some extraordinary exaltation of mind he could in no wise account for. With his colder intelligence he yet seemed incapable of resisting the belief that the conclusions of the reader of horoscopes were true, that his own path of life was in some momentous way linked up with that of Wallenstein, the idol of his professional admiration, and that now and here that part of his earthly path had begun.

"It seems," said Wallenstein, turning to Nigel, "that by all the rules of divination as practised by the learned doctors of these times, and in particular by Pietro Bramante, who has at divers times made notable experiments at the court of Vienna and elsewhere, you are one of those whose birth is fortunate, and that you are destined to cross my orbit at its zenith and its nadir, and to pa.s.s through the very centre of my intelligence for good or ill."

"You read aright, sir!" said Pietro. "It is beyond my power to say if for good or for ill."

"I would fain know," said Wallenstein, "if you are a good Catholic."

"I am!" said Nigel.

"And have no dealings with the Jesuits?"

"No! I have had no commerce with them at any time!"

"It is well!" said Wallenstein. "For the rest you are a soldier of fortune, and your greatest desire----"

"Is to become a trusted officer in your Grace's service, whenever it shall please the Emperor to recall you!" said Nigel heartily.

"Then let us read the presage as a fortunate one!" said Wallenstein, "and G.o.d speed the fulfilment of your desires! And now, most learned doctor, surely your powers of divination do not end here. You have spoken of some unknown lady or perchance some uncouth beldame, whom the stars have chosen to become a benign power in my life. Does not your art enable you to disclose at least her name? Tell me at least whether she is of a dark and melancholic disposition, or of a sanguine inclination."

Nigel could not tell from the dry pa.s.sionless utterance of the speaker whether irony lay at the root of his tongue: but he was at least as eager as Wallenstein appeared to be indifferent as to the outcome. It was the difference between youth and maturity. If it had been permitted to look into the mind of that inscrutable man, one might have expected to find that on a stage where strode so many princ.i.p.al and, in their several parts, renowned actors, where war and high policy and ambition were the themes, Wallenstein should count as nothing the staying or speeding of his actions by any woman.

Pietro Bramante turned again to his lamp, which he relighted, and, drawing a curtain aside, the light fell upon a tall mirror of the height of a man set at such an angle that at the present it reflected nothing.

At two paces from it he set a chafing-dish wherein burned glowing charcoal, and upon it sprinkled some powder from a little box of ebony; and from the dish rose up a white smoke of a sweet savour. And then Pietro recited some Latin verses, which to Nigel, unversed in such incantations, bore no meaning.

Then, before they were aware, though both gazed intently upon the smoke, the form of a majestic woman appeared to gather substance, and at length her face in all its lineaments became plain to view. The eyes gazed in a kind of ecstasy fixedly, gravely benignant, towards Wallenstein.

Nigel leaped up, spurred by his astonishment, even in opposition to the awe which the moment enjoined upon him, exclaiming "Ottilie von Thuringen!"

And Wallenstein, as if Nigel had not been there, still in his seat, but filled with amaze, exclaimed under his breath--

"Ferdinand's Stephanie!" And then, "Let me have speech of her! Dost hear! Pietro Bramante?"

But the vision had disappeared. Pietro's voice made itself audible.

"This that you saw was but a vision called up by my art. I must confirm it by my mathematics."

CHAPTER IX.

AN ITALIAN AND A SPANIARD.

An hour before dawn came Sergeant Blick to awaken Nigel with the news, "We have the man on the sorrel horse!"

Nigel awoke completely, sprang out of bed, and was attired, even to his jack-boots and spurs, in a few minutes. Then getting astride his horse he was out of Eger and a mile on the road to Pilsen in a very few more.

"A kind of accursed Jew fellow! Some dark Moorish infidel of a heretic!"

was Sergeant Blick's summing up.

Sure enough it was that learned Doctor Pietro Bramante himself.

But this was not the field of prophecy or of divination. This was the atmosphere of dawn, the kingdom of cold fact. Nigel nodded and said in his brief military manner--

"Doctor! You must please turn out your saddle-bags and your pockets for some papers which are lost. Sergeant, a.s.sist the doctor!"

The learned doctor began to protest, as might have been expected, but Nigel merely vouchsafed that it was "in the service of the Emperor." He himself searched the prisoner, whose multifarious garments made the matter one of difficulty. And the fact that, if not an Israelite, he was a very near relation, did not make the operation to Nigel a pleasant one. But when he had finished, he was sure that nothing so bulky as Count Tilly's despatches were upon him.

Sergeant Blick produced in his turn many curious vessels and books and bottles from the saddle-bags, crossing himself at sight of anything unusual, for he had no doubt that he was dealing, if not with the Evil One, with one of his familiars. Nothing was found. Nigel with no excess of courtesy bade him pack up his belongings.

"From what town came you to Eger?"

"Even from Hof by Olsnitz!"

"And for what reason got you half a truss of hay?"

"To save the inn charges and time!"

"And your companions?"

"They rest in Eger, being bound for Graslitz. I know them not. We did but join company for protection."

"At what inn did they rest?"

"I did not ask! Neither did I tell them that I had business with the Duke."

"Enough!" said Nigel, and wheeled his horse.

With a rueful countenance the diviner began to replace his utensils, carefully and patiently. He had at least learned two virtues.

Nigel, gravelled, rode back into the town in an ill-humour and called for his breakfast. By the time that was finished the troopers were at the door.

There was no help but to go forward, and one may be a.s.sured that neither hill nor stream nor any wayside beauty of Bohemia could do aught to bring his mind back to a calm mood. He suspected the "Jew," as he called him. He suspected Gordon, and as for the phantasmagoria of last night, he could make nothing of it. His tendency was to disbelieve, only his respect for Wallenstein's powers of thought diminished his disbelief to something approaching mere doubt. The one thing that stood out was the vision of Ottilie von Thuringen.

Surely it was her "wraith." And if it had by chance been that of some familiar friend in Scotland, or of some one of his blood relations, he would have been awed, but he would have regarded it, in accord with tradition, as portending or announcing some stroke of fate.

He had been carried too much out of himself to hear what Wallenstein had muttered, to observe closely how that great one received the vision.

This at least he had garnered, that Wallenstein also recognised her.

But who then was she? There was another feeling that sprang up in his heart, an uneasy half-born pang, which he dismissed only to find it knocking at the door again. The "wraith" of Ottilie had gazed at Wallenstein, not with eyes of speculation, as the playwright Shakespeare had it, but as one might gaze with open eyes in dream at some beloved object limned only in the brain behind.

But she had gazed at Wallenstein with a benignity which had softened the whole countenance, a benignity which he himself in his two days' contact with her had never surprised upon it. And this the geometrical hocus-pocus of the vile Jew had foreshadowed when he contrived that the right focus of her orbit should also be the centre of Wallenstein's. As Nigel had no knowledge of geometry, and regarded it as a cabalistic invention, though he had heard of telescopes, and of Columbus, and vessel charts, he esteemed this part of the diviner's doings as mere trickery, akin to the old devices of the magicians before Pharaoh. But by no explanation of mere artifice could he doubt that he saw the "wraith" of Ottilie, and that Wallenstein also saw. While recognising her as some one he knew, had Wallenstein thought of her in any close relation to himself? His att.i.tude of surprise said no. But was it possible that Wallenstein could forget so mysterious an occurrence, dismiss it as a mere dream?