The Mercenary Part 4

"She was the grandmother of our present king, Charles!"

"And what brought you here?"

"A younger son's lack of fortune, and a taste for sword-play!"

"But surely at the English court!"

"There were already too many Scots, too many younger sons, and a king who had no taste for sword-play, madame!"

"They say the English ladies are rich and beautiful! Were there none who would keep a Scottish gentleman from crossing the seas to find a fortune, when she held one in her lap?"

"I would not have looked beyond her face, madame, and, wanting a fortune of my own, would never have looked her in the face to ask for hers."

"You are too proud, sir! And how long have you plied the trade of a soldier?"

"Since Wallenstein raised his army and fought with Mansfeld. Five years, madame!"

A strange rapt gleam came into her eyes at the name of Wallenstein.

"And the fortune?" she asked.

"My Lord Verulam in his book tells us 'if a man look sharply and attentively he shall see Fortune: for though she be blind yet she is not invisible,'" said the Scot. "I am still looking for her."

"It is a good saying: and your Lord Verulam plainly had a shrewd notion that Fortune walks abroad in petticoats as often as she hides herself in the treasure-house of a king."

Nigel Charteris looked into her face, wondering exactly what she meant by her commentary, and the dark eyes held a lurking demon of laughter somewhere about them for an instant, but the mist came over the twin lakes and her face resumed its lofty repose.

They were not the only wayfarers: though the little groups were getting more and more infrequent. For the final attack on Magdeburg, which had let loose into its streets and places thousands of soldiery on plunder intent, careless of violence to women and to babes, had also opened its gates for the egress of fugitives. Those who had friends or relatives in the country made such haste as was possible in the deadly hubbub of the sack to steal out with their bare lives on to the roads and walk fast and far.

Many were the glances of hate at the troopers, and of wonder at Elspeth Reinheit, who was known to many as the "pastor's niece." As for the young pastor, the fugitives bowed or curtsied to him, and pitied him because they supposed him a prisoner; whereas they themselves possessed a precarious freedom, won out of the press of death that had confronted them in so many forms on the grisly days of the sack.

The pastor, buried in his indignation, and in his thoughts of stirring themes for congregations not yet a.s.sembled, sometimes acknowledged their salutations, sometimes missed seeing them. One question in the intervals of his professional wrath came into his mind every now and again, and he was indignant at the intrusion. It was this: What had happened that Elspeth should have had any dealings with Tilly's captain? He had seen how her eyes had sought the captain's, the eyes of an accursed Catholic, accursed in that his hands were imbrued, actually or vicariously, in the b.l.o.o.d.y wine-presses of the wrath of man, still more accursed that he had done what he had in furtherance of the policy of Rome. And Elspeth Reinheit, though not formally betrothed to him, Pastor Rad, was looked upon as his by others than himself or herself. How was it possible that the soldier and she could have met, and he the pastor and lover not know it? How could there be a look of understanding or of gentle inquiry pa.s.s from her to him to his own exclusion? It filled him with vague uneasiness. It hurt his pride of possession. It raised suspicion of her integrity.

No doubt Pastor Rad would have been still more surprised had he known that the highly-born sympathiser--he was not sure enough of her spiritual leanings to call her adherent,--Ottilie of Thuringen, was at this moment questioning Elspeth on that very matter.

"Dearest Elspeth, you have met yonder captain before yesterday? I am sure of it." She nodded towards his back as he trotted forward to the head of his men after the little conversation.

"That is true!" said Elspeth. "There is no need to keep it secret from you, though I dare not tell Melchior Rad. He would never understand."

"As to that," said her companion, "I cannot advise you. You know the pastor. But your eyes have a most eloquent speech of their own, and are not easily veiled, and, when he and I carried you to your chamber, your eyes sought the captain's, and I could have sworn your pastor marked it."

"Oh dear!" said Elspeth. "And he is so harsh; well, not exactly harsh, but you know what I mean."

"These good men are hard in judgment!" said the other. "Like diamonds for rarity and hardness. As for sparkle ... well, I should not say Pastor Rad sparkles, but never mind."

"This is Thursday!" said Elspeth. "Well, it was on Tuesday night and nearly midnight. I had been sitting watching my uncle in too great anxiety to leave the dear old man, and went down into the kitchen to make him a warm posset.

"As I crept into the kitchen in my night-rail and slippers, my hair down even, imagine, Ottilie, with a candle in my hand, a man stood there in the outer doorway. He seized my hands in his and looked me straight in the face, the candle-light between us.

"'No word, maiden!' he said in a low tone. 'Give me food! Give me a couch to lie upon! I am wearied to death!'

"His face was blackened with smoke and streaked with sweat. His cloak and doublet and gauntlets were stained with I know not what. His voice was hoa.r.s.e and weak. He was clearly wellnigh done for. I was frightened out of my life, but not out of all pity. And he was young and had fine eyes, Ottilie. What could I do?"

"And what did you do?"

"'If thine enemy hunger, feed him,'" said Elspeth. "I did not ask him on which side he fought. I gave him bread and meat and drink, and took him by the little stairs to my own chamber. It was the only safe place, and I bade him sleep there till I wakened him in the morning.

"I spent the night watching my uncle and dozing by his bedside. In the morning, when it was an hour past dawn, I thought of my other charge and went to my chamber. He was gone."

"G.o.d in heaven!" said Ottilie. "And that was the captain there?"

"I could not swear to it!" said Elspeth, blus.h.i.+ng again. "I think it was."

"It is possible also that he came back to the house to see what had happened to you on the second day of the sack!"

"I wonder if he did," said Elspeth. "I should like to think so!"

CHAPTER V.

TWO OF THE CATHOLIC FAITH.

Stra.s.sfurt gave the travellers too poor an entertainment to make them tarry by it. They got a change of horses and pushed on another ten miles, the ground rising steadily as they began to leave the plains and cross the eastern spurs of the Harz mountains. At Aschersleben the air was noticeably purer and laden with the resinous smell of the pines.

They made a long rest here for the evening meal and then rode slowly, for the troopers' horses were tired and sore with the weight of men and mail. The lieutenant made his men walk up the steep hills, but it was late when they clattered and rumbled into little Sangershausen and came to a good inn in the shadow of St Ulrich.

The inn was not large but the stables were s.p.a.cious enough to take in all the troopers as well as their horses: a fortunate thing, since, at the late hour it was, to have made any endeavour to quarter them on the inhabitants would have been a possible cause of tumult. They were already sufficiently near to Thuringen, a Protestant state in the main, for Protestant feeling to be uppermost. Some news of the vengeance executed on Protestant Magdeburg would have preceded the travellers even at this remote town on the borders of the Harz, and Nigel and the lieutenant were both aware of the danger they ran, peaceful as their errand was.

Despite their fatigue they set off again early, covering the ten miles to Frankenhausen with ease. Then the road began to wind in and out among the hills, which lay across their path to Erfurt. The lower slopes of the hills already showed corn ripening; the gra.s.s stood knee-deep in the valleys, but above the cornlands on every hillside rose the forest.

There were a few woodcutters in the forest, a labourer or two here and there in the fields, and at long intervals tiny hamlets, with perhaps a mill or an indifferent inn. To the travellers one and all, the continuous ascents to high ground, the long forest roads, the descents into new valleys, became monotonous and seemingly interminable. They made no haste. It was no countryside for haste. At the best Nigel expected to reach Erfurt at sundown: for the horses had not thrown off the weariness of yesterday, and they could not expect to get a relay for the coach. At the inn where they made what midday meal the place was capable of they could get nothing but smoked ham, little tough cheeses, rye-bread and beer. Fortunately there was plenty of the latter, and the troopers made no grumbling at its quality. Elspeth Reinheit appeared to be blessed with a good appet.i.te, and found ham and rye-bread and cheese to her liking, for she did well by them. The other and more highly-born girl ate little and drank goat's milk, which has a sustaining quality for those who can put up with its richness. Pastor Rad was no more talkative than he had been the day before, and brooded alike in valley and on hill-top with a morose perseverance that foreboded a wealth of prophetic outburst, whenever he should come to his opportunity and to his flock. He watched Nigel in all his approaches and conversation with Elspeth, which the chance or the tedium of the journey brought about.

Nigel was on his side quite natural and unconstrained in his behaviour to the girl, who had done him a vital service which he had in his turn requited. There was no feeling except that of human kindness, which perhaps runs a little thicker as between man and woman, more so still if the man be comely and the woman not less well-seeming than a woman should be.

The longest day of travel comes to an end: and at last they spied the cathedral and the sister church of Saint Severus perched on its eminence. Then the spires of St Martin, St Michael, St Laurence, and later on the walls of Erfurt, rose to view. There were gates to pa.s.s, two waterways to cross by little bridges, which let one see a wilderness of little streets, and then they drew rein at a demure hostelry in the Prediger Stra.s.se, well thought of by the Protestant community of Erfurt.

Nigel and the lieutenant having seen their charges safely housed, rode on with their escort, and readily found quarters for them with the soldiers of the garrison; for Erfurt, if it showed no active partisans.h.i.+p at this time, was pa.s.sively more for the Emperor than for the cause of Gustavus. Originally one of the free cities of the Hanseatic League, it had become annexed by some threads of service to the Electorate of Mainz, the Elector being the Archbishop, and so able to exercise influence, if not precisely dominion, by the spiritual arm as well as by his considerable secular forces. Despite Luther, Erfurt was still to be reckoned as a Catholic city, and not many months after this very day Gustavus treated it accordingly in the swift foray that followed his victory of Breitenfeld.

The lieutenant being by habit a good companion and a great man at a bottle, where he could find both company and bottle, having once sat down with the officers of the garrison, was in no mood to leave them.

Nigel Charteris, on the other hand, like many of his fellow-countrymen, was p.r.o.ne to content himself with his own company rather than make himself profoundly uncomfortable for the sake of being sociable. Wine, Woman, and Song, as the triune object of German idolatry, especially in garrisons, camps, and universities, did not evoke any enthusiasm in him.

He drank wine for good cheer. Song he could bear rather than love, so it had a lilt in it. As for woman, as she followed the camp, or in the character of the helpless quarry of the licentious chase of officers and soldiers alike, or again as the fat helpmeet of the German burgher, redundant with all the virtues but lacking equally all the graces, Nigel Charteris paid her no heed. His gorge rose from one cause or another at all three. Through all the coa.r.s.e scenes of camp life, the brutalities of the sack of cities, he had preserved with religious fervour the memory of his mother, and of the maidens of gentle quality whom he had known in his own land, tall, straight-limbed women with broad foreheads and blue-grey or dark-brown eyes, looking boldly out upon a world that dared not asperse them.

In Ottilie von Thuringen he had recognised at a glance one of their peers, with less of their frankness, with more of their pride of race, a woman of rare beauty, mysterious, tangible yet intangible. For the first time in his prime of manhood did he feel troubled in spirit by the consciousness that something in him strove towards the infinite that is the spirit of woman.

But whether it was this, or the consciousness that of late he had been remiss in his devotions, he stole out beneath the intense blue of a starlit sky towards the cathedral, in the precincts of which he trusted to find a priest to hear his confession.

The builders in their desire to set their holy city on a little hill, and the only hill having a steep declivity to more mundane levels, had constructed a series of under-buildings, called _cavaten_, till they got a continuous level on which to build the cathedral. And a penitent who has to mount a matter of fifty steps, and does so, certainly deserves well of Mother Church. So at least thought Nigel Charteris, as, somewhat breathless, he peered in and found it almost dark. A lantern standing on the floor in a corner announced the presence of some one, who proved to be the sacristan coming out of the sacristy.