The Forest of Swords Part 36

The country was much more heavily forested than usual. At points, the woods turned into what John would almost have called a real forest. Then they could not see very far ahead or to either side, but the road was good and the carts moved forward, though not at a pace too great for the walkers.

Picard carried a rifle over his shoulders, and John had secured an automatic. All the soldiers were well armed. John felt a singular lightness of heart, and, despite the forbidding glare of Suzanne, who was in the last cart, he spoke to Julie.

"It's too fine a morning for battle," he said in English. "Let's pretend that we're a company of troubadours, minnesingers, jongleurs, acrobats and what not, going from one great castle to another."

"I suppose Antoine there is the chief acrobat?"

"He might do a flip-flap, but if he did the earth would shake."

"Then you are the chief troubadour. Where is your harp or viol, Sir Knight of the Tuneful Road?"

"I'm merely imagining character, not action. I haven't a harp or a viol, and if I had them I couldn't play on either."

"Do you think it right to talk In English to the strange young American, Mademoiselle? Would Madame your mother approve?" said Suzanne in a fierce whisper.

"It is sometimes necessary in war, Suzanne, to talk where one would not do so in peace," replied Julie gravely, and then she said to John again in English:

"We cannot carry out the pretense, Mr. Scott. The tuneful or merry folk of the Middle Ages did not travel with arms. They had no enemies, and they were welcome everywhere. Nor did they travel as we do to the accompaniment of war. The sound of the guns grows louder."

"So it does," said John, bending an ear--he had forgotten that a battle was raging somewhere, "but we're behind the French lines and it cannot touch us."

"It was a wonderful victory. Our soldiers are the bravest in the world are they not, Mr. Scott?"

John smiled. They were still talking English. He liked to hear her piquant p.r.o.nunciation of it, and he surmised too that the bravest of hearts beat in the bosom of this young girl whom war had suddenly made a woman. How could the sister of such a man as Lannes be otherwise than brave? The sober brown dress, and the hood equally sober, failed to hide her youthful beauty. The strands of hair escaping from the hood showed pure gold in the suns.h.i.+ne, and in the same suns.h.i.+ne the blue of her eyes seemed deeper than ever.

John was often impressed by the weakness of generalities, and one of them was the fact that so many of the French were so fair, and so many of the English so dark. He did not remember the origin of the Lannes family, but he was sure that through her mother's line, at least, she must be largely of Norman blood.

"What are you thinking of so gravely, Mr. Scott?" she asked, still in English, to the deep dissatisfaction of Suzanne, who never relaxed her grim glare.

"I don't know. Perhaps it was the contrast of our peaceful journey to what is going on twelve or fifteen miles away."

"It is beautiful here!" she said.

Truly it was. The road, smooth and white, ran along the slopes of hills, crested with open forest, yet fresh and green. Below them were fields of chequered brown and green. Four or five clear brooks flowed down the slopes, and the sheen of a little river showed in the distance. Three small villages were in sight, and, clean white smoke rising from their chimneys, blended harmoniously into the blue of the skies. It reminded John of pictures by the great French landscape painters. It was all so beautiful and peaceful, nor was the impression marred by the distant mutter of the guns which he had forgotten again.

Julie and Suzanne, her menacing shadow, dismounted from the wagon presently and walked with John and Picard. Lieutenant Legare was stirred enough from his customary phlegm to offer some gallant words, but war, the great leveler, had not quite leveled all barriers, so far as he was concerned, and, after her polite reply, he returned to his martial duties. John had become the friend of the Lannes family through his a.s.sociation with Philip in dangerous service, and his position was recognized.

The road ascended and the forest became deeper. No houses were now in sight. As the morning advanced it had grown warmer under a brilliant sun, but it was pleasant here in the shade. Julie still walked, showing no sign of a wish for the cart again. John noticed that she was very strong, or at least very enduring. Suddenly he felt a great obligation to take care of her for the sake of Lannes. The sister of his comrade-in-arms was a precious trust in his hands, and he must not fail.

The wind s.h.i.+fted and blew toward the east, no longer bringing the sound of guns. Instead they heard a bird now and then, chattering or singing in a tree. The illusion of the Middle Ages returned to John. They were a peaceful troupe, going upon a peaceful errand.

"Don't tell me there isn't a castle at Menouville," he said. "I know there is, although I've never been there, and I never heard of the place before. When we arrive the drawbridge will be down and the portcullis up. All the men-at-arms will have burnished their armor brightly and will wait respectfully in parallel rows to welcome us as we pa.s.s between. His Grace, the Duke of Light Heart, in a suit of red velvet will be standing on the steps, and Her Graciousness, the d.u.c.h.ess, in a red brocade dress, with her hair powdered and very high on her head, will be by his side to greet our merry troupe. Behind them will be all the ducal children, and the knights and squires and pages, and ladies. I think they will all be very glad to see us, because in these Middle Ages of ours, life, even in a great ducal castle, is somewhat lonely.

Visitors are too rare, and there is not the variety of interest that even the poor will have in a later time."

"You make believe well, Mr. Scott," she said.

"There is inspiration," he said, glancing at her. "We are here in the deeps of an ancient wood, and perhaps the stories and legends of these old lands move the Americans more than they do the people who live here.

We're the children of Europe and when we look back to the land of our fathers we often see it through a kind of glorified mist."

"The wind is s.h.i.+fting again," she said. "I hear the cannon once more."

"So do I, and I hear something else too! Was that the sound of hoofs?"

John turned in sudden alarm to Legare, who heard also and stiffened at once to attention. They were not alone on the road. The rapid beat of hoofs came, and around a corner galloped a ma.s.s of Uhlans, helmets and lances glittering. Picard with a shout of warning fired his rifle into the thick of them. Legare s.n.a.t.c.hed out his revolver and fired also.

But they had no chance. The little detachment was ridden down in an instant. Legare and half of the men died gallantly. The rest were taken.

Picard had been brought to his knees by a tremendous blow from the b.u.t.t of a lance, and John, who had instinctively sprung before Julie, was overpowered. Suzanne, who endeavored to reach a weapon, fought like a tigress, but two Uhlans finally subdued her.

It was so swift and sudden that it scarcely seemed real to John, but there were the dead bodies lying ghastly in the road, and there stood Julie, as pale as death, but not trembling. The leader of the Uhlans pushed his helmet back a little from his forehead, and looked down at John, who had been disarmed but who stood erect and defiant.

"It is odd, Mr. Scott," said Captain von Boehlen, "how often the fortunes of this war have caused us to meet."

"It is, and sometimes fortune favors one, sometimes the other. You're in favor now."

Von Boehlen looked steadily at his prisoner. John thought that the strength and heaviness of the jaw were even more p.r.o.nounced than when he had first seen the Prussian in Dresden. The face was tanned deeply, and face and figure alike seemed the embodiment of strength. One might dislike him, but one could not despise him. John even found it in his heart to respect him, as he returned the steady gaze of the blue eyes with a look equally as firm.

"I hope," said John, "that you will send back Mademoiselle Lannes and the nurses with her to her people. I take it that you're not making war upon women."

Von Boehlen gave Julie a quick glance of curiosity and admiration. But the eyes flashed for only a moment and then were expressionless.

"I know of one Lannes," he said, "Philip Lannes, the aviator, a name that fame has brought to us Germans."

"I am his sister," said Julie.

"I can wish, Mademoiselle Lannes," said von Boehlen, politely in French, "that we had captured your brother instead of his sister."

"But as I said, you will send them back to their own people? You don't make war upon women?" repeated John.

"No, we do not make war upon women. We are making war upon Frenchmen, and I do not hesitate to say in the presence of Mademoiselle Lannes that this war is made upon very brave Frenchmen. Yet we cannot send the ladies back. The presence of our cavalry here within the French lines must not be known to our enemies. Moreover, I obey the orders of another, and I am compelled to hold them as prisoners--for a while at least."

Von Boehlen's tone was not lacking in the least in courtesy. It was more than respectful when he spoke directly to Julie Lannes, and John's feeling of repugnance to him underwent a further abatement--he was a creation of his conditions, and he believed in his teachings.

"You will at least keep us all as prisoners together?" said John.

"I know of no reason to the contrary," replied von Boehlen briefly. Then he acted with the decision that characterized all the German officers whom John had seen. The women and the prisoners were put in the carts.

Dismounted Uhlans took the place of the drivers and the little procession with an escort of about fifty cavalry turned from the road into the woods, von Boehlen and the rest, about five hundred in number, rode on down the road.

John was in the last cart with Julie, Suzanne and Picard, and his soul was full of bitter chagrin. He had just been taking mental resolutions to protect, no matter what came, Philip Lannes' sister, and, within a half hour, both she and he were prisoners. But when he saw the face of Antoine Picard he knew that one, at least, in the cart was suffering as much as he. The gigantic peasant was the only one whose arms were bound, and perhaps it was as well. His face expressed the most ferocious anger and hate, and now and then he pulled hard upon his bonds. John could see that they were cutting into the flesh. He remembered also that Picard was not in uniform. He was in German eyes only a _franc tireur_, subject to instant execution, and he wondered why von Boehlen had delayed.

"Save your strength, Antoine," he whispered soothingly. "We'll need it later. I've been a prisoner before and I escaped. What's been done once can be done again. In such a huge and confused war as this there's always a good chance."

"Ah, you're right, Monsieur," said Antoine, and he ceased to struggle.

Julie had heard the whisper, and she looked at John confidently. She was the youngest of all the women in the carts, but she was the coolest.

"They cannot do anything with us but hold us a few days," she said.

John was silent, turning away his somber face. He did not like this carrying away of the women as captives, and to him the women were embodied in Julie. They were following a little path through the woods, the German drivers and German guards seeming to know well the way. John, calculating the course by the sun, was sure that they were now going directly toward the German army and that they would pa.s.s un.o.bserved beyond the French outposts. The path was leading into a narrow gorge and the banks and trees would hide them from all observation. He was confirmed in his opinion by the action of their guards. The leader rode beside the carts and said in very good French that any one making the least outcry would be shot instantly. No exception would be made in the case of a woman.