Joan of the Sword Hand. Crockett Samuel Rutherford

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СКАЧАТЬ Lion roared, and we went to Castle Lynar and made an end – save of this spitting Sparhawk, whom our master would not let us kill, and whom now we keep with clipped wings for our sport."

      The lad listened with erected head and haughty eyes to the tale, but answered not a word.

      "Now," cried Werner, with his cup in his hand and his brows bent upon the youth, "dance for us as you used to do upon the Baltic, when the maids came in fresh from their tiring and the newest kirtles were donned. Dance, I say! Foot it for your life!"

      The lad Maurice von Lynar stood with his bold eyes upon his tormentors. "Curs of Bor-Russia," he said at last, in speech that trembled with anger, "you may vex the soul of a Danish gentleman with your aspersions, you may wound his body, but you will never be able to stand up to him in battle. You will never be worthy to eat or drink with him, to take his hand in comradeship, or to ride a tilt with him. Pigs of the sty you are, man by man of you – Wends and boors, and no king's gentlemen."

      "Bravo!" said Boris, under his breath, "that is none so dustily said for a junker!"

      "Silence with that tongue of yours!" muttered his mate. "Dost want to be yawing out of that window presently, with the wind spinning you about and about like a capon on a jack-spit? They are uncanny folk, these of the woman's castle – not to trust to. One knows not what they may do, nor where their jest may end."

      "Hans Trenck, lift this springald's pretty wrist-bauble!" said Werner.

      A laughing man-at-arms went up, his partisan still over his shoulder, and laying his hand upon the chain which depended between the manacled wrists of the boy Maurice, he strove to lift the spiked ball.

      "What!" cried Werner, "canst thou, pap-backed babe, not lift that which the noble Count Maurice of Lynar has perforce to carry about with him all day long? Down with your weapon, man, and to it like an apothecary compounding some blister for stale fly-blown rogues!"

      At the word the man laid down his partisan and lifted the ball high between his two hands.

      "Now dance!" commanded Werner von Orseln, "dance the Danish milkmaid's coranto, or I will bid him drop it on your toes. Dost want them jellied, man?"

      "Drop, and be damned in your low-born souls!" cried the lad fiercely. "Untruss my hands and let me loose with a sword, and ten yards clear on the floor, and, by Saint Magnus of the Isles, I will disembowel any three of you!"

      "You will not dance?" said Werner, nodding at him.

      "I will see you fry in hell fire first!"

      "Down with the ball, Hans Trenck!" cried Werner. "He that will not dance at Castle Kernsberg must learn at least to jump."

      The man-at-arms, still grinning, lifted the ball a little higher, balancing it in one hand to give it more force. He prepared to plump it heavily upon the undefended feet of young Maurice.

      "'Ware toes, Sparhawk!" cried the soldiers in chorus, but at that moment, suddenly kicking out as far as his chains allowed, the boy took the stooping lout on the face, and incontinently widened the superficial area of his mouth. He went over on his back amid the uproarious laughter of his fellows.

      "Ha! Hans Trenck, the Sparhawk hath spurred you, indeed! A brave Sparhawk! Down went poor Hans Trenck like a barndoor fowl!"

      The fellow rose, spluttering angrily.

      "Hold his legs, some one," he said, "I'll mark his pretty feet for him. He shall not kick so free another time."

      A couple of his companions took hold of the boy on either side, so that he could not move his limbs, and Hans again lifted high the ball.

      "Shall we stand this? They call this sport!" said Boris; "shall I pink the brutes?"

      "Sit down and shut your eyes. Our Prince Hugo will harry this nest of thieves anon. For the present we must bear their devilry if we want to escape hanging!"

      "Now then, for marrow and mashed trotters!" cried Hans, spitting the blood from the split corners of his mouth.

      "Halt!"

      CHAPTER III

      JOAN DRAWS FIRST BLOOD

      The word of command came full and strong from the open doorway of the hall.

      Hans Trenck came instantly to the salute with the ball in his hand. He had no difficulty in lifting it now. In fact, he did not seem able to let it down. Every man in the hall except the two captains of Plassenburg had risen to his feet and stood as if carved in marble.

      For there in the doorway, her slim figure erect and exceedingly commanding, and her beautiful eyes shining with indignation, stood the Duchess Joan of Hohenstein.

      "Joan of the Sword Hand!" said Jorian, enraptured. "Gott, what a wench!"

      In stern silence she advanced into the hall, every man standing fixed at attention.

      "Good discipline!" said Boris.

      "Shut your mouth!" responded Jorian.

      "Keep your hand so, Hans Trenck," said their mistress; "give me your sword, Werner! You shall see whether I am called Joan of the Sword Hand for naught. You would torture prisoners, would you, after what I have said? Hold up, I say, Hans Trenck!"

      And so, no man saying her nay, the girl took the shining blade and, with a preliminary swish through the air and a balancing shake to feel the elastic return, she looked at the poor knave fixed before her in the centre of the hall with his wrist strained to hold the prisoner's ball aloft at the stretch of his arm. What wonder if it wavered like a branch in an uncertain wind?

      "Steady there!" said Joan.

      And she drew back her arm for the stroke.

      The young Dane, who, since her entrance, had looked at nothing save the radiant beauty of the figure before him, now cried out, "For Heaven's sake, lady, do not soil the skirts of your dress with his villain blood. He but obeyed his orders. Let me be set free, and I will fight him or any man in the castle. And if I am beaten, let them torture me till I am carrion fit only to be thrown into the castle ditch."

      The Duchess paused and leaned on the sword, holding it point to the floor.

      "By whose orders was this thing done?" she demanded.

      The lad was silent. He disdained to tell tales even on his enemies. Was he not a gentleman and a Dane?

      "By mine, my lady!" said Werner von Orseln, a deep flush upon his manly brow.

      The girl looked severely at him. She seemed to waver. "Good, then!" she said, "the Dane shall fight Werner for his life. Loose him and chafe his wrists. Ho! there – bring a dozen swords from the armoury!"

      The flush was now rising to the boy's cheek.

      "I thank you, Duchess," he said. "I ask no more than this."

      "Faith, the Sparhawk is not tamed yet," said Boris; "we shall see better sport ere all be done!"

      "Hold thy peace," growled Jorian, "and look."

      "Out into the light!" cried the young Duchess Joan, pointing the way with Werner's sword, which she still held in her hand. And going first she went forth from the hall of the soldiery, down СКАЧАТЬ