NigelCharteris prayed for the fall of night. Night and the forest could save him and his handful. Night and the forest would enable Elspeth to lead them to the Wartburg more swiftly than any horsemen could make their way.
Nigel prayed, but with him to pray was to labour. In a moment he was back again at the hinder end of the gorge and drew out his two men. In another moment they had spread forty yards apart, secure behind wide boles of trees on either side of the direction taken by the Count. Then a pause came. The Count and his followers rode stealthily forward. They were evidently making a flank movement, but whether of departure or of surprise, it was not clear to Nigel. Either was undesirable. Two puffs of smoke, two shots rang out, two of the Bohemians fell from their saddles. Six or seven of their comrades fired wildly in the direction of the smoke. But Nigel's outposts had scuttled and taken up other positions. Again two shots rang out, this time more in the rear of the Count's party. One hit a horse, the other a rider. There was prancing and rearing, and three riderless horses tore back breakneck in the direction they had come. The Count shouted hoarsely, bidding his mendismount and search. Nigel ran swiftly back and called to Blick and his comrade to follow the gorge to its hinder issue and await him. It may be imagined how Blick splashed through the water and reached the trembling Elspeth, who, standing as high as she could out of reach of the blood-stained water, was trembling all over at the unseen danger she ran.
Blick was for killing the Count, but this Nigel forbade, though there was justification enough. As far as his own deserters that was another matter. He wished to scatter them, disable them in detail, to avoid a hand-to-hand combat where numbers must tell against his little band, and gain time. The two outposts had fallen back upon the hinder mouth of the gorge. One was stationed behind Elspeth to keep the pass. The other three with Blick again spread out and layperduuntil the searchers came near, so near that the muskets of Nigel's men could scarcely fail to hit. Then one by one their voices spoke, reverberating through the forest, given back by the rocks, repeated by other rocks, and again howls and curses rent the air. The Bohemian deserters ran crouching here and there firing at trees they deemed men. And twice again the hidden marksmen hit the mark, and the Count, watched carefully by Nigel, was at his wits' end. With this kind of warfare he was plainly unfamiliar. He alone remained by his horse in company with a knot of five or six besides his body-servant. His guards were on the alert with their muskets ready to fire at the least sign, and every now and again a shot from one of Nigel's holster pistols came whistling about their ears, sufficiently near to increase the strain of their attention and make them feel, despite their knowledge of Nigel's strength, that the forest was full of enemies.
Once, twice, shots came perilously near hitting Nigel, but his advantage of the thicker cover saved him. Meanwhile Sergeant Blick managed his force of sharpshooters with amazing dexterity, advancing, retiring, picking off a man here or there. And the twilight came, less a state of light than of gloom. And the smoke of the powder hung just below the foliage, making everything uncertain. Nigel began to smell victory instead of merely a skilful retreat. The orders were, at the end of every three fusilades to reassemble at the gorge. Nigel led his men almost crawling through the bushes till they had the Count and his body-guard within easy musket-shot. The rest were scattered, as Blick had well contrived.
Then at a word four shots rang out together. Four men of the guard fell wounded or dead, and with a rush at the Count, sword in hand, Nigel put the finishing touch, for the Count in consternation threw down his own. The rest of his immediate followers grovelled on the ground and were quickly disarmed and bound. As for the others, who had grown dispirited by the slaughter and their wild-goose chase among the trees, as one by one they became acquainted with the culminating disaster, they slunk back to the rearguard, seized a horse apiece, and rode back on a harrying expedition of their own, which boded ill for Pastor Rad and his flock. Some, that is to say, for others were of that spirit which must follow a master, as a dog prefers the company of man. These threw down their muskets at the brusque command of Blick, and a few minutes afterwards Blick had them on horseback without weapons, his own men in front and rear and the riderless horses beside them, awaiting the command to march. Elspeth, all cheerfulness again, stood waiting. Nigel and the Count were a little way off.
"There is no quarrel between us, Count!" said Nigel. "We have broken bread together in the house of our friend the Abbot of Fulda!"
"A jolly host!" said the Count in a tone of ingratiation, a little forced.
"But," Nigel continued, "it seems to me that your errand has an object which is not conducive to the Emperor's service, which is mine."
"In what, colonel?"
"To find you at Fulda bearing presents and messages from Wallenstein was nothing that could offend the Emperor. But to find you in the company of the Landgrave of Hesse?"
"Wherein was the offence?" the Count inquired courteously. "I admit I had messages to the Landgrave from the Duke of Friedland, from one Count of the Empire to another. What then?"
"The Landgrave had gathered an armed force. He is about to march to join Gustavus. What else? To deliver messages from a subject of the Emperor to an open foe is surely a grave matter of offence!"
"I am sorry you should think so!" said the Count. "It is not for me to weigh wars and parties. The Duke of Friedland bids me carry certain messages to certain of the great ones of the earth. I do it to the best of my poor ability. To Bohemia the Emperor is a name, a usurper of the kingship."
"Does that excuse the seduction of my men, who are the Emperor's, paid, clothed, and fed by the Emperor?"
"As to that," the Count smiled, "they chose to desert you to follow a countryman of their own! No great crime, surely? I could not compel them. They chose."
"And chose badly, it seems," Nigel responded grimly. "Now before we proceed I must search you for any letters you may carry."
"I carry none!" said the Count, flushing, as Nigel rapidly passed his hands into his pockets, over his hose, and other vestments.
"As for your valise and holsters I can examine them later. Meantime you are my prisoner, and will be shot down if you attempt to escape!"
"But!" protested the Count.
"There is no 'but'!" said Nigel. "Be good enough to mount!"
The Count bit his moustache and mounted. Nigel, having first perched Elspeth on a horse, which he led, strode immediately in front, his left hand on the rein, his right hand holding his drawn sword in case of accidents.
The road was a mere bridle-track where single file was a necessity. On the right for a mile or so it lay along the steep slope of the rising ground, not so much precipitous as steep. For horses and men alike it was necessary for progress to follow the pathway. Every now and again cross paths came into view, but Elspeth knew the forest as if it had been the highroad and kept steadily on. Above them the high tree-tops towered, tall pines and straight slender beeches, whose foliage had learned to grow only upon the topmost boughs. Now and again they came to a broad clearing where clear sky was. Then the line of the ridge swept over to the east and the steepest declivities were to the left. The riders and Nigel looked down into the great hollows in the woodland, flanked by great naked boulders that stood up out of the sea of leaves, the countless heaping of unnumbered years. And now the moon was up and patches of white light streaked the boles of trees, and the leaves, and ceased to be, for the further darkness of the shadows.
Now the pathway leads up by zigzags. Elspeth whispers that they are now upon the Wartburg itself, and bids Nigel look down and out, and surely there in the moonlight he can see, a mile or two away, the outliers of thetown of Eisenach, else hidden by another hill which juts between.
Nigel calls a halt, and, to the Count's chagrin, just concealed and no more, orders Blick to descend with the Count and the others to the camping-place without the town where the regiment should be.
He himself with one soldier for his guard mounts the zigzags with Elspeth, passes beneath the bridge wherefrom he is challenged by the sentry, and stands at the outer gate of Luther's famous asylum.
There is the clank of men-at-arms, the murky flicker of the lanthorns, rattling of bolts, and Nigel is admitted. The guard fears no surprise from a single officer, a single trooper, and a maiden half dead with fatigue, whose stockings are soaked with water, and that the reddened water of the Dragon's Gorge.
Over the stones of the causeway of the outer court, through the arch below the guard-room, they reach the inner courtyard, bathed in the moonlight, serene, still, but for the splashing of the fountain. Beyond, where the white walls of the castle are not, is the limitless night and the limitless sea of tree-tops just flecked by the moonlight.
The doors are opened hospitably and the red glare of fires made visible.
Then the Landgrave himself, the Landgravine, with their gentlemen and ladies, troop into the hall. And almost before Nigel can explain his errand, a lady steps out, tall beyond her fellows, and cries aloud—
"Elspeth! Little Elspeth Reinheit! In what a plight!"
It was Ottilie von Thüringen.
Butfor the dark eyes of Ottilie von Thüringen Nigel Charteris would have led his reluctant horse down to the camp. He had leisure to make this reflection as he sat at meat some degrees below the Landgrave, who, though supper was over, still sat at the high table with a flask of Rhenish wine before him. The Landgravine had gone to her retiring room again. The Lady Ottilie had borne off Elspeth, who, Nigel reflected, must be very hungry. He did not know that this reflection he shared with the sage and high-born lady, who was at this time encouraging Elspeth to make a hearty supper, not omitting a goblet of mead, which aided Elspeth's tongue to recover its native fluency.
It was true that the dark eyes of Ottilie von Thüringen had sparkled with delight and surprise at the sight of Nigel. Nigel was a Scot, and therefore set the sparkle down to the credit of his account. But Nigel was a Scot, and therefore also asked himself why the lady's spirit, as reflected in her eyes, should be so elate. And Ottilie herself could not have told why, would not have admitted that she was elated. And half an hour after she had carried off Elspeth she had become so deeply interested in the account of the fight in the Dragon's Gorge that shehad forgotten the Scots colonel altogether, in her interest in the movements of Count von Teschen.
Who was he? Elspeth Reinheit did not know. The men with him were deserters from the Emperor's troops. Where was he? Doubtless a prisoner with the regiment lying on the outskirts of Eisenach. The Scots colonel had brought the Count's holsters and valise with him. She did not know why. Elspeth, oblivious of the Lady Ottilie's anxieties, munched and drank. She had undoubtedly a healthy appetite, and was besides waxing sleepy.
The Landgrave said little. He yawned a good deal, and Nigel had supped. He too felt drowsy. It was not wonderful after his long day. The serving-man who had attended to his needs took a silver candlestick and led him up the stair towards his chamber. But at the top, where two passages met on a broad landing, the Lady Ottilie swept out of the darkness and took the candlestick from the man's hand, and motioning to Nigel to follow, herself ushered him into his bedroom.
There was something womanly and homely about the action, that accorded well with Nigel's notion of hospitality, yet she carried herself with the air of the chatelaine, as if she, and not the Landgravine, who doubtless had deputed the courtesies to her, had been the mistress of Wartburg.
As he threw an involuntary glance about the chamber, noting the great four-posted and canopied bed, the ambry for linen, the Venetian mirror, and other furnishings, she said—
"In Magdeburg 'twas Elspeth who gave up her bed to you. Here do I the same. It is a small courtesy for your many."
"Did I not say to you at Erfurt that a woman owes a man nothing that she does not pay a thousand-fold?But now you do me untold honour!" was Nigel's word of thanks.
"Sweet thanks and compliments! And doubtless you gave as much and more to little Elspeth at Magdeburg. She has poured such a tale of Colonel Nigel Charteris into my ears to-night I am wellnigh tired of him. Who is your prisoner at the camp?"
"A Bohemian, a Count von Teschen!"
"And his crime?"
"He caused some of my troopers to desert, and then pursued me hotly on my road to the Wartburg."
"It was a scurvy trick!" There was genuine indignation in her tone. "You must beware! Promise me, you will beware!" she pleaded; and Nigel, looking at the dimming of her eyes and her lips on the brink of quivering, felt a wave of tenderness flow over him. He leaned towards her and took her hands.
"You care for me, Ottilie?" There was a world of eagerness in his tones, such eagerness as made his voice sound hoarsely in his own ears.
She smiled a pitiful smile as she drew her hands from his as not trusting her silly tell-tales. Then she said—
"Do you so soon forget my words at Erfurt, my tall captain?"
"You said I should be a fool to dream of it!"
She nodded, but this time sadly.
"I shall play the fool, Star Ottilie! So help me, Holy Mother of Heaven!"
"Not here then! I have stayed too long. What of your valise? Give me an order. They shall bring your baggage."
There was an inkhorn and paper at a little table and he wrote a line and signed it.
"This is to my soldier servant!" He handed it to her in a dream of happiness.
She went swiftly, and before many minutes had passed the man brought his baggage and holsters and laid them on the floor. The trooper was half asleep and bemused with the beer or the mead he had drunk.
"And the Count von Teschen's?" Nigel asked.
The man waved an arm vaguely and explained something in an inarticulate way, and then stared and blinked at his colonel in a manner that made it clear at least that there would be no sense in his head till the morrow, and Nigel sympathised with the man, for he was scarcely rested enough himself to take off his own boots. So he dismissed the man, and a few more minutes saw his devotions, addressed mainly to a mythical Saint Ottilie, and his ablutions, alike concluded, and the Landgrave's four-poster shut him into dreamless oblivion.
At five the sun streaming in, even finding its way between the curtains of the four-poster, awoke him. A moment to regain the sense of his position in the universe, during which the geometrical figure of the great Pietro Bramante sprang to his mind again, and made him wonder where he was on the line of his own orbit, and he leaped from the bed and gazed out and down upon that wonderful rolling sea of tree-tops and hills behind hills, all clad in pines, and little villages in green spaces here and there.
He did not dawdle over his dressing, yet before it was half accomplished the Landgrave's barber was at his door craving admittance with the implements of his art, and his expert fingers made the colonel's face as fresh and dapper as razor and soap could do.
"The Lady Ottilie von Thüringen bade me tell your lordship that your other baggage has been brought up by your trooper and placed in the little room which is beside this one."
One may be sure that the colonel was not long in entering the room, which a look at the tambour frame, the spinning-wheel, and some other objects, told him was a small boudoir used by the ladies of the castle.
Upon a stout oaken table lay the valises and holsters of the mysterious emissary.
Nigel's hands were upon the straps when the Lady Ottilie came in, partly with the assured air of the woman in her own domain, partly showing the modest shyness of a woman who, liking a man beyond the common measure, seems to crave pardon for intrusion into his company.
"You have slept well? I see you have, tall captain!"
"Thanks to you, Ottilie!" he said, taking her hands and gazing into her proud beautiful face with something of mastery in his grip and in his eyes.
Her own countenance grew cold as she looked far beyond him out upon the pine-clad hills.
"How well you begin the day, sir!" Her glance fell scornfully upon the baggage. "The sack of cities! The plunder of travellers! A strange life!"
There was no need to point the irony, a woman's irony, full of half truth and false inference.
The blood flushed into his face. Then he assumed command over his fiery temper.
"The fortunes of war merely! This von Teschen is I know not what. He comes from Wallenstein."
"From Wallenstein!" She repeated it with eyes again seeking the pine-clothed hill-tops.
"Yes! From that cold seeker after power who would use the Habsburgs for a stepping-stone and play the Cæsar, as you said at Erfurt. I have not forgotten your saying, Ottilie!"
"You are strangely familiar, sir, to a ..." she faltered.
"To a cousin of the Habsburgs," he put in.
"Who told you I was cousin to the Habsburgs?" she asked promptly.
"The Archduchess Stephanie! And in truth did I not know you to be the Lady Ottilie von Thüringen, I could believe Her Highness was here."
"Her Highness is very gracious to acknowledge me of kin. My interests and the Habsburgs lie far apart."
"And I," said Nigel, "eat the bread of the Habsburgs, and what I do must and shall be right in your eyes, if it be right in mine!"
The Lady Ottilie's eyes blazed with scorn and resentment.
"Go on with your task of rifling the traveller's saddle-bags," she said, but made no movement to go. Nigel smiled to himself as he bent again over the straps.
First the holsters were rummaged. Pistoles and a few travellers' necessaries. Nothing! Then the first saddle-bag revealed two rich suits, linen, the impedimenta of a man of rank on a long journey. Nigel examined the sewing, the lining of the bag. Again nothing. Next came the turn of the other saddle-bag. In it were many rouleaux of gold, enclosed in many wrappings. Again she taunted him.
"Said I not plunder?" she said. "Surely a fair ransom for the Count von Teschen! Pay for the troopers and their brave colonel!"
Again Nigel heeded not a jot. If it bit into his pride, at least he smiled as he went on. Packages of costly trinkets, jewels, articles of great price and workmanship.
"It is no wonder the Count helped himself to an escort!" she said. "And all for nought! To fall in with a robber lord from Scotland! 'Twas ill luck!"
"And this is Wallenstein!" said Nigel. "These are his bribes, his compliments, his wheedlers to set honest Landgraves and bishops and princes against his master, the Emperor! I cannot understand it."
"It is beyond the robber lord's understanding!" Again the scorn whipped him.
Again he flushed, and for a moment Ottilie von Thüringen trembled for the outburst. It did not come. She marvelled at the strength of his will. And then she caught her breath, for her eyes saw something. Her impulse was to snatch at it, beyond all the pride of race that was hers. But she also quelled herself. He saw it too and drew it forth. He knew the hand. It was Wallenstein's. A sealed letter, and the superscription was to the high-born Baroness Ottilie von Thüringen.
With perfect coolness and grace he handed it to her.
"Our Cæsar has strange postmen of his own!" he said.
This time it was the Lady Ottilie who flushed, but whether it was with anger, or with joy, or confusion as with a woman who, while entertaining one suitor hears another announced, there was no guessing. She hid the letter in her bosom.
"Then the Count was on his way to the Wartburg!" Nigel said aloud for her to hear.
"He will be here in a short while!" she said serenely.
"What do you mean, lady?"
"Just that! Have you done with the Count's saddle-bags?"
There was nothing else in writing. Nigel replaced everything.
"And you take nothing, tall captain? Neither gold, nor raiment, nor trinkets? What ails you?"
"Not a jot! He can come for his own if he can travel so far," said Nigel. "And for your sweet aid, your comfortable words, your hospitality, I pray you, sweet Ottilie, Star of the Night, and Serpent of the Morning, take this and this." And without more preamble he took her in his arms and kissed her willy-nilly passionately upon the brow, the eyes, the lips. And then in the same whirlwind he rushed down the stair and called for his horse, his man,his baggage, and in a few minutes rode down the hill at a breakneck speed.
Looking up at the great tower before he passed out of sight he saw a white arm extended and a scarf waved in the morning breeze.
"God's truth! Where am I?" he exclaimed, and waved his sword in the sunlight.
Therehad been two human obstacles to the advance of Gustavus Adolphus. One was George William, Elector of Brandenburg, whose fortresses of Custrin and Spandau, held by any one but Gustavus, were awkward things in the way of a retreat, if the Swede had to make one. George William was very averse to the Edict. Magdeburg was one of the pearls of his principality. But not being sure that Gustavus was strong enough to beat the Emperor, he shilly-shallied. Gustavus in his impetuous way had appeared at the gates of Berlin with a bodyguard of Swedes armed and trained to a fine point. George William saw them and hesitated no longer. Custrin and Spandau were lent to his friend Gustavus.
The advance of Gustavus southward was thus secured till he should come to the Elbe, and across fine flat country suitable for such a march. Once across the Elbe, he would be between Tilly and the Emperor. He would also be in Saxony.
But the obvious crossings of the Elbe were at the bridge of Dessau and the bridge of Wittenburg, both in the hands of the Elector of Saxony, John George.
John George had not made up his mind. He was an Elector of the Empire. He was also prince of a large territory. And the southern march of his lands was alsothe march of Bohemia, and the south-west was the upper Palatinate in the hands of Maximilian since the days of the Winter King. He was also averse to Edicts and in favour of the pure Gospel as represented by Lutheranism. But like the young man in the days of the founder of the original Gospel, he had great possessions.
Unlike his brother Elector of Brandenburg, he was not liable to a sudden nocturnal visit from the impetuous Gustavus, since a very large and populous country lay between, but, apart from such forcible persuasion, the policy of Saxony was not as yet to break from the Emperor. In the days of the Winter King he had refrained from joining in the mad escapades of the Protestants. He had no desire to do so now. Neither was he inclined to bow to the Edict. And to meet the urgent demands of the Emperor on that head, he had bethought himself of the strong man armed. He had armed accordingly. Through the kindly offices of Wallenstein, who was not unwilling to see the Saxons arming, he had been able to secure a good Lutheran general—one Arnim, who, like his old captain, Wallenstein, was without a command. The Elector of Saxony had forty thousand soldiers in spick and span new uniforms getting drilled by Arnim. But whether they would ultimately fight Gustavus, or merely grow fat and well-liking under the pay and treatment of Arnim, and never fight at all, John George was not at present sure.
There was the situation. Gustavus was entrenched in a fortified camp at Werben, where the Havel joins the Elbe, sixty miles north of Magdeburg, with smaller forces holding Spandau on the Havel and Custrin on the Oder, a line of a hundred and fifty miles from west to east. Tilly and Pappenheim (Maximilian's Pappenheim) were near Magdeburg. And sixty miles south of Magdeburg were the brand-new forty thousand of John George.
Colonel Nigel Charteris had seen enough in his journey to hasten his march northward to Tilly. From all directions he heard that the Landgrave of Hesse was marching to join Gustavus. And the news of the preparations of John George had reached Eisenach. The whole of Thüringia was in ferment.
But the reason of Nigel's uncommon haste down the hill to his camp outside Eisenach was on account of that curious ambassador, Count von Teschen. Nigel feared some mischance. Ottilie! Star Ottilie had said ... what matter? Nigel galloped into camp. Hildebrand handed him his own order brought earlier that morning by his own trooper, attended by one of the Landgrave's huntsmen—
Send the Count to the Wartburg under escort."Nigel Charteris."
Send the Count to the Wartburg under escort.
"Nigel Charteris."
The colonel made a gesture of annoyance.
"A good imitation, Hildebrand! Confound him! The best thing we can do is to get on to Erfurt."
And on the road to Erfurt he had leisure to blame himself for listening to her whom he omitted to "confound."
One does not commit to the nether gods the woman one has kissed, and kissed in a very paroxysm of passion, whether she would be kissed or not—the woman who has let her scarf flutter an adieu to one, the affront notwithstanding, as one rode away. Not even when she has tricked the affronter of a prisoner, an emissary of a traitor, who has sent the woman a letter full of ... the nether gods know what, treason or love.
What part was she playing in the political intrigue? It was clear that she had recognised the Count von Teschen as the hand of Wallenstein, that she knew him to be essential, so far as his possibilities went, to the furtherance of Wallenstein's designs. There might easily be a dozen Count von Teschens, foxes with firebrands at their tails, rushing hither and thither, but foxes that knew their business and the right cornfields, and how themselves to escape the flames that they spread.
Nigel's own sense of duty permitted him no sympathy with Wallenstein. Yet he could understand how Wallenstein, bereft of his command, hoping nothing more from the Catholics, impatient of inaction, unable to bear the loss of prestige, more akin in spirit to the great captains ofcondottierithat had ravaged Italy, indifferent which prince they fought for, how such a Wallenstein might endeavour to curry favour with the Protestant princes rather than rust like an old ploughshare. It was intelligible, but only as the work of a man without gratitude, without loyalty, without any conviction of his religion.
And what part was Ottilie playing? She was a Catholic. So was Wallenstein. She had friends among the Protestant princes. So had many members of Catholic families. She had gone so far as almost to jeopardise her life, and, what was more, her honour, in the siege of Magdeburg. To what had she trusted then to deliver her? She must indeed have been full of the ecstasy of religion if she supposed that God, who must have approved of the Catholic cause, would shield her in the midst of carnage and the glutting of lust which had strewn the ruins of Magdeburg with the bodies of the violated. Nigel had surprised her in the cathedral at Erfurt at her devotions. But even then, and especially in that walk afterwards together, he had not read her as devout; rather as a woman intensely capable, self-sufficing, made for love but not awakened to it, with the respect and instinct for religion that every woman should possess as part of her endowment.
Then she had spoken of Wallenstein, and he could recall her tones, proud, indignant: "What think you that Ottilie von Thüringen can have in common with that cold seeker after power?"
Yet she had stood by him, Nigel, full of taunts as he ransacked von Teschen's saddle-bags, knowing that, or at least expecting, that he would find a letter for her under Wallenstein's own hand and seal.
Was the Erfurt episode a piece of acting, and was she then Wallenstein's mistress, or bound to him by some tie of chivalry, some mimicry of the romances of Torquato Tasso?
Mistress? At the very thought Nigel dug his spurs so savagely into his horse that the animal, disgusted and outraged, performed such a curvet as nearly threw him. No! Such supreme and noble loveliness had never soiled its freshness by any breath of desire! This Nigel would have sworn, and made good his oath, as any paladin of old time, with sword against sword. More, he would have sworn that his own lips in that frenzy, and gentle even in that frenzy, had been the first to ruffle the sweet fragrance and surprise the dewiness of hers, unconscious as she was that she had not merely suffered what she could not help. By that kiss he had sealed her his. And insensibly he began to regard her as in some measure two women,—one the star of his desire and worship, the other the mysterious ally of the Emperor's enemies, against whom he must plot to unravel her designs and those of the arch-plotter Wallenstein.
From this point his thought jumped at a bound to that other mistress, the Archduchess Stephanie, whose loveliness, no less than Ottilie's, impressed itself upon him, mingled with something of awe of the great Habsburgs. She too was interested in the destiny of Wallenstein. But of Wallenstein himself or his plans she had told himnothing. The mystic circles and ovals interested or amused her perhaps, but of any intimate understanding between her and the Duke of Friedland Nigel could not remember a trace. Doubtless at the Court of Vienna there was a Wallenstein party as well as a Maximilian party. It was almost certain; and the Archduchess Stephanie might, as princesses have done, have flattered herself that she was leading a party, while in reality her name for a few aspiring nobles was merely a lure used by wire-pullers, who let her know nothing of their real machinations.
Still at the one end stood the lofty Archduchess, at the other her lovely and almost twin cousin, Ottilie von Thüringen, and between Wallenstein, the cold seeker after power, swaying, utilising both to further his schemes and ambition.
Nigel groaning in spirit, continued to ride on, and presently reached Erfurt.
At Erfurt he found the small garrison full of rumours of an impending attack from the Landgrave of Hesse Cassel, and although he had reason to believe that that prince was not yet in a posture to march, Nigel thought it wise to leave his regiment there with Hildebrand, partly to get further drilling and some rest for their horses, partly to overawe the townspeople and put the place in some condition to resist the Landgrave should he venture to attack it. In the meantime, with a small escort, he rode as fast as his horses could go to Wolmerstadt, where he found General Tilly.
The little great man received him with his customary grimness of demeanour. The thin hollow cheeks looked hollower than before, and the red feather in the small high peaked hat danced with a more sinister gaiety than ever.
"Well, Colonel Charteris?" Tilly never forgot his officers nor their names. "Where is your regiment?"
"At Erfurt, General!"
"Why?"
"The Landgrave of Hesse was mustering his troops when I spoke to him seven days ago. They say he is marching now to join Gustavus."
"I'll give him something to march for! And he shall find little to eat on his march," barked Tilly. "What artillery at Erfurt?"
Nigel answered that they had twelve pieces of ordnance and sufficient ammunition.
General Tilly gave immediate order for two thousand foot and two thousand horse to be made ready to start.
And the next day, trusting the command of the remainder of the army to Pappenheim, the grim old general set out through the territories of Saxe Ernest and Schwarzburg, laying waste the countryside, and allowing his troops to plunder and then burn the little town of Frankenhausen by way of teaching the inhabitants not to have leanings towards Sweden.
In this way Tilly reached Erfurt, where he quartered his troops and levied a substantial voluntary contribution of money and provisions. Thence he sent messengers to the Landgrave, who had in fact not yet begun his march, with instructions couched in haughty language that he should disband his army and receive imperial garrisons into his fortresses.
Hildebrand and his regiment were sent on to the camp at Wolmerstadt to await Nigel, who, at the same time as Tilly set out, had been ordered to carry out reconnaissances in the direction of Werben and watch the movements of Gustavus on that bank of the Elbe.
It was not so much that Tilly feared the Landgrave of Hesse, as that he was fretting at the inactivity imposed upon him by the state of affairs. At Wolmerstadt he and Pappenheim were strong enough to attack Gustavus, hadit not been for the troops which the Elector of Saxony had mustered in his rear. Gladly would he have attacked the Elector if the Emperor had given him permission. But as yet John George had not declared himself. So Tilly contented himself by threatening the smaller prince of Hesse Cassel and wasting the borders of Saxony.
The Landgrave of Hesse was of a different mould from John George. This was his reply to Tilly—
"As for admitting foreign troops into my fortresses, I will not. As for my troops, they are mine to do my will. As for your threatening, I can defend myself when you attack me."
Thereis always a moment in every war when wary inaction gives way to movement, bred of an access of boldness to one side or the other.
Gustavus had received an addition of eight thousand Swedes and six thousand English. He had persuaded George William, the Brandenburger, to throw in his lot with him. Pappenheim and Tilly had made, but not followed up, an abortive attack on his fortified camp at Werben. He decided to cross the Elbe and advance to the southern limits of Mark Brandenburg, whether the Emperor's generals resisted him or not. It is possible that he thought such an advance would assist John George of Saxony, whose territory lay next in his path, to make up his mind.
And at this time the Emperor Ferdinand was aware that Count Fürstenberg, his chief commander in Austrian Italy, had arrived by leisurely marches with twenty thousand veteran troops by way of Franconia and the upper Palatinate, to join Tilly's army, so that, like Gustavus, he also intended to assist John George of Saxony to make up his mind.
To Pappenheim, Tilly being still at Erfurt, or in the confines of Thüringia, Nigel brought word of the advanceof Gustavus. Pappenheim sent word to Tilly, and Tilly returned to concert operations.
They had scarcely joined hands again when the Emperor's messenger arrived bidding them forthwith march into Saxony.
Imperial courtesy demanded that the Emperor's general should give John George at least a single opportunity of submission. Two officers of high rank were sent to the Elector with an imperious demand. John George made a dignified reply as became a prince, entertained the officers with Saxon hospitality as a prince, and at the close of the banqueting uttered this dry and humorous warning:—
"Gentlemen, I perceive that the Saxon confectionery, which has been so long kept back, is at length to be set upon the table. But, as it is usual to mix it with nuts and other hard ingredients, I pray you to take care of your teeth."
In a short space Tilly was before Leipzig, threatening it with fire and sword, and the fate of Magdeburg; and Pappenheim was thirty miles to the west taking possession of Merseburg.
Then John George made up his mind.
Then rode messengers offering alliance to Gustavus, who, ever mindful of a possible evil day and a clear line of retreat, demanded the fortresses he had asked for before.
John George offered these, offered his family as hostages—whatsoever Gustavus would. Magdeburg, which was another's, had failed to move him. But Leipzig (the prudent city had surrendered on conditions to Tilly) did move him. It might be Dresden next. Besides, he had forty thousand men in brand-new uniforms, bright and hard Saxon confectionery, and Arnim the Lutheran, who had once commanded under Wallenstein, to lead them. Surely between his forces and Gustavus they might tripup Tilly and Pappenheim, and knock the two elderly generals' heads together till they cracked.
So it happened that before John George quite realised that war was upon him, that he had at last committed himself to a side, his beloved country was overrun with armies, and there dawned the day of Breitenfeld, or as some prefer to call it, of Leipzig.
Nigel and Hildebrand were exchanging a few words over a hasty breakfast, while Sergeant Blick was, with the aid of the other officers, overlooking the arms and saddles of the troopers.
"Thank Heaven!" said Hildebrand, "we are meeting the Swede at last! Yet the old man looks grey this morning!"
"Aye!" said Nigel. "Tilly has not been himself since he made his headquarters in the gravedigger's house outside Leipzig."
"It was an ill omen that the only house that was left after our cannonade should be a gravedigger's, with skulls and cross-bones all over it," said the other lugubriously.
"Tut, man! So long as it kept out the weather! Though why Tilly let the Swede and John George join forces without a shot puzzles me. He seems, though he says nothing, to hold the Swede in too much respect."
"Well, the Swede has all his work to do. Tilly has made his dispositions well."
They pushed back their seats and went out.
Behind them was a long range of hills, along which three hundred feet above where they stood were posted battery after battery of Tilly's guns. The two officers looked out over a gently sloping plain to the eastward and descried the long line of a little river, marked here and there by clumps of willows, and the occasional gleam of the morning sun on its surface. Beyond the rivulet at some miles' distance they could make out men andhorses in movement, banners, and the play of light upon a rippling sea of weapons: but all was as yet indistinct, save that there seemed to be two separate armies with a considerable space of country between.
"Gustavus does not wish us to confound his well-trained veterans with the Saxon gingerbread!" said Hildebrand.
"But which is which?" asked Nigel. "For my part I ask nothing better than to let fly my rough-riders at the Swedes, and let any one else hew down the Saxons!"
"Hum!" said Hildebrand. "Heaven knows how our rascals will behave under fire!"
Nigel's eyes gleamed. "I'll cut down the first man that wavers!"
"Well," said Hildebrand. "Thank Heaven again we're attached to Tilly's division, for where that is will be the hottest of the fighting. He's a devil to fight is Tilly."
"It is the Empire or the Swede to-day. And Tilly knows it. No wonder he looks grey. There he is! Come along!"
They took their places in front of the regiment. They were on the right wing of the centre division. The infantry in closely massed battalions stretched for a long distance. Then came the cavalry of Tilly's left. Beyond them was a division of Pappenheim stretching away into the haze. To Nigel's right again was the division led by Count Fürstenberg, a formidable host in itself.
"Your men look mettlesome, colonel," Tilly growled, as he rode along by Nigel's regiment, his well-known red feather standing out in the westerly breeze.
Nigel saluted again. "They will give a good account of themselves, general!" he said loud enough for the regiment to hear.
Presently it was clear to all those who had good eyes that the Swede was to oppose Pappenheim, and wasmoving in a long line towards the rivulet, was, in fact, nearly at its bank. The guns of Tilly on the hills sounded a salute to the great day, the first balls falling, however, short of the rivulet. Tilly noted it and looked displeased enough. Pappenheim noticed, and led his cavalry to the water's edge to dispute the passage. The battle had begun. Even at the beginning the generalship of Gustavus made itself felt. His men were disposed in two long lines of no great depth. There were no massed battalions to offer easy marks for Tilly's cannon. His whole forces were distributed in small bodies, each able to move with celerity, and accustomed to draw to itself and oppose its own share of the attack, without, however, causing any break in the general plan. But his musketry made play upon the splendid cavalry that swept down in orderly fashion to meet them. And from the intervals of the regiments of musketeers came the steady cannon shots, well aimed and low, making little lanes of fallen horses and men in Pappenheim's cavalry. Pappenheim was obliged to withdraw his cavalry to re-form them, and the Swedes began to cross the rivulet. The rivulet must needs be wide and deep that will stop any army extended over a wide front.
Pappenheim fired the village of Podelwitz as he retreated, a village that lay between his first position and the rivulet. The west wind laden with smoke and dust blew strongly and into the faces of the Swedes. But still they pressed on and began to get some of their artillery over.
From his position on the lower slopes of the hill Nigel could see the Swedish lines gradually formed, and marked the new plan of setting out the battle. To his mind it seemed to be tempting fortune on the part of the Swede to oppose a swarm of separate companies, of groups of companies, to the heavy masses that sooner or later inthe day were to sweep steadily upon them. But he did not count upon the advantages the Swede possessed in a more extended firing line, and in offering less conspicuous, if more numerous, targets to the enemy.
Nigel chafed at the inevitable delay till they should be ordered into action. For at least two hours the cannon along the ridge thundered over their heads and seemed to make little impression upon either Swedes or Saxons.
Then Pappenheim with his two thousand cuirassiers launched forth again against Gustavus himself, who commanded the right wing of the Swedes. And Nigel marked that the Swedish right were wheeling towards the north, and that their fire was fierce and evenly sustained.
At last the little general with the red feather gave orders for the centre to attack, and Nigel gripped his saddle tighter with his knees, and led his regiment down on to the plain, keeping within the interval between two great double battalions of musketeers and pikemen. It was slow at first, till they drew near the enemy, and then came the turn of his troopers. The infantry having delivered their fire advanced slowly, while Nigel's regiment and the other cavalry rode to the front rapidly, halted, fired, and fell back. This they did many times, but still the Swedes did not give way. Tilly felt not only the fire of the Swedes in front but that of Gustavus' right wing on his flank, so to avoid this and partly perhaps because the thing looked tempting, he took ground to the right, and ordered a rapid attack upon the Saxons, who perhaps by accident had drawn rather towards Tilly than to Count Fürstenberg.
Tilly was right in the one thing. He bore down upon the Saxons, and the Saxon army showed its rawness; for it gave way on all sides, and only a few regiments maintained their ground; the rest fled, and even John George himself.
Nigel's spirits rose with Tilly's. Tilly swept round again to fall upon the left wing of the Swedes. But only to find that Gustavus, apprised of the Saxon flight, had reinforced his left with three more regiments, and that Pappenheim on Tilly's left was battling for dear life against Gustavus himself, unable to maintain his ground.
Desperately did Tilly endeavour to overcome. Again and again and again he led his still unbroken masses against Horn, the Swedish general, and again and again the Swedes hurled them back.
Again and again Hildebrand and Nigel charged with their rough-riders, who were no cowards, meeting alike musketeers and pikemen and even Horn's cuirassiers. But it was of no avail.
Then came the news that Pappenheim's men had broken and fled. Then that the artillery on the hills were in the hands of Gustavus, a fact that they soon became aware of. In face of them was the Swedish left, behind them were their own guns, and on their left flank Gustavus, marching through thedébrisof Pappenheim's host, was sweeping down upon them. The day was over. Nigel and Hildebrand rallied their tattered remnant of fifty saddles and rode after Tilly to act as his bodyguard. Nigel scanned the field with a quick eye and caught sight of him. A Swedish captain of horse was on the point of taking the little general prisoner when Nigel, spurring his horse, rode the Swede down.
Nigel's sword went through him. The man rolled over with the onset, and then fell with his upturned face grinning at his slayer in the very spasm of death. There was one final flash of recognition between four eyes. It was enough. Nigel was out of his saddle in an instant, an instant of deadly peril, ransacked the man's doublet,took out a bulky letter, and sprang to horse again. They had remounted Count Tilly, who was barely able to sit his horse by reason of his wounds. Nigel bade two sturdy troopers hold him on by any means; and taking the lead, rallying whatever troopers came his way, and sending word to the few remaining foot-regiments to follow, he pressed with all speed towards the open country to the northward. It was a miserable remnant of a mighty army which bivouacked at Halle.
The last glimpse of the field of battle that Nigel caught had shown him Pastor Rad, with a regiment of Swedes on their knees before him, offering up in stentorian tones a thanksgiving for the Swedish victory over his German and Catholic brethren.
Itwas the evening of the third day after Breitenfeld. Vague rumours of disaster had travelled across the intervening country of Halberstadt, city, bishopric, and independent state in one, a stronghold for, rather than of, the Empire, the domain and seat of Leopold the Bishop, a Habsburger and cousin of Ferdinand. The city was not strong enough to resist for long an attack by Gustavus, should he choose to make one, but it was strong enough to serve for a short while as a rallying-place for Tilly's fugitives.
Leopold the Bishop and his spoiled favourite niece, as he chose to call her, the Archduchess Stephanie, stood on the flat roof of the tallest tower of the palace looking along the road to the southernward. On the face of Leopold, a proud ecclesiastical face, rather rotund than ascetic, sat an extreme anxiety, and his sharp eyes roved restlessly from the road to the city walls, where men were mustered and ordnance trained, and officers bustled to and fro with an air of urgency. For who knew what a few hours might reveal, whether the banners of Sweden, or of Saxony, of Brandenburg or Hesse Cassel, would come swaying and fluttering from the passes in the hills.
The Archduchess for the most part kept her gaze fixedupon the road, though, woman-like, she lost little of what went on below. Her eyes glistened with eagerness, but her features betrayed little of the drawn look that the Bishop's wore. If the Bishop noticed it, he said nothing, putting her apparent lack of anxiety down to the score of youth. But absorbed as he was in the inward contemplation of the stakes at issue, he did not closely scrutinise the face of his niece. For him the turn of events meant a very possible siege, a defence of sorts, a storming and a sack, or a judicious submission, but in any case a great inroad into his treasure-chests. It promised indignities falling short of bodily suffering, but hard to bear, and an ultimate disposal of his lands and possessions in ways that would at once reduce his princely bishopric to the dimensions of a paltry benefice, until the Lutheran tide should recede and the Church take her own again.
For the niece it meant excitement, peril, but peril that would pass. Princesses might be held to ransom, but no more. She might be expected to sympathise with her father in the defeat of his armies, to feel aggrieved at Fortune, who had dealt so hard a blow at her house, but not to be prostrated by her grief. She would still be the beautiful Archduchess Stephanie, and in the clash of armies and in the affairs of a hazardous campaign there was like to be scant attention paid to the matrimonial projects of Maximilian. Was this all? A cry broke from her lips, and she pointed to the farthest bend of the road visible from the tower.
"Now we shall know!" said the Bishop, clenching his lips firmly as if to make sure they did not tremble.
Round the bend came thirty or forty troopers, and the first man carried a yellow pennon.
"Tilly's men!" the Bishop exclaimed fervently. "To Thee be thanks, O Lord!"
The Archduchess's eyes were riveted. Whether heremotion had really been restrained hitherto by pride or not, her eyes filled with tears: tears that she hastily brushed away, leaving her eyes again free to discern what they might.
This time it was a group of officers, and in the middle could be distinguished the famous red feather, drooping, it is true, but there.
"Count Tilly himself, Uncle!"
Behind the little cavalcade came a regiment of foot, still preserving a martial appearance, with its pikemen and its musketeers, and after it another and yet another.
It was almost pitiful to hear the proud Bishop, secure except for the ears of his niece, ejaculating his thankfulness, as each addition to his possible defenders came in sight.
Then as the cavalcade of officers approached the town gates the lips of the Archduchess murmured, "Holy Mother, I thank thee!" and she put her slender fingers into her uncle's as if to communicate to him something of what she felt.
It was true that she had recognised Colonel Nigel Charteris among the war-worn leaders as they rode through the gate of Halberstadt, but why should the saving of this man's life more than those of a thousand others elicit her cry of devotion?
Within an hour Leopold in his episcopal robes received Tilly and his officers. Beside him, arrayed in all her richest attire, sat the Archduchess Stephanie. The little general, the stains of his forced march removed as far as possible, his left arm in a sling, his head disfigured by the uncouth bandages of his barber surgeon, strode forward with a gallant air, but with an unmistakable limp. He had been wounded at Breitenfeld full a half-dozen times, and only his dauntless spirit and his stalwart supporters had helped him to sustain the toils of the retreat.
The Bishop received him with great compassion and honour, giving him great praise for his courage and placing him beside him in a noble chair: not, however, before the general had bowed as low as his wounds permitted and kissed the hand of the Archduchess, whose eyes melted at the sight of her father's faithful soldier, to whom fortune had shown herself so froward.
"Battered, your Highness, beaten, but with God's grace I will face Gustavus again!" he said to her.
Came Nigel's turn. He presented himself, in default of a better, in the suit he had worn at Breitenfeld. He was thin and yellowish for a man of his natural colouring. A day of battle and three days' flight before the pursuers had drained his vitality over and above his actual wounds, which had happily left his face unmarred and his limbs uncrippled.
The Archduchess claimed him.
"Colonel Nigel Charteris, Uncle. He came to Vienna with despatches from Magdeburg. A Scottish gentleman who has doubtless done good service in the battle!" She turned her eyes inquiringly towards Count Tilly.
"But for him I might not have left the field!" said Tilly briefly. "I scarce know whether he did me service or disservice, your Highness," he added, with something between a grunt and a sigh. "He fights like a wild boar!"
"A pity we had not a legion of such angels!" said the Bishop as he laid his hand in fatherly fashion on his shoulder.
The Archduchess motioned Nigel to her side.
"Believe me, Colonel Charteris, I am mighty glad that you have come through the battle unscathed; though you make not the figure of bravery you did at Vienna!"
"I am ashamed, your Highness, to meet your eye in such mean clothing, but the Swede gave us no time topack our valises, and, after all, one's own skin with a live man within is better than a coat of many colours upon a corpse."
The sun broke out in the eyes of the Archduchess.
"How you do take me at my word! You say nothing of surprise at finding me at Halberstadt? Does nothing surprise you?"
"Your Highness spoke of nunneries at our last meeting, and I find you in a Bishop's palace. In a nunnery I could not picture your radiance. Here you are in your own place, and under the tutelage of the Church, no less."
"Still the courtier of our camps! And have you met again our cousin Ottilie?" She flung the question at him carelessly, or so it seemed, as if she were indifferent as to the answer.
"That have I, your Highness!" he answered, looking straightly into the eyes of the Archduchess. And whether it was that he was fordone with his toils, his sudden remembrance of the Wartburg brought the colour back into his pale cheeks.
"So!" said the Archduchess. "There have been passages of arms between you! Ottilie is fortunate that she is not an Archduchess." There was a shadowy pretence of petulance in the princess's tone. "Did we not stipulate that you were our own cavalier?"
"In all liege service, yes, your Highness! Even to the death! Have I not fought for you at Breitenfeld? Have I not felt the Lady Ottilie pour out hot scorn upon me almost to the limit of man's forbearance, because I served the Emperor, and in serving him, your Highness?"
"I should not have deemed you one to brook over much scorn," she said, veiling her eyes, then flooding his face with their searching gaze.
"Nor am I by nature very patient, your Highness!"
"Then it must be that you love Ottilie! That if I canclaim your service, even your life, she, this meddler with the Lutherans, can claim and hold your love?" The Archduchess spoke in low tones. Again Nigel could almost persuade himself that it was Ottilie who spoke, wishful to hear his avowal of passion. And yet it was not Ottilie.
"Why should you begrudge her so small a gift, or rather so poor an offering, for I know not if she has accepted it?" he urged.
"Because a princess can never be sure that she commands love. Service she knows she can command, even to the death. Men will spend themselves for any bubble they call honour or duty. I grudge Ottilie your love. I grudge any woman that is loved, her lover's love." The Archduchess spoke with heat.
Nigel rejoiced that the Archduchess made it clear to him that in seeking the heart of Ottilie he was not spurning hers; that she was only giving tongue to the loneliness of rank. For in truth in the immediate presence of the Archduchess, radiant, full of charm, he felt the memory of Ottilie pale; and, loyal as he tried to be to his colours, whether in love or war, he would have been more than man not to have felt an answering emotion had anything she said given shape to the idea that she too loved him.
So much they were able to say amid the ceremonious tumult of the arrivals.
Supper was set and the good things of Halberstadt were lavished upon the officers who had accompanied the retreat. It was not long before the Archduchess and her attendant ladies left the hall for their own chambers. And it was not till the morrow that Nigel again saw the Archduchess.
The circumstances of a common peril loosened the observances of ceremony and made it possible for themto meet, after Nigel had set in motion the springs of military duty which were immediately necessary. As before at Vienna the Archduchess received him in the gardens of the palace, but this time in broad daylight.
"And Bramante's figure?" she asked suddenly.
"A vain imagining, your Highness! Though at the time I own I was amazed at his jugglery."
"So you deemed it mere fooling?"
"What could I else? 'Tis true the course of my life has brought me into your Highness's gracious presence. But what of Wallenstein? The Emperor will have none of him. Gustavus has passed him by. He is as an old sword thrown in a chimney corner to stir ashes with."
The Habsburg pride and haughtiness made itself heard in her voice and seen on her lineaments.
"You do not know Albrecht von Waldstein. He is too great to rust. Can you not see that now, even now, when your armies have crumbled before Gustavus, while Tilly, the pride of Ferdinand, and Pappenheim, the pillar of Maximilian, have been broken in two like straws, that the supreme moment has come, the moment when the Emperor must and shall recall him, beg him as a suppliant to raise the fallen standards and gather yet again one of his mysterious and invincible armies, which shall drive Saxon and Brandenburger whimpering to their kennels, and Gustavus and his pastors scattering to their ships!"
The tones that began in pride and scorn had changed into tones of prophetic exaltation. And for the first time Nigel comprehended that the fortunes of Wallenstein were dearer to her heart than a lover's passion. She was not merely what he had imagined the titular queen of Wallenstein's party in the court, but her mind and heart were engaged, enthralled by the idea of the future greatness of Wallenstein himself.
But Nigel's straightforwardness would not let him budge from his self-appointed path.
"Wallenstein is not loyal to the Emperor!"
"Loyalty!" she exclaimed in a fine note of scorn. "Loyalty in German lands! In Europe! To what? To one's faith? That does not hinder father slaying son or brother brother. To one's pacts? It is as it suits one's interests! Feudalism is dead. The Emperor's vassals rise against him. And Albrecht von Waldstein is no vassal of the Emperor. He is a Bohemian noble. True, our house of Habsburg conquered Bohemia, and our brother is in name their king. But Bohemia is as free as it chooses, when it chooses."
"But Wallenstein served the Emperor, amassed untold riches in his service. Does he owe no allegiance?"
"Not a jot! He is of the race of Achilles! He fights where his eagle mind dictates, not where some trembling Agamemnon bids. But why call him disloyal?"
"Your Highness! I yield to none in admiration of Wallenstein's genius, but at every turn of my road I have met evidences of his emissaries being in touch with your father's enemies. This could have been borne, if he had boldly gone into the quarrel on the side of Gustavus, but to stay skulking at Prague while he sent out his poisonous messages...."
"Sir! I like not your adjectives!" she said, quickening her pace in her anger.
"And then waiting the event," Nigel proceeded, "to send this to Gustavus,if he should be victorious."
Nigel thrust his hand into his tunic and brought out a packet.
"Read what is writ!" she said carelessly.
"These for Gustavus in the event of his gaining a complete victory over Count Tilly."
"In the event," Nigel commented.
"Spare the commentary, Colonel Charteris! What lies within?"
"In substance it is an offer from Wallenstein, begging for a command from Gustavus of a pitiful twelve thousand men, and promising in return to drive the Emperor and every Habsburg out of Austria."
The eyes of the Archduchess flashed. Her colour rose. Her bosom heaved and fell.
She stretched forth her hand for the letter.
Nigel did not hesitate. He gave it. Was it not his to give, his only spoil of the battlefield?
"You have made no copy? Told no one?"
"No, your Highness!"
She held out her hand again in token of dismissal. Nigel kissed it, gave one swift glance at her imperial face and went away to the ramparts.