CHAPTER IXHARUN KNOWS THE WAY

BEFORE the dawn the moon had gone down; the twinkling stars only made the vast night blacker. A wind was tumbling the forest boughs till they clashed and groaned like the spirits of lost souls. The fox was crouching in his covert, the sleepy redbreast in his hollow peered forth once to see if the dawn were near,—only blackness in the east, and the bird again hid his drowsy head. Yet there was life in the forest,—a living thing was moving. Here the twigs snapped; there a thorn-bush crackled. A deer was roving, or what else? Had any eyes pierced through the dark, they might have seen a form—a human form—thrusting across the thickets. Witch Martha seemed to need no eyes; if eyes she had, they were those of an owl orof an angel who saw the hidden things of the night. On her shoulders sat the two ravens, and once when she stumbled over a rotted bough the twain croaked out together, but she bade them “silence” in so sharp a voice that Zodok and Zebek kept their wisdom shut within their heads. Once Martha’s little body ceased its gliding, and she laid her head down to the ground and listened.

“I can hear it,—the gushing of the stream. I approach the Dragon’s Dale.”

Then with surer motion she went onward. Soon the leafy roof was breaking overhead. She saw the stars blink down at her. There was a clearing, and the traced outlines of a tiny hut. And Witch Martha stopped and looked about her.

No glow of embers from the door; no stir of human life. The long boughs above moaned out her only welcome. But of a sudden there was a stealthy footfall from the thicket, and then a whining cry, low and plaintive as a child in pain, but ending with a wild and brutish wail; and Martha turned quickly toward the sound, whilst the two ravens flapped and cawed again.

“Harun!” cried Martha; and again in answer came that wail. Then a dark form slipped out of the covert, a damp muzzle sniffed at Martha’s hands, into her face peered two great coals of fire,—the great wolf’s eyes,—and Harun whined with his delight.

“Gone; he is gone,” spoke Witch Martha. “They have borne St. Jerome to the Wartburg, and the little lady—she is vanished too.” To which Harun whined yet more.

“And you are lonely, and have sought for him in vain?” Another whine. “And he is in peril, and war rages round the Wartburg?”

The wolf stood waiting, wagging assent with his tail. Then Martha changed her voice. “Hark, Harun, we must find the little lady.” He gave back a bark. “You must show me the way. You must sniff at this.” And she held to his muzzle something white. “Do you understand? Yes?” for Harun’s bark was knowing now. “You will lead the way; I will follow. We will find the little lady together.”

Well that Martha had the airy elves or some other potent sprites to aid. Over thorn andbush, over dale and hillock, led Harun, now swift, now slow. Once he missed the scent, and whined hard till he found it. When he reached the spot where Agnes had cried out the former night he stopped; but Martha would not let him stay. Weariness, darkness,—what were they to fright her? Then he found the way to the deserted garden, just as the first glimmer of pale dawn spread over the Thuringerwald, and presently Harun held his mouth close to the ground, and gave a little cry different from any before.

“Another in the forest? Some one has joined the little lady? It is so?”

Thus Martha; and Harun answered with another cry. Then he shambled off so rapidly, that his comrade, swift and cat-footed as she was, might scarce keep up with him. Now the grey dawn burst into red gold, and the gold turned into fire. Now the birdsong woke in the forest, and the strong breeze sank to a dreamy whisper, as if to lull to the last fond sleep ere the waking. The great beech avenues spread off into dimming vistas, and through their midst peered out the purple-breasted hills. But Witch Martha onlylooked before her keenly, and said within her sly old breast:—

“As I feared,—to the Rothenstein and the hold of Fritz the Masterless. What now is best? Back to the Lord Graf, and ask him for men? But in that time there is room for many a deed.”

Hereupon Zodok shook his glossy wings and cried:—

“Good Christians, look out!The Devil’s about!”

“Good Christians, look out!

The Devil’s about!”

“Ay,” quoth his mistress; “for Fritz is no small devil, and Dame Gerda is one greater,—the less cause to leave a dove inside their cage.”

And now her feet ran swift beside those of Harun.

Then before them, tawny, steep, the Rothenstein reared clearly, and in front a thin, grey vapor of rising smoke. Whereat Witch Martha halted, and her finger warned Harun that he lag behind. Soon this was the song which Fritz the Masterless and Wolf heard whilst they placed the kettle before the cave. At first they thought only the trees were crooning; then that the thrushes talked. Thentheir stout knees knocked together, and they began to mutter a prayer to good Saint Anne.

“I have come down the moonbeam’s path soft veering,—Forth! forth,—from your bat-black den!—On the wings of the night-doves silent steering,—Swift! swift,—ere I call again!Oh, woe to the peasant,—oh, woe to the knight!To the lad or the lass who my summons may slight.“I have tethered my car with the spider’s glister,—Forth! forth,—for my weirds are fleet!—Its driver skilled was the wood-moth’s sister,—Swift! swift,—come my goblin’s feet!—Oh, ’twere wiser to win the elf-king’s spiteThan that lad or lass should my summons slight!“I have learned the lore which the wild owl whistles!Forth! forth,—for my mercy dies!—I have wove me a dress from the silk of thistles!Swift! swift,—see my sprites arise!—Oh, the hawk’s grey wing or the sable of nightShall not save nor hide, who my summons slight!”

“I have come down the moonbeam’s path soft veering,—

Forth! forth,—from your bat-black den!—

On the wings of the night-doves silent steering,—

Swift! swift,—ere I call again!

Oh, woe to the peasant,—oh, woe to the knight!

To the lad or the lass who my summons may slight.

“I have tethered my car with the spider’s glister,—Forth! forth,—for my weirds are fleet!—Its driver skilled was the wood-moth’s sister,—Swift! swift,—come my goblin’s feet!—Oh, ’twere wiser to win the elf-king’s spiteThan that lad or lass should my summons slight!

“I have tethered my car with the spider’s glister,—

Forth! forth,—for my weirds are fleet!—

Its driver skilled was the wood-moth’s sister,—

Swift! swift,—come my goblin’s feet!—

Oh, ’twere wiser to win the elf-king’s spite

Than that lad or lass should my summons slight!

“I have learned the lore which the wild owl whistles!Forth! forth,—for my mercy dies!—I have wove me a dress from the silk of thistles!Swift! swift,—see my sprites arise!—Oh, the hawk’s grey wing or the sable of nightShall not save nor hide, who my summons slight!”

“I have learned the lore which the wild owl whistles!

Forth! forth,—for my mercy dies!—

I have wove me a dress from the silk of thistles!

Swift! swift,—see my sprites arise!—

Oh, the hawk’s grey wing or the sable of night

Shall not save nor hide, who my summons slight!”

Now Fritz the Masterless would have faced with a stout heart an old bear or three men; but to hear such a singing from the wood was a sore test for any Christian. Likewise young Wolf who stood at his father’s side let the crossbow clatter out of hishands almost into the fire. And when they saw the black figure of Witch Martha—the redoubtable woman whom half of Thuringia knew had Baalberith, Behemoth, Elimi, and divers other lively devils at her constant beck—only the saints kept their hair from rising. Such an hour! such a song! such a spell on them already! The two stared at her with wide-open mouths and eyes.

Martha came straight on, gliding—never walking. She approached the fire and the twain. Upon the turf from right to left she drew a circle with her staff around them. Then she spun about on one foot till their wicked eyes grew dizzy watching her. When halting suddenly she looked on Fritz the Masterless, who blurted out a blunt question as to her errand, and grew of a sudden tongue-tied; whereat Witch Martha answered in a chant that made Fritz and Wolf helpless as young calves.

“The maiden ye hold,In evil hands boldRelease her, release!Or, by every spellIn heaven or red hell,Your bating breaths cease.“The efreets of night,The angels of light,Have laid the command;From the Dawn-spirit’s hall,At the Dragon-prince’s call,I am sent, I am sent,Agnes, maid, to demand!”

“The maiden ye hold,In evil hands boldRelease her, release!Or, by every spellIn heaven or red hell,Your bating breaths cease.

“The maiden ye hold,

In evil hands bold

Release her, release!

Or, by every spell

In heaven or red hell,

Your bating breaths cease.

“The efreets of night,The angels of light,Have laid the command;From the Dawn-spirit’s hall,At the Dragon-prince’s call,I am sent, I am sent,Agnes, maid, to demand!”

“The efreets of night,

The angels of light,

Have laid the command;

From the Dawn-spirit’s hall,

At the Dragon-prince’s call,

I am sent, I am sent,

Agnes, maid, to demand!”

Had the witch’s voice power to freeze their breasts to ice? Fritz’s hand twitched on his hunting-knife. A flash from Martha’s eye—it sank palsied from the hilt. But Wolf was stouter hearted than his sire. So much good silver from Jew Mordecai lost? Not without one struggle. As a doe poises for the bound he made to leap from the charmed circle, but his captor’s glance was too quick. He hesitated, was lost. For Martha’s hands flew in mystic passes, the two ravens screamed together, and the enchantress sang:—

“Cross the line, the fiends are waiting;Death is sure, none shuns the fatingWrit up large on high!Either now obedient bendingSoon afar Maid Agnes sendingOr thou’lt doom-struck lie.”

“Cross the line, the fiends are waiting;

Death is sure, none shuns the fating

Writ up large on high!

Either now obedient bending

Soon afar Maid Agnes sending

Or thou’lt doom-struck lie.”

Then her hands twirled swifter, and now Wolf felt the chills within his marrow.

“Moment, moment, swiftly gliding,Mortals’ woe or weal deciding,Never slack’ning nor abiding,—Thou shalt tell how chance shall fly!”

“Moment, moment, swiftly gliding,

Mortals’ woe or weal deciding,

Never slack’ning nor abiding,—

Thou shalt tell how chance shall fly!”

“Ho, Gerda!” called Fritz, ready to give a thousandbezants(if he had had them) to loose those fetters unseen; “bring out Maid Agnes, and quickly, in Our Lady’s name.”

He hoped the mention of that blessed name would rob the witch’s eyes of their power, but that desire was vain. Forth ran Gerda and the girls, but the latter shrank back into the hut a-shivering. Gerda was of bolder stuff. She tried to brave out Martha’s gaze, to parley, question, and refuse to give the prisoner; for even she was not bold enough to deny that they held the maid. But her shrill tongue tripped, her proud front fell, and she grew chill also at the witch’s new singing:—

“Woman bold, I see them flutter,Now they menace, now they mutter,—Elf and goblin round thy head!Witless wight, thine eyes are holden,Thou see’st not the silk-spells moulden,Woven with the shuttles golden,By which captive thou’lt be led.”

“Woman bold, I see them flutter,

Now they menace, now they mutter,—

Elf and goblin round thy head!

Witless wight, thine eyes are holden,

Thou see’st not the silk-spells moulden,

Woven with the shuttles golden,

By which captive thou’lt be led.”

Then Witch Martha went on to sing of other awful things right on the edge of happening, if Dame Gerda stopped to bicker longer. And the goodwife whimpered out that—

“They were poor folks, had meant no ill, and had found the little lady in the forest. Let the good mother take her, with their blessing, and unloose the spell.”

But here right from the hut ran Agnes,—fearless, glad, and flew to Martha with wide-open arms. The witch laughed once,—a laugh that made Dame Gerda sure the two ravens were a pair of fiends, very anxious for her own and her children’s souls. Then the sorceress moved about the circle, drawing the staff from left to right, and so lifting a great load also from Fritz’s and Wolf’s blank minds. She took Maid Agnes by the hand; the ravens cawed again. She flourished thrice on high, and they saw her vanishing in the forest. But, even when hid, her song pealed clearly:—

“Up away! the wood-thrush calls us,Over ash and beech and thorn!Up away! the king-oak calls us,Singing with his leaves to morn.For the wind-lord wakes,Through the greenwood shakesAll the trees,In his gleesAs he greets the fire-kissed dawn!“Swift away! the west wind bears usOver mount and dale and hill.Swift away! the flower-breath bears usWhere the bees their sweet stores fill.For the wood-queen wakes,And her rose-crown shakes,Laughing clear,To my ear,—For her trilling lips are a bubbling rill!”

“Up away! the wood-thrush calls us,

Over ash and beech and thorn!

Up away! the king-oak calls us,

Singing with his leaves to morn.

For the wind-lord wakes,

Through the greenwood shakes

All the trees,

In his glees

As he greets the fire-kissed dawn!

“Swift away! the west wind bears usOver mount and dale and hill.Swift away! the flower-breath bears usWhere the bees their sweet stores fill.For the wood-queen wakes,And her rose-crown shakes,Laughing clear,To my ear,—For her trilling lips are a bubbling rill!”

“Swift away! the west wind bears us

Over mount and dale and hill.

Swift away! the flower-breath bears us

Where the bees their sweet stores fill.

For the wood-queen wakes,

And her rose-crown shakes,

Laughing clear,

To my ear,—

For her trilling lips are a bubbling rill!”

“Dear Martha,” said Agnes, “what did you do to Fritz and to Wolf and to Gerda? By your songs could you really turn them into stone or give them to the gnomes and to the brownies?”

Martha perked her head and answered:—

“Ah, little lady, whether I could or I could not, those threethoughtI could, and by the lizard’s spawn” (at which uncanny oath Agnes herself grew creepy), “it is what men and moles think, not what things are, that makes all the rift betwixt popes and peasants.”

“Dear Martha,” said Agnes, sorely troubled, “say that you really do not have friendship with the Devil.”

“Friendship little, but acquaintance;” yet here the smile which spread on Witch Martha’s face grew tremulous, she stood stock still, took the little maid in her arms, and kissed her. “Oh! may you never know! Oh! may you never lose! Oh! may you always see the brightness of Our Lady’s heaven, and forget that the dear God beside His mercy has His wrath!”

“What are you saying?” The child looked perplexed.

“Foolishness!” spoke Martha; but her little body shook with one long sigh. “Ah, little one, I have frighted you. But I will never fright you more. So be comforted, for, by Our Blessed Lord, I have never set eye on gnome nor efreet nor devil. Only I use the wit that heaven sends, and by its aid I saved you. And now hearken to strange news.”

Then she told Agnes how the Wartburg was beset by her father; of the sore plight of Jerome; and how they must make all hasteto reach the besiegers ere the last attack, “lest the holy Jerome become a saint in heaven in sorry deed.”

Agnes did not weep when she heard of Jerome’s danger.

“He must not die yet,” was all she said; “for I heard him praying and saying that I was a temptress sent from Satan. He must never go up to visit the dear God and tell Him that.” And for a while Witch Martha found her feet too slow for those of the child.

They threaded the forest, not in the circling blind mazes which Agnes had followed when alone, but in the straight path which Harun found for them, and it was not long before they heard the brooklet brawling, and Agnes clapped her hands.

“The hut, the stream, and the Dragon’s Dale! The dear Dragon’s Dale!”

But they might not tarry, and Martha saw with joy that the red banner of Ulrich still was flying above the Wartburg.

“Not too late!”

Again they plunged into the greenwood, but now by familiar paths. Agnes’s feetwere heavy now, but she did not falter. Presently there was a clatter of armour, and tall men-at-arms in plated hauberks stood across their path,—an outpost of the besiegers.

“Who comes!”

But when Witch Martha declared who her companion might be, and when the soldiers saw that the maid was indeed of their own master’s face and eyes, and that her dress, though torn, was that of a great lady, the dapper Freiherr, their young chief, swept his plumed cap across his knees in knightly homage, and the shout flew up the slopes of the Wartburg, through all the assailants’ camp:—

“Found! found! found! the little lady, the Gräfin!”

Then how Graf Ludwig turned from the attack, with his feet almost in the castle court, there is no need to tell.

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