Joan of the Sword Hand Part 49

For Theresa had clad Prince Conrad in a coat of mail which had once belonged to Henry the Lion. Joan glittered by his side in a corselet of steel rings, while Werner von Orseln and the two captains of Pla.s.senburg followed fully armed, their accoutrements s.h.i.+ning with the burnis.h.i.+ng of many idle weeks. These, with the men-at-arms behind them, made up such an equipage as few princes could ride abroad with. But to all of them the journey was naught, a mere race against time--so neither horse nor man was spared. And the two women held out best of all.

But when in the morning light of the second day they came in sight of Courtland, and saw on the green plain of the Alla a great concourse, it did not need Alt Pikker's shout to urge them forward at a gallop, lest after all they should arrive too late.

"They have brought him out to die," cried Joan. "Ride, for the young man's life!"

CHAPTER XLIV

THE UKRAINE CROSS

Upon the green plain beside the Alla a great mult.i.tude was a.s.sembled.

They had come together to witness a sight never seen in Courtland before--the dread punishment of the Ukraine Cross. It was to be done, they said, upon the body of the handsome youth with whom the Princess Margaret was secretly in love--some even whispered married to him.

The townsfolk murmured among themselves. This was certainly the beginning of the end. Who knew what would come next? If the barbarous Muscovite punishments began in Courtland, it would end in all of them being made slaves, liable at any moment to knout and plet. Ivan had bewitched the Prince. That was clear, and for a certainty the Princess Margaret wept night and day. In this fas.h.i.+on ran the bruit of that which was to be.

"Torn to pieces by wild horses!" It was a thing often talked about, but one which none had seen in a civilised country for a thousand years.

Where was it to be done? It was shocking, terrible; but--it would be worth seeing. So all the city went out, the men with weapons under their cloaks pressing as near as the soldiers would allow them, while the women, being more pitiful, stood afar off and wept into their ap.r.o.ns--only putting aside the corners that they might see clearly and miss nothing.

At ten a great green square of riverside gra.s.s was held by the archers of Courtland. The people extended as far back as the shrine of the Virgin, where at the city entrance travellers are wont to give thanks for a favourable journey. At eleven the lances of Prince Ivan's Cossacks were seen topping the city wall. On the high bank of the Alla the people were craning their necks and looking over each other's shoulders.

The wild music of the Cossacks came nearer, each man with the b.u.t.t of his lance set upon his thigh, and the pennon of blue and white waving above. Then a long pitying "A--a--h!" went up from the people. For now the Sparhawk was in sight, and at the first glimpse of him they swayed from the Riga Gate to the shrine of John Evangelist, like a willow copse stricken by a squall from off the Baltic, so that it shows the under-grey of its leaves.

"The poor lad! So handsome, so young!"

The first soft universal hush of pity broke presently into a myriad exclamations of anger and deprecation. "How high he holds his head! See!

They have opened his s.h.i.+rt at the neck. Poor Princess, how she must love him! His hands are tied behind his back. He rides in that jolting cart as if he were a conqueror in a triumphal procession, instead of a victim going to his doom."

"Pity, pity that one so young should die such a death! They say she is to be carried up to the top of the Castle wall that she may see. Ah, here he comes! He is smiling! G.o.d forgive the butchers, who by strength of brute beasts would tear asunder those comely limbs that are fitted to be a woman's joy! Down with all false and cruel princes, say I! Nay, mistress, I will not be silent. And there are many here who will back me, if I be called in question. Who is the Muscovite, that he should bring his abominations into Courtland? If I had my way, Prince Conrad----"

"Hush, hus.h.!.+ Here they come! Side by side, as usual, the devil and his dupe. Aha! there is no sound of cheering! Let but a man shout, 'Long live the Prince!' and I will slit his wizzand. I, Henry the coppersmith, will do it! He shall sleep with pennies on his eyes this night!"

So through the lane by which the city gate communicated with the tapestried stand set apart for the greater spectators, the Princes Louis and Ivan, fool and knave, servant and master, took their way. And they had scarce pa.s.sed when the people, mutinous and muttering, surged black behind the archers' guard.

"Back there--stand back! Way for their Excellencies--way!"

"Stand back yourselves," came the growling answer. "We be free men of Courtland. You will find we are no Muscovite serfs, and that or the day be done. Karl Wendelin, think shame--thou that art my sister's son--to be aiding and abetting such heathen cruelty to a Christen man, all that you may eat a great man's meat and wear a jerkin purfled with gold."

Such cries and others worse pursued the Princes' train as it went.

"Cossack--Cossack! You are no Courtlanders, you archers! Not a girl in the city will look at you after this! Butchers' slaughtermen every one?

Whipped hounds that are afraid of ten score Muscovites! Down, dogs, knock your foreheads on the ground! Here comes a Muscovite!"

Thus angrily ran taunt and jeer, till the Courtland guard, mostly young fellows with relatives and sweethearts among the crowd, grew well-nigh frantic with rage and shame. The rabble, which had hung on the Prince of Muscovy so long as he scattered his largesse, had now wheeled about with characteristic fickleness.

"See yonder! What are they doing? Peter Altmaar, what are they doing?

Tell us, thou long man! Of what use is your great fathom of pump-water?

Can you do nothing for your meat but reach down black puddings from the rafters?"

At this all eyes turned to Peter, a lanky overgrown lad with a keen eye, a weak mouth, and the gift of words.

"Speak up, Peter! Aye, listen to Peter--a good lad, Peter, as ever was!"

"Strong Jan the smith, take him up on your back so that he may see the better!"

"Hush, there! Stop that woman weeping. We cannot hear for her noise. She says he is like her son, does she? Well then, there will be time enough to weep for him afterwards."

"They are bringing up four horses from the Muscovite camp. The folk are getting as far off as they can from their heels," began Peter Altmaar, looking under his hand over the people's heads. "Half a score of men are at each brute's head. How they plunge! They will never stand still a moment. Ah, they are tethering them to the great posts of stone in the middle of the green square. Between, there is a table--no, a kind of square wooden stand like a priest's platform in Lent when he tells us our sins outside the church."

"The Princes are sitting their horses, watching. Bravo, that was well done. We came near to seeing the colour of the Muscovite brains that time. One of the wild horses spread his hoofs on either side of Prince Ivan's head!"

"G.o.d send him a better aim next time! Tell on, Peter! Aye, get on, good Peter!"

"The Princes have gone up into their balcony. They are laughing and talking as if it were a raree-show!"

"What of him, good Peter? How takes he all this?"

"What of whom?" queried Peter, who, like all great talkers, was rapidly growing testy under questioning.

"There is but one 'he' to-day, man. The young lad, the Princess Margaret's sweetheart."

"They have brought him down from the cart. The Cossacks are close about him. They have put all the Courtland men far back."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Maurice was set on high." [_Page 305_]]

"Aye, aye; they dare not trust them. Oh, for an hour of Prince Conrad!

If we of the city trades had but a leader, this shame should not blot our name throughout all Christendom! What now, Peter?"

"The Muscovites are binding the lad to a wooden frame like the empty lintels of a door. He stands erect, his hands in the corners above, and his feet in the corners below. They have stripped him to the waist."

"Hold me higher up, Jan the smith! I would see this out, that you may tell your children and your children's children. Aye--ah, so it is. It is true. Sainted Virgin! I can see his body white in the suns.h.i.+ne. It s.h.i.+nes slender as a peeled willow wand."

Then the woman who had wept began again. Her wailing angered the people.

"He is like my son--save him! He is the very make and image of my Kaspar. Slender as a young willow, supple as an ash, eyes like the berries of the sloe-thorn. Give me a sword! Give an old woman a sword, and I will deliver him myself, for my Kaspar's sake. G.o.d's grace--Is there never a man amongst you?"

And as her voice rose into a shriek there ran through all the mult.i.tude the strange s.h.i.+ver of fear with which a great crowd expects a horror. A hush fell broad and equal as dew out of a clear sky. A mighty silence lay on all the folk. Peter Altmaar's lips moved, but no sound came from them. For now Maurice was set on high, so that all could see for themselves. White against the sky of noon, making the cross of Saint Andrew within the oblong framework to which he was lashed, they could discern the slim body of the young man who was about to be torn in sunder. The executioners held him up thus a minute or two for a spectacle, and then, their arrangements completed, they lowered that living crucifix till it lay flat upon its little platform, with the limbs extended stark and tense towards the heels of the wild plunging horses of the Ukraine.

Then again the voice of Peter Altmaar was heard, now ringing false like an untuned fiddle. "They are welding the manacles upon his ankles and wrists. Listen to the strokes of the hammer."

And in the hush which followed, faintly and musically they could hear iron ring on iron, like anvil strokes in some village smithy heard in the hush of a summer's afternoon.

"Blessed Virgin! they are casting loose the horses! A Cossack with a cruel whip stands by each to lash him to fury! They are slipping the platform from under him. G.o.d in heaven! What is this?"