The Forest of Swords: A Story of Paris and the Marne by Joseph A. Altsheler (i like reading TXT) 📖

supper, when he took the dishes and withdrew. He had not spoken a word while he was in the room, but as he was passing out John said:

"Good-bye, Pickelbaube! Let's have no ill feeling between you and me."

The German—honest peasant that he was—grinned and nodded. He could not understand the English words, but he gathered from John's tone that they were friendly, and he responded at once. But when he closed the door behind him John heard the heavy key turning in the lock again. He knew there was little natural hostility between the people of different nations. It was instilled into them from above.

Food brought back new strength and new courage. He took his place again at the window which was narrow and high, cut through a deep wall. The illusion of the Middle Ages, which Auersperg had created so completely, returned. This was the dungeon in a castle and he was a prisoner doomed to death by its lord. Some dismounted Uhlans who were walking across the grounds with their long lances over their shoulders gave another touch to this return of the past, as the first rays of the moonlight glittered on helmet and lance-head.

He was not sleepy at all, and staying by the window he kept a strange watch. He saw white flares appear often on a long line in the west. He knew it was the flashing of the searchlights, and he surmised that what he saw was meant for signals. The fighting would go on under steady light continued long, and that it would continue admitted of no doubt. He could hear the mutter of the guns, ceaseless like the flowing of a river.

He saw the battery drive out of the grounds, then turn into the road before the château and disappear. He concluded that the cannon were needed at some weak point where the Franco-British army was pressing hard.

Then a company of hussars came from the forest and rode quietly into the grounds, where they dismounted. John saw that many, obviously the wounded, were helped from their horses. In battle, he concluded, and not so far off. Perhaps not more than two or three miles. Rifle-fire, with the wind blowing the wrong way, would not be heard that distance.

The hussars, leading their horses, disappeared in a wood behind the house, and they were followed presently by a long train of automobiles, moving rather slowly. The moonlight was very bright now and John saw that they were filled with wounded who stirred but little and who made no outcry. The line of motors turned into the place and they too disappeared behind the château, following the hussars.

Two aeroplanes alighted on the grass and their drivers entered the house. Bearers of dispatches, John felt sure, and while he watched he saw both return, spring into their machines and fly away. Their departure caused him to search the heavens once more, and he knew that he was looking for Lannes, who could not come.

Now von Arnheim passed down the graveled walk that led to the great central gate, but, half way, turned from it and began to talk to some sentinels who stood on the grass. He was certainly a fine fellow, tall, well built, and yet free from the German stoutness of figure. He wore a close uniform of blue-gray which fitted him admirably, and the moonlight fell in a flood on his handsome, ruddy face.

"I hope you won't be killed," murmured John. "If there is any French shell or shrapnel that is labeled specially for a prince and that must have a prince, I pray it will take Auersperg in place of von Arnheim."

It was a serious prayer and he felt that it was without a trace of wickedness or sacrilege. Evidently von Arnheim was giving orders of importance, as two of the men, to whom he was talking, hurried to horses, mounted and galloped down the road. Then the young prince walked slowly back to the house and John could see that he was very thoughtful. He passed his hand in a troubled way two or three times across his forehead. Perhaps the medieval prince inside was putting upon the modern prince outside labors that he was far from liking.

John's unformed plan of escape included Julie Lannes. He could not go away without her. If he did he could never face Lannes again, and what was more, he could never face himself. It was in reality this thought that made his resolve to escape seem so difficult. It had been lurking continuously in the back of his head. To go away without Julie was impossible. Under ordinary circumstances her situation as a prisoner would not be alarming. Germans regarded women with respect. They had done so from the earliest times, as he had learned from the painful study of Tacitus. Von Arnheim had received a deep impression from Julie's beauty and grace. John could tell it by his looks, but those looks were honest. They came from the eyes and heart of one who could do no wrong. But the other! The man of the Middle Ages, the older prince. He was different. War re-created ancient passions and gave to them opportunities. No, he could not think of leaving without Julie!

He kept his place at the tall, narrow window, and the night was steadily growing brighter. A full, silver moon was swinging high in the heavens. The stars were out in myriads in that sky of dusky, infinite blue, and danced regardless of the tiny planet, Earth, shaken by battle. From the hills came the relentless groaning which he knew was the sound of the guns, fighting one another under the searchlights.

Then he heard the clatter of hoofs, and another company of Uhlans rode up to the château. Their leader dismounted and entered the great gate. John recognized von Boehlen, who had taken off his helmet to let the cool air blow upon his close-cropped head. He stood on the graveled walk for a few minutes directly in a flood of silver rays, every feature showing clearly. He had been arrogant and domineering, but John liked him far better than Auersperg. His cruelty would be the cruelty of battle, and there might be a streak of sentimentalism hidden under the stiff and harsh German manner, like a vein of gold in rock. As von Boehlen resumed his approach to the house he passed from John's range of vision, and then the prisoner watched the horizon for anything that he might see. Twice he beheld the far flare of searchlights, but nobody else came to the château, and the night darkened somewhat. No rattle of arms or stamp of hoofs came from the hussars in the grounds, and he judged that all but the sentinels slept. Nor was there any sound of movement in the house, and in the peaceful silence he at last began to feel sleepy. The problems of his position were too great for him to solve—at least for the present—and lying down on the cot he was fast asleep before he knew it.

Youth does not always sleep soundly, and the tension of John's nerves continued long after he lapsed into unconsciousness. That, perhaps, was the reason why he awoke at once when the heavy key began to turn again in the lock. He sat up on the cot—he had not undressed—and his hand instinctively slipped to his belt, where there was no weapon.

The key was certainly turning in the lock, and then the door was opening! A shadow appeared in the space between door and wall, and John's first feeling was of apprehension. An atmosphere of suspicion had been created about him and he considered his life in much more danger there than it had been when he was first a prisoner.

The door closed again quickly and softly, but somebody was inside the room, somebody who had a light, feline step, and John felt the prickling of the hair at the back of his neck. He longed for a weapon, something better than only his two hands, but he was reassured when the intruder, speaking French, called in a whisper:

"Are you awake, Mr. Scott?"

It was surely not the voice and words of one who had come to do murder, and John felt a thrill of recognition.

"Weber!" he exclaimed.

"Yes, it's Weber, Mr. Scott."

"How under the sun did you get here, Weber?"

"By pretending to be a German. I'm an Alsatian, you know, and it's not difficult. I'm doing work for France. It's terribly dangerous. My life is on the turn of a hair every moment, but I'm willing to take the risk. I did not know you were here until late tonight, when I came to the château to see if I could discover anything further about the numbers and movements of the enemy. You must get away now. I think I can help you to escape."

There was a tone in Weber's voice that aroused John's curiosity.

"It's good of you, Weber," he said, "to take such a risk for me, but why is it so urgent that I escape tonight?"

"I've learned since I came to the château that the Prince of Auersperg is much inflamed against you. Perhaps you spoke to him in a way that gave offense to his dignity. Ah, sir, the members of these ancient royal houses, those of the old type, consider themselves above and beyond the other people of the earth. In Germany you cannot offend them without risk, and it may be, too, that you stand in his way in regard to something that he very much desires!"

Although Weber spoke in a whisper his voice was full of energy and earnestness. His words sank with the weight of truth into John's heart.

"Can you really help me to escape?" he asked.

"I think so. I'm sure of it. The guards in the house are relaxed at this late hour, and they would seem needless anyhow with so many sentinels outside."

"But, Weber, Julie Lannes, the sister of Philip Lannes, is here a prisoner also. She was taken when I was. She is a Red Cross nurse, and although the Germans would not harm a woman, I do not like to leave her in this château. Your Prince of Auersperg does not seem to belong to our later age."

"Perhaps not. He holds strongly for the old order, but the young von Arnheim is here also. His is a devoted German heart, but his German eyes have looked with admiration, nay more, upon a French face. He will protect that beautiful young Mademoiselle Julie with his life against anybody, against his senior in military rank, the Prince of Auersperg himself. Sir, you must come! If you wish to help Philip Lannes' sister you can be of more help to her living than dead. If you linger here you surely disappear from men tomorrow!"

"How do you know these things, Weber?"

"I have been in the house three or four hours and there is talk among the soldiers. I pray you, don't hesitate longer!"

"How can you find a way?"

"Wait a minute."

He slipped back to the door, opened it and looked into the hall.

"The path is clear," he said, when he returned. "There is no sentinel near your door, and I've found a way leading out of the château at the back. Most of these old houses have crooked, disused passages."

"But suppose we succeed in reaching the outside, Weber, what then? The place is surrounded by an army."

"A way is there, too. One man in the darkness can pass through a multitude. We can't delay, because another chance may not come!"

John was overborne. Weber was half pulling him toward the door. Moreover, there was much sense in what the Alsatian said. It was a commonplace that he could be of more service to Julie alive than dead, and the man's insistence deciding him, he crept with the Alsatian into the hall. They stood a few minutes in the dark, listening, but no sound came. Evidently the house slept well.

"This way, Mr. Scott," whispered Weber, and he led toward the rear of the house. Turning the corner of the hall he opened a small door in the wall, which John would have passed even in the daylight without noticing.

"Put a hand on my coat and follow me," said Weber.

John obeyed without hesitation, and they ascended a half dozen steps along a passage so narrow that his shoulders touched the walls. It was very dark there, but at the top they entered a room into which some moonlight came, enough for John to see barrels, boxes and bags heaped on the floor.

"A storeroom," said Weber. "The French are thrifty. The owner of this house had splendor below, and he has kept provision for it above, almost concealed by the narrowness of the door and stair. But we'll find a broader stair on the