Part 6 (1/2)

And lo! there was Michael Texel come all the way to the Red Tower for me, though it was by his own trysting that we had agreed to meet at the inn of the White Swan. Nevertheless there he was. So there was nothing for it but to bring him in. I presented him in form to the Little Playmate, who had quite forgotten her Princess-s.h.i.+p by this time in the sweetness of being our house-angel of the Red Tower.

I saw in a moment that Michael Texel was astonished at Helene's beauty, as indeed well he might be. But she, on her part, hardly so much as glanced at him, though he was a tall and well-grown youth enough, with nothing remarkable about him save pale hair of much the same color as his complexion, and a cut on one side of his upper lip which in certain lights gave him a sneering expression.

But to Helene he spoke very carefully and courteously, asking her whether she ever went to any of the Guild entertainments for which Thorn was famous. And upon her saying no--that my father did not think it fitting, Michael said, ”I was sure of it; none could forget if once they had seen.

For never in the history of Thorn has so fair a face graced Burgher dance or Guild festival, nor yet has a foot so light been shaken on the green in any of our summer outgoings.”

Now this was well enough said in its way, but only what I myself had often thought. Not that the Playmate took any notice of his words or was in any degree elated, but kept her head bent demurely on her work all the time Michael Texel was with us.

Presently there entered to us, thus sitting, Gottfried Gottfried, who had come striding gloomily across the yard in his black suit from the Hall of Judgment, and at his entrance Michael instantly became awkward, nervous, and constrained.

”I must be going,” he said; ”the Burgomeister bade me be early within doors to-night.”

”Is the n.o.ble Burgomeister lodging at the White Swan?” asked my father, with his usual simple directness, as he went hither and thither ordering his utensils without heeding the visitor.

”No,” said Michael, startled out of his equanimity; ”he bides in his own house by the Rath-house--the sign is that of the Three Golden Tuns.”

The Red Axe nodded.

”I had forgotten,” he said, indifferently, and stood by the great polished platter-frame over the sideboard, dropping oil on the screws of a certain cunning instrument which he was wont to use in the elucidation of the Greater Question.

I could see Michael turning yellow and green, but whether with anger or fear I could not tell. Helene, who loved not the tools of my father, had, upon his entrance, promptly gathered up her white cobwebs and lace, and had betaken herself to her own room.

”I must be bidding you a fortunate evening and wis.h.i.+ng you an untroubled sleep,” said Michael, with studious politeness, rising to his feet. Yet he did not immediately move away, but stood awkwardly fingering his hat, as if he wished to ask a question and dared not.

”It is indeed a fine place for a sound sleep,” said my father, nodding his head grimly, ”this same upper courtyard of the Wolfsberg. There are few that have once slept here, my n.o.ble young sir, who have ever again complained of wakefulness.”

At this moment the hounds in the kennels raised their fierce clamor. And, without waiting for another word, Michael Texel took himself off down the stairs of the Red Tower. Nor did he regain his composure till I had opened the wicket and ushered him out upon the street.

Then, as the postern clicked and the familiar noises of the city fell on his ear--the slapping flat-footed la.s.ses crying ”Fried Fish,” the sellers of ”Hot Oyster Soup,” the yelling venders of crout and salad--Michael gradually picked up his courage, and we proceeded down the High Street of Thorn to the retired hostel of the White Swan.

”Frederika,” he cried, as he entered, ”are the lads here yet?”

”Aye, sir, aye--a full muster,” answered the old mild-faced hostess, who was busily employed knitting a stocking of pale blue in the porch, looking for all the world like the sainted mother of a family of saints.

Michael Texel walked straight through a pa.s.sage and down a narrow alley, the beautiful apple-cheeked old woman following us with her eyes as we went.

Our feet rang suddenly on hollow pavement as we stooped to enter a low door in the side wall, almost concealed from observation by an overgrowth of ivy.

”Halt!” cried a voice from the dusk ahead of us, and instantly there was a naked sword at each of our b.r.e.a.s.t.s. We heard also the click of swords meeting behind us. I turned my head, and lo! there at my very shoulder I saw the gleam of crossed steel. My heart beat a little faster; but, after all, I had been brought up with sights and sounds more terrible than these, and, more than that, I had within the hour seen Michael Texel, the high-priest of these mysteries, turn all manner of rainbow colors at the howling of our blood-hounds and a simple question from my father. So I judged that these mighty terrifications could portend no great ill to one who was the son of the formidable Red Axe of the Wolfsberg.

Sometimes it is a mighty comfortable thing to have a father like mine.

I did not hear the question which was asked of my guide, but I heard the answer.

”First in charge,” said Michael Texel, ”and with him one of the Wolf's litter.”

So we were allowed to proceed. But in the bare room which received us I was soon left alone, for, with another question as briefly asked and answered, the click of swords crossed and uncrossed before and behind him, and the screechy grind of bolts, Michael pa.s.sed out of sight within.

While as for me, I was left to twirl my thumbs, and wish that I had stayed at home to watch the nimble fingers of the Playmate busy at her sewing, and the rounded slenderness of her sweet body set against the light of evening, which would at that hour be s.h.i.+ning through the windows of the Red Tower.