The Forest of Swords: A Story of Paris and the Marne

When they came to a low point in the eastern bank of the stream the carts turned out, reached a narrow road between lines of poplars and continued their journey eastward. In the fields on either side John saw detachments of German infantry, skirmishers probably, as they had not yet reached the line of cannon.

"Officer," said John to the German leader, "couldn't you unbind the arms of my friend in the cart here? Ropes around one's wrists for a long time are painful, and since we're within your lines he has no chance of escape now."

The officer looked at Picard and shrugged his shoulders.

"Giants are strong," he said.

"But a little bullet can lay low the greatest of them."

"That is so."

He leaned from his horse, inserted the point of his sword between Picard's wrists and deftly cut the rope without breaking the skin. Picard clenched and unclenched his hands and drew several mighty breaths of relief. But he was a peasant of fine manners and he did not forget them. Turning to the officer, he said:

"I did not think I'd ever thank a German for anything, but I owe you gratitude. It's unnatural and painful to remain trussed up like a fowl going to market."

The officer gave Picard a glance of pity and rode to the head of the column, which turned off at a sharp angle toward the north. The great roar and crash now came from the south and John inferred that they would soon pass beyond the zone of fire. But for a long time the thunder of the battle was undiminished.

"Do you know this country at all?" John asked Picard.

The giant shook his head.

"I was never here before, sir," he said, "and I never thought I should come into any part of France in this fashion. Ah, Mademoiselle Julie, how can I ever tell the tale of this to your mother?"

"No harm will come to me, Antoine," said Julie. "I shall be back in Paris before long. Suzanne and you are with me—and Mr. Scott."

Suzanne again frowned darkly, but John gave Julie a grateful glance. Wisdom, however, told him to say nothing. The officer in command came back to the cart and said, pointing ahead:

"Behold your destination! The large house on the hill. It is the headquarters of a person of importance, and you will find quarters there also. I trust that the ladies will hold no ill will against me. I've done only what my orders have compelled me to do."

"We do not, sir," said Julie.

The officer bowed low and rode back to the head of the column. He was a gallant man and John liked him. But his attention was directed now to the house, an old French château standing among oaks. The German flag flew over it and sentinels rode back and forth on the lawn. John remembered the officer's words that a "person of importance" was making his headquarters there. It must be one of the five German army commanders, at least.

He looked long at the château. It was much such a place as that in which Carstairs, Wharton and he had once found refuge, and from the roof of which Wharton had worked the wireless with so much effect. But houses of this type were numerous throughout Western Europe.

It was only two stories in height, large, with long low windows, and the lawn was more like a park in size. It as now the scene of abundant life, although, as John knew instinctively, not the life of those to whom it belonged. A number of young officers sat on the grass reading, and at the edge of the grounds stood a group of horses with their riders lying on the ground near them. Not far away were a score of high powered automobiles, several of which were armored. John also saw beyond them a battery of eight field guns, idle now and with their gunners asleep beside them. He had no doubt that other troops in thousands were not far away and that, in truth, they were in the very thick of the German army.

The château and its grounds were enclosed by a high iron fence and the little procession of carts stopped at the great central gate. A group of officers who had been sitting on the grass, reading a newspaper, came forward to meet them and John, to his amazement and delight, recognized the young prince, von Arnheim. It was impossible for him to regard von Arnheim as other than a friend, and springing impulsively from the cart he said:

"I had to leave you for a while. It had become irksome to be a prisoner, but you see I've come back."

Von Arnheim stared, then recognition came.

"Ah, it's Scott, the American! I speak truth when I say that I'm sorry to see you here."

"I'm sorry to come," said John, "but I'd rather be your prisoner than anybody else's, and I wish to ask your courtesy and kindness for the young lady, sitting in the rear of the cart, Mademoiselle Julie Lannes, the sister of that great French aviator of whom everybody has heard."

"I'll do what I can, but you're mistaken in assuming that I'm in command here. There's a higher personage—but pardon me, I must speak to the lieutenant."

The officer in charge was saluting, obviously anxious to make his report and have done with an unpleasant duty. Von Arnheim gave him rapid directions in German and then asked Julie and the two Picards to dismount from the cart, while the others were carried through the gate and down a drive toward some distant out-buildings.

John saw von Arnheim's eyes gleam a little, when he noticed the beauty of young Julie, but the Prussian was a man of heart and manner. He lifted his helmet, and bowed with the greatest courtesy, saying:

"It's an unhappy chance for you, but not for us, that has made you our prisoner, Mademoiselle Lannes. In this château you must consider yourself a guest, and not a captive. It would not become us to treat otherwise the sister of one so famous as your brother."

John noticed that he paid her no direct compliment. It was indirect, coming through her brother, and he liked von Arnheim better than ever, because the young captive was, in truth, very beautiful. The brown dress and the sober hood could not hide it as she stood there, the warm red light from the setting sun glancing across her rosy face and the tendrils of golden hair that fell from beneath the hood. She was beautiful beyond compare, John repeated to himself, but scarcely more than a child, and she had come into strange places. The stalwart Suzanne also took note, and she moved a little nearer, while her grim look deepened.

"We will give you the best hospitality the house affords," continued von Arnheim. "It's scarcely equipped for ladies, although the former owners left—"

He paused and reddened. John knew his embarrassment was due to the fact that the house to which he was inviting Julie belonged to one of her own countrymen. But she did not seem to notice it. The manner and appearance of von Arnheim inspired confidence.

"We'll be put with the other prisoners, of course," said John tentatively.

"I don't know," replied von Arnheim. "That rests with my superior, whom you shall soon see."

They were walking along the gravel toward a heavy bronze door, that told little of what the house contained. Officers and soldiers saluted the young prince as he passed. John saw discipline and attention everywhere. The German note was discipline and obedience, obedience and discipline. A nation, with wonderful powers of thinking, it was a nation that ceased to think when the call of the drill sergeant came. Discipline and obedience had made it terrible and unparalleled in war, to a certain point, but beyond that point the nations that did think in spite of their sergeants, could summon up reserves of strength and courage which the powers of the trained militarists could not create. At least John thought so.

The long windows of the house threw back the last rays of the setting sun, and it was twilight when von Arnheim and his four captives entered the château. A large man, middle-aged, heavy and bearded, wearing the uniform of a German general rose, and a staff of several officers rose with him. It was Auersperg, the medieval prince, and John's heart was troubled.

Von Arnheim saluted, bowing deeply. He stood not only in the presence of his general, but of royalty also. It was something in the German blood, even in one so brave and of such high rank as von Arnheim himself, that compelled humility, and John, like the fierce democrat he was, did not like it at all. The belief was too firmly imbedded in his mind ever to be removed that men like Auersperg and the mad power for which they stood had set the torch to Europe.

"Captain von Boehlen took some prisoners, Your Highness," said von Arnheim, "and as he was compelled to continue on his expedition he has sent them here under the escort of Lieutenant Puttkamer. The young lady is Mademoiselle Julie Lannes, the sister of the aviator, of whom we all know, the woman and the peasant are her servants, and the young man, whom we have seen before, is an American, John Scott in the French service."

He spoke in French, with intention, John thought, and the heavy-lidded eyes of Auersperg dwelt an instant on the fresh and beautiful face of Julie. And that momentary glance was wholly medieval. John saw it and understood it. A rage against Auersperg that would never die flamed up in his heart. He already hated everything for which the man stood. Auersperg's glance passed on, and slowly measured the gigantic figure of Picard. Then he smiled in a slow and ugly fashion.

"Ah, a peasant in civilian's dress, captured fighting our brave armies! Our orders are very strict upon that point. Von Arnheim, take this franc tireur behind the château and have him shot at once."

He too had spoken in French, and doubtless with intention also. John felt a thrill of horror, but Julie Lannes, turning white, sprang before Picard:

"No! No!" she cried to Auersperg. "You cannot do such a thing! He is not a soldier! They would not take him because he is too old! He is my mother's servant! It would be barbarous to have him shot!"

Auersperg looked again at Julie, and smiled, but it was the slow, cold smile of a master.

"You beg very prettily, Mademoiselle," he said.

She flushed, but stood firm.

"It would be murder," she said. "You cannot do it!"

"You know little of war. This man is a franc tireur, a civilian in civilian's garb, fighting against us. It is our law that all such who are caught be shot immediately."

"Your Highness," said von Arnheim, "I have reason to think that the lady's story is correct. This man's daughter is her maid, and he is obviously a servant of her house."

Auersperg turned his slow, heavy look upon the young Prussian, but John noticed that von Arnheim met it without flinching, although Picard had really fired upon the Germans. He surmised that von Arnheim was fully as high-born as Auersperg, and perhaps more so. John knew that these things counted for a lot in Germany, however ridiculous they might seem to a democratic people. Nevertheless Auersperg spoke with irony:

"Your heart is overworking, von Arnheim," he said "Sometimes I fear that it is too soft for a Prussian. Our Emperor and our Fatherland demand that we shall turn hearts of steel to our enemies, and never spare them. But it may be, my brave Wilhelm, that your sympathy is less for this hulking peasant and more for the fair face of the lady whom he serves."

John saw Julie's face flush a deep red, and his hand stole down to his belt, but no weapon was there. Von Arnheim's face reddened also, but he stood at attention before his superior officer and replied with dignity:

"I admire Mademoiselle Lannes, although I have known her only ten minutes, but I think, Your Highness, that my admiration is warranted, and also that it is not lacking in respect."

"Good for you, von Arnheim," said John, under his breath. But the medieval mind of Auersperg was not disturbed. The slow, cruel smile passed across his face again.

"You are brave my Wilhelm," he said, "but I am confirmed in my opinion that some of our princely houses have become tainted. The harm that was done when Napoleon smashed his way through Europe has never been undone. The touch of the democracy was defilement, and it does not pass. Do you think our ancestors would have wasted so much time over a miserable French peasant?"

This was a long speech, much too long for the circumstances, John thought, but von Arnheim still standing stiffly at attention, merely said:

"Your Highness I ask this man's life of you. He is not a franc tireur in the real sense."

"Since you make it a personal matter, my brave young Wilhelm, I yield. Let him be held a prisoner, but no more requests of the same kind. This is positively the last time I shall yield to such a weakness."

"Thank you, Your Highness," said von Arnheim. Julie gave him one flashing look of gratitude and stepped away from Picard, who had stood, his arms folded across his chest, refusing to utter a single word for mercy. "This indeed," thought John "is a man." Suzanne was near, and now both he and his daughter turned away relaxing in no wise their looks of grim resolution. "Here also is a woman as well as a man," thought John.

"I hope, Your Highness, that I may assign Mademoiselle Lannes and her maid to one of the upper rooms," said von Arnheim in tones respectful, but very firm. "Here also is another man," thought John.

"You may," said Auersperg shortly, "but let the peasant be sent to the stables, where the other prisoners are kept."

Two soldiers were called and they took Picard away. Julie and Suzanne followed von Arnheim to a stairway, and John was left alone with medievalism. The man wore no armor, but when only they two stood in the room his feeling that he was back in the Middle Ages was overpowering. Here was the baron, and here was he, untitled and unknown.

Auersperg glanced at Julie, disappearing up the stairway, and then glanced back at John. Over his heavy face passed the same slow cruel smile that set all John's nerves to jumping.

"Why have you, an American, come so far to fight against us?" he asked.

"I didn't come for that purpose. I was here, visiting, and I was caught in the whirl of the war, an accident, perhaps. But my sympathies are wholly with France. I fight in her ranks from choice."

Auersperg laughed unpleasantly.

"A republic!" he said. "Millions of the ignorant, led by demagogues! Bah! The Hohenzollerns will scatter them like chaff!"

"I can't positively say that I saw any Hohenzollern, but I did see their armies turned back from Paris by those ignorant people, led by their demagogues. I'm not even sure of the name of the French general who did it, but God gave him a better brain for war, though he may have been born a peasant for all I know, than he did to your Kaiser, or any king, prince, grand duke or duke in all the German armies!"

John had been tried beyond endurance and he knew that he had spoken with impulsive passion, but he knew also that he had spoken with truth. The face of Auersperg darkened. The medieval baron, full of power, without responsibility, believing implicitly in what he chose to call his order, but which was merely the chance of birth, was here. And while the Middle Ages in reality had passed, war could hide many a dark tale. John was unable to read the intent in the cruel eyes, but they heard the footsteps of von Arnheim on the stairs, and the clenched hand that had been raised fell back by Auersperg's side. Nevertheless medievalism did not relax its gaze.

"What to you is this girl who seems to have charmed von Arnheim?" he asked.

"Her brother has become my best friend. She has charmed me as she has charmed von Arnheim, and as she charms all others whom she meets. And I am pleased to tell Your Highness that the spell she casts is not alone her beauty, but even more her pure soul."

Auersperg laughed in an ugly fashion.

"Youth! Youth!" he exclaimed. "I see that the spell is upon you, even more than it is upon von Arnheim. But dismiss her from your thoughts. You go a prisoner into Germany, and it's not likely that you'll ever see her again."

Young Scott felt a sinking of the heart, but he was not one to show it.

"Prisoners may escape," he said boldly, "and what has been done once can always be done again."

"We shall see that it does not happen a second time in your case. Von Arnheim will dispose of you for the night, and even if you should succeed in stealing from the château there is around it a ring of German sentinels through which you could not possibly break."

Some strange kink appeared suddenly in John's brain—he was never able to account for it afterward, though Auersperg's manner rasped him terribly.

"I mean to escape," he said, "and I wager you two to one that I do."

Auersperg sat down and laughed, laughed in a way that made John's face turn red. Then he beckoned to von Arnheim.

"Take him away," he said. "He is characteristic of his frivolous democracy, frivolous and perhaps amusing, but it is a time for serious not trifling things."

John was glad enough to go with von Arnheim, who was silent and depressed. Yet the thought came to him once more that there were princes and princes. Von Arnheim led the way to a small bare room under the roof. John saw that there were soldiers in the upper halls as well as the lower, and he was sorry that he had made such a boast to Auersperg. As he now saw it his chance of escape glimmered into nothing.

"You should not have spoken so to His Highness," said von Arnheim. "I could not help but hear. He is our commander here, and it is not well to infuriate one who holds all power over you?"

"I am but human," replied John.

"And being human, you should have had complete control over yourself at such a time."

"I admit it," said John, taking the rebuke in the right spirit.

"You're to spend the night here. I've been able to secure this much lenity for you, but it's for one night only. Tomorrow you go with the other prisoners in the stables. Your door will be locked, but even if you should succeed in forcing it don't try to escape. The halls swarm with sentinels, and you would be shot instantly. I'll have food sent to you presently."

He spoke brusquely but kindly. When he went out John heard a huge key rumbling in the lock.

CHAPTER XIV

A PROMISE KEPT

The room in which John was confined contained only a bed, a chair and a table. It was lighted by a single window, from which he could see numerous soldiers below. He also heard the distant mutter of the cannon, which seemed now to have become a part of nature. There were periods of excitement or of mental detachment, when he did not notice it, but it was always there. Now the soldiers in the grounds were moving but little, and the air pulsed with the thud of the great guns.

He recalled again his promise, or rather threat, to Auersperg that he would escape. Instinctively he went to the narrow but tall window and glanced at the heavens. Then he knew that impulse had made him look for Lannes and the Arrow, and he laughed at his own folly. Even if Lannes knew where they were he could not slip prisoners out of a house, surrounded by watchful German troops.

He heard the heavy key turning in the lock, and a silent soldier brought him food, which he put upon the table. The man remained beside the door until John had eaten his 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.