The Forest of Swords: A Story of Paris and the Marne, Joseph A. Altsheler [red scrolls of magic txt] 📗

say in the presence of Mademoiselle Lannes that this war is made upon very brave Frenchmen. Yet we cannot send the ladies back. The presence of our cavalry here within the French lines must not be known to our enemies. Moreover, I obey the orders of another, and I am compelled to hold them as prisoners—for a while at least."

Von Boehlen's tone was not lacking in the least in courtesy. It was more than respectful when he spoke directly to Julie Lannes, and John's feeling of repugnance to him underwent a further abatement—he was a creation of his conditions, and he believed in his teachings.

"You will at least keep us all as prisoners together?" said John.

"I know of no reason to the contrary," replied von Boehlen briefly. Then he acted with the decision that characterized all the German officers whom John had seen. The women and the prisoners were put in the carts. Dismounted Uhlans took the place of the drivers and the little procession with an escort of about fifty cavalry turned from the road into the woods, von Boehlen and the rest, about five hundred in number, rode on down the road.

John was in the last cart with Julie, Suzanne and Picard, and his soul was full of bitter chagrin. He had just been taking mental resolutions to protect, no matter what came, Philip Lannes' sister, and, within a half hour, both she and he were prisoners. But when he saw the face of Antoine Picard he knew that one, at least, in the cart was suffering as much as he. The gigantic peasant was the only one whose arms were bound, and perhaps it was as well. His face expressed the most ferocious anger and hate, and now and then he pulled hard upon his bonds. John could see that they were cutting into the flesh. He remembered also that Picard was not in uniform. He was in German eyes only a franc tireur, subject to instant execution, and he wondered why von Boehlen had delayed.

"Save your strength, Antoine," he whispered soothingly. "We'll need it later. I've been a prisoner before and I escaped. What's been done once can be done again. In such a huge and confused war as this there's always a good chance."

"Ah, you're right, Monsieur," said Antoine, and he ceased to struggle.

Julie had heard the whisper, and she looked at John confidently. She was the youngest of all the women in the carts, but she was the coolest.

"They cannot do anything with us but hold us a few days," she said.

John was silent, turning away his somber face. He did not like this carrying away of the women as captives, and to him the women were embodied in Julie. They were following a little path through the woods, the German drivers and German guards seeming to know well the way. John, calculating the course by the sun, was sure that they were now going directly toward the German army and that they would pass unobserved beyond the French outposts. The path was leading into a narrow gorge and the banks and trees would hide them from all observation. He was confirmed in his opinion by the action of their guards. The leader rode beside the carts and said in very good French that any one making the least outcry would be shot instantly. No exception would be made in the case of a woman.

John knew that the threat would be kept. Julie Lannes paled a little, and the faithful Suzanne by her side was darkly menacing, but they showed no other emotion.

"Don't risk anything," said John in the lowest of whispers. "It would be useless."

Julie nodded. The carts moved on down the gorge, their wheels and the hoofs of the horses making but little noise on the soft turf. The crash of the guns was now distinctly louder and far ahead they saw wisps of smoke floating above the trees. John was sure that the German batteries were there, but he was equally sure that even had he glasses he could not have seen them. They would certainly be masked in some adroit fashion.

The roaring also grew on their right and left. That must be the French cannon, and soon they would be beyond the French lines. His bitterness increased. Nothing could be more galling than to be carried in this manner through one's own forces and into the camp of the enemy. And there was Julie, sitting quiet and pale, apparently without fear.

He reckoned that they rode at least three miles in the gorge. Then they came into a shallow stream about twenty feet wide that would have been called a creek at home. Its banks were fairly high, lined on one side by a hedge and on the other by willows. Instead of following the path any further the Germans turned into the bed of the stream and drove down it two or three miles. The roar of the artillery from both armies was now very great, and the earth shook. Once John caught the shadow of a huge shell passing high over their heads.

All the prisoners knew that they were well beyond hope of rescue for the present. The French line was far behind them and they were within the German zone. It was better to be resigned, until they saw cause for hope.

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