Sapten muttered again in the gloom, the boat stirred as the dim forms of the towers moved, and we were sliding out of the creek onto the face of the Jotunsee. The breeze nipped as we broke cover, and then the bank had vanished behind us.
It was as black as the earl of hell's weskit, and deadly silent except for the chuckle of water under our bow and the soft rustle as the oarsmen heaved. The boat rocked gently, but we were moving quite quickly, with the dim shape of the castle growing bigger and uglier every moment. It seemed to me that we were rowing dangerously close to it; I could see the faint glare of a light at one of the lower windows, and then Hansen softly said "Halt", and the oarsmen stopped rowing.
Hansen touched my shoulder. "Ready?" I was trying to suppress the bile of panic that was welling up into my throat, so I didn't answer, "Folgen sie mir ganz nahe," says he, and then he had slipped over the side like an otter, with hardly a sound.
For the life of me I couldn't bring myself to follow; my limbs were like jelly; I couldn't move. But petrified though I was, I knew I daren't stay either; let me refuse now, and Sapten would make cold meat of me very shortly afterwards, I leaned over the side of the boat, clumsily trying to copy Hansen, and then I had overbalanced, and with an awful, ponderous roll I came off the gunwale and plunged into the Jotunsee.
The cold was hideous, cutting into my body like a knife, and I came up spluttering with the sheer pain of it. As I gasped for breath Hansen's face came out of the darkness, hissing at me to be quiet, his hand searching for me underwater.
"Geben sie acht, idiot! Stop splashing!"
"This is bloody madness!" I croaked at him. "Christ, it's midwinter, man! We'll freeze to death!"
He grabbed my shoulder while we trod water, snarling at me to be quiet. Then, turning from the boat, he began to strike out slowly for the castle, expecting me to follow. For a second I considered the possibility, even at this late hour, of making for the shore and taking my chance in the woods, but I realised I could never swim the distance-not at this temperature, and with the sabre strapped to my back and my sodden clothes dragging at me. I had to stay with Hansen, so I struck out after him, as quietly as I could, sobbing with fear and frustration.
God, I remember thinking, this is too bad. What the hell had I done to deserve this? Left alone I'm a harmless enough fellow, asking nothing but meat and drink and a whore or two, and not offending anyone much—why must I be punished in this hellish fashion? The cold seemed to be numbing my very guts; I knew I couldn't go much longer, and then a blinding pain shot through my left leg, and I was under water, my mouth filling as I tried to yell. Flailing with my good leg I came up, bleating for Hansen.
"Cramp!" I whimpered. "Christ, I'll drown!" Even then, I had sense enough to keep my voice down, but it was loud enough to reach him, for next time I went under he hauled me up again, swearing fiercely at me to be quiet, and to stop thrashing about.
"My leg! my leg!" I moaned. "Jesus, I'm done for. Save me, you selfish bastard! Oh, God, the cold!" My leg was one blinding pain, but with Hansen gripping me and holding my face above water I was able to rest until gradually it subsided to a dull ache; I stretched it cautiously, and it seemed to be working again.
When he was sure I could swim on, he whispered that we must hurry, or the cold would get us for certain. I was almost past caring, and told him so; he and his bloody prince and Sapten and the rest of them could rot in hell for me, I said, and he struck me across the face and threatened to drown me if I didn't keep quiet.
"It's your life, too, fool!" he hissed. "Now be silent, or we're lost."
I called him the filthiest names I knew (in a whisper), and then he swam on, with me behind him, striking out feebly enough, but it wasn't far now; another couple of freezing minutes and we were under the lee of the castle wall, where it seemed to rise sheer out of the water, and there wasn't a sight or sound to suggest we had been heard.
Hansen trod water in front of me, and when I came up with him he pointed ahead, and I saw what seemed to be a shadowy opening at the foot of the wall.
"There," says he. "Silence."
"I can't take much more of this," I whispered feebly. "I'll freeze, I tell you—I'm dying—I know I am. God damn you, you scabby-headed Danish swine, you … wait for me!"
He was swimming slowly into the gap in the wall; and at that moment the moon chose to come out again, striking its cold light on the rearing battlement above us, and showing that the gap was in fact a tiny harbour, cut out of the rock of the Jotunberg itself. To the left and ahead it was enclosed by the castle wall; to the right the wall seemed to be ruined, and there were dark areas of shadow where the moonlight didn't penetrate.
I felt a chill that was not from the water as I paddled slowly towards it; exhausted and shocked as I was, I could smell danger from the place. When you burgle a house, you don't go in by the open front door. But Hansen was already out of sight in the shadow; I swam after him round an angle of the rock, and saw him treading water with his hand up on the stone ledge that bordered the harbour. When he saw me he turned face on to the stone, put up his other hand, and heaved himself out of the water.
For a second he hung there, poised, straining to pull his body onto the ledge; the moonlight was full on him, and suddenly something glittered flying above the water and smacked between his shoulder blades; his head shot up and his body heaved convulsively; for a second he hung, motionless, and then with a dreadful, bubbling sigh he flopped face down on the stone and slid slowly back into the water. As he slipped under I could distinctly see the knife-hilt standing out of his back; then he was floating, half-submerged, and I was scrabbling frantically away from him, choking back the shriek of terror in my throat.
There was a low, cheerful laugh out of the shadows above me, and then someone whistled a line or two of "Marlbroug s'en va t-en guerre".
"Swim this way, Flashman, Prince of Denmark," said Rudi's voice. "I have you beaded, and you won't float long if I put lead ballast into you. Come along, there's a good chap; you don't want to catch cold, do you?"
He watched me as I clambered miserably out, shaking with fright and cold, and stood hand on hip, smiling easily at me.
"This is a not entirely unexpected pleasure," says he. "I had a feeling you would turn up, somehow. Eccentric way you have of arriving, though." He nodded towards the water. "Who's our dead friend?"
I told him.
"Hansen, eh? Well, serve him right for a meddling fool. I did him rather proud, I think—twenty-five feet, an uncertain light, and a rather clumsy hunting-knife—but I put it right between his shoulders. Rather pretty work, wouldn't you say? But you're trembling, man!"
"I'm cold," I chattered.
"Not as cold as he is," chuckled this hellish ruffian. "Well, come along. Ah, but first, the formalities." He snapped his fingers, and two men came out of the shadows behind him. "Michael, take the gentleman's sabre, and that most un-English knife in his belt. Excellent. This way."
They took me through a ruined archway, across a paved yard, through a postern-like door in what seemed to be the main keep, and into a vast vaulted hall with a great stone stairway winding round its wall; To my left was a lofty arch through which I could see dimly the outline of massive chains and a great wheeclass="underline" I supposed this would be the drawbridge mechanism—not that it mattered now.
Rudi, humming merrily, led the way upstairs and into a chamber off the first landing. By contrast with the gloomy medieval stonework through which we had come, it was pleasantly furnished in an untidy bachelor way, with clothes, papers, dog-whips, bottles, and so on scattered everywhere; there was a fire going and I made straight for it.