The peasants pushed me down on to a bench, and while one helped me strip my sodden clothes—the second time that night—another washed the stinging gash in my arm and bandaged it round. The third, practical fellow, realising that I had to be clad in something, was pulling the garments off one of the corpses—he chose one who had been neatly shot in the head, and had been considerate enough not to bleed much—and I can't say that I felt any revulsion at all about wearing dead men's weeds. In fact, they fitted uncommon well.
Then they presented me with a flask of schnapps, and I sent half of it down my throat at once, and felt the fiery warmth running back along my limbs, I poured a little into my palm and rubbed it on my face and neck—a trick Mackenzie taught me in Afghanistan; nothing like it for the cold, if you can spare the liquor.
I sipped the rest slowly, looking round. There were several Volsungs in the hall, staring curiously about them, and I could hear the voices of others in the upper rooms they seemed to have everything in hand. Of Sapten and Grundvig there was no sign.
Well, this was fine, so far as it went. I was beginning to feel excellent, now that the shock—no, the series of hellish frights—of the evening were wearing off, and I was savouring the blissful knowledge that here I was, hale and whole, with drink in me, warm clothes, and nothing more to fear. With every moment, as I realised what I had endured and escaped, my spirits rose; I could contemplate the future, for the first time in months, without feeling my bowels drooping down into my legs.
"Where's Major Sapten, then?" says I, and they told me he was down in the dungeon still; on no account, they said, was anyone to intrude. Well, I knew the prohibition wouldn't include me, so I brushed aside their protests with a show of princely authority—remarkable how habits stick, once learned—and marched across to the passage. I checked at the archway, though, and asked if they were sure all the defenders were dead, and they beamed and chorused "Jah, jah." I took a sabre along anyway—not for protection, but because I knew it would look well, and went down the staircase and into the cloister. Through the far archway I heard the murmur of voices, and as I came closer Sapten was say. ing:
"—Hansen's body in the moat. I wish we had laid Starnberg by the heels, though; that's one overdue in hell."
That was bad news; I took a hurried look round, and then cursed my nervousness. Wherever Rudi was, it wouldn't be here.
"It all passes belief," said another voice, and I recognised it as Carl Gustaf's. "Can it be true? A man who could take my place … an English impostor … and yet he came here, alone with Hansen, to try to save me."
"He didn't have much choice," growls Sapten. "It was that or a rope." Well, damn him; there was gratitude.
"Nay, nay, you wrong him." It was Grundvig now, excellent chap. "He tried to make amends, Sapten; no man could have done more. Without him… ."
"Do I not know it?" says Carl Gustaf. "I saw him fight; he saved me from that scoundrel. My God! what a death!"
There was a pause, and then Sapten says:
"Aye, well, give him the benefit of the doubt. But, I have to say it, in dying he performed you a service, highness, for alive he might have been a confounded embarrassment."
Well, I wasn't standing for this—besides, I know a cut when I hear one. I stepped softly through the archway.
"Sorry to be inconvenient, major," says I, "but embarrassment or not, I am still here to serve his highness."
It produced a most satisfactory effect; Sapten spun round on his heel, his pipe clattering on the floor; Grundvig sprang up, staring in amazement; the Prince, who had been seated at the table, swore in astonishment; there were two others there, behind the Prince's chair, and doubtless they were suitably stricken, too.
Well, there was a fine babble and cries of wonder and inquiry, I can tell you; they were certainly surprised to see me, even if they weren't exactly overjoyed. Of course, it was a difficult situation for them; heroes are so much less of a nuisance when they're dead. There was even a hint of resentment, I thought, in the questions they poured at me—how had I escaped, where had I come from; I'll swear Sapten was on the brink of demanding what the devil I meant by it.
I answered fairly offhand, describing the plumbing system of Jotunberg briefly, and how I had escaped from the lake. Grundvig and the Prince agreed it was a marvel; Sapten recovered his pipe and stuffed it with tobacco.
"And so," says I, in conclusion, "I came back to offer my further services—if they are needed." And I laid my sabre gently on the table and stood back. This chap Irving has nothing on me.
There was an awkward, very long silence. Sapten puffed—he wasn't going to break it; Grundvig fidgeted, and then the Prince, who had been frowning at the table, looked up. God, he was like me.
"Sir," says he slowly, "these gentlemen have been telling me … what has happened in Strackenz of late. It—it defies understanding … mine at least. It seems you have been party to the most dastardly deception, the strangest plot, I ever heard of. Yet it seems it was against your will—is this not so?" He looked at the others, and Grundvig nodded and looked bewildered. "Perhaps I am not clear in my mind," the Prince went on, "after all this—" and he gestured about him, like a man in a fog, "—but at least 1 have the evidence of my eyes. Whoever you are, whatever the reasons for what you did …" he broke off, at a loss, and then pulled himself together. "You saved my life tonight, sir. That much I know. If there has been wrong on your side—well, that is for your soul. But it has been cancelled out, for me at least." He looked at the others, Grundvig still nodding, Sapten puffing grimly and staring at his boots. Then Carl Gustaf stood up, and held out his hand.
I took it, very manly, and we shook and looked each other in the eye. It was not canny, that resemblance, and I know he felt the same eeriness as I did, for his hand fell away.
"Indeed, I think I am in your debt," says he, a little shaky. "If there is anything I can do … I don't know."
Well, to tell the truth, I hadn't been thinking of rewards, but he seemed to be hinting at something. However, I knew the best policy was to shut up, so I simply waited, and another uncomfortable silence fell. But this time it was Sapten who broke it.
"There's no question of debt," says he, deliberately. "Mr Arnold may be said to have made amends. He's lucky to go off with his life."
But at this Grundvig and the Prince cried out.
"At lease we owe him civility," says the Prince. "Mr Arnold, you have had my thanks; understand it is the thanks of Strackenz and Denmark also."
"Aye, very fine," sneers Sapten. "But with your highness's leave, a clear passage to our frontier is the most, I think, that Mr Arnold will expect." He was pretty angry, all right; I began to understand that if Carl Gustaf hadn't survived it would have been waltzing matilda for Flashy if Sapten had had his way. I didn't think it politic to mention his promise on behalf of little goldenheaded Amelia; the less said about her the better.
"At least he must be allowed to rest first," says the Prince, "and then conveyed in safety to the border. We owe him that."
"He can't stay here," croaked Sapten. "In God's name, look at his face! We'll have difficulty preventing a scandal as it is. If there are two men with the prince's figurehead in the state, we'll never keep it quiet."
The Prince bit his lip, and I saw it was time for a diplomatic intervention.
"If your highness pleases," says I, "Major Sapten is right. Every moment I continue in Strackenz is dangerous, for both of us, but especially for you. I must go, and quickly. Believe me, it is for the best. And as the major has remarked, there is no debt."