Quentin Durward

by Walter Scott

  CHAPTER XXI: THE SACK

  The gates of mercy shall be all shut up, And the flesh'd soldier, rough and hard of heart, In liberty of bloody hand shall range, With conscience wide as hell.

  HENRY V

  The surprised and affrighted garrison of the Castle of Schonwaldt had,nevertheless, for some time made good the defence of the place againstthe assailants, but the immense crowds which, issuing from the city ofLiege, thronged to the assault like bees, distracted their attention,and abated their courage.

  There was also disaffection at least, if not treachery, among thedefenders, for some called out to surrender, and others, deserting theirposts, tried to escape from the castle. Many threw themselves from thewalls into the moat, and such as escaped drowning, flung aside theirdistinguishing badges, and saved themselves by mingling among the motleycrowd of assailants. Some few, indeed, from attachment to the Bishop'sperson, drew around him, and continued to defend the great keep, towhich he had fled, and others, doubtful of receiving quarter, or froman impulse of desperate courage, held out other detached bulwarks andtowers of the extensive building. But the assailants had got possessionof the courts and lower parts of the edifice, and were busy pursuingthe vanquished, and searching for spoil, while one individual, as if hesought for that death from which all others were flying, endeavoured toforce his way into the scene of tumult and horror, under apprehensionsstill more horrible to his imagination than the realities around were tohis sight and senses. Whoever had seen Quentin Durward that fatal night,not knowing the meaning of his conduct, had accounted him a ragingmadman, whoever had appreciated his motives, had ranked him nothingbeneath a hero of romance.

  Approaching Schonwaldt on the same side from which he had left it, theyouth met several fugitives making for the wood, who naturally avoidedhim as an enemy, because he came in an opposite direction from thatwhich they had adopted. When he came nearer, he could hear, and partlysee, men dropping from the garden wall into the castle fosse, and otherswho seemed precipitated from the battlements by the assailants. Hiscourage was not staggered, even for an instant. There was not time tolook for the boat, even had it been practicable to use it, and it wasin vain to approach the postern of the garden, which was crowded withfugitives, who ever and anon, as they were thrust through it by thepressure behind, fell into the moat which they had no means of crossing.

  Avoiding that point, Quentin threw himself into the moat, near what wascalled the little gate of the castle, and where there was a drawbridge,which was still elevated. He avoided with difficulty the fatal grasp ofmore than one sinking wretch, and, swimming to the drawbridge, caughthold of one of the chains which was hanging down, and, by a greatexertion of strength and activity, swayed himself out of the water, andattained the platform from which the bridge was suspended. As with handsand knees he struggled to make good his footing, a lanzknecht, with hisbloody sword in his hand, made towards him, and raised his weapon for ablow which must have been fatal.

  "How now, fellow," said Quentin, in a tone of authority. "Is that theway in which you assist a comrade?--Give me your hand."

  The soldier in silence, and not without hesitation, reached him his arm,and helped him upon the platform, when, without allowing him time forreflection, the Scot continued in the same tone of command, "To thewestern tower, if you would be rich--the Priest's treasury is in thewestern tower."

  The words were echoed on every hand: "To the western tower--the treasureis in the western tower!" And the stragglers who were within, hearing ofthe cry, took, like a herd of raging wolves, the direction opposite tothat which Quentin, come life, come death, was determined to pursue.

  Bearing himself as if he were one, not of the conquered, but of thevictors, he made a way into the garden, and pushed across it with lessinterruption than he could have expected, for the cry of "To the westerntower!" had carried off one body of the assailants, and another wassummoned together, by war cry and trumpet sound, to assist in repellinga desperate sally, attempted by the defenders of the keep, who had hopedto cut their way out of the castle, bearing the Bishop along with them.Quentin, therefore, crossed the garden with an eager step and throbbingheart, commending himself to those heavenly powers which had protectedhim through the numberless perils of his life, and bold in hisdetermination to succeed, or leave his life in this desperateundertaking. Ere he reached the garden, three men rushed on him withlevelled lances, crying, "Liege, Liege!"

  Putting himself in defence, but without striking, he replied, "France,France, friend to Liege."

  "Vivat France!" cried the burghers of Liege, and passed on. The samesignal proved a talisman to avert the weapons of four or five of LaMarck's followers, whom he found straggling in the garden, and who setupon him crying, "Sanglier!"

  In a word, Quentin began to hope that his character as an emissary ofKing Louis, the private instigator of the insurgents of Liege, and thesecret supporter of William de la Marck, might possibly bear him throughthe horrors of the night.

  On reaching the turret, he shuddered when he found that the little sidedoor, through which Marthon and the Countess Hameline had shortly beforejoined him, was now blockaded with more than one dead body.

  Two of them he dragged hastily aside, and was stepping over the thirdbody, in order to enter the portal, when the supposed dead man laid handon his cloak, and entreated him to stay and assist him to rise. Quentinwas about to use rougher methods than struggling to rid himself of thisuntimely obstruction, when the fallen man continued to exclaim, "I amstifled here, in mine own armour!--I am the Syndic Pavillon of Liege! Ifyou are for us, I will enrich you--if you are for the other side, I willprotect you, but do not--do not leave me to die the death of a smotheredpig!"

  In the midst of this scene of blood and confusion, the presence of mindof Quentin suggested to him that this dignitary might have the means ofprotecting their retreat. He raised him on his feet, and asked him if hewas wounded.

  "Not wounded, at least I think not," answered the burgher, "but much outof wind."

  "Sit down, then, on this stone, and recover your breath," said Quentin,"I will return instantly."

  "For whom are you?" said the burgher, still detaining him.

  "For France--for France," answered Quentin, studying to get away.

  "What! my lively young Archer?" said the worthy Syndic. "Nay, if it hasbeen my fate to find a friend in this fearful night, I will not quithim, I promise you. Go where you will, I follow, and could I get some ofthe tight lads of our guildry together, I might be able to help you inturn, but they are all squandered abroad like so many pease.--Oh, it isa fearful night!"

  During this time, he was dragging himself on after Quentin, who, awareof the importance of securing the countenance of a person of suchinfluence, slackened his pace to assist him, although cursing in hisheart the encumbrance that retarded his pace.

  At the top of the stair was an anteroom, with boxes and trunks, whichbore marks of having been rifled, as some of the contents lay on thefloor. A lamp, dying in the chimney, shed a feeble beam on a dead orsenseless man who lay across the hearth.

  Bounding from Pavillon like a greyhound from his keeper's leash, andwith an effort which almost overthrew him, Quentin sprang through asecond and a third room, the last of which seemed to be the bedroom ofthe Ladies of Croye. No living mortal was to be seen in either of them.He called upon the Lady Isabelle's name, at first gently, then moreloudly, and then with an accent of despairing emphasis, but no answerwas returned. He wrung his hands, tore his hair, and stamped on theearth with desperation. At length a feeble glimmer of light, which shonethrough a crevice in the wainscoting of a dark nook in the bedroom,announced some recess or concealment behind the arras. Quentin hasted toexamine it. He found there was indeed a concealed room, but it resistedhis hurried efforts to open it. Heedless of the personal injury he mightsustain, he rushed at the door with the whole force and weight ofhis body, and such was the impetus of an effort made betwixt hope anddespair, that it would have bur
st much stronger fastenings.

  He thus forced his way, almost headlong, into a small oratory, where afemale figure, which had been kneeling in agonizing supplication beforethe holy image, now sank at length on the floor, under the new terrorsimplied in this approaching tumult. He hastily raised her from theground, and, joy of joys it was she whom he sought to save--theCountess Isabelle. He pressed her to his bosom--he conjured her toawake--entreated her to be of good cheer--for that she was now undertime protection of one who had heart and hand enough to defend heragainst armies.

  "Durward!" she said, as she at length collected herself, "is it indeedyou?--then there is some hope left. I thought all living and mortalfriends had left me to my fate.--Do not again abandon me."

  "Never--never!" said Durward. "Whatever shall happen, whatever dangershall approach, may I forfeit the benefits purchased by yonder blessedsign, if I be not the sharer of your fate until it is again a happyone!"

  "Very pathetic and touching, truly," said a rough, broken, asthmaticvoice behind. "A love affair, I see, and, from my soul, I pity thetender creature as if she were my own Trudchen."

  "You must do more than pity," said Quentin, turning towards the speaker,"you must assist in protecting us, Meinheer Pavillon. Be assured thislady was put under my especial charge by your ally the King of France,and, if you aid me not to shelter her from every species of offence andviolence, your city will lose the favour of Louis of Valois. Above all,she must be guarded from the hands of William de la Marck."

  "That will be difficult," said Pavillon, "for these schelms oflanzknechts are very devils at rummaging out the wenches. But I'll do mybest.--We will to the other apartment, and there I will consider.--It isbut a narrow stair, and you can keep the door with a pike, while I lookfrom the window, and get together some of my brisk boys of the curriers'guildry of Liege, that are as true as the knives they wear in theirgirdles.--But first undo me these clasps--for I have not worn thiscorselet since the battle of Saint Tron [fought by the insurgents ofLiege against the Duke of Burgundy, Charles the Bold, when Countof Charalois, in which the people of Liege were defeated with greatslaughter. S.] and I am three stone heavier since that time, if there betruth in Dutch beam and scale."

  The undoing of the iron enclosure gave great relief to the honest man,who, in putting it on, had more considered his zeal to the cause ofLiege, than his capacity of bearing arms. It afterwards turned out thatbeing, as it were, borne forward involuntarily, and hoisted over thewalls by his company as they thronged to the assault, the magistrate hadbeen carried here and there, as the tide of attack and defence flowedor ebbed, without the power, latterly, of even uttering a word until, asthe sea casts a log of driftwood ashore in the first creek, he had beenultimately thrown in the entrance to the Ladies of Croye's apartments,where the encumbrance of his own armour, with the superincumbent weightof two men slain in the entrance, and who fell above him, might havefixed him down long enough, had he not been relieved by Durward.

  The same warmth of temper which rendered Hermann Pavillon a hot headedand intemperate zealot in politics, had the more desirable consequenceof making him, in private, a good tempered, kind hearted man, who,if sometimes a little misled by vanity, was always well meaning andbenevolent. He told Quentin to have an especial care of the poor prettyyung frau [young woman], and, after this unnecessary exhortation, beganto halloo from the window, "Liege, Liege, for the gallant skinners'guild of curriers!"

  One or two of his immediate followers collected at the summons and atthe peculiar whistle with which it was accompanied (each of thecrafts having such a signal among themselves), and, more joiningthem, established a guard under the window from which their leader wasbawling, and before the postern door.

  Matters seemed now settling into some sort of tranquillity. Allopposition had ceased, and the leaders of the different classes ofassailants were taking measures to prevent indiscriminate plunder. Thegreat bell was tolled, a summons to a military counsel, and its irontongue communicating to Liege the triumphant possession of Schonwaldtby the insurgents, was answered by all the bells in that city, whosedistant and clamorous voices seemed to cry, Hail to the victors! Itwould have been natural that Meinheer Pavillon should now have salliedfrom his fastness, but either in reverent care of those whom he hadtaken under his protection, or perhaps for the better assurance ofhis own safety, he contented himself with dispatching messenger onmessenger, to command his lieutenant, Peterkin Geislaer, to attend himdirectly.

  Peterkin came, at length, to his great relief, as being the person uponwhom, on all pressing occasions, whether of war, politics, or commerce,Pavillon was most accustomed to repose confidence. He was a stout, squatfigure, with a square face and broad black eyebrows, that announced himto be opinionative and disputatious,--an advice giving countenance,so to speak. He was endued with a buff jerkin, wore a broad belt andcutlass by his side, and carried a halberd in his hand.

  "Peterkin, my dear lieutenant," said the commander, "this has been aglorious day--night I should say--I trust thou art pleased for once."

  "I am well enough pleased that you are so," said the doughty lieutenant,"though I should not have thought of your celebrating the victory, ifyou call it one, up in this garret by yourself, when you are wanted incouncil."

  "But am I wanted there?" said the Syndic.

  "Ay, marry are you, to stand up for the rights of Liege, that are inmore danger than ever," answered the lieutenant.

  "Pshaw, Peterkin," answered his principal, "thou art ever such aframpold grumbler--"

  "Grumbler? not I," said Peterkin, "what pleases other people will alwaysplease me. Only I wish we have not got King Stork, instead of King Log,like the fabliau [fable] that the Clerk of Saint Lambert's used to readus out of Meister Aesop's book."

  [Refers to Aesop's fable. The commonwealth of frogs, having conceived anaversion for their amiable king Log, asked Jupiter to send them anothersovereign. He accordingly bestowed upon them a stork who graduallydevoured all his subjects.]

  "I cannot guess your meaning," said the Syndic.

  "Why then, I tell you, Master Pavillon, that this Boar or Bear is liketo make his own den of Schonwaldt, and is probable to turn out as bad aneighbour to our town as ever was the old Bishop, and worse. Here has hetaken the whole conquest in his own hand, and is only doubting whetherhe should be called Prince or Bishop--and it is a shame to see how theyhave mishandled the old man among them."

  "I will not permit it, Peterkin," said Pavillon, hustling up, "Idisliked the mitre, but not the head that wore it. We are ten to one inthe field, Peterkin, and will not permit these courses."

  "Ay, ten to one in the field, but only man to man in the castle, besidesthat Nikkel Blok the butcher, and all the rabble of the suburbs, takepart with William de la Marck, partly for saus and braus [means herecarousing] (for he has broached all the ale tubs and wine casks),and partly for old envy towards us, who are the craftsmen, and haveprivileges."

  "Peter," said Pavillon, "we will go presently to the city. I will stayno longer in Schonwaldt."

  "But the bridges of this castle are up, master," said Geislaer--"thegates locked, and guarded by these lanzknechts, and, if we were to tryto force our way, these fellows, whose everyday business is war, mightmake wild work of us that only fight of a holyday."

  "But why has he secured the gates?" said the alarmed burgher, "or whatbusiness hath he to make honest men prisoners?"

  "I cannot tell--not I," said Peter. "Some noise there is about theLadies of Croye, who have escaped during the storm of the castle. Thatfirst put the Man with the Beard beside himself with anger, and now he's beside himself with drink also."

  The Burgomaster cast a disconsolate look towards Quentin, and seemedat a loss what to resolve upon. Durward, who had not lost a word of theconversation, which alarmed him very much, saw nevertheless that theironly safety depended on his preserving his own presence of mind,and sustaining the courage of Pavillon. He struck boldly intothe conversation, as one who had a right to have a
voice in thedeliberation.

  "I am ashamed," he said, "Meinheer Pavillon, to observe you hesitatewhat to do on this occasion. Go boldly to William de la Marck, anddemand free leave to quit the castle, you, your lieutenant, your squire,and your daughter. He can have no pretence for keeping you prisoner."

  "For me and my lieutenant--that is myself and Peter?--Good--but who ismy squire?"

  "I am for the present," replied the undaunted Scot.

  "You!" said the embarrassed burgess, "but are you not the envoy of KingLouis of France?"

  "True, but my message is to the magistrates of Liege--and only in Liegewill I deliver it.--Were I to acknowledge my quality before William dela Marck, must I not enter into negotiations with him? Ay, and, it islike, be detained by him. You must get me secretly out of the castle inthe capacity of your squire."

  "Good--my squire--but you spoke of my daughter--my daughter is, I trust,safe in my house in Liege--where I wish her father was, with all myheart and soul."

  "This lady," said Durward, "will call you father while we are in thisplace."

  "And for my whole life afterwards," said the Countess, throwing herselfat the citizen's feet, and clasping his knees.

  "Never shall the day pass in which I will not honour you, love you, andpray for you as a daughter for a father, if you will but aid me in thisfearful strait.--Oh, be not hard hearted! Think, your own daughter maykneel to a stranger, to ask him for life and honour--think of this, andgive me the protection you would wish her to receive!"

  "In troth," said the good citizen, much moved with her pathetic appeal,"I think, Peter, that this pretty maiden hath a touch of our Trudchen'ssweet look--I thought so from the first, and that this brisk youth here,who is so ready with his advice, is somewhat like Trudchen's bachelor--Iwager a groat, Peter, that this is a true love matter, and it is a sinnot to further it."

  "It were shame and sin both," said Peter, a good natured Fleming,notwithstanding all his self conceit, and as he spoke he wiped his eyeswith the sleeve of his jerkin.

  "She shall be my daughter, then," said Pavillon, "well wrapped up in herblack silk veil and if there are not enough of true hearted skinnersto protect her, being the daughter of their Syndic, it were pitythey should ever tug leather more.--But hark ye--questions must beanswered--How if I am asked what should my daughter make here at such anonslaught?"

  "What should half the women in Liege make here when they followed us tothe castle?" said Peter. "They had no other reason, sure, but that itwas just the place in the world that they should not have come to. Ouryung frau Trudchen has come a little farther than the rest--that isall."

  "Admirably spoken," said Quentin, "only be bold, and take thisgentleman's good counsel, noble Meinheer Pavillon, and, at no troubleto yourself, you will do the most worthy action since the days ofCharlemagne.--Here, sweet lady, wrap yourself close in this veil" (formany articles of female apparel lay scattered about the apartment)--"bebut confident, and a few minutes will place you in freedom and safety.Noble Sir," he added, addressing Pavillon, "set forward."

  "Hold--hold--hold a minute," said Pavillon, "my mind misgives me!--ThisDe la Marck is a fury, a perfect boar in his nature as in his name, whatif the young lady be one of those of Croye?--and what if he discoverher, and be addicted to wrath?"

  "And if I were one of those unfortunate women," said Isabelle, againattempting to throw herself at his feet, "could you for that reject mein this moment of despair? Oh, that I had been indeed your daughter, orthe daughter of the poorest burgher!"

  "Not so poor--not so poor neither, young lady--we pay as we go," saidthe citizen.

  "Forgive me, noble sir," again began the unfortunate maiden.

  "Not noble, nor sir, neither," said the Syndic, "a plain burgher ofLiege, that pays bills of exchange in ready guilders.--But that isnothing to the purpose.--Well, say you be a countess, I will protect younevertheless."

  "You are bound to protect her, were she a duchess," said Peter, "havingonce passed your word."

  "Right, Peter, very right," said the Syndic "it is our old Low Dutchfashion, ein wort, ein man [a man of his word], and now let us to thisgear. We must take leave of this William de la Marck, and yet I knownot, my mind misgives me when I think of him, and were it a ceremonywhich could be waived, I have no stomach to go through it."

  "Were you not better, since you have a force together, to make for thegate and force the guard?" said Quentin.

  But with united voice, Pavillon and his adviser exclaimed against thepropriety of such an attack upon their ally's soldiers, with some hintsconcerning its rashness, which satisfied Quentin that it was not a riskto be hazarded with such associates.

  They resolved, therefore, to repair boldly to the great hall of thecastle, where, as they understood, the Wild Boar of Ardennes held hisfeast, and demand free egress for the Syndic of Liege and his company,a request too reasonable, as it seemed, to be denied. Still the goodburgomaster groaned when he looked on his companions, and exclaimed tohis faithful Peter, "See what it is to have too bold and too tender aheart! Alas! Peterkin, how much have courage and humanity cost me! andhow much may I yet have to pay for my virtues, before Heaven makes usfree of this damned Castle of Schonwaldt!"

  As they crossed the courts, still strewed with the dying and dead,Quentin, while he supported Isabelle through the scene of horrors,whispered to her courage and comfort, and reminded her that her safetydepended entirely on her firmness and presence of mind.

  "Not on mine--not on mine," she said, "but on yours--on yours only. Oh,if I but escape this fearful night, never shall I forget him who savedme! One favour more only, let me implore at your hand, and I conjure youto grant it, by your mother's fame and your father's honour!"

  "What is it you can ask that I could refuse?" said Quentin, in awhisper.

  "Plunge your dagger in my heart," said she, "rather than leave mecaptive in the hands of these monsters."

  Quentin's only answer was a pressure of the young Countess's hand, whichseemed as if, but for terror, it would have returned the caress.And, leaning on her youthful protector, she entered the fearful hall,preceded by Pavillon and his lieutenant, and followed by a dozen of theKurschenschaft, or skinner's trade, who attended as a guard of honour onthe Syndic.

  As they approached the hall, the yells of acclamation and bursts of wildlaughter which proceeded from it, seemed rather to announce the revel offestive demons, rejoicing after some accomplished triumph over thehuman race, than of mortal beings who had succeeded in a bold design.An emphatic tone of mind, which despair alone could have inspired,supported the assumed courage of the Countess Isabelle, undauntedspirits, which rose with the extremity, maintained that of Durward,while Pavillon and his lieutenant made a virtue of necessity, and facedtheir fate like bears bound to a stake, which must necessarily stand thedangers of the course.