CHAPTER XI.

ULRICK, COUNT OF MERODE.

Let us see how these two lovers conducted themselves towards the fair sisters whom they had entrapped;--the ruffian, who was laudably ambitious of becoming a count; and the count, who was in no way ashamed of being esteemed an accomplished ruffian.

At the narrow path indicated by Bandolo, his accomplice Bernhard had wheeled off towards the castle of Fredricksort, and its square outline, with little minarets at the angles, soon rose before the riders. High and sloping bastions faced with stone, surrounded by stockades and bristling with brass cannon, enclosed this stately castle, the lights of which were visible between the trees and plantations with which the fields were interspersed.

"My father--my father!" murmured Gabrielle, whipping on her horse; "but where is Ernestine? Ah, Heavens! I do not hear the hoofs of her horse, nor those of the doctor's nag. Ah me, if they should lose the way, and fall among Danes! Does your master know the country well?"

"Well? none know it better between the gulf of Lïïm and the Elbe; but now that we are arrived, I pray you to rein in your horse, lady, lest the sentinels fire on us."

They were now close to the fosse, the bridge of which was drawn up; beyond it, a deep archway yawned in the fortifications, and near it the figure of a soldier was dimly visible. He challenged in pure German.

In the same language Bernhard replied, and in her eagerness Gabrielle did so too. On hearing a woman's voice, there was a shout of laughter from the sentinels, and from several soldiers of the barrier-guard, who were loitering at the gate, and smoking their long German pipes. The bridge was lowered, and, as soon as the travellers had crossed, it was raised again; a lantern was brought from the guard-house, and Gabrielle found herself surrounded by soldiers--by Merodeurs!--or the Merodistas, as the Spaniards named them--a term now synonymous with one of the greatest of human crimes--for such was the atrocious character of the regiment of Merodé.

"Merodeurs!" said Gabrielle, shrinking back on seeing the ferocious visages, the ragged uniforms, and the rusty corslets of those who surrounded her, with their features seamed by scars, bloated by beer, and their eyes expressive of the most cruel and sinister thoughts that could animate the minds of men, hardened by civil crime, by the camp and the jail, the scourge and the fetter, the riddlings of Vienna, the scum of European wars--for murderers, deserters, and vagabonds of every description, readily found pay, plunder, and service in the ranks of Merodé--where they hardened each other afresh by their ferocious example. At times they quarrelled with each other on parade, and even when before the enemy, and exchanged a few slashes and shots in the colonel's presence. Their officers were all broken gamesters, hardened roués and high-born desperadoes; but the greatest and the worst was the count himself. Such was the battalion of Merodé; and never, perhaps, since an army was constituted, were a thousand such rascals assembled under baton, to surpass the cruelties of Nero, and disgrace the glorious profession of arms.

"Bernhard, your master told us that the castle was occupied by my father's regiment of horse."

But Master Bernhard did not hear Gabrielle's expostulating tone: for having recognised several old acquaintances of the Prison-house and Rasp-haus among the Merodeurs, he was engaged in a lively conversation, the slang terms of which made it totally incomprehensible to the startled girl, who had now some secret misgivings of betrayal and misfortunes to come. However, she dismounted without assistance, and addressing one whom, by his ample scarf and boots edged with lace, she recognised to be a sergeant, said,--

"Lead me immediately to the count--for it is most improper that I should loiter here."

"This way, then, madame," said the halberdier, with a bow which Gabrielle mistook for politeness, as she did not perceive how he winked to one soldier, thrust his tongue in his cheek to another, poked a third in the ribs, and set the whole guard laughing as he guided her into the body of the fortress; but she heard them saying--"Oho Kaspar! 'tis a girl who seeks the count."

"Der Teufel! ha! ha!"

"For so dainty a bird, what a taste she must have! Old Schwindler."

"I warrant me, Schwaschbückler, the count will scarcely have eyes even for so pretty a woman by this time."

"Ah, my Heavens!" sighed the poor girl, appalled by these brutal observations; "my poor father must indeed be dying, or discipline would never be so relaxed. And Ernestine--where is she loitering? Quick--quick, good sir! conduct me to the count."

The sergeant, who did not seem quite so bad as his comrades, led her straight towards a hall, the uproar proceeding from which made her poor little heart sink within her.

"Oh, if my misgivings become verified! It is impossible that my father can be in life," she thought; "if so, neither in camp nor quarters dare even the Merodeurs have been so outrageous and disorderly."

The hall was lighted, partly by flambeaux placed here and there irregularly, and partly by an enormous fire that blazed in the wide chimney, and was fed by doors and shutters, &c., brought from other parts of the edifice. The tapestry with which it was hung, and which represented the wars of Frederick II. with the Ditmarschen, was torn down in some places, leaving the bare wall exposed; in others, the fragments yet remaining were waving in the currents of air that floated through the vast apartment, and made the wavering flambeaux stream like yellow ribands.

At the long table nearly a dozen of Merodé's officers were seated at a debauch, which seemed to have lasted pretty long. All were richly, even magnificently dressed, and had their long curled hair and mustaches dressed to perfection. Their doublets, cloaks, and breeches were of the newest fashion, and of the finest Florence silk and Genoa velvet; and the enormous chains of pure gold which encircled their necks, and to which their crucifixes, miraculous medals, and jewelled poniards were attached, amply proved, that on the march they could help themselves to occasional trinkets as freely as their soldiers and camp-followers. Many of them were noble in feature and in bearing; but recklessness, defiance, debauchery, and crime were stamped heavily and ineffaceably on every brow, and in the lack-lustre expression of every drunken eye. Those who sat by the large table were absorbed in the chances of several games--(Post-and-pair, Tric Trac, and Ombre); their minds were wholly occupied, and they were watching the turns of fortune, with their bleared and bloodshot eyes fixed on those pieces of painted pasteboard, which had already cost one of their number his life; for on the floor there lay a cavalier, whose right hand yet grasped an unsheathed rapier. Gabrielle thought him intoxicated, but a cry almost escaped her on perceiving that he was ghastly, stiff, and dead; that his unclosed eyes were turned back within their sockets, and his long fair hair was clotted by blood. Near him sat the slayer in his shirt sleeves, binding up a thrust which he had recently received in the sword arm, and whistling the while with a grim expression on his sunburnt visage. It was evident that a brawl had interrupted the gambling--that one of their number had been slain; but so intent were the Merodeurs on their favourite amusement, that they had quietly resumed their play without even removing the corpse--a terrible illustration of their reckless ferocity and familiarity with outrage.

In the dark shadow which obscured the lower end of the hall Gabrielle passed unnoticed, and her light step was unheard. From thence the halberdier conducted her along several passages, and then stopped before a door, over which swung a lamp.

"In that chamber you will find the count," said he, pointing to the door.

"My father--my father!" said Gabrielle in a soft and almost breathless voice; "at last--at last--oh, my father!" she sprung forward, and, opening the door, entered the room--not, as she expected, to throw herself by the sick couch of her father, and to embrace him with all the gush of filial tenderness that welled up in her pure and joyous heart, but to find herself folded with ardour to the breast of a stranger.

"Oh, horror!" she murmured, as the light left her eyes, for she was in the arms of the terrible Ulrick, Count of Merodé!