CHAPTER III.

THE TREASURY.

Bound hand and foot, the prisoners soon found themselves in the deep, dark, damp vault, blasted out of the rock, where the Bishop of Würzburg had kept his treasures before the Swedes delivered him from the trouble. No ray of light penetrated the gloom, and the moisture from the rocks trickled through the crevices and dropped steadily on the ground.

"Lightning and Croats! may all the devils take you, cursed earless monk!" bawled the captain, as soon as he felt firm ground beneath him. "To shut up officers of his Royal Highness and the Crown in this rat-trap. _Diabolus infernalis multum plus plurimum!_ ... Are you alive, Bertel?"

"Yes. In order to be burned living to-morrow."

"Do you believe that, Bertel?" asked the captain in a lugubrious tone.

"I know this treasury. On three sides is the solid rock, on the other a door of iron, and the man who guards us here is harder than either rock or metal. We shall never see Finland again! Never shall I see _her_ more..."

"Listen to me, Bertel; you are a smart chap, but that does not prevent you from talking like a milksop occasionally. You are in love with the black-eyed lady; well, well, I will say nothing about that; love is a bandit, as Ovidius so truly says. But I cannot stand whimpering. If we live, there are other girls to kiss; if we die, then good-bye to them all. So you really fancy that they intend to roast us like picked woodcocks?"

"That entirely depends upon you yourselves," answered a voice in the darkness. All three prisoners started from fright.

"The evil one is here in the midst of us!" exclaimed Larsson.

Pekka began to say his prayers. Then a clear ray from a dark lantern shot through the darkness, and they all saw the Jesuit Hieronymus standing alone near them.

"It depends upon you," he repeated. "To escape is impossible. Your king is dead; your army defeated; the whole world acknowledges the power of the Church and the Emperor. The pile is ready, and your bodies shall burn in honour of the saints. But the holy Church in its clemency wishes to save you, and has sent me here to offer you mercy."

"Indeed!" exclaimed Larsson mockingly. "Come, worthy father, loosen my bonds and let me embrace you. I offer you my friendship, and of course you believe me. How, says Seneca, _homo homini lupus_, we wolves are all brothers."

"I offer you mercy," continued the Jesuit coldly, "on _three_ conditions, which you will certainly accept. The first is, that you abjure your heretic faith and publicly join the only saving Church."

"Never!" exclaimed Bertel hastily.

"Be quiet!" said the captain. "Well, _posito_ that we abjure the Lutheran faith?"

"Then," continued the Jesuit, "as prisoners of war you shall be exchanged for the high-born Lady and Princess Regina von Emmeritz, whom your king tyrannically sent a prisoner to the north."

"It shall be done!" answered Bertel eagerly.

"Be still!" cried Larsson. "Well, go on; _posito_ that we accomplish the lady's deliverance?"

"Only a trifle remains. I demand of Lieutenant Bertel King Gustaf Adolf's ring."

"Your money or your life, like a highwayman!" said Larsson derisively.

"You ask for that which I do not possess," answered Bertel.

The Jesuit gave him a suspicious glance.

"The king ordered Duke Bernhard to give you the ring, and you must have received it."

"All this is quite unknown to me," said Bertel with truth, but surprised and delighted at this unexpected news.

The Jesuit resumed his smiling composure.

"If that is how it stands, my dear sons," said he, "let us talk no more about the ring. As far as your conversion to the true believing Church is concerned..."

Bertel was just about to answer, but was interrupted by the captain, who, a moment before, had made a movement with the upper part of his body, which the light did not reach.

"Yes, as far as that matter is concerned," Larsson hastened to add; "you know, reverend father, that there are two sides to it: _questio an_ and _questio quomodo_. Now to speak of _questio an_ first, my sainted rector, Vincentius Flachsenius, used to say, always place _negare_ as _prima regula juris_. Your reverence undoubtedly finds it unexpected and agreeable to hear a royal captain talk Latin like a cardinal. Your reverence should know that we, in Abo Cathedral School, studied Ciceronem, Senecam, and Ovidium, also called Naso; for my part I have always considered Cicero a great talker, and Seneca a blockhead; but as for Ovid ..."

The Jesuit moved towards the door, and said dryly,

"Then you choose the stake?"

"Rather than the disgrace of an apostasy!" exclaimed Bertel, who had not noticed Larsson's hints and motions.

"My friend," the captain hastily added, "thinks very sensibly and naturally that the worst part of the matter is the public scandal. Thus, worthy father, let us confer about _questio quomodo_. _Posito_ that we become good Catholics, and enter the Emperor's service ... but deign to come a little closer; my friend Bertel is rather hard of hearing ever since he had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of the mighty Pappenheim."

The Jesuit cautiously advanced a little nearer, after convincing himself with a glance that retreat stood open.

"It is I who decide the conditions," said he haughtily. "Yes or no?"

"Yes, yes, of course," replied Larsson quickly, as he continued to rub himself. "Consequently we are on sound grounds both with _questio an_ and _questio quomodo_. Your reverence possesses a persuasive tongue. We will now come to _questio ubi_ and _questio quando_, for according to _logicam_ and _meta-physicam_ ... Pardon me, worthy father, I don't say a word, I consent to it all. But," continued the captain, as he lowered his voice, "deign to cast a glance at my friend Bertel's right forefinger. I can tell your reverence my friend is a great rogue; I am very much mistaken if he has not got the king's ring on at this moment."

The Jesuit, carried away by his curiosity, came a few steps nearer. Swift as an eel Larsson rolled himself to the door, for he was unable to rise on account of his bonds; and when the monk wished to retreat, the captain, who had cut through the ligatures which held his right arm, against a sharp stone, suddenly seized the Jesuit's legs and threw him down. Father Hieronymus made desperate efforts to free himself from the captain's grasp; the lantern was broken into fragments, the light extinguished, and a thick darkness enveloped the wrestlers. Bertel and Pekka, both unable to get up and assist, rolled themselves at random towards the spot, but without reaching it. Then the brave captain felt a sharp sensation in his shoulder, and directly afterwards a warm stream of blood. With a mighty oath he wrenched the dagger from his enemy's hand, and returned the stab. The Jesuit now begged for mercy.

"With the greatest pleasure, my son," answered the sarcastic captain. "But only on three conditions: the first, that you renounce Loyola, your lord and master, and declare him to be an emissary of the devil. Do you agree to it?"

"I agree to everything," murmured the pater.

"The second: that you start off and hang yourself to the first hook you find in the ceiling."

"Yes, yes, only let me go."

"The third: that you travel to Beelzebub, your patron," ... and with these words Larsson flung his enemy violently against the rocky wall, after which there was a dead silence.

The dagger was now used to quickly sever the prisoners' bonds, and then it only remained to find the door.

When the three fugitives, after having secured the treasury door from the outside, reached the dark and narrow stairway, which led to the upper portion of the castle, they stayed a moment to consult together. Their situation even now was not enviable, for they knew of old that the stairs led to the bishop's former bed-chamber, from whence two or three rooms had to be crossed before they came to the large armoury, and through that to the courtyard, after which they still had to pass the closed drawbridge and the guard. All the rooms, except the bed-chamber, which the Jesuit himself had taken possession of, had, two hours before, when the prisoners were carried down, been filled partly with soldiers, and partly with the sick and their nurses.

"One thing grieves me," whispered Larsson, "and that is, that I did not draw the fur off the fox when I held him by the ears. In the garments of piety I could have gone scot-free through purgatory like another _Saulus inter prophetas_. But as it is, my friend Bertel, I ask, in my simplicity, how shall we get away from here?"

"We will cut our way out. The garrison are asleep; the darkness of the night favours us."

"I confess, my friend, that if anybody, even I, Larsson himself, should call you a poltroon, I would call that fellow a liar. It is true that you once as good as _solo_, alone, _alienus_, all by yourself, took this fortress; but you had then at least a sword in your hand, and a few thousands of brave boys in the rear. Hush! I heard a step on the stairs ... no, it was nothing. Let us push on cautiously. Here it will serve us to tread gingerly, like maidens; the heavy peasant's boots sound as if we were a squadron of cavalry."

The fugitives had ascended about thirty or forty steps, and yet there seemed more, until a faint ray of light glimmered at the top in the passage. They then came to a door; it stood ajar. They stopped, and held their breath; not a sound could be heard. The brave captain now ventured to put in his head, then his foot, and finally his whole stout person.

"We are on the right track," he whispered; "boots off, the whole company must march in their stockinged feet--_posito_ that the company has stockings. March!"

The bishop's bed-chamber, into which the three now entered on tip-toe, was a large and magnificent room. A flickering lamp faintly illumined the precious gobelin tapestry, the gilded images of the saints, and the ebony bedstead, inlaid with pearls, where the wealthy prelate used to fall asleep, with his goblet of Rhenish wine beside him. No living creature was visible, but from one of the windows which overlooked the courtyard they could see the castle chapel opposite, brilliantly lighted and filled with people. Even the courtyard was occupied by a crowd, visible owing to the reflection from the windows, and many of whom carried lighted candles.

"I will let them salt and pickle me like a cucumber if I understand what all these people are doing here in the dead of night," muttered the enraged captain. "You will find that they have assembled here to see three honest Finnish soldiers roasted by a slow fire like Aland herrings."

"We must look for weapons, and die like men," said Bertel, as he glanced through the room.

"Hurrah!" he exclaimed, "here are three swords, just what we require."

"And three daggers," added Larsson, who, in a large niche behind the image of a saint, found a little arsenal of all kinds of weapons. "The worthy fathers have a certain weakness for daggers, as the East Bothnians for 'punkkons,' or peasants' knives."

"I think," joined in the taciturn Pekka, as he caught sight of a good-sized flask in a corner, "that to-night being Xmas eve..."

"Brave boy!" interrupted the captain, inspired also by this sight, "you have a wonderfully keen scent where good liquor is concerned. Pious Jesuit, you have, anyhow, accomplished some good in the world! Xmas eve, did you say? Stupid, why didn't you tell us at once? It is clear as the day, that half of Würzburg is streaming to the chapel to hear Father Hieronymus say mass. 'Pon my honour, I fear that he will keep them waiting for some time, the good pater. Here goes, my friend, I will drink to you; an officer ought to always set his troops a good example. Your health, my boys ... damnation ... the miserable monk has basely cheated us. I have swallowed poison. I am a dead man!" And the honest captain turned pale as a corpse.

Both Bertel and Pekka had hard work to restrain their laughter, notwithstanding their critical position, when they saw Larsson at once white from fright and black from the fluid he had drank and spat out again.

"Be more careful another time," said Bertel, "and you will avoid drinking ink."

"Ink! I might have known that the earless scrawler would be up to some devilry. Two things trouble me to-night more than all the _autos-da-fé_: that the sweet Ketchen, with the soft hands, deceived us, and that I have swallowed the most useless stuff in the world--ink, bah!"*

* Here Captain Svanholm trod on Cousin Svenonius' toes, and the latter thoughtfully took a pinch of snuff.

"If we had nothing else to do I could show you something that ink has done," rejoined Bertel, as he hastily turned over a pile of papers on the writing-table. "Here is a letter from the archbishop ... he is coming to-morrow ... we are to be solemnly burned ... they will tempt us to abjure our faith, and promise us grace ... but burn us, nevertheless! Infamous!"

"Roman!" observed the captain phlegmatically.

In the meantime Larsson had drawn out three monks' cloaks and hoods; they put them on, and now ventured to proceed farther on their dangerous enterprise.

The next two rooms were empty. Two common beds indicated that some menial monks had here their abode, and were now gone to mass.

"Bravo," whispered Larsson, "they will take us for sheep in wolves' clothing, and believe that we are also going to attend mass. Hist! didn't you hear something? A woman's voice. Be still!"

They stopped, and heard in the darkness a young female's voice, praying:

"Holy Virgin, forgive me this time, and save me from death; I will to-morrow take the veil, and serve you for ever."

"It is Ketchen's voice," said the captain. "She may be innocent, poor child! Upon my honour, it would be base of a cavalier not to deliver a sweet girl with such a soft hand."

"Let us be off!" whispered Bertel in vexation. But the captain had already discovered a little door, bolted on the outside; inside was a cell, and in the cell a trembling girl. Her eyes, used to the darkness, saw the monk's garb, and she threw herself at the captain's feet, exclaiming,

"Grace, my father, grace! I will confess all; I have favoured the prisoners' flight; I have given wine to the guard. But spare my life, have mercy upon me, I am so young. I do not wish to die."

"Who the devil has said that you are to die, my brave girl?" interrupted the captain's voice. "No, you shall live, with your soft hand, and your warm lips, as true as I'm not a Jesuit, but Lars Larsson, captain in his Royal Majesty's and the Crown's service, and herewith take you ... as my wedded wife, for better or for worse," continued the captain, no doubt because he thought that the well-known formula ought to be said to an end when he had once begun it.

"Away, away, with or without the girl, but away; they are coming, and we still have to pass the large armoury!"

"Allow me to tell you, my friend Bertel, that you are the greatest fidget I know, _maximus fiescus_, as the ancients so truly expressed themselves. How is it, my girl, you are not a nun ... only a novice? Well, it makes no difference to me. You shall be my wedded wife ... in case I ever marry. Here is a cloak; there now, straighten yourself up and look bold."

"It is no cloak, it is a mass-robe," whispered Ketchen, who had scarcely time to recover from her amazement.

"The deuce, a mass-robe! Wait, you take my cloak, and I will take the robe. I shall chant in their ears _dies irae_, so that all will be astonished."

The sound of several voices in the armoury outside interrupted the captain in his priestly speculations.

"They have missed the Jesuit, they are looking for him, and we are lost through your silly jabbering," whispered the exasperated Bertel. "We must be careful now not to betray ourselves. Come along, all of you."

"And Latin first!" exclaimed the captain.

All four went out. In the armoury there were about thirty sick beds, but only two sisters in attendance. This sight was reassuring, but much more dangerous was the meeting with two monks, who were in violent altercation in the doorway. When they saw Larsson in the mass-robe, and three figures behind him in hooded cloaks, the pious fathers were evidently startled. The captain raised his arm to bless them, uttered a solemn _pax vobiscum_, and was then going to steal by with a grave step, when he was checked by the foremost monk.

"Worthy father," said the latter, as he surveyed the unknown prelate from head to foot, "what procures our castle the honour at so unusual a time...?"

"_Pax vobiscum!_" repeated the captain devoutly. "The pious Father Hieronymus orders you to say mass with all your might ... his reverence is sick ... he has toothache."

"Let us go and wait upon him," said one of the monks, entering the smaller room. But the other seized Larsson by the robe, and regarded him in a way which much alarmed the brave captain.

"_Quis vus et quid eltis!_" said the captain in a regular dilemma. "_Qui quoe quod, meus tuus suus_ ... go to the devil, you bald-headed baboons!" roared Larsson, unable to restrain himself any longer, and pushing the obstinate monk into the chamber he bolted the door. Then all four hastened at full speed down to the courtyard. The alarm was immediately given behind them; the monks shouting at the top of their voices, and the nuns joining in, until the crowd of people who thronged the courtyard began to listen.

"We are lost!" whispered Ketchen, "if we do not reach the drawbridge by the back way."

They hurried there ... the tumult increased ... they passed the guard at the large sally-port.

"Halt! who's there?"

"Petrus and Paulus," promptly answered Bertel. They were allowed to pass. Fortunately the drawbridge was down. But the whole castle was now alarmed.

"We will jump into the river, the night is dark, they will not see us!" cried Bertel.

"No," said Larsson, "I will not leave my girl, even if it should cost me my head."

"Here stand three saddled horses, be quick and mount."

"Up, you sweetest of all the nuns in Franconia, up in the saddle!" and the captain hastily swung the trembling Ketchen before him on the horse's back. They all galloped away into the darkness. But behind them raged tumult and uproar, the alarm bells sounding in all the turrets, and the whole of Würzburg wondering greatly what could have happened on Xmas eve itself.