“Who are you who come in arms to the peaceful town of Mansfeld?” an officer asked from the wall.
“I am an officer of his Swedish Majesty, Gustavus, and hearing that the town was threatened with attack by the Imperialists, I have marched hither with my detachment to aid in the defence.”
A loud cheer broke from the walls. Not only was the reinforcement a most welcome one, small as it was, for the valour of the Scottish soldiers of the King of Sweden was at that time the talk of all Germany, but the fact that a detachment of these redoubted troops had arrived seemed a proof that the main army of the Swedish king could not be far away. The gates were at once opened, and Malcolm with his band marched into Mansfield.
CHAPTER VIII THE SIEGE OF MANSFELD
“Will it please your worship at once to repair to the castle?” the leader of the townspeople said. “The count has just sent down to inquire into the reason of the alarm.”
“Yes,” Malcolm replied, “I will go at once. In the meantime, sir, I pray you to see to the wants of my soldiers, who have taken a long night march and will be none the worse for some refreshment. Hast seen aught of the Imperialists?”
“They are at a village but a mile distant on the other side of the town,” the citizen said. “Yesterday we counted eighteen villages in flames, and the peasants who have come in say that numbers have been slain by them.”
“There is little mercy to be expected from the butchers of Magdeburg,” Malcolm replied; “the only arguments they will listen to are steel and lead, and we will not be sparing of these.”
A murmur of assent rang through the townsfolk who had gathered round, and then the burgomaster himself led Malcolm up the ascent to the castle. The news that the newcomers were a party of Scots had already been sent up to the castle, and as Malcolm entered the gateway the count came forward to welcome him.