“The men are no cravens, my Lord, but this castle is at war with yours, and for each man there is a post. A woman would be less missed if so brave a warrior as Count von Schonburg thought fit to war upon us.”
“But a woman makes war upon me, Beatrix. What am I to do? Surrender humbly?”
“Brave men have done so before now and will again, my Lord, where women are concerned. At least,” added Beatrix, blushing and casting down her eyes, “I have been so informed.”
“And small blame to them,” cried the count, with enthusiasm. “I swear to you, my girl, that if women warriors were like the woodman’s daughter, I would cast away all arms except these with which to enclasp her.”
And he stretched out his hands, taking a step nearer, while she shrank in alarm from him.
“My Lord, I am but an humble messenger, and I beg of you to listen to what I am asked to say. My Lady, the Countess, has commissioned me to tell you that—”
A startling malediction of the Countess that accorded ill with the scarlet cross emblazoned on the young man’s breast, interrupted the girl.
“I hold no traffic with the Countess,” he cried. “She has treacherously laid me by the heels, coming as I did from battling for the Cross that she doubtless professes to regard as sacred.”
“It was because she feared you, my Lord. These years back tales of your valour in the Holy Land have come to the Rhine, and now you return to find your house at war with hers. What was she to do? The chances stood even with only your underling in command; judge then what her fate must be with your strong sword thrown in the balance against her. All’s fair in war, said those who counselled her. What would you have done in such an extremity, my Lord?”
“What would I have done? I would have met my enemy sword in hand and talked with him or fought with him as best suited his inclination.”