"Why, in the same space of time she will be dead or wed!" said Von Orseln, with an affectation of carelessness easily seen through.
The young man burst out, "Dead she may be! I know she will never be wife to that Courtland Death's-head. I saw it in her eyes that day in their cathedral, when she bade me slip out and bring up our four hundred lances of Kernsberg."
"Like enough," said Werner shortly. "I, for one, set no bounds to any woman's likings or mislikings!"
"We must get her away to a place of safety," said the young man.
Von Orseln laughed.
"Get her? Who would persuade or compel our lady? Whither would she go? Would she be safer there than here? Would the Courtlander not find out in twenty-four hours that there was no Joan of the Sword Hand in Kernsberg, and follow on her trail? And lastly—question most pertinent of all—what had you to drink down there in hall, young fellow?"
The Sparhawk did not notice the last question, nor did he reply in a similarly jeering tone.
"We must persuade her—capture her, compel her, if necessary. Kernsberg cannot for long hold out against both the Muscovite and the Courtlander. Save good Jorian and Boris, who will lie manfully about their fighting, there is no help for us in mortal man. So this is what we must do to save our lady!"
"What? Capture Joan of the Sword Hand and carry her off? The mead buzzes in the boy's head. He grows dotty with anxiety and too much hard ale. 'Ware, Maurice—these battlements are not over high. I will relieve you, lad! Go to bed and sleep it off!"
"Von Orseln," said the youth, with simple earnestness, not heeding his taunts, "I have thought deeply. I see no way out of it but this. Our lady will eagerly go on reconnaissance if you represent it as necessary. You must take ten good men and ride north, far north, even to the edges of the Baltic, to a place I know of, which none but I and one other can find. There, with a few trusty fellows to guard her, she will be safe till the push of the times is over."