CHAPTER LI
THERESA'S TREACHERY
That night the whole city of Courtland cowered in fear before its triumphant enemy. At the nearest posts the Muscovites were in great strength, and the sight of their burnings fretted the souls of the citizens on guard. Some came near enough to cry insults up to the defenders.
"You would not have your own true Prince. Now ye shall have ours. We will see how you like the exchange!"
This was the cry of some renegade Courtlander, or of a Muscovite learned (as ofttimes they are) in the speech of the West.
But within the walls and at the gates the men of Kernsberg and Hohenstein rubbed their hands and nudged each other.
"Brisk lads," one said, "let us make our wills and send them by pigeon post. I am leaving Gretchen my Book of Prayers, my Lives of the Saints, my rosary, and my belt pounced with golden eye-holes——"
"Methinks that last will do thy Gretchen most service," said his companion, "since the others have gone to the vintner's long ago!"