My Lady Rotha: A Romance

by Stanley John Weyman

[ST. BARTHOLOMEW'S DAY.]

That was a night that saw few in Nuremberg sleep soundly. Under the moon the great city lay waiting; watching and fasting through the short summer night. Hour by hour the solemn voices of sentinels, tramping the walls and towers, told the tale of time; to men, who, hearing it, muttered a prayer, and, turning on the other side, slept again; to women, who lay, trembling and sleepless, their every breath a prayer. For who would see the next night? Who that went out would come in? How many, parting at dawn, would meet again? The howling of the dogs that, wild as wolves, roved round the camp and scratched in the shallow graveyards, made dreary answer. Many there were, even then I remember, who thought the King foolhardy, and preached patience; and would have had him still sit quiet and play the game of starvation against his enemy, even to the bitter end. But these were of the harder sort--men who, with brain, might have been Wallensteins. And few of them knew the real state of things. I say nothing of the city. Who died there in those months, in holes and corners and dark places, the magistrates may have known, no others. But in the camp, for many days before the King marched out, a hundred men died of plague and want every day; so that in the sum, twenty thousand men entered his lines who never left them. Moderate men set the loss of the city at ten thousand more. Add to these items that the plague was increasing, that all stores of food were nearly exhausted, that if the issue were longer delayed the cavalry would have no horses on which to advance or retreat, and it will be clear, I think, that the King, whose judgment had never yet deceived him, was right in this also. Or, if he erred, it was on the side of mercy.

At dawn all the northern walls and battlements were covered with white-faced women, come together to see the army leave the camp, in which it had lain so many weeks. I went up with my lady to the Burg, whence we could command, not only the city with its necklace of walls and towers, but the camp encircling it like another and greater city, encompassed in its turn with gates and ramparts and bastions. And, beyond this, we had an incomparable view of the country; of our own stream, the Pegnitz, gliding away through the level plain, to fall presently into the Rednitz; of the Rednitz, a low line of willows, running athwart the western meadows; and beyond this, a league and a half away, of the frowning heights of the Alta Veste, where Wallenstein hung, vulture-like, waiting to pounce on the city.

As the sun rose behind us, the shadow of the Burg on which we stood fell almost to the foot of the distant heights, and covered, as with a pall, the departing army, which was beginning to pass out of the camp by the northern and western gates. At the same time the level beams shone on the dark brow of the Alta Veste, and caught there the flash of lurking steel. I think that the hearts of many among us sank at the omen.

If so, it was not for long, for the sun rose swiftly in the summer sky and, as it overtopped our little eminence, showed us an innumerable host pressing out of the camp in long lines, like ants from a hill. While we gazed, they began to swarm on the plain between the city and the Rednitz. The colours of a thousand waving pennons, the sheen of a forest of lances, the duller gleam of cannon crawling slowly along the roads, caught the sun and the eye; but between them moved other and darker masses--the regiments of East and West Gothland, the Smäland horse, Stalhanske's Finns, the Yellow and Blue regiments, the sombre, steady veterans of the Swedish force, marching with a neatness and wheeling with a precision, noticeable even at that distance.

Doubtless it was a grand and splendid sight, this marching out of a hundred thousand men--for the army fell little short of that prodigious number--under the first captain of the age, to fight before the walls of the richest city in the world. And I have often taken blame to myself and regretted that I did not regard it with closer attention, and imprint it more carefully on my memory. But at the time I was anxious. Somewhere in that great host rode the Waldgrave and Count Leuchtenstein; and I looked for them, though I had no hope of finding them. Then little things continually diverted the mind. A single waggon, which broke down at the gate below us, and could not for a time be removed, swelled into a matter that obstructed my view of the whole army; an officer, whose horse ran away in an orchard at our feet, became, for a moment, more important than a hundred banners. When I had done with these trifles, the sun had climbed halfway up the sky, and the foremost troops were already crossing the Rednitz by Furth, with a sound of trumpets and the flashing of corselets.

A cannon shot, and then another, and then long rolling thunder from the heights, over which a pillar of smoke began to gather. My lady sighed. Below us, in the streets, on the walls, on the towers, women and men fell on their knees and prayed aloud. Across the plain horsemen galloped this way or that, hurrying the laggards through the dust. The great battle was beginning.

And then on a sudden the firing ceased; the pillar of smoke on the heights melted away; the rear-guard and the cloud of dust in which it moved, rolled farther and farther towards the Rednitz and Furth--and still the guns remained silent. It was noon by this time; soon it was afternoon. But the suspense was so great that no one went away to eat; and still the silence prevailed.

Towards two o'clock I persuaded the Countess to go to her lodgings to eat; but within the hour she was back again. An officer on the Burg, who had a perspective glass, reported that Wallenstein was moving; that cannon and troops could be seen passing through the trees on the Alta Veste, as if he were descending to meet the King; and for a time our excitement rose to the highest pitch. But before sunset, news came that he was quiet; that the King was forming a new camp beyond the Rednitz, and almost under the enemy's guns; and that the battle would take place on the morrow.

The morrow! It seemed to some of us, it was always the morrow. Yet I think that we slept better that night. Earliest dawn saw us again on the Burg, staring and straining our eyes westwards. But minutes passed, hours passed, the sun rose and declined, and still no sound of battle reached us. Women, with pinched faces, clutched babies to their breasts; men, pale and stern, gazed into the distance. Those who had murmured that the King was too hasty, murmured now that he dallied; for every day the grip of famine grew tighter, its signs more marked. This evening all my lady's horses were requisitioned and carried off, to mount the King's staff, it was said, of whom some were going afoot.