"For what? Who ever heard of a German delivering up his guests? Tut! tut! man!"
"There is no 'Tut! tut!' about it," retorted Johann. "We are going to hang them. Blood for blood! Vengeance for Magdeburg!"
"What nonsense you talk," said Hildebrand in his jolly cajoling fashion. "Why should you or I trouble about Magdeburg? Let the Brandenburgers look after themselves. You don't owe them anything!"
"They are our brothers in the faith," said another voice, and a Lutheran pastor stood out from the throng.
"Yes! Yes! Our brothers in the faith." The bystanders took up the cry till it reached the outskirts of the throng, seemingly a long way back.
"Well! I take my orders from the Emperor!" said Hildebrand. "You had better go and ask him! I give up my guests for no one. Now go away home to your suppers and your wives and don't trouble your heads with politics!"
"You hear, friends?" shouted Johann, turning to his comrades. "You hear what Commandant von Hohendorf tells us. Shall we?"
"No! A thousand noes!" was the reply from hundreds of throats, and the ominous rattle of weapons gave it emphasis. "Storm the castle! Burn down old Hradschin! Death to the hell-riders," came from all sides.
Nigel, standing on the battlements in the rear of the Commandant, was not recognisable from below, but could very well distinguish the faces of most of those who stood in the front of the throng. They were drawn from all classes in the town, which, it was clear, was stirred to its depths. There were few women, and only two of these had ventured near to the leaders. Nigel surveyed the assembly with the indifference of the soldier to the execrations of a crowd of citizens, and the added feeling of detachment from the exasperation which they felt at the slaughter of some of their own countrymen by others of their own countrymen in the pay of the Emperor, who was far on the other side of the mountains. His curiosity was alert, however, and when his eyes rested on the two women, whose heads were enveloped in hoods that left most of the face in impenetrable shadow, he strove to estimate their condition, whether gentle or simple. In bearing they both seemed apart from the burghers with whom they mingled. One of them was tall for a woman, and, when she moved, did so with a gesture that marked her at least as no housewife. The other's movements were quick, and reminded Nigel of a hen moving and pecking with sudden jerks of fussiness. Then for a moment, as the Commandant was speaking, the tall woman looked upward and the ruddy light from a neighbouring torch fell upon her face for a mere instant, but it was long enough. Nigel drew his cloak about him with a shiver. The woman appeared to have the eyes and mouth of Ottilie von Thüringen.
He was sure it was not she. She had started for Gotha. He had seen her in the coach, and at the head of his men had ridden, not, it was true, at breakneck speed, but at a good pace, wasting no time.