"Lose not a moment, your grace," continued Meri, ignoring Regina's question. "They are already at the gates, and Fru Marta, with six soldiers, will not be able to protect you against two hundred. Quick! don't come out by the door, but tie together sheets and shawls, and let yourself down through the window; I will receive you."
Regina saw that a danger threatened, but far from being terrified by it, she heard it with a secret joy. Was she not a martyr to her faith, transported to this wild land for her zeal in trying to convert the mightiest enemy of her Church? Perhaps the moment was at hand when the saints would grant her a martyr's-crown, richly earned by her devotion. Was it not the tempter himself, who in this pale woman's form, tried to lure her from an imperishable glory?
And Regina answered:
"And Satan saith unto Him: 'Cast Thyself down: for it is written, He shall give His angels charge concerning Thee, that they may preserve Thee, so that no harm may befall Thee...'"*
* Compare Matthew iv. 6, where the Lutheran text differs from the Catholic.
At these words the moon appeared round a corner of the wall and threw its pale beams on the beautiful girl's face. Her cheeks glowed, and her eyes burned with an ecstatic fire. Meri looked at her with wonder and dread ... and again it seemed to her that it was not well with a being, who possessed such a singular appearance, and uttered such strange sounds from her lips. An overwhelming fear seized her, and she fled, without knowing why, back to the town.
In the meantime Regina heard the murmur from the castle yard up in her chamber. The drunken horde had been checked by a stout gate, and stood clamouring outside, threatening to burn down the fortress, unless the witch was immediately given up to them. But Fru Marta, just awakened from a sound sleep, was not one easily scared. She had been in more than one siege in her younger days, and understood like a wise commander, that a fortress does not fall at big words.
"One who gains time, gains all," she thought, and therefore began to negotiate about the capitulation, wishing to know what the besiegers especially wanted, and why they wanted it. In the meantime six old muskets were hunted up, with which the defenders were armed; the soldiers were also provided with clubs and pikes; the servant girls themselves received orders to take the poles, with which more than one of Fleming's horsemen received their doom during the Club or Peasants' War. Thus prepared, Fru Marta thought that she could safely break off all negotiations; she therefore advanced to the inside of the gate, and began a tirade which meant action and no play.
"Ye crazy boors!" shrieked the brave dame with more energy than courtesy, "may the devil take you all, drunken ale-bibbers! Be off this instant, or, as sure as my name is Marta Ulfsparre, you shall have a taste of 'Master Hans' on the back, you villains, sots, shameless knaves, and night loafers!"
"Master Hans" was a good-sized braided rattan, which seldom left Fru Marta's hand, and for which all the inmates of the castle entertained a profound respect. But whether the noisy crowd did not know of "Master Hans'" fine qualities, or whether Fru Marta's words were only imperfectly heard in the uproar, the mob continued to press on with loud cries, and the strong gate shook on its hinges.