The surgeon had great difficulty in pardoning his friends for their invasion of his peaceful kingdom. Had they taken his treasures, or slandered his good name, he could have forgiven them, but to put his room in order was more than he could stand! Little by little, however, the storm was allayed through the old grandmother's wise diplomacy; and so the day came when the reconciliation was celebrated with a third tale. It is true that some plain people still looked upon the surgeon as a ghost; the magistrate doubted his right to live when he had been legally declared dead; the postmaster swore over his sore back, which still bore the marks of the meeting with brother Bäck; Svenonius sighed over a hole in his twenty-year-old black coat, which he had worn in honour of the solemn occasion. But the old grandmother smiled as usual; Anne Sophie was friendly as ever; the little folks were as noisy; and—thus it happened that the sunshine scattered the morning mists, and the horizon was cleared for the captive Regina.
* * * * *
"My dear friends," began the surgeon, "it may puzzle you why I call this story 'Fire and Water.' You understand The King's Ring, and how The Sword and the Plough came into conflict. Perhaps you think that I shall now treat you to natural history. That would be well and good. But I entertain the opinion that in a story, humanity is the great thing. If we look at pictures, we heartily admire a fruit or a game painting, but I believe figure-painting, with fine human forms, is nevertheless superior. Therefore I do not intend to describe conflagrations and deluges, but have chosen my title from the fact that human temperaments correspond to the elements—some to fire, some to air, others to water and earth. I intend to tell you about four persons: two of whom possessed a fiery nature, and two a watery. All is not said that could be said, for most titles have the fault of only giving one aspect of many. I thought of calling this part 'The Coat of Arms,' when I realised that it might also be called 'The Axe.' I might have alarmed you with the terrible title of 'The Curse'; but when I came to think it over, I found that it could just as well be styled 'The Blessing.' Therefore you will have to be contented with the elements; I have now said all I wished, and I will leave you to guess the rest."
CHAPTER I.
THE TREASURE FROM THE BATTLEFIELD.
The first thing to be borne in mind is, that the story of the Sword and the Plough happened before the Battle of Lützen. On now going back to that combat, on the 6th of November, 1632, we may forget for a time that the "Sword and the Plough" ever existed, and imagine that we still stand by the great hero's dead body, as it lay embalmed in the village of Meuchen.
It was a fine but terrible spectacle when the Pappenheimers charged the Finns on the east of the River Rippach. These splendid cuirassiers rushed upon Stälhandske; the tired Finns and their horses reeled and gave way before this terrific onslaught. But Stälhandske rallied them again, man to man, horse to horse; they fought to the death; and friends and foes were mixed together in one bleeding, confused mass. Here fell Pappenheim and his bravest men; half of the Finnish cavalry were trampled under the horses' hoofs, and yet the battle raged till nightfall.
Bertel rode at Stalhandske's side, and here he encountered Pappenheim. The youth of twenty could not cope with this arm of steel; the brave general struck Bertel on the helmet with such tremendous force, that he reeled and became unconscious. But in falling he mechanically grasped his horse by the mane, and the faithful Lapp galloped away, dragging his master with one foot in the stirrup.
When Bertel opened his eyes he was in utter darkness. He vaguely remembered the last incident of the combat, and Pappenheim's uplifted sword. He thought he was now dead, and lay in his grave. He then put his hand to his heart; it was beating: he bit his finger; it hurt him. He realised that he was still in existence, but how and where it was impossible to guess. He reached out his hand and picked up some straw. He felt the damp ground under him, and the empty space above. He tried to raise himself up, but his head was too heavy. It still suffered from the blow of Pappenheim's sword.
Then he heard a voice not far from him, half-complaining, half-mocking, saying in Swedish: