CHAPTER II

FORTUNE MAKES AN ENEMY

Petty-Captain Fortune had no friends of his own rank who shared his
secrets. During his year of service he had avoided entangling
alliances among the officers of the wall, heeding the advice of Karl
the Strong, who had told his son, “If you would ride far, ride single.”

When he was attracted to a man, Fortune, following his ambitious
policy, questioned, “Is he greater than I? Can he help me to rise?”
Thus far none had offered who fitted his needs.

But because a man must confide in someone or something, Fortune shared
most of his secrets with Ham.

Ham knew all about the woman of the isle. Fortune’s chance meeting
with this woman had occurred more than a year before, yet still the
young captain talked of her! And now he proposed to find her again.
Ham rubbed his snub nose hard, and considered. Well, the errand
promised adventures, and he was content!

The stumbling horse brought them to a considerable, open space in the
ruins. They faced a vast building of gray stone, its lofty cornices
still colored by the dying sun, but the greater part of its bulk
already merging into the cold shadows of night.

The building was square of angle, and its three wings rose like
gigantic granite cliffs. Its center was pierced by an arch about which
burned some torches where men came and went. Some of the lower windows
were alight, but in the higher levels they showed the sightless eyes of
decay.

Seemingly this structure towered into the evening clouds. Of those
buildings of the ancient city about which we know it was the most
imposing. Until a time that is clouded in ignorance this had been the
seat of government of New York as it was to-day the seat of authority
in Manhattan.

Along the noble though broken façade, half obliterated by the creepers
which clung all about it; deep in the old stone was cut an inscription
that told the history of the ancient city–had there been men capable
of reading it. What glories that old carving revealed we can only
guess, for before men were again able to understand, it was wrecked and
the secret is lost to posterity.

Only its name survives in the few preserved remnants of ancient
writing. It was called Municipal Building.

The space all before the building was bare and paved. Here the series
of shocks that attended the Great Catastrophe seemed to have levelled
everything into shapeless mounds of ruins over which the strangling
jungle spread its tentacles.

This was the heart of the city and the heart of the island, the seat of
authority, and the offices of the Directorate, of the Tower People. It
was here that Fortune was to report to Wenn, commander of the army.

The Great Hall was forbidding enough in the half light, and seemed to
offer a cold welcome, but in its own rude time it was the symbol of
power and solidity just as Wolff’s Tower was the climax of elegant
luxury.

There was an armed guard on duty at the arched way where Fortune
applied for admission. On giving his name, rank, and message an escort
was furnished to take him to Wenn, and Ham was left to share his
waiting with the worn-out horse.

Wenn, the commander, sat in a cold, bare room. Except for several
pale-faced clerks–men who wore the brass bracelet of the Folk–he was
alone.

Fortune knew well that short, sturdy figure and bullet head of
close-cropped hair. Wenn’s face was scarred and cut up with deeply
graved lines. His eyes were tiny, but very sharp, and his white
mustache bristled.

“You are late, captain,” he greeted, returning Fortune’s stiff salute.

“I was halted on the way, sir, first by the Comptroller Frederick–“

“Ah!” The commander’s sharp eyes seemed to bore the young man for
secrets.

“And again by some dogs of road-menders who had blocked our way,”
Fortune went on.

“The Towerman has asked about you,” grumbled Wenn, biting at his ragged
mustache. “I would give much to hear your report, but Wolff’s
order–he sat a full hour later to-day, expecting you–then he went to
his tower, complaining. Come, we’d better not waste time!”

As they hastened out to their horses the commander gave an admiring
glance at the young man who towered above him.

“You fought a good fight,” he growled, “and I’d give ten years to hear
your story–particularly that part about Engard, but the Towerman’s
orders are to bring it first to him. And so Frederick met you? Did
the Red Fox ask questions?”

“He asked them,” said Fortune significantly.

Wenn chuckled, but when he spoke his voice was sober. “If I knew what
to advise you, I would do it for the sake of your father,” he said
confidentially. “There is rottenness in this affair. I would have
smelled it out, but no! Wolff has taken the thing out of my hands. Men
would think he could not trust me! But he assures me that is not his
reason. Well, tell your story, captain, and be particular; especially
give him all he wants to know about Engard.”

“Why doesn’t he ask Engard?” It was not Fortune’s place to question,
but he was curious to know if Wenn had any news of Engard’s death, as
Frederick had reported.

The commander shrugged. “It is out of my hands–and here we are!”

As he spoke they were challenged by the guard that patrolled Wolff’s
tower. The lower floors of the beautiful structure were glowing with
yellow light, but above, like all these partially ruined towers, this
was dark. So high was it that a man standing close, no matter how far
he tipped back his head, could not see the crowning pinnacles because
of the perspective of the lower walls.

To what enterprise of the ancient world that lovely structure had been
dedicated we can only guess. Its ruins have long vanished, even its
site has become a matter of dispute. We know it to have been the most
beautiful thing of an old civilization, a cathedral tower that reared
its glittering front high above any of those clifflike walls of the old
days, a landmark to mariners, and a guide to those who travelled the
land for many miles about.

Its height is almost beyond present belief, yet discounting the
exaggeration of later enthusiasts and relying upon the earliest
records, we can believe it to have reached a hundred and fifty floors.

Through imposing doors, arched above by carved stone of delicate and
airy tracery; Fortune and Wenn entered directly a lofty hall somewhat
shabby now, but still bearing traces of former splendor. The walls
were of a golden-hued marble, and graceful, pointed arches carried
these into its domed ceiling finished in a mosaic of greenish tinge.
Worn though it was, all this finery of gilding and color, from floor to
ceiling, produced a glow of elegance and richness beyond description.

A stair of noble proportion rose from the farther end of this hall to a
handsome doorway, and a beautiful balcony commended a partial view of
its splendors from a distance half its height.

These walls were hung with flags of the Tower People, and the pennons
of the Various High-born. A great number of wicks that floated in gold
and silver dishes filled with oil made the hall bright, and men in
armor and men wearing brightly colored costumes, together with numerous
servants in the red garb of Wolff’s household, completed a brilliant
picture.

At their entry the general attention was focussed on Fortune. The
petty-captain was still covered with the mire of the road and his left
boot gaped open where the road-mender’s ax had slit it. He walked
stiffly, for he was very weary with long riding.

But his name and description seemed to have preceded him. After a
momentary silence of recognition men began talking in low voices, and
the young captain flushed with the unpleasant knowledge that he was the
subject of remarks he could not distinguish.

Almost directly Wenn was summoned to the presence of the Towerman, and
Fortune was left alone and a little ill at ease. For all his high chin
and flashing eye he was aware of the mud that splattered him and the
dirt and traces of blood on his hands and face; doubly aware of it
because the men all about him were meticulously clean and curled and
perfumed and gayly dressed.

“And so that is Captain Fortune of the North Wall?”

The words were spoken distinctly enough to reach the young man’s ear.
He wheeled about to find the speaker that same captain who had laughed
when he saw Fortune and Ham sharing one horse on the Towerman’s Road.
He was a handsome figure of a soldier, with black and slightly curling
hair, and a short-pointed beard and upturned mustaches. His glistening
helmet boasted the long red feather of a senior captaincy, and his
chain mail was partially concealed by a cape of flaming red that was
embroidered with a design in gold thread.

Fortune shifted his weight uneasily, stifling his impulse to resent the
slight of their recent meeting. This was no place to quarrel, nor
would he, he determined, quarrel with any man until he knew his rank
and influence.

He bit his lip and pretended to ignore the other’s voice, but that was
difficult, for several men with the stranger were staring openly. The
little group moved closer to Fortune with an evident purpose.

“They say that out there on the wall,” the speaker continued,
addressing his friends, but evidently for Fortune’s benefit, “men grow
wild like the Wild Folk they fight with. Now that I’ve seen this hero
of the wall I can well believe it. Would you imagine, I passed him and
his man on the Towerman’s Road, riding together on one horse? And by
the Torch, I could not guess which was master and which man! They all
grow alike when they’re wild–“

The speaker laughed loudly, and his friends joined him.

They had scarcely begun their laugh when Fortune wheeled on them. In
vain he had bit his lip and clenched his fists, hoping for
self-control. His face was red and his eyes glowed, angrily. The
laughers became very quiet.

“You, sir,” stuttered Fortune, “you find me–very–amusing?”

“Oh, all wild men are droll,” shrugged the other, smiling, but keeping
a sharp eye on Fortune’s movement.

Fortune half raised his hand, intending to strike the smiling man in
the mouth. But one of his companions interposed hastily, “Careful,
captain. Not here, not here! Just a hint of a quarrel, and Wolff will
break us all. Remember the order!”

Fortune knew well the rigid order forbidding brawls among officers, and
he knew the harsh punishment that enforced it, but he went on in a low
voice that trembled with anger, “You find me droll, do you? Let me
tell you how droll I find you, you soft, curled and beperfumed tailor’s
dummy in soldier’s clothes, you–“

“Ah, you have insulted me,” said the other, with an impudent
satisfaction.

“Yes, if such a thing is possible–“

“You will pay for it.”

“And who are you, if you please?”

“I am LeRoy, captain in Wolff’s guard. You’ll find me quite your equal
in all things, captain.” LeRoy smiled significantly and let his hand
touch his sword-hilt.

“I am on Wolff’s business,” declared Fortune stiffly. “Until my errand
is done I can do nothing. But after that!”

“Oh, I can wait, if I must,” sighed the other, with mock resignation.
“But it is very annoying. Still, from a wild man we must not expect
everything–not even manners.”

“Damn your impudence!” snarled Fortune, forgetting everything in his
anger. “Now, then; wherever you please!”

“This way, quickly,” said LeRoy, and the friends with him stepped
beside Fortune and began to hustle him toward one of the exits from the
hall.

“Captain Fortune!”

One of Wolff’s attendants bawled the name into the hall.

“Captain Fortune, the Towerman awaits you.”

Fortune whirled about. “Coming!” he cried.

“Plague!” snapped LeRoy. “Too late–“

“Not too late for you to escape me, however,” warned Fortune.

“Whenever you please, then.”

“Directly I leave Wolff. You will wait?”

“Delighted, my wild hero.” LeRoy bowed sarcastically. Fortune’s hand
again twitched to strike him, but instead he tore himself from his
mocker and hurried to join the herald who still shouted his summons.

Just outside the door that topped the grand stairway and led to the
Towerman’s hall of reception they were halted again by an attendant.
“A moment, please,” this attendant murmured with the condescension of
servants who stand close to the great. “Alda, the High-born, has
entered. I do not think you will wait long.”

Waiting, Fortune had time to collect himself and put aside the anger
that had whitened his face and widened his eyes.

“A fine thing you have done,” his more cautious self whispered.
“Engaged for sword-play against a fellow officer. If you are caught!
Well, you wished for a friend in Wolff’s guard; it seems you have found
an enemy!”

He saw, too, that the quarrel had been forced upon him with deliberate
intention. Normally shrewd, he suspected that there was a hidden
motive back of this–and a hidden hand that moved LeRoy.

But a few hours ago his life was in danger from the road-menders. Now
he faced a duel. There was a consistency about these adventures, and
the object of them seemed to be his destruction.

And yet, reviewing the recent quarrel, he saw no other way out of it
beside resentment of the insult.

The great door suddenly opened and the crimson curtains inside the door
swept apart.

“Come, captain,” whispered the attendant at his elbow.

Fortune stepped across the threshold, blinking at the bright lights
within, and found himself facing Wolff.

Wolff, the Great Towerman, by God’s Grace Hereditary Dictator of the
Common Weal; Magistrate and Administrator; Patron and Protector of the
Folk; President of the Common Welfare and Defender of the Right; by
popular will head of the Tower People of Manhattan–Wolff, we say, was
in fine humor.

The last of the line of Wolff which had ruled the island for more than
a century was a man of fifty-five-or-six years, in appearance a
weakling. Disease had sapped his strength and left his skin with an
unhealthy, yellow tinge. His hair was still jet black and he wore it
in curling ringlets with a pointed beard.

When Fortune entered the hall of reception, Wolff was talking
vivaciously in his thin and slightly cracked voice to Wenn, his
daughter Alda, and a half dozen officers of his household he had
gathered about the great chair where he sat on a slightly raised
platform. He held at arm’s length a statuette cast in solid gold and
appeared to be delivering a lecture on its merits.

Watching this man, who wore the Towerman’s robe of yellow, though he
acknowledged him head of all government and was inwardly anxious to win
his approbation, Fortune could not help a certain feeling of
good-natured contempt–the contempt of a strong and young man for one
who is weak. After all, he thought, the Great Towerman is not so
terrifying, even though he is mighty.

“That Kinst has done his work well–he has carried out my inspiration
marvelously,” the Towerman was saying. “You see? You recognize it, do
you not?”

“Marvelous!” murmured several men. “Extraordinary!” “The work of a
genius!”

One, bolder than the rest, guessed, “It is the Great Woman, the ruined
statue of the isle restored!”

“Good,” laughed the Towerman, excited as a boy. “Ah, you all recognize
it, eh? The inspiration came to me in a dream–in a vision I saw it
all complete, the missing arm restored, the wrecked figure with its
almost obliterated face rounded out again, and glowing as with life.
The gods gave me the vision to grasp the secret of the ancients. See,
in her right arm she holds aloft the sword, the symbol of power–“

“The sword!” Wenn exclaimed bluntly. “I thought it was a torch she
bore?”

Wolff frowned, and all except Wenn, always confident of favor, held
their breath.

“The sword!” Wolff cried angrily. “You see it, do you not?”

“But the students of old days have said–all the Folk say, too–“

“The Folk? The Folk?” Wolff stormed shrilly. “Are we then to take
lessons from the Folk? Am I no wiser than the Folk? I tell you I have
studied that statue of the Great Woman; she fascinates me–and it has
been given to me to see her in a dream as she was in her glory, bearing
aloft the sword, symbol of power, and wearing the crown of authority.
See, under her left arm she clutches the tablet of the laws. Note the
face, stern, terrible, a face to inspire awe and obedience to the
High-born. Do you doubt my ability to interpret this ruin? Perhaps,
commander, you can do better?”

“I said only what all men say about the Great Woman,” Wenn muttered
uneasily. “I am no critic, great sir. I am a soldier–“

“Quite so, commander, and stick to your trade then.”

There was a subdued snicker from Wolff’s admirers. Wenn chewed at his
mustache but he still muttered to himself, “Well, a fine time you’ll
have making the Folk believe in that statue.”

“I dare say,” mocked the Towerman, “you are a believer, too, in the old
saw that the Torch will burn again, eh, commander?”

“Great sir, I believe only what I see,” muttered Wenn. “I am no
critic. If you say it is the sword I am content.”

“With my own hands I made the model,” Wolff explained to his admirers.
“I molded it from the clay and personally told this fellow Kinst how to
complete my inspiration. Ah, if the business of government were not so
exacting! If I were not Towerman! Sometimes I wish I could have been
born among the Folk and had spent my life in the studio, making things
with my hands.”

“The world must lose its greatest artist to win its greatest ruler,”
declared the man who had guessed the identity of Wolff’s creation.

The others sighed their concurrence.

“Before I die,” Wolff exclaimed eagerly, “it is my plan to restore that
colossal statue on the isle. This shall be our model. The whole world
will see and applaud. Soon I intend putting the idea into a
poem–perhaps a hymn, a hymn for all the Folk to sing in praise of my
idea–“

At this moment Wolff’s wandering eye caught sight of Fortune, standing
alone at the rear of the chamber. “Who is it?” he asked querulously.
An attendant whispered to him. “Ah, yes,” he sighed, “affairs of
government again. Come forward, Captain Fortune. This, gentlemen, is
Captain Fortune; you have heard of him, eh? Fortune of the wall, the
man who held back the Wild Folk.”

The Towerman mused a moment. “Fortune,” he went on, “a curious name–I
am sure you are my good Fortune!”

The pun was duly applauded, and the Towerman smiled. Fortune’s
reception began auspiciously.

“Well, sir,” said Wolff, “tell us of that great battle. Come, captain!”

Fortune’s gaze had strayed to Alda, the High-born, verifying Ham’s
information that this was the woman in the litter who had sent to ask
his name.

Alda had seated herself near her father and her shining black eyes
examined Fortune with lively interest and evident approval. A lithe,
sinuous woman, her strange beauty was enhanced by the robe she wore, a
robe the color of sea water when the sun strikes through, very simply
made and without any ornament except the great ruby that glowed at her
breast.

Her skin was white and her cheeks had no color, but her lips were full
and red as a poppy. Her hair of mahogany red was not dressed in the
fashion, but streamed loose below a gold ornament that bound it at her
neck.

Fortune bowed in his best manner–the cadets’ school taught young
officers a little beside tactics, and a higher color came into his
smooth cheeks at the prominence of his position.

“Highest-born,” he began hesitantly. “It is a simple story and not
very fine for ladies’ ears. The Wild Folk attacked the great wall at
my tower which is at the end of the Swift Ditch where it enters North
River. Unfortunately a half of our command had been withdrawn, but
spies had warned us of the attack and when they came we did our best.

“Now where the Ditch flows its swiftest, that is, by my tower, men have
always paid less heed to a strong wall, depending on the water for
their safety. But the Wild Folk were cunning.

“Often they have tried to cross in fleets of their little boats, but
the current is too strong for them. This time the attack began about
dawn, and, sir, the devils had stretched ropes of hide across the
stream, a dozen of them! Along these the boats came by scores, the men
in them laying hold of the ropes and pulling themselves across the
current.

“And at the same time, from the other shore, more of them lay under
cover and filled the air with arrows so that it was all a man’s life
was worth to show his head.

“Fully half a hundred of their warriors were landed before we knew it.

“From the wall we crawled out, keeping low and behind the rocks and
cover, to cut their cables. There was hot fighting there beside the
water and the dead and wounded mostly were swept away by the Swift
Ditch, both our men and theirs.

“My men tried to break and run when the thing was hottest, but I drove
them into it though they died like flies in a frost. One after another
we cut their cables and a great fleet of their little boats swept down
the ditch, crashing together and spilling their fighting men into the
current.

“But others had landed and some found ways to reach the summit of the
wall itself. I had left men behind me to attend to this, but to keep
them heartened I had to go often among them. Between that and the
fighting beside the water, we spent a long and busy morning, for the
Wild Folk came in hundreds.

“Then finally, toward noon, we beat them off, and they went away. So
we saved what wounded men we could and rested ourselves. They did not
come again.”

“And that is the story?” said Wolff.

“Highest-born, that is the story,” Fortune replied.

“You say very little about yourself, captain!”

Fortune flushed again. “I did my best,” he admitted. “So did we all.
The men are heroes, all of them, and I speak particularly for the
bound-man Ham who attends me. Six times he saved my life that morning.”

“I will not forget,” Wolff acknowledged. “Nor will I forget your
service, captain. Now there is another, thing–” Wolff stopped and
made a significant motion of his hand. The men who had gathered to
listen bowed and left the room. Only Wenn and Alda remained.

“You, commander,” Wolff directed, “wait farther off. I will talk to
the young captain alone.”

Wenn grumbled to himself as he moved out of hearing.

“Come closer,” the Towerman beckoned. Fortune advanced until he stood
close to Wolff’s seat.

“About Engard, your over-captain, eh, what about him?” asked Wolff
eagerly.

“He withdrew a good half of our men, sir, the night before the attack.
He told me the men were wanted elsewhere, though even then he had been
warned by our spies that the Wild Folk were coming.”

“Yes, yes,” Wolff nodded, “but about a certain message Engard received.
You know about that?”

“I saw a message that came to Engard an hour before he left the tower,”
Fortune admitted.

“And the seal, you saw the seal? Come, young captain, give me the
story. You have not told it elsewhere, eh?”

“I thought it best to save it for your ear alone,” said Fortune
hopefully.

“Good. Yes, that is best. Well, get to it–“

“I held the message in my hands and examined its seal. The messenger
brought it to me when he sought Engard. The wax had been impressed
with a device–“

“Yes; what device?”

“A coiled snake, great sir–a snake coiled and about to strike.”

Fortune watched the Towerman’s face for some change of expression, some
show of surprise or anger that would give him a clue to follow.
Instead he saw only puzzlement.

“A snake! You are certain it was a snake?”

“As certain as I am of standing before you.”

“I know of no such device,” puzzled Wolff. “I had thought it would be
something else. Well, you saw it–there’s no getting behind that.
Now, captain, by my order, keep this secret to yourself. You
understand?”

Fortune nodded.

“Doubtless this has a meaning,” Wolff continued, rather thinking aloud
than addressing Fortune. “All things have a meaning, when one has the
key to knowledge. Oh, yes, another thing–I learn, that Frederick, the
comptroller, stopped you on your way.”

“He did, great sir.”

“And questioned you about this seal?”

“He did.”

“But you kept it secret?” Again Fortune nodded. “He was angry, eh?”
Wolff demanded eagerly.

“No,” said Fortune truthfully, “he did not appear so. He advised me
only to conceal nothing from you.” Then the young man added
audaciously, “He said also that you would reward such devotion, if you
knew.”

“I have already promised that,” Wolff declared with a certain dignity.
“Look you, Fortune, Wenn shall make you an over-captain, to-night by my
order–you hear me, commander?”

“I hear,” rumbled Wenn, drawing closer. “I will have the order written
at once.”

“And find the captain a new post–a softer bed: for a time; he
has–earned that,” Wolff continued. “Let him command in the guard of
the Under City, where he can be near me.”

“Highest-born,” Fortune stammered, happily, “I–I am grateful–I give
you my humble thanks!”

“Perhaps you wish still more?” quizzed Wolff, smiling faintly.

“Only a trifle, Highest-born, just–“

“What, you do! Well, well, go on–“

“Five days’ leave of absence from duty?” Fortune questioned eagerly.

“Aha! Now I see, there’s a woman at the bottom of this, eh, Wenn, eh?”

“There’s always a woman, damn them!” Wenn growled. “They play the
devil with discipline–“

“There is a woman, eh, captain, there is?” Wolff insisted.

Fortune reddened, and especially because he found that Alda was
watching him intently from the shadow.

“You admit it!” the Towerman crowed. “Well, captain, ask your
commander about that. I agree. And my thanks to you and your men.
Wenn, see that those men of the wall are thanked in my name. And that
is all, I think.”

Fortune’s quick eye noted that Alda had already risen and was leaving
the chamber by a rear door. With Wenn, he bowed ceremoniously to the
Towerman, and the attendant who had been waiting for that signal came
forward now to escort them.

“Report to me in the morning, captain–and my best wishes and
congratulations on your advance,” growled Wenn when they again stood
outside the great door.

Fortune thanked the commander absently. He remembered, abruptly, that
somewhere near LeRoy was waiting with the intention of completing their
quarrel. The remembrance was a fine check to his elation. Though he
was physically courageous, Fortune did not see anything to be gained by
risking his good luck again in that eventful day.

He sent a servant to find Ham, who had been left to wait at the
entrance to Wolff’s tower. While he hesitated, expecting his man and
glancing from the balcony among the crowd below to find LeRoy, he
became aware that a woman had stopped, beside him.

She was a black-haired, dark-skinned woman who wore a gray cape that
covered her. She moved silently as a shadow.

Her lips twisted and Fortune caught his own name.

“Yes, what is it? I do not hear you.”

The woman spoke again, a little more audibly, drawing him into the
shadow of a curtain before she gave her message.

“A lady wishes to talk with you–follow me.”

“But I can’t,”; Fortune exclaimed impatiently. “There is another
matter–say to her I am honored, and later–“

“It is most urgent,” the messenger insisted.

“Ask her pardon for me, a thousand times, but another affair–later I
will be delighted–“

“The High-born bade you to follow me,” this curious woman insisted.

“A plague! I–ah, Ham! Here I am.”

Ham bustled forward with his tubby, waddling gait. “The gentlemen are
waiting for you, they bade me tell you,” he puffed.

“Good, I’m coming.” To the gray little shadow of a messenger Fortune
added, “You see, it is urgent. Later–” He hurried away with Ham, and
the woman in the gray cape, silent as night in her movements began to
follow them.

“They are in a court, behind the tower,” Ham whispered hoarsely. “This
LeRoy says he will spit you with his sword. A fine mess we’re in now!”

Fortune paid little attention to Ham’s grumbling. Out of his
conversation with the Towerman one fact overshadowed all others in
interest–Wolff himself was in ignorance of the person who had
conspired to let the Wild Folk invade the island. He was satisfied
that Wolff had spoken truly when he declared that the seal with its
device of a coiled serpent meant nothing to him. It had failed to
verify whatever suspicion the Towerman had of the men about him.

And though he was hurrying to a duel that might easily mean his death,
Fortune felt a pleasurable excitement. At last he was in the thick of
things, an actor in a game where the stakes were high. This was what
he had long hoped for.

To possess secrets of state; to share the confidence of the mighty and
to be sent for by some mysterious woman, “High-born,” the messenger had
said–what more could a young man of his time desire!

“This way,” Ham directed.

They had quit Wolff’s tower by a rear exit and were before a high wall
with a heavy wooden door set in it. Ham rapped three times with his
sword-hilt and the door was opened cautiously, revealing a small
courtyard lighted by several torches.

The little court was overshadowed by ruinous walls and the black shells
of once noble architecture. Fortune found himself nodding stiffly to
Captain LeRoy and acknowledging the three men who accompanied him.

“Well, my wild man?” LeRoy greeted him.

“I am ready,” Fortune answered curtly. The pair drew their swords
without further ceremony and moved into the center of the circling
torches. Ham, close to Fortune’s side, whispered, “He’s a bad one,
this LeRoy. And he can handle a sword; few better! Press him fast and
hard, wear him down, for he’s soft, and that’s in your favor.”

Their sword-blades crossed and almost instantly Fortune’s was countered
so sharply that it flew from his hand. “I fear you are a little too
much the wild man and a little too lacking in skill,” taunted LeRoy.

Fortune saw that his opponent was playing with him. He was furiously
angry. His eyes widened swiftly into a mad glare. Really he was more
angry at himself for the slip that had disarmed him, and he resolved in
his cold, calculating anger that LeRoy should pay for his humiliation.

Ham recovered the weapon and pressed it into his hand. Sparks flew
from their scraping steel. Fortune pushed in furiously, aware now that
he was out-matched by the other’s skill, but trusting to strength and
good luck to beat down his defense and escape the penalty of his
rashness.

He noted that LeRoy had stopped smiling. He was breathing harder, and
Fortune knew that his arm was making up in strength whatever it lacked
in skill.

It was Fortune’s advantage that the more furious his anger the cooler
he became. It was his intention to kill LeRoy. He selected his
opponent’s most vulnerable spot, at the base of the neck, where a blade
would not meet chain mail in its thrust.

A momentary flicker of LeRoy’s blade, crossed with his, telegraphed to
Fortune his opportunity. With all the skill and strength he had, he
drove the point.

LeRoy’s quickness was sufficient to defeat Fortune’s purpose but not to
keep the blade from slashing through his sword arm, below the sleeve of
steel mail. The sword dropped from LeRoy’s hands and he stood
unsteadily, looking stupidly at his wound.

Blood was spouting from LeRoy’s arm as he stumbled and dropped to the
flagstones. He turned a white face on his companions. “Finish him,”
he rasped, “finish him! Remember our orders!”

Three swords already had flashed singing from their scabbards and
Fortune wheeled to face the uneven attack. A great body, solid as a
stone wall, was thrust against his back and with a hoarse shout, Ham,
too, had joined the fight.

Scarcely had their blades clashed before there came an interruption.
The heavy wooden door to the court was burst open and the place was
filled with armed men. With them, flitting in the shadow, came the
woman in the gray cloak.

It was her pointing finger that indicated Fortune and his man. Then,
before a blow was struck, the combatants were separated.

“By Wolff’s order,” growled the captain of the tower guard.

“Now, we’re in for it,” Ham wailed. “We’re done for this time,
captain–“

But the woman in gray already had Fortune by the arm. “This way;
follow me,” she whispered. “And you may bring your man.” To the
captain of the guard the gray messenger merely nodded as she led the
astounded pair away.

“And now where!” exclaimed Fortune.

Their chaperon merely repeated her former message: “I told you a
certain lady wished to see you.”

“So it would seem!” Fortune gasped. Then he added in alarm. “But not
this way–the guard will be looking for me. If I go back there now I’m
caught!”

They, were again beneath the tremendous wall of Wolff’s Tower.

“No fear,” said his guide. “The guard will not bother you again. LeRoy
and his friends will do the paying.”

“Who are you?”

“Nobody. Call me Trina; that is my name. I serve the lady who sent
for you. Thank her for what she has done.”

“Only one woman is great enough to stop the mouths of Wolff’s guard,”
Fortune guessed. “So it must be–“

“Be still,” cautioned Trina. “Let her tell her name.”

The guard at the door where they entered stepped aside at Trina’s nod.
The woman led them to a closed-in stairway of steel, and they climbed a
breathtaking way. Crossing a dimly lit corridor they passed another
guard and entered a small and barely furnished room.

“Let your man wait here,” said Trina. She led Fortune through another
door and into a second room, evidently another of the antechambers to
greatness. Here there were some cushioned benches and a table that
bore a large vase of colorful spring flowers.

“Wait,” said Trina briefly. She pushed open still another door and
disappeared a moment behind the curtain it disclosed. Then she
beckoned Fortune and swept the curtain aside to admit him, and after
that she vanished discreetly.

Fortune was astounded by the room, though not so greatly surprised at
the personality of its occupant.

Its subdued and scattered lamps revealed an apartment truly
magnificent, with tapestries covering its walls such as Fortune had
never before seen, and elaborately carved furniture of hardwood. At
one end, towering as high as the carved ceiling, was a mantel of stone,
cut by cunning hands that were dust these many centuries, into a
bewildering detail of figures and ornament.

The polished woods glowed in rich, warm tones; the tapestries, old as
they must then have been, still lent a colorful illumination, and only
in the rugs that covered the floor did the visitor discern anything of
his own time, for these were of the coarser, common weave of his own
day.

Alda, the High-born, for her own use, had the treasures of a remote
antiquity, looted from the former occupants of that great tower and
before their time looted again and again–who can say how often?–until
their history stretched back to dim days unknown to us.

Wolff’s daughter lay luxuriously along the cushions of a carved settee,
raised above the general floor level. At Fortune’s entrance she lifted
herself by one supporting arm to stare a long time at the dusty young
soldier in torn clothing who had removed his helmet and stared back a
silent inquiry.

There was an odd, magnetic beauty in Alda’s pale face with its crown of
mahogany colored hair and full, red lips; about her lithe body
displayed by the sea-green robe, and her fascinating white hands and
arms. That beauty was heightened by the rich setting she had chosen to
frame it and the cunning arrangement of lamps. No wonder Fortune
stared rudely.

“You were long in coming, captain.” Alda pouted. “I’m afraid you come
unwillingly.”

“I had already given my word to be elsewhere–“

“Yes, yes, an affair of honor! Well, you are lucky to stand here and
not be lying dead by LeRoy’s hand–“

Fortune stiffened angrily, and Alda laughed.

“Or be locked up somewhere for brawling,” she amended.

“Lady, I am grateful,” Fortune protested vehemently, but she
interrupted him.

“Let that go. I didn’t have you brought here to thank me. You will
have other chances to do that. No, I have asked, you here to
offer–but wait, captain, you are tired and hungry! On that table find
meat and fruit and wine. Pour me that glass full.”

Fortune brought a filled glass, his hostess touched it with her lips,
and passed it back for him to drink. This complimentary custom was
common enough among the Tower People, but the look which Alda gave him
as he finished the glass, a look that seemed to dare hint things her
lips could not say, was a far more dangerous intoxicant than the wine.

“Bring those dishes here beside me and let us talk while you refresh
yourself,” she directed.

Seated so dangerously close, Fortune was keenly aware that even the
High-born was a woman, with all a woman’s dangerous charms. He began
to forget that caution he had made his policy.

“Fortune,” said Alda abruptly, “I sent for you because–I–I wish to be
your friend–and–I wish you to be mine. Though I’ve seen you but
once, I trust you. Will you trust me–will you promise your
friendship?”

“I?” Fortune stuttered in amazement. “I your friend? Why, I don’t
dare–I don’t presume to call myself–that. Your servant–your slave,
yes, but–“

“You would refuse!” Alda reproached him, her eyes widening like those
of a child rebuffed. “Do you think, then, that I have so many friends?
Let me tell you, Fortune, I have none–no man in whom I can trust. If
I were of the folk I do not think all men would shun me–I am not so
bad as that, eh?”

Fortune, inarticulate, shook his head vigorously.

“Then be my friend–my true friend. Give me your promise,” Alda
pleaded, leaning closer toward the enraptured young man, wooing him
with her brilliant black eyes.

“I am–I am! By the torch, always I will be your friend in
everything!” Fortune gasped earnestly.

“Good! I know I can count on your word.” Alda held out her hand,
white and cool, and laid it in Fortune’s open palm. The young soldier
kissed the slim fingers awkwardly, but with sufficient warmth to cause
their hasty withdrawal. Alda smiled.

“My good friend,” she began musically, her shoulder touching Fortune’s,
“you have proved yourself brave and you have proved yourself discreet,
too. I am going to give you my confidence, something no man–or
woman–ever shared. But first put your hand in mine, Fortune, and
swear that you will always keep this secret.”

Fortune did as he was told. “Now swear–” Alda began, then stopped.
Her silence was alarming in its suddenness. Following her gaze,
Fortune saw that it was centered on his hand, on the gold ring he wore,
the ring he had taken from the supposed road-mender.

“You dare to come to me, wearing that ring!” In Alda’s tone there was
something of the warning snarl of the tigress about to spring; the hiss
of the poisonous snake about to strike.

“That ring? It is not mine,” stammered Fortune. “I found it.
Listen.” Briefly he told her of the fight on the road.

“That is true?” said Alda sharply, when he had finished. “Of course it
is; I can see it in your eyes,” she assured him. “Then, my friend, it
is time you were warned.

“Fortune, we stand in peril, you and I together. I am in danger
because I will not do a certain thing; you, because you know too much
already and you have crossed the path of a dangerous man.”

“Who?”

“This morning you were stopped by Frederick, on your way to report
Engard’s treachery?”

“Yes, is he–“

“And you would not make him a certain promise,” Alda swept on. “I know
about that. And I know something more, though, mind you, nobody has
told me whose seal or what seal was on that message to Engard which
nearly cost you the North Wall; I tell you from my own knowledge; it
was an impress similar to that ring you wear.”

“It was!” Fortune exclaimed, all his caution forgotten. “This is some
kind of magic, then, if you were not told!”

“Only a woman’s magic–the sort she is born with.” Alda smiled. “And
whose seal do you suppose that might be?”

“I don’t know,” Fortune confessed. “Even the Towerman–“

“No, he doesn’t guess, yet. They are too clever for that. It is a
certain great man–come closer beside me where we can whisper together.
There, that’s better! Listen, did you ever think who would take the
rule after my father’s death?”

“Who–why you, I suppose–no, I never thought.”

“When ever did a woman succeed to the chair?”

“But it is hereditary–the law says that!”

“Because there has always been a strong man to take it,” whispered Alda
tensely. “But who am I? A woman!” She shrugged her shoulders with a
bitter smile.

“But such a woman as you–why not?” Fortune exclaimed sincerely.

“You believe that could be?”

“I do.”

“Ah, well, sometimes I think so, too, my dear friend. But there are
others–Fortune, who, think you now, would be most ambitious to take
over the office of Towerman if they could force an election from the
Directorate? Who is most powerful–“

“I know, Frederick–“

“Hush,” Alda cautioned him, “leave the name unsaid. Yes, you are
right. Let me tell you a great secret now. That man already has tried
to bring about his marriage to me–“

“To you!”

“Yes, urging it on my father as a necessary policy to unite support for
my succession. My succession! What do you think I’d have to say
if–_he_–held the reins!”

“And your father, the Towerman?”

“He has held off, playing with the idea, scheming and wondering what to
do. If he could, he would make the succession secure for his
line–that is his family duty. But he is weak, and–this other one, is
powerful. Always he is at work. This affair of the wall–“

“Then it was he! The message came from him?”

“Who else?”

“But why?”

“I think I can tell you that. Some time back he has been urging a war,
an invasion to the north, the reclamation of more of that land which
the Folk believe was once theirs. For this he had two reasons; and the
one he urged upon the Directorate was the Folk themselves. They have
increased much in numbers and power in these last thirty years of
peace. They are a menace–“

“The folk a menace! The Folk?” exclaimed Fortune incredulously.

“Yes, the Folk. Remember this, they will always be a menace by their
strength of numbers unless by constant wars we keep them thinned out,
and content. That was the reason he urged on the Directorate, but the
reason that urged him on was more selfish–his desire for military
glory.

“That man is clever! He cares nothing at all for glory in itself, but
he sees in it a means to prove his power to rule. He failed to win his
point and bring about this war, and then–who else would hope for an
invasion through the North Wall? He was bound to make an opportunity
for himself and he was ready and waiting, with a large force, to
conquer the invaders and prove himself a popular hero–only you and
your men disappointed him.”

“And that was why he cut our force in half–why he left us there to be
murdered!” cried Fortune angrily.

Alda nodded. “Why not? Murdering men is nothing to his ambition. But
remember, you fooled him, and you know too much. You stand in his way.
Can you see that now? Those road-menders, this quarrel with LeRoy–all
his doing.”

“Of course! But what can I do?”

“Only this, night and day be careful! Never sleep without your man on
guard. Never eat with strangers. Never drink except you know the
well. Never go out alone; nor leave the open familiar streets, nor go
among the Folk unarmed. Every moment be on your guard, and I, too,
will watch over you, with all the power I can command.”

“I am grateful to you!” vowed Fortune. “Already I owe you my
safety–my life, too, in exchange for your favor. What can I do to
prove my gratitude?”

“At present, nothing. Some day, perhaps, I shall need you badly. I
have my own plans and my own ways of bringing them about, Fortune.
When the time comes, you shall know them all. But remember your
vow–you are my friend. Be that truly and I–I promise you it will
lead to rewards–there are things I can do–I can find ways to thank
you. You will remember that promise?”

“I am your slave,” vowed Fortune. “Let me prove it!”

“Then be on your guard–nothing more now. Wait, though–” Alda’s face
hardened and her eyes glittered coldly. “There was some talk of
another woman?” she questioned imperiously.

In spite of himself Fortune colored. “Only a fancy,” he protested,
“just a girl of the Folk.”

“You promise that?”

“I give you my word.”

“I will accept no divided allegiance, my friend.”

“My word is pledged. I tell you she is only a fancy—“

Alda smiled again, kindly. “Then go, go and find her–since it amuses
you.” She dismissed him. “I hope I am too great to be jealous of such
a woman.”

Again Fortune found himself kissing her hand with unnecessary warmth.

“You will not forget me?” Alda insisted. “No? Good, you’ll find I can
reward you–my true friend.”

Fortune had no definite recollection of leaving the tower nor of going
with Ham to his barracks in the Great Hall. His brain was stupefied
with the crowded events of the most unusual day of his adventurous life.