Its flanking towers stood up above the battlemented wall, their turrets climbing higher and higher towards heaven, till the topmost Red Tower—­that in which my father’s garrot was, and in which I had spent my entire life until this day—­soared straight upward above them all, like a threatening index-finger pointing, not into the clear sky of a summer’s noon, but into clouds and thick darkness.

I was glad when at last we lost sight of it.  Then, indeed, I felt that I had left my old life behind me.  And, in spite of the Lady Ysolinde’s ink-pool prophecy and my love for my father (such as it was), I did not mean ever to trust myself within that baleful circle of gray and weary plain upon which the Red Tower looked down.

Seeing that the maids were inclined to talk the one with the other, or rather that the Lady Ysolinde spoke confidentially with Helene, and that Helene now answered her without embarrassment and with frank, equal glances, I dropped gradually behind and rode with the two stout men-at-arms.  These I found to be honest lads enough, but of a strangely reserved and taciturn nature, each ever waiting for the other to answer—­being, like most Wendish men, much averse to questioning and still more stiff as to replying.

“You are men of Plassenburg?” I said to the nearest, simply and innocently enough, for the purpose of improving the cordiality of our relations.

Whereupon he turned his head slowly about to his neighbor, as it were to consult him.  The glance said as clearly as monk’s script:  “What shall we answer to this troublesome, inquisitive fellow?”

At first I thought that perhaps they spoke not the common dialect, and that as we were travelling towards regions roughly Wendish and but lately heathen, they might have some uncouth speech of their own.  So, as is ever the custom with folk that are not accustomed to the speaking of foreign tongues, I repeated the question in mine own language in a louder tone, supposing that that would do as well.

“You are men of the country of Plassenburg?” cried I, as loud as I could bawl.

“We are not deaf—­we have all our faculties, praise the saints!” said the more distant of the two, looking not at me but at his companion.  He, on his part, nodded back at his comrade’s reply, as if it had been delicately calculated at once to answer my question and at the same time not to commit them to any dangerous opinions.

I tried again.

“Your prince, I hear, is a true man, brave, and well-versed in war?”

The shorter and stouter man, who rode beside me, glanced once at my face, and slowly screwed round his head to his companion in a long, questioning gaze.  Then as slowly he turned his head back again.

“Umph!” he said, judicially, with a movement of his head, which seemed a successful compromise between a nod and a shake, just as his remark might very well have resulted from an attempt to say “Yes” and “No” at the same time.