Chapter X: Part III: Kravonia (6)

Of the attack prepared against him the Prince knew nothing--nothing even of the King's mind having been turned against the Baroness Dobrava, whom so short a time ago he had delighted to honor; nothing, of course, of Stafnitz's audacious _coup_, nor of the secret plan which Stenovics and the Colonel had made, and of which Mistitch was to be the instrument. Of all the salient features of the situation, then, he was ignorant, and his ignorance was shared by those about his person. On the other hand, Stenovics had his finger on every thread save one--the Lepage-Zerkovitch thread, if it may so be called. That was important, but its importance might be nullified if Mistitch made good speed.

On the whole, the odds were much in favor of the coterie. If by any means they could prevent the King from coming alive and free to Slavna, the game would be theirs. If he did come alive and free, their game would probably be up. His presence would mean a hard fight--or a surrender; and Slavna had no stomach for such a fight--though it would be piously thankful to be rid of Sergius, whether as Prince or King, without the necessity of an ordeal so severe.

As a preliminary to the summons he anticipated, and to a possible stay of some days with his father at Slavna, the Prince had details to discuss and routine business to transact with Lukovitch, the captain of his battery in Volseni. He was early on horseback; Sophy and Max von Hollbrandt (Max's stay at the Castle was to end the next day) rode with him as far as the gates of the city; there they left him and turned down into the plain, to enjoy a canter on the banks of Lake Talti. The three were to meet again for the mid-day meal at Praslok. Marie Zerkovitch had been ailing, and kept her bed in the morning. The Prince's mounted guard rode behind him and his friends to Volseni, for the sake of exercising their horses. In the Castle there were left only Marie Zerkovitch and the servants. The Prince did not anticipate that any message would come from the Palace before noon at the earliest.

Morning avocations pursued their usual peaceful and simple course at the Castle; old Vassip, his wife, and the maids did their cleaning; Peter Vassip saw to his master's clothes, and then, to save his father labor, began to sluice the wooden causeway; the stablemen groomed their horses--they had been warned that the Prince might want another mount later in the day. Marie Zerkovitch lay in her bed, sleeping soundly after a restless night. There seemed no hint of trouble in the air. It must be confessed that up to now it looked as though Praslok would be caught napping.

It was Peter Vassip, busy on the causeway, who first saw Zerkovitch. He rested and leaned on his mop to watch the head which rose over the hill, the body that followed, the farm-horse lumbering along in a slow, clumsy, unwilling gallop. The man was using stick and spur--he was riding mercilessly. Peter ran down to the road and waited. A groom came across from the stables and joined him.

"He's got no call to treat the horse like that, whoever he is," the groom observed.

"Not unless he's on urgent business," said Peter, twirling the water from his mop.

Zerkovitch was up to them; he leaped from his horse. "I must see the Prince," he cried, "and immediately!"

"The Prince is at Volseni, sir; he rode over to see Captain Lukovitch."

"When will he be back?"

"We don't expect him till twelve o'clock."

Zerkovitch snatched out his watch.

"There's nobody here but Madame Zerkovitch, sir; she's still in bed, not very well, sir."

"Twelve o'clock!" muttered Zerkovitch, paying no heed to the news about his wife.

"The Baroness and Baron von Hollbrandt are out riding--"

"Can you give me a fresh horse? I must ride on and find the Prince at Volseni."

"Oh yes, sir." He signed to the groom. "And hurry up!" he added.

"The guard's here, of course?"

"No, sir. They've gone with the Prince."

Zerkovitch twitched his head irritably and again looked at his watch. "There must be time," he said. "They can't be here at soonest for an hour and a half."

Peter Vassip did not understand him, but neither did he venture to ask questions.

"Your horse 'll be here in a minute, sir. I think you'll find the Prince in his office over the city gate. He went to do business, not to drill, this morning."

Zerkovitch looked at him for a moment, wondering, perhaps, whether he would be wise to tell his news. But what was the use of telling Peter Vassip? Or his own wife? What could she do? It was for the Prince to say who should be told. The one thing was to find the Prince. There was time--at the very least an hour and a half.

The groom brought the fresh horse, and Zerkovitch began to mount.

"A glass of wine, sir?" Peter Vassip suggested. He had marked Zerkovitch's pale face and strained air; he had wondered to see his clothes sprinkled with whitey-brown fibres--traces of the sack under whose cover he had slid out of Slavna.

Zerkovitch was in the saddle. "No," he answered. "But a bumper, Peter, when I've found the Prince!" He set spurs to his horse and was off at a gallop for Volseni; the road, though high on the hills, was nearly level now.

Peter scratched his head as he looked after him for a moment; then he returned to his mop.

He was just finishing his task, some twenty minutes later, when he heard Sophy's laugh. She and Hollbrandt came from a lane which led up from the lake and joined the main road a hundred yards along towards Volseni. Peter ran and took their horses, and they mounted the causeway in leisurely, pleasant chat. Sophy was in her sheepskin uniform; her cheeks were pale, but the Star glowed. The world seemed good to her that morning.

"And that is, roughly, the story of my life," she said with a laugh, as she reached the top of the causeway and leaned against the rude balustrade which ran up the side of it.

"A very interesting one--even very remarkable," he said, returning her laugh. "But much more remains to be written, I don't doubt, Baroness."

"Something, perhaps," said Sophy.

"A good deal, I imagine!"

She shot a mischievous glance at him: she knew that he was trying to lure from her an avowal of her secret. "Who can tell? It all seems like a dream sometimes, and dreams end in sudden awakenings, you know."

"If it's a dream, you make an excellent dream-lady, Baroness."

Peter Vassip put his mop and pail down by the stables, and came up and stood beside them.

"Did the mare carry you well to-day, sir?" he asked Max.

"Admirably, Peter. We had a splendid ride--at least I thought so. I hope the Baroness--?"

Sophy threw out her arms as though to embrace the gracious world. "I thought it beautiful; I think everything beautiful to-day. I think you beautiful, Baron von Hollbrandt--and Peter is beautiful--and so is your mother, and so is your father, Peter. And I half believe that, just this morning--this one splendid morning--I'm beautiful myself. Yes, in spite of this horrible mark on my cheek!"

"I hear something," said Peter Vassip.

"Just this morning--this one splendid morning--I agree with you," laughed Max. "Not even the mark shall change my mind! Come, you love the mark--the Red Star--don't you?"

"Well, yes," said Sophy, with a little, confidential nod and smile.

"I hear something," said Peter Vassip, with his hand to his ear.

Sophy turned to him, smiling. "What do you hear, Peter?"

He gave a sudden start of recollection. "Ah, has that anything to do with Monsieur Zerkovitch?"

"Monsieur Zerkovitch?" broke from them both.

"He's been here; he's ridden at a gallop on to Volseni--to find the Prince." He added briefly all there was to add--his hand at his ear all the time.

"Hum! That looks like news," said Max. "What can it be?"

"He didn't stop even to tell Marie! It must be urgent."

They looked in one another's faces. "Can there be--be anything wrong in Slavna?"

"You mean--the troops?"

"I had thought of that."

"I can think of nothing but that. If it were anything from the Palace, it would come by a royal courier sooner than by any other hand."

"I can hear plainly now," said Peter Vassip. "Listen!"

They obeyed him, but their ears were not so well trained. A dull, indefinite sound was all they could distinguish.

"Horses--a number of them. Mounted men it must be--the hoofs are so regular. Cavalry!"

"It's the Prince coming back from Volseni!" cried Sophy.

"No, it's from the other direction; and, besides, there are too many for that."

Mounted men on the Slavna road--and too many to be the Prince's guard!

"What can it be?" asked Sophy in a low voice.

"I don't know. Zerkovitch's arrival must be connected with the same thing, I think."

"There! There are their shakoes coming over the rise of the hill!" cried Peter Vassip.

The next moment showed the company. They rode in fours, with sergeants on the flanks. The officer in command was behind--the three on the causeway could not see him yet. They were Hussars of the King's Guard, the best regiment in the army. The Prince of Slavna had made them good soldiers--they hated him for it. But Stafnitz was their colonel. On they came; in their blue tunics and silver braid they made a brave show in the sunshine.

The three watched now without word or motion. The sudden sight held them spellbound. Not one of them thought of sending to warn the Prince. If they had, the thought would have been useless, unless it had chimed in with Mistitch's will. Twenty men could have been on them before there was time to saddle a horse. If the expedition were a hostile one, the Castle was caught napping in very truth!

Sophy stood forward a pace in front of her companions; her hand rested on the little revolver which Monseigneur had given her.

On came the company; the foremost file reached within twenty yards of the causeway. There they halted. Half of them dismounted, each man as he did so intrusting his horse to his next fellow. Half of the fifty thus left mounted repeated this operation, leaving the remaining twenty-five in charge of all the horses. The seventy-five took position, four deep, on the road. They separated, lining either side.

The figure of their commander now appeared. He rode to the foot of the causeway, then dismounted, and gave his horse to the sergeant who attended him. His men followed and drew up in the road, blocking the approach to the Castle. Big Mistitch began to ascend the causeway, a broad smile on his face. It was a great moment for Captain Hercules--the day of revenge for which he had waited in forced patience and discreet unobtrusiveness. It was a critical day, also, in view of the instructions he had. To do him justice, he was not afraid.

Sophy saw and knew. This must have been the news that Zerkovitch carried, that he had galloped on to tell to the Prince at Volseni. Some event--some unknown and untoward turn of fortune--had loosed Mistitch on them! That was all she had time to realize before Mistitch saluted her and spoke.

"I have the honor of addressing the Baroness Dobrava?"

"You know me well, I think, Captain Mistitch, and I know you."

"Our journey together will be all the pleasanter for that."

"Your business with me, please?"

"I have it in command from his Majesty to escort you to Slavna--to the Palace and into his presence. The King himself will then acquaint you with his wishes."

"You're a strange messenger to send."

"That's a point to put to my superior officer, Colonel Stafnitz, who sent me, Baroness."

Sophy pointed at his men. "You ride strongly supported!"

"Again the Colonel's orders, Baroness. I confess the precautions seemed to me excessive. I had no doubt you would willingly obey his Majesty's commands. Here, by-the-way, is the written order." He produced the order the King had signed before his death.

Sophy had been thinking. Neither her courage nor her cunning forsook her. She waved the document away. "I can take your word, Captain? You're making no mistake to-day?--I really am Baroness Dobrava--not somebody else with whom you have a feud?" She laughed at him gayly and went on: "Well, I'm ready. I'm dressed for a ride--and I'll ride with you immediately. In two minutes we'll be off." She saw a groom in the road staring at the troopers, and called to him to bring her a horse.

This prompt obedience by no means suited Mistitch's book. It forced him either to show his hand or to ride off with Sophy, leaving the Prince to his devices--and, in a little while, to his revenge.

"I mustn't hurry you. You have some preparations--?"

"None," said Sophy. Her horse was led out into the road.

"You'll at least desire to acquaint his Royal Highness--?"

"Not at all necessary. Baron von Hollbrandt can do that later on."

Mistitch looked puzzled. Sophy smiled; her intuition had been right. The attack on her was a feint, her arrest a blind; the Prince was the real object of the move. She stepped down towards Mistitch.

"I see my horse is ready. We can start at once, Captain," she said.

"I'm instructed to express to the Prince regret that it should be necessary--"

"The regret will be conveyed to him. Come, Captain!"

But Mistitch barred her way.

"His Royal Highness is in the Castle?" he asked. His voice grew angry now; he feared the great stroke had failed; he saw that Sophy played with him. How would he and his escort look riding back to Slavna with nothing to show for their journey save the capture of one unresisting woman--a woman whom they dared not harm while the Prince remained free, and might become all-powerful?

"If he had been, you'd have known it by now, I think," smiled Sophy. "No, the Prince isn't at the Castle."

"I'll see that for myself!" Mistitch cried, taking a step forward.

With a low laugh Sophy drew aside, passed him, and ran down the causeway. In an instant she darted between the ranks of Mistitch's men and reached her horse. The groom mounted her. She looked up to Mistitch and called to him gayly:

"Now for Slavna, Captain! And hurry, or you'll be left behind!"

Her wit was too quick for him. Max von Hollbrandt burst out laughing; Peter Vassip grinned.

"What are you waiting for, Captain?" asked Max. "Your prisoner's only too anxious to go with you, you see!"

"I'll search the Castle first!" he cried in a rage which made him forget his part.

Peter Vassip sprang forward and barred the way. Mistitch raised his mighty arm. But Sophy's voice rang out gayly:

"Nonsense, Peter! There's nothing to conceal. Let the Captain pass!"

Her words stopped Mistitch--he feared a trap. Max saw it and mocked him. "Don't be afraid, Captain--take fifty men in with you. The garrison consists of a lady in bed, an old man, and five female servants."

Sophy heard and laughed. Even the troopers began to laugh now. Mistitch stood on the top of the causeway, irresolute, baffled, furious.

But behind his stupidity lay the cunning astuteness of Stafnitz, the ingenious bit of devilry. Mistitch's name availed where his brain could not. For the moment the Prince made little of the Crown which had become his; when he heard Zerkovitch's news, his overpowering thought was that the woman he loved might be exposed to the power and the insults of Mistitch. Sophy was playing a skilful game for him, but he did not know it.

"I hear something," said Peter Vassip again, whispering to Max von Hollbrandt.

Yes, there was the galloping of horses on the Volseni road!

Colonel Stafnitz had not miscalculated.

Now Mistitch heard the sound. His heavy face brightened. He ran down the causeway, loudly ordering his men to mount. He was no longer at a loss. He had his cue now--the cue Stafnitz had given him.

XVIII

TO THE FAITHFUL CITY

The King had died yesterday--yet none had told his heir! Mistitch had set out for Dobrava with fifty men to wait for the King--who was dead! The dead King would never go to Dobrava--and no messenger came to the new King at Praslok!

Zerkovitch's news was enough to raise the anger of a King--and Sergius blazed with it. But more potent still was his wrathful fear as he thought of Sophy at Praslok, in the power of Captain Hercules.

He had his guard of twenty mounted men with him. With these he at once set forth, bidding Lukovitch collect all the men he could and follow him as speedily as possible. If Mistitch had really gone to Dobrava, then he would find him there and have the truth out of him. But if, as the Prince hardly doubted, he was making for Praslok, there was time to intercept him, time to carry off Sophy and the other inmates of the Castle, send them back to safety within the walls of Volseni, and himself ride on to meet Mistitch with his mind at ease.

Relying on Zerkovitch's information, he assumed that the troopers had not started from Slavna till seven in the morning. They had started at six. He reckoned also on Zerkovitch's statement, that they were but fifty strong. They were a hundred. Yet, had he known the truth, he could not have used more haste--and he would not have waited for another man! He stayed to tell no man in Volseni the news about his father--except Lukovitch. But as his twenty rode out of the gate behind him, he turned his head to Zerkovitch, who trotted beside him--for Zerkovitch neither could nor would rest till the game was played--and said: "Tell them that the King is dead, and that I reign." Zerkovitch whispered the news to the man next him, and it ran along the line. A low, stern cheer, hardly more than a murmured assurance of loyalty and service, came from the lips of the men in sheepskins.

Mistitch saw them coming, and turned to his troop; he had time for a little speech--and Stafnitz had taught him what to say: "Men, you are servants of the King, and of the King only. Not even the Prince of Slavna can command you against the King's orders. The King's orders are that we take Baroness Dobrava to Slavna, no matter who resists. If need be, these orders stand even against the Prince."

Stafnitz's soldiers--the men he petted, the men who had felt the Prince's stern hand--were only too glad to hear it. To strike for the King and yet against the hated Prince--it was a luxury, a happy and unlooked-for harmonizing of their duty and their pleasure. Their answering cheer was loud and fierce.

It struck harsh on the ears of the advancing Prince. His face grew hard and strained as he heard the shouts and saw the solid body of men across his path, barring access to his own castle. And within a yard or two of their ranks, by the side of the road, sat the figure which he knew so well and so well loved.

Now Mistitch played his card--that move in the game which Sophy's cool submission to his demand had for the moment thwarted, but to which the Prince's headlong anger and fear now gave an opening--the opening which Stafnitz had from the first foreseen. It would need little to make the fiery Prince forget prudence when he was face to face with Mistitch. It was not a safe game for Mistitch personally--both Stafnitz and he knew that. But Captain Hercules was confident. He would not be caught twice by the Volseni trick of sword! The satisfaction of his revenge, and the unstinted rewards that his Colonel offered, made it worth his while to accept the risk, and rendered it grateful to his heart.

Sophy sat smiling. She would fain have averted the encounter, and had shaped her manoeuvres to that end. It was not to be so, it seemed. Now, she did not doubt Monseigneur's success. But she wished that Zerkovitch had not reached Volseni so quickly, that the Prince had stayed behind his walls till his plans were ready; and that she was going a prisoner to Slavna to see the King, trusting to her face, her tongue, her courage, and the star of her own fortune. Never had her buoyant self-confidence run higher.

On the top of the causeway, Max von Hollbrandt looked to his revolver, Peter Vassip loosened his knife in its leather sheath. A window above the gate opened, and Marie Zerkovitch's frightened face looked out. The women-servants jostled old Vassip in the doorway. The grooms stood outside the stables. No one moved--only the Prince's little troop came on. When they were fifty yards away, Mistitch cried to his men: "Draw swords!" and himself pricked his horse with his spur and rode up to where Sophy was.

Mistitch drew his horse up parallel to Sophy's, head to tail, on her right side, between her and the approaching force. With the instinct of hatred she shrank away from him; it had all been foreseen and rehearsed in Stafnitz's mind! Mistitch cried loudly: "In the King's name, Baroness Dobrava!" He leaned from the saddle and caught her right wrist in his huge hand: he had the justification that, at his first attempt to touch her, Sophy's hand had flown to her little revolver and held it now. Mistitch crushed her wrist--the revolver fell to the ground. Sophy gave one cry of pain. Mistitch dropped her wrist and reached his arm about her waist. He was pulling her from her horse, while again he cried out: "In the King's name! On guard!"

It was a high jump from the top of the causeway, but two men took it side by side--Max von Hollbrandt, revolver in hand, Peter Vassip with knife unsheathed.

As they leaped, another shout rang out: "Long live King Sergius!"

The Prince rode his fastest, but faster still rode Zerkovitch. He outpaced the Prince and rode right in among Mistitch's men, crying loudly again and again, unceasingly: "The King is dead! The King is dead! The King is dead!"

Then came the Prince; he rode full at Mistitch. His men followed him, and dashed with a shock against the troopers of Mistitch's escort. As they rode, they cried: "Long live King Sergius!" They had unhorsed a dozen men and wounded four or five before they realized that they met with no resistance. Mistitch's men were paralyzed. The King was dead--they were to fight against the King! The magic of the name worked. They dropped the points of their swords. The Volsenians, hesitating to strike men who did not defend themselves, puzzled and in doubt, turned to their Bailiff--their King--for his orders.

As the Prince came up, Mistitch hurled Sophy from him; she fell from her horse, but fell on the soft, grassy road-side, and sprang up unhurt save for a cruel pain in her crushed wrist. She turned her eyes whither all eyes were turned now. The general battle was stayed, but not the single combat. For a moment none moved save the two who were now to engage.

The fight of the Street of the Fountain fell to be fought again. For when Peter Vassip was darting forward, knife in hand, with a spring like a mountain goat's, his master's voice called: "Mine, Peter, mine!" It was the old cry when they shot wild-boar in the woods about Dobrava, and it brought Peter Vassip to a stand. Max von Hollbrandt, too, lowered his pointed revolver. Who should stand between his quarry and the King, between Sophy's lover and the man who had so outraged her? Big Mistitch was the King's game, and the King's only, that day.

Mistitch's chance was gone, and he must have known it. Where was the sergeant who had undertaken to cover him? He had turned tail. Where was the enveloping rush of his men, which should have engulfed and paralyzed the enemy? Paralysis was on his men themselves; they believed Zerkovitch, and lacked appetite for the killing of a King. Where was his triumphant return to Slavna, his laurels, his rewards, his wonderful swaggerings at the Golden Lion? They were all gone. Even though he killed the King, there were two dozen men vowed to have his life. They must have it--but at what price? His savage valor set the figure high.

It was the old fight again, but not in the old manner. There was no delicate sword-play, no fluctuating fortunes in the fray. It was all stem and short. The King had not drawn his sword, Mistitch did not seek to draw his. Two shots rang out sharply--that was all. The King reeled in his saddle, but maintained his seat. Big Mistitch threw his hands above his head with a loud cry and fell with a mighty crash on the road, shot through the head. Peter Vassip ran to the King and helped him to dismount, while Max von Hollbrandt held his horse. Sophy hurried to where they laid him by the road-side.

"Disarm these fellows!" cried Zerkovitch.

But Mistitch's escort were in no mood to wait for this operation; nor to stay and suffer the anger of the King. With their leader's fall the last of heart was out of them. Wrenching themselves free from such of the Volsenians as sought to arrest their flight, they turned their horses' heads and fled, one and all, for Slavna. The King's men attempted no pursuit; they clustered round the spot where he lay.

"I'm hit," he said to Sophy, "but not badly, I think."

From the Castle door, down the causeway, came Marie Zerkovitch, weeping passionately, wringing her hands. The soldiers parted their close ranks to let her through. She came to the road-side where Sophy supported Monseigneur's head upon her knees. Sophy looked up and saw her. Marie did not speak. She stood there sobbing and wringing her hands over Sophy and the wounded King.

That afternoon--an hour after the first of the straggling rout of Mistitch's escort came in--King Alexis died suddenly! So ran the official notice, endorsed by Dr. Natcheff's high authority. The coterie were in up to their necks; they could not go back now; they must go through with it. Countess Ellenburg took to her knees; Stenovics and Stafnitz held long conversations. Every point of tactical importance in the city was occupied by troops. Slavna was silent, expectant, curious.

Markart awoke at five o'clock, heavy of head, dry in the mouth, sick and ill. He found himself no longer in the King's suite, but in one of the apartments which Stafnitz had occupied. He was all alone; the door stood open. He understood that he was no more a prisoner; he knew that the King was dead!

But who else was dead--and who alive--and who King in Slavna?

He forced himself to rise, and hurried through the corridors of the Palace. They were deserted; there was nobody to hinder him, nobody of whom to ask a question. He saw a decanter of brandy standing near the door of one room, and drank freely of it. Then he made his way into the garden. He saw men streaming over the bridge towards Slavna, and hastened after them as quickly as he could. His head was still in a maze; he remembered nothing after drinking the glass of wine which Lepage the valet had given him. But he was possessed by a strong excitement, and he followed obstinately in the wake of the throng which set from the Palace and the suburbs into Slavna.

The streets were quiet; soldiers occupied the corners of the ways; they looked curiously at Markart's pale face and disordered uniform. A dull roar came from the direction of St. Michael's Square, and thither Markart aimed his course. He found all one side of the Square full of a dense crowd, swaying, jostling, talking. On the other side troops were massed; in an open space in front of the troops, facing the crowd, was Colonel Stafnitz, and by his side a little boy on a white pony.

Markart was too far off to hear what Stafnitz said when he began to speak--nay, the cheers of the troops behind the Colonel came so sharp on his words as almost to drown them; and after a moment's hesitation (as it seemed to Markart), the crowd of people on the other side of the Square echoed back the acclamations of the soldiers.

All Countess Ellenburg's ambitions were at stake; for Stenovics and Stafnitz it was a matter of life itself now, so daringly had they raised their hands against King Sergius. Countess Ellenburg had indeed prayed--and now prayed all alone in a deserted Palace--but not one of the three had hesitated. At the head of a united army, in the name of a united people, Stafnitz had demanded the proclamation of young Alexis as King. For an hour Stenovics had made a show of demurring; then he bowed to the national will. That night young Alexis enjoyed more honor than he had asked of Lepage the valet--he was called not Prince, but Majesty. He was King in Slavna, and the first work to which they set his childish hand was the proclamation of a state of siege.

Slavna chose him willingly--or because it must at the bidding of the soldiers. But Volseni was of another mind. They would not have the German woman's son to reign over them. Into that faithful city the wounded King threw himself with all his friends.

The body of Mistitch lay all day and all night by the wayside. Next morning at dawn the King's grooms came back from Volseni and buried it under a clump of trees by the side of the lane running down to Lake Talti. Their curses were the only words spoken over the grave; and they flattened the earth level with the ground again, that none might know where the man rested who had lifted his hand against their master.

The King was carried to Volseni sore stricken; they did not know whether he would live or die. He had a dangerous wound in the lungs, and, to make matters worse, the surgical skill available in Volseni was very primitive.

But in that regard fortune brought aid, and brought also to Sophy a strange conjuncture of the new life with the old. The landlord of the inn sent word to Lukovitch that two foreign gentlemen had arrived at his house that afternoon, and that the passport of one of them described him as a surgeon; the landlord had told him how things stood, and he was anxious to render help.

It was Basil Williamson. Dunstanbury and he, accompanied by Henry Brown, Dunstanbury's servant, had reached Volseni that day on their return from a tour in the Crimea and round the shores of the Sea of Azof.

XIX

THE SILVER RING

It was late at night, and quiet reigned in Volseni--the quiet not of security, but of ordered vigilance. A light burned in every house; men lined the time-worn walls and camped in the market-place; there were scouts out on the road as far as Praslok. No news came from outside, and no news yet from the room in the guard-house where the wounded King lay. The street on which the room looked was empty, save for one man, who walked patiently up and down, smoking a cigar. Dunstanbury waited for Basil Williamson, who was in attendance on the King and was to pronounce to Volseni whether he could live or must die.

Dunstanbury had been glad that Basil could be of use, but for the rest he had listened to the story which Zerkovitch told him with an amused, rather contemptuous indifference--with an Englishman's wonder why other countries cannot manage their affairs better, and something of a traveller's pleasure at coming in for a bit of such vivid, almost blazing "local color" in the course of his journey. But whether Alexis reigned, or Sergius, mattered nothing to him, and, in his opinion, very little to anybody else.

Nor had he given much thought to the lady whose name figured so prominently in Zerkovitch's narrative, the Baroness Dobrava. Such a personage seemed no less appropriate to the surroundings than the rest of the story--no less appropriate and certainly not a whit more important. Of course he hoped Basil would make a good report, but his mind was not disturbed; his chief hope was that the claims of humanity would not prolong his stay in Volseni beyond a few days. It was a picturesque little place, but not one for a long visit; and in any case he was homeward bound now, rather eager for the pleasures of the London season after his winter journey--the third he had made in the interests of a book on Russia which he had in contemplation, a book designed to recommend him as an expert student of foreign affairs. He could hardly consider that these goings-on in Kravonia came within the purview of a serious study of his subject. But it was a pleasant, moonlit night, the old street was very quaint, the crisis he had happened on bizarre and amusing. He smoked his cigar and waited for Basil without impatience.

He had strolled a hundred yards away and just turned to loiter back, when he saw a figure come out of the guard-house, pause for a moment, and then advance slowly towards him. The sheepskin cap and tunic made him think at first that the stranger was one of the Volsenian levy; the next moment he saw the skirt. At once he guessed that he was in the presence of Baroness Dobrava, the heroine of the piece, as he had called her in his own mind and with a smile.

Evidently she meant to speak to him; he threw away his cigar and walked to meet her. As they drew near to each other he raised his hat. Sophy bowed gravely. Thus they met for the first time since Sophy washed her lettuces in the scullery at Morpingham, and, at the young lord's bidding, fetched Lorenzo the Magnificent a bone. This meeting was, however remotely, the result of that. Dunstanbury had started her career on the road which had led her to where she was.

"I've seen Mr. Williamson," she said, "and he knows me now. But you don't yet, do you, Lord Dunstanbury? And anyhow, perhaps, you wouldn't remember."

She had been a slip of a girl when he saw her last, in a print frock, washing lettuces. With a smile and a deprecatory gesture he confessed his ignorance and his surprise. "Really, I'm afraid I--I don't. I've been such a traveller, and meet so many--" An acquaintance with Baroness Dobrava was among the last with which he would have credited himself--or perhaps (to speak his true thoughts), charged his reputation.

"Mr. Williamson knew me almost directly--the moment I reminded him of my mark." She touched her cheek. Dunstanbury looked more closely at her, a vague recollection stirring in him. Sophy's face was very sad, yet she smiled just a little as she added: "I remember you so well--and your dog Lorenzo. I'm Sophy Grouch of Morpingham, and I became Lady Meg's companion. Now do you remember?"

He stepped quickly up to her, peered into her eyes, and saw the Red Star.

"Good Heavens!" he said, smiling at her in an almost helpless way. "Well, that is curious!" he added. "Sophy Grouch! And you are--Baroness Dobrava?"

"There's nothing much in that," said Sophy. "I'll tell you all about that soon, if we have time. To-night I can think of nothing but Monseigneur. Mr. Williamson has extracted the bullet, but I'm afraid he's very bad. You won't take Mr. Williamson away until--until it's settled--one way or the other, will you?"

"Neither Basil nor I will leave so long as we can be of the least service to you," he told her.

With a sudden impulse she put her hands in his. "It's strangely good to find you here to-night--so strange and so good! It gives me strength, and I want strength. Oh, my friends are brave men, but you--well, there's something in home and the same blood, I suppose."

Dunstanbury thought that there was certainly something in having two Englishmen about, instead of Kravonians only, but such a blunt sentiment might not be acceptable. He pressed her hands as he released them.

"I rejoice at the chance that brings us here. You can have every confidence in Basil. He's a first-rate man. But tell me about yourself. We have time now, haven't we?"

"Really, I suppose we have! Monseigneur has been put to sleep. But I couldn't sleep. Come, we'll go up on the wall."

They mounted on to the city wall, just by the gate, and leaned against the mouldering parapets. Below lay Lake Talti in the moonlight, and beyond it the masses of the mountains. Yet while Sophy talked, Dunstanbury's eyes seldom left her face; nay, once or twice he caught himself not listening, but only looking, tracing how she had grown from Sophy Grouch in her scullery to this. He had never forgotten the strange girl: once or twice he and Basil had talked of her; he had resented Lady Meg's brusque and unceremonious dismissal of her protégée; in his memory, half-overgrown, had lain the mark on Sophy's cheek. Now here she was, in Kravonia, of all places--Baroness Dobrava, of all people! And what else, who knew? The train of events which had brought this about was strange; yet his greater wonder was for the woman herself.

"And here we are!" she ended with a woful smile. "If Monseigneur lives, I think we shall win. For the moment we can do no more than hold Volseni; I think we can do that. But presently, when he's better and can lead us, we shall attack. Down in Slavna they won't like being ruled by the Countess and Stenovics as much as they expect. Little by little we shall grow stronger." Her voice rose a little. "At last Monseigneur will sit firm on his throne," she said. "Then we'll see what we can do for Kravonia. It's a fine country, and rich, Lord Dunstanbury, and outside Slavna the people are good material. We shall be able to make it very different--if Monseigneur lives."

"And if not?" he asked, in a low voice.

"What is it to me except for Monseigneur? If he dies--!" Her hands thrown wide in a gesture of despair ended her sentence.

If she lived and worked for Kravonia, it was for Monseigneur's sake. Without him, what was Kravonia to her? Such was her mood; plainly she took no pains to conceal it from Dunstanbury. The next moment she turned to him with a smile. "You think I talk strangely, saying: 'We'll do this and that'? Yes, you must, and it's suddenly become strange to me to say it--to say it to you, because you've brought back the old things to my mind, and all this is so out of keeping with the old things--with Sophy Grouch, and Julia Robins, and Morpingham! But until you came it didn't seem strange. Everything that has happened since I came to this country seemed to lead up to it--to bring it about naturally and irresistibly. I forgot till just now how funny it must sound to you--and how--how bad, I suppose. Well, you must accustom yourself to Kravonia. It's not Essex, you know."

"If the King lives?" he asked.

"I shall be with Monseigneur if he lives," she answered.

Yes, it was very strange; yet already, even now--when he had known her again for half an hour, had seen her and talked to her--gradually and insidiously it began to seem less strange, less fantastic, more natural. Dunstanbury had to give himself a mental shake to get back to Essex and to Sophy Grouch. Volseni set old and gray amid the hills, the King whose breath struggled with his blood for life, the beautiful woman who would be with the King if and so long as he lived--these were the present realities he saw in vivid immediate vision; they made the shadows of the past seem not indeed dim--they kept all their distinctness of outline in memory--but in their turn fantastic, and in no relation to the actual. Was that the air of Kravonia working on him? Or was it a woman's voice, the pallid pride of a woman's face?

"In Slavna they call me a witch," she said, "and tell terrible tales about this little mark--my Red Star. But here in Volseni they like me--yes, and I can win over Slavna, too, if I get the opportunity. No, I sha'n't be a weakness to Monseigneur if he lives."

"You'll be--?"

"His wife?" she interrupted. "Yes." She smiled again--nay, almost laughed. "That seems worst of all--worse than anything else?"

Dunstanbury allowed himself to smile too. "Well, yes, of course that's true," he said. "Out of Kravonia, anyhow. What's true in Kravonia I really don't know yet."

"I suppose it's true in Kravonia too. But what I tell you is Monseigneur's will about me."

He looked hard at her. "You love him?" he asked.

"As my life, and more," said Sophy, simply.

At last Dunstanbury ceased to look at her; he laid his elbows on the battlements and stood there, his eyes roaming over the lake in the valley to the mountains beyond. Sophy left his side, and began to walk slowly up and down the rugged, uneven, overgrown surface of the walls.

The moon was sinking in the sky; there would be three or four dark hours before the dawn. A man galloped up to the gate and gave a countersign in return to a challenge; the heavy gates rolled open; he rode in; another rode out and cantered off along the road towards Praslok. There was watch and ward--Volseni was not to be caught napping as Praslok had been. Whether the King lived or died, his Volsenians were on guard. Dunstanbury turned his back on the hills and came up to Sophy.

"We Essex folk ought to stand by one another," he said. "It's the merest chance that has brought me here, but I'm glad of the chance now. And it's beginning to feel not the least strange. So long as you've need of help, count me among your soldiers."

"But you oughtn't to mix yourself up--"

"Did you act on that principle when you came to Kravonia?"

With a smile Sophy gave him her hand. "So be it. I accept your service--for Monseigneur."

"I give it to you," he persisted.

"Yes--and all that is mine I give to Monseigneur," said Sophy.

Any man who meets, or after an interval of time meets again, an attractive woman, only to find that her thoughts are pre-empted and totally preoccupied, suffers an annoyance not the less real because he sees the absurdity of it; it is to find shut a gate which with better luck might have been open. The unusual circumstances of his new encounter with Sophy did not save Dunstanbury from this common form of chagrin; the tragic element in her situation gave it a rather uncommon flavor. He would fain have appeared as the knight-errant to rescue such beauty in such distress; but the nature of the distress did not seem favorable to the proper romantic sequel.

He made his offer of service to her; she assigned him to the service of Monseigneur! He laughed at his own annoyance--and determined to serve Monseigneur as well as he could. At the same time, while conceding most amply--nay, even feeling--Monseigneur's excuse, he could not admire his policy in the choice of a bride. That was doubtless a sample of how things were done in Kravonia! He lived to feel the excuse more strongly--and to pronounce the judgment with greater hesitation.

Sophy had given him her hand again as she accepted his offer in Monseigneur's name.--He had not yet released it when she was called from the street below in a woman's voice--a voice full of haste and alarm.

"Marie Zerkovitch calls me! I must go at once," she said. "I expect Monseigneur is awake." She hurried off with a nod of farewell.

Dunstanbury stayed a little while on the wall, smoking a cigarette, and then went down into the street. The door of the guard-house was shut; all was very quiet as he passed along to the market-place where the inn was situated. He went up to his room overlooking the street, and, taking off his coat only, flung himself on the bed. He was minded thus to await Basil Williamson's return with news of the King. But the excitement of the day had wearied him; in ten minutes he was sound asleep.

He was aroused by Basil Williamson's hand on his shoulder. The young doctor, a slim-built, dark, wiry fellow, looked very weary and sad.

"How has it gone?" asked Dunstanbury, sitting up.

"It's been a terrible night. I'm glad you've had some sleep. He awoke after an hour; the hemorrhage had set in again. I had to tell him it was a thousand to one against him. He sent for her, and made me leave them alone together. There was only one other room, and I waited there with a little woman--a Madame Zerkovitch--who cried terribly. Then he sent for Lukovitch, who seems to be the chief man in the place. Presently Lukovitch went away, and I went back to the King. I found him terribly exhausted; she was there, sitting by him and whispering to him now and then; she seemed calm. Presently Lukovitch came back; the Zerkovitches and the German man came too. They all came in--the King would not hear my objections--and with them came a priest. And then and there the King married her! She spoke to nobody except to me before the service began, and then she only said: 'Monseigneur wishes it.' I waited till the service was done, but I could bear no more. I went outside while they shrived him. But I was called back hurriedly. Then the end came very soon--in less than half an hour. He sent everybody away except her and me, and when I had done all that was possible, I went as far off as I could--into the corner of the room. I came back at a call from her just before he died. The man was looking extraordinarily happy, Dunstanbury."

"They were married?"

"Oh yes. It's all right, I suppose--not that it seems to matter much now, does it? Put on your coat and come to the window. You'll see a sight you'll remember, I think."

Together they went to the window. The sun had risen from behind the mountains and flooded the city with light; the morning air was crisp and fragrant. The market-place was thronged with people--men in line in front, women, girls, and boys in a mass behind. They were all absolutely quiet and silent. Opposite where they were was a raised platform of wood, reached by steps from the ground; it was a rostrum for the use of those who sold goods by auction in the market. A board on trestles had been laid on this, and on the board was stretched the body of the King. At his feet stood Lukovitch; behind were Max von Hollbrandt, Zerkovitch, and Marie. At the King's head stood Sophy, and Peter Vassip knelt on the ground beside her. She stood like a statue, white and still; but Dunstanbury could see the Red Star glowing.

Lukovitch seemed to have been speaking, although the sound of his voice had not reached them through the closed window of the topmost room in the inn. He spoke again now--not loudly, but in a very clear voice.

"The King lies dead through treachery," he said. "In Slavna the German woman rules, and her son, and the men who killed the King. Will you have them to rule over you, men of Volseni?"

A shout of "No!" rang out, followed again by absolute silence. Lukovitch drew the curved sword that he wore and raised it in the air. All the armed men followed his example; the rest, with the women and young people, raised their right hands. It was their custom in calling Heaven to witness.

"God hears us!" said Lukovitch, and all the people repeated the words after him.

Dunstanbury whispered to Basil: "Do they mean to fight?" An eagerness stirred in his voice.

"Listen! He's speaking again."

"Whom then will you have for your King, men of Volseni?" asked Lukovitch. "There is one on whose finger the King has put the silver ring of the Bailiffs of Volseni. With his own hand he set it there before he died--he set it there when he made her his Queen, as you have heard. Will you have the Bailiff of Volseni for your King?"

A great shout of "Yes!" answered him.

"You will have Sophia for your King?"

"Sophia for our King!" they cried.

Lukovitch raised his sword again; all raised swords or hands. The solemn words "God hears us!" were spoken from every mouth. Lukovitch turned to Sophy and handed his drawn sword to her. She took it. Then she knelt down and kissed the King's lips. Rising to her feet again, she stood for a moment silent, looking over the thronged market-square; yet she seemed hardly to see; her eyes were vacant. At last she raised the sword to her lips, kissed it, and then held it high in the air.

"It was Monseigneur's wish. Let us avenge him! God hears me!"

"God hears you!" came all the voices.

The ceremony was finished. Six men took up the board on which the King lay, carried it down from the rostrum, and along the street to the guard-house. Sophy followed, and her friends walked after her. Still she seemed as though in a dream; her voice had sounded absent, almost unconscious. She was pale as death, save for the Red Star.

Following her dead, she passed out of sight. Immediately the crowd began to disperse, though most of the men with arms gathered round Lukovitch and seemed to await his orders.

Basil Williamson moved away from the window with a heavy sigh and a gesture of dejection.

"I wish we could get her safe out of it," he said. "Isn't it wonderful, her being here?"

"Yes--but I'd forgotten that." Dunstanbury was still by the window; he had been thinking that his service now would not be to Monseigneur. Yet no doubt Basil had mentioned the wisest form of service. Sophy's own few words--the words for which she cited Heaven's witness--hinted at another.

But Basil had recalled his mind to the marvel. Moved as he had been by his talk with Sophy, and even more by the scene which had just been enacted before his eyes, his face lit up with a smile as he looked across to Basil.

"Yes, old fellow, wonderful! Sophy Grouch! Queen of Kravonia! It beats Macbeth hollow!"

"It's pretty nearly as dreary!" said Basil, with a discontented grunt.

"I find it pretty nearly as exciting," Dunstanbury said. "And I hope for a happier ending. Meanwhile"--he buckled the leather belt which held his revolver round his waist--"I'm for some breakfast, and then I shall go and ask that tall fellow who did all the talking if there's anything I can do for King Sophia. By Jove! wouldn't Cousin Meg open her eyes?"

"You'll end by getting yourself stuck up against the wall and shot," Basil grumbled.

"If I do, I'm quite sure of one thing, old fellow--and that is that your wooden old mug will be next in the line, or thereabouts."

"I say, Dunstanbury, I wish I could have saved him!"

"So do I. Did you notice her face?"

Williamson gave a scornful toss of his head.

"Well, yes, I was an ass to ask that!" Dunstanbury admitted, candidly. It would certainly not have been easy to avoid noticing Sophy's face.

At six o'clock that morning Max von Hollbrandt took horse for Slavna. His diplomatic character at once made it proper for him to rejoin his Legation and enabled him to act as a messenger with safety to himself. He carried the tidings of the death of the King and of the proclamation--of Sophy. There was no concealment. Volseni's defiance to Slavna was open and avowed. Volseni held that there was no true Stefanovitch left, and cited the will of the last of the Royal House as warrant for its choice. The gauntlet was thrown down with a royal air.

It was well for Max to get back to his post. The diplomatists in Slavna, and their chiefs at home, were soon to be busy with the affairs of Kravonia. Mistitch had struck at the life of even more than his King--that was to become evident before many days had passed.

XX

THEY HAVE COLDS IN SLAVNA