Chapter XIII: The Queen's Messenger

Mr. Brand was seated at the office desk, his hands clasped before him as though in prayer. A sentry paced slowly up and down in the corridor, another trooper stood with carbine at support upon the balcony.

Presently Mr. Brand rose, and walked slowly across the room towards the window, whereupon his warder turned with a startled gesture. The prisoner saw that he was but a lad, shy and comely.

"Don't be uneasy," said Mr. Brand; "I give you my parole not to attempt escape."

"You'd better not," remarked the sentry; "I'd like the chance of a shot."

"Large game, eh?"

"Rather!"

"Don't you wish you were out there, fighting the rioters?"

"I don't fancy battues," drawled the trooper; "but you're game, and in season."

"The Palace seems quite unguarded now. All the troops are gone."

"Two squadrons of the Guard are quite enough," said the sentry, "even to hold John Brand."

"So you think I'm guilty."

"Yes, sir."

"Even before the trial?"

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Brand. But if you are guilty I hope I'll be in the firing party."

"It is good," said the prisoner, gravely; "that the Queen has loyal men. If the Queen finds me guilty, I shall beg you may be one of the firing party."

"Thanks, awfully," said the sentry. "But if you don't mind, I shall get into trouble if I'm caught talking."

"One word more. May I know your name. In case----"

"Lancaster," said the sentry.

"Lancaster," muttered the prisoner, with a slight lift of one eyebrow as he turned back towards his chair.

"Would you like the window shut?"

"Thank you, sir," said Brand, and he fell to thinking.

Midnight was striking when he was suddenly aroused by the Queen's presence. The flutter of her draperies, the scent of roses, the sight of her swift grace caught at his senses. The piercing sweetness of her seized at his heart, arrested his breath--and then the touch of her hand upon his shoulder kept him from rising.

"Is it true?" she cried to him under her breath. "Is it true? Lord Sydney tells me that if you had stayed in your yacht, gathered your ships, fought the Fleet, hanged the Lord Protector----"

"And been a traitor, eh?" he continued, smiling.

"You could have conquered the world?"

"Yes, I suppose so." He rattled the handcuffs which bound his wrists, and laughed. "Of course I could--oh, any time these ten years past until I became the Queen's prisoner. Conquered the world? What was the good of that?"

"And you a prisoner!"

Hurriedly she unlocked the handcuffs and released him, then as he rose and stretched his cramped arms--

"You are my world," he laughed. "A woman's love is all the world to a man. Do you want the earth? I'll conquer that and lay it at your feet, if you'll only let me feel the touch of your hand again. And now you're angry! You were just as angry the first time we met, and the second time, and the third--you looked most glorious of all that third time! Warn Margaret of danger and she gets furious, the greater the peril the more royal her rage--the fighting blood all roused before I can speak of peril. What man ever had the courage of the Queen?"

"Oh!" she laughed, trying to rub away the sudden flush with her white fingers. "Everything's so different now. Tell me."

"The same rose, the same thorns--I daren't!"

"Oh, please tell me."

"There's treason inside the Palace."

"Oh, surely not!"

"The Lord Protector has bribed the Captain of the Guard."

"Gloucester? Impossible!"

"He has been offered the throne."

"Oh, think of what you are saying! My own dear cousin, my friend."

"He released Prince Ali, sent him to trap me into some avowal of treason. He was actually listening outside the door. He tried to hand me over to Ulster."

"And that's why I found the main guard here in this room. And Prince Ali's escape!" Margaret sank into a chair, her white lips drawn with pain. "Guilty," she murmured. "Guilty! Oh, thank God that you are not condemned to this throne. The lessons are so hard to learn--so hard! The Queen must never believe in anybody, she must never even have a friend, she must be all alone in the world. Yet,"--she looked with troubled eyes at his face--"I must believe in some one, or go mad. I cannot bear this solitude, this lonely state, this majesty of pain. I'm only a poor girl robbed of all I love."

His hand stole out and rested tenderly on hers. "Poor child," he whispered.

"Yes, I was wrong,"--her eyes were misty with tears. "Yes, I believe in you, dear friend. When you pray will you remember Margaret?"

Oh, Hands of God, deal with her tenderly! So we prayed for Margaret in those days, when Hands of white flame were burning the evil out of us all, guiding us towards the end. One must be brave to follow where God leads, patient to recognize Him in our agony, faithful to know that pain is the Gate of Heaven.

"I will remember Margaret," said Brand; "and if you need a friend, there is Sydney. You will trust Sydney?"

"Ulster's son!"

"Yes," he said, thinking aloud. "I doubt if there is another man now living who would come stainless through a trial like his. To save his country he sacrificed his own father, he threw away the reputation of his house, his personal self-respect, his wealth, his career, everything he valued, everything he hoped for. He struck the first blow to save the Empire--and I know how he counted the cost. The events of this time will never be forgotten while the earth lasts, and when our descendants want a new proverb of manhood, they'll swear by Sydney's honour."

"I'm glad to hear you speak like that," said Margaret.

"And when I am gone you'll depend on him for advice."

"When you have gone! You're not going to leave me!"

"Yes. Your only danger is that you shelter me. The people are on your side, and Ulster dare not attack you."

"He sent envoys to-day." The Queen looked down at her foot, which made little lines to and fro. "If I would only listen," she said, "to my loyal advisers, the slanders against him could be easily disproved. Public confidence would be restored. Parliament would cancel the Act of Deposition, and everything would be lovely, and please would I send Mr. Brand away."

"You promised to hand me over as I said?"

"Yes, as you said."

"You will be safe."

"But the Grand Duke Alexander has arrived. He's in the Palace now. Oh, I'm so frightened. Don't leave me to him!"

"Keep him in the Palace, Ulster will wait, hoping for the Russian Alliance. Russia will wait, hoping for the treaty. Keep them waiting, keep them expectant, but sign nothing, promise nothing, and fear nothing. I'm a prisoner for conspiracy with Prince Ali. I escape, but that's not the fault of the Queen. I make war with the Dictator, but he cannot blame the Queen."

"Oh, don't leave me! Don't desert me!"

"If I stay here much longer there's no hope left. Because I could not go out to fight him, he captured Lyonesse and all my ships. He'll have the yacht next."

"Take me away in the yacht."

"Then what becomes of the public confidence? The people would cry that you had deserted them; they would overwhelm the Government--then chaos! The Queen's place is here, setting an example of unflinching courage to all her people."

"But can't you capture the Dictator, and seize the Government now?"

"With one yacht?"

Margaret's eyes were dark with horror. "Too late!"

"Outside this room I am an outlaw and a fugitive, hunted like a wolf. I dare not even call my yacht lest the Queen should be compromised and attacked. I must go to Tower Hill and signal the _Mary Rose_."

"And you have lost everything in guarding me."

"What was there to fight for if the Queen were lost? I stayed until I could leave you secure. Now I must fight." He took the aerograph from the desk. "So far as I can see the Queen is safe, and yet--I will leave you this instrument. If ever you are in danger, release this key and touch it so--three sharp strokes repeated again and again. The signal shall be forwarded by my London agents, and the answer will be four double strokes."

"And you will come?"

"Instantly."

"Mr. Brand, I want to send Gloucester away. He's dangerous."

"Then have him closely watched. Enemies are invaluable, for their every movement is an index of danger to be overcome. Send Gloucester away, and at once the enemy is warned of your policy. That would be fatal."

"Forgive me, dear friend,"--Margaret hid her white face in her hands trying to stop the tears--"I have been such a coward while you are so brave! Yes, I will stay as a woman always must, while the men go out to fight."

"And after this," he said, wistfully; "knowing how weak I am for the Queen's defence, you will still depend on me, still trust me?"

She threw her head back, gazing upon him steadfastly for a minute, her eyes half closed.

"I must be a fool," she said, between tears and a terrible broken-hearted laughter. "You came to me and talked about things I don't understand, can't understand, don't want to understand. I only believe! I was an Empress, you were Mr. Brand--now you're the wind, and I'm a leaf in autumn. Trust you? Depend on you? Yes, I do!" Her face became radiant, her eyes full of light. "You serve me through disgrace and outlawry, you're ruined like I am, fallen, a broken man, and yet stronger, greater than ever, because nothing can frighten you. Don't look at me--your eyes fascinate me--I hardly know what I'm saying----" she reached out her arms to him. "I am become blind, led only by your eyes. Go and save England!"

The room was nearly dark, for only a small lamp burned dimly on the desk, but now a great red glare came in through the window space, and shone in flickering radiance on the wall. Out of the distance rose an awful murmur, the swelling volume of harsh-throated riot, the crackle of musketry, the shouts of men.

"Mr. Brand," said the Queen, "I dare not let you go. The streets are dangerous, you never could reach the Tower."

"I must go disguised."

"What disguise could save you? Ah, yes--I see--the officers of my Guard. They can go any where!"

"Give me a strong horse, Queen, and the uniform of an officer of the Guard."

"An officer can't ride, Mr. Brand, without an orderly."

"Give me that lad outside the window there. I like him."

"My cousin, the Duke of Lancaster," said the Queen. "You have chosen well. Bring him here, Mr. Brand."

The American crossed the room, opened the window, and summoned the sentry, who made his salute to the Queen.

"Tom," said our Lady, "do you love me?"

He knelt and kissed her hand. "Quick, Tom," said the Queen. "Order two horses, the best we have, and bring an officer's harness for Mr. Brand, use this,"--she gave him her signet ring. "Take brevet rank as subaltern, and if you live, I'll confirm it. Now run!"

His Royal Highness looked sideways at the American, then sideways at the Queen, then, with a malicious understanding chuckle, was gone like a flash.

The Queen sat thinking. "There is danger still," she said presently. "The destroyers are patrolling everywhere, and your yacht on her way to the Tower was chased by the Channel Fleet just come from Portsmouth. Instead of running, she rose up high, soaring miles into the air. The Fleet could not follow because no man could breathe up yonder. But they say the yacht must come down, so they have scattered out to watch. Must she come down?"

"Not till I want her."

"What are your plans?" she asked presently.

"To get the yacht," he answered, "bring the Fleet to terms, recapture Lyonesse, collect my squadron, find my Ministers of State, and weld them into a strong Cabinet. Then I hope to hang Ulster, seize the departments, set up the Queen's provisional Government, call a General Election, and declare war with the Allies. Meanwhile the Queen must keep our enemies amused."

"But if you die in the Queen's service?"

He laughed. "They'll throw my body into a ditch and cry, 'So perish all the Queen's enemies!'"

Turning to the table she wrote upon a slip of paper--

"The bearer is my Messenger.
"Margaret R.I."

"Kneel," she said, gravely, and he bent his knee to the ground. "This is a token of our love and trust."

He glanced at the paper. "I can't take that, dear Queen. It might compromise you; it's too dangerous." He would have risen.

"No, don't get up yet."

The Duke of Lancaster had come in bearing a suit of armour and a cloak.

"Give me your sword, Tom."

The soldier bent his knee and presented the hilt.

"Now," she stood up waving the sword lightly above the master's head, "will you be my true knight?"

The master sank down on both knees, and lifted up his clasped hands.

"Rise," cried the Queen, striking the accolade on his shoulder. "You are too great for any poor titles or dignities of my chivalry, but be my friend, Mr. Brand, and put on the harness of my knights. Staunch champion," her voice broke, "true, loyal friend, there's nothing left for the Queen to do but pray. God save you this wild night, God save and keep you in this fearful war."

He kissed her outstretched hand. "Good-bye, my Queen."

"Good-bye, my champion. Good-bye until we meet in happier times."

And so she swept from the room, and the Guardsman in the corridor who followed at her signal saw that the Queen was crying.

Lancaster served Mr. Brand as squire, assisting him while he changed his civilian clothes for the gold harness and scarlet cloak of an officer of the Guard, the only dress which would give him even a moderate degree of safety in the streets of the town. Brand made not the least pretence to a military bearing, but he was an athlete in habit, and the harness fitted him well. He was thinking too intently to be awkward or self-conscious in disguise, and when at last the trooper brought a big, black stallion into the courtyard, he swung into the saddle with the ease of a horseman. The Prince was less suspicious at the sight of horsemanship.

"Now can you get me a strong lantern?"

Lord Lancaster ran into the Palace, and for a minute the master sat curbing the black stallion, who danced polka movements, uneasy at the delay.

Just before Lord Lancaster came back, a window opened far up in the courtyard wall. Then a white handkerchief fluttered softly down like a snowflake. The master rode forward and caught and fastened it to the front of his helmet.

"Are you ready, sir?" cried Lancaster.

"God save the Queen," said Brand, and they rode out under the archway.

The Queen's ring passed them through the gates, and breaking into a canter side by side, the horsemen swung round the east wing out into the Mall.

The clocks were striking two as they traversed the spacious avenue, now dark and silent.

"Do you still want to shoot me, sir?" asked Brand.

"Drop that '_sir_'," answered the young Prince. "It sounds absurd from you. Call me Lancaster. Forget that nonsense I talked. She trusts you. That's good enough for me."

Abreast of Marlborough House the horses shied violently passing the body of a murdered woman. She lay in her white evening dress, her fair face streaked with blood, and the jewels had been wrenched from her hair and neck.

"That's Mrs. Osbourne," said the trooper, bending down; "I knew her, poor soul."

Just beyond stood her carriage, the chauffeur murdered in his seat, and close beside in the gutter lay some poor rioter who had ceased to starve.

They rode on in silence to the end of that moonlit solitude, and were passing the north edge of the Horse Guards Parade, still under the spell of horror, when a cloud passed across the moon.

"What's that?" cried Lancaster.

Brand looked up, relieved at any interruption to his thoughts. "Only a destroyer cruising--on patrol, I suppose, to keep order."

"Unless," said the trooper, "we're followed."

"An officer and a trooper of the Guard--nonsense!"

"Unless Prince Ali----"

"I see. He would warn the Government to expect my escape. So. This destroyer may think we're chasing Mr. Brand to Tower Hill."

"She's following, anyway."

"We'll have to call her presently to help us." The master laughed, drawing his cloak about him.

They were in Trafalgar Square now, skirting the edge of a crowd of starving trades unionists, who were easing their feelings with a Republican demonstration. London never dared to sleep in those first nights of the peril.

"I wonder," said the master, as they rode past, "will history blame me for that--thing--back there in the Mall?" His lips were quivering. "Will history make me the murderer?"

"That depends," answered Lancaster, "on what history has to tell of the war that's coming. I wouldn't like to be your ghost if the thing's a failure."

"And if it succeeds, Lancaster, will they make a picture of me among the conquerors, with Alexander, Semiramis, Tamerlane, the Mogul, Napoleon--riding through a lane of stark corpses, and millions and millions of the accusing dead?"

"Wouldn't you rather be there than in a procession to the gallows?"

"I'd rather have the gallows, Lancaster."

The Strand was in darkness, and every theatre was closed. Here and there stood cars, derelict because the drivers had struck. The public houses had been closed by order. Only the churches were open, for although they could not be lighted, great congregations gathered in these nights, for rest and consolation. Indeed, for that relief, even delicate women and children were willing to leave their lightless, desolate homes, and face the risk of being robbed or murdered in the by-ways.

The police patrolled in companies, while now and again came the tramp of marching men, volunteers or special constables, called out to confront some distant riot; but no man went abroad unarmed, and few women except under escort. There were not less than forty thousand criminals at large in London, furtive as yet, rather than violent, stealing enough food to prosper, while daily the desperation of the poor added to their numbers, and their leaders grew more powerful and more reckless.

In silence Brand and Lancaster rode on, turning now and again to watch the aerial destroyer, which, beating to and fro in short slants, was evidently keeping watch on their movements. The moon caught her gleaming aeroplanes at every ratch. At any moment she might call out with a request for instructions. Perhaps some doubt restrained her lest these men were not Guardsmen, but fugitives despite their horses and their harness. But, however carefully she might have watched for the master of Lyonesse, however certain it might be that he would head for a rendezvous with the yacht, a mistake would endanger the new compact between Queen and Government. Her Majesty's gentlemen of the Guard could not be insulted with impunity.

"Shall we gallop?" asked Lancaster.

"No, slower if anything or they'll think we're running away."

So reining to a trot, they went along the Fleet Viaduct, with a passing glance at some sudden riot running wild down in Farringdon Street. They skirted the south side of St. Paul's, and traversed Cannon Street. But then, instead of turning off towards London Bridge, they plunged down the hill by the Monument into the cobbled alley of Lower Thames Street. The destroyer must have seen that they were actually bound for the Tower, for now she whistled thrice.

"They think we're chasing Brand!" cried Lancaster, and waving his arm signalled the destroyer to follow.

Ahead by the Billingsgate Market lay a fish van overturned, entirely blocking the thoroughfares. So they plunged up hill among lanes and alleys, passing over the body of a murdered policeman, until they emerged by an old church where the congregation was singing the Litany, and came out upon the open space of Tower Hill.

"Give me the lantern," said Brand, as they swept down towards the Tower Gate at a gallop. "I'm going to signal my yacht."

"Then the destroyer will fire--she's close behind!"

"We must take the risk."

He drew rein, and flashed the strong light thrice across the sky.

The destroyer fired a warning shot, but again Mr. Brand flashed the signal, and presently yet again.

"By George!" muttered Lancaster. "We're done for now!"

"Lancaster," said the master, "is there any officer of the Guard at all like me in appearance?"

"There's Captain Talbot, his gear exactly fits you."

"Good. The destroyer will steer close down now. Ride up to her, say Captain Talbot sends you, that Brand's at the Palace, and we've used his secret signal to lure the yacht. The destroyer's to wait out of sight until Captain Talbot gives orders to attack."

The trooper dashed away up the slope.

"When I raise my hand," the master shouted after him, "ride straight for my yacht."

The warship was slanting down, she sheered barely clear of the housetops, and then hung poised above the trees by the Tower moat.

And now drawing rein after a furious gallop, the trooper faced the suspended warship, so close that his horse reared up in terror.

"Captain Talbot's compliments," he yelled. "Help us to capture Brand's yacht. Lie low and wait!"

"Where's Mr. Brand?" cried the destroyer circling round the terrified horse like an eagle round a mosquito, the faintest airs from the river just whispering under her aeroplanes, and barely strong enough to give her steerage way.

"Brand is in chains at the Palace!" the trooper yelled so that his voice broke in a wail. "Lie low and help us, we're luring the yacht down with Brand's private signal. Captain Talbot will give the order to fire!"

But now the destroyer was so low between the buildings that she lost the air and grounded. It would take her three minutes to rise clear again from the earth, and meanwhile she lay helpless on her keel springs.

"Can't you put out those lights?" yelled the trooper. He was jubilant, for he had put the destroyer out of action.

Nobody knows what the destroyer thought, back there behind the trees of the moat enclosure, but the Captain of the _Mary Rose_ spoke afterwards as to the descent of the yacht. She had been at a height of five miles in the air when the electric lantern flashed the summons upwards. At the signal she simply dropped like a stone. The air roared round her like the deepening blast of a furnace; the friction of the wind was actually making her sides red hot when she slowed to a speed of ninety miles an hour.

She saw the lurking destroyer, she saw the whole starboard division of the British Fleet swoop down out of the north, and knew that not a ship would care to fire for fear of a resulting explosion which would wreck the Tower of London.

She saw the solitary horseman flashing the lantern signal again and again. She knew that she might be trapped to destruction, yet grudged the brakes which in the last two miles of air must be clapped on full to prevent her being dashed to pieces on Tower Hill. Down she fell like a meteor out of heaven, slowed, jarred her brake, jumped on the sharp recoil a hundred feet, then gently lowered her torpedo-shaped steel hull until with a feathery lightness she touched the pavement, and sent her drawbridge gangway clanging down.

Already the destroyer, alert for action, rose from behind the trees, flashed out her vivid searchlight upon the yacht, and in that glare confirmed her worst suspicions. His golden harness glowing, his black horse rearing and fighting the air, Brand lifted his arm as though to stay the destroyer's fire from blasting him.

Lancaster, obedient to the signal, spurred down the hill at full gallop. He reached the gangway, charged straight up the slope, and crouching down rode in through the open port.

Even before the master could follow, the destroyer lashed out with her machine guns.

For a moment the yacht was lost to sight in a cloud of fire and steel, but in the very midst of it, Lancaster ran down the slope of the gangway, wrenched Brand from under his dying horse, and dragged him back into shelter. As the yacht's gangway crashed home the destroyer passed overhead launching torpedoes.

The _Mary Rose_ swung as she lifted, crashing right through the destroyer's fragile hull. The magazine exploded into the great hydrogen cylinder above; but Brand's yacht went on unscathed through a sphere of flame, on into space, with wreckage and mangled bodies streaming behind her.