Chapter XX: Victory

"In five days more I'll come with my ships."

Five days had passed since Brand's promise reached the Queen, it was the twenty-first of the Terror, and the master was not come.

Trooper Browne had been on duty all night, slept through the morning, and now at two in the afternoon came hungry to the mess-room for luncheon. The tables were gone since daybreak, surgeons and nurses had taken possession, the pavement, the aisles, even the triforium gallery, were crowded with the beds of the sick and the dying taken from the streets. In the ante-chamber he found some biscuits, and with these and a glass of water fled to the guard-room.

That beautiful gallery was at least unchanged, its precious columns of azurite and malachite reflected in the polished slabs of the floor. The alabaster stairs came up from the portico, and went on to the chambers of state, now turned into hospital wards and Government offices. One man was on guard, Sergeant Jack Branscombe, fat, lazy old Jack sole garrison of the Palace, and him Browne relieved that he might get his breakfast. So the trooper sat on a bench eating biscuits, and watched the endless procession of sufferers being carried past upon the stairway.

One man on guard! Of the two hundred gentlemen-at-arms, and their two hundred orderlies, only seventy were left--all as brothers now--to ride with her Majesty. She would come back with her riders at four o'clock, tired out, and here on the table stood a gold cup, and a flagon of wine left by Miss Temple, for our Lady's refreshment.

Stealthily Browne lifted the cup, and pressed his lips against the rim. Even as he did that a little chuckle sounded close at his elbow--so startlingly like our Lady's laugh that he set down the cup in haste.

"Caught red-handed," said Tom of Lancaster, and sitting down on the bench, laid a white hand on Browne's knee. "My dear Browne, you must not poison her cup, even with kisses."

Browne grinned nervously. "Good morning, sir," he said, his eyes on Lancaster's deathly white face, "the doctor said you'd be in bed for months."

"Doctor's a fool," said Lancaster, then very faintly added--"Give me some of that wine."

Browne drank the water in his glass, and filled it with wine from the flagon.

"Here, sir."

"Drop that 'sir,'" said the young Prince, then with a sigh as he set down the empty glass, "How is she to-day?"

"Slept heartily these four nights, so Miss Temple says. She looks herself again since you came, Prince, with your message."

"Prince! I wish you fellows would drop that rot, and let me be a trooper. My name's Tom, and I'm as good as any man in the crowd. So the message cheered her up?"

"Saved her reason, I think."

"Browne," the Prince turned round with a short, sharp laugh, "you're in love with her. Bah, you flush like a girl--of course, you're in love with her. So am I, man, and the rest of the fellows are just as bad or worse. What's the use of trying to hide what hurts. Does it make the thing hurt less? She's not for us.

"She and Brand are in love, and by my honour, Browne, I'm glad, yes glad. That man is royal, the real thing, which I'm not. By our Lady, if you'd seen him fight the _Gigantic_!

"And all that time in the cave, six mortal days while he lay raving mad with his wound, he called to her: 'Margaret! Margaret!' Look what he was before, and what he's fallen to because he was loyal."

"In love with him," said Browne, under his breath.

"Of course she is, I saw them part. Didn't she burst into tears, so that she had to run away."

"The message," Browne's voice was broken now; "it saved her reason. I thought----"

"The message," said Lancaster, "I forged that message."

"Forged it?"

"Of course. How could I come to her without a message? That's what Brand would have written if he could. Do you think it was easy for me bringing that message?"

"I'd never have dared," said Browne, humbly. "Fancy lying to her!"

"Well, I'm her cousin, you know, and you'd have dared all right if you had been there. He was conscious, the fever gone--awful weak, of course, and he couldn't have written a letter to save his life. I did it out of my own head, too, and I hate writing letters. That night I climbed the cliff, and at the top found a young fisherman asleep. The man was in hiding, a criminal, I suppose; but he helped me, and we got Brand up with ropes. Neither of us knew that Ulster was dead, or that the royal yacht was out searching for Brand, or that Lyonesse was retaken for the Queen. I found out all that afterwards.

"All we knew was that Brand must escape from England; and he told me to search for a shed, close by where his cottage used to stand. Inside the shed we found a little old ship, the first one that Brand's father ever built, the mother of the Fleet."

"What, the _Experiment_? I've read about that."

"Yes, the _Experiment_; she was in perfect order, and we got her alive within the hour. I begged Brand to take the fisherman or me, but he would have neither of us. The fisherman must search for Miss Brand, he said, and take her a message. I must go to the Queen. Then he began to get delirious."

"You let him go like that!"

"He cheated me--said I could come with him, but first I must coil up the rope--he wanted the rope. While I was coiling up the rope the port clanged home, the ship rose with a whirr, drawing up a hurricane of dust and stones. I was dragged off my feet into the air, then fell nearly over the edge of the cliff. He was gone!"

"To his death," said Browne.

"Who knows?"

"And she believes that message!"

"I had to confess to some one," said Lancaster, dolefully. "Hello, here's old Branscombe. What's the trouble, Jack?"

"Thought you'd gone back to bed, sir."

"Bed be damned," said Lancaster, cheerfully. "Why that bereaved smile? More bad news?"

Fat Jack sat down panting, leaning his hands on his sword.

"Bad news? Well, sir, that's hardly the word, we're a little nearer the end, perhaps." He watched the long procession of the sick--borne one by one on stretchers up the stairway. "I'd rather the end came quick."

"Oh, go and be an angel," said Lancaster, scornfully. "Go and croak at the moon, Jack, weep to the clouds all alone on a damp battlement. We've had more fun and adventure this last month."

Browne laughed heartily.

"Well," old Branscombe smiled at the two lads; "I suppose I'm a fool," he wheezed. "Just now I was talking with one of our wounded men--Bill Sothern. He saw the whole Republican army in camp, two hundred and fifty thousand men at least, the pick of the Midland counties, well fed, in fine condition, and our poor half-starved troops, what can they do? How could our Lady so much as offer battle. The thing was hopeless--she was right to decline. Well, to-day, the Republican colours are flying on Hampstead Hill. To-morrow, their flag will be hoisted here."

"Come," said Lancaster, "cheer us up--go on, Jack."

"I wonder"--Jack grunted, looking steadily at the Prince. "You, sir, may be pleased. I'm of a different make. The French and German armies landed yesterday, covering the coast from Dungeness to Portsmouth--half a million men, with two hundred ships of the line to sweep our army away as they advance."

"Anything more?" asked Tom of Lancaster.

"The Russian Fleet has appeared off the coast of Essex."

Lancaster was whistling softly. "'Three blind mice--three blind mice; see how they run.' Well, Jack, I'll lay you three to one in anything you like on Margaret."

"In my country," said Browne, yawning, "the sun goes down in the fall of the year and never comes up again. The Arctic Sea is all shifting ice pack, the land all white drifts, and you think the night is never going to end. Yet it does; the sun comes up in the spring, and the mosquito season begins. Perhaps things will come out all right even in this England."

"Perhaps," answered Branscombe. "How long is it, Browne, since you joined the Guard--you're only a recruit, eh?"

"Thirty-one days and thirty-one nights," said Browne, "and it feels like thirty-one years. Another month of your London will make me a doddering old patriarch."

"Another month?" Branscombe rose and walked away with a sigh.

"Another month!" echoed young Lancaster.

"Why, gentlemen," came a voice from the upper stairway. "Are the Queen's Blackguards so far gone as that? All out of curl, no swagger--like a covey of widows?"

Lancaster turned with an acid smile to the civilian.

"Who the deuce are you?"

"I have the honour," said the civilian grinning, "to be her Majesty's Chief Poisoner."

Lancaster whispered to Browne. "Another bounder come to cheer me up. Well," he turned to the civilian. "Tell us all the bad news, there's still room for a fourth invading army from the west."

The Chief Poisoner lighted a cigarette, sat down, crossed his legs and chuckled.

"Don't mind me," said the Prince.

"What!" the civilian started to his feet. "I beg your Royal Highness--I mean, sir--I didn't----"

"Sit down," said the Prince. "Tell lies, we need amusing. Proceed, my Lord Chief Poisoner."

"Oh--ah--well, sir," the Poisoner smiled and writhed. "I have good news, sir, and at last I'm at liberty to speak. I had the honour to hear you mention, sir, the armies of the invasion."

"Yes, sir."

"They can't march on London without roads and railways, and they depend, sir, more or less on the country for supplies--of water, for instance."

"Water?"

"The first of all necessities. The Franco-German forces, as you know, sir, have landed on the coast of Kent, Sussex, and Hampshire. Now in these three counties, her Majesty has called out the Territorials, and ordered them to retreat on London sweeping the whole population before them, driving the live-stock in to feed the capital, burning all provisions and ricks that couldn't be moved. The railways have been mined, and the roads blocked with felled timber and mines. Yesterday I had the honour to direct the poisoning of every well, pond, and running stream. Her Majesty sends word advising the enemy that she will supply pure water when the troops lay down their arms."

"But they can march across?"

"Yes, sir, they can march across without transport or artillery, or food, or water, to attack the fortified positions on the north downs. Meanwhile the live-stock and provisions are restoring life and hope to the armies and citizens in London."

"You mean to say," cried Lancaster, "that the Queen has done all that in five days?"

"It's seven days since her Majesty seized the Government."

"How about the Russian landing in Essex?"

"I'm not at liberty to speak as yet."

"I see," Lancaster had both hands to his bandaged head. "But there are still the enemy's Fleets."

Browne chuckled.

"Hello," Lancaster flashed round on him. "Who told you to laugh?"

"Something," said Browne, "about eagles and bones out of the Bible--wish I could remember what Miss Temple did say. She reviewed them yesterday."

"Miss Temple held a review? Well, I'll be boiled!"

"No," Browne was irritable, "our Lady, of course, reviewed the What-d'ye-call-um's ships--Brand's ships--eleven of them."

"You're dreaming, Browne."

"It's no dream," said Browne. "Our Lady has kept the crews alive in gaol; she's got the squadron together, reviewed them yesterday, and she's going to send them against the enemy's fleets. They've got some sort of vibrations for touching off explosives, but none of their captains ever heard of these vibrations, and Brand is the only man who knows the secret. That seems to trouble our Lady."

"Vibrations be damned," said Lancaster, hotly. "I know all about etheric ships. Wasn't I in the _Mary Rose_ when we rammed the _Gigantic_? Brand's ships are rams, and they'll go through an electric battleship like a shell through a paper balloon. Eleven rams like that could wipe out all the electric fleets of Europe. Why with the fleets destroyed and the country impassable----"

Browne yelped with delight.

"Here," cried Lancaster, "Jack Branscombe, you old fool. I'll bet you every horse in my stables, bar Sharon and the Dun--against your spotted dog, our Lady wins the game!"

Branscombe had been listening at the stairhead, now he rolled over to Lancaster.

"I can't," he panted. "I can't bet against our Lady."

"That the League don't capture London--my horses against your beastly spotted cur."

"Your horses are a scandalous lot of crocks, and I wouldn't have them at a gift; but done, sir! and I hope you'll win my dog."

"And so do I!"

The voice, our Lady's voice, came thrilling clear from the head of the lower stairway, at which the three Guardsmen sprang to attention, and the civilian bolted. So her Majesty came forward attended by her retinue of the Guard, and wearing her uniform as its captain.

Branscombe provided her a seat, Browne, kneeling, presented the cup of wine, the escort, breaking ranks, piled arms and awaited her pleasure.

"There," she said, laughing. "I'm tired enough to love my home. Stand forward, Sergeant Branscombe," said our Lady, and her eyes twinkled, for she dearly loved a jest. "You are charged with betting one spotted dog against your sovereign."

Branscombe prayed for the pavement to swallow him.

"I had no more," he stammered.

"One spotted dog or fifty, the same crime, Sergeant. I condemn you to quarter on your shield of arms a spotted dog proper bearing the legend: 'I am Lancaster's.' And you, Tom of Lancaster, get to bed, and behave yourself on pain of a severe course of mustard plasters--off with you! Gentlemen," she raised her cup, "I pledge the Guard."

We heard a trumpet blown outside the gates, and at the sound our Lady let the cup fall, watching it roll slowly across the floor.

"Go down," she said, "Gentlemen of 'B' squadron--receive this visitor--pay him all possible honour, and bring him here."

A dozen men, those of "B" squadron, parted from the rest, saluted, formed, and marched clattering down the long stairs. The procession of the sick and their bearers ceased. Then one could only hear the impatient horses stamping in the porch. We looked at our Lady, and saw that she was afraid.

"I want to warn you, gentlemen," she said faintly. "That trumpet was blown for the President of the British Republic--yes, the Republic. He has come to receive my surrender."

"Kill him! Kill him!" cried some, and every man in the chamber was moved to break away from the Queen's discipline.

"Gentlemen," said our Lady. "President O'Brien comes under flag of truce. If you are offended now, you will be furious when you hear his demands, and if you love me, you will stand quite still, except to salute him at his entrance. I warn you the slightest hostile movement may ruin me. My envoys have failed to treat with this man, my letters met with an insulting reply, and he holds North London in overwhelming force. Ah, here he comes. Don't be uneasy, I assure you I'm not going to surrender."

The President, attended by his staff, conducted by our troopers, came to the stairhead and there stood surveying our Lady and her war-stained Guard.

"Where is this woman?" he demanded hoarsely.

And in answer, Margaret rose to make him welcome, met him half-way across the chamber, and frankly offered her hand.

"What," she asked gently, "will you not shake hands?"

General O'Brien lifted his eyes until they were level with her brave sad face.

"Won't you shake hands?" she said, "you come to me in my utmost need." Then addressing his retinue, "I am so glad to welcome friends."

"This is all nonsense, madam. I am not a friend."

"That," answered our Lady, "is incredible. You are doing yourself injustice. My enemies are Russians, Germans, French, not British. You could not possibly be leagued with my enemies. I have sent my messengers to welcome your reinforcements, cleared the northern suburbs to quarter your troops, begged for your counsel as to meeting the Russian advance, and now you come pretending enmity."

"I pretend nothing, madam. I come as President of the British Republic to occupy this Palace."

Margaret laughed at him. "My dear good man, I can't spare room for another cot, even for you. This hospital is jammed to the very doors with my poor guests, the sick. See through that archway"--she pointed to the entrance of the mess-room--"in that one ward there are seven hundred cases of typhus. Come, General O'Brien, I'm badly in need of ambulance, and you must help me."

"I will take charge of that," said the President, brusquely. "Meanwhile, madam, a special train is waiting to take you with your following to Balmoral."

Our Lady turned away from him, crossed to her chair and sat down. She rested her elbows on her knees, her face in her hands, and looked up at this President thoughtfully.

"And so, General O'Brien," she said at last, "you want to sit in my throne, my most comfortless throne."

"I want no throne," answered General O'Brien, "I have come to put an end to this disastrous monarchy. I have no time for delay."

"And who are you?" Margaret lifted her proud head. "Who are you?"

"I command the armies of the Republic--three hundred thousand men."

"And I," said her Majesty, "command the nation, the feudatories, the colonies, the seas, the air--the British Empire. I am chosen by my people their anointed sovereign, guardian of their liberty, Defender of their Faith. The throne is not yours, General, or mine. It belongs to the people who make the laws, and we are their servants--their servants, General. When we have conquered the League, I will ask my people what kind of Government they want, who they will have as their President or their Sovereign. I will obey their orders, but, by God, not yours!"

"You propose to fight my armies?"

"No, I would not have one of my people hurt in such a quarrel. I have half a million men, to fight Russia, France, and Germany--not one to spare for you."

"What do you propose?"

A man had come to the head of the upper stairway, Sir Myles Strangford, Secretary for War.

"Where is the Queen?" he cried. "Gentlemen of the Guard, where is the Queen? I have great news--victory! victory! Our squadron of etheric rams has met the Franco-German fleets. Victory! Victory!"

How the Guard cheered!

Then her Majesty sent for Sir Myles, and he was brought to her.

"Tell me," she said, laughing as he kissed her hand, "who is this General O'Brien? He claims to be the President of some Republic."

Sir Myles looked up towards General O'Brien and laughed also.

"Does he offer, madam, to meet the etheric rams in battle?"

"Woman," cried General O'Brien, "I am not here to be insulted--surrender, or I shall take this Palace by assault."

"You would assault a hospital!"

Margaret rose from her seat, went over to the President, and, slowly drawing her sword--

"You would assault a hospital!" The sword whirled above her head, and with the flat of the blade, she struck heavily upon his shoulder. "Sir George O'Brien," she cried, "are you my knight, or are you my enemy? Take your choice."

"What do you mean?" he retorted in fury.

"I mean that you are knighted in my service, and commissioned Lieutenant-General to meet the Russian invasion, or that you draw your sword, Mr. O'Brien, and fight."

"This is an outrage!"

"Take it as an outrage, Mr. George O'Brien, rebel. It's easy enough to assault hospitals, easy enough to send brave men to their death. You have three hundred thousand soldiers, I half a million; but I cannot spare one life in either army--I can spare you. What's that sword at your side? Is it only an ornament? Have you no courage beyond assaulting hospitals? Draw, you coward, and fight!"

Here, Dymoke, as Champion of England, demanded leave to engage, but our Lady waved him aside, being in no mood for interference. As to General O'Brien, he was not so eager.

"I cannot possibly fight you. This is madness!"

"Sir, choose your own weapons, broadsword or rapier; I value my life less than I value yours. There's no room for both of us in the world. Draw, or I'll kill you. Draw, I say, draw!"

"I do not fight with women."

"A man then! Gentlemen of the Bodyguard, he demands a man! Choose your antagonist, sir, for fight you shall!"

"I refuse to fight!"

"Then," said one of the Generals of the staff, "I serve under no coward. I am a gentleman, your Majesty," he crossed to her rear. "I am at your Majesty's service."

In another minute President O'Brien stood alone, his staff gone over to the Queen.

"I accept the inevitable," he said, angrily. "I accept the position of Lieutenant-General in your Majesty's service."

"This coward," Margaret turned upon the Generals, pointing with her sword to the late President, "this coward proposes to serve in my armies. I send no cowards against my gallant enemies of the League. Which of you gentlemen holds highest rank in the Republican forces?"

General McNeill saluted.

"'Tis to you, then, sir, I shall entrust my campaign against Russia. You will consult with Sir Myles Strangford and receive my commands through him. As to this coward here, I entrust him to your custody as a prisoner. I order you to have him thrashed for cowardice in presence of the army he was unfit to lead."

The Republic was at an end.

Mr. Dymoke was furious. "What's the use," he said afterwards. "What's the use of being Hereditary Champion of England if I can't have somebody to kill? I was cheated out of my fight with Prince Ali, and here's the Queen herself getting in front of my rights."

He was to have his killing.