THE RED FOX'S SON (continued 4)
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One of the men nearest the door shouted a question and a voice outside replied demanding admission. A busy hum of conversation began to fly about the hall and the Duke's followers crowded around the door. The Prince alone remained in his place. He stood apart in the centre of the room almost directly below me.
Now was the moment to act. I stood upright and leaned far out over the railing in full view of any who might be watching. Taking careful aim, I tossed the message toward him. The glistening gold circled gently to its fall and struck fairly in the centre of the empty cup which he held upright in his hand. The Prince gave a little cry of astonishment and looked over the rim of the goblet. The ring, with its note attached, lay within. Knowing from which direction it must have come, and realizing that it fell from the hand of a friend, he looked quickly up into the balcony. Our eyes met.
Solonika recognized me as I leaned out into the light. The smile which illuminated her face more than recompensed me for the night of terror I had passed through for her sake. No one else in the room saw the incident. So far we were safe.
I was just congratulating myself on my cleverness when I heard a bed room door open close behind me somewhere on the balcony. I dropped to my knees for shelter and crouched in the dim light. An elderly man stepped from a front room over the main entrance. Something in his dignified manner told me that it was the Duke of Marbosa. He had heard the knocking and had come forth to inquire into the cause.
If he descended by means of the stairway on my side, he could scarcely fail to discover me. Either stairway was open to him. I lay flat on my stomach and waited with a beating heart. A fight was useless, for, even though I escaped, I must leave the Prince behind.
The noise in the room below increased in volume. The visitors without were impatient at the delay.
CHAPTER XVI
MARBOSA'S HUNTING LODGE—THE FLIGHT
There was an ancient philosopher
That had read Alexander Ross over
And swore the world, as he could prove,
Was made of fighting and of love.
—Butler: Hudibras, Part I.
"Marbosa! Marbosa!" shouted several voices at once. A score of young men ascended both stairways to summon the Grand Duke. As I glanced along the carpet I could see the heads of the leaders appear above the level of the floor and I gave myself up for lost. There was no time now to hide myself in the nearest bed room without being seen. The danger, coming so suddenly, found me unprepared. My only chance of safety lay in remaining quiet. Perhaps in the dim light, if they did not stumble over me, they might pass by, too occupied with their errand to notice a recumbent figure on the floor. There was also the chance that they might mistake me for a tired reveller.
But, just when the tension was at the breaking point, I heard the Duke's voice. Judging from the sound, for I could not see him, he had stepped to the edge of the balcony, where the light fell upon his face, for the men paused on the stairs and stood looking at one particular spot. They shouted their message across the intervening space and, receiving a satisfactory reply, turned back, retracing their steps to the common room. I still heard the Grand Duke talking to some one who had reached the balcony by the other stairway. I followed the sound and was overjoyed to find that Marbosa was walking toward his companion and that the two would descend by the other stair. The danger of my immediate discovery was over, and I breathed a prayer of thankfulness to the lucky chance which had protected me.
As the Duke joined his men, I arose to my feet to steal another look below. The Prince had not moved far from the spot where I last saw him. The empty goblet was standing on the table and he was busy reading the note concealed in his hands. Would he understand it and be able to find a way to reach the watch-tower unnoticed? I watched him read and re-read my message, and saw him tear the paper to fragments and carelessly throw them into the fire. Then he glanced at the excited company to see if he were observed. Finding he was not, he looked quickly up into my glowing face, nodded his head to signify that all was clear and smilingly slipped my ring on his finger.
While this episode was going forward, the Duke had reached the front entrance and given orders to unbar the door. The heavy irons rattled loudly against the stone floor while the nobles made way for the visitors to enter. The door was immediately closed with a bang and the bars reset. Following the Grand Duke, with whom they were earnestly talking, two men stepped into the light and I could scarcely believe my eyes when I saw them. They were the General and Nicholas.
What they hoped to accomplish by their visit I could not imagine. But it was evident that they were regarded in the light of friends. Several young men slapped Nicholas on the shoulder, greeting him with affection. The rest gathered around the General and the black-bearded Grand Duke, and listened with great respect to their conversation.
The General was tired and worn. He was not pleased with the turn of events and I judged he was not hesitating in expressing his opinion. The Bharbazonian jargon ran back and forth, for the General had met his match in the Duke. That distinguished personage was not moved by the hot words of his fiery friend. He gave as good as he received, and remained firm in his intention. The argument bade fair to consume the rest of the night. As soon as Nick saw how it was going, he quietly disengaged himself from the circle and sought out the Prince. That brought him close under the balcony where I was hiding and I was pleased to hear him speak English that the company might not readily understand.
"I am glad to see that no harm has been done Your Highness," he said.
But the Prince pretended to ignore him.
"I wish to assure you, Prince, that the General and I are in no way responsible for this high-handed affair," he continued.
I felt like hugging him for his good news, but the Prince was not so generous.
"Your friends," he said pointedly, "were most happy to see you."
Nicholas bowed, accepting the situation.
"The majority must rule," he replied.
"The Grand Duke Marbosa seems to be in command here."
"He has carried out his plan against the wish of the General."
"What does he hope to win thereby? What does he intend to do with me?" asked the Prince. I listened eagerly so as not to miss a word.
"He hopes to keep you hidden until after the coronation. He feels that your absence from the Cathedral will be taken as an insult by the people. Thus would he set public opinion against you."
"To what end? Is there another he would have reign in my stead?"
"Yes, Your Highness. Grand Duke Novgorod."
"Novgorod? Who is he? I have never heard of him before."
"Nor I, either," said Nick; "but Marbosa has been secretly working in the interest of this man for years. The nobles are with Marbosa to a man. He seems to be sure of his grounds. From what I can learn this proposed new ruler is the only living descendant of the royal house of Bharbazonia which was thought to have been exterminated by the Turks. Oloff Gregory is only a soldier and your house, as you know, is not royal. Many influential persons in the kingdom believe that this Novgorod should be restored to power. Had you not been born he would have come back to his throne without this revolution which is threatened."
"Strange," said the Prince, thoughtfully, "my father never knew of the existence of this man."
"All the old men of the country seem to know it," said Nick.
"He seemed to think that Bharbazonia would be without a king if I did not continue," as if thinking aloud.
"Dhalmatia knows," said Nick positively. He did not notice the troubled frown on the Prince's face; neither did he guess, as I did, the feelings of distrust he was stirring up. Here was an added burden to carry; the throne by right of heredity belonged to another. The Red Fox, fearful for his son's peace of mind, had kept this important piece of information to himself.
"We just left him," said Nick.
"Who, father?"
"Yes. For the first time in his life he visited Framkor Castle and, almost on his knees, begged the General to tell him what we had done with you. I never saw a man so moved. He actually wept."
"Poor father."
"He was well-nigh distracted. His visit was the first intimation the General had that Marbosa had carried out his intention. I imagined that Dr. Wharton and you had ridden home to Dhalmatia after you became separated from us at the hunt, and rode home after you. I arrived there just as the Red Fox came to the door. He became like a crazy man when we told him we could not help him. I had to forcibly restrain him to prevent him from doing the General harm. He seemed very much afraid of me. When he left, alternately pleading with us and cursing at us, we set out for the lodge, knowing you must be here."
"What will father do? Will he not think of the lodge also?"
"No; he fancies the Order has stolen you. He is more likely to go first to its headquarters at the Turk's Head Inn. He is in touch with the underground and said he had been expecting this."
"He did. He refused to permit me to hunt yesterday. Begged me not to go, when I would not submit. How I wish he had been more frank and told me why. But he was ever afraid of frightening me."
Yesterday? The Prince referred to the hunt as if it were long past. Surely he meant to say "to-day." I looked at my watch. The hands pointed to ten minutes of four. It would soon be growing daylight and the coronation was now only one day distant. The Prince was right; it was Wednesday, December 30. The New Year fell on Friday. There was no time to be lost.
"If the General's arguments with Marbosa prevail, we may take you back with us," said Nick. "In that case you will not object to spreading the rumour that you were lost in the Forest of Zin all night. But I have little hope." He shook his head doubtfully as he listened to the high voices of the two elders deep in their discussion.
"Can nothing be done?" suggested the Prince.
"There will be the devil to pay in Nischon to-day. Your father will inform the King and his friends. The entire Alliance party will arm themselves and take the road. There will be bloodshed and civil war."
"That disaster may be prevented," said the Prince.
"How?"
"If I should escape."
Nick's eager expression of interest altered itself into a smile. He detected a hint in the Prince's words. I alone caught the meaning.
"Believe me, Your Highness, I can do nothing. I admit that I dislike this method of fighting, but I cannot be traitor to my comrades. As an illustrious patriot once said, 'We must hang together now, or we shall hang separately later.' In fact, sir, if I should see you making off, I would feel it my duty to stop you though it cost me my life."
"I admire your loyalty," said the Prince. "How does my sister bear up under this trial?"
"I have not seen her," Nick replied. "But I shall take the liberty of calling upon her when I return and assure her of your safety."
"Do so. I wish you would."
I found myself smiling at the difficulties which would prevent Nick from keeping his word. Then I heard my name mentioned.
"What have they done with Dale? I don't see him anywhere."
"They may have killed him," said the Prince, smiling into my eyes over Nick's shoulder. "I last saw him following me through the trees. He saw your friends carry me off, for I heard him shout. But they did not bring him in with me. I infer that he is either dead or lost out there in the jungle."
"Great heavens!" he exclaimed. "I must find out about this. They would not harm him, I know. He is only lost. I must make up a party to find him."
He moved away toward the group.
"Good night," the Prince called after him. "If they ask for me say that I have retired."
While Nick hurried to the General to tell him of my supposed plight, Solonika, leisurely and boldly, came up the stairway to my side. She trailed her hand idly along the railing as she mounted the steps, but I knew that she was watching for some sign of disapproval from the company. They heeded her not and in a moment she stood beside me and placed her hand trustingly in mine.
The time for action had arrived. Neither she nor I spoke a word until we had ascended the two flights of steps and come to the tower on the roof. The first blush of the new day was showing itself behind the trees of the Forest of Zin. The early morning birds were still silent in their nests. It was dark enough for our purpose.
"Can you do it?" I asked as I crept into the branches and helped her up. It was a dizzy height over the sloping roof to the ground and I knew that few girls would dare attempt such a perilous climb.
It seemed easy for Solonika. Unhampered by skirts, she moved quickly and silently. No matter how rapidly I descended, she was always close behind urging me forward. Once on the ground, I lifted her tenderly out of the branches because I wished to avoid the noise she might make jumping without knowing the distance and—well, because.
The never-ceasing murmur of voices in the lodge room told us that the Prince had not been missed. We ran swiftly over the grass and had gained the protection of the wall on our way to the little gate, when the door of the lodge opened, sending a broad stream of light down the pathway. By that cruel fate which runs through the lives of all of us when Mother Nature uses even love to encompass our destruction, we were in danger of losing our new-found freedom before it was fairly won.
Nicholas, bent on rescuing me from the forest, rushed out of the open door, followed by a number of Marbosa's men. By that time he must have learned from the lone horseman of the blow I had received and the subsequent fall from my horse. As far as his knowledge went, I was lying dead in the forest; or, if the blow had not killed me, I was wandering about dazed and bleeding, lost. Although I appreciated his kindly motive, I would have loved him none the less if he had delayed one moment longer.
We crouched against the wall fearing to move. While the men, laughing and talking, rolled around the corner of the lodge in the direction of the stables, Nicholas stood in the light on the steps, looking so steadily at me that I thought he must see. But his eyes were not yet used to the gloom and he was turning something over in his mind. He was aroused from his deliberations by the bang of the door as it was shut behind him, the iron bars rattling into place. Following his friends he, too, disappeared around the lodge corner.
"Quick," I whispered to Solonika, "now is our chance. The little portal is unlocked."
We slipped quickly through and came face to face with another but far more agreeable surprise than the last. Before us, tied to a ring in the wall, were the two horses Nick and the General had ridden. With a body of men ranging the woods in friendly search, I realized that our escape on foot in that direction was difficult, if not impossible, but here was an easy way open to our hand. I suppose Solonika to this day thinks I planned it. She took our good fortune as a matter of course and was soon in the saddle. I leaped on the back of the General's big roan and we were off.
For the first few rods we walked our horses over the leaves. Nick and his band would naturally take an eastward course, back into the heart of the forest toward the boar-hunting grounds. We therefore turned toward the west and placed the lodge between us and the main entrance to prevent possible discovery when he issued from the gate. I wondered if he would notice the disappearance of the horses, but concluded that, if he did, he would imagine a groom had stabled them. At all events, when he did come forth, he did not stop, for we heard his party noisily gallop away into the woods.
"One fortunate thing; there will be fewer men to pursue us when they discover my escape," whispered Solonika.
"Ride," I commanded curtly, "we will talk later."
If she was surprised at my manner, she showed it by driving the spurs into her horse's flanks, which put her in the lead. It was getting light enough now for us to see the road, if the half-outlined path we were following could be termed a road. Solonika never hesitated; she seemed to know the forest well, for she found a sort of bridlepath between the trees and kept to it unerringly; whereas, had I been left to myself, I must have missed the way frequently.
For an hour we rode steadily without speaking, although I would have given much to have heard her voice again. But, when the sun came up, driving away, as I fondly imagined, plots and fear of sudden death, I could no longer resist the temptation. I knew that we were not out of danger by any means, for the horses were plainly tired, having covered the journey once that evening. Now I understood why Nick deliberated upon the steps. He was making up his mind not to use his own horse, but to take a fresh mount from the Duke's stable. When we emerged at last from the forest, and found ourselves in a pleasant country road, lined at intervals with farmers' houses, I signalled to Solonika and drew down to a walk.
"How far to Dhalmatia?" I panted.
"Thirty miles."
Thirty miles on tired horses! I was aghast. Our only hope now was that our escape had not been discovered. I recalled that it had taken only three hours to ride to the hunting grounds, but Solonika explained that I had walked sixteen miles in the night. If my calculation was correct the poor beasts we rode would have to cover some eighty miles from Framkor to the lodge and back.
"And furthermore," she added, "if your friend Nicholas takes the back track in search of you, he will come out on the Framkor lawns and we may meet him on the road ahead."
"He will have to pass Dhalmatia to do that," I said.
"Well, he promised to assure my sister of my safety."
She threw back her head and laughed, while I forgot my weariness, my aching head, my empty stomach, and laughed with her for the pure joy of laughing. To rest our horses we dismounted, walking hand in hand down the middle of the dusty road like two school children coming from school. We stopped occasionally at farmhouses where Solonika begged milk and bread for me, saying, as she fed me with her own hands, that the good things of this world were not equally divided, since she had had too much to eat and I too little.
I told her of America, my own United States, and described it to her as a land where there were no kings or queens but where every man was a king and every woman a queen. My description was so glowing that she promised to visit the States, after she was crowned and grew tired of being always a man. One day, she said, she would run away incognito, put on her loved woman's finery, which she could not forsake altogether, and send me her card from her hotel. Would I have forgotten her by that time? Would I be pleased to see her?
Ah, would I indeed? As well ask an aquatic fowl if he can navigate in water. How could I ever forget her? She would always be in my thoughts waking or sleeping until "the leaves of the Judgment book unfold." She was pretty, witty and full of airy fancies; a witch of the road, she interested me with her graceful charm. How was I to know that she exerted herself and talked so much in order to keep me from remembering how tired and ill I was? Twice, she said afterward, I would have fallen had she not held me up in her strong young arms.
But all dreams come to an end, and our awakening was rude enough. The General's roan, which I was leading with the bridle rein tucked under my elbow, was the first to give the alarm. He stopped deliberately and looked behind with a friendly whinny, nearly dragging me over backward. In plain view over the rise of a hill our pursuers came thundering along, not a mile in the rear. The tread of their horses shook the earth. Had we not been so interested in our conversation, we would have heard them long ago.
"Solonika!" I shouted, but she was already in the saddle, waiting as usual for me.
"There are only twenty of them," she said. "Your friend Nicholas is not among them."
"Can you make out the General?"
"No, he is not there. Duke Marbosa is leading."
Only twenty; small comfort in that, for, if our horses could not stand the strain, unarmed as we were, five would have been too many. But the long rest seemed to have done them a world of good. Both were carrying lighter weights than they were accustomed to, and for the next five miles we increased our lead considerably. It was only momentarily. The tide slowly turned against us and yard by yard the Duke's men gained, until it seemed we must fall into their hands almost in sight of home.
Peasants stopped their carts as we galloped past and, after a hasty glance at the cavalcade blackening the road behind, drove quickly into the neighbouring fields, regardless of ditches to avoid the trampling hoofs.
I reeled in the saddle twice for some unknown reason, but, ride as we would, we could not hold our lead. My poor old roan was dripping with blood where I drove the spurs into his heaving sides, and his face was white with the foam that dripped from his mouth.
Solonika kept ever close to my side, reporting the progress of the enemy and calling out words of encouragement to me and my wavering animal when her own beast was staggering as well.
"Ride! ride!" she shouted, her voice drowned by the noise behind. "They can never catch us. We are almost home. Do not lose courage, Dale. Oh, my brave Dale, do not give up."
Once, when I thought that human strength could stand no more, I looked around me. Our pursuers were not a hundred yards behind. Their angry voices came plainly to our ears, ordering us to stop. The Duke of Marbosa, still far in the lead, was within three horse lengths of the Prince, eagerly reaching forward to grasp his rein.
"Faster," I cried, turning my stumbling beast in behind so that the Duke would have to pass me before he reached his quarry.
We turned into a road which I recognized as leading to Dhalmatia. The castle and safety were only two miles away. Could we hold out? After the long journey, it seemed such a trivial distance. The Duke's horse commenced to lap mine. I could see the red eye, the straining neck, the foam-flecked mouth. I must soon throw my poor animal across his path and prepare for the terrible shock of collision, if I would save the Prince.
"Look! Oh, look!" It was a shout from Solonika.
I looked ahead, and there, drawn up in our pathway, completely blocking the road, was another body of horsemen, more numerous than the pursuing host. Hope fled out of my finger tips, but by a supreme effort I kept my seat.
"We are lost!" I cried in despair. These could be none other than Nick's men and he would have no mercy.
"On! on!" cried the brave girl. "Do not give up!"
I could see the Duke's horse no longer out of the corner of my eye. For some unaccountable reason he was slackening his pace. What need to ride so hard when his men headed us? What hope was there in riding on?
"Ride! ride!" still rang in my ears. Solonika had not given up. Yes, my good girl, I would ride! But to what purpose? Do not give up! Aye, that was the spirit. But oh, how bitter was this defeat. Blind, splitting headache, but the deadly ache at the heart was worse.
In sight of home, and yet to fail! God, what suffering! What agony of soul! Ride! Yes, I would ride into the very mouth of Hell. God pity the poor brute and the worse brute of a rider who stood in my path. If their bullets did not find my heart, or the heart of the faithful old roan, I would strike that mass, that solid mass of men and animals ahead.
Ride! Aye, Solonika, I was riding like a madman, not thinking or seeing clearly. Oh, if only I had brought my automatic Colt's revolver along, some of them would go with me before I was down in the dust beneath their feet. As it was, only one would remember the impact as long as he lived, if he did live afterward.
"Stop," I called to her, feeling dimly that there was no need for her to die among kicking, struggling hoofs.
"Ride!" was all I heard as answer.
She was still beside me. She was not slackening her pace. Our pursuers seemed far away and the solid phalanx in front deadly near. They shouted to us. What were they trying to say? It sounded like a cheer. But why should they not cheer? Had they not trapped us within sight of safety. Oh, for five minutes more. Had they been only five minutes later we would have gained the hedge that surrounded the Red Fox's estate and been able to beat them to the castle.
It was all a horrible dream. Yes, it must be that. Else why did it seem to me that the ranks in front of us wavered as if to let us through. Cowards! They dare not face a naked horse and an empty-handed rider. I held my breath for the shock, but it did not come. Could I be mistaken? The ranks in front did give way. We were passing between them. Not a hand was stretched out to detain us. That was surely a cheer. A cheer of conquerors!
Then came the sound of musketry. Oh, my head; my poor head! It was blinding me with its aching. But I was not hit. No! no! they were trying to save me alive for future torture, these Bharbazonians. But my horse was done. Surely they had riddled him with bullets. He wavered under me. His noble head went suddenly down between his forelegs. He had stopped and all my efforts to pull him to his feet were vain. I felt myself slipping downward as if in a dream. I did not feel that I struck the hard earth. I did not know that I was rolling in the dust.
"Ride! ride! we will run through them!" I dimly heard myself shout. Was that my voice, or was another soul crying like a lost, blind thing in Hell?
"Father, dear darling old father," it seemed to be saying, "is it you? Yes, I knew it must be you."
Then the noise of battle ceased and I drifted down into the blackness of the pit and suffered the pain of it.
CHAPTER XVII
BEFORE THE STORM
Farewell! God knows when we shall meet again.
I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins,
That almost freezes up the heat of life.
—Shakespeare: Romeo and Juliet.
By degrees I became conscious that friendly hands were lifting me into the saddle and holding me there while the journey continued. Even though I suffered a physical collapse on account of weakness, my brain refused to die and I knew what was passing. Out of the confusion of battle and the thud of horses' feet I was aware that somehow Marbosa's men had been put to flight and that I was on my way to Dhalmatia.
How this miracle had been wrought I knew not, neither did I care. It was pleasant to know that I was in the hands of the Red Fox's men and that Solonika had slipped from Marbosa's outstretched hands. When at last I got a grip on myself, I found that I was in the precious little summer-house and that Solonika, safe and uninjured, was on her knees beside me, watching me. Oh, the anxiety in her face, and the happy smile she gave me when I opened my eyes and reached out my hand.
"You are better," she said, gripping me hard.
The Red Fox, himself, stood over us. He was dividing his attention between giving me a drink from the brandy bottle he held, and taking one himself. The nervous old man was also sadly in need of a stimulant. Tears of joy were running down his cheeks.
During our ride home, Solonika had evidently told him of her capture by the Duke of Marbosa and our escape. He was profuse in his thanks to me. But my eyes were for Solonika and I paid little heed to what he said.
"Solonika, Solonika, you are safe," I repeated, as if it were too good to be true. Knowing her to be safe, I threw caution to the winds.
If the look of intimate understanding that passed between us was not sufficient to arouse his suspicion, the manner in which I addressed the Prince left no room for doubt. The Duke lost his graciousness, and spoke in tones of icy coldness. Thus easily does gratitude take wing.
"He knows?" he demanded, ever mindful in spite of everything that she was in the dress of the Prince.
"Hush," said Solonika softly, laying a restraining finger upon her lips, and indicating with a sweep of her hand the group of retainers at the door. They appeared to be watching the road, but she knew they were drinking in every word of the conversation. The Duke waved them aside and shut the door. When he again faced me I saw that the look of rage had changed to cunning. In my mental vision as I watched him an old woman fell with a shriek from the top of the battlements and lay mangled on the rocks below, silent for ever.
"Yes, he knows," admitted Solonika. "He has known for a long time, but he has kept the secret. He is one of us now, father. I swear that you have nothing to fear from him."
"Nothing to fear from Palmora's guest and that mysterious Fremsted's friend? Daughter, have you gone mad?"
"No, father, I have not gone mad," she replied. "I know Dale Wharton. After what he did for the House of Dhalmatia to-day you should know him too. Think, for a moment, how many opportunities he has had to play us false if he so intended. Think, father, how easily he could have betrayed my sex among all those drunken nobles in Marbosa's lodge. How they would have gloried in it. But did he do it? No; instead he sent me his message of escape with this ring."
As she pointed to it she remembered that she had failed to return it. It fitted the third finger of her left hand perfectly. She tugged to take it off, but I restrained her.
"Keep it to remember me by," I said feebly. "After the coronation I expect to leave Bharbazonia for ever."
On the third finger of her right hand was the only other ring she wore that day. It was in reality three rings welded together on the inside of the finger. Each ring contained four rubies, four diamonds, and four sapphires. She slipped this circlet off and placed it gravely upon my little finger.
"It lacks only the stars to be the flag of your country," she said. "Think of me and our ride from the forest of Zin whenever you look at it. And I will think of you."
In the meanwhile the Duke walked to and fro with his hands clenched upon his breast, in great agitation. If one considers the fact that this old man had been consumed with one idea for twenty years until it had a stronger hold upon his affections than even his only child could ever claim, one can understand his struggle. He must have felt that his little world was tumbling about his ears. But there could be no doubt about my loyalty. I had proved that unmistakably. Only one day remained and then he would see his child upon the throne of his brother. How long had he waited for that happy day! Call it madness if you will. All men are somewhat mad who harp for years upon one string. He was forced to trust me, and he finally accepted the inevitable.
"Again I thank you for what you have done," he brought himself to say, almost graciously. "In the years to come, you will always keep the secret?"
"After to-morrow, more than ever," I said. And he was satisfied.
"Father," interrupted Solonika with sudden feeling, "who is the Grand Duke of Novgorod?"
The old man straightened as if he had received an unexpected blow from which he needed time to recover. He smiled cunningly at his daughter to conceal his lack of pleasure.
"The Grand Duke of Novgorod?" he echoed, thinking hard. "Who spoke of him?"
"Ah," said she, "then there is a royal house in Bharbazonia. Nicholas Fremsted was right."
"Fremsted, the American?"
"He is not an American. I have done as you wished. I made him speak in the language. I think he is Bharbazonian."
"As I suspected," murmured the Duke. He resumed his walk thoughtfully, stopping now and then to exclaim: "Ah, I see! I see! That would explain it."
But what he saw, or what had been explained, he kept to himself, and came out of his reverie only when Solonika repeated her former question.
"Oh," said he, "Novgorod? 'Way back in the fifteenth century there was such a royal house in Bharbazonia. But it has been long since extinct."
"But it is said one of them still lives. The nobles have a plot to place him upon the throne."
"I know what they hope to do, my daughter. But they will not rob me of my own. There is no such man alive. I have sent my envoys all over the world for him, but they cannot find him."
I had the feeling that it would not have been well for the unlucky heir if the Red Fox had found him, but I may have wronged the old zealot.
"You are speaking the truth, father?" She gripped my hand unconsciously, and watched him almost breathlessly as he replied:
"Yes, yes, daughter. As far as I am able to learn it is the truth."
"It is bad enough, this deception," she said, "but I do not wish to rob another of his rights."
"Let me suggest again, Solonika," he replied, "that you leave matters of state entirely in my hands. You are too soft-hearted. When the House of Dhalmatia rules in Bharbazonia you will find yourself surrounded by more serious complications. Always remember you have a father who loves you and stands ready to lend his aid."
"I must be going now, before my friends return to find me out," I said, feeling my desire for sleep overcoming me.
As he realized that I must carry his secret back into the presence of General Palmora, the Duke renewed his suspicions.
"A word before you go, sir," he said. "I am willing to accept you at my daughter's valuation—I can do no less—and I want to thank you for what you have done. You must now share for life the burden which we have borne so long alone. I shall feel that I can trust you with more assurance if you will swear upon this cross to remember your promise."
It was not a Greek cross that he held before my eyes.
"I have given my word to Her Highness," I said, rising, "but, if it would give you greater peace of mind, I will swear."
"Swear," he repeated solemnly.
And I did so.
"Thank you," he said. "Now I shall give you safe escort to the gates of Framkor Castle."
I found, when I arose, that I could walk quite well, much to my surprise. Solonika insisted that I stay for luncheon, it being near the noon hour, but I held to my determination. I felt sure that neither the General nor Nick yet knew of the part I played in the rescue and they could not know until Marbosa returned to the lodge. In order that the presence in his stable of the horses we had stolen might not betray me, I asked the Duke if he would keep them hidden until after I had left the country. When the old man caught the drift of my thoughts his eyes twinkled with merriment and he readily consented.
He offered to send his men with me for safety, but I refused for fear I might be seen on the road. It was only a short walk across the fields, and, much against Solonika's earnest protestations, I set out on foot alone. Her father forbade her to ride even to the gates with me. He had had his lesson and would not permit her again out of his sight.
"Good-bye, my proven friend," was all she said as I held her hand long at parting. Parting! aye, this we both knew was our final parting. I would see her again as she rode through the streets of Nischon, but never again, perhaps, would I speak with her, or hold her hand as I did at this moment. The palace of the King would swallow her up on the morrow.
"Good-bye, Your Highness," was all I dared trust myself to utter. But I know she was reading my inmost thoughts.
"Not 'Your Highness,'" she said, "but always 'Solonika' to you, Dale. I shall visit that America of yours some day."
She came through the hedge in front of the summer-house with me, her hand resting upon my shoulder, and my last view of her was the glimpse I received as I turned at the bend and looked back. There she stood in her little torn riding breeches, covered with dust and dirt. The picture will never fade from my memory while life shall last.
When I arrived at the castle, as I expected, neither the General nor Nick was home. The butler served me with food and I ate with the abandon of a half-starved dog. Hunger appeased, sleep overtook me in my chair.
My dreams were not restful. For a time I fought wild boars, my only weapon being an absurd little toothpick. Fortunately for me the animals appeared much afraid of my little pike and I chased them over the forest of Zin with joyful shouts. But my joy turned to sudden rage when an unseen enemy took me in the rear in its enfolding arms from which there was no escape. It bore me swiftly to the edge of a terrible precipice, tore my clothing from me and hurled me violently into space. I fell down and ever down, my invisible enemy chuckling horribly as if my fall were a jest. But somehow I never reached the bottom and gradually ceased to fall. Instead, I floated away peacefully upon a cushion of down, lying full length upon the restful bosom of the atmosphere in a dreamless sleep, where only Solonika walked. She held a stilling finger to her lips; there was an expression in her eyes that is found only in those of a watchful mother who bids the whole world walk quietly that her cradled babe be not disturbed.
Once I awoke to find it night and I closed my eyes again. But when next I opened them sunlight was streaming into the room and Nick's curly black head was on the pillow beside me. He was watching me intently.
"Happy New Year," he cried quickly with all the pleasure of a schoolboy who "says it first."
I looked and said nothing. I feared that this would be a most unhappy new year for me and that none of the succeeding years would be any happier.
"How do you like the forest of Zin?" he continued gaily.
"'Tis an extensive place," I replied. "Happy New Year to you, Nick."
"Footsore and weary he treads the wild way through," carolled he. "At least you will have something to tell when you get back to America. I spent a devil of a night in the forest looking for you."
"Did you?" I asked, innocently enough. "What did they do with the Prince, those highwaymen?"
"Highwaymen? Humph, do not give yourself any concern about the Prince. I happen to know that he is in safe hands. They will not harm him; only, he will be unavoidably detained and not be able to attend the ceremonies to-day. Do you realize, old pal, that I killed a horse looking for you and all the time you were sitting in the dining room peacefully asleep in your chair. Most inconsiderate of you."
"I'm sorry," I said, but I was not.
"How did you get home?"
I told him I had walked a great part of the way, which was true as far as it went. He said he knew that, from the condition of my shoes and clothes which he took off when he carried me to bed at three in the afternoon. Also, he had found my horse wandering in the woods.
"Where's the General?" I asked. It was evident that Nick had not returned to the lodge and did not know the latest news.
"In his room, I suppose. I heard him come in early last evening. But like you I needed the sleep. So I guess I did not greet him very cordially and he went away."
Even as Nick spoke the General, dressed in his finest green uniform, emblazoned with much gold braid over the shoulders and broad chest, strode into the room, his long sword dragging over the carpet behind him.
"Get up, you boys," he commanded; "there isn't much time. Nick, Nick, I have brought your uniform. It was your father's court dress. I want you to look your best this day of all days."
"Happy New Year," we both shouted, neither ahead of the other.
"Thank you," he returned gravely.
"Then you succeeded? You have made Marbosa relent? There will be a coronation?" cried Nick.
"I did not succeed. But there will be a coronation at Nischon to-day, never fear. But whether it be the Prince of Dhalmatia or—some one else who is made king, I am not certain. The Prince gave Marbosa quite a scare shortly after you left the lodge. He escaped."
"Yes, yes?" I cried, eager to hear the end of the tale.
"Hurrah for the Prince. There is good stuff in that lad," cried Nick. "Tell me all about it."
"There is nothing to tell, except that the rascal made off with my roan that I wanted to ride in the parade to-day—also with your mare."
"What did he want with two horses? Was there any one with him?"
"No one knows. We had arrived at that stage in the discussion when it was necessary to have a word with the Prince as to his policy with the Turkish problem. If he would consent to continue the present cabinet, and keep his father at home, he had a chance of going free."
"You got that far with Marbosa?"
"Yes; we sent for the lad, but could not find him. Some one said he had probably retired. We searched all the bed rooms. The Prince was not in the lodge. It is a great mystery how he escaped. At first the absence of my horse at the gate did not disturb me. I thought your party had taken it in their haste—"
"Not I," said Nick; "they were too tired."
"But when the grooms assured us that you had mounted your friends from the stable and we counted the horses, we knew there was little use searching around the premises. Marbosa was furious, as you may well imagine. He swore that he'd kill the Prince when he overtook him. Marbosa is a man of his word, as we all know. My roan is a good horse, but he is not equal to eighty miles in a day."
"He was caught then?" said Nick.
"Probably," said the General. "At all events I would not be surprised if some one else were made king of Bharbazonia to-day."
"Novgorod?" asked Nick.
"Novgorod," said the General, with a look I did not understand. "Now get dressed, you two, as quickly as possible."
"A pretty stew Marbosa is getting us into," growled Nick, but the General went away without replying. I longed to tell dear old Nick that the Duke had failed in his effort to capture the Prince, but I felt that the time was not yet. Silently I thanked God for our lucky escape from Marbosa's awful temper. It had been more serious than we thought.
When he finally struggled into it, Nick looked every inch a king himself in his father's court dress. It was a Grand Duke's uniform, he told me, of scarlet with green facings. The double-breasted coat reached to the knees and fitted him splendidly, although to my modest American taste there was too much gold braid and "ginger-bread" about it. Close-fitting knee boots with wide fluted tops joined the coat at the knee and almost hid the tight trousers beneath; they had green stripes down the side. A military helmet of green with scarlet and gold trimmings, a lengthy sword that trailed like the General's upon the ground, numerous medals and insignia of ancient orders pinned upon his breast, made Nicholas of Framkor look as if he had come into his own.
My own neat-fitting dress suit and silk hat were very republican compared with Nick's kingly costume, but Nick said it was perfectly correct to wear it to the coronation; that he had often ridden through the streets of Berlin so attired at eleven o'clock in the morning to make a formal call.
"Oh, king," I cried mockingly, "have mercy upon thine humble subject. Deign to cast one kingly, kindly eye upon his plebeian, tear-stained countenance, before thou shalt send him to his deserved doom."
"What ho, varlets," he shouted, catching the spirit of the play, "bind yonder rascal and cast him from the castle wall."
"What," I cried, "hast no pity? Then listen, varlets, while I insult him who once was my dearest friend. Wouldst know what he looks like? Wouldst? He looks to me like one of those paper soldiers I used to shoot spit-balls at in my nursery."
"I do, do I?" shouted Nick. "For that thou diest."
But I refused to die easily, and he chased me all around the room until his long sword got ignominiously between his legs and sent him face downward to the floor. The noise brought the General upon us in a rage.
"Stop that, you—children!" he hurled at us. "Will you never grow up? Come to breakfast."
In the main hall of the castle the General stopped before the great picture of Nick's father in the scarlet uniform. I was struck with the likeness. There were the same large dreamy eyes that could become so terrible when the owner was angry. Except for the snow-white hair and the other usual signs of age, the man in the picture might be standing by my side. Every old person in the kingdom who was acquainted with the elder Fremsted would be sure to recognize Nicholas in that uniform to-day. The General beamed with happiness. He tarried in front of the picture after we entered the dining-room and I heard him say:
"I will do the best I can for you this day, old friend. But I shall also remember my oath."
The sun shone hot and the air was balmy as a spring day when, with Teju Okio at the wheel, we three friends set out for Nischon and the coronation. But, instead of beating high with pleasure at the thought of seeing a bit of barbaric royalty for which I had crossed the ocean, my heart was heavy in my bosom. Although I had no doubt as to who would be crowned king that day, knowing Solonika safe, I dreaded the ordeal she must pass through.
Marbosa would not give up without a struggle and some further attempt might be made in the interest of this mysterious scion of royalty, who permitted his friends to fight his battles for him, while he enjoyed himself elsewhere.
I remembered, too, the sight of Nicholas's face when he spoke of the sacrilege; the witch of Utrepect haunted me and I was afraid—afraid!
CHAPTER XVIII
THE CORONATION
Knights, with long retinue of their squires,
In gaudy liveries march and quaint attires;
One laced the helm, another held the lance,
A third a shining buckler did advance.
The courser paw'd the ground with restless feet,
And snorting, foam'd and champ'd the golden bit.
The smiths and armourers on palfreys ride,
Files in their hands and hammers at their side;
And nails for loosen'd spears and thongs for shields provide.
The yeomen guard the streets in seemly bands;
The clowns come crowding on, with cudgels in their hands.
—Palawan and Arcite.
Nischon was in holiday attire. Hundreds of blue and gold flags were suspended across the streets and every house was draped with bunting. The largest of the flags was fifty feet wide at the top; they were triangular in shape and came to a point so close to the ground that they brushed our faces as we passed swiftly under them.
Every shop was closed; the peasantry, not only of Nischon but also from the surrounding towns and villages, were upon the street dressed in their best gay colours, waiting for the grand parade, hungering for a sight of the Prince and the nobles. The parade was all the populace would see of the ceremonies, for only the nobles of the land, the personal representatives of the kings and queens of Europe, and the foreign attachés of the court of Bharbazonia were to be permitted within the Cathedral.
On the façades of several houses I saw the same emblem of sinister meaning—a red fez with a dagger run through it, draped in black—and beneath, the motto which Nick translated from the dialect, "Down with the Osmanli;" the national hatred for the Turk must protrude itself even when Bharbazonia tried to be happy.
The two ancient fortresses on the opposite hills fired blank charges from their heaviest guns and from every noisy street came the sputtering reply of small arms in the hands of the peasantry. For only the lower classes were permitted to carry firearms that day. They took keen delight in displaying these weapons before the nobles, who found equal pleasure in carrying swords, a privilege denied to peasants.
Although the General took us toward the Palace by the quieter streets, he was greeted with cheers from all sides. The wave of sound followed our flight like a wall of water, ready to topple over, but never quite able to overtake us.
The roadways were full of richly attired nobles on horseback, riding rapidly toward the Palace where the pageant was to start. There were hundreds of victorias and open carriages coming and going. Within were seated beautifully gowned women, some attired in modern Paris gowns and others in Bharbazonian gaudy finery. Our conveyance played sad havoc with the equilibrium of these noble dames when horse after horse caught sight of us and tried to break away from the attending grooms.
The courtly General, forgetful of the use he had made of the machine during the past three weeks, cursed Teju Okio every time such an accident was threatened, but the boy, ever smiling, replied:
"Very dam fine."
Although the General made several attempts to get out, his martial dignity forbade him going on foot and he subsided. Matters were adjusted to his satisfaction when he caught sight of a gay young colonel of his regiment and ordered him to bring two horses as quickly as possible. When they came, the General and Nicholas rode away to the Palace, ordering Teju Okio to take me to the Cathedral where I might procure a position near the great door before the crowd of vehicles blocked the way.
The green grass under the minarets and shining domes of the high church were black with people. They gathered around the car when we took our position before the entrance, feeling the hard tires and caressing the shining paint of the tonneau, making me feel as if I were part of the parade placed there for their amusement.
Hour after hour crept slowly by and I began to regret that I had not accepted the General's offer to ride with him, although I should have felt out of place in the procession and lost the position for the automobile, which, as it afterward transpired, was of value to me and made easy that which might have been otherwise impossible.
I amused myself by idly smoking endless cigarettes and buying cakes and sweets from the street venders. About two o'clock the blare of a powerful band somewhere near the Palace told me that the procession was moving at last. In order to give the common people their full share of the festivities, the pageant wended its way through all the principal streets of the city, beginning with that part which lay on the opposite side of the river.
From our elevated position, half-way up the hill on the Cathedral side, we were able to follow the line of march until it reached the bridge and began the circuit on our side. Shouting, confetti-throwing and detonating fireworks marked the progress of the entourage. The forts high overhead seemed to go mad with joy. It was four o'clock when the head of the procession turned into the street which led to the Cathedral grounds.
First came an army of mounted troops—five thousand in number—with General Palmora riding proudly at their head. This was only the vanguard intended to clear the way around the entrance. As it came on it formed into two solid lines of horsemen from the massive doorway of the Greek Church extending back along the avenue as far as the eye could reach. The soldiers wheeled their horses, the two lines facing each other, and backed their animals into the crowd behind, leaving a wide pathway vacant for the procession. Everything had to move back before them, but the General saw to it personally that the automobile was permitted within the enclosure.
I thus had an unobstructed view of the proceedings. The regimental band again scattered the crowd and took up its position on the plaza before the Cathedral and the King's Own Guard in scarlet uniforms, which distinguished them from the General's fighting men in their green cloth, followed. These red soldiers were about two thousand strong. They lined up in front of the cavalrymen, thus making a double barricade of horses around the entrance and lending their brilliant colour to the entrancing military picture.
Close behind his Guard, riding a quiet black charger covered from head to foot with a black riding cloth emblazoned with gold so that only his pointed ears and flashing eyes were exposed, peeping from small apertures in the head-dress, came old King Gregory. At sight of him the populace shouted with joy and the legion of mounted men flashed their thousand swords in the air held at salute.
For all his eighty-two years and flowing white beard, the King was magnificent. One could readily believe him capable of winning his encounter thirty years before in front of the Turk's Head Inn. He sat his horse firmly and carried his head erect, looking neither to the right nor left. His face was gravely serious. Only when he came opposite the General did he show that he saw or heard. He acknowledged Palmora's military salute, dismounted and walked with great dignity up the Cathedral steps.
Behind him were his Prime Minister and cabinet, followed by the Grand Dukes of the realm and the nobles. Nicholas in his scarlet uniform was among them, but he did not notice me. Beside him rode Marbosa. There was a scowl upon the Duke's face and I knew he had learned that the Prince had not disappointed the people. He looked none the worse for his hard ride. Around him I recognized many of the young nobles who had been with him in the lodge. They were sober now, but the look of determination on their faces brooded ill for the Prince. Oh, if I only knew what they intended to do in the Cathedral!
The foreign attachés and representatives of the European potentates came next. They were headed by a band of long-skirted Cossacks. Riding before them was a stern gentleman in a brilliant Russian uniform whom I took to be Grand Duke Alexoff, the personal representative of the Tzar of all the Russias. Among the crowd of attachés I had no difficulty in picking out the blond head and red uniform of the Englishman, the court dress of the Frenchman and the modest dress suit of the American consul.
As each detachment dismounted before the Cathedral, under the admirable system of the General, their horses were taken to the rear by the soldiers, so that there was no congestion about the entrance.
The women of the court, and the wives and daughters of the nobles and foreign dignitaries, followed in their open carriages, and it was upon these that the populace showered confetti and flowers. At any other time this fine display of magnificent gowns might have interested me, but I was anxious to see Solonika. I chafed under the delay occasioned by the long line of carriages from which the women leisurely disembarked and ascended the steps with many glances behind at their long trains.
As it happened, Solonika brought up the rear of the procession. Surrounded by her father's retainers in such number that even Marbosa's men might hesitate to attack them, she came, mounted on a snow-white, prancing horse, whose pink muzzle and dainty pricked ears pronounced him an Arab. Her waving red hair reflected the departing kiss of the setting sun and her eyes were bright with excitement at the murmur of admiration which the peasantry could not suppress.
Like the King's horse, her magnificent animal was covered with a similar riding cloth. Except for the absence of the red cross and shield, she might have been a Crusader about to set out for the Holy Land, or Sir Lancelot of King Arthur's time. Nothing but the eyes and ears of her steed was visible; and the white cloth was stiff with heavy golden embroidery worked, I thought, by her own hands, during the long years of waiting. Over her shoulders, fastened with a golden buckle under her chin, hung a long flowing white cloak similarly embossed; it melted into the riding cloth and gave the impression that horse and rider had been carved out of one piece of white marble. White satin knee breeches and white buckled shoes and silk stockings completed the most magnificent picture of Solonika my memory treasures.
The Red Fox, in the crimson uniform of a Grand Duke, rode nearest her; but I knew that the smile of satisfaction on his face concealed his apprehension of the outcome of the day and the strain under which he was labouring. For the present there was nothing to fear from Marbosa. The Red Fox's strong retinue was followed by the entire garrison of Castle Novgorod of the province of the North, the other half of the army of Bharbazonia. Governor Hassan led them, and they were fully ten thousand strong, filling up the entire avenue with horses. General Palmora, I know, controlled them and, until he joined with Marbosa, the nobles would be powerless.
The Red Fox had good cause to be uneasy, not so much because of his secret, but because of the sullen attitude of the peasantry. For, while they had greeted King Gregory with rapturous applause and cheered the General and every dignitary in the long line, they were ominously silent as Solonika passed. Some it is true did attempt a greeting, but they were promptly put down by rival cries of "Down with the Osmanli." Duke Marbosa's sympathizers seemed to be everywhere in the crowd. The years he had spent in educating the people to believe in the Red Fox's Turkish tendencies were bearing fruit. It was only too plain that, had not the Prince appeared to-day at the Cathedral, the wily Duke of Marbosa would have easily had his way in proclaiming his favourite, Prince Novgorod.
I did not envy Solonika her reign in Bharbazonia.
As she came in sight of the automobile standing in front of the steps ahead of the line of horsemen, she looked straight at me as I leaned forward in the seat and removed my hat. Although she made no sign, I knew that she saw me and was glad that I was there. Poor little Solonika, you were going to the life you abhorred with a smile on your face. How sweet you looked upon your splendid palfrey, and how I longed to pick you up in these strong arms and bear you far, far away, out of all this meaningless pomp and ceremony! How great a sacrifice you were making I alone of all that crowd knew.
She passed without a further glance in my direction and entered the Cathedral. Was she thus to go out of my life for ever? As she ascended the steps, and lingered for a moment under the gloomy arch of the portal, the sun went down behind the western hill and the dark promise of approaching night fell upon the thousand upturned faces below. I shivered as if I saw an evil omen in the trivial incident. Set, you golden sun over yonder hill, for what cared I? Without the woman I loved, without the companionship of that glorious creature who was to sit upon a throne as far above me as the stars, the world would be for ever dark.
Within the sombre entrance of the Cathedral I saw her again. She was buckling her sword to her side and waiting for her father to come up. Again she looked me full in the face, and I fancied her lips moved and a voice whispered "Good-bye, Dale." But I could not be sure she had spoken and I dared not address her in the midst of her retainers. She would need her undivided attention and all her fine courage to carry her through the coming ordeal.
"Any news of Marbosa?" the Red Fox whispered in my ear.
"None," I answered, "except that he and his men are in the Cathedral. They mean business. Keep your retainers close at hand."
The Cathedral was crowded, and, since the entrance of King Gregory, the entire assemblage was standing. The only vacant space was the wide aisle which led from the single door to the altar. The best positions for sight-seeing were the places lining this aisle. Without exception these were filled with women. The nobles were against the side walls, and the Grand Dukes and foreigners were standing on the right and left of the open spaces before the altar. I was glad to note this disposition of the audience for it left the aisle free to any one who wished to leave the church. The men would have to thrust the women aside before they could reach the door.
A gorgeously attired attendant, with one glance at my plain dress suit, led me to a place among the foreigners and I found myself between the American consul and the French diplomat. After the trying ordeal of walking up the aisle with the eyes of the court ladies upon me came to an end, I was well pleased with my position for I would be within ten feet of Solonika when she was crowned.
I looked around the Cathedral. The interior was entirely of stone; it echoed and re-echoed with the slightest movement of the crowd. There were no nave or side aisles. Overhead, arching domes rested on pillars and sprang anew from them to other pillars in an almost endless succession. The result was row upon row of heavy stone pillars extending both lengthwise and crosswise through the body of the church dividing it up into a giant checker-board. But, up near the altar where I stood, the pillars ceased and the high roof reared itself into a single massive dome. I judged that I was under the tallest of the domes which from the outside I had seen at the rear of the edifice.
Under this dome every sound was intensely magnified and the voices of an invisible male choir thundered and reverberated above my head in the solemn movement of an endless Greek chant; the replies were sung by a surpliced boy choir within the sacred altar. The Cathedral was ablaze with lights which came from groups of long candles along the walls and clustered about the heads of the pillars. The altar was one brilliant flame of fire glistening against solid walls of serried candles placed one against the other, outlining the arches, niches and the high altar itself, until to my mind it looked like a miniature exposition building at night. The air was heavy with the smoke of burning candles and the choking odour of Oriental incense.
Moving about through the body of the church, swinging the incense burners of beaten brass and lending their voices to the chant, were scores of lectors, hypo-deacons, deacons and arch-priests. They were dressed in white and from their raiment had received the name of the "white clergy;" these were the priests who were permitted to marry. Gathered around the altar were the priests, bishops, archbishops and metropolitans. They were attired in black and were called the "black clergy;" they were not permitted to marry. The monks from whom they were chosen were not in evidence, but I supposed it was their voices that were raised in the chant.
High above all, dignified, solemn, majestic, his sable robes wrapped closely about him, his tall mitred hat set firmly upon his gray head, stood the Patriarch, the "pope" of the Bharbazonian church. As I soon had cause to learn, he was equal if not greater in power than the King himself, having not only a spiritual but also a temporal jurisdiction over the people, who paid him an annual tribute in proportion to their incomes. He stood motionless, like a man of stone, within that sacred space known as the "Holy of Holies" where, thanks to our pagan ancestry of phallic worship, no woman may come and live.
"They couldn't do better at the Hippodrome," drawled the unimpressed American consul in my ear, but I pretended not to hear him.
My thoughts were upon this Patriarch with his hard, superstitious face. The Greek Church is not, like the Catholic Church, under one single pope. It has a patriarch in every one of its countries and the moral tone of each division of the church depends upon the education and enlightenment of this leader. What the Greek church was in Russia, Turkey, or the other Balkan states was of no interest to me. This was Bharbazonia. And one of this Patriarch's priests had burned a woman at the stake, unrebuked. I prayed that Solonika might not be discovered, for I felt sure she would suffer the same terrible punishment as befell the witch of Utrepect.
A murmur of women's voices and the sound of rustling skirts, such as one hears in a fashionable church when the bride appears at the foot of the aisle, told me that the Prince was coming. The priests and choir boys, regardless of the ancient chant, broke into a spirited litany, and the Prince, with head erect and eyes fixed upon the High Patriarch, walked slowly up the aisle.
He had thrown aside his cloak and looked slender and weak in contrast with all the strength and power of the kingdom assembled to see him made ruler. How pale his face under the red hair brushed neatly back from his forehead. How like a sacrifice his white garments made him appear. The women hung over the ropes that guarded the aisle, with admiration for the beautiful boy written upon their countenances. The young girls were entranced. To them he no doubt was a little prince out of a story book.
On, on he came until he stood in front of the stone railing facing King Gregory, who had taken up the position of honour at the feet of the Patriarch. The Duke of Dhalmatia followed his son at a respectful distance, and halted behind him when he reached the altar. The King fixed his glance upon his brother, but the Red Fox did not notice him. Dhalmatia was watching the Duke of Marbosa on the right among the crowd of scarlet Grand Dukes. Nicholas was beside Marbosa and, when the Red Fox saw him, I knew by his sudden start that he recognized the Grand Duke of Framkor's son. But whether his knowledge went further and told him where to expect Marbosa's blow, I could not say. The Red Fox cast a look over his shoulder as if to measure the distance to the door where he had left his own men.
Every sound in the vast Cathedral was hushed. The stolid Patriarch had raised his hand for silence. The choir boys were dumb and the invisible monks ceased their dismal chant. The audience stood breathless. Two black-robed metropolitans ascended to a position just below the pope. They faced each other and bent low over the feet of the Patriarch, who stood with one hand raised toward heaven. The black clergy began a chant in Greek and went through a mysterious service during which the candles were put out and lighted again. The Patriarch faced the north, south, east and west. Then the bent metropolitans arose and descended to the side of the Prince. They unbuckled his sword belt and gave the weapon into the keeping of the Red Fox, and solemnly led the Prince past the King, up the steps to kneel at the feet of the Patriarch.
The Prince was within the Holy of Holies! The sacrilege was complete! Up to this time, perhaps, the masquerade had been an amusing play. Now, discovery meant death!
The Patriarch then took an active part in the ceremony. In a strident voice he intoned the leads in the service, the black clergy and the choirs replying; the babel of sounds became deafening; it was apparent that the festival was approaching its climax. With his own hands the "pope" baptized the kneeling Prince with oil and vinegar, and blessed his future reign by touching his head and shoulders with the sacred wand of Moses, taken from its resting-place within the arch in the Holy of Holies. He laid his own black robe upon the shoulders of the kneeling figure in token that the Prince now shared the leadership of the Church with the Patriarch, and lifted a golden crown from the altar to place it upon the Prince's brow, the insignia of his kingship.
All sounds were hushed; the chanting again ceased; the audience stood spell-bound, awaiting the final act which would make Prince Raoul, son of the Grand Duke of Dhalmatia, King of Bharbazonia.
Then, like a bolt from the blue, came the interruption. From somewhere in the Cathedral, I knew not where, a voice, not the voice of any priest, cried:
"Stop!"
I dropped my hand to my side pocket, and felt my fingers close over the handle of my revolver, and looked toward Grand Duke Marbosa. He was standing among the scarlet uniforms, his hand upon his sword hilt, looking with startled attention at the Patriarch. He did not move, and I knew that the interruption had not come from him. The Red Fox, his eyes starting from their sockets, his thin lips moving as if in prayer, his bloodless hands grasping his son's sword, was staring at King Gregory.
Then I realized that it was the old King who had spoken. He was facing the multitude with upraised hand, his red face growing redder under the stress of excitement.
"Teskla, my daughter, come hither," he said.
The strain was too great for the Red Fox's shattered nerves. He unconsciously released his hold upon the Prince's sword, and it fell with a loud clatter to the floor. An audible sigh of broken suspense went wavering through the entire length of the huge Cathedral at this second interruption. The High Priest paused, holding the crown suspended above the Prince's bowed head. The two might have been turned to stone.
"Holy Patriarch," began the King, addressing the altar, "I crave your pardon most humbly for this intrusion. But, before you place the crown upon the Prince Raoul's head, before I cease to be King in Bharbazonia, there is one last act which I wish to perform. I will not long detain you."
While he spoke, Princess Teskla, surprise and dread written upon every lineament of her handsome face, walked haltingly toward the King. He placed one arm affectionately over her shoulder and faced the nobles.
"You men of Bharbazonia, Grand Dukes and nobles assembled," he said, "have not forgotten the ancient law of the Virgin. You are aware that he who salutes one such publicly upon the lips, under the reading of that law defiles her. For such an act there is but one reparation."
"We know," thundered the nobles in chorus.
"Holy Father," continued the King, facing the Patriarch, "will you tell us what that reparation is."
"The offending man must wed the maid if he be a fit mate for her. If not he may choose between exile or death," pronounced the "pope" in chanting tones.
"Such defilement has been thrust upon my daughter," shouted the King so loudly that his voice reached every ear within the vast Cathedral.
The Prince within the altar turned his head slightly, as if to catch the eye of his father. The Duke had been watching, and returned the look as if to say, "Fear not, my child, this has naught to do with us."
"There must be witnesses," droned the Patriarch.
"Speak, Nokolovitch," commanded the King of his Prime Minister.
"I am witness," said the Prime Minister.
"There must be another," said the Church.
"Speak, Palmora," cried the King.
"I am witness," said the General as if the words were being dragged from him. He cast a despairing look at his beloved Nicholas, who stood with bowed head. The scene in the Garden of the Palace came vividly back to us all. How serious are jests when viewed through sober eyes. What a scurvy trick the King was playing upon Nicholas and his daughter in thus publicly disgracing them. The law which he had invoked must have been one of the old forgotten "blue laws" of the country which even the General had not remembered when he searched for some explanation for the King's show of delight in the Garden. But it still seemed in force if the King chose to wield it.
"Another! There must be a third," said the Patriarch.
"I am witness," the King promptly replied.
"Enough! The law is fulfilled," intoned the Church. "Name thou the man!"
"Name thou the man, Teskla," adjured the King.
But the Princess was crying bitterly and wringing her hands. She fell upon her knees at her father's feet.
"I cannot! Oh, my father, I cannot! I cannot!" she wept.
The King shook her roughly by the arm and reiterated his command. Seeing no way out of her dilemma, the Princess brushed away her tears and stood upon her feet. She looked imploringly at Nicholas, who bit his lip and frowned. He could not, or would not, help her and, when she realized that she stood alone, her look of fear returned. Then she turned toward the kneeling Prince behind the altar and seemed to make up her mind. She lacked the courage to tell her father the truth. She determined to travel along the line of least resistance, trusting to the future to come to her aid. Her little white "lie" had assumed Brobdingnagian proportions.
"Speak, I command thee!" called the Patriarch, wearying of the delay.
"Teskla!" warned her father in a voice that made her tremble.
She straightened herself with an effort to her full handsome height and, pointing an accusing finger at the Prince, cried:
"Thou art the man!"
CHAPTER XIX
THE SACRILEGE
I hold it true, whate'er befall,
I feel it when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost,
Than never to have loved at all.
—Tennyson: In Memoriam.
"Thou art the man!"
Could I believe the evidence of my senses? The Princess Teskla was pointing at the Prince!
General Palmora, Nicholas and I knew that the Prince had nothing to do with the affair in the garden. The King's intention was clear. He was only pushing to a happy conclusion his cherished scheme to wed his daughter to the head of the new reigning house, and thus keep the succession in his own family. His daughter had caused him to believe that the Prince was a favoured suitor. That knowledge may have led him to abdicate in favour of his hated brother's son. His plot had been deep laid, and it seemed that, aided by his unscrupulous daughter, it must succeed. But why had she, loving Nicholas as I thought, denied that affection? Was it for fear of her father's wrath? The truth would make a fool of him before all the kingdom. Or did she think that her outraged father, when he learned the truth, would consider Nicholas unfit to mate with a princess and urge his exile or death in blind rage?
I grew weak at the terrible shock and breathed a prayer for the safety of the poor, little, kneeling woman in white at the feet of the Patriarch. What would she do? How make answer to the unjust accusation?
Then the enormity of the situation burst upon me. If she submitted to the law and married the Princess, discovery of her sex by Teskla and death at the hands of the outraged Church were sure. If she dragged her skirts from the detaining grip of the law, and admitted her womanhood to escape this marriage, death sure and swift lurked there. Incited by the Patriarch and the black and white clergy, the mob without the Cathedral and the nobles within would rend her limb from limb.
But could I do nothing to save her? I, too, was a witness; an unseen one it is true, but nevertheless a witness. If I told the truth, would my word be believed against the statements of the King and his Prime Minister? How would I be able to prove that I was present, sitting upon the wall of the Palace garden when the event took place?
If I came forward with my story, Nicholas, I felt sure, would tell the truth. But Nick was my friend, the one man in all the world I loved and would die for. Surely something was due him from me. If he chose to keep silent would I be acting the part of a friend if I forced him to speak?
There was also General Palmora. He had declared himself a witness to the "defilement" of Princess Teskla, under Nick's caress. Now that events had taken such an unexpected turn, would he hold to his position or tell the truth? There might be reasons of state which would influence him to remain silent or even deny my statement. He was pure Bharbazonian, and I could not trust him to act where the interests of his country were involved.
I felt that I stood alone. Clearly, this was neither the time nor the place for me, a foreigner, to interfere in an affair which the nobles would consider did not concern me. There was a way of escape for Solonika. She had but to accept the issue temporarily. If the King demanded an immediate marriage, she could stand upon her right to request a reasonable delay. He could not deny her that. As soon as the coronation ceremony was over, I could easily have her prove that she was not present in Nischon at the time the King and his witnesses would set. Palmora would then be forced to speak, and Nicholas would have time to get out of the jurisdiction. I could best serve Solonika and my friend Nicholas by inaction at this time. The way was not so dark. There was one avenue of escape.
The church was thrown into confusion by the dénouement. Everybody talked at once and no voice was raised to restore order. The women were more wildly excited than the men. Grand Duke Marbosa was whispering to the nobles behind him. Was he, too, preparing to strike? The Prince had been discredited, but, if this proposed alliance of the two houses were effected, the Prince would grow too strong for him.
The General had his hand on Nick's shoulder. He was tugging nervously at his heavy moustache, but was not speaking. Both he and Nick were looking at Princess Teskla who was facing Nick with her arms at her side; only the presence of the people seemed to keep her from running to him for protection. She had done all that love could do for him. The King was as highly pleased at the result of his plan, as he had appeared in the garden when Teskla lied to him. The Red Fox's face was a study. He stood with one arm covering his eyes, as if to shut out the sight of his brother's face, and the other extended to the high altar toward his child.
"My son! my son!" he kept calling, just as he did in his library when he strove to remind her of her rôle of Prince.
But, even before I decided upon my course of action, events were going forward which took the solution out of my hands for ever. I can now see that the situation appeared in a totally different light to Solonika, ignorant as she was of the truth. She must have felt that she was being trapped; that discovery was sure; that there was no solution.
When the full import of Princess Teskla's words came home to her, Solonika crumpled up at the feet of the Patriarch. Her courage left her. She clutched his sandalled ankles in abject terror. She did not seem to notice her father's cry of "My son." I feared that she had given up in despair.
"Courage, Solonika!" I shouted, loud enough for her to hear, knowing that the import of my words would not be understood in the babel around us.
She did hear me. Almost before the cry left my throat she raised her head and looked straight into my eyes. Oh, the suffering and appeal in them. I have never seen and hope never to see again a look like that in eyes of any one I love. I smiled with encouragement and tried to telegraph the hope that was in me. I fancied she understood and I mistook the expression that passed over her face as one of resolve.
Her old courage seemed to return and, with it, full control of herself. She arose and stared down at me in her old dignified, regal manner. She was once more the brave Solonika who had sung "Down among the Dead Men" in Marbosa's lodge. I no longer feared for her, for I thought her able to meet this, the greatest crisis of her life. She came down from the high altar, unrestrained by the motionless Patriarch. I watched her drawing near to Princess Teskla who shrank away in fear.
"I could not help it, Cousin Raoul," cried Teskla, cowering before her.
"Thou art a liar," said Solonika without a look in her direction. She came through the railing, passed her father who tried to clutch her arm, and stood before Nicholas. Could it be possible that she knew? That she intended to force Nicholas to speak in her defence? If so, I could help her with my pleading. I crossed the intervening space and joined them.
"Nicholas Fremsted," she was saying solemnly in English. I was appalled at her colourless voice. It was as if she believed she had been sentenced to death. "You told me once you loved my sister Solonika. I, her brother, ask now that you do something for me. It is as though Solonika asked it of you, herself. Will you do it?"
"He will, Your Highness. I will answer for him," I said.
"Then, listen. At this moment your automobile stands at the Cathedral door. Go, order your man to start his engines and be ready to move at a moment's notice."
"Go, Nick, go!" I urged.
Feeling perhaps that he was making some slight amends for the unintentional injury, Nick went swiftly down the aisle to do as he was bid.
"Dale, oh, my faithful friend. There is something you can do. Go to the door of the Cathedral—the only door—and place the key upon the outside—and wait."
Although it was not clear what she intended doing, this was no time to argue. Without a word I flew to obey her orders. Because of her use of English not a word of her intention filtered through to the court. Only her father who was nearest understood her words, and gathered some inkling of the meaning. As I hurried down the aisle, unimpeded, I heard him cry in an agony of suspense:
"My daughter—my son—my only child—what would you do? Speak, speak to me I implore you. Tell me what is your purpose."
"It is the end," she replied without spirit. "The end! The end! We are trapped and undone. We cannot go on. We are lost—lost—lost! As God is my Judge, I will not live this horrible lie another moment. I did not foresee this mockery. Oh, God, my heart is breaking!"
"Aye," he replied, "but the sacrilege! Think of the sacrilege! You cannot go back. The only safe way is to go on! There must be a way out of this difficulty. There must be; trust me, your father; I will find it for you."
"Let them kill me if they wish. I know, now, what the life means which you have doomed me to. If there is a God and He is Love He will take care of me."
"But, think, child. They will kill you. They will torture me, your father, who has always loved you. Surely you do not purpose to tell! Oh, my God, do not do that! Do not do that!"
Both the King and the Patriarch, impatient of the delay, put an end to the pleadings of the Duke of Dhalmatia.
"Make answer to this charge. Confess that you are guilty," they exclaimed, and the nobles took up the cry.
Solonika bent over and lifted her sword from the stone floor. Drawing herself up to her full height, she made a sign that she would speak. Silence fell upon the assemblage and every eye was fixed upon her face as they waited for the words to come.
But Solonika did not utter a sound. With her upraised hand she stood listening. Listening for what?
From my position beside the door I had an unobstructed view of her. The Red Fox's retainers were all about me. They were absorbed in watching the proceedings, and did not notice me when I placed the huge brass key on the outside. Neither did they seem to hear the sharp report of the explosions as Teju Okio, acting under his master's orders, turned the sixty horsepower engines over with a loud whir. The sound rang through the Cathedral in strange contrast with the mediæval scene. It was the voice of the twentieth century making itself heard where for unnumbered ages only the chants of the hooded priests had echoed. It sounded like sweet music to my ears. It seemed to be what Solonika had been waiting for.
"Gentlemen of Bharbazonia," she began, in the court language, "with such an array of formidable witnesses against me it were useless to deny that I am the man who affronted this woman. It would avail me nothing to say that she does not tell the truth; but that which I now tell you will avail, although it bring with it surer retribution."
"No, no!" cried the Red Fox, distraught with fear, "she—he, my child is not himself. His excitement has overtopped his mind. You must not heed his raving. He will marry the Princess. I swear it to you, nobles of Bharbazonia. All will yet be well. But do not let him speak that which is not true. Go on with the ceremony. I would yet see him king before I die—I, his poor father, who have suffered so much against the glories of this day."
"Cease your wild words and permit us to hear this boy's reply," thundered the Patriarch from his high altar. The Church spoke and all men trembled at the sound.
"I will be brief, O, Most High Patriarch," continued Solonika, without a glance in her father's direction. "Your ancient law declares that a man must wed the maid he salutes with a kiss before witnesses. I have not broken that law. For I am not a man, but a woman!"
"It is not true!" cried Dhalmatia. "I, her father, ought to know!"
"It is true!" cried Solonika.
"Thou art a woman?" thundered the Patriarch above.
"A woman?" exclaimed King Gregory.
"I swear it," replied Solonika, but, even as she spoke, she turned and sped swiftly down the wide aisle toward the door, where I waited. Before the company had fully grasped the meaning of her words, the great voice of the Patriarch thundered and rose above the wild babel of sounds with the one clear word of dread significance:
"SACRILEGE!"
I saw the King with a scream of agony fall forward on his face, while the Red Fox, beaten and undone, dropped to his knees upon the railing in an attitude of prayer. Fortunately for Solonika the armed men, who might have stopped her, were behind the women. No one appeared in the aisle. The court ladies were overcome with terror. On, on, she came running swiftly and lightly toward the door which I prepared to shut behind her as she passed.
One of the white clergy stood beside me with a brass incense burner in his hand. He dropped the burner to the floor as the Patriarch's cry came to him, and prepared to stop the fleeing Prince. Just as Solonika was within his grasp I struck him a heavy blow and felled him in the aisle. She dashed by and I sprang through the great doorway with her. Both put our shoulders to the heavy oaken portal and swung it shut with a loud bang. I grasped the ponderous key in both hands and the rusty bolt found its iron socket. Even through the door I could hear the bellow of the high priest.
"Sacrilege! A woman hath defiled the altar."
We ran down the steps hand in hand and found Nick, all unconscious of the tragedy which had been enacted within, standing beside the tonneau door, waiting. The black cloth of the Church which hung from Solonika's shoulders served to disguise her in the growing dusk from the soldiers who were still drawn up in front of the Cathedral, ready to conduct the new-made King to the Palace. The engine was playing havoc with their equilibrium.
"Is the ceremony over?" asked Nick, entirely ignorant of the true situation.
"It is over now, thank God," Solonika replied, but her real meaning escaped him.
The noise in the Cathedral became pronounced. Added to the bull-like tones of the Patriarch were women's voices high and shrill, calling upon the empty air to "Stop her."
"What's the trouble in there?" asked Nick. The cavalrymen nearest the steps looked anxiously toward the building.
"The audience is preparing to come out, Nick," I said as quietly as I could. "Please get under way as rapidly as possible."
I helped the trembling girl into the machine and leaped in beside her. Nick took his place beside Teju Okio.
"Let her go," he commanded.
"Very dam fine," returned the boy, and we started like the wind.
We passed through the wide pathway held open by the wall of mounted men and were well up the hill before we heard a sound from the Cathedral. From our elevated position we had a dim view of the plaza in front of the church, and saw that the excitement had been communicated to the street. All became confusion among the soldiers and the waiting crowd. They ran about and looked to me like little black ants that have been disturbed in their hill by the careless foot of man. As long as we remained in sight no one emerged from the Cathedral to take command and order a pursuit. Evidently the door was holding well. But I did not take much comfort at our easy escape for I knew that before morning the entire army and every man, woman and child in Bharbazonia would be seeking Solonika.