- -
- 100%
- +
As Trusia courtesied low to Stovik, Sobieska arose, a slight frown marking a thin line between his brows, to bow sadly in the direction of the body on the lounge. His back was deliberately turned upon the Parisian with such studied insolence of action that the Duchess could not permit it to pass unrebuked.
"The King!" she said.
There followed – silence. Stovik and the courier dropped to their knees with bowed heads. Sobieska, gloom encircled, stood with bent head and quivering lips. His sombre eyes were fixed upon the inanimate Cockney as though to this modern he would recall the miracle of Lazarus. Then out of the well of his woe, came his voice, deep, and grief-laden. In the simplicity of life's greatest emotion, he pointed toward the couch.
"The King?" he questioned, looking straight into Trusia's eyes now. "The King? Does not your blood – your common heritage – tell you that the King is dead? God rest His Majesty."
She turned from one to the other in total bewilderment; finally, as though trusting none other, she came to Carter for enlightenment. He had comprehended in a glance.
"What do they mean?" she begged plaintively. "My poor head is awhirl in all this gloom."
"Carrick is King," he answered. A single tear, a perfect pearl of pity, hung abashed upon her cheek.
"It is so," assented the Minister, as she awaited his confirmation. Gradually her grief dried in the realization of the awful deception which had been practiced by some one on her country. The flame of her burning rage shot suddenly into sight.
"What treason brought him here, then?" she asked haughtily, pointing indignantly at Stovik.
The latter smiled deprecatingly, as Sobieska answered, "Part of a Russian plot, Highness, of which, so far as we can ascertain, this gentleman has been the innocent victim. It was by such a plan they sought to lure all the patriots within the boundaries of our land, then to draw their net about us. I pray God that we still have time."
"Who was it?" she inquired with lips white and drawn, and brow contracted.
"Josef."
All eyes were turned upon the accused, whose inscrutable countenance underwent no shadow of a change, no fear of death was there, no regret for infamy. If the expression had altered at all, it was to display a shade more of triumphant insolence. The Duchess turned sternly to him.
"Is this true?" she asked, loathing the necessity of speaking to him. Yet there was no passion in her voice; the situation was too grave for that.
He smiled his hateful, unchanging smile, as he bowed a taunting assent.
"You shall die," she said, in the same level tones. She was not cruel, had not lost an iota of her womanliness. The crushing magnitude of his falsity to her country made her forget that she was aught else than the regent for these people and that here was a matter of primitive, vindictive justice which must be settled by her hand.
"When?" Josef's tone ridiculed the sentence imposed.
"At dawn," she answered, her scornful glance sweeping his colorless face.
For the first time, his aspect was nearly that of a man. He held his head erect, the cringe disappeared from his back, the obsequiousness from his manner. Then while an eye might wink, he took on the appearance of a snake with high-held head – about to strike.
"In about one hour," he boldly asserted, "the troops of His Imperial Majesty will have surrounded, yes, and entered this place. If harm comes to me, you all shall swing. Schallberg, Lore, Bagos are already ours. What," he continued with a comprehensive sneer, including all present, "did you think that you had conquered the Bear so handily?"
They felt it was the unwelcome truth he was speaking. All day the distant booming of guns had sounded in their ears as the "death bells" ring for the superstitious gude-wife.
"All last night as you laughed and danced," Josef continued, "a Russian army, unchallenged, passed your gates, and could have taken you all. Knowing that it had you safe when needed, it pushed on to the bigger game, the capture of your capital. At daybreak it began battering down those walls you thought you held so firmly."
The wrath, gathering in a purple cloud on Sutphen's brow, now broke into a storm. "He must have known," he said pointing at the pseudo-king. "He appointed you officer of the day," and the outraged Colonel wheeled about on Josef, who scarcely deigned a smile of commiseration for such ignorance.
"He knew nothing," he finally volunteered. "I brought him here so that if Russia won, I could save my dupe. If Krovitch won, a true revelation of his real status would make him my debtor for life."
"Why?" Sobieska asked amid a stillness freighted with the prophecy of a startling revelation. All held their breath as Josef, turning slowly from countenance to countenance, read the disdain which he inspired.
"He has kissed you," he said pointing a bony finger at Trusia, "and would have married you." Her face crimsoned at the memory of that betrothal salute, formal and public as it had been. Waiting until the scene had time to rise before her eyes, he continued that by no chance should the import of his words be missed, "He is my son." The pride of the parent snake was in the eyes that he turned upon the Parisian, who turned his head away, ashamed of such regard.
"May God forgive us both," he whispered, "but I disown you."
For the first time a hint of color appeared in the parchment hue of Josef's cheek and for the first time a human note sounded in his voice. "My son," he began with a slight outstretching of his hands, "my son, I wanted you to be wealthy, great, not the spawn of a hereditary servitor, not a struggling artist." Slowly, as he realized that the artist would have none of him, the wonted bitter look crept back into his face, leaving it wan as ever, while additional defiance increased the grim lines about his mouth.
There followed a breathless silence. Somewhere, to the actual pain of all but one present, a bird was singing in the outside world. The sound came faintly to their ears as from another existence – the shadow sound of dreams. In the room itself reigned the cold stillness of death. Then gradually a sigh of sounds crept in. Increasing in volume, it shaped itself into an approaching medley of shouts, hoof-beats, scattering rifle shots, a fierce sentry challenge, a reply, – then a steed halted on the stone flags of the courtyard. They waited breathlessly for the added disaster all felt was coming. Their senses, cloyed by grief, knew that whatever it was of ill-omen, it could not touch them now. Still they listened. The wicket in the entrance door was heard to open. An irregular, halting, desperate step came up the hall.
With a lunge, the door flung open. Zulka, bleeding, grimy, and gasping, tottered into the room.
"Schallberg! Schallberg!" he whispered faintly, "Lore! Bagos! all are taken!" And he fell heavily to the floor.
They pressed forward, excepting Josef, who, in the prevailing excitement slipped from the room. His escape was unnoticed for the time being, as Zulka, struggling to his feet, told them the story of the attack upon the capital and the death blow to their hopes.
"You left your post alive, Paul," said Her Highness reproachfully.
"Don't say that," he begged, raising his hopeless face to read her condemnation. "With the five survivors of the last assault, I escaped, Highness, to bring the news, so that you might be saved. My companions mark the road to Schallberg. The enemy followed me to your very gates. I wish," he said, with a gulping sob, "that I, too, lay dead with those brave fellows in the ruins of our ancient capital." He raised his face, all powder-stained, as he searched the room with eyes that glowed with a desire for righteous vengeance. No countenance present wore the insignia of guilt. "Where is the traitor?" he asked. For the first time Josef's absence was noted.
Sobieska ran to the door. "Stop Josef before he gets to the road," he cried to the sergeant, who seemed utterly amazed at such a command.
"Excellency," he replied, "Josef never passed me through this door." Trusia approached the excited Minister.
"It is no use to attempt to stop him," she said with a shake of the head. "He knows of the secret passage to the inn. Doubtless he has already joined his comrades."
Sobieska groaned. "He'll give the alarm. We will be cut off."
"If we want to save Her Grace," said Carter, "we will have no time to lose. We do not wish to be mewed up here. We'd better make a dash for the forest and trust to God to reach the frontier. Take this, Paul," he said, thrusting a flask into the hands of the nobleman, who was swaying upon uncertain legs. "Brace up." He caught his friend as the latter was about to topple over.
"It must be Trusia first," said the Krovitzer, grasping the American's hand with a pressure which was fervently returned.
"It will always be Trusia," he replied firmly.
Not yet enlightened, Zulka now approached Delmotte, before whom he knelt. "Your Majesty absolves me for leaving my post?" he besought.
"I am not your king, Count," said the Parisian, honestly chagrined at his false position. "He lies dead over there," and he indicated the temporary bier. "I have unhappily been the victim of an imposture." Then hurriedly Sobieska recited to Zulka the outline of the conspiracy and Delmotte's connection with it.
"If you will let me help," said the artist appealing to them all, "I'll show you that though a bourgeois Frenchman, I know how to die."
Trusia held out her hand impulsively. "I thank you, monsieur," she said simply. "Forgive me if I have been late in discovering that you are a brave man."
Divested of his fancied power, Delmotte was again the amiable boulevardier, as could be seen by the manner in which he received the plaudits of the men, with whom he now was rated as a comrade-in-arms.
Zulka, meanwhile, having learned how Sobieska had unearthed Carrick's claims to the crown, had approached and lifted the lifeless hand to his lips.
"May God rest Your Majesty," he murmured reverently. He arose and spoke quietly to his companions. "He must be interred before we leave. In a few days, no doubt, the castle will be razed to the ground. It is not fitting that a King of Krovitch should be the feast of wolves and ravens."
So Carrick, with a scanty following, was carried to the little chapel, behind the throne-room, where the sarcophagi of the ancient kings could be seen lining the walls.
Upon his head they placed the crown. His hands were crossed upon the sceptre he had never dreamed of wielding, while, dearer than all to him in life, upon his breast they placed the heirloom he had prized, – the grand medal of the Lion.
His body was placed in the mausoleum of the first Stovik, his ancestor. No royal name was cut, but the place of his burial was deeply graved in the hearts of all present. Had he lived he had been a farcical king, but dead he was as imposing as the grandest monarch of them all.
Sorrowfully they turned and left the mortuary. Returning to Sobieska's office, impelled by the necessities of the moment, they plunged into the plans for an immediate flight from the castle.
"The highways are already swarming with Cossacks," said Zulka. "Once gain the shelter of the woods, however, and we can hide by day and travel at night until we reach the frontier."
"How many have we in the garrison?" inquired Trusia, who had instinctively placed herself at Carter's side.
"Half a platoon of cavalry," replied Sobieska gravely, thinking of the meagreness of their force for the occasion.
"One more," said Muhlen-Sarkey entering the room. He bent above Trusia's extended hand as serenely as though they were both figuring in a court function and not a congress of death.
"Living nearer Schallberg," he explained, "I saw how matters stood, and immediately packed off the women folk to the boundaries. I then came here to offer my services, my sword, if necessary."
"Courageous heart," applauded Trusia, touched by the old fellow's loyalty. At her commendation his face, as round as a schoolboy's, lighted up with happiness.
"The roads?" Carter questioned eagerly.
The old nobleman shook his head, regretting that he could furnish no information concerning their state. "I do not know. Anticipating that they would be crowded, though," he coughed suggestively, and his eyes twinkled, "I came through the woods. Met one inquisitive young Russian. Convinced him it would be impossible for him to tell all he knew." The Treasurer touched his sword with a gesture which the men understood. "He contracted an impediment to his speech."
While the horses were being hastily saddled, Trusia had the garrison assembled in the courtyard and explained to the heart-broken soldiers that Krovitch's dream of independence was over, giving them free permission to leave their colors at once if any so desired. When she called for volunteers to aid in her escape every man sprang forward, loudly cheering Trusia, then Krovitch.
XXIII
NOBLESSE OBLIGE
"Marie, you are to go with the first detachment. You, Therese, with the second. Your mistress will ride with the gentlemen of her household."
Clad in the Duchess's clothes, as they had volunteered devotedly, the better to throw off pursuit from Her Grace, the maids with many tearful protestations of undying loyalty took their allotted places in the cavalcade which was forming in the courtyard of the castle.
"First section," rang out the preliminary command, "draw sabres. By fours, left. March. Trot," and the first of the forlorn hope was started. The troops swung by the little group which held Trusia in its centre. As the head of the scanty column came abreast of where she sat in her saddle, the lieutenant, Casimir, turned on his horse, his voice husky with emotion, to give a command. "Present sabres," he cried, and a score of blades were pointed heavenward, perhaps for the last time for the royal house of Schallberg. Something caught in Trusia's throat as the gallant band swept by to challenge Death that she might live.
After these had turned into the narrow incline, Marie in their midst, the second detachment followed, gravely saluting their loved liege lady.
Swords in hand, then, came the grave-faced men who had borne her hopes for Krovitch in their hearts. Courageous as any knights of old, their faces betrayed what an awful price they considered this flight to be. Alone, they would have preferred to have fought it out to the last drop of blood in their veins, but had yielded to the expedient because the girl's safety was dearer to them than their most cherished wish. At the foot of the declivity, the entire force reunited before finally debouching into the road.
"Should our party be attacked," suggested Sobieska, "it is imperative that Her Grace should be hurried right on to the frontier without awaiting the issue of the combat. Some one must accompany her. Will Your Highness choose?" he turned to her with a deep bow, a wistful light glowing in his cynical eyes.
"If Major Carter will accompany me," she said almost timidly, "I will select him." The others pressed forward to wring his hand in silence.
"We are ready, Lieutenant Casimir, advance your men," cried Sutphen.
"Columns of eights. First section to the right, second section to the left. March. Trot. Gallop," rang out the commands, as, with their last cheer for Krovitch, the troopers dashed into the highway to clear the space for Trusia. A wild confusion of sounds apprised those waiting that at least one party had engaged adversaries.
"Now," shouted Carter rising in his stirrups. With an involuntary cheer, they bolted for the cover of the woods across the road. They beheld Casimir's little band hotly engaged with an entire troop of cavalry, but it was stubbornly, unyieldingly, holding the Cossacks back. On the left the remaining squad merely awaited the passing of the Duchess to go to their comrades' assistance.
With such speed as the underbrush and rough ground would permit, the court party, headed by the white-haired Sutphen, plunged onward to the lane which led to the charcoal burner's hut. They were soon beyond even the sounds of the conflict. Carter, riding at Trusia's right, saw the tears gathering for the devoted heroes they had deserted of such cruel necessity.
They swept into the narrow lane and reached the crest of that little hill where sudden sorrow had made mock of sudden joy. Coming toward them, as if apprised of their neighborhood, they saw a squadron of Russian cavalry numerically overwhelming. Both parties stopped for the breathing space preliminary to the death grip.
"We cannot turn back. We'll have to fight, gentlemen," said the fleshy Treasurer. "Who knows," he said with a quaint smile, "it may reduce my flesh." He turned back his sleeve very deliberately and carefully until his arm was bare to the elbow. Drawing his sword, he securely fastened the thong on the hilt about his wrist that no matter how fierce the mêlée, he would not be disarmed. Delmotte imitated his example. Giving the blade a preparatory swing, the doughty Treasurer settled back in his saddle with a sigh of anticipation.
Zulka and Sobieska rode back to Trusia.
"Just for 'Auf wiedersehn,'" they said smilingly. Trusia held out her hands to them with sweet impulsiveness. In turn they took them and carried them to their lips. Sobieska turned to Carter for a parting word. "The charcoal burner is loyal. He can hide you by day and guide you by night. None knows better all the byways and secret paths in the forests. By to-morrow evening you should be safe in Austria. Good-bye, Highness," he said, turning to Her Grace. "God bring you safe through." His voice was hoarse with repression.
"Good luck, Carter," said Zulka, and turned away as he spoke.
Bustling good-naturedly in the very jaws of danger, Muhlen-Sarkey made his adieux with no ruffle disturbing his customary urbanity. "Sorry we can't have your help," he remarked to Carter; "you have the place of honor, though. No need to caution you. Go now. Go quickly."
"Wait," said Trusia, holding up a denying hand. "See, they are sending out a single rider around our flank." A courier detaching himself from the main body of their foes could be seen making his way past their line through the wilderness.
"To report that the quarry has been run to earth." Carter gathered up his reins grimly as he spoke. "Come, Highness," he said to the girl who was lost in some sad dream.
"I do not wish to leave them. It seems so heartless," she burst forth. Then she turned to him appealingly as to that one who must henceforth order all things for her guidance. "Let me stay," she begged, "I can die like a Krovitzer."
"For you to fall into their hands, sweetheart," he whispered, "might mean worse than death. Would you leave such a reproach to haunt the survivors? The enemy is already approaching; come." His insistent hand was at her bridle and compelled her compliance.
The Krovitzers, with high-bred courage, spurred forward to meet their opponents, scorning to await the attack of even such superior numbers.
"For Trusia!" they shouted, and then, "For Krovitch!" as they engaged with a crash which halted the fugitives by its vehemence.
"A short life and a merry one, a stout blade and a noble one," they heard Muhlen-Sarkey shout as he lunged forward with a laugh into the thickest of the fray. At the first onslaught they saw Delmotte fall apparently dead. Carter drew the girl away from the sight of further carnage.
"He has proven himself a gallant gentleman," said Carter for her comfort, as once more they entered the protection of the patriarchal trees.
XXIV
STOLEN SLEEP
Caution is slow-footed. It was already night when they drew in sight of the little blur of lamp-light in the charcoal burner's window. The girl at Carter's side straightened herself briskly in her saddle and gave an involuntary sigh of relief.
They had neither time to hail him nor a chance to dismount, before the bearded face of the occupant appeared in the doorway, which he cautiously closed behind him. He held up a warning finger. Approaching Trusia's side, he uncovered his head and humbly lifting her skirt's edge kissed its hem. He spoke in a tone too low for Carter's ear, but Trusia, turning, conveyed to her escort the substance of his remarks.
"He says that he already has guests – uninvited ones – in his home. A Cossack picket has been quartered upon him. At present they are asleep. He learned of our possible fate from them, and waited at the window, watching for such chance stragglers as might escape. He offers to guide us to a cave, which Krovitzers deserting from the Russian army have been accustomed to make their refuge against pursuit. We can lie safely hid there to-night and to-morrow he will guide us to the Vistula. Or, if we would rather, he will immediately lead us to a path which if we follow should bring us to the riverside by dawn. Which shall it be, Calvert?" He was stirred to the depths of his nature by her unreserved trust in him.
"Can you stand the longer journey?" he asked anxiously.
"Yes, with you," she replied gently.
"Let us push on, then," he suggested. "We cannot put too many miles between us and pursuit. Tell him, though, to bring some food and at least one blanket for you."
Upon learning her decision the faithful fellow disappeared into the cabin, from which he presently emerged carrying two parcels which he handed to Carter. Cautioning them to follow as silently as might be, he plunged without further comment into the darkest shadows about them, which, upon their nearer approach, disclosed a tiny footpath in which they found it impossible for them to ride abreast. The peasant, with the lantern which he had lit when well out of sight of the hut, was plodding silently ahead, so Carter dropped back, keeping both eyes and ears open for any sight or sounds that might warn him of the neighborhood of strangers. The path grew each moment wilder and more impassable for equestrians. The low branches of the trees more than once whipped their faces. Three times did Trusia's horse stumble over some projecting root directly in their route. After the eternity it takes to cover five miles on an unknown road in chaotic darkness, the charcoal burner turned to his princess.
"From now on, Highness," he said with an apologetic gesture, "the road is too narrow for horses."
She turned to Carter, awaiting his decision. It was an odd picture they made. He could not but note it. The peasant held his lantern on a level with his shaggy head which alternated in deep shadows and high lights. About them, within the zone of its rays, the huge trunks of trees stood out on every side, their tops lost in the surrounding darkness. Before him, but partially revealed by the illumination, sat the girl upon her horse, her head turned to him with an expression emphasized by the encircling gloom.
"Well?" she asked, recalling him from his observations.
"We'll have to abandon them," he answered, dismounting and reluctantly helping her to the ground. When Trusia offered the horses to Hans, he refused, saying that their possession might lead to the pursuit of the fugitives.
Trusia fondly drew the satiny muzzle of her own steed down to her cheek.
"I hate to do it, Saladin," she murmured chokingly, "but I have to; you understand, dear horse." She kissed the soft nose that was resting affectionately on her shoulder. "You will have to drive him away, Calvert," she said turning to the man at her side, "I cannot." The steed seemed to comprehend, for with a whinny that was almost a sigh, he coaxingly nozzled her hand and rubbed his shapely head against her arm.
"Good-bye, Saladin," she cried wistfully, as in obedience to a sharp smack on their flanks, the horses trotted off into the thicket and were swallowed up in the gloom.
Hour after hour Carter and Trusia, led by Hans, trudged ahead, silently advancing upon the wall of darkness ever facing them. Their reflections were absorbing them and each respected the sanctity of the other's thoughts. After the second five miles had been accomplished, they suddenly came upon a clear space under the unveiled splendor of the stars. At their feet, reflecting the glory of the heavens, bubbled a forest spring. Hans dropped at Trusia's feet, and catching her hand, mumbled some grief-hampered words.