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 denouement. 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 role 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 mediaeval 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.
"Where would you go, Sire?" said Nick. "Dhalmatia?"
"No! no!" she cried, and I felt her shudder. "Any place but there."
"His Majesty," said I, thinking it best to keep Nick in ignorance for a
while at least, "is much over-wrought after the strain of the ceremony.
It would be well to ride for a time. The night air will do him good."
"Let's make it the Turk's Head Inn, then," suggested Nick. "We may get
something to eat there. I have not had anything since breakfast."
"Neither have I. Make it the Turk's Head," I replied.
Nick turned his attention to directing Teju Okio toward the King's
Highway which led to the inn, and Solonika settled against my shoulder
with a satisfied sigh. I stole one arm under her head to make her more
comfortable. We rode silently on into the growing darkness. In an hour
it would be as dark as that terrible morning when we rode through the
forest of Zin.
"What are your plans, Solonika?" I whispered.
"Do not speak. Do not move," she said. "I am so happy."
Happy? This was no time to give way to happiness. I realized the
supreme danger she was in and felt that we lost time by aimlessness of
action. I, too, feeling her soft cheek against my arm, was strangely
happy. But fear would not let me enjoy the pleasure her proximity gave
me. Of course, being possessed of the only automobile in Bharbazonia,
we were safe from pursuit for the moment. But there was Nicholas to be
reckoned with. He must be told the truth. When he knew that the Prince
was Solonika, how would he act? I remembered his curving fingers around
an imaginary throat when he told me of the sacrilege. Would he still be
of the same opinion when he knew Solonika had committed that great crime
against his church? And then my heart stopped beating, and I sat up
with a gasp.
The gates! there at the end of the highway stood Castle Comada with its
battlements and its closed, barred doors! What good was our flight at
all if we were to be stopped by the guard at the end of our run? The
government had wires to all its outposts and by this time, perhaps, the
two castles. Novgorod on the north and Comada on the south, would be on
the look-out for the automobile.
"Solonika, you must tell me what you propose doing. You must realize
the castles will know of our coming and will not let us through. How
are we to get out of this cursed country?"
"It is so plebeian to be happy," she murmured, like one in a dream. "I
never knew, I never dreamed it would be like this. It is so good."
I began to fear for her reason. This obliviousness to fear, when she
knew that death inevitable was hanging over her head, like the sword of
Damocles, was not entirely natural. But I did not disturb her again
until we drew up in front of the tavern about nine o'clock. We had met
no one on the road who disputed our progress.
Nick ordered the meal and I followed Solonika to a comfortable chair by
the fire. She clung to my hand with all the appearance of a frightened
child and would not let me go. I stayed to comfort her while Nick and
Teju Okio examined the car which had brought us safely thus far on our
journey.
The French landlord was overjoyed. Business he said was very bad.
Everybody was at the coronation. There was not a single soul about the
inn but his wife and the servants. I arranged for a room at the head of
the stairs for Solonika, and urged her to lie down a while before
supper. She consented, and I led her to the foot of the stairs. We were
alone for the moment. On the first step she stopped and held out her
arms to me.
"Oh, Dale Wharton," she whispered, "it is so beautiful. I wonder that I
never knew it before. It came so suddenly, when you looked at me in the
Cathedral. There seemed to be a stone wall ahead. I could not go
forward and I could not go back. Then, somehow, you came to me and I
realized what a lonely life I should lead thereafter. Without you I did
not want to live. You made me tell. And now I am free to die."
"Hush, sweetheart, you must not talk of dying. I will save you if I can.
There must be a way."
"No hope. No hope. Though I turn to the east, west, north, south,
there is no hope. The Greek church--my church--is hedging me about. I
have given up. I will fight no more. For my sacrilege I must die. In
the sight of God I am accursed. I must die. I must."
"No, my own, you must not die."
"But, before they come, Dale, I want you to know that I love you. I
want you to kiss me once upon the lips, and I shall be content."
I tried to rouse her; to make her see that we could escape if she would
only help me, and that, when we were free, there was a life for us
together in America where, undisturbed by kings or creeds, we might be
happy. She listened patiently, but without interest. Much against my
will I was forced to realize that she felt the enormity of her offence
and that she had condemned herself to death.
"Will you not kiss me, Dale?" she pleaded.
"Listen, dearest," I said, hoping to force her to help me through the
love she bore me, "you must not give up in despair. For, if you die, I
must die also. You will not condemn me to death, will you?"
"Oh, no," she replied, "they will not hurt you. You have not harmed
them, as I have."
She put her arms around my neck and kissed me long and passionately.
Our lips met in their first kiss and possibly their last. Then she
walked weakly up the steps, entered her room and closed the door.
I stood at the foot of the stairs and watched her until she was gone
from sight. Then I turned and came face to face with Nicholas. From
his expression I knew that he had seen the Prince's caress. So bitterly
did he look at me that I scarcely recognized my old friend in him. And
I needed his friendship now so much. Plainly he suspected the truth.
"Well, Dale," he said coldly, "perhaps you will be good enough to
explain."
*CHAPTER XX*
*THE FAILURE OF FRIENDSHIP*
There was a laughing devil in his sneer,
That raised emotions both of rage and fear;
And where his frown of hatred darkly fell,
Hope withering, fled, and mercy sighed farewell.
--_Byron: Corsair_.
The supreme moment in the lives of both Nicholas and myself had arrived.
But Solonika's strange behaviour had unnerved me, and I felt unequal to
it. The presence of the landlord in the room, directing his servants as
they placed the steaming dinner upon the table, gave me an opportunity
for delay.
With Solonika obdurate and my own ignorance of the country, escape was
impossible, unless Nicholas would help. He was my only hope. If I
could win his sympathy and cause him to place his knowledge, power and
influence at my disposal, for the sake of our friendship, there was a
chance that we might win our way out of this terrible country in safety.
While we had been riding toward the inn, I had mapped out a plan of
escape. There was the General's yacht lying at Bizzett with steam up,
ready to take Nicholas and me to Naples in the morning. If we motored as
near the gates as possible and bought or stole horses from a
neighbouring farmer; if we disguised Solonika in a peasant girl's
costume, changing the description of the party, we might ride under
Castle Comada to freedom. Attired as he was in his Grand Duke's
uniform, Nicholas's orders to the officer in charge would be promptly
obeyed. This officer would have instructions to stop an automobile
party, but he would not stop us.
Once out to sea on the yacht we were safe. No Bharbazonian would ask a
Turk a favour; consequently our passage through the Bosphorus past the
fortresses of Scutari and Constantinople would not be interfered with.
Nick could go with us, hastening his departure one day, thus escaping
any retribution his countrymen might desire to wreak upon him for
lending us aid.
If we had been in any other country under the sun, I had no doubt but
that Nicholas would stand shoulder to shoulder with me and gladly fight
it out to the bitter end. But this was Bharbazonia, and Nicholas was a
Bharbazonian. Would he be a friend first and a patriot second?
Politically, the denouement in the Cathedral and the flight of Solonika
might be a great aid to the Secret Order of the Cross. The lack of an
heir played into their hands. It might serve the purpose of Nicholas and
his countrymen to get Solonika out of the country.
Again, the love he professed to bear Solonika should urge him to save
her from the infuriated mob which, he would shortly know, was even now
riding furiously after us clamouring for her innocent life. How much
stress this love would stand I could not guess. He had seen the
Prince's affectionate parting with me at the foot of the stairs and,
when the full import of that scene burst upon him, as it surely would
when I told him of the truth, how would he be able to control his
jealousy?
Above all, the sacrilege! A woman had defiled his altar. Nick as I
knew and loved him in America, was not deeply religious. But what was
he in Bharbazonia? How deeply engrained in his nature, through
centuries of ancestry, was his respect for the Greek church, the
protected creed of his loved country? I seemed to see again as I looked
at his frowning face, turning these things over in my mind, a pair of
strong hands clutching an imaginary throat.
As against all these deep-rooted motives, of patriotism, jealousy,
religion, the only faintly shining star of hope to which I might look
was the weak little star of friendship. Friendship, the most beautiful
love in the world, the most disinterested, was to be put to the test.
Nicholas! he alone could save Solonika; he alone could get us through
the gates to the yacht. He had never failed me before, would he fail me
now? I faced him, determined to make one supreme effort to save the life
of the woman I loved.
"_Diner est prepare_," announced the landlord.
I was glad of the interruption. In the struggle which was to follow
there was little in my favour. Better take advantage of everything
chance afforded. A man well fed is a man half convinced.
"I will explain while we are eating, Nick," I said, taking my place at
the table and waving him into the opposite chair. The third seat
remained vacant. "Landlord, we will wait upon ourselves. You and your
servants may retire."
"_Tres bien_," he murmured as he drove his hirelings from the room like
a woman shooing chickens, and closed the door.
Nick ate with the appetite of a hungry, healthy boy.
"Hadn't we better call the King?" said he, indicating the vacant chair.
"He must be very nearly starved, also."
I knew that the "king" could not eat, and assured Nick that something
would be sent to his room. At last I hit upon a way to begin my
explanation. For the sake of policy I chose to start it by putting Nick
on the defensive.
"Nick," I said, "why did you not tell Gregory and his half-blind Prime
Minister that they were mistaken; that you were the principal actor in
that little scene in the Palace Garden, and not the Prince?"
He flushed to the eyes with shame, just as he did when caught by a
policeman, in the old days, appropriating a Woodland avenue sign for
purposes of room decoration.
"It came too suddenly," he replied. "I had no time to think. I admit I
acted like a cad, Dale, but I shall do my part like a man to-morrow.
How would you like to be placed in such a position before such an
audience and have to own up that you had been behaving like a naughty
little schoolboy?"
"What do you propose doing? Confessing to the new King?"
"That is my intention now; but I must see the General before I act.
This is a matter which concerns Bharbazonia, and there may be good and
sufficient reasons why the Secret Order may desire things to take their
course."
"And in that event your love for your country would render you passive
in the face of such an injustice?"
"Yes; but do not misunderstand me, Dale. I have been trained all my
life, as you know, in the diplomatic service of both Russia and
Bharbazonia. I have lived long enough to see that the man who "would
rather be right than be President" is frequently right, but never
President. Of course deep down in our hearts we all desire to be right;
it is the only safe, sure foundation; as a matter of policy it is best.
But, there is such a thing in this world as power. I have noticed that
the idealist who desires to be right all the time, who makes no
concession to the wrong, is frequently crushed under the wheels of
power. Thus has the army of Right lost the services of many valiant
soldiers. A better policy, I have learned, is to temporize; to shut
one's eyes sometimes. By so doing one gains in strength until one
becomes a power and is in a position to order lines of right action--"
"A dangerous policy, Nick," I interrupted. "By that time you will have
connived so often with wrong that you are able no longer to combat it.
Your moral fibre will have deteriorated and there will be nothing left
of you but that which you have sacrificed all for--power."
"It is the difference between the ideal and the practical; the ideal
fails; the practical succeeds. When the world becomes ideal this order
will be reversed. But, until that time, I for one will endeavour to be
practical. Therefore, if my brothers deem it best for me to marry
Princess Teskla, I shall abide by their decision. If not, so be it."
Here was a side of Nick's character with which I had not reckoned.
Before such devotion to organization, simple friendship might be thrown
overboard to struggle in the depth with the other idealistic stripling
Truth.
"How did the new King take it?" asked Nick. "From what I could see he
did not lose his presence of mind. What did he do?"
Nothing was to be gained by further evasion. If I had to depend upon
the stability of his affection for me, I might as well put it to the
test now as at any other time. I plunged in boldly.
"You are mistaken, Nick," I said. "The Prince did lose his nerve and
made a terrible mess of the whole affair. Instead of accepting the
inevitable--of standing pat as it were--he revealed a secret which he
should have kept, and to-day his father and he stand in the shadow of
the valley of death."
"What do you mean?"
"Do you remember the vague suspicions of General Palmora which we talked
of coming over on the boat and which you scoffed at as absurd?"
"Something concerning the remarkable likeness existing between Solonika
and her twin brother, coupled with the suggestion that the two had never
been seen together? But, you, yourself, told me you exploded that
theory."
"The more I see of General Palmora the greater grows my respect for him
and his opinions. We laughed at him when he told us that King Gregory
was planning to make capital out of your flirtation with Princess
Teskla. But we now know he was right. We also laughed at him when he
told us he suspected there was only one child born to the House of
Dhalmatia the night he and your father rode. But again he is right."
"Speak plainly, Dale," said Nick with contracting brows, "you mean--"
"That the midwife who died announced _the truth when she tolled the bell
seven times!_"
Nick's hands gripped the edge of the white cloth; his eyes stared into
mine with a look I could not fathom. Slowly he arose, his overturned
chair falling with a crash to the floor. I, too, came reluctantly to my
feet, not knowing what to expect, but desiring to be ready for any
emergency.
"A daughter!" he cried, as if he could not believe it. "A daughter and
no son! Then the person who was made King of Bharbazonia to-day is
a--woman?"
Amazement deepened upon his face as the full significance of my words
came home to him. It was a condition of affairs which he had always
refused to countenance, and his brain worked slowly. But it was too
absurd.
"Surely, Dale," he cried, "you do not mean this? You are joking?"
"I would to God that it were not true. But it is no joke, Nick. The
Prince is a woman."
"Bosh!" he exclaimed. "I refuse to believe it."
I saw that I must convince him. His attitude showed me how safe
Solonika's secret had been. Oh, if she had but listened to the advice of
her father and kept her own counsel!
"Listen, Nick," I said. "I am not the only one who knows this. General
Palmora knows it now. In fact all Bharbazonia knows. They had it from
the lips of the Prince in the Cathedral. After you went out he denied
that he had kissed the Princess and said that, even if he had, he could
not have broken the law because he was not a man, but a woman. Then we
fled to you and came here."
"Good God," cried he aghast. "That explains the cries in the Cathedral.
The Patriarch's voice! What was he saying?"
Slowly he arrived at the inevitable conclusion. I felt the crisis
coming, and nerved myself for the shock. Violently he struck the table
a heavy blow with his clenched fist and shouted the one word uttered by
the High Priest, in a voice startlingly like the bull-like bellow of the
Patriarch:
"_Sacrilege!_"
I watched him tensely as his glance left my face and travelled swiftly
up the stair until it rested on Solonika's door. His soul was in the
grip of a hatred so deadly that I feared it would get beyond his
control. He wore a more fearful expression than when he told me in the
library that, if such an outrage were committed against the church, he
would be the first to strangle the offender to death with his own hands.
The vengeance of Bharbazonia was at hand. But, quick as was his sudden
spring toward her room, I was quicker, and stood ready for him, blocking
the way on the bottom step. We faced each other like young tigers over
fallen prey.
I must not lose my temper. I needed my coolest judgment and my calmest
presence of mind. But, as I stood there with clenched fists, I could
feel the powerful magnetic waves of his deep passion surging through me
with all the force of an electric current. I seemed to hear the sound
of rushing wind through tense wires. I clenched my teeth and felt that
the cords of friendship were snapping one by one.
But there was one more brand to be hurled among the burning. Depending
upon the way Nicholas would take it, it would either add to the fire or
help to put it out.
"Would you harm _Solonika_?" I said.
Just as the glow of the flame leaves the darkened sky when new wood is
added, so died down the burning light of hate in Nick's eye when I
mentioned Solonika's name. Here was something upon which he had not
counted. Up to now in his mind, the woman who had affronted the trust
of the Kingdom, who had put insult upon the church, had been only a
woman. I had given her a name and, in so doing, had brought him
suddenly face to face with the appalling fact that the guilty one was
the woman he loved.
Skeptical as I had been of the depth of his affection in view of his
conduct in the Palace garden, I soon found that I was mistaken. Where a
woman is concerned men do not wear their hearts upon their sleeves.
True, Nick had smilingly told me that we were rivals long ago in the
summer-house. He had always been unnaturally diffident in Solonika's
presence, and treated her with unusual consideration. Every moment
which had not been occupied with business of state had been devoted to
her during our stay in Bharbazonia, and he had been with her almost as
much as I.
There could be no doubt that my words had a wonderful effect. His
former passion left him weak and trembling. Staring at me like one
convinced against his will, he backed away from the steps and sank into
a chair.
"Solonika," he whispered. "Oh, God, do not tell me it is Solonika."
So firm had been his faith that even now he did not connect the Prince
and Solonika in this tragedy. To him they were separate persons. It had
not occurred to him that the Prince who had committed this sacrilege
could possibly be Solonika.
"It cannot be true. There must be some mistake," he said. The
suffering in his voice touched my heart. Could it be possible that he,
too, loved this woman as deeply and truly as I did?
"There is no mistake. She who is in yonder room is Solonika," I said.
"How could she do it, Dale? How could she do it?" he repeated.
"She had no alternative, Nick. The Red Fox, her father, was as
ambitious as Brutus said Caesar was."
Thank God, he _did_ love Solonika. He would help her to escape. Surely
his love for her would urge him to do what I, without hope of reward,
had done in Marbosa's lodge. I risked my life for her and he could do
no less. Now was the time to strike.
"Nicholas," I said, speaking quickly, "Solonika is pursued by the
peasantry, the nobles, the army and the church. Even as we talk they
are coming down that road from Nischon searching for her. You know what
they will do if they find her. They will rend her limb from limb,
before our eyes. There is only one man in Bharbazonia can help her
to-night. The gates of Comada are shut against us. Beyond them is the
General's yacht. It is ready to sail with us in the morning. I am
powerless to win the way to the vessel. The captain would not sail
without orders from you or the General. I am unable to save her. You
and you alone can do it!"
"I understand," said Nicholas.
"For God's sake, do not fail me now. If you love her as I do you cannot
stand idle and see her die in this horrible manner. Will you do it,
Lassie? For the sake of the love you bear me, of the friendship that is
ever ours, help me to save her. She is so little; she is so weak; she
is so innocent. Her father is the guilty one. He drove her to commit
this awful sacrilege against your church. Nick, oh my friend, you have
never refused me anything. You will not refuse me this!"
"It's true," he cried, leaping to his feet. "She may yet escape. I can
save her. They are still a long way behind."
He ran to the door and called into the night air:
"Okio! Okio! We leave here in two minutes."
The victory of friendship was complete. Nick's love for Solonika had
overcome his Bharbazonian respect for the Greek church; he seemed to
have forgotten the sacrilege. He was eager to help her in her time of
dire distress. Good old Nick, I knew that he would not fail me!
Already I saw the dread gates of the trap swing open, and felt the kick
of the screw under me as the little yacht rapidly left the shores of
this horrible land behind. My face was radiant. I rushed forward to
thank him, full of gratitude and affection.
But, even as Nick closed the door after directing Teju Okio, a change
came over him. He walked back into the room slowly, thoughtfully.
There was coldness in his manner. The gates again swung shut, the yacht
no longer held to her swift course. I stopped with my unexpressed thanks
upon my lips.
"What is the matter?" I cried, my joy turned to fear. Nick had become a
Bharbazonian.
"I must have time to think," he said coldly.
"Think?" I cried. "What is there to think about? Surely you have not
changed your mind?"
"No, I have not changed my mind. I have not fully made it up. You took
me off my feet a moment ago. I must consider this from all sides. I
have a duty to perform to my country and to my church. Solonika has
committed a great sacrilege for which she merits death."
"Nevertheless, Nick, you cannot stand still and see her die. You love
her, do you not?"
"Yes," he said slowly, "and so do you."