A CALL OF DUTY.
“There must be a fair or festival of some sort going on,” said
Caerleon, as they made their way to the inn, where it had been
arranged that the O’Malachy was to secure rooms for them.
“Perhaps the people have come together to do you honour,” suggested
Louis, lightly enough, but it struck Cyril that there was a shade of
anxiety in his tone.
The inn was an oriental-looking house built round a courtyard, but
conforming to the customs of the West so far as to possess a
coffee-room--a fact which was proudly announced in German and Thracian
in very large letters. There were no windows on the exterior of the
house to the ground-floor rooms, a testimony to the frequent
occurrence of border raids and attacks from brigands in the days when
the inn was built, but balconies ran round each of the two upper
storeys, both inside and outside, giving the only means of access to
the rooms which opened upon them. The courtyard was thronged with
people, among whom Caerleon fancied he recognised some of the
harvesters that Nadia and he had met a fortnight before, and they
watched with breathless curiosity the three dusty figures in tourist
suits and hobnailed boots, and commented upon their appearance audibly
but unintelligibly. The landlord, who met them at the door, bowed
almost to the ground before them, but as he could speak no tongue of
Western Europe, they were unable to question him as to the nature of
the attraction which had brought the crowd together. Behind him,
however, stood Wright the groom, doing his best to compose his face,
which had wreathed itself into an irrepressible grin of delight at
welcoming his master, into the blank immobility which he considered
becoming and suitable. In his hand was a visiting-card, which he
presented to Caerleon.
“The gentleman up-stairs give it me for you, my lord, and ’e’s waitin’
for you in the coffee-room, and I do ’ope, my lord, if I may make so
bold, as your lordship don’t think of stayin’ long in this ’ere
country, where there ain’t a creetur can speak a word of a Crishtan
tongue.”
“That remains to be seen,” said Cyril, looking round Caerleon’s
shoulder at the card, and seeing, as he expected, the name of M.
Drakovics.
“Has the old brute come to plague me again about his precious
kingdom?” said Caerleon, impatiently. “He might have waited until I
had made myself respectable, at any rate. Well, I suppose I must see
him, but I’ll wash off a little of the dust of travel first”--“and
just ask Nadia what she really thinks about the business,” he added to
himself, as Wright led the way up-stairs, and along the gallery which
crossed the front of the house.
“Which are the O’Malachy’s rooms, Wright?” he asked aloud, but as he
spoke, Madame O’Malachy glided out of a doorway near him with her
finger on her lip.
“Ah, my dear marquis, I am enchanted to see you!” she said, brightly.
“But I will not detain you; you are summoned to more important
business than talking with a chattering old woman--is it not so? Only
I would ask you to have the great kindness to step softly and not to
speak loud, for my daughter is a little indisposed.”
“Miss O’Malachy ill? I hope it is not serious?” cried Caerleon.
“Nothing serious, I assure you. Merely a slight headache and
lassitude, which will pass off to-morrow. Rest and quiet are her best
medicines. She is too energetic, too eager for work, my dear marquis,
but I know that I may count on your consideration.”
She went back into her room, and Caerleon pursued his way
disappointed.
“I shan’t be able to ask her about this wretched kingdom, then,” he
grumbled to himself. “But, after all, I know what she thinks, for she
gave me her views pretty plainly the last time I talked to her.”
“The old gentleman seemed to be in a orful ’urry, my lord,” put in
Wright, and Caerleon made a hasty toilet, and entered the coffee-room,
where M. Drakovics was marching impatiently from the door to the
window and back again. Caerleon would have shaken hands with him, but
he drew back with a low bow.
“Your Majesty,” he said, “I am here to announce to you that by a
_plébiscite_ of the whole nation you are a second time invited to
occupy the throne of Thracia. I have with me a petition signed by
every member of the Legislative Assembly, and by the mayor of every
township and the head of every village community in the country,
entreating you to lay aside your scruples, and come to our help. The
people will accept any conditions you may choose to make, as to
advisers, Civil List, or anything of the kind;--I know that this will
not affect your decision,” as Caerleon turned away with an impatient
gesture, “but I mention it to show you that the Thracians wish to deal
generously with the man who will honour them by taking up their cause
against the world.”
“I must have the night to think it over,” said Caerleon, after some
moments of futile consideration. “You will remain here as my guest, I
hope? By the bye, who are all the people outside?”
“They are your Majesty’s loyal subjects,” returned M. Drakovics, “who
have come here to conduct you, as they hope, in triumph to
Bellaviste.”
“Very kind of them,” said Caerleon, “but I am not their king yet. This
proceeding looks unpleasantly like compulsion, M. Drakovics. I have no
idea of being made king by force.”
“Your Majesty is entirely mistaken,” returned M. Drakovics in alarm.
“These men are here with the sole intention of doing you honour, and
of adding their entreaties to mine if you should prove to be still
obdurate. They are all patriots, almost in despair for their country,
for we are convinced that Scythia is meditating some great blow
against us.”
“Well, I will think about it,” said Caerleon, and no further allusion
was made to the subject during the evening.
On the plea of extreme fatigue, Caerleon and Cyril excused themselves
to their guest as early as was possible with due regard for
politeness, and prepared to consider the situation in concert. Leaning
out of the window of Caerleon’s room, with the watch-fires of the
expectant Thracians starring the mountain-slopes on every hand, they
discussed the subject in all its bearings. As was generally the case
on such occasions, Cyril did most of the talking, and he summed up his
arguments very concisely before they separated for the night.
“The question is just this, Caerleon: have you backbone enough to be a
Thracian for the future, instead of an Englishman? That’s what it will
come to, you know. There will be the most awful row at home, and we
may find ourselves outlawed, or declared guilty of high treason, or I
don’t know what. So long as we keep to Thracian soil, we shall be all
right, if we can only manage to stay there; but I suppose if we
ventured into any British possession they might put us in prison and
keep us there out of harm’s way. Scythia is bound to make a fuss, and
to send the strongest possible diplomatic representations to St
James’s about us even if she doesn’t go to war, and you must make up
your mind to disregard appeals and commands, from whomsoever they may
come, and public opinion too. You won’t any longer be a British peer,
poor, perhaps, but universally looked up to--but an adventurer,--a
filibuster, in fact. That’s the bad side of it. On the other hand, you
consider that your country has treated you pretty shabbily, and holds
out no particular prospects to you in your present circumstances.
Forfar and the Duke never did much for you either, and I don’t see
that you need refuse such an offer as this just to save them from
diplomatic complications. Of course, if the worst came to the worst,
you might sacrifice yourself, and abdicate magnanimously in order to
prevent a European war, but I don’t think it will get as far as that.
Scythia will brag and bluster--perhaps try to put you out of the way,
but that is our private affair. And in Thracia you have just the field
you have always wanted for your administrative and philanthropic
talents. From what Drakovics says, they seem to have a fairly good
army, but very little else. You will have to make the nation. Oh,
there’s no question as to which is the biggest thing to do. As King of
Thracia, in the people’s present state of mind, your opportunities
would be limitless.”
“And that is what one ought to think of,” said Caerleon, recalling
Nadia’s words. “Cyril, old man, I’ll take it.”
“Good for you, old chap,” returned Cyril. “I say, I suppose I shall
have to call you ‘your Majesty’ now--in public, that is. Behind the
scenes, the augurs may wink as they please. Well, I bag the post of
your private secretary, at any rate. That will enable me to give your
Majesty a good wigging when I think it called for, and to keep you
from getting into trouble. Well, now that your royal mind is made up,
I’m off. Ta, ta.”
When the two young men entered the coffee-room in the morning, M.
Drakovics advanced to meet them, far too anxious as to the result of
their conference to let the matter rest until after breakfast, as
Caerleon had intended. The Premier’s face was worn and haggard with
anxiety, and his voice shook as he asked--
“May I inquire whether your Majesty has decided what course you will
take?”
“Yes,” said Caerleon. “I have made up my mind to accept the crown.”
He had no time to say more, for, to his horror and Cyril’s delight, M.
Drakovics fell at his feet and covered his hands with kisses, while he
tried in vain to induce him to rise. Cyril recovered himself first.
“Perhaps we might postpone any further raptures until after
breakfast,” he suggested, mildly. “Even kings have appetites,--their
brothers certainly have.”
“One moment!” cried M. Drakovics, rising and going towards the window.
“Your majesty cannot tell what a load you have taken from my heart,”
he added, huskily, turning again to Caerleon. “I am satisfied now as
to the future of my country. But I must tell the people. They have
been as anxious as myself, and they will rejoice as I do.”
He stepped out on the balcony, and addressed the crowd of Thracians,
who had again gathered in front of the house. A tremendous shout burst
from them when he had finished speaking. Turning round with blazing
eyes he beckoned to Caerleon.
“Show yourself to your people, your Majesty. Speak a few words to
them--I will interpret--and they will love you for ever.”
Caerleon followed him out, intending to comply with the request, but
speech was impossible in presence of the cry of welcome that went up
as soon as he became visible. For some minutes he was perforce silent,
while the people shouted themselves hoarse, flung their caps into the
air, leaped for joy, embraced one another, and wept copiously. He felt
oddly reminded of his coming of age, and how he had risen to make his
speech at the great dinner his father had given to the Llandiarmid
tenants amid a scene of excitement such as this, when the sturdy
farmers had sprung up like one man, and drunk his health with
acclamations. They had presented him with an old silver
punch-bowl--rather an incongruous gift for an uncompromising
temperance man--and it had put him into an awkward predicament. A
happy thought had struck him, he remembered, and he had told them that
he would use the bowl for salad--a statement which was regarded as an
exquisite joke, and received with shouts of approving laughter. It was
queer that this should all pass through his mind now, as he stood
waiting until the rejoicing calmed down a little, and he was able to
obtain a moment’s silence. He found himself almost as much at a loss
for words as on that earlier occasion, but at last he managed to say--
“Gentlemen” (he felt strongly that this form of address sounded as
though he were speaking to his former constituents rather than to his
subjects, but it was difficult to know what other to use. “My people”
would be a ridiculous affectation as yet, and “Men of Thracia” sounded
theatrical). “Gentlemen, your trusted leader, M. Drakovics, has done
me the honour of inviting me in your name to accept the crown of
Thracia. It is only fair for me to tell you that I don’t feel at all
equal to the task of governing; but I have thought over the matter,
and I hope that I am doing the right thing in undertaking it. God
helping me, my sole aim will be to do what I can for the good of
Thracia and the peace of Europe. I feel sure that I may count upon the
help and advice of M. Drakovics in the difficulties which are sure to
meet us, and I can promise to stick to you if you will stick to me.”
There! it was over, and he was conscious that he had made a wretched
mull of what he had meant to say, and felt certain that Cyril was
grinning behind him, and maturing chaff on the subject of “House of
Commons oratory,” but M. Drakovics was translating his words to the
Thracians, and they were replying with shouts of applause which echoed
back from the mountain-side.
“Long live the English prince! Long live King Carlino! Down with
Scythia! Long live Thracia and King Carlino!”
“I say, you know, this won’t do,” Cyril was saying to M. Drakovics, as
soon as the three on the balcony could hear each other speak. “What do
they mean by talking like that? His name is Philip. He can’t go down
to posterity as King Caerleon. It would be as bad as King York or King
Lancaster. You must put them right.”
“That we can do in his Majesty’s proclamations,” said M. Drakovics.
“The people have grown so much accustomed to the name Carlino that I
fear they will always apply it to him. It sounds familiar to their
ears, and it is a kind of affectionate diminutive. But with regard to
our future plans----” he went on, addressing Caerleon. “Will your
Majesty allow me to tell the people that you will start to-day on your
journey to Bellaviste?”
“Is it really necessary?” asked Caerleon. “I hate doing things in such
a hurry.”
“It is absolutely necessary,” returned M. Drakovics, “that your
Majesty should be crowned as speedily as possible. The whole future of
your reign may depend upon it.”
“Oh, very well,” said Caerleon. “In for a penny, in for a pound. I
have to live for Thracia now, I suppose. I’ll tell my man to pack up.”
He went back into the room before M. Drakovics could forestall him, or
even intimate to Cyril that it would look well for him to do his
brother’s errands in future, and ran up-stairs to look for Wright, for
bells there were none in this primitive hostelry. But Wright and the
reason for seeking him were speedily forgotten when he reached the
upper balcony, for he saw Nadia coming towards him from the direction
of the rooms occupied by the O’Malachy family.
“I hope you are better this morning,” he said, eagerly, hastening to
meet her. “I am so glad to see that you are able to be up.”
“But I am always up at six,” said Nadia. “Did you think I was ill?”
“I understood from your mother----” he began, but remembering that to
finish would be to charge Madame O’Malachy with deceiving him, he
changed the form of his sentence lamely enough, “I saw nothing of you
when I got here yesterday, you know, and I was afraid you were not
well.”
“Did you expect to find me at the gate waiting for you?” asked Nadia,
sharply. “Oh, I did not intend to be so rude,” and she blushed
crimson. “I only mean that my room is at the back of the house, and I
did not even know you had arrived.”
“I was hoping,” said Caerleon, deliberately, “that we might meet again
as friends, though I was so unfortunate as to offend you the last time
we had a talk.”
“Now you are trying to make me ashamed of myself for being cross,”
said Nadia, “and it is not kind of you. Lord Caerleon,” she broke off
suddenly, and surveyed him with puzzled eyes, “has anything happened?
What is the matter?”
“Why?” he asked.
“Because you look different. Something has happened. What is it?”
“Well, I am once more king elect, or designate, or whatever you like
to call it, of Thracia, if that will account for it. I didn’t know
that the divinity that doth hedge a king was visible outwardly, but I
suppose that’s what you mean.”
“You have accepted the crown?” she asked, anxiously.
“I have accepted it, bearing in mind my last conversation with you. I
hope you are pleased with me now?”
“It was what I said that influenced you to consent? You would not have
done it otherwise?”
“Scarcely, I think; but you showed me my duty so very clearly that I
could hardly turn my back on it. You made it quite evident that you
considered I was shirking responsibility when I refused the crown
before.”
“But how can it signify what I thought of you? How can my conscience
judge for yours? Oh, I have been thinking often since we have been
here that I may have led you wrong. I ought to have advised you to see
which was the harder to do--to accept or decline the crown--and to
choose that.”
“But this is a new standard!” cried Caerleon. “Is it to take the place
of the measuring of the responsibilities?”
“Not exactly; only to be used with it. Don’t you see? Perhaps you
prefer a responsible position, and then it might be better for you to
take a lower place.”
“I don’t quite see it,” said Caerleon; “but no doubt it’s all right,
since it satisfies you.”
“Oh, don’t follow me!” she cried, passionately. “I may have led you
wrong already. Is it too late to do anything?”
“Quite too late, I’m afraid,” said Caerleon. “I am as much King of
Thracia as I can be before I’m crowned, I suppose. Won’t you
congratulate me on my elevation, since I owe it to your influence?”
He held out his hand, and Nadia took it, but to his horror she stooped
and touched it with her lips. “May God grant your Majesty a long and
useful reign!” she said, and turned to fly, but Caerleon caught her
wrist.
“Nadia, are you joking?” he said, angrily.
“Let me go! let me go!” she panted. “Oh, please let me go!” The cry
seemed to be wrung from her by some sudden sharp pain, and Caerleon
saw that her lips were quivering and her eyes full of tears. He loosed
his hold, and she made her escape, leaving him gazing stupidly at the
hand she had kissed.
“Oh, this little fool!” groaned Madame O’Malachy, at the partially
open door of her room, whence she had witnessed the whole scene. “She
might have had him at her feet at this moment, and now he may not be
able to declare himself for weeks. And for what? A trifle, a caprice,
a nothing! I snap my fingers at it! Will nothing but a crowned king
serve you, mademoiselle? Surely it is as well to receive a crown with
your husband as after him? Ah, these niceties of lovers’ etiquette!
Who cares whether the marquis thinks that his prospective kingdom has
induced you to accept him, or not? You know, and I know, that you have
been in love with him since the second time you saw him. Fool! I have
no patience with you,” and hurling these words through her clenched
teeth at the absent Nadia, her mother hurried through two or three
intermediate rooms and came upon Caerleon through a door at the end of
the balcony.
“What, my dear marquis, is it you?” she cried, with a start. “You are
early this morning. But perhaps I ought to say ‘your Majesty’? One
cannot pretend not to know the reason of M. Drakovics’s presence
here.”
“I hope M. Drakovics is happy,” returned Caerleon, in a tone which
showed pretty plainly that he himself was not. “I have accepted the
offer of the Thracian crown.”
“Then I congratulate the Thracians,” said Madame O’Malachy, heartily.
“My dear marquis (you really must excuse my employing the old title),
I have seldom heard a more delightful piece of news. The Thracians
could not do better, and for yourself it is a situation exactly
adapted to your character and talents. You have your opportunity now.”
“I thought so myself until a minute ago,” said Caerleon, gloomily;
“but now I begin to doubt it. Nadia will have nothing to say to me.”
“Nadia--my daughter?” with a slight elevation of the eyebrows.
“Yes,” said Caerleon, scarcely noticing the touch of _hauteur_ which
the lady had infused into her tone. “She seemed so much disappointed
about my having refused the crown before that I thought she would
certainly be pleased now, and she--she spoke as if she had never met
me before in her life.”
“But that may be quite as well,” returned Madame O’Malachy, gracefully
determined not to be baulked of her point. “You must remember that the
friendship _à l’anglaise_ which has subsisted hitherto between your
Majesty and my daughter cannot continue under present circumstances.
You will now occupy very different positions.”
“Is that what Miss O’Malachy is thinking?” asked Caerleon, quickly.
“I have not spoken to her on the subject, but I have no doubt that she
has that in her mind.”
“Then might I beg that you will have the kindness to let me see her
again at once, madame? I will do my best to disabuse her of the idea.”
“But what will you do, my dear marquis?”
“Ask her to share the throne with me.”
“But it is impossible!” cried Madame O’Malachy. “I cannot hear of such
a thing. Your Majesty’s chivalrous sentiments have carried you away,
and you are willing to atone for a slight mistake by a lifelong
sacrifice. Your friendship was a mistake--I admit it freely, in view
of the events which have since come to pass--but we will not make
matters worse by overestimating it. I sympathise with you, but I
assure you that you need fear no trouble from us. Suffer us simply to
retire quietly--we will not force ourselves upon your notice, and my
daughter is far too proud to exhibit any regret for what has
happened.”
“But you don’t understand, madame,” cried Caerleon, impatiently.
“There is nothing to regret in our friendship--on my side, at any
rate. Of course I can’t answer for Miss O’Malachy’s feelings, but I am
only anxious to replace the friendship by--by something stronger.”
“My dear marquis, I honour your chivalry, but your future is not in
your own hands. M. Drakovics will have something to say about it.”
“M. Drakovics will have nothing to say on the subject of my marriage.
That is a question I shall settle for myself.”
“But you must consider your kingdom. Much may depend on your marriage,
and an alliance with a penniless girl not of royal blood--in modern
times, at any rate,” she laughed, “might do you a great deal of harm.”
“I don’t think I am called upon to consider my kingdom to such an
extent as that,” said Caerleon. “I am anxious to have the matter
settled before I am crowned, so that if the Thracians think themselves
entitled to complain, they may do it before I am irrevocably their
king.”
“But there is no need to publish your determination,” said Madame
O’Malachy, anxiously. “It would sound as though you wished to defy M.
Drakovics and his party. And there is another reason why you must
proceed very cautiously, and that is Nadia herself. You may trust
me--I am an old woman, old and experienced, and Nadia is very young
and foolish. As a woman of the world, I can appreciate your
willingness to jeopardise your position for her sake; but you know
what she is--an eccentric, a fanatic. I am convinced that she fears
being thought to pursue you on account of your kingdom, and thinks
also that you may have perceived her feelings towards you, and only
desire to marry her out of pity.”
Caerleon stood pondering. He knew that the woman before him was false
to the core--that very morning had given him another proof of the
fact--but her words sounded so likely to be true, and the state of
feeling they described so characteristic of Nadia, that he was bound
to believe them. After all, she was Nadia’s mother, and ought to
understand her, and what interest could she have in misrepresenting
things in this case? It was only natural to suppose that she would be
more likely to strain every nerve to forward his wishes than to put
obstacles in his way. Moreover, he had now confided in her to such an
extent that he might as well throw himself on her compassion
altogether.
“But what can I do?” he asked. “You will let me see her and plead my
cause?”
“Not at present, if you are a wise man,” said Madame O’Malachy. “Leave
her to herself for a little. Let her please her pride with the belief
that she has repulsed you effectually--her heart will suffer all the
more. Then, when you are in your rightful place at Bellaviste, with
all your splendour about you, speak to her again. She must see then
that you seek her only because you love her, and she will be thankful
to perceive it.”
“But how shall I see her at Bellaviste?” asked Caerleon. “Are you
going on there?”
“Have you forgotten,” asked Madame O’Malachy, rather reproachfully,
“that it has always been our intention to accompany Louis when he goes
to try and obtain a post in the Thracian army? Shall we be less likely
to visit Thracia now that we have a friend upon the throne?”
“But why not come on with us now?” asked Caerleon. “May I not have the
pleasure of receiving you as my guests? I don’t know the capacity of
the palace at Bellaviste; but it must certainly be large enough to
accommodate your party, if you don’t mind roughing it for a time in a
bachelor’s household.”
“A thousand thanks,” said Madame O’Malachy, with her sweetest smile,
“but I am afraid we must decline your hospitable proposition. However,
we will certainly continue our journey into your kingdom, and no doubt
there will be a hotel at Bellaviste which can take us in. Rely upon me
as your friend. I am not an enthusiast, I do not pretend to have no
regard for the splendours of a throne, but I wish you well, and what
help I can give you with this daughter of mine I will.”
And with this assurance of support Caerleon was obliged to be content.