A DELICATE NEGOTIATION.
“Well?” asked M. Drakovics, anxiously, when Cyril appeared in his
office. “How did his Majesty receive the news?”
“As badly as you could wish. He won’t hear of marrying Princess
Ottilie, and wanted to telegraph his views at once to Eusebia.
However, I have got him to consent to see the lady, so that the honour
of refusing him may rest with her, and if we play our cards well, that
ought to give us all we want.”
“How?” asked M. Drakovics, quickly.
“It will gain us time and a favourable impression, and if we can once
succeed in separating Scythia and Pannonia, we ought certainly to be
able to prevent their coming together again.”
“Undoubtedly we ought to be able to manage that. But how do you
propose to bring about a coolness between them?”
“The coolness will come of its own accord fast enough when it is
understood that Caerleon is going to marry Princess Ottilie, for the
Empress of Pannonia was one of the Schwarzwald-Molzaus, and they
always stick together. Our business, therefore, is to produce the
impression, even if it is only a temporary one, that he is going to
marry her.”
“Right!” said M. Drakovics, emphatically. “And your method?”
“We are to consider it settled, I suppose, that the King of Mœsia
will take kindly to the idea? Very well; then as soon as his answer is
received, you must telegraph to inquire whether he will give a private
audience to a confidential envoy of the highest rank, in order to
discuss matters connected with the proposed marriage. He is pretty
safe to consent, and then either you or I must go to Eusebia.”
“But why?”
“In reality to arrange for this interview which is to end everything.
But if the European public chooses to regard the mission in a
different light, we cannot help it.”
“Ah!” said M. Drakovics. “But you must go. I dare not leave Bellaviste
at this juncture. I cannot trust the townspeople.”
“Never mind,” said Cyril, “I will go. It will look even better, as it
is a family matter. There is no need to wait for King Johann’s answer
before making our preparations. If you will set about having relays of
horses got ready for me at all the posting-stations, I shall be able
to start as soon as things are settled.”
“And you will not have to go as far as Eusebia,” said M. Drakovics.
“The King and Queen and Court are at Herzensruh, a country-seat which
is only a few miles from our own frontier. Your idea is excellent, and
yet--! Without a doubt, it would be still more effective if only we
could produce the impression that the King himself was coming
_incognito_ to plead his own cause. I suppose it would be impossible
for you to personate him?”
“Considering that there is just eight inches’ difference between our
heights, and that the King and Queen and Princess all know him by
sight, it is probable that it would,” said Cyril. “But, believe me,
monsieur, my visit will serve our views better than any romantic
journey Caerleon himself could make.”
“What do you intend to say to King Johann?” asked M. Drakovics.
“My cue will be this. Caerleon is a very modest and retiring fellow,
with an exaggerated idea of his own defects. He has been horrified to
discover that proposals have been made for his marriage without his
having had any opportunity of consulting privately the wishes of the
Princess----”
“I see,” said M. Drakovics. “You may lay as much blame on me as you
like,” he added, magnanimously. “I am a statesman, a plain man of
business, knowing nothing of the subtleties of love-making, you
perceive?”
“Precisely. Well, Caerleon cannot bring himself to believe that the
Princess would be willing to accept him if she knew what he was really
like. A ballroom acquaintance does not seem to him to form a
sufficient foundation for a happy marriage, and he is afraid that his
character and tastes might not attract the young lady’s fancy. This
distressing diffidence is making his life such a burden to him, that I
am sent to see whether a meeting between the young people cannot be
arranged before anything irrevocable is settled. Of course, when the
interview has once taken place, all will come right. It would be
treason to the Princess to think otherwise. You see, if it is properly
put, it is rather complimentary to her than not.”
“Yes; but then the meeting will destroy everything.”
“But we shall have done what we wanted, and you may be sure I will
mention as late a date for it as possible. And I don’t despair of
squaring Princess Ottilie. Caerleon has agreed to abide by her
decision, and if she won’t consent to refuse him, he must marry her.
There’s no doubt that if he told his story to King Johann, he would
simply laugh at it, and the Princess might possibly do the same. But
that must depend on any chance I may get of speaking to her alone.
Where is the meeting to be?”
“There need be no difficulty about that. We have several matters in
dispute with Dardania, and it has long been agreed that King Carlino
and the Prince of Dardania should meet and talk them over under the
excuse of a hunting-party. Now, our frontiers meet those of Mœsia and
Dardania at a spot only three or four miles from Herzensruh, and it
will be the easiest possible thing for the Mœsian royal family to
arrange for an interview at the same time. The date and the exact
details you will of course decide.”
“All right,” said Cyril; “but isn’t it rather a pity to have the
Prince of Dardania knocking about on such a delicate occasion? He
might be inclined to spoil sport.”
“Pooh!” cried M. Drakovics; “he may try, but he will not succeed. What
chance has a prince when a king is in the way? All women are dazzled
by a crown, and the Queen and her daughter will be the very first to
scorn him.”
“Very conveniently for us,” said Cyril. “Well, we will consider that
settled. Now for another highly important matter. The whole thing must
be carried through with exaggerated secrecy, and yet the secret must
leak out, do you see? or we shall have all our trouble for nothing.”
“Certainly,” said M. Drakovics. “A whisper to my agents on the various
Bourses of Europe will ensure its dissemination.”
“Whispers are apt to be overheard,” said Cyril, “and I have a better
plan. You remember Hicks, the American who gave us so much trouble
over the O’Malachy business? Well, it so happens that he is spending
two or three days here now after going to Bashi Konak and back. I met
him last night, and he tried to pump me and find out how his Majesty
was getting over his disappointment. Of course I told him nothing,
only shook my head and looked knowing, and intimated that I could make
startling revelations an if I would; but that is a good foundation for
our business now.”
“And you knew nothing at that time of all this!” said M. Drakovics,
with reluctant admiration.
“Of course not; but I was not going to give myself away by saying so.
What would become of diplomacy if a man said plainly when he knew
nothing about a thing? Hicks is going to be as good as a news-agency
to us, but he will have to find out everything for himself. You
understand?”
“I am deeply interested, milord. Pray proceed.”
“Well, in the evening you will bring out a special Gazette with an
official announcement that the rumours which have been lately in
circulation as to a _rapprochement_ between us and Mœsia are wholly
premature and unauthorised. Of course there are no rumours whatever,
but that is a detail. There will be some soon enough after this
_communiqué_, and it will stir Hicks up. Then, when it is dark, I
will send down our English groom to the Hôtel Occidental, to inquire
whether they can let us have two horses that are good for a hard
long-distance ride next morning. We could use our own horses,
naturally, but there would be no publicity in that. He will not say
where they are to go, but he will hint mysteriously at a country not
far to the west of us, and he will obstinately refuse to state who is
going to travel. After that, I think it will be surprising if Mr Hicks
doesn’t hire a window overlooking the west gate, and sit up all night
to see the start.”
“And then?”
“I shall take only Wright with me, but you will accompany me to the
gate, mentioning loud enough to be heard that the relays of horses are
ready all the way. I shall be muffled up, as though to escape
recognition; but when I am abreast of Hicks the muffler will slip for
a moment--quite accidentally, of course--and he will just catch a
glimpse of my face. That will be enough for him, and the news will be
all over Europe by the evening. I only rely on you to take no further
steps without consulting me, and to keep any papers which speak of the
marriage as a certainty out of Caerleon’s way until I return.”
“But are you able to undertake so long a ride, milord?”
“Oh, I shall do it somehow. The more dead tired I am the better the
impression will be--haste and eagerness so intense, you know, and all
that sort of thing. Besides, I shall take it out of Caerleon a little.
He will be horribly cut up when he finds that I have undergone so much
fatigue just out of tenderness for his scruples, and it ought to make
him easier to manage in future. Riding hard all the way, I should be
back in three days. That is quite long enough to give him a fright.”
“Milord,” said M. Drakovics, with deep conviction, “I am more and more
thankful that it is your brother, and not you, who is King of Thracia.
Hitherto I have bemoaned my hard fate in having to manage a man with a
conscience; but I perceive now that compared with a man without one he
is simplicity itself to deal with.”
“Isn’t that pretty good, from you to me?” asked Cyril with slow scorn,
and the Premier shrugged his shoulders and spread forth his hands
deprecatingly as he bowed himself out.
If the interests of strict morality are to be considered, it would
have been well that the several portions of Cyril’s scheme should not
have met with the complete success which actually attended them. The
appearance of the special Gazette with its enigmatical announcement
created a great sensation in the city, which was heightened by the
fact that the alarming foreign news of the morning had been eagerly
noised abroad by Scythian sympathisers among the townspeople. Wright
performed his business at the Hôtel Occidental with the most
appropriate woodenness of manner, stoutly refusing to be drawn into
any clear statement as to the intended destination of the travellers,
but giving the necessary hints with an extensive facial contortion
which he denominated a wink. Things had fallen out so well that Cyril
felt a good deal of pleasurable excitement as he walked through the
silent streets in the autumn twilight of the next morning but one,
wondering whether Mr Hicks would be equal to the occasion. The King of
Mœsia had replied with effusion, both to the first overtures made by
M. Drakovics, and to the later telegram respecting the envoy, and the
energetic sending of messages backwards and forwards, the news of
which had in some way penetrated to the town, had heightened the
popular excitement. The horses were waiting at the west gate, under
charge of a mounted police official who was to escort the travellers
during the first stage of their journey, and there was a little crowd
of inquisitive citizens gathered at no great distance. A thrill of
triumph ran through Cyril as he recognised among them the sallow face
and scanty beard of the American, and he rejoiced that virtue should
not be its own sole reward in the case of Mr Hicks’s early rising. He
had muffled his throat and the lower part of his face in a silk scarf,
and turned up his collar, and as he mounted his horse it was easy to
let the scarf slip for a moment, which was all that the journalist
required. He went back to the hotel with a sensation in his note-book,
and Cyril rode away on his quest cheered by a pleasing consciousness
of success.
Prior to this day’s experiences, Wright had always entertained a
deep-rooted conviction that Lord Cyril’s horsemanship was far inferior
to that of his brother, both as regarded skill and endurance; but now
he was compelled to admit that he rode “like a Trojan,” whatever that
vague but evidently expressive comparison might mean. With short halts
for food and change of horses, they rode on hour after hour, being
handed over by their first guide to a second, and so on at every
stage, and arriving at Schloss Herzensruh late at night. Cyril found
himself intrusted to the care of the master of the household, who
treated him with breathless consideration, and intimated that he would
be admitted in the morning to an intensely private and confidential
interview with King Johann, and be allowed to depart early, so as to
avoid comment. The King of Mœsia had not Cyril’s reasons for desiring
an unauthorised publicity for the object of his errand, and the envoy
congratulated himself that he had not trusted to the enterprise of
Mœsian journalists.
Morning came, and Cyril was conducted with extreme precaution to the
King’s private room, where there was a secretary on guard at the door,
and a stalwart gamekeeper outside the window. Secrecy having been
ensured by this means, King Johann greeted his guest with delight, and
proceeded to lay bare to him his mind and the state of feeling in his
kingdom far more thoroughly than he had any idea of doing. The
impression that he produced on Cyril was that of a fussy, nervous man,
half elated by the fact of his having emancipated himself from his
wife’s control, and half afraid of the consequences. Throughout their
married life it had always been his custom to follow her advice, and
his kingdom had flourished exceedingly, until a few months before,
when the little rift within the lute had originated in the double
question of the marriage of Princess Ottilie, the only child of the
royal couple, and the succession to the crown. The constitution of
Mœsia did not allow a female to occupy the throne, and there was
therefore no question of the Princess’s bringing that perilous dowry
to her future husband; but while her mother wished her to marry the
Prince of Dardania, a distant connection of her own, the King was
prepared to allow her to marry any one else, but not the Prince. The
reason for this difference of opinion was to be found in the fact that
there was a strong party, both in the Mœsian Legislature and in the
country, who desired the selection of Prince Alexis as their future
ruler, anticipating that, when united with Dardania, the kingdom of
Mœsia would be strong enough to strike awe even into her triumphant
rival Thracia. The members of this party were most anxious for the
marriage, and the Queen supported them with the calm determination
which had always hitherto had its due weight with her more hasty
husband; but some time after the affair had been considered as
settled, its course was interrupted by an alien influence, wielded by
the King’s uncle, the reigning Grand-Duke of Schwarzwald-Molzau. He
had always regarded the kingdom of Mœsia as a snug preserve for one
of the many cadets of his house, and it did not suit him at all that
his plans should be crossed. Emissaries from Molzau were despatched to
Mœsia, the King was invited to revisit the cradle of his race, and
both there and in his own court he was cajoled, threatened, flattered,
and bribed until he refused his consent to the projected marriage. The
Queen was at first incredulous,--it seemed impossible that her power
could have vanished with such suddenness; but the Schwarzwald-Molzaus
had parted husband and wife only too effectually, and an armed
neutrality now existed between them.
This was the state of affairs in Mœsia, when M. Drakovics replied to
King Johann’s half-veiled hints as to the desirability of a closer
alliance between the two kingdoms by the formal demand of Princess
Ottilie’s hand for Caerleon--a demand which the monarch had hastened
with somewhat unkingly eagerness to grant. With the Princess safely
married to some one else, the Prince of Dardania would be deprived of
one of the chief influences on which he relied for support in his
candidature for the throne, while there was no fear that the Mœsians
would ever elect Caerleon as their sovereign. The mutual hatred
between Mœsia and Thracia was far too great for the two nations to
consent to be united under any circumstances, and this left the way
clear for the formal adoption by the reigning sovereign, and
subsequent accession to the Mœsian throne, of one of the younger
princes of the house of Schwarzwald-Molzau.
The first question of importance to be discussed between King Johann
and his guest was that of the treaty, as to the provisions of which
the King was nervously anxious. In fact, he was depending upon the
acquisition of the disputed strip of country as a means of reconciling
his subjects to the Thracian alliance, and preventing their mourning
over the discomfiture of their favourite, Prince Alexis. Hence,
although he heard it with wonder, he accepted with avidity the
suggestion which Cyril had arranged with M. Drakovics should be made.
In order to avoid the unpleasant savour of a bargain, in which the
Princess would be handed over in return for the tract of land, the
treaty respecting the disputed territory was to be drawn up and signed
before any public announcement was made as to the marriage. The King
did not appear to consider that it was less objectionable for his
daughter to act as a seal upon the treaty than as an equivalent in it;
but he grasped eagerly at the offer, and Cyril, who had been
representing in the highest possible light the delicacy of his
brother’s feelings, and the absolute certainty of his refusing to
countenance anything in the nature of a bargain, heaved a sigh of
unfeigned relief.
“This gives us a hold on the old fellow if the wedding doesn’t come
off after all,” he thought, while the King was hugging himself in the
idea that he had just achieved one of the most astute strokes of
policy of modern times. It was agreed that the treaty should be signed
as soon as it could be formally drawn up, and when King Johann
suggested that this ratification might well take place at a personal
meeting of the two sovereigns on the disputed territory, Cyril found
the necessary opening for imparting the real object of his journey.
The King listened in astonishment as he unfolded his story of
Caerleon’s excessive humility, and his determination to consult the
wishes of the Princess before he would consider himself engaged to
her.
“But this is abs--romantic!” cried the King. “It is a piece of the
Middle Ages. Naturally the girl will accept him when she has been
instructed to do so. Why should she not? His fears are preposterous.”
“That is exactly my own view, sir,” said Cyril, in the tone of one
whose endurance had been taxed to the utmost; “but I regret to say
that I cannot enforce it upon my brother. However, after what your
Majesty has just said of the docile disposition of her Royal Highness,
I hope the matter will prove to be merely a form.”
“There is no doubt of that,” said the king, hastily. “If the King of
Thracia is bent upon taking this course I must allow it, although he
will find it a very bad precedent,--undermining his authority,
admitting doubts as to his power, and so on. But I will give my
daughter her orders, and the Queen and she both know by this time that
it will be the worse for her if she does not obey.”
The irrepressible triumph which animated these words betrayed the
exultation of the weak-minded man who had gained a victory over a
strong-minded woman; but Cyril discreetly took no notice of the tone,
wondering only whether the King had intended to conduct his daughter
by main force to the altar, and whether he imagined his auditor to be
labouring under the delusion that the marriage would be a voluntary
one on the part of Princess Ottilie. It was agreed that the important
interview should take place the day after the signing of the treaty,
at a hunting-party to be given by the King at Schloss Herzensruh, the
previous day’s business having been conducted on the strip of
territory which belonged at present to Thracia, but which would pass
to Mœsia by the treaty. This settled, the King rose, and signed to
Cyril to accompany him.
“Now that is all arranged, I will present you to the Queen and the
Princess,” he said; and Cyril, divining that the presentation was
intended as a token of defiance to the Queen, followed him from the
room with lively interest as he marched across the corridor and
entered by the door which a servant threw open.
“This is the Lord Cyril Mortimer, brother and envoy extraordinary of
the King of Thracia,” announced King Johann, in a voice which was in
itself a declaration of war; but Cyril saw at a glance that the Queen
and her daughter had no intention of taking up the gauntlet. Both were
perfectly calm and very friendly, and inquired graciously after people
they had met in England. Princess Ottilie was taller and thinner than
when he had last seen her, and it struck him that she had lost the
loud manner which had aroused Caerleon’s dislike. She was growing more
like her mother; but Cyril felt that it would be long before the
impulsive dark-eyed girl would attain to the stately calmness of the
unintellectual, placid-looking lady who was said to possess one of the
wisest heads in Europe. She had foiled M. Drakovics once, at a period
of acute crisis, and the Thracian Premier had never forgiven her for
her victory, although he was wont to consider it a feather in his cap,
as in that of the statesman whom he most wished to resemble, that he
had all the ladies against him. A few minutes’ confidential
communication with the Queen would throw light on many things, Cyril
thought; but this was impossible so long as the King remained in the
room, moving about uneasily. Her parting words, however, surprised him
not a little.
“Tell his Majesty that I am looking forward to renewing my
acquaintance with him,” she said. “Among our many English friends,
there is none that I remember with so much admiration. I feel that one
can have the most perfect confidence in him.”
“Your Majesty is too good,” said Cyril, astonished. “I am sure my
brother has never ventured to hope that he held such a place in your
recollection.”
“He is the most perfect gentleman I ever knew,” she said emphatically,
and Cyril pondered over her words as he rode away from the castle. The
last sentence he felt at liberty to disregard. It was a taunt flung at
her husband by the Queen as a reply to his challenge; but he scented
danger in the expressions she had used at first.
“She’s up to something,” he said to himself, “but I can’t for the life
of me see what it is. It’s all very well for Drakovics to say that
women will do such and such things; but that’s where he and fellows of
his stamp always go wrong--in imagining that they can generalise about
women. It’s scarcely ever possible to judge of a woman’s probable
conduct from precedents. She is quite capable of striking out a new
line each time. I wonder now whether the Queen thinks she will be able
to get round the old man, and make him break off the match? Well, so
long as we get the treaty signed, and they don’t set to work too soon,
it doesn’t much matter. If only the King had not hung about as he did,
I could have found out a good many interesting things. But he was
afraid they would let on about Prince Alexis, and so he has
effectually stopped my giving the Princess a warning as to Caerleon’s
little game. It’s his own fault if the scheme goes wrong. I wonder
whether he will be able to carry through the business with Pannonia
properly.”
This unpleasant doubt exercised Cyril’s mind frequently during his
long ride. He had devoted the concluding portion of his interview with
the King to coaching him delicately for the part he was to play,
without actually making any suggestions as to the means to be used.
King Johann flattered himself that he was an accomplished diplomatist,
but his young visitor could scarcely have ventured to leave him to act
alone if he had not felt the issue to be so clear that the worst
bungling could hardly succeed in obscuring it. The King’s duty was
merely to intimate to his uncle, the Grand-Duke of Schwarzwald-Molzau,
that if Caerleon’s position in Europe were secured, and he were
allowed to marry Princess Ottilie, the succession to the Mœsian
throne would be left open for one of the younger princes of the parent
house. There could be little doubt that he would welcome the
suggestion, and contrive to bring about the desired change in the
policy of the Powers by influencing Pannonian diplomacy through his
daughter the Empress. Thus Cyril’s mind was tolerably at ease when,
after nearly a day and a half of riding--for he had started too late
to complete the return journey in one day--he reached the
neighbourhood of Bellaviste. They were passing through a small village
when the first distant glimpse of the city was obtained, and Wright
urged his horse up to Cyril’s.
“Beg your pardon, my lord, but p’raps you’d like to rest ’ere for a
hour or so, and give these ’ere ’orses a feed and a bit of a rub-down.
It looks as though we didn’t know ’ow to treat a ’orse to bring ’im in
like this, and me always a-jawin’ the stable-boys about it.”
“I am sorry that the stable-boys will have to lose their object-lesson
to-day, Wright,” said Cyril, with a smile of the utmost gentleness,
“for it is important for us to hurry. But you need not think I am
ashamed of the state the horses are in. If you like to ride yours
through the next puddle, and get him well splashed, I have no
objection.”
Wright touched his hat, and fell back with an inarticulate grunt,
making no attempt to profit by the permission accorded him. At Schloss
Herzensruh he had fallen in with a fellow-exile in the person of King
Johann’s coachman, who was also an Englishman, and he had informed
him, in the course of a long and generally lugubrious exchange of
confidences, that “a straighter rider than ’is Majesty, nor a
pleasanter master, I don’t wish to see--and it do take something like
a ’orse to carry ’is Majesty,” he added with professional pride; “but
Lord Cyril--there! ’e’s beyond me.” Cyril smiled to himself over the
groom’s look of bewilderment as he rode on, and reflected that it
would have been a thousand pities to spoil the effect of their return
by care for the appearance of the horses. As it was, when the dusty
and travel-stained riders and their weary beasts entered the gates of
Bellaviste, they created a sensation. A keen curiosity had been rife
ever since Cyril’s departure, to account for which the wildest
theories had been started, and his return promised fresh interest to
the townsfolk. They gathered about him in crowds, and inquired
anxiously the object of his journey, and whether all was well. To the
first question he professed himself unable to give an answer; but on
the subject of the second he was able to reassure his questioners,
although the most audacious hints as to the King’s possible marriage
could gain no confirmation from his lips until he met Mr Hicks.
“Well, Lord Cyril, guess his Majesty’s about got over his
disappointment, anyway?” remarked the journalist confidentially.
Cyril responded in two words of the American’s own language, “You
bet!” and rode on to the palace. Dismounting hastily, he forbade the
servants to announce him, and hurrying up the steps, staggered into
Caerleon’s study, and collapsed upon the sofa.
“What! back already?” said Caerleon, looking up from his papers.
Cyril sat up. “_Already_!” he remarked, tragically; “I have ridden
night and day for the sake of a fad of yours, and this is all I get
for it!”
“My dear fellow, what made you do such a thing?” cried Caerleon,
rising and coming towards him. “I never thought of your rushing to
Mœsia and back like this. We shall have you ill again. Let me get you
some brandy.”
“You had better call one of the servants, and let me give the order,”
said Cyril, with crushing irony. “_You_ are a temperance man. Well, at
any rate I hope you will be pleased to know that I have made
arrangements for you to meet the Princess.”
“Is it really necessary for me to meet her?” asked Caerleon,
anxiously. “I have been hoping you would manage to nip the scheme in
the bud without that.”
“When you forbade me to mention the matter!” cried Cyril, with natural
indignation. “I had plenty of opportunities for telling the King your
story, but you had hinted that I should misrepresent it, so I said
nothing. Of course I did the wrong thing. Well, I have done all I can,
and I am dead beat. Just let me alone, that’s all I want.”
He turned over on the sofa and went to sleep, for it was perfectly
true that he was very tired after the three days’ ride, while Caerleon
stood looking at him in much apprehension and self-reproach. To cover
his brother with a rug and send for the Court physician to see him
were obviously the only things for the King to do; but when the doctor
averred that there was nothing amiss with the patient but fatigue, and
prescribed merely rest and mental relaxation, he could not accept the
comfort thus conveyed. When Cyril had been roused with much difficulty
from the sofa, and persuaded to go to bed, Caerleon went round to the
stables to speak to Wright, whom he found engaged in superintending
the grooming of one of the horses, which he conceived had been
neglected during his absence.
“Glad to see you looking so fit, Wright,” said his master, as Wright
straightened himself against the wall, and touched his cap. “I was
afraid I should find you dead beat. Lord Cyril seems to be tired out.”
“Do ’e, your Majesty?” responded Wright. “I ’adn’t noticed it. If
you’ll believe me, I think as ’is lordship’s ’avin’ a little joke with
you. ’E’s always tryin’ on them sort of games, beggin’ your Majesty’s
pardon.”
This was added as an afterthought, in response to Caerleon’s look of
astonishment, as the King turned on his heel, and walked away in
displeasure. Wright was getting disgustingly impudent, he reflected.
No doubt too much had been made of him, and he felt that he had a
right to put on side, as the only Englishman among the servants, but
he must be taught his place. Caerleon was painfully conscious that
there was not always a complete unity of aims and agreement as to
means between Cyril and himself, but that Wright should venture to
notice the fact was insufferable. He should learn that being the
King’s fellow-countryman did not necessarily make him his confidant,
and a studied repressiveness of manner in addressing him for some days
would go far to make him forget that he had been chosen as Cyril’s
sole companion on his important mission--an honour which seemed to
have encouraged him to presume. And upon this decision Caerleon
proceeded to act, to the signal discomfiture of Wright, whose natural
enemies the stable-boys asserted themselves unmercifully when they saw
that the royal favour had forsaken him.
Cyril, in the meantime, was enjoying himself. In obedience to the
orders of the physician, he spent several days on a sofa in his room,
and had all the papers brought him for his amusement. In this way he
was enabled to exercise a very effectual press censorship, weeding the
journals carefully, and sending down for Caerleon’s perusal only such
old-fashioned and painfully respectable prints as never hint at an
approaching royal marriage until the betrothal is actually announced.
Thanks to Mr Hicks, all the more modern and go-ahead papers were
teeming with reports and rumours on the subject of an anticipated
Mœsio-Thracian alliance, and two days after his return Cyril noted
with satisfaction a paragraph in a semi-official German paper to the
effect that the Emperor of Pannonia appeared inclined to recede from
the policy he had adopted of giving Scythia a free hand with regard to
Thracia, and to maintain an attitude of reserve. This in itself was
cheering, but for several days the situation continued to be extremely
unsettled, constant rumours of _rapprochements_ and coolnesses coming
to make matters doubtful. At last it was accepted as fairly certain
that Scythia and Pannonia were unable to agree on the Thracian
question, and that neither would trust the other to interfere; but
before things had reached this dead-lock, which left matters as they
had been before the two countries had arrived at their temporary
agreement, Cyril had received a cipher message from King Johann
Casimir to say that all was well.
This prepared the way for the signing of the treaty, which M.
Drakovics had been drafting in accordance with Cyril’s notes of his
conversation with the Mœsian sovereign; and when everything was
ready, Caerleon and Cyril left Bellaviste for the frontier, in order
to entertain the Prince of Dardania for a week’s hunting. The visit
was a purely informal one, M. Drakovics only coming down twice to
discuss various questions of policy, and the little party in the
hunting-lodge found their stay very pleasant. The Prince of Dardania
was young and athletic, and a mighty hunter, and displayed as much
delight over his escape from the cares of State and the supervision of
his Prime Minister as did Caerleon. The two became great friends, and
their intimacy caused Cyril much apprehension, owing to his constant
fear that they might discuss together the situation with respect to
Mœsia. He gave himself endless trouble, and caught several colds, in
accompanying them on all their expeditions, when he would much rather
have remained sitting over the fire at the hunting-lodge or lounging
about the little village; but he felt the absolute necessity of
preventing their coming to an understanding. He knew that he was a
hindrance to their enjoyment, for long walks were obliged to be
curtailed, and bridges sought instead of fords, in consideration of
his physical weakness; but Caerleon could not bring himself to suggest
that he should remain at home, and Prince Alexis smiled and said
nothing.
At times it struck Cyril that all his trouble was unnecessary, for
that the Prince could not be aware that Caerleon was his rival; but it
seemed impossible that the European gossip as to the approaching
disposal of Princess Ottilie’s hand should not have reached his ears.
More than once, also, Cyril caught him looking Caerleon over, in a
musing, business-like fashion, as though he were taking stock of him,
and after moments such as this he always redoubled his efforts to keep
the two from being alone together. He felt sure that Prince Alexis
knew what was going on when, in response to a question from Caerleon
as to whether he intended to join the hunting-party at Schloss
Herzensruh the day after the signing of the treaty, he replied that he
could not well intrude on the King of Mœsia at such a purely family
gathering, but that he would no doubt be able to pay his respects
later. And yet it seemed strange that he made no attempt to win
Caerleon over to his side, a fact which left Cyril still troubled by
uncertainty, even after the treaty was signed. The points of
difficulty between Thracia and Dardania had been satisfactorily
arranged by the two sovereigns and their Ministers, and they were
incorporated into an addition to the Mœsian treaty, although Cyril
almost feared that the negotiations would fall through when he saw the
meeting between King Johann Casimir and Prince Alexis. The King’s
manner was nervously triumphant, and inclined to be unfriendly, and
most men would have taken offence at it, especially after the rupture
which had already occurred between them; but the Prince passed it by
without notice, and all went off peaceably.