THE TOREADOR BECOMES AMBASSADOR
Manuel Blanco was ubiquitous during the first days following the
coronation. He listened to the fragments of talk that drifted along the
streets. He frequented the band concerts in the Public Gardens and drank
native vintages in the wine-shops. He elbowed his way naïvely into
chattering groups with his ears primed for a careless word. Nowhere did
he catch a note hinting of intrigue or danger. It seemed a sound
conclusion that if the plotters had not entirely surrendered their
project for switching Kings in Galavia, their conspiracies were being
once more fomented on foreign soil, just as the first plan had been
incubated in Cadiz.
One evening shortly after the dual celebration, a steamer laden with
tourists lay at anchor in the bay, outlined in points of light like a
set-piece of fireworks. Hundreds of new sight-seeing faces swarmed along
the narrow, cobbled streets. This would be a great night in the
Strangers' Club and Blanco decided to spend an hour there.
In evening dress he moved through the gardens and pavilions of the
casino on the rock, where with the coming of darkness the gayety of the
town began to focus and sparkle.
The coronation of Karyl had brought to an end official mourning for the
late King, and the crêpe which had palled the national insignia on all
public buildings had been cleared away. With this restoration of public
gayety came a liberal sprinkling of uniforms to the throngs that crowded
the ball-rooms, tea-gardens and gambling halls.
Blanco was standing apart, looking on, when he felt a light touch on his
shoulder and turned to find a young officer at his back who smilingly
begged him for a moment in the gardens. The Spaniard noticed that the
man who addressed him wore the epaulettes of a Captain of Infantry and
the added stripe and crown of gold lace at the cuff which designated
service in the household of the reigning family.
He turned and accompanied the officer through the wide door into the
lantern-hung grounds, passing between the groups which clustered
everywhere about small wicker tea-tables. There were no quiet or
secluded spots in the gardens of the Strangers' Club to-night, but after
a brief glance right and left the Captain led the way to a table in a
shadowed niche between two doors. The light there was more shadowed and
the tides of promenaders did not crowd so close upon it as elsewhere. As
the two came up a third man rose from this table and Manuel found
himself looking into the flinty eyes of Colonel Von Ritz.
Von Ritz spoke briefly. If _Señor_ Blanco could spare the time, His
Majesty wished to speak with him.
The younger officer turned back into the casino and Von Ritz led the
_toreador_ through the front gardens, where the tennis courts lay bare
between the palms. The acacias and sycamores were soft, dark spots
against the far-flung procession of the stars.
The street outside was crowded with fiacres and cabs. Von Ritz signaled
to a footman and in a moment more Blanco and his escort had stepped into
a closed carriage and were being driven toward the Palace. They entered
by a side passage and the Colonel conducted him through several halls
and chambers filled with uniformed officers, and finally into a more
remote part of the building where they met only an occasional servant.
At last they came into a great room entirely empty but for themselves.
About the walls hung ripened portraits. The decorations were of
Arabesque mosaics with fantastic panels of Moorish tiling. It might have
been a grandee's house in Seville, patterned on the Alcazar. Evidently
this was part of a private suite. Heavy portières were only partly drawn
across a wide window with the sill at the floor level, and through them
Blanco dimly saw a balcony giving out over a small garden, and
commanding more distantly the harbor and town lights below. From
somewhere in the garden came the splashing of a small fountain.
Here Von Ritz left his charge to himself, silently departing with a bow.
For a while the Spaniard remained alone. The room was not so brightly
illuminated as many through which he had come on his way across the
Palace. Light filtered through swinging lamps of wrought metal encrusted
with prisms of green and amber and garnet. The Moorish scheme depends in
part upon its shadows. Finally a gentleman entered from a balcony. He
was neither in uniform nor in evening dress. His face was smooth-shaven
and pleasing.
Blanco fancied this was a secretary or attendant of some sort, and was
conscious of slight surprise that as he entered the place he smoked a
cigarette with a freedom scarcely fitting the King's personal chambers.
At the window the gentleman halted and looked Blanco over with a frank
but not offensive curiosity. Manuel returned the gaze, wondering where
he had seen the face before, yet unable to identify it. Then the
newcomer crossed and proffered the Spaniard a cigarette from a gold
case, which the _toreador_ declined with a shake of his head.
"_Gracias, Señor_," he said, "but I am waiting for the King."
The other smiled, and the visitor noticed that even in smiling his lips
fell into lines of sadness.
"None the less," he said pleasantly, "a man may as well have the solace
of tobacco while he waits--even though he awaits a King."
The Andalusian once more shook his head, and the other continued to
study him with that undisguised interest which his eyes had worn from
the first.
"So you are one of the two men," he said, "who learned what all the
secret agents of the Throne failed to unearth. Incidentally it is to you
that the present King owes not only his Crown, but his life as well." He
paused.
"After all," he went on, "it is neither your fault nor Mr. Benton's that
the King could have done very well without either the Crown or his life.
You restored something which perhaps he held worthless.... But that is
his own misfortune."
Blanco's expressive face mirrored a shade of resentment. He had come on
summons from the King and found himself listening to the familiar, even
disrespectful, chatter of some underling who laughed at his Monarch and
lightly appraised the value of his life while he smoked cigarettes in
the Royal apartments. The Spaniard bowed stiffly.
"I observe you are in the confidence of the King," he said, in a tone
not untouched with disapproval.
The other man's lips curled in amusement. After a moment he replied with
simple gravity.
"I am the King."
Blanco stood gazing in astonishment. "You--the King!" Then, recognizing
that the shaving of a mustache and the change into civilian clothes had
made the difference in a face and figure he had seen only on the streets
and through shifting crowds, he bowed with belated deference.
Karyl once more held out his case. "Now perhaps you will have a
cigarette?"
The _toreador_ took one and lighted it slowly. The King went on.
"My sole pleasure is pretending that I am not a Monarch. Between
ourselves, I should prefer other employment. You, for example, I am told
have won fame in the bull ring--and it was fame you earned for
yourself."
Blanco flushed, then, bethinking himself of the fact that he had been
brought here presumably with a purpose, he ventured to suggest: "Your
Majesty wished to see me about some matter?"
The other shook his head.
"No," he said slowly, "it was not really I who sent for you. It was Her
Majesty, the Queen."
Before he had time for response the _toreador_ caught the sound of a
shaken curtain behind him, but since he stood facing the King he did not
turn.
Karyl, however, looked up, and then swiftly crossed the room. As he
passed, Blanco wheeled to face him and was in time to see him holding
back the portières of a door for the Queen to enter.
She was gowned in black with the sparkle of passementerie and jet, and
at her breast she wore a single red rose. As she stood for a moment on
the threshold, despite the majesty of her slender poise it appeared to
Blanco that her grace was rather that of something wild and free and
that the Palace seemed to cage her. But that may have been because, as
she paused, her hands went to her breast and a furrow came between her
brows, while the corners of her lips drooped wistfully like a child's.
The King stooped to kiss her hand, and she turned toward him with a
smile which was pallid and which did not dissipate the unhappiness of
her face. Then Karyl straightened and said to Blanco, who felt himself
suddenly grow awkward as a muleteer: "The Queen."
Manuel dropped on one knee. At a gesture from Cara he rose and waited
for her to speak. Karyl himself halted at the door for a moment, then
came slowly back into the room. He picked up from a tabouret a
decoration of the Star of Galavia, and, crossing over, pinned it to the
Spaniard's lapel.
"There!" he said, with a good-humored laugh. "You made me a somewhat
valueless present a few days back. You will find that equally useless,
Sir Manuel. You may tell Mr. Benton that I envy him such an ally."
With a bow to the Queen, the King left the apartment.
For a moment the girl stood at the door, with the same expression and
the same silence, unbroken by her since her entrance, then she turned to
the Spaniard and spoke directly. Her voice held a tremor.
"How is he?"
"I have not seen him since the day on the mountain," returned Manuel.
"He has, in you, a very true friend."
"Your Majesty, I am his servant," deprecated the toreador.
"If I had friends like you," she smiled, "it would matter little what
they called themselves. And yet, if there is but one like you, I had
rather that that one be with him. I want you to go to him now and remain
with him."
"Your Majesty, _Señor_ Benton left me here to watch for recurring
dangers. I am now satisfied that nothing threatens, at least for the
present. I might, as Your Majesty suggests, better be with him."
"Yes--yes--with him!" she eagerly agreed; then her voice took on the
timbre of anxiety. "I am afraid. Sometimes I am afraid for him. He is
not a coward, but there are times when we all become weak. I appoint
you, Sir Manuel--" the girl smiled wanly--"I appoint you my Ambassador
to be with him and watch after him--and, Sir Manuel--" her voice shook a
little with very deep feeling--"I am giving you the office I had rather
have than all the thrones in Christendom! Will you accept it?"
She held out her hand, and taking it reverently in his own, the
Andalusian bowed low over it. He did not kneel, for now he was the
Ambassador in the presence of his Sovereign. "With all the Saints for my
witnesses," he declared fervently, "I swear it to Your Majesty."
There was gratitude in her eyes as they met the whole-heartedness of the
pledge in his. For a moment she seemed unable to speak, though there was
no dimness of tear-mist in her pupils. She stood very upright and
silent, and her breathing was deep. Then slowly her hands came up and
loosened the flower at her breast.
"The King has decorated you, Sir Manuel," she said. "I don't think Mr.
Benton would care for knighthood--and I could not confer it--but
sometime--not now--some day after you have both departed from Galavia,
give him this. Tell him it may have a message which I may not put in
words. If he can read the heart of a rose deeply enough, perhaps he can
find it there."
When Blanco had carefully folded the emblem of his embassy in paper and
deposited it in his breast pocket, she gave him her hand again, and,
turning, went out through the same door that she had entered.
Back in the town, Blanco had certain investigations to make. He knew Von
Ritz's men had been too late to capture the Duke, and that the Countess
Astaride had sailed by the steamer leaving for French and Italian ports.
Wherever these two conspirators should meet would become the next point
to watch.
Blanco felt sure that Louis would be willing to drop back into the
routine of his life in Paris, freshly stocked with pessimistic memories
of how a crown had slipped through his fingers. It would take driving to
prevent him lagging into the inertia of sentimental brooding. On the
other hand, he knew that the Countess Astaride, having gone so far,
would never again relinquish her ambitions. He knew the temper of the
Countess's mind from various bits of gossip he had heard and now also
from what he had seen. He knew that, while she was entirely willing to
participate in a murder plot to further her designs, she was not fired
solely by a lust for power. More deeply she was actuated by her wish to
make Louis Delgado a man of potentiality because she loved Louis
Delgado.
That love might evidence itself in savagery toward men who obstructed
the road which her lover must travel to a crown, but it was a ferocity
born of love for the Pretender.
Since this was true it was not probable that she would allow the matter
to end where it stood. Even if she were willing, it was more than
certain that Jusseret had not entered into the undertaking without some
sufficient end in view. Having entered it, he would not relinquish it
because the first attempt had been bungled.
That same night Manuel sent a message to the _Isis_, saying that he was
sailing the following morning by the Genoa steamer and asking that the
yacht meet the ship and take him on board. Having done that much, he
went to the hotel where the Countess had stopped and told the clerk that
he had news of importance to communicate to Madame the Countess, and
that he wished to learn her present address. The clerk, like all Puntal,
was ignorant of what important matters had just missed happening, but he
had instructions from this lady to assume ignorance as to her
destination. Blanco, however, showed the seal ring which she had said
would prove a passport to her presence and which Benton had left with
him. He was promptly informed that she had taken passage for
Villefranche, and had ordered her mail forwarded there in care of the
steamship agency.