"What if I hurt, Maharajah? Your heart has changed to us since you
came to England; you know now that we are not all brutes. You know
that some of us, unbelievers, are not to be bought?"
"What do you mean?" An ominous flush burned in Prince Ali's face.
"When you bought my father with two million pounds, did you know
where the money came from?"
Under the dark skin came pallor, and concentrated rage leaped to
Prince Ali's eyes, as he recoiled.
"Understand this, my lord," said the Maharajah of Haidar. "One
cannot hate an enemy from the very heart unless he has been a friend.
Withdraw that question; I give you the chance to withdraw. To no
other man living would I allow so much."
"I must repeat my question, Maharajah."
"I'll have your life for this!"
"And afterwards? How could you possibly remain in the household?
Come, deny the charge, Prince, and let me beg your pardon."
"By Azrael----"
"Don't swear at me. I give you a week to leave Her Majesty's
service."
A young man, a civilian, was coming up the stairway, a big boy with
blue eyes and freckles, who carried a letter in his hand. Lord
Sydney turned to him as he reached the stairhead.
"Can I serve you?" asked the guardsman, courteously.
The boy drew nearer. "If you please," he said nervously, "this
letter is for the Adjutant."
"A rookie?"
"My name is Browne, sir, and I----"
"Fresh from the incubator?"
"I've passed," said the boy in shy triumph, "but the Adjutant?"
"I think the Adjutant is out on the tiles. Let me introduce you; Mr.
Browne, Trooper Ali."
Prince Ali bowed stiffly and walked away.
"Won't you sit down?" Lord Sydney offered a chair.
The boy sat down, and Sydney joining him, he produced a cigarette
case.
The trooper appeared to be shocked. "Put it away," he whispered.
"We don't smoke--bad for a man in training."
From a syphon on the table beside him he filled a glass with
sparkling water, a delicately flavoured draught, which the boy
accepted wondering.
"Don't you drink wine or----"
"Never breathe the word! We must keep in condition, with the
Tournament due next month, or the Tommies will carry off half our
trophies. What games do you play, Mr. Browne? We want new blood
badly, especially in the cricket field. I'm captain of the first
eleven."
"I don't play, though."
"Are you a decent aerial yachtsman?"
"I'm a savage," cried the boy humbly, but Sydney had set him quite at
ease.
"A savage?"
"I'm from the province of Yukon."
"Where on earth is that?"
"In arctic Canada. My old man has cattle."
"In the Arctic?"
"Yes, a six months' day, and a six months' night. I tell you it's an
awful thing for a cowpuncher to face you fellows."
"A what?"
"Cowboy."
"But I thought that cowboys and dodos and mammoths and all those
things were extinct--swept away in the nineteenth century. A real
live cowboy?"
The lad blushed. "I was raised in the saddle, and it's a
three-hundred-mile ride across the ranche."
"But cows!"
The boy laughed at Sydney now. "No, reindeer, and musk oxen. We
have three hundred thousand head of stock, besides raising pelts."
"What are pelts?"
"Silver fox skins, sea otter, beaver, musquash."
The boy was straining every fibre of his being to win acceptance from
this courtly man of the town.
"What a jolly outdoor life," said Sydney; "tell me more, do you----"
A faint sound of spurs arrested the trooper in mid speech. He
instantly jammed on his casque and sprang sharp to "attention." In
the curtained doorway opposite an officer appeared in golden armour;
Sydney stood forward at the salute.
"A recruit, sir."
The boy went trembling and presented his letter.
"Hum--Mr. Browne?"
The boy blushed.
"We have your credentials, Trooper Browne, which are approved." He
glanced over the letter. "I see that you passed with honours in
horsemanship at the school of arms. Report at the Mess dinner to
take the oath, after which you will be presented when her Majesty
permits. Trooper Sydney, take charge of this gentleman."
As the Adjutant passed on towards the State apartments, a sergeant of
the corps came running down the stairs, but stood aghast at the sight
of his officer, and tried to conceal a large green cardboard box.
"Sergeant Dymoke," the Adjutant gave signs of impatience; "carrying
parcels here?"
Dymoke grinned uneasily, dropping the box as he came to the salute.
"Forgive the Queen's champion, sir, for bearing the Queen's favours."
Now the Dymoke has from time immemorial in England a vested right of
appearing at the Coronation mounted and clad in plate armour, to cast
his gauntlet on the floor of Westminster Hall, and there challenge
all comers to joust _à l'entrance_ on behalf of his sovereign's right
to the throne of this kingdom.
"I don't see," said the Adjutant, suavely, "what the Queen's champion
has to do with that box of gloves."
"I intercepted these, sir," said Dymoke, "at the door of the private
rooms; they are a gross of white gloves for her Majesty. I want to
wear my Lady's favour to-morrow, and this is the first thing I've
managed to steal for months."
"Pardon, sir," said Lord Sydney, saluting; "but though we can't all
wear boiler plate like Dymoke, every trooper in the Guard wants to
bear our Lady's favour."
"My Lord," the Adjutant smiled, "are we unfortunate officers to be
left out? Sergeant, have one of her Majesty's gloves placed at every
cover in the Regimental Mess, and pass the word for each man to
fasten the Queen's favour on his helmet. If she is angry, she shall
punish the lot of us--but see that no outsider gets a chance."
The boy was beyond surprise by this time, and, like a colt broken of
shying, was introduced to the men on duty. He was shown the armoury,
mess-room, club-rooms, baths, stables--all that splendid barrack
which fronted the palace.
Then Sydney took him to the room allotted to his use, and the lad's
heart beat high as he put on the undress uniform of the corps.
"Do you feel like a savage now?" asked Sydney, laughing.
"I don't know how I feel."
The lad was changed beyond knowledge, his bronzed skin glowing
against the silver, and if his face was made in the rough, his limbs
were a matter for boasting.
"We're all savages," said Sydney, "all savages, we English, under our
skins. Ever seen any fighting, Mr. Browne?"
The boy's eyes glistened.
"How I wish----" he sighed, "but there's been no big war for thirty
years."
"When you live on a volcano which hasn't been in eruption for thirty
years--look out."
"But do you think----"
"Do you think," said Sydney, "that we wear this confounded livery for
fun? Do you think we've given up smoking, drinking, late hours--and
all the rest--from piety? Do you think we drill hours a day for want
of other exercise? Wait until you've been a few days in town, and
then you'll know."
The lad was thinking things which had no words; and when that evening
he sat at dinner in the banqueting hall of white marble, surrounded
by all the circumstance of Margaret's incomparable court, he could
not trust himself to speak. He rose with the rest when the trumpets
sounded, he put his lips to his glass when the vice-president
cried--"Gentlemen--the Queen!"--but a little tear ran out of his left
eye. He saw as through a mist the glittering splendour of the scene,
and wanted to shout when the band played the National Anthem.
The Captain, Prince Rupert of Gloucester, had come forward to the
front of the dais, with the other officers grouped about him. Then
one of the trumpeters called a summons.
"Attend, Trooper Sydney."
"Come on," said Sydney roughly to the lad, and all eyes were upon
them as they marched up the hall to the dais.
"Sir," said Lord Sydney, "I present Trooper Browne."
"Trooper Browne, kneel."
The lad bent his knee to the ground, and the Captain spoke again.
"I bid you lay your hands in mine."
Tremulous, the lad held out his hands until the Captain clasped them
in his own, and began indifferently to deliver the great oath based
upon Alfred Tennyson's code of Honour:
"And swear
To reverence the Queen as if she were
Your conscience, and your conscience as the Queen.
To break the heathen and uphold the Christ.
To ride abroad redressing human wrong.
To honour your own word as though your God's.
To speak no slander, nay, or listen to it.
To live a life of purest chastity.
To love one maiden only, cleave to her
And worship her with years of noble deeds."
Then the air rang with music, while the Captain, Lord Sydney
attending as a squire, put upon the lad a tunic of mail, and on his
head the lion-crested casque, bound spurs upon his feet, hung a sword
from his belt and bade him in his life and to his death be ever a
Christian, a gentleman, a soldier, in the service of Almighty God,
the British Empire, and our Sovereign Lady.
The stately ritual was scarcely over, the regiment had not begun to
disperse, the men just relieved from guard were still clattering in
for dinner, when the great doors swung open at the back of the dais,
and instantly every man in the room sprang at attention.
For the usher had announced--"Her Majesty," and Margaret, attended by
her ladies, entered the mess-room.
"Cousin," said our Lady to the Captain, "we have come to demand the
head of Sergeant Dymoke."
The Captain passed the word, and the Queen's Champion came forward to
make obeisance.
"Sergeant," said our Lady, whose voice rang through the silent place,
"you are charged with stealing my gloves. Guilty or not guilty?"
"Guilty, Madame," said the Queen's Champion, prompt to the word.
"You seem to be mightily pleased. I demand the gloves."
"I have but one left, Madame, and that next my heart."
"And where are the rest, pray?"
"I don't know, Madame."
But every man in the room had produced a glove to wave in triumph,
and the officers themselves were first in the offence.
"So this shameful theft has been committed by all my lords and
gentlemen of the Guard. Do you all plead guilty?"
The hall rang with the triumphant answer.
"Then," the Queen's voice sounded more than severe, "we pronounce
sentence. Your punishment shall be a full-dress mounted parade, with
no excuses, at the stroke of the next hour."
There was a general gasp of consternation.
"We have been dull all day, a prisoner in the hands of our governess,
but to-night we are mutinous, we shall take the air and ride with our
Guard. Dismiss!"
The Guard could not be restrained upon this eve of the Coronation
from giving three cheers for the Queen, but presently the Captain
begged leave of his cousin to grant audience to a new trooper. The
quiet hall was almost empty now, and a young lad, shaking with
fright, sank on one knee to kiss a small gloved hand.
"Are you very much frightened?"
The sweet voice came down to him out of a mist.
"Very," sighed Browne, scarcely conscious that he spoke, for now he
was looking up and saw the glorious beauty of the Queen.
Something hummed in his ears, and yet he could hear his own voice
like the voice of somebody else.
"I love you. I love you."
"You mustn't," said our Lady gravely, "it's very wrong indeed. The
Queen may have everything--everything on earth, save that. There's
nothing worth while in all the world save love, and the Queen must
have no love. Don't you pity me?"
The lad saw a little quiver in our Lady's face, half grief, half
laughter; then like a dumb animal which dare not even speak, he
kissed her hand again.
That night, far away from the illuminations, the clash of music, and
the roaring crowds, long silent streets towards Windsor awoke from
their sleep with thunder of hoofs, the clank of steel, the music of
armour. Queen Margaret was out for a scamper with her Guard.