A STRANGE ALLY
“We cannot play the lion here; we must play the fox.”
Ludovic had touched Ompertz on the arm, as the soldier stood defiantly
eyeing the captain of the Count’s body-guard, and they had turned away
down the slope.
“We can do nothing against that force as we are, and it is madness to
think of it. All we can attempt is to set our wits against the Count’s.”
“A damnable villain!” Ompertz exclaimed setting his teeth wrathfully.
“Yes; we have walked into a hideous trap. Worse, we have taken that
divine girl into it with us.”
“May I be hanged if I understand it,” Ompertz observed, in a mystified
tone.
“I think I do,” Ludovic returned gloomily.
“You believe the ladies have not left the castle?”
“I am sure of it.” He turned and looked towards the point where the
great square tower was just visible above the ravine, and stamped his
foot in impotent desperation. “And I have been calling Fate my friend,”
he exclaimed bitterly. “Of all the hideous tricks she has ever played
man, surely this is the most crushing. To lose everything at one stroke
by the hand of a brute in human form such as that. To be helpless here,
our very lives not worth an hour’s purchase, and the Princess----ah,
why did we not let those five fellows kill us just now, and end this
misery worse than death?”
“For my part I am just as pleased they did not,” Ompertz said dryly;
“and it is some satisfaction to know that if we have but an hour or
two to live, we have accounted for five of as scurvy a company of
scoundrels as ever it has been my luck to encounter. Now, sire, if, as
our law is short enough to make time of some account, I may speak under
pardon, we have two courses more or less open to us. To run away, or
stay and do our best to rescue the ladies. I need hardly ask which,
even with a kingdom at stake, your Highness chooses.”
The sharp gust of despondency which had swept over Ludovic had soon
passed away. “No need, truly,” he replied. “If we have but one thing
more to do in this world it must be to find the Princess and Countess
Minna and get them out of the clutches of this execrable villain. It is
a desperate venture, and our lives will, almost surely, pay forfeit for
the attempt; but it must be made.”
Ompertz had become thoughtful. “It is a poor chance,” he said at
length; “so desperate that I doubt whether your Highness be justified
in taking it. Hear me out, sire,” for Ludovic had, by an impatient
gesture, imposed silence upon him; “I am far from counselling a policy
of cowardice. This rescue cries out to be accomplished; it is the one
thing under Heaven to-day which can brook no disregard. But the means,
sire? Are you right in almost surely throwing your life away on a
forlorn hope? Will you hear my simple plan? That the Princess Ruperta
is held a prisoner in the castle of this rascally Count has but to be
known abroad, and her rescue is but the question of a regiment’s march
hither, nay of a word from our late acquaintance, Chancellor Rollmar.
Her kidnapper is ignorant of her identity; he little knows what he is
doing.”
“I doubt whether, did he know it, the matter would not be made worse,”
Ludovic said. “I seem now to have heard of this Count Irromar as one
who has spent his life in defying all law, national and moral, and
has long been at issue with the government to which he should owe
allegiance. An outlaw, a very brigand, or I am much mistaken; and his
conduct corroborates my suspicion. That we, of all people, should have
put our necks under his heel.”
“It is like enough,” Ompertz replied composedly. “But that the rightful
and, I trust, soon reigning King of one State, and the Princess of
another, should remain in such a situation is monstrous, inconceivable.
Now, sire, my plan is this: Let me stay here alone, using what poor
strength and wit I have to find out and free the Princess, while your
Highness hurries post-haste back to Rollmar. There can be nothing
to fear from him now, this peril will be paramount over every other
consideration.”
Ludovic took a short turn, thinking over the project “No,” he said at
length. “I cannot do it. Your suggestion is praiseworthy enough, my
good friend, but I cannot leave Princess Ruperta.”
“Not even when your departure would mean her speedy release,” the
soldier urged; “your staying here, your own death and her condemnation
to the lengthened horror, to which from that villain she is certain to
be exposed?”
“I cannot go,” Ludovic cried in desperation. “How can I leave her like
this without even an attempt at rescue?”
“If the Princess,” Ompertz said resolutely, “can hear one word from the
world outside those walls, she shall know the truth; if not, you may as
well be bringing help as staying here to no purpose.”
But still the idea of leaving was so repugnant to Ludovic that he would
not agree. He proposed to send Ompertz on the errand, but the soldier
sturdily refused to leave the King in the midst of that deadly peril.
For it was certain enough that the Count’s was no idle threat. It
needed no more than the argument of that morning’s attack to put his
intention beyond a doubt. At length, after a discussion which lasted
till the sands of their hour’s grace had run out, it was determined
that they should, at any risk, make a thorough examination of the
castle and its approaches, and try what chance there might be of
holding communication with the Princess. To leave that unattempted was
impossible, and should their scrutiny promise no success, Ludovic would
lose no further time in hurrying off to the nearest place where help
could be obtained.
With this settled plan, they set themselves to return to the castle,
avoiding any spies or guards who might be on the watch for them.
Ompertz, however, was shrewdly of opinion that the Count would regard
the idea of their return, at least alone, as too improbable for the
need of taking any great precautions, although he might, no doubt,
anticipate the bringing of an armed force against him later, when time
allowed.
Still, with their lives already forfeit, they had to proceed warily.
They were at issue with a man, shrewd, determined and probably as
cunning as he was cruel. They decided to make their way to the wooded
height above the castle whence they could reconnoitre it from the
rear. The climb was tedious enough to their impatient spirits, since
it was necessary for safety to approach it by an indirect way. But at
length they reached a point of observation several hundred feet above
the castle which lay immediately beneath. On the way they had met no
signs of any human beings, and had begun to hope that the place might,
after all, not be so jealously guarded as they feared. The castle below
them stood grey and massive, silent, with no indication of the active,
organised life the watchers knew well it contained. They could see now
it was a building of considerable size; much greater, in fact, than the
front suggested. It ran back at various points into the rock which had,
either by nature or by art, been excavated in a manner that it and the
building seemed dove-tailed into each other, the stone projections,
natural and constructed, alternating in a strange architectural fashion.
“A rare prison-house our friend the Count has built for his chance
guests,” Ompertz observed grimly, as, with a soldier’s eye, he took
in the stronghold. “’Tis well placed, too, strategically, since it
commands this raking height, which is rather its strength than, as
one might at the first glance suppose, its weak point. Even artillery
would be wasted here, unless the devil himself guided the flight of the
shot, and he would be more likely to fight on the side of his disciple
within.”
Cautiously now, they began the descent of the mountain side, taking
good care that the sharpest observation from the castle should not
detect them. Every few minutes they would pause and reconnoitre
shrewdly. The whole place was still as death. The wind had quite died
away, the tall pines stood motionless, the thick carpet they shed
deadened all footfalls, no living thing crossed their path; it seemed
as though the evil genius of the place had infected the very air and
frightened away all free life. At length Ludovic and his companion got
down to the castle’s turrets, unmolested so far. Proceeding now with
the greatest circumspection, since every foot they descended increased
their peril, they lowered themselves little by little, till they found
themselves in face of a wall of smooth rock, pierced about the centre
by a small doorway which was approached by a short flight of rough
steps. This wall evidently formed the outer side of one of the wedges
or dove-tails which ran in alternate fashion in and out of the rock.
Whatever light the narrow building got would be from windows on the
inner side, since outwardly there were none.
Whispering to Ludovic to watch his keenest, Ompertz crept forward,
then up the steps and examined the little door. Evidently nothing was
gained by that, for he turned away presently with a shake of the head.
Ludovic stole down and joined him, and they explored further. The
various ramifications at the back of the castle seemed to be joined
by tunnels cut through the rock. These tunnels were not straight, but
zig-zag, evidently so contrived for a purpose, and, from the fact that
the explorers could never see more than a few feet in front of them,
the examination was attended with the greatest risk.
“This is hopeless,” Ludovic said despairingly, at length, when they
had crept for some time through the turnings of the rocky fastness.
“It seems sheer folly in a place like this to expect that we can light
upon Ruperta’s prison. There may be chambers running far into the rock
itself of which we from the outside can know nothing.”
“It is a fairly impregnable dwelling-place,” Ompertz assented dryly.
“With accommodation such as this establishment affords, the man would
be a fool if he cannot keep his prisons snug away from observation. It
seems to me that the sooner your Highness sets off for more effective
help than we can hope to give, the less time will be lost in the
Princess’s rescue.”
To continue in their present position was too perilous. With discovery
threatening them every moment, to attempt a leisurely examination of
the building was madness. They had noted a winding path with rough
steps which seemed to lead up into the woods above.
“Let us go up here and make one more survey,” Ludovic said, “and then I
will lose no more time in seeking help.”
The ascent was fortunately screened from observation by a rocky wall on
each side. They lost no time in climbing it, and soon found themselves
once more among the trees high above the castle. From where they now
stood many of the windows were visible, although they themselves,
keeping back in the obscurity of the wood, were tolerably safe from
observation. They crept along well within the fringe of the trees
till they could look down upon a court-yard formed in a triangular
opening in the rock, and having for its base a wall of the castle. In
this several men were moving about, the first signs of the busy life
of the place which their reconnaissance had shown them. But this sight
advanced them nowise towards the object they sought. That the place was
well manned was obvious; in the teeth of such a garrison to hope to get
at the prisoners was out of the question. Even Ompertz was without hope.
“There might be a chance at night for finding out something as to their
situation,” he said dubiously. “But I would not give a kreutzer for it.
This is a hard nut, and we shall break our teeth before we crack it.”
“You are right, my friend,” replied Ludovic; “and I repent now that we
have wasted these hours in this vain spying. Hateful as it is to me
to turn my back on this brigand’s den while Ruperta is there, I will
lose no more time in bringing those who shall force it. Though, Heaven
knows, I seem poor and powerless enough now.”
“I will see your Highness on your way,” Ompertz said, “and then return
to my post here.”
They turned and had ascended but a few paces through the wood when by a
common impulse they stopped. A figure stood before them, its presence
made known so suddenly that they could not have told whence it had
sprung--the figure of a woman. With the first glance of surprise,
Ludovic saw that it was she of whom he had caught that painful glimpse
in the doorway the night before. But her face was now no more contorted
by passion; save for an expression of troubled purpose it was calm
enough for its dark, striking beauty to be fully seen. She was dressed
in a close-fitting gown of greenish brown cloth the colour of which
made her not easily distinguishable among the trees when her face was
not seen. With the slight repellent frown on her face, she seemed
indeed to be the unpropitious spirit of that wild forest.
For a few moments she and the two men stood confronted in the silence
of surprise and doubt. Then she spoke.
“You are seeking someone?”
“Yes,” Ludovic answered, eyeing her suspiciously. For the natural
thought in both men’s minds was that she was there as a spy.
“The ladies who came hither with you last night?” she pursued in the
cold, even voice of intense repression. A moment’s reflection told
Ludovic that there was nothing to be gained by concealment or evasion.
“Yes,” he said. “We have been unaccountably separated from them.”
She gave a low, harsh laugh. “Unaccountably! You do not know your late
host, then. It would have been indeed strange if you had been allowed
to leave this place together.”
The bitterness with which she spoke was so intense that it seemed to
wring the words from her. But it prompted Ludovic to take confidence.
“Then,” said he, “my worst fears are true. The ladies have been
kidnapped and are imprisoned in the castle.”
With a scornful smile she bowed her head in assent.
“And you think, in your simplicity, to get them out. You, who would be
killed like a couple of troublesome wasps if you were seen prowling
about here.”
“Better that prospect, madam, than be the cowards to run away.”
She gave a little start of interest at his speech, looking at him
steadfastly with a half-sigh of regret. “True; I do not blame you; no
woman could. Only I warn you that any hopes you may have of rescue are
worse than vain. You would know that if you knew Count Irromar.”
“I am sorry to hear it,” Ludovic replied simply.
“Yes. What are two men, however brave, however careless of their lives,
against Irromar’s gang of assassins, against his secret chambers, his
locks and bars?”
“I have in me the bold hope,” Ludovic said shrewdly, “that you, madam,
are willing to help us, since we seek nothing wrong.”
She laughed curiously. “You find me a likely traitor?”
Ludovic made a protesting gesture. “I thought not so. Treachery is no
name for help in this cause.”
“And yet,” she rejoined, speaking through her clenched teeth, “it is,
above all others, the right word for my help. But if I am a traitor,
it is that I have been driven to it. And a traitor’s doom would be,
perhaps, the most grateful form of the death I have now hourly to
expect.” She was speaking more to herself than to them. “Yes; I will
help you,” she continued, suddenly rousing herself. “It was for that I
sought you here.” She laughed; it was always the same bitter, repellent
laugh, a laugh that transformed her beauty into ugliness, drawing, as
it were, a film of evil over the comely flesh. “I watched for you,” she
continued, “from my little window in the tower yonder. I was pretty
certain you would come. You are not the first fools, or the last, to
dash out your brains against those rocky walls. I saw you. I have a
quick eye--to-day.” There was a curious significance in the last word.
“I will help you. At least, I will let you into the castle and show you
where Karl Irromar keeps his fair prisoners. Do not blame me if you
find your deaths in place of your ladies.”
Ompertz, who had all this time stood silent, although keenly observant,
now struck in.
“Under pardon, gracious lady, if I may be permitted a word, I would
say that your offer is as handsome as it is unexpected. But before we
are free to bless our good genius, we should have some surety that the
Count has not chosen an alluring bait to attract us into his stone
trap.”
The lady flushed. “You may take or reject my offer,” she returned
haughtily. “Your doubts are perhaps natural enough, still I cannot
undertake to remove them.” She half turned away. Ludovic, with a
monitory gesture to his companion, took a step after her.
“If we doubt,” he protested gently, “it is, as you say, but natural,
for we have some experience, unhappily, of the Count’s methods and
cunning. My comrade is fearful but for me; for himself he has as little
fear in trusting you as I for myself. I accept your offer gratefully.”
It was the vivid recollection of her face the night before that decided
him. It might be a trap, he told himself, but the chances, as he saw
them, were against it.
The lady met his look with eyes that had in them a softer expression
than he had seen there before; a memory, perhaps it was, of what her
character had once been.
“I can scarcely blame you,” she, replied, as the more sympathetic
expression passed away in a hard laugh, “for mistrusting me. After all,
it matters very little, since the venture on which you seem determined
is such desperate folly. But I will say this for your comfort that,
could I trust myself to tell you what I have suffered at the hands of
Karl Irromar, you would wish you might be as sure of my ability as
of my willingness to help you. The man can be a very fiend when he
chooses; I think some of his familiar devils must have raised the storm
which drove you here.”
She spoke with an intense, despairing bitterness that carried
conviction with it. Her story, in all but its details, was plain
enough. It was written on her face in those evil lines which surely a
splendid misery, rather than nature, had branded there.
“You will help us, then?” Ludovic said.
“Yes,” she answered. “But not now. It must be to-night. Be here, at the
top of this path, half an hour after night-fall, that is, if reflection
allows you to keep your foolhardy intention.”
“It can only strengthen it,” he replied.
She gave a smile of curiosity. “I think I understand,” she murmured.
“You have surprised me into forgetting how grateful I should be,”
Ludovic said, with gallant earnestness, taking the hand she held
towards him and raising it to his lips.
But she gave a sudden little shudder. “No, no!” she cried, snatching
back her hand. Then she turned away and went quickly down the steep
path.