THE SWORD OF UNZIAR.
The Castle of Sagan may be roughly divided into three irregular parts.
The massive old keep dominates all, standing high and black against the
skyline; then the varied cluster of buildings immediately around its
foot contain the principal reception and living rooms, and lowest of all
the courtyards, kitchens, stables and offices. To the right of the keep
a wing, curved like the fluke of an anchor, slopes down to a lower
level. This portion is fairly modern and arranged for the housing of
guests. The Countess's own apartments were situated at the junction of
this wing with the main building, while the quarters assigned by ancient
custom to the use of the reigning Duke during his visits to Sagan
occupies the whole upper floor of an old and bulky annex that juts out
from the base of the keep.
The passage leading to this annex branched from the head of the grand
staircase. Upon the landing rows of heavily armed men were gathering
noiselessly.
As Elmur and Sagan stood together waiting at the mouth of the Duke's
corridor, the Count turned to his companion.
'Have you proposals ready to lay before his Highness?' he demanded.
'In form,' returned Elmur, touching his pocket.
'That is well, for you are about to present them. The Duke lies
practically in my power at this moment,' Count Simon continued grimly.
'Gustave is a coward. The way to his presence lies open, and I think you
will agree with me that his Highness of Maäsau will consent to most
things rather than look the fear of death in the eyes!'
'There must be no violence,' Elmur began.
'That shall be exactly as I choose,' Sagan swore with an oath. 'By the
good God we can't afford scruples to-night!'
After a short interval he went on.
'Once we have Gustave's word, we are safe. He is too proud to own that
he gave it unwillingly. Besides, so long as we win what matter the means
we use? Is your conscience so ticklish, Baron?'
'Politics have their exigencies and are inevitably rigorous, my lord,'
answered Elmur slowly. 'To be successful means absolution. In the
political courts where our actions will be judged they make no provision
for failure. Success is recognised and mercifully considered, while
failure, my lord, not being in any sense public, falls to the level of
ordinary crime, and is judged by the standard applied to ordinary crime.
Thus you will see that I risk as much in my place as you risk in yours.'
Perhaps this was as near an approach to a threat as had ever been
uttered in the ears of the fierce old Count. With a violent movement,
he stepped forward.
'There is no hindrance in our path that cannot be cut through with a
sword, and, by my soul, if we find one I will cut it!' Then, looking
round, he gave the word to advance, and entered the darkness of the
corridor.
A turn brought them in sight of Unziar's tall figure, standing sword in
hand on the lowest step of the flight that led up to the embrasure
covering the door leading to the royal apartments.
Count Simon pushed Elmur ahead of him while he fell back to whisper a
few words to the man immediately behind; then he took precedence once
more.
'I request an audience of His Highness, Lieutenant Unziar,' he said.
'Certainly, my lord, if you will give me the password of the night,'
replied Unziar.
Sagan's answer was the countersign he had given to his own following in
the Castle.
Unziar shook his head.
'You cannot pass, my lord.'
'What--not see my guest and cousin in my own house?'
'His Highness gave orders that none should be allowed to enter without
giving the countersign chosen by himself.'
Sagan considered a second or two.
'True, I had forgotten. Come here, Unziar; your trooper there has long
ears; I must speak with you. Stand back, men!' he said roughly. 'Baron
von Elmur, pray remain, and you, Hern,' addressing the man behind.
Unziar still stood upon the step.
'Come here! I tell you, man, I must see the Duke to-night--at once,'
continued Sagan approaching Unziar. 'What the devil are you afraid of?'
Unziar stepped down as the Count pulled him confidentially nearer to
himself and towards the narrow entry. But while the Count whispered, a
hand suddenly darted over his shoulder and seized Unziar by the throat,
at the same moment when a well-directed kick from Sagan, delivered
cunningly behind the knees, brought the young man to the ground. He
lunged at Sagan as he fell with his sword, then it was knocked from his
hand as his assailants swarmed over him, but not before he had fired his
revolver into Hern's body. The man fell across him, but Unziar again
swinging clear rose on his elbow and sent a second shot into the face
nearest him. Meantime the trooper at the door was making a gallant
fight, but the odds were too great. The struggle was soon over, the
trooper's dead body flung aside, and Unziar, frantic and helpless, was
tied hand and foot and left upon the bloody flooring of the outer
passage while the Count's people forced the door.
This was a matter of some difficulty, but it was presently accomplished.
The besieging party pushed through into the guard-room, which seemed
brilliantly lit in comparison with the gloom outside.
Most of the furniture and the screen had been utilised by Rallywood to
make a barricade in front of the Duke's ante-room. A single trooper with
his musket levelled knelt behind it.
Sagan, who held a handkerchief to his cheek, spoke loudly.
'Do you see who I am? Clear the way!'
At this Rallywood stepped into view from behind the screen.
'The man acts under orders from his Highness, my lord,' he said.
Sagan stared at Rallywood with haughty scorn.
'It is of the utmost importance that I should see his Highness at once.
Inform his Highness that I urgently beg to be granted an interview.'
'With pleasure, my lord,' returned Rallywood formally, 'if you will be
good enough to give me the password, without which it is quite
impossible for anyone to have an audience to-night. Our orders were very
distinct on that point.'
'His Highness could not foresee that I'--the Count dwelt upon the
pronoun imperiously--'should desire one. Stand back, Captain Rallywood!
I must pass and am willing to take the responsibility.'
'It is quite impossible, my lord,' repeated Rallywood without moving.
'You force me to extreme measures,' cried Sagan. 'Remove this man,' he
ordered, 'as quietly as may be. We must not alarm his Highness.'
There was a clatter of arms as Sagan's followers advanced. The foremost
of them ran in upon Rallywood, the swords met, Rallywood's sleeve was
ripped from wrist to elbow, but his sword blade passed through his
opponent's shoulder. The man sank down in a sitting posture, coughing
oddly; his head dropped forward.
'Shoot them down!' shouted Sagan, but the words were still on his lips
when the door behind John Rallywood slowly opened and a figure stood
beside him.
Its appearance checked the rising struggle, for the figure was the
figure of the Grand Duke of Maäsau. He was wrapped in his hooded robe of
green velvet, and the five points of the golden star of Maäsau blazed
upon his breast.
'Cousin, I would speak with you, but these fools stopped me,' exclaimed
Sagan.
The Duke turned his shadowed face and spoke to Rallywood in a low voice.
'His Highness begs you, my lord, to withdraw your men,' said Rallywood
aloud.
Sagan, scowling, ordered his men to the further end of the long room.
Meantime Rallywood, with evident unwillingness, pulled away a portion of
the barricade. Through this the Duke advanced with a stately
deliberation, and walked slowly up to the Count.
With a sudden hoarse shout of triumph Sagan flung his great arms about
the Duke's body.
'By St. Anthony, Gustave, no one shall stop our conversation now!'
The Duke made no attempt to release himself from the rough hug that held
him prisoner. He merely raised his hood with one hand, so that Sagan,
his coarse mouth still wide in laughter, could stare into the
countenance not four inches from his own.
Consternation and fury swept over the Count's features. From under the
hood a red challenging face, a big white moustache, and shaggy-browed
humorous eyes met his gaze. The sight held him gaping. But only for a
second. Then he whipped out his pistol.
'An English plot, by Heaven!'
But Rallywood was quicker still. A sharp knock on the Count's wrist sent
the bullet into the ceiling.
'Have a care, my lord,' Counsellor said authoritatively. 'You cannot do
as you will even in this lonely and remote room in your lonely Castle of
Sagan, since England and--' with a bow towards Elmur--'Germany are
looking on.'
Sagan still threatened Counsellor with the revolver.
'Can you see any reason why I should not kill you as a traitor to my
country at this moment, Major Counsellor?' he shouted.
'Only one, my lord. Russia also, in the person of M. Blivinski, knows
where I am, and is awaiting my return to arrange for our journey to
Révonde--which we propose to make in each other's company,' replied
Counsellor pointedly.
Sagan burst into his habitual storm of curses.
'Your nation have well been called perfidious, Major Counsellor. A stab
in the back----'
'Why no, my lord,' said Counsellor; 'our greatest vice is admittedly
that we are always well in front!'
'Come, Baron, have you nothing to say to this?' Sagan asked, ready to
spring at his friends in his torment of baffled rage.
'Nothing, my lord. You will remember I am here to-night entirely at your
request.'
Sagan's laugh was not altogether a pleasant one.
'Put it how you like, Monsieur, I should not have been here either but
for you!'
Elmur stood with folded arms. To stoop to recriminations before the
common enemy! The cause was lost for the moment, but there was the
future, and in that future the fool who figured as his ally should
become his slave! Germany had, after all, gained something in gaining
the knowledge of British designs afoot.
'Then his Highness refuses to see me, although he can give audience
to--you?' the Count at length broke the silence.
'On the contrary, my lord, he looks forward to the pleasure of meeting
you to-morrow. That is the message with which I am charged. Captain
Rallywood, his Highness wishes Lieutenant Unziar to attend him.'
Count Simon made a sign to his men, and a moment later Unziar stalked
into the room, maddened by the outrage put upon him.
'My sword, Count Sagan,' he said huskily.
'Your sword! Is it lost?' returned the Count with an angry sneer. 'In my
day it was not the custom of the guard to lose their swords!'
'When I saw it last it was sticking in your cheek, my lord,' said the
young man with a studied insolence, pointing to a bleeding cut on the
Count's face.
One of the men, coming forward, laid the sword upon the top of the
barricade. Unziar grasped it and thrust it back into the scabbard.
'It was lost by treachery!' he flung out. 'And I leave it to these
gentlemen to say where the shame lies!'
With that he leaped the barricade and passed into the Duke's room.