THE TALLY.
Passing in the morning through the room which had been the scene of
the quarrel of the night before, Armitage saw what looked like a heap
of many-coloured silk on one of the lounges. Coming closer, he found
that it was Danaë, fast asleep, and as he paused near her she woke.
“I was waiting for you, and I fell asleep,” she said, looking at him
in a dazed way. Then she recollected herself, and slipped suddenly
from the sofa. “Lord, grant me your forgiveness.” She was on her knees
before him, trying to raise his foot and put it on her head, but he
was happily able to prevent this.
“My dear girl, do get up!” he said anxiously. “I am not angry with
you.”
“Then you ought to be,” replied Danaë’s muffled voice. “I shall stay
here until you have forgiven me.”
“I forgive you fully and freely. Let me help you up.” But Danaë had
sprung up without the help of the offered hand, and stood before him,
evidently awaiting comment on her appearance. She was in her Striote
dress again, the long close coat and plain skirt made of the silk he
had sent her for the wedding, the gauze vest above and the embroidered
apron below united by the voluminous girdle, and her hair, no longer
waved and puffed, had returned to its two thick plaits, one
unfortunately still a good deal shorter than the other.
“Lord,” she said softly, “it is the girl who sat at your feet that
night on deck.”
“So I see, and I can’t tell you how glad I am.”
Danaë’s eyes shone. “I gave the Vindobona gown to Toni, and told her
to burn it,” she said proudly.
“She will hardly do that, but I think you may be sure you will never
see it again,” was the dry reply. “And now, what about breakfast? You
know I like you better in that dress than anything, but shall you have
time to change? As we start so early for the review----”
“I am going to wear it all day,” said Danaë decidedly.
“That’s all right for me, but will your brother like it?”
“It is no concern of his. I wear it to punish myself. Unless you would
rather I cut off my hair?”
“I forbid you to lay a finger on it.” He forbore to suggest that it
was not very flattering to him to wear his gift as a punishment. “Come
along, then.”
Danaë tucked her arm in his--an action not at all in keeping with her
dress--and they went merrily to breakfast, Armitage bemoaning his
day’s fate.
“I wish I could have driven with you,” he said, “instead of making a
guy of myself on horseback. I shall look a regular horse-marine--worse
even than Wylie in yachting-clothes. And you will be all alone.”
“I shall take my Jannaki. Think how he will enjoy the soldiers and the
horses! I meant to invite Koralie Melchthal into the carriage with me,
but now I shall have no more to do with her. She gives bad advice.”
“Well, don’t drop her too suddenly, and hurt her feelings,” said
Armitage, amused by the thoroughness of this reformation. “Her husband
may make an international affair of it if you do.”
Breakfast had to be cut short that morning, for a servant came to say
that the Prince was preparing to start. Danaë went with her husband
to the portico to see him mount, and her brother smiled grimly when he
perceived her costume.
“Your husband has known how to punish you after all, I see!” he said.
“Yes, it is my punishment,” said Danaë, looking at him with guileless
eyes. If Armitage would not uphold his own marital dignity, his wife
would do it for him. They rode away, with aides-de-camp and guards,
and Danaë’s carriage, with her own particular escort, drew up. She
was to be attended also by Petros, who had been allowed without much
difficulty to slip back into his old post of confidential servant to
Prince Romanos, and Janni and his nurse would go in the carriage with
her. But here disappointment was awaiting her, for the nurse, an
autocrat whom Danaë, greatly to her disgust, was forced to conciliate
at every turn, sent down a message to say that Prince John had a bad
cold this morning, and it would not be safe for him to drive in an
open carriage. A little earlier Danaë would have gone straight to the
nursery and fetched away her nephew by force, but she was beginning to
understand now the relative importance of herself and the nurse in the
household, and submitted to the fiat. Petros came forward to help her
into the carriage, and as he did so, muttered a few words.
“There was another of those murders in the city last night, my lady.”
Danaë paused with her foot on the step. “But what has that to do with
me?” she asked.
“How can I tell, lady? Only, when the news was brought to the Lord
Romanos this morning, he unlocked his private desk and took out a
paper, and crossed out something that was written upon it. I had seen
him do the same the last time, so to-day I placed myself where I could
see the paper. There were a number of short lines of writing upon it,
all crossed out but two, and one of these was at the foot of the
paper, away from the rest.”
“Well?” said Danaë impatiently.
“Lady mine, those who have died in this way were all members of the
band whose help I hired in the matter of the death of the Lady. He who
died last night was the last of them save myself.”
“I can’t imagine what you are driving at, friend Petraki!” said
Danaë.
“So be it, lady. But what if the two names still on the paper are
yours and mine? And why should yours be written separately from mine
and placed by itself?”
“I really have not the slightest idea,” said Danaë, her patience at
an end. “You were never satisfied until the Lord Romanos took you back
into his service, though he warned you not to return, and now I
suppose you mean that he is trying to murder you. If he intended your
death, would he leave himself in your power night and day?”
Petros retired muttering, and climbed to his seat on the box of the
carriage. For the moment Danaë was fully occupied with kissing her
hand to the forsaken Janni at his nursery window, but when he was out
of sight the hints of Petros returned to her mind with unpleasant
significance, fitting in as they did with her brother’s words of the
night before. Had she earned her life, or not? and if she had not,
what further service might Prince Romanos demand of her as its price
in the future? But her carriage and escort swept gallantly into the
great parade-ground, bright with colours and uniforms, and all dark
forebodings were put to flight for the moment. Her station was just
behind the saluting-point, at which her husband and brother had
already taken their places, and to right and left of her extended a
long crescent of other carriages, containing on the one side the
foreign representatives, and on the other the Emathian Government
officials and their wives. Nearest of the latter was an unpretentious
victoria conveying Professor and Madame Panagiotis. Though the
Professor held no office in the ministry, yet his long efforts to
achieve the independence of Emathia, and the varied diplomatic
experience they had entailed, made him unofficial adviser-in-chief to
every Emathian government, and mainstay of the throne. On the other
side Koralie Melchthal’s carriage was the nearest. It was clear that
she interpreted the meaning of Danaë’s costume as Prince Romanos had
done, for she bent forward with her eyebrows raised and her lips
pursed in an expression of intensest sympathy with a fellow-sufferer
under the tyranny of unreasonable man. It afforded her ungrateful
friend considerable pleasure to repay her with the coolest bow at her
command.
The review was a splendid sight to Danaë, though the representatives
of the great military Powers regarded it as of little more importance
than a battle of toy soldiers. Emathia was in process of educating her
own officers, but at present she was obliged to rely on foreigners and
on Emathians who had served in other armies. A body of Wylie’s police
from Klaustra were received with much approval by the experts, and
Danaë gathered that their workmanlike equipment was considered better
value for the money spent than the more elaborate uniforms of the
regular troops. But the latter made unquestionably the more showy
figure on the parade-ground, and Prince Romanos himself was a gallant
sight as he took the salute. Armitage, on horseback in his admiral’s
uniform, afforded an unpremeditated touch of comedy that caused the
foreign representatives the keenest pleasure, and everyone was asking
why he had not mounted the yacht’s crew and brought them to add to the
apparent strength of the Emathian forces.
Just recently Prince Romanos had devised an improvement in artillery
transport, and the new method and the old were to be shown in
juxtaposition, that the connoisseurs might give their opinion.
Gun-carriages, limbers and waggons were careering about the
parade-ground, apparently bent upon mutual destruction and evading it
only by a series of miracles, when the Prince called up Petros, who
was waiting close behind him, and entrusted him with a message to an
officer at the opposite side of the ground. Petros measured the
distance across with his eye, and hesitated.
“What!” cried his master loudly. “Afraid of being run over, most
valiant Petros? Must I seek another messenger?”
The aides-de-camp pressed forward eagerly, but Prince Romanos waited,
with his eyes fixed on Petros. “I really think you had better not take
it, friend Petraki,” he said, in a tone of good-humoured raillery.
“You will fall through sheer fright, and blame me for your
misfortunes.” Petros gave him a glance of helpless hatred, like that
of a savage animal in a trap, and fairly tore the paper from his hand,
then started to run across the ground. The incident had attracted
attention, and all eyes were fixed upon him as he ran. He held on
until he was about halfway across, and then found himself the apparent
goal of four separate teams, racing for him from as many different
directions. He lost his head, turned, and ran back towards his master,
pursued by one of the galloping guns, and welcomed by a shout of
universal laughter. The sound seemed to madden him, and as, with eyes
starting from his head, he reached the saluting-point and clutched the
flagstaff for support, he flung defiance at Prince Romanos.
“That was your intention, then, my Prince--to kill me as you have
killed those others! I know what orders you gave the drivers. There
would have been an accident, and you would be rid of me. But if I go,
you go too.”
Before anyone realised what was in his mind, while all were craning
forward to catch the shouted words, he loosed his hold of the
flagstaff and flung himself at the Prince, his long dagger gleaming in
his hand. There was a moment’s wild confusion. Danaë, standing up in
her carriage and gripping the rail convulsively, heard a pistol-shot,
but did not realise that Petros had fired at her, and that Armitage
had thrown himself between them, until she saw her husband fall. A
fusillade from the revolvers of the aides-de-camp drowned the sound of
a second shot, as the madman turned his pistol upon himself.
All was tumult, as people left their carriages and crowded to the spot
where the aides-de-camp were keeping a space clear round the three
fallen men. Professor Panagiotis was in the midst, and Danaë, seeing
his fine white head towering above the throng, fairly fought her way
through to him. He was giving orders rapidly, but paused to reassure
her.
“Yes, lady, yes; look after your husband while the surgeons are busy
with his Highness. Milordo is not much hurt, and one of the doctors
will be at your service in a moment. Yes, the miscreant is dead.”
An aide-de-camp moved aside, and Danaë was inside the ring. Two or
three surgeons were kneeling round Prince Romanos, and a sailor, one
of the yacht’s crew, who had evidently been among the crowd of
spectators, was supporting Armitage’s head. He spoke little Greek, but
Danaë gathered that he expected her to faint at the sight of blood,
and was trying to assure her that her husband was not dead. But the
daughter of the Christodoridi did not come of a fighting race for
nothing. She examined the wound quite coolly, and to her intense
relief found that though Armitage was unconscious, and had lost a good
deal of blood, the bullet seemed to have grazed rather than penetrated
the skull. With the sailor’s help she tied up the wound roughly, and
then became aware that the crowd was growing less dense. The
aides-de-camp had mounted again, and were riding among the excited
people. “His Highness was not dangerously hurt, but the doctors
considered it advisable that he should return to the Palace at once.
To his great regret, therefore, the review must conclude at this
point.” After this plain intimation the spectators could hardly refuse
to disperse, the foreign representatives setting the example. One of
the surgeons had been prevailed upon by this time to tear himself from
the side of Prince Romanos, and Danaë was helping him to strap up her
husband’s head, when she found herself addressed by the Professor.
“Lady, the doctors think it best to take his Highness to the Palace in
your carriage, rather than wait while another is fetched. It shall
return for you immediately.”
“But let it take Milordo as well!” she cried indignantly.
“It is impossible, lady. Two of the surgeons and I myself must
accompany the Prince. My wife, with her admirable common-sense, has
already driven off to see that everything is prepared for his
Highness’s arrival, or I would have ventured to offer you her
carriage. But you shall be sent for at once.”
The Professor seemed anxious and perturbed, though not unduly so, and
Danaë could not wonder at his preoccupation when she saw her brother
carried past, evidently only half conscious, his white lips murmuring
something about a paper, and his hands wandering on the folds of the
cloak that was thrown over him. But her present concern was entirely
with Armitage, and until his wound had been properly dressed she had
no thought to spare for anyone else. When it was done she looked up to
find the British Consul-General standing beside her. The other foreign
representatives had departed long ago, Herr Melchthal, whose wife was
in violent hysterics, leading the way as senior member of the
diplomatic body, but Mrs Wildsmith was still standing beside her
carriage in the distance.
“My wife asks me to take the liberty of offering you our carriage,
Lady Armitage,” said the Consul.
“She is very good,” said Danaë, “but mine will return in a moment.”
“Then will you permit us to remain with you till it comes?”
“But I am not frightened,” she said, astonished. “The doctor is here,
and the escort.”
“Yes, the escort is here, certainly,” said Mr Wildsmith, in a voice of
so much significance that Danaë looked round. Men and officers were
gathered in little groups, talking eagerly, with no appearance of
being on duty. “I would not trust them overmuch,” he added.
“But what has happened?” cried Danaë.
“Surely it is evident that there must have been a plot of some sort?
The wretched man who attempted the Prince’s life is bound to have had
accomplices----”
“Oh no, there was nothing of that kind. I knew him well. It was a
private grudge. Please don’t let me keep you here. Really I would
rather be left.”
“As you please. But remember that Lord Armitage and yourself, as
British subjects, have a right to protection at the Consulate. If you
find yourselves in danger, night or day, come or send to me at once.”
“You are very kind,” she repeated, in a bewildered voice, as he bowed
and walked away. When the carriage had driven off, she became sensible
of a great loneliness, for the surgeon departed also, to find a
stretcher, as he said. The parade-ground seemed very large, the
talking troopers incredibly distant, Armitage, still senseless at her
feet, might have been in a different world. The sailor, who was still
supporting him, growled something which she understood to be
uncomplimentary to the escort, and the words seemed to clear her
brain. Undoubtedly the cavalry were behaving scandalously, and must be
recalled immediately to a sense of duty, and by her.
“Don’t leave him!” she said to the sailor, and receiving his gruff
assurance, walked across the ravaged grass towards the troopers. As
she neared them, she became aware that there were many more present
than the twenty-five men who had accompanied her from the Palace--two
hundred at least. They must have remained on the ground without orders
when the review abruptly ended, and two or three officers of superior
rank were haranguing group after group. It was too late to retreat
now, and she marched boldly up to the nearest group.
“Have the goodness to detail four of your men to carry my husband to
the Palace at once, Colonel, and a sufficient escort for his
protection,” she said sharply.
The Colonel, a foreigner who in his day had served under many flags,
looked at her with contemptuous amusement. “And who may the lady be
who gives her orders so coolly?” he asked.
“The sister of your Prince,” she answered, the sonorous Greek flowing
clearly from her lips. The soldiers were crowding round them now, and
she had a feeling that events of importance depended upon the duel of
words.
“A fine hostage for us, then!” He swooped from the saddle with
extended arm, in the evident intention of seizing her and carrying her
off. But Danaë had been watching for just such a movement, with the
intuition which had descended to her from many generations born and
bred in the midst of alarms. She swerved swiftly and suddenly, and he
overbalanced himself and came to the ground, to the accompaniment of a
chorus of smothered laughter. The sound thrilled Danaë. These men
were still to be held for her brother, if she could seize the moment.
Before the Colonel could pick himself up, her foot was in his stirrup,
and in some miraculous way she scrambled into the saddle.
“Retire to your quarters, sir, and consider yourself under arrest!”
she gasped to her discomfited antagonist.
“And to whom am I to have the honour of surrendering my sword, lady?”
he asked, with a wink to a colleague.
“To me, sir. The belt as well, if you please. Be good enough to hold
my horse,” to a young officer who chanced to be near her, and then and
there she buckled on her foe’s sword, with the utmost deliberation.
The operation finished to her satisfaction, she looked round at the
ring of curious faces. “Gentlemen, your late Colonel was a traitor. I
will now lead you myself.”
“Long live the lady colonel!” cried the youth who had held her horse,
and who evidently found the new development interesting, and the men
took up the cry with hearty amusement. The late Colonel, as was only
to be expected, was less pleased.
“Oblige me by getting off my horse, lady. This farce has lasted long
enough.” Danaë’s hand stole out behind her towards the helpful youth,
and he grasped her meaning instinctively. The Colonel, with his hand
outstretched to drag her from the saddle, recoiled from the revolver
that almost touched his forehead.
“I should be sorry to end the farce for you on the spot, sir,” said
his supplanter; “but if I am forced---- Dismount one of your men, and
place the late Colonel under guard,” she said to her helper.
“If any man dares to lay a finger on me----!” blustered the Colonel.
“Place the late Colonel under guard,” repeated Danaë inexorably, and
during the undignified rough-and-tumble struggle that ensued she
thought hard, sitting motionless on her horse, like Bellona presiding
over a scene of carnage. When the fight was over, and her predecessor,
in a very damaged condition, was safely secured, she advanced a step.
“Are all here faithful to Prince Romanos and their military oath?” she
asked loudly.
“All of us, lady!” was the cry.
“It is well, for had there been any other traitor, I would have shot
him with my own hand. Lieutenant, be good enough to go to the Arsenal,
and desire the Director in my name to close the gates and not open
them without orders from me. Then go to your own barracks, and bring
me the keys of the magazine and armoury. Do the same at the other
barracks. You will find me at the Palace.”
“Am I to leave you alone, lady?” he asked in a low voice.
Danaë looked round proudly. “I have two hundred swords of my own
regiment to guard me,” she said, so that all could hear, and the
swords leaped from their scabbards to the salute. A grey-haired
sergeant close at hand plucked off his fur cap.
“The Colonel must wear our kalpak,” he said, and Danaë put it on and
fastened the chin-strap. The soldiers shouted with delight, but her
messenger still lingered.
“Would not a written order be safer, my lady?”
“I have not time to write,” said Danaë hastily, unwilling to confess
the deficiencies of her education. “See, take this as a token.” With a
pang she took off her wedding-ring and handed it to him. It was all
she had. With instinctive chivalry he kissed it.
“The regiment is at the feet of the Lady Danaë and her husband,” he
said, and rode away. Danaë surveyed her troops helplessly. They were
all mixed up, and she did not know how to get them straight. With a
sudden inspiration, she turned to the old sergeant. “Sergeant, I must
take Milordo to the Palace at once, but I want the regiment to escort
me--in proper order.”
The expedient succeeded. Two or three hoarse shouts, and the mob
resolved itself into ranks as if by magic. Four men dismounted, and
unrolling their cloaks, made a rough-and-ready litter. Under the
vigorous superintendence of the sailor, Armitage was lifted and placed
on it, and the cavalcade started for the Palace. Before they could
reach it, a carriage with a lady in it appeared, driving to meet them,
and Danaë recognised Madame Panagiotis, who stopped the carriage and
came to speak to her. The Professor’s wife was a German lady of great
propriety, and even at this crisis she managed to get in a glance of
disapproval at Danaë on the Colonel’s saddle before she spoke.
“Lady, you must pardon us for not sending the carriage before, but his
Highness was seized with another violent effusion of blood, and all
our thoughts were for him.”
“But he is not dying?” cried Danaë.
Madame Panagiotis blinked violently. “No, lady, far from it. His
Highness is doing very well. He asked for his son--” why should he
want Janni now? Danaë asked herself stupidly--“and inquired after
your husband. Then he called for a paper from his desk, and displayed
so much excitement that it was thought better to humour him. When it
was brought he seemed satisfied, and consented to rest.”
Then Petros was right, and the paper contained his death-warrant--and
possibly Danaë’s.