so already. That he has played us false we know, that he can give
evidence against us is certain. Revenge and safety, therefore, lie in
the same direction. Watch for him, Francois, as I shall, and silence
him."
"And his servant?" asked the man.
"If your private quarrel with the servant leads you to do so, no harm
will be done." And with a wave of the hand he dismissed him.
The news that Princess Maritza was in the hands of the King's troops
and was being brought to Sturatzberg had reached the city early that
morning, but the news was not immediately known to Frina Mavrodin. It
was being conveyed to her by a trusted messenger who had much to do
on his way, and the fact that she had lately kept much at home accounted
for her not hearing it from any other source.
The days of waiting are ever the longest days to live through, and the
hours had dragged heavily for Frina Mavrodin since Baron Petrescu had
started for the hills. Hardly anyone saw her except Hannah, and the
old serving woman pitied her, judging her distress by her own. She
little knew the terrible struggle which raged in the breast of this
beautiful woman, how all that was good and bad in her, all those latent
forces which lie in the heart of everyone, sprang into life and fought
equally for the mastery. It was not the Princess who was first in her
thoughts from dawn to dark, or whose image passed incessantly through
her restless dreams. It was the man who was beside the Princess, who
had fought desperately for her whether he loved her cause or not, who
was hourly under the spell of her enchantment. The potency of that
spell seemed to grow the more she thought of it, and all the charm
which some had professed to find in herself seemed to sink into
insignificance. It was not sufficient to win the love of this man. And
those waiting hours, too, are hours of danger. Troubles or desires,
or whatever thoughts assail at such a time, lose their proportion, and
idleness lends vitality to the evil lying dormant. Was there no way
to win her desire? Between it and her stood only the Princess, an enemy
to the State. Might she not be swept out of the way? How easy such a
thing seemed to be. She had only to speak a few words to dash to the
ground all Maritza's hopes of success. Why not speak them? In love and
war all means are fair. And then arose the good in her, and she turned
away in horror from the very thought of such treachery.
It was in a fierce moment of her struggle that the messenger arrived.
Dumitru, travel-stained yet unweary, more keenly alive now perhaps
than he had even been as Anton in the hills, came to her.
"What news? What news?" she cried, springing up.
"The worst, Countess."
"Dead?"
"No; the Princess lives."
"Yes, yes; and those who are with her?"
"Are on their way to the city," Dumitru answered. "We could not enter
openly; we had to delay, and exercise the greatest care. Baron Petrescu
will come to-night if possible, but extreme caution is needed. I came
on. I am of no importance and pass unnoticed. I have visited a score
of places in the city already, and I have much more to do before
sunset."
"Does Captain Ellerey return to Sturatzberg?" asked Frina thoughtfully.
"Aye; and he is a man whose equal these eyes are never likely to see
again. He is fit to be a king."
"A king!"
"Yes, a king, and though he be a foreigner, I for one shout for him."
"A king, Dumitru; tell me, does he love the Princess?"
"Surely he must, since for her cause he has shown no great affection.
He will be here to strike one more good blow for her, and, loving her,
may learn to love her cause too. We may yet triumph, Countess. But
listen. The Princess has been delivered by the brigands," and Dumitru
told her the whole story quickly. "To-night she will be brought back
to Sturatzberg," he went on, "although it is given out that she will
not come until the morning. The gates will be shut, and when the streets
are quiet they will be opened again. Not many soldiers are with her,
and those within the gates will hold all danger cheap. The city will
be hushed and still, but there are many who will not sleep. A signal
will blaze forth in the darkness and a few may fall in the streets,
but the Princess will be free. You will be ready to receive her,
Countess?"
"Here?"
"Is it not the safest refuge in Sturatzberg?" asked Dumitru. "There
are hiding-places here, and you are not a suspect in the city."
"And afterward?" said the Countess.
"I know not. A small success in the city would perhaps raise the
country; the afterward is for the Princess to decide. She will have
to consider the welfare of those who strike to-night. You will be ready
to receive her, Countess?"
"Yes," Frina answered, and Dumitru went to pursue his way through the
city, calling men to arm and prepare, little dreaming what thoughts
troubled the beautiful woman he had left.
The frail little hopes she had found consolation in vanished at
Dumitru's words. Desmond Ellerey loved Maritza. Dumitru had said it,
and had he not had ample opportunity of judging? Now Maritza was to
come a fugitive to her house; her very life perhaps lay in her hands.
How easy it would be to speak the few words which would tell her enemies
where she was hidden, and who would know, who would guess, that it was
the Countess Mavrodin who had betrayed her? Such specious arguments
did the evil that was in her whisper in her ear, and she could not
shut the whisperings out. All day long her restlessness increased. Her
solitude became unbearable. She longed for the world of men and women,
hungered to hear laughter and the sound of voices--anything to distract
her from her thoughts. That evening she went to Court, beautiful,
reckless, heartless to all seeming, ready to be flattered and to
flatter--a dangerous mood for such a woman to be in.
So, all unconsciously, she was driven forward by destiny. She was in
a mood to be tempted, and the greatest temptation of all was lying in
wait for her.
She had shown such marked preference for Captain Ellerey when he came
to Court that a host of her admirers had perforce to stand sullenly
aside. To-night they gathered round her, each one in his turn receiving
some little favor which buried in oblivion all past disappointments;
such virtue lies even in the least of a beautiful woman's favors. Frina
Mavrodin had always had the subtle power of making her companion of
the moment believe that he was the one person in all the world she
would wish to have beside her, and this power she exercised to the
full to-night.
Lord Cloverton, covertly watching her, was constrained to admire her,
and even his old blood tingled with a remembrance of youth as he did
so. But he did not approach her. It was not his part to play the tempter
to-night. He had arranged otherwise. Presently he saw the King enter
the room alone, and look round in search of some one. His eye fell
upon Frina Mavrodin, and he went toward her. Perhaps, too, in his veins
the blood tingled a little.
"An hour of ease which so seldom falls to me renews my strength to-night,
Countess, and youth and beauty draw me like a lodestone," said the King.
"Your Majesty is pleased to flatter me," she answered with a sweeping
curtsey.
"That would indeed be impossible. I am honored, doubly so, if you will
take my hand in the dance."
It was a set dance, stately in its measure, and those who watched
remarked how the grace of the woman seemed to lend grace to the King's
movements, who danced but seldom, and that, in truth, somewhat
awkwardly.
The King thanked her as he led her to a seat when the dance was over.
It was in the alcove where she had so often sat with Ellerey, and the
coincidence impressed her.
"There should be brighter times at hand for Wallaria, Countess," said
the King. "The Princess Maritza will enter Sturatzberg--a
prisoner--to-morrow."
"So I have heard, your Majesty."
"And you loyally rejoice with us, Countess?"
The question was so marked in the intonation of the King's voice that
Frina Mavrodin was on her guard in a moment. "She is a woman, your
Majesty, and, since I am no politician, I pity the woman."
"I am not without pity, either, Countess," was the answer. "The Princess
has been ill-advised, and the onus lies with those who have advised
and supported her. It is upon them punishment should rightly fall."
"And who are they?" asked the Countess.
"That is a question to which there is no complete answer," said the
King. "There is only one I can name definitely. But there is one person
in Sturatzberg who could answer the question, so I am informed, and
so I believe."
"And he will not answer?"
"She has not yet been asked," the King returned.
"A woman, your Majesty?"
"A very beautiful woman; yourself, Countess."
Perhaps Frina Mavrodin was prepared for the King's words. She did not
start, the color did not rise to her cheeks. She remained silent for
a few moments, feeling that the King's eyes were fixed upon her.
"I can guess who was your Majesty's informant," she said quietly. "Lord
Cloverton. He has always credited me with a power I do not possess,
and has often set traps for me. They were subtly hidden, well devised
to catch a schemer; but, being innocent, they failed to ensnare me."
"We ourselves have eyes, Countess; it is not necessary that the British
Ambassador should see for us."
"No, your Majesty; but we, the Court, sometimes fancy that he attempts
to take that duty upon himself," Frina answered.
"Then you will not help me, Countess?" said the King with a smile.
"In any way I can, your Majesty."
"But not in the way I want. It is a pity. You will force me to harsh
measures. There is one other I may constrain to tell me, unless he
values his secret more than life."
Frina looked at him, a question in her eyes, but her lips gave it no
words.
"A brave man," said the King, "although circumstances have made him my
enemy. You might save him."
Still Frina was silent.
"Probably Captain Ellerey will not speak, therefore it is certain that
Captain Ellerey must die," said the King slowly.
"Is he in Sturatzberg?"
"Ah, Countess, you must not try and surprise my secrets; but rest
assured he must die unless you choose to save him."
"How can I save him?" she asked.
The King suddenly laid his hand on hers, which were folded in her lap.
"To-morrow, early, send me by a trusted messenger the names of those
who are foremost in Maritza's cause, the names of the societies whose
plans and aims they govern, and, so far as is in your knowledge, the
plans which they have formed. On my royal oath, none shall know from
whom I received this information, and Captain Ellerey shall be free
to leave Wallaria."
"He is a brave man, and I would help him if I could," she said.
"You can, Countess; if you love him, you will."
"Your Majesty is strangely at fault; Captain Ellerey is nothing to me."
"I have touched your hand, Countess, as you asked a question concerning
him, and felt the quiver in your frame. Your heart would not answer
as your lips do. Remember this: he dies unless you save him."
"But I am powerless, your Majesty."
"Then, Countess, his case is hard indeed. There are some hours before
to-morrow; use them to understand how powerful you are in this matter."
"So far I will obey your Majesty."
"Always remembering, Countess, that if you cannot save him no power
on earth can;" and, with a bow, the King left her alone.
Here was the opportunity she had dreamed of. No one would ever know.
What to her were Princess Maritza and all her followers in comparison
with Desmond Ellerey? There was a look of determination in her face
as she left the alcove quickly. The few hours before tomorrow seemed
all too short for her.
CHAPTER XXIV
HOW MARITZA ENTERED STURATZBERG
It was a dark night without a moon, and only a faint star or two
glimmered in the sky. The smell of rain was in the air, and there was
a closeness in the atmosphere which made the effort of breathing a
conscious one. It was still early as Frina Mavrodin was driven rapidly
homeward. She left the palace immediately after her conversation with
the King. The few hours before to-morrow were best spent alone. A wild
confusion of thoughts surged through her brain, but one thought was
ever dominant--how could she save Desmond Ellerey without betraying
others? For while the King's suggestion was a subtle and potent
temptation, it had the effect of steadying the Countess. Such an idea
as a wholesale betrayal of those who had trusted her had never occurred
to her; her only thought had been how to raise a barrier between Maritza
and Desmond Ellerey, how to act so that they might be effectually
separated forever. Such plans as had come into her mind may have been
mean and unworthy, but the circumstances had excused them. The King's
words had robbed them of all excuse, had shown her that base treachery
belonged to them as surely as to the larger scheme which he had
suggested. It did not occur to her to blame him for the suggestion;
politically, perhaps, he was justified; but that he could believe her
capable of such treachery showed her that, between her private jealousy
and her political position, there was no room to draw even the finest
of lines. So the few hours before to-morrow were not to be used, as
the King supposed, in a struggle between her honor and her desire, but
in concentrated thought of how his Majesty might be outwitted. Desmond
Ellerey must be saved, but neither the Princess nor her followers must
be sacrificed to save him. Her own desire must stand aside, whatever
the suffering might be. Thus, through the fierce fire of temptation
Frina Mavrodin came forth a stronger woman, a keener slave to duty,
because that duty must cost her so much. And having shaken herself
free from the fetters of selfishness, her thoughts and conceptions
became more acute.
It was hardly possible that Desmond Ellerey had yet returned to
Sturatzberg. No one could know his movements better than Dumitru, and
he had shown no fear concerning him. Even if the King possessed
information which might point to the probability of his arrest,
Ellerey's courage and resourcefulness were factors to be reckoned with
before his arrest could become an accomplished fact. That in Maritza's
defence he might prove reckless was true, but he would hardly do so
until every other means had failed. No; the King had played upon her
fears, and she had fallen a victim to his cunning. She had plainly
shown that Ellerey was dear to her, that she was prepared to sacrifice
much to secure his safety; she had, moreover, given the impression
that she could betray many in Sturatzberg if she would, and therefore,
should the rescue of Maritza prove successful, she herself, and her
house, and all who belonged to her would be closely watched. She had,
in fact, undone what she had so persistently taken pains to accomplish;
she had given cause for suspicion; she had rendered her house by the
river an unsafe place of refuge. How was she to retrieve the position?
Entering her house she gave rapid instructions to certain of her
servants, and then went to her own rooms and sent for Hannah. The old
serving woman came quickly, and to her Frina made her first confession.
"I have been cross, Hannah, sometimes," she said; "forgive me."
"Oh, no, my lady, you have only been troubled. We all have our own way
of showing grief."
"True, Hannah, and I have had troubles which you cannot know of. Your
quick pardon teaches me a lesson."
"O my lady---"
"Listen, Hannah, there is much to do and little time to do it in.
To-night, perhaps, the Princess will return."
"Here!" Hannah exclaimed.
"Yes; but she will be a fugitive from her enemies, and how long this
house may be a safe refuge for her I cannot tell. Come with me. I will
show you a means of escape should the worst happen--a stout door which
will hold back pursuers for a long time. It opens from a room which
shall be yours for the time. The key shall be in your possession. Study
to look innocent, Hannah, when you are questioned, and in a crucial
moment you may prove a far better defence than a dozen armed men.
Come."
As Frina Mavrodin had driven through the city there were many people
in the streets. The cafes were still full, and there were no signs of
any unusual excitement. A few may have discussed Princess Maritza over
their coffee, liquor, or syrup, but in most cases it was with casual
interest, or with a remark that, if they "were abroad early enough,
they might walk down to the Southern Gate to see her enter." What had
her fate to do with them? Though the times were troublous they would
go their way to-morrow as they had done to-day, as they would every
day until their own small circle of interest were touched. They had
as little sympathy with the agitator as they had with the Government;
neither the one nor the other did anything to affect them materially.
So these law-abiding citizens, law-abiding only because there was no
temptation to be otherwise, perhaps, finished their coffee and went
home, and the streets of Sturatzberg grew quieter, and, with the closing
of the cafes, darker. The city gates were shut, and if a few soldiers
appeared at the corners of streets, they caused little interest to the
people going home. Since the murdered bodies had been found lying in
the Bergenstrasse, it was only right that the city should be well
guarded.
The soldiers themselves grumbled somewhat. Fighting was their trade,
and they were discontented at being made a city watch. Beyond a late
reveller or two no one was out after midnight. What was the use of all
this precaution? In the smaller streets there was even greater silence.
Where one might have expected to find whatever dissatisfaction existed
in the city, there was only the greater peace. Hardly a light shone
out from any of the dark buildings, no one lurked in shadowy corners,
and although the soldiers had been ordered to be especially careful
tonight, there seemed to be even less than usual to demand their
attention. They believed that the Princess Maritza was to enter the
city at dawn.
At the guard-house of the Southern Gate the men were alert. An hour
ago their officer had told them what was to happen, and the news was
presently conveyed to the soldiers at the corners. The officer of the
guardroom kept a steady watch upon the slowly passing minutes, while
outside the city a small army had approached under cover of the
darkness.
Without and within there was silence. Yet wakeful and watching men may
be as silent as those who sleep. Throughout the day a man had passed
from one narrow street to another with quick and stealthy steps. Into
this house he went, mounting the stairs swiftly, and disappeared for
a few moments into some upper room; then as swiftly he came down again,
and, gliding up alleys and half-deserted streets, entered one little
cafe after another, and mounted to many a room whose occupants listened
eagerly to his words and made a sign that they were understood. Long
before darkness had fallen upon Sturatzberg there were many cafes doing
little business to all seeming, which, nevertheless, were crowded with
men hidden away and waiting.
Such a crowd waited in the long room at the rear of the Toison d'Or.
The men who composed it had gathered there one by one, as they had
done that night when they came to drink with the soldiers who had been
found dead in the Bergenstrasse next morning. Many of the same men
were in the crowd, many also of those who had once chased Ellerey so
furiously through the garden of that other tavern where was the door
in the wall. They greeted each new arrival with a nod, and for the
most part were silent or spoke only in whispers.
"At what hour?" asked one.
"Two hours after midnight."
"Are our numbers sufficient?"
"Quite sufficient," answered another. "At a dozen places I have had
our brothers gathered, close to the spot from which they will make
their rush upon the troops. The attack will come from all sides at
once, and the soldiers will be taken by surprise. We cannot fail."
"Does the Princess know, Dumitru?"
"Not certainly, but she will be expectant and ready. You understand
whose command you have to obey, and the signal?"
The men about him nodded and smiled with quiet confidence, while Dumitru
passed on to others to answer similar questions. He was of much
importance among them to-night. They felt that he was but the mouthpiece
of the Princess, that she was their real leader, that the time they
had waited for and plotted toward had really come. A few nervous ones
there were among them who calculated what the price of failure would
be, and had planned what they might do for their own safety in such
an event; but the majority of them were enthusiasts who rejoiced that
the hour of action had arrived at last.
"After to-night, Dumitru, there will be no turning back," whispered
one man, who, standing on a chair, had called for the toast to Maritza
on that night fatal to the deserting soldiers. "The next few days will
make the name of Sturatzberg ring through the world, and our deeds
strike terror into the heart of the nation."
Dumitru nodded and passed on, but he too kept eager watch upon the
time, even as did the officer at the guardhouse.
The crowd became more excited and restless as the hands of the clock
crept farther and farther from midnight. "Surely it is time now," they
whispered at intervals. And the leaders had some difficulty in
restraining them. As it was in the Toison d'Or, so it was in many a
dark house where men lay hidden and waiting.
From the watchman over the gate word was sent to the officer that the
prisoner had come, and at his command the gates silently swung back
upon their hinges. It was a large body of men that entered, having in
their midst a slim boyish figure mounted on a charger. So Maritza
entered Sturatzberg.
The men at the word of command halted to right and left, and only a
few, comparatively, continued their silent march along the
Bergenstrasse. With the city full of troops what chance of escape had
that lonely prisoner, who spoke no word, yet furtively glanced to this
side and that, and studied the attitude of the men nearest to her? She
noted that soldiers stood at attention at street corners, a few here,
a few there; that of all other signs of life the streets were empty.
She realized that she had been brought in at an unexpected hour, and
the silence over the city fell upon her soul. Hopelessness and despair
seized her, and a wild thought prompted her to make a sudden dash for
freedom. Death might come, but such a death was preferable to the fate
which must await her at the end of this journey. Her fingers had
tightened on the reins, when the silence was suddenly broken, and,
with a swift hiss, a streak of light cut through the darkness skyward,
paused a moment, and then, with a muffled detonation, burst into globes
of light which floated downward. The foremost of the troop reined in
their horses sharply at the unexpected flight of the rocket, causing
some confusion among those behind. Then came a quick command from an
officer which was half lost in the great shout which rent the air on
every side--
"For Grigosie! Grigosie!"
Had the cry been for Maritza the soldiers might possibly have understood
better what this sudden stopping of their progress meant; but, as it
was, a black, rushing mass was upon them before they had time to draw
their weapons. The attack was so fierce, so sudden and overwhelming,
that when the meaning of it had thoroughly dawned upon the soldiers,
they had enough to do to protect themselves without giving much thought
to their prisoner. There was hardly a trooper who was not in a moment
separated from his fellows by a swaying mob, whose one object seemed
to be to force the soldiers apart and prevent any concerted action.
The ring of steel and the crack of revolvers mingled with groans and
curses and sharp cries which blades thrust home drew forth. Here a
horse fell prostrate on its knees, bringing its rider head foremost
into the arms of his assailants; and there some plunging charger,
dexterously managed, beat down and trampled on a writhing mass of
limbs. Shouting came from a distance, as the soldiers from the various
street corners came running into the Bergenstrasse to the assistance
of their comrades, and, since they ran compactly and with bayonets
fixed, the mob gave way before them. An officer, whose plunging horse
cleared a path before him, slashed right and left as he came, and
shouted: "To the prisoner! Secure the prisoner!" and desperately he
struggled toward the slim figure carried this way and that by the
swaying, fighting crowd. At his shout the crowd threw itself more
savagely upon him. The greatest danger seemed to centre in this man,
and bullets sang about him, and steel struck at him from every side.
"Quickly, Princess!"
A strong arm was about her and drew her swiftly from her horse. In a
moment a ring of men had formed about her as they pushed their way
through the crowd. Two soldiers who sought to stop them fell back
groaning, and were trampled under foot; and then the little band with
the slim figure in the midst of it was outside the mob, and at the
entrance to a narrow, dark street.
"Hold this street with your lives!" cried one. "This way, Princess,"
and with half a dozen men to guide and guard her she ran forward, the
din of the struggle in the Bergenstrasse growing fainter and fainter
as they went.
Another rocket hissed skyward, and then tactics changed. The crowd
knew what the signal meant, and instead of throwing themselves fiercely
on the soldiers, they began to draw back to side streets, fighting
desperately at corners for a few moments and then fleeing, breaking
up into small knots and turning by twos and threes into alleys and
dark passages into which the soldiers did not deem it wise to follow
them. Fully an hour passed before the Bergenstrasse was cleared, and
many a dark form lay stretched in the roadway, and not a few who wore
the King's uniform. Some lay quite still, their troubles and ambitions
over; some attempted to crawl away and hide themselves; while others,
too hurt to move, groaned and cried piteously for help. The inhabitants
of the Bergenstrasse had been rudely awakened, but for a long time
none ventured out to render any help to the wounded, lest the soldiers
should attack them.
Meanwhile, running feet woke the echoes of the quieter streets and
distant parts of the town--men speeding toward safety. More troops
would march from the castle presently, and it would be dangerous to
be found in the streets to-night. Doors in dark streets opened and
quietly closed again; weapons were carefully hidden away under loose
boards, and their owners became harmless citizens again.
One little band of men held together, running lightly, and certain of
every corner they turned. Some of them were those who had guided the
Princess to safety, and now they were bent on carrying the good news
to others who were waiting eagerly to hear it. The foremost stopped
at a door and gave a peculiar knock. It was opened immediately, and
the custodian asked no questions as the men filed in and went quickly
to the rooms looking on to the garden, where, not so long ago, they
had helped to put an end to a duel. As they entered the long room,
which was only dimly lighted, they paused. It was easy to see that
there was consternation among the men gathered there, and strangers
were present. "Well?" cried a dozen voices.
"She is safe."
"Safe! Gone to her death and destruction," was the answer. "The Countess
is a traitor."
"It's death to the first man who repeats that accusation," thundered one
of the strangers, his hand upon his sword hilt, and as the men drew back
before such sudden fury, they noticed that the other stranger, a bearded
soldier of huge proportions, grasped his sword hilt too.
The men who had run from the Bergenstrasse waited for an explanation.
"Are we not all friends here?" exclaimed Baron Petrescu hastily. "There
is some mistake. Tell us your story again," and he turned to a man who
had only ceased speaking as the newcomers had entered. He had come in
breathless haste at the very moment that Petrescu had brought Desmond
Ellerey and Stefan through the garden. Willing hands had opened the
low door in the wall for them, forewarned of their coming by Dumitru.
Ellerey's fame had run before him, and eagerly was he looked for and
recognized as the leader of the rebellion which must quickly follow
the work going forward in the city to-night. He had come; the
conspirators had succeeded in rescuing Princess Maritza; and now came
this man with a tale which filled their hearts with consternation.
"I had it from one who fills a chief servant's place in the palace,
and who is one of us," said the man, speaking rapidly. "He was delayed
in coming to me, or I should have been here earlier. The King sought
out the Countess, danced with her, and then, seated in an alcove,
behind some curtains of which this man was hidden, the King persuaded
her to betray those who favored the cause of the Princess, and the
Countess was tempted, and promised. Early to-morrow she is to send the
information to the King by a trusted messenger, and the King has given
his oath that no one shall know from whom it comes."
"I do not believe it," said the Baron. "She may have promised, but she
had some reason for doing so."
"She had, Baron. The King persuaded her that her act of betrayal should
be the salvation of a rebel."
"What rebel? Princess Maritza?" asked Petrescu.
"No, Baron; Captain Ellerey."
"It was indeed a subtle temptation," and Petrescu turned slowly to
look at his companion.
"The truth shall quickly be put to the test," said Ellerey. "Give me
wine, a full measure, to put new strength in me. Is mine to be the
only voice raised in her defence? Are you all so ready to believe evil
of the woman who has served your Princess so well? I stake my honor
that with her Maritza is safe."
"True; but speak less harshly, Captain," whispered Petrescu. "These men
are our friends; do not anger them."
"He from whom I had the news ever speaks the truth," said the man who
had told the story. "He has never failed us in the past."
"Has the Countess ever failed you in the past?" Ellerey cried. "Shame
on you all for the thought. Her loyalty shall be proved on the instant."
"You can do nothing to-night," said Petrescu.
"Soldiers are in every street," said a chorus of voices.
"Therefore give me wine to renew my strength," Ellerey cried, and he
seized the tankard held out to him.
"It is madness to go now," said Petrescu.
"For you, perhaps, for you, but not for me. Man--man, do not you
understand? Besides the woman whose truth I would vindicate, is not
Maritza there? She once gave me life yonder in the hills; even less
than love would repay such a debt as that. To-morrow, comrades, we may
fight side by side in the streets of Sturatzberg, but this hour is my
own. Let me pass. It is death to rebel or soldier who seeks to stay
me to-night." And throwing down the empty tankard, he went quickly to
the door, followed by Baron Petrescu and Stefan.
CHAPTER XXV
'TWIXT LOVE AND PITY
Long before midnight Frina Mavrodin had completed her work of
preparation. The servants who were in her confidence had been told of
the coming of the Princess. Some were at the main entrance ready to
admit her if she came that way; others were waiting at a small door
which opened from the garden into a side street. They were instructed
to show surprise, but not consternation, should any officer of the
King demand admittance, and servants were stationed on the stairs and
in the corridors, a signal arranged between them, so that news of any
such demand might be immediately conveyed to the Countess silently,
and without any man rushing to her and causing suspicion to those who
entered.
"If Captain Ellerey comes, let him pass to me at once," she said. "And
at the usual hour put out all lights that shine upon the street. This
house must seem to sleep, no matter how wakeful it may be."
Only a dim light burned in her own room, which looked toward the garden,
and here the Countess paced up and down with slow, thoughtful steps.
She had changed the dress she had worn at Court that night for a soft,
loose gown of delicate rose color, caught in at the waist by a silken
girdle of a deep shade of the same color. A filmy cloud of lace was
about her throat, and fell over her shoulders and from the short loose
sleeves.
Once or twice she stopped before a glass to set a wayward tress of her
hair in its place, or to arrange the falling folds of the lace, and
perhaps lingered for a moment in contemplation of her own reflection,
half conscious that she looked fairer dressed as she was than in Court
attire of costly silks and flashing jewels.
Many times she paused at the open window, drawing aside the curtains
to listen for footsteps in the garden, and she listened often for
footsteps in the corridor. Princess Maritza was coming; perhaps Desmond
Ellerey would come, too.
How to outwit the King should Desmond Ellerey fall into his hands, she
did not know. She thought of little else as she paced the room, but
no solution of the problem came to her. If he should be taken, it
seemed as if he must suffer for the cause into which he had been
pressed. If by her betrayal of others he only could be saved, she knew
now that he must perish. There was no thought in her mind of writing
out a list of names to send to the King to-morrow. She put her hands
before her eyes to shut out the hideous vision which rose before her--
Ellerey standing with folded arms, facing a dozen loaded muskets waiting
for the order to fire; but even in her vision the face of the so-called
traitor, firm, resolute, determined, in this supreme hour, as it had
been throughout his life, as it would be in reality when such time
came, thrilled her soul and made him only the greater hero.
"Oh, to be at his side then!" she exclaimed in a low voice. "What would
I not give to share that death with him?"
But Ellerey was not yet in the King's hands, that seemed certain. She
felt convinced that some time before the dawn she would see him; that
he would enter the house to stand by Maritza's side to the last. Had
she not power to save him then? There was a way of escape for the
Princess; that same way could Desmond Ellerey go. He and Maritza should
go together to find in some other land a quiet haven of happiness.
"Yes," she murmured, her little hands clasped so firmly behind her
that the rings cut into the flesh, though she hardly noticed it; "yes,
that is how it shall be. Even if my life pays the forfeit, they shall
go together. Perhaps, when his happiness is greatest, he will sometimes
think of the woman who helped him to it."
There were hurried steps in the corridor, and the next moment Princess
Maritza and Dumitru entered.
"So far the fates are with us, Frina," said the Princess, taking the
Countess's hands in hers and kissing her; "but I little thought to use
your house again as a refuge."
"It may prove an insecure retreat," Frina answered. "There is no escape
from this room. I have arranged another place for you. Come, and come
quickly."
"Are you suspected, Countess?" asked Dumitru anxiously.
"I fear so, but they will hardly trouble me to-night. Still, I do not
feel that you are safe in this room, Maritza."
Frina led the way down several corridors and up and down short flights
of steps until she came to the room where Hannah waited. The old serving
woman came hurriedly forward as the door opened. For a moment she did
not recognize Maritza in her boy's dress, and it was not until she
spoke that the old woman's arms were stretched out with trembling
eagerness toward her, and her joy found its expression in tears.
"O my Princess! O my dear lady!" was all she could say.
"Dumitru has brought her back, you see, Hannah," said the Countess,
"You owe Dumitru some apology for the hard thoughts you have had of
him. Go with him while I speak to your mistress a moment."
"Gladly, now she has come back," said Hannah; "and then I'll be looking
out decent garments for you, Princess. I should not wish all the world
to see you as you are."
"This is a safer retreat for me, is it?" said Maritza, glancing round
the room when Hannah had closed the door. "It is a corner of your house
I do not know, Frina. Thanks for your great care of me. It is not long
that I shall trouble you."
"What do you mean?"
"Mean! Why, that the days for sitting idly down to wait are over. There
has been deadly work in the Bergenstrasse to-night, and to-morrow the
King will seek to avenge it! Do you suppose I shall leave them without
a leader? Before dawn, those who love me will be preparing for the
final struggle. To-night's work will convince many who until now have
wavered. Rest assured, there will be a goodly host about me when the
King sends to take me."
"It is madness, Maritza!" exclaimed the Countess. "What can these men,
untrained, undisciplined as they are, do against the troops which even
now doubtless are pouring into every street? Wait."
"My dear Frina, you are a woman; I, in heart at least, am a man.
Hundreds are in jeopardy because of me to-night; would you have me
desert them? You were wont to be of better courage."
"But wait--wait for counsel and advice."
"From whom?" asked Maritza.
"From Desmond Ellerey."
The two women were looking into each other's eyes; neither fully
understood the struggle in the other's heart, yet each of them knew
something of the other's secret. For some moments there was silence.
"Is Desmond Ellerey here?" asked Maritza presently.
"No; but he will come. Something tells me that he will come. Wait until
then, Maritza. That door," Frina went on, pointing to one which was
hardly discernible from the panelled walls of the room, "opens into
a passage which leads to a small building by the river, where there
is only rubbish. No one is likely to search there. Hannah has the key,
and it is a way of escape if they come to this house. I implore you
to wait for Captain Ellerey. Has he not struggled for you? Is he not
returning to Sturatzberg to stand beside you in the hour of your need,
rather than take the road to safety as he might have done? Have you
not a hundred times in your heart chosen him the champion of your
cause?"
"If he comes to-night he may help me, but I cannot wait," was
the answer. "The people call for me; they shall not call in vain."
"Maritza! Maritza! I tell you it is madness. Be persuaded. Think of
your love for him; think of his love for you. Ah, you must be ruled
by me in this," the Countess went on desperately. "I might let you go
to your death. I have been tempted to let you go. Yes, it is true,
look at me as you will. Mine has been the waiting part, and temptation
comes easily then; more than once it has nearly conquered me. Only
to-night the King persuaded me to betray his enemies to him; I am to
send a list of them to-morrow; no, it is to-day--in a few hours."
"You have promised to do this?" said the Princess, laying her hand
sharply on her companion's arm. "I promised to think of it--aye! and
when I made the promise I meant to think of it. Shall I tell you why?"
And Frina looked straight into Maritza's eyes. "The King made me believe
that Desmond Ellerey was already in his hands, and he swore to spare
him if I would do his bidding. It was the keenest temptation he could
have assailed me with. Do you understand, Maritza?"
"And you will send that list?" repeated the Princess.
"Can you ask the question now? No, I have fought my battle and won.
What is to come will be easy after the stress of that fight. But that
the King should so tempt me shows that I am suspected; therefore you
are here in this room with the means of escape at hand. Wait for Captain
Ellerey, Maritza. For the present, at least, I believe your cause is
lost; but a way of escape, desperate though it be, still lies open,
and you will take it with the man you love to defend you. Wait,
Maritza."
The hand that had rested on Frina's arm stole slowly round her, and
the Princess kissed her.
"I understand," she whispered. "I have had my struggle, too. I have
never forgotten that meeting long ago in England, and now--now I love
him. Ah, Frina, you may pity me. Many a time in the hills I longed to
cry out to him to take me northward into safety, to give me love instead
of helping me to a kingdom. And then would surge into my soul the
memory of my fathers, and I felt myself a coward. If you have been
tempted to treachery, so have I. I have my mission to fulfil, my work
is before me, and there is no place for love in it. If ever I call any
man husband, he must be a king who will satisfy the State."
"But he loves you, Maritza."
"Do not make it harder for me, sister of mine. Fate deals ungently with
us both. If Desmond comes before daybreak, bring him to me, and he shall
give me counsel. Should I taste failure, should I--should I never see
him again, say to him--"
"Maritza!"
"Yes, speak my name and say that you loved me, too. If I understand
him he will love you for that. I am very weary and have much to do
to-morrow. Send Hannah to me and let me sleep."
In silence the two women kissed each other, and then Frina returned
to her room while Maritza threw herself on a couch, Hannah watching
beside her. Dumitru stood sentinel outside her door.
For Frina there was no sleep, only a restless pacing to and fro, and
a longing for to-morrow--the end, surely the end would come to-morrow.
The dim light in her room grew dimmer, paling before the coming day.
A bird in the garden whistled a long note, and after a silence it was
answered from another part of the garden, and then quickly from another.
A star gleamed low in the ever-lightening purple of the east, the
herald of the dawn, and from her window Frina watched it, wondering.
There was mystery in the breaking of a new day; would her eyes behold
its setting? What thoughts would be in her brain as the golden light
faded once more into the black pall of night?
She turned from the window sharply as she heard quick footsteps in the
corridor.
Long hours had she waited for them, and now they had come. Her heart
seemed to throb violently to a sudden standstill, and having taken one
hurried step toward the door, she paused as it opened, and Desmond
Ellerey stood before her.
Looking forward to this meeting it had seemed to Frina Mavrodin that
in it her life must reach a crisis; but the reality fitted none of her
preconceived notions of what this meeting would be like. Ellerey's
dress was travel-stained; there was a rent in his sleeve, and he looked
as though he had come through some struggle. She noted all this, but
it was the expression on his face which fixed her attention. It was
stern, unyielding, desperate; and her frame stiffened, and a flash
came into her eyes as though she were angry at his intrusion.
"The Princess, Countess?" said Ellerey.
"Is sleeping," she answered.
"I would see her."
"She has need of your counsel. Come."
She swept past him without another word, without looking at him even,
and led the way.
Dumitru stood at the door, doubly alert at the sound of approaching
footsteps. One hand was thrust inside his cloak, and it was easy to
guess what his fingers played with there. He smiled as he saw who the
newcomer was.
"Welcome, Captain," he whispered.
"Is all well?"
"Sleeping," was the low answer.
Frina opened the door softly, and then she motioned Ellerey to enter;
but he came no farther than the threshold. The Princess lay on a couch
sleeping peacefully, dreaming pleasantly it may be, for her lips were
half parted in a smile. One arm was thrown above her head, her fingers
thrust through her bright curls, and over her feet Hannah had spread
a leopard-skin rug. A lamp was still burning on a table, and the glow
from it lit up the graceful figure. For some moments Ellerey gazed
upon the sleeper, taking in the whole picture.
"Shall I wake her?" asked Frina. "No, let her sleep awhile," said
Ellerey, as he went back into the corridor. Then he turned to Dumitru.
"Is there a way of escape open?"
"Yes."
"When will you go?"
"When the Princess commands, unless it should be necessary suddenly,"
Dumitru answered. "There are servants watching who will let me know.
The Countess has arranged." He knew nothing of the tale which had been
told concerning the Countess.
Frina had closed the door and stood beside them, but she did not speak.
As Ellerey turned and showed that he had no other question to ask
Dumitru, she led the way back, but at the door of her room she paused.
"You have come to protect the Princess, Captain Ellerey. You are
welcome. Use my house and my servants as you think fit."
"Countess, will you give me leave to speak to you a few moments? You
must."
He followed her into the room and closed the door; then Frina turned,
facing him, and waited.
"To-night, Countess, I entered Sturatzberg by a way you know of,
doubtless, to hear two things. One that Princess Maritza had been
rescued and brought to your house; the other that you were a traitress."
Frina started, but Ellerey went on quickly--
"Hear me to the end. Heaven knows I am in no mood to take you unawares.
The man who brought this tale of you came from the palace. Why you
should have been spied upon I neither know nor care; but every word
you said to the King last night was heard, and out of them came this
story, that you had agreed to betray to his Majesty all those who favor
the cause of Princess Maritza. No; hear me out, Countess; I swore it
was a lie. Petrescu, Stefan, and I came together. Do you know, Countess,
that this house is surrounded, watched by the King's troops? Every way
of entrance that the Baron knew of was guarded, and only after long
waiting have we managed to scale the garden wall and get in unseen.
What does it mean? Is the Princess trapped? If she is, who has betrayed
her?"
She was silent, but her eyes did not fall before his.
"For heaven's sake, speak, Countess!"
"The tale is untrue," she said in a low voice, "and yet--"
"Yes, yes; tell me. I have pledged my honor; trample on it if you will,
only tell me the truth now."
"I have been tempted," she said. "Yes, you shall hear the truth. I
have been tempted, perhaps even I have stumbled, but I have not fallen.
I am a woman first, then a conspirator, and I have had many idle hours.
Look into my eyes, read my secret if you can and judge me. I was
tempted, and the King's words seemed for a moment to help my decision.
I did not promise to betray, but I did promise to think of betraying."
"To gain time, that was it, merely to gain time," said Ellerey.
"No; I think when I promised I had almost decided to act."
"Ah, how could you!" Ellerey exclaimed.
"You have heard the story; were you told the bribe the King offered?"
Ellerey did not answer, but Frina understood in a moment that he did
know.
"Yes, Captain Ellerey, that tempted me; but with it came a clearer
knowledge, and I saw that for me only one road lay open. I have taken
it. Maritza is in a room from which there is an escape. The King
suspects me. He has surrounded my house with soldiers; presently they
will hammer at my closed doors, and I shall stay to face them; but
Maritza will have gone, and you will go with her. She would stay in
Sturatzberg to fight with those who love her cause; only you can
persuade her to go. Do you understand, only you? Go now and wake her.
Hannah has the key of that secret way. If in my temptation I have been
trapped into showing that I have power in Sturatzberg, that I have
knowledge of this conspiracy and the conspirators, I have opened the
way of escape too. I am prepared to meet the King's wrath. Go to
Maritza, and think less hardly of me."
Ellerey stood with lowered head, his hands pressed before his face.
"What can I say, Countess? God has brought into my life two noble
women. I am powerless to help the one; to the other it seems I have
only given sorrow."
"You must not say that," she said softly. "You are powerful to help
her and to counsel her. As for me, I am a weak woman; if fault there
was it was mine. Go now--now that I am forgiven--to Maritza. She expects
you. I told her I would send you."
The door was suddenly burst open and Stefan entered.
"Quick, Captain. They demanded admission, which was refused, and they
are breaking in. The Baron and those with him will hold them as long
as possible."
"The Princess!" Ellerey exclaimed.
"She has been warned," said Stefan.
"She will get away. She will have time," said Frina. "They will not
find her room easily."
"Whatever is done must be done quickly," said Stefan from the door.
"Even now they drive the servants up the stairs, and the good fellows
fight every inch of the way."
"By the river is a house," exclaimed Frina--"only rubbish is in it.
Maritza will come that way. Go to her. The window. You can easily
drop into the garden."
"And you?"
"I shall stay here."
"You cannot; you must not."
"Quickly, Captain," said Stefan.
"Go, go!" Frina cried. "You must be with her. She will need all your
love and courage to-day."
"But you--what will you do?"
"I, too, may find a way to help her."
He caught her hand and raised it to his lips.
"God keep you," he whispered.
"And you, Desmond."
Then he sprang to the window.
"Do I come?" asked Stefan.
"No," Ellerey answered. "The Countess is in your keeping. Guide her
to safety."
"I will do all a man may do," Stefan answered, as Ellerey swung himself
free by the stout branch of a creeper near the window, and dropped
into the garden.
CHAPTER XXVI
REBELLION
The servants, heartened by Baron Petrescu, contested the stairs step
by step. With all the odds against them not one turned to fly. They
were fighting for the mistress they loved, and were staunch to a man.
Some fell, staining the thick carpet with their blood, yet even in
dying struck one more blow as the soldiers trampled over them. Meeting
with such unexpected resistance made the soldiers savage, and there
was no quarter given or asked for. In the forefront of the battle
Petrescu's sword did deadly work, for so mixed up were besieged and
besiegers that those behind dared not fire. It was a hand-to-hand
struggle, steel to steel, and although there could be no real doubt
of the issue, the Baron knew that the longer he could hold the soldiers
in check, the more time would the Princess and the Countess have to
get away.
Stefan was silent until the sound of Ellerey's quick steps in the
garden had ceased.
"Where does that lead to, Countess?" he said, pointing to a door at
the other end of the room.
"To my bedroom."
"And from there?"
"There is a door on to a landing seldom used," she answered.
"That is our way, then," said Stefan. "I shall stay here. I am safe
from them. It is only the King who would dare--"
"The gentlemen fighting yonder are in no tender mood; I know them.
Besides, the Captain left me in command, and you must obey, Countess.
This is war time, and I am only doing my duty. So we'll lock this outer
door, and we'll put as many more between us as possible. Is this your
cloak?"
"Yes," Frina answered.
In a moment Stefan had ripped a piece from the edge of it and stuck
it in the creeper at the window, and thrown the cloak into the garden
below. Then he tore down one of the curtains.
"They'll think we've gone that way, maybe. Come, Countess, you can get
another cloak as we pass through your room."
There was strength in this great bearded soldier, and besides, Desmond
trusted him, so Frina Mavrodin obeyed.
At every point the servants were driven back, and the soldiers spread
through the house, cutting down anyone who opposed them, but not making
any particular effort to pursue those who got out of their way. They
were there to take the Princess Maritza and the Countess Mavrodin.
Such were the orders the officers had received. But long before the
servants had given way on the stairs, Hannah had opened the door leading
to the passage, and the Princess and Dumitru had gone together swiftly,
while Hannah waited for the coming soldiers, her heart growing the
lighter the longer that coming was delayed. She had locked the door
again, but kept the key lest others should want to use that way of
escape presently. The soldiers rushed in at last, and Hannah's face
assumed an astonished look as if they had roused her from sleep. "Who
are you?" demanded one man sharply.
"I might as well ask that question of you," she replied curtly. "What's
come to the city that a band of ruffians break into an old serving
woman's room before she's scarce awake?"
"Do serving women sleep on couches only in this house, and are they
pampered with leopard skins for covering?"
"How they sleep, and what they're covered with is none of your affair,"
Hannah said.
"A soft tongue will serve you best," replied the man. "Tell me who
slept on that couch during the night?"
"And how she slept and what she dreamt about, I suppose. Well, I had
no dreams of such a rough awakening as this."
Other men were turning over the things in the room, and presently one
espied the door. He called the attention of the others to it at once.
"Open it," they cried.
"It's locked."
"The key, woman--quickly," said one who seemed to command.
"It's likely I shall let you pry into my cupboards, isn't it?"
"This is no cupboard. Give me the key."
"I haven't got it," said Hannah, and with a sudden swing of her arm
she sent the key flying through the open window with unerring aim.
"Curse you!" cried the man.
"In the time you take to find it you may learn better manners," said
Hannah defiantly.
Brave, staunch old soul, full worthy of that far-off Devon county which
gave her birth. The man followed his curse with a blow--a heavy blow,
striking with the hand which held his sword, and the woman fell with
a thud to the ground, to lie there until Stefan and the Countess,
stealing from the house presently, covered the dead serving woman with
the leopard skin.
To find the key was hopeless, and the door was a stout one. It resisted
the soldiers' efforts for a long while. When at last it yielded they
rushed along the passage to the small house by the river, but, save
for rubbish, it was empty. No boat lay upon the water. There was no
sign of the fugitives. "They must have come this way," said one man.
"Had not that old beldame resisted us we should have caught them."
"Back to the house, comrades," shouted another; "there should still
be something there worth laying hands on."
Until now Ellerey had waited, hidden by the river house. He had reached
it almost directly after the Princess and Dumitru had left it; but
ignorant of this fact, he had waited for them. From the soldiers' words
he learnt the truth. Soldiers were in the garden now, and as only a
little while since he had sought to enter it unseen, he now sought to
leave it, crouching from tree to tree and from shrubbery to shrubbery.
His life was too valuable to be uselessly thrown away. He succeeded
presently in scaling a wall and dropping into a side lane, to fall in
later with a band of conspirators, some of whom were present when the
tale of the Countess's treachery was told last night, and who were now
quietly making their way to an arranged meeting place.
"But the Princess, comrades?" said Ellerey. "My place is beside her."
"Fear nothing, Captain. She will come and help us to make this day a
glorious one in Sturatzberg." The morning was advancing, but people
who respected the law kept within their houses, and left their doors
fast barred. From early dawn the soldiers were in the streets, and it
was evident that to-day the ordinary business of life must be suspended.
As the hours passed there were sounds of fighting on every side, the
fierce rattle of musketry at street corners, flying men charged by the
soldiers, turning sometimes into every alley and place of refuge which
offered, turning sometimes at the shout of one determined leader to
withstand the charge, to be cut to pieces or to bear the soldiers back,
leaving many a King's man and King's enemy lying dead or writhing with
their wounds, their enmity forgotten in their common suffering.
In one side street, soon after such a skirmish had swept it from end
to end, a dark figure glided from door to door. He had not fought; he
seemed unwilling to do so, for at the sound of approaching conflict
he was in readiness to retreat and hide himself. More than one wounded
man in the roadway pleaded for help, or cried for water, but he was
deaf to their entreaties. He was making all speed to some point, and
would allow nothing to hold him back. Now he ran forward a few paces,
now stopped and turned hastily into an alley and went quickly on again.
He came at last to the house of Frina Mavrodin, when it was close on
noon. The door at the chief entrance had been torn from its hinges,
there was nothing to bar his entrance. The servants who had escaped
death had fled, or lay hidden in secret places in the house. The
soldiers had deserted it, finding their quarry gone, to go and help
their comrades in the streets. At the moment the street was empty, and
the man slipped across the threshold, stepping over the dead which lay
in the hall, grim witnesses of the fierceness of the fight there. The
man passed from room to room rapidly, his ears intent to catch every
sound. It was clear that robbery was not his object, for there was
none to stay him taking whatever he would. He passed on, touching
nothing, and, by the way he glanced down this corridor and that, it
was evident that the house was not familiar to him. Chance directed
his footsteps and brought him to the room where Princess Maritza had
been. The broken door at the further end attracted his notice and he
entered the room, stopping for a moment to look into the face of Hannah.
The leopard skin had not been thrown over her yet. She was the first
woman lying dead he had come across, and he grew excited. She had been
killed because she stood in the way, and she would not have stood in
the way unless she had had someone in imminent danger to defend. She
must have been with the Princess, he argued, and if so, this must be
the way they had taken. He went quickly along the passage and up to
the house by the river. Someone had certainly been there, but which
direction had they taken afterward? He glanced to right and left, and
stood for some time looking across the river.
"He would not leave the Princess, and he would take her as far as
possible from these fighting madmen in the streets," he mused. "Surely
he cannot escape such a day as this."
The man went slowly back along the passage again, and then he stopped
suddenly. The sound of voices reached him distinctly.
"Brave woman," he heard one say. It was a woman's voice and the man's
heart beat high.
"Cowards to treat her thus," came the muttered answer in a man's lower
tone.
There was a moment's silence. "Help me to cover her," said the woman.
There was a turn in the passage, and the man standing waiting there
could not see into the room. But the passage was dark, and if those
in the room came that way they were not likely to see him, and his
mouth widened into a malicious smile. Would they come? He had hardly
whispered the question to himself when it was evident that they had
entered the passage and were approaching. The waiting man drew back
against the wall, a knife in his hand, and if this failed his other
hand grasped a revolver. They came slowly, cautiously, and just before
the turn paused. It was clear that they meant to be careful, for the
man said, after a moment's hesitation--
"It is clear."
Then he came, but alone and swiftly, with his sword in his hand. The
waiting man had not recognized Stefan's voice, nor, had he done so,
would he have feared detection. Stefan's eyes and ears were quick,
however, and in that pause he had held up a warning finger to his
companion and had then sprung forward.
"I took you for your master," cried the waiting man when he saw that
he was discovered, "but---"
The cruel blade flashed swiftly down, but fell on Stefan's sword only,
and then before his fingers could pull the trigger of his revolver,
the sword point was thrust through his throat, and the man, who had
so stealthily waited for his victim, fell back against the wall, upright
for a moment, and then collapsed, only a gurgled sigh sounding in the
silent passage.
"My ancient friend of the cellar," said Stefan, bending over him.
"Waiting for the Captain, eh? Well, you did your best, Master Francois,
and so I will report to your master, should I find him. Come, Countess,
the light is too dim to see the unpleasant sight," and the soldier
held out his hand to her.
Frina shuddered a little as she stepped past the fallen man, and she
and Stefan went slowly out of the passage together. The soldier's eyes
were searching and keen as they went. The servant was dead, but the
master might not be far off, and he would be even a more dangerous
enemy. They passed stealthily from street to street, much as Francois
had done a little while since. Stefan had a plan, a goal to win, but
he did not speak of it to the Countess.
Suddenly Frina stopped. They were at the end of a deserted alley, but
the roar of voices came from a distance; then the sudden rattle of
musketry, the harsh and discordant music of battle.
"Which way now?" she asked.
"To safety," said Stefan.
"While others fight and fall?" she said.
"So the Captain willed it."
"I will go no further toward safety--not yet. Time for that when the
day is lost. Our way lies there." And she pointed in the direction
from which the roar of battle came.
"Countess, I have my orders."
"And have obeyed them; now listen to mine. Yonder, where they fight,
lies the Grande Place. Lead me there by the quietest way we can travel."
"That is to go to your death."
"Listen, Stefan--and look!" She pointed to the street into which the
alley opened. Some men were running swiftly to the battle. "I have but
to cry my name and they will come to me. Shall I cry?"
"For heaven's sake, Countess---"
"Then lead me as I say."
"I cannot. I dare not. The Captain---"
"Follow me then if you will." And before he could stop her she had
darted from him.
"Stay!" cried Stefan, rushing after her. "Stay! If you will go, let
me lead you."
"Show me the quiet ways if you can, but come." And though Stefan argued,
though he tried to deceive her at every corner they came to, she would
not be turned from her purpose. Ever, as they went, the roar of battle
grew louder in their ears, and there was fear in the heart of Stefan
the soldier because of the woman who walked beside him.
Francois was dead. That was one enemy the less, but of the master there
was no sign. It had been as wakeful a night for Jules de Froilette as
it had been for Frina Mavrodin, but he had spent it in no restless
pacing up and down, nor in listening for expected footsteps. Francois
he knew was prowling about the streets. In the early hours of the
morning the servant had come hastily and told his master of the rescue
of Princess Maritza. De Froilette had turned pale and dropped back in
his chair, dumbfounded at the news, but he quickly recovered himself.
Her freedom could be only temporary. There might be some street
fighting, but her re-capture was certain. Francois had neither heard
nor seen anything of Captain Ellerey, but he was sure to come, and the
servant had gone out to roam about the city again in search of him.
Jules de Froilette spent his time in busily destroying papers, now and
then placing an important one aside, sometimes reading one with greater
care and hesitating over it. At intervals he leaned back in his chair
and remained buried in thought for awhile, and once he got up and went
to a side table on which stood the portrait of Queen Elena.
"If Ellerey were out of the way we might win through yet," he mused.
"I wonder what has become of the bracelet of medallions. If it were
in my hands I might save the situation, or the Queen might have to
leave Sturatzberg, and then who is there to protect her but me?"
The dawn found him still sorting and destroying. He expected Francois
to return with further news, but the servant did not come. The
Altstrasse began to wake, and grew noisy at an earlier hour than usual.
The fact made De Froilette lean back in his chair in thought again.
The news that the Princess had escaped was spreading--that was natural,
and with the town in an uproar, rebellion in the air, there were many
who would look to him for a sign. They had been waiting for it and
expecting it hourly during the last few days. Had he not for a long
time been fostering rebellion, a revolt that should set him in high
place, that should bring him riches from Russian coffers, that should
bring him love? Was not his house at this moment full of men to whom
he had promised much--men who should presently help the brigands to
seize the city, and then in their turn be quelled and crushed by Russia,
whose army on the frontier was only awaiting the word from him? His
scheme had failed through this cursed Englishman, but De Froilette had
not dared to tell the waiting men so, had not dared to tell them at
any moment he might be compelled to fly for safety. They were rebels,
and would be quick to see treachery in any failure when they had not
even been given the chance to strike a blow for success.
Presently a servant brought him coffee and some rolls.
"The city is noisy," De Froilette said.
"Yes, monsieur."
"Where is the rioting chiefly?"
"Toward the Southern Gate they say, monsieur; but the soldiers are
everywhere."
"What about the Northern Gate and the Bois?"
"It is quieter that way, monsieur, I am told."
De Froilette nodded and the servant went out.
The Altstrasse became quieter presently. The men had gone to swell the
crowds in the Bergenstrasse, not to fight perhaps, but to hang about
in side streets and seize whatever loot they could. With dead and dying
men lying in the roadway, there would be much to be picked up. Many
of the women had gone too, for in the Altstrasse much of the human
refuse of the city had its home, and sex counted for little.
It was toward noon that De Froilette's door opened suddenly, and a
tall figure, cloaked to the eyes, glided in, closing the door. In an
instant De Froilette was on his feet, and then as the man let the cloak
fall apart, he exclaimed--
"Vasilici!"
"Yes, Vasilici," was the answer.
"They are not your men who are fighting in the streets, are they?" asked
De Froilette, a ray of hope in his eyes.
"No; my men remain in the hills."
"We have been overreached," said De Froilette; "but only for a little
while. It was a good move of yours to deliver up the Princess, although
it might have been wiser to shoot her. There will be many lives lost
through her today. She escaped last night. Do you know that?"
"I have heard nothing else since I entered the city," returned the
brigand.
"It was bold of you to enter it at all just now," said De Froilette.
"I am used to dangers," said the brigand, grandiloquently, "and I had
business with you."
"With me?"
"With you and with one other," Vasilici answered. "It was fortunate
this Princess came into our hands; we learnt many things. We were to
do the fighting, monsieur, but to have little of the reward; that was
for the Russians lying on the frontier. It was a pretty plot you and
the Queen had arranged."
"Whose tale is that, Vasilici? You are easily deceived if you believe
it."
"We learnt the truth when we received this, monsieur." And the brigand
held up the bracelet of medallions.
"Whoever your messenger was, he lied to you," said De Froilette. "Her
Majesty shall presently convince you of that. I will return the bracelet
to her."
Vasilici burst out laughing. His quick eyes had taken in every detail
of the room, had noted what lay upon the table, had keenly scanned his
companion from head to foot.
"We are not all fools in the hills, monsieur. I am going to deliver
this to her Majesty myself. She is the other I spoke of with whom I
have business in Sturatzberg. Ah, you are clever," he went on, replacing
the bracelet in his pocket, "but you have failed. We are not to be
sold to Russia just yet, and by a foreigner, too. Exterminate the
foreigners, monsieur, that has been your cry. It is a good one. Tell
me, why should you go free?"
He did not wait for an answer. With a sudden spring, his glittering
dagger raised to strike, he was upon his adversary. But the blow fell
limply, and his fingers relaxed, letting the knife fall with a clatter
upon the table. The brigand's swaggering courage had risen as he
contemplated his defenceless enemy. From the moment of his entrance,
however, the Frenchman understood that he came in no friendly mood,
and was prepared. As Vasilici sprang forward, two shots in quick
succession startled the echoes of the room, and the tall figure swayed
for a moment, then fell sideways on to the table, and slithered to the
ground.
In an instant De Froilette was at the door and had locked it. There
were running feet in the passage without, and cries of "Monsieur!
Monsieur!"
"It is nothing," De Froilette shouted. "The weapon was loaded and I
had forgotten the fact. I am not hurt. _Dejeuner_ at once."
As the servants departed, De Froilette bent over the dead body.
"Fool! _Canaille!_ To think to make an end of me so easily," and he
took the bracelet from the dead man's pocket. "In bringing this you
have served me, and I thank you. I would give you decent burial had
I the leisure, but time presses. You must rest here until they find
you."
De Froilette hastily put some papers in his pocket, and reloading the
two chambers of his revolver, slipped that too into his pocket.
"Now if I can only see Ellerey as silent as this brute, I can laugh
at them all. With the bracelet in my possession I am safe. It will buy
the King's courtesy, or, if it suits better, the Queen's obedience.
I thank you, friend Vasilici," and with a mocking bow to the lifeless
brigand, De Froilette took up his hat and cloak, and left the room by
a door concealed in the wall behind his writing table.
CHAPTER XXVII
IN PURPLE AND RED AND GOLD
The attack upon the Countess Mavrodin's house had commenced soon after
daybreak. At that early hour few persons were abroad in the streets
except the soldiers, who had been hastily marched to all points of
vantage in the city as soon as the escape of the Princess became known;
but it was not until an hour or two later that the news of the attack,
and the desperate resistance the soldiers had met with, began to
circulate.
When the riot, which had resulted in Maritza's rescue, had been quelled,
and the rioters had melted away before the onslaught of the troops,
it was hoped that a salutary lesson had been administered which would
prevent any recurrence of open rebellion. That the Princess could not
long elude recapture seemed certain, and her brief triumph had been
dearly paid for. Citizens lying dead in the streets were a grim reminder
of the reality of law and order.
The strenuous defence of the Countess Mavrodin's house had come as a
severe blow to the complacency of the authorities. It seemed probable
that Princess Maritza had found shelter there, that she was actually
in the house when the attack was made, and her defenders had succeeded
in holding the soldiers back until she had escaped. But this was not
all. It was evident that it was not only upon the rabble that the
Princess could depend. Her cause was espoused by Frina Mavrodin, and
those who had considered her only a beautiful, frivolous woman awoke
to the fact that she had power and unlimited wealth. She had played
a part, she had become a Lady Bountiful in Sturatzberg, and it was
easy to understand how far reaching her commands might be at this
crisis. Baron Petrescu, too, had been a prominent figure in the
resistance which had been made, and was still unharmed; it was
impossible to foretell how many others, from one cause or another.
That the attack had been successfully resisted, in so far that the
Princess had been able to escape, gave an enormous stimulus to the
courage of the rebels. The death of companions last night had had a
sobering effect upon some; they were inclined to argue that they had
done what they had set out to do, and that for the present enough had
been accomplished; but the news of the morning raised fresh passions
within them, and their leaders were not slow to add fuel to the furnace.
These enthusiasts declared that it was only necessary to seize the
advantage already gained, to win the city and to force their will upon
the country. Was not their Princess among them? Had not important
persons already declared for her? Were there not hundreds of others
ready to do so, only that fear of the people's fickleness and
half-heartedness held them back?
So the carefully secreted arms were taken out again. There were stir
and determination in every corner of the city. The word had gone forth
that the day so long looked for had indeed come; that before nightfall
Sturatzberg would be in their hands; that Maritza, their sovereign,
would most surely come amongst them in the Grande Place to lead them,
and that by noon all loyal men must win their way there. It was no
mere rabble to whom this command was given. Some organization, at
least, had been proceeding for a long time. Points of meeting were
known. Leaders had been chosen and accepted, men who knew every alley
and byway of the city, and had made a study of street fighting, the
cover to be had and taken advantage of, and the narrow ways where the
soldiers would manoeuvre at a disadvantage, being compelled to fight
singly and hand to hand.
As the morning advanced, separate bands traversed the meaner streets,
avoiding conflict for the present as much as possible. Here and there
sharp skirmishes took place, but no determined effort was made to rush
the soldiers, nor were the soldiers successful in dispersing those
with whom they came in conflict, except, perhaps, to make them change
their route. The rebel leaders had no wish to make boldly for the
Grande Place before noon, that would only be to make known what their
objective was. When the time came, their numbers would be overpowering,
and when once the soldiers saw that they were hemmed in, many of them
would be fighting with them instead of against them. Was it not common
knowledge that among the troops there was dissatisfaction?
Desmond Ellerey had fallen in with one of these bands when he escaped
from Frina's garden. The leader, a lusty enthusiast, who had already
looked forward to the rewards which must accrue from this day's victory,
could tell him all that was to happen, but of Maritza's whereabouts
at that moment he knew nothing. All he was sure of was that she would
be in the Grande Place at the appointed time. He was a skilful leader.
He took his followers by a multitude of back streets, avoiding every
point where soldiers were likely to be. Every man was valuable, and
to lose even one in a skirmish which could achieve nothing was to
jeopardize the success of the rebellion to that extent. He constantly
turned aside to avoid some particular corner which the scouts sent on
before reported occupied; but although this often necessitated returning
for some distance along the way they had come, he managed gradually
to approach the place of rendezvous, until a little before noon he had
brought his band into an alley opening out of one of the streets which
led directly into the Grande Place.
"An excellent battle ground for us," he said, turning to Ellerey. "The
space is confined, narrow streets abound for us to fight in, which
will prevent the soldiers rushing us or bringing guns into action."
Ellerey nodded, but his heart was heavy. Enthusiasm might accomplish
much, but he did not believe in the ability of the rebels to withstand
the military force which would be opposed to them. After last night,
Sturatzberg was not likely to be caught asleep. What was this day to
bring to the woman he loved? If he could have known that she was in
safety, he could have drawn his sword with a lighter heart, and struck
boldly for her cause--died for it, if need be. But she was not safe.
Unless she had already fallen into the hands of her enemies, she was
coming to the Grande Place. She had promised, and that promise was the
mainspring of the enthusiasm which was on every side of him. He knew
her too well even to hope that she would not come. And her coming must
mean death. His love made him afraid. He could not see even the barest
possibility of victory, nor had he any hope that she could escape now.
Love made him a coward--his vital force seemed numbed, and his hand
shook. He had been an entire stranger to such a sense of fear until
this moment, and it was only with a great effort that he was able to
throw off the paralyzing effect it had upon him.
From the tower of the Hotel de Ville the hour of noon sounded clear
and musically over the city.
"Ready!" said the leader. "But the Princess?" said Ellerey.
"She will come," was the answer. Would she? The striking of the hour
was evidently the signal. The last stroke had not died away when the
men moved out from the alley into the street, and went quickly towards
the Grande Place. Similar bands of men came from other alleys, and
from every street they poured impetuously into the Square.
No place had been assigned to Ellerey, no duty had devolved upon him,
and as the forward rush was made, he contrived to keep at the side of
the street, so that he might not be forced to the front of the crowd.
Once in the Square he stepped aside, sheltering himself in the angle
of a wall, and no one noticed his movements as they rushed past him.
There were comparatively few soldiers in the Grande Place, and for
them the striking of noon had had no warning. The sharp rattle of
musketry came swiftly, but in a moment the soldiers were swept back
or beaten down. There was a triumphant shout at this success, but the
men were well in hand. They did not attempt to follow the enemy into
the side streets into which they were driven, but, having in the first
onslaught seized every entrance to the square, took up their positions
to hold them. For a few moments there was silence, save for the quick
commands of rebel leaders, and the hurrying feet of men taking their
appointed places. They were heartened and enthusiastic. They had only
to hold the Grande Place for a while--comrades were marching from every
quarter of the city--and the soldiers would be between two fires. So
the leaders encouraged, and the men believed and were content.
Ellerey still remained in the angle of the wall, endeavoring to attract
as little attention as possible. Were he seen and recognized, some
position of command was likely to be thrust upon him, and this he was
most anxious to avoid. His place was beside Maritza when she came. One
man spoke to him, asking him what orders he had received. "To protect
the Princess," he answered.
The man gave him a friendly nod, and Ellerey conceived that to certain
men some such command had been given, and that his answer was a happy
one.
From the opposite side of the square came the crack of rifles again,
quickly answered. The rebels were well armed, and, whatever the issue,
the struggle was to be a desperate one. Here was no loose rabble to
turn and flee, but enthusiasts bent on disputing every inch of the way.
"Charge!" came an order from the distance, and there followed the
sudden growling of conflict. Yonder the battle had begun in earnest,
and a moment later a roar of triumph proclaimed that the soldiers had
been thrust back. There was wisdom in making them fight in narrow
streets.
It was difficult for Ellerey to remain where he was. Fighting was going
forward, and the spirit of the soldier in him made him restless to
take his part in it. His hand was upon his sword, when suddenly a great
roar of voices from every side seemed to shake the Square. Again and
again it rose swelling and breaking like storm waves lashing a shore.
There was quick movement round the statue of Ferdinand, a frantic
waving of arms, and then the mighty roar became articulate.
"Maritza! Maritza!"
She had come among them--a warrior, even as her fathers were: it was
fitting that her name should resound over Sturatzberg.
"Charge!" Again the distant command, again the fierce cries and
groaning of conflict, and still the rebel ranks remained unbroken;
again the soldiers were beaten down and driven back. Maritza had come,
and that meant victory. The belief was deep seated in the heart of
every man.
From what point she had entered the square, Ellerey could not determine,
but in a few moments he saw her. She was standing on the steps of the
statue, a pathetic, yet an heroic figure. She was still in her boy's
dress, her bright curls falling loosely from under her cap. She said
something which Ellerey could not hear, and then the shouting broke
out again. Men ran to join their comrades, impatient only for
opportunity to strike a blow at the foe, leaving the Princess in the
midst of a little band, evidently a picked bodyguard, among them Baron
Petrescu and Dumitru.
For a moment Ellerey watched her. She had come. There was no sign of
fear in her face; how should there be? Did he not know her courage?
When had Maritza ever failed when the time for action arrived? Had he
not full reason to know what a splendid comrade she was in a tight
place? All these who shouted her name were her comrades; was it likely
she would desert them in the hour of their need? And this was the woman
he loved, the woman who loved him--yes, in that instant all doubt
seemed to fade into knowledge. Almost he fancied that her quick glance
sought him in that striving crowd, and, not finding, that disappointment
touched her heart. Oh, it was good to be loved, even for one short
hour, by such a woman as this.
His sword was naked in his hand as he went swiftly across the square
and shouldered his way to her.
"Desmond Ellerey!" she cried, a wondrous light glowing in her eyes as
she stretched out her hand to him.
"At your service and command, Princess," he answered.
In her glad cry at his coming he heard the confession of her love; he
read it in her eyes, yet he did not call her Maritza. To-day, indeed,
she claimed the address of sovereignty.
"I thought perhaps you would not come," she said in a lower voice.
"You do not love my cause."
"To-day I stand or fall for it, Princess," he said aloud; "because--"
"Desmond!"
"Because I love you," he whispered.
It was said. It had to be said now, lest she should never know, for
this day was a day of battle, and, before evening, ears might be deaf
and lips silenced forever.
For a moment longer she held his hand in hers, and then, fearing,
perhaps, that others about her might see some preference in her welcome,
she cried aloud:
"Ah, God must surely destine me for victory. He has given me so many
brave and true men!"
The roar of conflict was not confined to one side of the Square now.
Street after street took up the fight. The soldiers were attacking
from every quarter. The sharp command to charge rang out more often,
and the sudden growl of the hand-to-hand struggles was fiercer and
longer and more continuous. Here and there was an ominous bending
inward of a mass of defenders, but it was straightened again by mere
force of numbers.
"They want more men there," said Ellerey, pointing with his sword to
one place.
Maritza gave a quick order to a man near her, and immediately other
men were hurrying to strengthen the position.
"Who commands?" asked Ellerey, turning to the Baron.
"The Princess," was the answer.
"A dozen leaders fight for me," said Maritza; "but I look to you and
the Baron to advise me."
"What forces have you in the city beside these?" Ellerey asked, turning
to Petrescu.
"Many are hurrying to join us," he answered.
"And will have to fight their way to us," said Ellerey. "We must hold
the Square at all costs, for I see no line of retreat."
"Retreat!" exclaimed Maritza. "There is no retreat for me. To-day makes
me Queen in Wallaria or nothing."
"Still, Princess, a momentary retreat might save the day."
"We have no way of retreat, Captain," said Petrescu, and the look in
his face told Ellerey plainly enough that, loyal as he was, he had
little hope of success. "Circumstances have forced matters to an issue,
and we must stand or fall as the fates decide."
The rattle of musketry was now continuous on all sides, and for those
who fell there was little help or thought, friend and foe alike
trampling them to death in the struggle. More than once soldiers,
thrust forward by those behind them, had broken through the ranks of
the defenders, only to be shot or stabbed before they could recover
themselves. Again the rushes were stopped and repulsed, but still they
were made with unabated fury, and Ellerey saw that each one was more
determined, more difficult to meet than the last. Constantly that
ominous bending inward was only straightened with great effort.
Presently he touched the Baron on the shoulder, and pointed to one
street where, in the distance, mounted men could be seen.
"I have been wondering why they did not use them," said Ellerey.
"The streets are narrow for them," said Petrescu.
"True; but if only a dozen break through there will be confusion." And
then, lowering his voice, Ellerey went on: "Is there no way of escape
for her?"
"We may carve one for her, Ellerey, you and I; it is the only way I
know of."
They had spoken in a low tone, but, had their voices been louder, it
is doubtful whether Maritza would have heard them. She was absorbed
in watching the deadly struggle which raged around her. She was
unconscious of the bells above her, which told quarter after quarter,
sounding musically over the city. Perhaps the thought came to her that
these men were dying in her cause, at her bidding; but how could she
blame herself? Had not thousands before them died for her fathers?
Were her rights less than those of her fathers? And was she not among
her subjects to cry victory with them, or to die in their midst? She
asked from them no sacrifice which she herself was not prepared to
make.
"Will those others who are coming never fight their way to us?" she
said turning to Ellerey suddenly.
"If they can, Princess."
It was a vain hope. In every street which led to the Grande Place there
had been desperate struggles. In the roadways lay the dead and dying,
while others fled to find safety if they could. There was no help to
come, and Ellerey did not expect it.
"Charge!"
The command rang out simultaneously from all sides, and there was the
jingle of harness and the thud of horses' hoofs.
Here the attack was hurled back, horses riderless, here horse and man
pitched forward to be shot and stabbed; and here the same, and here;
but yonder the defenders had been driven in, and there too. A dozen
horsemen were in the square, and although they fell, confusion had
begun. The defense was weakened at several points, more horsemen fought
their way in, and with them foot-soldiers gained an entrance. Step by
step the rebels were driven backward toward the statue where Maritza
stood. "Will those others never fight their way to us?" she cried in
almost piteous tones.
"You cannot stay here," said Ellerey. "Come!"
Men were already rushing past them. Once beaten back, hopelessness
came quickly, and many of those who had been foremost in the fight now
shouted to their comrades to escape if they could. The soldiers,
resistlessly pressing forward, were closing in on them when Ellerey
spoke. Maritza did not answer.
"Come!" he said again, his hand on her arm.
The touch roused her.
"I have brought you to this; forgive me, Desmond," she said. Her whole
ambition was forgotten for a moment in the thought of the man beside
her.
Ellerey did not answer. There was no time. The soldiers were upon them.
With Petrescu on one side and Dumitru on the other Ellerey threw himself
before the Princess. The final struggle had commenced, and so fierce
was the resistance of these three men that the soldiers hesitated and
fell back a pace.
"Fly, Princess, while there is time," Ellerey shouted.
"Victory or death, I stay" (and her voice rang clear above the uproar)
"with you, Desmond."
The last words were spoken almost in a whisper, and they maddened him.
Here was death, butchery, and she was in the midst of it.
"Maritza! Go, dear! Go!" he cried. "Let me hold them back for a moment.
I will follow. Petrescu! Dumitru!"
So determined was the struggle round the steps of the statue that the
tide of battle seemed to have turned again, and some of the rebels
dashed fiercely back into the fray.
"Take her, Dumitru," Ellerey whispered. "We'll hold them while we can."
Suddenly from a corner of the Grande Place, rushing swiftly through
the ranks of the flying rebels, came a woman.
"Are you cowards or men?" she cried aloud as she came, and some turned
at that cry and met death with a shout of defiance, while others stood
irresolute until fear overcame them.
Ellerey saw her as she reached Maritza's side, and then he was conscious
that a stalwart arm was raining heavy blows upon the foes which seemed
to surround him.
"She would come. I could not stay her," said Stefan between his deeply
panted breaths as he struck again and again.
"Fly, Maritza!"
"Frina! You!"
"Fly, Maritza!" The salvation of Maritza seemed her one thought. The
hope that she might accomplish it, even at the last moment, had drawn
her hither. How it was to be done she had not asked herself. Yet now
she appeared to have found the way.
Even as she spoke Dumitru seized the Princess.
"Come!" he said, as he threw a cloak about her to conceal her identity.
"To-day we fail; to-morrow--Ah!"
It was a short, sharp cry, a cry with finality in it. Whatever to-morrow
might bring forth, he should have no part in it. His hand still grasped
the cloak as he fell backwards, and Maritza was dragged down with him.
"Grigosie," said Ellerey to the soldier beside him as he saw Dumitru
fall. He used the name that Stefan might understand to the full. Was
there anything that Stefan would not do for Grigosie?
Frina Mavrodin stood for a moment alone above the surging, fighting
mass. She had shuddered when she had passed the dead body of Francois
in the passage, now she drew herself to her full height and looked
down upon the battle. She stood there that all men might see her, that
Maritza might escape, and then she saw Ellerey with the sweat and grime
of the conflict upon him. For an instant their eyes met, her lips
whispered his name, and then she threw up her arms, and with a low cry
fell prone upon the steps of the statue.
Maritza, who was bending over Dumitru, turned swiftly and made one
step towards her when Stefan stopped her.
"Come," he said. And this time he waited for no pleading. Drawing the
cloak tightly round her, he caught her in his arms, and, in the midst
of those who fled, rushed from the Square. The plan he had made earlier
in the day when the Countess walked beside him he would carry out now.
He had ears for no entreaty, for no threat.
"We'll win through, Grigosie," he said over and over again as he
turned now into one alley, now into another, leaving the flying rabble
further and further behind. "We'll win through, Grigosie. It's the
Captain's orders."
Ellerey heard that cry too, and knew its meaning. There was a shout
of triumph from the soldiers pressing forward, a swaying back of the
rebels, and he was carried along with them unable to use his sword in
the seething mass of friends and foes.
"She is dead!" someone cried; and the effect was instantaneous. Men
took up the cry and shouted that Maritza was dead, and the soldiers
may have thought it was so seeing a woman fall. Every rebel was at
once struggling to fight his way out of the crowd, his own safety his
only thought. They day was lost, it was the time to seek safety if it
were to be found. The Baron and Ellerey were still side by side, and
together they were forced back toward a narrow street.
"There is still a chance for you," Petrescu whispered. And the next
moment he was striving madly to force his way back to the statue, to
the side of the woman he had loved. Then he was cut down and trampled
under foot as Ellerey was carried away in a rush of pursued and
pursuers. Suddenly the pressure relaxed, the open street was before
him.
"Ellerey! No matter who else escapes, seize Ellerey!" He had been
recognized, and for him there was no hope of mercy. He swung round one
sweeping blow of his sword and sprang forward. The way seemed clear,
when a figure suddenly dashed from a doorway and fired at him point
blank, twice in quick succession, crying his name to those who appeared
to have lost him for a moment.
A pain like the running in of a red-hot skewer was in Ellerey's arm,
but not his sword arm, and the weapon flashed high in the air and fell
with relentless force.
"Quits, you devil!" he cried as De Froilette reeled backwards, cut
with deadly depth downward from the shoulder. Then Ellerey rushed on
again, one among hundreds seeking safety, followed by their conquerors,
who showed no mercy. Suddenly an arm was outstretched from an alley
and seized him. The impetus of being thus turned in his headlong flight
carried him some yards down the narrow way.
"Quickly!" said a voice in his ear. "To the right, now to the left."
A guiding hand and a supporting arm urged him forward. Ellerey asked
no question, never turned toward the man who ran beside him, but went
on mechanically. His brain was full of a whirling nightmare. Then a
door was slammed heavily, there was the sensation of rapid movement,
the quick beating of galloping horses, and then faintness and oblivion.
The red sun sank westward, glowing on the roofs and spires of the city.
The minutes passed swiftly, and the hours. Still in the smaller streets
and the narrow alleys there were flying feet, and now and again a
shriek as some poor wretch pitched forward, shot or stabbed by his
relentless pursuers. Resistance there was none; that was over. The
dead and dying lay in the roadways where they had fallen, the only cry
now was for mercy, and that was seldom granted. The soldiers were
savage too, and rebellion must be stamped out.
By the statue of Ferdinand a squad of soldiers was halted, and on the
steps, just as she had fallen, lay Frina Mavrodin. She was beautiful
in death, and there was a pathos in that prostrate form which appealed
even to these rough soldiers. Had she not been the Lady Bountiful in
that city? They were silent for the most part, or if they spoke, hushed
their voices to a whisper, and used no oaths. She had sacrificed her
life for the man and woman she loved. Here in the Grande Place of
Sturatzberg, where a little while since fierce conflict raged; here
where Maritza's cause had been fought for and lost; here where so many
turned sightless eyes to the deepening sky, Frina Mavrodin had found
her rest. No tramping, struggling feet had touched her, and only the
blood staining the brown hair where the bullet had struck showed that
this was death and not sleep. The minutes passed, and the hours, the
bells sounding musically at short intervals over the city, and the sun
slowly sank lower and lower into his bed of purple and red and gold.
CHAPTER XXVIII
THE DIPLOMACY OF LORD CLOVERTON
Desmond Ellerey recovered consciousness slowly and gradually. After
the sensations of movement and galloping horses, there was utter
oblivion for a time, followed by sharp pain which seemed to be caused
by someone bending over him--a shadowy figure whose attack upon him
he was powerless to resist. Then he heard voices, and more than one
shadow flitted vaguely across his vision. Presently he realized that
he was stretched out at full length, and that he was in a room which
had an intricate pattern on the ceiling, the lines and curves of which
his eyes were trying to follow.
"Well, Doctor?"
"Nothing serious," was the answer. "A bullet has torn the fleshy part
of the arm, but it would hardly account for his collapse. The man is
thoroughly played out, and has had no sleep for some nights probably,
and has been at high tension for a long time."
"But will he be able to travel?"
"He would be better for twenty-four hours' sleep first."
"That is out of the question," was the answer.
"Is it a long journey?" asked the doctor.
"Yes; but he will be well cared for, and will have nothing to do."
"It will pull him down a bit, but he will stand it all right," the
doctor returned. "His is the sort of constitution which stands
anything." At first Ellerey had only been conscious of voices, now he
partly understood what was said, and half raised himself.
"Where am I?" he asked faintly.
"Ah, that's better," said the doctor; "drink this, it will start you
toward recovery. No, leave that arm alone, it will be all right
presently."
"It hurts a bit," Ellerey answered. "I remember; De Froilette did it.
I think I struck him down; I forget what happened after that," and he
drank from the glass handed him.
"Well, Goldberg, he looks better already," said the other man, coming
forward and standing by the couch. "Do you know me, Ellerey?"
"Lord Cloverton!"
"I told you I would pluck you from under the wheels of Juggernaut's
car if I could, and so far I have succeeded."
"I don't know how you have done it, but I thank you."
"I will leave you for a little while," said Dr. Goldberg. "How long
before he starts? Delay it as long as you can."
"A couple of hours," said Cloverton.
"Very well. I will come in and see him comfortably packed up."
"I cannot go," said Ellerey as the door closed upon the doctor.
"Listen to me," said the Ambassador, sitting down on the end of the
couch. "I am not going to criticize your actions, and that you are
here in the Embassy proves that I still feel some interest in you. I
hardly expected to save you, but Captain Ward was fortunate in choosing
the right spot to rescue you, and he managed to get you here without
anyone knowing. You are still being eagerly sought for."
"I should like to thank Captain Ward," said Ellerey.
"You shall before you go."
"I cannot leave Sturatzberg," said Ellerey.
"You can understand that under the circumstances I have run some risk
in having you brought to the Embassy," Lord Cloverton went on. "It is
quite impossible for you to remain here, and to go into the streets
of the city would be to go to your death."
"Still, I must go, Lord Cloverton. You do not understand."
"Perhaps not; but I have myself to think of as well as you. For both
of us it is necessary that you cross the frontier as soon as possible.
In two hours we start. I am going as far as Breslen on my own affairs,
and, in case of accident, an escort is to accompany my carriage, which
will be closed. I have made the most of the dangers to myself, and
have demanded that my person shall be well guarded. You will go with
me, and for your journey from Breslen I have made further arrangements.
You are unlikely to be stopped."
"But, my Lord--"
"You owe no further allegiance to the cause you have striven for. You
can depart in all honor. The cause is annihilated."
"I know, my Lord, I know; still, I cannot leave Sturatzberg."
"Somehow I expected to find you difficult to persuade," said Lord
Cloverton, rising. "I have no time to argue with you; I will send
someone else to do that. I hope to find you more tractable when I
return."
He went out of the room, closing the door gently behind him. Ellerey
raised himself on the couch, wincing with the pain his arm gave him,
but determined to balk the Ambassador while he had the opportunity.
It was evident that if he remained there Lord Cloverton would force
him to this journey, and he was too weak to offer any real resistance,
but once in the streets he could hide and wait, and seek Maritza in
every corner of the city until--
The door opened again, and closed. Ellerey's back was toward it, and
he did not turn. It was only a servant, probably, who would go away
presently.
"Desmond!"
A few hurried steps, the quick rustle of a dress, and then a figure
was kneeling by the couch, and a head was pillowed on his breast.
"Desmond!"
For a moment he did not speak; he could not. His confusion returned,
and seemed to overwhelm him. Surely he was still dreaming?
"Maritza! You? Is it really you? How wonderful it is, this waking! Is
it you, Maritza?"
"Yes, dear. Thank God for bringing you to me again."
"It is wonderful," Ellerey murmured. "Red blood is before my eyes
still, and in my ears shouting and groaning. We have lived through it
all, you and I--"
"And so many are dead, Desmond, have died for me. My heart is heavy
and full of tears, only--only there is you, and you are here, and, God
forgive me, there is joy in my soul because of this."
It was a strange, new thing for him to see Maritza weep.
"And Frina. Frina gave her life for mine, Desmond," she whispered.
He did not speak, but his fingers closed over hers, and they were both
silent.
"They are looking for us in every corner of the city," she said
presently.
"How did you escape?" he asked.
"I hardly know. Stefan caught me up and ran with me. I strove to free
myself in vain. I pleaded, I threatened, but it was of no use. I was
a child in those great arms of his. He brought me here. Lord Cloverton
was very kind."
"Where is Stefan now?"
"Here still. He is going with us. Lord Cloverton says that you will
not go; but you will, Desmond, won't you? I want you to take me away,
anywhere, Desmond--anywhere away from Sturatzberg."
"I would not go, my darling, because you were not with me. When you
came in I was making up my mind to drop from the window that I might
look for you; but now--"
"My poor love, you are weak; how could you?"
"My sword arm is whole still, though it is tired--very tired."
"It shall rest now," she said, taking it and pressing it to her breast.
"Desmond."
"Yes, dearest."
"Only once have you said to me: 'I love you.' Never yet have I been
in your arms. Put this one-this strong one--round me now. Say 'I love
you.' Tell me. Oh, how often have I longed to hear those words from
your lips."
"I love you, Maritza, my Princess," he whispered, and he kissed her
lips as a little contented sigh escaped them.
"How beautiful you are!" he went on, after a moment's pause. "It is
strange, Maritza, but since that morning on the downs I have never
seen you dressed as a woman."
"Once, Desmond."
"Ah, then you wore a mask."
"And looked through it with eyes of love, Desmond."
"Even then?"
"Yes, even then. These are borrowed clothes. Lord Cloverton persuaded
someone to lend them. He was nervous until I became a woman. Grigosie
is dead, Desmond."
"Is there no regret in your heart?"
"None," she answered.
"You lose a kingdom, Maritza."
"It is well lost for love, Desmond. I have found my king."
She was kneeling beside the couch when Lord Cloverton entered.
"Well, Captain Ellerey, are you ready to go?"
"How can I thank you, my Lord?"
"By going," the Ambassador answered, with a smile. "Sight of the
Princess is evidently good medicine for you. You have both given me
many anxious hours."
"You must forgive us," said Maritza.
"Princess, I am an old man; I envy my countryman his youth. But for
all that, I shall find my work in Sturatzberg easier when I know you
two rebels are safely over the frontier."
Dr. Goldberg came in, and with him Captain Ward.
"I owe you much," said Ellerey, grasping the latter's hand. "Thank
you."
"It is but repaying the debt I incurred on the night of the duel,
Captain Ellerey."
"The carriage is waiting," said Lord Cloverton. "It is in the inner
courtyard. We must be silent, for the escort, which waits without, has
no knowledge that I am accompanied. Now, Doctor, wrap up your patient,
and help him out. Here is a cloak for you, Princess. You travel with
light luggage, but that, I am afraid, cannot be helped."
"And Stefan?" asked Ellerey.
"Goes with us. He is waiting. Come!"
The travelling carriage was large and roomy, and they entered it in
silence in the inner courtyard. Stefan was waiting, and saluted Ellerey,
but neither of them spoke then. The windows were drawn up, the blinds
closed, and then they moved out. There was a sharp word of command as
they passed into the street, and so, escorted by the King's troops,
the man and woman who were being searched for in every corner of the
city passed out by the Northern Gate and through the Bois, and were
presently driving along the Breslen road.
Lord Cloverton's arrangements had been very carefully and completely
made. In Breslen the carriage drove into an inn yard, the escort
remaining without, and in the yard another carriage was waiting. The
driver was in possession of the papers necessary for the journey, and,
unless something unforeseen should happen, nothing could prevent the
fugitives reaching the frontier in safety.
"Wait until I have gone," said Lord Cloverton, "and then start. _Bon
voyage_," he whispered, as he raised Maritza's hand to his lips. "I
hope we shall meet again under happier circumstances--in England, it
may be. Your marriage will render a very charming Princess powerless
to disturb the peace of Europe."
"Thank you a thousand times," said Ellerey. "You have given me more
than life--happiness."
When the Ambassador had gone, Ellerey turned to Stefan.
"What can I say to you, old comrade?"
"Better say nothing, Captain. I'm nearer to tears just now than I ever
was in my life."
"I had forgotten," said Ellerey; "you are leaving Sturatzberg."
"Oh, they're not tears of that kind," said Stefan. "I think they're
happy ones, but having shed so few I'm a poor judge. I only know,
Captain, it's good to be beside you again. I know it's good to have
served you, and--and Grigosie, the name will slip out--and if you want
to say anything, just promise that you won't send me packing as soon
as we get free. I can turn my hand to other things beside soldiering."
"You shall stay with us, Stefan," said Maritza.
"I don't think I could have known any real woman before," the soldier
muttered.
Ten minutes later they had passed out of the inn yard, and were
galloping toward the frontier.
And in the midst of his escort, Lord Cloverton was riding back to
Sturatzberg. So far he had succeeded, but he knew how often some little
thing destroyed the best-laid scheme. He drove direct to the palace,
and was admitted to the King. Queen Elena was with him.
"Do you bring us news of this countryman of yours, my Lord?" said the
King, and he spoke somewhat curtly.
"Or of Princess Maritza?" said the Queen. "It is very strange that
neither of them can be found."
"So they have not been found yet?" said the Ambassador.
"No, my Lord; but they will be. I have it on good authority, only a
moment ago, that they are even now between Breslen and the frontier.
It was cleverly conceived, Lord Cloverton, but it is not too late to
stop them," and the King's hand was raised to strike a gong to summon
a messenger.
"One moment, your Majesty."
"Why delay?" exclaimed the Queen impatiently. "Every moment is of
value. Five minutes have slipped away already since this news was
brought to you. Telegraph to the frontier at once. I shall not rest
until Maritza is taken."
"And De Froilette, your Majesty?" said the Ambassador quietly.
"He is dead."
"I know," was the answer. "Had he been alive, he too would have been
hurrying toward the frontier. Your Majesty should rejoice in his death.
He was not a man to be trusted."
"My Lord, you tell us only what we know," said the Queen.
"A little more, I think, your Majesty," was the quiet answer. "A servant
of mine saw Monsieur De Froilette struck down by Captain Ellerey, and,
knowing the man, searched him. He carried much that was incriminating
upon him." And then, turning to the King, he added: "Would it not be
well to let Captain Ellerey and the Princess go?"
"What do you mean?" asked the King angrily.
"Lord Cloverton only seeks to delay that message," said the Queen. "Send
it. Some of your enemies are dead, but these two escape."
"And must be allowed to escape," said the Ambassador.
"Do you threaten, my Lord?" said the King.
"I ask the Queen to support me with regard to these fugitives."
"And I refuse," she answered. "Send the message."
"Will your Majesty show the King the bracelet of medallions?" said Lord
Cloverton.
The King rose angrily.
"Once before, my Lord--" and then he stopped.
"Send the message," cried the Queen.
"And then look to your own safety," said Lord Cloverton, turning sharply
to the King. "Russia has plotted against you; her troops lie still on
the frontier, and treachery has been beside you. By a strange chance
the plot miscarried, but it was near to success. This was found in
Jules de Froilette's possession," and he held up the bracelet.
The King looked at it. The Queen drew in her breath sharply, and bit
her lip until the blood came. "What is the meaning of this?" said the
King, turning to her after a pause.
"At a fitting time I will answer," she said.
The King sat down heavily in his chair.
"I will send no message," he said.
Lord Cloverton bowed, and placing the bracelet carefully on the table,
silently left the apartment.
CHAPTER XXIX
AFTER WAR--PEACE
Peaceful times had fallen upon Wallaria. It is whispered sometimes
that the relations between the King and the Queen are not of the
happiest; but who that would publish such a statement can possibly
know the truth with any certainty. It is a fact that the country is
better governed. At nights the streets of Sturatzberg are far safer
than they were formerly, and the brigands in the hills have been
dispersed. Some political malcontents among them have been banished,
but many have been pardoned, and go in and out of the city unmolested.
The Court is still a brilliant one, but in these days there is no woman
there as beautiful as Frina Mavrodin, and Lord Cloverton is no longer
British Ambassador. He has been transferred to Paris, and this fact
alone is sufficient to show that the Powers are more agreed concerning
Wallaria. A less experienced man than Lord Cloverton is now at the
Embassy, and has had no such troublous times to steer through as fell
to his predecessor.
Yet Princess Maritza is not forgotten in Sturatzberg, and for a small
bribe many a man will tell the traveler her romantic history, and will
perhaps whisper in his ear, as though the spirit of revolution were
not altogether dead in him:
"I was among those who fought that day in the Grande Place." So long
as they live, Desmond Ellerey and his wife will not forget that day,
but they seldom speak of it. It is quite certain that Maritza has never
regretted the kingdom she lost. Love has crowned her life, and she is
satisfied.
Long since has it been known that the story which drove Ellerey away
from his country was a lie, told and substantiated by the real culprit
to shield himself. By this man's tardy confession, Ellerey's character
was cleared, and many expected him to return to England at once, but
he did not do so. When his brother died, and he became Sir Desmond
Ellerey, he did return for a while, however, staying for some time
with his old and staunch friends, Sir Charles and Lady Martin, and his
beautiful wife caused a sensation. She visited her old school, and she
stood with her husband upon the downs on the very spot where they had
first met. But England was not for them, they decided, and their
permanent home is in Italy, in sight of dancing blue waters and under
a blue sky.
And in this Italian home is Stefan, whose chief duty seems to consist
in worshipping Ellerey's small son, who is going to be a soldier when
he grows up and win a wife like his mother, just as his father did.
It is Stefan who tells him stories of the past, Stefan who fashions
wooden swords for him, and who would willingly lay down his life for
his father, mother, or son.
"Once I didn't care for anybody," Stefan said to the lad one day.
"You didn't know father then."
"No; and for a long time after that I hated women."
"Until you met my mother?" asked the boy.
"Yes; and until I knew Grigosie."
"Grigosie? Who was Grigosie?"
"She was a Princess."
"My mother is a Princess. Father says so."
"And some day, when you are old enough, he will tell you all about
Grigosie, too, and how it is you are not a king."
"Mother sometimes calls me her little king," said the boy.
"I don't wonder. Now it's time to mount and charge home."
So the little warrior is quickly lifted on Stefan's shoulder, and with
waving wooden sword, and with curls flying, is whirled off on his
willing charger.