by Anthony Hope
XVIII
TO THE FAITHFUL CITY
The King had died yesterday--yet none had told his heir! Mistitch hadset out for Dobrava with fifty men to wait for the King--who was dead!The dead King would never go to Dobrava--and no messenger came to thenew King at Praslok!
Zerkovitch's news was enough to raise the anger of a King--and Sergiusblazed with it. But more potent still was his wrathful fear as hethought of Sophy at Praslok, in the power of Captain Hercules.
He had his guard of twenty mounted men with him. With these he at onceset forth, bidding Lukovitch collect all the men he could and follow himas speedily as possible. If Mistitch had really gone to Dobrava, then hewould find him there and have the truth out of him. But if, as thePrince hardly doubted, he was making for Praslok, there was time tointercept him, time to carry off Sophy and the other inmates of theCastle, send them back to safety within the walls of Volseni, andhimself ride on to meet Mistitch with his mind at ease.
Relying on Zerkovitch's information, he assumed that the troopers hadnot started from Slavna till seven in the morning. They had started atsix. He reckoned also on Zerkovitch's statement, that they were butfifty strong. They were a hundred. Yet, had he known the truth, he couldnot have used more haste--and he would not have waited for another man!He stayed to tell no man in Volseni the news about his father--exceptLukovitch. But as his twenty rode out of the gate behind him, he turnedhis head to Zerkovitch, who trotted beside him--for Zerkovitch neithercould nor would rest till the game was played--and said: "Tell them thatthe King is dead, and that I reign." Zerkovitch whispered the news tothe man next him, and it ran along the line. A low, stern cheer, hardlymore than a murmured assurance of loyalty and service, came from thelips of the men in sheepskins.
Mistitch saw them coming, and turned to his troop; he had time for alittle speech--and Stafnitz had taught him what to say: "Men, you areservants of the King, and of the King only. Not even the Prince ofSlavna can command you against the King's orders. The King's orders arethat we take Baroness Dobrava to Slavna, no matter who resists. If needbe, these orders stand even against the Prince."
Stafnitz's soldiers--the men he petted, the men who had felt thePrince's stern hand--were only too glad to hear it. To strike for theKing and yet against the hated Prince--it was a luxury, a happy andunlooked-for harmonizing of their duty and their pleasure. Theiranswering cheer was loud and fierce.
It struck harsh on the ears of the advancing Prince. His face grew hardand strained as he heard the shouts and saw the solid body of men acrosshis path, barring access to his own castle. And within a yard or two oftheir ranks, by the side of the road, sat the figure which he knew sowell and so well loved.
Now Mistitch played his card--that move in the game which Sophy's coolsubmission to his demand had for the moment thwarted, but to which thePrince's headlong anger and fear now gave an opening--the opening whichStafnitz had from the first foreseen. It would need little to make thefiery Prince forget prudence when he was face to face with Mistitch. Itwas not a safe game for Mistitch personally--both Stafnitz and he knewthat. But Captain Hercules was confident. He would not be caught twiceby the Volseni trick of sword! The satisfaction of his revenge, and theunstinted rewards that his Colonel offered, made it worth his while toaccept the risk, and rendered it grateful to his heart.
Sophy sat smiling. She would fain have averted the encounter, and hadshaped her manoeuvres to that end. It was not to be so, it seemed.Now, she did not doubt Monseigneur's success. But she wished thatZerkovitch had not reached Volseni so quickly, that the Prince hadstayed behind his walls till his plans were ready; and that she wasgoing a prisoner to Slavna to see the King, trusting to her face, hertongue, her courage, and the star of her own fortune. Never had herbuoyant self-confidence run higher.
On the top of the causeway, Max von Hollbrandt looked to his revolver,Peter Vassip loosened his knife in its leather sheath. A window abovethe gate opened, and Marie Zerkovitch's frightened face looked out. Thewomen-servants jostled old Vassip in the doorway. The grooms stoodoutside the stables. No one moved--only the Prince's little troop cameon. When they were fifty yards away, Mistitch cried to his men: "Drawswords!" and himself pricked his horse with his spur and rode up towhere Sophy was.
Mistitch drew his horse up parallel to Sophy's, head to tail, on herright side, between her and the approaching force. With the instinct ofhatred she shrank away from him; it had all been foreseen and rehearsedin Stafnitz's mind! Mistitch cried loudly: "In the King's name, BaronessDobrava!" He leaned from the saddle and caught her right wrist in hishuge hand: he had the justification that, at his first attempt to touchher, Sophy's hand had flown to her little revolver and held it now.Mistitch crushed her wrist--the revolver fell to the ground. Sophy gaveone cry of pain. Mistitch dropped her wrist and reached his arm abouther waist. He was pulling her from her horse, while again he cried out:"In the King's name! On guard!"
It was a high jump from the top of the causeway, but two men took itside by side--Max von Hollbrandt, revolver in hand, Peter Vassip withknife unsheathed.
As they leaped, another shout rang out: "Long live King Sergius!"
The Prince rode his fastest, but faster still rode Zerkovitch. Heoutpaced the Prince and rode right in among Mistitch's men, cryingloudly again and again, unceasingly: "The King is dead! The King isdead! The King is dead!"
Then came the Prince; he rode full at Mistitch. His men followed him,and dashed with a shock against the troopers of Mistitch's escort. Asthey rode, they cried: "Long live King Sergius!" They had unhorsed adozen men and wounded four or five before they realized that they metwith no resistance. Mistitch's men were paralyzed. The King wasdead--they were to fight against the King! The magic of the name worked.They dropped the points of their swords. The Volsenians, hesitating tostrike men who did not defend themselves, puzzled and in doubt, turnedto their Bailiff--their King--for his orders.
As the Prince came up, Mistitch hurled Sophy from him; she fell from herhorse, but fell on the soft, grassy road-side, and sprang up unhurt savefor a cruel pain in her crushed wrist. She turned her eyes whither alleyes were turned now. The general battle was stayed, but not the singlecombat. For a moment none moved save the two who were now to engage.
The fight of the Street of the Fountain fell to be fought again. Forwhen Peter Vassip was darting forward, knife in hand, with a spring likea mountain goat's, his master's voice called: "Mine, Peter, mine!" Itwas the old cry when they shot wild-boar in the woods about Dobrava, andit brought Peter Vassip to a stand. Max von Hollbrandt, too, lowered hispointed revolver. Who should stand between his quarry and the King,between Sophy's lover and the man who had so outraged her? Big Mistitchwas the King's game, and the King's only, that day.
Mistitch's chance was gone, and he must have known it. Where was thesergeant who had undertaken to cover him? He had turned tail. Where wasthe enveloping rush of his men, which should have engulfed and paralyzedthe enemy? Paralysis was on his men themselves; they believedZerkovitch, and lacked appetite for the killing of a King. Where was histriumphant return to Slavna, his laurels, his rewards, his wonderfulswaggerings at the Golden Lion? They were all gone. Even though hekilled the King, there were two dozen men vowed to have his life. Theymust have it--but at what price? His savage valor set the figure high.
It was the old fight again, but not in the old manner. There was nodelicate sword-play, no fluctuating fortunes in the fray. It was allstem and short. The King had not drawn his sword, Mistitch did not seekto draw his. Two shots rang out sharply--that was all. The King reeledin his saddle, but maintained his seat. Big Mistitch threw his handsabove his head with a loud cry and fell with a mighty crash on the road,shot through the head. Peter Vassip ran to the King and helped him todismount, while Max von Hollbrandt held his horse. Sophy hurried towhere they laid him by the road-side.
"Disarm these fellows!" cried Zerkovitch.
But Mistitch's escort were in no mood to wait for this operation; nor tostay and suffer
the anger of the King. With their leader's fall the lastof heart was out of them. Wrenching themselves free from such of theVolsenians as sought to arrest their flight, they turned their horses'heads and fled, one and all, for Slavna. The King's men attempted nopursuit; they clustered round the spot where he lay.
"I'm hit," he said to Sophy, "but not badly, I think."
From the Castle door, down the causeway, came Marie Zerkovitch, weepingpassionately, wringing her hands. The soldiers parted their close ranksto let her through. She came to the road-side where Sophy supportedMonseigneur's head upon her knees. Sophy looked up and saw her. Mariedid not speak. She stood there sobbing and wringing her hands over Sophyand the wounded King.
That afternoon--an hour after the first of the straggling rout ofMistitch's escort came in--King Alexis died suddenly! So ran theofficial notice, endorsed by Dr. Natcheff's high authority. The coteriewere in up to their necks; they could not go back now; they must gothrough with it. Countess Ellenburg took to her knees; Stenovics andStafnitz held long conversations. Every point of tactical importance inthe city was occupied by troops. Slavna was silent, expectant, curious.
Markart awoke at five o'clock, heavy of head, dry in the mouth, sick andill. He found himself no longer in the King's suite, but in one of theapartments which Stafnitz had occupied. He was all alone; the door stoodopen. He understood that he was no more a prisoner; he knew that theKing was dead!
But who else was dead--and who alive--and who King in Slavna?
He forced himself to rise, and hurried through the corridors of thePalace. They were deserted; there was nobody to hinder him, nobody ofwhom to ask a question. He saw a decanter of brandy standing near thedoor of one room, and drank freely of it. Then he made his way into thegarden. He saw men streaming over the bridge towards Slavna, andhastened after them as quickly as he could. His head was still in amaze; he remembered nothing after drinking the glass of wine whichLepage the valet had given him. But he was possessed by a strongexcitement, and he followed obstinately in the wake of the throng whichset from the Palace and the suburbs into Slavna.
The streets were quiet; soldiers occupied the corners of the ways; theylooked curiously at Markart's pale face and disordered uniform. A dullroar came from the direction of St. Michael's Square, and thitherMarkart aimed his course. He found all one side of the Square full of adense crowd, swaying, jostling, talking. On the other side troops weremassed; in an open space in front of the troops, facing the crowd, wasColonel Stafnitz, and by his side a little boy on a white pony.
Markart was too far off to hear what Stafnitz said when he began tospeak--nay, the cheers of the troops behind the Colonel came so sharp onhis words as almost to drown them; and after a moment's hesitation (asit seemed to Markart), the crowd of people on the other side of theSquare echoed back the acclamations of the soldiers.
All Countess Ellenburg's ambitions were at stake; for Stenovics andStafnitz it was a matter of life itself now, so daringly had they raisedtheir hands against King Sergius. Countess Ellenburg had indeedprayed--and now prayed all alone in a deserted Palace--but not one ofthe three had hesitated. At the head of a united army, in the name of aunited people, Stafnitz had demanded the proclamation of young Alexis asKing. For an hour Stenovics had made a show of demurring; then he bowedto the national will. That night young Alexis enjoyed more honor than hehad asked of Lepage the valet--he was called not Prince, but Majesty. Hewas King in Slavna, and the first work to which they set his childishhand was the proclamation of a state of siege.
Slavna chose him willingly--or because it must at the bidding of thesoldiers. But Volseni was of another mind. They would not have theGerman woman's son to reign over them. Into that faithful city thewounded King threw himself with all his friends.
The body of Mistitch lay all day and all night by the wayside. Nextmorning at dawn the King's grooms came back from Volseni and buried itunder a clump of trees by the side of the lane running down to LakeTalti. Their curses were the only words spoken over the grave; and theyflattened the earth level with the ground again, that none might knowwhere the man rested who had lifted his hand against their master.
The King was carried to Volseni sore stricken; they did not know whetherhe would live or die. He had a dangerous wound in the lungs, and, tomake matters worse, the surgical skill available in Volseni was veryprimitive.
But in that regard fortune brought aid, and brought also to Sophy astrange conjuncture of the new life with the old. The landlord of theinn sent word to Lukovitch that two foreign gentlemen had arrived at hishouse that afternoon, and that the passport of one of them described himas a surgeon; the landlord had told him how things stood, and he wasanxious to render help.
It was Basil Williamson. Dunstanbury and he, accompanied by Henry Brown,Dunstanbury's servant, had reached Volseni that day on their return froma tour in the Crimea and round the shores of the Sea of Azof.
