A Kiss for the King

by Barbara Cartland

  “I shall leave the blanket behind, ma’am,” he smiled. “Perhaps it will be of use to some stranded mountaineer.”

  “We might need it ourselves,” Anastasia said, thinking that, if the revolutionaries were too strong for the Army, the King might have to flee for his life and once again they would be grateful for the shelter of the caves.

  “You must not be afraid,” Captain Aznar said as if he read her thoughts. “I have never known His Majesty to be as resolute as he was this morning.”

  “It was how you wanted him to be?” Anastasia asked.

  “Exactly, ma’am! It is what we have all longed for and what the people have wanted for a long time.”

  “You are no longer – afraid of the – French?” Anastasia asked a little hesitatingly.

  “I think if we are determined and, as the Emperor is well aware, we have England’s protection, he will be deterred from openly taking an aggressive attitude against us.”

  “I understand. That was why their plot was so clever, to make the King himself ask them to intervene. It would have made it almost impossible for England to interfere.”

  “It is exactly as you say, ma’am,” Captain Aznar agreed, “and now everything will be very different.”

  He paused and then added almost derisively,

  “The Emperor fancies himself as another Napoleon Bonaparte, but he is nothing of the sort! I am convinced that sooner or later France will suffer defeat at the hands of the Prussians.”

  Anastasia looked at him in surprise.

  “The Prussians?”

  “Their ambition is boundless. Paris has always been a gaudy prize they have coveted.”

  When they reached the top of the mountain they could see that the descending paths were little more than a series of sheep tracks where the horses must tread warily – for one slip might mean a fall of hundreds, if not thousands of feet over sheer rock.

  Anastasia looked down into the valley, hoping that she might catch a glimpse of the King and his escort.

  But this side of the Pyrenees was far more rugged, and it was impossible to see for any distance until they had descended far lower down the mountainside.

  Then the sun came out and it was hot.

  The night before, Anastasia had been glad of her warm velvet riding habit. But now after they had been riding for an hour she regretted she was not wearing one of the fashionable summer habits of white pique or thin silk, a fashion which had been set in Paris by the ladies who rode in the Bois de Boulogne.

  Finally, when they had left the mountains behind and had reached the valley, it was to find the terrain was very different from that around Sergei.

  Here in addition to vines and olive groves, the vegetation was more profuse and more tropical.

  There were palms, cactuses, the wild flowers seemed larger and more exotic and the brilliant butterflies were a delight to the eye.

  Soon they came to trees heavy with oranges just turning to gold. Anastasia would have liked to stop and eat one, but she knew that Captain Aznar was in a hurry to reach the Palace.

  Quite unexpectedly they came upon it standing high above a fertile valley and she thought how beautiful it was.

  By this time she had learnt from Captain Aznar that, like the Alhambra in Granada, it had been built by the Moors who at one time had conquered this part of the country and the architecture they had left behind them was a lasting memorial to their Arab splendour.

  The Huesca Palace was white with domes and spires that one could see from a long distance.

  It was also surrounded by dark and tapering cypress trees, which gave it a mysterious appearance as they drew nearer. They climbed up to the outer gateway on a road Anastasia noted was badly in need of repair and, when they reached the iron gates surmounted by a crown, it was to find two sentries leaning against them, negligently talking to each other.

  When they saw Captain Aznar approaching, they stared at first in surprise, then sprang to attention.

  He drew his horse to a standstill and looked at them in a manner that Anastasia knew made them feel uncomfortable, and then he spoke sharply,

  “I am Captain Aznar of His Majesty’s Cavalry. Where is the Officer of the day?”

  “He is in the Palace, sir,” one of the soldiers answered.

  “Open the gates!” Captain Aznar commanded.

  The two sentries hurried to obey him and they rode through.

  Now Anastasia could see the garden was a blaze of colour, with purple bougainvillaea rioting over the ancient walls. There were a number of fountains, which were not playing, and although the garden was well tended she had a feeling it had grown wild over the years and had not been trimmed back as it should have been.

  The Palace, with its arcades of white marble, its latticework and arched windows, looked like something from the Arabian Nights.

  It was, however, all very silent and quiet.

  ‘The Palace of a Sleeping Beauty, who has not been awakened for a hundred years!’ Anastasia thought.

  When they reached the front door, she looked back far away into the valley and she realised that the Palace was magnificently situated and the view was breathtaking!

  In the far distance she could see the faint blue of the sea and she wondered if the King had already reached the coast road and was riding at the head of his troops towards Sergei.

  She felt a little tremor of fear for his safety and found herself praying for him, feeling in some mystical way that her prayers protected him and kept him safe.

  Captain Aznar had dismounted to ring the bell and now an old servant wearing a threadbare livery, which should long ago have been replaced, opened the door.

  “Who is in charge of the Palace?” Captain Azaar asked him firmly.

  “There are only a few of us here, sir,” the servant answered in a quivering voice, “but I will fetch the Major Domo.”

  “Fetch him!” Captain Aznar commanded, “and also the Officer of the day.”

  As he spoke, a man in uniform came from a room that was just inside the main entrance.

  “What is all this?” he asked, “who are you and what do you want?”

  “I am Captain Aznar of the King’s Cavalry, escorting Her Majesty the Queen!”

  The expression on the Officer’s face was for a moment ludicrous.

  His jaw literally dropped open, and then, as he came to attention, Captain Aznar assisted Anastasia from her horse.

  “We did not know – we were not expecting you – ma’am,” the Officer began.

  “I know that,” Anastasia answered. “Captain Aznar will explain to you the events that are taking place in Sergei. We are staying here until His Majesty joins us.”

  “His Majesty!” the Officer gasped.

  With a smile Anastasia walked past him into the Palace.

  Never had she realised that any place could be so entrancing.

  In Moorish fashion the Palace was laid out in a series of courts. There was the Court of Myrtles, where orange-trees were reflected in a pool of green water and which seemed to her like a stanza of poetry.

  The Court of the Dolphins was so beautiful that it might have been designed for Scheherazade.

  There were arcades and horseshoe arches, oblong courtyards, projecting kiosks with long slender columns and everywhere the lace-like decoration of the purest white marble with fountains issuing from the mouths of leopards and dolphins.

  How could anyone, Anastasia wondered, prefer a Palace that was an imitation of Versailles to this Fairyland of beauty?

  She went to one of the windows to look out into the garden, which she could see was planted with cypresses, myrtle, oleanders and all manner of scented and flowering shrubs.

  There was the red, purple and white of flowering geraniums, the pink, crimson and flame of carnations, while the fountains and statues all had an enchantment about them that was unlike anything Anastasia had ever seen before.

  ‘No one could live here,’ she told herself, ‘and not wish t
o be beautiful. No one could look on such beauty and not think beautiful thoughts.’

  She walked back the way she had come to find Captain Aznar giving instructions to a bewildered staff.

  They were mostly very old men and women who had lived in the Palace all their lives and had served a King they seldom saw and of whom they heard little.

  “Are you opening the whole Palace?” Anastasia asked.

  “Would that be your wish, ma’am?” Captain Aznar enquired.

  “Let us open it,” Anastasia said eagerly, “let us make it look as it used to.”

  She looked at the old servants and said quietly,

  “You must find some younger people to help you. There will be girls and men in the villages who, I am sure, would be glad to come and work in the Palace. You can instruct them and we can make Huesca a place where His Majesty will be happy.”

  She knew that her words had excited their imagination. When they were dismissed, she heard them chattering like a whole colony of budgerigars, as they hurried away to throw open the closed shutters, pull the dustsheets off the furniture, and make the ‘Queen’s Room’ ready for her.

  The room, when she reached it, was far more beautiful than her room in the Palace at Sergei.

  Here there was no great canopied bed weighted down with carving and curtained with silk and velvet.

  Instead the low headboard, of a Moorish type, was a shell of mother-of-pearl. It gleamed as if it had just risen from the sea, and was supported by mermaids and dolphins carved in alabaster.

  The furniture in the room with its marble latticework and domed ceiling echoed the theme of the ocean and the curtains were of coral gauze embroidered with silver.

  “It is all so lovely!” Anastasia said to Captain Aznar. “A Palace of dreams!”

  “It is a dream come true that you should be here, ma’am.”

  “Do you think the people in this part of the country will feel that?” she asked.

  “I know they will,” he replied.

  Would the King think she was like a dream? She felt she would know if she looked into his eyes, what he really thought of her.

  Then she remembered how hard it had been at times to keep her eyes on his, how his expression had made her blush, how occasionally he gave her a mocking and quizzical look which made her feel very young and immature.

  There was so much for her to learn, so much to understand and she felt it would be possible only if the King came to love her.

  “Make him love me God! Please – please – make him love me,” she whispered.

  She thought there was a note of hope in the song of the birds in the sun-kissed and fragrant garden.

  Later in the day Anastasia was told that there was a crowd outside the gates and the sentries had been reinforced.

  But the local peasants were only standing and staring at the Palace as if they would ascertain for themselves the truth of the rumour of the Queen’s arrival.

  Anastasia could see from the windows that many of them held in their hands small bunches of flowers.

  “I am going to look at the people outside,” she said to Captain Aznar.

  She saw the surprise in his eyes, but he said nothing and only followed her as she went down the steps of the Palace and out into the sunshine.

  It was so warm that she had discarded her riding coat and wore only her full velvet skirt and a soft white muslin blouse inset with lace.

  She had no hat, so over her head she carried a white sunshade that she had found in an umbrella stand. It had yellowed with age and might have belonged to the King’s mother or one of her Ladies-in-Waiting.

  Anastasia lifted it over her head and walked towards the gates.

  The sentries came to attention.

  “Please open the gates,” Anastasia said.

  “Do you wish to go outside, ma’am?” Captain Aznar asked in a surprised voice.

  “I wish to talk with my visitors,” Anastasia replied with a smile.

  She could see they were peasants, most of them dressed in their national costume, many of them holding a child by the hand and with another in their arms.

  All of them were poor, but attractive with their dark eyes, black hair and soft olive skin that looked as if it had been coloured by the golden sun.

  As Anastasia drew near, they suddenly realised who she was and gave a nervous, somewhat hesitating cheer.

  Then, as the gates opened, they parted and moved sideways as if they expected her to walk past them.

  When she stopped and started to talk – first to an old woman and then to a younger one to ask the age of a child, to question a man about the work he did – they stared at her incredulously.

  Then, as she went on talking to them one after another in their own language, their confidence grew and they began to offer her the flowers they held in their hands.

  Soon Anastasia’s arms were full and Captain Aznar was accepting flowers on her behalf until he too could carry no more and was forced to hand them over to a soldier.

  At last, after she had talked and walked among them for nearly an hour, Anastasia turned to go.

  There was no doubt then about the cheers that rang out and seemed to echo amongst the trees, for they were so spontaneous and so warm-hearted.

  They called after her, cheering and shouting until finally she reached the Palace and disappeared inside.

  “That was a wonderful thing to have done, ma’am,” Captain Aznar said. “It has never happened before that a Queen has actually moved amongst her people without formality and without protocol.”

  “It is something that must happen again,” Anastasia insisted firmly.

  Then, as if she suddenly realised how long she had been in the Palace, she walked to the window to look down into the valley.

  “How far are the Barracks from here?” she asked.

  “About six miles, ma’am.”

  “Is it possible for us to find out what is happening?”

  “I instructed the Officer of the day as soon as I arrived to send an Officer on horseback to Leziga,” Captain Aznar replied. “He was to inform His Majesty that you had arrived safely and also to wait for any message that His Majesty might wish to send in return.”

  “Thank you,” Anastasia said. “It is so hard – not to – worry.”

  “I understand, ma’am, but I am sure that everything will be all right.”

  “How can we be sure of anything,” Anastasia asked, “until we learn what sort of reception His Majesty receives in Sergei?”

  Captain Aznar did not answer and Anastasia felt a fear that had been lurking behind her all day creeping up insidiously, as if it was a serpent slithering into this Eden she had found so unexpectedly.

  She was afraid, desperately afraid, because she loved the King and because she knew she wanted more than she had ever wanted anything in her life for him to come back to her.

  Then, as if the serpent struck at her, she remembered that while she might be in love with him, he was certainly not in love with her.

  He loved the Comtesse, and although he knew her now to be a traitor who had abused his affection, there was no reason to think that he could transfer his affections so quickly to herself.

  They had talked of love, that was true, but he had never said that he loved her.

  How could she ever be sure, she wondered, that it was not just a matter of politics for him to have his wife desperately in love with him? To ensure that because of her affection they had children – the son who was so essential as heir to the throne?

  She felt as if such thoughts destroyed the very beauty of the Palace and yet she could not suppress them.

  They crept upon her questioning, suggesting, insinuating and, because she knew there was some substance of truth in each one of them, she could not escape from the poison they exuded.

  ‘I love him! I love him!’ she thought despairingly.

  She wondered unhappily if he would ever love her and whether they would find together the ‘fire
of love’ he had described to her so eloquently.

  *

  Anastasia went upstairs before dinner to bathe in a bath sunk in a marble floor. The walls were decorated with exquisite mosaics set with semi-precious quartz, and there were urns carved from transparent alabaster.

  It was sad that she had nothing to put on except her riding clothes and in a way she was glad that the King was not there because she thought she would not look attractive enough for him.

  The old housemaid who attended her had already procured a young girl from the village to help and was instructing her.

  The girl stared at Anastasia with an unmistakable look of admiration in her dark eyes and somehow that in itself was vaguely comforting.

  Anastasia had lunched alone, but she told Captain Aznar he must dine with her.

  “Shall I also ask the Officer of the day?” she enquired.

  “I understand, ma’am, that as a matter of routine a Senior Officer is expected to arrive late tonight with a troop of Dragoon Guards from Leziga Barracks to relieve the Guards now on duty. I think it would be wiser for you to wait until tomorrow.”

  Anastasia smiled.

  “You think there might be jealousy if a junior Officer was entertained before his senior?”

  “Soldiers are men, ma’am, and I think you have given the Officer of the day enough excitement for the moment.”

  Anastasia laughed.

  Then her smile faded and she asked,

  “There is no message from Leziga?”

  “Not yet, ma’am, but I am expecting word at any moment”

  Dinner was a simple meal, which Anastasia thoroughly enjoyed. It consisted only of local produce. There was blue trout fresh from a mountain stream and wild guinea fowl she had seen flying through the trees as they descended the mountain, their high shrill voices cackling to each other and scaring the other birds.

  Wild strawberries – fraises de bois – followed, sweet and succulent. She had also seen them growing in the woods, their little red heads peeping beneath their pretty green leaves.

  “The chef is very apologetic that this is the best he can provide tonight,” Captain Aznar said.