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 Ellercy 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 s
tood 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 throught, 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—”
Princess Maritza Page 30
