CHAPTER VII
WHAT HAPPENED IN RUSSOGRAD
Though Katina was an avowed foe of all Muscovites, she neverthelesspossessed a characteristic in common with them,--a passion for furiousdriving.
With a stamp of her pretty red shoes, and with cries that soundedsomewhat wild on the night air, she urged the horses to their fullspeed. She carried a short-handed whip with a long leathern thong, butshe used it only to lash the air.
Amid the tintinnabulation of a peal of silvery bells hung from theduga, the spirited coursers plunged forward, as if each were holding arace with the other, Katina handling the team with a dexterity thatevoked Paul's admiration.
Now where the road was broad she would spread the galloping horsesoutwards like a fan; and now where its narrowness seemed to precludeall possibility of passage, she would draw them together till theyappeared to occupy the space of one, without delaying for a moment heronward rush.
Occasionally she would rise from her seat and bend gracefully forwardover the horses in an attitude suggestive of a Grecian charioteer,bidding the two friends with a merry laugh to "Hold fast," and thenext moment they would be racing down a steep descent; a suddensplash, a drenching shower of spray, and ere the two friends had timeto realize that they were crossing a stream, the ponies would betugging the troika up the opposite bank.
The marvels performed by this daughter of Mazeppa in guiding hervehicle along the edge of a declivity, or in avoiding some obstaclethat suddenly appeared in her path, are past all belief; and thoughPaul expected every moment to see the troika fall to pieces, the rapidsee-saw motion which in some persons causes all the sensations of _malde mer_, was both novel and pleasant, the rush of air producing anexhilaration of spirits that quickly effaced from his mind the uneasypresentiment caused by the words of the old istvostchik.
"At this pace we ought soon to overtake Marshal Zabern," remarkedPaul.
"We are not following the same road," replied Katina. "In journeyingto Slavowitz I myself always take this route, though it is morecircuitous. I renew my patriotism when in sight of that building."
She had brought the troika to a standstill, and was now pointing to alarge monastery that rose in solemn mediaeval grandeur at the distanceof about a hundred yards from the roadside.
"The Convent of the Transfiguration," said Katina. "On some Czernovesemonasteries you will see a crescent beside the cross; it is a signthat the place was once in the hands of the Turks. But the crescentgleams not here," she continued proudly. "The pavement of the Conventof the Transfiguration has never been trodden by the foot of pagan orheretical foe. A strong fortress as well as a monastery, it has oftenchecked the march of Muscovite and Turkish conquest."
A liturgical service was taking place in the convent. The chant of themonks was plainly audible, intermingled with the notes of the organ.
"They are supplicating for Poland," said Katina. "They pray for nothingelse. Day and night their one cry is, 'How long, O Lord, how long?'"
The voices of the chanting friars produced a singular, nay, a weirdimpression upon Paul. Paganini himself could not have devised anythingmore awe-inspiring and unearthly than the refrain that now rose uponthe night air.
"Some of the holy brethren," continued Katina, "are men who were oncein Siberian mines. And such men! If you thought my back a pitiablesight, Captain Woodville, what would you think if you could see someof the dreadful forms hidden behind those walls?"
Her words, her looks, and above all the wild plaint proceeding fromthe convent, increased Paul's eerie sensations.
"Come here what hour you will of the twenty-four, you shall never missthe chant of those monks; their prayer never ends."
"A perpetual service? I have heard of such."
"When our fatherland was conquered in '95," continued Katina, "thethen abbot of yon convent ordained that from that time forth thebrethren should pray for no other thing than the restoration ofPoland.
"To this end he drew up a liturgy and divided the whole body of themonks into three parts, directing that each in turn should recite thisliturgy, band to succeed band without a moment's break. The conventhas never wanted for devout men to consecrate themselves to thisservice.
"Day and night unceasingly for over fifty years their supplication hasbeen going up to the saints above," said Katina. "Is it not time theirprayer was answered?"
She clasped her hands and turned her face to the starlit heaven,--aface made beautifully touching by its earnestness.
"Oh! Queen of heaven," she murmured, "look down upon our country. Giveus the thing we long for."
For a moment she stood in silent prayer, and then, taking up the reinsagain, she began to urge the horses forward, as if finding in that acta relief to her overwrought feelings. Once more the troika skimmedalong, scarcely seeming to touch the earth, and the majestic conventwith mysterious voices faded away in the gloom.
"Abbot Faustus still maintains his attitude of defiance towards thenew archbishop," said Trevisa addressing Katina.
"And he will ever maintain it," she replied. "Be sure that Ravenna,anathematize as he may, will never be permitted to enter thatconvent."
"Your mysterious smile, fair Katina, disposes me to believe that youknow the reason of the abbot's defiance."
"I _do_ know it," asseverated Katina, "but I must not reveal it. Askthe marshal to make you one of the 'Transfigured,' and you willunderstand the mystery. Faster, faster, my little doves," she added,shaking the whip over the heads of her team.
Onward flew the horses _ventre a terre_, and within an hour of thetime of setting out, there glimmered into view the battled walls ofSlavowitz, with its towers, spires, and domes standing out in grayrelief against a background of blue sky dimly set with stars.
"Shall I take the Troitzka Gate?" asked Katina.
Trevisa nodded assent.
"'T will save a circuit," he said, "and will serve to show my friendthe two sides of Slavowitz. You have seen Cracovia, the fashionablesuburb," he added, addressing Paul; "now take a view of Russograd, theMuscovite quarter."
Katina accordingly drove through an arched gateway, where, armed witha long halbert, stood a Polish sentinel, who, at sight of Paul,saluted, mistaking him for an officer of the Blue Legion.
As the troika, leaving the city gate behind, rolled forward over thesmooth wooden pavement of the main thoroughfare known as the TroitzkoiProspekt, it became quickly evident that the dwellers in this quarterhad become aware both of the princess's Romanist faith and likewise ofthe duke's arrest,--matters that naturally tended to produce a stateof great excitement. Indeed, it looked as if there would be littlesleep that night in Russograd; for though the hour was late, all thedenizens of the faubourg, men and women alike, were abroad, discussingin shrill tones and with fierce gesticulations this latest phase ofCzernovese politics. Russians, Tartars, Cossacks, and representativesof other nationalities, who at ordinary times were ready to cut eachother's throats, were now united by the bond of a common religionagainst "Natalie the Apostate."
"Now the saints confound these Long-beards!" murmured Katina,compelled to exercise great care in steering her course. "Is itButter-week, that they throng so? Our short route is proving a longone."
Owing partly to the crowded state of the street, and partly to thecondition of the wooden pavement, which a recent shower had renderedsomewhat slippery, it was impossible for the vehicle to proceed otherthan at a walking pace, and thus the trio could not fail to overhearthe remarks made by some of the throng.
"I saw the duke brought in through the St. Florian Gate," cried awoman, addressing a circle of bystanders.
"They knew better than to bring him in through the Troitzka Gate,"observed a man beside her, apparently her husband. His face wasdisfigured by a long smear of dried blood.
"He was riding with downcast eyes in the centre of a troop," continuedthe woman. "And when my goodman cried, 'Long live our prince,' one ofthe troopers struck him across the face with the flat of his sabre,bidding him be
gone for a traitor. Look at the mark of the sword," shescreamed.
"Yes," chimed in her husband, "and the princess herself passed by aminute later in her droshky, and drove off to the Palace, not lookingone whit troubled by the thought of the duke's imprisonment."
"Troubled, do you say?" cried his wife. "I never saw her looking moreglad than she did to-night. And to think that a mere girl should havethe power to arrest a big handsome man like our Duke John! We want afull-grown, bearded soldier to rule over us, and not a silly maid."
"Especially a maiden under the thumb of Cardinal Ravenna," interjecteda bystander. "We all know why she has imprisoned the duke; because heis a Greek, and loves the Muscovites and the great White Czar."
"And the princess hates the Czar," cried the woman.
"The shoes she wears in her palace are stamped on the sole with theportrait of our little father Nicholas, so that she may tread hisimage under foot whenever she walks."
This little anecdote, entirely without truth, found ready credenceamong the haters of the princess.
"She is removing the duke from his command to make way for Zabern. Andwhy Zabern? Because he is a Pole, and a Catholic, and hates theMuscovites."
Amid these observations, and others of a like character, the troikamoved, its rate of progress gradually diminishing, until the vehiclewas finally brought to a standstill by the immobility of the crowd infront, who either could not, or would not, move out of the way.
"_Na pravo_--to the right!" cried those on the left angrily; whilejust as angrily those on the right cried,--
"_Na levo_--to the left!"
Unable either to advance or retire, the occupants of the troikaremained stationary, the centre of a crowd evidently bent on mischief,a crowd composed mainly of the lower orders,--or, to use thesuggestive phrase of the Russians themselves, the "Tshornoi Narod," or"Black People."
Russograd was at no time a safe place for the adherents of theprincess; but in the present political crisis the sight of onewearing, as they supposed, the uniform of her _corps du garde_ raisedthe fanaticism of the Muscovite mob to a dangerous pitch. The threefriends were ill prepared for repelling an attack. Paul was armed withhis sabre only; Katina had her savage-looking whip; Trevisa waswithout weapon of any kind.
Paul's chief fear was for Katina; but the maiden who had bravelyendured the knout did not seem at all disconcerted by the circle ofscowling faces.
"My little mother, step aside there," she cried, toying with her whip,and gently endeavoring to urge the horses forward. "Now, old soldier,have a care."
"Have a care yourself," exclaimed a harsh voice in front,--the voiceof a red-bearded individual in a blue caftan. "Would you ride overme?" he added fiercely, grasping the bridle of one of the horses.
His was a voice which Katina had previously heard that same day in theparlor of her own inn. Springing immediately to her feet, she lookedfearlessly around.
"In the name of the princess," she cried, "I call upon all loyalcitizens of Russograd to arrest that man and to convey him to theCitadel, for he is an escaped prisoner."
"The more welcome for that!" said the man with the bloody smear.
"In the name of the Czar," cried the spy, "I call upon all loyalcitizens of Russograd to arrest that woman, and to convey her toOrenburg, for she is an escaped prisoner, a fugitive from Russianjustice. What?" he continued, advancing into the ring of space aroundthe troika, "do you not know Katina Ludovska, the Polish harlot withwhom Zabern takes his pleasures?"
Quivering with indignation, Katina leaped from the troika, bent onchastising the insulter. One lash from the thong of her whip wouldhave laid open his cheek as effectually as a sabre-stroke; but ere shecould carry out her purpose, the more prudent Paul had laid hand uponher belt and swung her lightly back again.
"And do you not recognize this fellow?" continued Russakoff, pointingto Trevisa. "He is the princess's paramour; private secretary is thename used in court circles."
A coarse laugh greeted these words.
"The princess will never marry the duke. Why? Because the secretaryhas poisoned her mind against him."
The mob grew more menacing in their attitude.
Katina laughed defiantly.
Trevisa glanced around, wondering what had become of the night watchappointed to patrol the streets of Russograd.
Paul, casting about for a way of escape, observed that the crowdfacing the horses was but a few ranks deep. If Trevisa and he put on abold front, while Katina plied her whip vigorously, there was apossibility of breaking through the hostile circle. He whispered thisidea to the two, who both nodded assent.
"Be it known to all that the princess has arrested our duke forduelling. And here," continued Russakoff, pointing to Paul, "is theman that fought with him. Before St. Nicholas I speak the truth. I lienot," he added, taking out one of those sacred icons which the Russianusually carries with him, and kissing it as he spoke. "The princessimprisons the duke; she lets this man go free. Men of Russograd, isthis justice?"
"No! No!" cried the mob.
It was impossible to rescue their beloved duke from the grim Citadelwith its massive walls loop-holed with artillery; it was impossible todo hurt to "Natalie the Apostate" in her strong palace, which theforesight of the ministers had surrounded with a military cordon. Buthere were persons almost as obnoxious as the princess herself, and ahurricane of yells arose from all sides, the women exhibiting morefury than the men.
"Down with the Jesuits!"
"Drag them from the car!"
"Tear them limb from limb!"
"Hurl their bloody heads through the princess's windows!"
As the crowd surged madly forward, Paul sprang to his feet, sabre inhand.
"Now, Katina, now! Ah! the cowards!" he muttered in an agony of rage,as a stone flung by one of the mob caught her on the temple.
Their escape seemed a doubtful matter. On all sides men, and womentoo, were attempting to clamber into the troika, and dealing blowswith fists, sticks, and knives. They yapped and snarled like so manydogs as they were hurled off again by the sturdy Englishmen, Paulstanding on the left side and using the flat of his sabre, Trevisa onthe right dependent merely upon the weapons supplied by nature, towit, his fists.
While this contest was being waged Katina, though dizzy from theeffects of the stone, bent backwards, and with a strength of wristmarvellous in a slender maiden, she pulled the horses so far back ontheir haunches as to cause their front hoofs to rise and describecircles in the air. Poised thus she lashed them with a savageryjustified only by the occasion, though even in that moment of peril itwent to her heart to ill-treat her favorites; and then, with a warningshout, she launched the maddened steeds pell-mell upon the crowd infront, endeavoring also to clear the way by striking out to right andleft with her reddened whip.
The crowd facing the troika divided like water cleft by the hand, andthe vehicle flew forward with nothing to oppose it. A double line offaces seemed to be rushing by; oaths and cries; a jolt, occasioned bythe troika bounding over a prostrate body; another, more violent,which left a sickening sensation in the mouth; and the momentafterwards the vehicle, with its bells wildly jangling, was clear ofthe press and racing down the Troitzkoi Prospekt, the very embodimentof the wind, followed by the yells of the baffled crowd.
"Bravo, Katina!" cried Paul. "You are the princess of charioteers. Anarrow shave, that--eh Noel?"
But, on turning to his companion, Paul gave a cry of horror. Trevisalay helplessly on the seat of the troika, his face as white as china,his teeth set in agony, in his eyes an awful look.
Paul's cry drew Katina's attention to Trevisa. She immediately pulledup the horses.
"Mary, mother of angels!" she cried in a tone of anguish. "He has beenstabbed; stabbed in the side!"
And all the womanhood of her nature asserting itself, she gentlyraised Trevisa's head, and pillowed it upon her breast, regardless ofthe blood that flowed down her dress.
"It was Russakoff," gasped Trevisa. "Pau
l," he continued, seizing hisfriend's wrist. "Remember! it is the furies, the furies of--of--"
The act of speaking brought a rush of blood to his mouth, and ere hecould finish the strange utterance, he was gone.
"Jesu Maria, he's dead!" murmured Katina in awe; and then, her moodchanging, she added with a wild laugh, "Russakoff has earned hisroubles."
The whole affair had happened so quickly that it was almostimpossible to believe in its reality, though the dead form of Trevisalay there before their eyes. For fully half a minute Paul staredhelplessly at the silent figure. Amazement--grief--horror kept himmute and motionless; then in a moment these feelings gave way to thewild desire for vengeance.
"I'll find the assassin," he muttered, springing from the troika, "andsabre him on the spot, though I die the next moment for it."
"Would you go back among those wolves?" cried Katina. "No, no; theywill kill you too." She also sprang from the troika, and held Paul bythe wrist. "Indeed you shall not go. Leave the assassin to Zabern.Zabern will find him. And thank heaven, here is the marshal!"
As she spoke the clatter of horse-hoofs was heard, and turning in thedirection of the sound, Paul saw a troop of lancers approaching withZabern at their head.
On nearing the troika the marshal halted his men, saluted Paul withhis sword, and then eying the crowd that was still impotently yellingin the distance, he said,--
"In the fiend's name, what possessed you three to drive throughRussograd on such a night as this?"
His eye now caught sight of the limp appearance presented by thesilent form reclining on the troika. He sprang from his horse withconsternation written on his face.
"Good God! don't say that Trevisa is dead!--Trevisa, whom I hoped tosee fighting under the banner of the princess! Dead!" he mutteredunder his breath, "and just as he was on the point of deciphering thesecret despatch, too!"
"He is dead," said Paul; "but this is no time for words. The assassinis among yon crowd, and his name is Ivan Russakoff."
The name of the spy acted like magic upon Zabern. He shouted someorder, and in a moment more ten uhlans trotting forward with couchedlances scattered the crowd; the object of these troopers was to securethe Troitzka Gate, and so prevent the assassin from making his escapeby this exit. Like precautions were promptly taken with the rest ofthe city gates. The remainder of his forces Zabern skilfully disposedaround the suburb of Russograd, forming them into a cordon throughwhich no one could break without detection.
Meanwhile, in answer to his summons, fresh detachments of troopsarrived together with a numerous corps of police; and to both hebriefly explained the object of the muster.
Zabern was well aware that, owing to the hostility with which Polishauthority was viewed in this quarter, he would have considerabledifficulty in inducing the Muscovites to surrender the spy, whose actin slaying a government official would be certain to enlist theirsympathies. Every dweller in Russograd would take a pride inconcealing the felon. Hence the marshal was necessitated to make hisarrangements with almost the same care as if conducting a siege. For afew hours Russograd was to become subject to martial law,--no newexperience for this riotous faubourg.
"Remember, Russakoff must be taken alive; his dead body is of no useto me," said Zabern. "But as to the rest, don't hesitate to shoot ifthere should be any resistance. Nikita," he added, addressing hisorderly, "dismount, and assist Katina in conveying the body to thepalace. Captain Woodville, here is a horse at your service. You willaccompany us?"
Zabern's elaborate precautions failed to secure the person of the spy.
Though all the streets of Russograd were traversed by the military,and every individual subjected to scrutiny; though private dwellingand public building were explored by keen-eyed police; and though themarshal and his staff formed a sort of inquisitorial tribunal andinterrogated and cross-examined during the whole night, yet no oneanswering to the description of Russakoff could be found.
Still the marshal continued the search, encouraged by the statementalike of the sentinels at the city gates as of the members composingthe military cordon, that the spy had not passed outwards.
"So, Nariskin," he said at seven next morning, and addressing apatriarchal, long-bearded individual who carried himself with someshow of authority, "so, Nariskin, another government official murderedin your ghetto! A pretty guard your night-watch keep!"
Nariskin, chief of the ward council that directed the affairs ofRussograd, became voluble in attesting his grief,--his indignation, hishorror, that anything so--so--
"It isn't an oration that I want," said Zabern brusquely, "but theperson of Russakoff. You will assemble your council this morning andmake two announcements: first, that henceforth Russograd shall ceaseto do its own policing; that shall be my care. And, secondly, thatunless the spy is surrendered before six this evening Russograd shallpay a fine of fifty thousand roubles."
Nariskin protested by Saint Vladimir that there was not so much moneyin all Russograd, but the marshal turned contemptuously away.
"It's useless," he said to Paul, "to search longer for a fugitive whoma whole people are bent on concealing."
In gloomy mood he gave orders for the withdrawal of the soldiery fromRussograd. The military cordon, however, was still maintained, andfresh injunctions were issued to exercise strict supervision overevery person passing outwards.
Paul accompanied Zabern at his request to the Vistula Palace, andentered the apartments lately tenanted by Trevisa.
Beneath a catafalque of black velvet, surrounded by lighted tapers setin tall silver candlesticks, reposed the body of Trevisa, his handsfolded across his breast, and holding within them lilies placed thereby Katina.
"A sad fatality!" murmured Zabern, his somewhat grim and hard naturetouched by Trevisa's early and mournful ending. "A sad fatality! Andpartly of my own causing, too!"
"How so?"
"The cipher-despatch which I entrusted to his care has occasioned hisdeath."
"You mean that he was assassinated in order to prevent him fromdeciphering it?"
"Precisely. The duke hesitates at nothing to conceal his treason."
"What proof have you of his complicity in this affair?"
"Actual proof--none, else would the headsman be now putting edge tohis axe. But here are matters that have a suspicious aspect. Not tillyester-morn did the duke learn that Russakoff was a prisoner in theCitadel, and that Trevisa was occupied with the document found on thespy. I did my best to keep the affair a secret, but our premier,unthinkingly, revealed it; and, according to him, the duke, on hearingof Russakoff's imprisonment, looked ill at ease. Why, unless thematter concerned him? Subsequently the duke paid a visit to theCitadel--in his official capacity, of course; but, mark the result!Two hours afterwards Russakoff's cell was found empty. How? Great isthe power of the rouble-note!"
"Why, then, send the duke to the Citadel, since the itching palm thatopened the gate for Russakoff may do the like for Bora?"
"I have thought of that, and therefore I have appointed some of my owntroopers--fellows whom I can trust--to be the duke's jailers. But toreturn to the cipher letter," continued Zabern, in a tone of profounddejection. "It still keeps its secret. And Trevisa had just hit on theclue! Did he speak of the matter at all on the way to Slavowitz? Didhe give you any hint?"
"None."
But scarcely had Paul given this reply than he started, as he suddenlyrecalled Trevisa's dying utterance.
"Marshal, I believe he tried to make a communication to me in his lastmoment. His words were 'Remember the furies!'"
"Passing strange! what meaning can there be in that?"
The two men puzzled themselves to no purpose over the singular saying.
"That cipher letter," said Zabern, reflectively, "was perhaps the lastthing in Trevisa's mind. With that sudden intuition which sometimesbelongs to the dying, he recognized why he had been assassinated, andtried to give you a clue. 'Remember the furies!' Humph! here's anenigma indeed!"
He paced
the apartment gloomily, while Paul, looking down upon theface of his dead friend, breathed a silent prayer for justice upon allwho had part in the cruel deed.
"The interpretation of that cipher letter," said Zabern, "would enableus to defeat Russia's secret scheme for the subversion of Czernova;but alas! where shall we look for the interpreter?"
"Give me the letter," said Paul with a sudden impulse, "and let me trymy wits upon it. I am not altogether ignorant of cryptography; it wasTrevisa's favorite pursuit when we were at college. He sought tointerest me in it, and I remember something of his methods."
There was at first some hesitancy on the part of Zabern. Was it wiseto trust such a weighty matter to one who owed no allegiance to theCzernovese government?
Paul understood the scruples of the other.
"You may trust me; or if not, I will take whatever oath you wish. Mysole desire is to serve your beautiful princess."
Zabern's opposition vanished.
"You shall have the letter," he replied. "You defeated Russia's aim inthe East; now defeat her aim in the West. But, if you are like me, youmust feel the need of a little sleep. There is a bed in the nextapartment. Sleep for an hour or two, and rise fresh for the work."
Paul accepted this advice, and retired to the next apartment.
"Shall I call this Fate?" he murmured, as he laid his head on thepillow. "Without any seeking on my part I am now beneath the same roofas Barbara."
The Shadow of the Czar Page 12