by Anthony Hope
XXII
JEALOUS OF DEATH
In the end they started thirty strong, including Sophy herself. Therewere the three Englishmen, Dunstanbury, Basil Williamson, and HenryBrown, Dunstanbury's servant, an old soldier, a good rider and shot. Therest were sturdy young men of Volseni, once destined for the ranks ofthe Prince of Slavna's artillery; Lukovitch and Peter Vassip led them.Not a married man was among them, for, to his intense indignation,Zerkovitch was left behind in command of the city. Sophy would have thisso, and nothing would move her; she would not risk causing MarieZerkovitch to weep more and to harbor fresh fears of her. So they rode,"without encumbrances," as Dunstanbury said, laughing--his spirits roseinexpressibly as the moment of action came.
Their horses were all that could be mustered in Volseni of a mettleequal to the dash. The little band paraded in the market-place on Fridayafternoon; there they were joined by Sophy, who had been to pay a lastvisit to Monseigneur's grave; she came among them sad, yet seeming moreserene. Her spirit was the happier for striking a blow in Monseigneur'sname. The rest of them were in high feather; the prospect of theexpedition went far to blot out the tragedy of the past and to veil thethreatening face of the future. As dusk fell, they rode out of the citygate.
Miklevni lies twenty miles up the course of the river from Slavna; butthe river flows there nearly from north to south, turning to the eastonly four or five miles above the capital. You ride, then, from Volsenito Miklevni almost in a straight line, leaving Slavna away on the left.It is a distance of no more than thirty-five miles or thereabouts, butthe first ten consist of a precipitous and rugged descent by abridle-path from the hills to the valley of the Krath. No pace beyond awalk was possible at any point here, and for the greater part of the wayit was necessary to lead the horses. When once the plain was reached,there was good going, sometimes over country roads, sometimes overgrass, to Miklevni.
It was plain that the expedition could easily be intercepted by a forceissuing from Slavna and placing itself astride the route; but then theydid not expect a force to issue from Slavna. That would be done only bythe orders of General Stenovics, and Lepage had gone back to Slavna totell the General that his message was being considered--very carefullyconsidered--in Volseni. General Stenovics, if they understood himrightly, would not move till he heard more. For the rest, risks must berun. If all went well, they hoped to reach Miklevni before dawn onSaturday. There they were to lie in wait for Stafnitz--and for the bigguns which were coming down the Krath from Kolskoi to Slavna.
Lukovitch was the guide, and had no lack of counsel from lads who knewthe hills as well as their sweethearts' faces. He rode first, and, whilethey were on the bridle-path, they followed in single file, walkingtheir horses or leading them. Sophy and Dunstanbury rode behind, withBasil Williamson and Henry Brown just in front of them. In advance, somehundreds of yards, Peter Vassip acted as scout, coming back from time totime to advise Lukovitch that the way was clear. The night fell fine andfresh, but it was very dark. That did not matter; the men of Volseniwere like cats for seeing in the dark.
The first ten miles passed slowly and tediously, but without mistake ormishap. They halted on the edge of the plain an hour before midnight andtook rest and food--each man carried provisions for two days. Behindthem now rose the steep hills whence they had come, before themstretched the wide plain; away on their left was Slavna, straight aheadMiklevni, the goal of their pilgrimage. Lukovitch moved about, seeingthat every man gave heed to his horse and had his equipment and hisweapons in good order. Then came the word to remount, and between twelveand one, with a cheer hastily suppressed, the troop set forth at a goodtrot over the level ground. Now Williamson and Henry Brown fell to therear with three or four Volsenians, lest by any chance or accident Sophyshould lose or be cut off from the main body. Lukovitch and Peter Vassiprode together at the head.
To Dunstanbury that ride by night, through the spreading plain, waswonderful--a thing sufficient in itself, without regard to its object orits issue. He had seen some service before--and there was the joy ofthat. He had known the comradeship of a bold enterprise--there was theexaltation of that. He had taken great risks before--there was theexcitement of that. The night had ere now called him to the saddle--andit called now with all its fascination. His blood tingled and burnedwith all these things. But there was more. Beside him all the way wasthe figure of Sophy dim in the darkness, and the dim silhouette of herface--dim, yet, as it seemed, hardly blurred; its pallor stood out evenin the night. She engrossed his thoughts and spurred his speculations.
What thoughts dwelt in her? Did she ride to death, and was it a deathshe herself courted? If so, he was sworn in his soul to thwart her, evento his own death. She was not food for death, his soul cried,passionately protesting against that loss, that impoverishment of theworld. Why had they let her come? She was not a woman of whom that couldbe asked; therefore it was that his mind so hung on her, with anattraction, a fascination, an overbearing curiosity. The men of Volseniseemed to think it natural that she should come. They knew her, then,better than he did!
Save for the exchange of a few words now and then about the road, theyhad not talked; he had respected her silence. But she spoke now, and tohis great pleasure less sadly than he had expected. Her tone was light,and witnessed to a whimsical enjoyment which not even memory couldaltogether quench.
"This is my first war, Lord Dunstanbury," she said. "The first time I'vetaken the field in person at the head of my men!"
"Yes, your Majesty's first campaign. May it be glorious!" he answered,suiting his tone to hers.
"My first and my last, I suppose. Well, I could hardly have looked tohave even one--in those old days you know of--could I?"
"Frankly, I never expected to hold my commission as an officer fromyou," he laughed. "As it is, I'm breaking all the laws in the world, Isuppose. Perhaps they'll never hear of it in England, though."
"Where there are no laws left, you can break none," she said. "There arenone left in Kravonia now. There's but one crime--to be weak; and butone penalty--death."
"Neither the crime nor the penalty for us to-night!" he cried, gayly."Queen Sophia's star shines to-night!"
"Can you see it?" she asked, touching her cheek a moment.
"No, I can't," he laughed. "I forgot--I spoke metaphorically."
"When people speak of my star, I always think of this. So my star shinesto-night? Yes, I think so--shines brightly before it sets! I wonder ifKravonia's star, too, will have a setting soon--a stormy setting!"
"Well, we're not helping to make it more tranquil," said Dunstanbury.
He saw her turn her head suddenly and sharply towards him; she spokequickly and low.
"I'm seeking a man's life in this expedition," she said. "It's his ormine before we part."
"I don't blame you for that."
"Oh no!" The reply sounded almost contemptuous; at least it showedplainly that her conscience was not troubled. "And he won't blame meeither. When he sees me, he'll know what it means."
"And, in fact, I intend to help. So do we all, I think."
"It was our oath in Volseni," she answered. "They think Monseigneur willsleep the better for it. But I know well that nothing troublesMonseigneur's sleep. And I'm so selfish that I wish he could betroubled--yes, troubled about me; that he could be riding in the spiritwith us to-night, hoping for our victory; yet very anxious, very anxiousabout me; that I could still bring him joy and sorrow, grief anddelight. I can't desire that Monseigneur should sleep so well. They'rekinder to him--his own folk of Volseni. They aren't jealous of hissleep--not jealous of the peace of death. But I'm very jealous of it.I'm to him now just as all the rest are; I, too, am nothing toMonseigneur now."
"Who knows? Who can know?" said Dunstanbury, softly.
His attempted consolation, his invoking of the old persistent hope, thesaving doubt, did not reach her heart. In her great love of life, thebest she could ask of the tomb was a little memory there. So she hadtold Monseigneur; such wa
s the thought in her heart to-night. She wasjealous and forlorn because of the silent darkness which had wrapt herlover from her sight and so enveloped him. He could not even ride withher in the spirit on the night when she went forth to avenge the deathshe mourned!
The night broke towards dawn, the horizon grew gray. Lukovitch drew inhis rein, and the party fell to a gentle trot. Their journey was almostdone. Presently they halted for a few minutes, while Lukovitch and PeterVassip held a consultation. Then they jogged on again in the same order,save that now Sophy and Dunstanbury rode with Lukovitch at the head ofthe party. In another half-hour, the heavens lightening yet more, theycould discern the double row of low trees which marked, at irregularintervals, the course of the river across the plain. At the same momenta row of squat buildings rose in murky white between them and theriver-bank. Lukovitch pointed to it with his hand.
"There we are, madame," he said. "That's the farm-house at the rightend, and the barn at the left--within a hundred yards of the lock.There's our shelter till the Colonel comes."
"What of the farmer?" asked Dunstanbury.
"We shall catch him in his bed--him and his wife," said Lukovitch."There's only the pair of them. They keep the lock, and have a few acresof pastureland to eke out their living. They'll give us no trouble. Ifthey do, we can lock them in and turn the key. Then we can lie quiet inthe barn; with a bit of close packing, it'll take us all. Peter Vassipand I will be lock-keepers if anything comes by; we know the work--eh,Peter?"
"Ay, Captain; and the man--Peter's his name too, by-the-way--must giveus something to hide our sheepskins."
Sophy turned to Dunstanbury. She was smiling now.
"It sounds very simple, doesn't it?" she asked.
"Then we watch our chance for a dash--when the Colonel's off his guard,"Lukovitch went on.
"But if he won't oblige us in that way?" asked Dunstanbury, with alaugh.
"Then he shall have the reward of his virtue in a better fight for theguns," said Lukovitch. "Now, lads, ready! Listen! I'm going forward withPeter Vassip here and four more. We'll secure the man and his wife;there might be a servant-girl on the premises too, perhaps. When youhear my whistle, the rest of you will follow. You'll take command, mylord?" He turned to Sophy. "Madame, will you come with me or stay here?"
"I'll follow with Lord Dunstanbury," she said. "We ought all to be inthe barn before it's light?"
"Surely! A barge might come up or down the river, you see, and itwouldn't do for the men on board to see anybody but Vassip and me, whoare to be the lock-keepers."
He and Peter Vassip rode off with their party of four, and the restwaited in a field a couple of hundred yards from the barn--a dip in theground afforded fair cover. Some of the men began to dismount, butDunstanbury stopped them. "It's just that one never knows," he said;"and it's better to be on your horse than off it in case any troubledoes come, you know."
"There oughtn't to be much trouble with the lock-keeper and his wife--oreven with the servant-girl," said Basil Williamson.
"Girls can make a difference sometimes," Sophy said, with a smile. "Idid once, in the Street of the Fountain over in Slavna there!"
Dunstanbury's precaution was amply justified, for, to theirastonishment, the next instant a shot rang through the air, and, themoment after, a loud cry. A riderless horse galloped wildly past them;the sheepskin rug across the saddle marked it as belonging to aVolsenian.
"By Heaven, have they got there before us?" whispered Dunstanbury.
"I hope so; we sha'n't have to wait," said Sophy.
But they did wait there a moment. Then came a confused noise from thelong, low barn. Then a clatter of hoofs, and Lukovitch was with themagain; but his comrades were four men now, not five.
"Hush! Silence! Keep cover!" he panted breathlessly. "Stafnitz is herealready; at least, there are men in the barn, and horses tetheredoutside, and the barges are on the river, just above the lock. Thesentry saw us. He challenged and fired, and one of us dropped. It mustbe Stafnitz!"
Stafnitz it was. General Stenovics had failed to allow for the respectwhich his colleague entertained for his abilities. If Stenovics expectedhim back at Slavna with his guns on the Sunday, Stafnitz was quite clearthat he had better arrive on Saturday. To this end he had strained everynerve. The stream was with him, flowing strong, but the wind wascontrary; his barges had not made very good progress. He had pressed thehorses of his company into service on the towing-path. Stenovics had notthought of that. His rest at Rapska had been only long enough to givehis men and beasts an hour's rest and food and drink. To his pride andexultation, he had reached the lock at Miklevni at nightfall on Friday,almost exactly at the hour when Sophy's expedition set out on its rideto intercept him. Men and horses might be weary now; Stafnitz couldafford to be indifferent to that. He could give them a good rest, andyet, starting at seven the next morning, be in Slavna with them and theguns in the course of the afternoon. There might be nothing wrong, ofcourse--but it was no harm to forestall any close and clever calculationof the General's.
"The sentry?" whispered Dunstanbury.
"I had to cut him down. Shall we be at them, my lord?"
"No, not yet. They're in the barn, aren't they?"
"Yes. Don't you hear them? Listen! That's the door opened. Shall wecharge?"
"No, no, not yet. They'd retreat inside, and it would be the devil then.They'd have the pull of us. Wait for them to come out. They must send tolook for the sentry. Tell the men to lean right down in theirsaddles--close down--close! Then the ground covers us. And now--silencetill I give the word!"
Silence fell again for a few moments. They were waiting for a movementfrom Stafnitz's men in the barn. Only Dunstanbury, bareheaded, risked alook over the hillock which protected them from view.
A single man had come out of the barn, and was looking about him for thesentry who had fired. He seemed to suspect no other presence. Stafnitzmust have been caught in a sound nap this time.
The searcher found his man and dropped on his knees by him for a moment.Then he rose and ran hurriedly towards the barn, crying: "Colonel!Colonel!"
"Now!" whispered impetuous Lukovitch.
But Dunstanbury pressed him down again, saying: "Not yet. Not yet."
Sophy laid her hand on his arm. "Half of us to the barges," she said.
In their eagerness for the fight, Lukovitch and Dunstanbury hadforgotten the main object of it. But the guns were what Monseigneurwould have thought of first--what Stafnitz must first think of too--thecentre of contest and the guerdon of victory.