“In time they will be given the choice of serving me as policemen or serving the world as examples of folly. Rest easy concerning them. Ah, yes, again I have stupidly forgotten something. Your excellent friend, Tullis, will not re-enter Edelweiss alive. That is quite assured, sir. So you see, he will, after all, be better off than you. I don’t blame him for loving my wife. It was my desire to amicably trade my wife off to him for his charming sister, but the deal hangs fire. What a scowl! I dare say you contemplate saying something bitter, so I’ll retire. A little later on I shall be chatting with the Prince at the Castle. I’ll give him your gentlest felicitations.”
But Marlanx was doomed to another disappointment before the night was over. The Castle gates were not opened to his forces. Colonel Quinnox apprehended the traitors in time to prevent the calamity. Ten hostlers in the Royal stables were taken redhanded in the attempt to overpower the small guard at the western gates. Their object was made plain by the subsequent futile movement of a large force of men at that particular point.
Prince Robin was safe for the night.
CHAPTER XVIII
TRUXTON ON PARADE
Count Marlanx was a soldier. He knew how to take defeat and to bide his time; he knew how to behave in the hour of victory and in the moment of rout. The miscarriage of a detail here and there in this vast, comprehensive plan of action did not in the least sense discourage him. It was no light blow to his calculations, of course, when the designs of an organisation separate and distinct from his own failed in their purpose. It was part of his plan to hold the misguided Reds responsible for the lamentable death of Prince Robin. The people were to be given swift, uncontrovertible proof that he had no hand in the unforeseen transactions of the anarchists, who, he would make it appear, had by curious coincidence elected to kill the Prince almost at the very hour when he planned to seize the city as a conqueror.
His own connection with the operations of the mysterious Committee of Ten was never to be known to the world. He would see to that.
At nine o’clock on Sunday morning a small group of people gathered in the square: a meeting was soon in progress. A goods-box stood over against the very spot on which Olga Platanova died. An old man began haranguing the constantly growing crowd, made up largely of those whose curiosity surpassed discreetness. In the group might have been seen every member of the Committee of Ten, besides a full representation of those who up to now had secretly affiliated with the Party of Equals. A red flag waved above the little, excited group of fanatics, close to the goods-box rostrum. One member of the Committee was absent from this, their first public espousal of the cause. Later on we are to discover who this man was. Two women in bright red waists were crying encouragement to the old man on the box, whose opening sentences were no less than an unchanted requiem for the dead martyr, Olga Platanova.
In the midst of his harangue, the hand of William Spantz was arrested in one of its most emphatic gestures. A look of wonder and uncertainty came into his face as he gazed, transfixed, over the heads of his hearers in the direction of the Tower.
Peter Brutus was approaching, at the head of a group of aliens, all armed and marching in ominously good order. Something in the face of Peter Brutus sent a chill of apprehension into the very soul of the old armourer.
And well it may have done so.
“One moment!” called out Peter Brutus, lifting his hand imperatively. The speaker ceased his mouthings. “Count Marlanx desires the immediate presence of the following citizens at his office in the Tower. I shall call off the names.” He began with William Spantz. The name of each of his associates in the Committee of Ten followed. After them came a score of names, all of them known to be supporters of the anarchist cause.
“What is the business, Peter?” demanded William Spantz.
“Does it mean we are to begin so soon the establishing of the new order—” began Anna Cromer, her face aglow. Peter smiled wanly.
“Do not ask me,” he said, emphasising the pronoun. “I am only commanded to bring the faithful few before him.”
“But why the armed escort?” growled Julius Spantz, who had spent an unhappy twenty-four hours in bondage.
“To separate the wheat from the chaff,” said Peter. “Move on, good people, all you whose names were not called.” The order was to the few timid strangers who were there because they had nowhere else to go. They scattered like chaff.
Ten minutes later every member of the Committee of Ten, except Peter Brutus, was behind lock and bar, together with their shivering associates, all of them dumbly muttering to themselves the awful sentence that Marlanx had passed upon them.
“You are to die at sunset. Graustark still knows how to punish assassins. She will make an example of you today that all creatures of your kind, the world over, will not be likely to forget in a century to come. There is no room in Graustark for anarchy. I shall wipe it out today.”
“Sir, your promise!” gasped William Spantz. “We are your friends—the true Party of—”
“Enough! Do not speak again! Captain Brutus, you will send criers abroad to notify the citizens that I, Count Marlanx, have ordered the execution of the ringleaders in the plot to dynamite the Prince. At sunset, in the square. Away with the carrion!”
Then it was, and not till then, that the Committee of Ten found him out! Then it was that they came to know Peter Brutus! What were their thoughts, we dare not tell: their shrieks and curses were spent against inpenetrable floors and walls. Baron Dangloss heard, and, in time, understood. Even he shrank back and shuddered.
It has been said that Marlanx was a soldier. There is one duty that the soldier in command never neglects: the duty to those who fell while fighting bravely for or against him. Sunday afternoon a force of men was set to work burying the dead and clearing the pavements. Those of his own nondescript army who gave up their lives on the 26th were buried in the public cemeteries. The soldiers of the Crown, as well as the military police, were laid to rest in the national cemetery, with honours befitting their rank. Each grave was carefully marked and a record preserved. In this way Marlanx hoped to obtain his first footing in the confidence and esteem of the citizens. The unrecognisable corpse of Olga Platanova was buried in quicklime outside the city walls. There was something distinctly gruesome in the fact that half a dozen deep graves were dug alongside hers, hours before death came to the wretches who were to occupy them.
At three o’clock the Iron Count coolly sent messengers to the homes of the leading merchants and bankers of the city. They, with the priests, the doctors, the municipal officers and the manufacturers were commanded to appear before him at five o’clock for the purpose of discussing the welfare of the city and its people. Hating, yet fearing him, they came; not one but felt in his heart that the old man was undisputed ruler of their destinies. Hours of horror and despair, a night and a day of bitter reflection, had brought the trembling populace to the point of seeing clearly the whole miserable situation. The reserves were powerless; the Royal Guard was besieged and greatly outnumbered; the fortress was lost. There was nothing for them to do but temporise. Time alone could open the way to salvation.
Marlanx stated his position clearly. He left no room for doubt in their minds. The strings were in his hands: he had but to pull them. The desire of his life was about to be attained. Without hesitation he informed the leading men of the city that he was to be the Prince of Graustark.
“I have the city,” he said calmly. “The farms and villages will fall in line. I do not worry over them. In a very short time I shall have the Castle. The question for you to decide for yourselves is this: will you be content to remain here as thrifty, peaceable citizens, protecting your fortunes and being protected by a man and not by a child. If not, please say so. The alternative is in the hands of the Crown. I am the Crown. The Crown may at any time confiscate property and banish malcontents and disturbers. A word to the wise, gentlemen. Inside of a week we will have a new government. You will not suffer under its
administration. I should be indeed a fool to destroy the credit or injure the integrity of my own dominion. But, let me say this, gentlemen,” he went on after a pause, in which his suavity gave way to harshness; “you may as well understand at the outset that I expect to rule here. I will rule Graustark or destroy her.”
The more courageous in his audience began to protest against the high-handed manner in which he proposed to treat them. Not a few declared that they would never recognise him as a prince of the realm. He waited, as a spider waits, until he thought they had gone far enough. Then he held up his hand and commanded silence.
“Those of you who do not expect or desire to live under my rule—which, I promise you, shall be a wise one,—may leave the city for other lands just as soon as my deputies have completed the formal transfer of all your belongings to the Crown treasury—all, I say, even to the minutest trifle. Permit me to add, in that connection, gentlemen: the transfer will not be a prolonged affair.”
They glared back at him and subsided into bitter silence.
“I am well aware that you love little Prince Robin. Ha! You may not cheer here, gentlemen, under penalty of my displeasure. It is quite right that you should, as loyal subjects, love your Prince, whoever he may be. I shall certainly expect it. Now, respecting young master Robin: I have no great desire to kill him.”
He waited to see the effect of this brutal announcement. His hearers stiffened and—yes, they held their breath.
“He has one alternative—he and his lords. I trust that you, as sensible gentlemen, will find the means to convey to him your advice that he seize the opportunity I shall offer him to escape with his life. No one really wants to see the little chap die. Let me interrupt myself to call to your attention the fact that I am punishing the anarchists at sunset. This to convince you that assassination will not be tolerated in Graustark. To resume: the boy may return to America, where he belongs. He is more of an American than one of us. I will give him free and safe escort to the United States. Certain of his friends may accompany him; others whom I shall designate will be required to remain here until I have disposed of their cases as I see fit. These conditions I shall set forth in my manifesto to the present occupant of the Castle. If he chooses to accept my kindly terms, all well and good. If not, gentlemen, I shall starve him out or blow the Castle down about his smart little ears. You shudder! Well, I can’t blame you. I shudder myself sometimes when I think of it. There will be a great deal of royal blood, you know. Ah, that reminds me: It may interest you to hear that I expect to establish a new nobility in Graustark. The present house of lords is objectionable to me. I trust I may now be addressing at least a few of the future noble lords of Graustark. Good day, gentlemen. That is all for the present. Kindly inform me if any of my soldiers or followers overstep the bounds of prudence. Rapine and ribaldry will not be tolerated.”
The dignitaries and great men of the city went away, dazed and depressed, looking at each other from bloodshot eyes. Not one friend had Marlanx in that group, and he knew it well. He did not expect them to submit at once or even remotely. They might have smiled, whereas they frowned, if they could have seen him pacing the floor of his office, the moment the doors closed behind their backs, clenching his hands and cursing furiously.
At the Castle the deepest gloom prevailed. It was like a nightmare to the beleaguered household, a dream from which there seemed to be no awakening. Colonel Quinnox’s first act after posting his forces in position to repel attacks from the now well-recognised enemy, was to make sure of the safety of his royal master. Inside the walls of the Castle grounds he, as commander of the Royal Guard, ruled supreme. General Braze tore off his own epaulets and presented himself to Quinnox as a soldier of the file; lords and dukes, pages and ministers, followed the example of the head of the War Department. No one stood on the dignity of his position; no one does, as a rule, with the executioner staring him in the face. Every man took up arms for the defence of the Castle, its Prince and its lovely women.
Prince Robin, quite recovered from his fright, donned the uniform of a Colonel of the Royal Dragoons, buckled on his jewelled sword, and, with boyish zeal, demanded Colonel Quinnox’s reasons for not going forth to slay the rioters.
“What is the army for, Colonel Quinnox?” he asked with impatient wonder.
It was late in the afternoon and the Prince was seated in the chair of state, presiding over the hurriedly called Council meeting. Notably absent were Baron Dangloss and the Duke of Perse. Chief officers of the Guard and the commissioned men of the army were present—that is, all of them who had not gone down under the treacherous fire.
“Your Highness,” said the Colonel bitterly, “the real army is outside the walls, not inside. We are a pitiful handful-less than three hundred men, all told, counting the wounded. Count Marlanx heads an army of several thousand. He—”
“He wants to get in here so’s he can kill me? Is that so, Colonel Quinnox?” The Prince was very pale, but quite calm.
“Oh, I wouldn’t put it just that way, your—”
“Oh, I know. You can’t fool me. I’ve always known that he wants to kill me. But how can he? That’s the question; how can he when I’ve got the Royal Guard to keep him from doing it? He can’t whip the Royal Guard. Nobody can. He ought to know that. He must be awful stupid.”
His perfect, unwavering faith in the Guard was the same that had grown up with every prince of Graustark and would not be gainsaid. A score of hearts swelled with righteous pride and as many scabbards rattled as heels clicked and hands went up in salute.
“Your Highness,” said Quinnox, with a glance at his fellow-officers, “you may rely upon it, Count Marlanx will never reach you until he has slain every man in the Royal Guard.”
“And in the army—our poor little army,” added General Braze.
“Thank you,” said the Prince. “You needn’t have told me. I knew it.” He leaned back in the big chair, almost slipping from the record books on which he sat, a brave scowl on his face. “Gee, I wish he’d attack us right now,” he said, with ingenuous bravado.
The council of war was not a lengthy one. The storm that had arisen out of a perfectly clear sky was briefly discussed in all its phases. No man there but realised the seriousness of the situation. Count Halfont, who seemed ten years older than when we last saw him, addressed the Cabinet.
“John Tullis is still outside the city walls. If he does not fall into a trap through ignorance of the city’s plight, I firmly believe he will be able to organise an army of relief among the peasants and villagers. They are loyal. The mountaineers and shepherds, wild fellows all, and the ones who have fallen into the spider’s net. Count Marlanx has an army of aliens; they are not even revolutionists. John Tullis, if given the opportunity, can sweep the city clear of them. My only fear is that he may be tricked into ambush before we can reach him. No doubt Marlanx, in devising a way to get him out of the city, also thought of the means to keep him out.”
“We must get word to Tullis,” cried several in a breath. A dozen men volunteered to risk their lives in the attempt to find the American in the hills. Two men were chosen—by lot. They were to venture forth that very night.
“My lords,” said the Prince, as the Council was on the point of dissolving, “is it all right for me to ask a question now?”
“Certainly, Robin,” said the Prime Minister.
“Well, I’d like to know where Mr. King is.”
“He’s safe, your Highness,” said Quinnox.
“Aunt Loraine is worried, that’s all. She’s sick, you see—awful sick. Do you think Mr. King would be good enough to walk by her window, so’s she can see for herself? She’s in the royal bedchamber.”
“The royal bedchamber?” gasped the high chamberlain.
“I gave up my bed right off, but she won’t stay in it. She sits in the window most of the time. It’s all right about the bed. I spoke to nurse about it. Besides, I don’t want to go to bed while there’s any fighting going
on. So, you see, it’s all right. Say, Uncle Caspar, may I take a crack at old Marlanx with my new rifle if I get a chance? I’ve been practising on the target range, and Uncle Jack says I’m a reg’lar Buffalo Bill.”
Count Halfont unceremoniously hugged his wriggling grand-nephew. A cheer went up from the others.
“Long live Prince Robin!” shouted Count Vos Engo.
Prince Robin looked abashed. “I don’t think I could hit him,” he said with becoming modesty. They laughed aloud. “But, say, don’t forget about Mr. King. Tell him I want him to parade most of the time in front of my windows.”
“He has a weak ankle,” began Colonel Quinnox lamely.
“Very difficult for him to walk,” said Vos Engo, biting his lips.
The Prince looked from face to face, suspicion in his eyes. It dawned on him that they were evading the point. A stubborn line appeared between his brows.
“Then I command you, Colonel Quinnox, to give him the best horse in the stables. I want him to ride.”
“It shall be as you command, your Highness.”
A few minutes later, his grand-uncle, the Prime Minister, was carrying him down the corridor; Prince Robin was perched upon the old man’s shoulder, and was a thoughtful mood.
“Say, Uncle Caspar, Mr. King’s all right, isn’t he?”
“He is a very brave and noble gentleman, Bobby. We owe to his valour the life of the best boy in all the world.”
“Yes, and Aunt Loraine owes him a lot, too. She says so. She’s been crying, Uncle Caspar. Say, has she just got to marry Count Vos Engo?”
“My boy, what put that question into your mind?”
“She says she has to. I thought only princes and princesses had to marry people they don’t want to.”
“You should not believe all that you hear.”
Bobby was silent for twenty steps. Then he said: “Well, I think she’ll make an awful mistake if she lets Mr. King get away.”
“My boy, we have other affairs to trouble us at present without taking up the affairs of Miss Tullis.”
The George Barr McCutcheon Megapack: 25 Classic Novels and Stories Page 98