“Well, he saved her life, just like they do in story books,” protested the Prince.
“Well, you run in and tell her this minute that Mr. King sends his love to her and begs her to rest easy. See if it doesn’t cheer her up a bit.”
“Maybe she’s worried about Uncle Jack. I never thought about that,” he faltered.
“Uncle Jack will come out on top, never fear,” cried the old man.
Half an hour later, Truxton King, shaven and shorn, outfitted and polished, received orders to ride for twenty minutes back and forth across the Plaza. He came down from Colonel Quinnox’s rooms in the officer’s row, considerably mystified, and mounted the handsome bay that he had brought through the gates. Haddan, of the Guard, rode with him to the Plaza, but could offer no explanation for the curious command.
Five times the now resentful American walked his horse across the Plaza, directly in front of the terrace and the great balconies. About him paced guardsmen, armed and alert; on the outer edge of the parade ground a company of soldiers were hurrying through the act of changing the Guard; in the lower balcony excited men and women were walking back and forth, paying not the least attention to him. Above him frowned the grey, lofty walls of the Castle. No one was in view on the upper balcony, beyond which he had no doubt lay the royal chambers. He had the mean, uncomfortable feeling that people were peering at him from remote windows.
Suddenly a small figure in bright red and gold and waving a tiny sword appeared at the rail of the broad upper gallery. Truxton blinked his eyes once or, twice and then doffed his hat. The Prince was smiling eagerly.
“Hello!” he called. Truxton drew rein directly below him.
“I trust your Highness has recovered from the shock of today,” he responded. “I have been terribly anxious. Are you quite well?”
“Quite well, thank you.” He hesitated for a moment, as if in doubt. Then: “Say, Mr. King, how’s your leg?”
Truxton looked around in sudden embarrassment. A number of distressed, white-faced ladies had paused in the lower gallery and were staring at him in mingled curiosity and alarm. He instantly wondered if Colonel Quinnox’s riding clothes were as good a fit as he had been led to believe through Hobbs and others.
“It’s—it’s fine, thank you,” he called up, trying to subdue his voice as much as possible.
Bobby looked a trifle uncertain. His glance wavered and a queer little wrinkle appeared between his eyes. He lowered his voice when he next spoke.
“Say, would you mind shouting that a little louder,” he called down, leaning well over the rail.
Truxton flushed. He was pretty sure that the Prince was not deaf. There was no way out of it, however, so he repeated his communication.
“It’s all right, your Highness.”
Bobby gave a quick glance over his shoulder at one of the broad windows. Truxton distinctly saw the blinds close with a convulsive jerk.
“Thanks! Much obliged! Good-bye!” sang out the Prince, gleefully. He waved his hand and then hopped off the chair on which he was standing. Truxton heard his little heels clatter across the stone balcony. For a moment he was nonplused.
“Well, I’m—By Jove! I understand!” He rode off toward the barracks, his head swimming with joy, his heart jumping like mad. At the edge of the parade ground he turned in his saddle and audaciously lifted his hat to the girl who, to his certain knowledge, was standing behind the tell-tale blind.
“Cheer up, Hobbs!” he sang out in his new-found exuberance as he rode up to the dismal Englishman, who moped in the shade of the stable walls. “Don’t be down-hearted. Look at me! Never say die, that’s my motto.”
“That’s all very well, sir,” said Hobbs, removing the unlighted pipe from his lips, “but you ’aven’t got a dog and a parrot locked up in your rooms with no one to feed them. It makes me sick, ’pon my soul, sir, to think of them dying of thirst and all that, and me here safe and sound, so to speak.”
That night Haddan and a fellow-subaltern attempted to leave the Castle grounds by way of the private gate in the western wall, only to be driven back by careful watchers on the outside. A second attempt was made at two o’clock. This time they went through the crypt into the secret underground passage. As they crawled forth into the blackest of nights, clear of the walls, they were met by a perfect fusillade of rifle shots. Haddan’s companion was shot through the leg and arm and it was with extreme difficulty that the pair succeeded in regaining the passage and closing the door. No other attempt was made that night. Sunday night a quick sortie was made, it being the hope of the besieged that two selected men might elude Marlanx’s watch-dogs during the melee that followed. Curiously enough, the only men killed were the two who had been chosen to run the gauntlet in the gallant, but ill-timed attempt to reach John Tullis.
On Monday morning the first direct word from Count Marlanx came to the Castle. Under a flag of truce, two of his men were admitted to the grounds. They presented the infamous ultimatum of the Iron Count. In brief, it announced the establishment of a dictatorship pending the formal assumption of the crown by the conqueror. With scant courtesy the Iron Count begged to inform Prince Robin that his rule was at an end. Surrender would result in his safe conduct to America, the home of his father; defiance would just so surely end in death for him and all of his friends. The Prince was given twenty-four hours in which to surrender his person to the new governor of the city. With the expiration of the time limit mentioned, the Castle would be shelled from the fortress, greatly as the dictator might regret the destruction of the historic and well-beloved structure. No one would be spared if it became necessary to bombard; the rejection of his offer of mercy would be taken as a sign that the defenders were ready to die for a lost cause. He would cheerfully see to it that they died as quickly as possible, in order that the course of government might not be obstructed any longer than necessary.
The defenders of the Castle tore his message in two and sent it back to him without disfiguring it by a single word in reply. The scornful laughter which greeted the reading of the document by Count Halfont did not lose any of its force in the report that the truce-bearers carried, with considerable uneasiness, to the Iron Count later on.
No one in the Castle was deceived by Marlanx’s promise to provide safe conduct for the Prince. They knew that the boy was doomed if he fell into the hands of this iniquitous old schemer. More than that, there was not a heart among them so faint that it was not confident of eventual victory over the usurper. They could hold out for weeks against starvation. Hope is an able provider.
A single, distant volley at sunset had puzzled the men on guard at the Castle. They had no means of knowing that the Committee of Ten and its wretched friends had been shot down like dogs in the Public Square. Peter Brutus was in charge of the squad of executioners.
Soon after the return of Marlanx’s messengers to the Tower, a number of carriages were observed approaching in Castle Avenue. They were halted a couple of hundred yards from the gates and once more a flag of truce was presented. There was a single line from Marlanx:
“I am sending indisputable witnesses to bear testimony to the thoroughness of my conquest.
“MARLANX.”
Investigation convinced the captain of the Guard that the motley caravan in the avenue was made up of loyal, representative citizens from the important villages of the realm. They were admitted to the grounds without question.
The Countess Prandeville of Ganlook, terribly agitated, was one of the first to enter the haven of safety, such as it was. After her came the mayors and the magistrates of a dozen villages. Count Marlanx’s reason for delivering these people over to their friends in the Castle was at once manifest.
By the words of their mouths his almost complete mastery of the situation was conveyed to the Prince’s defenders. In every instance the representative from a village sorrowfully admitted that Marlanx’s men were in control. Ganlook, an ancient stronghold, had been taken without a struggle by a handf
ul of men. The Countess’s husband was even now confined in his own castle under guard.
The news was staggering. Count Halfont had based his strongest hopes on the assistance that would naturally come from the villages. Moreover, the strangely commissioned emissaries cast additional gloom over the situation by the report that mountaineers, herdsmen and woodchoppers in the north were flocking to the assistance of the Iron Count, followed by hordes of outlaws from the Axphain hills. They were swarming into the city. These men had always been thorns in the sides of the Crown’s peace-makers.
“It is worse than I thought,” said Count Halfont, after listening to the words of the excited magistrates. “Are there no loyal men outside these walls?”
“Thousands, sir, but they are not organised. They have no leader, and but little with which to fight against such a force.”
“It is hard to realise that a force of three or four thousand desperadoes has the power to defy an entire kingdom. A city of 75,000 people in the hands of hirelings! The shame of it!”
Truxton King was leaning against a column not far from the little group, nervously pulling away at the pipe Quinnox had given him. As if impelled by a common thought, a half dozen pairs of eyes were turned in his direction. Their owners looked as quickly away, again moved by a common thought.
The Minister of Mines gave utterance to a single sentence that might well have been called the epitome of that shrewd, concentrated thought:
“There must be some one who can get to John Tullis before it is too late.”
They looked at one another and then once more at the American who had come among them, avowedly in quest of adventure.
CHAPTER XIX
TRUXTON EXACTS A PROMISE
Truxton King had been in a resentful frame of mind for nearly forty-eight hours. In the first place, he had not had so much as a single glimpse of the girl he now worshipped with all his heart. In the second place, he had learned, with unpleasant promptness, that Count Vos Engo was the officer in command of the House Guard, a position as gravely responsible as it was honourable. The cordon about the Castle was so tightly drawn in these perilous hours that even members of the household were subjected to examination on leaving or entering.
Truxton naturally did not expect to invade the Castle in search of the crumb of comfort he so ardently desired; he did not, however, dream that Vos Engo would deny him the privilege of staring at a certain window from a rather prim retreat in a far corner of the Plaza.
He had, of course, proffered his services to Colonel Quinnox. The Colonel, who admired the Americans, gravely informed him that there was no regular duty to which he could be assigned, but that he would expect him to hold himself ready for any emergency. In case of an assault, he was to report to Count Vos Engo.
“We will need our bravest men at the Castle,” he had said. Truxton glowed under the compliment. “In the meantime, Mr. King, regain your strength in the park. You show the effect of imprisonment. Your adventures have been most interesting, but I fancy they invite rest for the present.”
It was natural that this new American should become an object of tremendous interest to every one in and about the Castle. The story of his mishaps and his prowess was on every lip; his timely appearance in Regengetz Circus was regarded in the light of divine intervention, although no one questioned the perfectly human pluck that brought it about. Noble ladies smiled upon him in the park, to which they now repaired with timorous hearts; counts and barons slapped him on the back and doughty guardsmen actually saluted him with admiration in their eyes.
But he was not satisfied. Loraine had not come forward with a word of greeting or relief; in fact, she had not appeared outside the Castle doors. Strangely enough, with the entire park at his disposal, he chose to frequent those avenues nearest the great balconies. More than once he visited the grotto where he had first seen her; but it was not the same. The occasional crack of a rifle on the walls no longer fired him with the interest he had felt in the beginning. Forty-eight hours had passed and she still held aloof. What could it mean? Was she ill? Had she collapsed after the frightful strain?
Worse than anything else: was she devoting all of her time to Count Vos Engo?
Toward dusk on Monday, long after the arrival of the refugees, he sat in gloomy contemplation of his own unhappiness, darkly glowering upon the unfriendly portals from a distant stone bench.
A brisk guardsman separated himself from the knot of men at the Castle doors and crossed the Plaza toward him.
“Aha,” thought Truxton warmly, “at last she is sending a message to me. Perhaps she’s—no, she couldn’t be sending for me to come to her.”
Judge his dismay and anger when the soldier, a bit shamefaced himself, briefly announced that Count Vos Engo had issued an order against loitering in close proximity to the Castle. Mr. King was inside the limit described in the order. Would he kindly retire to a more distant spot, etc.
Truxton’s cheek burned. He saw in an instant that the order was meant for him and for no one else—he being the only outsider likely to come under the head of “loiterer.” A sharp glance revealed the fact that not only were the officers watching the little scene, but others in the balcony were looking on.
Resisting the impulse to argue the point, he hastily lifted his hat to the spectators and turned into the avenue without a word.
“I am sorry, sir,” mentioned the guardsman earnestly.
Truxton turned to him with a frank smile, meant for the group at the steps. “Please tell Count Vos Engo that I am the last person in the world to disregard discipline at a time like this.”
His glance again swept the balcony, suddenly becoming fixed on a couple near the third column. Count Vos Engo and Loraine Tullis were standing there together, unmistakably watching his humiliating departure. To say that Truxton swore softly as he hurried off through the trees would be unnecessarily charitable.
The next morning he encountered Vos Engo near the grotto. Two unsuccessful attempts to leave the Castle grounds had been made during the night. Truxton had aired his opinion to Mr. Hobbs after breakfast.
“I’ll bet my head I could get away with it,” he had said, doubly scornful because of a sleepless night. “They go about it like a lot of chumps. No wonder they are chased back.”
Catching sight of Vos Engo, he hastened across the avenue and caught up to him. The Count was apparently deep in thought.
“Good morning,” said Truxton from behind. The other whirled quickly. He did not smile as he eyed the tall American. “I haven’t had a chance to thank you for coming back for me last Saturday. Allow me to say that it was a very brave thing to do. If I appeared ungrateful at the time, I’m sure you understood my motives.”
“The whole matter is of no consequence, Mr. King,” said the other quietly.
“Nevertheless, I consider it my duty to thank you. I want to get it out of my system. Having purged myself of all that, I now want to tell you of a discovery that I made last evening.”
“I am not at all interested.”
“You will be when I have told you, however, because it concerns you.”
“I do not like your words, Mr. King, nor the way in which you glare at me.”
“I’m making it easier to tell you the agreeable news, Count Vos Engo; that’s all. You’ll be delighted to hear that I thought of you nearly all night and still feel that I have not been able to do you full justice.”
“Indeed?” with a distinct uplifting of the eyebrows.
“Take your hand off your sword, please. Some other time, perhaps, but not in these days when we need men, not cripples. I’ll tell you what I have discovered and then we’ll drop the matter until some other time. We can afford a physical delay, but it would be heartless to keep you in mental suspense. Frankly, Count, I have made the gratifying discovery that you are a damned cur.”
Count Vos Engo went very white. He drew his dapper figure up to its full height, swelled his Robin Redbreast coat to the bursting poin
t, and allowed his right hand to fly to his sword. Then, as suddenly, he folded his arms and glared at Truxton.
“As you say, there is another and a better time. We need dogs as well as men in these days.”
“I hope you won’t forget that I thanked you for coming back last Saturday.”
The Count turned and walked rapidly away.
Truxton leaned against the low wall alongside the Allée. “I don’t know that I’ve helped matters any,” he said to himself ruefully. “He’ll not let me get within half a mile of the Castle after this. If she doesn’t come out for a stroll in the park, I fancy I’ll never see her—Heigho! I wish something would happen! Why doesn’t Marlanx begin bombarding? It’s getting devilish monotonous here.”
He strolled off to the stables, picking up Mr. Hobbs on the way.
“Hobbs,” he said, “we’ve got to find John Tullis, that’s all there is to it.” He was scowling fiercely at a most inoffensive lawn-mower in the grass at the left.
“I daresay, sir,” said Mr. Hobbs with sprightly decisiveness. “He’s very much needed.”
“I’m going to need him before long as my second.”
“Your second, sir? Are you going to fight a duel?”
“I suppose so,” lugubriously. “It’s too much to expect him to meet me with bare fists. Oh, Hobbs, I wish we could arrange it for bare knucks!” He delivered a mighty swing at an invisible adversary. Hobbs’s hat fell off with the backward jerk of surprise.
“Oh, my word!” he exclaimed admiringly, “wot a punch you’ve got!”
Later on, much of his good humour was restored and his vanity pleased by a polite request from Count Halfont to attend an important council in the “Room of Wrangles” that evening at nine.
Very boldly he advanced upon the Castle a few minutes before the appointed hour. He went alone, that he might show a certain contempt for Count Vos Engo. Notwithstanding the fact that he started early enough for the Chamber, he was distressingly late for the meeting.
He came upon Loraine Tullis at the edge of the Terrace. She was walking slowly in the soft shadows beyond the row of lights on the lower gallery. King would have passed her without recognition, so dim was the light in this enchanted spot, had not his ear caught the sound of a whispered exclamation. At the same time the girl stopped abruptly in the darkest shadow. He knew her at a glance, this slim girl in spotless white.
The George Barr McCutcheon Megapack: 25 Classic Novels and Stories Page 99