CHAPTER 7
It was the seventeenth birthday of Prince Ferdinand. He and the king were no longer prisoners in the palace. They went abroad almost as they pleased, though they were always well guarded. The iron hand of General Count Sarnya had kept peace in the kingdom, an armed, suspicious peace that had filled the jails and the cemeteries with “Martyrs” and “friends of the people” and other witless ones who got no thanks for their pains and seldom even a decent burial.
Ferdinand enjoyed the pomp and ceremony attendant upon the celebration of this anniversary. He loved the fawning and the eulogizing. He would probably have loved it even had he known that it was false, but he did not. He was too self-centered and egotistical to realize how cordially he was hated. He would not have cared much, had he known; for he looked with contempt upon all creatures below him in rank; and some day he would be king — highest of all. He loved only one person besides himself — Hilda; but he hated many. He hated Sarnya, because Sarnya was more powerful than he. He hated him and feared him. When he became king, he promised himself, Sarnya would be replaced. He even planned on disgracing him.
He hated his father, too, partly because his father feared Sarnya even more than he did, and partly because his father, by living, prevented Ferdinand from becoming king. He had a few friends among the sons of the nobility; but perhaps it would be better to say acquaintances, for these all hated him cordially. Among these, the closest to him was young Count Lomsk, an archsycophant of his own age who was already dissolute and lecherous.
As the long day gave way to evening and the evening drew toward a close, even Ferdinand became bored. He and Max Lomsk put their heads together and sought for a plan of escape. The king had already withdrawn, which made it possible for Ferdinand to do likewise. Lomsk went into the gardens after Ferdinand had retired to his apartments, and presently Ferdinand joined him there. It was not late, and there were still lights in the gardener’s cottage at the far end of the palace grounds. The two youths stopped in the shadows of some shrubbery that grew near the cottage; then Ferdinand whistled.
Hans de Groot, who had been admitted to the Royal Military Academy, was home on leave. He heard the whistle and recognized it. He remembered the first time he had seen Ferdinand kiss Hilda. It had been only something to laugh about then; now it was quite different — Hilda was sixteen and Ferdinand seventeen. Now he heard Hilda’s door open and close. He listened. Yes, the back door of the cottage was cautiously opened and as cautiously closed again. Hans could stand it no longer — Crown Prince or not, he was going to have it out with Ferdinand. He had no right to compromise Hilda in this way. Hans jumped out of bed and into his uniform as quickly as he could, but when he reached the garden he could see nothing of Hilda or Ferdinand - not even at the bench where they had met in years past. He hurried through the garden toward the palace and as he passed the great gates he saw a girl and two men enter a limousine and drive away. The girl was Hilda, and one of the men was Ferdinand.
There was a sudden tightening of the muscles of Hans’ heart. A wave of nausea surged through him as he realized his helplessness. He could not follow them, for he had neither automobile nor money. He paced up and down the garden, determined to wait until they returned; and there was murder in his heart.
The car stopped in the city and picked up the pretty daughter of a cobbler; then it drove on out into the country to the hunting lodge in the woods. There were always servants and food and wine at the hunting lodge.
* * * * *
“I tell you,” said Carlyn, “that we have got to do something. Our people are becoming discouraged. We must do something to give them new hope.”
“What would you suggest?” “If we could get a promise out of Ferdinand that he would kick Sarnya out and grant us the new constitution when he became king, that would be something,” said Carlyn.
“And what would we offer Ferdinand in return?” “The crown and his life. He would be glad to rule without constant fear of assassination.” “He would probably want to know just how we were going to hand the crown over to him,” suggested Andresy.
“Had you thought of that?” “It would be only in the event that an accident befell his father. I have it on good authority that the two dislike one another most cordially and that Ferdinand is anxious to become king; so it might not be too difficult to obtain his cooperation.” “I wonder if he would keep his promises to us,” mused Andresy.
“His life would be the stake.” “I am commencing to wish,” said Andresy, “that we had left well enough alone. The old king was a good king and Michael was a fine lad. If we only had him here now.” “Well, we haven’t. There is no question but that he is dead. Old Jagst’s body was found floating in his life belt; so we are sure that Michael went down with the ship; even though his body was never found. There were two hundred others that were never found, and no one has ever suggested that any of them might be alive.” “Meyer was too rabid and too radical,” said Carlyn. “He wanted to accomplish everything at a single stroke. I can see now that he was wrong.” “Meyer wanted to, be dictator,” said Andresy. “He was mad for power, and too anxious to obtain it quickly. That came first with Meyer, the welfare of the people second. It is strange what small, remote things may affect the destiny of a nation.” “What do you mean?” asked Carlyn.
“Because Meyer, as a child, was suppressed and beaten by his father; because, on that account, he had a feeling of inferiority, he craved autocratic power that would permit him to strike back in revenge. Meyer did not realize it himself; but whenever he struck at government, he was striking at his father. When he ordered the assassination of the king, he was condemning his father to death in revenge for the humiliation and brutalities the father had inflicted on him. Now the king is dead and Michael and Meyer and Bulvik and hundreds of the men and women who believed in Meyer; but Meyer’s father is still alive, basking in the reflected glory of his martyred son. Life is a strange thing, Carlyn. Civilization is strange and complex. The older I grow, the more I realize how little any of us know what it is all about. Why do we strive? Everything we attain always turns put to be something we do not want, and then we try to change it for something else that will be equally bad. Oh, well, but I suppose that we must keep on. How do you plan to kill the king?”
Carlyn started, as though caught red-handed in a crime. “God!” he exclaimed; “Don’t spring it on me like that.”
Andresy laughed. “You have nerves, haven’t you? I never would have believed it. I shall put it in a more emasculated style. What accident will befall the king? And how will it happen?”
“It will take a little time, thanks to Sarnya’s most efficient guarding of his royal meal ticket,” replied Carlyn; “but I have a plan. First we must approach Ferdinand and obtain his promise of the reforms we desire; then I must be reinstated in the army. That can, I think, be accomplished through the influence of Ferdinand. It was only the little matter of a gambling debt anyway that got me cashiered. I shall try to get back into the Guard; then, some day I shall be detailed for duty inside the palace grounds. That is all I ask.”
“That, and a decent burial?” asked Andresy.
“I shall not be caught. I am not so anxious as was Bulvik to become a martyr.”
* * * * *
It was after midnight, the birthday guests had departed, but the king was still closeted with Sarnya when the officer of the guard asked for an audience.
The king looked up at him irritably. “What now?” he demanded. “Can’t you perform your duties without annoying me?”
“I am sorry, Your Majesty,” said the officer; “but I thought I should report this to you personally.”
“Well what is it?” snapped the king.
“Prince Ferdinand’s valet has informed me that His Royal Highness is not in his apartments and that he cannot locate him anywhere in the palace.”
“Has he looked in the garden?” demanded the king.
“I think not, Sir:”
; “Search the grounds, then; and report back to me.”
Hans de Groot paced back and forth in the shadows of the trees and shrubbery that his father had tended and nursed for many years. The white heat of his first anger had passed. He felt cold now, cold with bitterness and resentment and hate. He had always hated Ferdinand, ever since he could remember; but never before had he wanted to kill him.
He saw someone approaching from the palace, and drew back farther into the shadows. As the figure passed nearer one of the few night lights in the gardens, Hans saw that it was that of an officer, and that he was evidently searching the grounds. He was coming in Hans’ direction; and the youth, not wishing to be discovered, drew back farther among the bushes. It was this movement that revealed him to the searcher.
“Hey, there!” called the officer. “Who’s that?” Hans did not answer. “If it is you, Your Highness, say so: and come out. If you don’t, I shall have to shoot.”
“You don’t have to shoot,” said Hans. “I’ll come out.” He walked toward the officer.
“Who are you?” demanded the latter.
“I am Hans de Groot. My father is chief gardener.”
“What are you doing here?” “I could not sleep. I was just walking,” replied Hans.
“You were not walking; you were hiding. Why did you hide?” Hans made no reply. “You had better answer me or you will get into trouble. Have you seen Prince Ferdinand in the gardens?” Still Hans kept silent. The Dutch are a determined race, not easily coerced. “Very well then, come with me. There are ways to make you speak. You are under arrest.”
It is one thing to defy a captain of the guard; quite another to defy a king. Hans was trembling with nervousness when he found himself facing Otto.
“What were you doing in the gardens this time of night?” demanded the king.
“I — I was waiting for my sister to come home.” “Where is your sister?”
“I don’t know, Sir.”
The king’s eyes narrowed. “Who is she with?” “I — I please, Your Majesty, I would rather not say,” stammered the unhappy Hans. It was one thing to demand an accounting himself; quite another to be forced to inform on Ferdinand and Hilda. He had much pride, too. He did not want the king to know that Hilda had — oh, what had she done? Maybe she had done nothing wrong. Hans wished that his father had never left Holland; that he, Hans was dead; that he had never been born.
“It doesn’t make any difference what you would rather do,” thundered the king. “Who is she with?”
“She was with two men,” faltered Hans.
“Who are they?”
“It was quite dark, Your Majesty; and I was not close. They jumped into a limousine and drove away before I could reach the gates.”
“Was one of them Prince Ferdinand?” Otto almost shouted.
Hans nodded. “Y-yes, Your Majesty.”
* * * * *
“I think we should go home,” said Hilda. “It is very late. If my father catches me getting in at this hour, I don’t know what he might do.”
“It is only one o’clock,” objected Max, “just the beginning of the evening. We haven’t had any fun at all yet. What do you suppose we brought you girls out here for, anyway? — to turn right around and go back?”
“Aw, come on, Hilda, don’t be a spoil-sport,” urged Ferdinand, drawing the girl down on the sofa beside him and kissing her.
It was then that the door opened and the king and Sarnya stepped into the room
* * * * *
“I wonder,” said one undergardener to another, “why they discharged de Groot. He was a fine fellow and a splendid gardener. They will look a long time before they find his equal.”
“There is no accounting for what kings do,” said his fellow.
CHAPTER 8
When Ben Saada rode back with his fellows to the douar of the Sheik Ali- Es-Hadji and narrated the wondrous story of the naked white youth who hunted in company with el adrea of the black mane, the men and the girls laughed at him, saying that fear of the lord with the large head had distorted his vision.
And chief amongst the scoffers was Nakhla, the beautiful bronze daughter of Sheik Ali-Es-Hadji. Now, to Ben Saada nothing could have exceeded the humiliation of arousing the laughing scorn of this loveliest daughter of the desert, for he had been paying assiduous court to the maiden for many months; and so, scowling his displeasure, he sulked away to his tent, cursing the moment that his eyes had fallen upon the naked figure of the stranger.
When dark had fallen, and the roar of el adrea rumbled across the desert, Ben Saada came forth from his tent; and, pointing out into the night, dared the men among the laughers to go forth and see for themselves whether or not his story were true; but none ventured to take up his challenge. Instead they fired their long muskets and beat upon tom-toms to frighten the lion away from their flocks and herds.
Out across the sand, the lad and the lion crept slowly down upon the douar. The sound of the guns gave them pause for a time, but at last they resumed their stealthy approach, for by this time the youth was himself hungry, and the scent of the ruminants fell gratefully upon his savage nostrils. Then, too, he wished a nearer view of these creatures of his own kind, for he was imbued with the insatiable curiosity that belongs to all highly intelligent creatures.
Close to the tents the hunters crept, silent now, for they had learned of late that a noisy stalk frightens away the prey. Behind the rude barricade which corralled the Arab’s flocks, the two crouched waiting for the din of drum and musket to cease, for they felt a distinct menace to themselves in these hideous noises.
Finally the Arabs quieted down, cajoled into the belief that they had frightened el adrea away. It was quite dark now, and except for a few lolling about a fire the tribesmen had retired to their tents for the night. The time had come. The lad standing upon the shoulders of the lion could just see above the barrier. All was quiet. With a low word to his companion he vaulted over into the corral. Close behind him leaped the lion.
Instantly there was a mad stampede among the animals of the douar. They dashed frantically about the enclosure. Presently the bleat of a sheep and the shrill scream of a stricken horse marked where the two marauders were making their kills.
The men at the fire leaped to their feet, staring wide-eyed toward the corral. After all, el adrea had come. Raising their guns they fired into the air. One piled more wood and camel dung upon the fire — it is not pleasant to be left in the dark when el adrea as near — el adrea who knows no night.
The shots but brought answering growls from the corral. Other white robed figures came silently from their tents, long, grim muskets full cocked for any emergency. The animals within the corral were quieter. There was less mad racing about the enclosure. Occasionally a horse snorted or a camel grunted. Toward the center of the enclosure two beasts of prey stood astride their kills. The lad was the first to move. Just as the rising moon, topping the barrier’s summit, flooded the corral with light he swung the carcass of a sheep to his broad shoulder and trotted toward the wall.
The Arabs were standing now before their tents waiting for a sight of the intruders and a shot at them. They were sure that there were two lions — they had heard two growling; but Ben Saada insisted that presently they should see that one was a man.
Even as he spoke, the figure of a naked giant leaped to the top of the corral wall. The brilliant moonlight shone full upon him — there could be no mistake. Even Nakhla had to admit that she had been wrong in laughing at Ben Saada. Upon the giant’s shoulder lay the carcass of a sheep — one of Sheik Ali-Es-Hadji’s sheep — yet so spellbound were the Arabs by what they saw that none thought to fire.
Scarcely had the man leaped to the open beyond the wall than a great black-maned lion sprang out of the corral directly behind him, and across the lion’s mighty shoulders rested the carcass of a black stallion. Even then the Arabs did not shoot — too full were their minds with surprise and awe — and the lad and the li
on trotted off across the weird, moon-bathed desert to devour their prey at a safe distance from the douar.
Often thereafter came the two to the douar of Sheik Ali-Es-Hadji. Not because they could not find prey in plenty closer to their own savage lair; but because the youth found a strange, incomprehensible pleasure in being near to creatures of his own kind. He did not, of course, understand property rights, or that he had no business stealing the goats of Sheik Ali-Es-Hadji.
He was perfectly primitive. To him, might was right. He knew that the odd and fascinating white-robed horsemen would kill him could they do so. They were his enemies, as was every other living thing except the great chum of his childhood. He had learned all that he knew of men from the ancient defective. Thus, naturally, he had come to hate and fear creatures like himself. Because of this, it was incomprehensible to him that he longed to be close to them. When he was awake his thoughts were never for long upon any other subject.
And among the people of the isolated douar he, in turn, was the subject of continual wonder and speculation. Ben Saada now had the laugh upon his fellows, and he made the most of it. Nakhla, though she had been the loudest and most merciless scoffer, alone escaped his chaff, for Ben Saada looked with covetous eyes upon the beauteous daughter of his sheik and so could not chance offending her by his raillery.
So profound an impression had the sight of the naked man hunting with a huge lion made upon the Arabs that even the men feared to go abroad other than in parties of several even by day. The women were kept close to the douar, and about the flocks and herds was thrown a guard sufficient even to war time.
Nakhla alone seemed untouched by the fear that possessed her father’s people. Lions had never kept her cooped up within the douar, she reasoned, so why should a single, unarmed man in company with a lion cause them such perturbation? For her part, she should go and come as she had always done. The idea! She, the daughter of the great Sheik Ali-Es-Hadji, afraid to venture out upon the desert of her birth. It was preposterous.
Delphi Collected Works of Edgar Rice Burroughs (Illustrated) (Series Four Book 26) Page 487