Princess Maritza

by Percy Brebner

  She was silent, but her eyes did not fall before his.

  “For heaven's sake, speak, Countess!”

  “The tale is untrue,” she said in a low voice, “and yet—”

  “Yes, yes; tell me. I have pledged my honor; trample on it if you will, only tell me the truth now.”

  “I have been tempted,” she said. “Yes, you shall hear the truth. I have been tempted, perhaps even I have stumbled, but I have not fallen. I am a woman first, then a conspirator, and I have had many idle hours. Look into my eyes, read my secret if you can and judge me. I was tempted, and the King's words seemed for a moment to help my decision. I did not promise to betray, but I did promise to think of betraying.”

  “To gain time, that was it, merely to gain time,” said Ellerey.

  “No; I think when I promised I had almost decided to act.”

  “Ah, how could you!” Ellerey exclaimed.

  “You have heard the story; were you told the bribe the King offered?”

  Ellerey did not answer, but Frina understood in a moment that he did know.

  “Yes, Captain Ellerey, that tempted me; but with it came a clearer knowledge, and I saw that for me only one road lay open. I have taken it. Maritza is in a room from which there is an escape. The King suspects me. He has surrounded my house with soldiers; presently they will hammer at my closed doors, and I shall stay to face them; but Maritza will have gone, and you will go with her. She would stay in Sturatzberg to fight with those who love her cause; only you can persuade her to go. Do you understand, only you? Go now and wake her. Hannah has the key of that secret way. If in my temptation I have been trapped into showing that I have power in Sturatzberg, that I have knowledge of this conspiracy and the conspirators, I have opened the way of escape too. I am prepared to meet the King's wrath. Go to Maritza, and think less hardly of me.”

  Ellerey stood with lowered head, his hands pressed before his face.

  “What can I say, Countess? God has brought into my life two noble women. I am powerless to help the one; to the other it seems I have only given sorrow.”

  “You must not say that,” she said softly. “You are powerful to help her and to counsel her. As for me, I am a weak woman; if fault there was it was mine. Go now—now that I am forgiven—to Maritza. She expects you. I told her I would send you.”

  The door was suddenly burst open and Stefan entered.

  “Quick, Captain. They demanded admission, which was refused, and they are breaking in. The Baron and those with him will hold them as long as possible.”

  “The Princess!” Ellerey exclaimed.

  “She has been warned,” said Stefan.

  “She will get away. She will have time,” said Frina. “They will not find her room easily.”

  “Whatever is done must be done quickly,” said Stefan from the door. “Even now they drive the servants up the stairs, and the good fellows fight every inch of the way.” “By the river is a house,” exclaimed Frina—“only rubbish is in it. Maritza will come that way. Go to her. The window. You can easily drop into the garden.”

  “And you?”

  “I shall stay here.”

  “You cannot; you must not.”

  “Quickly, Captain,” said Stefan.

  “Go, go!” Frina cried. “You must be with her. She will need all your love and courage to-day.”

  “But you—what will you do?”

  “I, too, may find a way to help her.”

  He caught her hand and raised it to his lips.

  “God keep you,” he whispered.

  “And you, Desmond.”

  Then he sprang to the window.

  “Do I come?” asked Stefan.

  “No,” Ellerey answered. “The Countess is in your keeping. Guide her to safety.”

  “I will do all a man may do,” Stefan answered, as Ellerey swung himself free by the stout branch of a creeper near the window, and dropped into the garden.

  CHAPTER XXVI. REBELLION

  The servants, heartened by Baron Petrescu, contested the stairs step by step. With all the odds against them not one turned to fly. They were fighting for the mistress they loved, and were staunch to a man. Some fell, staining the thick carpet with their blood, yet even in dying struck one more blow as the soldiers trampled over them. Meeting with such unexpected resistance made the soldiers savage, and there was no quarter given or asked for. In the forefront of the battle Petrescu's sword did deadly work, for so mixed up were besieged and besiegers that those behind dared not fire. It was a hand-to-hand struggle, steel to steel, and although there could be no real doubt of the issue, the Baron knew that the longer he could hold the soldiers in check, the more time would the Princess and the Countess have to get away.

  Stefan was silent until the sound of Ellerey's quick steps in the garden had ceased.

  “Where does that lead to, Countess?” he said, pointing to a door at the other end of the room.

  “To my bedroom.”

  “And from there?”

  “There is a door on to a landing seldom used,” she answered.

  “That is our way, then,” said Stefan. “I shall stay here. I am safe from them. It is only the King who would dare—”

  “The gentlemen fighting yonder are in no tender mood; I know them. Besides, the Captain left me in command, and you must obey, Countess. This is war time, and I am only doing my duty. So we'll lock this outer door, and we'll put as many more between us as possible. Is this your cloak?”

  “Yes,” Frina answered.

  In a moment Stefan had ripped a piece from the edge of it and stuck it in the creeper at the window, and thrown the cloak into the garden below. Then he tore down one of the curtains.

  “They'll think we've gone that way, maybe. Come, Countess, you can get another cloak as we pass through your room.”

  There was strength in this great bearded soldier, and besides, Desmond trusted him, so Frina Mavrodin obeyed.

  At every point the servants were driven back, and the soldiers spread through the house, cutting down anyone who opposed them, but not making any particular effort to pursue those who got out of their way. They were there to take the Princess Maritza and the Countess Mavrodin. Such were the orders the officers had received. But long before the servants had given way on the stairs, Hannah had opened the door leading to the passage, and the Princess and Dumitru had gone together swiftly, while Hannah waited for the coming soldiers, her heart growing the lighter the longer that coming was delayed. She had locked the door again, but kept the key lest others should want to use that way of escape presently. The soldiers rushed in at last, and Hannah's face assumed an astonished look as if they had roused her from sleep. “Who are you?” demanded one man sharply.

  “I might as well ask that question of you,” she replied curtly. “What's come to the city that a band of ruffians break into an old serving woman's room before she's scarce awake?”

  “Do serving women sleep on couches only in this house, and are they pampered with leopard skins for covering?”

  “How they sleep, and what they're covered with is none of your affair,” Hannah said.

  “A soft tongue will serve you best,” replied the man. “Tell me who slept on that couch during the night?”

  “And how she slept and what she dreamt about, I suppose. Well, I had no dreams of such a rough awakening as this.”

  Other men were turning over the things in the room, and presently one espied the door. He called the attention of the others to it at once.

  “Open it,” they cried.

  “It's locked.”

  “The key, woman—quickly,” said one who seemed to command.

  “It's likely I shall let you pry into my cupboards, isn't it?”

  “This is no cupboard. Give me the key.”

  “I haven't got it,” said Hannah, and with a sudden swing of her arm she sent the key flying through the open window with unerring aim.

  “Curse you!” cried the man.

 
“In the time you take to find it you may learn better manners,” said Hannah defiantly.

  Brave, staunch old soul, full worthy of that far-off Devon county which gave her birth. The man followed his curse with a blow—a heavy blow, striking with the hand which held his sword, and the woman fell with a thud to the ground, to lie there until Stefan and the Countess, stealing from the house presently, covered the dead serving woman with the leopard skin.

  To find the key was hopeless, and the door was a stout one. It resisted the soldiers' efforts for a long while. When at last it yielded they rushed along the passage to the small house by the river, but, save for rubbish, it was empty. No boat lay upon the water. There was no sign of the fugitives. “They must have come this way,” said one man. “Had not that old beldame resisted us we should have caught them.”

  “Back to the house, comrades,” shouted another; “there should still be something there worth laying hands on.”

  Until now Ellerey had waited, hidden by the river house. He had reached it almost directly after the Princess and Dumitru had left it; but ignorant of this fact, he had waited for them. From the soldiers' words he learnt the truth. Soldiers were in the garden now, and as only a little while since he had sought to enter it unseen, he now sought to leave it, crouching from tree to tree and from shrubbery to shrubbery. His life was too valuable to be uselessly thrown away. He succeeded presently in scaling a wall and dropping into a side lane, to fall in later with a band of conspirators, some of whom were present when the tale of the Countess's treachery was told last night, and who were now quietly making their way to an arranged meeting place.

  “But the Princess, comrades?” said Ellerey. “My place is beside her.”

  “Fear nothing, Captain. She will come and help us to make this day a glorious one in Sturatzberg.” The morning was advancing, but people who respected the law kept within their houses, and left their doors fast barred. From early dawn the soldiers were in the streets, and it was evident that to-day the ordinary business of life must be suspended. As the hours passed there were sounds of fighting on every side, the fierce rattle of musketry at street corners, flying men charged by the soldiers, turning sometimes into every alley and place of refuge which offered, turning sometimes at the shout of one determined leader to withstand the charge, to be cut to pieces or to bear the soldiers back, leaving many a King's man and King's enemy lying dead or writhing with their wounds, their enmity forgotten in their common suffering.

  In one side street, soon after such a skirmish had swept it from end to end, a dark figure glided from door to door. He had not fought; he seemed unwilling to do so, for at the sound of approaching conflict he was in readiness to retreat and hide himself. More than one wounded man in the roadway pleaded for help, or cried for water, but he was deaf to their entreaties. He was making all speed to some point, and would allow nothing to hold him back. Now he ran forward a few paces, now stopped and turned hastily into an alley and went quickly on again. He came at last to the house of Frina Mavrodin, when it was close on noon. The door at the chief entrance had been torn from its hinges, there was nothing to bar his entrance. The servants who had escaped death had fled, or lay hidden in secret places in the house. The soldiers had deserted it, finding their quarry gone, to go and help their comrades in the streets. At the moment the street was empty, and the man slipped across the threshold, stepping over the dead which lay in the hall, grim witnesses of the fierceness of the fight there. The man passed from room to room rapidly, his ears intent to catch every sound. It was clear that robbery was not his object, for there was none to stay him taking whatever he would. He passed on, touching nothing, and, by the way he glanced down this corridor and that, it was evident that the house was not familiar to him. Chance directed his footsteps and brought him to the room where Princess Maritza had been. The broken door at the further end attracted his notice and he entered the room, stopping for a moment to look into the face of Hannah. The leopard skin had not been thrown over her yet. She was the first woman lying dead he had come across, and he grew excited. She had been killed because she stood in the way, and she would not have stood in the way unless she had had someone in imminent danger to defend. She must have been with the Princess, he argued, and if so, this must be the way they had taken. He went quickly along the passage and up to the house by the river. Someone had certainly been there, but which direction had they taken afterward? He glanced to right and left, and stood for some time looking across the river.

  “He would not leave the Princess, and he would take her as far as possible from these fighting madmen in the streets,” he mused. “Surely he cannot escape such a day as this.”

  The man went slowly back along the passage again, and then he stopped suddenly. The sound of voices reached him distinctly.

  “Brave woman,” he heard one say. It was a woman's voice and the man's heart beat high.

  “Cowards to treat her thus,” came the muttered answer in a man's lower tone.

  There was a moment's silence. “Help me to cover her,” said the woman.

  There was a turn in the passage, and the man standing waiting there could not see into the room. But the passage was dark, and if those in the room came that way they were not likely to see him, and his mouth widened into a malicious smile. Would they come? He had hardly whispered the question to himself when it was evident that they had entered the passage and were approaching. The waiting man drew back against the wall, a knife in his hand, and if this failed his other hand grasped a revolver. They came slowly, cautiously, and just before the turn paused. It was clear that they meant to be careful, for the man said, after a moment's hesitation—

  “It is clear.”

  Then he came, but alone and swiftly, with his sword in his hand. The waiting man had not recognized Stefan's voice, nor, had he done so, would he have feared detection. Stefan's eyes and ears were quick, however, and in that pause he had held up a warning finger to his companion and had then sprung forward.

  “I took you for your master,” cried the waiting man when he saw that he was discovered, “but—-”

  The cruel blade flashed swiftly down, but fell on Stefan's sword only, and then before his fingers could pull the trigger of his revolver, the sword point was thrust through his throat, and the man, who had so stealthily waited for his victim, fell back against the wall, upright for a moment, and then collapsed, only a gurgled sigh sounding in the silent passage.

  “My ancient friend of the cellar,” said Stefan, bending over him. “Waiting for the Captain, eh? Well, you did your best, Master Francois, and so I will report to your master, should I find him. Come, Countess, the light is too dim to see the unpleasant sight,” and the soldier held out his hand to her.

  Frina shuddered a little as she stepped past the fallen man, and she and Stefan went slowly out of the passage together. The soldier's eyes were searching and keen as they went. The servant was dead, but the master might not be far off, and he would be even a more dangerous enemy. They passed stealthily from street to street, much as Francois had done a little while since. Stefan had a plan, a goal to win, but he did not speak of it to the Countess.

  Suddenly Frina stopped. They were at the end of a deserted alley, but the roar of voices came from a distance; then the sudden rattle of musketry, the harsh and discordant music of battle.

  “Which way now?” she asked.

  “To safety,” said Stefan.

  “While others fight and fall?” she said.

  “So the Captain willed it.”

  “I will go no further toward safety—not yet. Time for that when the day is lost. Our way lies there.” And she pointed in the direction from which the roar of battle came.

  “Countess, I have my orders.”

  “And have obeyed them; now listen to mine. Yonder, where they fight, lies the Grande Place. Lead me there by the quietest way we can travel.”

  “That is to go to your death.”

  “Listen, Stefan—and look!�
�� She pointed to the street into which the alley opened. Some men were running swiftly to the battle. “I have but to cry my name and they will come to me. Shall I cry?”

  “For heaven's sake, Countess—-”

  “Then lead me as I say.” “I cannot. I dare not. The Captain—-”

  “Follow me then if you will.” And before he could stop her she had darted from him.

  “Stay!” cried Stefan, rushing after her. “Stay! If you will go, let me lead you.”

  “Show me the quiet ways if you can, but come.” And though Stefan argued, though he tried to deceive her at every corner they came to, she would not be turned from her purpose. Ever, as they went, the roar of battle grew louder in their ears, and there was fear in the heart of Stefan the soldier because of the woman who walked beside him.

  Francois was dead. That was one enemy the less, but of the master there was no sign. It had been as wakeful a night for Jules de Froilette as it had been for Frina Mavrodin, but he had spent it in no restless pacing up and down, nor in listening for expected footsteps. Francois he knew was prowling about the streets. In the early hours of the morning the servant had come hastily and told his master of the rescue of Princess Maritza. De Froilette had turned pale and dropped back in his chair, dumbfounded at the news, but he quickly recovered himself. Her freedom could be only temporary. There might be some street fighting, but her re-capture was certain. Francois had neither heard nor seen anything of Captain Ellerey, but he was sure to come, and the servant had gone out to roam about the city again in search of him. Jules de Froilette spent his time in busily destroying papers, now and then placing an important one aside, sometimes reading one with greater care and hesitating over it. At intervals he leaned back in his chair and remained buried in thought for awhile, and once he got up and went to a side table on which stood the portrait of Queen Elena.