Trusia: A Princess of Krovitch by Davis Brinton
XXII
CARRICK IS KING
"Where is Carrick?" Her question came from the thick copse in which shewas concealed. "You have had news, I know," she said, stepping into viewand glancing searchingly into his troubled countenance. "Is he wounded?"He could have gathered her into his arms and kissed her as she stoodbefore him, but that the very air seemed charged with impendingdisaster. As gently as brevity would permit, he told her of Carrick'sfate. Together they rode swiftly back to where Carrick lay, fighting hislast triumphant adversary, Death himself.
"No Lunnon sights to see," he muttered in his delirium; "no concertsongs to'ear.... Ah, Meg, you was cruel 'ard on poor Tod, but damn you,I loves you still."
"A woman betrayed him," she said. Carter nodded a grim assent. Her lipsquivered. Her eyes brimmed to the brink with priceless womanly sympathy."Perhaps," she said rising and turning away, "perhaps he wouldn't carefor us to know."
Carter drew her back gently. "I don't think he would mind--if you knew.Poor chap, his has certainly been a hard fate."
Responding to the appeal in their hearts, which penetrated the numbingfaculties, Carrick, in one final effort, threw off the shackles of Deathand stood free for a season. His eyes opened at first withoutrecognition for the pair bending over him. Then a gradual joy warmed thecooling embers of his life.
"'Ighness," he cried; the neighborhood of Death stripped his speech toits native crudeness. "'Ighness, a man carries to 'is grave the face ofone woman in 'is 'eart. Hi knows that much to me sorrow. Captain, 'ere,beggin' your pardon, loves you, but daren't sye so for fear of 'IsMajesty. You don't love the King, you love Captain Carter. God bless'im, 'e's the best man ever breathed. For Gawd's sake, 'Ighness, don'tlet 'im carry your sweet face to the grave with 'im unless your lovegoes with hit. You two was made for each other."
As a blade loses its sharpness from continuous wear, so dulled the eyesof Carrick in his combat with Death. In the bitterness of his strife hestruggled to his elbow. Who can tell of the range of one's soul or themight thereof? On the brink of Eternity, Life wrestled with Death. Thebody was to be bared of the soul. Was the soul to be stripped of theassociations it had formed in this existence? Might it not also strivefor a continuance of its entity even as the man struggled for furtherliving? Does the soul return to a nebulous state without furtherinitiate perceptions after a life--a span--of activity? Was it merelyrecollections, or did his desperate spirit revisit the route of its lifein a fruitless flight from Death? His voice came from far away, and whathe said showed that he was at least living over the older days.
"Yes, Meg, Hi loves you. There hisn't a king, girl, has Hi would changeplyces with for you.... Posies for yer winder. Let 'em grow, till we'veother posies in our 'ome. Yer blushin', Meg. Ha! Ha!... Oh, Gawd, me'eart's broke.... Forget?... Hit's you, Doc Judson, as will look arterCaptain Carter now. Good-bye, Doc.... Why, there's 'er face again. Damnyou, Meg. Hi hates you, but Hi loves you.... Captain Carter.... Ah-h-h."
His struggle with Love, with Life, and with Death was over. With along-drawn sigh of relief his spirit had passed. His head was turned tothe man who had befriended him.
Hand in hand, Trusia and Carter arose and stood over the pulseless form.Trusia was the first to speak.
"DON'T LET 'IM CARRY YOUR SWEET FACE TO THE GRAVE WITH'IM UNLESS YOUR LOVE GOES WITH IT"]
"We cannot leave him here, dear. Poor, poor Carrick," and she threatenedto sob. Carter slipped his arm about her comfortingly. As thoughreturning, birdlike, to its nest, her head cradled itself against hisshoulder, her arm timidly sought his neck and for one brief second shewas content.
"Come," he said almost brutally to dissipate the apathy which death hadthrown upon them both. "I'll carry him." He assisted her to mount, then,Carrick in his arms, he scrambled into the saddle. As they swung at agallop out of the woods, a shot whistled past his head.
"Are you hurt, dear?" she cried.
"No; these woods seem Russianized, though. Pray heaven the road is not,"and with strained eyes to the front, with word and spur, they raced forthe lane to the castle.
"Something is amiss, dear; I know; I feel it. Still no matter what itis," she said, turning and laying her hand with a trustful littlemovement upon his arm, "I have your love, my King." With one foot on theflat step of the castle entrance, as she said this Trusia turned toCarter, a world of capitulated love in her eyes. The wicket opened witha more ominous creak than was its wont, it seemed. The Sergeant thrusthis shaggy pate through the narrow opening in answer to their knock. Onseeing who it was he stepped out to where he would have ample space forthe full salute he always gave Her Grace. Some perplexity on the simpleface aroused her forebodings anew.
"What is it, Sergeant?" she inquired anxiously. "Who is here?"
"Can't make heads or tails of it, Your Grace; not that I have any rightto, but one gets figuring on what is going on around him when he isidle. It must be very important, since Colonel Sutphen has been summonedfrom the frontier. Count Zulka has not arrived yet, but a courier wassent for him, too. His Majesty is also here, but it seems that CountSobieska sent out all the orders. The courier from Paris arrived aboutan hour before the Privy Council was summoned. Then Josef was sent for.Then, though kept in the office, he was put under arrest. Search hasbeen made everywhere for Your Grace. My commands were to invite you toenter as soon as you could be found. I will announce you."
"You must come, also," the girl insisted, turning to Carter.
"But Carrick?" he objected, as he looked down at the lifeless figure inhis arms.
"Bring him in," she replied. "Though too late to do him furtherservice, Krovitch shall not forget his devotion and his sacrifice."
They opened and entered the door of Sobieska's office. A faint commotionheralded the sight of Carrick which Carter attributed to naturalsurprise; he had no idea that it held a deeper significance. He placedthe blood-stained form upon a leather lounge, folding the hands acrossthe breast. The pallid features seemed to have taken on a strangenobility in death.
It needed but a scant glance to prove that something was wrong, an oddrepression filled the air with a myriad silent surmises. Trusia's eyeswere blazing. Then Carter, following their direction, noted that theMinister of Private Intelligence, against all etiquette, was seatedcalmly at his desk, while His Majesty was standing. Josef, at one cornerof the room, was guarded by the pair of soldiers who had been placed towatch Carter and Carrick the day of their arrival. A strapping youngfellow, pale and mud-splashed, a bandage about his head, his left arm ina sling, leaned heavily against the wainscoting.
As Trusia courtesied low to Stovik, Sobieska arose, a slight frownmarking a thin line between his brows, to bow sadly in the direction ofthe body on the lounge. His back was deliberately turned upon theParisian with such studied insolence of action that the Duchess couldnot permit it to pass unrebuked.
"The King!" she said.
There followed--silence. Stovik and the courier dropped to their kneeswith bowed heads. Sobieska, gloom encircled, stood with bent head andquivering lips. His sombre eyes were fixed upon the inanimate Cockney asthough to this modern he would recall the miracle of Lazarus. Then outof the well of his woe, came his voice, deep, and grief-laden. In thesimplicity of life's greatest emotion, he pointed toward the couch.
"The King?" he questioned, looking straight into Trusia's eyes now. "TheKing? Does not your blood--your common heritage--tell you that the Kingis dead? God rest His Majesty."
She turned from one to the other in total bewilderment; finally, asthough trusting none other, she came to Carter for enlightenment. He hadcomprehended in a glance.
"What do they mean?" she begged plaintively. "My poor head is awhirl inall this gloom."
"Carrick is King," he answered. A single tear, a perfect pearl of pity,hung abashed upon her cheek.
"It is so," assented the Minister, as she awaited his confirmation.Gradually her grief dried in the realization of the awful deceptionwhich had been practiced by some one on her countr
"What treason brought him here, then?" she asked haughtily, pointingindignantly at Stovik.
The latter smiled deprecatingly, as Sobieska answered, "Part of aRussian plot, Highness, of which, so far as we can ascertain, thisgentleman has been the innocent victim. It was by such a plan theysought to lure all the patriots within the boundaries of our land, thento draw their net about us. I pray God that we still have time."
"Who was it?" she inquired with lips white and drawn, and browcontracted.
"Josef."
All eyes were turned upon the accused, whose inscrutable countenanceunderwent no shadow of a change, no fear of death was there, no regretfor infamy. If the expression had altered at all, it was to display ashade more of triumphant insolence. The Duchess turned sternly to him.
"Is this true?" she asked, loathing the necessity of speaking to him.Yet there was no passion in her voice; the situation was too grave forthat.
He smiled his hateful, unchanging smile, as he bowed a taunting assent.
"You shall die," she said, in the same level tones. She was not cruel,had not lost an iota of her womanliness. The crushing magnitude of hisfalsity to her country made her forget that she was aught else than theregent for these people and that here was a matter of primitive,vindictive justice which must be settled by her hand.
"When?" Josef's tone ridiculed the sentence imposed.
"At dawn," she answered, her scornful glance sweeping his colorlessface.
For the first time, his aspect was nearly that of a man. He held hishead erect, the cringe disappeared from his back, the obsequiousnessfrom his manner. Then while an eye might wink, he took on the appearanceof a snake with high-held head--about to strike.
"In about one hour," he boldly asserted, "the troops of His ImperialMajesty will have surrounded, yes, and entered this place. If harm comesto me, you all shall swing. Schallberg, Lore, Bagos are already ours.What," he continued with a comprehensive sneer, including all present,"did you think that you had conquered the Bear so handily?"
They felt it was the unwelcome truth he was speaking. All day thedistant booming of guns had sounded in their ears as the "death bells"ring for the superstitious gude-wife.
"All last night as you laughed and danced," Josef continued, "a Russianarmy, unchallenged, passed your gates, and could have taken you all.Knowing that it had you safe when needed, it pushed on to the biggergame, the capture of your capital. At daybreak it began battering downthose walls you thought you held so firmly."
The wrath, gathering in a purple cloud on Sutphen's brow, now broke intoa storm. "He must have known," he said pointing at the pseudo-king. "Heappointed you officer of the day," and the outraged Colonel wheeledabout on Josef, who scarcely deigned a smile of commiseration for suchignorance.
"He knew nothing," he finally volunteered. "I brought him here so thatif Russia won, I could save my dupe. If Krovitch won, a true revelationof his real status would make him my debtor for life."
"Why?" Sobieska asked amid a stillness freighted with the prophecy of astartling revelation. All held their breath as Josef, turning slowlyfrom countenance to countenance, read the disdain which he inspired.
"He has kissed you," he said pointing a bony finger at Trusia, "andwould have married you." Her face crimsoned at the memory of thatbetrothal salute, formal and public as it had been. Waiting until thescene had time to rise before her eyes, he continued that by no chanceshould the import of his words be missed, "He is my son." The pride ofthe parent snake was in the eyes that he turned upon the Parisian, whoturned his head away, ashamed of such regard.
"May God forgive us both," he whispered, "but I disown you."
For the first time a hint of color appeared in the parchment hue ofJosef's cheek and for the first time a human note sounded in his voice."My son," he began with a slight outstretching of his hands, "my son, Iwanted you to be wealthy, great, not the spawn of a hereditary servitor,not a struggling artist." Slowly, as he realized that the artist wouldhave none of him, the wonted bitter look crept back into his face,leaving it wan as ever, while additional defiance increased the grimlines about his mouth.
There followed a breathless silence. Somewhere, to the actual pain ofall but one present, a bird was singing in the outside world. The soundcame faintly to their ears as from another existence--the shadow soundof dreams. In the room itself reigned the cold stillness of death. Thengradually a sigh of sounds crept in. Increasing in volume, it shapeditself into an approaching medley of shouts, hoof-beats, scatteringrifle shots, a fierce sentry challenge, a reply,--then a steed halted onthe stone flags of the courtyard. They waited breathlessly for the addeddisaster all felt was coming. Their senses, cloyed by grief, knew thatwhatever it was of ill-omen, it could not touch them now. Still theylistened. The wicket in the entrance door was heard to open. Anirregular, halting, desperate step came up the hall.
With a lunge, the door flung open. Zulka, bleeding, grimy, and gasping,tottered into the room.
"Schallberg! Schallberg!" he whispered faintly, "Lore! Bagos! all aretaken!" And he fell heavily to the floor.
They pressed forward, excepting Josef, who, in the prevailing excitementslipped from the room. His escape was unnoticed for the time being, asZulka, struggling to his feet, told them the story of the attack uponthe capital and the death blow to their hopes.
"You left your post alive, Paul," said Her Highness reproachfully.
"Don't say that," he begged, raising his hopeless face to read hercondemnation. "With the five survivors of the last assault, I escaped,Highness, to bring the news, so that you might be saved. My companionsmark the road to Schallberg. The enemy followed me to your very gates. Iwish," he said, with a gulping sob, "that I, too, lay dead with thosebrave fellows in the ruins of our ancient capital." He raised his face,all powder-stained, as he searched the room with eyes that glowed with adesire for righteous vengeance. No countenance present wore the insigniaof guilt. "Where is the traitor?" he asked. For the first time Josef'sabsence was noted.
Sobieska ran to the door. "Stop Josef before he gets to the road," hecried to the sergeant, who seemed utterly amazed at such a command.
"Excellency," he replied, "Josef never passed me through this door."Trusia approached the excited Minister.
"It is no use to attempt to stop him," she said with a shake of thehead. "He knows of the secret passage to the inn. Doubtless he hasalready joined his comrades."
Sobieska groaned. "He'll give the alarm. We will be cut off."
"If we want to save Her Grace," said Carter, "we will have no time tolose. We do not wish to be mewed up here. We'd better make a dash forthe forest and trust to God to reach the frontier. Take this, Paul," hesaid, thrusting a flask into the hands of the nobleman, who was swayingupon uncertain legs. "Brace up." He caught his friend as the latter wasabout to topple over.
"It must be Trusia first," said the Krovitzer, grasping the American'shand with a pressure which was fervently returned.
"It will always be Trusia," he replied firmly.
Not yet enlightened, Zulka now approached Delmotte, before whom heknelt. "Your Majesty absolves me for leaving my post?" he besought.
"I am not your king, Count," said the Parisian, honestly chagrined athis false position. "He lies dead over there," and he indicated thetemporary bier. "I have unhappily been the victim of an imposture." Thenhurriedly Sobieska recited to Zulka the outline of the conspiracy andDelmotte's connection with it.
"If you will let me help," said the artist appealing to them all, "I'llshow you that though a bourgeois Frenchman, I know how to die."
Trusia held out her hand impulsively. "I thank you, monsieur," she saidsimply. "Forgive me if I have been late in discovering that you are abrave man."
Divested of his fancied power, Delmotte was again the amiableboulevardier, as could be seen by the manner in which he received theplaudits of the men, with whom he now was rated as a comrade-in-arms.
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"May God rest Your Majesty," he murmured reverently. He arose and spokequietly to his companions. "He must be interred before we leave. In afew days, no doubt, the castle will be razed to the ground. It is notfitting that a King of Krovitch should be the feast of wolves andravens."
So Carrick, with a scanty following, was carried to the little chapel,behind the throne-room, where the sarcophagi of the ancient kings couldbe seen lining the walls.
Upon his head they placed the crown. His hands were crossed upon thesceptre he had never dreamed of wielding, while, dearer than all to himin life, upon his breast they placed the heirloom he had prized,--thegrand medal of the Lion.
His body was placed in the mausoleum of the first Stovik, his ancestor.No royal name was cut, but the place of his burial was deeply graved inthe hearts of all present. Had he lived he had been a farcical king,but dead he was as imposing as the grandest monarch of them all.
Sorrowfully they turned and left the mortuary. Returning to Sobieska'soffice, impelled by the necessities of the moment, they plunged into theplans for an immediate flight from the castle.
"The highways are already swarming with Cossacks," said Zulka. "Oncegain the shelter of the woods, however, and we can hide by day andtravel at night until we reach the frontier."
"How many have we in the garrison?" inquired Trusia, who hadinstinctively placed herself at Carter's side.
"Half a platoon of cavalry," replied Sobieska gravely, thinking of themeagreness of their force for the occasion.
"One more," said Muhlen-Sarkey entering the room. He bent above Trusia'sextended hand as serenely as though they were both figuring in a courtfunction and not a congress of death.
"Living nearer Schallberg," he explained, "I saw how matters stood, andimmediately packed off the women folk to the boundaries. I then camehere to offer my services, my sword, if necessary."
"Courageous heart," applauded Trusia, touched by the old fellow'sloyalty. At her commendation his face, as round as a schoolboy's,lighted up with happiness.
"The roads?" Carter questioned eagerly.
The old nobleman shook his head, regretting that he could furnish noinformation concerning their state. "I do not know. Anticipating thatthey would be crowded, though," he coughed suggestively, and his eyestwinkled, "I came through the woods. Met one inquisitive young Russian.Convinced him it would be impossible for him to tell all he knew." TheTreasurer touched his sword with a gesture which the men understood. "Hecontracted an impediment to his speech."
While the horses were being hastily saddled, Trusia had the garrisonassembled in the courtyard and explained to the heart-broken soldiersthat Krovitch's dream of independence was over, giving them freepermission to leave their colors at once if any so desired. When shecalled for volunteers to aid in her escape every man sprang forward,loudly cheering Trusia, then Krovitch.