XXI
ON SATURDAY AT MIKLEVNI!
Though not remote in distance, yet Volseni was apart and isolated fromall that was happening. Not only was nothing known of the two greatneighbors--nothing reached men in Volseni of the state of affairs inSlavna itself. They did not know that the thieves were quarrelling aboutthe plunder, nor that the diplomatists had taken cold; they had notbethought them of how the art of the ventriloquists would be at work.They knew only that young Alexis reigned in Slavna by reason of theirKing's murder and against the will of him who was dead; only that theyhad chosen Sophia for their Queen because she had been the dead King'swife and his chosen successor.
All the men who could be spared from labor came into the city; theycollected what few horses they could; they filled their little fortresswith provisions. They could not go to Slavna, but they awaited withconfidence the day when Slavna should dare to move against them into thehills. Slavna had never been able to beat them in their own hills yet;the bolder spirits even implored Lukovitch to lead them down in a raidon the plains.
Lukovitch would sanction no more than a scouting party, to see whetherany movement were in progress from the other side. Peter Vassip rodedown with his men to within a few miles of Slavna. For result of theexpedition he brought back the news of the guns: the great guns, rumorsaid, had reached Kravonia and were to be in Slavna in a week.
The rank and file hardly understood what that meant; anger that theirdestined and darling guns should fall into hostile hands was the feelinguppermost. But the tidings struck their leaders home to the heart.Lukovitch knew what it meant. Dunstanbury, who had served three years inthe army at home, knew very well. Covered by such a force as Stafnitzcould bring up, the guns could pound Volseni to pieces--and Volsenicould strike back not a single blow.
"And it's all through her that the guns are here at all!" saidZerkovitch, with a sigh for the irony of it.
Dunstanbury laid his hand on Lukovitch's shoulder. "It's no use," hesaid. "We must tell her so, and we must make the men understand. Shecan't let them have their homes battered to pieces--the town with thewomen and children in it--and all for nothing!"
"We can't desert her," Lukovitch protested.
"No; we must get her safely away, and then submit."
Since Dunstanbury had offered his services to Sophy, he had assumed aleading part. His military training and his knowledge of the world gavehim an influence over the rude, simple men. Lukovitch looked to him forguidance; he had much to say in the primitive preparations for defence.But now he declared defence to be impossible.
"Who'll tell her so?" asked Basil Williamson.
"We must get her across the frontier," said Dunstanbury. "There--by St.Peter's Pass--the way we came, Basil. It's an easy journey, and I don'tsuppose they'll try to intercept us. You can send twenty or thirtywell-mounted men with us, can't you, Lukovitch? A small party wellmounted is what we shall want."
Lukovitch waved his hands sadly. "With the guns against us it would be amere massacre! If it must be, let it be as you say, my lord." His heartwas very heavy; after generations of defiance, Volseni must bow toSlavna, and his dead Lord's will go for nothing! All this was the doingof the great guns.
Dunstanbury's argument was sound, but he argued from his heart as wellas his head. He was convinced that the best service he could render toSophy was to get her safely out of the country; his heart urged that hersafety was the one and only thing to consider. As she went to and froamong them now, pale and silent, yet always accessible, always ready tolisten, to consider, and to answer, she moved him with an infinite pityand a growing attraction. Her life was as though dead or frozen; itseemed to him as though all Kravonia must be to her the tomb of himwhose grave in the little hill-side church of Volseni she visited sooften. An ardent and overpowering desire rose in him to rescue her, todrag her forth from these dim cold shades into the sunlight of lifeagain. Then the spell of this frozen grief might be broken; then shouldher drooping glories revive and bloom again. Kravonia and who ruledthere--ay, in his heart, even the fate of the gallant little city whichharbored them, and whose interest he pleaded--were nothing to him besideSophy. On her his thoughts were centred.
Sophy's own mind in these days can be gathered only from what otherssaw. She made no record of it. Fallen in an hour from heights of loveand hope and exaltation, she lay stunned in the abyss. In intellect calmand collected, she seems to have been as one numbed in feeling, toomaimed for pain, suffering as though from a mortification of the heart.The simple men and women of Volseni looked on her with awe, andchattered fearfully of the Red Star: how that its wearer had beenpredestined to high enterprise, but foredoomed to mighty reverses offortune. Amidst all their pity for her, they spoke of the Evil Eye; somewhispered that she had come to bring ruin on Volseni: had not the manwho loved her lost both Crown and life?
And it was she through whom the guns had come! The meaning of the gunshad spread now to every hearth; what had once been hailed as anachievement second only to her exploit in the Street of the Fountainserved now to point more finely the sharpening fears of superstition.The men held by her still, but their wives were grumbling at them intheir homes. Was she not, after all, a stranger? Must Volseni lie in thedust for her sake, for the sake of her who wore that ominous,inexplicable Star?
Dunstanbury knew all this; Lukovitch hardly sought to deny it, though hewas full of scorn for it; and Marie Zerkovitch had by heart the tales ofmany wise old beldams who had prophesied this and that from the firstmoment that they saw the Red Star. Surely and not slowly the enthusiasmwhich had crowned Sophy was turning into a fear which made the peopleshrink from her even while they pitied, even while they did not cease tolove. The hand of heaven was against her and against those who werenear her, said the women. The men still feigned not to hear; had theynot taken Heaven to witness that they would serve her and avenge theKing? Alas, their simple vow was too primitive for days like these--tooprimitive for the days of the great guns which lay on the bosom of theKrath!
Dunstanbury had an interview with Sophy early on the Tuesday morning,the day after Stafnitz had started for Kolskoi. He put his case with thebluntness and honesty native to him. In his devotion to her safety hedid not spare her the truth. She listened with the smile devoid ofhappiness which her face now wore so often.
"I know it all," she said. "They begin to look differently at me as Iwalk through the street--when I go to the church. If I stay here longenough, they'll all call me a witch! But didn't they swear? AndI--haven't I sworn? Are we to do nothing for Monseigneur's memory?"
"What can we do against the guns? The men can die, and the walls betumbled down! And there are the women and children!"
"Yes, I suppose we can do nothing. But it goes to my heart that theyshould have Monseigneur's guns."
"Your guns!" Dunstanbury reminded her with a smile of whimsicalsympathy.
"That's what they say in the city, too?" she asked.
"The old hags, who are clever at the weather and other mysteries. And,of course, Madame Zerkovitch!"
Sophy's smile broadened a little. "Oh, of course, poor little MarieZerkovitch!" she exclaimed. "She's been sure I'm a witch ever sinceshe's known me."
"I want you to come over the frontier with me--and Basil Williamson.I've some influence, and I can insure your getting through all right."
"And then?"
"Whatever you like. I shall be utterly at your orders."
She leaned her head against the high chair in which she sat, a chair ofold oak, black as her hair; she fixed her profound eyes on his.
"I wish I could stay here--in the little church--with Monseigneur," shesaid.
"By Heavens, no!" he cried, startled into sudden and untimely vehemence.
"All my life is there," she went on, paying no heed to his outburst.
"Give life another chance. You're very young."
"You can't count life by years, any more than hours by minutes. Youreckon the journey not by the clock, but by the stages yo
u have passed.Once before I loved a man--and he was killed in battle. But that wasdifferent. I was very hurt, but I wasn't maimed. I'm maimed now by thedeath of Monseigneur."
"You can't bring ruin on these folk, and you can't give yourself up toStenovics." He could not trust himself to speak more of her feelings norof the future; he came back to the present needs of the case.
"It's true--and yet we swore!" She leaned forward to him. "Andyou--aren't you afraid of the Red Star?"
"We Essex men aren't afraid, we haven't enough imagination," heanswered, smiling again.
She threw herself back, crying low: "Ah, if we could strike oneblow--just one--for the oath we swore and for Monseigneur! Then perhapsI should be content."
"To go with me?"
"Perhaps--if, in striking it, what I should think best didn't come tome."
"You must run no danger, anyhow," he cried, hastily and eagerly.
"My friend," she said, gently, "for such as I am to-day there's no suchthing as danger. Don't think I value my position here or the titlethey've given me, poor men! I have loved titles"--for a moment shesmiled--"and I should have loved this one, if Monseigneur had lived. Ishould have been proud as a child of it. If I could have borne it by hisside for even a few weeks, a few days! But now it's barren andbitter--bitter and barren to me."
He followed the thoughts at which her words hinted; they seemed to himinfinitely piteous.
"Now, as things have fallen out, what am I in this country? A waif andstray! I belong to nobody, and nobody to me."
"Then come away!" he burst out again.
Her deep eyes were set on his face once more. "Yes, that's theconclusion," she said, very mournfully. "We Essex people are sensible,aren't we? And we have no imagination. Did you laugh when you saw meproclaimed and heard us swear?"
"Good Heavens, no!"
"Then think how my oath and my love call me to strike one blow forMonseigneur!" She hid her eyes behind her hand for a moment. "Aren'tthere fifty--thirty--twenty, who would count their lives well risked?For what are men's lives given them?"
"There's one at least, if you will have it so," Dunstanbury answered.
There was a knock on the door, and without waiting for a biddingZerkovitch came quickly in; Lukovitch was behind, and with him Lepage.Ten minutes before, the valet had ridden up to the city gates, wavinghis handkerchief above his head.
Sophy gave a cry of pleasure at seeing him. "A brave man, who loved hisKing and served Monseigneur!" she said, as she darted forward andclasped his hand.
Zerkovitch was as excited and hurried as ever. He thrust a letter intoher hand. "From Stenovics, madame, for you to read," he said.
She took it, saying to Lepage with a touch of reproach: "Are you GeneralStenovics's messenger now, Monsieur Lepage?"
"Read it, madame," said he.
She obeyed, and then signed to Lukovitch to take it, and to Dunstanburyto read it also. "It's just what you've been saying," she told him witha faint smile, as she sank back in the high oaken seat.
"I am to add, madame," said Lepage, "that you will be treated with everyconsideration--any title in reason, any provision in reason, too."
"So the General's letter says."
"But I was told to repeat it," persisted the little man. He looked roundon them. Lukovitch and Dunstanbury had finished reading the letter andwere listening, too. "If you still hesitated, I was to impress upon youthat the guns would certainly be in Slavna in less than a week--almostcertainly on Sunday. You know the course of the river well, madame?"
"Not very well above Slavna, no."
"In that case, which General Stenovics didn't omit to consider, I was toremind you that Captain Lukovitch probably knew every inch of it."
"I know it intimately," said Lukovitch. "I spent two years on thetimber-barges of the Krath."
"Then you, sir, will understand that the guns will certainly reachSlavna not later than Sunday." He paused for a moment, seeming tocollect his memory. "By Wednesday evening Colonel Stafnitz will be atKolskoi. On Thursday morning he'll start back. On that evening he oughtto reach Evena, on Friday Rapska." Lukovitch nodded at each name. Lepagewent on methodically. "On Saturday the lock at Miklevni. Yes, onSaturday the lock at Miklevni!" He paused again and looked straight atLukovitch.
"Exactly--the lock at Miklevni," said that officer, with another nod.
"Yes, the lock at Miklevni on Saturday. You see, it's not as if theColonel had a large force to move. That might take longer. He'll be ableto move his company as quick as the barges travel."
"The stream's very strong, they travel pretty well," said Lukovitch.
"But a hundred men--it's nothing to move, Captain Lukovitch." He lookedround on them again, and then turned back to Sophy. "That's all mymessage, madame," he said.
There was a silence.
"So it's evident the guns will be in Slavna by Sunday," Lepageconcluded.
"If they reach Miklevni on Saturday--any time on Saturday--they will,"said Lukovitch. "And up here very soon after!"
"The General intimated that also, Captain Lukovitch."
"The General gives us very careful information," observed Dunstanbury,looking rather puzzled. He was not so well versed in Stenovics's methodsas the rest. Lukovitch smiled broadly, and even Zerkovitch gave a littlelaugh.
"How are things in Slavna, Monsieur Lepage?" the last named asked.
Lepage smiled a little, too. "General Stenovics is in full control ofthe city--during Colonel Stafnitz's absence, sir," he answered.
"They've quarrelled?" cried Lukovitch.
"Oh no, sir. Possibly General Stenovics is afraid they might." He spokeagain to Sophy. "Madame, do you still blame me for being the General'smessenger?"
"No, Monsieur Lepage; but there's much to consider in the message.Captain Lukovitch, if Monseigneur had read this message, what would hehave thought the General meant?"
Lukovitch's face was full of excitement as he answered her:
"The Prince wouldn't have cared what General Stenovics meant. He wouldhave said that the guns would be three days on the river before theycame to Slavna, that the barges would take the best part of an hour toget through Miklevni lock, that there was good cover within a quarter ofa mile of the lock--"
Sophy leaned forward eagerly. "Yes, yes?" she whispered.
"And that an escort of a hundred men was--well, might be--not enough!"
"And that riding from Volseni--?"
"One might easily be at Miklevni before Colonel Stafnitz and the gunscould arrive there!"
Dunstanbury gave a start, Zerkovitch a chuckle, Lepage a quiet smile.Sophy rose to her feet; the Star glowed, there was even color in hercheeks besides.
"If there are fifty, or thirty, or twenty," she said, her eyes set onDunstanbury, "who would count their lives well risked, we may yetstrike one blow for Monseigneur and for the guns he loved."
Dunstanbury looked round. "There are three here," he said.
"Four!" called Basil Williamson from the doorway, where he had stoodunobserved.
"Five!" cried Sophy, and, for the first time since Monseigneur died, shelaughed.
"Five times five, and more, if we can get good horses enough!" saidCaptain Lukovitch.
"I should like to join you, but I must go back and tell GeneralStenovics that you will consider his message, madame," smiled Lepage.