The prisoner of Zenda
pushing the drawbridge out--my men? If so, all was well. My eye fell on
the revolvers, and I seized one; and paused to listen in the doorway of
the outer room. To listen, say I? Yes, and to get my breath: and I tore
my shirt and twisted a strip of it round my bleeding arm; and stood
listening again. I would have given the world to hear Sapt’s voice. For
I was faint, spent, and weary. And that wild-cat Rupert Hentzau was yet
at large in the Castle. Yet, because I could better defend the narrow
door at the top of the stairs than the wider entrance to the room, I
dragged myself up the steps, and stood behind it listening.
What was the sound? Again a strange one for the place and time. An
easy, scornful, merry laugh--the laugh of young Rupert Hentzau! I could
scarcely believe that a sane man would laugh. Yet the laugh told me that
my men had not come; for they must have shot Rupert ere now, if they had
come. And the clock struck half-past two! My God! The door had not been
opened! They had gone to the bank! They had not found me! They had gone
by now back to Tarlenheim, with the news of the King’s death--and mine.
Well, it would be true before they got there. Was not Rupert laughing in
triumph?
For a moment, I sank, unnerved, against the door. Then I started up
alert again, for Rupert cried scornfully:
“Well, the bridge is there! Come over it! And in God’s name, let’s see
Black Michael. Keep back, you curs! Michael, come and fight for her!”
If it were a three-cornered fight, I might yet bear my part. I turned
the key in the door and looked out.
CHAPTER 19
Face to Face in the Forest
For a moment I could see nothing, for the glare of lanterns and torches
caught me full in the eyes from the other side of the bridge. But soon
the scene grew clear: and it was a strange scene. The bridge was in its
place. At the far end of it stood a group of the duke’s servants; two or
three carried the lights which had dazzled me, three or four held pikes
in rest. They were huddled together; their weapons were protruded before
them; their faces were pale and agitated. To put it plainly, they
looked in as arrant a fright as I have seen men look, and they gazed
apprehensively at a man who stood in the middle of the bridge, sword in
hand. Rupert Hentzau was in his trousers and shirt; the white linen
was stained with blood, but his easy, buoyant pose told me that he was
himself either not touched at all or merely scratched. There he stood,
holding the bridge against them, and daring them to come on; or, rather,
bidding them send Black Michael to him; and they, having no firearms,
cowered before the desperate man and dared not attack him. They
whispered to one another; and in the backmost rank, I saw my friend
Johann, leaning against the portal of the door and stanching with a
handkerchief the blood which flowed from a wound in his cheek.
By marvellous chance, I was master. The cravens would oppose me no more
than they dared attack Rupert. I had but to raise my revolver, and I
sent him to his account with his sins on his head. He did not so much as
know that I was there. I did nothing--why, I hardly know to this day.
I had killed one man stealthily that night, and another by luck rather
than skill--perhaps it was that. Again, villain as the man was, I did
not relish being one of a crowd against him--perhaps it was that. But
stronger than either of these restrained feelings came a curiosity and
a fascination which held me spellbound, watching for the outcome of the
scene.
“Michael, you dog! Michael! If you can stand, come on!” cried Rupert;
and he advanced a step, the group shrinking back a little before him.
“Michael, you bastard! Come on!”
The answer to his taunts came in the wild cry of a woman:
“He’s dead! My God, he’s dead!”
“Dead!” shouted Rupert. “I struck better than I knew!” and he laughed
triumphantly. Then he went on: “Down with your weapons there! I’m your
master now! Down with them, I say!”
I believe they would have obeyed, but as he spoke came new things.
First, there arose a distant sound, as of shouts and knockings from the
other side of the chateau. My heart leapt. It must be my men, come by a
happy disobedience to seek me. The noise continued, but none of the
rest seemed to heed it. Their attention was chained by what now happened
before their eyes. The group of servants parted and a woman staggered on
to the bridge. Antoinette de Mauban was in a loose white robe, her dark
hair streamed over her shoulders, her face was ghastly pale, and her
eyes gleamed wildly in the light of the torches. In her shaking hand she
held a revolver, and, as she tottered forward, she fired it at Rupert
Hentzau. The ball missed him, and struck the woodwork over my head.
“Faith, madame,” laughed Rupert, “had your eyes been no more deadly
than your shooting, I had not been in this scrape--nor Black Michael in
hell--tonight!”
She took no notice of his words. With a wonderful effort, she
calmed herself till she stood still and rigid. Then very slowly and
deliberately she began to raise her arm again, taking most careful aim.
He would be mad to risk it. He must rush on her, chancing the bullet, or
retreat towards me. I covered him with my weapon.
He did neither. Before she had got her aim, he bowed in his most
graceful fashion, cried “I can’t kill where I’ve kissed,” and before
she or I could stop him, laid his hand on the parapet of the bridge, and
lightly leapt into the moat.
At that very moment I heard a rush of feet, and a voice I
knew--Sapt’s--cry: “God! it’s the duke--dead!” Then I knew that the King
needed me no more, and throwing down my revolver, I sprang out on the
bridge. There was a cry of wild wonder, “The King!” and then I, like
Rupert of Hentzau, sword in hand, vaulted over the parapet, intent on
finishing my quarrel with him where I saw his curly head fifteen yards
off in the water of the moat.
He swam swiftly and easily. I was weary and half crippled with my
wounded arm. I could not gain on him. For a time I made no sound, but as
we rounded the corner of the old keep I cried:
“Stop, Rupert, stop!”
I saw him look over his shoulder, but he swam on. He was under the bank
now, searching, as I guessed, for a spot that he could climb. I knew
there to be none--but there was my rope, which would still be hanging
where I had left it. He would come to where it was before I could.
Perhaps he would miss it--perhaps he would find it; and if he drew it up
after him, he would get a good start of me. I put forth all my remaining
strength and pressed on. At last I began to gain on him; for he,
occupied with his search, unconsciously slackened his pace.
Ah, he had found it! A low shout of triumph came from him. He laid
hold of it and began to haul himself up. I was near enough to hear him
mutter: “How the devil comes this here?” I was at the rope, and he,
hanging in mid air, saw me, but I could not reach him.
“Hullo! who’s here?” he cried in startled tones.
For a moment, I believe, he took me for the King--I dare say I was pale
enough to lend colour to the thought; but an instant later he cried:
“Why it’s the play-actor! How come you here, man?”
And so saying he gained the bank.
I laid hold of the rope, but I paused. He stood on the bank, sword in
hand, and he could cut my head open or spit me through the heart as I
came up. I let go the rope.
“Never mind,” said I; “but as I am here, I think I’ll stay.”
He smiled down on me.
“These women are the deuce--” he began; when suddenly the great bell of
the Castle started to ring furiously, and a loud shout reached us from
the moat.
Rupert smiled again, and waved his hand to me.
“I should like a turn with you, but it’s a little too hot!” said he, and
he disappeared from above me.
In an instant, without thinking of danger, I laid my hand to the rope.
I was up. I saw him thirty yards off, running like a deer towards the
shelter of the forest. For once Rupert Hentzau had chosen discretion for
his part. I laid my feet to the ground and rushed after him, calling to
him to stand. He would not. Unwounded and vigorous, he gained on me at
every step; but, forgetting everything in the world except him and my
thirst for his blood, I pressed on, and soon the deep shades of the
forest of Zenda engulfed us both, pursued and pursuer.
It was three o’clock now, and day was dawning. I was on a long straight
grass avenue, and a hundred yards ahead ran young Rupert, his curls
waving in the fresh breeze. I was weary and panting; he looked over his
shoulder and waved his hand again to me. He was mocking me, for he saw
he had the pace of me. I was forced to pause for breath. A moment later,
Rupert turned sharply to the right and was lost from my sight.
I thought all was over, and in deep vexation sank on the ground. But I
was up again directly, for a scream rang through the forest--a woman’s
scream. Putting forth the last of my strength, I ran on to the place
where he had turned out of my sight, and, turning also, I saw him again.
But alas! I could not touch him. He was in the act of lifting a girl
down from her horse; doubtless it was her scream that I heard. She
looked like a small farmer’s or a peasant’s daughter, and she carried
a basket on her arm. Probably she was on her way to the early market at
Zenda. Her horse was a stout, well shaped animal. Master Rupert lifted
her down amid her shrieks--the sight of him frightened her; but he
treated her gently, laughed, kissed her, and gave her money. Then he
jumped on the horse, sitting sideways like a woman; and then he waited
for me. I, on my part, waited for him.
Presently he rode towards me, keeping his distance, however. He lifted
up his hand, saying:
“What did you in the Castle?”
“I killed three of your friends,” said I.
“What! You got to the cells?”
“Yes.”
“And the King?”
“He was hurt by Detchard before I killed Detchard, but I pray that he
lives.”
“You fool!” said Rupert, pleasantly.
“One thing more I did.”
“And what’s that?”
“I spared your life. I was behind you on the bridge, with a revolver in
my hand.”
“No? Faith, I was between two fires!”
“Get off your horse,” I cried, “and fight like a man.”
“Before a lady!” said he, pointing to the girl. “Fie, your Majesty!”
Then in my rage, hardly knowing what I did, I rushed at him. For a
moment he seemed to waver. Then he reined his horse in and stood waiting
for me. On I went in my folly. I seized the bridle and I struck at him.
He parried and thrust at me. I fell back a pace and rushed at him again;
and this time I reached his face and laid his cheek open, and darted
back almost before he could strike me. He seemed almost dazed at the
fierceness of my attack; otherwise I think he must have killed me. I
sank on my knee panting, expecting him to ride at me. And so he would
have done, and then and there, I doubt not, one or both of us would have
died; but at the moment there came a shout from behind us, and, looking
round, I saw, just at the turn of the avenue, a man on a horse. He was
riding hard, and he carried a revolver in his hand. It was Fritz von
Tarlenheim, my faithful friend. Rupert saw him, and knew that the game
was up. He checked his rush at me and flung his leg over the saddle, but
yet for just a moment he waited. Leaning forward, he tossed his hair off
his forehead and smiled, and said: “_Au revoir_, Rudolf Rassendyll!”
Then, with his cheek streaming blood, but his lips laughing and his
body swaying with ease and grace, he bowed to me; and he bowed to the
farm-girl, who had drawn near in trembling fascination, and he waved his
hand to Fritz, who was just within range and let fly a shot at him. The
ball came nigh doing its work, for it struck the sword he held, and he