The prisoner of Zenda
“Perhaps,” said Sapt. “Come! to Strelsau! We shall be caught like rats
in a trap if we stay here.”
“Sapt,” I cried, “I’ll try it!”
“Well played!” said he. “I hope they’ve left us the horses. I’ll go and
see.”
“We must bury that poor fellow,” said I.
“No time,” said Sapt.
“I’ll do it.”
“Hang you!” he grinned. “I make you a King, and--Well, do it. Go and
fetch him, while I look to the horses. He can’t lie very deep, but I
doubt if he’ll care about that. Poor little Josef! He was an honest bit
of a man.”
He went out, and I went to the cellar. I raised poor Josef in my arms
and bore him into the passage and thence towards the door of the house.
Just inside I laid him down, remembering that I must find spades for our
task. At this instant Sapt came up.
“The horses are all right; there’s the own brother to the one that
brought you here. But you may save yourself that job.”
“I’ll not go before he’s buried.”
“Yes, you will.”
“Not I, Colonel Sapt; not for all Ruritania.”
“You fool!” said he. “Come here.”
He drew me to the door. The moon was sinking, but about three hundred
yards away, coming along the road from Zenda, I made out a party of men.
There were seven or eight of them; four were on horseback and the rest
were walking, and I saw that they carried long implements, which I
guessed to be spades and mattocks, on their shoulders.
“They’ll save you the trouble,” said Sapt. “Come along.”
He was right. The approaching party must, beyond doubt, be Duke
Michael’s men, come to remove the traces of their evil work. I hesitated
no longer, but an irresistible desire seized me.
Pointing to the corpse of poor little Josef, I said to Sapt:
“Colonel, we ought to strike a blow for him!”
“You’d like to give him some company, eh! But it’s too risky work, your
Majesty.”
“I must have a slap at ’em,” said I.
Sapt wavered.
“Well,” said he, “it’s not business, you know; but you’ve been a good
boy--and if we come to grief, why, hang me, it’ll save us lot of
thinking! I’ll show you how to touch them.”
He cautiously closed the open chink of the door.
Then we retreated through the house and made our way to the back
entrance. Here our horses were standing. A carriage-drive swept all
round the lodge.
“Revolver ready?” asked Sapt.
“No; steel for me,” said I.
“Gad, you’re thirsty tonight,” chuckled Sapt. “So be it.”
We mounted, drawing our swords, and waited silently for a minute or two.
Then we heard the tramp of men on the drive the other side of the house.
They came to a stand, and one cried:
“Now then, fetch him out!”
“Now!” whispered Sapt.
Driving the spurs into our horses, we rushed at a gallop round the
house, and in a moment we were among the ruffians. Sapt told me
afterwards that he killed a man, and I believe him; but I saw no more of
him. With a cut, I split the head of a fellow on a brown horse, and he
fell to the ground. Then I found myself opposite a big man, and I was
half conscious of another to my right. It was too warm to stay, and with
a simultaneous action I drove my spurs into my horse again and my sword
full into the big man’s breast. His bullet whizzed past my ear--I could
almost swear it touched it. I wrenched at the sword, but it would not
come, and I dropped it and galloped after Sapt, whom I now saw about
twenty yards ahead. I waved my hand in farewell, and dropped it a second
later with a yell, for a bullet had grazed my finger and I felt the
blood. Old Sapt turned round in the saddle. Someone fired again, but
they had no rifles, and we were out of range. Sapt fell to laughing.
“That’s one to me and two to you, with decent luck,” said he. “Little
Josef will have company.”
“Ay, they’ll be a _parti carrée_,” said I. My blood was up, and I
rejoiced to have killed them.
“Well, a pleasant night’s work to the rest!” said he. “I wonder if they
noticed you?”
“The big fellow did; as I stuck him I heard him cry, ‘The King!’”
“Good! good! Oh, we’ll give Black Michael some work before we’ve done!”
Pausing an instant, we made a bandage for my wounded finger, which was
bleeding freely and ached severely, the bone being much bruised. Then we
rode on, asking of our good horses all that was in them. The excitement
of the fight and of our great resolve died away, and we rode in gloomy
silence. Day broke clear and cold. We found a farmer just up, and made
him give us sustenance for ourselves and our horses. I, feigning a
toothache, muffled my face closely. Then ahead again, till Strelsau lay
before us. It was eight o’clock or nearing nine, and the gates were all
open, as they always were save when the duke’s caprice or intrigues shut
them. We rode in by the same way as we had come out the evening before,
all four of us--the men and the horses--wearied and jaded. The streets
were even quieter than when we had gone: everyone was sleeping off last
night’s revelry, and we met hardly a soul till we reached the little
gate of the Palace. There Sapt’s old groom was waiting for us.
“Is all well, sir?” he asked.
“All’s well,” said Sapt, and the man, coming to me, took my hand to
kiss.
“The King’s hurt!” he cried.
“It’s nothing,” said I, as I dismounted; “I caught my finger in the
door.”
“Remember--silence!” said Sapt. “Ah! but, my good Freyler, I do not need
to tell you that!”
The old fellow shrugged his shoulders.
“All young men like to ride abroad now and again, why not the King?”
said he; and Sapt’s laugh left his opinion of my motives undisturbed.
“You should always trust a man,” observed Sapt, fitting the key in the
lock, “just as far as you must.”
We went in and reached the dressing-room. Flinging open the door, we saw
Fritz von Tarlenheim stretched, fully dressed, on the sofa. He seemed to
have been sleeping, but our entry woke him. He leapt to his feet, gave
one glance at me, and with a joyful cry, threw himself on his knees
before me.
“Thank God, sire! thank God, you’re safe!” he cried, stretching his hand
up to catch hold of mine.
I confess that I was moved. This King, whatever his faults, made people
love him. For a moment I could not bear to speak or break the poor
fellow’s illusion. But tough old Sapt had no such feeling. He slapped
his hand on his thigh delightedly.
“Bravo, lad!” cried he. “We shall do!”
Fritz looked up in bewilderment. I held out my hand.
“You’re wounded, sire!” he exclaimed.
“It’s only a scratch,” said I, “but--” I paused.
He rose to his feet with a bewildered air. Holding my hand, he looked
me up and down, and down and up. Then suddenly he dropped my hand and
reeled back.
“Where’s the King? Where’s the King?” he cried.
“Hush, you fool!” hissed Sapt. “Not so loud! Here’s the King!”
A knock sounded on the door. Sapt seized me by the hand.
“Here, quick, to the bedroom! Off with your cap and boots. Get into bed.
Cover everything up.”
I did as I was bid. A moment later Sapt looked in, nodded, grinned, and
introduced an extremely smart and deferential young gentleman, who came
up to my bedside, bowing again and again, and informed me that he was
of the household of the Princess Flavia, and that her Royal Highness
had sent him especially to enquire how the King’s health was after the
fatigues which his Majesty had undergone yesterday.
“My best thanks, sir, to my cousin,” said I; “and tell her Royal
Highness that I was never better in my life.”
“The King,” added old Sapt (who, I began to find, loved a good lie for
its own sake), “has slept without a break all night.”
The young gentleman (he reminded me of “Osric” in Hamlet) bowed himself
out again. The farce was over, and Fritz von Tarlenheim’s pale face
recalled us to reality--though, in faith, the farce had to be reality
for us now.
“Is the King dead?” he whispered.
“Please God, no,” said I. “But he’s in the hands of Black Michael!”
CHAPTER 8
A Fair Cousin and a Dark Brother
A real king’s life is perhaps a hard one; but a pretended king’s is,
I warrant, much harder. On the next day, Sapt instructed me in my
duties--what I ought to do and what I ought to know--for three hours;
then I snatched breakfast, with Sapt still opposite me, telling me that
the King always took white wine in the morning and was known to detest
all highly seasoned dishes. Then came the Chancellor, for another three
hours; and to him I had to explain that the hurt to my finger (we turned
that bullet to happy account) prevented me from writing--whence arose
great to-do, hunting of precedents and so forth, ending in my “making
my mark,” and the Chancellor attesting it with a superfluity of solemn
oaths. Then the French ambassador was introduced, to present his
credentials; here my ignorance was of no importance, as the King would
have been equally raw to the business (we worked through the whole _corps
diplomatique_ in the next few days, a demise of the Crown necessitating
all this bother).
Then, at last, I was left alone. I called my new servant (we had chosen,
to succeed poor Josef, a young man who had never known the King), had a
brandy-and-soda brought to me, and observed to Sapt that I trusted that
I might now have a rest. Fritz von Tarlenheim was standing by.
“By heaven!” he cried, “we waste time. Aren’t we going to throw Black
Michael by the heels?”
“Gently, my son, gently,” said Sapt, knitting his brows. “It would be
a pleasure, but it might cost us dear. Would Michael fall and leave the
King alive?”
“And,” I suggested, “while the King is here in Strelsau, on his throne,
what grievance has he against his dear brother Michael?”
“Are we to do nothing, then?”
“We’re to do nothing stupid,” growled Sapt.
“In fact, Fritz,” said I, “I am reminded of a situation in one of our
English plays--The Critic--have you heard of it? Or, if you like, of two
men, each covering the other with a revolver. For I can’t expose Michael
without exposing myself--”
“And the King,” put in Sapt.
“And, hang me if Michael won’t expose himself, if he tries to expose
me!”
“It’s very pretty,” said old Sapt.
“If I’m found out,” I pursued, “I will make a clean breast of it, and
fight it out with the duke; but at present I’m waiting for a move from
him.”
“He’ll kill the King,” said Fritz.
“Not he,” said Sapt.
“Half of the Six are in Strelsau,” said Fritz.
“Only half? You’re sure?” asked Sapt eagerly.
“Yes--only half.”
“Then the King’s alive, for the other three are guarding him!” cried
Sapt.
“Yes--you’re right!” exclaimed Fritz, his face brightening. “If the
King were dead and buried, they’d all be here with Michael. You know
Michael’s back, colonel?”
“I know, curse him!”
“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” said I, “who are the Six?”
“I think you’ll make their acquaintance soon,” said Sapt. “They are six
gentlemen whom Michael maintains in his household: they belong to him
body and soul. There are three Ruritanians; then there’s a Frenchman, a
Belgian, and one of your countrymen.”
“They’d all cut a throat if Michael told them,” said Fritz.
“Perhaps they’ll cut mine,” I suggested.
“Nothing more likely,” agreed Sapt. “Who are here, Fritz?”
“De Gautet, Bersonin, and Detchard.”
“The foreigners! It’s as plain as a pikestaff. He’s brought them, and
left the Ruritanians with the King; that’s because he wants to commit
the Ruritanians as deep as he can.”
“They were none of them among our friends at the lodge, then?” I asked.
“I wish they had been,” said Sapt wistfully. “They had been, not six,
but four, by now.”
I had already developed one attribute of royalty--a feeling that I need
not reveal all my mind or my secret designs even to my intimate friends.
I had fully resolved on my course of action. I meant to make myself
as popular as I could, and at the same time to show no disfavour to