CHAPTER XX.
THE PRISONER AND THE KING
The Prisoner of Zenda: being the history of three months in the life of an English gentleman | ||
20.
CHAPTER XX.
THE PRISONER AND THE KING
In order to a full understanding of what had occurred in the Castle of Zenda, it is necessary to supplement my account of what I myself saw and did on that night by relating briefly what I afterwards learnt from Fritz and Madame de Mauban. The story told by the latter explained clearly how it happened that the cry which I had arranged as a stratagem and a sham had come, in dreadful reality, before its time, and had thus, as it seemed at the moment, ruined our hopes, while in the end it had favoured them. The unhappy woman, fired, I believe by a genuine attachment to the Duke of Strelsau, no less than by the dazzling prospects which a dominion over him opened before her eyes, had followed him at his request from Paris to Ruritania. He was a man of strong passions, but of stronger will, and his cool head ruled both. He
At Zenda new forces came into play—the lust and daring of young Rupert. He was caught by her beauty, perhaps; perhaps it was enough for him that she belonged to another man, and that she hated him. For many days there had been quarrels and ill will between him and the duke, and the scene which I had witnessed in the duke's room was but one of many. Rupert's proposals to me, of which she had, of course, been ignorant, in no way surprised her when I related them; she had herself warned Michael against Rupert, even when she was calling on me to deliver her from both of them. On this night, then, Rupert had determined to have his will. When she had gone to her room, he, having furnished himself with a key to it, had made his entrance. Her cries had brought the duke, and there in the dark room, while she screamed, the men had fought; and Rupert, having wounded his master with a mortal blow, had, on the servants rushing in, escaped through the window as I have described. The duke's blood, spurting out, had
The same moment found my friends on the scene. They had reached the château in due time, and waited ready by the door. But Johann, swept with the rest to the rescue of the duke, did not open it; nay, he took a part against Rupert, putting himself forward more bravely than any in his anxiety to avert suspicion; and he had received a wound, in the embrasure of the window. Till nearly half-past two Sapt waited; then, following my orders, he had sent Fritz to search the banks of the moat. I was not there. Hastening back, Fritz told Sapt;
Then they consulted, listening eagerly for any sound from the cells below; but there came none, and they were greatly afraid that the king's guards had killed him, and having pushed his body through the great pipe, had escaped the same way themselves. Yet, because I had been seen here, they had still some hope (thus indeed Fritz, in his friendship, told me); and going back to Michael's body, pushing aside Antoinette, who prayed by it, they found a key to the door which I had locked, and opened the door. The staircase was dark, and they would not use a torch at first, lest they should be more exposed to fire. But soon Fritz cried: "The door down there is open! See, there is light!" So they went on boldly, and found none to oppose them. And when they came to the outer room and saw the Belgian, Bersonin, lying dead, they thanked God, Sapt saying: "Ay, he has been here." Then rushing into the king's cell, they found Detchard lying dead across the dead physician, and the king on his back with his chair
The enterprise of the king's rescue being thus
This ingenious arrangement of my long-headed old friend prospered in every way, save where it encountered a force that often defeats the most cunning schemes. I mean nothing else than the pleasure of a woman. For, let her cousin and sovereign send what command he chose (or Colonel Sapt chose for him), and let Marshal Strakencz insist as he would, the Princess Flavia was in no way minded to rest at Tarlenheim while her lover lay wounded at Zenda; and when the Marshal, with a small suite, rode forth from Tarlenheim on the way to Zenda, the princess's carriage followed immediately behind, and in this order they passed through the town, where the report was already rife that the king, going the night before to remonstrate with his brother, in all friendliness, for that he held one of the king's friends in confinement in the Castle, had been most traitorously set upon; that
Thus the Princess Flavia came to Zenda. And as she drove up the hill, with the Marshal riding by the wheel and still imploring her to return in obedience to the king's orders, Fritz von Tarlenheim, with the prisoner of Zenda, came to the edge of the forest. I had revived from my swoon, and walked, resting on Fritz's arm; and looking out from the cover of the trees, I saw the princess. Suddenly understanding from a glance at my companion's face that we must not meet her, I sank on my knees behind a clump of bushes. But there was one whom we had forgotten, but who followed us, and was not disposed to let slip the chance of earning a smile and maybe a crown or two; and,
"Madame, the king is here—in the bushes! May I guide you to him, madame?"
"Nonsense, child!" said old Strakencz; "the king lies wounded in the Castle."
"Yes, sir, he's wounded, I know; but he's there—with Count Fritz—and not at the Castle," she persisted.
"Is he in two places, or are there two kings?" asked Flavia, bewildered. "And how should he be there?"
"He pursued a gentleman, madame, and they fought till Count Fritz came; and the other gentleman took my father"s horse from me and rode away; but the king is here with Count Fritz. Why, madame, is there another man in Ruritania like the king?"
"No, my child," said Flavia softly (I was told it afterwards), and she smiled and gave the girl money. "I will go and see this gentleman," and she rose to alight from the carriage.
But at this moment Sapt came riding from the
"In the Castle?" she asked.
"Where else, madame?" said he, bowing.
"But this girl says he is yonder—with Count Fritz."
Sapt turned his eyes on the child with an incredulous smile.
"Every fine gentleman is a king to such," said he.
"Why, he's as like the king as one pea to another, madame!" cried the girl, a little shaken but still obstinate.
Sapt started round. The old Marshal's face asked unspoken questions. Flavia's glance was no less eloquent. Suspicion spread quick.
"I'll ride myself and see this man," said Sapt hastily.
"Nay, I'll come myself," said the princess.
"Then come alone," he whispered.
And she, obedient to the strange hinting in his face, prayed the Marshal and the rest to wait; and
"Speak low, whatever you say," I heard Sapt whisper as they came up; and the next thing I heard was a low cry—half of joy, half of fear—from the princess:
"It is he! Are you hurt?"
And she fell on the ground by me, and gently pulled my hands away; but I kept my eyes to the ground.
"It is the king!" she said. "Pray, Colonel Sapt, tell me where lay the wit of the joke you played on me?"
We answered none of us; we three were silent before her. Regardless of them, she threw her arms round my neck and kissed me. Then Sapt spoke in a low hoarse whisper:
"It is not the king. Don't kiss him; he's not the king."
She drew back for a moment; then, with an arm still round my neck, she asked, in superb indignation:
"Do I not know my love? Rudolf my love!"
"It is not the king," said old Sapt again; and a sudden sob broke from tender-hearted Fritz.
It was the sob that told her no comedy was afoot.
"He is the king!" she cried. "It is the king's face—the king's ring—my ring! It is my love!"
"Your love, madame," said old Sapt, "but not the king. The king is there in the Castle. This gentleman—"
"Look at me, Rudolf! look at me!" she cried, taking my face between her hands. "Why do you let them torment me? Tell me what it means!"
Then I spoke, gazing into her eyes.
"God forgive me, madame!" I said. "I am not the king!"
I felt her hands clutch my cheeks. She gazed at me as never man's face was scanned yet. And I, silent again, saw wonder born, and doubt grow, and terror spring to life as she looked. And very gradually the grasp of her hands slackened; she
CHAPTER XX.
THE PRISONER AND THE KING
The Prisoner of Zenda: being the history of three months in the life of an English gentleman | ||