CHAPTER V.

A CALL OF DUTY.

“There must be a fair or festival of some sort going on,” said Caerleon, as they made their way to the inn, where it had been arranged that the O’Malachy was to secure rooms for them.

“Perhaps the people have come together to do you honour,” suggested Louis, lightly enough, but it struck Cyril that there was a shade of anxiety in his tone.

The inn was an oriental-looking house built round a courtyard, but conforming to the customs of the West so far as to possess a coffee-room--a fact which was proudly announced in German and Thracian in very large letters. There were no windows on the exterior of the house to the ground-floor rooms, a testimony to the frequent occurrence of border raids and attacks from brigands in the days when the inn was built, but balconies ran round each of the two upper storeys, both inside and outside, giving the only means of access to the rooms which opened upon them. The courtyard was thronged with people, among whom Caerleon fancied he recognised some of the harvesters that Nadia and he had met a fortnight before, and they watched with breathless curiosity the three dusty figures in tourist suits and hobnailed boots, and commented upon their appearance audibly but unintelligibly. The landlord, who met them at the door, bowed almost to the ground before them, but as he could speak no tongue of Western Europe, they were unable to question him as to the nature of the attraction which had brought the crowd together. Behind him, however, stood Wright the groom, doing his best to compose his face, which had wreathed itself into an irrepressible grin of delight at welcoming his master, into the blank immobility which he considered becoming and suitable. In his hand was a visiting-card, which he presented to Caerleon.

“The gentleman up-stairs give it me for you, my lord, and ’e’s waitin’ for you in the coffee-room, and I do ’ope, my lord, if I may make so bold, as your lordship don’t think of stayin’ long in this ’ere country, where there ain’t a creetur can speak a word of a Crishtan tongue.”

“That remains to be seen,” said Cyril, looking round Caerleon’s shoulder at the card, and seeing, as he expected, the name of M. Drakovics.

“Has the old brute come to plague me again about his precious kingdom?” said Caerleon, impatiently. “He might have waited until I had made myself respectable, at any rate. Well, I suppose I must see him, but I’ll wash off a little of the dust of travel first”--“and just ask Nadia what she really thinks about the business,” he added to himself, as Wright led the way up-stairs, and along the gallery which crossed the front of the house.

“Which are the O’Malachy’s rooms, Wright?” he asked aloud, but as he spoke, Madame O’Malachy glided out of a doorway near him with her finger on her lip.

“Ah, my dear marquis, I am enchanted to see you!” she said, brightly. “But I will not detain you; you are summoned to more important business than talking with a chattering old woman--is it not so? Only I would ask you to have the great kindness to step softly and not to speak loud, for my daughter is a little indisposed.”

“Miss O’Malachy ill? I hope it is not serious?” cried Caerleon.

“Nothing serious, I assure you. Merely a slight headache and lassitude, which will pass off to-morrow. Rest and quiet are her best medicines. She is too energetic, too eager for work, my dear marquis, but I know that I may count on your consideration.”

She went back into her room, and Caerleon pursued his way disappointed.

“I shan’t be able to ask her about this wretched kingdom, then,” he grumbled to himself. “But, after all, I know what she thinks, for she gave me her views pretty plainly the last time I talked to her.”

“The old gentleman seemed to be in a orful ’urry, my lord,” put in Wright, and Caerleon made a hasty toilet, and entered the coffee-room, where M. Drakovics was marching impatiently from the door to the window and back again. Caerleon would have shaken hands with him, but he drew back with a low bow.

“Your Majesty,” he said, “I am here to announce to you that by a _plébiscite_ of the whole nation you are a second time invited to occupy the throne of Thracia. I have with me a petition signed by every member of the Legislative Assembly, and by the mayor of every township and the head of every village community in the country, entreating you to lay aside your scruples, and come to our help. The people will accept any conditions you may choose to make, as to advisers, Civil List, or anything of the kind;--I know that this will not affect your decision,” as Caerleon turned away with an impatient gesture, “but I mention it to show you that the Thracians wish to deal generously with the man who will honour them by taking up their cause against the world.”

“I must have the night to think it over,” said Caerleon, after some moments of futile consideration. “You will remain here as my guest, I hope? By the bye, who are all the people outside?”

“They are your Majesty’s loyal subjects,” returned M. Drakovics, “who have come here to conduct you, as they hope, in triumph to Bellaviste.”

“Very kind of them,” said Caerleon, “but I am not their king yet. This proceeding looks unpleasantly like compulsion, M. Drakovics. I have no idea of being made king by force.”

“Your Majesty is entirely mistaken,” returned M. Drakovics in alarm. “These men are here with the sole intention of doing you honour, and of adding their entreaties to mine if you should prove to be still obdurate. They are all patriots, almost in despair for their country, for we are convinced that Scythia is meditating some great blow against us.”

“Well, I will think about it,” said Caerleon, and no further allusion was made to the subject during the evening.

On the plea of extreme fatigue, Caerleon and Cyril excused themselves to their guest as early as was possible with due regard for politeness, and prepared to consider the situation in concert. Leaning out of the window of Caerleon’s room, with the watch-fires of the expectant Thracians starring the mountain-slopes on every hand, they discussed the subject in all its bearings. As was generally the case on such occasions, Cyril did most of the talking, and he summed up his arguments very concisely before they separated for the night.

“The question is just this, Caerleon: have you backbone enough to be a Thracian for the future, instead of an Englishman? That’s what it will come to, you know. There will be the most awful row at home, and we may find ourselves outlawed, or declared guilty of high treason, or I don’t know what. So long as we keep to Thracian soil, we shall be all right, if we can only manage to stay there; but I suppose if we ventured into any British possession they might put us in prison and keep us there out of harm’s way. Scythia is bound to make a fuss, and to send the strongest possible diplomatic representations to St James’s about us even if she doesn’t go to war, and you must make up your mind to disregard appeals and commands, from whomsoever they may come, and public opinion too. You won’t any longer be a British peer, poor, perhaps, but universally looked up to--but an adventurer,--a filibuster, in fact. That’s the bad side of it. On the other hand, you consider that your country has treated you pretty shabbily, and holds out no particular prospects to you in your present circumstances. Forfar and the Duke never did much for you either, and I don’t see that you need refuse such an offer as this just to save them from diplomatic complications. Of course, if the worst came to the worst, you might sacrifice yourself, and abdicate magnanimously in order to prevent a European war, but I don’t think it will get as far as that. Scythia will brag and bluster--perhaps try to put you out of the way, but that is our private affair. And in Thracia you have just the field you have always wanted for your administrative and philanthropic talents. From what Drakovics says, they seem to have a fairly good army, but very little else. You will have to make the nation. Oh, there’s no question as to which is the biggest thing to do. As King of Thracia, in the people’s present state of mind, your opportunities would be limitless.”

“And that is what one ought to think of,” said Caerleon, recalling Nadia’s words. “Cyril, old man, I’ll take it.”

“Good for you, old chap,” returned Cyril. “I say, I suppose I shall have to call you ‘your Majesty’ now--in public, that is. Behind the scenes, the augurs may wink as they please. Well, I bag the post of your private secretary, at any rate. That will enable me to give your Majesty a good wigging when I think it called for, and to keep you from getting into trouble. Well, now that your royal mind is made up, I’m off. Ta, ta.”

When the two young men entered the coffee-room in the morning, M. Drakovics advanced to meet them, far too anxious as to the result of their conference to let the matter rest until after breakfast, as Caerleon had intended. The Premier’s face was worn and haggard with anxiety, and his voice shook as he asked--

“May I inquire whether your Majesty has decided what course you will take?”

“Yes,” said Caerleon. “I have made up my mind to accept the crown.”

He had no time to say more, for, to his horror and Cyril’s delight, M. Drakovics fell at his feet and covered his hands with kisses, while he tried in vain to induce him to rise. Cyril recovered himself first.

“Perhaps we might postpone any further raptures until after breakfast,” he suggested, mildly. “Even kings have appetites,--their brothers certainly have.”

“One moment!” cried M. Drakovics, rising and going towards the window. “Your majesty cannot tell what a load you have taken from my heart,” he added, huskily, turning again to Caerleon. “I am satisfied now as to the future of my country. But I must tell the people. They have been as anxious as myself, and they will rejoice as I do.”

He stepped out on the balcony, and addressed the crowd of Thracians, who had again gathered in front of the house. A tremendous shout burst from them when he had finished speaking. Turning round with blazing eyes he beckoned to Caerleon.

“Show yourself to your people, your Majesty. Speak a few words to them--I will interpret--and they will love you for ever.”

Caerleon followed him out, intending to comply with the request, but speech was impossible in presence of the cry of welcome that went up as soon as he became visible. For some minutes he was perforce silent, while the people shouted themselves hoarse, flung their caps into the air, leaped for joy, embraced one another, and wept copiously. He felt oddly reminded of his coming of age, and how he had risen to make his speech at the great dinner his father had given to the Llandiarmid tenants amid a scene of excitement such as this, when the sturdy farmers had sprung up like one man, and drunk his health with acclamations. They had presented him with an old silver punch-bowl--rather an incongruous gift for an uncompromising temperance man--and it had put him into an awkward predicament. A happy thought had struck him, he remembered, and he had told them that he would use the bowl for salad--a statement which was regarded as an exquisite joke, and received with shouts of approving laughter. It was queer that this should all pass through his mind now, as he stood waiting until the rejoicing calmed down a little, and he was able to obtain a moment’s silence. He found himself almost as much at a loss for words as on that earlier occasion, but at last he managed to say--

“Gentlemen” (he felt strongly that this form of address sounded as though he were speaking to his former constituents rather than to his subjects, but it was difficult to know what other to use. “My people” would be a ridiculous affectation as yet, and “Men of Thracia” sounded theatrical). “Gentlemen, your trusted leader, M. Drakovics, has done me the honour of inviting me in your name to accept the crown of Thracia. It is only fair for me to tell you that I don’t feel at all equal to the task of governing; but I have thought over the matter, and I hope that I am doing the right thing in undertaking it. God helping me, my sole aim will be to do what I can for the good of Thracia and the peace of Europe. I feel sure that I may count upon the help and advice of M. Drakovics in the difficulties which are sure to meet us, and I can promise to stick to you if you will stick to me.”

There! it was over, and he was conscious that he had made a wretched mull of what he had meant to say, and felt certain that Cyril was grinning behind him, and maturing chaff on the subject of “House of Commons oratory,” but M. Drakovics was translating his words to the Thracians, and they were replying with shouts of applause which echoed back from the mountain-side.

“Long live the English prince! Long live King Carlino! Down with Scythia! Long live Thracia and King Carlino!”

“I say, you know, this won’t do,” Cyril was saying to M. Drakovics, as soon as the three on the balcony could hear each other speak. “What do they mean by talking like that? His name is Philip. He can’t go down to posterity as King Caerleon. It would be as bad as King York or King Lancaster. You must put them right.”

“That we can do in his Majesty’s proclamations,” said M. Drakovics. “The people have grown so much accustomed to the name Carlino that I fear they will always apply it to him. It sounds familiar to their ears, and it is a kind of affectionate diminutive. But with regard to our future plans----” he went on, addressing Caerleon. “Will your Majesty allow me to tell the people that you will start to-day on your journey to Bellaviste?”

“Is it really necessary?” asked Caerleon. “I hate doing things in such a hurry.”

“It is absolutely necessary,” returned M. Drakovics, “that your Majesty should be crowned as speedily as possible. The whole future of your reign may depend upon it.”

“Oh, very well,” said Caerleon. “In for a penny, in for a pound. I have to live for Thracia now, I suppose. I’ll tell my man to pack up.”

He went back into the room before M. Drakovics could forestall him, or even intimate to Cyril that it would look well for him to do his brother’s errands in future, and ran up-stairs to look for Wright, for bells there were none in this primitive hostelry. But Wright and the reason for seeking him were speedily forgotten when he reached the upper balcony, for he saw Nadia coming towards him from the direction of the rooms occupied by the O’Malachy family.

“I hope you are better this morning,” he said, eagerly, hastening to meet her. “I am so glad to see that you are able to be up.”

“But I am always up at six,” said Nadia. “Did you think I was ill?”

“I understood from your mother----” he began, but remembering that to finish would be to charge Madame O’Malachy with deceiving him, he changed the form of his sentence lamely enough, “I saw nothing of you when I got here yesterday, you know, and I was afraid you were not well.”

“Did you expect to find me at the gate waiting for you?” asked Nadia, sharply. “Oh, I did not intend to be so rude,” and she blushed crimson. “I only mean that my room is at the back of the house, and I did not even know you had arrived.”

“I was hoping,” said Caerleon, deliberately, “that we might meet again as friends, though I was so unfortunate as to offend you the last time we had a talk.”

“Now you are trying to make me ashamed of myself for being cross,” said Nadia, “and it is not kind of you. Lord Caerleon,” she broke off suddenly, and surveyed him with puzzled eyes, “has anything happened? What is the matter?”

“Why?” he asked.

“Because you look different. Something has happened. What is it?”

“Well, I am once more king elect, or designate, or whatever you like to call it, of Thracia, if that will account for it. I didn’t know that the divinity that doth hedge a king was visible outwardly, but I suppose that’s what you mean.”

“You have accepted the crown?” she asked, anxiously.

“I have accepted it, bearing in mind my last conversation with you. I hope you are pleased with me now?”

“It was what I said that influenced you to consent? You would not have done it otherwise?”

“Scarcely, I think; but you showed me my duty so very clearly that I could hardly turn my back on it. You made it quite evident that you considered I was shirking responsibility when I refused the crown before.”

“But how can it signify what I thought of you? How can my conscience judge for yours? Oh, I have been thinking often since we have been here that I may have led you wrong. I ought to have advised you to see which was the harder to do--to accept or decline the crown--and to choose that.”

“But this is a new standard!” cried Caerleon. “Is it to take the place of the measuring of the responsibilities?”

“Not exactly; only to be used with it. Don’t you see? Perhaps you prefer a responsible position, and then it might be better for you to take a lower place.”

“I don’t quite see it,” said Caerleon; “but no doubt it’s all right, since it satisfies you.”

“Oh, don’t follow me!” she cried, passionately. “I may have led you wrong already. Is it too late to do anything?”

“Quite too late, I’m afraid,” said Caerleon. “I am as much King of Thracia as I can be before I’m crowned, I suppose. Won’t you congratulate me on my elevation, since I owe it to your influence?”

He held out his hand, and Nadia took it, but to his horror she stooped and touched it with her lips. “May God grant your Majesty a long and useful reign!” she said, and turned to fly, but Caerleon caught her wrist.

“Nadia, are you joking?” he said, angrily.

“Let me go! let me go!” she panted. “Oh, please let me go!” The cry seemed to be wrung from her by some sudden sharp pain, and Caerleon saw that her lips were quivering and her eyes full of tears. He loosed his hold, and she made her escape, leaving him gazing stupidly at the hand she had kissed.

“Oh, this little fool!” groaned Madame O’Malachy, at the partially open door of her room, whence she had witnessed the whole scene. “She might have had him at her feet at this moment, and now he may not be able to declare himself for weeks. And for what? A trifle, a caprice, a nothing! I snap my fingers at it! Will nothing but a crowned king serve you, mademoiselle? Surely it is as well to receive a crown with your husband as after him? Ah, these niceties of lovers’ etiquette! Who cares whether the marquis thinks that his prospective kingdom has induced you to accept him, or not? You know, and I know, that you have been in love with him since the second time you saw him. Fool! I have no patience with you,” and hurling these words through her clenched teeth at the absent Nadia, her mother hurried through two or three intermediate rooms and came upon Caerleon through a door at the end of the balcony.

“What, my dear marquis, is it you?” she cried, with a start. “You are early this morning. But perhaps I ought to say ‘your Majesty’? One cannot pretend not to know the reason of M. Drakovics’s presence here.”

“I hope M. Drakovics is happy,” returned Caerleon, in a tone which showed pretty plainly that he himself was not. “I have accepted the offer of the Thracian crown.”

“Then I congratulate the Thracians,” said Madame O’Malachy, heartily. “My dear marquis (you really must excuse my employing the old title), I have seldom heard a more delightful piece of news. The Thracians could not do better, and for yourself it is a situation exactly adapted to your character and talents. You have your opportunity now.”

“I thought so myself until a minute ago,” said Caerleon, gloomily; “but now I begin to doubt it. Nadia will have nothing to say to me.”

“Nadia--my daughter?” with a slight elevation of the eyebrows.

“Yes,” said Caerleon, scarcely noticing the touch of _hauteur_ which the lady had infused into her tone. “She seemed so much disappointed about my having refused the crown before that I thought she would certainly be pleased now, and she--she spoke as if she had never met me before in her life.”

“But that may be quite as well,” returned Madame O’Malachy, gracefully determined not to be baulked of her point. “You must remember that the friendship _à l’anglaise_ which has subsisted hitherto between your Majesty and my daughter cannot continue under present circumstances. You will now occupy very different positions.”

“Is that what Miss O’Malachy is thinking?” asked Caerleon, quickly.

“I have not spoken to her on the subject, but I have no doubt that she has that in her mind.”

“Then might I beg that you will have the kindness to let me see her again at once, madame? I will do my best to disabuse her of the idea.”

“But what will you do, my dear marquis?”

“Ask her to share the throne with me.”

“But it is impossible!” cried Madame O’Malachy. “I cannot hear of such a thing. Your Majesty’s chivalrous sentiments have carried you away, and you are willing to atone for a slight mistake by a lifelong sacrifice. Your friendship was a mistake--I admit it freely, in view of the events which have since come to pass--but we will not make matters worse by overestimating it. I sympathise with you, but I assure you that you need fear no trouble from us. Suffer us simply to retire quietly--we will not force ourselves upon your notice, and my daughter is far too proud to exhibit any regret for what has happened.”

“But you don’t understand, madame,” cried Caerleon, impatiently. “There is nothing to regret in our friendship--on my side, at any rate. Of course I can’t answer for Miss O’Malachy’s feelings, but I am only anxious to replace the friendship by--by something stronger.”

“My dear marquis, I honour your chivalry, but your future is not in your own hands. M. Drakovics will have something to say about it.”

“M. Drakovics will have nothing to say on the subject of my marriage. That is a question I shall settle for myself.”

“But you must consider your kingdom. Much may depend on your marriage, and an alliance with a penniless girl not of royal blood--in modern times, at any rate,” she laughed, “might do you a great deal of harm.”

“I don’t think I am called upon to consider my kingdom to such an extent as that,” said Caerleon. “I am anxious to have the matter settled before I am crowned, so that if the Thracians think themselves entitled to complain, they may do it before I am irrevocably their king.”

“But there is no need to publish your determination,” said Madame O’Malachy, anxiously. “It would sound as though you wished to defy M. Drakovics and his party. And there is another reason why you must proceed very cautiously, and that is Nadia herself. You may trust me--I am an old woman, old and experienced, and Nadia is very young and foolish. As a woman of the world, I can appreciate your willingness to jeopardise your position for her sake; but you know what she is--an eccentric, a fanatic. I am convinced that she fears being thought to pursue you on account of your kingdom, and thinks also that you may have perceived her feelings towards you, and only desire to marry her out of pity.”

Caerleon stood pondering. He knew that the woman before him was false to the core--that very morning had given him another proof of the fact--but her words sounded so likely to be true, and the state of feeling they described so characteristic of Nadia, that he was bound to believe them. After all, she was Nadia’s mother, and ought to understand her, and what interest could she have in misrepresenting things in this case? It was only natural to suppose that she would be more likely to strain every nerve to forward his wishes than to put obstacles in his way. Moreover, he had now confided in her to such an extent that he might as well throw himself on her compassion altogether.

“But what can I do?” he asked. “You will let me see her and plead my cause?”

“Not at present, if you are a wise man,” said Madame O’Malachy. “Leave her to herself for a little. Let her please her pride with the belief that she has repulsed you effectually--her heart will suffer all the more. Then, when you are in your rightful place at Bellaviste, with all your splendour about you, speak to her again. She must see then that you seek her only because you love her, and she will be thankful to perceive it.”

“But how shall I see her at Bellaviste?” asked Caerleon. “Are you going on there?”

“Have you forgotten,” asked Madame O’Malachy, rather reproachfully, “that it has always been our intention to accompany Louis when he goes to try and obtain a post in the Thracian army? Shall we be less likely to visit Thracia now that we have a friend upon the throne?”

“But why not come on with us now?” asked Caerleon. “May I not have the pleasure of receiving you as my guests? I don’t know the capacity of the palace at Bellaviste; but it must certainly be large enough to accommodate your party, if you don’t mind roughing it for a time in a bachelor’s household.”

“A thousand thanks,” said Madame O’Malachy, with her sweetest smile, “but I am afraid we must decline your hospitable proposition. However, we will certainly continue our journey into your kingdom, and no doubt there will be a hotel at Bellaviste which can take us in. Rely upon me as your friend. I am not an enthusiast, I do not pretend to have no regard for the splendours of a throne, but I wish you well, and what help I can give you with this daughter of mine I will.”

And with this assurance of support Caerleon was obliged to be content.