Part 12

"Please don't be frightened, there's nothing to fear," my Lord laughed easily. "I inspected the work, and the electrician showed me some really excellent casing and insulation. The foreman, a Mr. Briggs, had no doubt whatever that the effect would be most volcanic, and they all took quite a pride when I praised their efforts."

"To blow up the Palace!"

"Yes, Lord Ulster is ever thoughtful for our Lady's comfort. I proposed to send down refreshments."

"Refreshments," Browne chuckled. "He threatened to empty the Palace tanks and drown them."

"I'm sorry to say," continued my Lord, "that Trooper Browne was rude to Mr. Briggs. If his carbine had actually gone off--the dynamite you know--the situation needed delicate handling."

"They sneaked behind Sydney and made him prisoner!" cried Browne, indignantly.

"A guest," said my Lord, correcting him. "I had ventured to suggest that the explosives should be moved further down the tunnel and stacked underneath the Departments of State in Whitehall, Ulster's seat of Government. They thought he might be annoyed, and Ulster, you see, provided food for their wives and families. They offered to take me to his Grace of Ulster."

"They lashed him down on the barge," said Trooper Browne.

"Yes," my Lord assented; "Browne jumped down into the barge on top of me, ran his sword through Mr. Briggs, settled with the electrician, and cut me loose. The rest of the men attacked us vigorously, but it was hardly fair play, as we could not provide them with swords. Several were hurt. After Browne's jump, I had little wind for talking, but in the end we resumed the conversation just where it left off."

"He'd talk a bird off a tree!" said Browne.

"Somehow," my dear Lord flushed, "I have a knack of making friends with the very roughest men, though I always fail with the smooth. This dear Browne, for instance, seems to get on with me. I told the sewer men that I had the honour to be Ulster's next-of-kin--that--that if--if the Lord Protector were to leave this world which he has so graced, certain estates would fall to me--which I could not accept. In fact, by a written deed I made them in some measure heirs of his Grace--and more suitable heirs than I for such a nobleman. I expressly by deed forbade them to assist at his death. If Whitehall is changed by earthquake, no man will fire the mine save my Lord Protector. He has laid mines, let him fire his mines with his own hand, and go to his God for judgment."

The Queen's hand stole out softly and rested upon my Lord's shoulder.

"And may I go on?" he asked.

"Surely."

"My friends of the sewers have been very good to me, and they had to save their families from hunger.

"They're a queer people, wearing great heavy boots up to their thighs, and rough suits of canvas. They lent us such clothes the night before last, and Browne and I went with them to see the mines of dynamite under Whitehall. In course of a long, rather unpleasant ramble we came directly underneath the Chancellery and got our friends to break a passage upward into the building. Last night--taking our swords as a precaution, we visited the Chancellor's room, and found there a gentleman engaged at the telegraph. We had to wait some time before this gentleman noticed our presence. When he was at leisure Browne offered him the use of a sword. I found him an accomplished swordsman."

"Who was this gentleman?" asked Margaret, and Lord Sydney rose upon his knees.

"Madam," he said, gravely, "I engaged my commanding officer."

"You fought the Duke of Gloucester!'

"I killed him."

Sydney drew his sword, and pointing the blade at his own breast presented the hilt to his sovereign.

"You have killed Rupert!" Margaret laid her hands upon the hilt. "Heaven be my witness that now, and afterwards, I am ready to share the blame, and if there's punishment now or afterwards let it fall on me. What am I, Sydney, that I should have a friend like you, so loyal, so fearless, and so great? There, my dear friend, put away your sword. I knew that my cousin Gloucester was disloyal, and you have cleansed the dishonour of the Guard."

"I am forgiven?"

"So far as a very unhappy woman can forgive the dearest friend she has in the world." She thought for a moment, then, speaking eagerly, "What time did this happen?"

"At eight this morning, madam."

"Do you know that was the time of the early service?"

"I was thinking of that."

"Sydney, when I knelt before the Table, I saw you at my side!"

"To-day I have been at peace," said my Lord.

"I, too, Sydney. You have news for me. Why keep it back?"

"Madam, I have news. I want to turn my back--for once, upon my Lady. May I?"

He crouched at her feet again, looking away across the lake, the garden trees, and the white cloud flecks, even to where the sun was, westward.

"I must speak," he said in a low voice, "of Ulster, who is reputed to be my father. I don't think I have any bitter thoughts left, but I would not claim this man for my father. My mother was a gentlewoman, and is with the angels. That she was his wife so tarnishes her sacred memory that I would rather believe her mistaken in supposing the Duke of Ulster to be my father."

Margaret was stroking the man's bowed head. "Sydney," she whispered, "I loved her. And Trooper Browne is here."

"Browne is deaf," said my Lord.

"Browne is deaf," echoed the man who loved him.

"But Margaret hears," said our Lady; "and Margaret understands."

"In Ulster's office,"--my Lord looked down at the rippled lake--"I overheard an exchange of messages between his Royal Highness and the Lord Protector. Of all spies and eavesdroppers I seem the most fortunate."

"Oh, Sydney, you have news of Lyonesse?"

"Madam, for three days past, Ulster has been in possession of the city."

Our Lady uttered a low cry of fear.

"He captured one of the great etheric liners--the _Golden Hind_. Brand had but one ship, the _Lion_, on guard above his cottage at the time his Ministers assembled. The _Lion_ was rammed by the _Golden Hind_, and fell right on the crown of the Tol Pedn cliffs, and the very rocks on which the cottage stood were thrown down the wall into the sea."

"I cannot bear it, Sydney! I cannot bear it!"

My Lord looked up, his eyes glittering with tears. "You are a woman, and women are braver than men. You are the Queen, and dying England dies with majesty. The lightnings of God shall find no cowardice, and at the Last Judgment England shall not flinch."

"I forgot myself," said Margaret very humbly, "Go on--I will be quiet."

"I must go on,"--my Lord wiped the sweat from his forehead. "When Brand recaptured Lyonesse last Sunday, Ulster's troops took refuge near Marazion, and there starved. On Friday morning, under orders from the _Golden Hind_ they entered the city again, and for these two days they have murdered, plundered, and burned while they searched for Brand. Lyonesse is a ruin, but the master has not been found. It is known that he is alive, signals from his aerograph have been intercepted; but the search for his hiding-place has failed, and Ulster is coming back to-day."

The Queen was praying.

"In the great purposes of God he lives." My Lord lifted his eyes towards the declining sun. "There is hope, and I know that God will not let England go from serving Him. The fire of our national life dies down to ashes until the one spark left is hidden courage, ready to flame again when the time comes."

Browne turned his face away, for our Lady sobbed.

"Ulster is coming," said my Lord presently. "He has stolen the powers of Lyonesse, and for the time he is master--for the time."

Browne was peering at the western sky, shading his eyes with both hands.

"I see something," he muttered, "right under the sun, a bright speck, like a planet. Is that the _Golden Hind_?"

"Ulster is coming," my Lord shivered. "He will come here demanding audience." Then, looking up from where he crouched at her feet, "My Lady," he said in a very soft low voice, his lips tremulous, his eyes full of yearning love; "perhaps this is the last favour I may ever ask--to see the Queen alone."

"Trooper Browne," said our Lady, huskily, "as I'm a woman I ought to be ready to receive the Duke when he comes. Please, will you go and gather some of the very dark roses that are nearly black--and bring them to me here."

"Margaret,"--my Lord's eyes watched his friend going away in search of dark roses. "I shall go with Ulster presently. For me this is the end."

"We shall not live, dear Sydney," answered the Queen. "We shall not have to bear the pain for ever, and Death is merciful."

"Then let the words come, Margaret, since nothing matters any more. Before I go out to meet this death, I love you. Oh, most royal woman that ever lived, I came to serve in the Palace knowing that because I dared to love the Queen, I must never know peace of mind again--except such peace--you say that I was with you this morning?"

"At the Communion Table, yes."

"Was I beside you, Margaret?"

"Yes."

"Did you see me lift my hands to take the Elements?"

"They were covered with blood."

"At that moment I knelt by Gloucester, and my hands were wet with blood trying to tie an artery. I lifted my hands and you were beside me, Margaret! Margaret, I have been at peace knowing well that to-day I must take my father's life."

"Oh, my dear brother! my brother Sydney! The only brother I have known."

Bending down she took his face within her hands and kissed him upon the forehead.

Then looking steadfastly into her eyes. "I see," he whispered, awestruck, "the Queen seated on the throne--the old throne in the Abbey, and Brand is standing on the steps of the throne. So be it." And laying his head upon her knees he cried, our Lady giving him ease with a touch of her fingers.

* * * * *

The Queen had granted audience to Ulster. In her face there was peace as of one dead, about her shoulders and in her hair she wore long, thorny, sprays of the dark roses whose petals were like a sacramental wine. She neither moved nor spoke, and silent on her right hand, and her left, stood the two Guardsmen, their hands resting on the hilts of their drawn swords in readiness.

The Dictator was greatly changed, grown very old, his flesh wasted, his eyes burning as though with fever. Behind him the sun was setting, the lake was red, and over his face the shadows of night were deepening.

"Princess Margaret," he said, laying bitter stress on the words of courtesy, "I have come to declare to the ex-Queen these written intentions of the Government." He presented a roll of parchment, which our Lady made no movement to accept. He laid the parchment at her feet. "Your Royal Highness is granted until sunrise," he announced, "to repudiate the treason of John Brand."

"Sydney," the Queen whispered, "speak to this man."

My Lord Sydney turned his eyes slowly to the Dictator. "George, Duke of Ulster," he said, very quietly, "Her Imperial Majesty commands your attendance at sunrise here. Meanwhile she is pleased to grant you my escort to the gates." Still with the drawn sword in his hand, my Lord saluted her Majesty, and backed from the presence. "Sir," he said to the Dictator, "we have her Majesty's permission to withdraw. Come." He led Ulster away, and as they passed out of sight among the trees, "Father," he said, "father!"

"What, you?"

"There's no one in hearing, sir."

The Dictator turned upon his son. "What do you mean?"

"All courtesy, sir."

"You abandon that woman's service?"

"Otherwise, my dear father, you would have been shot in her very presence."

"You take service with me?"

"His Grace of Ulster loses the old acumen. Was there ever a time, sir, when a son of our honourable house failed to go over to the winning side? Come. I must get you out of this garden. Your life is not safe. And keep your eyes about you when we enter the Palace."

"Jim, are you playing fair with your father?"

"Time will show that."

They gained the lower terrace, and Ulster, supporting himself upon the arm of his son, wondered why Sydney must turn to look back to the lake, the rose garden, and the bower where Margaret sat.

"Good-bye," Sydney was muttering. "For ever and for ever, Margaret. Come, sir, come on," he laughed. "I've news for you." They entered the silent corridors of the Palace. "Queen Margaret has a keen scent for explosives, and all your thoughtful arrangements have been changed. From the Broad Sanctuary to Trafalgar Square your Departments of State are mined with high explosives. In your own office Gloucester's lying dead. There's conspiracy afield to take your life to-day, or Margaret would never have named to-morrow for surrender. Even with my help you may be dead by then. Hush! It's not safe to talk till we gain your ship."

They crossed the throne room, traversed the State apartments, and gained the head of the alabaster stairs.

"Guard, turn out!" cried my Lord, and the main guard paraded before they reached the porch.

"By her Majesty's command,"--Sydney saluted the officer of the day. "The main guard is desired to attend my Lord Duke to his ship. Pass, sir," he said to Ulster, "I attend you."

And as the main guard formed as an escort of State, Sydney hung back until Sergeant Dymoke passed him.

"Dymoke," he whispered, "fall out."

The Queen's Champion fell out of the ranks, and my lord held him within the shadow of the columns.

"Dymoke, old man,"--his voice was scarcely audible--"I'm going with Ulster in the _Golden Hind_, and I leave you a message for the Guard. I know a little of these etheric ships. Long years ago Brand showed me the detail of their gear. When they rise they're free from the pull of the earth, and but for the brake would be whirled into outer space. One blow of my sword will shatter the brake past mending. I'm going for a long voyage, Dymoke."

"Sydney, we can't spare you! Oh, let me go myself, if it must be done."

"Am I not to guard my own honour?" My Lord dropped his sword on the wrist sling.

"I am the Queen's Champion."

"Live for her then," he said. He took off his helmet, and unfastened the Queen's favour, her glove, which was bound to the brow. "This to our Lady," he whispered. Then looking out to where the gigantic ship lay waiting him, and the Dictator impatiently cried for his son to come, "Tell her I go to plead for her and for England. Good-bye." My lord drew off his gauntlet, and, with his finger, touched his friend upon the forehead. "We shall not be long parted, you and I."

Then looking up to heaven, his face flushed by the dying sunlight, he set the glowing helmet on his head, took up his sword and passed slowly between the waiting ranks of the guard to where Lord Ulster received him upon the gangway. Even as the Dictator led him, he turned in the shadow of the port, and, lifting his sword hilt to his brow, gave the salute.

The gangway crashed home. Nine hundred feet in length, dwarfing the lofty Palace with her bulk, all gleaming steel aglow in the sunset light, the _Golden Hind_ with one faint tremor spurned the ground away. She rose from her couch upon the shattered trees, slow lifting, while the glass of all her ports, tier upon tier, glittered and flashed like rubies.

Dismissed from their ranks, the Guardsmen clustered about the columns of the porch, watched the great ship go up.

Then Dymoke spoke to the officer and the rest. "Lords and gentlemen of the Guard, I have a message to you which Sydney left me. The Dictator threatened our Lady's life, and goes to meet his death at the hands of his son. My friend was too knightly a man even to take her token on such a quest." He showed them our Lady's glove. "He dies for the Queen and for his honour."

The rising ship was already far aloft.

"He has destroyed the _Golden Hind_!"

The ship at terrific speed whirled upward into the heavens.

Then Dymoke, removing his helmet, spoke to the others for "our dear brother departed. He asks us to pray for him."

With bared heads they waited, these, my Lord's comrades, watching the ship, which like a blood-red star, glowed in the heights, and vanished even as the sparks fly upward.

May we all have strength at the last to serve as you served, to die as you died, Lord Sydney!

XVII

HER MAJESTY IN COUNCIL

The sun was rising, the keen still air had a tang of smoke from one or two parishes sacked and burned over-night. Under the barricaded windows of St. Stephen's Palace a starving street arab was at work with a few grains of banana meal and a string noose, trying to snare a pigeon. A man watched him furtively from beside one of the buttresses of the Abbey. That man had been a barrister before the World-Storm, now he was a tramp, and his coat was buttoned up because his underclothes had been sold for a meal. All night he had been with a crowd in the Strand wrecking the hotels in search of food. A dog or two had been dragged out of the flames, and torn to pieces; but the barrister won not so much as a taste of the blood, because some stronger desperadoes charged in a body and carried the food away. Now the Savoy district was a smouldering furnace, and the barrister watched the street arab, intending robbery if the lad got meat.

Something caught his wandering attention; the body of a man, which lay at the base of the statue of Richard Cœur de Lion, out in the bare paved square. The barrister stole across from the Abbey, but when he bent over the man, hoping for plunder, he found he had made a mistake. The supposed corpse proved to be alive, and remarked that he had nothing worth stealing.

The barrister shrank back, smiling vaguely. "Watching that boy in the hope of a pigeon, eh?"

"No," said the other; "it's better to rest and not use up one's tissue. That's economy."

The barrister sat down beside him, produced a pipe, and demanded tobacco.

The other shook his head, but the lawyer thought that a little friendly conversation might win him a fill for his pipe. So he looked at the starving wretch beside him.

"Oxford?" he ventured.

"Yes, Brasenose. Are you a college man, too?"

"Dublin," said the barrister. "I was a novelist."

"I was a curate; I used to preach about the Day of Judgment--but d'you know, it's quite different. The canonists never suggested that it would last so long, but it's extremely interesting, and I'm planning a work on contemporary Eschatology."

"Judgment be blowed," the barrister snorted, "it's the usual cause and effect, machinery broken down--passengers hungry. I'm beastly pinched."

"Are you really?" The curate still had a trace of his pulpit manner. "Now that is most curious. My hunger has gone away quite, but if my mind seems to wander pray correct me. Am I talking nonsense now?"

"No; what was your last meal?"

"A portion of rat," said the parson, smiling at the pleasant suggestion of memory. "But my landlady has taken to improper courses, led away, poor thing, by her daughter. She has joined one of the cannibal clubs. I felt that she was becoming untrustworthy, and withdrew to the streets."

The barrister laughed wearily. "My wife and children--" he said; "I shot them last night--well--who cares?"

"How shocking," said the curate. "Hope," he continued, "is dead, and our prayers break upon the brazen echoing heavens. Who would have supposed that the world would die so hard?"

"Don't preach," said the barrister, "it makes me sick."

The curate looked up with a vacant stare at the towering heights of the Abbey. From far away came the rumble of the organ, for this was the time for the early Celebration. By the calendar it was Monday, the Twelfth Day of the Terror.

"I think I could have hoped," the parson wiped a tear away with his torn sleeve, "only there's always such a crowd at the Government food shops. The men trample the women and children to death, and that takes away one's appetite."

"Yes, we're savages now," said the barrister, "we've shed our infernal skin of gentility."

He looked away towards the street arab. The lad was rejoicing on the verge of success, but rejoiced too early, for the pigeon flew clear of the snare. Then the lad cursed.

"I watched all night," said the curate, "by the Palace. Our poor little Queen works hard."

The other was cynical. "Does she?"

"D'you know," said the other, "that Ulster is dead?"

"No such luck."

"But it's true. A woman stabbed him. Really."

"How do you know?"

"I crept into the porch, and there were two gentlemen of the Bodyguard, talking. They turned me away into the rain. D'you know there was something going on. All night I saw ships and private yachts, hundreds of them, reporting at the Palace towers. The air was black with them coming and going."

"It may be," muttered the lawyer. "Ulster dead!"

"Once," the curate went on bubbling with news, "a Guardsman rode out with his servant, and the orderly stopped behind to tighten a girth. I helped him. D'you know I smelt bread and real cold beef in his wallet. He told me that the trades unions have proclaimed a Republic--yes, at Manchester. Then I asked him for some of the meat, and he was so rude."

"The Republic proclaimed already? Then Ulster must be dead. My friend, do you realize what this means? The Republic? It means that the Territorials have revolted, five hundred thousand men in arms against the Government."

"We have the Fleet." The curate lifted his head and answered proudly.

"The Fleet, Mr. Parson? And when the Republicans seize the power station, when they cut off the whole supply of electric force--what becomes of your Fleet? Answer me that!"

"Oh, but my dear man, really, don't y'know, we have Malta, Gibraltar, and the Newfoundland station. They can all flash electric power to our ships."

"If they had warning, yes; but all the telegraphs are cut. I tell you the power stations will be captured this very day, and nothing can save the Fleet. I wonder--when the London guardships founder, why, we may get some food from the wrecks! Yes, food! And the London Unionists, too--they'll be revolting to-day--they'll attack the departments of State. Parson, I know a house not far from here, with five barrels of flour. There'll be no police to-day--come on, let's rob that house!'

"Rob a house?" said the curate, wistfully. "Oh, but I'm in Holy Orders, don't y'know." Then rolling over exhausted, "My dear friend," he whispered, "couldn't you bring me just a little flour?"

"I might," the barrister sneered, "and I might not. All right, go off to sleep, don't mind me." He looked round. "Hello, the boy's got that pigeon!" The barrister scrambled to his feet. "The little brute!"

He looked at the curate, who seemed to be asleep, then at the street arab who was sucking the pigeon's blood. He felt the parson's clothes for tobacco, but his eyes were on the lad who had captured food.

Staggering with weakness he went for the street arab, drawing a knife from his pocket. The lad crouched unheeding, tearing the bird apart. The barrister, staring dreadfully about him, stole upon the lad, his knife ready, his lips twitching, his teeth set. Then a rifle shot rang out from one of the barricaded windows of St. Stephen's Palace, the barrister leaped into the air, and fell doubled up upon the pavement, his limbs relaxed, his mouth wide open, One of his legs gave a last twitch and he lay quite still. The street arab had run away.

Then from a distance came the steady tramp of marching men, and the curate seemed to wake at the sound from a spell of sleep. He rose upon his hands and knees, he tried to stand up, but he had not the strength. He looked at the Palace, and just opposite to him was a door which led into the purlieus of the House of Lords. He crawled across the pavement, lifted himself wearily up the low steps, and banged with a stone against the door.

Nearer and nearer came the tramp of men.