Chapter 12

The challenger, still with his visor lowered, said in a low voice:

"In the King's name I accuse this woman of witchcraft, and will maintain that charge with my sword, if any be found bold to challenge it."

The archbishop again rose and asked:

"Does any champion answer on the woman's side?"

Out of the same archway came Theron in old and rusty armor, with the visor of his helmet up, so that all could behold his wrinkled, haggard face.

"I do," he cried. "I am her father, and I know her stainless soul. This hand that has so often dealt justice to others may now do justice for itself."

The archbishop again rose, and spoke.

"Then, by the law, opposer and opposed must do battle to the death. If the challenger gain the day, his charge is proved and the woman dies by fire. If the woman's champion win, the woman shall be counted innocent and her accuser shall die as she would have died. Let them begin."

There was a new flourish of trumpets. Then a number of soldiers ran into the arena and set up a spacious ring of short painted staves of wood, colored white and red, and linked together with thick ropes of similarly colored silk. Into this space the challenger and the champion were conducted and left facing each other, while Perpetua was led to the stake, where she mounted the platform and stood, with the piled faggots at her feet, clasping a crucifix to her breast. Father Hieronymus stood with the assistant executioners at the foot of the platform. Once again the archbishop rose, and his words seemed the only stir in the intense silence.

"Let them begin, and God defend the right."

Again the trumpets thundered, and as the sound died away champion and challenger engaged in combat. The great swords gleamed in the bright air, fell heavily on the lifted shields. All the spectators held their breath. No one expected the fight to last long; and indeed it did not last long. Everybody was confident that the challenger would easily overcome the aged champion, but everybody's confidence was ill-founded. After a few blows hotly exchanged the sword of Theron struck the helm of his enemy, and to the amazement of the spectators the King's challenger reeled and fell heavily, clattering to the ground. In a moment Theron was over him with the great sword at the fallen man's throat.

"Yield or die!" he cried, in a voice in which exultation and astonishment struggled for the mastery.

The fallen man propped himself on one arm.

"I am defeated," he gasped. "The maid is innocent."

XIX

ROBERT THE RIGHTEOUS

"Glory to God!" cried Theron, and flung away his sword. He turned and ran towards the stake, from which Perpetua was at once unfastened, and caught her in his arms. Hieronymus hurried to the side of the fallen man, whose head was now raised on the knee of one soldier, while another unfastened his helmet. All the great multitude in the arena leaned forward eagerly to see the face of Hildebrand. Only the figure like the King remained unmoved and impassive. But when the challenger's helmet was removed, the spectators saw with astonishment the twisted features of a face that they knew for the face of the fool Diogenes.

A strange murmur of surprise rippled along the tiers. Sigurd Olafson called out the name in wonder to the archbishop.

"The fool Diogenes!"

Theron, leaving Perpetua, leaned over his antagonist and muttered, "The fool Diogenes!"

All over the great amphitheatre the words ran, "The fool Diogenes!"

The archbishop turned to the kingly image:

"It was an ill chance, sire, that found you a fool for a champion, but there's no help now. By the laws of Sicily the field is fought and won."

Robert, lying conquered on the ground, gasped out one word:

"Perpetua!"

Hieronymus beckoned to Perpetua, who came and knelt by the side of the seeming fool. Her senses were in a whirl, and, hardly conscious, she stooped and listened to the words which Robert whispered eagerly into her ear:

"You must not misread me; you must know why I have done what I have done. My arm was too weak to wield a weapon in your defence, but my vile body might well be flung away to rescue yours. Hildebrand is dead. Hieronymus found me a suit of armor. I came as the challenger, resolved to fall and die."

"I knew this," confirmed Hieronymus; "but I was pledged to keep his secret."

Perpetua looked into Robert's eyes tenderly. What could be said of devotion such as his?

"You must not die," she whispered.

Robert shook his head.

"The law demands my death as the very seal of your innocence. But it is better to die thus in your service than to live forever having wronged you in a thought."

Fighting emotions swayed Perpetua's soul. Hardly knowing what she said, she spoke quickly:

"You must not die. Your life is very dear to me. I love you." Her cheeks flamed crimson as she spoke, but her lips and her eyes were steadfast.

Robert shook his head.

"You could not love this monster. You pity me and you call your pity love."

All Syracuse watched and wondered at the colloquy between the redeemed maid and the mysterious fool who had taken the place of the Lord Hildebrand. Now they saw Perpetua spring to her feet.

"I love you," she said to Robert, "for I love your noble soul."

She left him and advanced to the place where the figure like the King sat. "King," she cried, so that all could hear, "give me this man!"

Instantly the figure like the King answered her:

"He is yours if you love him."

Robert staggered to his feet and limped over to where Perpetua stood.

"I love him," Perpetua said, proudly.

Robert saw the eyes of the kingly likeness fixed upon him, and he knew that they asked him if he was content to escape death by this gate.

"No, no, no!" he cried, in answer. He turned to Perpetua. "I should be baser than I have ever been if I took you at your word. Though no man may recognize me for a king over men, at least there is one realm in which I will rule. Here I am king, and while reason rules in my brain and my blood runs in its channels, I will live a king and die a king, king over myself and my own evil passions. Take me to my death."

There came no change over the face of him who seemed the King; only his eyes, terribly bright, were fixed on Robert's eyes and seemed to flood them with light. Robert turned to the platform and mounted the steps. Perpetua gave a cry and would have fallen but that Theron caught her in his arms. Hieronymus held out his crucifix to the doomed man. One of the executioners, who had a torch in readiness, stooped and applied its flame to the piled-up faggots. Red tongues of fire licked at the dry wood.

Even then it seemed to Robert as if again the great darkness came over the world, a darkness in which nothing was visible save the shining shape of an angel. And the angel spoke and the voice was the voice that had spoken the words of doom on the mountain summit.

"Robert of Sicily, purified as by fire, be once again a king, be now and ever a loyal soldier of the living God. It was Heaven's will that I should do the wicked deeds you dreamed of. But Heaven now annuls them and they are as if they had not been."

The darkness vanished, and Robert found himself standing in the arena, and he knew that he was his old self again, clad in the garments of a king. At his feet the fool Diogenes knelt a suppliant; the royal throne was vacant. All in the great amphitheatre were cheering, for they believed that they had seen the King descend from his throne, enter the arena, and order the liberation of Diogenes. And that belief they cherished to the end. But Robert looked into Perpetua's eyes and read there that she knew better. He caught her hands.

"The hunter wooed you, the King wronged you, the fool served you, the man loves you. Queen of the world, make me indeed a king."

And Perpetua answered him.

"I love the man."

This is how Perpetua became Queen of Sicily, and how Robert in his long and happy reign won and wore the title of Robert the Righteous.

THE END

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:

Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors in the original book; otherwise, every effort has been made to be faithful to the author's words and intent.

End of Project Gutenberg's The Proud Prince, by Justin Huntly McCarthy