Part 17

We did not again refer to the events of the evening. I do not think Nick spoke. He only watched me curiously. Toward midnight the landlord closed up his hotel and retired with his servants for the night. They little dreamed how soon and with what fright they would be awakened from their peaceful slumbers. The innkeeper placed candles on the table between us before ascending the stairs. With what assurance men go to their slumbers knowing that they will wake up in this world in the morning. I would not be here when he again opened his little hotel.

About one o'clock Nick and I raised our heads at the same moment and listened. We heard the beat of horses' feet on the hard stone highway, coming steadily nearer and nearer. As the sound increased in volume, it became evident that more than a thousand cavalrymen and others, detailed to search the main road, were upon us.

"They are here," said Nicholas.

*CHAPTER XXI*

*THE FIGHT ON THE STAIRS*

Like pilgrims to th' appointed place we tend; The world's an Inn and death the journey's end. --_Dryden: Palamon and Arcite_.

The agony I suffered during the long hours of waiting left me without feeling. If I experienced any sensation as I heard the approaching sounds of pursuit, it was not of excitement, but rather of elation. The terrible hours of waiting were at an end; here at last was the opportunity for action. To sit and think on approaching death is more difficult than to fight it.

Nick's decision to wait for the priests and soldiers; his refusal to help, when the automobile was ready at our call and the road deserted, had rendered me callous to the future. I remained seated at the table until the frantic yells of the approaching mob told me they had sighted the inn and expected to get news of the hated woman.

"Good-bye, Nicholas," I said, extending my hand.

He took it hesitatingly, but did not speak. Wonder and doubt as to what I intended to do were written on his face. He could not bring himself to believe that I really meant to defend Solonika against such overwhelming odds.

"Do not be foolish," he said when I turned at the foot of the stairs and put my hand in my pocket to feel the revolver there. There was no reply on my lips. Nick continued to watch me with the same curious expression. Men may have looked with pity upon the French nobles as they mounted the guillotine to surrender their heads upon the block without a murmur.

The soldiers drew rein before the inn. The car standing at the door told them they had run their quarry to earth. They shouted aloud as if they knew the victory was theirs. I heard the officers give their orders; the tavern was speedily surrounded. Then came an awful knock upon the door and a loud voice in bull-like tones demanding entrance. With a last look at me, Nick arose from his chair and opened the door, permitting the soldiers to pour into the room.

As I expected, the first man to enter was the outraged Patriarch. He was still uttering at intervals his Bharbazonian cry of "Sacrilege." His black robe was torn by hard riding and covered with dust. He was like a madman--his eyes glaring, his fingers clutching--as he sprang into the light. Pressing close behind were most of the black clergy who officiated within the chancel. They were loud in their cries and horrible in their expression of mediaeval hatred. Within their souls was one thought and that was kill--kill--kill! How much like those who erected the cross on Calvary, nineteen hundred years ago, were these deluded men. How little had they learned of the spirit of their Master, the Prince of Peace.

It was small wonder, under the influence of such teaching, that the soldiers, who pressed into the inn, were wrought up into a similar religious frenzy. There was no pity even in the face of the colonel in charge. The innkeeper and his serving men and women, aroused by the fearful din, appeared upon the landing above in night robes. They lent their excited voices to the uproar. As soon as the Patriarch saw the landlord he called to him in French:

"Where is she--this woman?"

"What woman, your Reverence?" cried the bewildered Marchaud.

"She who fled hither in that devil car?"

"No woman came with that party. They were only three men."

"Who were they?"

"Oh, Your Holiness have mercy upon me! What is it you intend to do? You will ruin the fair reputation of my house. No one is here but these two gentlemen you see before you and the King, the new King."

"Bah!" cried the Patriarch and his priests. "Where is she hiding?"

"_Mon dieu_! _She_? The King is in yonder room."

He pointed to the door at the head of the stairs and they made a rush toward me, but halted when I drew my revolver and held it in their faces.

"Do not do that!" cried Nick, when my intention of holding the steps even against such odds became clear. After opening the door to the pursuers he had not taken part in the search of the ground floor and had refused to answer all questions. By my act he knew that I was dooming myself to Solonika's fate.

The Patriarch and his followers drew back at the first show of resistance. They were afraid to mount the steps while I faced them. I might have held them at bay much longer, had not Solonika appeared beside her doorway. The first intimation I had that she was there came from the crowd. The Patriarch and his priests went mad with rage and pressed me hard. They seemed to have lost their fear of me and every one shouted at once, pointing behind me. Before their frenzied rush I was compelled to fall back a little to avoid being struck by swords from the side toward the bannisters. I glanced over my shoulder and saw her. She had discarded the black robe of the Patriarch and was pale and white in her coronation costume.

"Go back! go back!" I called, but instead she came down the steps until she touched my shoulder. "Give over, my friend. They will only kill you. You cannot save me," she said.

"Go back, Solonika. You are making them mad. I cannot hold them."

"Please let them come and end it, then."

One priest, braver than the rest, crept up the stair with his eyes gloating over Solonika, his religious fanaticism having overpowered his judgment. Something of the spirit of the Mohammedan urged him to the attack with no weapon but his empty hands. He sprang toward the woman he hated; he almost clutched her. But I was watching. I brought the butt of my revolver down upon his tonsured head and, as he crumpled up under the heavy blow, I kicked him with all my force so that he fell back into the arms of his brethren, unconscious.

In the sight of all Bharbazonia I had raised my hand against the Church. There was no mistaking my intention now. I had announced my position and chosen my fate. Solonika realized it.

"They will kill you, Dale," she said.

"They will have to before they reach you," I replied.

The old fire came back to her. She lost her listlessness.

"We shall die together," she said, and I think the thought made her happier. "It is better so. Perhaps God will forgive me and permit us to meet in the other world."

She drew her sword, which I knew she could use with all the vigour of a well-trained swordsman, and faced her enemies, ready for the impending battle. If, by my action, I had convinced Solonika of my intention to die with her, I also made it clear to Nicholas. Perhaps it was the sight of two against such unequal odds that moved him--the heart of man demands fair play--perhaps it was his love for a fight; give him what motives you will, my reader, I know that it was his friendship for me and his desire to save me that was his moving passion. The fact remains that he acted almost before the priest's body fell.

Belabouring the Patriarch's followers at the foot of the stairs with the flat of his broadsword, he forced a passage for himself and stood in the clearing in front of me. I appreciated the generous spirit his foolish act showed. He had kept the faith and preserved my idols unbroken. Here was a friendship which even the love of woman could not kill. But, oh, but how useless was his sacrifice! One hour ago, had he listened to my plea, his service had not been in vain. One hour ago he might have led us through the gates. But, now, we were surrounded. The automobile was in the enemy's hands. The pleading voice of friendship had made itself heard--too late!

Nick's scarlet uniform of a Grand Duke had its effect upon the soldiers. They fell silent when he lifted his hand. But the priests, working themselves momentarily into a greater frenzy, continued their cries of "Kill! kill, the woman!" What was the power of a Grand Duke to them who were more powerful than the nobles?

Nicholas raised his voice above their howling; he spoke in the mother tongue and seemed to be exhorting the soldiers not to kill me or the woman, but to take us alive. The Patriarch frequently interrupted, urging the fighting men to finish the work he had brought them to do. Between the two the ignorant cavalrymen stood irresolute until the frantic High Priest threw himself upon Nicholas and, assisted by his men, bore him down the steps and surrounded him. The hesitating soldiers, seeing the Grand Duke attacked by the priests, obeyed the Patriarch and sprang up the stairs swords in hand. The crisis was upon us.

As they crowded up the incline I took careful aim and pressed the trigger of my automatic gun. Like the sputter of an alarm clock eleven reports followed in rapid succession. The steel-jacketed projectiles went forward upon their deadly mission. Every bullet found its mark and, boring through the first rank, wounded many in the rear.

In these days of smokeless powder there was nothing to obscure my view and I saw the front rank fall down upon its face and the less severely wounded struggle backward to escape another volley. The havoc I had wrought was terrible. The soldiers broke in a panic, leaving their dead and dying where they had fallen.

For a moment the attack was over, but I had shot my bolt. I had no more ammunition. My revolver was empty! There was not even a bullet left for Solonika and myself!

*CHAPTER XXII*

*THE KING IS DEAD--LONG LIVE THE KING!*

This, and in this, my soul I give, Lodged where I know 'twill ever live. For never could myself or mine, Fall into kinder hands than thine. --_Bohn: Mss_.

Solonika stood with her hand upon my shoulder, looking down at the retreating men with fascinated eyes. I threw the useless weapon to the floor and turned to her.

"I have done the best I could," I said, "but I am powerless now."

"Empty?" she said.

Quickly she sped down the steps to where the body of the nearest man lay. She took the long sword from his nerveless grasp and came back.

"Can you use it?" she cried as she thrust it into my hands.

"A little," I said. Broadsword work was one of Nick's favourite pastimes at college, and I had become interested in it on his account.

"Look!" cried Solonika, pointing toward the foot of the stairs. Were they about to renew the attack so soon? I looked in the direction indicated and saw Nicholas backing slowly toward us step by step. At my first fire the frightened priests had run to cover, leaving Nicholas free. His sword was in his hand and he was watchful. My heart beat with renewed hope. With three defenders we might hold the stairs for an indefinite period.

But Nick was not to arrive at our side without a struggle. To the soldiers, now recovered from their first shock, his method of joining us looked like a retreat. They recognized that he was going over to the other side, and sought to attack him while he was yet alone. Before he had gone two steps upward, feeling for a foothold among the bodies under his feet, they were upon him. Nick's flashing sword flew from stair-rail to wall with blinding rapidity, holding them at bay. He continued backing. Although their weapons clashed against his, I thought their strokes lacking the force which, had their attack not been directed against a Grand Duke's uniform, they might have had.

I stood ready to help him if I thought he needed it. My chief concern was that they might attack him from the side over the railing. But the men gathered there seemed to be too much interested in the battle to take any part. He won to my side unhurt. But with him came the enemy, and I could not tell him how much I appreciated his foolishly generous act.

The stair was about twelve feet wide; consequently there was room for the three of us to stand abreast and wield our swords without interference. Nick fought on the outside against the railing; Solonika was in the middle and I near the wall. The soldiers crowded up the stairs five at a time. They hampered each other and were interfered with by their eager comrades pushing up behind. Nick and I readily took care of two of these, leaving the middle one to Solonika. But she did not require any assistance from me, easily handling her own man and one of mine.

I could see that she was taking care of me and exposing herself to great risk in the hope of saving my life as long as possible. Although she fought with spirit I knew it was without hope. After I had made the last great sacrifice she would hold to her original intention of delivering herself into the Patriarch's hands.

The first rush of battle over, our work became almost routine. As often as we drove the front rank back upon its fellows, a new set of swords took its place. It soon became apparent to the colonel in command that he could not take us without resort to strategy. In spite of the entreaties of the priests he gave the order to cease the attack. When our enemies withdrew all three of us showed the effects of the desperate battle. Solonika had been wounded in several places. There were blood stains upon her trousers and stockings. From a cut on her right shoulder the blood had run down her arm and dyed the grip of her sword hilt. She was pale and weak from her long fast and loss of blood, and sank upon the steps with her weapon watchfully ready. Thanks to her excellent care I was not much hurt. But I was tired from my exertion, and glad of the opportunity to rest. I sank down beside her.

If Nick had been struck, it did not show on his scarlet coat. Panting heavily, he leaned upon his father's sword and watched the soldiers clear the stairs of the wounded, preparing the way, perhaps, for another attack.

"Thank you, Lassie," I called to express my gratitude. Without his strong arm where would we be now?

"You are a fool, Dale," he replied gruffly. He did not look at Solonika.

We were too tired to talk more and, beside, we needed our strength for the future. I turned my attention to the room below. Over the railing I saw the Patriarch, surrounded by his priests, in close consultation with the colonel in command. Between them they had Marchaud, the innkeeper. Attired in his nightcap and scanty _robe de nuit_, he was the picture of abject terror. The last time I had seen him he was on the balcony behind. His wife and servants were still there. How he had reached the ground floor without passing us I did not know.

"Oh, my beautiful hotel," he shrieked. "Who will pay me for the damage? Look at the blood upon the walls. Oh, I am ruined."

The colonel slapped him over the mouth to still his noise and motioned two soldiers to drag him from the room. The Patriarch and the commanding officer followed Marchaud out. The Patriarch had admitted himself beaten and the rest of the fight would be conducted upon military lines. I watched the door until the colonel reappeared. He evidently had formed a plan of action. A captain took charge of the men at the foot of the stairs, while the priests looked on in silence. A bugler with his horn in his hand, stepped to the centre of the floor. No doubt he would give the signal for the renewal of the battle. The captain's men prepared to leap up at us again. What did they intend to do? Surely they did not hope to wear us out until, overpowered by numbers, we were at last forced to surrender? It might be costly, but it could not fail.

"Here they come," I cried as the young bugler raised his shining instrument to his lips.

Weary, but undaunted, we sprang to our positions to await the expected attack. Outside, on the road toward Nischon, there was the sound of galloping horses. Reinforcements were coming to the enemy, as if there were not sufficient men to wear twice our number down.

At the silvery call of the bugle, sounding the advance, the green uniforms surged up the stairs with a happy shout. They came with so much confidence of success that we feared we could not stop their mad rush. But, when our swords met, we discovered that the charge strangely enough lacked spirit. As steel clashed against steel, I heard the clear note of the bugle again. Was he sounding another advance? Did the attacking force need further encouragement?

We were not long in ignorance of the meaning of the second signal. Scarcely was the note begun when the serving women on the landing behind us began shrieking in terror. Their high voices mingled with the hoarse cry of men coming to the attack. Those below pressed us hard, with renewed vigour. The colonel, guided by the landlord, had sent a second attacking squad to the balcony by means of a back way. They were even now running toward us with shouts of victory. Had we been twice our number our case had been hopeless. We were surrounded and undone. We were lost.

Slipping my sword hilt through my hand, I grasped Solonika about the waist and ran swiftly up the few remaining steps in the face of the oncoming enemy. I reached the door and thrust her safely inside before the flanking party arrived, leaving Nick to fight it out alone on the steps. By this move I placed myself on a level with my enemies and forced them to come through a narrow doorway, one at a time to get me. I awaited the final attack--which never came.

Instead a loud voice reverberated through the inn and brought every man to a pause. The soldiers dropped their swords to their sides. Those in front of me moved to the edge of the balcony and looked over. In the sudden silence that followed I heard the tread of horses' feet outside the tavern. There were horses inside as well. Their iron hoofs rang loudly upon the stone floor. I came to the edge of the stairs and looked anxiously down. The room below was thick with horses and red-coated men. The nobles had come at last. Without dismounting, they had ridden into the inn. Among them I saw the Duke of Marbosa with his long black beard and the members of the Secret Order of the Cross. And in their lead stood General Palmora.

"Stand back!" he was crying, and every man obeyed the commander-in-chief.

He saw Nicholas in the spot he had cleared for himself against the railing. The General was amazed.

"What are you doing, sir?" he called.

"These fools were trying to kill Dale," Nick replied.

"Are you hurt?"

"No."

The General's face was shining with a look of happiness that lifted the weight of years from his shoulders. Something had happened. He turned to the soldiers and began an address in their language. I could not follow him, but what he said acted with magical effect. As he spoke, Solonika stole to my side and watched the proceedings. She translated his every word.

"Men of Bharbazonia," said the General, "the King is dead."

He removed his helmet in honour of the dead and every man stood at attention with bared head.

"Under the unusual stress of excitement, he was stricken with apoplexy in the Cathedral. The Kingdom of Bharbazonia was without a ruler. At that moment the nobles and Grand Dukes assembled proclaimed another king in Gregory's stead. That other is Grand Duke Novgorod, the only living descendant of the ancient royal house which was banished by the Turks. I, representing the army, have taken the oath of allegiance to the new King. And I urge you to accept him."

"Long live the new King," shouted the men in a deep chorus.

"Long live King Novgorod," shouted Marbosa and the nobles.

Both the General and Marbosa dismounted from their horses and advanced toward the stairs where Nicholas stood watching the scene with interest. They knelt upon the floor and presented the hilts of their swords to him, in token of fealty.

"Sire," said Marbosa, humbly, "herewith I pledge to you my loyalty and that of all the nobles of Bharbazonia."

"Nicholas Fremsted, Grand Duke of Framkor, Novgorod the Tenth, I pledge to you the loyalty of the army of Bharbazonia."

Nick clutched the railing in front of him and straightened up in amazement. Following their two leaders, every man present dropped to his knees in the presence of his King. Nick, Solonika and I alone were left standing, except for the Patriarch and his priests.

"No! no!" shouted Nick in English. "My God, General, there is some mistake here!"

The effect upon me was equally great. Could this be possible? I ran over in my mind the story which Palmora had told of the king who had relinquished his throne for the sake of his country's peace, who had kept the secret of his kingship from his only son. Solonika put her hand in mine.

"It is so," she whispered. "I have always felt it."

"No, Sire,"--the General was speaking--"there is no mistake. Thou art thy father's son. I have this day kept my oath to him and given you your own without bloodshed."

"There is no mistake, Sire," said Marbosa. "We have seen the proofs in the Cathedral and we _know_."

"We _know_," said the Grand Dukes and the nobles.

I was overjoyed. If this were true, and there seemed no doubt of it, the future loomed bright for me. With Nicholas King in Bharbazonia, what had I to fear? To think that I had lived all these years with him without knowing. But how could I know when the General had kept the secret even from Nick? His father's plan in sending him to various countries to educate him had been to prepare him for this very day.

Nick walked down the steps and bade his two kneeling subjects rise. They gathered around him and explained everything until he was convinced of the truth. The Patriarch also entered the discussion, and I could see that he did not accept Nicholas as readily as had the army. Even with the army and the nobles on his side, his throne was not safe without the cooperation of the all-powerful Church.

"The Patriarch is urging him to deliver us into the hands of the church," whispered Solonika.

"He'll never do it," I replied confidently.

Whatever was the outcome of the conversation it was Nicholas that spoke to me.

"I trust, Dale, that you and--this woman will submit to arrest," he said with a dignity that was new, but which was rightly a part of his kingship.

"We will surrender to you, Sire," I replied.

"General Palmora, take charge of your prisoners," said Nick.

Before sunrise I was under lock and key in one of the dungeons beneath the Palace of Nischon, having been conveyed thither by a strong guard which even the church would not dare assail. We rode to Nischon in the automobile alone with Teju Okio. Nick and the General used horses.

"Teju," I said, in high good humour, "your master Mr. Fremsted is King of Bharbazonia."

"Very dam fine," he smiled.

And I agreed with him.

But, when we arrived at the Palace, Solonika was taken from me and placed in a dungeon in another part of the huge building. I did not know when I should see her again or what disposition they would make of her. The King, Marbosa, and the General were diplomats used to playing the politics of a nation. They had felt the scourge of power and feared it.

The Patriarch, I knew, still demanded her life. What would happen if he made it the price of the church's submission to the new ruler?

*CHAPTER XXIII*

*THE KING'S OFFERING*