Kitabı oku: «Sophy of Kravonia: A Novel», sayfa 15
XVII
INGENIOUS COLONEL STAFNITZ
After his happy holiday the Prince slept well, and rose in a cheerful mood – still joyful of heart. He anticipated that the day would bring him a summons from his father; he had little doubt that in the course of a personal interview he could persuade the King to agree to a postponement of his journey. Of Sophy he meant to say nothing – by a reservation necessary and not inexcusable. It was impossible not to take into account the knowledge he had acquired of the state of the King's health. The result of that condition was that his provision must, in all likelihood, be for months only, and not for years. The task for the months was to avoid disturbing the King's mind, so long as this course was consistent with the maintenance of his own favorable position. It must be remembered that no man in the kingdom built more on this latter object than the King himself; no man was less a partisan of Countess Ellenburg and of young Alexis than the husband of the one and the father of the other. The royal line – the line which boasted Bourbon blood – was for the King the only line of Stefanovitch.
Of the attack prepared against him the Prince knew nothing – nothing even of the King's mind having been turned against the Baroness Dobrava, whom so short a time ago he had delighted to honor; nothing, of course, of Stafnitz's audacious coup, nor of the secret plan which Stenovics and the Colonel had made, and of which Mistitch was to be the instrument. Of all the salient features of the situation, then, he was ignorant, and his ignorance was shared by those about his person. On the other hand, Stenovics had his finger on every thread save one – the Lepage-Zerkovitch thread, if it may so be called. That was important, but its importance might be nullified if Mistitch made good speed.
On the whole, the odds were much in favor of the coterie. If by any means they could prevent the King from coming alive and free to Slavna, the game would be theirs. If he did come alive and free, their game would probably be up. His presence would mean a hard fight – or a surrender; and Slavna had no stomach for such a fight – though it would be piously thankful to be rid of Sergius, whether as Prince or King, without the necessity of an ordeal so severe.
As a preliminary to the summons he anticipated, and to a possible stay of some days with his father at Slavna, the Prince had details to discuss and routine business to transact with Lukovitch, the captain of his battery in Volseni. He was early on horseback; Sophy and Max von Hollbrandt (Max's stay at the Castle was to end the next day) rode with him as far as the gates of the city; there they left him and turned down into the plain, to enjoy a canter on the banks of Lake Talti. The three were to meet again for the mid-day meal at Praslok. Marie Zerkovitch had been ailing, and kept her bed in the morning. The Prince's mounted guard rode behind him and his friends to Volseni, for the sake of exercising their horses. In the Castle there were left only Marie Zerkovitch and the servants. The Prince did not anticipate that any message would come from the Palace before noon at the earliest.
Morning avocations pursued their usual peaceful and simple course at the Castle; old Vassip, his wife, and the maids did their cleaning; Peter Vassip saw to his master's clothes, and then, to save his father labor, began to sluice the wooden causeway; the stablemen groomed their horses – they had been warned that the Prince might want another mount later in the day. Marie Zerkovitch lay in her bed, sleeping soundly after a restless night. There seemed no hint of trouble in the air. It must be confessed that up to now it looked as though Praslok would be caught napping.
It was Peter Vassip, busy on the causeway, who first saw Zerkovitch. He rested and leaned on his mop to watch the head which rose over the hill, the body that followed, the farm-horse lumbering along in a slow, clumsy, unwilling gallop. The man was using stick and spur – he was riding mercilessly. Peter ran down to the road and waited. A groom came across from the stables and joined him.
"He's got no call to treat the horse like that, whoever he is," the groom observed.
"Not unless he's on urgent business," said Peter, twirling the water from his mop.
Zerkovitch was up to them; he leaped from his horse. "I must see the Prince," he cried, "and immediately!"
"The Prince is at Volseni, sir; he rode over to see Captain Lukovitch."
"When will he be back?"
"We don't expect him till twelve o'clock."
Zerkovitch snatched out his watch.
"There's nobody here but Madame Zerkovitch, sir; she's still in bed, not very well, sir."
"Twelve o'clock!" muttered Zerkovitch, paying no heed to the news about his wife.
"The Baroness and Baron von Hollbrandt are out riding – "
"Can you give me a fresh horse? I must ride on and find the Prince at Volseni."
"Oh yes, sir." He signed to the groom. "And hurry up!" he added.
"The guard's here, of course?"
"No, sir. They've gone with the Prince."
Zerkovitch twitched his head irritably and again looked at his watch. "There must be time," he said. "They can't be here at soonest for an hour and a half."
Peter Vassip did not understand him, but neither did he venture to ask questions.
"Your horse 'll be here in a minute, sir. I think you'll find the Prince in his office over the city gate. He went to do business, not to drill, this morning."
Zerkovitch looked at him for a moment, wondering, perhaps, whether he would be wise to tell his news. But what was the use of telling Peter Vassip? Or his own wife? What could she do? It was for the Prince to say who should be told. The one thing was to find the Prince. There was time – at the very least an hour and a half.
The groom brought the fresh horse, and Zerkovitch began to mount.
"A glass of wine, sir?" Peter Vassip suggested. He had marked Zerkovitch's pale face and strained air; he had wondered to see his clothes sprinkled with whitey-brown fibres – traces of the sack under whose cover he had slid out of Slavna.
Zerkovitch was in the saddle. "No," he answered. "But a bumper, Peter, when I've found the Prince!" He set spurs to his horse and was off at a gallop for Volseni; the road, though high on the hills, was nearly level now.
Peter scratched his head as he looked after him for a moment; then he returned to his mop.
He was just finishing his task, some twenty minutes later, when he heard Sophy's laugh. She and Hollbrandt came from a lane which led up from the lake and joined the main road a hundred yards along towards Volseni. Peter ran and took their horses, and they mounted the causeway in leisurely, pleasant chat. Sophy was in her sheepskin uniform; her cheeks were pale, but the Star glowed. The world seemed good to her that morning.
"And that is, roughly, the story of my life," she said with a laugh, as she reached the top of the causeway and leaned against the rude balustrade which ran up the side of it.
"A very interesting one – even very remarkable," he said, returning her laugh. "But much more remains to be written, I don't doubt, Baroness."
"Something, perhaps," said Sophy.
"A good deal, I imagine!"
She shot a mischievous glance at him: she knew that he was trying to lure from her an avowal of her secret. "Who can tell? It all seems like a dream sometimes, and dreams end in sudden awakenings, you know."
"If it's a dream, you make an excellent dream-lady, Baroness."
Peter Vassip put his mop and pail down by the stables, and came up and stood beside them.
"Did the mare carry you well to-day, sir?" he asked Max.
"Admirably, Peter. We had a splendid ride – at least I thought so. I hope the Baroness – ?"
Sophy threw out her arms as though to embrace the gracious world. "I thought it beautiful; I think everything beautiful to-day. I think you beautiful, Baron von Hollbrandt – and Peter is beautiful – and so is your mother, and so is your father, Peter. And I half believe that, just this morning – this one splendid morning – I'm beautiful myself. Yes, in spite of this horrible mark on my cheek!"
"I hear something," said Peter Vassip.
"Just this morning – this one splendid morning – I agree with you," laughed Max. "Not even the mark shall change my mind! Come, you love the mark – the Red Star – don't you?"
"Well, yes," said Sophy, with a little, confidential nod and smile.
"I hear something," said Peter Vassip, with his hand to his ear.
Sophy turned to him, smiling. "What do you hear, Peter?"
He gave a sudden start of recollection. "Ah, has that anything to do with Monsieur Zerkovitch?"
"Monsieur Zerkovitch?" broke from them both.
"He's been here; he's ridden at a gallop on to Volseni – to find the Prince." He added briefly all there was to add – his hand at his ear all the time.
"Hum! That looks like news," said Max. "What can it be?"
"He didn't stop even to tell Marie! It must be urgent."
They looked in one another's faces. "Can there be – be anything wrong in Slavna?"
"You mean – the troops?"
"I had thought of that."
"I can think of nothing but that. If it were anything from the Palace, it would come by a royal courier sooner than by any other hand."
"I can hear plainly now," said Peter Vassip. "Listen!"
They obeyed him, but their ears were not so well trained. A dull, indefinite sound was all they could distinguish.
"Horses – a number of them. Mounted men it must be – the hoofs are so regular. Cavalry!"
"It's the Prince coming back from Volseni!" cried Sophy.
"No, it's from the other direction; and, besides, there are too many for that."
Mounted men on the Slavna road – and too many to be the Prince's guard!
"What can it be?" asked Sophy in a low voice.
"I don't know. Zerkovitch's arrival must be connected with the same thing, I think."
"There! There are their shakoes coming over the rise of the hill!" cried Peter Vassip.
The next moment showed the company. They rode in fours, with sergeants on the flanks. The officer in command was behind – the three on the causeway could not see him yet. They were Hussars of the King's Guard, the best regiment in the army. The Prince of Slavna had made them good soldiers – they hated him for it. But Stafnitz was their colonel. On they came; in their blue tunics and silver braid they made a brave show in the sunshine.
The three watched now without word or motion. The sudden sight held them spellbound. Not one of them thought of sending to warn the Prince. If they had, the thought would have been useless, unless it had chimed in with Mistitch's will. Twenty men could have been on them before there was time to saddle a horse. If the expedition were a hostile one, the Castle was caught napping in very truth!
Sophy stood forward a pace in front of her companions; her hand rested on the little revolver which Monseigneur had given her.
On came the company; the foremost file reached within twenty yards of the causeway. There they halted. Half of them dismounted, each man as he did so intrusting his horse to his next fellow. Half of the fifty thus left mounted repeated this operation, leaving the remaining twenty-five in charge of all the horses. The seventy-five took position, four deep, on the road. They separated, lining either side.
The figure of their commander now appeared. He rode to the foot of the causeway, then dismounted, and gave his horse to the sergeant who attended him. His men followed and drew up in the road, blocking the approach to the Castle. Big Mistitch began to ascend the causeway, a broad smile on his face. It was a great moment for Captain Hercules – the day of revenge for which he had waited in forced patience and discreet unobtrusiveness. It was a critical day, also, in view of the instructions he had. To do him justice, he was not afraid.
Sophy saw and knew. This must have been the news that Zerkovitch carried, that he had galloped on to tell to the Prince at Volseni. Some event – some unknown and untoward turn of fortune – had loosed Mistitch on them! That was all she had time to realize before Mistitch saluted her and spoke.
"I have the honor of addressing the Baroness Dobrava?"
"You know me well, I think, Captain Mistitch, and I know you."
"Our journey together will be all the pleasanter for that."
"Your business with me, please?"
"I have it in command from his Majesty to escort you to Slavna – to the Palace and into his presence. The King himself will then acquaint you with his wishes."
"You're a strange messenger to send."
"That's a point to put to my superior officer, Colonel Stafnitz, who sent me, Baroness."
Sophy pointed at his men. "You ride strongly supported!"
"Again the Colonel's orders, Baroness. I confess the precautions seemed to me excessive. I had no doubt you would willingly obey his Majesty's commands. Here, by-the-way, is the written order." He produced the order the King had signed before his death.
Sophy had been thinking. Neither her courage nor her cunning forsook her. She waved the document away. "I can take your word, Captain? You're making no mistake to-day? – I really am Baroness Dobrava – not somebody else with whom you have a feud?" She laughed at him gayly and went on: "Well, I'm ready. I'm dressed for a ride – and I'll ride with you immediately. In two minutes we'll be off." She saw a groom in the road staring at the troopers, and called to him to bring her a horse.
This prompt obedience by no means suited Mistitch's book. It forced him either to show his hand or to ride off with Sophy, leaving the Prince to his devices – and, in a little while, to his revenge.
"I mustn't hurry you. You have some preparations – ?"
"None," said Sophy. Her horse was led out into the road.
"You'll at least desire to acquaint his Royal Highness – ?"
"Not at all necessary. Baron von Hollbrandt can do that later on."
Mistitch looked puzzled. Sophy smiled; her intuition had been right. The attack on her was a feint, her arrest a blind; the Prince was the real object of the move. She stepped down towards Mistitch.
"I see my horse is ready. We can start at once, Captain," she said.
"I'm instructed to express to the Prince regret that it should be necessary – "
"The regret will be conveyed to him. Come, Captain!"
But Mistitch barred her way.
"His Royal Highness is in the Castle?" he asked. His voice grew angry now; he feared the great stroke had failed; he saw that Sophy played with him. How would he and his escort look riding back to Slavna with nothing to show for their journey save the capture of one unresisting woman – a woman whom they dared not harm while the Prince remained free, and might become all-powerful?
"If he had been, you'd have known it by now, I think," smiled Sophy. "No, the Prince isn't at the Castle."
"I'll see that for myself!" Mistitch cried, taking a step forward.
With a low laugh Sophy drew aside, passed him, and ran down the causeway. In an instant she darted between the ranks of Mistitch's men and reached her horse. The groom mounted her. She looked up to Mistitch and called to him gayly:
"Now for Slavna, Captain! And hurry, or you'll be left behind!"
Her wit was too quick for him. Max von Hollbrandt burst out laughing; Peter Vassip grinned.
"What are you waiting for, Captain?" asked Max. "Your prisoner's only too anxious to go with you, you see!"
"I'll search the Castle first!" he cried in a rage which made him forget his part.
Peter Vassip sprang forward and barred the way. Mistitch raised his mighty arm. But Sophy's voice rang out gayly:
"Nonsense, Peter! There's nothing to conceal. Let the Captain pass!"
Her words stopped Mistitch – he feared a trap. Max saw it and mocked him. "Don't be afraid, Captain – take fifty men in with you. The garrison consists of a lady in bed, an old man, and five female servants."
Sophy heard and laughed. Even the troopers began to laugh now. Mistitch stood on the top of the causeway, irresolute, baffled, furious.
But behind his stupidity lay the cunning astuteness of Stafnitz, the ingenious bit of devilry. Mistitch's name availed where his brain could not. For the moment the Prince made little of the Crown which had become his; when he heard Zerkovitch's news, his overpowering thought was that the woman he loved might be exposed to the power and the insults of Mistitch. Sophy was playing a skilful game for him, but he did not know it.
"I hear something," said Peter Vassip again, whispering to Max von Hollbrandt.
Yes, there was the galloping of horses on the Volseni road!
Colonel Stafnitz had not miscalculated.
Now Mistitch heard the sound. His heavy face brightened. He ran down the causeway, loudly ordering his men to mount. He was no longer at a loss. He had his cue now – the cue Stafnitz had given him.
XVIII
TO THE FAITHFUL CITY
The King had died yesterday – yet none had told his heir! Mistitch had set out for Dobrava with fifty men to wait for the King – who was dead! The dead King would never go to Dobrava – and no messenger came to the new King at Praslok!
Zerkovitch's news was enough to raise the anger of a King – and Sergius blazed with it. But more potent still was his wrathful fear as he thought of Sophy at Praslok, in the power of Captain Hercules.
He had his guard of twenty mounted men with him. With these he at once set forth, bidding Lukovitch collect all the men he could and follow him as speedily as possible. If Mistitch had really gone to Dobrava, then he would find him there and have the truth out of him. But if, as the Prince hardly doubted, he was making for Praslok, there was time to intercept him, time to carry off Sophy and the other inmates of the Castle, send them back to safety within the walls of Volseni, and himself ride on to meet Mistitch with his mind at ease.
Relying on Zerkovitch's information, he assumed that the troopers had not started from Slavna till seven in the morning. They had started at six. He reckoned also on Zerkovitch's statement, that they were but fifty strong. They were a hundred. Yet, had he known the truth, he could not have used more haste – and he would not have waited for another man! He stayed to tell no man in Volseni the news about his father – except Lukovitch. But as his twenty rode out of the gate behind him, he turned his head to Zerkovitch, who trotted beside him – for Zerkovitch neither could nor would rest till the game was played – and said: "Tell them that the King is dead, and that I reign." Zerkovitch whispered the news to the man next him, and it ran along the line. A low, stern cheer, hardly more than a murmured assurance of loyalty and service, came from the lips of the men in sheepskins.
Mistitch saw them coming, and turned to his troop; he had time for a little speech – and Stafnitz had taught him what to say: "Men, you are servants of the King, and of the King only. Not even the Prince of Slavna can command you against the King's orders. The King's orders are that we take Baroness Dobrava to Slavna, no matter who resists. If need be, these orders stand even against the Prince."
Stafnitz's soldiers – the men he petted, the men who had felt the Prince's stern hand – were only too glad to hear it. To strike for the King and yet against the hated Prince – it was a luxury, a happy and unlooked-for harmonizing of their duty and their pleasure. Their answering cheer was loud and fierce.
It struck harsh on the ears of the advancing Prince. His face grew hard and strained as he heard the shouts and saw the solid body of men across his path, barring access to his own castle. And within a yard or two of their ranks, by the side of the road, sat the figure which he knew so well and so well loved.
Now Mistitch played his card – that move in the game which Sophy's cool submission to his demand had for the moment thwarted, but to which the Prince's headlong anger and fear now gave an opening – the opening which Stafnitz had from the first foreseen. It would need little to make the fiery Prince forget prudence when he was face to face with Mistitch. It was not a safe game for Mistitch personally – both Stafnitz and he knew that. But Captain Hercules was confident. He would not be caught twice by the Volseni trick of sword! The satisfaction of his revenge, and the unstinted rewards that his Colonel offered, made it worth his while to accept the risk, and rendered it grateful to his heart.
Sophy sat smiling. She would fain have averted the encounter, and had shaped her manœuvres to that end. It was not to be so, it seemed. Now, she did not doubt Monseigneur's success. But she wished that Zerkovitch had not reached Volseni so quickly, that the Prince had stayed behind his walls till his plans were ready; and that she was going a prisoner to Slavna to see the King, trusting to her face, her tongue, her courage, and the star of her own fortune. Never had her buoyant self-confidence run higher.
On the top of the causeway, Max von Hollbrandt looked to his revolver, Peter Vassip loosened his knife in its leather sheath. A window above the gate opened, and Marie Zerkovitch's frightened face looked out. The women-servants jostled old Vassip in the doorway. The grooms stood outside the stables. No one moved – only the Prince's little troop came on. When they were fifty yards away, Mistitch cried to his men: "Draw swords!" and himself pricked his horse with his spur and rode up to where Sophy was.
Mistitch drew his horse up parallel to Sophy's, head to tail, on her right side, between her and the approaching force. With the instinct of hatred she shrank away from him; it had all been foreseen and rehearsed in Stafnitz's mind! Mistitch cried loudly: "In the King's name, Baroness Dobrava!" He leaned from the saddle and caught her right wrist in his huge hand: he had the justification that, at his first attempt to touch her, Sophy's hand had flown to her little revolver and held it now. Mistitch crushed her wrist – the revolver fell to the ground. Sophy gave one cry of pain. Mistitch dropped her wrist and reached his arm about her waist. He was pulling her from her horse, while again he cried out: "In the King's name! On guard!"
It was a high jump from the top of the causeway, but two men took it side by side – Max von Hollbrandt, revolver in hand, Peter Vassip with knife unsheathed.
As they leaped, another shout rang out: "Long live King Sergius!"
The Prince rode his fastest, but faster still rode Zerkovitch. He outpaced the Prince and rode right in among Mistitch's men, crying loudly again and again, unceasingly: "The King is dead! The King is dead! The King is dead!"
Then came the Prince; he rode full at Mistitch. His men followed him, and dashed with a shock against the troopers of Mistitch's escort. As they rode, they cried: "Long live King Sergius!" They had unhorsed a dozen men and wounded four or five before they realized that they met with no resistance. Mistitch's men were paralyzed. The King was dead – they were to fight against the King! The magic of the name worked. They dropped the points of their swords. The Volsenians, hesitating to strike men who did not defend themselves, puzzled and in doubt, turned to their Bailiff – their King – for his orders.
As the Prince came up, Mistitch hurled Sophy from him; she fell from her horse, but fell on the soft, grassy road-side, and sprang up unhurt save for a cruel pain in her crushed wrist. She turned her eyes whither all eyes were turned now. The general battle was stayed, but not the single combat. For a moment none moved save the two who were now to engage.
The fight of the Street of the Fountain fell to be fought again. For when Peter Vassip was darting forward, knife in hand, with a spring like a mountain goat's, his master's voice called: "Mine, Peter, mine!" It was the old cry when they shot wild-boar in the woods about Dobrava, and it brought Peter Vassip to a stand. Max von Hollbrandt, too, lowered his pointed revolver. Who should stand between his quarry and the King, between Sophy's lover and the man who had so outraged her? Big Mistitch was the King's game, and the King's only, that day.
Mistitch's chance was gone, and he must have known it. Where was the sergeant who had undertaken to cover him? He had turned tail. Where was the enveloping rush of his men, which should have engulfed and paralyzed the enemy? Paralysis was on his men themselves; they believed Zerkovitch, and lacked appetite for the killing of a King. Where was his triumphant return to Slavna, his laurels, his rewards, his wonderful swaggerings at the Golden Lion? They were all gone. Even though he killed the King, there were two dozen men vowed to have his life. They must have it – but at what price? His savage valor set the figure high.
It was the old fight again, but not in the old manner. There was no delicate sword-play, no fluctuating fortunes in the fray. It was all stem and short. The King had not drawn his sword, Mistitch did not seek to draw his. Two shots rang out sharply – that was all. The King reeled in his saddle, but maintained his seat. Big Mistitch threw his hands above his head with a loud cry and fell with a mighty crash on the road, shot through the head. Peter Vassip ran to the King and helped him to dismount, while Max von Hollbrandt held his horse. Sophy hurried to where they laid him by the road-side.
"Disarm these fellows!" cried Zerkovitch.
But Mistitch's escort were in no mood to wait for this operation; nor to stay and suffer the anger of the King. With their leader's fall the last of heart was out of them. Wrenching themselves free from such of the Volsenians as sought to arrest their flight, they turned their horses' heads and fled, one and all, for Slavna. The King's men attempted no pursuit; they clustered round the spot where he lay.
"I'm hit," he said to Sophy, "but not badly, I think."
From the Castle door, down the causeway, came Marie Zerkovitch, weeping passionately, wringing her hands. The soldiers parted their close ranks to let her through. She came to the road-side where Sophy supported Monseigneur's head upon her knees. Sophy looked up and saw her. Marie did not speak. She stood there sobbing and wringing her hands over Sophy and the wounded King.
That afternoon – an hour after the first of the straggling rout of Mistitch's escort came in – King Alexis died suddenly! So ran the official notice, endorsed by Dr. Natcheff's high authority. The coterie were in up to their necks; they could not go back now; they must go through with it. Countess Ellenburg took to her knees; Stenovics and Stafnitz held long conversations. Every point of tactical importance in the city was occupied by troops. Slavna was silent, expectant, curious.
Markart awoke at five o'clock, heavy of head, dry in the mouth, sick and ill. He found himself no longer in the King's suite, but in one of the apartments which Stafnitz had occupied. He was all alone; the door stood open. He understood that he was no more a prisoner; he knew that the King was dead!
But who else was dead – and who alive – and who King in Slavna?
He forced himself to rise, and hurried through the corridors of the Palace. They were deserted; there was nobody to hinder him, nobody of whom to ask a question. He saw a decanter of brandy standing near the door of one room, and drank freely of it. Then he made his way into the garden. He saw men streaming over the bridge towards Slavna, and hastened after them as quickly as he could. His head was still in a maze; he remembered nothing after drinking the glass of wine which Lepage the valet had given him. But he was possessed by a strong excitement, and he followed obstinately in the wake of the throng which set from the Palace and the suburbs into Slavna.
The streets were quiet; soldiers occupied the corners of the ways; they looked curiously at Markart's pale face and disordered uniform. A dull roar came from the direction of St. Michael's Square, and thither Markart aimed his course. He found all one side of the Square full of a dense crowd, swaying, jostling, talking. On the other side troops were massed; in an open space in front of the troops, facing the crowd, was Colonel Stafnitz, and by his side a little boy on a white pony.
Markart was too far off to hear what Stafnitz said when he began to speak – nay, the cheers of the troops behind the Colonel came so sharp on his words as almost to drown them; and after a moment's hesitation (as it seemed to Markart), the crowd of people on the other side of the Square echoed back the acclamations of the soldiers.
All Countess Ellenburg's ambitions were at stake; for Stenovics and Stafnitz it was a matter of life itself now, so daringly had they raised their hands against King Sergius. Countess Ellenburg had indeed prayed – and now prayed all alone in a deserted Palace – but not one of the three had hesitated. At the head of a united army, in the name of a united people, Stafnitz had demanded the proclamation of young Alexis as King. For an hour Stenovics had made a show of demurring; then he bowed to the national will. That night young Alexis enjoyed more honor than he had asked of Lepage the valet – he was called not Prince, but Majesty. He was King in Slavna, and the first work to which they set his childish hand was the proclamation of a state of siege.
Slavna chose him willingly – or because it must at the bidding of the soldiers. But Volseni was of another mind. They would not have the German woman's son to reign over them. Into that faithful city the wounded King threw himself with all his friends.
The body of Mistitch lay all day and all night by the wayside. Next morning at dawn the King's grooms came back from Volseni and buried it under a clump of trees by the side of the lane running down to Lake Talti. Their curses were the only words spoken over the grave; and they flattened the earth level with the ground again, that none might know where the man rested who had lifted his hand against their master.
The King was carried to Volseni sore stricken; they did not know whether he would live or die. He had a dangerous wound in the lungs, and, to make matters worse, the surgical skill available in Volseni was very primitive.
