CHAPTER IV. AN EDDY ON THE MOAT
On the evening of Thursday, the sixteenth of October, the
Constable of Zenda was very much out of humor; he has since
confessed as much. To risk the peace of a palace for the sake of
a lover's greeting had never been wisdom to his mind, and he had
been sorely impatient with "that fool Fritz's" yearly pilgrimage.
The letter of farewell had been an added folly, pregnant with
chances of disaster. Now disaster, or the danger of it, had come.
The curt, mysterious telegram from Wintenberg, which told him so
little, at least told him that. It ordered him--and he did not
know even whose the order was--to delay Rischenheim's audience,
or, if he could not, to get the king away from Zenda: why he was
to act thus was not disclosed to him. But he knew as well as I
that Rischenheim was completely in Rupert's hands, and he could
not fail to guess that something had gone wrong at Wintenberg,
and that Rischenheim came to tell the king some news that the
king must not hear. His task sounded simple, but it was not easy;
for he did not know where Rischenheim was, and so could not
prevent his coming; besides, the king had been very pleased to
learn of the count's approaching visit, since he desired to talk
with him on the subject of a certain breed of dogs, which the
count bred with great, his Majesty with only indifferent success;
therefore he had declared that nothing should interfere with his
reception of Rischenheim. In vain Sapt told him that a large boar
had been seen in the forest, and that a fine day's sport might be
expected if he would hunt next day. "I shouldn't be back in time
to see Rischenheim," said the king.
"Your Majesty would be back by nightfall," suggested Sapt.
"I should be too tired to talk to him, and I've a great deal to
discuss."
"You could sleep at the hunting-lodge, sire, and ride back to
receive the count next morning."
"I'm anxious to see him as soon as may be." Then he looked up at
Sapt with a sick man's quick suspicion. "Why shouldn't I see
him?" he asked.
"It's a pity to miss the boar, sire," was all Sapt's plea. The
king made light of it.
"Curse the boar!" said he. "I want to know how he gets the dogs'
coats so fine."
As the king spoke a servant entered, carrying a telegram for
Sapt. The colonel took it and put it in his pocket.
"Read it," said the king. He had dined and was about to go to
bed, it being nearly ten o'clock.
"It will keep, sire," answered Sapt, who did not know but that it
might be from Wintenberg.
"Read it," insisted the king testily. "It may be from
Rischenheim. Perhaps he can get here sooner. I should like to
know about those dogs. Read it, I beg."
Sapt could do nothing but read it. He had taken to spectacles
lately, and he spent a long while adjusting them and thinking
what he should do if the message were not fit for the king's ear.
"Be quick, man, be quick!" urged the irritable king.
Sapt had got the envelope open at last, and relief, mingled with
perplexity, showed in his face.
"Your Majesty guessed wonderfully well. Rischenheim can be here
at eight to-morrow morning," he said, looking up.
"Capital!" cried the king. "He shall breakfast with me at nine,
and I'll have a ride after the boar when we've done our business.
Now are you satisfied?"
"Perfectly, sire," said Sapt, biting his moustache.
The king rose with a yawn, and bade the colonel good-night. "He
must have some trick I don't know with those dogs," he remarked,
as he went out. And "Damn the dogs!" cried Colonel Sapt the
moment that the door was shut behind his Majesty.
But the colonel was not a man to accept defeat easily. The
audience that he had been instructed to postpone was advanced;
the king, whom he had been told to get away from Zenda, would not
go till he had seen Rischenheim. Still there are many ways of
preventing a meeting. Some are by fraud; these it is no injustice
to Sapt to say that he had tried; some are by force, and the
colonel was being driven to the conclusion that one of these must
be his resort.
"Though the king," he mused, with a grin, "will be furious if
anything happens to Rischenheim before he's told him about the
dogs."
Yet he fell to racking his brains to find a means by which the
count might be rendered incapable of performing the service so
desired by the king and of carrying out his own purpose in
seeking an audience. Nothing save assassination suggested itself
to the constable; a quarrel and a duel offered no security; and
Sapt was not Black Michael, and had no band of ruffians to join
him in an apparently unprovoked kidnapping of a distinguished
nobleman.
"I can think of nothing," muttered Sapt, rising from his chair
and moving across towards the window in search of the fresh air
that a man so often thinks will give him a fresh idea. He was in
his own quarters, that room of the new chateau which opens on to
the moat immediately to the right of the drawbridge as you face
the old castle; it was the room which Duke Michael had occupied,
and almost opposite to the spot where the great pipe had
connected the window of the king's dungeon with the waters of the
moat. The bridge was down now, for peaceful days had come to
Zenda; the pipe was gone, and the dungeon's window, though still
barred, was uncovered. The night was clear and fine, and the
still water gleamed fitfully as the moon, half-full, escaped from
or was hidden by passing clouds. Sapt stood staring out gloomily,
beating his knuckles on the stone sill. The fresh air was there,
but the fresh idea tarried.
Suddenly the constable bent forward, craning his head out and
down, far as he could stretch it, towards the water. What he had
seen, or seemed dimly to see, is a sight common enough on the
surface of water--large circular eddies, widening from a centre;
a stone thrown in makes them, or a fish on the rise. But Sapt had
thrown no stone, and the fish in the moat were few and not rising
then. The light was behind Sapt, and threw his figure into bold
relief. The royal apartments looked out the other way; there were
no lights in the windows this side the bridge, although beyond it
the guards' lodgings and the servants' offices still showed a
light here and there. Sapt waited till the eddies ceased. Then he
heard the faintest sound, as of a large body let very gently into
the water; a moment later, from the moat right below him, a man's
head emerged.
"Sapt!" said a voice, low but distinct.
The old colonel started, and, resting both hands on the sill,
bent further out, till he seemed in danger of overbalancing.
"Quick--to the ledge on the other side. You know," said the
voice, and the head turned; with quick, quiet strokes the man
crossed the moat till he was hidden in the triangle of deep shade
formed by the meeting of the drawbridge and the old castle wall.
Sapt watched him go, almost stupefied by the sudden wonder of
hearing that voice come to him out of the stillness of the night.
For the king was abed; and who spoke in that voice save the king
and one other?
Then, with a curse at himself for his delay, he turned and walked
quickly across the room. Opening the door, he found himself in
the passage. But here he ran right into the arms of young
Bernenstein, the officer of the guard, who was going his rounds.
Sapt knew and trusted him, for he had been with us all through
the siege of Zenda, when Michael kept the king a prisoner, and he
bore marks given him by Rupert of Hentzau's ruffians. He now held
a commission as lieutenant in the cuirassiers of the King's
Guard.
He noticed Sapt's bearing, for he cried out in a low voice,
"Anything wrong, sir?"
"Bernenstein, my boy, the castle's all right about here. Go round
to the front, and, hang you, stay there," said Sapt.
The officer stared, as well he might. Sapt caught him by the arm.
"No, stay here. See, stand by the door there that leads to the
royal apartments. Stand there, and let nobody pass. You
understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"And whatever you hear, don't look round."
Bernenstein's bewilderment grew greater; but Sapt was constable,
and on Sapt's shoulders lay the responsibility for the safety of
Zenda and all in it.
"Very well, sir," he said, with a submissive shrug, and he drew
his sword and stood by the door; he could obey, although he could
not understand.
Sapt ran on. Opening the gate that led to the bridge, he sped
across. Then, stepping on one side and turning his face to the
wall, he descended the steps that gave foothold down to the ledge
running six or eight inches above the water. He also was now in
the triangle of deep darkness, yet he knew that a man was there,
who stood straight and tall, rising above his own height. And he
felt his hand caught in a sudden grip. Rudolf Rassendyll was
there, in his wet drawers and socks.
"Is it you?" he whispered.
"Yes," answered Rudolf; "I swam round from the other side and got
here. Then I threw in a bit of mortar, but I wasn't sure I'd
roused you, and I didn't dare shout, so I followed it myself. Lay
hold of me a minute while I get on my breeches: I didn't want to
get wet, so I carried my clothes in a bundle. Hold me tight, it's
slippery."
"In God's name what brings you here?" whispered Sapt, catching
Rudolf by the arm as he was directed.
"The queen's service. When does Rischenheim come?"
"To-morrow at eight."
"The deuce! That's earlier than I thought. And the king?"
"Is here and determined to see him. It's impossible to move him
from it."
There was a moment's silence; Rudolf drew his shirt over his head
and tucked it into his trousers. "Give me the jacket and
waistcoat," he said. "I feel deuced damp underneath, though."
"You'll soon get dry," grinned Sapt. "You'll be kept moving, you
see."
"I've lost my hat."
"Seems to me you've lost your head too."
"You'll find me both, eh, Sapt?"
"As good as your own, anyhow," growled the constable.
"Now the boots, and I'm ready." Then he asked quickly, "Has the
king seen or heard from Rischenheim?"
"Neither, except through me."
"Then why is he so set on seeing him?"
"To find out what gives dogs smooth coats."
"You're serious? Hang you, I can't see your face."
"Absolutely."
"All's well, then. Has he got a beard now?"
"Yes."
"Confound him! Can't you take me anywhere to talk?"
"What the deuce are you here at all for?"
"To meet Rischenheim."
"To meet--?"
"Yes. Sapt, he's got a copy of the queen's letter."
Sapt twirled his moustache.
"I've always said as much," he remarked in tones of satisfaction.
He need not have said it; he would have been more than human not
to think it.
"Where can you take me to?" asked Rudolf impatiently.
"Any room with a door and a lock to it," answered old Sapt. "I
command here, and when I say 'Stay out'--well, they don't come
in."
"Not the king?"
"The king is in bed. Come along," and the constable set his toe
on the lowest step.
"Is there nobody about?" asked Rudolf, catching his arm.
"Bernenstein; but he will keep his back toward us."
"Your discipline is still good, then, Colonel?"
"Pretty well for these days, your Majesty," grunted Sapt, as he
reached the level of the bridge.
Having crossed, they entered the chateau. The passage was empty,
save for Bernenstein, whose broad back barred the way from the
royal apartments.
"In here," whispered Sapt, laying his hand on the door of the
room whence he had come.
"All right," answered Rudolf. Bernenstein's hand twitched, but he
did not look round. There was discipline in the castle of Zenda.
But as Sapt was half-way through the door and Rudolf about to
follow him, the other door, that which Bernenstein guarded, was
softly yet swiftly opened. Bernenstein's sword was in rest in an
instant. A muttered oath from Sapt and Rudolf's quick snatch at
his breath greeted the interruption. Bernenstein did not look
round, but his sword fell to his side. In the doorway stood Queen
Flavia, all in white; and now her face turned white as her dress.
For her eyes had fallen on Rudolf Rassendyll. For a moment the
four stood thus; then Rudolf passed Sapt, thrust Bernenstein's
brawny shoulders (the young man had not looked round) out of the
way, and, falling on his knee before the queen, seized her hand
and kissed it. Bernenstein could see now without looking round,
and if astonishment could kill, he would have been a dead man
that instant. He fairly reeled and leant against the wall, his
mouth hanging open. For the king was in bed, and had a beard; yet
there was the king, fully dressed and clean shaven, and he was
kissing the queen's hand, while she gazed down on him in a
struggle between amazement, fright, and joy. A soldier should be
prepared for anything, but I cannot be hard on young
Bernenstein's bewilderment.
Yet there was in truth nothing strange in the queen seeking to
see old Sapt that night, nor in her guessing where he would most
probably be found. For she had asked him three times whether news
had come from Wintenberg and each time he had put her off with
excuses. Quick to forbode evil, and conscious of the pledge to
fortune that she had given in her letter, she had determined to
know from him whether there were really cause for alarm, and had
stolen, undetected, from her apartments to seek him. What filled
her at once with unbearable apprehension and incredulous joy was
to find Rudolf present in actual flesh and blood, no longer in
sad longing dreams or visions, and to feel his live lips on her
hand.
Lovers count neither time nor danger; but Sapt counted both, and
no more than a moment had passed before, with eager imperative
gestures, he beckoned them to enter the room. The queen obeyed,
and Rudolf followed her.
"Let nobody in, and don't say a word to anybody," whispered Sapt,
as he entered, leaving Bernenstein outside. The young man was
half-dazed still, but he had sense to read the expression in the
constable's eyes and to learn from it that he must give his life
sooner than let the door be opened. So with drawn sword he stood
on guard.
It was eleven o'clock when the queen came, and midnight had
struck from the great clock of the castle before the door opened
again and Sapt came out. His sword was not drawn, but he had his
revolver in his hand. He shut the door silently after him and
began at once to talk in low, earnest, quick tones to
Bernenstein. Bernenstein listened intently and without
interrupting. Sapt's story ran on for eight or nine minutes. Then
he paused, before asking:
"You understand now?"
"Yes, it is wonderful," said the young man, drawing in his
breath.
"Pooh!" said Sapt. "Nothing is wonderful: some things are
unusual."
Bernenstein was not convinced, and shrugged his shoulders in
protest.
"Well?" said the constable, with a quick glance at him.
"I would die for the queen, sir," he answered, clicking his heels
together as though on parade.
"Good," said Sapt. "Then listen," and he began again to talk.
Bernenstein nodded from time to time. "You'll meet him at the
gate," said the constable, "and bring him straight here. He's not
to go anywhere else, you understand me?"
"Perfectly, Colonel," smiled young Bernenstein.
"The king will be in this room--the king. You know who is the
king?"
"Perfectly, Colonel."
"And when the interview is ended, and we go to breakfast--"
"I know who will be the king then. Yes, Colonel."
"Good. But we do him no harm unless--"
"It is necessary."
"Precisely."
Sapt turned away with a little sigh. Bernenstein was an apt
pupil, but the colonel was exhausted by so much explanation. He
knocked softly at the door of the room. The queen's voice bade
him enter, and he passed in. Bernenstein was left alone again in
the passage, pondering over what he had heard and rehearsing the
part that it now fell to him to play. As he thought he may well
have raised his head proudly. The service seemed so great and the
honor so high, that he almost wished he could die in the
performing of his role. It would be a finer death than his
soldier's dreams had dared to picture.
At one o'clock Colonel Sapt came out. "Go to bed till six," said
he to Bernenstein.
"I'm not sleepy."
"No, but you will be at eight if you don't sleep now."
"Is the queen coming out, Colonel?"
"In a minute, Lieutenant."
"I should like to kiss her hand."
"Well, if you think it worth waiting a quarter of an hour for!"
said Sapt, with a slight smile.
"You said a minute, sir."
"So did she," answered the constable.
Nevertheless it was a quarter of an hour before Rudolf Rassendyll
opened the door and the queen appeared on the threshold. She was
very pale, and she had been crying, but her eyes were happy and
her air firm. The moment he saw her, young Bernenstein fell on
his knee and raised her hand to his lips.
"To the death, madame," said he, in a trembling voice.
"I knew it, sir," she answered graciously. Then she looked round
on the three of them. "Gentlemen," said she, "my servants and
dear friends, with you, and with Fritz who lies wounded in
Wintenberg, rest my honor and my life; for I will not live if the
letter reaches the king."
"The king shall not have it, madame," said Colonel Sapt. He took
her hand in his and patted it with a clumsy gentleness; smiling,
she extended it again to young Bernenstein, in mark of her favor.
They two then stood at the salute, while Rudolf walked with her
to the end of the passage. There for a moment she and he stood
together; the others turned their eyes away and thus did not see
her suddenly stoop and cover his hand with her kisses. He tried
to draw it away, not thinking it fit that she should kiss his
hand, but she seemed as though she could not let it go. Yet at
last, still with her eyes on his, she passed backwards through
the door, and he shut it after her.
"Now to business," said Colonel Sapt dryly; and Rudolf laughed a
little.
Rudolf passed into the room. Sapt went to the king's apartments,
and asked the physician whether his Majesty were sleeping well.
Receiving reassuring news of the royal slumbers, he proceeded to
the quarters of the king's body-servant, knocked up the sleepy
wretch, and ordered breakfast for the king and the Count of
Luzau-Rischenheim at nine o'clock precisely, in the morning-room
that looked out over the avenue leading to the entrance to the
new chateau. This done, he returned to the room where Rudolf was,
carried a chair into the passage, bade Rudolf lock the door, sat
down, revolver in hand, and himself went to sleep. Young
Bernenstein was in bed just now, taken faint, and the constable
himself was acting as his substitute; that was to be the story,
if a story were needed. Thus the hours from two to six passed
that morning in the castle of Zenda.
At six the constable awoke and knocked at the door; Rudolf
Rassendyll opened it.
"Slept well?" asked Sapt.
"Not a wink," answered Rudolf cheerfully.
"I thought you had more nerve."
"It wasn't want of nerve that kept me awake," said Mr.
Rassendyll.
Sapt, with a pitying shrug, looked round. The curtains of the
window were half-drawn. The table was moved near to the wall,
and the arm-chair by it was well in shadow, being quite close to
the curtains.
"There's plenty of room for you behind," said Rudolf; "And when
Rischenheim is seated in his chair opposite to mine, you can put
your barrel against his head by just stretching out your hand.
And of course I can do the same."
"Yes, it looks well enough," said Sapt, with an approving nod.
"What about the beard?"
"Bernenstein is to tell him you've shaved this morning."
"Will he believe that?"
"Why not? For his own sake he'd better believe everything."
"And if we have to kill him?"
"We must run for it. The king would be furious."
"He's fond of him?"
"You forget. He wants to know about the dogs."
"True. You'll be in your place in time?"
"Of course."
Rudolf Rassendyll took a turn up and down the room. It was easy
to see that the events of the night had disturbed him. Sapt's
thoughts were running in a different channel.
"When we've done with this fellow, we must find Rupert," said he.
Rudolf started.
"Rupert? Rupert? True; I forgot. Of course we must," said he
confusedly.
Sapt looked scornful; he knew that his companion's mind had been
occupied with the queen. But his remarks--if he had meditated
any--were interrupted by the clock striking seven.
"He'll be here in an hour," said he.
"We're ready for him," answered Rudolf Rassendyll. With the
thought of action his eyes grew bright and his brow smooth again.
He and old Sapt looked at one another, and they both smiled.
"Like old times, isn't it, Sapt?"
"Aye, sire, like the reign of good King Rudolf."
Thus they made ready for the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim, while my
cursed wound held me a prisoner at Wintenberg. It is still a
sorrow to me that I know what passed that morning only by report,
and had not the honor of bearing a part in it. Still, her Majesty
did not forget me, but remembered that I would have taken my
share, had fortune allowed. Indeed I would most eagerly.
