THE next morning I was up early and went for a long ride. It was likely to be a critical day for me, and I had to try and look well ahead to see where I was being carried by the new set of the tide in my affairs.
My conversation with the Princess Christina had had a great effect upon me. For one thing it had made me more resolved than ever to devote myself to her, whatever might be the consequences; but her words of warning, her evident belief that there was danger for me, and above all her pleasure at my declaration of loyalty to her, had roused all my instincts of caution, while they had strengthened my feelings towards her.
She was shrewd, clear-cut in her views of men and things, devoted to the cause of Bulgaria, and openly allied to the Russian party, whose rough and violent methods she had nevertheless so indignantly decried. What then was her object? Was she playing the doubly hazardous game of attempting to use the Russian influence and power for an end opposed to theirs?
That was the only solution I could see. And it was one which I knew must involve her in a course fraught with such peril, that only a woman of iron nerve and implacable will could contemplate it without fear. And yet she was brave enough to take such a course without, so far as I knew, a single man trained in state-craft and intrigue to help her. Could I take such a rôle? The mere thought of the possibility filled me with enthusiasm not unmixed with much embarrassment.
If my surmise was right, I felt that her scheme was just that which our Foreign Office would do their utmost to assist; and, in helping her to gain the throne on such terms, I should be fulfilling in the best possible way the object of my presence in the country. But I knew, too, that open help from the British Government was impossible. That had been made unmistakably plain to me, and I must make it equally clear to her. Her advice to make the most of my British nationality might have been prompted by a belief that our Government would help her, and I must show her the groundlessness of any such hope.
At the same time, the course she had indicated agreed best with my own views: to maintain an open neutrality between the contending sections while devoting myself to her interests. Her whole object must be put fully before me, however; and I resolved to speak very frankly that afternoon. The prospect of the close association with her was infinitely alluring, and it required more than a single effort to drag my thoughts away from dwelling upon this to the more practical consideration of other matters. To secure that friendship I would willingly venture all that I had in the world; and I had but to think of it for my heart to be thrilled and my senses dazzled.
But what of the Duke Sergius and the story of the secret betrothal? The man was a selfish, sensual brute, as I had seen for myself. Was it possible that she would even go to the length of sacrificing herself in a marriage with such a man to secure her end? Then I recalled a sentence of Mademoiselle Broumoff’s: “A man whose eyes we have always to blind;” and I repeated it over and over again, till at last I grew to read it by the light of my own wild, vague thoughts and hopes—that there was no betrothal, but that the pretended agreement to it was a part of the subtler plot which my Princess was weaving. The thought of such a betrothal was maddening to me, and I worked myself up until I thought I would rather pick a quarrel with him and run him through the heart than see her condemned to be the wife of such a brute.
I was cooler, however, when I returned to my hotel, and my wits were clear and wary enough as I set out for General Kolfort’s house. I was well received, but he made haste to show me that he knew already of the fact of my captain’s commission.
“I am glad to see you, Count Benderoff—or shall I say Captain?”
“Choose your own form of salutation, General. It was of that matter I came to see you,” I returned.
“Is that all?”
“All?” I asked, as if in astonishment.
“Do you accept the commission in the service of the Prince—or rather of the lady who has offered it you—or in mine?”
“In neither; but as an honour offered to a rich British subject who has taken up permanent residence in Sofia.” His shrewd old eyes lighted at this reply, which he had certainly not expected.
“So that is your line, eh?” he said drily. “Considering that they know nothing of the Hon. Mr. Winthrop’s existence, they have acted a little by accident in honouring a British subject. Don’t you think so?”
I smiled. “At any rate they have made me the offer, and I have decided to accept it. But I preferred to come and tell you, after our interesting little conversation of three days ago.”
“That means, then, you will remain in Sofia?”
“My house is nearly ready for my occupation, and I shall hope to be honoured by your presence in it as my guest.”
“Umph! You have not forgotten our conversation, I see.”
“It was scarcely one to be forgotten.”
“And I understand you claim the rights of a British subject.”
“I am half a Roumanian, General, with considerable possessions there,” I returned, equivocally.
“You are a very ambitious, or a very reckless, or a very clever young man, Count. You have thought over your course well?”
“I am not given to act on impulse.”
“Yet cleverer men than you have tried unsuccessfully the dangerous policy of attempting to ride on two horses at once.”
“I can but fail,” I answered, indifferently.
“Then you decline to enrol yourself in my service?”
“I neither decline nor accept, General.” The reply was unwelcome, and he sat a moment with brows knitted.
“You will fail, sir, as certainly as you make the attempt. But I must know, in view of future possibilities, whether you claim the status of a British subject or that of a Roumanian Count, or whether, again, I am to regard you merely as a captain in a Bulgarian regiment.”
“I shall be in the unique position of enjoying all three,” said I, and noticed with some amusement the effect of this answer; and then added with a laugh, and in a light tone: “I don’t expect you to take me too seriously, General Kolfort.”
“If you are a British subject, I can ask your Government to recall you; if a Roumanian Count, I can use other influence to deal with you; while, if you are merely a Bulgarian officer, you will be responsible to me for the deed which you have already committed.” His tone was tense, concentrated, and full of earnestness. “Understand me; I do not alter. If you will not join me, you shall not stay in Bulgaria. I am not to be trifled with.”
“I can appreciate that, for you have already had my correspondence tampered with, in order to prevent certain news reaching England. I have committed no act for which I am not quite prepared to answer—openly; and all I demand is that fair play which we English claim as the right of all—whether English, Roumanian, or Bulgarian.”
He listened to this with a grim smile on his hard face.
“You mean that you are ready to risk breaking yourself on the wheel. Very well; I confess I looked for a somewhat different decision, judging by what has passed in the last two days—your conversations with various people; but remember, and, indeed, you are not likely to forget, what I have told you is my firm resolve. If you stay, you must join us.”
I left him then, feeling that I had created pretty much the impression I desired—that, in dealing with me, he would have to regard me as a British subject; and that, coupled with the fact of my increasingly close relations with the Princess and those about her, would suffice to secure my safety for a time.
With the reigning Prince I was at a loss what line to take. It was difficult to decide beforehand; but I was resolved to go to the length of refusing the captaincy in the regiment if the conditions attached to its acceptance were in any way embarrassing to my freedom.
But my interview with him was a surprise to me.
He received me alone, and spoke with a freedom I had not expected, giving as the reason for his attitude my rescue of the Countess Bokara; and when I told him as I did, for there was now no longer any reason for concealing the fact, that I was an Englishman, his frankness increased. He jumped to the conclusion that I had some sort of credentials from the British Government, and it was only with difficulty that I disabused him of the idea.
He had the most engaging personality of any man I ever met. He was strikingly handsome; every movement was marked by a courtly but unstudied and natural grace; his voice was toned in perfect accord with his courteous and kindly bearing; and his manner so sympathetically receptive as to impress you with the conviction that all you said had the utmost interest and importance for him. A courtier to the finger-tips, and yet withal a prince, it was impossible not to be charmed with him. I might have been his most intimate friend instead of the merest stranger who had come to thank him for a favour just bestowed. There was something lacking, however—strength; and therein, without doubt, lay the secret of his failure.
“What reason can a wealthy Englishman have for settling in a place like this, unless he bears a commission of some kind?” he asked, while indulging his hope that I was indeed charged with the duty of aiding him.
“Had I such a mission, your Highness, should I not have come straight to you?”
“I suppose so, but yet it seems strange. I suppose they know in England how matters are with me, and what must eventually happen if nothing is done.”
“All Europe knows of the difficulties of your position,” I answered diplomatically.
“And all Europe does nothing but look on with folded hands, leaving me helpless to kick against the pricks. Do they think I bear a charmed life to withstand for ever the plots against my life that are being daily formed, and that I can go on for ever avoiding the poison or the dagger or the bullet that my enemies have ever in readiness for me? Do they take me for a zealot so tired of living that I am willing to keep my life always on offer to the first hand daring and shrewd enough to take it? And all this for a freedom which they mouth about and will not help, and for a people who have been corrupted to hate me, though I have doubled their country, led them to victory, and saved them from overwhelming disasters. By Heaven! the ingratitude of this people is as colossal as their selfishness.”
I said nothing, and in a moment his bitterness passed, and he smiled.
“This is poor hearing for one who has come generously to offer me his services, and who has already placed me under a load of obligation. But at least I will be frank with you, Count Benderoff. I can give you this commission, give it gladly, and welcome you for what I believe you to be—an honourable man; but your services are of no use to me. They come too late—too late.”
“I do not understand your Highness.”
“It shall not be for want of plain dealing with you, then. The dear friend whose life you saved, and who has brought you to me, is urging—the impossible. She does not know it, or cannot realise it, or will not—what you will; but, mark me well, my days in this ungrateful country are numbered. You will not use the information I give you—but I have resolved to abdicate.”
“To abdicate?” I cried, for this was news indeed.
“Yes; to abdicate. That is my fixed and irrevocable resolve. Had you brought me the promise of help from England, I would stay and fight it out, and strive to realise those high hopes with which, under God, I declare I accepted the throne. But what can I do alone, or almost alone, against a people who plot and plan to depose or murder me, who have tired already of the puppet ruler which other Powers imposed upon them, and against the cursed canker of this Russian intrigue? In all the land I cannot now tell who is friend and who foe. In my very household the air reeks with conspiracy and intrigue. I know not whether any man I meet by chance may not be sent to do murder. I never lie down at night without wondering whether I shall see the next morning’s sun. I never taste a meal without the thought of poison. I never speak a word without the expectation that it will be carried to the ears of my implacable and ruthless foes. And never a sun rises and sets again without I know that the deadly work of corruption has been carried a stage farther.”
“Such thoughts as these, your Highness, grow by brooding.”
“Good God, man, they are the natural germs with which this Eastern air is crowded and polluted. No, no; these are no idle fears. Russia is relentless, and I am powerless to resist her. I will not be her tool. I could stay in safety and in what the world calls pomp and honour, a great Prince, if I would but stoop to do her bidding. I will not; and therefore my choice to abdicate or die. Would God it could have been different!”
I was silent in the rush of thoughts these utterances roused.
“You will not tell the Countess Bokara this? It is my grief, the bitterest irony of all my position, that I am driven thus to mislead the one friend who has been staunch to me, the truest friend God ever gave to a disappointed man, a foiled and thwarted Prince. I have told you—it will, indeed, be public knowledge in a few weeks from now, and Europe will reap the crop which her vacillation has sown—that you may not be buoyed up with false hopes from this grant of the commission. It would be a Greek gift, indeed, did I not tell you the truth—that you have nothing to hope from it. I can guess, of course, what the result will be. You will be drawn to the Russian net. That is a vortex which sucks in everything.”
“What is that?”
I turned like a needle to the magnet as I heard the ringing tones of the Countess Bokara, who had entered the room unknown to us.
“Who will join the Russian party—you, Count Benderoff?” she cried eagerly, almost fiercely, as she came quickly forward. “No. Prince, I will answer for him. He dare not,” she added.
“How much did you hear, Anna?” he asked rather uneasily.
“Enough to rouse my indignation, that was all.”
“I was telling the Count that there is no hope to be gained in my service, and there is but one side here for a man of action.”
“Prince, Prince, why will you always damp the enthusiasm of those who would be your friends and adherents? Why this constant tone of depression? These everlasting fears and forebodings? There is no cause for them, Count. We are on the eve of a stroke that will change everything—everything—and foil these coward traitors and restore in all its former strength the Prince’s influence. There is no monopoly of craft and guile in these Russians! A clear head, a strong hand, a loyal heart, and a daring sword, can change all. We are not so hopeless but that a clever coup can save our cause and make us once again all-powerful.”
The Prince threw up his hands with a gesture of weakness.
“It is too late,” he murmured, despondently. “Too late.”
“It shall never be too late while I live,” she cried, desperately. “It shall never be said that you were beaten by a woman. Force her from the path, by fair means or foul—and forced she shall be—and all the flimsy superstructure of this clumsy plot falls like a shattered dream. Never shall Bulgaria be crushed beneath that woman’s heel while I have strength in my right arm, or there remains a knife or a bullet in all the land. I swear it.”
She uttered the vengeful words with all the vehement force of her violent temper, and as I looked at her I could see the thoughts of murder lighting her strained, glowing features, and brightly gleaming eyes.
But while they stirred repugnance in me they seemed only to add to the Prince’s despondency.
“There has been too much blood shed already,” he said, in a tone of rebuke.
“THE COUNT HAS MY PERMISSION TO RETIRE.”—
“Too much; aye, so much that one woman’s life more will make no difference. So they thought when they planned that mine should be the life—and shall I be softer than they?”
The Prince looked at me with an expression I was quick to read, and I made a movement as if to leave.
“I shall see you again shortly, Count, and you will take up your military duties at your early convenience. Meanwhile, I depend upon your discretion. All that you have heard here is for yourself alone.”
“Absolutely. I understand,” I answered, and took my leave.
“You cannot go like this,” broke in the Countess. “I have yet much to say to you. I need your advice and help.”
“Madame, I have urgent matters that call for attention immediately,” I replied, and the Prince thanked me with a look.
“And are not these matters urgent?” she cried, indignantly.
“The Count has my permission to retire,” said the Prince, with sudden dignity.
“When do you return, sir?” asked the Countess. “I must see you at once. I cannot brook delay. I am on fire when I think of all you must help me to achieve.”
“My duties will bring me here constantly;” and as I withdrew I could not decide whether my admiration of her courage and staunchness to the Prince or my loathing of the deadly methods by which she was prepared to prove it were the greater. Admirable as a friend, she was hateful as a woman; and as she watched me go she appeared like a beautiful dangerous fiend, till her face turned to the Prince and her eyes glowed with the intense love for him which was the inspiring passion of her strange, reckless nature.