THE night that followed was a memorable one in the history of Bulgaria and, as an incident of the great event, it brought the crisis in our affairs.
It was the night in which by the machinations of the Russian agents the Prince was abducted, and at the point of the pistol was forced to sign an abdication of his throne. It is not necessary for me to write about an event which has been often enough described, nor to tell how the crowd of unpatriotic and disloyal officers led their troops to surround the Palace, ordered them to fire into it, and then breaking in forced his Highness to leave, and hurried him off to Nikopolis, making him a prisoner on board his own yacht, to be landed on Russian territory.
Exactly what led up to this crisis I do not know. My opinion is that General Kolfort’s offer to maintain him on the throne on certain relaxed conditions was genuine and would have been fulfilled, but at the same time the alternative plot was already in progress, and this scheme was hastened forward on the Prince’s refusal of the Russian terms.
Had our own preparations but been a couple of weeks more forward the issue would have been different; but, as it was, that coup set the final seal on our failure.
The event took us absolutely by surprise. I had retired for the night wondering what the morrow would bring forth, when my household were roused by a loud summons at the door. My first thought was that the General had again sent his men to arrest me; and I was for resisting to the utmost, when it was discovered that the summons came from Zoiloff and Spernow, who had come in hot haste to bring me the great news and to confer with me as to our actions.
The perilous nature of the crisis was obvious, and my first thought was naturally for the Princess, with a deep and bitter regret that she had not done what I had urged so strongly—used the means we had to make a dash for the frontier.
Choosing half-a-dozen of my servants on whom I knew I could rely implicitly, we armed them fully and set out on foot for the Princess’s house. The sounds of firing from the direction of the Palace reached us as we made our way through the streets, in which the people were beginning to cluster in groups drawn by curiosity and alarm, discussing in high and excited tones the meaning of the disturbance.
No one stayed or questioned us on the way to the Princess’s house, but when we reached it we halted in amazement. Every window was dark, not a light showing anywhere, while the gates and doors and forecourt were thronged with armed men.
“They’ve captured her!” exclaimed Zoiloff, instantly. “And we are helpless against such a crowd.”
“We must know the truth,” I said, my heart misgiving me. “You are best known, Spernow; go forward and try to ascertain the truth, whether the Princess has been carried away, and if so, where.”
He went at once; and then Markov stepped up to me.
“I think I can find out all. I am sure to know some of the men,” he said.
I sent him after Spernow, and stood back in the shadow to wait with such patience as I could command. My excitement and fear made me like a madman, till I felt I could almost have rushed single-handed against the troops and tried to hack my way into the house.
“This means devilish mischief, Count,” said Zoiloff in a hushed tone. “You will be the next.”
“I care nothing for myself, but I will save her,” I said between my teeth.
Spernow came back in a few minutes.
“I can learn nothing. The men have orders to hold their tongues. But the Princess is not in the house; at least I gather that.”
“Then why the devil do they guard it?” cried Zoiloff fiercely.
“They may be waiting for orders where to go next.”
“It will be to your house, Count. You mustn’t return there, but fly at once and leave us to settle this.”
“When I leave you either I shall be dead or the Princess will be safe,” I answered hotly. “Let us wait for Markov; he is a shrewd, cunning fellow, and may find out something.”
“I am anxious about Mademoiselle Broumoff, Count,” said Spernow, eager, as I could see, to get tidings of her. I sympathised with him, as well may be understood.
“Go in quest of her at once,” I said; “and, when you can, return to my house, and we will thresh out some plan of action. We may have news by then.”
He was off like the wind, and Zoiloff and I waited on in silence for Markov to return.
He seemed an age in coming, and I strained my eyes in trying to catch some trace of him in the crowd of moving figures that thronged the place. I gave a deep sigh of relief when at length I saw him come out of the gate, stand idly a moment glancing up and down the street, and then, as if sauntering away in obedience to the merest curiosity, cross the road to us.
“Well?” I asked eagerly.
“I have news. We had better not stay longer here, your honour,” he whispered, and walked away, speaking rapidly as we walked. “The Princess Christina left here some two hours ago. She is a prisoner in the hands of General Kolfort’s men. She was roused by them just before midnight and compelled to enter a carriage that was in waiting, and was driven off under a strong guard, with a considerable escort of mounted men.”
“Where have they taken her?” cried Zoiloff and I, in a breath together, when he paused.
“The actual destination is not known, but the carriage started for the south road, that leading to Liublian; and one suggestion is that they will carry her to Ichtman or on to Samakovo, where there is a strong Russian detachment.”
“Do you know who was with her? Was anyone?” I asked.
“Yes; Mademoiselle Broumoff was taken from home at the same time, and I believe was in the carriage with the Princess.”
“Did you hear anything concerning the Count?” asked Zoiloff.
“I was asked if your honour was still at liberty, and advised to look out for a new master. I shall not do that yet, sir, I hope,” he added; “not till you tell me, at any rate.”
I liked his faithfulness in choosing such a moment to assure me of his attachment.
“It may be a dangerous service for the next few hours, Markov; but you have done excellently in this—excellently.”
We were now hastening back to my house, for I had already resolved to follow on the Princess’s trail instantly; to rescue her at any hazard, and hurry her across the frontier, fighting our way, if need be, through all who challenged us. Zoiloff was with me heart and soul; and we set about the preparations with an energy almost feverish in its earnestness.
Fortunately I had a large stud of first-rate horses, and every man in the place who could be relied upon was armed to the teeth and mounted, and provided with enough rations to last through the coming day. I had taken care to provide myself with a large sum in gold, so as to be ready for any such emergency as the present, and this I took with me. We numbered nearly twenty men, all trained, vigorous, staunch fellows, and all zealous to the heart’s-core in our cause.
When we were ready I took Zoiloff aside. I knew his resolute character and his fidelity to the Princess; but I knew also that his career lay in Bulgaria, and that if he were caught with me on such an enterprise the consequences to him would be worse than disastrous, and I did not wish to embroil him any further.
“Zoiloff, I am going to speak as a friend. No one can see the end of this business of ours. We may find ourselves face to face with the troops and may have to risk an encounter with them. For me it does not signify. I am an Englishman and can scramble out of the mess somehow. For these men here there is no great danger either. Old Kolfort won’t deal harshly with servants who can plead that I forced them into it. But with you it is all different. You are an officer, and to fight against the troops is an act of deadly treason—mutiny probably, punishable with Heaven knows what penalties. Now, as my friend, will you let me ask you to stay here and guard our interests in Sofia?”
He heard me impatiently and looked at me keenly.
“Are you serious, Count?” he asked.
“Yes, my friendship——”
“Stop, please, or I may say something I should regret, Count,” he broke in, bluntly. “I should not reckon that man a friend who would urge me to be a coward. Were you any other man I would not brook it once, and even you will put a strain on our friendship if you breathe a word of this again. We are wasting time. Let us to horse. I have not deserved this of you, Count, and if I thought I had I’d shoot myself for a cur. Are you the only man that can love the Princess?”
“Forgive me, friend. I beg your pardon,” I cried, vastly moved by his words; and I held out my hand.
“I am no rival of yours,” he said earnestly, as he wrung it. “But if a hair of her head be injured I will know by whom, and if it does not go hard with him I am no man. Come, I am hot to be away.”
As we were mounted, Spernow dashed up on horseback, pale of face and wild of manner.
“Nathalie has gone, too,” he exclaimed, and I told him very briefly what we believe had occurred.
In another minute we started, riding in couples and at some distance. Quietly, until we were clear of the town, was the order I gave; then join, and forward in full cry. The firing had not entirely ceased at the Palace when we set out, and an occasional report reached us as we wended our way through the city by different streets to the point on the south road where we were to join. So much was now astir in the city that even our cavalcade caused little or no comment or surprise. Strange tidings and rumours were now on the wind, flying everywhere, and the excitement and confusion they spread caused our movements to pass unchallenged.
Once at the meeting-place we pricked our horses into a gallop and set out, a stern determined band dead set on revenge, and resolved every man of us to achieve the end we had at the cost of life itself.
I rode at the head, with Markov as guide; Zoiloff and Spernow behind me, and the rest, four abreast, keeping order like a small cavalry detachment. The night was bright with moonlight, and the country lay around us everywhere still and sunk in sleep. Scarce a soul was astir in the hamlets through which our road passed, but I took the utmost precaution to prevent any mischance.
As we reached each village, I called a halt and sent Markov forward to see that all was clear, for I half expected that Kolfort would have foreseen our pursuit of Christina and have posted men to stop us. To save time we gave Markov three minutes; and if he did not return or fire a shot to give an alarm, we clattered after him at full gallop.
So long as it was night, there was no one of whom we could make inquiries, and thus we were riding somewhat at random; but as soon as the dawn should begin to streak the east I knew the peasants would soon be astir, and that then we might pick up a trace or two of those we were seeking.
Then Markov made a valuable suggestion.
“Will your honour let me ride on ahead some half mile or so? We are nearing Liublian now, and if I am alone I may get news which would be refused to so large a body of us together. I may see any danger, too, and be able to warn you.”
“A prudent thought, Markov,” I said, bidding him ride on. “If we see you riding back to us, or if we hear you fire a shot, we shall draw rein and wait till you join us;” and with that he plunged ahead at full speed, and we watched him till he was out of sight over a rise in the road.
I told Zoiloff the arrangement, and we were discussing the situation in jerky whispers while we halted, when one of my men came galloping up in great excitement.
“My lord, we are being pursued. I had to stay behind to get a stone out of my horse’s hoof, when I heard the sound of horses galloping some way behind me.”
“How far behind?”
“I cannot say—the night is very still. Perhaps half a mile, or maybe a mile.”
“Ride on at once and overtake Markov, and warn him to draw into cover. Off with you! We must find out who the horsemen are and their strength,” I added to Zoiloff.
“There is a small wood there, which will do for cover, Count,” he replied instantly. “Let the men ride there and take our horses, while you and I stay on foot to watch the newcomers.”
I told Spernow to post the men in the covert, and Zoiloff and I lay down in some bushes to wait for the pursuers.
It was an anxious moment, and we lay close together, whispering in hurried conference. We had not long to wait.
“I hear them,” whispered Zoiloff, gripping my arm. His ears were quicker than mine, but a moment later I, too, caught the clatter of horses’ feet and then the clash of accoutrements.
“Troops,” I whispered; and we both peered between the bushes, straining our ears, through the grey twilight of the dawn.
As they reached the foot of the rise near the top of which we were concealed the party slackened speed, first to a trot and then to a walk, to ease the horses.
“I hope to Heaven none of our horses neigh,” whispered Zoiloff earnestly.
I made no reply. I was too anxious for speech, for such a chance might ruin everything. I almost held my breath as the first of the horsemen came into view, and then my companion gripped my arm again in a spasm of irresistible excitement.
“Kolfort, by the luck of hell!” he breathed, and sure enough, in the second line of three, I recognised the grim, stern face of that implacable man.
So excited was I that I almost forgot to count the men with him, and a thousand thoughts, wild and incoherent, rushed through my mind as the band of horsemen came up at a quick walking pace, got abreast, then passed on up the rise, and dipped out of sight as they broke again into a gallop, the footfalls of the horses dying away very quickly over the summit of the hill.
“I hope to the Lord he’s going to the Princess!” exclaimed Zoiloff as we scrambled to our feet.
“More likely he wants to be in a position to prove his absence from the city when the Prince is being carried off,” said I. “But wherever he’s going we must know and follow.”
I ran across to where our men were posted and told off one of them to follow hot on the heels of the party and be ready to guide us, and I gave him enough start of us to allow for our not being heard.
“It’s clear he wasn’t following us,” said Zoiloff. “There were only twelve men all told in the party. What a chance we have missed! If we had only known, we could have lined the road just where we two lay, and they’d have walked right into the trap. Only twelve to nearly twenty of us! and we should have had him safe enough. God! If we could only get hold of him, the safety of the Princess would be a simple matter enough.”
“We may do it yet,” said I as I mounted, and we set off again in pursuit of those we had believed to be in pursuit of us.