PASSING in the morning through the room which had been the scene of the quarrel of the night before, Armitage saw what looked like a heap of many-coloured silk on one of the lounges. Coming closer, he found that it was Danaë, fast asleep, and as he paused near her she woke.
“I was waiting for you, and I fell asleep,” she said, looking at him in a dazed way. Then she recollected herself, and slipped suddenly from the sofa. “Lord, grant me your forgiveness.” She was on her knees before him, trying to raise his foot and put it on her head, but he was happily able to prevent this.
“My dear girl, do get up!” he said anxiously. “I am not angry with you.”
“Then you ought to be,” replied Danaë’s muffled voice. “I shall stay here until you have forgiven me.”
“I forgive you fully and freely. Let me help you up.” But Danaë had sprung up without the help of the offered hand, and stood before him, evidently awaiting comment on her appearance. She was in her Striote dress again, the long close coat and plain skirt made of the silk he had sent her for the wedding, the gauze vest above and the embroidered apron below united by the voluminous girdle, and her hair, no longer waved and puffed, had returned to its two thick plaits, one unfortunately still a good deal shorter than the other.
“Lord,” she said softly, “it is the girl who sat at your feet that night on deck.”
“So I see, and I can’t tell you how glad I am.”
Danaë’s eyes shone. “I gave the Vindobona gown to Toni, and told her to burn it,” she said proudly.
“She will hardly do that, but I think you may be sure you will never see it again,” was the dry reply. “And now, what about breakfast? You know I like you better in that dress than anything, but shall you have time to change? As we start so early for the review——”
“I am going to wear it all day,” said Danaë decidedly.
“That’s all right for me, but will your brother like it?”
“It is no concern of his. I wear it to punish myself. Unless you would rather I cut off my hair?”
“I forbid you to lay a finger on it.” He forbore to suggest that it was not very flattering to him to wear his gift as a punishment. “Come along, then.”
Danaë tucked her arm in his—an action not at all in keeping with her dress—and they went merrily to breakfast, Armitage bemoaning his day’s fate.
“I wish I could have driven with you,” he said, “instead of making a guy of myself on horseback. I shall look a regular horse-marine—worse even than Wylie in yachting-clothes. And you will be all alone.”
“I shall take my Jannaki. Think how he will enjoy the soldiers and the horses! I meant to invite Koralie Melchthal into the carriage with me, but now I shall have no more to do with her. She gives bad advice.”
“Well, don’t drop her too suddenly, and hurt her feelings,” said Armitage, amused by the thoroughness of this reformation. “Her husband may make an international affair of it if you do.”
Breakfast had to be cut short that morning, for a servant came to say that the Prince was preparing to start. Danaë went with her husband to the portico to see him mount, and her brother smiled grimly when he perceived her costume.
“Your husband has known how to punish you after all, I see!” he said.
“Yes, it is my punishment,” said Danaë, looking at him with guileless eyes. If Armitage would not uphold his own marital dignity, his wife would do it for him. They rode away, with aides-de-camp and guards, and Danaë’s carriage, with her own particular escort, drew up. She was to be attended also by Petros, who had been allowed without much difficulty to slip back into his old post of confidential servant to Prince Romanos, and Janni and his nurse would go in the carriage with her. But here disappointment was awaiting her, for the nurse, an autocrat whom Danaë, greatly to her disgust, was forced to conciliate at every turn, sent down a message to say that Prince John had a bad cold this morning, and it would not be safe for him to drive in an open carriage. A little earlier Danaë would have gone straight to the nursery and fetched away her nephew by force, but she was beginning to understand now the relative importance of herself and the nurse in the household, and submitted to the fiat. Petros came forward to help her into the carriage, and as he did so, muttered a few words.
“There was another of those murders in the city last night, my lady.”
Danaë paused with her foot on the step. “But what has that to do with me?” she asked.
“How can I tell, lady? Only, when the news was brought to the Lord Romanos this morning, he unlocked his private desk and took out a paper, and crossed out something that was written upon it. I had seen him do the same the last time, so to-day I placed myself where I could see the paper. There were a number of short lines of writing upon it, all crossed out but two, and one of these was at the foot of the paper, away from the rest.”
“Well?” said Danaë impatiently.
“Lady mine, those who have died in this way were all members of the band whose help I hired in the matter of the death of the Lady. He who died last night was the last of them save myself.”
“I can’t imagine what you are driving at, friend Petraki!” said Danaë.
“So be it, lady. But what if the two names still on the paper are yours and mine? And why should yours be written separately from mine and placed by itself?”
“I really have not the slightest idea,” said Danaë, her patience at an end. “You were never satisfied until the Lord Romanos took you back into his service, though he warned you not to return, and now I suppose you mean that he is trying to murder you. If he intended your death, would he leave himself in your power night and day?”
Petros retired muttering, and climbed to his seat on the box of the carriage. For the moment Danaë was fully occupied with kissing her hand to the forsaken Janni at his nursery window, but when he was out of sight the hints of Petros returned to her mind with unpleasant significance, fitting in as they did with her brother’s words of the night before. Had she earned her life, or not? and if she had not, what further service might Prince Romanos demand of her as its price in the future? But her carriage and escort swept gallantly into the great parade-ground, bright with colours and uniforms, and all dark forebodings were put to flight for the moment. Her station was just behind the saluting-point, at which her husband and brother had already taken their places, and to right and left of her extended a long crescent of other carriages, containing on the one side the foreign representatives, and on the other the Emathian Government officials and their wives. Nearest of the latter was an unpretentious victoria conveying Professor and Madame Panagiotis. Though the Professor held no office in the ministry, yet his long efforts to achieve the independence of Emathia, and the varied diplomatic experience they had entailed, made him unofficial adviser-in-chief to every Emathian government, and mainstay of the throne. On the other side Koralie Melchthal’s carriage was the nearest. It was clear that she interpreted the meaning of Danaë’s costume as Prince Romanos had done, for she bent forward with her eyebrows raised and her lips pursed in an expression of intensest sympathy with a fellow-sufferer under the tyranny of unreasonable man. It afforded her ungrateful friend considerable pleasure to repay her with the coolest bow at her command.
The review was a splendid sight to Danaë, though the representatives of the great military Powers regarded it as of little more importance than a battle of toy soldiers. Emathia was in process of educating her own officers, but at present she was obliged to rely on foreigners and on Emathians who had served in other armies. A body of Wylie’s police from Klaustra were received with much approval by the experts, and Danaë gathered that their workmanlike equipment was considered better value for the money spent than the more elaborate uniforms of the regular troops. But the latter made unquestionably the more showy figure on the parade-ground, and Prince Romanos himself was a gallant sight as he took the salute. Armitage, on horseback in his admiral’s uniform, afforded an unpremeditated touch of comedy that caused the foreign representatives the keenest pleasure, and everyone was asking why he had not mounted the yacht’s crew and brought them to add to the apparent strength of the Emathian forces.
Just recently Prince Romanos had devised an improvement in artillery transport, and the new method and the old were to be shown in juxtaposition, that the connoisseurs might give their opinion. Gun-carriages, limbers and waggons were careering about the parade-ground, apparently bent upon mutual destruction and evading it only by a series of miracles, when the Prince called up Petros, who was waiting close behind him, and entrusted him with a message to an officer at the opposite side of the ground. Petros measured the distance across with his eye, and hesitated.
“What!” cried his master loudly. “Afraid of being run over, most valiant Petros? Must I seek another messenger?”
The aides-de-camp pressed forward eagerly, but Prince Romanos waited, with his eyes fixed on Petros. “I really think you had better not take it, friend Petraki,” he said, in a tone of good-humoured raillery. “You will fall through sheer fright, and blame me for your misfortunes.” Petros gave him a glance of helpless hatred, like that of a savage animal in a trap, and fairly tore the paper from his hand, then started to run across the ground. The incident had attracted attention, and all eyes were fixed upon him as he ran. He held on until he was about halfway across, and then found himself the apparent goal of four separate teams, racing for him from as many different directions. He lost his head, turned, and ran back towards his master, pursued by one of the galloping guns, and welcomed by a shout of universal laughter. The sound seemed to madden him, and as, with eyes starting from his head, he reached the saluting-point and clutched the flagstaff for support, he flung defiance at Prince Romanos.
“That was your intention, then, my Prince—to kill me as you have killed those others! I know what orders you gave the drivers. There would have been an accident, and you would be rid of me. But if I go, you go too.”
Before anyone realised what was in his mind, while all were craning forward to catch the shouted words, he loosed his hold of the flagstaff and flung himself at the Prince, his long dagger gleaming in his hand. There was a moment’s wild confusion. Danaë, standing up in her carriage and gripping the rail convulsively, heard a pistol-shot, but did not realise that Petros had fired at her, and that Armitage had thrown himself between them, until she saw her husband fall. A fusillade from the revolvers of the aides-de-camp drowned the sound of a second shot, as the madman turned his pistol upon himself.
All was tumult, as people left their carriages and crowded to the spot where the aides-de-camp were keeping a space clear round the three fallen men. Professor Panagiotis was in the midst, and Danaë, seeing his fine white head towering above the throng, fairly fought her way through to him. He was giving orders rapidly, but paused to reassure her.
“Yes, lady, yes; look after your husband while the surgeons are busy with his Highness. Milordo is not much hurt, and one of the doctors will be at your service in a moment. Yes, the miscreant is dead.”
An aide-de-camp moved aside, and Danaë was inside the ring. Two or three surgeons were kneeling round Prince Romanos, and a sailor, one of the yacht’s crew, who had evidently been among the crowd of spectators, was supporting Armitage’s head. He spoke little Greek, but Danaë gathered that he expected her to faint at the sight of blood, and was trying to assure her that her husband was not dead. But the daughter of the Christodoridi did not come of a fighting race for nothing. She examined the wound quite coolly, and to her intense relief found that though Armitage was unconscious, and had lost a good deal of blood, the bullet seemed to have grazed rather than penetrated the skull. With the sailor’s help she tied up the wound roughly, and then became aware that the crowd was growing less dense. The aides-de-camp had mounted again, and were riding among the excited people. “His Highness was not dangerously hurt, but the doctors considered it advisable that he should return to the Palace at once. To his great regret, therefore, the review must conclude at this point.” After this plain intimation the spectators could hardly refuse to disperse, the foreign representatives setting the example. One of the surgeons had been prevailed upon by this time to tear himself from the side of Prince Romanos, and Danaë was helping him to strap up her husband’s head, when she found herself addressed by the Professor.
“Lady, the doctors think it best to take his Highness to the Palace in your carriage, rather than wait while another is fetched. It shall return for you immediately.”
“But let it take Milordo as well!” she cried indignantly.
“It is impossible, lady. Two of the surgeons and I myself must accompany the Prince. My wife, with her admirable common-sense, has already driven off to see that everything is prepared for his Highness’s arrival, or I would have ventured to offer you her carriage. But you shall be sent for at once.”
The Professor seemed anxious and perturbed, though not unduly so, and Danaë could not wonder at his preoccupation when she saw her brother carried past, evidently only half conscious, his white lips murmuring something about a paper, and his hands wandering on the folds of the cloak that was thrown over him. But her present concern was entirely with Armitage, and until his wound had been properly dressed she had no thought to spare for anyone else. When it was done she looked up to find the British Consul-General standing beside her. The other foreign representatives had departed long ago, Herr Melchthal, whose wife was in violent hysterics, leading the way as senior member of the diplomatic body, but Mrs Wildsmith was still standing beside her carriage in the distance.
“My wife asks me to take the liberty of offering you our carriage, Lady Armitage,” said the Consul.
“She is very good,” said Danaë, “but mine will return in a moment.”
“Then will you permit us to remain with you till it comes?”
“But I am not frightened,” she said, astonished. “The doctor is here, and the escort.”
“Yes, the escort is here, certainly,” said Mr Wildsmith, in a voice of so much significance that Danaë looked round. Men and officers were gathered in little groups, talking eagerly, with no appearance of being on duty. “I would not trust them overmuch,” he added.
“But what has happened?” cried Danaë.
“Surely it is evident that there must have been a plot of some sort? The wretched man who attempted the Prince’s life is bound to have had accomplices——”
“Oh no, there was nothing of that kind. I knew him well. It was a private grudge. Please don’t let me keep you here. Really I would rather be left.”
“As you please. But remember that Lord Armitage and yourself, as British subjects, have a right to protection at the Consulate. If you find yourselves in danger, night or day, come or send to me at once.”
“You are very kind,” she repeated, in a bewildered voice, as he bowed and walked away. When the carriage had driven off, she became sensible of a great loneliness, for the surgeon departed also, to find a stretcher, as he said. The parade-ground seemed very large, the talking troopers incredibly distant, Armitage, still senseless at her feet, might have been in a different world. The sailor, who was still supporting him, growled something which she understood to be uncomplimentary to the escort, and the words seemed to clear her brain. Undoubtedly the cavalry were behaving scandalously, and must be recalled immediately to a sense of duty, and by her.
“Don’t leave him!” she said to the sailor, and receiving his gruff assurance, walked across the ravaged grass towards the troopers. As she neared them, she became aware that there were many more present than the twenty-five men who had accompanied her from the Palace—two hundred at least. They must have remained on the ground without orders when the review abruptly ended, and two or three officers of superior rank were haranguing group after group. It was too late to retreat now, and she marched boldly up to the nearest group.
“Have the goodness to detail four of your men to carry my husband to the Palace at once, Colonel, and a sufficient escort for his protection,” she said sharply.
The Colonel, a foreigner who in his day had served under many flags, looked at her with contemptuous amusement. “And who may the lady be who gives her orders so coolly?” he asked.
“The sister of your Prince,” she answered, the sonorous Greek flowing clearly from her lips. The soldiers were crowding round them now, and she had a feeling that events of importance depended upon the duel of words.
“A fine hostage for us, then!” He swooped from the saddle with extended arm, in the evident intention of seizing her and carrying her off. But Danaë had been watching for just such a movement, with the intuition which had descended to her from many generations born and bred in the midst of alarms. She swerved swiftly and suddenly, and he overbalanced himself and came to the ground, to the accompaniment of a chorus of smothered laughter. The sound thrilled Danaë. These men were still to be held for her brother, if she could seize the moment. Before the Colonel could pick himself up, her foot was in his stirrup, and in some miraculous way she scrambled into the saddle.
“Retire to your quarters, sir, and consider yourself under arrest!” she gasped to her discomfited antagonist.
“And to whom am I to have the honour of surrendering my sword, lady?” he asked, with a wink to a colleague.
“To me, sir. The belt as well, if you please. Be good enough to hold my horse,” to a young officer who chanced to be near her, and then and there she buckled on her foe’s sword, with the utmost deliberation. The operation finished to her satisfaction, she looked round at the ring of curious faces. “Gentlemen, your late Colonel was a traitor. I will now lead you myself.”
“Long live the lady colonel!” cried the youth who had held her horse, and who evidently found the new development interesting, and the men took up the cry with hearty amusement. The late Colonel, as was only to be expected, was less pleased.
“Oblige me by getting off my horse, lady. This farce has lasted long enough.” Danaë’s hand stole out behind her towards the helpful youth, and he grasped her meaning instinctively. The Colonel, with his hand outstretched to drag her from the saddle, recoiled from the revolver that almost touched his forehead.
“I should be sorry to end the farce for you on the spot, sir,” said his supplanter; “but if I am forced—— Dismount one of your men, and place the late Colonel under guard,” she said to her helper.
“If any man dares to lay a finger on me——!” blustered the Colonel.
“Place the late Colonel under guard,” repeated Danaë inexorably, and during the undignified rough-and-tumble struggle that ensued she thought hard, sitting motionless on her horse, like Bellona presiding over a scene of carnage. When the fight was over, and her predecessor, in a very damaged condition, was safely secured, she advanced a step.
“Are all here faithful to Prince Romanos and their military oath?” she asked loudly.
“All of us, lady!” was the cry.
“It is well, for had there been any other traitor, I would have shot him with my own hand. Lieutenant, be good enough to go to the Arsenal, and desire the Director in my name to close the gates and not open them without orders from me. Then go to your own barracks, and bring me the keys of the magazine and armoury. Do the same at the other barracks. You will find me at the Palace.”
“Am I to leave you alone, lady?” he asked in a low voice.
Danaë looked round proudly. “I have two hundred swords of my own regiment to guard me,” she said, so that all could hear, and the swords leaped from their scabbards to the salute. A grey-haired sergeant close at hand plucked off his fur cap.
“The Colonel must wear our kalpak,” he said, and Danaë put it on and fastened the chin-strap. The soldiers shouted with delight, but her messenger still lingered.
“Would not a written order be safer, my lady?”
“I have not time to write,” said Danaë hastily, unwilling to confess the deficiencies of her education. “See, take this as a token.” With a pang she took off her wedding-ring and handed it to him. It was all she had. With instinctive chivalry he kissed it.
“The regiment is at the feet of the Lady Danaë and her husband,” he said, and rode away. Danaë surveyed her troops helplessly. They were all mixed up, and she did not know how to get them straight. With a sudden inspiration, she turned to the old sergeant. “Sergeant, I must take Milordo to the Palace at once, but I want the regiment to escort me—in proper order.”
The expedient succeeded. Two or three hoarse shouts, and the mob resolved itself into ranks as if by magic. Four men dismounted, and unrolling their cloaks, made a rough-and-ready litter. Under the vigorous superintendence of the sailor, Armitage was lifted and placed on it, and the cavalcade started for the Palace. Before they could reach it, a carriage with a lady in it appeared, driving to meet them, and Danaë recognised Madame Panagiotis, who stopped the carriage and came to speak to her. The Professor’s wife was a German lady of great propriety, and even at this crisis she managed to get in a glance of disapproval at Danaë on the Colonel’s saddle before she spoke.
“Lady, you must pardon us for not sending the carriage before, but his Highness was seized with another violent effusion of blood, and all our thoughts were for him.”
“But he is not dying?” cried Danaë.
Madame Panagiotis blinked violently. “No, lady, far from it. His Highness is doing very well. He asked for his son—” why should he want Janni now? Danaë asked herself stupidly—“and inquired after your husband. Then he called for a paper from his desk, and displayed so much excitement that it was thought better to humour him. When it was brought he seemed satisfied, and consented to rest.”
Then Petros was right, and the paper contained his death-warrant—and possibly Danaë’s.