Chapter XIV The Abduction
He thought at heart, like courtly Chesterfield
Who, after a long chase o’er hills, dales, bushes,
And what not, though he rode beyond all price,
Asks next day, “if men ever hunted twice?”
—Byron: Don Juan.
Hunting foxes with a pack of hounds is an English and American pastime; hunting wolves with borzoi dogs is a Russian amusement; hunting the boar, the national entertainment of Bharbazonia. The alacrity with which the men started, when we were at last in the saddle, revealed their impatience at the delay.
“Keep an eye on the Prince, Nick,” called the General from the castle door. “Remember Marbosa’s oath. Only three days are left.”
“All right, Godfather,” Nick replied. But he did not offer any explanation to me as to what the Duke proposed to do, and deftly changed the subject. All he would say was that the General was talking politics and that one is wise who does not bother his head about what does not concern him.
Nevertheless, I secretly concluded that it would be just as well for me to keep as near the Prince as possible during the day. Some political plot was coming to a head of which I knew nothing. What this danger was that seemed to threaten I could not imagine, but I connected it with the horsemen who rode in the early hours of the dawn, and who loitered around the summer-house in their long Spanish cloaks.
The Prince, riding at the head of the pack as perfectly erect as a cavalryman, was surrounded by his father’s retainers, and close under the eye of the Master of the Hounds, when we joined him. Like the good-natured boy he seemed to be, he was enjoying the ride to the full. His cheeks were flushed with the healthy outdoor exercise and his eyes were bright with excitement. It was an ideal day with just enough of the brisk cut of winter in the air to keep the blood a-moving.
“It is good to be alive,” he said, darting a quick look over his shoulder as we came up.
“Where have you planned to hunt, Prince?” asked Nicholas, ranging on one side of the black horse while I took the other.
“In the Forest of Zin.”
“On the Framkor side of the river, or on Marbosa’s?”
“My camp is pitched beside the Big Spring.”
“Then we hunt on Marbosa’s estate,” said Nick, and I could see that he was not pleased at the prospect.
The Prince seemed highly amused at Nick’s reply, and laughed as if he deemed he had made an important discovery.
“For an American, Mr. Fremsted,” he smiled, “you know the Forest well.”
Nick was nettled. He realized that he had almost committed himself. I saw him covertly glance at the Prince under his eyebrows as if he wondered how this slow-brained, broken-English-speaking youth had found the wit to trap him. But he was equal to the occasion.
“Oh,” he replied, easily, “General Palmora during the past ten years has often had me hunting with him in this forest. I should know it well.”
“So?” said the Prince, and the subject was dismissed for a time.
The Forest of Zin, as I soon found, was not far distant. In fact it began at the rear of the Framkor estate and extended, so they said, for some fifty miles to the north. All the nobles who owned the adjoining land had established a game preserve over the entire territory and the peasantry was not allowed within its sacred precincts. According to the Prince, many of them had broken the law and, when caught, were “bastinado’d”—severely beaten on the soles of the feet, a method of punishment inherited from the Turks.
So great was the density of the forest when we plunged into it along a narrow bridle path, and so magnificent the height of the trees, that the light of the sun filtered through with difficulty. The resulting gloom was like that of a cloudy day and had its necessary effect upon my spirits. Long narrow roads opened vistas of wide clearings, beyond, which never materialized. All about was the mystery of silence as if the wild things watched in awe the human destroyer march by. Even the dogs, held firmly in leashes of four, lolled their red tongues from their mouths and ceased to give voice to their impatience.
The further we progressed the denser became the growth until at times we were compelled to bend over our horses’ heads to avoid the wide arms of the giant oaks, gnarled and twisted, which hung low over our path. Speed at times was impossible and our progress was necessarily slow. The Forest of Zin was no place for a careless rider.
The Big Spring, of which the Prince had spoken, was the fountain head of a little brook that issued from the roots of the largest oak in the forest. We found a score of the Red Fox’s men there, preparing a hunter’s meal over many wood fires. The odour of the cooking was pleasant to the nostrils. When we dismounted I found that it was nearly eleven o’clock and that it had taken the forenoon to arrive at the hunting grounds.
Squirrels, rabbits and wild birds broiled on revolving spits before the fire, or baked in clay coverings in the heart of the embers, formed the body of the meal. We sat upon a bed of dry leaves and ate with good appetites. Nick and the Prince were in the best of spirits. They examined the spears and talked of the coming hunt with considerable enthusiasm. The black locks and the red curls were frequently commingled and my jealous heart again suffered many pangs at the sight. The Prince had not forgotten the episode of the morning, and it was not long before he again trapped Nick. This time the Prince asked him a quick question in the language, and Nick replied quite naturally before he realized what he had done. When he found himself caught he laughed at his own discomfiture as heartily as did the Prince.
“You are a most interesting man to me,” the Prince said gayly. “You have been everywhere; you know so much. You speak so many languages. But why have you learned Bharbazonian? You speak it like a native.”
“It is second nature to one who knows the Russian of the south,” he replied. “After all, it is only a Slav dialect. I have been perfecting it during my visit here.
“Mysterious man,” the Prince replied, “not to have permitted me to know before. Here I have been talking with difficulty in your tongue when I might have been using my own speech all the time.”
Thus the Prince broke down Nick’s reserve and they ran off into the dialect where I could not follow. To my disgust they seemed to be growing more interested in each other through the medium of the common language, and I was glad when the bush-beaters with their dogs left the party to commence the hunt. But it was a half hour after the hounds had gone that the Keeper of the Spears began his distribution of the weapons. After presenting one to the Prince and Nicholas, he gave me one. The spear was about twelve feet long with a sort of bayonet at one end. It was exceedingly strong and well made, and I marvelled at its lightness. Where the steel met the stock there was a cluster of flowing ribbons, which lent a festive appearance to our band when the riders rested the stock in their stirrups and held their spears vertically in air. Each man seemed like a standard bearer.
Trained to precision of action by experience, the hunters rode to the appointed clearing in the forest whither the bush hunters were tending, and spread out in a long line. Nick and I, with the Prince between us, formed the centre of the line and the rest were placed so that each man could see his neighbour and thus both could watch the woods between for the fleeing quarry. I suppose our party thus covered a distance of two miles and each person in the line was practically alone.
We had not long to wait before the faint baying of the hounds reached our ears from the forest in front. The noise came gradually nearer and nearer. The horses became restive at the sound. The hunt was on in earnest. The first boar broke cover so far away that we had no part in it. We could only sit silent and listen to the chase and the squeal of the boar when the lance pierced him. Similar sounds drew our attention to other parts of the line and then our turn came.
The first wild pig I had ever seen in his native woods trotted swiftly out of the bushes in front of Nicholas and the Prince. It was a large black fellow with wicked-looking yellow tusks that curled up at the ends. When it saw the horsemen it was not afraid, but stopped with curiosity and grunted softly to itself in a familiarly domestic fashion. At sight of the boar, however, the horses began rearing and plunging, so that it was some moments before Nick, who was nearest, could urge his mount to the charge. The Prince’s black was ill-behaved also, but the rider had no difficulty in keeping his seat.
Nick, I suppose, must have been an adept in the use of the spear at one time, but he was badly out of practice then. When he came on with his swift rush he missed the vital spot behind the foreleg, or in the centre of the chest, and succeeded only in inflicting a wound along the animal’s spine, which let much blood but only angered the beast. His horse carried him some distance beyond before Nick could force him to turn, and in the meantime the Prince with lowered lance entered the fray.
With a sure hand he guided his terror-stricken black after the boar, which, squealing with pain and rage, was charging Nick. The hilt of the Prince’s lance rested in the leather socket of the saddle under his knee; the sharp point raced over the ground, its ribbons whipping in the wind. Out of the corner of its wicked little eye the boar saw the approach of its new enemy and wheeled to the attack. If it could gore the horse and unseat the rider, it might easily dispose of the enemy on foot.
But the Prince’s stroke was swift and sure. Before the boar had gathered speed the point took him full in the centre of the broad chest. If the Prince’s aim was to strike the little white spot there it could not have been more perfect. The force of the blow caused the horse to swerve suddenly in his course, nearly throwing the rider, but the boar stopped in its tracks. The lance came free as the horse leaped over the game, which reached up in a faint effort to strike. With his life blood following the lance, the victim sank slowly to its knees and filled the woods with its dying squeals.
“Well done, Your Highness,” shouted Nick in high glee, “’twas a master stroke.”
“I am ashamed of you,” cried the Prince with an eye on the struggling quarry.
The bush-rangers had evidently done their work well. The game was plenty. Everywhere all along the line came the sound of the chase, the shouts of riding men, the squeals of dying pigs and the barking of dogs let loose to bring a fleeing animal to bay so that the horsemen following slowly might kill it. It seems that only the most intrepid horseman will take his life in his hands attempting to ride at full speed under the trees.
A wild-looking animal darted under the horse Nick was riding and set off at a rapid pace for the other side of the clearing. With a shout Nick started in hot pursuit. At the same moment my turn came. The boar showed in front of me so suddenly that I pulled my horse’s head sharply to keep from stepping on it. The animal rushed by while I stupidly stared, making no motion to stop it.
“I am ashamed of you, too,” cried the Prince at my elbow as he dug the spurs into his black’s side and sped away like the wind.
“Solonika, be careful,” I cried, but she was beyond the sound of my voice. As quickly as I could I followed to watch her in action. I had no desire to try my hand with the lance. It required a better training than I possessed.
The boar had a good start and was not long in reaching the sheltering trees on the far side of the clearing. Solonika bent low over her black’s neck, and without hesitation followed the game where cooler riders would not dare go.
“Stop,” I shouted, but I knew that she would not heed me even though she heard. The excitement of the chase had entered her blood.
There was nothing left for me to do but try to keep her in sight. When I reached the place where she rode in I could still see her going at the top of her speed through the trees. Her lance point pursued the fleeing pig whose speed was incredible. Do what she could the boar kept just a little ahead. Deeper and deeper we went into the forest. The sound of the hunters, the baying of the dogs and the squeals came fainter and fainter to our ears and finally ceased altogether. We were alone.
My horsemanship was not as excellent as Solonika’s, and she gradually outdistanced me. I almost despaired of keeping her in sight. Finally, when I was about to give up, when my horse was blowing hard and I was well-nigh spent, I saw her suddenly rein in, throw up her head and look to one side as if she heard someone calling.
While she stood thus intent, four horsemen in black Spanish cloaks, coming from behind the trees, rode up to her side. One wrenched the lance from her hands, another threw his cloak over her head and arms, rendering her powerless, while the third grasped her horse by the bridle and the three set off at a gallop with their prisoner. The fourth drew his sword and waited for me to come up.
I stared in amazement at this extraordinary scene; my heart stopped beating with fear as its full significance burst upon me. I convulsively pulled my horse to a standstill, not knowing what I did. Only my grip on the saddle horn kept me in my seat.
Oh, if Nick were only here; but he was far away with the hunters. It would be hours before they would miss us. What was I to do? Was it better that I should ride back and tell him, or follow the Princess? My brain was stunned. I could not think clearly.
But stay! these were not ordinary highwaymen. Of this I felt sure. I remembered seeing them, or men like them, on the road in front of the summer-house. Were they trying to kidnap the Prince then? Were they members of that mystic band, the Order of the Cross? Nick and the General belonged to that. What good would it do to ride back and tell Nick of something which he, perhaps, already knew, or at least expected? Deserted by both Nick and the General, I felt suddenly alone. My God, alone; with Solonika in the hands of her enemies. What would they not do to her? How could she keep her secret from them? I must save her. I must act quickly.
“Solonika,” I shouted, hoping that she might hear and know that she was not deserted.
As I uttered the shout I spurred my horse furiously and he leaped forward to do my bidding. My boar lance was my only weapon; but surely I was better armed than the lone rear guard. He seemed to have only his short sword. Solonika and her captors were still in sight, although far ahead. I must ride fast and free if I would overtake her.
I rode high and recklessly watching the young noble put his horse in motion toward me so as to avoid my spear and make the attack more difficult. I bore down upon him with all speed, shouting as I came. He took hold of his weapon with both hands, preparing to cut my wooden shank with one bold stroke as I made to pierce him.
But, before I reached him, I received a violent blow on the forehead. The branches of the trees hung low about my upraised head. The heavens seemed to have fallen. My enemy vanished as if by magic amid a field of glowing shooting stars darting hither and yon in a field of purple night. A great weakness seized me. The saddle slipped from between my knees, the reins from my nerveless fingers.
I toppled over backwards—unconscious.