Chapter VII
I walked to the window and looked out into the square below. As I did so, I noticed an unusual stir among the people who were passing. Every one seemed to be flocking to the Palace; the gates were wide open; and a continual stream of motor-cars and carriages kept entering and leaving. This was evidently an unusual sight, for the ordinary passers-by gathered at the entrances to watch, and most probably wonder. Then I noticed newspapers being sold, and the hum of many excited voices could be heard. I turned to Mr. Smith.
“Can they know already, do you think?”
“Undoubtedly, I have seen to that, and in all the chief cities of your Majesty’s kingdom; they will know as fast as the telegrams can be sent.”
Woolgast had left the room, but now returned and came up to where I was standing.
“I have to report, your Majesty, that Prince Alexis has just entered the Palace, and been arrested.”
“That is good news, Colonel; I was fearing that he might be troublesome.”
I think Mr. Smith had rather feared the same thing, for I heard him heave a sigh of relief.
“That eases my mind,” he said. “It will be a bloodless coup d’état, after all.”
“Thanks to the excellence of your plans.”
“And the loyal co-operation of all those people who knew; a single word might have spoilt all. As it is, there is nothing now to prevent your Majesty entering the throne room.”
“I am ready.”
“Then let us go.”
He threw open the door and I passed out. My body-guard were drawn up ready to attend me; I saluted them as I came out of the room, and they fell in behind me. This affair was not to be marked by much state, but Mr. Smith had seen to it that there was enough. That is to say, there were ushers and heralds, with other functionaries, who preceded me to clear the way, and throw wide the great doors which led into the throne room. I felt that I would sooner have seen the spectacle from the other end, or in one of the galleries; but that was not to be, so I entered bravely, although my heart did beat a trifle more rapidly than usual.
The place seemed packed from floor to roof; whichever way I turned, there were smiling faces. A deafening shout greeted me. These good people evidently could not restrain their joy at thoughts of the restoration of the beloved dynasty of the Stephanovitchs.
I stood on the edge of the dais, and smiled for very joy at the acclamations; pride, too, had its way, and I was pleased to think that I was King. It was so much nicer than I had anticipated. Mr. Smith, by my side, held up his hand, and almost immediately there was silence.
A gorgeous figure, clad in robes which no King could rival, stepped forward; there was a fanfare of trumpets, and then:
“King Ivan is dead, God save King Victor!”
“Speak to them,” said Mr. Smith.
“Rudarlians”—how funny my voice sounded, I could hardly believe that I was speaking—“I am the son of Merlin. I am your King, Rudarlia is my country. Help me therefore to undo the errors of my predecessor; give me your loyalty, and together we will give new life to our beloved country, and keep her clean from tyrannous injustice. Help me, and we will make it a proud boast when a man can say: ‘I am a Rudarlian.’”
For the second time that day, my words seemed to meet with approval, for my stepping back was the signal for another hurricane of cheers. I thought they would never stop, and that low fellow Carruthers said, loud enough for me to hear, to Mr. Smith:
“He ought to get in with a thumping majority.”
Mr. Smith had told me that from time immemorial, on such occasions, the King always walked straight down the hall and up a broad stairway at the other end, and so back to his own apartments. As it had been the custom, I saw no reason to break away from it, so once more the heralds cleared the way for me; and I passed through the long hall, between two lines of bowing people, who laughed and cried at the same time.
Under my father’s rule there had been a golden age for Rudarlia, and this must account for the extraordinary enthusiasm with which I was greeted. We went, some dozen in all, to a room overlooking the main entrance to the Palace; and from there we watched the people gathering in hundreds, to hear from those who passed out—whatever they did hear.
They seemed pleased with the news, whatever it was, for they turned their faces to the Palace and shouted. It was not only the people who appeared gay, but presently the shops as well; flags and coloured ribbons began to be displayed. Then men came with great placards: “God Save Victor II., Merlin’s Son,” in red letters on a yellow ground. Some one had stage-managed the thing very well, nothing had been forgotten.
As I looked down upon the heaving mass of men and women, an irresistible longing came over me to ride out among them, to go to the Cathedral, and thank God that no blood had been shed in this, my triumph.
“Count,” I said, turning to Mr. Smith, “is there any reason why I should not go now to the Cathedral?”
He looked at me hesitatingly for a moment.
“Not if your Majesty wills it,” he said quickly.
“Then I will go, for there are a number of good citizens in danger of being crushed, down there, in their eagerness to catch sight of me.”
“I will order your Majesty’s carriage.”
“No! I will ride.”
Colonel Woolgast had returned; and I told him of my intention.
He looked anxious; and asked whether he should call out troops to line the way.
“Troops?” I said, perhaps foolhardily. “No, Colonel, just my own body-guard, half to clear a way, and the other half to follow. I will begin, as I intend to go on, by trusting the people. Count Zeula, I should be pleased if you would ride with me; and you, too, gentlemen, if so inclined.”
“Thank God we shall have a King,” I heard some one mutter, and then Mr. Smith and I were alone again, waiting for our horses.
“Am I wise?” I asked.
“Yes, Victor, I think you are, only I am nervous for your safety.”
“I feel that nothing could hurt me to-day,” I said, laughing. “But there is one thing I have forgotten, I wish Bauen to ride with us, to let the people see that loyalty such as his is not forgotten by my family.”
“God made you a King before ever you came to Rudarlia, Victor.”
And, at something in his voice, I felt myself blushing.
I shall never forget that ride. The great cry that arose as the body-guard wheeled into the courtyard; the instantaneous sundering of the crowd to make a way as the gates were swung open.
Unaffectedly I rejoiced, as I rode through them, some ten yards behind the last rank of the vanguard, with Mr. Smith half a length behind me; Woolgast, Carruthers, Bauen and the rest two lengths behind him again.
I was almost deafened by the shouts of welcome that arose from the crowd.
A child, escaping from his mother’s restraining hand, ran under my horse’s feet. In a moment I was out of my saddle, and had the little thing in my arms, sobbing, frightened, but unhurt.
A halt had been called; and the mother, a poor ragged woman, approached, terrified, trembling. I gave the boy into her arms, with two or three pieces of gold.
“Take him, my good woman,” I said, “and keep him, for one day Rudarlia may have need of him.”
The crowd grew delirious; they burst through the restraining arms, surrounded me, cheering and blessing me. For some little time they were hysterical in their expressions of loyalty, until I had to stand up in my stirrups and ask them to make way for me. At the sound of my voice they once again surged back, and our cortège passed on.
Luckily, it was not a great way to the Cathedral, or I doubt if we should have reached it before nightfall. As it was, it was six o’clock before we started on our homeward journey.
So dense was the crowd, that we went at a walk the whole way; the more adventurous would press forward, and touching my boot, bridle, anything, were contented.
They were a good-natured mass of people; and, although the jostling and discomfort must have been appalling, I heard never a single oath or bad-tempered remark, only blessings, and heart-felt utterances of joy.
We were within sight of the Palace, when I saw the escort which rode before me divide into two parts, and down the middle came six beautiful girls, carrying great bunches of flowers; some enthusiast had organised the party, and ransacked a florist’s shop evidently.
The crowd swept back, and left a clear space around them.
One little maid, who was in advance, came timidly up to me, as I sat on my horse, laughing down at them.
She was too tongue-tied to say anything, so she just held up a bunch of white roses for me to take. She was so tiny, and looked so sweetly pretty, that I could not resist dismounting; and, picking up the little one, kissed her, at the same time taking the roses, and fastening them somehow into my tunic.
Seeing this, some wit in the crowd called out:
“The others want payment too.”
And this idea caught on to such an extent that I was obliged to kiss all the other blushing five, to the delight of the onlookers. Mr. Smith laughed heartily; and even the stern-faced troopers looked away to hide their emotion.
That, however, was the last delay we had; and shortly after we turned in through the Palace gates.
Jove! how hot and tired I was, I remember it to this day, and the gorgeous relief when, in my own apartments, I bathed and put on cool evening dress.
In spite of fatigue, there was an immense amount of work to be got through that night; I don’t know how many times I put my signature to papers handed me by Mr. Smith, but it seemed millions.
I had sent a telegram to my mother, just a few words, saying that all was well.
At Mr. Smith’s suggestion, I had invited some twenty or thirty people to take supper with me, and at eleven o’clock I vowed that I would work no more. At which Mr. Smith and Baron Sluben laughed, and said that they had been wondering when I meant to stop; and only then did I realise that it had been my place to call a halt, not theirs.
Twice, during these hours of writing, I had been obliged to leave the room, and show myself to the people who stood outside the Palace gates, cheering continuously; but, as it grew towards midnight, the crowd had dwindled, and I could feel more at rest.
I think my first supper-party was a success, the late King’s chef being one of the best in Europe.
Naturally enough, high spirits reigned supreme, as one and all there, with the single exception of myself, had worked for years for what had happened this day.
The guests were all very great people in the realm; and, when supper was finished, we withdrew to another room to hold a Council of War, to decide what should be done with Prince Alexis and his following.
There were some whose advice was distinctly Machiavellian, desiring to stamp out all of Ivan’s race. They had forgotten, perhaps, that I was related to him. There were others, who thought that imprisonment for life was the thing; while the majority, of which I was one, held in favour of exile.
That was for Alexis and his chief advisers; the minor characters would have to live on their estates, under certain conditions, or leave the country, the choice to be theirs. And so, after a somewhat lengthy debate, it was decided.
Perhaps we were too lenient, knowing as we did the kind of men with whom we dealt; but severity was abhorrent to me who had been so short a while King.
It was long past midnight when I went to my room to sleep; and even then I did not go direct, for I was obliged to pass the door of the room where Ivan’s body lay. A trooper of my body-guard had been placed on guard there, and I stopped to say a word to him; as I did so, the sound of weeping reached my ears.
I looked inquiringly at Mr. Smith, who accompanied me.
“It is Ivan’s wife, your Majesty.”
“Alone,” I asked, “and at this hour?”
The guard answered that she had been within for some two hours, by herself.
“I would speak to her, Count; do not wait, you need repose. Goodnight.”
He looked at me for a moment, and then bowed.
“Good night, your Majesty,” he said and left me.
I do not know what impulse urged me to push the door quietly open, and enter; not curiosity, God knows. I think it was just the desire to try and comfort this poor lady.
She was kneeling beside the bed on which the body lay, a fragile figure in black, her head buried in her arms, sobbing as though indeed her heart was broken.
As I approached, she raised her tear-stained face to mine; and I saw that it was still comely, though haggard and weary.
“Who are you?” she said quietly.
“A friend of your Majesty’s,” I answered.
“‘Majesty,’ I never was that, since my husband was never really the King.”
“Nevertheless, madame, if you will permit, I will address you so; for you, by your acts, have proved yourself a Queen.”
She had risen to her feet, and stood looking at me intently.
“Are you the King?” she asked.
“So people have acclaimed me to-day, madame.”
“Could you not leave me to my grief, in the midst of your joy?”
“God forbid that I should intrude, madame, on grief such as yours, were it not for the great desire I have to aid, and if possible comfort you; but see,” I drew a curtain on one side, making the light of early dawn visible to her, “the night is nearly spent.” I dropped the curtain again. “Your Majesty, will you not permit me to escort you to your room, or call one of your ladies, for, next to God, surely one of your own sex could best comfort you?”
“God,” she said, “do you believe then in God?”
“Surely, madame.”
“Is that why you came in to me here?”
“I had not thought of it, but probably it was His doing, for I think that all kind thoughts are His, and all the pity within me woke at the sound of your weeping.”
“Then may He be praised,” she said, “that Rudarlia will once more have a merciful King.”
“You love Rudarlia, madame?”
“Ah yes, so much, perhaps my sorrow to-night is more self-pity at thought of leaving than sorrow for my dead husband, for I had wept all my tears for him years ago.” She spoke with a little dry huskiness that sounded strangely pathetic.
“Leave Rudarlia, that would be your wish, would it not, to return to your own country, away from sorrowful sights and remembrances?”
There was tragedy in her reply:
“My own country, where is it? My father is dead. I had no friends before I married, I was too young; and the few of my countryfolk who accompanied, and remained with me, are gone.”
“Then, madame, remain here, where you will be always an honoured guest. The people love you, I know; and you can devote your time happily to whatever you desire, without hindrance. It shall be my pleasure to see that everything you may wish for shall be yours, and I shall hope to have gained a friend.”
“Your Majesty,” she said, “what can I say, how can I accept, how can I?”
“By saying, madame, that you will stay. It will be our part, after that, to show you that Rudarlia remembers those who loved her, even in the midst of their own unhappiness.”
“Oh, how can I?” I heard her murmur, “how can I, I, the wife of the usurper?”
“Madame, your husband’s sins must be answered for by himself; you, however, have never been associated with him in the minds of the people. Only by your goodness, kindness, and charity, are you judged by them; even my mother, who has, God knows, suffered greatly at Ivan’s hands, will never think of you except with loving thoughts, as one who was sinned against. I can answer for her, as justice has been ever dear to her. Come, madame, decide as we wish it, and let me see you smile at thoughts of happiness to be.”
She looked up at me, and I saw her bravely struggling with her tears.
“May God bless you, as you deserve; I will do as you will.”
“That is right, madame, and now permit me.”
I raised her hand, and pressed it to my lips; and, retaining it in mine, led her gently from the room, back to her own apartments, where her ladies were waiting.