Trusia: A Princess of Krovitch

The train, sobbing out its protests against the steep ascent, soon brought them into a region of puzzling circumstances. Flashing past rural crossroads, they could see large groups of excited peasants talking, gesticulating and laughing, as they one and all were pointing in the direction of the capital. To their greater bewilderment, videttes in jaunty black and gold could be seen, as if courting publicity, patroling the public highways.

"What can it mean?" asked Trusia, whose heart beat wildly with a surmise she dare not voice.

The crest of the mountain was reached. The city lay spread before them. Over the Government buildings floated the Lion of Krovitch. The standard, waving gently in the breeze, seemed beckoning them to approach.

"The city is ours," burst simultaneously from their lips. The train in one headlong descent drew up at the station at Schallberg.

Looking out they could see a multitude of eager, expectant faces turned trainward. All Schallberg and most of the surrounding country had congregated to welcome their sovereign.

In the front rank Carter espied his former friends, while last but not least a jubilant Carrick awaited his alighting. A guard was drawn up about the platform on which stood the little group of officers.

Urged to the front, King Stovik was the first to step into view of the throng. Recognizing him, the officers drew their swords and raised them high above their heads.

"Long live King Stovik!" they cried.

For the life of a sigh there was a silence while the multitude realized that this man was their King. Then a pandemonium of cheers shattered the air. A roar of two centuries of repressed loyalty greeted him. He would indeed have been of meagre soul not to have been touched by such devotion. Handkerchiefs, hats, and flags were waved by his people – his people – at sight of him. What could be the limited fame of an artist compared to the devotion of an entire people for their sovereign? He stood erect, proudly lifting his hat to the full height of his arm in dignified response. There came a mightier cheer.

"Long live Stovik Fourth!"

"God save the King of Krovitch!"

"A Lion for the Bear!"

Filled with the moment's majesty, Stovik stepped down to greet his officers.

Next came Trusia. The crowd caught sight of her happy, inspired face. She was recognized by all; they knew and worshiped her. A wilder cry, a mightier joy, made up of mingled cheers and tears, went up at sight of her. Her bosom heaved, her lips trembled. At the thought of her country's salvation her glorious eyes grew soft and moist. Lovingly, almost maternally, she held out her arms to her beloved countrymen.

Somewhere in the crowd a woman's voice was heard to cry: "Saint Trusia; angel!" Ten thousand voices took up the acclaim. She shook her head reprovingly as she, too, joined the group about His Majesty. After Carter and the others stepped upon the platform, the former looked about him for his whilom chauffeur. Carrick, with some difficulty, pushed his way through the crowd and was soon at his master's side.

"'Ave a pleasant trip, sir?" he asked, his mobile countenance abeam with joy at the meeting. The aide cast a significant glance at the crowd, then at the Krovitch standard, before replying.

"Fairly, Carrick," he said. "I notice that you and our friends have been busy hereabouts in our absence," he added, hinting at an enlightenment.

The Cockney's face grew red with embarrassment as he answered lightly, "Yes, we 'ave sort of kept our hands in, sir. It's a long story," he appended, appreciating that his master must have some natural curiosity regarding the premature change in plans which had resulted in the capture of the city before the coming of the King. The American smiled, he felt sure that the fellow had had a greater part in the proceedings than he would like to confess in public. Something on Carrick's sleeves seemed to confirm this supposition.

"All right," he answered, "I guess it will keep until we have reached our quarters. By the way how did you get the chevrons of a sergeant-major? That's the highest rank a non com. can aspire to."

Carrick grinned. "That's part of the story, sir," he retorted.

Zulka, having made his devoirs to the sovereign, now approached his friend.

"Surprised, Cal?" he queried.

"I surely am, Zulka. How – " Carter began when he was interrupted by the Count who laid a friendly hand upon his shoulder.

"Things are moving," said the Krovitzer with a twinkle in his eye. "I'm busy, ask Carrick." He chuckled as if it were a huge joke.

"I feel as if I had missed something big," the American replied with the generous regret of one who would have thoroughly enjoyed his own share of the labor.

"Thank Carrick for that. Here comes Sutphen. He'll be Marshal for this," he said as the grizzled commanding officer approached. All three saluted.

"Congratulations, Colonel," said Carter as the elder man acknowledged their formal courtesies.

"Sorry I can't congratulate you, Major," the veteran replied with a dry chuckle; "the truth is that you have lost a valuable asset by the victory." Calvert was properly mystified.

"So?" he questioned; "I haven't missed anything yet."

"A good attendant," the other explained, pointing to the Cockney. "Our army will never let him go, now. They'd sooner give him my place. Nothing but continued obstinacy on his part hinders him from wearing shoulder straps."

"Carrick seems in high favor about here," Carter remarked as a more pronounced hint for enlightenment. Sutphen grunted.

"Let him tell you, then," he said. "Excuse me. Her Grace is looking this way." He straightway departed to escape explanations and Zulka followed him.

While these greetings were being exchanged, the populace were not idle. With enthusiastic vigor they had removed the horses from the equipages meant for the royal party, and now, through a spokesman, begged permission to draw the carriages themselves as a token of their devoted allegiance. Stovik gaily agreed when their request was explained to him.

"Come with me, Sergeant," Calvert requested. Elated at the opportunity, the Cockney leaped into the landau beside him. Pulled, pushed and surrounded by a cheering, happy pack, the entire suite was whirled along toward Trusia's castle. When well under way, the New Yorker turned to the man beside him. He seemed to beg Carrick for an explanation of the day's mystery.

"Well," he ejaculated, in the assurance that the Cockney always comprehended his monosyllabic meanings. Carrick reddened sheepishly under the other's gaze.

"You remember Judson? Sergeant Judson, of old E Troop?" he inquired, not knowing how to commence his narrative.

"Yes," Carter replied, "what of him?"

"It's his fault," Carrick answered, pointing at the densely packed mass of Krovitzers about them.

"What are you driving at?"

"It's this wye, sir," said his whilom chauffeur, taking grace of words. "You know we struck this plyce yesterday. Feelin' out o' plyce among them furrin-speakin' Krovitzers I hiked down to the Russian guard mount."

"You mean that you understood Russian better than the native language?"

"Not that, sir, but I knew I would feel more at 'ome there than I would with the big bugs. When I got there the band was a plyin' over at the side o' the square, the flags was aflyin', and blyme me if something didn't stick in my throat, thinkin' of old times, sir." His eyes grew soft at the recollections evoked. "When it came time for 'Sergeants front and centre' I got to thinkin' how old Sarge Judson used to stalk up as proud as Colonel Wood himself. I 'ad to rub my bloomin' eyes, for large as life, there was Doc Judson with all them whiskered chaps."

"Surely, Carrick," interrupted the astonished Carter, "you must be mistaken. You don't mean Sergeant Judson of the First Volunteer Cavalry?"

"The syme, sir. When they countermarched back to barracks I saw 'im again. That was fine, sir," said the fellow enthusiastically. "Quite like old times, sir. Right 'and grippin' the piece; left 'and swingin' free. Swingin' along, swingin', swingin', swingin' to the music o' the band. When a fellow who is out of it has been in the service, 'e feels bloomin' soft when 'e sees the fours sweep by 'im. I wanted to cheer and swing me bloomin' cap just to keep from blubberin'. Then, right guide of his four, come Judson. Six paces awye he saw me. He turned white, then red, but like the good soldier 'e was, 'e never let it spoil 'is cadence. 'E tipped me the wink and passed by. I waited. Presently 'e came back. 'Are you with the gang at the castle?' 'e arsked. I said I was. 'Cut it, Bull, and run,' 'e said. They used to call me John Bull, you know. Then 'e added slow as if 'e was not sure 'e 'ad the right to tell – 'I'm on to their game. To-morrow mornin' I'm goin' to squeal on 'em to the commandant. That'll give you plenty o' time for you to get awye. For old times' syke, Bull,' 'e said as 'e gripped my 'and."

Then Carrick went on to narrate how Judson had told him that a fellow named Johann, who had broken jail, had just that morning drifted into the guardhouse where the sergeant had the relief. He had promised Judson if given twenty-four hours' start he would disclose a big game of treason. Judson promised, and the fellow, – none other than the pent-browed peasant, – had related all he knew of the Krovitzers' plans. Carrick confessed to some trepidation when he had heard that so much was known outside their own party. But he had stood his guns manfully and refused to fly. He gave as his reason his loyalty to Calvert Carter. When Judson learned that his old captain was walking straight into the impending peril he was greatly surprised, but promised to take care of him or forfeit his life. Carrick by way of reply had innocently inquired who was sergeant of relief that night.

"'E was wise, though," said Carrick with a laugh. "'E looked at me suspiciously. 'I am,' 'e said with a jerk; 'why?'

"'Better 'ave ball cartridges,' I says, 'I'm goin' to give you a surprise. That's a fair warnin' for a fair warnin', Doc,' I said. 'E showed 'e was worried. 'E begged me not to do it, sayin' that they'd 'ave ball cartridges an' reinforcements a-plenty to-morrow, which is to-day, sir. I knew by that that they were shy at that time, sir. I found out that their strength was only 'arf a battalion. We sprung our surprise last night, sir, overpowered the sentries and took the bloomin' town."

"It will surely be traced to Judson, Carrick. You know what that means for him. I hope the poor fellow made his escape before they had the chance of standing him up against the wall. Did you see him again?" Carrick's mobile face took on an unaccustomed gravity.

"Once," he answered with some effort. "Don't worry, sir, the Russians won't bother him. You see," he hurried on with obvious haste, "we sneaked on each sentry until we came to Number One Post. It was near the gates – connected by phone and electric light wires with the barracks."

"How did you manage?"

"Cut the bloomin' wires."

"Didn't the guard rush out?"

"They did, sir. Couldn't find their pieces in the dark. They rushed right into the arms of the two companies Colonel Sutphen had there waiting for them. Only one, a sergeant, 'ad grit enough to fight. 'E picked me out, sir. Rushed me with 'is sword and gave me all I could do," said Carrick giving gallant tribute to a valiant foe. The Cockney became silent.

"Well?" inquired Carter after a prolonged season of expectancy.

"The old trick you taught me in E Troop did for 'im, sir. As 'e fell, 'e said, 'Bull, you are a damned rascal,' and laughed as if the joke was on 'im. 'I'm done for, Bull,' 'e went on, 'but I'd rather die this wye in a fair fight with a friend, than blindfold against the wall for a traitor. Take care o' Cap Carter, 'e said. Then 'e croaked."

"Judson," cried Carter regretfully at the death of a brave man.

"Judson, of old E Troop," replied Carrick solemnly. "We sounded taps over 'im this mornin', sir."

XX

A SOUND AT MIDNIGHT

Two days later a royal banquet followed by a cotillion celebrated the coming of the King. The monarch was in the white uniform of a Field Marshal, above which his handsome face rose in striking contrast. His collar, heavy with gold embroidery, seemed held in place by the Star of the Lion. At his right hand sat Trusia, resplendent and warmly human, while flanking him on the left was the grizzled Sutphen. Carter's place as an aide was far down the side of the table. Only by leaning forward, and glancing past those intervening, could he get a glimpse of the marvelous woman, who, young as she was, had made this event a possibility.

Sallies, laughter, repartee came floating down to him. A momentary pang of envy shot through him that the royal party, which to him meant Trusia, should be in such high feather. Owing to his remoteness it was impossible for him to participate in their mirth, so he resigned himself to the duty of entertaining the daughter of an elderly nobleman who was under his escort.

"And you," he said, "you, too, are delighted with the dashing King. Confess."

"I am afraid," she laughed back, "that all girls, even in America, dream what their ideal king should be."

"Your sex's ideal man?" he inquired quizzically.

"Oh, no, monsieur," she replied with grave, wide eyes. "Our ideal man is only a prince."

"Then your ideal king must be something more than a man," he said in soberer mood as she unfolded to him the working of a maiden mind, which is always awe-inspiring.

"Yes," she responded, "something less than a god."

"And the maidens of Krovitch, what have they dreamed?"

She glanced up to see if his expression matched the apparent gravity of his words. Reassured by the entire absence of banter in his face, she answered him sincerely. She was too guileless to analyze his possible mental attitude save by these superficial indications. "A demigod like our ancient sovereign, Stovik First," she responded reverently.

"So you have deified His Majesty already?"

"God save His Majesty from ill," she answered, "but I think he is very human – and handsome." She blushed uneasily. A merry peal of laughter from the group about the King drew their attention. Leaning her elbow on the cloth, the girl turned her head to learn the cause of the hilarity. Carter, thankful for the opportunity, employed the pause in studying Trusia. The Duchess's eyes were sparkling like some lustrous jet. The deep flush of the jacqueminot burned in her cheeks as she smilingly regarded Natalie, the heroine of the jest. Was all this scintillation a mask, he wondered, or had the coming of the King – the remembrance of her vow – driven the recollection of that momentary surrender in Paris from her heart? He sighed. The girl next him turned in apology.

"Forgive me, monsieur, for forgetting you. But Her Grace – is she not beautiful? When she makes us girls forget, is it any wonder the youths of Krovitch are oblivious of our poor existence?"

"She has had many suitors, then?" Carter to save him could not refrain from the question.

"A legion," she answered; "but all have withdrawn nobly in favor of the King. Even Paul Zulka and Major Sobieska. They are transferring to him their lives and their swords to please her."

A slight commotion at the head of the table again caused them to turn their heads in that direction. The King was rising.

"He is going to announce his betrothal," suggested the girl at Carter's side. Carter's face grew grim and white. But such was not the royal intent. Being assured that all present understood French, King Stovik in a short speech thanked the people of Krovitch for their devotion to his House. He promised that, if destiny placed him on their throne, he would treat his power as a trust for them.

"For this day at least we give ourselves over to the joy of meeting you. To-morrow comes the fearful care of kings. You have labored faithfully, to-night be merry," he said in conclusion. He lifted a bubbling glass from the table. "Our battle cry, my lords, is 'God and Krovitch.'"

There was an hysteric outburst. Men and women leaped to their feet to drain the toast. When the King regained his seat the cheers subsided. Slowly, impressively Trusia arose at his side, the light of inspiration radiating from her glorious self like the warm light that comes from the sun.

"There can be only one other toast after that, my people," she said. "God save the King." Like a real prayer, solemn and soul-felt, arose a responsive, "God save the King." Then deliberately, that the glasses might never be profaned with a less loyal toast, the guests snapped the fragile stems between their fingers and cast the dainty bowls to the floor in tinkling fragments.

At a signal from Stovik the banquet was over. He arose, and, taking Trusia by the hand, escorted her to the great hall to lead the cotillion with him. The royal pair having departed, the guests arose and, in the order of their precedence, filed into the ballroom in the train of their King.

The first figure, patriotically named the "Flag of Krovitch," was danced by Stovik, Trusia and seven other couples all nearly related to royalty, each person waving a small silken flag bearing the Lion of their race.

Carter, from the throng, with hungry eyes saw but one wondrous form, supported on the arm of royalty, glide through the graceful maze. A lull came in the music and Stovik, bowing the Duchess to her seat, turned with evident relish to a coquettish brunette who had assured him that they were first cousins.

Having fulfilled the demands of Court etiquette in yielding first place to her sovereign, Trusia was now free to indulge any other preference for partners for the ensuing figures. The American glanced covetously toward the place where Sobieska and Zulka stood, expectantly awaiting her invitation. With a mild negation of her head she passed them, moving to where Carter was engaged talking to the Countess Muhlen-Sarkey. Seeing her approach, his heart beat with a foolish hope and his remarks to his matronly auditor, took on a perplexing shade of incoherence. Evidently Trusia shyly expected him to accept the courtesy; as through a myriad phantoms, where only she was real, he threaded his way to her side.

"You are the stranger within our gates," she explained as in rhythmic unison they drifted into the cadence of the waltz.

"Have I awakened," he inquired, "or is this part of the dream I had in the Boulevard S. Michel?"

"It must have been a dream, monsieur," she said with sad finality. "It is folly to encumber one's life with useless dreams."

"Your Grace wishes it?" he asked in halting syllables wrenched from a heavy heart.

"For your own happiness, now," she answered with a meaning nod toward the King.

"But," he pleaded, "it was such a beautiful dream."

"Dreams are – sometimes. Then we awake." He felt the slight tremor against his arm as she spoke.

"I wish," he sighed impotently, "that you were an American girl."

She smiled mechanically to hide the sadness welling in her breast. "Wishes," she murmured resignedly, "are too near akin to dreams for me to indulge them. Besides I have a country to hope for. Why should I join you in such a wish?"

"Have you, then, realized your wishes in His Majesty?" It was a brutal thing to say; he saw it when too late to recall the words which had passed his lips.

She shrank as if struck. Her eyes spoke the volumes of her appeal. They read in his a hopeless prayer for forgiveness, and graciously, gently, she pressed his arm under her hand as a sweet upward glance assured him of absolution. Like the sigh in his own soul, sweet and low, the music died out. The figure was finished.

Pleading fatigue, Carter sought the quarters assigned him in the castle. His senses were awhirl, his spirits high in the chimera that Trusia cared for him. Had he been compelled to remain in attendance he felt certain that he would have bruited his glad tidings abroad. Between the throbs of hope, however, with growing insistence threaded the stinging pulses of despair and pity; despair that destiny would never give her to him as wife, pity that she should sacrifice her own sweet self to a man who had no real affection for her. Hers was a nature, he well knew, requiring the full measure of tenderness to bloom in its fullest beauty. Believing her beyond his reach he felt a sudden overpowering sense of utter loneliness. Fully clad as he was, he flung himself upon his bed, but his arm, his breast, still tingled with the contact from the dance. Sleep held aloof from him. Darkness was no refuge from her tempting face, for, visible to his soul, it stood between him and the gloom.

From the distant hall, augmenting his restlessness, came occasional snatches of music mingled with the hum of voices. The hours passed on while he tossed nervously on his bed. Then the music stopped. Laughter and farewells floated up to him. In a few minutes all was silence save for the footfalls of the sentries on their posts.

Somewhere in its boat of song, the nightingale was floating on the sea of darkness. Drawn aimlessly by the pathos of the songster's lay, Carter wandered to the window to gaze out into the moonless midnight. Racking his quivering heart, his imagination dwelt on a pictured life with Trusia, emphasizing the sweet moments of her complete surrender.

Time lost all measure in his rhapsody. He might have stood leaning over the sill a day or a second, when a sound, persistent and murmuring, haled him back to mundane things. Intermittently, but with growing volume, from somewhere beyond the wall of black, came the echoes of an army in passage. He could separate the different noises. That, he recognized by its deep grumbling noise, was cannon; the rattling sound, like an empty hay wagon, was caissons, while the muffled, thudding echo was cavalry at the trot. The force, apparently a heavy one, did not seem to be coming from Schallberg. He leaned far out of the window challenging the darkness with his peering eyes. Dimly he could descry the plateau about the castle with its low bastions at the cliff's edge. Indefinite shapes pacing along the wall he knew to be Krovitzer sentries. He fancied he heard a challenge on the distant road, a halt, then the invisible army took up its march again.

Straining every sense, he concluded that the force was moving from, and not toward, the frontier. Sutphen, then, for some unknown reason, must have consented to withdraw part of his none too strong army from points which Carter believed to be greatly in need of reinforcement. He debated with himself, therefore, the military necessity of confirming these impressions. Knowing, however, how prone to offense the plethoric Colonel could be, and reassured by the fancied challenges, he relinquished the idea. Growing drowsy with the extra mental exertion, he divested himself of his clothing and was soon in bed and asleep.

During his slumber another detachment passed, then another, while just before dawn a heavy force of infantry at double time went down the road.

Carter arose late the next morning. After a hasty breakfast, too early, however, for the other participants in the evening's festivities, he buckled on his sabre and, taking his fatigue cap, strolled out upon the terrace. He found the Minister of Private Intelligence pacing moodily back and forth on the stone flags. Acknowledging his salute, Carter stopped and spoke.

"Anything doing?" he inquired with a cheerful air.

Sobieska nodded. "Zulka's in command of Schallberg. Sutphen with a small force occupies Markos due east of the capital. Lesky's Rifles have seized Bagos on a line with both at the western frontier. This completes our alignment on the south. Wings have been thrown out from both Markos and Bagos to the extreme north, making a monster 'E' of which we are the middle arm."

Carter betrayed surprise. "Well, what force was that which passed during the night?" he asked. "I thought you said Sutphen had only a small command on the frontier, yet there were two or three parks of heavy artillery went by."

"I didn't hear them," responded Sobieska, "but Josef reported them as reinforcements from the Rifles for the frontier. There may have been some cannon, but not as many as you think. He dare not weaken his strength that way."

"It seemed to me," said Carter dubiously, "that they marched from the frontier, not toward it. But how did Josef come to report it? Where was the officer of the guard?"