Boothby Guy
Long Live the King!

CHAPTER XX

It was with feelings of the liveliest gratitude to Providence, and pride in our gallant soldiers, that I reached the city of Zaarfburg, some ten hours or so after its capitulation. A large proportion of the army corps which had so long invested it was drawn up on the plain to receive me. The remainder were occupied in the city itself, where also, at the time of my arrival, was General Groplau himself, busied with affairs of State. A more triumphal progress than I made through the cheering soldiery could scarcely be imagined; indeed, if any proof were wanting of the popularity of the return of our house to Pannonia, it might have been discovered in their enthusiasm. For the time being discipline appeared to be thrown to the winds; helmets were waved on bayonet points, salvo after salvo of cheering followed me along the line, until, at one point, it was with the utmost difficulty I could urge my horse forward, so eager were the men to press about me and to assure me of their loyalty and devotion. At last, however, we reached the bridge, the same which leads to the now famous city. What would I not have given to have had Ottilie beside me then? It was a moment to be remembered all one's life long. As I write, the whole scene rises before my eyes. Once more I can see the old stone gateway, the long wall on either side of it, broken in one place, where Max and his storming party had made their desperate entry, and from the gateway itself General Groplau and his staff advancing to receive me. There were tears in the old man's eyes as he came forward to welcome me in the name of the army, and an unaccustomed huskiness in his voice as he spoke the words. He had done his duty, and the pleasure of being in a position to hand me the keys of the city, whose fall it was well known would practically bring about the end of the war, was not the smallest part of his reward. Side by side we passed under the arch, and emerging into the city itself, made our way towards the Council House, which, for the time being, he had made his headquarters. Here a State Council was convened, at which many important matters connected with the capture of the city and the treatment of the prisoners were discussed. After this the various officers who had especially distinguished themselves during the siege, and also in the capture of the city that day, were presented to me.

"And now, General," said I, this latter ceremony being at an end, "what news have you to give me of the man to whose bravery we, to all intents and purposes, owe the city? The messenger you sent to me this morning informed me that he was seriously wounded, and that the gravest doubts were entertained as to his recovery."

"I regret having to inform your Royal Highness that the man's condition is desperate in the extreme," the general replied. "He now lies in the house to which he was conveyed immediately after he was discovered. All that is possible has been done, but I fear without avail. His condition was hopeless from the first."

"Pray take me to him," I said, "in order that I may thank him for the service he has rendered his king and country. Since his condition is so dangerous, it would be inadvisable to postpone the matter for any length of time. Let us, therefore, set off at once."

So saying, we left the Council Hall, and made our way towards the house to which the dying man had been carried. There is nothing in this world presents a sadder picture, I think, than a city a few hours after it has been captured by the enemy. While the actual fighting continues there is an excitement which relieves the tension, but when all is over, and nothing more remains to be done, its condition is pitiable in the extreme. Traces of the recent struggle were to be observed on every hand. Half-starved men, women, and children wandered aimlessly about the streets, patrols marched by continually with prisoners; here and there were bodies of dead men, which the bearers had not yet had time to collect and remove; while the guns, which had wrought such havoc on the little band who had first entered the city and seized the main gate, still stood in the place to which they had been dragged, bearing eloquent testimony to the heroism which had conveyed them thither. At last we reached the house for which we were making. It was the residence of one Jacob Hertz, a watchmaker, whom, when we entered, we found seated on his bench, as deeply immersed in his work as if there had been no such thing as war, and nothing worth attending to in life save the mechanism of the chroniclers of time on the shelf beside him. It was not until later that we learnt that his wife and daughter had died during the siege, and that his only remaining son had been killed that morning in the attack upon the gate. Providence, more merciful than man, had deprived him of his senses, and thus his misery sat more lightly upon him than others. I made it my business, when everything was settled, in memory of the brother I loved so well, to provide for his remaining days. It was reported to me, however, that my action, well intended though it was, was of small avail, for he took no interest in anything save his business, remaining to the end an eloquent, though a by no means solitary, witness of one of the most sanguinary struggles this nineteenth century has seen.

A messenger had previously informed the doctor in charge of the sick man of our coming, and that official now waited upon us. Groplau presented him to me, and I inquired the condition of his patient.

"I fear it is a hopeless case," he answered, shaking his head, "'Tis a wonder indeed that he is alive now to see your Highness. All that science can do has been done for him, and now I think it would be more charitable to allow him to reach the end without subjecting him to any further torture."

"I am sorry to hear that," I said. "It certainly seems hard that he should not live to reap the reward of his bravery. By the way, have you any idea of his history? General Groplau informs me that some time since, when he offered him a commission, he declined the honour for reasons of his own. I should like to know all you can tell me concerning him, that I may help him if possible."

"I can tell your Highness nothing," the doctor replied. "From what I know of him, he is a very reserved fellow, and though his comrades have for a long time regarded him as a hero, and would do anything for him, he has only one friend, an Englishman, who is in the room with him now, and who seldom leaves his side."

"An Englishman?" I said, with some surprise. "That is strange. The man himself is, of course, a Pannonian?"

"Without a doubt," the doctor replied. "But since he converses fluently in English with his friend, I should say it is probable that he has spent some considerable time in that country."

Fearing to waste more time, I bade the doctor conduct me to the dying man's room. How little did I dream the discovery I was to make there!

The chamber was situated on the first floor, and looked out upon the street. When I entered the room, a private soldier was bending over the bed, smoothing the pillow beneath the dying man's head. His figure came between us, and for this reason the other's face was hidden from me. The doctor advanced to the bedside, and felt the man's pulse.

"My friend," said he, "let me tell you that you are the recipient of a great honour. His Royal Highness the Prince Regent has paid you the compliment of coming himself to see you."

The man did not answer, but, knowing all that I do now, I can well understand the struggle that was going on within his breast. Then I advanced to the bedside.

"My man," I said, "it is seldom one hears of such bravery as yours. Your general has told me everything, and I have come to thank you in the name of your – "

I had progressed no further than this when I stopped suddenly. A fear such as I had never known in my life before had taken possession of me, rendering me speechless and almost paralysed. No, it could not be true! It was impossible that such a thing could be even thought of. Scarcely daring to trust the evidence of my eyes, I looked again. No, there could be no doubt of it, no doubt at all. The man lying upon the bed before me was none other than Max, Max my brother, the man for whom I had searched throughout the world. With a cry that came from my heart I threw myself beside the bed and took his hand in mine.

"Max! Max!" I cried, regardless of the people standing by, "have I found you at last? At last, Max, at last?"

"At last, Paul," he answered, with a curious smile upon his face. "Yes, you have found me at last."

I could not utter another word, but repeated his name again and again. I had found him, the man for whom I had searched so long, and whom I had scarcely even dared to hope to see again. Yes, it was quite true that I had found him, but in what a state! Mad, indeed, had I been not to have looked for him in the ranks of Pannonia's army. I might have known that when she called he would not be the last to answer. And yet to think of him as he was now.

"Max," I faltered, "why did you not let me know you were here?"

"Because you would have sought me out," he answered. "Believe me, Paul, it is far better as it is. I have no regrets. I have fought for you and for her, and that makes me quite happy."

"You do not know how we have loved you, or how we have searched for you," I said; "and to meet like this! Oh, Max! it is more than I can bear."

At this point the doctor came forward and examined him. I glanced anxiously at the former's face, but what I saw there was not calculated to reassure me. I accordingly drew him on one side.

"Tell me frankly," I said, "is his condition quite hopeless?"

"Quite," he replied. "It is marvellous that he has lingered for so long."

"You are quite sure that nothing can be done for him? Remember that he is the King!"

"I regret having to say that nothing more can be done," said the doctor, visibly moved at my distress.

I turned to Groplau, who was standing at the foot of the bed.

"General," I said, "unknown to you, it was your King who won for you the city."

The general came forward and dropped upon his knee.

"Oh, if your Majesty had only told me!" he said; "if only I had not been so blind!"

"So blind?" asked Max, as if he did not quite understand what the other implied.

"Yes, so blind," the general continued. "Ever since that day on which I offered you the commission, your face has haunted me. I felt sure I had seen it before, but I could not tell where. I did not think of the days when you were a little boy, and played with my sword. If only I had known, how different things would have been!"

"I would rather have them as they are," said Max feebly. "'Tis better so, believe me. If I had to live my life again, I would not omit this portion of it for anything. And now leave me alone with my brother. Something tells me we shall not have much more time together."

The others did as he commanded, and when the door was closed upon them once more, I took my place at his side. He took my hand in his, and his dark eyes looked lovingly upon me.

"Paul," he said, "that old gipsy woman was right after all when she inferred that you would be King. My dear old brother, don't think I grudge you the honour. Heaven knows I do not. You will make a better king that I should ever have done. I have never even been able to rule myself; how much less, then, should I have been able to rule others? And now tell me of yourself. There is not much time to waste. Our mother and father are dead?"

"Yes," I answered; "and they died loving you and speaking of you to the last."

"And Ottilie?"

"She loves you too," I replied. "She has encouraged me in my search for you, and will be stricken with grief when she hears that I have found you too late."

Here I broke down altogether, and sobbed with my head upon my hands.

"My dear old fellow," said Max, stroking my hair, "you must not give way like this. There is nothing to be sorry for. I have fought for my country, and have given my life for her, as so many thousands of other men have done. Fate has played with me all my life, but in death she is kinder than she has ever been before."

There was another short pause, during which I knelt beside him, his hand resting upon my shoulder. Never in my life before had I suffered such agony as I did then. Max, on the other hand, was quite calm; he spoke of our father and mother; later, of our country and her future.

"Please God, happier days are in store for her," he said. "You will make a good king, Paul, and under your rule she will prosper as she has not done for years past. Ottilie will make you a noble queen, and together you will win the love and admiration of your people. I should have liked to see you happy together."

At this I again broke down completely.

"Oh, Max!" I faltered, "do not talk of us. What will anything mean to Ottilie and myself when we have lost you?"

As I spoke I thought of our boyhood, of the old, happy days in Pannonia, when we had been such firm and dear companions. I could recall nothing in Max's character that was not self-sacrificing, and to think that his life should end like this! I took his hand and held it tenderly in mine. Oh, why could I not give my life for his, and thus draw him back from that dark land into which he was so swiftly passing? That the end was very near there could be no doubt. Once more opening his eyes, which had remained closed for upwards of a minute, he whispered to me that he would like to bid farewell to the general and to the man who had been his companion in so many strange places and under such different circumstances. Accordingly, I went to the door and called them in. Groplau was the first to advance towards the bed. The old man was genuinely affected. Max looked up at him and gave him his hand. Not a word passed between them; indeed, speech was unnecessary. There was a long silence, a hand-grip, and then Groplau stepped back, and Bertram, the Englishman, took his place. He made no attempt to conceal his grief. "Good-bye," said Max. "You have been a good friend to me, Bertram; be as faithful to my brother. It is my wish that you should serve him. God bless you both!"

Bertram tried to speak, but his voice failed him, and he turned away with the tears streaming down his face. Then Max looked at me, and I went to him again.

"Paul," he said, but so feebly that I could scarcely hear the words, "it is very near now. God bless you, Paul. Kiss me, dear old brother; we've been – "

Stooping, I kissed him on the forehead, on which the dews of death were quickly gathering.

Then, softly as a tired child, he fell asleep.

Maximilian, the uncrowned King of Pannonia, was dead!

CHAPTER XXI

The last moments of a loved friend or relative are, and must be, sacred. Let it suffice, therefore, that for some minutes after my poor brother had drawn his last breath I knelt beside the bed in silent prayer, then, with one last look at the face I loved so well, I left the room, taking Bertram with me. General Groplau would, I knew, make all the necessary arrangements. In the meantime it behoved me to summon another council, and that done, to despatch messengers to the capital with the sad intelligence. Within an hour a proclamation had been issued, and it was known that the King, who had been missing for so long, had in reality been serving with his army, and had given his life, as unostentatiously as its humblest unit, for the country he loved so well. The announcement was received with a sort of stupefaction by the army. If the news caused a sensation in their ranks, however, I could imagine how much greater the surprise would be in Europe generally. Remembering this, one of my first acts was to communicate with Ottilie, in order that she might hear the sad intelligence from me personally, before receiving it from any other source. For you to realise the effect that the finding of Max, under such mournful circumstances, had upon me would be impossible. Indeed, every one and everything around me seemed to share the impression. The silent, almost deserted streets, the unhappy townsfolk (though they were unhappy from another cause), and even the dull, leaden sky overhead, seemed to mourn with me. We had won a great victory, it is true, but at what a cost to me and to the nation of which I was now the head!

The council being over, and the official communication of the news sent forth to the world, I gave orders that Bertram should be admitted to my presence. So far I had not had much opportunity of observing him; now, however, I found him a tall, well-set-up young Englishman of the higher middle class.

"Mr. Bertram," I said in English, "you may remember what my poor brother said to me concerning you, just before he died. He said he trusted that you would be as good a friend to me as you had been to him. May I hope that you will enter my service, as he wished?"

"I will do so, if your Majesty really desires it," he answered. "Though I scarcely know in what capacity I can serve you."

"You can do so by proving yourself my friend," I answered.

Traces of grief still remained upon his face. It was certain that the affection he had shown to Max was genuine, and that he mourned him almost as sincerely as I did myself.

"And now," I said, "I want you to tell me as much as you can of his life since you first met him. Remember, I know nothing. It is all mystery to me. Where did you meet him, and how does it come about that you're in Pannonia together?"

Thereupon he furnished me with a summary of Max's life from the time when they first met in Brazil, beginning with the unhappy diamond expedition, and continuing until the moment was reached when Max fell mortally wounded on the steps of the church in the market-square. From his narrative, I was able to gather something, not only of Max's past life, but also of the character of the man I had before me now. Never once during his recital of the tale did he sound his own praises, or represent himself as playing anything but a secondary part in the drama that was destined to end so tragically. Instinctively I took a liking to the man; perhaps not so much because of the fact that he had been Max's friend as because of what I felt to be his inherent good qualities. When, at my request, he consented to serve me as one of my gentlemen-in-waiting, I felt that I had secured a friend whose fidelity was in no way dependent upon the rewards or emoluments he might receive.

That evening the body of my brother was to be conveyed to the Council Hall, where it would remain closely guarded until the time should arrive for it to be removed to the capital for interment in our grand cathedral, where repose so many of our House. Before Max's remains were taken from the house, I had a last look at his face, and Bertram and I walked quickly back, for the night was cold, to the residence where I had taken up my abode. We had only just left the market-square, and were approaching our destination, when we were suddenly confronted by a man. So cutting was the wind, so keen the sleet that was now driving straight into our faces, that we did not become aware of his proximity until he had collided with Bertram.

"Why don't you look where you are going, my friend?" inquired the other, with a somewhat foreign accent. "Have you no eyes in your head?"

Then he uttered a cry of surprise, and next moment was running down the street as fast as his legs could carry him.

"That was an unmannerly fellow," I said to Bertram, who was standing on the pavement watching the other's receding figure.

To my surprise, however, he did not answer. When he turned his face to me again, dark though it was, I could see that there was a look of extreme astonishment, if not of almost consternation, upon it.

"What is the matter?" I inquired, I fear a little sharply. "Why do you look like that?"

"That man," he answered. "I must be mistaken, and yet – "

"And yet what?" I inquired. "Come, my friend, tell me the reason of your extraordinary behaviour."

Bertram hesitated again before he replied.

"I only caught a glimpse of his face," he said at length, "and yet I feel almost certain that the person who ran into me, and who bade me look where I was going, was none other than Rodriguez, one of the men who accompanied us on that fatal journey to the diamond fields in Brazil."

For a moment, for some reason that was not quite apparent to me, he seemed almost beside himself. He must have communicated this feeling to me, for I remember taking him by the arm and laughing loudly, though, Heaven knows, I was not in the humour to laugh at anything.

"Have you taken leave of your senses?" I inquired scornfully, as soon as I had somewhat recovered my self-control. "How could he be here now, and why, since he was then in South America, should he be in Zaarfburg, of all places in the world?"

But Bertram did not answer. For the moment it looked as if the shock he had received had been too much for him. Whoever, or whatever, this man Rodriguez may have been, it is quite certain that the mere thought of meeting him again was sufficient to exert a powerful influence over Max's faithful friend. In silence we resumed our walk, and presently reached the house in which I had, for the time being, taken up my residence. Two hours later my poor brother's coffin was conveyed from the clockmaker's house to the city hall, the great council chamber of which had been converted into an impromptu chapelle ardente. A guard was placed upon it, while additional sentries were posted at the outer doors.

At the council meeting that evening, it had been arranged that the remains should be conveyed to Pannonia on the day following, and that I should accompany them to the capital. Accordingly, at noon, amidst the thunder of artillery and the respectful homage of the army, we set out, escorted by a regiment of cavalry, of which Max, as a boy, had been colonel-in-chief. Bertram, who was now a recognised member of my suite, accompanied me.

My story has taken so long to tell that I have no time or space left me in which to do more than briefly summarise that mournful journey. Let it suffice, therefore, that every hamlet and town through which we passed received us with tokens of respect and sorrow. Whenever I think of that mournful time, the picture of our return rises before my mind's eye. Dusk was falling as we entered our ancient capital – the dusk of a cold, raw day, quite in keeping with the sorrow which filled our hearts. We found the streets crowded to their utmost holding capacity. Signs of mourning were to be observed on every hand. Short though the notice had been, the majority of the houses were draped in black, while overhead sounded the mournful tolling of bells. At the entrance to the city I gave up my horse, and for the remainder of the distance followed the cortége my suite, the governor of the city and his staff, the chief burgomaster and his councillors, imitating my example. As we passed slowly along the Graben towards the cathedral, I recalled the night when Max and I, with our father and mother, had said good-bye to the capital, and had gone into exile. My father and mother had never seen their country again, and now Max was coming back to it, unconscious of the fact, to take his last long rest in the old grey cathedral in which so many of our race lay buried. Slowly and solemnly, to the accompaniment of wailing bands, we crossed the King's Square and approached the majestic pile, whose roofs and parapets towered above us, thickly coated with snow. The deep tones of the bell echoed mournfully in the gathering darkness, while the troops that lined the streets presented arms, and the crowd stood bareheaded as we passed. At last we reached the foot of the cathedral steps, where the white-robed clergy, with the archbishop – the same who had baptised us – at their head, were waiting to receive us. The coffin having been removed from the hearse, and a new procession formed, we entered the church and passed up the central aisle, to the music of the Dead March, towards the spot where a catafalque had been prepared for the lying-in-state. Upon this we placed the casket that contained the remains of our dear one, and when a short service had been conducted, and the guard of honour mounted, we left the cathedral and returned, through the still waiting crowd, to the palace on the other side of the square. On the morrow and the next day there was to be a public lying-in-state; and on the day following, the funeral would take place. In the meantime there was much for us to do. There were the representatives of the various European sovereigns to be received and lodged, the precedence of each to be settled, and their positions allotted by the chamberlains; while there was also the progress of the war, to which it was necessary that I should give almost unremitting attention. Fortunately, however, that was nearly at an end. Indeed, it was as if Max's death had set the final seal upon it. As a matter of fact, it was rumoured that proposals for peace were already in course of formation, and were soon to be submitted. Later in the evening came the news by telegram that Ottilie and her father had crossed the Channel, and were on their way to Pannonia. I had scarcely received it when old Antoine, my ever-faithful groom of the chambers, entered my study to inform me that the Count von Marquart had arrived at the palace, and craved an audience with me.

"Admit him at once," I said; and, indeed, I was glad to see him. His devotion to our House had never wavered. He had been one of the first to greet me on my return to Pannonia, and it seemed only fit and proper that he should hasten to my side when I was in such dire distress as now. Needless to say I greeted him most cordially, and I could see that he was much touched by my reception of him.

"This is a sad meeting indeed," said he, as I gave him my hand. "It has affected me more deeply than I can say."

I could see that what he said was true, for the old man, as he stood before me, was visibly overcome. He asked me certain questions concerning all that had transpired, and furnished me with an outline of the various arrangements he had made. Never before had I realised the extent of the ceremonial which must be observed in such cases. We were still discussing this important matter when Antoine, with a scared expression upon his face, an expression which even his long training could not conceal, entered the room. Through the half-open door I could see old Strekwitz, the Grand Chamberlain, and several people standing outside. Something was undoubtedly wrong, but what that something was I could not even conjecture.

"The Count von Strekwitz craves an audience," said Antoine, more abruptly, I think, than he had ever addressed me before.

"Ask him to be good enough to see me in the morning," I answered sharply. "Do you not notice that I am engaged with the Count von Marquart?"

"But, your Majesty, he states that his business is of the most important nature," Antoine persisted. "He implores you to see him at once, and says that there is not a moment to lose."

"Something has evidently gone wrong with his arrangements," said von Marquart. "Perhaps it would be as well if he were admitted."

"As you please, as you please," I continued, I am afraid, with a little irritation. Then, pulling out my watch, I added, as I looked at it, "It is nearly eleven o'clock. What possible business can he have with me that will not keep until the morning?"

"You will very soon discover," the Count replied. "Perhaps you would wish me to withdraw?"

"By no means," I answered. "It is possible I may stand in need of your advice."

A moment later Strekwitz entered the room, and from the moment that I looked at his face I saw that, whatever his news might be, it was certain he had not disturbed me without good cause. The man was more upset than I had ever yet seen him; his face was as white as the paper upon which I am now writing, while his hand, when he rested it upon the table beside which he stood, shook so that the pens upon the pen-rack trembled and rattled against each other.

"Well, Count, what is the matter?" I inquired. "What brings you here at this hour of the night?"

"The saddest news possible," he replied. "I scarcely know how to tell your Highness."

On hearing this a great fear took possession of me. What was I to learn? Could any disaster have befallen Ottilie? Had that been so, however, von Marquart would have known it before Strekwitz, and I should have heard before both; but it was impossible to be logical at such a moment. When next I spoke I scarcely recognised my own voice, so anxious was it.

"There is nothing to be gained by beating about the bush," I said. "Whatever your tidings may be, let me know the worst. Have you bad news concerning the Princess?"

He shook his head.

"No, it does not concern her Highness," he answered, "yet I fear it will distress your Majesty as much. For my own part, I do not know what to think."

"For goodness sake, man, get on with what you have to say," I answered. "Can't you see how you are distressing me? Let me hear your story at once."

"Your Majesty gave me orders to make the necessary arrangements for the lying-in-state of your lamented brother."

"I did," I replied. "What of that? I know you better than to imagine that you have failed in your duties. What has occurred?"

"Your Majesty informed me that you had brought the body from Zaarfburg?"

"I did. And you were present when it was admitted to the cathedral. What has happened since? Why do you not speak, man?"

"I fear that I must so far contradict your Majesty as to say that I was not present when it was admitted to the cathedral. A great crime has been committed. I mean that it cannot be laid in state, since it is not there!"

"Not there?" I cried, springing to my feet, scarcely able to believe that I had heard aright. "What do you mean by making such a statement? What makes you say such a thing? Are you not aware that I brought it with me from Zaarfburg?"