A prince of lovers

THIS manœuvre of the Count’s gave little surprise to Ludovic, although he felt angry with himself for not having foreseen it, and, indeed, in letting Irromar slip away, the chance of speedily rescuing the Princess had been lost. Udo Rollmar showed his double discomfiture pretty plainly. However, he did not let his moodiness interfere with his activity. He sent several of his men in pursuit of the Count’s party, but with little success. The wooded and rocky approach to the back of the castle hampered the movement of men unfamiliar with the winding paths and concealed passages; consequently the result of the pursuit was the capture of but one man. This fellow laughed defiantly when Udo ordered him to gain admittance for them into the castle as the alternative to his being strung up on the nearest tree.

“A pleasant draught that,” he laughed sturdily, “set against the dose our Count would have ready for me.”

“Nonsense, man,” Udo said impatiently; “you will have our protection, and as for the Count——”

The fellow interrupted him with a still more derisive laugh. “The Count? You think, with your score of men, to come to a reckoning with him? Why, Captain, you might as soon try to catch in your hand a bird flying past you. Ten times your force would never get inside that castle, were the Count minded to keep you out: and if you did get in you would never get out again.”

“We shall see,” Udo returned, scornfully confident.

“You do not know my master,” said the man.

“I know him,” Udo retorted, “for a pestilent, defiant law-breaker. A villain who, for this piece of work, will at last meet the hangman who has long been expecting him.”

The prisoner’s only reply was an incredulous laugh.

“Do you mean to show us how to gain entrance to the castle?” Udo demanded impatiently.

“Not I,” the fellow answered. “And you may thank me for refusing to do you that ill service.”

Udo raised his hand, as though about to order him to be strung up; then, with a change of intention, he had him bound and attached to one of his troopers.

“It is as well to keep the fellow alive for a while,” he said to Ludovic; “we may find a use for him.”

“In my opinion the ugly scoundrel is certainly right, Captain,” Ompertz observed. “This is no place to account for with a handful of men. It could defy you at that rate till doomsday.”

By his ill-humoured face, Udo did not seem to accept the opinion very graciously. But he was fain to consult with Ludovic upon the position in which they found themselves. His manner towards the King was dubiously deferential, suggesting that he would have liked to discredit him were he only certain of his ground.

“You may accept the fellow’s word,” Ludovic said, ignoring Udo’s manner in his paramount anxiety for Ruperta. “It would, I am sure, be absolutely useless to attempt to force our way into the place. And here, from behind, is its least vulnerable point. I fear all we can do is to go round to the front and threaten or, at least, parley with the Count.”

Udo’s aggrieved expression seemed, as doubtless it was intended, to make the most of the undeniable fact that it was by the extravagant act of Ludovic himself—king or no king—that the Princess had fallen into this trap. However, he accepted his advice, and the party made their way round into the narrow valley and so up to the front of the castle.

Here, with sound of bugle and peremptory hammering at the great door, the master was summoned and entrance demanded. But not a sign of impression was or seemed likely to be made. After a while, however, a grating in the door was uncovered, and a man-servant, after blandly inquiring the reason of the summons, intimated that if the leaders of the party would come forward alone, having drawn off their men down into the valley, the Count, his master, might be graciously pleased to speak with them from a window. As this seemed the best chance they might expect, Udo ordered down his men, and remained on the highest terrace with Ludovic and Ompertz. For many minutes they stood there cooling their impatience. Presently, however, a light appeared at a window above their heads; it was opened, and at it the Count appeared with a face of bland, protesting surprise.

“May I ask the reason of this somewhat rude summons?” he inquired. “What do you gentlemen want?”

“We want,” Udo answered, “the ladies whom you are keeping prisoners.”

The Count raised his eyebrows in still further surprise. “Really, gentlemen,” he replied, “I am at a loss to understand you. You are making, knowingly or in ignorance, an extraordinary mistake. I know nothing of any ladies in my house.”

His affectation of ignorance, while it rather nonplussed Captain Rollmar, exasperated Ludovic, to whom it was disagreeably familiar.

“A truce to this nonsense and pretence, Count,” he cried. “We are not here to discuss whether these ladies are in your keeping or not, but to demand their instant release.”

The light held by the Count’s face showed an ugly wave that for an instant ruffled its blandness. “You demand, sir?” he returned, with a slight indication of sternness behind his suavity. “You are as bold to ask me for what I have not got, as unreasonable to disturb my peace at this time of night.”

His cool lying was a shield which no words could pierce.

“Then,” said Udo hotly, “you refuse to give up these ladies?”

“Were any ladies under the protection of my poor roof,” Irromar replied, with maddening calmness, “I should certainly refuse to deliver them over to what I am almost forced to regard as a band of drunken marauders.”

“You will rue this insolence before many hours are past,” Udo cried angrily. “So far from being a drunken marauder, I am Captain Udo von Rollmar, of his Highness Duke Theodor of Waldavia’s Bodyguard of Cavalry. My father is Chancellor, Baron von Rollmar, and——”

“And your friends?” The words came snapped out with pointed, malicious intent, “and your friends, who have, in return for my hospitality, murdered my poor servants in cold blood, and attempted my own life—who may they be?”

“I am one,” Ludovic retorted, “who possesses the power to have you hanged, and I will not rest till I have done so.”

The Count laughed. “And you expect me to open my gates to you?”

“Certainly, to let out the two ladies.”

The Count made a gesture and a grimace of protest.

“This trick shall not serve you, Count, for long,” Ludovic said, checking his almost ungovernable anger in his anxiety for the Princess. “Let me tell you, the ladies you keep prisoners are of high rank, and you will detain them another hour at your peril.”

The Count smiled as resentfully indulgent. “Were the facts as you state them, I should be tempted to ask how ladies of high rank come to be travelling in this wild country in company with a pair of common swashbucklers, if the expression may be allowed me.”

This touched Ompertz, who had hitherto stood by chafing in silence. “You will pay for that, my sweet Count, on my own as well as this gentleman’s account, if ever I come within striking distance of you.”

“It is late,” Irromar observed, with his terrible coolness, “and chilly for listening to insane threats and bluster. I have already indulged you too long. I can only repeat that I have no knowledge of the ladies whom you say you seek. Now, Captain, I bid you good-night, and if I might venture to add a word of advice, it would be that you will do well to dissociate yourself forthwith from your two disreputable companions. You are a young man, and—what is strange in your father’s son—you seem easily gullible. Good-night.”

The window was closed with a bang, and the light disappeared. The three men turned and descended to one of the lower terraces, where they held a short consultation. Each was convinced that an attempt with that handful of men to force a way into the stronghold was not to be thought of, and Ludovic, gladly as he would have headed such a forlorn hope, was obliged to bow to its impracticability. The plan quickly decided on was that he and Udo Rollmar should ride back post-haste to Waldenthor, inform the Chancellor of what had happened, and return with a force sufficient to overcome and compel Count Irromar to surrender. Meanwhile the men already there would remain on the watch under the command of Ompertz.

No sooner was this plan settled, than the two, taking the freshest of the horses, started off on their long ride. Tedious as it was, especially to Ludovic’s impatience, the journey was by a much shorter route than that by which he had come. When once, after a couple of leagues’ rough riding, they gained the high road the way was smooth and direct enough. There was no comparison between their galloping progress and that of the heavy jolting coach in which the ill-fated elopement had been made. The day was yet young when the two drew bridle before the Chancellerie at Waldenthor, and Udo, ushering his companion into a salon, went to announce to his father the strange result of his quest.

Ludovic had taken, insensible of fatigue, but a few turns of the apartment in his restless impatience, when the Chancellor came in.

Rollmar’s greeting manner was a study, a curious blending of half-doubting deference and slightly contemptuous protest. But his keen scrutiny of the young man, a revising, as it were, under transformed circumstances, of a previous observation and opinion, seemed to satisfy him. His first words, as he bowed, lower than to an equal, yet not so profoundly as to an assured sovereign, were characteristic.

“And I, Adrian Rollmar, never even suspected it.”

There was a slightly self-reproachful smile on his thin lips as he motioned Ludovic to a seat and stood before him, keenly revolving this unexpected phase of the situation.

“You have heard, Baron, about the Princess?” Ludovic asked rapidly.

Rollmar bowed assent. “A pretty pass your Highness has brought your romance to.”

He seemed not to care to ask or require any personal confirmation of the news of Ludovic’s identity; he was shrewd and skilful enough to see that the man before him was undoubtedly royal, although, owing, perhaps, to his keenness having been diverted to another scent, what seemed now so obvious had previously escaped his notice. His remark had a touch of humour which softened its reproach.

“No one,” Ludovic replied, “naturally can regret this unlooked-for turn more terribly than I. The matter now is to rescue the Princess, and without a moment’s unnecessary delay.”

To his impatience, Rollmar’s deliberation was provoking. “Ah! Unfortunately, as we hear, sire, you are not in a position to effect the rescue yourself.”

For the moment Ludovic did not take his meaning. “By myself? Assuredly not. You must know this Count Irromar and his stronghold, Baron. It will require a considerable force to bring him to capitulate.”

Rollmar nodded agreement. “Which your Highness cannot provide.”

“From Beroldstein? No.” Ludovic replied, a little awkwardly. “I fear I have trouble there to face.”

“Ah!” The Chancellor’s ejaculation was expressive, inscrutably so, in the suggestion of busy thought lying behind it “You would have done better, sire, to have looked after your crown, and left your love affair in my hands.”

“Better, perhaps, for my crown,” the Prince returned, with as much of a smile as his anxiety would permit. “But, with all deference to your skill, Baron, not so well in the other matter.”

“At least,” the Chancellor rejoined, “the present situation would have been avoided.”

“One can hardly hope to fight against chance,” Ludovic said, somewhat impatiently; “of that I have been the sport lately. My uncle’s fatal accident, my cousin’s usurpation, and our stumbling into Count Irromar’s den, were hardly to be anticipated. But if fate has led me into these hard knocks, it has in other respects marvellously stood my friend, even—” he smiled—“against you, Baron.”

Rollmar returned the smile a little dubiously. “Under pardon, sire, your luck can scarcely be said to justify your madness. Romance is, no doubt, a pretty plaything, but too gimcrack for the stern game of state-craft. I am an old man, sire, and you a very young one; let me tell you in confidence from my experience that the greater part of my forty years’ work has been correcting the mistakes and combating the absurdities of those whom I have served. Happily—for I am tired of it—it does not fall to me to help you to regain what you have lost.”

Ludovic rose impatiently. “But it is just for that, Baron, I have ridden here post-haste through the night.”

“To help you——?” The old minister looked uncompromisingly aghast.

“Yes,” Ludovic exclaimed impetuously, “to rescue the Princess. While we are talking here——”

Rollmar’s expression had changed into a grim smile. “The romantic still uppermost,” he said, his contemptuous amusement getting the better of his deference. “I thought you referred to the recovery of your kingdom.”

“What is that to me while Ruperta is perhaps in deadly peril, or worse?”

“Ah, true.” The old man’s coolness and deliberation were exasperating. “That is my business, and you may trust me to set about it without delay.”

“I might be excused for doubting your promptness, Baron.”

“Festina lente. But I am not insensible of the criticalness of the Princess’s position. An armed detachment is already under orders, and I myself start for the Schloss Teufelswald within the hour.”

“You, Baron?” Ludovic started in surprise.

“Even I,” Rollmar answered quietly. “This precious Count Irromar, whom you have stumbled upon, is well known to me, at least by reputation, and is no ordinary man. He unites in himself, as your Highness may have discovered, the cunning of the serpent with the ferocity of the wolf. Our troops may oppose the latter quality; it is to meet the former that I propose to myself a disagreeable journey.”

“Then,” said Ludovic, “we travel together.”

“So far,” Rollmar replied, a little stiffly, “as the road to Beroldstein is the way to Schloss Teufelswald.”

Ludovic paused in his quick stride towards the door, and stared at him. “Naturally, Baron, I go with you to the Schloss Teufelswald.”

Rollmar pursed his lips, as he remained standing by the fireplace. “I would advise you, sire, to let the settlement of your position at Beroldstein be your first care.”

“You would, Baron?”

“Unless, that is, you are inclined, as is hardly likely, to a man of your spirit, to let things be as they are.”

Ludovic flushed hotly. “I give up my crown to Ferdinand, or to any other man? Surely, Baron, either I misunderstand you, or you are joking.”

“Far from joking, sire. I was only thinking,” he added dryly, “of the trouble such a course would save.”

“None of my seeking,” Ludovic returned. “Either I am the rightful King of Drax-Beroldstein, or I am not.”

“Les absents,” said the Baron calmly, “ont toujours tort.”

This was more than Ludovic could endure. “Enough!” he exclaimed impatiently. “I will not discuss the point with you. Now, let us start for Teufelswald without further delay.”

Rollmar eyed him curiously. “I am ready. But for your Majesty it would be best to go first to Beroldstein.”

Ludovic walked up to him. “What do you mean, Baron?” he demanded.

The Chancellor gave a shrug. “Simply that you may with confidence leave the rescue of the Princess in our hands.”

“Indeed!” Ludovic retorted. “And what, think you, would her opinion be of the man who, having brought her into this strait, rode away and left her deliverance to others?”

Rollmar smiled, masking, obviously, his underlying intent. “Women are unreasonable. It need matter little to our Princess, once she is free, by whose agency her liberty is gained. More. Perhaps, all things considered, it would be as well that you should not appear as her deliverer.”

“Why not, pray?” Ludovic demanded warmly, as an inkling of the other’s drift dawned upon him.

Rollmar met him with steady eyes. “If the romance is to come to an end, the sooner it is over the better.”

The meaning was plain now. “True,” Ludovic returned, with the restraint of a settled determination. “But the romance will end only with our deaths.”

Rollmar seemed to accept the words as a challenge. His still deferential manner was in curious contrast to the dictatorial purport of his speech. But then his daily interviews with his master had made the blending of the two quite natural.

“Speaking in the name of my master, Duke Theodor,” he said, “the question of the alliance between Princess Ruperta and yourself is a closed one. It was naturally and necessarily contingent on certain events and circumstances. With the romance of your love affair I have no concern, except to express a passing regret that it should have indirectly upset a promising intention. But your Majesty will understand that, from his Highness Duke Theodor’s point of view, the proposed alliance of our Princess was not with Ludwig Hassenburg, but with Ludwig, King, or at least Heir Apparent of Drax-Beroldstein.”

So the meaning was at last clear with a vengeance. The fierce old eyes left no doubt as to will behind the intent. In Ludovic the impetuosity of youth was tempered by a certain natural shrewdness and inculcated tact. He had been brought up to govern, and an important part of his teaching had been, as it should be of all rulers, to know how to meet a dangerous opposition by a graceful show of yielding.

After all, the Chancellor’s line of policy, now so bluntly indicated, was only what might have been expected of him. He had never pretended that the projected match was more than a matter of state expediency: as for love in it, he had clearly shown that such a point never troubled him. The wolf and the serpent, he had said. Yes; there was no use, especially in Ludovic’s present helpless position, in opposing force, which he had not, or even spirit, which he had, to cunning. So he bowed before the expression of the old statesman’s plain-spoken intent.

“I can well understand that, Baron,” he replied, masking the resentment in his heart. “Were I so simple as to expect you to forego your policy for a mere matter of romance I should confess to a poor knowledge of the world and an incompetence to govern my little share of it. But if you think for a moment that I have given up my crown, you make a strange mistake. You cannot think that. Could I be capable of so weak an act of renunciation, were I so ready to bow before circumstances, I should indeed be unworthy of so noble, so high-spirited a girl as Princess Ruperta. No, I mean to assert my rights without delay, and have little fear, that, when once I have raised my standard in Beroldstein, my cousin Ferdinand will be able to stand against me.”

Rollmar’s face was not an easy one to read, but if at that moment it gave any clue to his thoughts, it indicated that he was of a different opinion. But he did not say so. His purpose was to marry the Princess to the King of Drax-Beroldstein, when once it was quite settled which of the cousins wore the crown firmly on his head. That issue they might fight out between themselves, and welcome. As to the result he was cynically indifferent.

“Very well, sire,” he said calmly, “your spirit is admirable and deserves success. As a sensible man you will hardly blame my master if he, before giving his daughter’s hand, waits for the interesting result. Now, it is time I was on my way.”

With a reverence, he motioned his guest towards the door.

“You will at least let me bear you company, Baron?” Ludovic asked. “Our ways lie together, and I shall not rest until I know the Princess is safe.”

“I shall be honoured,” Rollmar answered. “If your Majesty will take some refreshment, while I speak a parting word with the Duke.”

Rollmar was all suavity when he rejoined Ludovic; and, at the head of some four-score men, they set out at a smart pace for Teufelswald.