XXVII: “IS IT THOU?”
WE stood in the parvis of the cathedral, in the deep shadows that fall at dusk, but the light still streamed broadly over the Red Place—the Palace Beautiful, as the Russians love to call it—and across the square I caught the gleam of golden crosses against the sky. It was silent—with the silence of terror. A guard of Streltsi sat on the Red Staircase, throwing dice, but their voices were subdued. Some dark figures flitted softly across the portico, between the cathedral and the banqueting-hall. Lights shone fitfully in the windows of the palace. An officer of the guard lighted a pine torch, and it flared up in a vivid tongue of flame, throwing his burly figure and dark face into relief. He was scarcely twenty yards away from the spot where Maluta and I stood waiting. I pressed my hand heavily on the dwarf’s shoulder.
“Whether it is death or not, I must enter that prison,” I said, in a low tone.
He nodded, motioning to me to be silent, and pointing. I followed the direction of his finger with my eyes and saw a short, stout female figure on the portico, accompanied by two men. The three stood a while talking together, in subdued voices, and then they entered the palace and I drew my breath more easily. At least, they had not entered by that low door that would lead them to the princess. Meanwhile the officer with the torch had walked away and the soldiers were busy with their dice. Maluta stripped off a short cloak he wore and drew his dagger.
“I am going in,” he said, “and when I whistle, the door will be unbarred. Then it will rest with you, O excellency!”
“Go, then,” I exclaimed, with impatience, “and make haste, in the name of your patron saint!”
He stooped low and scudded across the space that intervened between the cathedral and that low door, and I watched eagerly to see how he intended to enter, for I purposed following without more delay. But a few moments sufficed to show me the futility of such a design, for the dwarf did not go to the door; he made straight for a window ten feet away—to the left—and swinging himself up on the ledges of the stone copings, as I had seen him do that first day in Kurakin’s court-yard, he reached the window-sill, and here I thought to see him balked, for I could plainly perceive the iron bars across it. However, I was destined to another surprise, for he stopped, and, hanging on the ledge, began to work at the farthest bar on the left-hand side, and in a moment he had it out and began to wriggle through the opening, which was scarcely large enough, to my eyes, to admit a monkey, and, small as the dwarf was, he had much ado to squeeze and twist his body through, but finally he disappeared within, and left me writhing with impatience without. The creature’s cleverness had, by this time, so far impressed me that I was given to expecting marvels from him, and I knew that he had a liberty about the palace—in common with the other dwarfs—that no one else had, or even dreamed of. So I forced myself to await his signal and to use all the caution that I could, reflecting that a misstep now would ruin the adventure, and, perhaps, separate me from the princess. In this frame of mind, certainly not a happy one, I waited in the ever increasing shadow, and watched and listened for ten minutes, which I took—in that mood—for two hours, though sober reflection afterwards showed me that the time was short, as men count it. I thought of Maluta’s possible failure, of the death or removal of the prisoner, while we had delayed, of a change of guard, of the arrival of Sophia, of a dozen things, in fact, that might wreck my happiness for all time.
And then I heard Maluta’s shrill whistle.
I drew my sword, trusting the silent weapon rather than the noisy one, and in a moment I was at the door and had pushed it inward. So far all was well: I stepped in and closed it quickly behind me. Before me I saw a long narrow passage lighted by a single lanthorn swung on the wall. Under it stood Maluta, and farther on I saw the figure of a man sitting at a table with his back toward me. The light shone on me, and Maluta saw me grasp my weapon more tightly, and he laughed—his shrill little laugh.
“He sleeps, O my master,” he said, wagging his head; “he sleeps well—come and look at him.”
I thought the rogue had killed him, but a glance told me that the man slept heavily, as a drunken or a drugged person does. His head hung forward on his breast and his mouth was open, while he breathed deeply, and his arms hung limp at his sides. I drew a bunch of keys from his belt.
“Is that the door?” I asked Maluta, pointing at the end of the passage.
He nodded and I went swiftly forward. It was strongly secured with both locks and bars, but I removed the latter and found a key, in the guard’s bunch, to undo the former. Then I tapped upon the door and called the princess by name. At first there was no answer, nor indeed any sound within, though there was a grille in the upper half, doubtless to admit the air, and I was on the point of opening it when I heard a soft step on the other side, and then silence as though she listened.
“Princess,” I called gently, “Princess Daria—open the door, I pray you.”
I heard a little cry—quivering and soft and, I thought, joyful—and the door was opened.
“Is it thou?” she exclaimed eagerly.
A sudden joy filled my heart, I took a step forward flushed, expectant, forgetful of all but her and my love for her. But her cell was lighted, too, by a lanthorn, and as its rays fell on my face she retreated—not angrily, or even coldly—but with a sudden timidity that chilled me. After all, the welcome was not for me, but for her deliverer.
“Thanks be to the saints that I have found you, madame,” I said gravely, “though you were over ready to leave my house for this.”
She hung her head. “I am punished for it, monsieur,” she said, with proud humility; “the whole world seemed to have forgotten me here.”
“But not I,” I said.
She glanced up swiftly and then down. “But not you, sir,” she repeated like a child, and seemed to smile, but I thought that it was the flicker of the light on her face, or my eyes deceived me.
“Come,” I said, putting aside my emotion, “are you ready? We must fly this place—now, at once, or all will be lost.”
“Am I ready?” she cried, with deep emotion. “Holy Virgin, have I not prayed to go?” and she gathered up her mantle and hood.
“Come, then,” I replied, “we must depend again on the dwarf, but I feel sure he will not fail us, and once out of this, all will be well.”
She had her cloak on now and, with trembling fingers, she tied her hood over her head and concealed her features under its full folds. Then she followed me into the hall, and I bade Maluta open the door for us, while I extinguished the lanthorn. At the threshold I took her hand in mine and felt it quiver and then lie still. Maluta crept out, peering into the dusk, and beckoned to us, and we followed cautiously, keeping close to the palace walls and avoiding the portico. The soldiers were still playing on the staircase, and here and there, in the great square, a torch streamed red fire. We gained the parvis of the cathedral and there the dwarf and I consulted and decided to go out by the gate at which we had entered, depending on our bribes, and it was fortunate that we did so, for, at the other gates, as I learned afterwards, the guards were doubled, and here my money had bought liquor, and drunkenness—their besetting sin—helped us. Two of the rogues slept at their posts, and three were quarrelling over a flagon, and, of the other two, one was the soul that Maluta had purchased, and the other I bought now for two roubles. There was some grumbling, some coarse jests about the ambassador returning with a lady, and there was need for determination and the strong hand, and I used it. The only rogue who would have plucked at Daria’s cloak and looked into her face I struck over the head with the flat of my sword, and he fell with a thud and lay so still that the others fell back, and our Streltsi crying: “Way, way for the ambassador!” we pushed through, and turning to the right, fled down the bank of the river. The cries of the guards grew fainter, the spot was very dark and lonely, the damp air from the water touched our faces softly, above us the stars shone in a serene heaven. We sped on, skirting the ramparts of the Kremlin, and presently we saw the yellow light streaming from the lamp before the image at the Gate of the Redeemer; it shone like a star in the darkness, this light that burned there night and day, year after year, reddening the snow in winter, brightening the shorter nights of summer. As we drew nearer the princess slipped her hand from mine and knelt down, facing the image, and I paused; stern as the peril was, and unsafe as the place could be, at any moment, I had not the heart to disturb her. She prayed; offering a thanksgiving doubtless, and a prayer, too, for deliverance from her danger and perhaps from me. The thought made me stir sharply, and she rose and we walked on in silence.
I had bethought me of a man in the German quarter, an honest Bavarian, who would let me hire two horses, and I sent Maluta running ahead to him with money in his hand for that purpose, and with my drawn sword in my right hand, and my left on her shoulder, we followed swiftly, avoiding every torch and every group of people, and twice stumbling over corpses, for, as yet, the dead lay unburied. We had left the Kremlin behind us and were nearing our destination, when she spoke very softly, but distinctly.
“I wish to tell you, monsieur,” she said, “that I did not wilfully leave your house. I was deceived—the men who came bore my father’s signet.”
I started; then the prince might be dead or a prisoner—but she divined my thoughts.
“My father is not dead,” she continued; “I know, from what I heard in the palace, that the ring was stolen from him, but he escaped, and is, I hope, at Troïtsa. But, sir, you wronged me—in thinking I went, of my own will, to—to——”
“To Kurakin,” I said briefly.
She drew her hood closer, forgetting that the dusk veiled her features.
“Or the czarevna,” she murmured.
“You mistake me,” I replied cruelly. “I did not think that or the other. It would seem more likely that another would deliver you.”
“Who, sir?” she asked coldly, stopping short.
“The noble Prince Galitsyn, madame,” I retorted. I heard her draw her breath so sharply that it seemed like a sob, but she turned her back on me and walked on swiftly—so swiftly that I had to hasten my steps to keep up with hers, nor would she speak to me again, even in answer to a question. And, in this mood, I placed her, at last, upon a horse I had hired for her, and mounting myself, I bade Maluta go to Le Bastien and await my return, or news from me. Then the princess and I rode on, by lanes and byways, through the Zemlianui-gorod, and, at last, into the open country beyond the town, turning our faces northeast, toward the sacred monastery of Troïtsa, where I was certain of a safe asylum for her, for a time, at least.