“He takes the risk.”
“Of what?” It was I who asked the question, curious to hear what penalty attached to the handsome Rittmeister’s temerity.
The three men gave glances at each other, as though inquiring which of them could answer. My friend Von Lindheim broke the pause, replying with a shrug—
“He is a Captain of Cavalry, Master of the Horse; a gentleman, noble, no doubt, by birth, but a simple, if magnificent, Rittmeister. The lady”—he glanced round towards the dark shadows of the trees, gave another shrug of caution and lowered his voice,—“is what we all know. To couple their names is high treason; and, a fortiori, it is treason in a higher degree for the Bursche to aspire.”
“We have not forgotten,” another said, “the case of poor Steiner.”
I saw they were not inclined to run risks by discussing State secrets under the very walls of the palace, so postponed the gratification of my curiosity until I should get Von Lindheim alone in my rooms or his house. We four had slipped out into the [Pg 6]gardens, to snatch ten minutes for a cigarette from the rather dreary formality of a State ball at the palace of Buyda. My three companions were guests in their official capacities, being attached to the bureau of the world-known Chancellor Rallenstein; I, Jasper Tyrrell, a mere traveller, through the friendly offices of Von Lindheim, to whom I had an introduction. I had gone abroad in a restless, roving frame of mind, ready for any adventure, and heartily sick of the monotony of inaction, forced inaction, very slightly relieved by the problematical fun of entertaining big shooting parties at my place in Norfolk. That seemed all I had to look forward to in the year, and the more I thought of my autumn programme the more restless and discontented had I grown. Even the temporary diversion of marriage, strenuously commended to me by certain not altogether disinterested friends, had failed to take hold on my fancy; amusements of that sort can be arranged at any time and at comparatively short notice. So one night at dinner, during which several friends and relations were good enough to map out a very pretty six months’ programme for me—and themselves—my resolution was taken, and before I had got into bed that night my kit for an extended solitary ramble was packed. Next day I made a bolt of it, leaving to an astute aunt full authority, by letter, to carry on Sharnston in my absence, and after a month’s desultory progress found myself at Buyda.
A generation ago there were, as every student of European diplomacy knows, some very curious political intrigues (we know more about them now) in several of the Courts of Europe. More or less secret acts of aggressive statesmanship were perpetrated which, had they not been diplomatically covered up or explained away, would have seemed to set the forces of civilization to right-about-face. [Pg 7]But the press, like speech, often serves, in some countries at any rate, to withhold rather than to give out information, while special correspondents are mostly acclimatized and often merely human.
Still, there was somewhere, in east central Europe for choice, a chance of seeing something of life a little more adventurous than the cricket field or the covert at home had to offer, and with young blood in one’s veins, a perfect digestion, a muscular system second to none at Angelo’s, the idea of a possible running into adventures is not displeasing. The dull smoothness and security of a well-policed community is monotonous to a man of spirit.
Such were the vague anticipations with which I set forth, but my imagination certainly never suggested such a series of adventures as that which I was to pass through before I got back.
I had purposely left my destination uncertain, even to my own mind. In the true spirit of adventure I would be bound by no fixed route, but let my fancy and the circumstances of the moment carry me whither they would. Only one indication of any sort of purpose did I take with me. That was a letter of introduction from an F. O. friend to an old school-fellow of his, Gustav von Lindheim, a rich young fellow who had been educated in England, and who now held a post in the Chancellory of his native State. It was in that corner of Europe that something of an adventure seemed most likely to be had, and it was there, to pass over my earlier wanderings, that I eventually found myself.
Through the half-open windows of the great ball-room came “Amorettent?nze,” thundered out with military swing and insistence by the resplendent Court band. In company with my three acquaintances I had strolled away from the illuminated portion of the gardens, and we were now pacing a dark [Pg 8]and comparatively secluded walk. Encouraged perhaps by the lessened probability of eavesdropping (for methods under Rallenstein, the dread Chancellor’s rule, were medi?val, more or less), one of my companions remarked:
“Our Princess looks bewitchingly pretty to-night. The bold Rittmeister has indeed an excuse.”
“And she also,” Von Lindheim replied. “The fellow is the most splendid clothes-peg and wig-block combined that I know. He is magnificent, the sort of magnificence that does not live to see its grandchildren.”
“He is a fool,” one of the others said, “to snap his fingers so close to the Jaguar’s snout.”
“Orsova is a fool, my dear Szalay,” Von Lindheim assented, “as I have just hinted.”
“And the Jaguar is couched and ready to spring at the right moment.”
“Our dear chief does not make a mistake or let another man make it against his policy.”
“Or woman.”
“Ah! He has a plan, and the Herr Rittmeister von Orsova forms no part of it.”
“No use for him. Prince Theodor——” I began incautiously, when I was stopped by a subdued chorus of “Hush!”
“Secrets of State, my dear fellow,” Von Lindheim said, laughing, but with a warning gesture. “You will get us into trouble. You Englishmen, with your excess of freedom, can’t realize how circumspect we have to be. You have no Jaguar ever ready for the spring. You don’t know our famous Red Chancellor—even by reputation.”
Strolling and talking thus, we had passed through the gardens and struck into a path, skirting a little wood beyond the pleasaunce of the royal grounds. My companions stopped and turned.
[Pg 9]
“I’ll just finish my cigar and follow you,” I said. The Emperadore was too good to throw away for the sake of hurrying back to an entertainment of which, to tell the truth, the petty splendour rather bored me.
Nevertheless, we all turned back together. Suddenly Szalay halted, and pointed into the wood. “What is that?”
We all looked. A light was glimmering from the depth of the blackness; a light suggested rather than seen.
“That is Duke Johann’s old chapel there, now used as a summer-house,” Von Lindheim said.
“Yes; but what can any one be doing there at this time of night.”
“We ought to investigate,” the third man, D’Urban, said with official zeal.
“Come, then. We can get round this way again to the terrace, and perhaps——”
They had plunged into the wood, making for the light. I followed them a step or two, then stopped and regained the path, not seeing how the question of the irregular illumination could interest me. Enjoying my cigar I strolled on. The night was pleasant enough. A slight warm breeze drove the clouds slowly across a gibbous moon, giving a pretty play of light and shade. So I sauntered on in a frame of mind attuned to my present surroundings. I had become so far acclimatized as to take an interest in the Court intrigues which flourished in the air of that Chancellor-ruled kingdom. I had an idea of seeking a temporary commission in the State cavalry, that dazzling regiment with its picture-book cattle and its theatrical accoutrements. I was only awaiting to see whether there was any grit inside all that fur and brass and steel and bullion, not caring to ear-mark myself with a regiment of costumiers’ dummies. This doubt made me take a peculiar interest in that [Pg 10]magnificent spectacular warrior, the Rittmeister von Orsova. Granted he was a fool, he might be a plucky fool. That the pretty Princess Casilde (and she was lovely) was in love with him, or something near it, was common gossip in the inner circle of Court officialdom. But the despotic Chancellor held other views and plans. Having made himself the foremost man in the State (for the King, with all his parade of authority, was notoriously under his thumb), he now nursed the one idea of the State’s aggrandizement as the only way left of increasing his own power. And it was evident that that aggrandizement could best be attained by allying his master’s house with the richer and more important state of which Prince Theodor was heir-apparent. Hence the projected marriage between that Prince and the Princess Casilde. Such was the state of affairs when I found myself in Buyda.