Читать книгу The Great White Army - Pemberton Max - Страница 11

The palace had been fired; there could be no doubt about it.

Volumes of smoke poured into the hall and went floating to the ceiling in dense and looming clouds. The marble reflected a ruddy light as of flames vomited from a fiery pit. There was a crackling of wood, a rending of glass, and upon that the oaths and curses of the assassins below. Now truly were they hoist of their own petard. The palace had been fired while their plunder was yet unpacked, and they roared and barked around it like wolves robbed of their prey.

I say that we were all taken unawares, and that is true enough. For myself, I stood there listening to the roar of the flames, and watching the mad, frenzied struggles of the scum below, and with no more idea of how to get out of the place than the veriest child might have had. None but a madman would have attempted to fight his way through the raving mob of brigands who grovelled about the doors in seeming impotence, as though their shaking hands could not unlock the bars which imprisoned them. Yet passed they must be if I and the child with me were not to perish in the flames.

So much could not be hidden from either of us. We beheld them wrangling still upon their plunder while the flames were all about them, and those who did run from the hall returned immediately to warn their friends in a tongue which had no meaning for me. From this time they became as demons possessed. It was a terrible thing to see them running round and round like dogs driven by a whip, to hear the clash of their knives, and the shrieks of those who fell. Nor could I wonder that my little companion's courage deserted her at last and that a loud cry of fear escaped her.

"Oh, come," she cried, "come from this dreadful place." And, so saying, she caught me almost savagely by the arm and led me from the gallery. Whither she would take me, I knew not at all. Her eyes were alight with the fear which animated her. She stretched out her arms as though to feel her way in the gathering smoke which threatened us. I could see already that she had little hope of the venture.

We crossed a corridor and entered a lofty room which I took to be the library of the palace. Farther on there was an antechamber, whose door was locked and barred as the others had been in the room below. Upon this she beat furiously as though someone beyond could hear us and would open. Solid as a gate of iron, twenty men could not have forced it. I saw already that our errand was vain, and I was about to lead her away when what should happen but that the door was opened from within, and a Russian soldier stood before me. "Nicholas!" cried mademoiselle; and instantly the child was in the arms of a Russian, who kissed her as a lover might have done.

Now, this man was an officer who wore the white uniform and the black cuirass of Prince Boris's famous regiment. I took him for the prince's son, and there I was not wrong, as I learned at a subsequent date.

And it needed no clever eye to tell me how things stood between the girl and himself, and there was a smile on my lips while I watched them and then looked over his shoulder into the room beyond, full of his fellows and ablaze with the glitter of uniforms.

The presence of these men needed little explanation. I perceived that there had been a secret conclave in the palace, and I understood in an instant what my own presence must mean. It was no coward's alarm. There were half a dozen of them atop of me before I could lift a hand to save myself. In vain the girl pleaded with them. They discovered immediately that the palace was on fire, and, mad with rage and fury, they fell upon me like wild beasts. The French had done this thing, they cried; then let the Frenchmen pay the price. I knew now that they meant to kill me. Their very gestures would have told me as much. "A spy!" they shouted—to Janil de Constant!

Well, there it was, and that is the simple truth of the story.

I remember that they pushed me headlong from the room, then down a steep flight of stairs, and so to a garden at the foot of it. There one of them cried for a sergeant to come to him. After that my memory is chiefly of the glitter of bayonets and of a man who called to his fellow to bind my hands with cord. It came to me as in a dream that they were about to shoot me, and that this was the hour of my death. I recollect that I was thrust up against a rough stone wall, and that the sergeant asked me a question in Russian of which I could make nothing.

From the room there now came the loud shouts of the officers, who had discovered that the palace was on fire, and were leading some of the troopers to attack the flames. Their voices and that of the sergeant mingled oddly in my ears; but presently I began to perceive that the man wished to bandage my eyes, and as this promised an instant of grace, I assented willingly. To say that I was afraid is to give but a child's idea of the circumstances. It had all come upon me so swiftly—the discovery of the fire and of the assassins, the passing of hope and the coming of despair, that this new turn found my wits paralysed and all resources gone from me. In my head there were buzzing sounds as of a man stricken suddenly by sickness. I thought of nothing except of the wall against which I stood, of the man who bandaged my eyes and of the bayonets which had glittered in the ruddy glow of flames. That I should be dead when ten seconds were counted I could not believe, and then as swiftly the truth must be heard. "You are about to die," said the secret voice in my ear. "You will never see the day. This is night; you will sleep."

An intolerable interval of silence followed upon this. I heard the shuffling of feet and the sound of voices as though from the far distance. Men were speaking in whispers, and these whispers grew in volume until they were like a hoarse murmur of winds about me. I was tempted to cry, "Fire, for God's sake!" and yet I could not utter the words. Indeed, a faintness had come upon me, and I swayed to and fro until the volley rang out with a crash of thunder and lights danced fantastically before my eyes. Then I think that I must have fallen prone upon the grass. If this were death, it had come without pain, and men had laughed because it came. God! Was there ever such laughter heard by a man so situated? Peal upon peal of it—and a woman's laughter!

Someone loosed the bands which held my hands, and another forced a little brandy between my clenched lips. I raised myself up, shivering as though with an ague.

All about me it was as light and bright as though the sun had risen. The great palace flamed with a thunder of sounds and a crash of beams most dreadful to hear. But otherwise the scene was as I had known it before they bandaged me, save that Valerie stood at the stairs' head swaying in an outburst of mad laughter which fear and pity had provoked, while my nephew Léon watched her as she laughed. A moment later and a man appeared and caught her in his arms. It was the Russian, Prince Nicholas, who passed down the steps and was gone from the garden before any man could draw upon him.