Part 63 (1/2)
”And so,” he said, ”you have no good-will to the Princess Joan of Hohenstein--and Courtland. Or to any of her favourers?” he added after a pause.
At the name the grey-headed man, who had been sitting unmoved by the table with his elbow on the board, raised a strangely wizened face to Theresa's.
”What”--he said, in broken accents, stammering in his speech and grappling with the words as if, like a wrestler at a fair, he must throw each one severally--”what--who has a word to say against the Lady Joan, Princess of Courtland? Whoso wrongs her has me to reckon with--aye, were it my brother Ivan himself!”
”Not I, certainly, my good Louis,” answered Ivan easily. ”I would not wrong the lady by word or deed for all Germany from Bor-Russia to the Rhine-fall!”
He turned to Alexis the Deacon, who was at his elbow.
”Fill up his cup--remember what I bade you!” he said sharply in an undertone.
”His cup is full, he will drink no more. He pushes it from him!”
answered Alexis in the same half-whisper. But neither, as it seemed, took any particular pains to prevent their words carrying to the ear of Prince Louis. And, indeed, they had rightly judged. For swiftly as it had come the momentary flash of manhood died out on the meagre face. The arm upon which he had leaned swerved limply aside, and the grey beard fell helplessly forward upon the table.
”So much domestic affection is somewhat belated,” said Prince Ivan, regarding Louis of Courtland with disgust. ”Look at him! Who can wonder at the lady's taste? He is a pretty Prince of a great province. But if he live he will do well enough to fill a chair and hold a golden rod.
Take him away, Alexis!”
”Nay,” said Theresa, with quick alarm, ”let him stay. There are many things to speak of. We may need to consult Prince Louis later.”
”I fear the Prince will not be of great use to us,” smiled Prince Ivan.
”If only I had known, I would have conserved his princely senses more carefully. But for heads like his the light wine of our country is dangerously strong.”
He glanced about the pavilion. The servants had not yet retired.
”Convey his Highness to the rear, and lay him upon the powder barrels!”
He indicated with his hand the array of boxes and kegs piled in the dusk of the tent. The servitors did as they were told; they lifted Prince Louis and would have carried him to that grim couch, but, struck with some peculiarity, Alexis the Deacon suddenly bent over his lax body and thrust his hand into the bosom of his princely habit, now tarnished thick with wine stains and spilled meats.
”Excellency,” he said, turning to his master, ”the Prince is dead! His heart does not beat. It is the stroke! I warned you it would come!”
Prince Ivan strode hastily towards the body of Louis of Courtland.
”Surely not?” he cried, in seeming astonishment. ”This may prove very inconvenient. Yet, after all, what does it matter? With your a.s.sistance, madam, the city is ours. And then, what matters dead prince or living prince? A garrison in every fort, a squadron of good Cossacks p.r.i.c.king across every plain, a tax-collector in every village--these are the best securities of princedom. But this is like our good Louis. He never did anything at a right time all his life.”
Theresa stood on the other side of the dead man as the servitors lowered him for the inspection of their lord. The weary wrinkled face had been smoothed as with the pa.s.sage of a hand. Only the left corner of the mouth was drawn down, but not so much as to be disfiguring.
”I am glad he spoke kindly of his wife at the last,” she murmured. And she added to herself, ”This falls out well--it relieves me of a necessity.”
”Spoken like a woman!” cried Prince Ivan, looking admiringly at her.
”Pray forgive my bitter speech, and remember that I have borne long with this man!”
He turned to the servitors and directed them with a motion of his hand towards the back of the pavilion.
”Drop the curtain,” he said.
And as the silken folds rustled heavily down the curtain fell upon the career and regality of Louis, Prince of Courtland, hereditary Defender of the Holy See.
The men did not bear him far. They placed him upon the boxes of the powder for the Margraf's cannon, which for safety and dryness Ivan had bade them bring to his own pavilion. The dead man lay in the dark, open-eyed, staring at the circling shadows as the servitors moved athwart the supper table, at which a woman sat eating and drinking with her enemy.
Theresa von Lynar sat directly opposite the Prince of Muscovy. The board sparkled with mellow lights reflected from many lanterns. The servitors had departed. Only the measured tread of the sentinels was heard without. They were alone.