Part 2 (1/2)
_Over the heads of those in the front ranks, Peter Nicholaevitch saw some men bringing from the forest the heavy trunk of a felled pine tree.
They meant to break down the gate. He knew that he had failed but still he stood upright facing them. Another shot, the bullet this time grazing his left arm. The sting of it angered him._
_”Cowards!” he yelled, shaking his fist at them. ”Cowards!”_
_A volley followed but no other bullets struck him. Behind him in the Castle doorway he heard the voice of Boris Rylov, calling to him hoa.r.s.ely._
_”Come, Master. For the love of G.o.d! There is yet time.”_
_There was a crash of the heavy timbers at the gate._
_”Come, Master----”_
_With a shrug Peter Nicholaevitch turned and walked across the terrace toward the Castle._ ”Bolvany!” _he muttered. ”I've finished with them.”_
_Boris and Vasili stood just within the door, pleading with him to hurry, and together they made their way through the deserted kitchens and over past the vegetable gardens to the stables, where Leo Gars.h.i.+n awaited them, the saddles on several horses. Behind them they could now hear the triumphant cries as the courtyard gate crashed in._
_”Hurry, Master!” cried Gars.h.i.+n eagerly._
_”Where are the others?” asked the Grand Duke._
_”Gone, Highness. They have fled.”_
_Boris Rylov was peering out past an iron door into the forest._
_”There is no one there?” asked Gars.h.i.+n._
_”Not yet. They have forgotten.”_
_”Come then, Highness.”_
_But the Grand Duke saw that the aged Vasili was mounted first and then they rode out of the iron gate into a path which led directly into the forest. It was not until they were well clear of the buildings that a shout at one side announced that their mode of escape had been discovered. Men came running, firing pistols as they ran. Boris Rylov, bringing up the rear, reined in his horse and turning emptied a revolver at the nearest of their pursuers. One man fell and the others halted._
_Until they found the other horses in the stables pursuit was fruitless._
_Peter Nicholaevitch rode at the head of the little cavalcade, down the familiar aisles of the forest, his head bowed, a deep frown on his brows. It was Vasili who first noticed the blood dripping from his finger ends._
_”Master,” he gasped, ”you are wounded.”_
_”It is nothing,” said the Grand Duke._
_But Vasili bound the arm up with a handkerchief while Leo Gars.h.i.+n and Boris Rylov watched the path down which they had come. They could hear the crackling of the flames at the Hunting Lodge to the southward and the cries of the mob at the Castle, but there was no sign of pursuit.
Perhaps they were satisfied to appease their madness with pillage and fire. Half an hour later Boris pointed backward. A new glow had risen, a redder, deeper glow._
_”The Castle, Master----” wailed Vasili._
_Peter Nicholaevitch drew rein at a cross-path, watched for a moment and then turned to his companions, for he had reached a decision._
_”My good friends,” he said gently, ”our ways part here.”_