Long Live the King - Guy Boothby (iphone ebook reader TXT) 📗

your Majesty believe that all I have is at your Majesty's disposal?" said Brockford, in an undertone before he left.

Max started as if he had been stung.

"No, no!" he cried, "you must not call me that."

An hour later he was back at Brockford's house at Paqueta, where for some hours he shut himself up and would see nobody. He was fighting the greatest battle of his life. During the afternoon he called for all the newspapers that could be procured, in order that he might study the war from its commencement. Later on he left his room and found the other two men in the garden. Traces of the struggle he had passed through still lingered on his face as he greeted them. It was plainly seen that he had arrived at a decision.

"Gentlemen," he said, "I ask you to give me your words of honour, that what I am about to say shall never pass your lips."

He waited for them to speak. They looked first at each other and then at him. At last they gave him their assurance that his wish should be respected.

"I have fought it out by myself," he said, "and have come to a conclusion. I shall return to Pannonia at once!"

"God bless you!" muttered Brockford, but not so low that Max could not hear it.

"My country is at war, and if she is to be victorious, every son who has the strength to wield a sword should rally to her assistance. It is my intention to go back and offer my services, not in the capacity of her king, but taking my place beside the humblest in the ranks. I place my life in the hands of God, and leave the issue with Him. If Pannonia is victorious, then I shall have proved my love for her, and it is possible that what you wish may some day come to pass. If not, then I shall have done what I shall always believe to have been my duty."

"In that case, I have a request to make," said Bertram nervously.

"What is it?" Max inquired. "It would be hard if I could not grant it, seeing that I already owe you a debt I never can repay."

"It is that, if you are going, you will allow me to accompany you?"

"You shall do so if you wish," said Max quietly, and as he said it he held out his hand, which the other took.

Two days later Max and Bertram sailed for Europe.


CHAPTER XIX.


Of the various vicissitudes which befell our unhappy country from the time that, egged on to ruin by unscrupulous men, she drove her sovereign across the border to seek an asylum elsewhere, it would be impossible for me to speak in anything like detail. It must suffice, therefore, that the long record of chicanery and blundering, of mismanagement and oppression found its climax in the war to which I referred at the end of the previous chapter. Dark as the outlook seemed, it was destined to become even blacker before many months were passed. The battles which marked the opening of the campaign have long since become a matter of history, partly by reason of the desperate heroism shown by our troops, but more, I fear, on account of the inability and blunderings of their leaders. How heartrending that time was to us I must leave my readers to imagine. Max seemed lost for ever; I was in exile, and yet we were compelled to remain inactive, watching our devoted country rushing headlong to the ruin which had been so long prophesied for it. Had it not been for the counsels of my friends I should have returned to Pannonia at the outbreak of hostilities, and have offered myself for service in her army in any capacity they might have chosen for me. This, however, I was earnestly implored not to do. Accordingly I remained in England, watching the struggle with an aching heart, dreading the worst, yet unable to do anything to avert the catastrophe I felt sure must come. Then came the chance I was so eagerly awaiting, and, as all the world knows, on the sixteenth of September, a most fateful day in Pannonia's history, the Republic was overthrown, and, at the unanimous wish of the country, I returned to act as Regent until my brother's whereabouts should be discovered. Of the emotions I experienced when once more I set foot upon Pannonian soil, I will not speak here. They are too sacred for the cold publicity of print.

Having thus roughly summarised the events that occurred between the time that Max and Bertram had decided to see service in Pannonia, and my return to that country, I must now follow the record of my brother's doings. Of all the strange events in Max's life, there was not one stranger or more characteristic of him than his decision in this matter. It was on the 31st of July, that is to say, a fortnight before the battle of Depzig, the same in which our forces suffered such a disastrous defeat, that he set foot with his faithful companion upon his native soil. A week later, as if to make amends, General Groplau, with a zeal and gallantry that is beyond all praise, met and defeated a force of the enemy much greater than his own. It was with his army that Max took service, not as became his rank, but in the capacity of a private soldier. That he and his companion had seen service before soon became apparent, but little did anyone guess that the stalwart, handsome man, who did not know the meaning of the word fear, who was never tired, and whose only apparent desire was to be placed where the danger was greatest, was none other than their king. During the first month of his new life he was present at no less than three battles, in each of which he displayed conspicuous heroism. Brave as our soldiers were, such valour as his could scarcely fail to have passed unnoticed. But it was not until that dreadful day when Gredlau was lost, and all the officers of his own regiment had been killed, and he had rallied what remained of the men, continuing the fight until they were nearly all disabled and shot down, that any recognition of his bravery was afforded him. Then he was summoned to the general's presence. He had been wounded in the arm, and was still weak from loss of blood.

"Your conduct has been reported to me," said the general, who, being a brave man himself, could recognise courage in others. "I can only regret that your efforts were not rewarded with success. I am proud to offer you a commission in the regiment you have served so well. I know of no man who has a better right to it."

Max saluted.

"Pardon me, general," he said respectfully, but firmly, "but--but, with your permission, I must decline the honour."

"Decline the honour!" cried the other in surprise, and also with some asperity. "What do you mean? Surely you understand the honour that has been done you?"

"I understand perfectly," Max replied. "Yet I would prefer to remain as I am."

Whatever the general's thoughts may have been, it is certain that his surprise equalled them. His experience of men had shown them to be more ready to seek rewards than to decline them. However, he had no time to analyse such a phenomenon just then.

"As you please, as you please," he answered. "Remain in the ranks if you prefer it. It seems to me, however, that you are throwing away the one chance of your life."

Then calling one of his aides-de-camp, he turned his attention to another matter, and Max, having saluted, returned to his bivouac. But though the general appeared to have set the matter aside, it did not seem as if he had altogether forgotten it, for later on, commenting on the incident, he said to one of his officers, "That man's face worries me. He is like a person I have seen before, but I cannot, for the life of me, think whose face it is, or where I met its owner."

On two other occasions Max came even nearer to being discovered. A week or so later he was on sentry duty, when a man, who had for many years acted as intermediary between the Count von Marquart and our father in England, stopped his horse and addressed a question to him. For a moment Max thought he could scarcely fail to recognise him, but the beard he wore, and the uniform of a private soldier must have changed his appearance, for the officer passed on without comment. The third occasion, however, was more desperate than either I have yet described.

It was in the early morning on the day when the battle of Hehnsdorff was fought, and Max's regiment, with two others of the line, were sent to occupy the village on the right bank of the river. For hours they defended it with the tenacity of despair. At last, the general, seeing that it was hopeless to continue to hold it, despatched an aide with an order to the officer in command to abandon it and to fall back upon a wood some three-quarters of a mile or so to the rear. The aide had scarcely entered the main street of the little hamlet, when a shell burst in the road, killing his horse and tearing a great gaping wound in the young fellow's side. Seeing what had happened, Max, who, with Bertram and several others, was in a cottage close at hand, ran to his assistance. It was a shocking spectacle they had before them, but, despite the blood, Max recognised the man. Picking him up as tenderly as possible, he bore him to the cottage where the commander was located.

The poor fellow had just strength enough left to say, "The general bids you retire, and take up your position in the wood behind the church," when his head fell forward and he fainted. A moment later the order was given, the village was vacated, and the troops were slowly and sullenly retiring in the direction indicated. The aide-de-camp still lay where they had placed him, his life-blood slowly ebbing from him and forming a pool by his side.

"He's a man I've known all my life," said Max hoarsely to Bertram. "I can't leave him here. Between us we'll carry him to the rear, though I fear the surgeons can do nothing for him."

Thus encumbered they set off across the open ground, now being ploughed by the shells of the enemy. How it was they were not hit it is impossible to say, yet, incredible as it may appear, they reached the wood in safety. On the further side the surgeons were at work, and thither they bore the dying man. But officer or no officer, it was necessary that he should wait his turn, and seeing this, Max placed him upon the ground and endeavoured to make him as comfortable as possible. That his case was hopeless there could be no sort of doubt. Indeed, he was little more than a dead man as it was. Rising to his feet, for he had been kneeling beside the other, Max was about to return to where his comrades had taken up their position, when the wounded man opened his eyes and looked up at him. Max saw that he was trying to speak, and he accordingly knelt down beside him, for he saw that the other had recognised him.

"Your Majesty," he