“There is England.”
Domiloff laughed outright.
“England as a European Power,” he declared, “has ceased to exist. A few Dutch farmers have pricked the bubble of her military reputation. If she should have the sublime impudence to lift her voice we should treat her with the contempt she has earned. No, Reist, there will be no intervention. Your brave Thetians will be cut to pieces, your country will be pillaged and burned, your women will become the consorts of the Turkish soldiery, your ladies will go to grace a Turkish harem. These things must be unless you have the courage to hold out your hand. You call yourself a patriot. Prove it! The issue is plain enough.”
The words bit into Reist’s heart. He sat in gloomy silence. From afar off he seemed to hear the battle-cry of his beloved soldiers, the thunder of hoofs, the flashing steel, the glory of the charge thrilled his blood. There was patriotism indeed—there, where the lances dripped red and the bullets flew. And he, Nicholas of Reist, sat skulking in the back room of a doubtful café, safely out of harm’s reach, talking treason with one who had ever been the foremost of his country’s enemies.
“You bought Metzger,” he said, “and the people cast him out. You may buy me, and yet the people will not accept your terms. They will not have Russians in authority over them. The hatred of your country is a religion with them.”
“They believe in you as they would believe in no other man,” Domiloff answered. “You can make the situation clear to them. In your heart you know that it is their only salvation.”
“They may save their skins,” Reist admitted, “but after all life is a short thing. It is better to die like gods than to live like slaves.”
Domiloff shook his head.
“My friend,” he said, “there is but one life that we know anything of, and it should not be lightly thrown away. You can save Theos if you will. Supposing, however, that you are obstinate—that you cling to your ancient prejudices—well, what will you do then? Consider your position. You have quarrelled with the King. Your place in the army has gone, you have surrendered your sword. How can you ever show yourself in Theos again, who lingered here in the hour of battle? Be wise, my friend. Before you there is but one possible course. Take it. The day will come when every man who calls himself a Thetian will bless your name.”
“Or curse it!” Reist muttered.