“There was one Pfingsten, one of his Germans, whom he sent to Karl—and who brought his terms writ on a bit of paper, and he, this cursed Augustus, signed and fled, to put himself at Karl’s mercy.”
The Emperor’s eyes showed red, a faint dew besprinkled his forehead, he bent his whip across his knee till it cracked, then flung it away and buried his face in his hands, running his fingers into his dusky curls.
“Mdle. D’Einsiedel came to me, the very day before—for months she had been trying to find me—to tell me about Patkul. The whole thing was kept secret, but it seems that he was arrested when you were called to Astrakan. Of course Augustus knew the Swede would ask for him.”
“My ambassador—my general!” groaned Peter.
“When the Elector fled, this lady went back to vantage of his hurried departure to order at once the release of Patkul, but there was much delay, he having been moved from Sonnenstein to Königstein; the messenger reached the governor of this place in time—the Countess von Königsmarck was very active in this intrigue—but he tried to get Patkul to pay ransom, knowing of his wealth, and while this argument was in progress the Swedish officers arrived, and Patkul is now in Altranstadt, fastened in a cellar with a great iron chain round his waist.”
Peter raised his face which was quite distorted, the eyes infected with blood, the lips livid.
“May the Devil overtake Augustus and torture him in Hell forever!” he stammered. “May he be steeped to the lips in sorrow and bitterness, the vile, false coward.”
He ceased with a sob of sheer fury; he had always despised Augustus, but never believed him capable of this; disloyalty and cowardice were the two unforgiveable crimes in the eyes of the Muscovite; his primitive nature did not recognize the usual excuses offered by diplomacy for the actions forced by necessity on states and princes; nothing could palliate the Elector’s conduct in his eyes; he considered that he had been treated with black treachery and base ingratitude, and that Augustus had behaved with the utmost villainy. He certainly was incapable of such conduct himself; he would have died cheerfully sooner than submit to an enemy, and though he might punish even his own family with savage cruelty if he suspected them of treachery, he would never have deserted a friend or have betrayed an ally.
Through all the Elector’s misfortunes Peter had been staunch to him, and, to the best of his ability, held out a helping hand; and when he remembered that last Conference at Grodno, the amiable flattery of the Saxon, the mutual promises, the sworn treaties, the vows of friendship and mutual help against the Swede, and thought how the Elector had taken advantage of his hurried departure to order at once the arrest of the man who was a valuable asset in dealing with the enemy, he was shaken by an excess of fury.
“Danilovitch!” he cried, “I shall never forgive you that you did not discover this traitor and bring him in chains to me!”