A prince of lovers

by Sir William Magnay

In the miserable hours of waiting, she had divined that she had made upon the King an impression which would fall like a bar between her and her great desire; her instinct told her that he was self-indulgent and treacherous, and that there was little honour in the eyes which had looked on her so ardently. But what of this man, of the new King? she asked herself in her perplexity. That was a speculation which beat her. Politically, she might be considered his betrothed wife; yet he had run away to avoid her, and so nearly lost his kingdom. And now she, of all women, had come to him, of all men, to beg his interest and help on behalf of a lover. The position was intolerably false, for all it was honest and simple enough. She felt hot with shame that she had to make this petition, yet she was desperate, and, even at the best, the life of the man she so loved was hanging in the balance. Yes, she would let no false shame deter her; she would meet King Ludwig boldly and frankly; there was no love between them on either side, and—ah, but there might be. They had never seen each other. What if, at first sight, he should fall in love with her, as Ferdinand had done? Without vanity—poor girl, that was far from her just then—she knew it was more than possible. Her only hope was that King Ludwig might be, as she had pictured him, cold, stern, prejudiced; above all, she prayed that he was chivalrous, then the other qualities would matter little; at least he could not be worse than Ferdinand. So, with anxiety and impatience keeping back her repugnance and pride, she sent to the King, whose first care had been to learn that she was safe, a humble petition for an audience on a matter of life and death. It is certain that she had not to wait long for its granting.

How describe the meeting? When Ruperta entered the presence-chamber with fear of failure in her heart, and Ludwig rose to receive her, with greater fear in his, his life, his very soul, seemed to hang on the upshot of that moment of recognition, now so strangely come. At first, as she advanced, she saw only the kingly figure standing to receive her. Perhaps she dreaded to look into his face. But when, as she drew nearer, she did raise her eyes, she could not believe what they told her. She stopped dead, staring in fearful uncertainty at her lover; then, in a flash, the whole thing became plain as though she had known and forgotten and suddenly recollected it. Her pause was a terrible suspense to Ludwig, and, when at last her lips moved, and she cried his name, he ran forward with outstretched arms, and next moment she was clasped to his heart.

“Thank God you are safe,” she murmured, and he knew that in her kiss his trick was forgiven.

Then he led her, lover-like to the daïs, and with full hearts they talked, not of the past, since they scarcely dared think of it, but of the future, and the delight it surely held for them. And as they talked, a rider, with fury and discomfiture in his face, was savagely spurring a jaded horse over the cobbles of the street that led to the palace, then across the great square, noticing nothing, inquiring nothing, in his hot haste to bring news, bad enough, and the warning which might save his undoing.

“The King!” he cried, as he pulled up his poor reeking horse at the palace steps, flung himself out of the saddle, and rushed up to the door. “I must see the King instantly. I bring news that touches his Majesty’s safety.”

Those of the attendants who did not guess the truth thought his errand might well be what he proclaimed it, while any who may have realized his mistake kept their own counsel to see what might befall. Roughly, and waving aside any attempt to stay him, the man pressed forward to the presence-chamber, as the curious groups he passed closed in and followed him.

“The King! I must have instant word with the King.”

The door was opened at his approach, and he passed through, while some hurried forward to announce him to the King, who had that moment retired with Ruperta by an opposite door. On receiving the intimation Ludwig spoke a word to his betrothed, and turned back alone. Then, in that hour’s second surprise, the two men met again. Count Irromar’s hot, flushed face turned pale when he saw who the King was, and realized he had come too late. But his iron nerve did not desert him.

“Already Ludwig?” he exclaimed, with the insolent desperation of a ruined gambler. “I congratulate your Majesty, as much on your promptness as your good luck.”

Then he folded his arms, and stood defiantly silent, waiting for his own fate to be pronounced. He had lost all, yet did not for an instant regret his bold game. And, as for escape, a half-glance round had shown him Ompertz armed and expectant, and a file of soldiers at his elbow.