“It is an infamy, an outrage! I will complain to the Italian Minister! Don’t stay here; go on, and never mind me.” This was in English. “By what right is a peaceable Italian citizen arrested when he has done no harm? Get out of the city, and into the mountains; go quickly. You shall pay finely for this! Save them now; it is your only chance. Oh, you dogs of Thracians, you shall see what will happen!”
He was dragged away, shouting as he went, and Cyril, obeying his injunctions, broke through the crowd, and hurried across the rest of the market-place, the Queen still clinging to him. It was impossible now to reach the street down which Fräulein von Staubach had disappeared, and they turned down another and hurried along, Cyril revolving in his mind the route they must take in order to reach the river.
CHAPTER XIII.
IN THE GREENWOOD.
“We must go this way in order to get back to our proper road,” said Cyril in a low voice, as they reached a street running at right angles to that in which they were, and they walked briskly along it for some little distance. Presently, as they passed the end of another street leading from the market-place, they met a crowd of people, talking loud and eagerly.
“He says they must be somewhere in the town, and all the inns are to be visited.” “They say that if they are not discovered in that way no one who cannot produce his credentials will be allowed to leave the city.” “The search is beginning already, I hear.”
Looking towards the market-place, Cyril caught sight again of the forms of the three horsemen. He knew that the Queen and he could not be distinguishable in the crowd at this distance; but if the sub-prefect should come up and question them, his suspicious eyes could not fail to recognise the English lady of the previous day. The threat of closing the gates was serious enough; but the danger of the moment was so pressing as to exclude any thought of the future. Cyril led the way a little longer in the direction they had been taking, then turned sharply down a narrow back-street, silent and deserted. Just as they entered it, the sound of horses’ feet became audible in the street they had that moment left, and the Queen turned pale again, and clung to Cyril’s arm. She had not understood the words of the crowd; but she had seen the sub-prefect and his followers, and knew that their appearance boded no good.
“Keep up!” whispered Cyril; “they may not come down here, or we may find a doorway or an empty house to hide in. There is a gate open in that wall. Come on quickly.”
But the gateway to which they hastened was that of a stonemason’s yard, and the dazzling array of tombstones and obelisks afforded no chance of concealment. Moreover, the sounds of conversation near at hand showed them that the proprietor and his men were sitting in the sun on the inner side of the wall eating their dinner, and it was impossible to confide in them. But the sound of the horses’ feet was now close upon them. Once let them turn that corner, and—Cyril paused and glanced into the Queen’s white face, and an idea came to him suddenly. The rickety old gate which had first attracted his notice, and which opened outwards into the street, was swaying and creaking on its hinges in the light spring breeze. He pulled it forward, pushed the Queen into the angle of the wall behind it, followed her himself, and pulling the gate back again, held it fast with all the strength he could command. Scarcely had they taken their stand when they heard the horsemen turn the corner and ride down the street. The Queen’s hand gripped Cyril’s with a painful pressure, but neither of them uttered a sound. There was a poster on the gate in front of them, evidently fastened up in the early morning, before the yard was opened, and Cyril’s eyes studied it without his understanding a word of what it contained, while his ears were occupied in listening to the enemy without. They came past the hiding-place, looked in at the yard, and called out to the proprietor to know whether he had seen any strangers about, then rode on, knocking now and then at the door of a house, and questioning the inmates. Then the sounds of their horses’ feet died gradually away, and Cyril ventured to push the gate forward a little and look out cautiously in the direction they had taken. There was no sign of them, and although there was a danger of their returning, it was all-important to reach the river as soon as possible, and the fugitives quitted their place of refuge and pursued their way; but not before Cyril had realised that the bill posted on the gate contained offers of reward to any one who should kill or capture the abductors of the King, and that it purported to be signed by the Queen, Bishop Philaret, and the Mayor of Tatarjé.
“When this is all over, and we are safe again, I shall buy that yard, and build a memorial church there,” said the Queen, a little hysterically.
“A most laudable resolution, madame; but at present, permit me to remind you, we are very far from safe, especially when a presumably dumb lady speaks German in a hostile town.”