“Glad to see you looking so fit, Wright,” said his master, as Wright straightened himself against the wall, and touched his cap. “I was afraid I should find you dead beat. Lord Cyril seems to be tired out.”
“Do ’e, your Majesty?” responded Wright. “I ’adn’t noticed it. If you’ll believe me, I think as ’is lordship’s ’avin’ a little joke with you. ’E’s always tryin’ on them sort of games, beggin’ your Majesty’s pardon.”
This was added as an afterthought, in response to Caerleon’s look of astonishment, as the King turned on his heel, and walked away in displeasure. Wright was getting disgustingly impudent, he reflected. No doubt too much had been made of him, and he felt that he had a right to put on side, as the only Englishman among the servants, but he must be taught his place. Caerleon was painfully conscious that there was not always a complete unity of aims and agreement as to means between Cyril and himself, but that Wright should venture to notice the fact was insufferable. He should learn that being the King’s fellow-countryman did not necessarily make him his confidant, and a studied repressiveness of manner in addressing him for some days would go far to make him forget that he had been chosen as Cyril’s sole companion on his important mission—an honour which seemed to have encouraged him to presume. And upon this decision Caerleon proceeded to act, to the signal discomfiture of Wright, whose natural enemies the stable-boys asserted themselves unmercifully when they saw that the royal favour had forsaken him.
Cyril, in the meantime, was enjoying himself. In obedience to the orders of the physician, he spent several days on a sofa in his room, and had all the papers brought him for his amusement. In this way he was enabled to exercise a very effectual press censorship, weeding the journals carefully, and sending down for Caerleon’s perusal only such old-fashioned and painfully respectable prints as never hint at an approaching royal marriage until the betrothal is actually announced. Thanks to Mr Hicks, all the more modern and go-ahead papers were teeming with reports and rumours on the subject of an anticipated Mœsio-Thracian alliance, and two days after his return Cyril noted with satisfaction a paragraph in a semi-official German paper to the effect that the Emperor of Pannonia appeared inclined to recede from the policy he had adopted of giving Scythia a free hand with regard to Thracia, and to maintain an attitude of reserve. This in itself was cheering, but for several days the situation continued to be extremely unsettled, constant rumours of rapprochements and coolnesses coming to make matters doubtful. At last it was accepted as fairly certain that Scythia and Pannonia were unable to agree on the Thracian question, and that neither would trust the other to interfere; but before things had reached this dead-lock, which left matters as they had been before the two countries had arrived at their temporary agreement, Cyril had received a cipher message from King Johann Casimir to say that all was well.
This prepared the way for the signing of the treaty, which M. Drakovics had been drafting in accordance with Cyril’s notes of his conversation with the Mœsian sovereign; and when everything was ready, Caerleon and Cyril left Bellaviste for the frontier, in order to entertain the Prince of Dardania for a week’s hunting. The visit was a purely informal one, M. Drakovics only coming down twice to discuss various questions of policy, and the little party in the hunting-lodge found their stay very pleasant. The Prince of Dardania was young and athletic, and a mighty hunter, and displayed as much delight over his escape from the cares of State and the supervision of his Prime Minister as did Caerleon. The two became great friends, and their intimacy caused Cyril much apprehension, owing to his constant fear that they might discuss together the situation with respect to Mœsia. He gave himself endless trouble, and caught several colds, in accompanying them on all their expeditions, when he would much rather have remained sitting over the fire at the hunting-lodge or lounging about the little village; but he felt the absolute necessity of preventing their coming to an understanding. He knew that he was a hindrance to their enjoyment, for long walks were obliged to be curtailed, and bridges sought instead of fords, in consideration of his physical weakness; but Caerleon could not bring himself to suggest that he should remain at home, and Prince Alexis smiled and said nothing.
At times it struck Cyril that all his trouble was unnecessary, for that the Prince could not be aware that Caerleon was his rival; but it seemed impossible that the European gossip as to the approaching disposal of Princess Ottilie’s hand should not have reached his ears. More than once, also, Cyril caught him looking Caerleon over, in a musing, business-like fashion, as though he were taking stock of him, and after moments such as this he always redoubled his efforts to keep the two from being alone together. He felt sure that Prince Alexis knew what was going on when, in response to a question from Caerleon as to whether he intended to join the hunting-party at Schloss Herzensruh the day after the signing of the treaty, he replied that he could not well intrude on the King of Mœsia at such a purely family gathering, but that he would no doubt be able to pay his respects later. And yet it seemed strange that he made no attempt to win Caerleon over to his side, a fact which left Cyril still troubled by uncertainty, even after the treaty was signed. The points of difficulty between Thracia and Dardania had been satisfactorily arranged by the two sovereigns and their Ministers, and they were incorporated into an addition to the Mœsian treaty, although Cyril almost feared that the negotiations would fall through when he saw the meeting between King Johann Casimir and Prince Alexis. The King’s manner was nervously triumphant, and inclined to be unfriendly, and most men would have taken offence at it, especially after the rupture which had already occurred between them; but the Prince passed it by without notice, and all went off peaceably.
CHAPTER XII.
TO OBLIGE A LADY.
The next day was that appointed for the fateful hunting-party, and when Caerleon and Cyril bade farewell to Prince Alexis, who was returning for a few days to his capital of Bashi Konak, they were both conscious of concealing a good deal of excitement under a veil of calmness. Cyril fancied that there was a twinkle in the Prince’s eye as he wished them good sport, and he was roused again to wonder whether their guest knew anything of the affair in hand. However this might be, he departed without making any allusion to it, and Cyril awoke to the fact that Caerleon, who now realised for the first time the full falseness of his position, was in a state of misery and nervousness only to be described as pitiable. When Cyril recognised this fact he was appalled, for it seemed to him that the mere sight of his brother’s face was enough to betray to King Johann the artifice which had been employed against him; but presently he reflected that Caerleon’s disquietude and evident unhappiness fitted in exactly with the story he had told the King, and his mind was at ease as they rode through the forest together. At Schloss Herzensruh every one was waiting to start for the forest, and the lawn in front of the windows was occupied by a confused group of jägers, dogs, and beaters. The Queen did not appear on this occasion, but the King hurried to greet the brothers, and presented Caerleon at once to Princess Ottilie, who was looking sportsmanlike and ready for business in a French costume de chasse, with leather-faced skirt and many-pocketed jacket all complete, while a jäger behind her was holding her neat little rifle.
“I know how fond of sport you English are, and therefore I gave my daughter directions to wear this dress to-day in compliment to your brother,” said the King, complacently, to Cyril, when they had withdrawn a step or two from the pair, leaving Caerleon to devise and utter incoherent remarks on the weather, which were received by the Princess with demure politeness.
“And Caerleon bars a shooting woman above all things!” was Cyril’s agonised mental comment, even while he was assuring the King that although the Princess would look charming in anything, she was absolutely irresistible in hunting costume. But as he spoke, his thoughts were wandering, for it struck him that Princess Ottilie appeared to be very favourably inclined towards Caerleon. There was a hint of pleased excitement in her manner, which even the delight of wearing the most chic and becoming of new dresses seemed inadequate to produce; and when, in response to one of her companion’s laboured remarks, she raised her eyes smilingly and scanned his face, it appeared to Cyril that the expression in them was more than friendly. The thought almost made him giddy. What if the whim of a strong-willed, fickle girl should succeed in doing what he and M. Drakovics, with all their statesmanship, had failed to achieve, and bring about Caerleon’s marriage with her? Although he had suggested the possibility of such a thing in order to comfort the Premier, he had never regarded it seriously himself; but now it struck him as by no means unlikely that Princess Ottilie might refuse to grant her unwilling suitor the dismissal he craved, in which case, Cyril decided, his brother would feel himself compelled to marry her. At this point the voice of King Johann broke in on his meditations.