“May I ask whether you are referring to me?” demanded Louis O’Malachy. “I have not offered to carry any messages of yours to my unhappy sister.”
“No, I don’t think you ever had a spark of honesty in you,” returned Caerleon. “And as for your sister, to send a message to her through you would be to insult her.”
“Captain O’Malachy, you will conduct the prisoners to the river-bank, and follow the directions you have received,” said General Sertchaieff.
Caerleon drew a long breath. To be led out, and shot like a dog! But his stubborn English pride came to his aid. Show any sign of flinching before these Scythian spies and Thracian traitors? Never! and he squared his shoulders and held his head erect as he was led out of the room. On the threshold a thought struck him, and he paused to say—
“I do not know whether this rebellion is to be conducted according to the usages of civilised nations in time of war, but in any case I entreat you, for the honour of Thracia, to allow Prince Otto Georg of Schwarzwald-Molzau to return unharmed to his own country. He came here merely as my guest, and has taken no part in Thracian politics.”
“Make your mind easy, milord,” said a tall man, with a strong likeness to General Sertchaieff, who stood among the returned exiles. “As the representative of my gracious sovereign, I can assure you that the King of Thracia does not make war on non-combatants.”
Caerleon bowed his head in acknowledgment of the reply, and followed his guards. They passed through the courtyard, where the first snow lay on the ground, new-fallen, then out through the gardens. A few steps further brought them to the batteries on the river-face of the town, and they were ordered to enter the lift by which shells and ammunition were raised from the shore. The descent accomplished, they came out on the bank of the river, where a boat was lying, manned by two sailors whom Louis addressed in Scythian. The prisoners were thrust in without ceremony, the soldiers took their places, and the boat was pushed off from the shore.
“Caerleon,” said Cyril, in a low voice, “I’m sorry I’ve brought you to this, old man. If I had had the sense to see through that blackguard O’Malachy, it wouldn’t have happened.”
“Oh, don’t go and blame yourself,” said Caerleon, hastily. “It’s just as much my fault. Wright, I wish you were not obliged to lie just on my chest. No, don’t wriggle, that’s worse.”
“Silence, dogs!” said one of the soldiers, angrily, and the boatmen rowed steadily on until they reached the Scythian steamer which had attracted Cyril’s notice that afternoon. The prisoners were dragged up the ladder, and placed in a row on the deck.