“Well, at any rate, I’m not such a cad as to cut in and spoil the other fellow’s game,” and Mansfield marched on with an air of superior virtue which Lord Caerleon found extremely irritating. He could not well say that he particularly wished to see the very thing done which Mansfield regarded with such righteous disapprobation, but he felt that he was being treated with scant justice. True, he had banished Mansfield originally for his own good—here he stopped; was it not rather because he did not want to lose his daughter? Still, it was not his fault that this second suitor had appeared, and nothing had been farther from his thoughts than to drive Philippa into a loveless marriage by separating her from the man whom he now suspected that she liked. It was hard to throw the onus of rejecting the King’s suit entirely on Philippa and himself, and things would have been much simpler if it could have been refused on the ground that she was already engaged to some one else. However, since Mansfield chose to consider that he had been ill-used, and could hardly be commanded to propose to Philippa against his will, the plan was not practicable.
Lord Caerleon made no further attempt to alter the course of events, and Mansfield, grimly resolute, continued to torment himself with the sight of Philippa and her royal suitor. King Michael was following Prince Mirkovics’ advice, and endeavouring to enlist Philippa’s sense of duty upon his side. Since his coup d’état of the summer, he had developed an abnormal interest in affairs of State, and he recounted his plans, hopes, fears, failures, successes, and aspirations to Philippa at suitable length. The recital bored her extremely, but she would not have been her mother’s daughter if she could have brought herself to throw cold water on any man’s good intentions, and she honestly did her best to sympathise with the King. Her task was not made easier by Usk, who continued to regard his would-be brother-in-law with unmitigated aversion. King Michael sought his acquaintance in the most flattering way, and extended the same honour to Mansfield and Mr Judson, never perceiving that his gracious determination to put people at their ease had the invariable effect of making them uncomfortable. The three Cambridge men were quite ready to overlook his position, which was, after all, not his own fault; but he could not forget it, and the consequence was that the friendship languished, and that among themselves they accused him of “putting on side,” and stigmatised him as “wretchedly bad form.” It is true that Usk once expressed in private a wish that the King was his brother; but only, as he explained immediately, that he might feel justified in punching his head.
While Philippa’s affairs were in this unsettled state, the time of her uncle’s marriage was rapidly approaching. The wedding had been fixed for New Year’s day, and it had been the secret design of the Chevalier and his party that after the ceremony a deputation from the Jewish provisional government should wait upon the newly married pair and offer them the crown, if such it might be called, of Palestine. But this was now recognised to be out of the question. When the sensation caused by the appearance of the Yellow Pamphlet, and the subsequent repudiation of Cyril by half the Jewish world, had a little subsided, the journalists of the Continent held their breath for a time, realising what they had done. The man whom they had helped to vilify had never been known to forgive an insult, and the issue of that brutum fulmen, the message framed by Mr Hicks and Paschics in order to gain time, threw them into a state approaching panic. What blow had Count Mortimer in preparation?
But as the days passed on and still nothing happened, a sensation of relief diffused itself visibly among Cyril’s opponents, while his supporters became correspondingly dejected. Presently a brief message from the Emperor of Pannonia, forwarded through the Chevalier’s confidential agent in Vindobona, put the question in a nutshell. What measures did Count Mortimer mean to take in order to re-establish his predominant influence in the counsels of the Syndicate? Whether the charges brought against him in the Yellow Pamphlet were true or false did not signify in the least; but unless the Jews were unanimous in preferring him to any other ruler, the Emperor could go no further in recommending his selection by the Powers. While the question of the answer to be returned to this intimation was being discussed between Cyril and the Chevalier—the one in a frenzy of alarm and indecision, the other in an agony of helplessness—the matter was taken out of their hands. It became known throughout Europe that Count Mortimer’s brain was affected, and that he was no longer to be feared.
How the jealously guarded secret had leaked out could not at first be discovered, but the report was afterwards traced to Don Ramon of Arragon’s assistant, who had access to his case-books. He had been a student of the University of Vindobona, and was therefore almost inevitably an anti-Semite, and he had shared his discovery with Colonel Czartoriski, with whom he had come in contact at Damascus. Acting upon instructions from his mistress, Colonel Czartoriski communicated the news to the press, and Anti-Semitism all over the Continent went mad with joy. Nor were the professed enemies of Zion alone in their exultation, for the Government papers (those of Pannonia and Thracia alone excepted) took up the slanderous tale in language equally bitter, if slightly more decorous. The man who had known how to impose his will on Europe was helpless—might be knocked down and jumped upon, metaphorically speaking—and there was no lack of moralists to improve the occasion. The vilest calumnies, the most outrageous accusations, were gravely detailed as matters of fact, the attacks growing bolder as each historian, finding that the victim made no sign, strove to outdo his neighbour. The statesmen who had smarted under Cyril’s yoke added their quota of titbits of confidential information, to be duly worked up by the fortunate journalist to whom they were whispered, the result being generally a fable that astonished no one more than the original narrator himself. In short, the only wonder was that the political world could have been so long held in subjection by a charlatan so abjectly worthless and contemptible as Count Mortimer was shown to be.
But while the storm was raging in Europe, and its echoes reached with painful distinctness the ears of the little group of friends at Damascus, there reached them also an intimation that behind all the sound and fury there was a purpose that signified something. On the morning of the 28th of December, General Banics paid an early visit, first to Lord Caerleon and then to the Chevalier, bringing an urgent request from Queen Ernestine that they would come to her at once. Apprehensive of danger, they lost no time in complying, and as they were ushered into the Queen’s presence, Ernestine came forward to meet them in her impulsive way, holding out her hands.
“I have sent for you,” she said, “because you are dear and faithful friends of mine, and I can trust you to help me in the frightful danger which is threatening the man we all love. You will not let them separate me from him?”
“Nefer, unless it iss your Machesty’s own dessire,” said the Chevalier.
“But we know that nothing could be further from the Queen’s wishes,” said Lord Caerleon indignantly. “Command us, madame, for anything that we can do.”
“I knew I could rely upon you both.” She cast an encouraging glance at the discomfited Chevalier. “Then please sit down, and let me tell you what I have heard this morning from my dear old friend Princess Soudaroff. She says she was afraid to telegraph, lest the message should be stopped or the enemy discover that we had been warned, but she writes in the greatest anxiety and haste. She is at present in Paris, and her brother-in-law, Prince Soudaroff, had just paid her a flying visit when she wrote. Naturally, as she says, they discussed Count Mortimer’s misfortunes, and something that Prince Soudaroff let fall gave her the idea that a plot was preparing against him. She questioned him closely, and though he evaded her inquiries with the most consummate skill, she is convinced that the Emperor Sigismund and my own family are taking measures to prevent our marriage. What roused her suspicions was a remark which escaped Prince Soudaroff about a Hercynian ship of war suddenly ordered to the Levant, and she suggests that they will attempt to kidnap the Count before New Year’s Day, and convey him to some place of confinement on the plea that he is mad. They will act in my interests, to save me from such an unfortunate marriage, you see! But I won’t be saved from it. How shall we checkmate them?”