Kabanata Kabanata 19 · Face to Face in the Forest

. Face to Face in the Forest

For a moment I could see nothing, for the glare of lanterns and torches

caught me full in the eyes from the other side of the bridge. But soon

the scene grew clear: and it was a strange scene. The bridge was in its

place. At the far end of it stood a group of the duke’s servants; two or

three carried the lights which had dazzled me, three or four held pikes

in rest. They were huddled together; their weapons were protruded before

them; their faces were pale and agitated. To put it plainly, they

looked in as arrant a fright as I have seen men look, and they gazed

apprehensively at a man who stood in the middle of the bridge, sword in

hand. Rupert Hentzau was in his trousers and shirt; the white linen

was stained with blood, but his easy, buoyant pose told me that he was

himself either not touched at all or merely scratched. There he stood,

holding the bridge against them, and daring them to come on; or, rather,

bidding them send Black Michael to him; and they, having no firearms,

cowered before the desperate man and dared not attack him. They

whispered to one another; and in the backmost rank, I saw my friend

Johann, leaning against the portal of the door and stanching with a

handkerchief the blood which flowed from a wound in his cheek.

By marvellous chance, I was master. The cravens would oppose me no more

than they dared attack Rupert. I had but to raise my revolver, and I

sent him to his account with his sins on his head. He did not so much as

know that I was there. I did nothing--why, I hardly know to this day.

I had killed one man stealthily that night, and another by luck rather

than skill--perhaps it was that. Again, villain as the man was, I did

not relish being one of a crowd against him--perhaps it was that. But

stronger than either of these restrained feelings came a curiosity and

a fascination which held me spellbound, watching for the outcome of the

scene.

“Michael, you dog! Michael! If you can stand, come on!” cried Rupert;

and he advanced a step, the group shrinking back a little before him.

“Michael, you bastard! Come on!”

The answer to his taunts came in the wild cry of a woman:

“He’s dead! My God, he’s dead!”

“Dead!” shouted Rupert. “I struck better than I knew!” and he laughed

triumphantly. Then he went on: “Down with your weapons there! I’m your

master now! Down with them, I say!”

I believe they would have obeyed, but as he spoke came new things.

First, there arose a distant sound, as of shouts and knockings from the

other side of the chateau. My heart leapt. It must be my men, come by a

happy disobedience to seek me. The noise continued, but none of the

rest seemed to heed it. Their attention was chained by what now happened

before their eyes. The group of servants parted and a woman staggered on

to the bridge. Antoinette de Mauban was in a loose white robe, her dark

hair streamed over her shoulders, her face was ghastly pale, and her

eyes gleamed wildly in the light of the torches. In her shaking hand she

held a revolver, and, as she tottered forward, she fired it at Rupert

Hentzau. The ball missed him, and struck the woodwork over my head.

“Faith, madame,” laughed Rupert, “had your eyes been no more deadly

than your shooting, I had not been in this scrape--nor Black Michael in

hell--tonight!”

She took no notice of his words. With a wonderful effort, she

calmed herself till she stood still and rigid. Then very slowly and

deliberately she began to raise her arm again, taking most careful aim.

He would be mad to risk it. He must rush on her, chancing the bullet, or

retreat towards me. I covered him with my weapon.

He did neither. Before she had got her aim, he bowed in his most

graceful fashion, cried “I can’t kill where I’ve kissed,” and before

she or I could stop him, laid his hand on the parapet of the bridge, and

lightly leapt into the moat.

At that very moment I heard a rush of feet, and a voice I

knew--Sapt’s--cry: “God! it’s the duke--dead!” Then I knew that the King

needed me no more, and throwing down my revolver, I sprang out on the

bridge. There was a cry of wild wonder, “The King!” and then I, like

Rupert of Hentzau, sword in hand, vaulted over the parapet, intent on

finishing my quarrel with him where I saw his curly head fifteen yards

off in the water of the moat.

He swam swiftly and easily. I was weary and half crippled with my

wounded arm. I could not gain on him. For a time I made no sound, but as

we rounded the corner of the old keep I cried:

“Stop, Rupert, stop!”

I saw him look over his shoulder, but he swam on. He was under the bank

now, searching, as I guessed, for a spot that he could climb. I knew

there to be none--but there was my rope, which would still be hanging

where I had left it. He would come to where it was before I could.

Perhaps he would miss it--perhaps he would find it; and if he drew it up

after him, he would get a good start of me. I put forth all my remaining

strength and pressed on. At last I began to gain on him; for he,

occupied with his search, unconsciously slackened his pace.

Ah, he had found it! A low shout of triumph came from him. He laid

hold of it and began to haul himself up. I was near enough to hear him

mutter: “How the devil comes this here?” I was at the rope, and he,

hanging in mid air, saw me, but I could not reach him.

“Hullo! who’s here?” he cried in startled tones.

For a moment, I believe, he took me for the King--I dare say I was pale

enough to lend colour to the thought; but an instant later he cried:

“Why it’s the play-actor! How come you here, man?”

And so saying he gained the bank.

I laid hold of the rope, but I paused. He stood on the bank, sword in

hand, and he could cut my head open or spit me through the heart as I

came up. I let go the rope.

“Never mind,” said I; “but as I am here, I think I’ll stay.”

He smiled down on me.

“These women are the deuce--” he began; when suddenly the great bell of

the Castle started to ring furiously, and a loud shout reached us from

the moat.

Rupert smiled again, and waved his hand to me.

“I should like a turn with you, but it’s a little too hot!” said he, and

he disappeared from above me.

In an instant, without thinking of danger, I laid my hand to the rope.

I was up. I saw him thirty yards off, running like a deer towards the

shelter of the forest. For once Rupert Hentzau had chosen discretion for

his part. I laid my feet to the ground and rushed after him, calling to

him to stand. He would not. Unwounded and vigorous, he gained on me at

every step; but, forgetting everything in the world except him and my

thirst for his blood, I pressed on, and soon the deep shades of the

forest of Zenda engulfed us both, pursued and pursuer.

It was three o’clock now, and day was dawning. I was on a long straight

grass avenue, and a hundred yards ahead ran young Rupert, his curls

waving in the fresh breeze. I was weary and panting; he looked over his

shoulder and waved his hand again to me. He was mocking me, for he saw

he had the pace of me. I was forced to pause for breath. A moment later,

Rupert turned sharply to the right and was lost from my sight.

I thought all was over, and in deep vexation sank on the ground. But I

was up again directly, for a scream rang through the forest--a woman’s

scream. Putting forth the last of my strength, I ran on to the place

where he had turned out of my sight, and, turning also, I saw him again.

But alas! I could not touch him. He was in the act of lifting a girl

down from her horse; doubtless it was her scream that I heard. She

looked like a small farmer’s or a peasant’s daughter, and she carried

a basket on her arm. Probably she was on her way to the early market at

Zenda. Her horse was a stout, well shaped animal. Master Rupert lifted

her down amid her shrieks--the sight of him frightened her; but he

treated her gently, laughed, kissed her, and gave her money. Then he

jumped on the horse, sitting sideways like a woman; and then he waited

for me. I, on my part, waited for him.

Presently he rode towards me, keeping his distance, however. He lifted

up his hand, saying:

“What did you in the Castle?”

“I killed three of your friends,” said I.

“What! You got to the cells?”

“Yes.”

“And the King?”

“He was hurt by Detchard before I killed Detchard, but I pray that he

lives.”

“You fool!” said Rupert, pleasantly.

“One thing more I did.”

“And what’s that?”

“I spared your life. I was behind you on the bridge, with a revolver in

my hand.”

“No? Faith, I was between two fires!”

“Get off your horse,” I cried, “and fight like a man.”

“Before a lady!” said he, pointing to the girl. “Fie, your Majesty!”

Then in my rage, hardly knowing what I did, I rushed at him. For a

moment he seemed to waver. Then he reined his horse in and stood waiting

for me. On I went in my folly. I seized the bridle and I struck at him.

He parried and thrust at me. I fell back a pace and rushed at him again;

and this time I reached his face and laid his cheek open, and darted

back almost before he could strike me. He seemed almost dazed at the

fierceness of my attack; otherwise I think he must have killed me. I

sank on my knee panting, expecting him to ride at me. And so he would

have done, and then and there, I doubt not, one or both of us would have

died; but at the moment there came a shout from behind us, and, looking

round, I saw, just at the turn of the avenue, a man on a horse. He was

riding hard, and he carried a revolver in his hand. It was Fritz von

Tarlenheim, my faithful friend. Rupert saw him, and knew that the game

was up. He checked his rush at me and flung his leg over the saddle, but

yet for just a moment he waited. Leaning forward, he tossed his hair off

his forehead and smiled, and said: “_Au revoir_, Rudolf Rassendyll!”

Then, with his cheek streaming blood, but his lips laughing and his

body swaying with ease and grace, he bowed to me; and he bowed to the

farm-girl, who had drawn near in trembling fascination, and he waved his

hand to Fritz, who was just within range and let fly a shot at him. The

ball came nigh doing its work, for it struck the sword he held, and he

dropped the sword with an oath, wringing his fingers and clapped his

heels hard on his horse’s belly, and rode away at a gallop.

And I watched him go down the long avenue, riding as though he rode for

his pleasure and singing as he went, for all there was that gash in his

cheek.

Once again he turned to wave his hand, and then the gloom of thickets

swallowed him and he was lost from our sight. Thus he vanished--reckless

and wary, graceful and graceless, handsome, debonair, vile, and

unconquered. And I flung my sword passionately on the ground and cried

to Fritz to ride after him. But Fritz stopped his horse, and leapt down

and ran to me, and knelt, putting his arm about me. And indeed it was

time, for the wound that Detchard had given me was broken forth afresh,

and my blood was staining the ground.

“Then give me the horse!” I cried, staggering to my feet and throwing

his arms off me. And the strength of my rage carried me so far as where

the horse stood, and then I fell prone beside it. And Fritz knelt by me

again.

“Fritz!” I said.

“Ay, friend--dear friend!” he said, tender as a woman.

“Is the King alive?”

He took his handkerchief and wiped my lips, and bent and kissed me on

the forehead.

“Thanks to the most gallant gentleman that lives,” said he softly, “the

King is alive!”

The little farm-girl stood by us, weeping for fright and wide-eyed for

wonder; for she had seen me at Zenda; and was not I, pallid, dripping,

foul, and bloody as I was--yet was not I the King?

And when I heard that the King was alive, I strove to cry “Hurrah!” But

I could not speak, and I laid my head back in Fritz’s arms and closed

my eyes, and I groaned; and then, lest Fritz should do me wrong in his

thoughts, I opened my eyes and tried to say “Hurrah!” again. But I could

not. And being very tired, and now very cold, I huddled myself close up

to Fritz, to get the warmth of him, and shut my eyes again and went to

sleep.