Part 10

The princess still stood in the window; I do not believe she saw anything of the scenes below, however, or heard the noises; her face was as still as chiselled marble, and it seemed to me she scarcely breathed.

I turned to the indefatigable dwarf.

“Can you reach the Golden Hall and carry a message to Prince Voronin?” I asked him, growing to depend upon the strange little creature more and more.

He nodded, looking from me to the princess and back again, his head on one side, his brows wrinkled.

“Then you must go to him and ask him where he can meet us. But first pilot us down to the postern by which we entered yesterday, for I hope we can get out by that way,” I added doubtfully, consulting him as much as my own wits.

His face sobered in an instant, and he cast a grave look at the princess, and I think she felt his eyes upon her, for she turned and regarded us earnestly.

“Will you take me to my father?” she asked with simple dignity, as if that question tested me.

I felt it so and bowed gravely. “If it can be done at all, I will do it, madame,” I said.

And she, noting that “mademoiselle” had become “madame,” flushed crimson.

Meanwhile the tumult in the court below had somewhat subsided; not because the worst was past, but because there was a satiety of blood for the moment, and the rioters were at that very time searching the lower rooms of the palace and the adjacent churches for two victims whom they were determined to immolate, the czarina’s brother, Ivan Naryshkin, and the Jewish physician of the late czar, Dr. Daniel von Gaden. But I had only one object, to get the princess safely out of the palace before Kurakin was discovered and all was lost. Our fate hung by a hair on this event, and I had no light task before me to get her out of the palace, at such a time, and unaided, too, save by a dwarf. Yet I could not risk an hour’s delay; discovery was dogging my heels, and I could divine the fury of Sophia when she found herself duped. I touched Maluta’s arm impatiently.

“Come,” I said, “this is no time to stand gaping; show us the way to that back staircase that you and I ascended yesterday.”

But he showed every sign of reluctance, looking askance at the princess, as if he thought that her presence carried evil fortune in its train.

“Wilt go, blockhead?” I whispered to him angrily, shaking him by the shoulder.

“Yea, O my master!” he said, with something like a whimper, “but the woman--I know not what to do with her!”

“But I do!” I exclaimed grimly, “and hold your tongue about her if you would be a follower of mine.”

He gave me one of his sidelong looks and shrugged his shoulders.

“Come then,” he said, “and blame me not, if ill comes of it.”

I walked gravely up to the princess and held out my hand.

“Will you trust me?” I asked, looking her full in the face, “and go with me?”

She returned my look proudly, and she did not touch my hand.

“Take me to my father,” she repeated mechanically, her face colourless again.

“Come, then,” I said coldly, feeling the hot blood burn in mine, for I was provoked at her refusal to even touch my hand, and yet I knew, all the while, that it was a petty anger to feel, at such a time, and against a woman tried beyond all reason.

And in this order we proceeded out of the painted gallery into the chapel again and to the door on the other side: Maluta first, then the princess, and last the new-made husband--a rôle in which I confess I did not know myself. The chapel was deserted, and only one taper burned before the iconostase, and in the dim light I stumbled once and suppressed an exclamation, but the dwarf and Daria walked on, surely and swiftly, passing out into a gallery lighted from above, and coming at once to a long flight of stone steps that led down and down, seemingly to the cellar, for a light shone across them half-way down, where they opened on a landing, and the lower part again dropped into darkness. On either side were sheer walls, groined and arched above us, save at the landing where, as I have said, there was an opening. We paused at the top and listened; there was no sound below us on the stair, though there were confused noises echoing from other portions of the building, and an awful consciousness prevailed that the death work went on merrily below and around us.

Satisfied that no one was on the stair, Maluta started down ahead of us, lightly and softly, as he alone could tread, swinging forward to listen, his long monkey-like arms dangling at his sides, his wing-like ears standing out more than ever. The princess was about to follow him, but a sudden thought made me stop her.

“Permit me, madame,” I said, and walked ahead of her, pistol in hand; “it is better that I precede you here.”

She assented quietly, drawing aside more sharply, I thought, than need be, to let me pass. However, there was no time for quibbles, and I descended cautiously, content to feel that she was with me. We had gone down, perhaps ten or fifteen steps, and were, therefore, about as far from the landing, when there was a sudden burst of sound from the left, as if a door had opened somewhere and let out pandemonium, and Maluta stopped, stooping down to listen. But even he was taken by surprise when a man leaped from the gallery below on to the landing and came up toward us, running madly, so blind, indeed, that he nearly stumbled over the dwarf and cried out in terror when he saw us. His rich dress was covered with dust and blood, and his eyes were starting out of his head. He gave us a wild look and was about to turn and dive down the stairs, when I called out to him in Russ.

“Have no fear, we will not harm you--where is the danger?”

“The Streltsi!” he cried; “they’re after me,” and seeing that we made no effort to bar his way, he leaped up two steps at a time, brushing past us, and rushed into the chapel.

And before we could either advance or retreat, we heard his pursuers coming toward the landing.

“Back!” I cried, and the princess, foreseeing the danger as quickly as I, turned with me, and we all ran back up the stairs, in hopes of reaching the chapel before the rioters gained the landing.

The princess was ahead of me and laid her hand on the door just as I reached it.

“It is locked!” she cried, and there was a tremor in her voice.

I shook it, and threw myself against it with my whole force, but it would not yield--the fugitive had barred it and cut off our only means of escape, for below us half a dozen mutineers began to ascend with fierce cries of baffled rage. I thrust the princess behind me into the shadow of the doorway, and Maluta darted after her, crowding against her feet, while I stood alone at the top of the stair, facing the savages as they came on. I was no boy; I had seen five pitched battles in my life, and I was under fire with the household troops at Seneffe, but I confess that none of these things moved me so much as those half dozen men leaping up that dim old stair, with just light enough to flash on their naked blades and show the whites of their wild eyes. A surly, mad, long-haired, long-bearded lot, with blood upon them and the reek of slaughter.

It takes long to tell it, but it was not long before they were upon me--crying for blood and vengeance.

_XIX: AT NIGHTFALL_

AT first I think the rioters took me for the boyar they were pursuing, for they leaped upward, yelling triumphantly, but the foremost, looking into the muzzle of my pistol when he expected an unarmed man, fell back a little on the others, and gave me time to speak.

“In the name of Sophia Alexeievna,” I said, remembering the magical effect of the password, “what seek ye here at the door of the chapel?”

“One of the Naryshkin rogues,” they cried; “and what are you?”

“A follower of the Czarevitch Ivan,” I said, and held up the signet.

They stood huddled together, uncertain for the moment, but already hungry for my blood. In that hour it mattered little whether I was a Naryshkin or a Miloslavsky; moreover, I saw that one of the knaves had caught sight of a woman’s figure behind me. I held my finger on the trigger of my pistol; it would cost them dear, but I had no hope of conquering six.

“He lies!” muttered one in the rear, a great brute whose brawny arms, bare to the shoulders, were smeared with blood; “he is a Naryshkin, or one of their accursed foreigners; he cannot talk without a twist of the tongue.”

“There’s a woman behind him,” cried another, and at that they began to laugh in a manner that might well have chilled the blood of the strongest.

There were just three steps between us, and I held my pistol over them.

“I have the signet of Sophia Alexeievna,” I said fiercely, “and I hold this stair. He who comes up a step further comes at his peril.”

“_Kukureku!_ The cock crows loudly,” cried the ringleader, mocking fiercely, “let us cut his comb!”

“And steal his mate!” cried another, provoking a loud laugh by this delicate witticism.

Yet something in my aspect and the weapon held them three steps down; but it could not be for long. I was at my wit’s end, and I heard those below begin to growl at the delay. I thought of the princess with a sickening horror; it would be over my dead body, but it would surely come.

Then, suddenly, a small creature darted out from under my arm and began to shriek:

“Look--look below--on the landing! There is Ivan Naryshkin--Ivan, the traitor--Ivan, the brother of the czarina!”

They turned with a howl, they forgot me, they began to plunge downward, and Maluta, springing through them like a flash, ran ahead, screaming:

“This way--this way! I saw him, and with him the Jew poisoner, Von Gaden; they fled this way--this way, I say!”

They followed like a pack of wolves, down and away into the gallery to the left, and the princess and I stood alone upon the stair. Her senses came to her more swiftly than did mine.

“Quick!” she cried, touching my arm, forgetful of her aversion, “quick--let us go down before they return!”

I needed no second warning; I caught her hand in mine and we fled down, down--past the landing, where we heard their cries, far off now--down into the darkness below, until we came to the door at the foot of the stairs. I tried it, but it would not yield, it was fastened on the outside; a trick, no doubt, of the mutineers. It was so dark there that we could only see each other dimly, but I felt her horror and dismay and shook the door with all my strength, but it would not open, and then we heard a shout above us, either the same rioters returned or others came. I threw myself against the door, and in doing so stumbled to one side and felt something yield. There was a clamour on the landing now, and they might come either way. I turned and felt the wall beside me, found a latch, lifted it, and a door--narrow and low, but a door--opened inward. The place was dim, but I could see a stair, and I seized the princess and lifted her across the threshold just in time to escape the flare of a torch above us. I set her gently down on the steps, and, swinging the door to, found a bar beside it, dropped it in the socket, and secured it firmly. For a moment, at least, we had a bar between us and the rioters. Then I turned and, half carrying Daria, I descended five or six steps and found my feet on the ground, and here I was forced to pause and look about me.

We were in a cellar, and a large one, the floor was of earth, reeking with dampness, and above the dark vaulted ceiling hung with great brown cobwebs. It was lighted by narrow openings, wide as a man’s hand, high up, on a level with the pavement of the court-yard and distributed at intervals for the sake, not only of light, but of ventilation. But, even with these, it was exceeding dim and mouldy, and smelled too, of liquor, for it was lined at one side with great wine-butts. The cellar, which was longer than it was wide, extended under, at least, an eighth of the palace, and on the farther side there must be an opening into the court, which would afford us an avenue of escape. I listened attentively, and hearing no one at the door by which we entered, I concluded that our pursuers must have lost track of us, and gone upward instead of down. Satisfied that I had nothing to fear, for the moment, from that quarter, I began to search hastily for a door to let us out of the palace, and midway, on the farther side, I found it--a strong low door, secured within by a cross bar and furnished with a grille; opening this cautiously, I peeped out. The door, being level with the floor of the cellar, was beneath the ground, and outside a rough flight of five or six stone steps led up into the court-yard. So far escape seemed easy, but the upper step being still a foot below the grille, allowed me to look over it into the space beyond, and the first thing that caught my eye--on the very step itself--was a blood-red hand, severed from some man’s arm and clenched still, with a long lock of hair in its rigid fingers, showing that it had not given up, even in death. A little further off lay a body, the rich dress disordered, the feet--stiff and straight--turned toward me. And close at hand a gang of Streltsi seemed to be on guard; perhaps, five or six in all, too many certainly for one man, and that man hampered by a woman. While this conviction forced itself upon my unwilling mind, and I saw that we were no nearer an escape from the trap than before, I became aware that the princess had followed me across the cellar and stood close behind me. The comparative quiet without had deceived her and she was in no mood for delay.

“Come, sir,” she said excitedly, “take me to my father!”

I turned and shook my head.

“Not yet,” I replied.

“Not yet?” she repeated wildly. “If we delay, they will kill him--he is in the Golden Hall, so said the czarevna--and they will kill him! I must go to him. Where is your honour, sir?” She added sharply, “You promised!”

The light shining in at the grille showed me her disdain.

“Yes, I promised,” I said coldly, taking in every detail of her face and figure, beautiful and commanding and scornful even here; “I promised, but now it is impossible.”

“I do not believe it,” she cried passionately; “let me go!”

I had not meant to let her see that sight, but her unreasonable anger and distrust led me to it. I let her pass me and look through the grate. As she did so there was another burst of madness without, shouts and cries. She turned from the grille with a shudder and walked away, perhaps five or six yards, in absolute dejection. I said nothing, but at least it was good to be justified. However, I knew that worse might come, at any moment, and that it behoved me to be prepared. I could think of no expedient save to wait until nightfall. I had no way of measuring time, but had remarked the length of the shadows without, and thought the afternoon must be well advanced. When darkness came, we might escape; in daylight it was absolutely impossible. If, in the meantime, the cellar was searched, as it might be, was there a place to hide? I walked around it deliberately, and found no alcoves; there were the wine-butts, and that was all. Examining these, I found that a quarter of the number were empty, especially those in the farther corner, and had been empty long, for, feeling as far as I could reach, I found them dry and warped even in that unwholesome place. After this excursion, I returned to where the princess stood, and seeing an old bench near the door, dragged it forward.

“We must wait until nightfall, madame,” I said quietly, “and I commend even this bench for you to rest upon. You will need all your strength, and it is well to reserve it.”

At first she did not heed me, and then she thought better of it, and sat down on the bench, leaning her head on her hands and looking steadily away from me. I had carefully closed the grille, and the little light from the narrow and infrequent openings at the top of the wall served only to show her in outline. I found a small cask not far off, and sitting down, too, fell into a reverie. My first thoughts were of Maluta. His quick-witted stratagem had saved us, and I wondered if he had saved himself, and if he would find either the Prince Voronin or me again. That Voronin would escape seemed to me impossible; someone must, ere this, have found Kurakin, and Kurakin and Sophia would scarcely save the prince. From this my thoughts went back to their loadstar, she who sat before me in an attitude of deep dejection. I confess that the swift happenings of the day filled me with amazement, and as I looked at her, at her slim young figure and bowed head, I felt the keenest pity for her. I had married her; the thought that she was lawfully mine, even now, sent the blood tingling through my veins, but I had done it on the impulse of the moment, partly to save her from worse, but chiefly, I had to admit it to myself, because I loved her, and had loved her from the hour that I saw her in Maître le Bastien’s workshop; but what of her? I looked long and anxiously at that outlined figure and tried to divine her thoughts. What could they be? She was married to a stranger--I was little more, and, as she must think, an inferior. She was a fugitive, too, and she was separated from Galitsyn. Ah, Saint Denis, therein lay the devil’s pang! Did she love Galitsyn? She had as good as confessed his love for her, and did not the locket presuppose hers for him? And I--like a fool--had wedded her, against her will! I sat and tormented myself with these reflections, and similar ones, watching her all the while, and feeling the charm--a subtle, but a sure one--of her presence. She had feared Kurakin and hated him, she had preferred death--but did she prefer me? Nothing in her manner went to tell me so, I thought bitterly, and yet--rather than die--she had gone through the ceremony of marriage with me, and afterwards disdained to touch my hand! Was she thinking of Galitsyn now?

We sat thus, in silence, until the little light there was flickered out and we were left in darkness, and I watched the openings to see the night thicken without also, but--to our discouragement--the sounds in the court-yard increased, rather than decreased, and from an occasional flash, I knew that torches were burning there. All this while she had neither spoken nor moved, but now that I could not see her face at all she addressed me abruptly:

“Did you kill him?” she asked, in a strange voice.

Her question startled me, and then I realised that she was thinking of Kurakin, and my sudden appearance in the chapel, which must have seemed inexplicable to her.

“No,” I replied deliberately, minded to whet her curiosity and see what she would say; “I did not kill him, though I borrowed these petticoats of his--which do torment me.”

Silence and darkness, but I felt that she was not satisfied.

“You borrowed his clothes?” she said, in a tone of perplexity. “Was he then a party, too, to your appearance there?”

“An unwilling one, madame,” I replied, and laughed in spite of myself.

Silence and thick darkness; then her voice:

“I do not understand.”

“I was in the gallery with you and the czarevna,” I said quietly. “I heard you say you would rather die than wed Kurakin.”

“You were there?” in a tone of amazement.

“Yes, madame.”

A long pause; then her voice; through the gloom, with its disdainful note:

“And you thought I preferred you--a stranger--to death?”

“To Kurakin--possibly, my Princess.”

“Then,” I heard her draw her breath before she went on, “then--you--you married me--to save me from that miserable wretch?”

“Nay,” I replied slowly, “I married you because I loved you.”

She made a little exclamation, and we were both silent for a long while.

“It is a pity,” she said bitterly, “to be born a woman.”

Something in her tone touched me deeply.

“You wrong me,” I said, in a low tone; “if you will but trust me, all may yet be well. Will you trust me, Princess Daria?”

I heard her breath come hard again, and there was a pause, brief but big with doubt.

“I do trust you, monsieur,” she replied, but I knew it cost her an effort. “I have already trusted you!”

An answer from my heart sprang to my lips, a rush of passionate desire to win her confidence, but I had no time to voice it. Quite suddenly there was an outburst of voices outside the cellar door, steps on the stone stair, and men battering on the door with such force that it shook. There was no time to reach the other entrance, and it offered no safe retreat, neither had I time to think; I sprang up and caught the princess in my arms and made my way back, among the wine-butts. She was a woman of such spirit that she made no outcry or struggle, and we were both silent. We heard them place a ram against the door and the shout went up to force it.

I reached the empty butts, in the corner, and lifted her into one, whispering to her to crouch low, and then I climbed into another, beside it, just as the door fell inward with a crash, and the red flare of a torch showed me five or six men on the threshold, armed with swords and spears.

_XX: THE ESCAPE_