CHAPTER XIX. THE COMMITTEE OF TEN
On the evening of the annual day of mourning, the party returned fromthe fortress. The Archduchess slept. The Crown Prince talked, mostly toHedwig, and even she said little. After a time the silence affectedthe boy's high spirits. He leaned back in his chair on the deck ofthe launch, and watched the flying landscape. He counted the riversideshrines to himself. There were, he discovered, just thirteen between thefortress and the city limits.
Old Father Gregory sat beside him. He had taken off his flat black hat,and it lay on his knee. The ends of his black woolen sash fluttered inthe wind, and he sat, benevolent hands folded, looking out.
From guns to shrines is rather a jump, and the Crown Prince found itdifficult.
"Do you consider fighting the duty of a Christian?" inquired the CrownPrince suddenly.
Father Gregory, whose mind had been far away, with his boys' school atEtzel, started.
"Fighting? That depends. To defend his home is the Christian duty ofevery man."
"But during the last war," persisted Otto, "we went across the mountainsand killed a lot of people. Was that a Christian duty?"
Father Gregory coughed. He had himself tucked up his soutane and walkedforty miles to join the army of invasion, where he had held services,cared for the wounded, and fired a rifle, all with equal spirit. Hechanged the subject to the big guns at the fortress.
"I think," observed the Crown Prince, forgetting his scruples, "that ifyou have a pencil and an old envelope to draw on, I'll invent a big gunmyself."
Which he proceeded to do, putting in a great many wheels and levers,and adding, a folding-table at the side on which the gunners might haveafternoon tea--this last prompted by the arrival just then of cups andsaucers and a tea service.
It was almost dark when the launch arrived at the quay. The red carpetwas still there, and another crowd. Had Prince Ferdinand William Ottobeen less taken up with finding one of his kid gloves, which he hadlost, he would have noticed that there was a scuffle going on at thevery edge of the red carpet, and that the beggar of the morning wasbeing led away, between two policemen, while a third, running up theriver bank, gingerly deposited a small round object in the water, andstood back. It was merely one of the small incidents of a royal outing,and was never published in the papers. But Father Gregory, whose oldeyes were far-sighted, had seen it all. His hand--the hand of theChurch--was on the shoulder of the Crown Prince as they landed.
The boy looked around for the little girl of the bouquet. He took animmense interest in little girls, partly because he seldom saw any. Butshe was gone.
When the motor which had taken them from the quay reached the Palace,Hedwig roused the Archduchess, whose head had dropped forward on herchest. "Here we are, mother," she said. "You have had a nice sleep."
But Annunciata muttered something about being glad the wretched day wasover, and every one save Prince Ferdinand William Otto seemed glad toget back. The boy was depressed. He felt, somehow, that they shouldhave enjoyed it, and that, having merely endured it, they had failed himagain.
He kissed his aunt's hand dutifully when he left her, and went with alagging step to his own apartments. His request to have Hedwig share hissupper had met with a curt negative.
The Countess, having left her royal mistress in the hands of her maids,went also to her own apartment. She was not surprised, on looking intoher mirror, to find herself haggard and worn. It had been a terribleday. Only a second had separated that gaping lens in her bag from theeyes of the officers about. Never, in an adventurous life, had she feltso near to death. Even now its cold breath chilled her.
However, that was over, well over. She had done well, too. A dozenpictures of the fortress, of its guns, of even its mine chart as it hungon a wall, were in the bag. Its secrets, so securely held, were hers,and would be Karl's.
It was a cunningly devised scheme. Two bags, exactly alike as toappearance, had been made. One, which she carried daily, was what itappeared to be. The other contained a camera, tiny but accurate, witha fine lens. When a knob of the fastening was pressed, the watch slidaside and the shutter snapped. The pictures when enlarged had provedthemselves perfect.
Pleading fatigue, she dismissed her maid and locked the doors. Then sheopened the sliding panel, and unfastened the safe. The roll of filmwas in her hand, ready to be deposited under the false bottom of herjewel-case.
Within the security of her room, the Countess felt at ease. The chill ofthe day left her, to be followed by a glow of achievement. She even sanga little, a bit of a ballad from her native mountains:
He has gone to the mountains, The far green mountains. (Hear the cattlelowing as they drive them up the hill!) When he comes down he'll loveme; When he comes down he'll marry me. (But what is this that touches mewith fingers dead and chill?)
Still singing, she carried the jewel-case to her table, and sat downbefore it. Then she put a hand to her throat.
The lock had been forced.
A glance about showed her that her code-book was gone. In the trayabove, her jewels remained untouched; her pearl collar, the diamondknickknacks the Archduchess had given her on successive Christmases,even a handful of gold coins, all were safe enough. But the code-bookwas gone.
Then indeed did the Countess look death in the face and found itterrible. For a moment she could not so much as stand without support.It was then that she saw a paper folded under her jewels and took it outwith shaking fingers. In fine, copperplate script she read:
MADAME,--To-night at one o'clock a closed fiacre will await you in the Street of the Wise Virgins, near the church. You will go in it, without fail, to wherever it takes you. (Signed)THE COMMITTEE OF TEN
The Committee of Ten! This thing had happened to her. Then it was truethat the half-mythical Committee of Ten existed, that this terror ofLivonia was a real terror, which had her by the throat. For there was noescape. None. Now indeed she knew that rumor spoke the truth, and thatthe Terrorists were everywhere. In daylight they had entered her room.They had known of the safe, known of the code. Known how much else?
Wild ideas of flight crossed her mind, to be as instantly abandoned fortheir futility. Where could she go that they would not follow her? Whenshe had reacted from her first shock she fell to pondering the matter,pro and con. What could they want of her? If she was an enemy to thecountry, so were they. But even that led nowhere, for after all, theTerrorists were not enemies to Livonia. They claimed indeed to be itsfriends, to hold in their hands its future and its betterment. Enemiesof the royal house they were, of course.
She was nearly distracted by that time. She was a brave woman,physically and mentally of hard fiber, but the very name signed to thepaper set her nerves to twitching. It was the Committee of Ten which hadmurdered Prince Hubert and his young wife; the Committee of Ten whichhad exploded a bomb in the very Palace itself, and killed old Breidau,of the King's Council; the Committee of Ten which had burned theGovernment House, and had led the mob in the student riots a year or sobefore.
Led them, themselves hidden. For none knew their identity. It was saidthat they did not even know each other, wearing masks and long cloaks attheir meetings, and being designated by numbers only.
In this dread presence, then, she would find herself that night! For shewould go. There was no way out.
She sent a request to be excused from dinner on the ground of illness,and was, as a result, visited by her royal mistress at nine o'clock. Thehonor was unexpected. Not often did the Archduchess Annunciata sofavor any one. The Countess, lying across her bed in a perfect agonyof apprehension, staggered into her sitting-room and knelt to kiss herlady's hand.
But the Archduchess, who had come to scoff, believing not at all in theillness, took one shrewd glance at her, and put her hands behind her.
"It may be, as you say, contagious, Olga," she said. "You would bettergo to bed and stay there. I shall send Doctor Wiederman to you."
When she had go
ne the Countess rang for her maid. She was cool enoughnow, and white, with a cruel line about her mouth that Minna knew well.She went to the door into the corridor, and locked it.
Then she turned on the maid. "I am ready for you, now."
"Madame will retire?"
"You little fool! You know what I am ready for!"
The maid stood still. Her wide, bovine eyes, filled with alarm, watchedthe Countess as she moved swiftly across the room to her wardrobe. Whenshe turned about again, she held in her hand a thin black riding-crop.Minna's ruddy color faded. She knew the Loscheks, knew their furies.Strange stories of unbridled passion had oozed from the old ruinedcastle where for so long they had held feudal sway over the countryside.
"Madame!" she cried, and fell on her knees. "What have I done? Oh, whathave I done?"
"That is what you will tell me," said the Countess, and brought down thecrop. A livid stripe across the girl's face turned slowly to red.
"I have done nothing, I swear it. Mother of Pity, help me! I have donenothing."
The crop descended again, this time on one of the great sleeves of herpeasant costume. So thin it was, so brutal the blow, that it cut intothe muslin. Groaning, the girl fell forward on her face. The Countesscontinued to strike pitiless blows into which she put all her fury, herterror, her frayed and ragged nerves.
The girl on the floor, from whimpering, fell to crying hard, with greatnoiseless sobs of pain and bewilderment. When at last the blows ceased,she lay still.
The Countess prodded her with her foot. "Get up," she commanded.
But she was startled when she saw the girl's face. It was she who wasthe fool. The welt would tell its own story, and the other servantswould talk. It was already a deep purple, and swollen. Both women weretrembling. The Countess, still holding the crop, sat down.
"Now!" she said. "You will tell me to whom you gave a certain small bookof which you know."
"I, madame?"
"You."
"But what book? I have given nothing, madame. I swear it."
"Then you admitted some one to this room?"
"No one, madame, except--" She hesitated.
"Well?"
"There came this afternoon the men who clean madame's windows. No oneelse, madame."
She put her hand to her cheek, and looked furtively to see if herfingers were stained with blood. The Countess, muttering, fell tofurious pacing of the room. So that was it, of course. The girl wastelling the truth. She was too stupid to lie. Then the Committee of Tenindeed knew everything--had known that she would be away, had known ofthe window cleaners, had known of the safe, and her possession of thecode.
Cold and calculating rage filled her. Niburg had played her false, ofcourse. But Niburg was only a go-between. He had known nothing of thecodebook. He had given the Committee the letter, and by now they knewall that it told. What did it not know?
She dismissed the girl and put away the riding-crop, then she smoothedthe disorder of her hair and dress. The court physician, calling a halfhour later, found her reading on a chaise longue in her boudoir, lookingpale and handsome; and spent what he considered a pleasant half-hourwith her. He loved gossip, and there was plenty just now. Indicationswere that they would have a wedding soon. An unwilling bride, perhaps,eh? But a lovely one. For him, he was glad that Karnia was to be anally, and not an enemy. He had seen enough of wars. And so on and on,while the Countess smiled and nodded, and shivered in her very heart.
At eleven o'clock he went away, kissing her hand rather more ferventlythan professionally, although his instinct to place his fingers over thepulse rather spoiled the effect. One thing, however, the Countess hadgained by his visit. He was to urge on the Archduchess the necessity foran immediate vacation for her favorite.
"Our loss, Countess," he said, with heavy gallantry.. "But we cannotallow beauty to languish for need of mountain air."
Then at last he was gone, and she went about her heavy-heartedpreparations for the night. From a corner of her wardrobe she drew along peasant's cape, such a cape as Minna might wear. Over her head,instead of a hat, she threw a gray veil. A careless disguise, but allthat was necessary. The sentries through and about the Palace were notunaccustomed to such shrouded figures slipping out from its gloom tolight, and perhaps to love.
Before she left, she looked about the room. What assurance had she thatthis very excursion was not a trap, and that in her absence the vaultwould not he looted again? It contained now something infinitelyvaluable--valuable and incriminating--the roll of film. She glancedabout, and seeing a silver vase of roses, hurriedly emptied the waterout, wrapped the film in oiled paper, and dropped it down among thestems.
The Street of the Wise Virgins was not near the Palace. Even by walkingbriskly she was in danger of being late. The wind kept her back, too.The cloak twisted about her, the veil whipped. She turned once or twiceto see if she were being followed, but the quiet streets were empty.Then, at last, the Street of the Wise Virgins and the fiacre, standingat the curb, with a driver wrapped in rugs against the cold of theFebruary night, and his hat pulled down over his eyes. The Countessstopped beside him.
"You are expecting a passenger?"
"Yes, madame."
With her hand on the door, the Countess realized that the fiacre wasalready occupied. As she peered into its darkened interior, the shadowresolved itself into a cloaked and masked figure. She shrank back.
"Enter, madame," said a voice.
The figure appalled her. It was not sufficient to know that behind thehorrifying mask which covered the entire face and head, there was ahuman figure, human pulses that beat, human eyes that appraised her. Shehesitated.
"Quickly," said the voice.
She got in, shrinking into a corner of the carriage.
Her lips were dry, the roaring of terror was in her ears. The doorclosed.
Then commenced a drive of which afterward the Countess dared not think.The figure neither moved nor spoke. Inside the carriage reigned the mostcomplete silence. The horse's feet clattered over rough stones, theyturned through narrow, unfamiliar streets, so that she knew not even thedirection they took. After a time the noise grew less. The horse paddedalong dirt roads, in darkness. Then the carriage stopped, and at lastthe shrouded figure moved and spoke.
"I regret, Countess, that my orders are to blindfold you."
She drew herself up haughtily.
"That is not necessary, I think."
"Very necessary, madame."
She submitted ungracefully, while he bound a black cloth over her eyes.He drew it very close and knotted it behind. In the act his--fingerstouched her face, and she felt them cold and clammy. The contactsickened her.
"Your hand, madame."
She was led out of the carriage, and across soft earth, a devious courseagain, as though they avoided small obstacles. Once her foot touchedsomething low and hard, like marble. Again, in the darkness, theystumbled over a mound. She knew where she was, then--in a graveyard. Butwhich? There were many about the city.
An open space, the opening of a gate or door that squealed softly, aflight of steps that led downward, and a breath of musty, cold air, dampand cellar-like.
She was calmer now. Had they meant to kill her, there had been already ahundred chances. It was not death, then, that awaited her--at least, notimmediate death. These precautions, too, could only mean that she was tobe freed again, and must not know where she had been.
At last, still in unbroken silence, she knew that they had entered alarge space. Their footsteps no longer echoed and re-echoed. Her guidewalked more slowly, and at last paused, releasing her hand. She feltagain the touch of his clammy fingers as he untied the knots of herbandage. He took it off.
At first she could see little. The silence remained unbroken, and onlythe center of the room was lighted. When her eyes grew accustomed, shemade out the scene slowly.
A great stone vault, its walls broken into crypts which had containedcaskets of the dead. But the caskets had been
removed; and were piled ina corner, and in the niches were rifles. In the center was a pine table,curiously incongruous, and on it writing materials, a cheap clock, and apile of documents. There were two candles only, and these were stuck inskulls--old brown skulls so infinitely removed from all semblance to thehuman that they were not even horrible. It was as if they had been used,not to inspire terror, but because they were at hand and convenient forthe purpose. In the shadow, ranged in a semicircle, were nine figures,all motionless, all masked, and cloaked in black. They sat, anotherincongruity, on plain wooden chairs. But in spite of that they werefigures of dread. The one who had brought her made the tenth.
Still the silence, broken only by the drip of water from the ceilinginto a tin pail.
Had she not known the past record of the men before her, the ratheropera bouffe setting with which they chose to surround themselves mighthave aroused her scorn. But Olga Loschek knew too much. She guessedshrewdly that, with the class of men with whom they dealt, it was notenough that their name spelled terror. They must visualize it. They hadtaken their cue from that very church, indeed, beneath which they hid.The church, with its shrines and images, appealed to the eye. They, too,appealed to the eye. Their masks, the carefully constructed and upheldmystery of their identity, the trappings of death about them--it wasskillfully done.
Not that she was thinking consecutively just then. It was a mentalflash, even as her eyes, growing accustomed to the darkness made out thewhite numeral, from one to ten, on the front of each shroud-like cloak.
Still no one spoke. The Countess faced them.
Only her eyes showed her nervousness; she stood haughtily, her head heldhigh. But like most women, she could not endure silence for long, atleast the silence of shrouded figures and intent eyes.
"Now that I am here," she demanded, "may I ask why I have beensummoned?"
It was Number Seven who replied. It was Number Seven who, during thehour that followed, spoke for the others. None moved, or but slightly.There was no putting together of heads, no consulting. Evidently all hadbeen carefully prearranged.
"Look on the table, Countess. You will find there some papers you willperhaps recognize."
She took a step toward the table and glanced down. The code-book laythere. Also the letter she had sent by Peter Niburg. She made no effortto disclaim them.
"I recognize them," she said clearly.
"You acknowledge, then, that they are yours?"
"I acknowledge nothing."
"They bear certain indications, madame."
"Possibly."
"Do you realize what will happen, madame, if these papers are turnedover to the authorities?"
She shrugged her shoulders. And now Number Seven rose, a tall figure ofmystery, and spoke at length in a cultivated, softly intoned voice.The Countess, listening, felt the voice vaguely familiar, as were theburning eyes behind the mask.
"It is our hope, madame," he said, "that you will make it unnecessaryfor the Committee of Ten to use those papers. We have no quarrel withwomen. We wish rather a friend than an enemy. There be those, many ofthem, who call us poor patriots, who would tear down without buildingup. They are wrong. The Committee of Ten, to those who know its motives,has the highest and most loyal of ideals--to the country."
His voice took on a new, almost a fanatic note. He spoke as well tothe other shrouded figures as to his comrades. No mean orator this.He seldom raised his voice, he made no gestures. Almost, while shelistened, the Countess understood.
They had watched the gradual decay of the country, he said. Its burdenof taxation grew greater each year. The masses sweated and toiled, tocarry on their backs the dead weight of the aristocracy and the throne.The iron hand of the Chancellor held everything; an old King who woulddie, was dying now, and after that a boy, nominal ruler only, while theChancellor continued his hard rule. And now, as if that were not enough,there was talk of an alliance with Karnia, an alliance which, carriedthrough, would destroy the hope of a republic.
The Countess stared.
"No wall is too thick for our ears," he continued. "Our eyes seeeverywhere. And as we grow in strength, they fear us. Well they may."
He grew scornful then. To gain support for the tottering throne theChancellor would unite the two countries, that Karl's army, sincehe could not trust his own, might be called on for help. And here hetouched the Countess's raw nerves with a brutal finger.
"The price of the alliance, madame, is the Princess Hedwig in marriage.The Committee, which knows all things, believes that you have reason todislike this marriage."
Save that she clutched her cloak more closely, the Countess made nomove. But there was a soft stir among the figures. Perhaps, after all,the Committee as a whole did not know all things.
"To prevent this alliance, madame, is our first aim. There are others tofollow. But"--he bent forward--"the King will not live many days. It isour hope that that marriage will not occur before his death."
By this time Olga Loschek knew very well where she stood. The Committeewas propitiatory. She was not in danger, save as it might develop. Theywere, in a measure, putting their case.
She had followed the speaker closely. When he paused, she was ready forhim. "But, even without a marriage, at any time now a treaty based onthe marriage may be signed. A treaty for a mutually defensive alliance.Austria encroaches daily, and has Germany behind her. We are small fry,here and in Karnia, and we stand in the way."
"King Karl has broken faith before. He will not support Livonia until hehas received his price. He is determined on the marriage."
"A marriage of expediency," said the Countess, impatiently.
The speaker for the Committee shrugged his shoulders. "Perhaps," hereplied. "Although there are those of us who think that in this matterof expediency, Karl gives more than he receives. He is to-day betterprepared than we are for war. He is more prosperous. As to the treaty,it is probably already signed, or about to be. And here, madame, is thereason for our invitation to you to come here.
"I have no access to state papers," the Countess said impatiently.
"You are too modest," said Number Seven suavely, and glanced at theletter on the table.
"The matter lies thus, madame. The Chancellor is now in Karnia.Doubtless he will return with the agreement signed. We shall learn thatin a day or so. We do not approve of this alliance for various reasons,and we intend to take steps to prevent it. The paper itself is nothing.But plainly, Countess, the need a friend in the Palace, one who is inthe confidence of the royal family."
"And for such friendship, I am to secure safety?"
"Yes, madame. But that is not all. Let me tell you briefly how thingsstand with us. We have, supporting us, certain bodies, workingmen'sguilds, a part of the student body, not so much of the army as wewould wish. Dissatisfied folk, madame, who would exchange the emblem oftyranny for freedom. On the announcement of the King's death, in everypart of the kingdom will go up the cry of liberty. But the movementmust start here. The city must rise against the throne. And against thatthere are two obstacles." He paused. The clock ticked, and water drippedinto the tin pail with metallic splashes. "The first is this marriage.The second--is the Crown Prince Ferdinand William Otto."
The Countess recoiled. "No!"
"A moment, madame. You think badly of us." Under his mask the Countessdivined a cold smile. "It is not necessary to contemplate violence.There are other methods. The boy could be taken over the border, andhidden until the Republic is firmly established. After that, he isunimportant."
The Countess, still pale, looked at him scornfully. "You do myintelligence small honor."
"Where peaceful methods will avail, our methods are peaceful, madame."
"It was, then, in peace that you murdered Prince Hubert?"
"The errors of the past are past." Then, with a new sternness: "Makeno mistake. Whether through your agency or another, Countess, when theCathedral bell rouses the city to the King's death, and the people waitin the Place for th
eir new King to come out on the balcony, he will notcome."
The Countess was not entirely bad. Standing swaying and white-facedbefore the tribunal, she saw suddenly the golden head of the littleCrown Prince, saw him smiling as he had smiled that day in the sunlight,saw him troubled and forlorn as he had been when, that very evening, hehad left them to go to his lonely rooms. Perhaps she reached the biggestmoment of her life then, when she folded her arms and stared proudly atthe shrouded figures before her.
"I will not do it," she said.
Then indeed the tribunal stirred, and sat forward. Perhaps never beforehad it been defied.
"I will not," repeated the Countess.
But Number Seven remained impassive. "A new idea, Countess!" he saidsuavely. "I can understand that your heart recoils. But this thing isinevitable, as I have said. Whether you or another but perhaps with timeto think you may come to another conclusion. We make no threats. Ourposition is, however, one of responsibility. We are compelled to placethe future of the Republic before every other consideration."
"That is a threat."
"We remember both our friends and our enemies, madame. And we have onlyfriends and enemies. There is no middle course. If you would like timeto think it over--"
"How much time?" She clutched at the words.
With time all things were possible. The King might die soon, that night,the next day. Better than any one, save his daughter Annunciata and thephysicians, she knew his condition. The Revolutionists might boast, butthey were not all the people. Once let the boy be crowned, and it wouldtake more than these posing plotters in their theatrical setting tooverthrow him.
"How much time may I have?"
"Women vary," said Number Seven mockingly. "Some determine quickly.Others--"
"May I have a month?"
"During which the King may die! Alas, madame, it is now you who do ustoo little honor!"
"A week?" begged the Countess desperately.
The leader glanced along the line. One head after another nodded slowly.
"A week it is, madame. Comrade Five!"
The one who had brought her came forward with the bandage.
"At the end of one week, madame, a fiacre will, as to-night, be waitingin the Street of the Wise Virgins."
"And these papers?"
"On the day the Republic of Livonia is established, madame, they will bereturned to you."
He bowed, and returned to his chair. Save for the movements of the manwho placed the bandage over her eyes; there was absolute silence in theroom.