CHAPTER XVIII
THE GREAT WHITE CZAR
The sudden utterance of Count Orloff, combined with the simultaneousappearance of the Duke of Bora, caused an electric thrill to pervadethe cathedral.
The holy Gospels, appealed to by a method approved by both factionsalike, seemed to have given a mandate in favor of the duke, to theconfusion of the adherents of the princess. The occupants of thenorthern aisle, as well as of the northern transept, gave instantproof of the side on which their sympathies lay. They rose to theirfeet as one man, and ignoring the sacred character of the place, gavevent to tumultuous cries.
"The holy oracles are on our side!"
"They bid us elect a man, and not a woman!"
"A John, and not a Natalie!"
"One sent from God, and not from Rome!"
"Bora, Bora! Give us Bora! The duke is our ruler!"
Their voices immediately became lost in the overwhelming shouts of thePoles, who likewise rose to their feet, and replied by counter-cries.
"The princess! the princess! We will have none but Natalie Lilieska!"There was not a shadow of doubt in Zabern's mind that the assemblingof the Muscovites in the northern transept, the apt lection of Mosco,the utterance of Orloff, and the sudden appearing of the duke were allparts of a preconcerted arrangement.
"Holy hireling of the duke!" he said, grinding his teeth andaddressing Mosco, "you have done your work. Stand from the choir, orby heaven!" he continued, half unsheathing his sabre, "I'll add amartyr to the Russian calendar."
"Thou hast the wisdom of the serpent, marshal, though scarcely theinnocence of the dove," sneered the archpastor, who had many an oldscore to settle with Zabern. "We will see if thy wit can get thebetter of this situation. No Catholic ruler in Czernova!"
And directing a glance of scarcely disguised hatred towards theprincess, he withdrew from the choir and took his station among theMuscovites.
Amid wild excitement the Duke of Bora, his face somewhat pale,continued to advance till he reached the open space fronting thechoir, where he stood visible to all in the cathedral.
His outward appearance was sufficiently indicative of the power uponwhich he relied for support, for he was clad in the grand uniform of amarshal of the Seminovski Guards, and carried on his breast the crossof Saint Andrew, the blue riband of Russia.
At his approach the princess rose from her seat. The two factionsperceiving her action, and curious to learn what she would say, ceasedtheir raging.
"Marshal Zabern," cried Barbara in a voice that sounded like musicafter the raucous clamor of the previous few moments: "I call upon youto re-arrest that escaped prisoner, and to conduct him to theCitadel."
"You threaten me with imprisonment?" exclaimed Bora with a stern air."It is mine to threaten, and yours to fear. People of Czernova," hecontinued, turning from the choir to address the assembly, "hear arevelation, strange yet true. She who sits there has no right to thecrown, inasmuch as she is not Natalie Lilieska, but an impostorbearing a marvellous resemblance to that princess. The true Nataliedied in Dalmatia more than two years ago."
The duke's words destroyed Zabern's lingering hope that Ravenna'sletter might have miscarried, for how had Bora become possessed of hispresent knowledge, except through the medium of the cardinal's dove?
"Marshal Zabern," continued the duke, pointing to Barbara, "I callupon you to arrest an impostor who usurps my throne."
"And you may call," replied Zabern.
The duke's statement drew derisive laughter from the Poles; it was tooabsurd for belief, a malicious invention of a disappointed suitor. Atthis point Polonaski the Justiciary, who occupied a seat directlyfronting the choir, arose and addressed the princess.
"Lady," he began, and showing by that word that he, too, like Mosco,had taken the side of her enemies, "lady, you have heard the duke'saccusation. Let this assembly learn from you whether the charge betrue."
It was hard for a youthful and spirited princess to be catechised by aminister who had suddenly turned against her.
"Your Highness, do not answer the traitorous gray-beard," said Zabern.
For a moment only did Barbara hesitate.
"It is true that I am not Natalie Lilieska."
An earthquake rocking the cathedral-pavement could not have dismayedthe Poles more than had this startling acknowledgment. True it mustbe, since she herself admitted the impeachment,--an impeachment fatalto her own interests. And if she must cease to be princess, what wouldbecome of them under the rule of Bora?
The Muscovites, themselves bewildered with the unforeseen turn takenby events, sat as silent as the Poles.
"Consider well what you say," observed Polonaski with a slight smileof triumph. "You dethrone yourself by that statement."
"Not so," replied Barbara. "So long as I should have lived, thePrincess Natalie could not have reigned; inasmuch as I am her eldersister Barbara, and therefore lawfully entitled to the throne."
The Poles raised a shout of applause; though somewhat dubious as tothe truth of Barbara's statement, they were prepared to welcome it, aswell as any other device which might deliver them from the power ofthe duke.
"Barbara Lilieska," returned the Justiciary, "is a person of whoseexistence Czernova has hitherto been ignorant. Princess Stephanie,wife of the late Thaddeus, had but one daughter, Natalie."
"I am the daughter of an earlier marriage."
"You bring strange tidings to our ears. It was never known in Czernovathat Prince Thaddeus was twice wedded. Have you proof of this formermarriage?"
"Yes," replied Barbara, inspired by a sudden thought, "I will citeyourself, Polonaski, as a witness, for at the time of my father'sdemise you were present with other ministers in the death-chamber. Youcan testify that Prince Thaddeus handed the diadem to me with thewords: 'To you, my daughter lawfully born, do I bequeath this crown,to be held for the weal of Czernova.' Do you mark the words 'lawfullyborn'? Ill would my sire merit his title of 'The Good' if he died inthe utterance of a lie. And what I have received, that will I keep."
The thunders of Polish applause in no way disconcerted the calm andforensic Polonaski.
"The word of the dying prince is not legal proof," he answered. "And,moreover, lady, you yourself, in concealing your own identity and intaking the name of another, have given clear evidence of disbelief inthe claim that you now put forward."
"People of Czernova," said the duke, raising his voice, and againaddressing the assembly, "I affirm that she who calls herself BarbaraLilieska was not born in lawful wedlock, but is a natural daughter ofthe late Prince Thaddeus, and as such is debarred from thesuccession. In the days of old," he continued, "when Czernova was apalatinate, the palatine at his investiture, was always prepared,either in person or by deputy, to defend his rights with the sword,nor was the rite discontinued when the palatines became princes andthe investiture a coronation. I invoke the ancient law of the land andclaim the ordeal of battle. I demand that the princess, so-called,shall meet me by deputy in single combat. There is my gage," he added,flinging his leathern gauntlet upon the flagstone of the choir. "Letthe sword decide between us."
A triumphant laugh arose from the Muscovites. Where was the championwho would face the duke's deadly blade? Not even Zabern durst pick upthat glove. Willingly would he have sacrificed his life in the causeof the princess, but death in this case would mean her deposition.
"The stars in their courses fight against Czernova," muttered Zabern,clenching his one and only hand. "Long ago, foreseeing this challengewould be given, I provided, as I thought, for the event. And now wemust decline the combat, for our swordsman," he added in despair, "ourswordsman is absent."
"It is now eleven," remarked Polonaski. The cathedral clock waschiming as he spoke. "The princess must appoint her champion within anhour from the giving of the challenge, the duel itself to take placeupon the same day as the challenge. So runs the statute."
The mild and pacific Radzivil had beheld with indignation the castingdown of the duk
e's glove.
"What a return to barbarism is this," he cried, addressing theJusticiary, "to make the crown of Czernova dependent upon the resultof a duel! The statute which you cite is five hundred years old. It isobsolete, quite obsolete."
"By your favor," replied Polonaski, cool and judicial as ever, "permitme, as the highest legal authority in Czernova, to affirm that as thatlaw is still on the statute-book it is therefore valid and of goodeffect."
"Your contention is null and void," said Zabern, "inasmuch as the Diethas passed a law against duelling."
"Against ordinary duelling--true; but the recent statute contains noclause against the coronation-combat, which, therefore, stands as partof the law of the land."
"The ex-Justiciary," said Barbara, deposing him from his office by aword, even as he had deposed her by a word, "the ex-Justiciary, as theinterpreter of the law, should know that a traitor has no legalstanding. The duke has shown himself a traitor to the state, and istherefore not in a position to impugn his sovereign."
"No court of justice has yet proved him to be a traitor," replied theinflexible Polonaski. "We cannot accept the word of even the lawfulsovereign as the voice of the law, still less the word of an usurper."
"An usurper and a harlot's daughter," cried the voice of Orloff fromamid the Muscovite ranks.
At this a deep murmur of indignation ran through the Polish part ofthe assembly.
"Men of Czernova," cried a woman's voice, "do you sit thus inactive,letting your princess be opposed and insulted by the Czar's hirelings?Where is the ancient spirit of the Poles fled? Would our forefathershave won this banner if they had shown the timidity that you nowshow?"
All eyes turned towards the speaker, who was none other than KatinaLudovska. Standing high upon a seat in the centre of the nave, she wasplainly visible to all in the cathedral. While speaking she shook outthe silken folds of the standard she had carried in the procession,and with her drawn sword pointed to the stamp of the bloody hand.
Her action was well understood by the Poles. What their fathers haddone they could do. Her gesture was a tacit incentive to rise, to givebattle to the Muscovites, and to sweep them from the cathedral. Insilver helm and corselet Katina stood aloft, looking like some fairAmazon of ancient days. With eyes starry with patriotic fire, shewaved the standard, and began to sing in a firm, sweet voice thatpenetrated to the most distant part of the cathedral,--
"Boja ro-dzica dziewica Bojiem wslavisna Marya--"
A wave of emotion thrilled the assembly as these words fell upon theirears.
"The old Polish battle-hymn!" muttered Zabern. "By God, there'll beslaughter now."
It was indeed the famous hymn of Saint Adalbert, the anthem accustomedto be sung in old time by the Poles when moving forward to battle, thepaean that has struck terror to the heart of Muscovite, Tartar, andTurk in those brave days when Poland was the bulwark of Christendomagainst the barbarism of the East.
The memory of their past glories fired the blood of every patriot inthe cathedral to an enthusiasm bordering on frenzy. Moved by asimultaneous impulse, the whole body of Poles sprang to their feet,drew their swords, and began to join in the refrain; and Katina'svoice was immediately drowned in one grand outpouring.
The sparkle of a thousand sword-blades waving in the iridescent lightcast by richly stained glass, the coloring and splendor of dresses andjewels, the magnificent roll of voices beneath the lofty Gothicarches, the notes of the organ pealing high above the chant--for theorganist, catching the fire of patriotism, was pressing the keys ofhis instrument as he had never pressed them before--were sights andsounds that baffle description. Strong men sang with tears in theireyes, and women fainted with emotion.
Now, as previously stated, the Muscovites occupied the northern aisleand its adjacent transept, a narrow space only separating them fromthe Poles in the nave. Across this division the two factions glaredfiercely at each other; threats were uttered; challenges interchanged;and when the Muscovites in turn began to raise the Russian NationalAnthem the berserker spirit of the Poles broke forth.
"Down with the Muscovites!"
"Sweep them from the cathedral!"
"The princess forever!"
"No. Duke of Bora!"
Katina herself, skilled in the use of the sword, was the first in thefray, the standard still held in her hand.
"Take to your guard, knouter of women!" she cried, singling out herold enemy, the ex-governor of Orenburg.
Her example found ready imitators, and in a moment more the clash ofsteel went ringing down the northern aisle.
Half-a-dozen Muscovites, sword in hand, sprang forward, and facingoutwards, formed a protecting circle around the person of the duke,who, for his part, stood with folded arms, a passive and silentspectator of the wild work that was taking place.
Zabern, desirous of defending Katina, drew his sabre and endeavored toforce his way through the two opposing lines to the place where thered-handed banner waved like a rallying beacon above the flashingpoints of steel.
Barbara rose to her feet and gazed with grief upon a scene, the likeof which, though rarely witnessed in modern times within the hallowedinterior of a cathedral, was familiar enough in the old Byzantine dayswhen the election of a bishop had often to be decided by an appeal toarms.
She was in the act of bidding Radzivil summon the military to part thecombatants, when a sudden and striking apparition rendered the commandunnecessary.
"Down with your arms!"
The voice in which these words were uttered rose like thunder abovethe _melee_, compelling even the two long lines of combatants to pauseand turn their eyes towards the speaker. On the edge of the choir, andwith hand uplifted, stood a stately figure clothed in a brilliant andimposing uniform, a figure half a head taller at least than the usualheight of men, and standing as he did upon the elevated pavement ofthe choir, his stature seemed more than human.
Though few in the cathedral had ever before seen this personage, yetall recognized in a moment the superb brow, the severe, haughtyfeatures, the dark eyes always melancholy, even when the mouth smiled.
"The devil himself at last!" murmured Zabern, a grim joy stealing overhis face. "Now have the saints delivered him as a hostage into ourhands!"
The stranger's form seemed really to dilate, as, with the voice of oneborn to command, he again cried,--
"Down with your arms!"
Furious conspirators, advancing to slay, had once been awed andchecked by that lofty voice, that majestic presence, which did notfail now to produce a remarkable effect.
"The Czar! the Czar!" cried the Poles.
"The little father! the little father!" cried the Muscovites.
The fighting ceased. The assailants on each side fell back. Slowly thetumult died away in utter silence. The wounded repressed their groans;for wounded there were; many, too, brief as had been the combat; andone man lay dead upon the pavement, slain by the hand of a woman.
The Czar, for it was in truth the mighty Nicholas, turned his faceslowly round upon all sides. The fiercest of the Poles felt compelledto sheathe his blade and to resume his seat as that terrible eye fellupon him. Who durst continue to assail a Muscovite with the lord ofthe Muscovites looking on, even though that lord were without a singleguard?
It was somewhat mortifying to Barbara's pride that the cessation ofthe strife should have been caused by the authority of the Czar ratherthan by her own, since it seemed to place him upon a higher plane thanherself. Clearly he had prevented a massacre of her Muscovitesubjects, and thus far thanks were due to him. But Barbara was in nomood to offer courtesies to one who had always shown himself a bitterenemy. The very authority now assumed by him was an infringement ofher own, and put her instantly upon her mettle.
Among the combatants there was one at least who retained an undauntedmien, namely, Katina. She advanced towards the choir, wiping herreddened blade upon the silken standard, which during the fray hadbecome detached from the staff.
At
the edge of the choir Katina knelt.
"Seek not pardon of me," exclaimed the Czar loftily, mistaking herpurpose. "You who commenced the fray, you who have slain one of my ownsubjects!"
"The stars shall fall from heaven ere Katina Ludovska craves pardon ofNicholas Paulovitch," scornfully replied the Polish maiden, evermindful of the fact that the warrant condemning her to receive theknout was signed with this same name, Nicholas Paulovitch. "YourHighness," she continued, still on her knees, and addressing Barbara,"if through zeal I have wrought amiss in slaying one who traduced thefair name of my princess, of you alone I crave pardon."
"If the name of him whom you have slain be Feodor Orloff," saidBarbara, "then have you done a good deed, and you need ask pardon ofnone."
A Russian governor slain in the very presence of the Czar, and theprincess justifying the deed! Barbara's ministers sat completelydumfounded by her boldness. There were two sovereigns in the choir,each contending for the mastery; which would prevail?
Turning to the emperor with an air of dignity and self-possession,Barbara said,--
"Let the Czar explain by what right he has set free a traitorimprisoned by my authority."
Such language as this was new to the autocrat, who is credited withthe saying, "Let there be no will in Russia but that of the Czar." Heglanced with surprise, not unmixed with admiration, at the young girlwho faced him so spiritedly.
"What gives you such boldness in the presence of the Czar?"
"The Charter of your ancestress Catherine."
"Catherine, 'tis true, granted to the palatines of Czernova the titleof princes, but conferred no independence upon them. The story of theCharter is a myth."
"Your Majesty may see upon the altar here the identical documentitself, signed by the hand of the empress."
"That," replied Nicholas, scarcely deigning to turn his eyes in thedirection indicated, "that document is a forgery, as Marshal Zaberncan prove."
"I plainly see that a little bird has been whispering to him,"murmured Zabern to himself.
A scornful repudiation trembled upon Barbara's lips, but it died awaywhen she beheld Zabern's grave look.
"Marshal, is not that the original Charter of Catherine?"
There was something so wistful and pathetic in her expression--anexpression which plainly said, "Let me know the worst,"--that Zabernfelt he could no longer deceive her.
"It is a faithful transcript, so please your Highness."
Barbara understood the significant reply. Zabern, in describing to herthe plot formed by Bora and Orloff for the destruction of the Charter,had represented the scheme as resulting in failure. She now perceivedthat from pity the marshal had kept the terrible truth from her,endeavoring to repair Czernova's loss by means of a forged document.Wrong of him, doubtless, but the fault lay more with those whosewickedness had compelled him to resort to such a policy.
Outwardly Barbara was as firm and as brave as ever, but inwardly shefelt that her throne was going, nay, had gone from her. And bitterindeed was it to see the crafty flourishing in their craftiness.
She beckoned Zabern to her side.
"So, marshal," she whispered sadly, but not reproachfully, "you havedeceived me."
"With good intent, your Highness."
"Is forgery good?"
"Yes, in this case. Do you blame me, princess, for seeking to maintainthe liberties of Czernova?"
"Ill would it become me to blame you, Zabern, especially at such timeas this."
She turned from him to listen to the Czar, who seemed to be addressingherself and the assembly in common.
"The marshal," he said, "dare not uphold the genuineness of thedocument upon the altar. It is now manifest that Czernova can show novalid title to the autonomy it has so long exercised. It is anintegral part of the Russian dominion, and to-day we resume ourusurped authority. As sovereign-lord of this principality we declarethe claim of the present occupant of the throne to be null and void."
"On what ground?" inquired Radzivil.
"On the ground alleged by the duke--illicit birth."
Zabern marked Barbara's look of humiliation, and thought it not amissto give the emperor _quid pro quo_.
"A difficult matter this proving of one's legitimacy," he observed,turning to the assembly as if taking them into his confidence. "I haveeven known emperors to be in doubt as to the true name of theirgrandfathers."
This allusion to the frailties of Catherine drew a terrible look fromthe Czar. He even laid hand upon his sword; but, checking his wrath,he resumed his speech to the assembly.
"And though in the strict view of the law the Duke of Bora be therightful ruler of this principality, yet we, as suzerain, in theexercise of our clemency will permit the princess so-called to retainher throne, provided she can produce a champion who shall overcome theduke in armed combat."
"Then the duke's challenge meets with your Majesty's approval?" saidRadzivil.
"As suzerain," replied the emperor, "it is my duty to uphold theusages and institutions of the principality; and the Justiciary--"
"Ex-Justiciary," corrected Barbara quietly.
"We will not quarrel as to that. It is enough that the highest legalauthority here present has affirmed that the duke's action is inentire assonance with the Czernovese law."
The Czar did not add, as he might have added, that it was almostcertain that the duke would gain the crown by this arrangement, whichwas the reason why he, the Autocrat, had become so suddenly favorableto constitutionalism. It would be more polite to place his kinsmanBora upon the throne under the guise of law, than to install him byforce of arms. Europe, then, could not so easily raise a protest.
"If," said Barbara, addressing the emperor, "if duelling be soagreeable to your Majesty, on what ground do you now justify yourformer demand for the extradition of the duke?"
Nicholas, little accustomed to be catechised or to give reasons forhis conduct, frowned and was silent.
Zabern laughed.
"Princess, you demand too much in requiring a Czar to be logical."
"And how," asked Radzivil of the emperor, "how if we should ignore theduke's claim and should proceed with the coronation of the princess?"
The Czar's eyes flashed at this defiance of his authority.
"If you will not uphold your own laws, there is a power upon thefrontier that shall compel you to do so."
Ill-starred Barbara! Publicly stigmatized as illegitimate; herprincipality void of its boasted Charter; her dream of a Polish empirevanished; her own throne of Czernova forfeited to the duke, inasmuchas it meant death to any one who should meet him in combat. And allthis occurring in the space of one brief hour upon the day which shehad anticipated as the most splendid of her life!
Was this to be the end of her triumphal progress through the shoutingcrowds of her capital--doomed amid the mocking laughter of theMuscovites to quit the cathedral a discrowned princess, attended by amelancholy train of fallen ministers?
"I am--I AM princess!" she murmured between her set teeth. "They shallnot drive me from the throne."
But what booted it to resist? There, a few paces off, and sternlyopposed to her, was the master of many legions, the lord ofone-seventh of the globe, who had but to give the signal, and onehundred thousand troops would come marching across the border to dohis will. She might have Right on her side, but he had Might, andbitterly did she realize the saying of the old Norse god: "Force rulesthe world; has ruled it; shall rule it."
Zabern, however, fertile in expedients, was not yet reduced to a stateof despair. He had formed the plan of seizing the Czar as a prisonerof war, and of making his release conditional upon the cession ofautonomy to Czernova. If Barbara should refuse to sanction thisdesperate scheme, well then he, Zabern, would act without her, findinga higher authority in the interests of the Czernovese. Much as herevered the princess, if that princess should refuse to be true toherself, it would behove him to put the state before the individual.
He was on the point of com
municating his design to Barbara whenPolonaski rose to speak.
"The hour is drawing to a close. She who calls herself princess hasbut five minutes left in which to appoint her champion."
At a sign from the Czar the Duke of Bora stepped forward to renew hischallenge.
"Barbara Lilieska," he said amid a solemn hush, "I call upon youeither to resign the crown you have usurped, or to defend it at thesword's point. Appoint your champion. My desire is for a man that wemay fight together."
"Have, then, your desire!" cried a firm, clear voice.
All eyes were immediately turned towards the speaker who had justentered the cathedral by the western porch,--a young man with facebronzed as if by eastern suns, his handsome, athletic figure arrayedin a dark-blue uniform with silver facings.
"Paul Woodville, by all that's holy!" cried Zabern in an ecstacy ofdelight.
"The man who defeated me at Tajapore," murmured the Czar darkly.
Amid a scene of wild excitement Paul moved towards the choir, his longcloak hanging gracefully from his shoulders, his sabre clankingheavily upon the cathedral pavement.
Barbara, her heart beating wildly, her lips parted in a smile, half ofpride, half of fear, watched him, knowing for what purpose he wasadvancing.
Paul reached the edge of the choir, and picking up the duke'sgauntlet, which had lain untouched for an hour, he tossed itdisdainfully against its owner's face.
"Duke of Bora, I will do battle with you to the death on behalf of theprincess."
"One moment, young sir," said Polonaski. "You cannot nominateyourself. The appointment rests with the lady. Do you accept this manas your champion?" he added, turning to Barbara.
"Oh, no, no!" cried Barbara. "This must not be."
A minute previously she had been longing to triumph over the Czar; nowthe princess was lost in the woman. She would rather resign her thronethan put Paul's life to such terrible hazard.
The anguish pictured on her face, her clasped hands, her form bentforward, attested the state of her feelings towards the handsome youngEnglishman. There was not one person in the cathedral ignorant of thecause of her emotion. Her love for Paul, and the reason of his goingaway, were matters well known to all the Czernovese. His sudden returnat this crisis imparted an additional interest to a tableau alreadythrilling.
"By heaven, your Highness must accept him," whispered Zabern in herear. "I have tested his swordsmanship in the _salle d'armes_ with aview to this very event, and I know that the duke has no chanceagainst him."
Barbara remained silent. A struggle was taking place in her mind. Thehigh spirit that had sustained her during the terrible strain of thelast twenty-four hours was beginning to give way. Her crown had neverbrought her anything but sorrow. Why not resign it, and depart withPaul to his own Kentish home, that home which he had so oftendescribed to her,--a fair castellated hall shaded with beech-treesbeside a cool lake! Far happier the life of an English lady than thatof a princess ruling over a semi-barbarous people.
Polonaski had marked Zabern's triumphant smile at the appearance ofPaul, and that smile made him somewhat uneasy, implying as it did afirm belief in Paul's ability to overcome the duke.
"Was not Captain Woodville banished from Czernova?" he asked; "becauseif so he has no right to be on Czernovese ground."
"Captain Woodville retired from Czernova of his own free will,"replied Zabern. "The cabinet signed no decree of banishment againsthim."
Barbara was still wavering in mind.
"Stick to your throne," growled Zabern.
"To hold it as a vassal of the Czar!" she murmured faintly.
"Fear not. We'll find a way of defeating his claim of suzerainty.What! will you desert the faithful Poles who have so long stood byyou? Will your Highness resign your throne to the duke, a traitor andassassin, when you have the opportunity of giving him his finalquietus? Who slew Trevisa? Who burnt the Charter? Who has brought theRussian army within our borders? Who but the duke? And now will youlet him triumph? Give the word for the duel. Princess, I know, I_know_," he added emphatically, "that Captain Woodville will come offvictorious."
At this point the Czar spoke.
"The princess so-called must either appoint a champion or prepare toabdicate."
Despair seized the Poles at the thought of being ruled by Bora,--Bora,who in his cups had been heard to declare that when he should come topower, he would harness the Polish nobles to the yoke, and compelthem to plough his fields.
Loud murmurs arose at Barbara's reluctance to accept Paul as herchampion.
"Appoint him, your Highness, appoint him," was the cry.
"Let Captain Woodville slay the duke, and receive the hand of theprincess as his reward," cried Zabern. "Have I not said?" he added,addressing the assembly.
The cathedral rang with a shout of applause, a shout that doomed theprincely marriage statute to the limbo of obsolete things. Zabern hadvoiced the sentiments of the Poles. Better an untitled Englishman thanBora.
At that moment the first stroke of twelve chimed from the cathedralclock. Barbara's decision, if given after the hour, would be too late.To his dismay Zabern saw that she was on the point of swooning.
"The word, princess, the word!" he cried, almost savagely.
"Barbara, say the word," pleaded Paul gently.
She looked at him, and was unable to resist the wistful, earnestappeal of his eyes.
"I accept--Captain Woodville--as--my--my champion," she gasped. "Oh!what have I done?" she added in the next moment. And as the twelfthstroke of the clock died away, she swayed helplessly forward and sankunconscious into Paul's arms. He surrendered her light form to thecare of her attendant ladies, who immediately bore her away from thechoir to the sacristy which had served as her robing-room.
"Duke of Bora," cried Zabern, with an exultant smile, "your last hourhas come!"