The Historical Nights' Entertainment by Rafael Sabatini (mini ebook reader .TXT) 📕

to him, and his rage had been increased when he was

informed of the cordial reception which everywhere awaited Ankarstrom

on his release. He perceived how far he had overshot his mark, and

how, in seeking treacherously to hurt Ankarstrom, he had succeeded

only in hurting himself. Nor had he appeased the general indignation

by his pardon. True, the flame of revolt had been quelled. But he had

no lack of evidence that the fire continued to burn steadily in secret,

and to eat its way further and further into the ranks of noble and

simple alike.

 

It is little wonder, then, that in this moment, with that warning

lying there before him, the name of Ankarstrom should be on his lips,

the thought of Ankarstrom, the fear of Ankarstrom, looming big in

his mind. It was big enough to make him heed the warning. He

dropped into a chair.

 

“I will not go,” he said, and Bjelke saw that his face was white,

his hands shaking.

 

But when the secretary had repeated the proposal which had earlier

gone unheard, Gustavus caught at it with sudden avidity, and with

but little concern for the danger that Bjelke might be running. He

sprang up, applauding it. If a conspiracy there was, the

conspirators would thus be trapped; if there were no conspiracy,

then this attempt to frighten him should come to nothing; thus he

would be as safe from the mockery of his enemies as from their

knives. Nor did Armfelt protest or make further attempts to

dissuade him from going. In the circumstances proposed by Bjelke,

the risk would be Bjelke’s, a matter which troubled Armfelt not at

all; indeed, he had no cause to love Bjelke, in whom he beheld a

formidable rival, and it would be to him no cause for tears if the

knife intended for the royal vitals should find its way into

Bjelke’s instead.

 

So Baron Bjelke, arrayed in the domino copied from the penitential

sack, departed for the Opera House, leaving Gustavus to follow.

Yet, despite the measure of precaution, no sooner had the masked

King himself entered the crowded theatre, leaning upon the arm of

the Count of Essen, than he conceived that he beheld confirmation

of the warning, and regretted that he had not heeded it to the

extent of remaining absent. For one of the first faces he beheld,

one of the few unmasked faces in that brilliantly lit salon, was

the face of Ankarstrom, and Ankarstrom appeared to be watching the

entrance.

 

Gustavus checked in his stride, a tremor ran through him, and he

stiffened in his sudden apprehension, for the sight of the tall

figure and haughty, resolute face of the nobleman he had wronged

was of more significance than at first might seem. Ever since his

infamous trial Ankarstrom had been at pains to seize every occasion

of marking his contempt for his Prince. Never did he fail upon the

King’s appearance in any gathering of which he was a member to

withdraw immediately; and never once had he been known deliberately

to attend any function which was to be graced by the presence of

Gustavus. How, then, came he here to this ball given by the King’s

own command unless he came for the fell purpose of which the letter

had given warning?

 

The King’s impulse was to withdraw immediately. He was taken by a

curious, an almost unreasoning, fear that was quite foreign to him,

who, for all his faults, had never yet lacked courage. But, even

as he hesitated, a figure swept past him in a domino flecked with

flames, surrounded by revellers of both sexes, and he remembered

that if Ankarstrom were bent on evil his attention would be held by

that figure before which the crowd fell back, and opened out

respectfully, believing it to be the King’s. Yet none the less it

was Gustavus himself that Ankarstrom continued to regard in such a

ay that the King had a feeling that his mask was made of glass.

 

And then quite suddenly, even as he was on the point of turning,

another wave of revellers swept frantically up, and in a moment

Gustavus and the Count of Essen were surrounded. Another moment

and the buffeting crowd had separated him from his grand equerry.

He found himself alone in the centre of this knot of wild fellows

who, seeming to mistake him for one of themselves, forced him

onward with them in their career. For a moment he attempted to

resist. But as well might he have resisted a torrent. Their rush

was not to be stemmed. It almost swept him from his feet, and to

save himself he must perforce abandon himself to the impetus. Thus

he was swirled away across the floor of the amphitheatre, helpless

as a swimmer in strong waters, and with the fear of the drowning

clutching now at his heart.

 

He had an impulse to unmask, proclaim himself, and compel the

respect that was his due. But to do so might be to expose himself

to the very danger of whose presence he was now convinced. His

only hope must lie in allowing himself to be borne passively along

until a chance opening allowed him to escape from these madmen.

 

The stage had been connected with the floor of the theatre by a

broad flight of wooden steps. Up this flight he was carried by that

human wave. But on the stage itself he found an anchorage at last

against one of the wings. Breathing hard, he set his back to it,

waiting for the wave to sweep on and leave him. Instead, it paused

and came to rest with him, and in that moment some one touched him

on the shoulder. He turned his head, and looked into the set face

of Ankarstrom, who was close behind him. Then a burning, rending

pain took him in his side, and he grew sick and dizzy. The uproar

of voices became muffled; the lights were merged into a luminous

billow that swelled and shrank and then went out altogether.

 

The report of the pistol had been lost in the general din to all but

those who stood near the spot where it had been fired. And these

found themselves suddenly borne backwards by the little crowd of

maskers that fell away from the figure lying prone and bleeding on

the stage.

 

Voices were raised, shouting “Fire! Fire!” Thus the conspirators

sought to create confusion, that they might disperse and lose

themselves in the general crowd. That confusion, however, was very

brief. It was stemmed almost immediately by the Count of Essen,

who leapt up the steps to the stage with a premonition of what had

happened. He stooped to rip away the mask from the face of the

victim, and, beholding, as he had feared, the livid countenance of

his King, he stood up, himself almost as pale.

 

“Murder has been done!” he roared. “Let the doors be closed and

guarded, and let no one leave the theatre.” Instantly was his

bidding done by the officers of the guard.

 

Those of the King’s household who were in attendance came forward

now to raise Gustavus, and help to bear him to a couch. There

presently he recovered consciousness, whilst a physician was seeing

to his hurt, and as soon as he realized his condition his manner

became so calm that, himself, he took command of the situation. He

issued orders that the gates of the city should be closed against

everybody, whilst himself apologizing to the Prussian minister who

was near him for issuing that inconvenient but necessary order.

 

“The gates shall remain closed for three days, sir,” he announced.

“During that time you will not be able to correspond with your Court;

but your intelligence, when it goes, will be more certain, since by

that time it should be known whether I can survive or not.”

 

His next order, delivered in a voice that was broken by his intense

suffering, was to the chamberlain Benzelstjerna, commanding that

all present should unmask and sign their names in a book before

being suffered to depart. That done, he bade them bear him home on

the couch on which he had been placed that he might be spared the

agony of more movement than was necessary.

 

Thus his grenadiers bore him on their shoulders, lighted by torches,

through the streets that were now thronged, for the rumour had now

gone forth that the King was dead, and troops had been called out

to keep order. Beside him walked Armfelt in his suit of shimmering

white satin, weeping at once for his King and for himself, for he

knew that he was of those who must fall with Gustavus. And, knowing

this, there was bitter rage in his heart against the men who had

wrought this havoc, a rage that sharpened his wits to an unusual

acuteness.

 

At last the King was once more in his apartments awaiting the

physicians who were to pronounce his fate, and Armfelt kept him

company among others, revolving in his mind the terrible suspicion

he had formed.

 

Presently came Duke Charles, the King’s brother, and Benzelstjerna

with the list of those who had been present at the ball.

 

“Tell me,” he asked, before the list was read to him, “is the name

of Ankarstrom included in it?”

 

“He was the last to sign, Sire,” replied the chamberlain.

 

The King smiled grimly. “Tell Lillesparre to have him arrested and

questioned.”

 

Armfelt flung forward. “There is another who should be arrested,

too!” he cried fiercely. And added, “Bjelke!”

 

“Bjelke?”

 

The King echoed the name almost in anger at the imputation. Armfelt

spoke torrentially. “It was he persuaded you to go against your own

judgment when you had the warning, and at last induced you to it by

offering to assume your own domino. If the assassins sought the

King, how came they to pass over one who wore the King’s domino, and

to penetrate your own disguise that was like a dozen others?

Because they were informed of the change. But by whom - by whom?

Who was it knew?”

 

“My God!” groaned the unfortunate King, who had in his time broken

faith with so many, and was now to suffer the knowledge of this

broken faith in one whom he had trusted above all others.

 

Baron Bjelke was arrested an hour later, arrested in the very act

of entering his own home. The men of Lillesparre’s police had

preceded him thither to await his return. He was quite calm when

they surged suddenly about him, laid hands upon him, and formally

pronounced him their prisoner.

 

“I suppose,” he said, “it was to have been inferred. Allow me to

take my leave of the Baroness, and I shall be at your disposal.”

 

“My orders, Baron, are explicit,” he was answered by the officer in

charge. “I am not to suffer you out of my sight.”

 

“How? Am I to be denied so ordinary a boon?” His voice quivered

with sudden anger and something else.

 

“Such are my orders, Baron.”

 

Bjelke pleaded for five minutes’ grace for that leavetaking. But

the officer had his orders. He was no more than a machine. The

Baron raised his clenched hands in mute protest to the heavens,

then let them fall heavily.

 

“Very well,” he said, and suffered them to thrust him back into his

carriage and carry him away to the waiting Lillesparre.

 

He found Armfelt in the office of the chief of the police, haranguing

Ankarstrom, who was already there under arrest. The favourite broke

off as Bjelke was brought in.

 

“You were privy to this infamy, Bjelke,” he cried. “If the King

does not recover -