Sir John Constantine by Prosper Paleologus Constantine

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The water at my feet, scarcely seen through the dark ferns, ran
swiftly and without noise as through a trough channelled in the
living rock; but it brought its impetus from a cascade that hummed
aloft somewhere in the darkness with a low continuous thunder as of a
mill with a turning wheel. I lifted my head to the sound, and in
that instant my ears caught a slight creak from the footbridge on my
left. I faced about, and stood rigid, at gaze. A woman was stepping
across the bridge, there in the moonlight; a slight figure, cloaked
and hooded and hurrying fast; a woman, with a gun slung behind her
and the barrel of it glimmering. It was the Princess.

I let her pass, and as she turned the bend of the road I stole out to
the footbridge and across it in pursuit. I knew now that the two
wayfarers had not been phantoms of my dreaming; that she was
following, tracking them, and that I must track and follow her.
Beyond the bend the road twisted over a low-lying spur of the
mountain between outcrops of reddish-coloured rock, and then ran
straight for almost three hundred yards, with olive orchards on
either hand; so that presently I could follow and hold her in sight,
myself keeping well within the trees' line of shadow.

Twice she turned to look behind her, but rapidly and as if in no
great apprehension of pursuit; or perhaps her own quest had made her
reckless. At the end of this straight and almost level stretch the
road rose steeply to wind over another foot-hill, and here she broke
into a run. I pressed after her up the ascent, and from the knap of
it, with a shock, found myself looking down at close hand upon a
small dim bay of the sea with a white edge of foam curving away into
a loom of shore above which a solitary light twinkled. The road,
following the curve of the shore a few paces above the waves, lay
bare in the moonlight, without cover to right or left, until, a mile
away perhaps, it melted into the grey of night. Along that distance
my eyes sought and sought in vain for the figure that had been
running scarcely two hundred yards ahead of me. The Princess had
disappeared.

For a short while I stood at fault; but searching the bushes on my
left, I was aware of a parting between them, overgrown indeed, yet
plainly indicating a track; along which I had pushed but two-score of
paces--perhaps less--before a light glimmered between the greenery
and I stepped into an open clearing in full view of a cottage, the
light of which fell obliquely across the turf through a warped or
cracked window-shutter.

"Camillo!"--it was the Princess's voice, half imperious, half
pleading; and from beyond the angle of the cottage wall came the
noise of a latch shaken. "Open to me, Camillo, or by the Mother of
Christ I will blow the door in! I have a gun, Camillo, and I swear
to you!"

The challenge was not answered. Crouching almost on all fours I
sprang across the ray of light and gained the wall's shadow. There,
as I drew breath, I heard the latch shaken again, more impatiently.

"Camillo!"

The bolt was drawn. Peering around the angle of the wall, I saw the
light fall full on her face as the door opened and she stepped into
the cottage.

CHAPTER XXIII.

ORDEAL AND CHOOSING.

"Thou coward! Yet
Art living? canst not, wilt not find the road
To the great palace of magnificent death?--
Though thousand ways lead to his thousand doors
Which day and night are still unbarr'd for all."
NAT. LEE.--_Oedipus_.

"No man"--I am quoting my father--"can be great, or even wise, or
even, properly speaking, a man at all, until he has burnt his boats";
but I imagine that those who achieve wisdom and greatness burn their
boats deliberately and not--as did I, next moment--upon a sudden wild
impulse.

My excuse is, the door was already closing behind the Princess.
I knew she had tracked the Prince Camillo and his confessor, and that
these two were within the cottage. I knew nothing of their business,
save that it must be shameful, since she who had detected and would
prevent it chose to hide her knowledge even from Marc'antonio and
Stephanu. Then much rather (you may urge) would she choose to hide
it from me. The objection is a sound one, had I paused to consider
it; but (fortunately or unfortunately, as you may determine) I did
not. She had stepped into peril. The door was closing behind her:
in another couple of seconds it would be bolted again. I sprang for
it, hurled myself in through the entry, and there, pulling myself
erect, stared about me.

Four faces returned my stare; four faces, and all dismayed as though
a live bombshell had dropped through the doorway. To the priest,
whom my impact had flung aside against the wall, I paid no attention.
My eyes fastened themselves on the table at which, with a lantern and
some scattered papers between them, sat two men--the Prince, and a
grey-haired officer in the blue-and-white Genoese uniform.
The Prince, who had pushed back his chair and confronted his sister
with hands stretched out to cover or to gather up the papers on the
table, slewed round upon me a face that, as it turned, slowly
stiffened with terror. The Genoese officer rose with one hand
resting on the table, while with the other he fumbled at a silver
chain hanging across his breast, and as he shot a glance at the
Prince I could almost see his lips forming the word "treachery."
The Princess's consternation was of all the most absolute.
"_The Crown! Where is the Crown?_"--as I broke in, her voice, half
imperious, half supplicatory, had panted out these words, while with
outstretched hand and forefinger she pointed at the table. Her hand
still pointed there, rigid as the rest of her body, as with dilated
eyes she stared into mine.

"Yes, gentlemen," said I, in the easiest tone I could manage, "the
Princess asks you a question, which allow me to repeat. Where is
the Crown?"

"In the devil's name--" gasped the Prince.

The Genoese interrupted him. "Shut and bolt the door!" he commanded
the priest, sharply.

"Master Domenico," said I, "if you move so much as a step, I will
shoot you through the body."

The Genoese tugged at the chain on his breast and drew forth a
whistle. "Signore," he said quietly and with another side glance at
the Prince, "I do not know your name, but mine is Andrea Fornari, and
I command the Genoese garrison at Nonza. Having some inherited
knowledge of the Corsicans, and some fifty years' experience of my
own, I do not walk into traps. A dozen men of mine stand within call
here, at the back entrance, and my whistle will call me up another
fifty. Bearing this in mind, you will state your business as
peaceably as possible."

"Nevertheless," said I, "since I have taken a fancy--call it a whim,
if you will--that the door remains at least unbolted. . . ."

He shrugged his shoulders. "It will help you nothing."

"I am an Englishman," said I.

"Indeed? Well, I have heard before now that it will explain anything
and everything; but as yet my poor understanding scarcely stretches
it to cover your presence here."

"Faith, sir," I answered, "to put the matter briefly, I am here
because the Princess is here, whom I have followed--though without
her knowledge--because I guessed her to be walking into peril."

"Excuse me. Without her knowledge, you say?" The Commandant turned
to the Princess, who bowed her head but continued to gaze at me from
under her lowered brows. "Absolutely, sir."

"And without knowledge of her errand? Again excuse me, but does it
not occur to you that you may be intruding at this moment upon a
family affair?"

Here the Prince broke in with a scornful laugh. For a minute or so
his brow had been clearing, but, though he sneered, he could not as
yet meet his sister's eye. I noted this as his laugh drew my gaze
upon him, and it seemed that my contempt gave me a sudden clear
insight; for I found myself answering the Commandant very
deliberately--

"The Princess, sir, until a moment ago, perhaps knew not whether I
was alive or dead, and certainly knew not that I was within a hundred
miles of this place. Had she known it, she would as certainly not
have confided her errand to me, mixed up as it is with her brother's
shame. She would, I dare rather wager, have taken great pains to
hide it from me. And yet I will not pretend that I am quite ignorant
of it, as neither will I allow--family affair though it be--that I
have no interest in it, seeing that it concerns the crown of
Corsica."

The Commandant glanced at the Prince, then at the priest, who stood
passive, listening, with his back to the wall, his loose-lidded eyes
studying me from the lantern's penumbra.

"What possible interest--" begun the Commandant.

"By the crown of Corsica," I interrupted, "I mean the material crown
of the late King Theodore, at this moment concealed (if I mistake
not) somewhere in this cottage. In it I may claim a certain
interest, seeing that I brought it from England to this island, and
that the Prince Camillo here--whose father gave it to me--is trading
it to you by fraud. Yes, _messere_, he may claim that it belongs to
him by right; but he obtained it from me by fraud, as neither he nor
his sister can deny. That perhaps might pass: but when he--he a son
of Corsica--goes on to sell it to Genoa, I reassert my claim."

Again the Commandant shrugged his shoulders. It consoled me to note
that his glance at the Prince was by no means an admiring one.

"I am a soldier," he said curtly. "I do not deal in sentiment; nor
is it my business, when a bargain comes to me--a bargain in which I
can serve my country--to inquire into how's and why's."

"I grant that, sir," said I. "It is your business, now that the
crown--with what small profit may go with it--lies under your hand,
to grasp it for Genoa. But as a soldier and a brave man, you
understand that now you must grasp it by force. God knows in what
hope, if in any, the Princess here tracked out your plot; but at
least she can compel you--I can compel you--we two, weak as we are,
can compel you--to use force. The honour of a race--and that a royal
one--shall at least not pass to you on the mere signature of that
coward sitting there." I swung round upon the Prince. "You may give
up trying to hide those papers, sir, since every one in this room
knows what compact you were in the act of signing."

The Princess stepped forward. "All this," she said to me in a low,
hard voice, "I could have done without help of you." Her tone
promised that she would never forgive, but she looked only at her
brother. "Camillo," she said, standing before him, "this Englishman
has said only what I came to say. It is not my fault that he is here
and has guessed. When I was sure, I hid my knowledge even from
Marc'antonio and Stephanu; and he--he shall die for having
overheard. The Genoese will see to that, and the Commandant, as he
is a gentleman, will write in his report that he took the crown from
us, having caught us at unawares. . . . I cannot shoot you, my
brother. Even you would not ask this of me--of me that have served
you, and that serve you now in the end. . . . See, I make no
reproaches. . . . We were badly brought up, we two, and when you were
young and helpless, vile men took hold on you and taught you to be
capable of--of this thing. But we are Colonne, we two, and can end
as Colonne." She dipped a hand within the bosom of her bodice and
drew out a phial. "Dear, I will drink after you. It will not be
hard; no, believe me, it will not be so very hard--a moment, a pang
perhaps, and everything will yet be saved. O brother, what is a
pang, a moment, that you can weigh it against a lifetime of
dishonour!"

The Prince sprang up cursing.

"Dishonour? And who are you that talk to me of dishonour?--you that
come straying here out of the night with your _cicisbeo_ at your
heels? You, with the dew on you and your dress bedraggled, arrive
straight from companioning in the woods and prate to me of shame--of
the blood of the Colonne!" He smote a hand on the table and spat
forth a string of vile names upon her, mixed with curses; abominable
words before which she drew back cowering, yet less (I think) from
the lash of them than from shock and horror of his incredible
baseness. Passion twisted his mouth; his tongue stammered with the
gush of his abuse; but he was lying, and knew that he was lying, for
his eyes would meet neither hers nor mine. Only after drawing breath
did he for a moment look straight at her, and then it was to demand;
"And who, pray, has driven me to this? What has made Corsica so
bitter to me that in weariness I am here to resign it? You, my
sister--you, and what is known of you. . . . Why can I do nothing with
the patriots? Why were there no recruits? Why, when I negotiated,
did the Paolists listen as to a child and smile politely and show me
their doors? Again, because of you, O my sister!--because there is
not a household in Corsica but has heard whisperings of you, and of
Brussels, and of the house in Brussels where you were sought and
found. Blood of the Colonne!--and now the blood of the Colonne takes
an English lover to warm it! Blood of--"

With one hand I caught him by the throat, with the other by the
girdle, and flung him clean across the table into the corner,
oversetting the lantern, but not extinguishing the light, for the
Commandant caught it up deftly. As he set it back on the table I
heard him grunt, and--it seemed to me--with approval.

"I will allow no shooting, sir," said he, quickly, yet with easy
authority, noting my hand go down to my gun-stock.

"You misunderstand me," I answered, and indeed I was but shifting its
balance on my bandolier, which had slipped awry in the struggle.
"There are reasons why I cannot kill this man. But you will give me
leave to answer just two of his slanders upon this lady. It is false
that I came here to-night by her invitation or in her company, as it
is God's truth that for many months until we met in this room and in
your presence she has not set eyes on me. She could not have known
even that I lived since the hour when her brother there--yes,
Princess, your brother there--left me broken and maimed at the far
end of the island. For the rest, he utters slanders to which I have
no clue save that I know them to be slanders. But at a venture, if
you would know how they grew and who nurtured them, I think the
priest yonder can tell you."

The Commandant waved a hand politely. "You have spoken well, sir.
Believe me, on this point no more is necessary. I have no doubt--
there can be no doubt--that the Prince lies under a misapprehension.
Nevertheless, there are circumstances which lay me under obligation
to him." He paused. "And you will admit that you have placed the
lady--thoughtlessly no doubt--in a false position."

"Well and good, sir," I replied. "If, in your opinion as a man of
honour, the error demands a victim, by all means call in your
soldiers and settle me. I stipulate only that you escort the lady
back to her people with honour, under a flag of truce; and I protest
only, as she has protested, that this traitor has no warrant to sell
you his country's rights."

The Prince had picked himself up, and stood sulkily, still in his
corner. I suppose that he was going to answer this denunciation,
when the priest's voice broke in, smooth and unctuous.

"Pardon me, _messeri_, but there occurs to me a more excellent way.
This Englishman has brought dishonour on one of the Colonne:
therefore it is most necessary that he should die. But before dying
let him make the only reparation--and marry her."

I turned on him, staring: and in the flicker of his eyes as he lifted
them for one instant towards his master, I read the whole devilish
cunning of the plot. They might securely let her go, as an
Englishman's widow. The fact had merely to be proclaimed and the
islanders would have none of her. I am glad to remember that--my
brain keeping clear, albeit my pulse, already fast enough, leapt
hotly and quickened its speed--I had presence of mind to admire the
suggestion coolly, impersonally, and quite as though it affected me
no jot.

The Commandant bent his brows. Behind them--as it seemed to me--I
could read his thought working.

"If you, sir, have no objection," he said slowly, looking up and
addressing me with grave politeness, "I see much to be said for the
reverend father's proposal."

He turned to the Prince, who--cur that he was--directed his spiteful
glee upon his sister.

"It appears, O Camilla, that in our race to save each other's honour
I am to be winner. Nay, you may wear your approaching widowhood with
dignity, and boast in time to come that your husband once bore the
crown of Corsica."

"Prince Camillo," said the Commandant, quietly, "I am here to-night
in the strict service of my Republic, to do my best for her: but I
warn you that if you a second time address your sister in that tone I
shall reserve the right to remember it later as a plain Genoese
gentleman. Sir," he faced about and addressed me again, "am I to
understand that you accept?"

I looked at the Princess. She met my look proudly, with eyes set in
a face pale as death. I could not for the life of me read whether
they forbade me or implored. They seemed to forbid, protest . . .
and yet (the bliss of it!) for one half instant they had also seemed
to implore. Thank God at least they did not scorn!

"Princess," I said, "these men propose to do me an infinite honour--
an honour far above my deserving--and to kill me while my heart yet
beats with the pride of it. Yet say to me now if I must renounce it,
and I will die bearing you no grudge. Take thought, not of me, but
of yourself only, and sign to me if I must renounce."

Still she eyed me, pale and unblinking. Her bosom panted, and for a
moment she half-raised her hand; but dropped it again.

"I think, sir," said I, facing around on the Commandant, I think by
this time the day must be breaking. Will you kindly open the
shutters? Also you would oblige me further--set it down to an
Englishman's whim--by forming up your men outside; and we will have a
soldier's wedding."

"Willingly, cavalier." The Commandant stepped to the shutter and
unbarred it, letting in daylight with the cool morning breeze--a
greenish-grey daylight, falling across the glade without as softly as
ever through cathedral aisles, and a breeze that was wine to the
taste as it breathed through the exhausted air of the cottage--a
sacramental dawn, and somewhere deep in the arcades of the tree-boles
a solitary bird singing!

The Commandant leaned forth and blew his whistle. The bird's song
ceased, and was followed by the tramp of men. My brain worked so
clearly, I could almost count their footsteps. I saw them, across
the Commandant's shoulder, as they filed past the corner of the
window and, having formed into platoon, grounded arms, the butts of
their muskets thudding softly on the turf--a score of men in
blue-and-white uniforms, spick and span in the clear morning light.

I counted them and drew a long breath. "Master priest," said I, and
held out my hand to the Princess, "in your Church, I believe,
matrimony is a sacrament. If you are ready, I am ready."

His loose lip twitched as he stepped forward. . . . When he paused in
his muttering I lifted the Princess's cold hand and drew a seal from
my pocket--a heavy seal with a ring attached, which I fitted on her
finger; and so I held her hand, letting drop on it by degrees the
weight of the heavy seal.

From the first she had offered no resistance, made no protest.
I pressed the seal into the palm of her hand, not telling her that it
was her own father's great seal of Corsica. But I folded her fingers
back on it, reverently touched the one encircled by the ring, and
said I--

"It is the best I can give;" and a little later, "It is all I brought
in my pockets but this handkerchief. Take that, too; lead me out;
and bandage my eyes, my wife."

She took my arm obediently and we stepped out by the doorway,
bridegroom and bride, in face of the soldiery. A sergeant saluted
and came forward for the Commandant's orders.

"A moment, sir," said I, and, laying two fingers on the Commandant's
arm, I nodded towards the bole of a stout pine-tree across the
clearing. "Will that distance suit you?"

He nodded in reply and as I swung on my heel touched my arm in his
turn.

"You will do me the honour, sir, to shake hands?"

"Most willingly, sir." I shook hands with him, casting, as I did so,
a glance over my shoulder at the Prince and Father Domenico, who hung
back in the doorway--two men afraid. "Come," said I to the Princess,
and, as she seemed to hesitate, "Come, my wife," I commanded, and
walked to the pine-tree, she following. I held out the handkerchief.
She took it, still obediently, and as she took it I clasped her hand
and lifted it to my lips.

"Nay," said I, challenging, "what was it you told your brother?
A moment? A pang? What are they to weigh against a lifetime of
dishonour?"

I saw her blench: yet even while she bandaged me at my bidding, I did
not arrive at understanding the folly--the cruel folly of that
speech. Nay, even when, having bandaged me, she stepped away and
left me, I considered not nor surmised what second meaning might be
read in it.

Shall I confess the truth? I was too consciously playing a part and
making a handsome exit. After all, had I not some little excuse?
. . . Here was I, young, lusty, healthful, with a man's career
before me, and across it, trenched at my feet, the grave. A saying
of Billy Priske's comes into my mind--a word spoken, years after,
upon a poor fisherman of Constantine parish whose widow, as by will
directed, spent half his savings on a tombstone of carved granite.
"A man," said Billy, "must cut a dash once in his lifetime, though
the chance don't come till he's dead." . . . Looking back across
these years I can smile at the boy I was and forgive his poor brave
flourish. But his speech was thoughtless: the woman (ah! but he
knows her better now) was withdrawn with its wound in her heart: and
between them Death was stepping forward to make the misunderstanding
final.

I remember setting my shoulder-blades firmly against the bole of the
tree. A kind of indignation sustained me; a scorn to be cut off
thus, a scorn especially for the two cowards by the doorway.
They were talking with the Commandant. Their voices sounded across
the interval between me and the firing-party. Why were they wasting
time? . . .

I could not distinguish their words, save that twice I heard the
Prince curse viciously. The hound (I told myself, shutting my teeth)
might have restrained his tongue for a few moments.

The voices ceased. In a long pause I heard the insects humming in
the grasses at my feet. Would the moment never come?

It came at last. A flash of light winked above the edge of my
bandage, and close upon it broke the roar and rattle of the
volley . . . Death? I put out my hands and groped for it.
Where was Death?

Nay, perhaps this _was_ Death? If so, what fools were men to fear
it! The hum of the insects had given place to silence--absolute
silence. If bullet had touched me, I had felt no pang at all.
I was standing, yes, surely I was standing . . . Slowly it broke on
me that I was unhurt, that they had fired wide, prolonging their
sport with me; and I tore away the bandage, crying out upon them to
finish their cruelty.

At a little distance sat the Princess watching me, her gun across her
knees. Beyond her and beyond the cottage, by the edge of the wood
the firing-party had fallen into rank and were marching off among the
pine-stems, the Prince and Father Domenico with them. I stared
stupidly after the disappearing uniforms, and put out a hand as if to
brush away the smoke which yet floated across the clearing.
The Commandant, turning to follow his men, at the same moment lifted
his hand in salute. So he, too, passed out of sight.

I turned to the Princess. She arose slowly and came to me.

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE WOOING OF PRINCESS CAMILLA.

"Take heed of loving me,
At least remember I forbade it thee; . . .
If thou love me, take heed of loving me."
DONNE, _The Prohibition_.

"You have conquered."

She had halted, a pace or two from me, with downcast eyes. She said
it very slowly, and I stared at her and answered with an unmeaning
laugh.

"Forgive me, Princess. I--I fancy my poor wits have been shaken and
need a little time to recover. At any rate, I do not understand
you."

"You have conquered," she repeated in a low voice that dragged upon
the words. Then, after a pause,--"You remember, once, promising me
that at the last I should come and place my neck under your
foot . . ." She glanced up at me and dropped her eyes again. "Yes,
I see that you remember. _Eccu_--I am here."

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