Knight Rupert: I

Chapter I.

The castled crag of Drachenfels
Frowns o’er the wide and winding Rhine.
-Byron

THIS IS THE STORY of something that happened a long time ago, before you or I were born. It is the story of a little kingdom, a haunted castle, a curse, a knight-errant, and the child who set everything right. It is a fairy-tale and, like all fairy-tales, it is perfectly true.

The night on which the story begins was wild and stormy with high winds which came sweeping down from the mountains, bringing a chill from the snow on their summits. The grass bowed and rose luridly in the moonlight and the leaves on the trees turned up their white undersides. The great moon itself, a fat crescent, looked like a bright fortress assailed by shadowy cloud armies, which flung themselves upon it as if they would cover it up, but they always fell away again, driven before the wind, and the moon was no less bright when they had gone.
Beneath the moon and the hurried clouds lay a long row of cliffs, so dark and solid that the pale moonlight could not lighten their gloomy faces and all that could be seen of them was a great, thick blackness like spilled ink. Along their crests like a silver vein wound the dusty white road; while beneath swept the deep and silent river, its stormy water reflecting the moon a million times over like a broken mirror.
Where the dark bluffs sank down to meet the river’s edge, amongst a confusion of dry heather and twisted mulberry trees, rose the black ramparts of Ratavaria Castle. It was darker even than the cliffs beside it, and was built of the dark stone that they were made of. While all the grass and trees bent before the storm, the castle stood as it had for seven centuries: grim, ancient, and immovable as the neighbouring mountains.
Within, pacing the flagstones of his ancestral hall, stalked Raymond, Count of Ratavaria. He was a tall, dark man who looked a good deal like his castle. He was just as gloomy and reticent and the wild wind outside affected him as little. He did not hear the whip-crack of trees against the walls, nor see the sudden leap of the fire on the hearth as the wind howled up the chimney. His eyes were fixed on the flagstones, his hands clenched behind his back, and dark thoughts gathered on his bent brow.
He seemed to be waiting for someone, for every now and then he would pause in his pacing and listen—then, hearing nothing, resume his course across the room.
At last from the courtyard came the sound of ringing hooves and booted tread. A whistled tune rose above the noise of the wind and in a moment the door was thrown open and a young man entered, removing his gloves as he came. The wind shut the door behind him with a shuddering bang that echoed through the corridors, dying away at last in the little tower room at the top of the castle.
The traveller was splashed with dust and dried mud from a long journey but he showed no sign of weariness. He took a rapid glance round the room and finding that the count and himself were the sole occupants, he strode over and took a seat by the fire.
“You received my telegram, I see,” said Count Raymond. “Why didn’t you send a reply?”
“Hadn’t the money, of course—my usual excuse.” So saying, the traveller removed his helmet, revealing a crop of curly hair worn rather shorter than was the fashion, and beneath it a face both young and handsome but which had begun already to show a trace of the Machiavellian.
“I came, as you see,” he continued. “It isn’t so often I get an invitation to my ancestral home that I can afford to ignore it.”
“You would be more welcome here if you ever came for something besides borrowing money.”
“I doubt you’d prefer that I come to steal it,” remarked the young man. “I don’t see why you’ve got to be so tight-fisted, uncle. You’ve nothing to spend your money on but yourself, and you know very well you spend as little in that direction as possible. The estate will be mine when you’re gone, so you might lend me a pittance now and again just as easily as not.”
“I don’t approve of your spending habits,” said his uncle, taking up his pacing again, which he had arrested at the start of the conversation.
“Well, I don’t approve of yours, if it comes to that. Money was never made to be an end in itself.”
“You don’t have a proper appreciation of the value of money.”
“You’re quite mistaken, I have a very good appreciation of it. I simply don’t place as high a value on it as you do. I consider money as only a means to an end. Unfortunately, as it is the means to nearly every end I consider worthwhile, I’m in sad straits without it.”
“—And so expect me to supply you with all you want,” said the count, bestowing on his nephew an un-fraternal scowl. “You squandered your father’s estate—what was left of it when he died, which wasn’t much—and have managed to involve yourself in monstrous debts. I was obliged to pull you out of them once, and here you are nearly in debt again already. I don’t know how you manage to spend so much—you’re utterly irresponsible. I helped you once for your father’s sake, but any further money you receive from me must be spent under my direction. When I’m dead, you unfortunately may do as you please with the estate, but while I live, I hope to have some influence over you for good.”
His tone told better than his words that he considered this a vain hope.
Rupert Ratavarian was, at the age of twenty-three, A Young Man In Reduced Circumstances. He had, as his uncle had pointed out, lost his father’s estate through gaming, racing, and wild living. He had never learnt to curb his expenditure and had so often exceeded it that at last his uncle had had to procure him a commission in the army so that he might support himself. He had inherited his father’s easy, careless manner, and yet, though his uncle didn’t know it, Rupert had inherited as well a large measure of his uncle’s keenness and calculation.
Rupert’s temperament was one of opposites and extremes, and this was illustrated by his third trait, which was a daring and reckless courage and audacity that had not belonged to either his father or his uncle. He raised the stakes in a bad game and rode his horse at a break-neck gallop over ground no sane man would take at more than a canter. The more difficult a situation, the sterner his resolve in the teeth of it and far from fearing danger, he delighted in it and courted it whenever possible. It was this quality that might have been the saving of him if he had only used it to its full potential, for it was the best side of his nature. So far it had only brought him into trouble. In his short life, he had already had three duels and more than one tangle with the police. Besides this, he was an expert swordsman and a wonderful shot and it had not taken him long to earn the fear and respect of all his acquaintance.
“I’m very grateful for your disinterested concern over my situation, but I can hardly believe that to be the reason for your summoning me here,” said the recalcitrant, crossing his legs.
“It is not the reason.” The count paced the length of the hearth twice before continuing. “You’ve heard, I’m sure, that the king has just died?”
“I got the news last night, about the same time I got your telegram. It wasn’t a surprise; no one expected the old fellow to live much longer anyway. Who’s the new king going to be?”
“Nobody knows yet. The king never named a new heir after his son died.”
“Well, who’s next in line? Surely there must be someone ready enough to step up—a distant cousin, or something. In fact, someone told me that the Ratavarians had some claim to the crown, but I didn’t know how far to believe it.”
His uncle was silent for a moment.
“It’s true that we have a claim,” he said slowly. “–A perfectly legitimate one, in fact. The king’s grandmother was a Ratavarian.”
“And you mean there aren’t any closer relatives?”
“Maybe not.”
“Well! You and I are the only Ratavarians left, uncle, so that makes you the new king,” said Rupert, rolling a cigarette. “Let me offer my congratulations.”
“Ours isn’t the only claim,” said the count.
“Naturally.”
“Roderic Algromond claims to be a close cousin. He’s not very close, really, and he’s only caused a good deal of confusion over something quite simple. But Marshal von Rimmel supports him.”
“Does he? I wouldn’t have expected those two to band together.”
“Von Rimmel doesn’t care about Algromond; he only wants to keep me off the throne. He’s always had some prejudice against me.”
“I wonder what you could have done to fall into his bad graces,” mused Rupert.
“Nothing that I know of.”
“How distressing it is to be misjudged!”
“Well, let him say what he likes. Our claim is the better one and there are many influential people who will support us. The throne is our right and we shall get it despite the obstacles.”
“We?” said Rupert, raising an eyebrow. “Thank you for your unwonted generosity, uncle, but I don’t much value my share of the offer. What am I going to get out of all this? An obscure duchy, as far from the capitol as possible, perhaps? No thank you.”
“You stand to gain as much as I do, as you’re my heir. You’ll be the next king.”
“True, but after all, you may out-live me; not impossible with my way of life, I should say. Besides, I don’t care much for a crown in trust. What I can’t have at once holds little attraction for me.”
“You’re a fool, that’s all.”
“Just as you say,” said Rupert with unconcern. “Every man is a fool in his own way, and if you think me a fool, I’ve always considered you one.”
“Then you don’t mean to stand with me?”
“Tell me why I should.”
Count Raymond made an impatient gesture. “Why you should! I’ve already told you why you should! You’re to be king, aren’t you? What’s your purpose in pretending you don’t care? If you mean to bargain with me, you’re wasting your time. I won’t court your assistance. I’m offering you the only opportunity you’ll ever have to repair your fortunes. What chance do you think you stand on your own? You have no money. Your friends mistrust you. Next week your name may be on the insolvency bills or the police records. If you turn down this chance, you’re not only a fool, you’re a lunatic!”
“But for all that, you do need my help to carry out your plans,” said Rupert, grinning. “You’re too cautious yourself and don’t want to take any chances. You lack the—permit me the use of a vulgar expression—‘bluff’ to carry through such a scheme. The article is mine, therefore I can exact any price I please.”
“And what price do you please to exact?” asked his uncle scornfully. “I’ve offered you the kingdom, haven’t I?”
“You promise to make me a rich man; not meaning any slight to your word, but the chances are greater that I would make myself a poor one again if you did. I don’t want power either: the kingdom’s worth about as much to me as this castle—and that’s not much. Waldovia’s only a speck on the map of Europe. We may be conquered next year or next month even. The crown carries with it the headman’s axe, you know.”
“But it’s a crown all the same,” said Raymond pointedly. “Not many men get such a chance offered them and the ones who succeed are only those who are willing to go to any lengths for it. You like danger and intrigue: here’s as much of it as you want.”
Rupert smiled, and his smile, though sly, was not unpleasant. “Promise me that, now,” he said, “—that’s something else.”
“It’s the only thing I can promise you, for we’ll have enough of it whether the plan’s successful or not.”
“What is the plan?”
“Then you’re agreed?”
“Perhaps. Let’s hear what you have in mind.”
Count Raymond hesitated.
“No,” he said, “I insist on a guarantee of your collaboration first.”
“Very well, if you say so. Shall I swear?”
“As if any oath could bind you if you chose to disregard it,” said Raymond with a sneer. “No, I only want your father’s old documents.”
Rupert looked sharply at his uncle.
“What for?”
“To make certain they don’t contain anything that could hurt our cause.”
“Such as?”
“I only want to be on the safe side.”
“No, you’re holding over on something. Come on, what is it?”
The count was silent for several minutes, looking at his nephew.
“I suppose it couldn’t hurt,” he said at last. “I meant to tell you sooner or later anyway.”
“What?”
“I’ll be quite free with you,” said the count amiably, taking a seat across from Rupert. “It’s the one problem I’ve come across in my plan.”
“Besides Algromond, you mean?”
“No, Algromond won’t be a problem. Even von Rimmel must be convinced sooner or later that my claim is the better one. It’s about my eldest brother, your uncle Nicholas.”
“Nicholas? But he died years ago—or were we told wrongly?”
“Oh yes, Nicholas is dead. I sent an agent to England to make sure of that.”
“Well?”
“He married after reaching England.”
“Did he? Funny we never heard of that. Wasn’t he rather old for that sort of thing? What was he, anyway—thirty-seven?”
“Thirty-eight. He once said that he would never marry, but it seems he changed his mind. However, the woman was sickly and he survived her.”
Rupert sat forward slightly. “—But left a child, you’re going to say?”
His uncle looked at him in surprise. “How did you know that?”
“Guessed –but go on.”
“Yes, a child; a ten-year-old girl, in fact. She’s living in England on strangers’ charity, but she’s Nicholas’s heir and therefore first in line for the crown.”
Rupert leaned back again and rested his shoulder on the stone wall behind him. “Odd that Uncle Nicholas should never have told anybody about it,” he said. “He must have been a queer old fellow.”
“He never communicated with me since the day he left. He was always like that. I’ve done my best to learn whether there’s anyone else in the country aware of the child’s existence and as far as I know, there isn’t. This is probably the first time I’ve had occasion to bless my brother’s reticence.”
“Then you mean to murder the child?”
“Murder? No.”
“It’s the surest way…”
“Yes, but it’s not necessary right now. Besides, she may be of use later.”
“How?”
“If Von Rimmel continued to oppose me, he might be more favourable to her. He was a friend of Nicholas’s. Obviously, if she were crowned, she’d be too young to decide in matters of state—”
“—And so you would advise her, is that it? Not a bad idea, uncle. Besides, it’s just as likely that she’s sickly and would leave the throne to you in a year or two. How do you intend to go about it?”
“I gave my agent instructions to bring her here.”
“Here? To this castle, you mean? You’ve audacity, uncle,” said Rupert with a shade of respect.
“I’ve brains, that’s all. No one would think to look for her here and couldn’t if he did.”
“That’s true. You could hide a regiment in this place easily enough; no one ever comes near it. –But supposing you were to get the crown? What would you do with her then?”
“I’ll decide that later. For now it’s a minor detail.”
“Infanticide a minor detail, uncle? You’re learning fast, it appears.”
“If my brother Nicholas weren’t dead already, I wouldn’t stop at fratricide to gain my ends—tell that to that straitlaced von Rimmel!”
Rupert, gazing on his uncle, felt glad that it was not himself who stood in the way to the throne. There are some who go through life well thought of by their fellow men who, if the secrets of their hearts were known, would prove the worst criminals. Such was Count Raymond. Men who looked with disapproval on the misdeeds of young Rupert would have found under the uncle’s show of virtue deeds yet blacker.
“And what of Algromond?” asked Rupert after a moment.
“Algromond isn’t a concern at present; it’s von Rimmel I distrust. You’re acquainted with Captain Hergyll, aren’t you?”
“Von Rimmel’s aide de camp; I know him by sight.”
“You’ll have a chance to improve the acquaintance. I want you to make it your business to know every move he makes; every person he sees; every scrap of information he brings to von Rimmel.”
“What are you afraid of?”
“Nothing. I choose to be cautious, that’s all. Hergyll is von Rimmel’s eyes and ears.”
“Wouldn’t cutting his throat be far easier?”
“That’s not an option at present.”
“Oh well,” said Rupert with a shrug. “You know best, I suppose. When shall I leave?”
“The sooner the better.”
“Tonight then, if you wish.”
“Very well. Hergyll is at the capitol at present. You can take my horse; it’s the fresher.”
“Right ho, then,” said Rupert, getting to his feet and stretching his limbs. “But it’s ill riding weather. Where’s that provincial wine you’re so fond of keeping here?”
“There’s a bottle on the sideboard.”
“Expected me, eh?” said Rupert, striding across the room.
The count followed him without a reply and, filling the two glasses that stood beside the wine bottle, proposed the success of their enterprise.
“If you don’t mind, I’d rather propose the endeavour,” said Rupert.
Count Raymond made no demure but merely drank his wine with his eyes fixed on his nephew. With a toss of his head, Rupert drained his glass and, replacing his helmet, turned and strode from the room.
* * *