The Proud Princess Page 10

  She loved the Prince! She loved him with an overwhelming, passionate jealousy that was unconfineable.

  All the self-control that her mother had instilled into her since she was a small child vanished in a possessive desire to cry aloud that the Prince was hers!

  He was her husband! He had married her and she felt prepared to fight every woman in the world to substantiate her claim.

  “I love him! I love him!” she cried beneath her breath.

  But it was a defiant declaration of war rather than the tender softness of a woman ready to surrender herself to a man.

  For some minutes the Prince danced alone with the gypsy. Then as the music seemed to rise triumphant into the sky the others joined in.

  The women’s multitudinous skirts swirled around their bare legs, their anklets jingled as they leapt and gyrated over the soft ground, while their jewels, like their dark eyes, glittered in the light from the fire.

  Only the older gypsies and the Voivode who sat beside Ilona did not join in the dancing.

  Suddenly she felt the whole scene swinging dazzlingly in front of her eyes so that it became a waving kaleidoscope of colour and movement in which it was hard even to distinguish the Prince.

  For one moment Ilona contemplated joining the dancers and forcing the Prince to be her partner.

  Then despite the primitive emotions which possessed her, some remnant of pride made her bend towards the Voivode to say,

  “I am rather tired. Will you excuse me if I return to the Castle?”

  The gypsy Chief smiled as if he understood, and Ilona added quickly,

  “I would not wish to interrupt His Highness’s enjoyment. Perhaps I could leave without anybody being aware that I had gone.”

  The Voivode helped her to her feet and they moved into the shadows behind the silk-covered couch on which she had dined.

  It was not far to the gate which led into the garden, and there waiting for her, as Ilona had expected, was one of the Prince’s Aides-de-camp and servants carrying torches.

  She held out her hand to the Voivode.

  “Thank you for a delightful and very exciting evening,” she said. “Will you please convey my gratitude to your whole tribe?”

  “You are very gracious,” the gypsy said in his own language.

  He raised the back of her hand to his forehead in an obeisance which proclaimed the gypsies’ Eastern origin.

  Without looking back at the dancers leaping against the red glow of the fire, Ilona walked towards the Castle accompanied by the Aide-de-camp.

  It seemed to her as she moved away that the music was calling her, enticing her, and at the same time laughing mockingly.

  She could still feel the fire it had evoked racing through her veins and making her breath come quickly between her lips.

  She only hoped the Aide-de-camp would think she was as quiet and composed as she had been during the four days she lived at the Castle.

  When she reached her bedroom Ilona flung open the window to stand looking out into the starlit darkness.

  She could hear the music throbbing until it seemed to be part of the beat of her heart, exciting her and accentuating the love she had already acknowledged until it became utterly unbearable.

  Sharply she closed the casement to shut out the haunting melody of the violins, but she could not erase the passions they had evoked within her heart and mind.

  Long after Magda had left her and she was alone in the darkness, Ilona lay tense, her whole body throbbing with a desperate, aching desire for the Prince.

  She knew that he would not come to her room tonight, and she thought of him holding the gypsy Mautya in his arms and kissing those curved red lips that had smiled at him so invitingly.

  She told herself that the Prince at twenty-eight would obviously have had many women in his life, and if the Russian gypsy was his mistress who would blame him?

  Never had Ilona imagined a woman could be so alluring, so seductive, with a magic mysticism about her that he would never find in any woman of his own class.

  She tortured herself with remembering the hard possessiveness of his lips, and then imagining the gypsy returning his kiss as she had been unable to do.

  Why had she not known then that he was the only man who would ever matter in her life?

  Why, instead of hating him for touching her, had she not responded as she was sure any other woman would have done?

  She thought of the quizzical, mocking look in his blue eyes and knew that, just as she now found him irresistible, there must have been many, many women who had felt the same.

  “He hates and despises me,” she told herself miserably and went down to a special hell of unhappiness and despair at the thought.

  It was impossible to sleep. All Ilona could think of was the gypsy in the Prince’s arms and his mouth seeking hers.

  “I love him! I love him!” she cried despairingly.

  She might lack self-restraint. She might lack control, pride and all the attributes of a lady that her mother had instilled into her so painstakingly. But she knew that if the Prince had come to her room as he had done on other nights she would have flung herself down on her knees before him and implored him to kiss her.

  “Mama would be ashamed of me!” Ilona told herself as dawn came.

  Yet she could no more repress what she was feeling than she could prevent the sun rising over the mountains and shining golden on the waterfall behind the Castle.

  She rang the bell for Magda long before her usual hour for being called, and when the maid had drawn back the curtains Ilona asked eagerly,

  “What are the plans for today, Magda? Am I going driving with His Highness?”

  She wanted to see him. She knew, however much it hurt her to think of where he had spent the night, that she wanted to be with him, to look at him even if he did not look at her, to hear his voice.

  “At least I shall be beside him in the carriage,” Ilona told herself. “At least I can watch him while he is charming and sympathetic to other people. At least while he’s with me he will not be with his gypsy mistress!”

  But when Magda brought in Ilona’s breakfast there was a note on it from Count Duźsa.

  It was the regular method by which he informed Ilona of the day’s programme.

  Hastily she picked up the piece of paper and read,

  “His Highness has a meeting with the Prime Minister and the other members of the Council in Vitózi this morning. Perhaps Your Royal Highness would wish to go riding? His Highness will return at noon for luncheon.”

  Ilona’s first feeling was one of disappointment that she would not see the Prince until luncheon-time. But at least she thought irrepressibly, if he was with the Prime Minister, he would not be with the gypsy.

  “Please inform Count Duźsa,” she said to Magda, “that I would like to ride in an hour’s time.”

  She paused, then added,

  “And tell him I wish only to be accompanied by a groom. I do not require a large escort.”

  She was thinking how, when she went riding from the Palace, there had been two Army officers and two grooms to take care of her.

  She was sure the Prince would not expect her to endure so much formality when she was riding on Sáros land.

  When she came downstairs, wearing a white pique riding habit which the Empress Eugénie had made fashionable before the last days of the Second Empire, Ilona looked extremely attractive.

  She had thought when she glanced at herself in the mirror that it was a pity the Prince could not see her.

  Then her heart dropped as she remembered he was obviously not attracted by a woman who looked aristocratic but rather by one who wore the swirling skirts of a gypsy dancer, and had a barbaric, exotic beauty which she could never emulate.

  The Count Duźsa was waiting for her in the hall.

  “I have obeyed your wishes, Ma’am,” he said. “You will be accompanied by only one groom, but may I respectfully suggest that you do not go too far?”r />
  “Surely there is no danger for me riding in the woods on this side of the river?” Ilona enquired.

  “No, of course not,” Count Duźsa replied. “At the same time I have a feeling that if we had asked His Highness he would have insisted on your being accompanied by one of the Aides-de-camp.”

  “Today I wish to be alone,” Ilona replied with a little smile.

  “I understand,” Count Duźsa said, “but please be very careful of yourself, Ma’am. You are very precious.”

  Ilona longed to retort,

  “Not to your master and my husband”

  But instead she thanked him quietly and set off from the Castle followed by a middle-aged groom whom she had seen on other occasions.

  He rode a few paces behind her and Ilona took a path running across the hill which was sheltered by trees through which she had glimpses of the valley and the river below.

  There were bridges over deep gorges and small cascades, and when the path divided Ilona hesitated for a moment.

  One way she could see led higher up the hillside towards the snow-capped mountains while the other path plunged down into the valley and she could see a thick forest of pine trees beneath her.

  She suddenly thought she would like to revisit the place where she had first encountered the Prince. She had the idea that it was not far below where she now was.

  She turned her horse’s head and began the steep descent down the mountainside until she smelt the sweet fragrance of the pine trees.

  She remembered how she had come unexpectedly upon the men gathered together in the clearing and listened without understanding as they had protested to the Prince against her father’s unjust and cruel laws.

  It was easy to understand now that he had been obliged to meet them in secret so that the King would not learn that they were plotting against him.

  And who could blame them, Ilona thought, for turning to the one man who would try to help them? The one man strong enough to defy her father’s tyrannical dictatorial rule?

  She found the clearing and recognised it immediately.

  There were the fallen logs on which many of the men had been sitting, and the place at the far end from which the Prince had risen to come to her side.

  She thought now she must have known the moment she saw him that fate had brought him into her life, and it was inevitable that she should love him.

  And yet at the time she had definitely resented the manner in which he had spoken to her, the authoritative way in which he had taken her horse’s bridle and led her away from the clearing back towards the river.

  And then ...

  Ilona shut her eyes.

  She could almost feel the Prince lifting her from her horse, holding her tightly in his arms and bending his head towards her.

  “Why did I not know when he kissed me that I loved him and that I would never be able to escape from that love?”

  Even as she asked herself the question a respectful voice beside her said:

  “Excuse me, Your Royal Highness, but I think we should return to the Castle.”

  Ilona started. Lost in her thoughts she had forgotten the groom was with her.

  With an effort she came back to reality and asked:

  “Is there any hurry?”

  “I may be mistaken, Your Royal Highness, but I’ve a feeling that we’re being watched!”

  “Watched?” Ilona questioned. “By whom?”

  The groom looked around nervously.

  “It was soon after we left the Castle, Your Royal Highness. Of course I may be mistaken, but I think we would be wise to return.”

  “I cannot imagine who would be watching me,” Ilona said, “but time must be getting on and I am quite prepared to go back.”

  She moved forward a few paces so that she could see the place where, after the Prince had kissed her, her horse had forded the river.

  The level was a little lower than it had been a week ago. The water was silver and clear in the sunshine, and as she looked at it a salmon jumped and the ripples widened out towards the bank on the other side.

  Then Ilona heard the groom give an exclamation.

  On the opposite bank there were four horsemen riding down towards her and plunging into the water.

  She stared at them in astonishment and as she did so she heard horses’ hoofs behind her and the sound of other horses coming through the trees.

  She felt her heart give a sudden leap of fear.

  She knew who the men approaching her were, knew them by their round lambskin hats and sleeveless sheepskin coats. They were the Zyghes, the savage horse-thieves who lived high up in the mountains.

  They were the terror of every herdsman because they lived by stealing horses from the steppes, usually choosing those that were already half tamed, often injuring and sometimes killing the Czikos who were in charge of them.

  The shepherds also hated them because the Zyghes lived off the land.

  They stole the sheep they wished to eat, they drove away the cattle in the dark and the fact that they lived in caves high in the mountains made it almost impossible to bring them to justice.

  The Zyghes surrounded Ilona and she heard the groom give a cry as he was thrown off his horse.

  Then before she could speak or do anything but stare at them with frightened eyes, one of the Zyghes had taken hold of her bridle and was pulling her horse across the river.

  There was nothing Ilona could do but hold on to the pommel to prevent herself from falling off.

  Another Zyghe came to her on the other side and as they reached the top of the bank they started to gallop wildly towards the open steppe.

  Other Zyghes followed bringing the groom’s riderless horse, and Ilona knew that they must in fact have been following her ever since she left the Castle.

  But why? For what reason?

  She found it difficult to think as the horses galloped over the steppe, their hoofs thundering on the green grass and the wind blowing in Ilona’s face made it difficult for her to be conscious of anything except the danger she was in.

  They must have ridden for nearly a mile before a Zyghe behind them gave a yell, and the two men on either side of Ilona reined in their horses.

  One of them looked back to shout,

  “What is it?”

  He spoke in a strange accent, but Ilona understood the words.

  There was no need for the men following to explain.

  The reins of the riderless horse had become entangled and were in danger of throwing the animal.

  One man jumped down to release them and Ilona asked,

  “W – what do you – want of me? Where are you – taking me?”

  The Zyghe she addressed was a wild-looking man with long hair and a sweeping black moustache. His face had the high Mongolian cheek-bones which proclaimed his Magyar descent.

  His dark eyes slanted a little at the corners and he looked at her in what she felt was an unpleasant manner as he replied,

  “Money! You bring us plenty money!”

  He slapped his hip as he spoke and Ilona stared at him in surprise.

  “Do you mean – you are holding me for – ransom?”

  She spoke clearly and slowly, hoping they would understand her pure Dabrozkan.

  He shook his head.

  “Money here!” he said slapping his hip again, and now the others all roared with laughter.

  For a moment Ilona could not understand what they were trying to say. Then suddenly she realised what must have happened.

  Her father had paid these men - she was as sure of it as if they had actually said so!

  It was his revenge on her for becoming a Sáros - an act of defiance which he intended to disconcert the Prince and undoubtedly cause consternation amongst the members of the Council.

  It seemed incredible that he should do such a thing, but she knew that it was just the type of action which would please him because no one could have expected it.

  He might possibly have made ar
rangements with the thieves to return her eventually to the Palace or even to her husband.

  But in the meantime she would be forced to live with them in some dirty, primitive cave and to suffer the humiliation of knowing that she could not defy him as she had tried to do when he had beaten her into submission.

  It was horrifying - it was diabolical! Nevertheless, Ilona thought despairingly, there was nothing whatever she could do about it.

  The Zyghes were laughing and joking amongst themselves, and now one of them raised a hind leg of the groom’s horse they had captured and discovered that in crossing the river he had picked up a stone.

  The man drew a long, evil-looking knife from the sash that encircled his waist.

  As the blade glinted in the sunshine Ilona averted her eyes, thinking how often it had killed a stolen animal or, worse still, wounded or murdered those who tried to protect their property.

  She remembered all too well that the Zyghes were the bogey-men of the small villages of Dabrozka and their many crimes made them invariably spoken of with bated breath.

  “How could Papa have done this to me?” she asked herself.

  She wondered despairingly if anyone would know where she had gone, and if the groom had been too insensible when they had thrown him from his horse to fetch help.

  Anyway it would take him some time to walk back the way they had come, she thought, and if he tried to reach the City along the river bank the Zyghes would have taken her to their caves long before there was any chance of a rescue party finding her.

  Despite the sharp point of the Zyghes knife, it was taking a long time to dislodge the stone which had embedded itself under the iron shoe while the other five Zyghes sat watching.

  They rode their horses without saddles and with bridles made of rope. Their animals were unshod and Ilona felt they were perhaps inexperienced in dealing with animals that were shod.

  “You say you have been given money to capture me,” she said suddenly. “If you take me back, I will see that you are given more money than you were first given. Much, much more!”

  She thought they had difficulty in understanding what she was saying and she repeated herself several times.