 Chapter 26 of The Lost Prince This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Susan Umpleby. The Lost Prince by Francis Hodgson Burnett, Chapter 26, Across the Frontier That one day, a week later, two tired and travel-worn boy mendicants should drag themselves with slow and weary feet across the frontier line between Giardagia and Smaevia, was not an incident to awaken suspicion or even to attract attention. War and hunger and anguish had left the country stunned and broken. Since the worst had happened, no one was curious as to what would befall them next. If Giardagia herself had become a foe instead of a friendly neighbor and had sent across the border galloping hordes of soldiery, there would only have been more shrieks and home burnings and slaughter which no one dare resist. But so far Giardagia had remained peaceful. The two boys, one of them on crutches, had evidently traveled far on foot. Their poor clothes were dusty and travel-stained, and they stopped and asked for water at the first hut across the line. The one who walked without crutches had some coarse bread and a bag slung over his shoulder, and they sat on the roadside and ate it as if they were hungry. The old grandmother, who lived alone in the hut, sat and stared at them without any curiosity. She may have vaguely wondered why anyone crossed into Samavia in these days, but she did not care to know their reason. Her big son had lived in a village which belonged to the Moronovich, and he had been called out to fight for his lords. He had not wanted to fight and had not known what the quarrel was about, but he was forced to obey. He had kissed his handsome wife and forced dirty children, blubbering aloud when he left them. His village and his good crops and his house must be left behind. Then the Yarovitch swept through the pretty little cluster of homesteads which belonged to their enemy. They were mad with rage because they had met with great losses in a battle not far away. And as they swooped through, they burned and killed and trampled down fields and vineyards. The old woman's son never saw either the burned walls of his house or the bodies of his wife and children because he had been killed himself in the battle for which the Yarovitch were avenging themselves. Only the old grandmother who lived in the hut near the frontier line and stared vacantly at the passers-by remained alive. She nearly gazed at people and wondered why she did not hear news from her son and her grandchildren. But that was all. When the boys were over the frontier and well on their way along the roads, it was not difficult to keep out of sight if it seemed necessary. The country was mountainous and there were deep and thick forests by the way. Forests so far reaching and with such thick undergrowth that full grown men could easily have hidden themselves. It was because of this perhaps that this part of the country had seen little fighting. There was too great opportunity for a secure ambush for a foe. As the two travelers went on, they heard of burned villages and towns destroyed. But they were towns and villages nearer Melzar and other fortress-defended cities. Or they were in the country surrounding the castles and estates of powerful nobles and leaders. It was true, as Marko had said to the White-haired personage, that the Muranovitch and Yarovitch had fought with the savageness of hyenas, until at last the forces of each side lay torn and bleeding. Their strength, their resources, their supplies exhausted. Each day left them weaker and more desperate. Europe looked on with small interest in either party, but with growing desire that the disorder should end and cease to interfere with commerce. All this and much more Marko and the Rat knew. But as they made their cautious way through byways of the maimed and tortured little country, they learned other things. They learned that the stories of its beauty and fertility were not romances. Its heaven-reaching mountains, its immense plains of rich verger, on which flocks and herds might have fed by thousands, its splendor of deep forest and broad clear rushing rivers, had a primeval majesty such as the first human creatures might have found on earth in the days of the Garden of Eden. The two boys traveled through forest and woodland when it was possible to leave the road. It was safe to thread away among the huge trees and tall ferns and young saplings. It was not always easy, but it was safe. Sometimes they saw a charcoal burner's hut or a shelter where a shepherd was hiding with the few sheep left to him. Each man they met were the same look of stony suffering in his face. But when the boys begged for bread and water as was their habit, no one refused to share the little he had. It soon became plain to them that they were thought to be two young fugitives whose homes had probably been destroyed and who were wandering about with no thought but that of fighting safety until the worst was over. That one of them traveled on crutches added to their apparent helplessness and that he could not speak the language of the country made him more an object of pity. The peasants did not know what language he spoke. Sometimes a foreigner came to find work in this small town or that. The poor lad might have come to the country with his father and mother and then have been caught in the whirlpool of war and tossed out on the world parentless. But no one asked questions. Even in their desolation they were silent and noble people who were too courteous for curiosity. In the old days they were simple and stately and kind. All doors were open to travelers. The master of the poorest hut uttered a blessing and a welcome when a stranger crossed his threshold. It was the custom of the country, Marco said. I read about it in a book of my father's. About most of the doors the welcome was carved in stone. It was this. The blessing of the Son of God and rest within these walls. They are big and strong said the rat and they have good faces. They carry themselves as if they had been drilled, both men and women. It was not through the blood drenched part of the unhappy land their way led them. But they saw hunger and dread in the villages they passed. Crops which should have fed the people had been taken away from them for the use of the army. Flocks and herds had been driven away and faces were gaunt and gray. Those who had as yet only lost crops and herds knew that homes and lives might be torn from them at any moment. Only old men and women and children were left to wait for any fate which the chances of war might deal out to them. When they were given food from some poor store, Marco would offer a little money in return. He dare not excite suspicion by offering much. He was obliged to let it be imagined that in his flight from his ruined home he had been able to snatch at and secrete some poor horde which might save him from starvation. Often the women would not take what he offered. Their journey was a hard and hungry one. They must make it all on foot and there was little food to be found. But each of them knew how to live on scant fare. They traveled mostly by night and slept among the ferns and undergrowth through the day. They drank from running brooks and bathed in them. Moss and ferns made soft and sweet smelling beds and trees roofed them. Sometimes they lay long and talked while they rested. And at length a day came when they knew they were nearing their journey's end. It is nearly over now, Marco said, after they had thrown themselves down in the forest in the early hours of one dewy morning. He said, after Sumavia, go back to London as quickly as you can. As quickly as you can. He said it twice as if something were going to happen. Perhaps it will happen more suddenly than we think, the thing he meant, answered the rat. Suddenly he sat up on his elbow and leaned towards Marco. We are in Sumavia, he said. We too are in Sumavia and we are near the end. Marco rose on his elbow also. He was very thin as a result of hard travel and scant feeding. His thinness made his eyes look immense and black as pits. But they burned and were beautiful with their own fire. Yes, he said, breathing quickly. And though we do not know what the end will be, we have obeyed orders. The prince was next to the last one. There is only one more, the old priest. I have wanted to see him more than I have wanted to see any of the others, the rat said. So have I, Marco answered. His church is built on the side of this mountain. I wonder what he will say to us. Both had the same reason for wanting to see him. In his youth he had served in the monastery over the frontier. The one which, till it was destroyed in a revolt, had treasured the 500-year-old story of the beautiful royal lad brought to be hidden among the brotherhood by the ancient shepherd. In the monastery the memory of the lost prince was as the memory of a saint. It had been told that one of the early brothers, who was a decorator and a painter, had made a picture of him with a faint halo shining about his head. The young Acolyte who had served there must have heard wonderful legends, but the monastery had been burned, and the young Acolyte had in later years crossed the frontier and become the priest of a few mountaineers whose little church clung to the mountainside. He had worked hard and faithfully and was worshiped by his people. Only the secret forges of the sword knew that his most ardent worshipers were those with whom he prayed and to whom he gave blessings in dark caverns under the earth, where arms piled themselves, and men with dark, strong faces sat together in the dim light and laid plans and wrought schemes. This Marco and the Rat did not know as they talked of their desire to see him. He may not choose to tell us anything, said Marco. When we have given him the sign he may turn away to say nothing as some of the others did. He may have nothing to say which we should hear. Silence may be the order for him, too. It would not be a long or dangerous climb to the little church on the rock. They could sleep or rest all day and begin it at twilight. So after they had talked of the old priest and had eaten their black bread, they settled themselves to sleep under cover of the thick, tall ferns. It was a long and deep sleep which nothing disturbed. So few human beings ever climbed the hill, except by the narrow, rough path leading to the church, that the little wild creatures had not learned to be afraid of them. Once during the afternoon a hare hopping along under the ferns to make a visit stopped by Marco's head, and after looking at him a few seconds with his lustrous eyes, began to nibble the ends of his hair. He only did it from curiosity and because he wondered if it might be a new kind of grass. But he did not like it and stopped nibbling almost at once, after which he looked at it again, moving the soft, sensitive end of his nose rapidly for a second or so, and then hopped away to attend to his own affairs. A very large and handsome green stag beetle crawled from one end of the rat's crutches to the other. But having done it, he went away also. Two or three times a bird searching for his dinner under the ferns was surprised to find the two sleeping figures. But as they lay so quietly, there seemed nothing to be frightened about. A beautiful little field mouse running past discovered that there were crumbs lying about and ate all she could find on the moss. After that, she crept into Marco's pocket and found some excellent ones and had quite a feast. But she disturbed nobody and the boys slept on. It was a bird's evening song which awakened them both. The bird alighted on the branch of a tree near them and her trill was rippling clear and sweet. The evening air had freshened and was fragrant with hillside scents. When Marco first rolled over and opened his eyes, he thought the most delicious thing on earth was to waken from sleep on a hillside at evening and hear a bird singing. It seemed to make exquisitely real to him the fact that he was in Somavia, that the lamp was lighted and his work was nearly done. The rat awakened when he did and for a few minutes both lay on their backs without speaking. At last, Marco said, the stars are coming out. We can begin to climb, aid to camp. Then they both got up and looked at each other. The last one, the rat said, tomorrow we shall be on our way back to London, number seven Filibert Place. After all the places we've been to, what will it look like? It will be like wakening out of a dream, said Marco. It's not beautiful, Filibert Place, but he will be there. And it was as if a light lighted itself in his face and shone through the very darkness of it. And the rat's face lighted in almost exactly the same way and he pulled off his cap and stood bare-headed. We've obeyed orders, he said. We've not forgotten one. No one has noticed us. No one has thought of us. We've blown through the countries as if we had been grains of dust. Marco's head was bared too and his face was still shining. God be thanked, he said. Let us begin to climb. They pushed their way through the ferns and wandered in and out through trees until they found the little path. The hill was thickly clothed with forest and the little path was sometimes dark and steep. But they knew that if they followed it, they would at last come out to a place where there were scarcely any trees at all and on a crag they would find the tiny church waiting for them. The priest might not be there. They might have to wait for him. But he would be sure to come back for morning mass and for vespers wheresoever he wandered between times. There were many stars in the sky when at last a turn of the path showed them the church above them. It was little and built of rough stone. It looked as if the priest himself and his scattered flock might have broken and carried or rolled bits of the hill to put it together. It had the small round mosque-like summit the Turks had brought into Europe in centuries past. It was so tiny that it would hold but a very small congregation. And close to it was a shed-like house, which was, of course, the priests. The boys stopped on the path to look at it. There is a candle burning in one of the little windows, said Marco. There is a well near the door and someone is beginning to draw water, said the rat next. It is too dark to see who it is. Listen! They listened and heard the bucket descend on the chains and splash in the water. Then it was drawn up and it seemed someone drank long. Then they saw a dim figure move forward and stand still. Then they heard a voice begin to pray aloud as if the owner, being accustomed to utter solitude, did not think of earthly hearers. Come! Marco said and they went forward. Because the stars were so many and the air so clear the priest heard their feet on the path and saw them almost as soon as he heard them. He ended his prayer and watched them coming. A lad on crutches who moved as lightly and easily as a bird and a lad who, even yards away, was noticeable for a bearing of his body which was neither haughty nor proud but set him somehow aloof from every other lad one had ever seen. A magnificent lad, though as he drew near the starlight showed his face thin and his eyes hollow as if with fatigue or hunger. And who is this one? The old priest murmured to himself. Who? Marco drew up before him and made a respectful reverence. Then he lifted his black head, squared his shoulders and uttered his message for the last time. The lamp is lighted, Father, he said. The lamp is lighted. The old priest stood quite still and gazed into his face. The next moment he bent his head so that he could look at him closely. It seemed almost as if he were frightened and wanted to make sure of something. At the moment it flashed through the rat's mind that the old, old woman on the mountaintop had looked frightened in something the same way. I am an old man, he said. My eyes are not good. If I had a light and he glanced towards the house it was the rat who with one whirl swung through the door and seized the candle. He guessed what he wanted. He held it himself so that the flare fell on Marco's face. The old priest drew nearer and nearer. He gasped for breath. You are the son of Stephen Loristan, he cried. It is his son who brings the sign. He fell upon his knees and hit his face in his hands. Both the boys heard him sobbing and praying, praying and sobbing at once. They glanced at each other. The rat was bursting with excitement but he felt a little awkward also and wondered what Marco would do. An old fellow on his knees, crying, made a chap feel as if he didn't know what to say. Must you comfort him or must you let him go on? Marco only stood quite still and looked at him with understanding and gravity. Yes, father, he said. I am the son of Stephen Loristan and I have given the sign to all. You are the last one. The lamp is lighted. I could weep for gladness too. The priest's tears and prayers ended. He rose to his feet, a rugged-faced old man with long and thick white hair which fell on his shoulders and smiled at Marco while his eyes were still wet. You have passed from one country to another with the message, he said. You were under orders to say those four words? Yes, father, answered Marco. That was all? You were to say no more? I know no more. Silence has been the order since I took my oath of allegiance when I was a child. I was not old enough to fight or serve or reason about great things. All I could do was to be silent and to train myself to remember and be ready when I was called. When my father saw I was ready, he trusted me to go out and give the sign. He told me the four words, nothing else. The old man watched him with a wondering face. Yes, Stefan Loristan does not know best, he said. Who does? He always knows, answered Marco proudly. Always. He waved his hand like a young king toward the rat. He wanted each man they met to understand the value of the rat. He chose for me this companion, he added. I have done nothing alone. He let me call myself his aide to camp, burst forth the rat. I would be cut into inch-long strips for him. Marco translated. Then the priest looked at the rat and slowly nodded his head. Yes, he said. He knew best. He always knows best. That I see. How did you know I was my father's son? Asked Marco. You have seen him? No, was the answer. But I have seen a picture which is said to be his image. And you are the picture's self. It is indeed a strange thing that two of God's creatures should be so alike. There was a purpose in it. He led them into his bare small house and made them rest and drink goat's milk and eat food. As he moved about the hut-like place, there was a mysterious and exalted look on his face. You must be refreshed before we leave here, he said at last. I am going to take you to a place hidden in the mountains where there are men whose hearts will leap at the sight of you. To see you will give them new power and courage and new resolve. Tonight, they meet as they or their ancestors have met for centuries. But now, they are nearing the end of their waiting. And I shall bring them the son of Stefan Loristan who is the bearer of the sign. They ate the bread and cheese and drank the goat's milk he gave them. But Marko explained that they did not need rest as they had slept all day. They were prepared to follow him when he was ready. The last faint hint of twilight had died into night and the stars were at their thickest when they set out together. The white-haired old man took a thick-knotted staff in his hand and led the way. He knew it well though it was a rugged and steep one with no track to mark it. Sometimes they seemed to be walking around the mountain. Sometimes they were climbing. Sometimes they dragged themselves over rocks or fallen trees or struggled through almost impassable thickets. More than once they descended into ravines and almost at the risk of their lives clambered and drew themselves with the aid of the undergrowth up the other side. The rat was called upon to use all his prowess and sometimes Marko and the priest helped him across obstacles with the aid of his crutch. Haven't I shown tonight whether I'm a cripple or not? He said once to Marko. You can tell him about this, can't you? And that the crutches helped instead of being in the way? They had been out nearly two hours when they came to a place where the undergrowth was thick and a huge tree had fallen crashing down among it in some storm. Not far from the tree was an outcropping rock. Only the top of it was to be seen above the heavy tangle. They had pushed their way through the jungle of bushes and young saplings led by their companion. They did not know where they would be led next and were supposing to push forward further when the priest stalked by the outcropping rock. He stood silent a few minutes, quite motionless as if he were listening to the forest in the night. But there was utter stillness. There was not even a breeze to stir a leaf or a half-wakened bird to sleepily chirp. He struck the rock with his staff twice and then twice again. Marco and the rat stood with bated breath. They did not wait long. Presently each of them found himself leaning forward, staring with almost unbelieving eyes not at the priest or his staff but at the rock itself. It was moving. Yes, it moved. The priest stepped aside and it slowly turned as if worked by a lever. As it turned, it gradually revealed a chasm of darkness dimly lighted. And the priest spoke to Marco. There are hiding places like this all through Somavia, he said. Patience and misery have waited long in them. They are the caverns of the forgers of the sword. Come. End of Chapter 26. Chapter 27 of The Lost Prince. This is a Librivox recording. All Librivox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librivox.org. Recording by Susan Umpleby. The Lost Prince by Francis Hodgson Burnett Chapter 27. It is The Lost Prince. It is Ivor. Many times since their journey had begun, the boys had found their hearts beating with the thrill and excitement of things. The story of which their lives had been apart was a pulse quickening experience. But as they carefully made their way down the steep steps leading seemingly into the bowels of the earth, both Marco and the rat felt as though the old priest must hear the thudding in their young sides. The forgers of the sword. Remember every word they say. The rat whispered, so that you can tell it to me afterwards. Don't forget anything. I wish I knew Somavian. At the foot of the steps stood the man who was evidently the sentinel who worked the lever that turned the rock. He was a big burly peasant with a good watchful face and the priest gave him a greeting and a blessing as he took from him the lantern he held out. They went through a narrow and dark passage and down some more steps and turned a corner into another corridor cut out of rock and earth. It was a wider corridor but still dark so that Marco and the rat had walked some yards before their eyes became sufficiently accustomed to the dim light to see that the walls themselves seemed made of arms stacked closely together. The forgers of the sword. The rat was unconsciously mumbling to himself. The forgers of the sword. It must have taken years to cut out the rounding passage they threaded their way through and longer years to forge the solid bristling walls. But the rat remembered the story the stranger had told his drunken father of the few mountain herdsmen who in their savage grief and wrath over the loss of their prince had banded themselves together with a solemn oath which had been handed down from generation to generation. The Sumavians were a long memory people and the fact that their passion must be smothered had made it burn all the more fiercely. 500 years ago they had first sworn their oath and kings had come and gone had died or been murdered and dynasties had changed but the forges of the sword had not changed or forgotten their oath or wavered in their belief that some time some time even after the long dark years the soul of their lost prince would be among them once more and that they would kneel at the feet and kiss the hands of him for whose body that soul had been reborn. And for the last hundred years their number in power and their hiding places had so increased that Sumavia was at last honeycombed with them and they only waited breathless for the lighting of the lamp. The old priest knew how breathlessly and he knew what he was bringing them. Marco and the rat in spite of their fond boy imaginings were not quite old enough to know how fierce and full of flaming eagerness the breathless waiting of savage full grown men could be but there was a tense strung thrill in knowing that they who were being led to them were the bearers of the sign. The rat went hot and cold. He nod his fingers as he went. He could almost have shrieked aloud in the intensity of his excitement when the old priest stopped before a big black door. Marco made no sound. Excitement or danger always made him look tall and quite pale. He looked both now. The priest touched the door and it opened. They were looking into an immense cavern. Its walls and roof were lined with arms. Guns, swords, bayonets, javelins, daggers, pistols, every weapon a desperate man might use. The place was full of men who turned towards the door when it opened. They all made obeisance to the priest but Marco realized almost at the same instant that they started on seeing that he was not alone. They were a strange and picturesque crowd as they stood under their canopy of weapons in the lurid torchlight. Marco saw it once that they were men of all classes. Though all were alike roughly dressed. There were huge mountaineers and planesmen young and mature in years. Some of the biggest were men with white hair but with bodies of giants and with determination in their strong jaws. There were many of these Marco saw and in each man's eyes whether he were young or old glowed a steady unconquered flame. They had been beaten so often they had been oppressed and robbed but in the eyes of each one was this unconquered flame which throughout all the long tragedy of years had been handed down from father to son. It was this which had gone on through the centuries keeping its oath and forging its swords in the caverns of the earth and which today was waiting. The old priest laid his hand on Marco's shoulder and gently pushed him before him through the crowd which parted to make way for them. He did not stop until the two stood in the very midst of the circle. Which fell back gazing wonderingly. Marco looked up at the old man because for several seconds he did not speak. It was plain that he did not speak because he also was excited and could not. He opened his lips and his voice seemed to fail him. Then he tried again and spoke so that all could hear even the men at the back of the gazing circle. My children he said this is the son of Stephan Laura Stan and he comes to bear the sign. My son to Marco speak. Then Marco understood what he wished and also what he felt. He felt it himself that magnificent uplifting gladness as he spoke holding his black head high and lifting his right hand. The lamp is lighted brothers. He cried. The lamp is lighted. Then the rat who stood apart watching thought that the strange world within the cavern had gone mad. Wild smothered cries broke forth. Men caught each other in passionate embrace. They fell upon their knees. They clutched one another sobbing. They rung each other's hands. They leaped into the air. It was as if they could not bear the joy of hearing that the end of their waiting had come at last. They rushed upon Marco and fell at his feet. The rat saw big peasants kissing his shoes, his hands, every scrap of his clothing they could seize. The wild circle swayed and closed upon him until the rat was afraid. He did not know that overpowered by this frenzy of emotion his own excitement was making him shake from head to foot like a leaf and that tears were streaming down his cheeks. The swaying crowd hid Marco from him and he began to fight his way towards him because his excitement increased with fear. The ecstasy frenzied crowd of men seemed for the moment to have almost ceased to be saying. Marco was only a boy. They did not know how fiercely they were pressing upon him and keeping away the very air. Don't kill him! Don't kill him! yelled the rat, struggling forward. Stand back, you fools! I'm his aide to camp! Let me pass! And though no one understood his English, one or two suddenly remembered they had seen him enter with the priest and so gave way. But just then the old priest lifted his hand above the crowd and spoken a voice of stern command. Stand back, my children, he cried. Madness is not the homage you must bring to the son of Stephan Laura Stan. Obey! Obey! His voice had a power in it that penetrated even the wildest herdsmen. The frenzied mass swayed back and left space about Marco, whose face the rat could at last see. It was very white with emotion and in his eyes there was a look which was like awe. The rat pushed forward until he stood beside him. He did not know that he almost sobbed as he spoke. I am your aide to camp, he said. I am going to stand here. Your father sent me. I am under orders. I thought they'd crush you to death. He glared at the circle about them as if instead of worshipers distraught with adoration they had been enemies. The old priest seeing him touched Marco's arm. Tell him he need not fear, he said. It was only the first few moments. The passion of their souls drove them wild. They are your slaves. Those at the back might have pushed the front ones on until they trampled you under foot in spite of themselves. The rat persisted. No, said Marco. They would have stopped if I had spoken. Why didn't you speak then? snapped the rat. All they felt was for Samavia and for my father Marco said. And for the sign. I felt as they did. The rat was somewhat softened. It was true after all. How could he have tried to quell the outbursts of their worship of Laura Stan? Of the country he was saving for them. Of the sign which called them to freedom. He could not. Then followed a strange and picturesque ceremonial. The priest went about among the encircling crowd and spoke to one man after another, sometimes a larger circle was formed. As the pale old man moved about the rat felt as if some religious ceremony were going to be performed. Watching it from first to last he was thrilled to the core. At the end of the cavern a block of stone had been cut out to look like an altar. It was covered with white and against the wall above it hung a large picture veiled by a curtain. From the roof there swung before it an ancient lamp of metal suspended by chains. In front of the altar was a sort of stone dais. There the priest asked Marco to stand with his aid to camp on the lower level in attendance. A knot of the biggest herdsman went out and returned. Each carried a huge sword which had perhaps been of the earliest made in the dark days gone by. The bearers formed themselves into a line on either side of Marco. They raised their swords and formed a pointed arch above his head and a passage twelve men long. When the coins first clashed together the rat struck himself hard upon his breast. His exultation was too keen to endure. He gazed at Marco standing still in that curiously splendid way in which both he and his father could stand still and wondered how he could do it. He looked as if he were prepared for any strange thing which could happen to him because he was under orders. The rat knew that he was doing whatsoever he did merely for his father's sake. It was as if he felt that he was representing his father though he was a mere boy and that because of this boy as he was he must bear himself nobly and remain outwardly undisturbed. At the end of the Arch of Swords the old priest stood and gave a sign to one man after another. When the sign was given to a man he walked under the arch to the dais and their knelt and lifting Marco's hand to his lips kissed it with passionate Then he returned to the place he had left. One after another passed up the Isle of Swords. One after another knelt. One after the other kissed the brown young hand rose and went away. Sometimes the rat heard a few words which sounded almost like a murmured prayer. Sometimes he heard a saw as a shaggy head bent. Again and again he saw eyes wet with tears. Once or twice Marco spoke a few Sumavian words and the face of the man spoken to flamed with joy. The rat had time to see as Marco had seen that many of the faces were not those of peasants. Some of them were clear-cut and subtle and of the type of scholars or nobles. It took a long time for them all to kneel and kiss the lad's hand but no man omitted the ceremony and when at last it was at an end a strange silence filled the cavern. They stood and gazed at each other with burning eyes. The priest moved to Marco's side and stood near the altar. He leaned forward and took in his hand a cord which hung from the veiled picture. He drew it and the curtain fell apart. There seemed to stand gazing at them from between its folds a tall kingly youth with deep eyes in which the stars of God were still a shining and with a smile wonderful to behold. Around the heavy locks of his black hair the long dead painter of missiles had set a faint glow of light like a halo. Son of Stephan Loristan the old priest said in a shaken voice it is the lost prince it is Ivor. Then every man in the room fell on his knees even the men who upheld the archway of swords dropped their weapons with a crash and knelt also. He was their saint this boy dead for 500 years he was their saint still. Ivor Ivor the voices broke into a heavy murmur. Ivor Ivor as if they chanted a litany Marco started forward staring at the picture his breath caught in his throat his lips apart but but he stammered but if my father were as young as he is he would be like him. When you are as old as he is you will be like him you said the priest and he let the curtain fall. The rat stood staring with wide eyes from Marco to the picture and from the picture to Marco and he breathed faster and faster and not his finger ends but he did not utter a word he could not have done it if he tried. Then Marco stepped down from the dais as if he were in a dream and the old man followed him the men with swords sprang to their feet and made their archway again with a new clash of steel. The old man and the boy passed under it together. Now every man's eyes were fixed on Marco. At the heavy door by which he had entered he stopped and turned to meet their glances. He looked very young and thin and pale but suddenly his father's smile was lighted in his face. He said a few words in Somavian clearly and gravely saluted and passed out. What did you say to them? Gasp the rat stumbling after him as the door closed behind them and shut in the murmur of impassioned sound. There was only one thing to say was the answer. They are men. I am only a boy. I thanked them for my father and told them he would never never forget. End of Chapter 27 Chapter 28 of The Lost Prince This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Susan Umpleby The Lost Prince by Francis Hodgson Burnett Chapter 28 Extra Extra Extra It was raining in London pouring. It had been raining for two weeks more or less generally more. When the train from Dover drew in at Charing Cross the weather seemed suddenly to have considered that it had so far been too lenient and must express itself much more vigorously. So it had gathered together its resources and poured them forth in a deluge which surprised even Londoners. The rain so beat against and streamed down the windows of the third class carriage in which Marco and the rat sat that they could not see through them. They had made their homeward journey much more rapidly than they had made the one on which they had been outward bound. It had of course taken them some time to trap back to the frontier but there had been no reason for stopping anywhere after they had once reached the railroads. They had been tired sometimes but they had slept heavily on the wooden seats of the railway carriages. Their one desire was to get home. Number seven Filiburt Place rose before them in its noisy dinginess as the one desirable spot on earth. To Marco it held his father and it was Loristan alone that the rat saw when he thought of it. Loristan as he would look when he saw him come into the room with Marco and stand up and salute and say, I have brought him back, sir. He has carried out every single order you gave him, every single one. So have I. So he had. He had been sent as his companion and attendant and he had been faithful in every thought. If Marco would have allowed him he would have waited upon him like a servant and had been proud of the service. But Marco would never let him forget that they were only two boys and that one was of no more importance than the other. He had secretly even felt this attitude to be a sort of grievance. It would have been much more like a game if one of them had been the mere servitor of the other and if that other had blustered a little and issued commands and demanded sacrifices. If the faithful vassal could have been wounded or cast into a dungeon for his young commander's sake the adventure would have been more complete. But though their journey had been full of wonders and rich with beauties though the memory of it hung in the rat's mind like a background of tapestry embroidered in all the hues of the earth with all the splendors of it there had been no dungeons and no wounds. After the adventure in Munich their unimportant boyishness had not even been observed by such perils as might have threatened them. As the rat had said they had blown like grains of dust through Europe and had been as nothing. And this was what Loristan had planned. This was what his grave thought had wrought out. If they had been men they would not have been so safe. From the time they had left the old priest on the hillside to begin their journey back to the frontier they both had been given to long silences as they tramp side by side or lay on the moss in the forests. Now that their work was done a sort of reaction had set in. There were no more plans to be made and no more uncertainties to contemplate. They were on their way back to number 7 Filiburt Place. Marco to his father the rat to the man he worshiped. Each of them was thinking of many things. Marco was full of longing to see his father's face and hear his voice again. He wanted to feel the pressure of his hand on his shoulder to be sure that he was real and not a dream. This last was because during this homeward journey everything that had happened often seemed to be a dream. It had all been so wonderful the climbers standing looking down at them the morning they awakened on the Geisborg the mountain near Shoemaker measuring his foot in the small shop the old old woman and her noble Lord the prince with his face turned upward as he stood on the balcony looking at the moon the old priest kneeling and weeping for joy the great cavern with a yellow light upon the crowd of passionate faces the curtain which fell apart and showed the still eyes and the black hair with the halo about it. Now that they were left behind they all seemed like things he had dream but he had not dream them he was going back to tell his father about them and how good it would be to feel his hand on his shoulder the rat not his finger ends a great deal his thoughts were more wild and feverish than Marcos they leaped forward in spite of him it was no use to pull himself up and tell himself that he was a fool now that all was over he had time to be as great a fool as he was inclined to be but how he longed to reach London and stand face to face with Laura Stan the sign was given the lamp was lighted what would happen next his crutches were under his arms before the train drew up we're there we're there he cried restlessly to Marcos they had no luggage to delay them they took their bags and followed the crowd along the platform the rain was rattling like bullets against the high glass roof people turned to look at Marcos seeing the glow of exalted eagerness in his face they thought he must be some boy coming home for the holidays and going to make a visit at a place he delighted in the rain was dancing on the pavements when they reached the entrance a cab won't cost much Marcos said and it will take us quickly they called one and got into it each of them had flushed cheeks and Marcos eyes looked as if he were gazing at something a long way off gazing at it and wondering we've come back said the rat in an unsteady voice we've been and we've come back then suddenly turning to look at Marcos does it ever seem to you as if perhaps it it wasn't true yes Marcos answered but it was true and it's done then he added after a second or so of silence just what the rat had said to himself what next he said it very low the way to filibrate place was not long when they turned into the roaring untidy road where the buses and drays and carts struggled past each other with their loads and the tired-faced people hurried in crowds along the pavement they looked at them all feeling that they had left their dream far behind indeed but they were at home it was a good thing to see Lazarus open the door and stand waiting before they had time to get out of the cab cab stop so seldom before houses and filibrate place that the inmates were always prompt to open their doors when Lazarus had seen this one stop at the broken iron gate he had known whom it brought he had kept an eye on the windows faithfully for many a day even when he knew that it was too soon even if all was well for any travelers to return he bore himself with an air more than usually military and his salute when Markle across the threshold was formal stateliness itself but his greeting God be thanked he said in his deep growl of joy God be thanked when Markle put forth his hand he bent his grizzled head and kissed it devoutly God be thanked he said again my father Markle began my father is out if he had been in the house he knew he would not have stayed in the back sitting room sir said Lazarus will you come with me into he had never said sir to him before he opened the door of the familiar room and the boys entered the room was empty Markle did not speak neither did the rat they both stood still in the middle of the shabby carpet and looked up at the old soldier both had suddenly the same feeling that the earth had dropped from beneath their feet Lazarus saw it and spoke fast and with trimmer he was almost as agitated as they were left me at your service at your command he began left you said Markle he left us all three under orders to wait said Lazarus the master has gone the rat felt something hot rushed into his eyes he brushed it away that he might look at Marko's face the shock had changed it very much its glowing eager joy had died out it had turned paler and his brows were drawn together for a few seconds he did not speak at all and when he did speak the rat knew that his voice was steady only because he willed that it should be so if he has gone he said it is because he had a strong reason it was because he also was under orders he said that you would know that Lazarus answered he was called in such haste that he had not a moment in which to do more than right a few words he left them for you on his desk there opened the envelope which was lying there there were only a few lines on the sheet of paper inside and they had evidently been written in the greatest haste they were these the life of my life for Samavia he was called to Samavia Marco said and the thoughts and his blood rushing through his veins he has gone to Samavia Lazarus drew his hand roughly across his eyes and his voice shook and sounded horse there has been great disaffection in the camps of the Moranovich he said the remnant of the army has gone mad sir silence is still the order but who knows who knows God alone he had not finished speaking before he turned his head as if listening to sounds in the road they were the kind of sounds which had broken up the squad and sent it rushing down the passage into the street to seize on a newspaper there was to be heard a commotion newsboys shouting riotously some startling piece of news which had called out an extra the rat heard it first and dashed to the front door as he opened it a newsboy running by shouted at the top most power of his lungs the news he had to sell assassination of King Michael Moranovich by his own soldiers assassination of the Moranovich extra extra extra when the rat returned with a newspaper Lazarus interposed between him and Marco with great and respectful ceremony sir he said to Marco I am at your command but the master left me with an order which I was to repeat to you he requested you not to read the newspapers until he himself could see you again both boys fell back not read the papers they exclaimed together Lazarus had never before been quite so reverential in ceremonious your pardon sir I may read them at your orders and report such things as it is well that you should know there have been dark tales told and there may be darker ones he asked that you would not read for yourself if you meet again when you meet again he corrected himself hastily when you meet again he says you will understand I am your servant I will read and answer all such questions as I can the rat handed him the paper and they returned to the back room together you shall tell us what he would wish us to hear Marco said the news was soon told the story was not a long one as exact details had not yet reach London it was briefly that the head of the Moranovich party had been put to death by infuriated soldiers of his own army it was an army drawn chiefly from a peasantry which did not love its leaders or wish to fight and suffering and brutal treatment had at last roused it to furious revolt what next said Marco if I were a Sumatian began the rat and then he stopped Lazarus stood biting his lips but staring stonely at the carpet not the rat alone but Marco also noted a grim change in him it was grim because it suggested that he was holding himself under an iron control it was as if while tortured by anxiety he had sworn not to allow himself to look anxious and the results had his jaw hard and carved new lines in his rugged face each boy thought this in secret but did not wish to put it into words if he was anxious he could only be so for one reason and each realized what the reason must be Laura Stan had gone to Sumavia to the torn and bleeding country filled with riot and danger if he had gone it could only have been because its danger called Lazarus had been left behind to watch over them silence was still the order and what he knew he could not tell them and perhaps he knew little more than that a great life might be lost because his master was absent the old soldier seemed to feel that he must comfort himself with a greater ceremonial reverence than he had ever shown before he held himself within call and at Marco's orders as it had been his custom to hold himself with regard to Laura Stan the ceremonious service even extended itself to the rat who appeared to have taken a new place in his mind he also seemed now to be a person to be waited upon and replied to with dignity and formal respect when the evening meal was served Lazarus drew out Laura Stan's chair at the head of the table and stood behind it with a majestic air sir he said to Marco the Marco took the seat in silence at two o'clock in the morning when the roaring road was still the light from the street lamp shining into the small bedroom fell on two pale boy faces the rat set up on his sofa bed in the old way with his hands clasped around his knees Marco lay flat on his hard pillow neither of them had been to sleep and yet they had not talked a great deal each had secretly guessed a good deal of what there is one thing we must remember Marco had said early in the night we must not be afraid no answered the rat almost fiercely we must not be afraid we are tired we came back expecting to be able to tell it all to him we have always been looking forward to that we never thought once that he might be gone and he was gone did you feel as if he turned towards the sofa as if something struck you on the chest yes the rat answered heavily yes we weren't ready said Marco he had never gone before but we ought to have known he might someday be called he went because he was called he told us to wait we don't know what we are waiting for but we know that we must not be afraid to let ourselves be afraid we'd be breaking the law the law grown the rat dropping his head on his hands I'd forgotten about it let us remember it said Marco this is the time hate not fear not he repeated the last words again and again fear not fear not he said nothing can harm him the rat lifted his head and looked at the bed sideways did you think he said slowly did you ever think that perhaps he knew where the descendant of the lost prince was Marco answered even more slowly if anyone knew surely he might he has known so much he said listen to this broke forth the rat I believe he has gone to tell the people if he does if he could show them all the country would run mad with joy it wouldn't be only the secret party follow any flag he chose to raise they've prayed for the lost prince for 500 years and if they believed they'd got him once more they'd fight like madmen for him but there would not be anyone to fight they'd all want the same thing if they could see the man with eye worse blood in his veins they'd feel he had come back to them risen from the dead they'd believe it he'd beat his fist together in his frenzy of of excitement it's the time it's the time he cried no man could let such a chance go by he must tell them he must that must be what he's gone for he knows he knows he's always known and he threw himself back on his sofa and flung his arms over his face lying there panting if it is the time said Marco in a low-strained voice he will tell them and he threw his arms up over his own face and lay quite still neither of them said another word and the streetlamp shown in on them as if it were waiting for something to happen but nothing happened in time they were asleep end of chapter 28 chapter 29 of the lost prince this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Susan Umpleby The Lost Prince by Francis Hodgson Burnett chapter 29 Twix Night and Morning after this they waited they did not know what they waited for nor could they guess even vaguely how the waiting would end all that Lazarus could tell them he told he would have been willing to stand respectfully for hours relating to Marco the story of how the period of their absence had passed for his master and himself he told how Laura Stan had spoken each day of his son how he had often been pale with anxiousness how in the evenings he had walked to and fro in his room deep in thought as he looked down unseenly at the carpet he permitted me to talk of you sir Lazarus said I saw that he wished to hear your name often I reminded him of the times when you had been so young that most children of your age would have been in the hands of nurses and yet you were strong and silent and sturdy and traveled with us as if you were not a child at all never crying when you were tired and were not properly fed as if you understood as if you understood he added proudly if through the power of God a creature can be a man at six years old you were that one many a dark day I have looked into your solemn watching eyes and have been half-afraid because that a child should answer one's gaze so gravely seemed almost an unearthly thing the chief thing I remember of those days said Marco is that he was with me and that whenever I was hungry or tired I knew he must be too the feeling that they were waiting was so intense that it filled the days with strangeness when the postman's knock was heard at the door each of them endeavored not to start a letter might someday come which would tell them they did not know what but no letters came when they went out into the streets they found themselves hurrying on their way back in spite of themselves something might have happened Lazarus read the papers faithfully and in the evening told Marco in the rat all the news that was well that they should hear but the disorders of Samavia had ceased to occupy much space they had become an old story and after the excitement of the assassination of Michael Moranovich had died out there seemed to be a lull in events Michael's son had not dared to try to take his father's place and there were rumors that he also had been killed the head of the Yarovich had declared himself king but had not been crowned because of disorders in his own party the country seemed to be Samavia is waiting to the rat broke forth one night as they talked together but it won't wait long it can't if I were a Samavian and in Samavia my father is a Samavian and he is in Samavia Marco's grave young voice interposed the rat flushed red as he realized what he had said what a fool I am he groaned I I big your when he said the last words and added the sir as if he suddenly realized that there was a distance between them which is something akin to the distance between youth and maturity but yet was not the same you are a good Samavian but you forget was Marco's answer Lazarus intense grimness increased with each day that passed the ceremonious respectfulness of his manner toward Marco increased also it seemed as if the more anxious he felt the more formal and stately his bearing became it was as though he braced his own courage by doing the smallest things life in the back city room required as if they were of the dignity of services performed in a much larger place and under much more imposing circumstances the rat found himself feeling almost as if he were an equity in a court and that dignity and ceremony were necessary on his own part he began to experience a sense of being somehow a person of rank for whom doors were open grandly and who had vassals at his command the watchful obedience of fifty vassals embodied itself in the manner of Lazarus I am glad the rat said once reflectively that after all my father was once different it makes it easier to learn things perhaps if he had not talked to me about people who well who had never seen places like bone cord this might have been harder for me to understand when at last they managed to call the squad together and went to spend a morning at the barracks behind the churchyard that body of armed men stared at their commander in great and amazed uncertainty they felt that something had happened to him they did not know what had happened but it was some experience which had made him mysteriously different he did not look like Marco but in some extraordinary way he seemed more akin to him they only knew that some necessity in Loristan's affairs had taken the two away from London and the game now they had come back and they seemed older at first the squad felt awkward and shuffled its feet uncomfortably after the first greetings it did not know exactly what to say it was Marco who saved the situation drill us first he said to the rat then we can talk about the game tension! shouted the rat magnificently and then they forgot everything else and sprang into line after the drill was ended and they sat in a circle on the broken flags the game became more resplendent than it had ever been I've had time to read and work out new things the rat said reading is like traveling Marco himself sat and listened enthralled by the adroitness of the imagination he displayed without revealing a single dangerous fact he built up of their journeys and experiences a totally new structure of adventures which would have fired the whole being of any group of lads it was safe to describe places and people and he so described them that the squad squirmed in its delight at feeling itself marching in a procession attending the emperor in Vienna standing in line before palaces climbing with knapsack strapped tight up precipitous mountain roads defending mountain fortresses and storming some avian castles the squad glowed and exalted the rat glowed and exalted himself Marco watched his shark featured burning-eyed face with wonder and admiration this strange power of making things alive was he knew what his father would call genius let's take the oath of legions again shouted cad when the game was over for the morning the papers never said nothing more about the lost prince but we are all for him yet let's take it so they stood in line again Marco at the head and renewed their oath the sword in my hand for some avia the heart in my breast for some avia the swiftness of my sight the thought of my brain the life of my life for some avia here grow twelve men for some avia God be thanked it was more solemn than it had been the first time the squad felt it tremendously both cad and ben were conscious that thrills ran down their spines into their boots when Marco and the rat left them they first stood at salute and then broke out into a ringing cheer on their way home the rat asked Marco a question did you see mrs. beetle standing at the top of the basement steps and looking after us when we went out this morning mrs. beetle was the landlady of the lodgings at number seven filiburt place she was a mysterious and dusty female who lived in the cellar kitchen part of the house and was seldom seen by her lodgers yes answered Marco I have seen her two or three times lately and I do not think I ever saw her before my father has never seen her though Lazarus says she used to watch him around corners why is she suddenly so curious about us I'd like to know said the rat I've been trying to work it out ever since we came back she's been peeping around the door of the kitchen stairs or over ballast raids or through the cellar kitchen windows I believe she wants to speak to you and knows Lazarus won't let her if he catches her at it when Lazarus is about she always darts back what does she want to say said Marco I'd like to know said the rat again when they reached number seven filiburt place they found out because when the door opened they saw at the top of the cellar kitchen stairs at the end of the passage the mysterious Mrs. Beatle in her dusty black dress and with a dusty black cap on evidently having that minute mounted from her subterranean hiding place she had come up the steps so quickly that Lazarus had not yet seen her young master Laura stand she called out authoritatively Lazarus wheeled about fiercely silence he commanded how dare you address the young master she snapped her fingers at him and marched forward folding her arms tightly you mind your own business she said it's young master Laura stand I'm speaking to not his servant it's time he was talked to about this silence woman shouted Lazarus let her speak said Marco I want to hear what is it you wish to say madam my father is not here that's just what I want to find out about put in the woman what is he coming back I do not know answered Marco that's it said Mrs. Beatle you're old enough to understand that two big lads and a big fellow like that can't have food and lodgings for nothing you may say you don't live high and you don't but lodgings are lodgings and rent is rent if your father's coming back and you can tell me when I may not be obliged to let the rooms over your head but I know too much about foreigners to let bills run when they are out of sight your father's out of sight he jerking her head towards Lazarus paid me for last week how do I know he will pay me for this week the money is ready roared Lazarus the rat longed to burst forth he knew what people in bone court said to a woman like that he knew the exact words and phrases but they were not words and phrases and aid to camp might deliver himself of in the presence of his superior officer they were not words and phrases and equity uses in court he dare not allow himself to burst forth he stood with flaming eyes and a flaming face and bit his lips till they bled he wanted to strike with his crutches the son of Stefan Loristan the bearer of the sign there sprang up before his furious eyes the picture of the luridly lighted cavern and the frenzied crowd of men kneeling at this same boy's feet kissing them kissing his hands his garments the very earth he stood upon worshiping him while above the altar the kingly young face looked on with the nimbus of light like a halo above it if he dared speak his mind now he felt he could have endured it better but being an aid to camp he could not do you want the money now? asked Marco it is only the beginning of the week and we do not owe it to you until the week is over is it that you want to have it now? Lazarus had become deadly pale he looked huge in his fury and he looked dangerous young master he said slowly in a voice as deadly as his power and he actually spoke low this woman Mrs. Beedle drew back towards the cellar kitchen steps there's police outside she shrilled young master Laura stand order him to stand back no one will hurt you said Marco if you have the money here Lazarus please give it to me Lazarus literally ground his teeth but he drew himself up and saluted with ceremony he put his hand in his breast pocket and produced an old leather wallet there were but a few coins in it he pointed to a gold one I obey you sir since I must he said breathing hard that one will pay her for the week Marco took out the sovereign and held it out to the woman you hear what he says he said at the end of this week if there is not enough to pay for the next we will go Lazarus looks so like a hyena only held back from springing by chains of steel that the dusty Mrs. Beedle was afraid to take the money if you say I shall not lose it I'll wait until the weeks ended she said you're nothing but a lad but you're like your father you've got a way that a body can trust if he was here and said he hadn't the money but he'd have it in time I'd wait if it was for a month he'd pay it if he said he would but he's gone two boys and a fellow like that one don't seem much to depend on but I'll trust you be good enough to take it said Marco and he put the coin in her hand and turned into the back city room as if he did not see her the rat and Lazarus followed him is there so little money left said Marco we have always had very little when we had less than usual we lived in poorer places and were hungry if it was necessary we know how to go hungry one does not die of it the big eyes under Lazarus his beatling brows filled with tears no sir he said one does not die of hunger but the insult the insult that is not durable she would not have spoken if my father had been here Marco said and it is true that boys like us have no money is there enough to pay for another week yes sir answered Lazarus swallowing hard as if he had a lump in his throat perhaps enough for two if we eat but little if if the master would accept money from those who would give it he would always have had enough but how could such a one is he how could he when he went away he thought he thought that but there he stopped himself suddenly nevermind said Marco nevermind we will go away the day we can pay no more I can go out and sell newspapers said the rat sharp boys I've done it before crutches help you to sell them the platform would sell them faster still I'll go out on the platform I can sell newspapers too said Marco Lazarus uttered an exclamation like a groan sir he cried no no am I not here to go out and look for work I can carry loads I can run errands we will all three begin to see what we can do Marco said then exactly as it happened on the day of their return from their journey there arose in the road outside the sound of newsboys shouting this time the outcry seemed even more excited than before the boys were running and yelling and there seemed more of them than usual and above all other words was heard some avia some avia but today the rat did not rush to the door at the first cry he stood still for several seconds they all three stood still listening afterwards each one remembered and told the others that he had stood still because some strange strong feeling held him waiting as if to hear some great thing it was Lazarus who went out of the room first and the rat and Marco followed him one of the upstairs lodgers had run down in haste and opened the door to buy newspapers and ask questions the newsboys were wild with excitement and danced about as they shouted the piece of news they were yelling had evidently a popular quality the lodger bought two papers and was handing out coffers to a lad who was talking loud and fast here's a go he was saying a secret party's risen up and taken some avia twix nighting morning they done it that their lost prince descended as turned up and they've crowned him twix nighting morning they done it clapped his crown on his head so as they'd lose no time and off he bolted shouting send in a lost prince send in a lost prince made king of some avia it was then that Lazarus for getting even ceremony bolted also he bolted back to the city room rushed in and the door fell to behind him Marco and the rat found it shut when having secured a newspaper they went down the passage at the closed door Marco stopped he did not turn the handle from the inside of the room there came the sound of big convulsive sobs and passionate some avian words of prayer and worshiping gratitude let us wait Marco said trembling a little he will not want anyone to see him let us wait his black pits of eyes looked immense and he stood at his tallest but he was trembling slightly from head to foot the rat had begun to shake as if from an egg you his face was scarcely human in its fierce unboyish emotion Marco Marco his whisper was a cry that was what he went for because he knew yes answered Marco that was what he went for and his voice was unsteady as his body was presently the sobs inside the room choked themselves back suddenly Lazarus had remembered they had guessed he had been leaning against the wall during his outburst now it was evident that he stood upright probably shocked at the forgetfulness of his frenzy so Marco turned the handle of the door and went into the room he shut the door behind him and they all three stood together when the Somavian gives way to his emotion he is emotional indeed Lazarus looked as if a storm had swept over him he had choked back his sobs but tears still swept down his cheeks sir he said hoarsely your pardon it was if a convulsion seized me I forgot everything even my duty pardon pardon and there on the worn carpet of the dingy back sitting room in the Merlebone Road he actually went on one knee and kissed the boy's hand with adoration you mustn't ask pardon said Marco you have waited so long good friend you have given your life as my father has you have known all the suffering a boy has not lived long enough to understand your big heart your faithful heart his voice broke and he stood and looked at him with an appeal which seemed to ask him to remember his boyhood and understand the rest don't kneel he said next you mustn't kneel and Lazarus kissing his hand again rose to his feet now we shall hear said Marco now the waiting will soon be over yes sir now we shall receive commands Lazarus answered the rat held out the newspapers may we read them yet he asked until further orders sir said Lazarus hurriedly and apologetically until further orders it is still better that I should read them first end of chapter twenty nine chapter thirty of the Lost Prince this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Susan Unpleby The Lost Prince by Francis Hodgson Burnett chapter thirty the game is at an end so long as the history of Europe is written and read the unparalleled story of the rising of the secret party in Somavia will stand out as one of its most startling and romantic records every detail connected with the astonishing episode from beginning to end was romantic even when it was most productive of realistic results when it is related it always begins with the story of the tall and kingly Somavian youth who walked out of the palace in the early morning sunshine singing the herdsman's song of beauty of old days then comes the outbreak of the ruined and revolting populace then the legend of the morning on the mountain side and the old shepherd coming out of his cave and finding the apparently dead body of the beautiful young hunter then the secret nursing in the cavern then the jolting cart piled with sheepskins crossing the frontier and ending its journey at the barred entrance of the monastery and leaving its mysterious burden behind and then the bitter hate and struggle of dynasties and the handful of shepherds and herdsmen meeting in their cavern and binding themselves and their unborn sons and sons sons by an oath never to be broken then the passing of generations and the slaughter of peoples and the changing of kings and always that oath remembered and the forges of the sword at their secret work hidden in forests and caves then the strange story of the uncrowned kings who wandering in other lands lived and died in silence and seclusion often laboring with their hands for their daily bread but never forgetting that they must be kings and ready even though Somavia never called perhaps the whole story would fill too many volumes to admit of it ever being told fully but history makes the growing of the secret party clear though it seems almost a cease to be history in spite of its efforts to be brief and speak only of dull facts when it is forced to deal with the bearing of the sign by two mere boys who being blown as unremarked as any two grains of dust across Europe lit the lamp whose flame so flared up to the high heavens that as if from the earth itself there sprang forth Somavians by the thousands ready to feed it Yarovich and Moranovich swept aside forever and only Somavians remaining to cry out loud in ardent praise and worship of the God who had brought back to them their lost prince the battle cry of his name had ended every battle swords fell from hands because swords were not needed the Yarovich fled in terror and dismay the Moranovich were nowhere to be found between night and morning as the news boy had said the standard of Ivor was raised and waved from palace and Citadel alike from mountain, forest and plain from city, village and town its followers flocked to swear allegiance broken and wounded legions staggered along the roads to join and kneel to it women and children followed weeping with joy and chanting songs of praise the powers held out their sceptres to the lately prostrate and ignored country train loads of food and supplies of all things needed began to cross the frontier the aid of nations was bestowed Somavia at peace to till its land to raise its flocks to mine its oars would be able to pay all back Somavia in past centuries had been rich enough to make great loans and had stored such harvest as warring countries had been glad to call upon the story of the crowning of the king had been the wildest of all the multitude of ecstatic people famished in rags and many of them weak with wounds kneeling at his feet praying as their one salvation and security that he would go attended by them to their bombarded and broken cathedral and at its high altar let the crown be placed upon his head so that even those who perhaps must die of their past sufferings would at least have paid their poor homage to King Ivor who would rule their children and bring back to Somavia her honor and her peace Ivor Ivor they chanted like a prayer Ivor Ivor in their houses by the roadside in the streets the story of the coronation in the shattered cathedral whose roof had been torn to fragments by bombs said an important London paper reads like a legend of the Middle Ages but upon the whole there isn't Somavia's national character something of the medieval still Lazarus having bought in red in his top floor room every newspaper recording the details which had reached London returned to report almost verbatim standing erect before Marco the eyes under his shaggy brows sometimes flaming with exultation sometimes filled with a rush of tears he could not be made to sit down his whole big body seemed to have become rigid with magnificence meeting Mrs. Beatle in the passage he strode by her with an air so thunderous that she turned and scuttled back to her cellar kitchen almost falling down the stone steps in her nervous terror in such a mood he was not a person to face without something like awe in the middle of the night the rat suddenly spoke to Marco as if he knew he was awake and would hear him he has given all his life to Somavia he said when you traveled from country to country and lived in holes and corners it was because by doing it he could escape spies and see the people who must be made to understand no one else could have made them listen an emperor would have begun to listen when he had seen his face and heard his voice and he could be silent and wait for the right time to speak he could keep still when other men could not he could keep his face still and his hands and his eyes now all Somavia knows what he has done and that he has been the greatest patriot in the world we both saw what Somavians were like that night in the cavern they will go mad with joy when they see his face they have seen it now said Marco in a low voice from his bed then there was a long silence though it was not quite silence because the rat's breathing was so quick and hard he must have been at that coronation he said at last the king what will the king do to repay him Marco did not answer his breathing could be heard also his mind was picturing that same coronation the shattered ruthless cathedral the ruins of the ancient and magnificent high altar the multitude of kneeling famine scorched people the battle-worn wounded and bandaged soldiery and the king and his father where had his father stood when the king was crowned surely he had stood at the king's right hand and the people had adored and acclaimed them equally King Ivor he murmured as if he were in a dream King Ivor the rat started up on his elbow you will see him he cried out he's not a dream any longer the game is not a game now and it is ended it is one it was real he was real Marco I don't believe you here yes I do answered Marco but it is almost more a dream than when it was one the greatest patriot in the world is like a king himself raved the rat if there is no bigger honor to give him he will be made a prince and commander in chief and prime minister can't you hear those samadians shouting and singing and praying you'll see it all do you remember the mountain climber who was going to save the shoes he made for the bearer of the sign he said a great day might come when one could show them to the people it's come he'll show them I know how they'll take it his voice suddenly dropped as if it dropped into a pit you'll see it all but I shall not then Marco awoke from his dream and lifted his head why not he demanded it sounded like a demand because I know better than to expect it the rat groaned you've taken me a long way but you can't take me to the palace of a king I'm not such a fool as to think that even if your father he broke off because Marco did more than lift his head he sat upright you bore the sign as much as I did he said we bore it together who would have listened to me cried the rat you were the son of Stefan Loristan you were the friend of his son answered Marco you went at the command of Stefan Loristan you were the army of the son of Stefan Loristan that I have told you where I go you will go we will say no more of this not one word and he lay down again in the silence of a prince of the blood and the rat knew that he meant what he said and that Stefan Loristan would also mean it and because he was a boy he began to wonder what Mrs. Beatle would do when she heard what had happened what had been happening all the time a tall, shabby foreigner had lived in her dingy back sitting room and been closely watched lest he should go away without paying his rent as shabby foreigners sometimes did the rat saw himself managing to poison himself very erect on his crutches while he told her that the shabby foreigner was well, was at least the friend of a king and had given him his crown and would be made a prince and a commander in chief and a prime minister because there was no higher rank or honor to give him and his son whom she had insulted was Samavia's idol because he had borne the sign and also that if she were in Samavia and Marco chose to do it he could batter her wretched lodging house to the ground and put her in prison and serve her jolly well right the next day passed and the next and then there came a letter it was from Loristan and Marco turned pale when Lazarus handed it to him Lazarus and the rat went out of the room at once and left him to read it alone it was evidently not a long letter because it was not many minutes before Marco called them again into the room in a few days messengers friends of my fathers will come to take us to Samavia you and I and Lazarus are to go he said to the rat God be thanked said Lazarus God be thanked before the messengers came it was the end of the week Lazarus had packed their few belongings and on Saturday Mrs. Beatle was to be seen hovering at the top of the cellar steps when Marco and the rat left the back sitting room to go out you needn't glare at me she said to Lazarus who stood glowering at the door which he had opened for them young master Loristan I want to know if you've heard when your father is coming back he will not come back said Marco he won't won't he well how about next week's rent said Mrs. Beatle your man's been packing up I notice he's not got much to carry away but it won't pass through that front door until I've got what's owing me people that can pack easy think they can get away easy and they'll bear watching the week's up today Lazarus wheeled and faced her with a furious gesture get back to your cellar woman he commanded get back underground and stay there look at what is stopping before your miserable gait a carriage was stopping a very perfect carriage of dark brown the coachmen and footmen wore dark brown and gold liveries and the footmen had leaped down and opened the door with respectful alacrity they are friends of the masters come to pay their respects to his son said Lazarus are their eyes to be offended by the sight of you your money is safe said Marco you had better leave us Mrs. Beatle gave a sharp glance at the two gentlemen who had entered the broken gate they were of an order which did not belong to filibret place they looked as if the carriage and the dark brown and gold liveries were everyday affairs to them at all events there are two grown men and not two boys without a penny she said if they're your father's friends they'll tell me whether my rents safe or not the two visitors were upon the threshold they were both men of a certain self-contained dignity of type and when Lazarus opened wide the door they stepped into the shabby entrance hall as if they did not see it they looked past its dinginess and past Lazarus and the rat and Mrs. Beatle threw them as it were at Marco he advanced towards them at once you come from my father he said and gave his hand first to the elder man then to the younger yes we come from your father I am Baron Rastka and this is the Count Boversk said the elder man bowing if their barons and counts and friends of your fathers they are well to do enough to be responsible for you said Mrs. Beatle rather fiercely because she was somewhat overawed and resented the fact it's a matter of next week's rent gentlemen I want to know where it's coming from the elder man looked at her with a swift cold glance he did not speak to her but to Lazarus what is she doing here he demanded Marco answered him she is afraid we cannot pay our rent he said it is of great importance to her that she should be sure take her away said the gentleman to Lazarus he did not even glance at her he drew something from his coat pocket and handed it to the old soldier take her away he repeated and because it seemed as if she were not any longer a person at all Mrs. Beatle actually shuffled down the passage to the cellar kitchen steps Lazarus did not leave her until he too had descended into the cellar kitchen where he stood and towered above her like an infuriated giant tomorrow he will be on his way to Sumavia miserable woman he said before he goes it would be well for you to implore his pardon but Mrs. Beatle's point of view was not his she had recovered some of her breath I don't know where Sumavia is she raged as she struggled to set her dusty black cap straight oh Lord it's one of these little foreign countries you can scarcely see on the map and not a decent English town in it he can go as soon as he likes so long as he pays his rent before he does it Sumavia indeed you talk as if he was bucking him palace end of chapter 30