Chapter XXVI. Across the Frontier

by Frances Hodgson Burnett

　　That one day, a week later, two tired and travel- wornboy-mendicants should drag themselves with slow and weary feetacross the frontier line between Jiardasia and Samavia, was notan incident to awaken suspicion or even to attract attention.War and hunger and anguish had left the country stunned andbroken. Since the worst had happened, no one was curious as towhat would befall them next. If Jiardasia herself had become afoe, instead of a friendly neighbor, and had sent across theborder galloping hordes of soldiery, there would only have beenmore shrieks, and home-burnings, and slaughter which no one dareresist. But, so far, Jiardasia had remained peaceful. The twoboys--one of them on crutches--had evidently traveled far onfoot. Their poor clothes were dusty and travel-stained, and theystopped and asked for water at the first hut across the line.The one who walked without crutches had some coarse bread in abag slung over his shoulder, and they sat on the roadside and ateit as if they were hungry. The old grandmother who lived alonein the hut sat and stared at them without any curiosity. She mayhave vaguely wondered why any one crossed into Samavia in thesedays. But she did not care to know their reason. Her big sonhad lived in a village which belonged to the Maranovitch and hehad been called out to fight for his lords. He had not wanted tofight and had not known what the quarrel was about, but he wasforced to obey. He had kissed his handsome wife and four sturdychildren, blubbering aloud when he left them. His village andhis good crops and his house must be left behind. Then theIarovitch swept through the pretty little cluster of homesteadswhich belonged to their enemy. They were mad with rage becausethey had met with great losses in a battle not far away, and, asthey swooped through, they burned and killed, and trampled downfields and vineyards. The old woman's son never saw either theburned walls of his house or the bodies of his wife and children,because he had been killed himself in the battle for which theIarovitch were revenging themselves. Only the old grandmotherwho lived in the hut near the frontier line and stared vacantlyat the passers-by remained alive. She wearily gazed at peopleand wondered why she did not hear news from her son and hergrandchildren. But that was all.When the boys were over the frontier and well on their way alongthe roads, it was not difficult to keep out of sight if it seemednecessary. The country was mountainous and there were deep andthick forests by the way--forests so far-reaching and with suchthick undergrowth that full-grown men could easily have hiddenthemselves. It was because of this, perhaps, that this part ofthe country had seen little fighting. There was too greatopportunity for secure ambush for a foe. As the two travelerswent on, they heard of burned villages and towns destroyed, butthey were towns and villages nearer Melzarr and otherfortress-defended cities, or they were in the country surroundingthe castles and estates of powerful nobles and leaders. It wastrue, as Marco had said to the white-haired personage, that theMaranovitch and Iarovitch had fought with the savageness ofhyenas until at last the forces of each side lay torn andbleeding, their strength, their resources, their suppliesexhausted.Each day left them weaker and more desperate. Europe looked onwith small interest in either party but with growing desire thatthe disorder should end and cease to interfere with commerce.All this and much more Marco and The Rat knew, but, as they madetheir cautious way through byways of the maimed and torturedlittle country, they learned other things. They learned that thestories of its beauty and fertility were not romances. Itsheaven-reaching mountains, its immense plains of rich verdure onwhich flocks and herds might have fed by thousands, its splendorof deep forest and broad clear rushing rivers had a primevalmajesty such as the first human creatures might have found onearth in the days of the Garden of Eden. The two boys traveledthrough forest and woodland when it was possible to leave theroad. It was safe to thread a way among huge trees and tallferns and young saplings. It was not always easy but it wassafe. Sometimes they saw a charcoal-burner's hut or a shelterwhere a shepherd was hiding with the few sheep left to him. Eachman they met wore the same look of stony suffering in his face;but, when the boys begged for bread and water, as was theirhabit, no one refused to share the little he had. It soon becameplain to them that they were thought to be two young fugitiveswhose homes had probably been destroyed and who were wanderingabout with no thought but that of finding safety until the worstwas over. That one of them traveled on crutches added to theirapparent helplessness, and that he could not speak the languageof the country made him more an object of pity. The peasants didnot know what language he spoke. Sometimes a foreigner came tofind work in this small town or that. The poor lad might havecome to the country with his father and mother and then have beencaught in the whirlpool of war and tossed out on the worldparent-less. But no one asked questions. Even in theirdesolation they were silent and noble people who were toocourteous for curiosity."In the old days they were simple and stately and kind. Alldoors were open to travelers. The master of the poorest hututtered a blessing and a welcome when a stranger crossed histhreshold. It was the custom of the country," Marco said. "Iread about it in a book of my father's. About most of the doorsthe welcome was carved in stone. It was this--`The Blessing ofthe Son of God, and Rest within these Walls.' ""They are big and strong," said The Rat. "And they have goodfaces. They carry themselves as if they had been drilled--bothmen and women."It was not through the blood-drenched part of the unhappy landtheir way led them, but they saw hunger and dread in the villagesthey passed. Crops which should have fed the people had beentaken from them for the use of the army; flocks and herds hadbeen driven away, and faces were gaunt and gray. Those who hadas yet only lost crops and herds knew that homes and lives mightbe torn from them at any moment. Only old men and women andchildren were left to wait for any fate which the chances of warmight deal out to them.When they were given food from some poor store, Marco would offera little money in return. He dare not excite suspicion byoffering much. He was obliged to let it be imagined that in hisflight from his ruined home he had been able to snatch at andsecrete some poor hoard which might save him from starvation.Often the women would not take what he offered. Their journeywas a hard and hungry one. They must make it all on foot andthere was little food to be found. But each of them knew how tolive on scant fare. They traveled mostly by night and sleptamong the ferns and undergrowth through the day. They drank fromrunning brooks and bathed in them. Moss and ferns made soft andsweet-smelling beds, and trees roofed them. Sometimes they laylong and talked while they rested. And at length a day came whenthey knew they were nearing their journey's end."It is nearly over now," Marco said, after they had thrownthemselves down in the forest in the early hours of one dewymorning. "He said `After Samavia, go back to London as quicklyas you can --as quickly as you can.' He said it twice. Asif--something were going to happen.""Perhaps it will happen more suddenly than we think--the thinghe meant," answered The Rat.Suddenly he sat up on his elbow and leaned towards Marco."We are in Samavia!" he said "We two are in Samavia! And weare near the end!"Marco rose on his elbow also. He was very thin as a result ofhard travel and scant feeding. His thinness made his eyes lookimmense and black as pits. But they burned and were beautifulwith their own fire."Yes," he said, breathing quickly. "And though we do not knowwhat the end will be, we have obeyed orders. The Prince was nextto 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 ofthe others," The Rat said."So have I," Marco answered. "His church is built on the sideof this mountain. I wonder what he will say to us."Both had the same reason for wanting to see him. In his youth hehad served in the monastery over the frontier--the one which,till it was destroyed in a revolt, had treasured thefive-hundred-year-old story of the beautiful royal lad brought tobe hidden among the brotherhood by the ancient shepherd. In themonastery the memory of the Lost Prince was as the memory of asaint. It had been told that one of the early brothers, who wasa decorator and a painter, had made a picture of him with a fainthalo shining about his head. The young acolyte who had servedthere must have heard wonderful legends. But the monastery hadbeen burned, and the young acolyte had in later years crossed thefrontier and become the priest of a few mountaineers whose littlechurch clung to the mountain side. He had worked hard andfaithfully and was worshipped by his people. Only the secretForgers of the Sword knew that his most ardent worshippers werethose with whom he prayed and to whom he gave blessings in darkcaverns under the earth, where arms piled themselves and men withdark strong faces sat together in the dim light and laid plansand wrought schemes.This Marco and The Rat did not know as they talked of theirdesire to see him."He may not choose to tell us anything," said Marco. "When wehave given him the Sign, he may turn away and say nothing as someof the others did. He may have nothing to say which we shouldhear. Silence may be the order for him, too."It would not be a long or dangerous climb to the little church onthe rock. They could sleep or rest all day and begin it attwilight. So after they had talked of the old priest and hadeaten their black bread, they settled themselves to sleep undercover of the thick tall ferns.It was a long and deep sleep which nothing disturbed. So fewhuman beings ever climbed the hill, except by the narrow roughpath leading to the church, that the little wild creatures hadnot learned to be afraid of them. Once, during the afternoon, ahare hopping along under the ferns to make a visit stopped byMarco's head, and, after looking at him a few seconds with hislustrous eyes, began to nibble the ends of his hair. He only didit from curiosity and because he wondered if it might be a newkind of grass, but he did not like it and stopped nibbling almostat once, after which he looked at it again, moving the softsensitive end of his nose rapidly for a second or so, and thenhopped away to attend to his own affairs. A very large andhandsome green stag-beetle crawled from one end of The Rat'scrutches to the other, but, having done it, he went away also.Two or three times a bird, searching for his dinner under theferns, was surprised to find the two sleeping figures, but, asthey lay so quietly, there seemed nothing to be frightened about.A beautiful little field mouse running past discovered that therewere crumbs lying about and ate all she could find on the moss.After that she crept into Marco's pocket and found some excellentones and had quite a feast. But she disturbed nobody and theboys slept on. It was a bird's evening song which awakened them both. The birdalighted on the branch of a tree near them and her trill wasrippling clear and sweet. The evening air had freshened and wasfragrant with hillside scents. When Marco first rolled over andopened his eyes, he thought the most delicious thing on earth wasto waken from sleep on a hillside at evening and hear a birdsinging. It seemed to make exquisitely real to him the fact thathe was in Samavia--that the Lamp was lighted and his work wasnearly done. The Rat awakened when he did, and for a few minutesboth lay on their backs without speaking. At last Marco said,"The stars are coming out. We can begin to climb,Aide-de-camp."Then they both got up and looked at each other."The last one!" The Rat said. "To-morrow we shall be on ourway back to London--Number 7 Philibert Place. After all theplaces we've been to--what will it look like?""It will be like wakening out of a dream," said Marco. "It'snot beautiful--Philibert Place. But he will be there," And itwas as if a light lighted itself in his face and shone throughthe very darkness of it.And The Rat's face lighted in almost exactly the same way. Andhe pulled off his cap and stood bare-headed. "We've obeyedorders," he said. "We've not forgotten one. No one hasnoticed us, no one has thought of us. We've blown through thecountries 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 outthrough trees until they found the little path. The hill wasthickly clothed with forest and the little path was sometimesdark and steep; but they knew that, if they followed it, theywould at last come out to a place where there were scarcely anytrees at all, and on a crag they would find the tiny churchwaiting for them. The priest might not be there. They mighthave to wait for him, but he would be sure to come back formorning Mass and for vespers, wheresoever he wandered betweentimes.There were many stars in the sky when at last a turn of the pathshowed them the church above them. It was little and built ofrough stone. It looked as if the priest himself and hisscattered flock might have broken and carried or rolled bits ofthe hill to put it together. It had the small, round,mosque-like summit the Turks had brought into Europe in centuriespast. It was so tiny that it would hold but a very smallcongregation--and close to it was a shed-like house, which was ofcourse the priest's.The two boys stopped on the path to look at it."There is a candle burning in one of the little windows," saidMarco."There is a well near the door--and some one is beginning todraw water," said The Rat, next. "It is too dark to see who itis. Listen!"They listened and heard the bucket descend on the chains, andsplash in the water. Then it was drawn up, and it seemed someone drank long. Then they saw a dim figure move forward andstand still. Then they heard a voice begin to pray aloud, as ifthe owner, being accustomed to utter solitude, did not think ofearthly hearers."Come," Marco said. And they went forward.Because the stars were so many and the air so clear, the priestheard their feet on the path, and saw them almost as soon as heheard them. He ended his prayer and watched them coming. A ladon crutches, who moved as lightly and easily as a bird--and a ladwho, even yards away, was noticeable for a bearing of his bodywhich was neither haughty nor proud but set him somehow alooffrom every other lad one had ever seen. A magnificentlad--though, as he drew near, the starlight showed his face thinand 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. Thenhe lifted his black head, squared his shoulders and uttered hismessage for the last time."The Lamp is lighted, Father," he said. "The Lamp islighted."The old priest stood quite still and gazed into his face. Thenext moment he bent his head so that he could look at himclosely. Itseemed almost as if he were frightened and wanted to make sure ofsomething. At the moment it flashed through The Rat's mind thatthe old, old woman on the mountain-top had looked frightened insomething the same way."I am an old man," he said. "My eyes are not good. If I hada light"--and he glanced towards the house.It was The Rat who, with one whirl, swung through the door andseized the candle. He guessed what he wanted. He held ithimself 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 Stefan Loristan!" he cried. "It is hisson who brings the Sign."He fell upon his knees and hid his face in his hands. Both theboys heard him sobbing and praying--praying and sobbing at once.They glanced at each other. The Rat was bursting withexcitement, but he felt a little awkward also and wondered whatMarco would do. An old fellow on his knees, crying, made a chapfeel as if he didn't know what to say. Must you comfort him ormust you let him go on?Marco only stood quite still and looked at him with understandingand gravity."Yes, Father, he said. "I am the son of Stefan Loristan, and Ihave given the Sign to all. You are the last one. The Lamp islighted. I could weep for gladness, too."The priest's tears and prayers ended. He rose to his feet--arugged-faced old man with long and thick white hair which fell onhis 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 myoath of allegiance when I was a child. I was not old enough tofight, or serve, or reason about great things. All I could dowas to be silent, and to train myself to remember, and be readywhen I was called. When my father saw I was ready, he trustedme to go out and give the Sign. He told me the four words.Nothing else."The old man watched him with a wondering face."If Stefan Loristan does not know best," he said, "who does?""He always knows," answered Marco proudly. "Always." Hewaved his hand like a young king toward The Rat. He wanted eachman they met to understand the value of The Rat. "He chose forme this companion," he added. "I have done nothing alone.""He let me call myself his aide-de-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 Isee.""How did you know I was my father's son?" asked Marco. "Youhave seen him?""No," was the answer; "but I have seen a picture which is saidto 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 is a purpose in it." He led them into his bare smallhouse and made them rest, and drink goat's milk, and eat food.As he moved about the hut-like place, there was a mysterious andexalted 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 wherethere are men whose hearts will leap at the sight of you. To seeyou will give them new power and courage and new resolve. To-night they meet as they or their ancestors have met forcenturies, but now they are nearing the end of their waiting.And I shall bring them the son of Stefan Loristan, who is theBearer of the Sign!"They ate the bread and cheese and drank the goat's milk he gavethem, but Marco explained that they did not need rest as they hadslept all day. They were prepared to follow him when he wasready.The last faint hint of twilight had died into night and the starswere at their thickest when they set out together. Thewhite-haired old man took a thick knotted staff in his hand andled the way. He knew it well, though it was a rugged and steepone with no track to mark it. Sometimes they seemed to bewalking around the mountain, sometimes they were climbing,sometimes they dragged themselves over rocks or fallen trees, orstruggled through almost impassable thickets; more than once theydescended into ravines and, almost at the risk of their lives,clambered and drew themselves with the aid of the undergrowth upthe other side. The Rat was called upon to use all his prowess,and sometimes Marco and the priest helped him across obstacleswith the aid of his crutch."Haven't I shown to-night whether I'm a cripple or not?" hesaid once to Marco. "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 placewhere the undergrowth was thick and a huge tree had fallencrashing down among it in some storm. Not far from the tree wasan outcropping rock. Only the top of it was to be seen above theheavy tangle.They had pushed their way through the jungle of bushes and youngsaplings, led by their companion. They did not know where theywould be led next and were supposed to push forward further whenthe priest stopped by the outcropping rock. He stood silent afew minutes--quite motionless--as if he were listening to theforest and the night. But there was utter stillness. There wasnot even a breeze to stir a leaf, or a half-wakened bird tosleepily 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 himselfleaning forward, staring with almost unbelieving eyes, not at thepriest or his staff, but at the rock itself!It was moving! Yes, it moved. The priest stepped aside and itslowly turned, as if worked by a lever. As it turned, itgradually revealed a chasm of darkness dimly lighted, and thepriest spoke to Marco. "There are hiding-places like this allthrough Samavia," he said. "Patience and misery have waitedlong in them. They are the caverns of the Forgers of the Sword.Come!"