“Send off immediately notes to the various Powers, informing them of my brother’s election, and inviting their sovereigns to be present at the coronation. Once the despatches are gone, don’t lose a minute. Instead of heading straight for Bellaviste, let us go at once to the nearest city or monastery where an archbishop is to be found. Beg, borrow, or buy a crown--you could make one with two or three of those gold plates from the _icons_, fastened together--and get Caerleon crowned without the smallest delay. Remonstrances from the Powers will be beginning to pour in by that time, of course; but they will have to follow you about the country, and you won’t open them until after the ceremony. Then you will regret that they arrived so late that, in the bustle and rush attendant upon the coronation, they remained unnoticed.” “Oh, my friend, why were you not born a Thracian?” cried M. Drakovics, seizing Cyril in his arms, and imprinting a fervent kiss on each of his cheeks. “Your plan is almost perfect: it has only one drawback--that it is impossible. Every King of Thracia must be crowned in the chapel of St Peter at Bellaviste. It is a small, rude building, standing in the quadrangle of the palace, and in it Alexander Franza, first of the name--the patriot king--saw a vision of St Peter, the night before the great battle in which he burst the Roumi yoke. No other coronation would be valid in the opinion of the people, nor can the crown be legally removed from the chapel. It is kept in a great chest built into the wall, of which I hold one key, the Metropolitan another, and the king the third. I have it now to deliver to his Majesty, but none of the keys will open the box without the other two. Your brother cannot be crowned until we reach Bellaviste, for no make-shift crown would be tolerated by the Thracians.” “It is an enormous pity,” said Cyril. “Time is everything to us just now. Why not disregard the superstition of the people, and spring on them a king ready crowned, and safe on his throne?” “Ah, you do not know my countrymen,” said M. Drakovics, sorrowfully. “Such a thing would be an outrage, a defiance of their religious feelings. No, we must wait until we reach Bellaviste; but I will take your advice as to the protests from the Powers. What is your feeling about Scythia?” “Send the same note to her as to the other Powers; but let it be well understood privately that if she makes one hostile movement, you are prepared to contest every inch of ground, and will at the same moment throw yourself upon the protection of Pannonia, who will be only too ready to interfere if there is any likelihood of war in the Balkans, and will be supported by her allies. Meanwhile, see that your army is ready to mobilise at the shortest notice, and look out for Scythian spies.”