The Kings of the East: A Romance of the Near FutureGrier, Sydney C.
Science
The Kings of the East: A Romance of the Near Future
Grier, Sydney C.
Palestine -- Fiction; Political fiction; Speculative fiction; Zionism -- Fiction
The chamberlain was beginning to look uncomfortable, but he nodded,
and followed Cyril into the carriage. Mansfield took his place upon
the opposite seat, and they drove out of the station, to be greeted
with a storm of yells and execrations. “Traitor! renegade!” were the
epithets that saluted Cyril as soon as his clear-cut, contemptuous
profile was recognised, and the mob surged up to the carriage with
fierce shouts of rage. Those who succeeded in reaching it attempted no
actual violence, for the presence of the man who was so absolutely
unmoved by their clamour seemed to paralyse them, but those behind,
unable to catch a glimpse of the visitor, did not feel the influence
of his silent scorn. Cyril had turned to make a remark to the
chamberlain, when Mansfield sprang up with a cry, and threw himself
before him, only just in time to intercept with his shoulder a large
stone which was hurled through the window, the broken glass cutting
him about the face.
“Well done, Mansfield!” cried Cyril, while the chamberlain called
frantically to the coachman to turn and drive back again into the
station.
“You would never turn tail before a mob?” cried Cyril, roused at last.
“How should I answer to the Emperor if you were injured, Count?” was
the reply. “Besides, it is not expedient to expose the Court vehicles
to insult--and--and this brave young man’s wounds ought to be dressed.
I will merely send to the barracks in the next street for an escort of
cavalry, and we shall not be more than a few minutes.”
The station was gained in safety, and a surgeon summoned, who adorned
Mansfield’s face most artistically with strips of sticking-plaster,
much to the disgust of the victim, who persuaded himself that he could
have stanched the wounds with his handkerchief in another minute, if
that idiot had not poked his nose in. When the decoration was
complete, a troop of lancers was ready to escort the carriage, and the
progress through the streets to the Schloss was made in gallant wise,
a fence of bristling points and fluttering pennons separating the
endangered visitors from the sullen, baffled mob.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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