“This is life,” Brand said, blithely, as he leaped from his steaming horse.

“And death,” Ughtred answered, gravely. “God grant that Theos may not know many days such as this.”

Brand fixed his field-glasses and swept the scene below.

“Enemy advancing crescent shape in loose formation,” he remarked. “Your men capitally entrenched. Masked guns, too, and cavalry in reserve. Your Majesty, how long have they been shelling the trenches?”

“All day,” Ughtred answered, with a faint smile. “Our losses are less than fifty wounded. This is their second advance. The first cost them a thousand men.”

An A. D. C. galloped up the hill with a report. Ughtred gave a few rapid orders and retired for a few minutes to consult with his officers. Below, the din of battle grew louder. Through the films of smoke multitudes of grey uniformed men could be seen creeping across the plain like ants, now hesitating and dropping, now running on from shelter to shelter. To Brand they seemed as numberless as the pebbles on the seashore. His face grew grave as he saw how near they were to the long zigzag line of entrenchments. The Thetian firing, too, had certainly slackened. A horrible idea flashed into his brain. If the weakening fire were due to lack of ammunition Theos was doomed.

He looked around. Ughtred and his staff were specks in the distance. They were hastening down to be nearer the scene of action. Brand caught his horse, and galloped after them. The battle fever seemed to be in the atmosphere. The afternoon heat was rendered more oppressive by a murky vapour rising from the valley. Below, it was difficult to see anything save the swarm of Turks creeping steadily on across the plain. Above their heads screamed the shells which were to pave the way for their advance. Brand hastened on, filled with misgivings.

At last he reached a spur of the hill from which an easy descent led down into the valley. From here he could see into the trenches, and his spirits revived. They were swarming with men, there were no signs of any panic. The King and his staff had halted almost within shouting distance, and protected from the enemy’s fire only by a little clump of trees. Then Brand knew that there was method in this silence.

A long, clarion-like bugle-call, and then—a sudden upheaval of all the forces of destruction. From the heights above the pom-poms and Maxims sent down a murderous rain, the trenches from end to end belched forth red fire. Brand held his breath, it was an epoch—for a looker-on a marvellous experience—a page in the chapter of his life. The firing-line of the Turks was within four hundred yards of the trenches, and in thirty seconds they were wiped out of existence. The next line and the next shared the same fate. The Turkish officers galloped to the front with drawn sabres, the Mohammedan battle-cry, solemn and inspiring, rang fiercely out. It was useless. No living thing could face that zone of destruction. A dust rose from the bullet-riven ground. It was like a hail-storm upon an ocean. The Turks wavered and broke, and the Thetian cavalry rode them through and through, passing out of their broken ranks with blood-stained sabres and hearts aflame.

Ughtred, watching, saw the first signs of danger, and signalled for their withdrawal. But the lust of blood was awake in them, and they were drunk with the joy of fighting. They followed and followed till the Turks, out of that awful avalanche of death, became conscious that a thousand Thetian horsemen were not an invincible force. Their fight was checked, they were almost immediately surrounded, their leader fell shot through the heart, and a miracle was required to save the flower of the Thetian army.

A miracle which happened. For of a sudden a horseman, who had ridden in the ranks, his face shaded by a helmet, leaped to the front.

“A Reist! A Reist!” he cried, “for God and Theos,” and once more the fear of numbers passed away. They fought like heroes, and in the mÊlÉe without serious loss. They fought their way almost to the open, and their path was an avenue of blood. But how it might have gone with them no man could tell, for at the critical moment the whole cavalry reserve, with Ughtred himself at their head, fell upon the enemy’s right flank, and the triumph of the day was assured. The Turks fled, and no further pursuit was attempted.

The man who had led that wonderful rally rode slowly back to his place in the ranks. But Ughtred, from whose left temple the blood was streaming, and whose arm was helpless, put his horse to the gallop and intercepted him.

“It was well done, Duke of Reist,” he said. “Will you shake hands with me?”

For a moment Reist hesitated, and in that moment the King, stung by his indecision, withdrew his appeal.

“I will not have a grudging reconciliation,” he said. “As we are, so we will remain until your apology is ready. But I am glad at least to see that you are still a patriot. I cannot have you fighting in the ranks, Duke of Reist. What post will you have?”

Reist stood very still for a moment, and the pallor on his cheeks was more than the pallor of exhaustion.

“Your Majesty,” he said, “there is a report that General Kolashin is wounded. Send me to Althea.”

The King turned his horse.

“As you will,” he answered. “Captain Hartzan, ride with the Duke of Reist to Althea, and take this ring to General Kolashin, whose command the Duke of Reist will take over.”

Then the King, flushed with fighting, the blood indeed still upon his face from a wound on the temple, rode slowly down the lines of his army. From far and near the men of Theos greeted him lustily. This was indeed a born leader, whose dispositions had prevailed against the wily Turkish generals, and whose personal valour they had, with their own eyes, beheld. Even from Solika, far in the background, came an answering echo to that strange thunder of men’s rapturous voices.

Brand touched him on the arm.

“Your Majesty,” he said, “you have won a victory to-day which will amaze all Europe. Be careful that you do not lose what you have gained by treachery!”

The King looked into Brand’s grave face, and beckoned him on one side.

“Well?”

“Domiloff has got hold of Reist,” he said. “He is a traitor. There is something going on in the city even now, which I do not understand.”

The King shook his head gravely.

“Reist is my personal enemy,” he said, “but Theos has no more faithful son. It is he who has just saved our victory from being turned into disaster.”

“Nevertheless,” Brand answered, “he is Domiloff’s man, and there is treachery afoot. I will tell you what happened to me in the city.”

The King listened with darkening face. But when Brand had finished his story he shook his head again.

“Domiloff is my enemy,” he said, “and it may be the Countess of Reist. But of Reist himself I will believe no such thing.”

“Your Majesty will regret it,” Brand remarked, dryly.

“If you are right, I certainly shall,” the King answered, “for I have appointed Reist to the command at Althea.”

Brand wheeled his horse round.

“I wish you good fortune—and good-bye,” he said.

The King looked at him in amazement.

“Where are you going, Brand?” he asked.

“Home.”

“Home! Why?”

“The war is over,” Brand answered. “The Turks will occupy Theos to-morrow.”

“You are talking nonsense,” Ughtred declared, hotly.

Brand shook his head.

“Your Majesty,” he said, “you will admit that a traitor at Althea can let the Turks into Theos.”

The King frowned.

“It is true,” he admitted, “but Reist is no traitor.”

“If you will come with me to the city,” Brand answered, “I will prove to you that he is!”