Marcos Roca arrived soon after seven o’clock with a carriage drawn by four horses.
He looked so happy and so did Erina that the Princess knew that she was doing the right thing in letting them be together.
Before they left Marcos Roca said to her,
“I have been thinking it over during the night, ma’am, and I will make certain that there will be no possibility of our being discovered before Pythia is married to the King.”
The Princess was listening attentively as he went on,
“I have changed my mind about taking Erina to Paris. We will spend our honeymoon on my yacht in the Mediterranean.”
He paused for a moment and then went on,
“I will buy part of her trousseau in Marseilles and Nice, where the dressmakers can order gowns from Paris to follow us when we arrive home.”
The Princess smiled and Marcos Roca went on,
“I feel it would be a mistake, even after we have reached Peru, for Erina to be known by her title and her present name. ‘Princess Erina’ is so unusual that the British Embassy in Peru, if nobody else, might think it too much of a coincidence.”
The Princess realised that she had not thought of him.
“I understand,” Marcos Roca continued, “she was also christened ‘Moyra’, which is an Irish name too. I feel sure that her grandmother, who asked that both Pythia and Erina should be called ‘Erina’, would, if she was alive, understand.”
“I am sure she would,” the Princess agreed, “and I think it very wise of you to take every possible precaution.”
“There is no reason why anyone should question the Princess being called ‘Moyra’,” Marcos Roca said, “and even if they do, once Pythia is Queen of Vultarnia there is nothing they can do about it anyway.”
“You are right,” the Princess told him.
He handed her an envelope.
She found later that it contained a large amount of money. It would provide her with everything she needed until she reached Peru.
“Everything will be arranged, Your Highness,” he said, “and Erina and I will make you happy and certainly less lonely than you have been these last few years since the death of your husband.”
Tears came into Princess Aileen’s eyes as she said,
“You are so kind, Marcos, and that Erina should be happy is the answer to all my prayers.”
When they left, Marcos, as he was her son-in-law-to-be, kissed the Princess goodbye and Erina hugged her mother.
“I can never thank you enough, Mama,” she enthused, “for being so understanding. I am so incredibly lucky to have found Marcos and it will be wonderful to have you with us when we reach Peru.”
They drove off.
The Princess watched them out of sight, the tears running down her cheeks, but they were tears of happiness.
She and Pythia were not alone for long in the thatched cottage before a carriage came to the door.
There was a coachman and a footman on the box and the footman handed the Princess a note.
It was from the Queen and, when Princess Aileen read it, she gave an exclamation of delight and astonishment.
“What is it?” Pythia asked.
“You will hardly believe it,” the Princess replied, “but Her Majesty says that she thought during the night that, as we have to buy your trousseau so quickly, we will need a carriage to carry us to London and it is therefore at our disposal whenever we need it until your marriage.”
“That is certainly most helpful,” Pythia smiled.
She knew that it would be very difficult for her aunt to travel any other way.
She did not know about the gift of money from Marcos Roca to the Princess and she had been wondering frantically how they could afford to hire a carriage.
It just passed through Princess Aileen’s mind that the Queen was making reparation for the years of neglect.
Then she thought that she was being uncharitable and merely said,
“I am so very very grateful and, Pythia darling, we must make you look really beautiful as the Queen of Vultarnia.”
The next few days were so exhausting that Pythia knew that it would be a mistake for the Princess to do anything more.
She therefore managed to secure the services of a respectable woman, who had, until she retired, been a housemaid at Windsor Castle.
She accompanied Pythia to London and she watched her try on gown after gown and fit those that the Princess had already chosen for her.
The dressmakers, when they learned that she was to marry a King, fell over themselves to provide everything possible that would enhance her beauty.
They were determined that she would be the best-dressed woman in Vultarnia.
Because Queen Victoria was paying the bills, Pythia knew that there was no need to haggle over the price.
She was able to buy all the things that she and her mother had always longed to own, but could never afford.
“I would love to see you dressed in a magnificent white gown, my dearest,” her mother had said once, “being presented at Buckingham Palace either to the Queen or else to the very lovely Princess Alexandra.”
As they were staying in a rough inn in the depths of Romania at the time, Pythia had laughed.
“That is as likely, Mama,” she said, “as if we thought of flying to the moon or crossing the sea on the back of a dolphin, as Apollo did.”
Patrick O’Connor had been vaguely listening to the conversation and he raised his head from the map he was studying.
“As Pythia is dedicated to Apollo,” he suggested, “he will dress her in the gold of the sun and the silver of the moon. What woman could ever ask for more?”
Pythia thought now that it was perhaps Apollo who was responsible for her exquisite trousseau.
Never had she imagined that she would ever own silken garments to wear next to her skin.
She had gowns which swept back in the front like the Greek Goddesses and had only a small bustle at the back.
Because like her mother she had excellent taste, or perhaps again it was Apollo guiding her, she was very careful to choose nothing that was overpowering.
She bought only gowns that made her look slim and ethereal.
Her taste was instinctive and the same applied to the unique way that she arranged her hair.
*
Next the British Ambassador to Vultarnia called on the Princess.
When she explained that she was not well enough to travel with her daughter, he promised that he and his wife would look after her very carefully.
“His Majesty has sent a lady’s maid and an aide-de-camp on a ship which arrives here tomorrow,” he said, “so I can assure you that the Princess will travel in comfort and we will try to make up for her not having Your Highness to support her.”
It was Pythia who had been very firm in insisting that Princess Aileen should not travel to Vultarnia even for her Wedding.
“Surely, dearest,” the Princess objected, “I should come with you first before I go to Peru as Marcos had arranged?”
Pythia shook her head.
“We have to disembark at a Port which is the furthest South on the coast of Montenegro and cross the mountains of Albania to reach Vultarnia,” she explained. “It’s a journey that would be far too exhausting for you to undertake.”
The Princess protested again, but at the same time she was very relieved.
Her arthritis gave her much pain and she had no wish, if Pythia was right, to be bumped for miles over rough and precipitous roads.
She therefore made her arrangements with the Courier who had been sent to her by Marcos Roca.
He promised to reserve the best possible accommodation for her on the first suitable ship sailing to Peru after Pythia had started her journey to Vultarnia.
“You will be very comfortable in a large ship,” Pythia told her. “Mama and I always wished that we could enjoy such comfort instead of putting up with cargo boats which were often very rough and smelly!”
She gave a little laugh and she found herself remembering how happy they had been in those days.
They had laughed at the discomfort and even joked about the food that was almost inedible.
‘That is what love means,’ she told herself. ‘Being happy and content regardless of material discomfort.’
From the moment she said ‘goodbye’ to Princess Aileen and started on her journey to Vultarnia she certainly did not experience that.
The Battleship she was to travel in was one of the very latest ironclad vessels. It was in fact going on duty in the Mediterranean where it was to join five other British Battleships.
The Ambassador was aware of why they were sailing to the Eastern Mediterranean.
It was to give a show of strength should the rumours circulating about Russia’s intention be substantiated.
As a future Queen, Pythia was given the Captain’s cabin, which was large and very comfortable and the Ambassador and his wife were next door and her maid not far away.
Also to attend her was the aide-de-camp to the King whose name was Major Njego Danilo. He was a tall good-looking man who looked exceedingly smart in his uniform.
He was formal and somewhat stiff until Pythia informed him that she wished to learn his language.
After his first look of surprise there was, she thought, a mocking expression in his eyes.
She guessed that he thought it most unlikely that she would be capable of even a few words before they reached their destination.
“The Major is giving me a two hour lesson in his language every morning,” Pythia told the Ambassador.
He replied approvingly,
“That is very sensible of you, although I am afraid that you will find it quite a difficult language. Of course His Majesty speaks French, Italian and English.”
“That is not surprising,” the Ambassadress remarked somewhat tartly, “considering the time he spent roaming all over Europe before he came to the Throne.”
Pythia was aware of the warning glance that the Ambassador then gave his wife.
So the Ambassadress commented somewhat lamely,
“So many people are proficient in different languages these days.”
*
The first morning after they had left England the sea was calm and the sun was shining brightly in the sky.
Immediately after breakfast Pythia was waiting in the Captain’s cabin for Major Danilo.
He came in and bowed to her and to the Ambassadress.
He then put some books and a writing pad down on the table.
“If I had known that Your Highness wished to learn my language,” he said to Pythia, “I would have equipped myself more efficiently before I left Vultarnia. All I have with me are some books I brought to read myself, which I am afraid you will find incomprehensible.”
Pythia smiled, but she did not contradict him.
After she had seated herself at the table, the Ambassadress left them and went to her own cabin.
They were alone and she felt that Major Danilo was trying to think of how he could best start with someone who did not know a single word of Vultarnian.
“I think your language,” she said quietly, “like those of most of the Balkan States, is a mixture of Greek, Macedonian and Asian.”
She paused a moment and then went on,
“Of course they all vary, but there is a common denominator between them all which makes it easy to switch from one to the other.”
Major Danilo looked at her in sheer astonishment.
“Are you telling me, Your Highness, that you know any of these languages?”
Pythia smiled.
“I am, of course, fluent in Greek and I can make myself understood in Romanian, Serbian and Montenegrin, all of which I suspect will turn up somewhere in Vultarnian.”
The Major stared at her as if he thought that she must be exaggerating.
Pythia opened one of the books he had brought with him and she found that she could quickly make sense of what was printed as soon as she could grasp the first few words of the sentence.
By the time the lesson came to an end she realised that she would soon understand Vultarnian.
It was very like Montenegrin and had a great number of Greek words in its vocabulary.
As they finished, Major Danilo closed the book and said,
“I find it hard to believe that I am not dreaming, Your Highness. I was thinking when I came to your cabin that I would be fortunate if by the time we arrived in Vultarnia you could say ‘how do you do’ and ‘good morning’.”
He smiled and carried on,
“Now I know that the people of my country will be deeply touched that you are able to speak their language.”
Pythia looked up at him and replied,
“I can assure you, Major Danilo, that I intend to work very hard so that I cannot only speak Vultarnian but also understand the problems of the people of Vultarnia. I intend to be word perfect in your language, which is soon to be my language!”
She knew as she saw the expression in the Major’s eyes that he was both thrilled and delighted with her.
The next day the sea was very rough in the Bay of Biscay.
However, it did not prevent them from working hard to approach as near as they could Pythia’s idea of perfection in the language.
She also plied the Ambassador and his wife with questions about the country and inevitably about the King.
“Do tell me about him,” she asked.
Although they answered her, she had the idea, and she knew that it was not just her imagination that they were keeping something from her.
When they reached the Mediterranean, the sea was calm.
It was also warm and sunny, so every moment when she was not working with Major Danilo Pythia went out on deck.
The Battleship was fascinating and the seamen looked at her with admiration.
She found herself a secluded spot which was out of the wind and she was also protected from the sun and so she could read the Major’s books that were written in Vultarnian.
*
One day, deeply absorbed in what she was reading, she suddenly became aware of voices.
She realised that they came through the portholes of the superstructure which she was sitting against.
There were two men talking and she knew after a moment that it was the Ambassador and the Major.
“I gather,” the Ambassador said, “that Her Highness is already remarkably proficient in your language. That should certainly be a pleasant surprise for His Majesty when she arrives.”
“It will indeed,” the Major replied, “especially since, as Your Excellency knows, he has a dislike of the English.”
The Ambassador sighed.
“I know that the Prime Minister was right in thinking that an English Queen in Vultarnia will be a better defence against the Russians than anything else could be.”
“Certainly more effective than the guns we do not possess,” Major Danilo said bitterly.
There was silence.
Then in his own language, as if he was afraid of being overheard, the Major said,
“What really worries me, Your Excellency, is how the Princess, who is so young and so innocent, can possibly cope with a man like the King.”
“The same thought worries me,” the Ambassador admitted.
“When I left a week after your departure,” the Major went on, “they were saying at Court that the King had no intention of giving up the Countess Natasha.”
What he said obviously startled the Ambassador for he exclaimed,
“He cannot mean to keep her in The Palace once he is married!”
“I am sure of one thing,” the Major replied, “that the Countess will fight like the devil to stay where she is and to keep the King in her clutches.”
The Ambassador did not speak and he continued,
“If you ask me she is a Russian spy! She probably sends reports back to St. Petersburg so that if anything occurs in the country the Russians will make it an excuse to move in and restore order.”
“That is something I have thought myself,” the Ambassador agreed, “but with an English Queen they would not dare.”
“Are you sure of that?” the Major asked him.
“I had a long talk with Mr. Disraeli when I was in London,” the Ambassador answered, “and I am totally convinced of one thing and that is that Russia does not wish to pick a fight with Great Britain.”
“I only hope you are right,” the Major said, “but I hear on good authority that they are in the process of mobilising their forces.”
“Mr. Disraeli is aware of that,” the Ambassador replied, “and whatever happens in the Balkans we can only pray that with the Union Jack flying over Vultarnia, that country will be spared.”
“That is what I would hope as well,” the Major said. “But I am very worried about the Princess.”
“She is enchanting,” the Ambassador exclaimed. “At the same time you know better than anybody else that His Majesty is completely unpredictable.”
“That is true,” the Major agreed. “He loathes being driven or forced into anything he does not wish to do.”
The Ambassador sighed again.
“If only Her Majesty the Queen could have found someone older and more experienced than the Princess Erina.”
“From my conversation with her,” the Major remarked, “I find her surprisingly wise about the things that are important. But whether that will appeal to His Majesty is a very different story.”
“We can only hope and pray and I know that you, Major, will keep me informed if I can help in any way should the Princess be desperately unhappy.”
“You know I will,” the Major answered.
Pythia, listening intently to this conversation, then heard the sound of footsteps.
She realised that the two men had left whichever cabin they were in and there was now a poignant silence.
She sat staring out to sea, thinking over what she had just overheard.
She recognised as if for the first time that the task ahead of her was not just to understand the people of Vultarnia but also their King.
She had impulsively agreed to marry him so that her cousin could escape with Marcos.
At that moment she had not thought of the King as a man but rather as a country.
She had loved being in the Balkans with her father and she thought that to be there again with the smiling good-humoured people they had known and loved would be all she could ask of life.
She had, although she had never said so, found it very dull in the thatched cottage at Windsor and she had often felt as if the walls were closing in on her.
They formed a secluded prison that she could see no escape from.
She was used to great vistas over deep valleys or the soaring heights of snowclad mountains.
There had always been something new to discover such as unexpected problems like fording rivers or avoiding an avalanche.
There were nights when they had slept under the stars and at other times they had stayed in some delightful small village.
Or in a town where they were welcomed and her father was acclaimed for his medical skills.
It had all been, as her mother had said from the very beginning, a great and exciting adventure.
At Windsor she was beginning to wonder how she could bear the long days when there was no one new to talk to.
Everything that the Princess and Erina said to her seemed to have been said a dozen times before.
From the moment that she had made the decision to take her cousin’s place she was sure that she would love Vultarnia.
But now there was a very different question.
Would she love the King?
She thought this question over and then changed it to what was really more important.
Would the King love her?
It had not struck her that he might be against the idea of marrying an Englishwoman as apparently he did not like the English.
She was aware that a great number of men had mistresses and yet she had not envisaged the King having one at this particular moment.
And she had certainly never dreamed that she would be a Russian.
When she had been with her father and mother in Romania, the people had talked about the menace of the Russians on their Northern border.
In the countries further South, especially Bulgaria, they had suffered from the ghastly onslaught of the Turks.
They had committed atrocities that her father would not repeat to her.
Knowing the Balkans as she did, she could understand the menace that confronted them now.
It was not the Ottoman Empire, as it had been in the past, but the greed and ambition of Russia.
How, in those circumstances, she asked herself, unless he was extremely stupid, could the King have taken a Russian mistress?
She was well aware that the Russians were suspected of having spies everywhere and the frightening network of ‘The Third Section’ was whispered about wherever they went and indeed her father had talked about it a great deal.
At the same time it was very easy to kindle fear in simple folk.
They themselves, as foreigners, had often been received coldly and with suspicion.
Then, when people learnt that her father was Irish and more important than anything else, a doctor, doors opened.
His medical skill was a universal ‘Open Sesame’.
They all told him about their aches and pains.
But the older members of each community confided in him also their fears and doubts for their safety and for peace.
‘Surely the King must know all this?’ Pythia asked herself.
When next she was alone with the Ambassadress, she enquired,
“Do please tell me a little more about the King. I have been too shy to ask many questions about him, but naturally I am very curious.”
“Of course you are, Your Highness,” the Ambassadress replied. “I can tell you that he is very handsome and most women find him irresistible.”
“But has he not been lonely since he came to the Throne?” Pythia asked.
It seemed to be an innocent question.
But she was aware that the Ambassadress gave her a somewhat sharp glance before she replied,
“Of course His Majesty has many friends.”
“Are they all Vultarnians?”
“Oh, no,” the Ambassadress replied. “As His Majesty has travelled extensively, he has visitors from all the countries of Europe, many of them, as you can imagine, wanting to see how he is faring as a Monarch after a life of pleasure with no responsibilities.”
“It must have been a tremendous change for him,” Pythia commented. “I have heard, but I cannot remember how, that he was in love with someone whom he could not marry.”
The Ambassadress stiffened and then she replied coldly,
“There has been no question of the King marrying anyone until now.”
“But he has been in love?” Pythia persisted.
The Ambassadress drew in her breath.
“You are very young, Your Highness, but I am sure you must be aware that men are often what one might call ‘infatuated’ by women whom in no circumstances can they possibly marry.”
“If that is so,” Pythia said, “surely a man would be unhappy at having to give up a woman who meant so much to him because he had to marry somebody else?”
She saw that the Ambassadress was thinking desperately of a suitable answer to her question.
Finally she said,
“Of course with his attractions and his position the King has many women pursuing him, and he would be inhuman if he was not flattered by their attentions.”
“And do you think,” Pythia said in a small voice, “that His Majesty will be interested in an Englishwoman who he has never seen and who has been sent to him simply because she is British and protection for Vultarnia from the acquisitive Russians?”
“I think, Your Highness,” the Ambassadress replied briefly, “you must talk to my husband about this. I am afraid that I am very foolish about Politics, but I know one thing, my dear, and that is that the women of Vultarnia will welcome you with open arms.”
Pythia thought for a moment that this was rather cold comfort.
She knew she was in fact very nervous of what she would find when she reached Vultarnia.
Supposing, she asked herself, the King took an instant dislike to her?
After what she had heard the Major and the Ambassador saying in their conversation that she had overheard, this was very likely.
Then, almost as if she could hear him speaking to her, she knew that her father was telling her that this was her Fate, her Karma.
It was what he had envisaged when he had offered her up to Apollo after she was born.
There was something, although she was not yet sure what it was, that she had to do for Vultarnia.
She could only pray that when the time came Apollo would guide her and she would do what was right.
‘Help me, Papa, help me,’ she said in her heart that night after she had said her prayers.
She crossed the cabin to a porthole and looked up at the sky.
The moon was shining amongst the stars and she thought that the light of it reflected in the sea below was very beautiful.
It was the Light of Apollo, the Light that she had been born under and which would always guide and protect her.
As she climbed into bed, she felt her fears leaving her.
She would live up to her real name.
The words that came into her mouth as Pythia would from now on be those of the God who spoke through her.