“A remarkably indiscreet tomb, then!” said Zoe in indignation, as they reached the welcome refuge of the monastery gates. Eirene was waiting for her in the gallery, full of excitement and anxiety, after receiving her little son’s fragmentary and incoherent account of the morning’s doings. The effect of Zoe’s narrative was to confirm her sister-in-law in her fixed determination never to let Constantine out of her sight again, his peril looming much larger in her eyes than that to which the whole peninsula had been exposed. When Zoe dragged herself away to rest at last, it was with the exasperated conviction that her lot was cast among the most irritating set of human beings that was ever assembled on one spot. Her sole consolation sprang from the reflection that as she was the only available unmarried woman, it was natural for Prince Romanos to fancy himself in love with her, and that as soon as he returned to the society he was so well fitted to adorn, his affections would at once be diverted to other objects. But there was more in the man than a roving fancy and a colossal self-esteem, or even than considerable poetic gifts, and this Maurice and Wylie discovered the same evening.
They were sitting in the gallery, discussing rather anxiously how soon Armitage might be expected to reappear, and what means could be devised of communicating with the yacht, in view of the close blockade which had been proclaimed that morning, and which had already been enforced in the case of several small vessels approaching from the mainland, which had been ruthlessly turned back by boats from the fleet. Prince Romanos was accustomed to spend this time in entertaining the ladies, and incidentally the guards and a few bold monks, with song and recitation, but this evening he joined the two men, with a modesty of manner which was almost an apology in itself.
“I am going to ask you to allow me a definite part in the defence,” he said to Maurice. “I fear you have thought me a sad idler hitherto, but I had my reasons. I observed that when I mentioned I had fought with the Foreign Legion in the Roumi-Morean War, Colonel Wylie appeared to think it but a poor recommendation—and I confess that I know little about drill. But it is different in the case of ships, of the water. There, Prince, I am at home. The instinct of sea-fighting is in my blood, as your Admiral observed only yesterday, and it is in this direction I ask you to find me employment. Colonel Wylie, whose preparations are so complete, so far-reaching, has organised the fishermen of the peninsula for land defence, but I believe he has made no use of their boats?”
“No, except as scouts,” said Wylie, interested in spite of himself. The Greek’s sallow face was flushed, and his eyes bright.
“Then commit this portion of our forces to my care,” he entreated. “No, I am not mad. I have no intention of provoking a conflict with the armed boats of the warships, far less of attempting to attack those vessels themselves, but there are humbler ways in which I might be useful. Even the blockade will hardly prevent our fishermen from exercising their calling in their own waters. Why, then, should we not make use of them occasionally to penetrate farther, and bring us provision and news, perhaps reinforcements and warlike stores? But for such work they must be trained and directed. Then we must—oh, pardon me; I speak too boldly in my enthusiasm for my own element—should we not possess our own counter-blockade? A service of fishing-boats constantly patrolling our coasts to guard against a landing—if this had been in existence to-day, there would have been no fear of the raid which endangered not only our whole enterprise, but the life of the peerless lady who calls you brother, Prince.”
“We seem to have been horribly remiss, Wylie,” said Maurice; “and yet we thought we were pretty far-seeing.”
“Sea-fighting in fishing-boats is not in my line, I’m afraid,” muttered Wylie. “But I’m open to learn from my betters in that way,” he added quickly.
“This very evening,” went on Prince Romanos, much encouraged, “I fear an opportunity has been lost. I understand that the one Roumi who survived to be captured by your men, Colonel, has confessed that a fire on the headland above Ephestilo, simultaneously with one in the village itself, was to be the signal for the Roumi troops waiting outside in boats to enter the bay and effect a landing. A fictitious conflagration could easily be arranged, and the boats lured in—to discover, not the panic-stricken inhabitants they anticipated, but a disciplined force holding them in a trap. Could?—nay, it can be done even now. Will you permit it? I go to arrange details, to invite volunteers. Follow me in half an hour, then I can tell you whether it may be attempted. I have my plans—it is allowed?”
Barely waiting for the answer, he sprang down the steps.
“What’s come over the fellow?” demanded Maurice.
“Can’t say,” growled Wylie. “He’s got something in his head, that’s clear, and I doubt very much whether it’ll be healthy for you and your claims.”
“You old croaker!” said Maurice. “You’ve never trusted him.”
CHAPTER XIV.
IMPERIUM IN IMPERIO.
Something went wrong with the great plan conceived by Prince Romanos for the discomfiture of the Roumi invaders. A reckless expenditure of fuel produced a most inviting beacon on the headland, and a bonfire in the village which endangered every house within reach, but the eager watchers who crouched in their hiding-places on either side of the harbour-mouth, finger on trigger, were not rewarded by the entrance of any hostile boats. Very naturally they imagined more than once that they saw some, and in defiance of orders, fired several shots before they realised that their eyes had deceived them, and this gave admirable scope for mutual recrimination when it was afterwards discussed who had frightened the enemy away. Wylie stood alone as an exponent of the highly unpopular theory that the Roumi prisoner had deliberately deceived his captors by inducing them to light a fire on the headland, which he knew was the prearranged signal denoting danger instead of safety. An indignant deputation at once invaded the cottage in which the prisoner was quartered, but he had saved the situation by dying of his wounds, and the secret thus lost was unanimously voted not to exist. The skill and foresight of Prince Romanos had prepared a signal defeat for the enemy, which had not taken place solely because of the impatience or nervousness of some excited patriots. These took the first opportunity of cleaning their rifles and inserting fresh cartridges, so that the accusation of having fired was bandied about with a fine impartiality based upon the conviction that it could never be brought home to any one in particular.
This belief that Prince Romanos had guided the insurgents within measurable distance of a decisive triumph—missed only through the precipitate action of some persons unknown—smoothed his path when he unfolded his views the next day. He asked for volunteers for coast work, and the whole force desired to enrol themselves under his banner, leaving Wylie in the rather undignified position of a commander without any soldiers. With much tact Prince Romanos pointed out that he could accept only recruits who had practical experience in managing boats, and in this way he weeded out all but the fishermen of the peninsula and such of the mainland refugees as came from the coast. Still, even this reduction followed a curiously marked line.
“I suppose you see,” said Wylie to Maurice, as he looked over his lists, “that we are practically left with the Slavs, while all the Greeks have followed Christodoridi? It’s just the old cleavage over again.”
“That’s bad. How has he managed it?”
“It didn’t want much management—I must do him the justice to say that. It comes simply from the geographical distribution of the people—the Slavs generally north and inland, the Greeks in most cases south and on the coast. It’s natural enough that the Greeks should be the fishing people, and I suppose it’s merely a coincidence that he has fixed on them.”
“We can hardly stipulate that either you or I should be always about with him, to make sure that he doesn’t use the position for his own advantage,” said Maurice, answering the doubt suggested by Wylie’s manner rather than his words.
“No, you gave up all possibility of that when you handed him over a share in the enterprise practically without conditions. By your new way of conducting family feuds he has as much right to lead as you have.”
“We are both under you,” said Maurice quickly. “You are Commander-in-Chief, and Christodoridi’s department of coast defence is entirely subordinate to you at headquarters.”
“I must show it by calling up the men for drill on convenient days. I have an idea that their alacrity in volunteering for him was not unconnected with the prospect of a blissful future in which every man would fight as he liked. But it may be necessary any day to get all our forces together. I hear this morning that a Roumi detachment has occupied Ahmed Pasha,”—this was the village on the mainland nearest to Karakula and the isthmus. “Very likely they intended a simultaneous attack on Karakula and Ephestilo, but now they may prefer to advance in force by land.”
In spite of this forward movement, however, the Roumi authorities were singularly tardy in taking any decisive step. Such news as filtered through to the insurgent headquarters ascribed the delay to intrigues at Czarigrad and to the divided councils of the Powers. Europe was united, it seemed, in coercing the insurgents, since the British warships blockading the Skandalo side of the peninsula were now reinforced by those of other nations, but it could not decide to what extent the Roumi Government was to be allowed a free hand. This respite was of service in allowing Prince Romanos to organise his scheme of defence, though it was dangerous owing to the steady consumption of provisions, which there were no means of replacing. In this particular also Prince Romanos proved himself useful. He had fixed his headquarters at Skandalo, and he discovered that the wary townspeople were contriving to make the best of both worlds by despatching secretly boat-loads of fresh provisions to the blockading ships. It could hardly be doubted that news was conveyed in the same way, and amid the loudly expressed opposition of the inhabitants, Prince Romanos requisitioned all the craft belonging to the town for the service of the Constitutional Assembly, and bought up all the provisions in store, and also the growing crops. The shopkeepers, seeing themselves deprived of the high prices which they had been in the habit of obtaining, were very angry, and the cultivators, who had sold their vegetables to the insurgents with the artless intention of selling them over again to the fleets, resented hotly their fields and gardens being placed under guard, but the leakage was stopped. Moreover, the fishermen scouts brought in now and then accessions of strength,—a boat-load of sympathisers from various countries, anxious to offer the remainder of their (generally discreditable) lives as a sacrifice upon the altar of Emathian freedom, or a collection of guns and ammunition—the ammunition never by any chance fitting the guns—which had been subscribed for by revolutionary circles in continental capitals, and brought thus far on its way by means of lavish bribery of Roumi officials. They obtained news also, through the accredited agents of Professor Panagiotis, who was working heroically with pen and telegraph to impress upon Europe the importance of the Hagiamavran experiment, and to discount in advance the failure which most people predicted for it. He adjured the insurgents to maintain their position at all costs. Europe was already at a loss to know how to deal with them, and the situation must become intolerable if it lasted much longer. Some of the Powers were already threatening to withdraw from the Concert unless more stringent measures were adopted, which the others would not allow, and the brightest hope for the future lay in the prospect that they would carry out their threat. Till then the insurgents had only to hold their ground, repelling all blandishments on the part of the Consuls or other representatives of the Powers, refusing any concessions from Roum, no matter how ample, that were offered without a European guarantee, and above all, remaining absolutely united.
This last counsel of perfection was the more difficult to follow that a distinct difference of opinion was beginning to make itself felt in the deliberations of the leaders. Prince Romanos was claiming—with studied moderation, but still as a right—the power of initiating minor operations without referring every detail to Maurice at the monastery and Wylie wherever he might happen to be. There were so many small triumphs possible, as he justly said,—such as cutting off a picket of Roumi soldiers, or waylaying a boat from the mainland on its way to the fleet and forcibly buying up its freight of provisions,—which would serve to raise the spirits of his men, but the opportunity for which would be lost were he compelled to send and ask leave before starting. Maurice hesitated to sanction these measures, considering that the comparative leniency of the Powers, in “keeping a ring” for the insurgents and seeing that the Roumis fought fair, demanded that the insurgents should abstain from aggressive movements in return. They ought to confine themselves to the defence of the peninsula, and not attack either Roumi soil on the mainland or Roumi vessels outside Hagiamavran waters. Wylie shook his head when this theory was broached in his hearing.
“Won’t work,” he said. “We can’t afford to stick to these rocks merely as a moral object-lesson for Europe. Provisions are running out, Armitage is probably hovering round outside the warships, trying to nose his way in, and can’t do it, and if we go on passively resisting we shall simply be starved out. Even a temporary foothold on Roumi territory means a chance of adding to our stores.”
“But it also means a larger area to guard,” objected Maurice.
“Do the men good. They are getting fed up with the notion that they know all that there is to be known of drill, and are practically invincible. They are growing stale from too much contemplation of their own military virtues. A few small affairs, in which they would get just a little knocked about, would do them all the good in the world, and possibly avert the general stampede which would be a moral certainty if the Roumis attacked us in force to-day with artillery.”
“But the Powers,” persisted Maurice. “They have really displayed remarkable forbearance, and to prejudice our cause in their eyes by acts of aggression——”
“Prince,” said Wylie solemnly, “make no mistake. You can’t prejudice your cause in the eyes of the Powers, because it is already damned beyond redemption as far as three of them are concerned. You want a free and independent Emathia and they don’t. They don’t venture to deal with you themselves, because they are horribly jealous of one another, and they have a haunting fear that England might suddenly go mad and do something rash and high-sounding if they attempted anything like the partition of Poland over again too soon. But they mean to see you cleared out, and by fair means or foul they’ll do it. To sit still and wait will only prolong the agony. Let ’em see you’ve got teeth and will die game.”
“But if we die, we want our dying to do some good for Emathia,” said Maurice.
“Well, and it will do more good to die fighting than preserving a correct moral attitude on a pedestal. We have the shadow of a chance one way, none the other. Not to mention that you can’t play Christodoridi’s game better than by holding the men back when they want to fight.”
“What is his game—your view of it, I mean?”
“To make himself prince and marry your sister.”
The unhesitating reply surprised Maurice. “But Zoe won’t have anything to say to him,” he objected.
“I hope she will.” Wylie said it with the grim determination of the man who prides himself on rising superior to his own feelings. “If he brings off the other part of the programme, of course, that is. Sort of compensation to you for cutting you out, don’t you see? Awfully good for him, too. She would keep him in hand—might even make something of him.”
“I don’t doubt it’s being good for him, but it would be misery for her. She won’t do it. Why, there was that girl at Bashi Konak—the maid-of-honour. He flirted with her under Zoe’s very eyes. That’s not the kind of thing a woman forgets in a hurry.”
“You know more about women than I do, no doubt—better opportunities. The question is whether Christodoridi doesn’t know even more than you. At any rate, I’ve told you what he’s got in his head, and you’ll see that I am correct.”
“I don’t believe the beggar has the cheek,” said Maurice, unconvinced, but a few days later he was reluctantly compelled to acknowledge that Wylie was in all probability right. It was early morning, and the party at the monastery were at breakfast in the gallery, Maurice and Wylie taking the meal in haste between a surprise inspection of the nearest camp and a long tramp over the hills which formed the backbone of the peninsula, to examine the defences behind Karakula. Up to the monastery gate came the thud of soft-shod running feet, and a panting voice summoned the guards to open. A struggle seemed to follow upon the opening, but the runner, a lithe young Greek, wriggled through his opponents and flung himself up the steps. At the top he drew himself up and bowed courteously all round.
“A message and a gift for the Lady Zoe from the Lord Romanos,” he said, and paused impressively. From the folds of his shirt he drew out something scarlet and white in a crumpled mass, then shook it out with the dexterity of a conjuror, and exhibited a Roumi flag. “Last night it waved over the quarters of the Roumi commander at Ahmed Pasha. This morning it is at the feet of the Lady Zoe,” and he spread it proudly on the ground before her.
Much against her will, Zoe felt her colour rise as she stooped to look at it. She glanced at Wylie with something of defiance. “It’s rather large for a handkerchief, and rather small for a tablecloth, isn’t it?” she said, with exaggerated flippancy. To her utter disgust, Wylie answered her only by a frown and an instant endeavour to remove the bad impression she had made.
“Did Prince Christodoridi himself secure this trophy?” he asked, forcing a corner of the flag into her reluctant fingers. The messenger, who had been watching with distinct animosity Zoe’s reception of the offering, brightened again at once.
“It is more than a trophy; it is a token,” he replied. “This morning the Imperial Eagle flies over Ahmed Pasha, in the place of that dishonoured rag.”
“What! Prince Christodoridi has taken the village?” cried Maurice. The messenger swelled with pride.
“With the noble Prince as leader, we stole upon the place last night in three bands, and took the Roumi dogs by surprise. The village is now free from them.”
“How many prisoners?” asked Wylie sharply.
“None, lord. It was a sharp fight, a fight to a finish.”
“I hope it’s all right,” said Wylie to Maurice in English. “We don’t want prisoners, certainly, but I know these fellows’ ways. Did the Prince capture the tower of Segreti at the same time?” he asked the messenger, alluding to an old Venetian fortification near the village, which had been used as a citadel by the Roumis.
“Nay, lord, the noise of the fighting warned the garrison, and we could not take them by surprise. But the Lord Romanos is even now directing the digging of a trench which is to cut off their water-supply, and then the tower also will fall into our hands.”
“We will visit Prince Christodoridi this morning, and congratulate him on his success,” said Maurice. “You can take the day for rest, and return to him in the evening.”
“Nay, lord, I will return at once, and inform the Prince that you and the Lord Glafko will visit him,” was the reply, and refusing all offers of refreshment, the messenger set out at once. Maurice and Wylie followed on mules, noticing as they went the ferment caused by the news of the capture of the Roumi post. Their own men were crestfallen and resentful, the Greeks flushed with triumph. The old schism was present in a form comparatively harmless, but capable of being grievously accentuated, for the wildest tales of spoil and slaughter, springing from seed casually flung by the messenger on his way, were circulating everywhere, and the Slavs were asking why they had not been allowed their share. Arrived at the isthmus, they found Karakula practically deserted, its garrison having marched in a body to Ahmed Pasha in hope of loot.
“Pretty thing if the Roumis had landed now!” said Wylie grimly. “Christodoridi and half our force cut off outside our boundaries, and Karakula undefended. I’ll stay here and beat up what recruits I can, Prince, while you go on and fetch the fellows back.”
Maurice went on, to be greeted by a few stray shots from the ramparts of Segreti, and to find the work of cutting off the water-supply at a standstill, the men refusing to dig until they had thoroughly ransacked the village. Prince Romanos met him in a state of mind compounded of pride and disgust. His force was now engaged in testing walls and turning up the ground round the houses, to discover where the inhabitants had concealed their hoards, and the triumph of the night might at any moment be turned into disaster if the garrison of Segreti should pluck up sufficient courage to make a sortie. Together the two leaders beat up a band of the men most amenable to reason, and sent them back to reinforce Wylie, and then they set to work to collect the rest and post them in the positions that were capable of defence, since it was hardly probable that Jalal-ud-din would meekly accept the transformation of Ahmed Pasha from an outpost of his own to one of the enemy’s. Wylie must come and decide what works ought to be constructed, and how far it was possible to overawe the defenders of Segreti by fire from the village while their water-supply was diverted, and Maurice foresaw that he would probably wish to take up his quarters at Ahmed Pasha for the present, if the village was to be held. Maurice himself inclined to the belief that it would be wiser to withdraw from it, but Prince Romanos could not bear to think of surrending the fruits of his victory, and they argued the matter as they went back towards Karakula. As they approached the village, Wylie met them, and turned the current of their thoughts.
“There’s a boat coming in with a flag of truce—a steam-pinnace from the fleet,” he said. “It’s a good thing you are both on the spot. I have got together a guard for you.”
They walked down towards the shore and watched the boat approach. An officer in commander’s uniform and a dragoman disembarked and picked their way across the rocks, with some loss of dignity, followed by six fully-armed seamen.
“Can hardly be an offer of terms,” said Wylie. “The boat has her gun trained on us, too.”
Arrived on level ground, the commander paused, evidently waiting to be addressed. Maurice advanced. “You are the bearer of a communication from the Admirals, sir?” he asked.
“I am, sir,” snapped the officer, whose temper had clearly suffered from the method of landing. “I am to inquire whether you think the Powers have sent their fleets here to enable you and your followers to behave with impunity as savages?”
“I know of nothing that could lead you to imagine that we thought so,” replied Maurice.
“Not your achievement of last night? But perhaps you are not aware that one witness escaped your infamous massacre?”
“I know of no massacre. If you are alluding to the capture of Ahmed Pasha, I believe we have as much right to take villages from the Roumis as they have to try and take ours.”
“But not to refuse quarter when it is asked for, and to murder sick men in cold blood. The Admirals give you fair warning that upon the first repetition of such barbarities, they will bombard Skandalo and all your coast villages, and sink every craft on the coast. Also——”
“Wait, if you please,” said Maurice. “The Admirals are condemning us unheard. I am willing to give every facility for an inquiry. This is the first I have heard of these outrages, and I can only hope it is not true.”
“Ask your people and see if they will deny it!” cried the ambassador. “If you choose to associate yourself with such a crew, you must take the responsibility for their peculiar views of fighting. In future you will be good enough to understand that the Powers will permit no further aggressions on Roumi territory, and will interfere if they are attempted.”
“Are we to understand that the Powers will also prohibit any Roumi aggression on our territory?”
“No, sir, you are not to understand anything of the kind. The Powers are about tired of your impudence in calling the peninsula yours, and it will give them great pleasure to see the rightful owners in possession of it again.” This time the dragoman was the speaker, somewhat to the disgust of his companion, who gave him a withering look, but he was not to be silenced. “We have warned you, and if you continue to resist, we shall see your blood upon your own heads!” he cried.
“I presume that I may report to the Admirals that I delivered my message to Prince Theophanis in person?” said the naval man.
“You may, sir, and also that I protested against their saddling me with crimes of which I had not the smallest knowledge. The matter shall be looked into.”
The parties separated with bows and mutual ill-humour, the sailors ostentatiously taking turns to cover the retreat of the ambassadors for fear of treachery.
“Then the man did escape!” said Prince Romanos thoughtfully.
Maurice turned on him. “Then there was an organised attempt to leave no witnesses, and you connived at it?”
“We never give quarter to Roumis,” was the frank reply. “It is not our custom, and never has been, and if you had been born in Eastern Europe, Prince, you would understand why. They give none to us. About the sick men I don’t understand; they must have fired at us, for all the men I saw killed were armed.”
“And the killing of the wounded—you saw that?”
“No; I told the men to make all safe, while I secured the flag. When I came down from the roof they told me they were afraid one man had escaped, and we searched everywhere, but could not find him.”
“Then the wounded were killed?” said Maurice.
“Of course. But it was not as if their wounds were slight,” said Prince Romanos eagerly. “They would have died in any case.”
CHAPTER XV.
THE TOWER OF SEGRETI.
The next day happened to be the festival of a very important saint, and it was of course out of the question that any drill should take place. A burst of heavy firing early in the morning suggested that the Roumis were presuming on the piety of the insurgents to make an attack in the belief that they would not fight, but Wylie was able to reassure his friends when he came to breakfast.
“Nothing but powder-play,” he said. “Simple wicked waste of cartridges in honour of St Elijah, or whatever his name is. I have put a stop to it, of course, but the men are very sick. The Assembly is summoned for noon, Prince, and I’m afraid we shall have a long job.”
The Assembly was held by desire both of Maurice and of the men who had taken part in the capture of Ahmed Pasha. He wished to impress upon the whole body of insurgents the humanitarian principles held in such high esteem by the Powers, and the heroes of the assault were eager to defend themselves and claim the applause and support of their fellows. They had not taken at all kindly to the indignant lecture Maurice bestowed on them after his interview with the envoys from the fleet, and it was evident that Prince Romanos sided with them in his heart, though the sentiments to which he gave utterance were the most civilised possible. There was a great deal at stake, and Zoe, who had listened attentively to all the discussions beforehand, sat waiting anxiously in the shadow of the gateway to hear what was decided. The deliberations of the Assembly were unusually brief on this occasion, but it was past five o’clock before she saw Wylie coming up the hill.
“Well?” she asked him eagerly.
“Oh, horribly unsatisfactory,” he replied, taking a seat beside her. “Your brother and I simply lammed into the fellows about their methods of barbarism, but they don’t see it a bit. Of course it’s perfectly natural from their point of view. None of them would dream of asking for quarter from a Roumi, and they have no idea of offering it. Why, then, should they give quarter if a Roumi so far forgets the rules of the game as to ask for his life? As to killing the wounded, they themselves are just as dangerous wounded as sound—or rather more so, since down on the ground they might escape notice—and the Roumis are the same. And suppose they humoured your brother’s incomprehensible scruples, what should they do with prisoners if they got them? There was a wild ray of hope that he might wish to torture them for the sake of extracting information, and they were ready to promise any number, but that soon faded away. The idea of keeping them safe and treating them kindly, merely for the sake of letting them go again, struck them as sheer lunacy, and they insisted that there was no question of the exchange of prisoners, because the Roumis never took any—or got any; I don’t know which they meant to imply. It was no use whatever appealing to them on the moral side, for they declared in all good faith that Roumis were not human beings.”
“But Prince Romanos?” cried Zoe. “He seems to have such influence with them, and he can’t believe all these absurd things.”
“I fancy there’s a good deal of the original Archipelago pirate left under the Parisian poet,” said Wylie incautiously. “Not that I would say a word against him,” he added hastily; “he stands in with us in this like a man, whatever his personal views may be. As it is, your brother has had to go in for simple expediency, very much against the grain, but perhaps it made it easier for Prince Christodoridi to back him. To turn the neutrality of the Powers into active hostility appealed even to our children of nature as foolishness, though there was some disposition to receive the warning as they did Admiral Essiter’s on board the Magniloquent. But we got to a working compromise—nominally, that is. I fear it only means that our fellows will be more careful to finish off any wounded Roumis before we appear in the neighbourhood.”
“But they don’t seem to have an idea of discipline,” said Zoe despairingly. “How can you expect them to obey an order they don’t like?”
“Ah, that is where our Sikhs will come in—when we get them. At present the best we can do is to maintain order among the Slavs with the help of the Greeks, and among the Greeks with the help of the Slavs, so keeping the old sore open all the time—and with the risk that at any moment Greek and Slav may come to the conclusion that they dislike us rather worse than each other, and combine against us. Your brother spoke his mind strongly on the refusal of quarter and the killing of wounded men, and vowed that any man concerned in anything of the kind after this should be shot without benefit of clergy, but that’s a thing easier said than done. There’s hardly a man you could depend upon to help arrest another in such a case, and if it came to shooting—why, two revolvers are not many against a whole crowd with rifles. The fact is, physical force is the only thing that appeals to these fellows at their present stage, and your brother is coming to see that they can’t be ruled by reason.”
Zoe had turned pale. “You mean that he—and you—are only safe among them because you are known to be armed?” she said.
“Oh no, it’s not quite as bad as that. There is such a thing as moral influence, you know. Besides, I believe our fellows themselves would condemn to death—and execute—any man that tried to murder him or me, if it was done in an underhand way, that is, not in the course of a gentlemanly argument in the Assembly. Any one attempting to blow up one of the warships would be treated in the same way, because that’s the sort of thing the Powers might naturally resent; but they can’t see why the Powers should take it upon themselves to interfere with their domestic customs. Your brother can only back his orders by the threat of leaving the insurgents to themselves, and in some moods they would a good deal rather be without him. So we may yet find ourselves in more danger from our own men than from the Roumis—certainly more than from the Powers.”
He stopped abruptly, and Zoe looked at him in surprise. He was pulling at his moustache in an undecided way.
“I want to speak to you on a personal matter,” he said, in a notably unconciliatory tone.
“Personal to you, or to me?” asked Zoe.
“To you.”
Zoe raised her eyebrows. “I can only promise to listen to you, not to take your advice—which I have not asked for.”
“I know that. You sent Christodoridi back his flag?”
“Most certainly. I never liked the idea of keeping it, and when I found it was the trophy of an ‘infamous massacre,’ I returned it to him at once.”
“Meaning to snub him as horribly as possible?”
“Meaning to show him that attentions from him were distasteful.” Zoe’s words came out with great clearness.
“Do you think you are treating the poor wretch properly?” Wylie spoke with the first approach to diffidence he had shown, and she triumphed.
“Yes, I think I am taking the right and honourable course,” she said, slowly and thoughtfully. “As nothing would induce me to marry him, I think it is only fair to let him see it plainly. But really, what this has to do with you——”
He raised his hand, and she wondered whether the gesture spelt appeal or command. He seemed to be wavering between the two. “You ought to marry him,” he said. “It is your duty—the best thing for you.”
“Then I am quite sure I shall not do my duty,” said Zoe calmly. “But since you are taking this kind interest in my future, perhaps you will explain why it should be the best thing for me?”
She had herself well in hand, and spoke with extreme precision, while he brought out his words with difficulty. She could have pitied him if he had not been so persistently wrong-headed, so determined to make misery for himself. “It is in case of trouble—if anything happened,” he said incoherently. “If he married you, it would be his duty to take you away from here at once. No one could think the worse of him for it.”
“Except his wife. That wouldn’t signify, of course. And you still think I would escape and leave Eirene here?”
“Oh, the Princess and Con would go too, naturally.”
“Very naturally. And you and Maurice?”
“Oh, you know what your brother is. I should stay with him, of course.”
“And now you will know what I am. I shall stay with him too, of course.” The conversation should have ended with this retort, but Zoe was incapable of letting matters remain as they were. The man deserved punishment, and he should have it. “And now that I have answered your questions, perhaps you will let me know the reason of your sudden concern for me?” she asked.
“As your brother’s friend—servant——”
“Indeed! If you had said that the memory of old times, or the fear that another deserving young man might be as badly treated as you were, had made you speak, it would be a different thing. It would have given you a personal standing in the matter. But to say what you have said, merely as a servant or friend of the family, is unpardonable. It is a piece of gross impertinence.”
She expected an outburst of anger, but he controlled himself admirably. “You can say what you like to me,” he said, and once again Zoe’s heart played her false. Severity was obviously the proper course, but she could not be severe when he was meek.
“There is one other reason—only one—that might justify you,” she said hurriedly, looking on the ground. “If you could say honestly, ‘I have a part to play, and I have made up my mind to play it. I will not be tempted to throw it up, and I am afraid of being tempted—I am tempted——’”
Her voice failed, and her head had sunk so low that he could not see her face. If she could have forced herself to look up, and their eyes had met, the barrier between them must have been broken down; but he had time to recover himself, and his voice was harsh as he answered—
“You have no right to say that. Such a supposition is unpardonable. It is a piece of——”
“Oh!” cried Zoe, covering her ears as she recognised the echo of her own words, and shrinking away from him. The humiliation of his presence was intolerable, and she was stung at last into speaking again. “Would you kindly go?” she asked, still not looking at him.
“Forgive me. I was a—a cad to say it.” He brought out the odious word with a fierce satisfaction, as if he desired to hear Zoe confirm his self-condemnation. But she looked steadily away from him.
“I will forgive you when you forgive yourself,” she said, and Wylie left her, cursing his own evil temper, the memory of his past wrongs, the present danger, and all the other circumstances that had conspired to make him behave like a brute, when he had honestly intended to play a high and heroic part. It had seemed such a suitable punishment—well, not exactly punishment; say recompense—to carry the unselfish sentiments he had enunciated when Zoe refused him long ago to the point of promoting this politically desirable marriage for her, and they ought both to have felt it an excellent arrangement. But Zoe saw fit to object, and what was more absurd still, he discovered that in his use of moral suasion he had hurt himself as much as he had her. Very wisely, but a little late, he registered a vow to leave Prince Romanos to fight his own battles in future.
Fortunately for Zoe, she was not called upon to meet Wylie again for the present. The Assembly, before receiving Maurice’s pronouncement on the subject of the usages of war, had declared emphatically in favour of retaining Ahmed Pasha and proceeding to the capture of the tower of Segreti. Maurice and Wylie had urged in vain the danger of finding their forces divided by a surprise attack delivered at the narrowest part of the isthmus; not a man would support them in withdrawing from the first spot liberated on the mainland. If Ahmed Pasha was to be held, it was very clear that Segreti must be taken, since its defenders, should they be well supplied with ammunition, could render the village untenable. That they had not done so already was presumably due to lack of supplies, since they had left off wasting cartridges on long shots, and only fired when they saw any considerable body of insurgents together, but this might be merely a ruse. Wylie had urged that since the tower was to be taken, it would be best to storm it, but this advice ran counter to all the instincts of his followers. A frontal attack on an enemy ensconced behind stone walls was out of the question in their eyes. A foe might be ambushed, surprised, taken in the rear, but never attacked in front. The cutting-off of the water-supply, now nearly completed, would soon begin to cause the garrison inconvenience, and the insurgents need only post themselves round the tower at a discreet distance, to see that no one escaped.
This last comforting doctrine Wylie opposed with more success. Jalal-ud-din’s apparent supineness hitherto had inclined the insurgents to consider him a negligible quantity, but they allowed themselves, after much argument, to be convinced that he could not possibly remain passive under the cutting-up of the Ahmed Pasha detachment. His obvious objective was the tower of Segreti, since to relieve that would mean also the recapture of the village, while to allow the garrison to be annihilated would expose him to eternal disgrace—as well as to very mundane penalties from his master. This fact having been impressed upon the minds of the Assembly, Wylie was empowered to take such means, short of storming the tower, as commended themselves to him for repulsing the expected Roumi force, and he transferred his headquarters to Ahmed Pasha the same evening. His first duty on the morrow was to try and induce the garrison of the tower to surrender, which he did by pointing out that their water was now cut off, and that they must be short both of provisions and ammunition. Their reply was simply to invite him to come up and attack them, assuring him that they had plenty of ammunition left to repel any force he could muster. In the meantime they jeered both at his promise of a safe-conduct to the Roumi lines if they surrendered, and his warnings of their certain fate if they remained obstinate. Since nothing would induce his unsatisfactory and independent troops to embark upon the series of harassing night assaults and feigned attacks with which he would have tried to tire out the defenders and exhaust their stores, his only hope was to prepare a warm reception for the relieving force.
In this course he had the satisfaction of finding that his men were thoroughly with him. A guerilla warfare was something they could understand, and his previous training had sharpened their natural faculty for taking advantage of the rugged nature of the country. There were two possible ways of approach for a force coming from the direction of Therma—one by paths through the hills, the other along the sea-shore—and under Wylie’s orders the insurgents rendered both as difficult as possible. The work on the shore had to be conducted with the greatest secrecy, in view of the presence of the warships, which were apt to turn their search-lights landwards at inconvenient moments during the night; but the track was already so rough, and so frequently interrupted by projecting headlands, that there was little likelihood of its being chosen for the advance. More attention was therefore bestowed on the inland route, and the two days which were all the breathing-space that Jalal-ud-din allowed his foes were turned to good account. Great excitement prevailed on the third night after the capture, when Wylie’s scouts came in to announce that a column was actually advancing with the Pasha himself in command, and that it was guarding a train of baggage-animals conveying supplies for the garrison of Segreti. Wylie made a final inspection of his force, saw that the members of the various bands were at the posts he had assigned them, and not at those to which their own sweet will inclined, and hurried back for a final conference with Maurice, who was in command at Karakula, lest the moment of the fight should be chosen for an attack upon the isthmus.
The day that followed was a long and exciting one. It seemed that Jalal-ud-din Pasha imagined that the mere sight of his array was sufficient to quell opposition, for he disdained to take the obvious precaution of searching the country ahead of him and on either side of his line of march. Therefore his progress was a succession of small fights. A burst of firing from a scarcely discernible trench on a hillside, or from a thicket that looked too small to shelter a single rifleman; then a halt, during which his troops blazed away lustily, while a detachment detailed for the purpose climbed the hill laboriously to clear out the hornets’ nest, and returned disappointed to report that the assailants had vanished. The number of wounded increased steadily, and the nerves even of the stolid Roumi rank-and-file became affected. There was no opportunity of catching the insurgents in a body, and it was very rarely that even an odd man or two showed themselves. Jalal-ud-din set his teeth and continued to advance. Once through these defiles, his force could sweep away anything that ventured to oppose it, and Segreti must be relieved, even if it were not now as dangerous to turn back as to go on. One more long narrow valley, and the relieving column would emerge on the comparatively level ground round Ahmed Pasha.
This last valley was full of terrors for the Roumi troops. There was no more haphazard firing from the heights; each man here was a marksman, and each bullet found its billet, until no attempt was made to care for the wounded as they fell, for the common impulse to get through and get out hurried every man on. It was a demoralised and disorderly body of men, encumbered and mixed up with driverless mules and horses which had lost their riders, that approached the mouth of the valley at last. The only way open before them was the one leading to the shore, for that to Ahmed Pasha was blocked by a rough barricade of earth, stones, sods, anything that could be obtained, and from it there broke a hail of fire, utterly unexpected. Jalal-ud-din tried to rally his men, but this last surprise was too much for them, and they hurried panic-stricken down the road to the shore, still galled by the fire from the barricade, which did terrible execution upon the mass pressed together in the narrow space. On the shore things were no better, for bullets came from the cliffs behind and the walls and roofs of Ahmed Pasha away to the left, while the defenders of the barricade were beginning to climb over it and form themselves into a line in front.
This was the crucial moment for Wylie’s scheme. Mere slaughter was not what he aimed at. If the provisions and stores convoyed by the column could be secured, Jalal-ud-din and the remains of his force were free to make the best of their way home by the beach. The insurgents’ orders were to strike for the baggage-animals, and let the soldiers alone unless they tried to make a stand, and if they had obeyed them a notable triumph might have been secured. But the sight of the hereditary foe, confused and in retreat, was too much for the mountaineers, and instead of following Wylie into the thickest of the press, they swerved, as if by instinct, to the right, so as to cut off the Roumi retreat. In the wild mêlée which ensued all order was lost, and every man fought the nearest available foe with cold steel, for rifles were useless, save as clubs. Wylie, escaping imminent death over and over again almost by a miracle, used voice and whistle in vain to call off his men, but what he could not do was effected by an outside agent. There was a distant boom, and something came singing overhead, at the sound of which the Roumis promptly flung themselves on the ground. The insurgents, conspicuous in their white kilts or grey homespun among the darker uniforms, stared at them in amazement, but were about to take full advantage of their unlooked-for cowardice when there came another boom, and something fell into the mass of men on the right of the fight and exploded. Wylie was the first to realise what had happened. The Admirals had fulfilled their threat, and were shelling the rebels who had ventured to pass the limit they had laid down. All the ships in sight were firing now, the Magniloquent, as the nearest, leading, and dropping her shells, with terrible precision, exactly where the insurgents were thickest. For a moment they looked about them with a kind of stupid wonder, then, as Wylie had always known they would do if confronted with modern artillery, they broke and fled wildly, with shrieks and cries, the warships completing their discomfiture by planting more shells wherever ten or a dozen men ran together. Rather by good fortune than calculation, a considerable number sought refuge in the mouth of the valley through which the Roumis had come, and here, where shells could only be dropped by guesswork, Wylie got them into some sort of order, pointing out that Jalal-ud-din must run the gauntlet of their fire even now to reach Segreti.
The firing from the ships ceased, and Wylie expected every moment to see the head of the Roumi column appear, but he waited in vain. At last, followed in fear and trembling by one bold man, he crept out to reconnoitre, but to his astonishment found the scene of the battle left solitary. Looking along the seaside road to the right, he saw in the distance a disorderly crowd making its way back towards Therma. Jalal-ud-din’s force was in retreat, considering discretion the better part of valour in spite of the assistance of the ships. Another shell buried itself in the sand unpleasantly near Wylie and his kilted companion, and he returned hastily to his men, sending orders to Ahmed Pasha that a white flag was to be hoisted while he led the search for the dead and wounded. Segreti was not relieved, at any rate, but the supplies for which he had hoped were irrevocably lost, and the warships of the Powers had fired upon the insurgents.
CHAPTER XVI.
THE CONSULS TO THE RESCUE.
The confusion that prevailed in Ahmed Pasha after the fight was nothing short of sickening to the orderly English mind. The mass of the insurgents thought of nothing but holding an Assembly of their own, and shouting their grievances into one another’s sympathetic ears, and at last, in disgust, Wylie left them to do it. Maurice and Dr Terminoff, with a score of men carrying litters, came hurrying from Karakula, and with a few members of Wylie’s force who were able to conquer the desire to talk, set to work to care for the wounded. Each man, as soon as his hurts had been hastily bandaged, was sent to the rear, which meant Eirene’s hospital at Skandalo—a long journey either on mule-back or by litter, but there was no guarantee of even temporary safety at this end of the peninsula. Maurice and Dr Terminoff convoyed the long train of bearers, and Wylie, finding that his forces were still too much inebriated with their own verbosity to have any leisure for their military duties, took advantage of the fact to look after the Roumi wounded. There were not many of these, but he had placed several carefully in a sheltered spot near the shore, and he knew there must be more in the valley. These he brought out and laid near the rest, with the obedient but unwilling help of the few men who had stuck to him, and leaving them guarded, beckoned Prince Romanos quietly out of the Assembly, which had now, by sunset, reached the pitch of excitement at which every one tried to speak at once.
“I am off to the fleet, to get them to take the Roumi wounded on board,” he said. “Keep these fellows on the talk, until they’re got rid of.”
“But they will shoot you at sight,” objected Prince Romanos. “And who will row you out to the ships?”
“No one—not even one of my own men. I must row myself as best I can. But one man alone won’t look very alarming. They’ll hardly fire.”
“My man Petros shall row you. He won’t like it, but he’ll do it for me. You are wise, to send the poor wretches off before our friends remember them.”
“The only chance,” agreed Wylie, and presently Prince Romanos helped him to drag a small boat down to the beach, and he was soon being rowed towards the fleet by the deeply disapproving Petros, who objected equally to the errand, the darkness, and the danger.
“Halt! What boat’s that?” came a challenge, and a shape loomed up close to the little vessel, not the huge towering bulk of one of the warships, but a picket-boat which was patrolling the neighbourhood of the fleet. The precaution surprised Wylie, until he remembered that dynamite had always been one of the favourite weapons of the insurgents in their career on the mainland, and that the Powers could hardly imagine themselves to be enthusiastically beloved at this particular moment. He explained his errand, and the officer in the boat listened with surprise and evident incredulity, exchanging a few sentences with a subordinate, among which the words, “Trap. Pay us out for this afternoon,” were clearly audible.
“I am an Englishman myself—a British officer until two months ago,” said Wylie, and a lantern was flashed suddenly in his face. The scrutiny seemed to be satisfactory, for the lantern was turned to another use by being employed to flash signals to the nearest ship, and presently a steam-pinnace came swishing and panting through the darkness, bearing the commander who had carried the Admirals’ remonstrance a few days before, and who was now charged, as he pointed out, strictly to report upon the state of affairs. He invited Wylie into the pinnace, and ordered his boat to be towed behind, but his manner was the reverse of cordial.
“The Admiral has a high opinion of your impudence in asking us to do your dirty work for you,” he said. “Why don’t you foot your own butchers’ bill?”
“Our fellows are quite ready to do it,” returned Wylie in his driest tone. “Unfortunately, the Powers would hardly approve of their methods.”
“If you imagine we are going to help you out of the difficulties you get into through being unable to control your associates——” began the officer pugnaciously.
“Not at all. I propose to show you the Roumi wounded, whom Prince Theophanis and I have collected out of all sorts of places—there are fifteen of them. You will be good enough to satisfy yourself that they have been treated as well as the absence of proper appliances permits. If you take them on board, there will be no more trouble on the score of humanity. If you refuse—well, the Prince and I and a few of our men will protect them if we can, but the responsibility will not be ours. And they must share with us such food as we have, and we are on short commons already.”
The commander grunted, and on reaching the shore followed Wylie in silence. He looked narrowly at the wounded Roumis lying behind their screen of bushes, jerked out a question or two, and turned to Wylie again.
“I’ll take ’em,” he said. “It’s not strictly correct, but your Prince and you seem decent fellows, and there’s no need to let you in for worse than you’re in for already.”
“Lord!” It was Petros, who stood, breathing hard, at Wylie’s side; “a word from the Lord Romanos. He said, ‘Tell the Lord Glafko that they are brandishing their rifles. They will not talk much longer.’”
“No time to lose,” said Wylie, and he and the commander laid etiquette aside and worked with the sailors from the pinnace in carrying the wounded on board. Before the work was half done, torches began to move about in the direction of Ahmed Pasha, and shouts were heard.
“They have remembered, and are coming to search the battlefield,” said Wylie. “Heaven send they may go to the valley first!”
The torches were wandering in all directions, towards the valley and the barricade, and also towards the scene of the fight on the shore, across which the bearers were passing with their helpless burdens.
“Go on and get done as quick as you can,” said Wylie to the commander. “I’ll lead them astray.”
The Roumi dead had been laid near the barricade, ready for burial on the morrow, and Wylie shouted to the advancing warriors, asking if they sought them. As they followed his voice, he led them away from the beach, but to his surprise they seemed to have no thought of the foe, whether dead or alive. They pressed round him and hustled him back against the barricade, the construction of which he had himself superintended the day before.
“Traitor! You and your master have betrayed us to the Europeans!” was the cry, as the torchlight flickered on the fierce faces.
“There has been no betrayal,” said Wylie sharply. “You were warned that the warships would fire if we fought on Roumi territory, but you chose to do it.”
“You led us to the shore. You had covenanted with the Admirals to betray us!”
“Right—oh!” came a long-drawn shout from the shore. “Can we take you on board, Colonel?”
Then the wounded were safe. Wylie sent back a ringing “No, thanks. Good night!” putting his hands to his mouth, and turned again to his accusers. But their attention had been diverted from him for the moment.
“Europeans—here!” was the cry, and for an instant there was every prospect of a stampede. The bombardment of the afternoon had left its mark. But in the silence the sound of the pinnace’s engine as she steamed away was distinctly audible, and it was obviously retreating.
“Glafko’s friends came to rescue him,” suggested some one. “They are frightened, and have gone away.” The inference was clear. Glafko was defenceless; and the rush of accusations came shrill and confused. Maurice and Wylie were agents of the Powers for betraying the insurgents to Roum. They were agents of Roum for betraying them to the Powers. They were escaped criminals, who had excited such violent resentment in the breasts of the Powers that their presence among the innocent Emathians brought down punishment upon them also. The various charges clashed hopelessly, but the general result was universally accepted. Wylie had been instrumental in inducing the guileless insurgents to expect the sympathy of the Powers, and had led them to expose themselves to a treacherous attack. Defence was as useless as it would have been inaudible, for the insurgents were as ready to forget as they had shown themselves unable to appreciate the many warnings they had received against relying on the support of Europe. A man who had seen Wylie set off for the fleet this evening added his testimony, and another, one of his unwilling helpers, told how the Roumi wounded had been carefully tended and laid in one place, from which they had now been removed. Quite half the crowd immediately went to verify this last fact, and returned to add fresh curses to those already raining upon Wylie. No one had as yet ventured to lay hands upon him, and he had not drawn his revolver, but he was anxiously calculating his chances. The party at the monastery ought to be warned, for Maurice would not dream of mutiny on the part of his own men. If he fired now, he must fire to kill, and that would hardly improve matters, but who was there to whom he could entrust a message with any hope of its being delivered?
It was Wylie’s salvation on this occasion that the ascendency he had established even over the men who disliked him was so strong that no one cared to strike the first blow, and also that his back was defended by the barricade. The men who shouted most loudly against him were those on the outskirts of the crowd, and they made no attempt to go beyond words, though one stone flung towards him would have been the signal for a storm. Nor did they offer any opposition when Prince Romanos pushed his way through them, and placed himself at Wylie’s side.
“What is this?” he cried.
A dozen voices answered him, repeating the various accusations. He raised his hand in silence.
“This behaviour is unworthy of free men—of patriots,” he said loudly. “For weeks we have warned you that there was no help to be looked for from the Powers. Their great war-vessels are hemming us in for the express purpose of keeping away from us friends and supplies, and watching our dying agonies. Prince Theophanis and Colonel Wylie are not likely to obtain any sympathy from England; rather their love for Emathia has brought her displeasure upon them. We have only one friend in all Europe, and that is not one of the Great Powers. My unhappy country stands aside, longing to assist her brothers, but bound hand and foot. She has suffered too sorely already for her sympathy to dare to disregard the threats now showered upon her. Sons of Emathia, you bear me no malice because my country cannot help you. Then why accuse Prince Theophanis of treachery because his country helps Roum? He and I are alike powerless.”
Wylie listened with startled attention. Put in this way, there was a considerable difference between the attitude of Morea and that of the European Concert, and he could hardly expect that the Emathians would fail to see it. That they did not miss the point was shown by a voice from the back which called out, “Romanos for Prince!” and the approving shout which greeted the words. Prince Romanos silenced the voices again.
“Now you are trenching on the functions of the Constitutional Assembly,” he said. “Such words should not be uttered until peace is attained. But that will never be if you reward by ungrateful attacks the gentlemen who have given up so much in England to come to our help.”
The meeting broke up in enthusiasm, amid renewed shouts of “Romanos for Prince!” and Wylie and Prince Romanos walked back to Ahmed Pasha and made joint arrangements for the defence. Wylie’s mind dwelt gratefully and lovingly on the agreement into which he had entered with Lieutenant Cotway, and on the pathway he had so carefully prepared from the monastery to Ephestilo. It was possible that the escape of the ladies would have to be managed before very long now. There was no romantic loyalty about the insurgents.
The untoward events of that day and evening appeared to pass off without serious consequences. Wylie doubled the guard at the monastery, and Maurice, on hearing what had happened, insisted that his friend should never go about without a bodyguard of his own, picked from among the Slavs on whose fidelity it was possible, so far as could be known, to count. One of them was the Zeko with whom the party had made acquaintance long before in his brigand days, who seemed to take an almost paternal interest in Wylie, and was quite ready to slay any number of Greeks in his defence. Thus attended, Wylie remained at Ahmed Pasha, watching from a distance the unfortunate garrison of Segreti, who had seen their hope of relief swept away, but remained as determined as ever not to surrender. It seemed impossible that either the Roumis or the Powers should leave them to starve, and therefore Wylie felt little surprise when a boat from the fleet, bearing a flag of truce, landed the dragoman who had already visited him, to announce that the Consuls of the Powers had decided to effect the relief of Segreti on behalf of their respective Governments, purely for the sake of humanity. They would arrive under a flag of truce, bringing with them no Roumi troops, but merely a naval guard, adequate to the dignity of each Consul, drawn from the fleet of his particular Power, and unless opposition was offered to their landing, would not interfere with the insurgents. Of the difficulty which the insurgents’ unfortunate leaders would have in reconciling them to this arrangement, the Consuls could hardly be expected to take account.
“What in the world do they want to make such a fuss about it for?” grumbled Wylie to Prince Romanos. “We could have managed it any night if they had had the sense to communicate with us privately. Now our fellows must stand by and see their prey snatched away from them.”
“Suggest to the Powers that a Roumi attack should be arranged for the same time at the monastery end,” proposed Prince Romanos.
“And suppose it came off? Besides, we don’t want to give our fellows reason to suspect any more plots. No, we shall have to explain things openly. I think they have just sense enough not to wish to provoke a conflict with the Powers.”
“How do you mean to dispose of them on the occasion?”
“Why, the proper thing would be to have them drawn up to salute the Consuls, of course. But I daren’t venture on such close quarters. I should like to withdraw them to Karakula, but I know they wouldn’t go, lest the Powers should put the Roumis back in Ahmed Pasha. I suppose they must stay here, but if any consideration on earth can induce them to pile arms, they shall do it.”
The temper of the insurgents proved to be exactly what Wylie had expected. The news that the Powers were intervening to rescue the defiant opponents whose ultimate discomfiture they had anticipated with so much certainty provoked many new accusations of treachery, and it required some hours of talking before the prudence of those who realised the divinity that doth hedge the person of a Consul could prevail over the truculence of the rest. Distasteful as the sight of the pacific removal of the garrison would be, however, every man was resolved to witness it, and a sullen mob crowded the roofs of Ahmed Pasha when the Consuls were expected. Prince Romanos had exerted himself nobly to second Wylie in insisting that the rifles should be left behind under guard, and they were doubly thankful that they had done so when they observed the vigorous pantomime by which the garrison of Segreti expressed their delight at the approaching release—on the ramparts, so as to be clearly visible against the sky, with the amiable object of exasperating their helpless foes as much as possible.
The progress of the Consuls on their work of mercy was imposing in the extreme. The boats from the various fleets were marshalled in squadrons, and the precedence of each squadron was determined by the seniority of the Consul it escorted. In every other respect, the size of the boats and the number of men they carried, the squadrons were equal in all cases—a mute testimony to the mutual jealousy of the Powers. The British Consul-General, Sir Frank Francis, happened to be the senior official present, and to him Wylie addressed himself as soon as he landed, begging him to hasten his work as much as possible, and to restrain the rescued Roumis from offering provocation to the insurgents. Sir Frank looked at him as though he was presuming on old acquaintance, and replied shortly that the relief would be accomplished with due formality, and that the Consuls intended to take advantage of the occasion to make one more appeal to the common-sense of the insurgents. Wylie shrugged his shoulders and washed his hands of all responsibility, but returned to beg that the Consuls would time their appeal to coincide with the actual relief, so as to divide the attention of the insurgents as far as possible. Sir Frank would make no promises, and Wylie and his guard stood aside while other gold-laced and decorated gentlemen joined their leader, and successive bodies of armed sailors landed and formed up on the beach.
In stately procession the Consuls and their guards marched up from the beach to the tower, the watchers at Ahmed Pasha looking on with angry eyes, and the besieged came forth to meet them with extravagant demonstrations of rejoicing. There was some delay while the garrison collected their personal property, and exhibited in ocular evidence the straits to which they had been reduced, and in the meantime a discussion of some sort seemed to be going on among the highly ornamented group of diplomatists outside the tower. To Wylie, watching through his glass, it appeared that Sir Frank was urging the other Consuls to accompany him on his mission of conciliation to Ahmed Pasha, but that the unamiable attitude of the insurgents, as observed through the binoculars of the naval auxiliaries, inclined his colleagues to consider that a dragoman was the best person to go, while the senior dragoman present gave it as his honest opinion that the task was not one on which any man below the rank of Consul ought to be sent. The difficulty was evidently solved at last by Sir Frank’s undertaking the duty himself, amid the protests of the other Consuls, for, accompanied by a portion of his guard, he began to cross the rough slope which lay between Segreti and Ahmed Pasha. Wylie went out to meet him, but the stout-hearted old diplomatist declined to regard him as a suitable object for conciliation. Waving the intruder aside, Sir Frank advanced to within fifty feet of the village, and addressed himself to the scowling occupants of the roofs. His principle was evidently to use the knife before applying the plaster.
“The Powers have effected the relief of Segreti on the score of humanity alone,” he informed his audience, in sharp explosive sentences. “At the same time, they will not allow you to derive any advantage from it. The tower is mined, and will be blown up with the Roumi flag flying.”
A howl of rage answered him, and there was a sudden movement among the men on the roofs. He took no notice of either, but when Wylie, alarmed lest the bolder spirits should be rushing for their rifles, would have gone to prevent them, he detained him by an imperious gesture.
“We know quite well that the end of your resources is in sight,” he went on. “You must now realise that the foreign adventurers who have led you astray can give you no help. Through the clemency of his Majesty the Grand Seignior, safety is still open to you. On giving up your arms and your leaders, you will be permitted to return to your homes.”
“As marked men!” cried Prince Romanos, standing forth as spokesman. “And the rights for which we have fought—the Constitution—what of them?”
“The Powers will do their best to secure the execution of the reforms already granted. They promise nothing more.”
“Then we stand fast. Am I right?” cried Prince Romanos, appealing to the rest, and a shout of approval answered him. “We lay down our arms when the concessions we have already demanded are granted by the Grand Seignior and guaranteed by the Powers, and not till then!” he shouted to Sir Frank.
“I can only regret your decision,” was the reply, as the Consul-General turned to depart, careless of the angry shouts which pursued him from the walls. Wylie stepped forward to accompany him out of range, but again Sir Frank waved him back. “I do not require the protection of a renegade Englishman,” he said, and Wylie bowed and remained.
“Glafko! Glafko!” Prince Romanos was calling to him loudly. “Come at once. They have overpowered the guard and got at the rifles. And some of them are already on the way to the tower.”