Through the open doors of the great gateway the monastery guards could be seen sitting round their fire in the courtyard, Eirene and Zoe were on the gallery to wave farewell to Maurice, and Wylie was clearly visible in the background, doing something to the remaining Maxim. No one could have imagined that they had any intention of leaving the place that night, but in an hour all was changed. Slipping out one by one from the small door at the side of the gateway, the fugitives assembled in the shadow, while the fire in the courtyard was diligently kept up by Armitage’s steward, who had volunteered to remain for this special purpose, so that the light might continue to be visible to the people encamped outside. He was also charged with the care of the blue lights, the first of which shed a ghastly glare about an hour later over the rugged landscape and the awestruck upturned faces of the refugees. They interpreted it as a supernatural portent of disaster, a sign of the divine wrath such as preceded the fall of Jerusalem, and a chorus of mingled shrieks and wailing arose, until the steward, much irritated, roused two lay brethren forcibly from their slumbers, and sent them to calm the people with the news that the terrible lights were the sign of safety rather than of ruin.
The fugitives were well beyond the range of the light when the glare first broke out. Zeko went in advance, to make sure of a path, since to stumble over a sleeping refugee would have been to wreck all hope, then three of his men, then Eirene, carrying little Constantine in a shawl wrapped round her, and Zoe, to whom she resolutely refused permission to share the burden, while the rear was brought up by Wylie, walking feebly with the aid of a stick, and the other three insurgents. The levels and plateaus were necessarily avoided, and the way led down dry torrent-beds, and up steep hillsides covered with thickets of sweet-smelling shrubs, where the only thing to be heard, besides the soft footfalls of the party, was the chirp of the grasshopper. There was no moon, which was an advantage in one way and a drawback in another, but Zeko was well accustomed to finding his way by the stars, and he led on almost without a pause until, halting on a ridge after a specially exhausting climb, his followers became aware of a sound which was not that of their own labouring breath.
“Down! down!” hissed Zeko, and they crouched under the bushes from which they had just emerged, while the guide beckoned Wylie to him. Together they crawled forward, and were lost to sight for a time which seemed interminable to the two women, who could now distinguish clearly the sound of muffled footsteps on the other side of the ridge. Constantine, who had been inclined to be unduly talkative in the surprise of this night-journey, went to sleep in his mother’s arms with a murmur of content, and they waited with what patience they might, the guards lying round them, with itching fingers on the triggers of their rifles. At last Wylie returned.
“The Roumis are more enterprising than we thought them,” he said. “They are evidently sending a force up to act against the monastery from this side, so we shall have to change our route a little, and try to cross their line of march when they have passed.”
This meant a tedious working along the top of the slope among the bushes, ready to drop down under their shadow at a word, thus pursuing a course parallel with that of the advancing Roumis, but in the reverse direction. After a while, the friendly ridge sank into a confusion of hillocks and ravines, and here it was necessary to proceed even more carefully, since any moment might bring them face to face with Roumi stragglers who had taken a wrong turning in the dark. The danger was so great that Zeko bore away gradually more to the left, away from the line of march, despite the remonstrances of Wylie, who urged that they were getting into a region neither of them knew, and that it would be wiser to wait for a while, until the enemy was quite out of hearing. But Zeko was so confident of his ability to find his way, and so resolutely determined to keep moving, lest time should be wasted, that he still pressed on, leading his unfortunate charges such a dance, up hill and down dale, that it was with positive physical relief they heard him at last confess he did not know where he was, and that it would be well to wait for daylight before going farther, lest they should run into the midst of the enemy. They were now in a well-wooded, or rather well-bushed, ravine, and he suggested that they should conceal themselves in the undergrowth and snatch what rest they could. Wylie agreed perforce, for the long hours of scrambling had told upon him so much that he could scarcely stand, and he advised Zoe and Eirene to pull their head-handkerchiefs over their faces, so as to save themselves from scratches, and work their way in under the bushes. The guards were already doing this, and a sudden exclamation, followed by a string of prayers in a strange voice, made Wylie and Zeko angrily order silence.
“It is a man, lord!” they answered, crawling out again and dragging with them a dishevelled figure, who was gradually identified, when his terror had a little subsided, as a goatherd named Mikhaili. His hut was situated in these ravines, he told them, and thinking it was safe from molestation by reason of its solitude, he and his family had remained there instead of seeking refuge near the monastery, the more so since they were able to live as usual on the produce of their flock, which must have been given up into the common stock if they had joined the rest. But this night they had not ventured to remain indoors, for they had seen Roumis quite close at hand, and though they were far too much terrified to watch them continuously, they could hear them moving about, now in one direction, now in another. The hut had escaped notice in the darkness, he thought, but he and his wife and children were all hiding in the bushes, believing that it would certainly be discovered when daylight came.
“We seem to have blundered into the thick of them,” said Wylie, as cheerfully as he could. “Who would have thought of their making night marches all over the place like this? Well, we are quite hidden among these bushes, so I hope you ladies will get what sleep you can. We shall keep a good watch, so don’t be afraid.”
Anxious only to give as little trouble as possible, Zoe and Eirene obeyed, so far as lying down and trying to sleep went. But Zoe could not sleep, tired as she was, for she felt convinced that Wylie was keeping watch himself. At length she could bear the thought no longer, and wriggled to the entrance of her burrow, so that she could get a glimpse of him. As she had expected, he was sitting on a stone, with his rifle between his knees, but something strange in his attitude made her look at him more closely. He was crouched in a heap, his eyes wide open and glassy, and his hands had relaxed their hold in complete unconsciousness. Afraid to raise her voice to call Zeko, Zoe crawled out of her hole and took the rifle gently away without disturbing Wylie. He murmured a little incoherently when she tried to move him, and in terror lest he should cry out, she ventured to speak softly, hoping he would think he was in hospital again, and she a nurse.
“Let me help you to lie down more easily,” she said in a low voice. “I don’t think your pillow is comfortable, is it?”
She could not have moved him if he had remained obstinate, but with his own unconscious help she succeeded in getting him to lie down, with the stone for a pillow, and covering him with the cloak she had worn. Then she took the rifle, and set herself to keep watch in his place, unable, even in the circumstances of the moment, to restrain a bitter little smile at the thought, “How frightfully angry he would be if he knew!” To her great joy she felt no inclination for sleep, and she sat there, guarding the rest, and growing stiffer and stiffer with the night cold, until the first faint streaks of dawn appeared, and Zeko came crawling out from under the bushes. He expressed no surprise at finding her on guard, after her low-voiced explanation that the Lord Glafko was ill again. It was only suitable that women should keep watch while their protectors slept; in fact, it was all they could do to repay the kind care taken of them. Wylie was now in a natural sleep, and it went to Zoe’s heart to let Zeko wake him, which he did when she had crawled back into her burrow, but the few precious minutes of grey twilight must not be lost if they were to pass safely through this danger-zone. While Zeko went to the top of the hill to see if he could distinguish where they were, Wylie woke the other guards, and all were ready to start when the guide should return. There was a moment’s pause while Mikhaili crept up with an offering of goat’s-milk cheese, and a draught of milk in a leathern cup for little Constantine, and while the rest were eagerly consuming the gift of this Good Samaritan, Zeko, returning, drew Wylie aside and up the hill. There was a look of awe upon the ex-brigand’s face which Wylie did not understand until he had been bidden to kneel down and look through a gap between two rocks. On the other side of the hill, literally only a few yards from them, a number of Roumi soldiers lay asleep. Whether they were an outlying picket or stragglers from the larger force,—the confused way in which they were strewn about favoured this supposition,—the fact remained that the two parties had spent the night so near one another that a cry or an altercation in one camp must have roused its neighbour. Zeko, in a heart-felt whisper, vowed an extravagant gift of candles to the Prophet Elijah, patron saint of hills, for his services that night, and he and Wylie rejoined the rest. Mikhaili, warned of the nearness of the foe, and invited to call his wife and children and accompany the fugitives, refused to do so. Here they might hope to escape notice, he said, but the way to Ephestilo would lead from one danger to another. He put them in the right path—if that could be called a path which must avoid all tracks, since the Roumis might be making use of them—and they parted with mutual good wishes.
The sleeping Roumis were passed in safety, and for a while the way was uneventful, though rugged and difficult enough, while the bushes lasted, so convenient for concealment. But they ended suddenly, and the bare rocks made every movement of the party horribly conspicuous. Still, even in this change in the character of the country there was hope, since it showed they must be approaching the sea, and therefore Ephestilo, and Zoe and Eirene shook off their weariness and pressed on manfully. Thus they came to a height from which they could see the blue waters, and a sigh of relief broke from them. But between them and the sea there was still some distance to be traversed, and when they looked down on the country that lay beneath them, their hearts stood still. Everywhere twinkling darts of light as the sun sparkled on bayonet-points, everywhere dots of scarlet which betrayed themselves as red tarbushes.
“A cordon!” burst from Wylie. “They are hemming our people in. This means massacre.”
“Down, lord, down!” cried Zeko, dragging Wylie to his knees. “There are some of them behind us!”
For a moment they waited with beating hearts, hoping against hope that the figures on the sky-line had not been seen—a hope that was cut short by the swish of a bullet and a shout of triumph that the range had been found so nearly. Wylie raised himself sharply.
“Roll these stones together,” he said, setting the example himself. “We can hold out some time behind a sangar here.”
“Nay, lord!” came in protesting tones from Zeko and his men. “The accursed who are behind us cannot reach this hill for many minutes, and it will shield us from their fire. Let us rather slay the women and steal down towards the line of the miscreants in front. Then we can throw ourselves upon them and kill many more than our own number.”
“Be quiet!” said Wylie roughly. “Demo, that stone.”
The man obeyed, without enthusiasm, and the loose rocks were piled into a rough breastwork, through the interstices of which the rifles could be fired. When it was finished, Zoe crept up to Wylie, her whole frame vibrating with indignation.
“You won’t let them touch us?” she panted. “If it has to be done, you will do it yourself?”
“Don’t—don’t ask me!” His voice was full of entreaty, but Zoe was pitiless.
“You must,” she persisted. “Why, from you—— You know,” she broke off suddenly, “you hate us all.”
“If I did, it would be easy enough to do it. You know well enough it isn’t that. It’s—the very opposite.”
“Then I have a right to ask you to do it. You promise?”
“Good God, yes!” he groaned.
CHAPTER XXI.
THE BRITISH FLAG.
Crouching behind the piled stones, Wylie tried to get a clear view of the enemy attacking from behind, but they had found such good cover that this was difficult. They were on a much lower level, which was fortunate, since they had no mark but the stones, yet the broken country afforded such facilities for concealment that they might at any time climb unperceived to a higher point, and fire down into the sangar. Everything depended on the most extreme watchfulness, so that if they did gain one of the heights they might be shot before they could shoot. Wylie looked round at Zoe, the tension of a few moments before forgotten.
“You have good sight,” he said. “Lie down on the seaward side, and keep a look-out. Let me know if you see anything among the Roumis down there to show that they have noticed us.”
“If we fire, they must notice us,” said Zoe.
“If we don’t, the fellows behind will wipe us out,” said he.
Without further objection, Zoe obeyed, lying flat at the edge of the rock, her face supported on her hands, peering between two stones. At present there was no sign of movement among the Roumis below, for a solitary shot, even if they had heard it, was not likely to arouse their suspicions. But as Zoe watched, the eight rifles behind her crashed out simultaneously, and at once there was a scurrying in the lines beneath, and an eager turning of eyes to the ridge. She warned Wylie, and received his order to tell him the moment any man or men began to scale the hill. But her next words gave him far different news.
“There is a steam pinnace coming towards the opening in the bay!” she cried.
“Better late than never!” said Wylie grimly.
Bullets were flying overhead now from the unseen enemy behind, and every few minutes a rifle or two cracked, as one man or another caught a glimpse of the snipers. The Roumis in front were now evidently persuaded that something out of the common was occurring on the hill-top, and a small detachment was ordered up to inquire into it. Warned by Zoe, Wylie transferred his whole force to that side, and as soon as the Roumis began to mount the hill, they were met with so hot a fire from the eight rifles that they withdrew hastily to seek cover from which to take long shots. But the momentary transference of the garrison had afforded the enemy behind an opportunity of establishing themselves somewhat higher up, and one or two of their bullets even entered the loopholes. One of the insurgents was hit in the arm, but with a handkerchief tied round the injured limb he remained at his post.
“Have you anything that will make a flag?” asked Wylie of Zoe, without turning round. “Handkerchiefs? Right. Then hold it up straight—don’t show yourself, mind—and wave it towards the right. Our men can get round the end of the Roumi line in that direction.”
Seeing that, as he said, the cordon on that side was not complete, Zoe took heart again, though when the bullets came whizzing through the enclosure she had given up all for lost. She and Eirene unfastened the kerchiefs from their heads, and knotting them and their pocket-handkerchiefs together, she manufactured a small flag, and was tying it to the stick which Wylie had used to help him on the march when Zeko turned round and saw what she was doing. With a snarl of fury he tore the stick from her hand, and lifted his rifle as if to dash out her brains. Her involuntary cry made Wylie turn to see what was the matter, and he seized Zeko’s arm. The brigand offered no apology, but pointed for justification to the flag and to Zoe, pouring out a bitter accusation which she was too much shaken to understand.
“It’s all right,” said Wylie. “He thought you were trying to surrender behind our backs—hoisting the white flag, you know. I’ll explain.”
The scowl left Zeko’s brow gradually, but it was clear that his objection to the flag remained. At length, with an air of yielding gracefully to Wylie’s unreasonable demands, he pulled the bandage roughly from the arm of the man who had been hurt, and applied the flag to the wound until it was stained everywhere with blood. Then he handed it back to Zoe with a grin, and she conquered her disgust sufficiently to receive it and fasten it to the stick. It blew out well in the wind, but this made it very difficult to hold, as she lay behind the stones, alternately raising the stick erect and bending it down to the right, with the sun beating on her uncovered head. It was almost a relief when a bullet hit the stick—the flag served as an excellent mark for the enemy in front—and broke it in two, the wind immediately carrying the flag away. Noticing how hot the fire was getting, Wylie moved to the front with three of his men, and told Zoe to take her place with Eirene and Constantine in the most sheltered corner. There they crouched on the ground, in what ought to have been comparative safety, but it seemed a sort of imprisonment to Zoe, who could no longer see what was happening, or watch for the first sight of the relieving force. Moreover, the place, though the best they could find, was not really safe. As she and Eirene sat huddled together, a bullet entered at the loophole nearest them, passing through the head of the wounded insurgent, who sprang up convulsively and fell forward over the barricade, and striking one of the largest stones, which it shattered. Constantine, who had been watching the firing with intense interest, sprang into his mother’s arms with a frightened cry as the flying dust and fragments of rock filled the air. She drew the shawl about him, and he gave a little sigh as he hid his face in her bosom.
“Poor little Con!” said Zoe, when she could find her voice, “how tired he is! Think of going to sleep in the middle of this firing!”
Eirene looked up quickly. “Yes, of course he is tired—terribly tired.” The vague anxiety left her eyes, and her voice grew stronger as she repeated firmly, “It is just that. He is so tired.”
“No harm done, I hope?” said Wylie, looking round. “Keep as low down as you can.”
They obeyed, comforting themselves with the thought that no other bullet was likely to strike in the same place. But as Zoe watched, it seemed to her that the bullets were coming now from a different direction. One even came over the barricade from the back, and struck the ground. The enemy were firing down instead of up. She called out to Wylie.
“Yes, they’ve managed to get up there,” he answered in jerks, without turning his head. “It was when that unlucky shot killed Demo.”
Another man rolled over on his side, and his rifle clattered as it fell. Zeko reached across and took away his cartridge-belt, displaying to Wylie the few cartridges left, and muttering something which Zoe understood to be a prediction that if the women were not killed soon the Roumis would rush the sangar and get possession of them after all. Wylie took out his watch, but the face was smashed.
“Is your watch going?” he called to Zoe. “The sailors ought to be here in twenty minutes. Zeko, find out exactly how many cartridges we have left—for six rifles—and we will allot them accordingly. The Lady Zoe will tell us as each five minutes passes. Don’t let the men fire more than one at a time, unless there comes a rush.”
Zeko made his calculation with an impatient grunt, and at Wylie’s orders divided the cartridges into four parts, one for each five minutes, while Zoe crouched with her watch in her hand, feeling that minutes had never moved so slowly before. Divergent counsels appeared to prevail among the enemy in front, for they fired only in a half-hearted sort of way, but those behind, elated by their position, took full advantage of it. It was impossible to lift a head above the parapet without attracting a bullet, and Wylie and the two men in front were exposed to their fire if they changed their place in the slightest. Still, so long as they remained quiet, they could only be hit by accident, and the persevering foes therefore transferred their attention to the breastwork, trying to knock away the stones, and thus leave the defenders shelterless. They succeeded best at the end opposite to that at which Eirene and Zoe were crouching, where the ridge was very steep, but as there was no attack on that side this did no immediate harm. Through the opening thus made there came a sound of distant music, which roused Zoe’s curiosity. Surely the rescuers could not be bringing a band with them? Crawling forward a little, she saw, as if in a stone frame, the advancing column. The officer at the head, in whom she thought she recognised Lieutenant Cotway, was driving before him a Roumi bugler, who was sounding the “Cease fire!” spasmodically with all his might, admonished by frequent reminders from behind. Close at hand walked a midshipman, displaying boldly, even ostentatiously, a large-sized Union Jack, and some five-and-twenty sailors in marching order followed. The slackness of the fire in front was now accounted for, since Lieutenant Cotway had evidently arrived at an explanation of some sort with the Roumis, though its effects were only gradual, but so far the frenzied exertions of the bugler did not seem to have penetrated to the consciousness of the snipers at the back. Even if they did, the column, climbing its painful path, would not come into sight until it had all but reached the top of the hill, and it was only too probable that until the truth was brought home to them by the actual sight of the White Ensign, the enemy would prefer to assure themselves that the bugler was playing tunes for his own delectation.
“Ten minutes!” said Zoe, returning to her place, and Zeko reached eagerly for the third supply of cartridges. As he did so, a bullet struck the heap, and a violent explosion flung him backwards. Three of his fingers were torn off, and he was much scorched, but even in his agony what appealed to him most was the fact that save for two or three cartridges in the magazines of the rifles not yet emptied, the ammunition was gone. Zoe crawled to him to try and tie up his hand, but he waved her away angrily, and did it himself with the other hand and his teeth, then took out his knife and lay down to wait. But there was little prospect now of the enemy’s trying to rush the breastwork, for the sound of the explosion must have told them what had happened, and they were not likely to trust themselves within stabbing distance of the four bruised, scorched men who now alone remained. The front of the sangar had been blown clean out, and the back, which stood on level ground, was now no longer a wall, but a heap, affording next to no shelter. Wylie took possession of the three undischarged rifles, and trained them on one particular point, forbidding the men to fire until he gave the word. Sooner or later the snipers would advance to a height from which they could fire straight down into the place, and unless they could be checked in this, there would be no one left to save when the rescuers arrived. Presently the rifle he held went off, and by the muttered exclamations of joy from the men, Zoe knew that one of the enemy, at any rate, had fallen in the attempt to reach the coveted spot. Then the other two were discharged simultaneously, and Wylie turned savagely upon the culprits, who had wasted two precious cartridges upon one Roumi. All that remained now was one cartridge still in his rifle, and that was soon expended, not so successfully as before, since the Roumi at whom he fired was only wounded.
“Close in now, and shelter the ladies,” he said, and the men obeyed. Wylie thrust his revolver into Zoe’s hand.
“If we are all done for before the sailors get up,” he said, and she understood, and laid it down beside her. The Roumis were on the height now, but they had not got the exact range, and the bullets were dropping beyond the group. Then Zeko sprang up and spun round wildly, made a vain attempt to hurl his knife at the foe, and fell with a horrible crash. Zoe hid her face.
“Oh, do it, do it now!” she entreated of Wylie. “I shall go mad if this goes on.”
“Quiet. Wait!” he said firmly. “I thought I saw—yes, there they are. Here, here!” he shouted, putting his hands to his mouth.
“Where?” cried another voice. “Yes, all right. Cease firing up there, or I fire!”
The firing ceased as if by magic, and Lieutenant Cotway hurried across the piece of open ground, followed by his seamen. Mr Suter, with great presence of mind, wedged the flagstaff into the heap of stones, and held it up straight.
“Only just in time!” said Wylie, getting up.
“So it seems. Ladies not hurt, I hope? Well, you have made a good fight of it. Sorry to be obliged to put you and your survivors under arrest—Admiral’s orders. Is Prince Theophanis here? No? The old man will be disgusted—hoped to get you all out of mischief at one blow. Well, better toddle back to the boat with what we have got, for our Roumi friends are not exactly charmed by our interference.”
“Send the ladies on in front,” said Wylie. “We must look after our poor fellows, you know.”
Was the man frightened? wondered Lieutenant Cotway. His teeth chattered and his face was white, and he leaned against the rock as though he could scarcely stand. “Collapse, possibly,” the sailor said to himself, and turned to offer his hand to help Eirene to rise. “Sorry to meet you again in such circumstances, ma’am. Afraid you’ve had a bad time? But once we get you on board it’ll be better. I’m going to send you on ahead with Mr Suter while we rig up some sort of contrivance for the wounded. Is that my young friend Con you have there? Don’t wonder you are tired if you have been carrying him all the way from the monastery. This man will take him for you.”
The big sailor he indicated handed his rifle to a comrade and held out his arms, but Eirene only clasped her boy closer. There was a furtive, almost suspicious, look in her eyes. “No, no,” she said breathlessly, “I will carry him. I am not tired. No one shall take him from me.”
“Of course not,” said Mr Cotway soothingly. “I thought it might be a relief to you, that’s all. You persuade your sister to rest if you get a chance,” he added to Zoe. “One can see she’s had a pretty hard time.”
“Yes, yes,” said Zoe. “Oh, tell me,” she said anxiously, lowering her voice,—the tall lieutenant was standing between her and the rest,—“you are going to bring Colonel Wylie on board? You are not going to—to shoot him?”
The sailor repressed a laugh with difficulty. “Don’t be afraid, there’s no deception,” he assured her. “‘We are here for all your goods,’ don’t you know?”
“But Maurice—my brother—can you save him?”
“Can’t tell till I hear more about it. But the sooner you get on board and pour everything into the sympathetic ears of Point Seven, the better. He has been like a bear dancing on a hot plate the last few days. He’ll strain the resources of the Concert to breaking-point if there’s anything he can do. Got your ten men, Mr Suter?”
The ten men were waiting, and Mr Suter, proud of his independent command, led them off in fine style. As soon as they and their charges had passed over the edge of the plateau, Lieutenant Cotway turned to Wylie.
“I say, you must be wounded. What is it?”
“No, merely fever. I’m afraid I must ask you to let one of your men give me an arm down the hill. But there was one of our fellows I hoped wasn’t dead.”
Together they examined the bodies strewn about the ruins of the sangar, but no life remained in any of them. To those acquainted with Roumi methods of warfare, their disposal presented a difficulty, but one of the two remaining insurgents suggested a cairn, and the corpses were laid in the centre of the space which had witnessed their last fight, and the stones piled over them. Then the man drew a circle round the heap with his knife, and scrawled cabalistic figures inside and outside it, muttering the while. “It is magic,” he said, as he rose from his knees. “Even the accursed will not dare to disturb that grave, and in the years to come the relics of the martyrs shall be carried to a shrine worthy of them.”
“Your people seem to be full of spirit still,” said Lieutenant Cotway as he helped Wylie down the hill, a sailor supporting him on the other side; “but I’m afraid your cause is in a bad way. What’s your Prince doing?”
“He was proposing to surrender to-day, as being more dignified than finding himself handed over by traitors on his own side,” said Wylie.
Mr Cotway whistled. “Isn’t it slightly confiding to treat with the Roumis without giving the Admirals a chance to see fair?” he asked.
“Unfortunately the Admirals were at an Olympian distance, and the Roumis in between. We simply couldn’t get at you. But there is just a chance that you may be in time to prevent a massacre yet.”
“With twenty-five men? Oh, I see, you mean the representatives of Europe generally. Well, my orders are to escort the ladies on board, but I think old Point Seven would agree that it was a case for discretion. I shall send you aboard with Suter, and hold Ephestilo, for fear our landing should be disputed. The Roumis will hardly yearn for publicity.”
“You will want a guide,” said Wylie thickly.
“Well, I don’t intend to engage you for the post. One of your men might do. I suppose there’s a straight road from Ephestilo to your headquarters?”
“Yes, but the Roumis are lying across it.”
“They ought to know which side their bread is buttered by this time. The Roumis won’t take any trouble to spare the susceptibilities of their warmest friends, but they will probably not care to fire on armed Europe. Ah, here we are on the level at last! Now we shall get on faster. Take my arm again. Baines, go on giving Colonel Wylie an arm on the other side. There are the ladies, I see. Why won’t Princess Theophanis let some one else carry that heavy child? I suppose she gave him something last night to keep him quiet?”
“No. He talked a good deal till quite lately.” Wylie spoke with difficulty.
“Hope there’s nothing wrong, then. He seemed very quiet. I say,” as Wylie stumbled, “what’s up? I don’t think you’ll get as far as the Magniloquent this morning. Can you keep up till we get to Ephestilo, or shall I send a man on to get some sort of litter?”
“I can keep up,” declared Wylie, and he stumbled on between his two supporters, and succeeded in reaching the outskirts of Ephestilo. The inhabitants, who had forsaken their homes for hiding-places among the rocks on the approach of the Roumis, were returning now, with a pathetic confidence in the power of the little pinnace lying at the rude quay, and the people whose house Wylie had occupied during his illness met him and claimed him as a guest,—not, perhaps, without an eye to the special protection this would probably involve. Leaving him in their charge, Lieutenant Cotway hurried to the quay, from which Eirene and Zoe were just embarking.
“Tell the Admiral the whole state of things, Princess,” he said to Zoe, for Eirene was too much engrossed with her boy to have any ears for him. “I am staying on shore for the present, and keeping Colonel Wylie with me, and I only hope we may be able to bring your brother off safely to-night.”
The short voyage from Ephestilo to the flagship was accomplished almost in silence. Zoe was hastily conning over in her mind the facts of the situation, and trying wildly to put them into the fewest words that would suffice to move the Admiral to instant action. Mr Suter’s usual flow of talk was checked. He and his crew were alike uneasily conscious of the silent woman with the terror-haunted eyes, who sat huddled by herself, clasping a bundle to her breast—an image of dread that must have filled Zoe with foreboding had not her mind been fully preoccupied with the effort to save Maurice from his impending fate. They reached the ship at last, and the Admiral himself came down the ladder to welcome them and help them to the deck.
“I fear you have had a most unpleasant journey,” he said kindly to Eirene. “Be sure that whatever we can do to make you forget it—ah, what’s that? the baby got hurt?”
“Mr Cotway said he was afraid there was something wrong with it, sir,” said Mr Suter, in what he imagined to be a whisper. It roused Eirene at once.
“There is nothing wrong with him!” she cried, glaring round on the officers. “He is all right—only frightened by so many strangers. He always hides his face when he is shy—doesn’t he, Zoe? doesn’t he? You know he does.” Her voice rose almost to a scream. “He will be quite good when he is once alone with me—quite good.”
“Yes, of course,” said the Admiral gently. “Bring him in here, and put him on the bed. No, don’t be afraid; we will all go away. But you would like the doctor, wouldn’t you?—just in case there is any little scratch or bruise, you know.”
He signed to the surgeon to enter the cabin, and came out, shutting the door noiselessly. Then he turned to Zoe.
“Now what is it you want to tell me?” for she had been trying to attract his attention ever since they arrived. “About your brother? Dear me, a sad change since you were here last!”
“The Roumis will hear of nothing but unconditional surrender,” said Zoe breathlessly; “and Maurice is holding out in hope of getting better terms, but he has reason to be afraid of treachery from some of the men on our own side.”
“Unconditional surrender? The Powers have made it plain to the Roumis from the first that the rank and file of the insurgents were to go free if they laid down their arms. Why did your brother not apply for our mediation?”
“The Roumis would let no one pass, and that Hercynian who is in their camp, Gratrian Bey, sided with Jalal-ud-din.”
“So I should imagine. Well, this must be looked into, even if it breaks up the Concert. Ask Admiral Scartazzini and Admiral d’Anville if they will co-operate with me in sending landing-parties on shore at once,” he said to an officer. “What are the best roads into the interior of the peninsula?” he asked Zoe.
“The one from Ephestilo is the nearest, but the one from Karakula is the easiest to find. From Skandalo you can’t find your way without a guide.”
“But there are some of your party left to serve as guides? Still, we won’t try Skandalo, for the Hercynians are guarding it. The Neustrians had better start from Karakula, and the Magnagrecians and ourselves from Ephestilo. Then I hope—— Well, what news?” as the surgeon came out of the cabin.
“The poor child is dead, sir.”
“Dead?” cried Zoe and the Admiral together.
“Hours ago. The merest bruise on the temple—from a flying stone, I imagine. It must have been instantaneous. The mother is distracted—refuses to believe it even now; but I think she must have guessed.”
CHAPTER XXII.
CHANGES AND CHANCES.
“Now, how’s that?” asked the surgeon, standing in front of Wylie and looking at him triumphantly.
“Oh, gorgeous in the extreme,” was the languid reply. “Makes one feel that a quiet grave would be preferable, don’t you know.”
“Don’t talk about graves,” said the surgeon, with unexpected fierceness. “Pluck up a little spirit, man! If you can’t stand being dressed and put into a chair, how will you manage to receive visitors?”
“What visitors?” with a faint show of interest.
“Well, one visitor—whom I imagine you’ll be glad to see.”
“I hope,” said Wylie slowly, “that you haven’t let any nonsense I may have talked when I was off my head——”
“Oh, don’t be afraid. I am discretion itself.”
“I hope you have not given any one the trouble of coming here because you thought I wanted to see them?”
“Certainly not,” retorted the surgeon. “The reason I invited ‘them’ was because I thought you didn’t want to see them, of course. I’m glad you have modesty enough not to imagine that ‘they’ wanted to see you. Anyhow, you need only look as sick and sorry as you do now, and they’ll never want to see you again. Now do, for the sake of my professional reputation, try to assume some faint resemblance to a smile, even if you feel it not!”
“Oh, shut up!” groaned the patient.
“Well, it’s not my fault if you don’t appreciate your blessings. Here, drink this, and I’ll give you ten minutes or so to practise an amiable expression in. Think you’re going to be photographed. ‘I know it’s difficult, but try to look pleasant,’ you know.”
The doctor had spoken with calculated guile, for it was only two or three minutes after leaving his patient that he returned, ushering Zoe up the verandah steps. To his great satisfaction, he saw Wylie’s face light up as she went forward, her eyes suspiciously bright, and shook hands with him.
“Now you may have a quarter of an hour,” he said; “but mind, no getting out of that chair. No experiments in walking by way of showing the Princess how much better you are—you understand? I don’t want testimonials of that sort.”
He ran down the steps, and Wylie and Zoe were left alone. He turned to her quickly.
“You are in mourning. Who is it? not your brother?”
“Oh no, not Maurice. But it is—dear little Con.”
“Not really? Poor little chap! I’m awfully sorry. How was it? Did he get hurt?”
“He must have been struck by one of the pieces of stone when that bullet hit the rock, and it killed him at once. He was dead when Eirene carried him all the way to Ephestilo. She guessed, but she wouldn’t let herself believe it.”
“What awful trouble for you both! I say, I am sorry,” said Wylie, with awkward reiteration. “Poor thing! it must nearly have killed her.”
“I think she would have died if it had not been for—what happened afterwards,” said Zoe. “She sat in the corner of the Admiral’s cabin with Con in her arms, and wouldn’t give him up, saying that she knew he wasn’t dead, and he would be all right if they would only leave him to her. She wouldn’t listen to any one, and it was a whole day and night before she would even let me take him. But that was because a messenger had come off to say that Maurice was dangerously wounded—they feared mortally—and she must come at once. At first she wouldn’t go. She said she had killed Maurice’s son, and that she didn’t dare to meet him, and that her ambition had brought disaster on them both, and if she went to Maurice, he would die too. She talked of going into a convent and praying for Maurice, and never seeing him again—and all the time the boat was waiting to take her on shore. It was the Admiral who got her to see reason at last. Oh, he is a good man, and so wise! He asked her how she dared add to the sorrow she had brought on Maurice by refusing to go to him when he wanted her, and said she would show her repentance much better by nursing him than by keeping away and praying for him. Then he turned to me—so suddenly that I almost jumped—and snapped out, ‘Do you get on your things and go ashore at once. If Teffany’s wife forsakes him, at least he has a sister.’ It was most frightfully clever,—horribly incongruous, you know,—but he had read Eirene like a book. She cried out, ‘His wife has not forsaken him! How dare you say so?’ and she let me take poor Con out of her arms, and she went.”
“And you had to stay?” asked Wylie pityingly.
Zoe nodded. “I promised her that I would see to everything if she would go. I knew Maurice wanted her more than me, of course.”
“And was the little chap buried at sea?”
“No, Eirene wanted the Orthodox service. It was at Skandalo, and there were horrible difficulties about it. Perhaps the Roumis made themselves unpleasant, I don’t know—or perhaps the people only thought the Roumis wouldn’t like one of us to be buried there. We were stopped by a mob before we reached the cemetery, and the Admiral’s flag-lieutenant had to go and parley with the priests. The sailors were very angry, and wanted to burn the church down, but at last they let us through peaceably. It was in the corner farthest from the church, and I believe they had to buy the piece of ground outright. I know they have hoisted the Union Jack on it, and they keep a sentry there, so it is not Emathian ground after all.”
“Poor little Con! that he should be the one to suffer—the first, at least!” murmured Wylie. “But your brother—what had happened to him?”
“He was parleying with the Roumis—Jalal-ud-din himself came out to meet him. Maurice had both the Maxims mounted to sweep the path, and the men well posted, so we really had something to offer, for he could have killed hundreds of the Roumis before they could have reached the position. But while the parley was actually going on, the Roumis got round behind somewhere—no, I don’t think it can have been treachery, for what good could it have done any one on our side to destroy all chance of surrender?—and they fired suddenly into our men. Maurice turned round when he heard the noise, and that abominable old wretch Jalal-ud-din struck at him with his sword. He tried to stagger back to his men, but the Roumis rushed forward and began a regular butchery. In the middle of it the contingents which Admiral Essiter had sent arrived, and it was only by threatening to fire on the Roumis that they got them to stop. They had to stay up there, for all sorts of outrages were happening, and they are still holding the ridge from the monastery to Karakula. When they were moving the bodies, they found Maurice under a heap of dead, all trampled—and slashed—and—and horribly wounded. He was just alive, but they didn’t think he could live even till Eirene came. But he is alive still—just alive—and she is nursing him at Skandalo. Of course they can’t tell him about Con, and sometimes he asks for him. Eirene never leaves him. She won’t even let me take charge of him while she rests—but I don’t believe she ever does rest. Sometimes I think she is trying to atone, and sometimes that she wants to die, so as not to have to tell him. But she won’t let me stay with him.”
“And so you have time to waste on me?” Zoe started and looked at him suspiciously, but there was not in his voice the hardness she had learnt to dread. “Tell me, am I a very lamentable object? I can’t help seeing the tears in your eyes when you look at me—and I don’t like to think I am making you cry.”
“Oh no, it’s nothing of that sort,” said Zoe, jumping up and going to the edge of the verandah. “I think you do your doctor great credit.”
“Then what is it?”
“You really mustn’t ask so many questions,” she said desperately. She stood with her back to him, but he saw her dash for her handkerchief. “Do you know,” with a gallant attempt to be arch and cheerful, “that I had to tell them—make them believe—let them think that you and I were engaged before they would let me come to see you?” She turned hurriedly towards the steps.
“Zoe!” his voice arrested her, and she paused reluctantly, still with her back to him. “Zoe, come back—please come back. If you don’t, I shall get up.”
“Oh, you mustn’t!” The terrible threat brought her back at once, and he captured her hand.
“Dear, I would never have asked you to do it, but if you are willing to stand by me and help me now, I can only be grateful.”
“Only?” she said, but the tears flowed again, and spoiled the effect of the question. She brushed them away hastily. “Willing to help you—what a thing to ask!” she said. “I was only afraid you would not let yourself be helped.”
He drew her down into the chair beside him, and kissed the hand he held. “Now tell me what the trouble is,” he said.
A shudder ran through her. “Oh, don’t ask me!” she cried. “Let us be happy together just for this short time.”
“It is better to know. Tell me, dear, or—— No, it is a shame to ask you. You would rather I got the doctor to tell me?”
“No, no; I will tell you——” but she could not go on.
“I must guess, then. Well, am I to be shot to-morrow?”
“Oh no, no! How can you?”
“To be shot, then, but not to-morrow?”
“Oh, don’t! I’ll tell you. Admiral Essiter and the Neustrian and Magnagrecian Admirals have got into dreadful trouble for the action they took, especially for stopping the massacre. Oh, I don’t suppose it’s called that, but that’s what it means,—the Roumis have complained, and ranged the other three Powers against them. Scythia and Pannonia and Hercynia are threatening to withdraw from the Concert,—I should think it would get on much better without them, but at this moment England and Neustria and Magnagrecia are on their knees to them to stay. Hercynia has even recalled its old ship already. Admiral Essiter says it is only to get a relief crew really, but they pretend that it is a token of haughty displeasure, of course.”
“And where do I come in?”
“Why, the line the Roumis take is that as the Admirals stepped in and prevented their massacre—their policy of unconditional surrender, I mean—the Admirals must see that they get what they demanded at first.”
“Ah, the leaders of the insurgents are to be given up, you mean?”
“Yes, that’s what they want; and at present all are safe, you see—you, and Maurice, and Lord Armitage, who is a prisoner on board the Pannonian flagship, and Prince Romanos——”
“Do they insist on the Admirals bringing him back from the dead?”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you; he is not dead, of course. He was wounded and left for dead, but a Greek from his own island found him—at least, that is the story—and smuggled him away into Dardania. The Prince and Princess are looking after him, and Professor Panagiotis is hanging on his words, and making Europe ring with the history of our blockade. But he has made Europe ring so often, and it doesn’t seem to do any good. And Prince Romanos, who did so much harm by his rashness, is safe with friends, and you and Maurice are prisoners, and any moment the Government may order the Admiral to hand you over to the Roumis——”
“But there’s also the chance that the British Government may develop a certain amount of backbone, and refuse.”
“You mustn’t count upon it;” Zoe’s tears started afresh. “Scythia is frightfully bitter against us, and she eggs the others on. They say she refuses to consider any further measures until the prisoners have been given up. And oh, do you know, Admiral Essiter says that after the Therma massacres the Powers were practically agreed on giving Emathia a constitution and releasing her from Roum, but that while they were quarrelling as to whom they should choose for Prince we went to Hagiamavra, and they all withdrew their assent? They say they can’t allow reforms to be extorted by violence. So we really have done harm.”
“At least we did the best we knew how,” said Wylie wearily. “Don’t trouble about it, dear. You have told me the worst now, and thinking won’t make it any better. So we’ll forget it, do you see, and simply be happy. You will come to see me as often as they let you, and then I shall be happy, and I’ll try to make you happy. And as for the times between—why, the first half of them I shall be busy remembering what you said and how you looked, and the last half I shall be wondering what you will say and how you will look the next time, and you can’t imagine how quickly it will pass. There’s the doctor whistling vigorously! Tell me quick—do you agree?”
“Oh!” sighed Zoe, “if you had only been like this before!”
“Ah, I’m weak and broken in spirit now, you see. No, dearest, forgive me. I have been a brute, but I want to leave you a happy hour or two to remember. Doctor, you promised us a quarter of an hour.”
“And you have had thirty-five minutes,” said the surgeon. “Well, I’m glad to see you seem to have profited by it. He was quite restive at the thought of a visitor, Princess, but he looks much better now.”
He escorted Zoe down to the quay and saw her on board the pinnace, returning for a farewell visit to Wylie and the other sick and wounded insurgents who were in extemporised hospital quarters at Ephestilo.
“You’re a lucky chap,” he said, looking at Wylie narrowly as he spoke.
“I know I am,” was the hearty reply, “and I’ll stick to it even if the luck ends to-morrow.”
“Princess Zoe has been telling secrets, I see.”
“I made her. It’s better to know. Did you think I couldn’t stand it? If one is to be offered up as a sacrifice to the unity of Europe, one may as well be aware of the honour.”
“It’s awfully rough on you and your Prince—the Englishman who calls himself a Greek, I mean; not the flyaway chap that came aboard with you off Skandalo.”
“No,” said Wylie doggedly. “We knew what we were in for, and took the risk, but it is rough on the women.”
“There’s no one you could get to come here to look after them, I suppose, in case——?”
“Not a soul, I’m afraid. What about Armitage?”
“His case comes under the Foreign Enlistment Act, I believe. He doesn’t seem to have offered armed resistance.”
“Still, he won’t be free to do anything, I imagine. Well, after all, your Admiral will see that no harm happens to them, and if they wish to stay to the end—it would comfort them, I suppose—how could we object just because it made it worse for us?”
“They won’t make it worse for you,” said the surgeon with conviction. “They have grit, those two. Why, the way Princess Zoe came—no, I forgot; it was not to be mentioned.”
That the slip was premeditated Wylie could hardly doubt, but he could not bring himself to let it pass. “You don’t mean that she saw me when I was ill?” he said.
“Since you ask, I do. But don’t tell her that I gave her away, or I shall get into trouble.”
“How could you bother her about me? It’s disgusting.”
“Because you did nothing but call out for her, if you must know, and beg her to forgive you. Nothing I could do would make you leave off, and at last I thought she might at any rate help you to die quietly. There was a norther blowing, so she could not get round from Skandalo by boat, but she came across on a mule, and she and I sat up with you a whole night. You didn’t know her, but her being there kept you quiet and gave you your chance. Don’t look so sick. Most men would feel some slight approach to gratitude.”
“What is it to you what I feel?” demanded Wylie, so fiercely that the doctor jumped. “No, don’t go off like that. If I am savage, just try to realise what it feels like to have coals of fire not merely heaped, but simply shovelled, on your head.”
“Ah, I see!” said the surgeon sagely, and Wylie was left to his own meditations. When Zoe came again, two days later, he had been promoted to sitting up for the greater part of the morning, and he informed her of the improvement with pride. She told him in return that Maurice had recognised Eirene, and had been able to answer questions, but neither his good news nor her own seemed to have much effect upon her mood. She moved about the verandah, talking restlessly, and Wylie saw the brightness of unshed tears in her eyes. It was not until he hinted that the task of following her movements was bad for his head that she came, full of compunction, to sit down beside him.
“If I asked you to promise me something, would you do it?” she asked impulsively, with her hand in his.
“Not without knowing what it was.”
“Not even for me?”
“Not even for you. Would you if I asked for a promise?”
“That’s different. You would be sure to want something horrid, while I only want what is for your good. You have nothing to thank the British Government for—nothing——”
“Only my life—so far.”
“That’s Admiral Essiter, not the Government. They are keeping you prisoner here, with sentries outside, and calmly discussing whether they shall hand you over to be killed—and yet I know you wouldn’t escape if I found a way for you.”
“What would you propose?”
“Oh, you don’t mean that you would?” she cried joyfully. “I have so many plans. They keep suggesting themselves all day and night. And some of the officers would help, I am sure—Mr Cotway, at any rate, and Mr Suter——”
“And you would let Cotway ruin his career?”
“But it is for you—for your life,” said Zoe, with an unconscious selfishness which she recognised when she had uttered the words. “He would wish to do it, rather than connive at a national disgrace,” she added quickly. “They all say it would be that. Mr Suter said he should throw up his commission if it happened.”
“My dear girl, you really mustn’t lead these unfortunate youths into romantic pitfalls of this kind. Has nobody told you that I am on parole here? I gave my word as soon as I was able to sit up. The sentry whose presence you resent so much is really only here for my protection, in case of any kind attentions from our Roumi friends.”
“Of course I have never suggested it to any of them,” said Zoe, after a moment’s stunned silence. “I meant to have the plan all ready, and to get your consent, before I sounded Mr Cotway. But I knew you wouldn’t do it. It’s just like Maurice. Eirene wanted him to pretend to be dead, and let himself be carried away in a coffin, to be buried at home—I suggested it to her—but he wouldn’t. And the Powers go on talking and talking—and the Roumis are getting frightfully aggressive—and everything——”
“Aggressive in demanding that we should be given up, do you mean?”
“Yes—and that the Admirals should withdraw their landing-parties. They say it is the presence of the European forces that is keeping Southern Emathia in a ferment, of course, and that Jalal-ud-din could pacify the province in a week if he had it to himself.”
“In the good old way, I presume. But, Zoe, I didn’t understand that the Admirals were actually occupying the peninsula. I thought they had Red Cross camps here and at Skandalo under the protection of the ships’ guns, and just a few armed sailors as sentries.”
Zoe looked astonished. “Oh no,” she said; “there is a joint European occupation—at least, on behalf of England and Neustria and Magnagrecia. The Roumis have garrisons at Skandalo and Karakula, and an entrenched camp near the monastery, but the Admirals are administering everything. That is what makes the Roumis so angry. You see, the expelled Mohammedans want to come back, but the Therma refugees are in their farms, and daren’t return to their own homes, so that there is an immense amount of pacification to be done.”
“Jalal-ud-din is pressing the return of the Mohammedans, and the Admirals are watching over the interests of the refugees?” said Wylie. “It seems to me that we were not the only people who rushed in where angels fear to tread. To snatch the Roumis’ prey from them when they were flushed with victory——”
“Oh, that is what makes the other Powers so angry with our Admirals,” said Zoe carelessly. “There have been riots at Therma, and Europeans were attacked in the streets. All the Consulates are guarded by troops.”
“Roumi troops?”
“No, troops of the different nationalities. A detachment of Highlanders is looking after Sir Frank Francis.”
“And the Powers are still talking? Zoe, if Admiral Essiter will take a word of advice from a condemned criminal, give him this message from me. Unless the Powers withdraw from Hagiamavra in a day or two, and give us up, look out for trouble. Let him get reinforcements from Malta, Egypt, anywhere he can, or the next Therma massacre will be of Europeans, not of Emathian Christians.”
“But do you really think there is danger? Every one says that the Roumis are getting insolent and talking big, but that it only needs a warship or two at Therma to make them sing small. And all sorts of people are coming here to see the sites of our battles, as if it was a show-place—horrid smart people, you know, flirting and having picnics where our men were killed. The Princess Dowager of Dardania is at Skandalo. I asked her to receive me, because I thought she might be some help, and she was very gracious, but she would promise nothing. She has Donna Olimpia Pazzi with her instead of her own lady-in-waiting, who she says got homesick and had to be sent back to Dardania. The girl looked at me with such an evil eye that I was glad to take the opportunity of mentioning about you and me, you know, so that she might see there was no need to be afraid for her dear Romanos. The Princess quite beamed when she heard it——”
“Zoe, do you know what they call that woman all over Europe? The Stormy Petrel! I should have thought something was brewing even if you hadn’t told me of the trouble in Therma. Give my message to the Admiral at the first possible moment, or you will be sorry for it all your life.”
CHAPTER XXIII.
AN UNHOLY COMPACT.
The lady whom Wylie had designated as the Stormy Petrel was sitting in her private room in the house she had taken at Skandalo, busied, as was usually the case in her hours of retirement, with the arrears of an enormous correspondence. The mental activity of Ottilie, Princess of Dardania, had increased, rather than diminished, with the passage of years, and she had a finger in many obscure and incongruous pies, besides taking a prominent part in all the more obvious developments of standing political intrigue. The power, or the semblance of it, which she thus gained was the sole joy of her life, and its one drawback was the European reputation she enjoyed, which had a tendency to scatter all the elements of a promising conspiracy as soon as she began to show an interest in it. In Balkan affairs, however, she had, as it were, a prescriptive right to take part, and many exalted personages looked to her for their views on the subject. It was her boast that she never employed a secretary. Every letter addressed to her was opened by herself, and only unimportant epistles were handed over to be dealt with by her lady-in-waiting. The post of this attendant was no sinecure, and Donna Olimpia Pazzi, who was at present filling it, looked pale and tired when she entered her mistress’s presence.
“Madame Theophanis desires to know whether you will receive her, madame,” she said.
“Princess Theophanis, my child. Who are we that we should remind the unfortunate of their fallen condition?” The Princess spoke in a clear raised tone, not without a suspicion of mockery, calculated to penetrate into the anteroom beyond. “Beg her to give herself the trouble of entering.”
Donna Olimpia hesitated, then came close up to the writing-table. “When will you allow me to return to Bashi Konak, madame?” she asked hurriedly, almost inaudibly.
The Princess frowned. “You must not be unreasonable. I thought you agreed with me that it was safer you should not return while Prince Christodoridi remained at the Palace?”
“Yes, madame, but—— Oh, you cannot tell what I suffer! You know him, yet not as I do. What fresh object may have captivated his fancy—at whose shrine——”
“Olimpia, this is childish.” The Princess spoke with severity. “I have promised that all shall be well if you take my advice. Would you wreck your whole future by this untimely jealousy? Be content: Prince Romanos will love you much better when he meets you again after a few weeks’ separation than if he had enjoyed your society the whole time.”
The girl shook like an aspen as the Princess, leaning back in her chair, watched with artistic pleasure the effect of the taunt. “We are keeping Princess Theophanis waiting most cruelly. Will you be good enough to bring her in, or must I go myself?” The tone cut like a knife.
“Pardon, madame!” murmured Donna Olimpia, retreating helplessly. In another moment she ushered in Eirene, looking haggard and wasted in her deep mourning. The Dowager Princess met her and kissed her affectionately, uttering little cooing sentences of condolence until the lady-in-waiting had retired, closing the door behind her. Then her manner changed.
“We will not waste time,” she said.
“No, I can’t wait,” said Eirene nervously. “I have snatched these few minutes while my sister-in-law is at Ephestilo, and Admiral Essiter’s surgeon is sitting with my husband. I was obliged to come when you sent word that you, and you alone, could show me how to save his life.”
“Exactly. You are wise. You realise that if Scythia, Pannonia, and Hercynia continue to support Roum in demanding the surrender of the insurgent leaders, the British Government will yield? I have a great admiration for your British Government; it always knows when to submit. And that ‘when,’ in this case, will be about the beginning of next week.”
“So I feared,” murmured Eirene, with dry lips.
“Therefore, if anything is to be done, it must be done at once.”
“Yes, yes; I know.”
“You understand that I am not here as a philanthropist? You are prepared to pay a price for your husband’s life?”
“I would give mine if you asked it.”
“Ah, that, I fear, has little marketable value. But would you give your ambition, madame?”
Eirene paused before answering. The words seemed to be wrung from her at last. “Yes. I have no child now, to suffer.”
“‘The children born of thee are fire and sword’”—the words, applied to herself many years before, came to the Princess’s lips, but she repressed them. “I am glad to see you are able to take a common-sense view of the matter. Then, on that assurance, I will put affairs in train.”
“But won’t you tell me what it is you want me to do?” urged Eirene, as the Princess turned again to her writing-table. “I am to renounce our rights, of course—my husband’s and mine——”
“I have not said so.” The Princess looked round. “What you will renounce is the right of independent action. You will act as is suggested to you; I can tell you no more at present. Of course you will have the right to refuse the terms when they are submitted for your acceptance, if you prefer it. In that case, naturally, I can do no more, and I shall not be the person responsible for the death of a very worthy, if misguided, young man, who was unfortunate enough to take the advice of his wife rather than of older and wiser heads.”
“Madame, you will break my heart!” panted Eirene.
“Oh no, you mistake. If you should discover that your duty to your ambition compelled you to sacrifice the life of your husband, then your heart might break, but I think not. You would be upheld by a sense of the stern nobility of your attitude, surely? Then farewell, dear madame. I shall see you again soon? My kindest remembrances to your brave husband. Olimpia!”
Ushered out of the Princess’s presence, Eirene stood for a moment as if dazed. The two cavasses from Therma, allotted to her partly as guard, partly as spies upon her movements, gathered themselves up lazily from the most comfortable resting-places they could find in front of the house, and the sight of them recalled her to herself. Hastily she picked her way back to the building where Maurice lay under guard, up one steep street and down another, an incongruous figure with her black attire and burning eyes among the many-coloured and abounding life that thronged them. Sailors from the fleets jostled the sight-seeing tourists of whom Zoe had spoken to Wylie, and the inhabitants of the town were making hay while the sun shone as zealously under the Roumi flag as when the Imperial ensign had floated over their roofs. Nothing was changed in their busy, money-making existence, everything in the life of the lonely woman who passed among them like a reproachful ghost.
* * * * * * * *
“Eirene,” said Zoe, coming in one morning from marketing, “something dreadful must be happening at Therma. I met Captain Bryson rushing down to the quay, and he says all the warships are ordered there at once, leaving only the Dorinda on guard here. Street-fighting, he said, with the Roumi troops siding with the mob.”
“I thought that was just what Graham Wylie prophesied,” said Eirene, without interest.
“Yes, but I don’t believe he thought it would begin so soon. Oh, I wonder whether the Admiral took his advice about asking for reinforcements! I told him that very evening, but he only looked at me in that pitying, smiling way he has, and wouldn’t say anything. Eirene, you look frightfully tired. Do go out and get a breath of air, and let me sit with Maurice a little.”
“I am not tired——” began Eirene, but through the open door behind Zoe she caught sight of a man approaching the house—the Princess Dowager’s Dardanian servant, in all the bravery of the snowy linen and shining embroidery of his native dress, and the sashful of murderous weapons about his manly waist. In his strong brown fingers he carried a note. Zoe must not guess that the veteran intriguer was in communication with her sister-in-law, and Eirene made up her mind in an instant. “I am more tired than I thought I was,” she said languidly. “Maurice was very restless in the night. I am rather faint, I think. I will walk up the hill and back again. Oh!” as the Dardanian reached the door, “was that Maurice calling?”
Zoe fled to the sick-room, tearing off her hat as she went, and Eirene took the note from the messenger. It was very short.