The Heritage

 BY
 SYDNEY C. GRIER
 AUTHOR OF ‘THE HEIR,’ ‘AN UNCROWNED KING,’
 ‘THE WARDEN OF THE MARCHES,’ ETC.


 (_Second in the Balkan Series II._)


 FOURTH EDITION

 William Blackwood & Sons
 Edinburg and London
 1908
 _ALL RIGHTS RESERVED_




 CONTENTS.

 PROLOGUE.
 I. PRACTICAL POLITICS.
 II. REVOLUTION AND ROSE-WATER.
 III. THE RIVAL HEIR.
 IV. THE STERN PARENT.
 V. TWO DIPLOMATISTS.
 VI. THE RED GODS CALL.
 VII. THE ENEMY IN THE WAY.
 VIII. A PORT OF REFUGE.
 IX. ARTS OF PEACE.
 X. THE INTERVENTION OF THE ADMIRAL.
 XI. THE SYMPATHY OF EUROPE.
 XII. A BAPTISM OF FIRE.
 XIII. KNIGHTLY EMULATION.
 XIV. _IMPERIUM IN IMPERIO._
 XV. THE TOWER OF SEGRETI.
 XVI. THE CONSULS TO THE RESCUE.
 XVII. THE HOPE THAT FAILED.
 XVIII. A _RUSE DE GUERRE._
 XIX. THE BITTER END.
 XX. FUGITIVES.
 XXI. THE BRITISH FLAG.
 XXII. CHANGES AND CHANCES.
 XXIII. AN UNHOLY COMPACT.
 XXIV. THE WAGES OF UNRIGHTEOUSNESS.
 XXV. A CONTESTED ELECTION.
 XXVI. PAYING THE BILL.




 THE HERITAGE.

 PROLOGUE.

Night was falling in the leafless beech forest which covered a spur
of the Balkans. There was a thin sprinkling of snow on the rocky
ground, but it was frozen hard, and showed no trace of the leather
moccasins of the two men who were climbing the slope. Both wore
unobtrusive uniforms of dull grey, almost concealed by huge brown
greatcoats with hoods, and carried rifles slung across their backs;
but while one was a stolid peasant, the other had a keen intellectual
face, not devoid of a certain tincture of what may without offence be
termed “slimness.” It was a face familiar to many Emathian
mountaineers, and to a few startled Roumis, as that of Lazar
Nilischeff, a prominent leader of revolt. As he and his follower
mounted the path, two men, somewhat similar to them in aspect, but
with a slight difference in their equipment, came out from among the
trees to meet them, and one of them greeted Nilischeff with the formal
politeness natural between those who are pursuing the same end with
distinct purposes in view. Both were Thracian by race, and had
received their university training at the city of Bellaviste; but
while Nilischeff was a Thracian subject, and had crossed the frontier
in the hope of adding a freed Emathia to his sovereign’s dominions, Dr
Afanasi Terminoff was Emathian-born, and scouted any prospect other
than that of actual independence for his unrestful country.

“You sent an urgent message for me?” said Nilischeff, as the two
leaders went on together up the hill, leaving their subordinates to
guard the path.

“The rich Englishman is dying,” said Terminoff gloomily, “and he
begged me to find him a lawyer.”

“No doubt he wishes to make his will.” The only available lawyer tried
hard not to exhibit indecent exultation. “He will leave his money to
the Organisation, you think?”

“He has not told me,” was the curt answer, and the two men continued
their climb in silence, the minds of both running riot over the
possibilities of unlimited action called forth by the suggestion. The
rich Englishman’s money had already provided a pleasurable earnest in
the shape of rifles, ammunition, dynamite, and other materials of the
revolutionary craft, but its owner had exercised a control over their
employment which the recipients found somewhat galling.

“Why are you in these parts?” was the next question, for this
particular spur of the mountains was situated in the region sacred to
Nilischeff’s band.

“We were betrayed to the Roumis--by a Greek,” replied Terminoff. “Our
scouts had only just time to warn us.”

“Did the Greek get away?”

“For the moment; but we fastened up his wife and daughters in their
house, and set light to it. Then we ambushed the Roumis in the
river-gorge, and scattered them and caught him. So there was an end of
the lot.”

“If we are not to be left in peace in the winter, things are coming to
a pretty pass,” said Nilischeff sympathetically. “You are in the cave,
I suppose?”

The question was asked with renewed sharpness, for it was not
etiquette for any other band to imperil one of Nilischeff’s villages
by seeking shelter in it, but Terminoff was able to give a
satisfactory answer. The cave was common property, and there were few
nights in the year when a sufficiently energetic force of Roumis might
not have made a valuable capture by visiting it, but the forests and
defiles through which it was approached were a country notoriously
ill-suited to Roumis who had any care for their health. Every now and
then a murmured greeting to Terminoff showed the presence of a scout
in ambush, and when the forest was left behind, the rest of the ascent
was commanded, every foot of it, by the rough breastwork at the cave’s
mouth. The two leaders climbed the almost invisible path, and wriggled
into the cave between the great stones heaped before it. A fire was
burning behind a sheltering rock, casting a fitful glimmer into the
dark recesses at the back, where the only other light came from a
candle flickering before a sacred picture fixed crookedly on the wall.
On a couch of rugs and greatcoats, spread upon a foundation of dead
beech leaves brought from the forest below, lay a very tall man with
strongly marked features and a pointed white beard. He held out his
hand feebly to Nilischeff.

“They’ve got me at last, you see, though not by a bullet,” he said,
speaking with difficulty. “A lifetime spent in the West Indies is a
bad preparation for the Balkans in mid-winter, and it’s rough on a
sick man to have to turn out of bed and tramp all night through the
snow. But now about that little bit of business I want you to do for
me. You have brought writing materials, of course?”

He lay back and gasped while Nilischeff brought out a fountain-pen and
a writing-pad, but there was a cynical smile on his drawn face.

“It’s not my will,” he murmured, with obvious enjoyment of the two
men’s discomfiture. “That was made and left in safe keeping before I
started. This is merely a codicil that I wish to add.”

The words came slowly and painfully from him in French, and as he
spoke his thumb moved rapidly backwards and forwards over his
forefinger, in the familiar Eastern gesture denoting the telling of
money. They watched him as if fascinated.

“I have never concealed from you my object in taking part in your
operations,” he went on. “You, gentlemen, are solely actuated, as I
know, by the high and noble desire of freeing Emathia from the Roumi
yoke. I confess without shame that my aim is the grovelling one of
restoring my family to its ancient position. My fortune is left in
trust for my cousin Maurice Teffany, head of the house of Theophanis,
his wife Eirene, representative of the younger line of the Imperial
house, and their children, to be used in regaining for them the throne
of the Eastern Empire, and maintaining the dignity when they achieve
it.” He watched narrowly with his sunken eyes the gloomy looks of
Terminoff, and the protesting face of Nilischeff, and spoke with
hoarse passion,--“But in acting for the good of my family, I am doing
the best thing for you, and you know it. I am giving you a head, a
master, who will weld you into a nation with or without your consent.
Why, if the Roumis left Emathia to-morrow, you and the Greeks would be
at each other’s throats before night, with Thracia and Mœsia, and
perhaps Dardania and Dacia, mobilising in feverish haste to seize
whatever they could, until Scythia and Pannonia stepped in and divided
the country between them! This is your one chance.”

“As well hand ourselves over to Panagiotis and his Greeks at once,”
muttered Nilischeff. “The old time-server will come over to your
cousin’s side again as soon as he hears of your legacy. They say that
Prince Christodoridi refuses to contribute one single drachma towards
the Greek propaganda, though it is to put himself on the throne.”

“Then he is penny wise and pound foolish,” said the sick man; “and you
are worse, if you don’t welcome Panagiotis and the Greeks, whatever
brings them over to your side. Europe will never see Emathia annexed
to Thracia, but she will allow you to build up an autonomous state if
you can only keep your hands off your knives. And meanwhile, you shall
each have a thousand pounds, which will provide your bands with
cartridges and dynamite until Maurice Theophanis is ready to move. So
call two of your men as witnesses.”

Two members of the band who were not on guard were summoned, and
Nilischeff prepared to write. The cynical smile was again on the
invalid’s face.

“My cousin is too fond of waiting to be called upon,” he said. “I wish
to make him act of his own accord.”

“A bomb, sir?” suggested one of the witnesses, an eager-faced student
who had run away from a theological seminary to join the band. “Only a
small one, of course--merely to frighten, not to hurt any one.”

“You might blow up all England before you would frighten Maurice
Teffany back to Emathia. No, what I mean to use is a domestic
bombshell. Write down that while the principal of the trust-money can
only be touched by husband and wife acting together, the interest may
be used, for the purposes of the trust, by the Princess Eirene at her
own discretion. I think my friend Maurice will find himself in Emathia
sooner than he expects. You will write out the codicil twice, if you
please,” he added to Nilischeff, “and I will sign both copies, so that
you and our friend Terminoff may each keep one.” The smile expressed
what he did not add, that the mutual jealousy of the two men would
ensure the due production of the document.

“Maurice Teffany?” said the second witness, when the matter had been
explained to him. “Why, that was one of the European travellers we
captured four years ago, when I was in Stoyan’s band. He called
himself Ismit (Smith), but we heard afterwards that he was a Greek
prince, and we ought to have killed him. ‘If I were your leader----!’
he said one day, and we laughed, not knowing. And will the other man
come with him, the Capitan with the blue eyes? If he does, I tell you
there is no one left of Stoyan’s band that will not rather fight with
him than against him!”

With some difficulty the garrulous ex-brigand was silenced, and
induced to affix his mark to the two papers. When this had been done,
and the sick man was resting, Dr Terminoff escorted Nilischeff down
the hill again and past his outposts. The lawyer’s brain was working
busily.

“I see a way of turning this to account,” he said. “I am sending off
despatches to-morrow, and I will mention the sad death of the
noble-hearted British philanthropist, Teffany-Wise. It will appear in
all the English papers how he gave his declining years to the service
of freedom, visiting Emathia with relief for the oppressed, and was
pursued from place to place by the Roumis thirsting for his blood.
Imagine it--he dies in a cave, deprived of every comfort, but with his
last breath bequeathing to the cause all he has to leave. A fine moral
effect, is it not?”




 CHAPTER I.
 PRACTICAL POLITICS.

“It is Colonel Wylie, isn’t it? I say, I beg your pardon if I’ve
made a mistake.” The speaker’s boyish tones grew doubtful as he looked
at the grey hair and hollow cheeks of the fellow-passenger to whom he
spoke, but the sunken eyes, peculiarly blue in contrast with the
leaden complexion, reassured him. “It is you, Wylie, after all. But
what have you been doing to yourself?”

“Spending five years in the Nile swamps. I don’t wonder you didn’t
know me. I came face to face with myself in a big mirror on the hotel
stairs at Cairo, and got a shock--wondered who the poor devil was with
the cadaverous countenance.”

“Miss Teffany knew you at once.”

“Now that’s what I call really flattering. I can’t be so absolutely
unrecognisable if she knew me.”

“Did you guess she was on board?”

“Saw her come on deck before you did.”

“But you haven’t spoken to her.” There was wonder in the younger man’s
voice.

“How was I to know that she would recognise me? And when you found her
out, I hadn’t the heart to disturb you.”

“She sent me to fetch you to her now, though.”

Wylie laughed at the faint sigh that accompanied the words. “Rough on
you,” he said. “Well, you’re not changed at any rate--not a day older.
Come, don’t let us keep her waiting.”

They crossed the deck towards a lady in a noticeably well-cut tweed
travelling-coat and hat, who sat alone, protected by the presence at a
little distance of an elderly maid of the most rigid type of
respectability. She looked up eagerly, almost anxiously, as Wylie
approached, but the blue eyes met hers with curiosity rather than
interest. The seven years since their last meeting had worked no such
doleful change in Zoe Teffany as in the man who had once loved her;
she had worn well, as women say of one another. She was a woman not to
be passed over, alert, keenly interested in life, though an occasional
fugitive look of wistfulness betrayed that life had not brought her
all she had once confidently expected from it. She shook hands
heartily with Wylie.

“Now I really believe in this adventure,” she said. “With you our old
party is complete.”

“Your brother and his wife are here?” asked Wylie.

“No, I am to meet them when I land. But have they told you nothing of
their plans?”

“Nothing. I was lounging about on the Riviera, desperately dull, when
your brother’s letter reached me. He merely said that things were
moving in Emathia, and reminded me of my old promise to back him up.
It was only a joke at the time, but as I am forbidden the tropics, and
can’t face an English spring, it seemed good enough now, so here I
am.”

His glance forbade her to pity him, and Zoe looked hastily away. “Then
you have a great deal to learn,” she said, making room for him beside
her. “Lord Armitage, if you will bring that deck-chair closer, we can
talk without being overheard.”

“_Lord_ Armitage?” asked Wylie.

“Oh, you didn’t know?” groaned the bearer of the title. “Second cousin
three times removed dies to bother me, and leaves me the family
honours--me, if you please. I have to chuck my work, and buy pictures
instead of making them, and if I go into a studio, there’s no hope of
getting the old chaff, for the fellows hang on my words with bated
breath, because I’m a patron of art! So that’s why I’m here.”

“You will be the Byron of Emathian independence,” said Zoe
encouragingly. “Think of the halo of respectability that the presence
of an English nobleman and his yacht will throw over our proceedings!”

Something in Armitage’s face warned Wylie that aspirations less
abstract than a yearning for Emathian independence had drawn him into
the adventure, and he smiled grimly to himself. Zoe looked a little
hurt.

“You are laughing at our having to begin again from the very
beginning,” she said. “Seven years does seem a long time to waste, I
suppose--especially as when we saw you last we were full of golden
anticipations, thinking that in a few months Maurice and Eirene would
at any rate be on their way to a throne. The blow fell the very same
day, you know.”

“You think your brother should have decided differently?”

“Never for one moment. But I am not sure that Eirene
doesn’t--sometimes. It was really very galling to see Professor
Panagiotis fling himself heart and soul into the cause of the rival
claimant, the instant Maurice had refused his terms.”

“It doesn’t seem to have done the rival claimant much good, so far.”

“Ah, but that’s because they had a violent quarrel just two years ago.
Prince Christodoridi swore that the Professor was only working for his
own advantage all along, and the Professor declares that the Prince
has shown the blackest ingratitude.”

“And the thieves having fallen out, the honest man comes by his own?
Or is it a case of everything coming to him who knows how to wait?”

“Both, I think,” said Zoe, laughing. “Eirene would certainly tell you
that Maurice knows how to wait only too well. Of course, it was hard
on her--the way their marriage fell flat, I mean. The Scythian Court
simply ignored the whole thing, and all her other royal acquaintances
followed their example. She just dropped out, and it was as if she
didn’t exist. Well, you know, she had begun at Stone Acton by being
very much on her dignity--expecting royal honours, in fact. The people
round were tremendously interested at first, but they very soon began
to ask what sort of a Princess this could be, who was never noticed by
any of our own royalties. They bored her, too,--I don’t wonder at
that; they have often bored me,--and she snubbed them, and gave a
great deal of offence. And then there came the Romance of the
Long-Lost Uncle.”

“This is thrilling,” said Wylie. “Princess Eirene’s uncle?”

“No, ours--our cousin, at least; a very very distant cousin. His name
was Teffany-Wise, and he was descended from the daughter of Prosper
Teffany, a younger son who emigrated from Penteffan to the West Indies
about the end of the seventeenth century. I met him in Jamaica when I
went round the world, and I wrote home that he looked ineffably old,
and capable of any wickedness. He had a sort of inscrutable
parchment-like face, you know. I always thought he made his money by
slave-trading, but Maurice says its palmy days were over long before
his time, unless he was as old as the Wandering Jew, and that he was
probably only a speculator in Chicago slum tenements. At any rate,
there he was, immensely rich, without a relation nearer than
ourselves, and frightfully excited over the newspaper accounts of our
Emathian adventures. You see, if the royalties ignored Maurice, the
journalists didn’t, and he let himself be interviewed pretty often,
because he thought it was only due to Eirene to make her position
perfectly clear. It seemed that Mr Teffany-Wise had always had an
ambition to use his money in restoring the fortunes of the family, but
until he heard about us he didn’t know who there was left. So he
talked to me, and then suddenly sailed for home, and descended on
Stone Acton in a shower of gold, and supplied Eirene with the object
in life she wanted.”

“And that was----?”

“To hustle Maurice into putting himself forward publicly as a
candidate for the throne of Emathia. He was determined not to move
until he received an invitation, and she was determined he should. She
has made a sort of religion of the Theophanis claims since the
Long-Lost Uncle appeared. Why, she has turned the library at Stone
Acton into a regular throne-room, with crimson hangings--imperial
purple, you know--and two gilded chairs on a daïs under a canopy. Oh,
it mayn’t seem very dreadful to you, but you don’t know Stone Acton.
It was always such a _sensible_ house! And she has been having the
most extraordinary people there--refugees and conspirators and so
on--till the neighbourhood was scandalised. That was Mr Teffany-Wise’s
doing. He saw that there was no hope of Professor Panagiotis and the
Emathian Greeks for the present, so he turned boldly to the Slav
party--the Thracian Committees and their followers--and bid for their
support.”

“Backing his offer with hard cash, I presume?” said Wylie. “That
explains the increased activity and boldness of the Emathian
insurgents this last year or two. But the Roumis mean business now. I
suppose your long-lost relative has no objection to being morally
guilty of a massacre or two?”

“He thought they were unavoidable but disagreeable incidents--useful,
too, since they would stir the indignation of Europe.”

“Well, so far as I can see, he is likely to be gratified. And has his
game been worth the candle?”

“I believe he thought so. At any rate, the national sentiment is much
more strongly developed than when we were in Emathia. Then the
reformers talked of uniting with Thracia or Mœsia or Morea, according
to their tastes, but now they are all inclining to the thought of an
Emathian nation. Most of them would like a republic, of course, but
they know the Powers would never hear of that, and Maurice’s refusal
to bind himself body and soul to the Greeks pleased them. So before Mr
Teffany-Wise died, he had practically got things settled.”

“Oh, he is dead, then?”

“Yes; he insisted on interviewing the Committees and leaders of bands
for himself, and inspecting their work, and they passed him on from
one to another all through the disturbed districts. It was winter, and
he was chased by the Roumis, and the hardships were too much for him.
Of course you think I’m a brute to talk like this, but I can’t forgive
that man. He has spoilt Maurice’s life.”

“If your brother is what I remember him, it would be difficult for any
one to do that,” said Wylie.

“No one could, except through Eirene. But you must expect to see
Maurice a good deal changed. It isn’t either comfortable or dignified
for a man to have to go through life as a drag on his wife’s wheel.”

“Then I gather that your sister-in-law has not changed?”

“No, Eirene is Eirene still--only more so. She would not have been
quite so bad but for the Uncle. He left his property in trust, to be
used for restoring the family to the Imperial throne. That was natural
enough, but he gave Eirene power to use the interest as she thought
best, though she can’t touch the capital without Maurice’s consent.”

“Injudicious,” said Wylie.

“Injudicious? It was mad! And Eirene is so unfair. She has no sense of
what can be done and what can’t. Little Constantine--their boy--was
born just after the news of the will came, and she was very ill. Their
two first babies died--really and truly I believe it was because she
always worried and excited herself so much--and she knew how anxious
Maurice was. Well, she sent for him and made him promise that he would
open communications with the Slav leaders, instead of waiting for them
to approach him. She got better, and little Con is all right, and of
course Maurice had to keep his promise. So he wrote to say that if he
received a definite invitation from them, he would place himself at
their head, and negotiations have been going on ever since. Then
Professor Panagiotis threw himself into the fray, and now there is
really some prospect of Maurice’s being accepted as candidate both by
the Greek and Slav parties.”

“Well, surely that was worth waiting for?”

“Oh, I suppose so, but I hate its having come about in this way! The
massacres, you know--the Committees are really provoking them, so as
to force the hand of Europe, and things may be much worse yet.”

“Probably; but I see their drift now--to get to work while Scythia and
Pannonia are both too busy with their own internal concerns to
interfere. But why are we starting from this side?”

“Oh, we have to settle the preliminaries first,--‘a conference of the
powers,’ you know,--and it is to be done under cover of this great
Pan-Balkanic Athletic Festival that the Prince of Dardania is
holding.”

“Armitage representing the athletic capabilities of the party, I
suppose?” said Wylie, with a humorous shrug. “I’m afraid you can’t
depend on me much.”

“No, we go as spectators. The Princess of Dardania is a lady of
literary tastes, and was kind enough to want to see _me_,” said Zoe,
with a side glance at him as she rose. “It is getting a little cold
here, I think. I will write one or two letters in the cabin.”

There was nothing to show whether Wylie had detected any special
meaning in her tone as he escorted her across the deck, and when he
returned to Armitage it was to smoke in silence, as if all his
interest was concentrated on the rocky coast they were passing. The
younger man lost patience.

“Well?” he said, with repressed excitement.

“Well?” returned Wylie.

“Do you find her altered, or not?”

“Much as she was, only more so,” cruelly adapting Zoe’s own
description of her sister-in-law.

Armitage was obviously disappointed. “You have kept up with her
doings, perhaps? I suppose even your exile was lightened by a Society
paper now and then?”

“Don’t know. Didn’t read them if it was.”

“Then you have heard people talk of her? Of course she’s an awfully
well-known woman. When she is in town, one meets her everywhere. Her
travels, you see--and her personality--and her books----”

“Ah, I thought I was intended to understand that she had succeeded in
perpetrating something in that line.”

“Rather!” said Armitage vivaciously, encouraged by the faint hint of
interrogation in the tone. “She’s a success, you know. Not a popular
success--five hundred thousand copies and all that--but with the right
people. All the clever women swear by her. They say she voices the
unrest of the modern woman better than anybody else.”

“Oh yes--misunderstood by her family, unappreciated by her husband,
too lofty to be happy, and too self-contained to be wicked--the usual
jargon,” muttered Wylie impatiently.

“More head than heart,” pursued Armitage, then broke off quickly. “I
say, I believe you’ve been reading them. She calls herself Zeto.”

“What, her books? No, thank you.”

Again a dead stop. But Armitage was not to be baulked.

“I don’t know why you shouldn’t. It would be only natural, surely? You
seemed pretty hard hit when you went.”

“You seem to forget that when I went to the Soudan I put her out of my
head.”

“But could you manage it?”

“Generally, I’m thankful to say.”

“Ah, but not always? Don’t think I’m trying to pry into your affairs,”
burst out Armitage in his boyish way, “but it means a lot to me. I’ll
stand aside without a word if you’re going to ask her again, but if
not---- Well, I might have some little chance.”

“Oh, don’t mind me. I told her I should never ask her again, and I
haven’t the slightest wish to do it. If my swamps and slave-raiders
have done nothing else for me, they have cured me of all that sort of
thing. I’m not bragging--or whatever you might call it--but telling
you a simple fact. Women don’t interest me now, and other things do. I
used to imagine I could combine the two, but now I know better. If my
blessing is all you want to make you happy, go in and win. But if this
business comes to anything, she will be for neither of us. You see
that?”

And while Armitage acquiesced, with a rueful face, Zoe was saying to
herself, as she adjusted her hat in the cabin mirror, “Of course I
never expected him to forgive me the moment he saw me again. It would
have been nice if he had, but it wouldn’t have been a bit like him.”

During the remainder of the voyage down the coast the adventurers made
no further attempt to discuss their prospects. They excited
considerable interest on board the Ungaro-Croata steamer, where the
mutual relations of the handsome lady who had the history and
archæology of the region at her fingers’ ends, the sick officer, and
the “Milordo” with the artistic neckties, who from force of habit was
constantly pulling out a sketch-book and jotting down the bold
outlines of a headland or the handsome face of a fisher-lad, were
freely canvassed, but even the urbane and polyglot captain confessed
himself at a loss. The sick officer knew something of a good many
languages, and asked very telling questions, and both the lady and the
“Milordo” had visited these parts before; but they all talked so
freely that there was no chance of finding out anything more about
them, averred the worthy sailor. He and a few of his passengers
enjoyed a mild sensation when the steamer reached the little
red-roofed town, whose white houses seemed to rise sheer from the blue
water, where the three English were to land. Here an elderly man,
whose spectacled eyes gave the impression of an incongruous contrast
with his aquiline profile, came on board to meet them, and bowed over
Zoe’s hand with a respect that was almost reverential; but the
spectators could hear nothing of the colloquy that ensued while the
luggage was being got on shore.

“I come as the messenger of your august brother, madame,” he said. “He
thought it well you should know that he enters on this campaign not as
Mr Teffany, but as Prince Maurice Theophanis.”

“Which means that I am to call myself Princess Zoe, I suppose? This is
the Princess’s doing, of course?”

“Her advice, and mine also, went farther, madame, but the Prince
declines to style himself Imperial Highness--far less Emperor--until
his claims are recognised. He has taken the present step almost
entirely with the view of preventing embarrassment to the Prince of
Dardania.”

“Surely it will rather cause him embarrassment?” began Zoe
hesitatingly, and Wylie broke in.

“Have you made sure of your ground, Professor? An ambiguous position
is awkward enough, but the Prince of Dardania may not relish finding
himself committed to support the Theophanis claims, and it would be
more awkward if he repudiated his invitation.”

The Professor scarcely vouchsafed him a glance. “Madame,” he said to
Zoe, “your brother’s friends have not been idle in anticipation of his
arrival. The Prince of Dardania is already committed in private to our
cause, which will assure him, if it succeeds, the possession of
Illyria. In this his brother-in-law, the King of Magnagrecia, is
equally interested, so that we have already attached one of the great
Powers to our side. It is to the three Liberal Powers, England,
Neustria, and Magnagrecia, that we look for support in our effort to
rescue Emathia from the Roumi yoke, and in bringing forward as our
proposed High Commissioner--for we go no further as yet--a man not
only chosen by the Emathian leaders themselves, but distinguished by
European approval, we offer them a means of intervention such as they
have never yet enjoyed.”

“Oh, Professor Panagiotis has thought it all out!” laughed Armitage.
“Wylie, you and I must take a back seat. You are aide-de-camp, I
suppose--or equerry, which is it?--and I am--what am I? Oh,
lord-in-waiting, of course.”

“You are both Maurice’s good friends, who have come to help him, not
to be his servants,” said Zoe quickly.

“Pardon me, Princess,” said Wylie, very distinctly. “We are your
brother’s servants. We have come here for nothing but to put ourselves
under his orders--to help him to his rights if we can, but not to
claim any share in his confidence.”

He fell behind with Armitage, perhaps not caring to face the blankness
of Zoe’s look as she accepted mechanically the Professor’s assistance
across the rough stones of the jetty. The younger man seemed hardly
satisfied, and Wylie answered his unspoken question.

“Must show at once that we see how the land lies. I know these
fellows’ jealousy of any influence but their own. If they are not to
bring Teffany’s future to smash by working against us, we must be
content to remain in the background. I suppose he’s not much better
fitted to cope with them than he used to be--not a full-blown
statesman yet, or even a diplomat?”

“Thank goodness, no! Absolutely straight, good man of business, steady
as Old Time, happiest when he’s playing the country squire. But the
Princess--she’s a diplomatist, or anything you like. You’ll understand
what an imperial bearing means when you see her, if you don’t now.”




 CHAPTER II.
 REVOLUTION AND ROSE-WATER.

Princess Eirene Theophanis sat alone in the garden at Bashi Konak,
her fingers busied with embroidery, her mind with the progress made by
her husband’s cause since their arrival at the little Dardanian
capital. The Prince of Dardania was a true friend, an ally to be
depended upon. Eirene had felt this from the moment she perceived that
he had sent his brother-in-law in command of the guard which was to
meet the travellers at the frontier and escort them to the city. True,
Colonel Roburoff was only a handsome Scythian officer with whom
Princess Ludmilla of Dardania had made a runaway match, but her
brother had taken the couple back into favour, and the successful
adventurer commanded his Guard. That he should be sent to receive
Prince and Princess Theophanis showed a just sense of their exact
position, as claimants _de jure_ of a right not yet recognised _de
facto_, paying a private visit from which important public events
might hereafter develop. The same consideration had been shown in
allotting them quarters. Colonel Roburoff had apologised for the fact
that they were accommodated, not at the Palace, but in a house hired
for the occasion, on the ground that the royal dwelling was already
inconveniently crowded, but had pointed out, with due mystery, the
superior opportunities thus afforded for conference with friends and
supporters. Moreover, on the occasion of the meeting at the frontier,
Zoe had received, from a confidential attendant of the Princess of
Dardania, a bouquet gathered, so she was assured, by the royal hands
themselves, and concealing a little scented note which read, “To the
profound, the accomplished Zeto, from the humblest of her admirers,
Emilia.” Even now Zoe was spending the morning at the Palace,
whither she had been summoned by a special messenger to cheer the
Princess, who was prevented by slight indisposition from accompanying
her husband to the arena to watch the games. Eirene reflected with
pleasure that not only was this romantic friendship beneficial in the
extreme to the Theophanis cause, but also that the Princess’s devotion
was likely to keep Zoe a good deal out of Wylie’s way.

There was an old feud between Eirene and Wylie, which had only been
temporarily bridged over when Zoe’s rejection of him called forth her
sympathies. He had seldom shown the Princess sufficient deference to
satisfy her, though he was never otherwise than polite, and she had an
uneasy suspicion that he despised the various little assumptions by
which she sought to assert her dignity. Maurice gave her no support in
these matters, she thought bitterly, and she was sure she had caught
Armitage laughing when she hinted that it was more correct to say he
had gone out “in attendance on” the Prince than merely “with” him.
Why, even when they were about to enter the royal carriages sent to
convey them to Bashi Konak, Maurice had flatly refused to let Zoe sit
with her back to the horses. “But you are the Emperor, Maurice,” his
wife had pleaded. “I’m not Emperor yet,” he replied promptly; “and
when I am, if the imperial funds don’t run to a separate carriage for
Zoe, one or other of us will stay at home.” Trials like this made
Eirene almost despair of her husband. Other people might think such
things trifles, but to her, brought up in a Court, their real
importance was manifest. How was Maurice ever to assume his proper
place if he would not submit to the rules governing his caste? Even
his wife could not prevent him from taking his own line. When she had
succeeded in goading him to a certain course of action, as often as
not he would somehow contrive to carry it out in a wholly unexpected
way. It was he who had sent for Wylie, and disconcerted her grievously
by doing so, for she had relied on his English dislike for foreigners
to keep him isolated from his supporters and dependent on her for
counsel. It did not mollify her displeasure when, in answer to her
remonstrances, he remarked, “I want one honest man at my back that I
can trust, to look after you and Zoe and the little chap, if anything
happens to me.” “I could trust our people,” she had said
reproachfully; to which he replied, “Oh, could you? I couldn’t,” and
went out to post his letter. And here was Wylie established as
Maurice’s guide, philosopher, and friend, in no way inclined,
apparently, to presume upon the favour shown him, but still the one
man in whom Zoe had ever shown more than a contemptuous interest.
Almost unconsciously, Eirene had come to regard her sister-in-law,
during the last few years of planning and plotting, as an asset that
might be valuable, rejoicing when she refused various eligible offers.
But of what avail were those refusals if she turned again, after all,
to the man for whose sake they were made? If only Zoe could have been
safely engaged to some desirable person before Wylie reappeared on the
scene! As that was not the case, however, it was a moral duty to keep
her from throwing herself away on an obviously unsuitable man, who
could contribute nothing but his sword to further the great cause, and
whose loyalty was already certain.

While these thoughts were passing through Eirene’s mind, some one came
into sight at the end of the garden path, some one who was cheerfully
contributing a good deal more than a sword to the cause. Princess
Theophanis knew, though her husband did not, the exact nature of the
cargo carried at the present moment by Armitage’s yacht, which was
cruising at large without its owner in the eastern Mediterranean, and
paying only rare and hurried visits to territorial waters. Armitage
was a valuable asset without any drawbacks such as attached to Wylie,
and Eirene felt that Maurice had shown even more than his usual
unwisdom in declining to accede to her suggestion, and dispense with
his old friend’s services, when she announced that Armitage would take
part in their venture. She met him with a friendly smile as he came
towards her down the path.

“I have just had a letter from Waters--that’s my captain--which will
relieve your mind, ma’am,” he said. “It was all a false alarm about
that Pannonian man-of-war they thought was shadowing them. Waters took
a bold course and went on board her to ask if they could give him any
news of me, and they paid him a return visit quite in an unsuspicious
spirit.”

“I wish we could get rid of the arms,” said Eirene anxiously. “The
slightest accident, or an incautious remark from one of your crew,
might----”

“Give the whole show away,” supplied Armitage, as she paused. “I
suppose we could arrange to hand the things over to one of the bands
if we could fix on the right spot to land them; but I thought that
wasn’t what you wanted, ma’am?”

“No, no; of course not! It is absolutely essential that we should keep
a supply in our own hands, that we may not be dependent upon any of
the Committees. And we must not land and conceal it on any of the
islands, in case it should be necessary to act suddenly. Even now I
fear we may not be able to communicate with your yacht quickly enough
in case of a crisis.”

“I have thought of a way of doing that, ma’am. Waters is lying at
present in a little harbour called Pentikosti, just to the south of
the Dardanian frontier. He has made friends with the Roumi officials,
and applied a little palm-oil judiciously, giving them to understand
that I may come down over the mountains at any time, and the yacht is
to wait for me. They will give him every facility for hearing from us,
and he will stand on and off outside the harbour, and keep a good
look-out both ways.”

“It is excellent!” said Eirene warmly. “Your ingenuity is as admirable
as your helpfulness, Lord Armitage. I trust that one day I shall be
able to reward both.”

Such phrases were often on Eirene’s lips, as in the days when they had
been received with mingled scorn and resentment by her ignorant
fellow-travellers, but it was a novelty for them to be welcomed as
this was.

“I don’t know about one day,” said Armitage, with desperate boldness.
“You could do something for me now, ma’am, that would leave me in your
debt for ever.”

She looked at him with surprise plainly tinged with displeasure, but
her voice was no less gracious than before. “In our present
circumstances I had hardly hoped to be able to reward our friends
otherwise than by my thanks, so I am happier than I thought. What is
there that the Prince and I can do for you, Lord Armitage?”

“It is Princess Zoe--I love her,” he broke out. “If I could make her
care for me, would you oppose it?”

Eirene’s first impulse was to gain time for thought. “But you--I never
thought of you,” she said confusedly. “It was always--I mean, you are
not the person.”

“I have cared for her ever since the night I first saw her by the
camp-fire under Hadgi-Antoniou,” he answered; “but of course I knew
how it was with Wylie, and I tried to put all thought of her out of my
head. And I was always so hard-up in those days, too; I had nothing to
offer her. Then when the title and all the rest of it came to me,
there was still Wylie to think of; I made sure he would come back some
day and ask her again, and she would have him. But now that he has
given up all thoughts of her----”

“Given up all thoughts of her!” repeated Eirene. “How can you possibly
know?”

“He told me,” said Armitage, unshaken. “Said that that sort of thing
didn’t interest him now.”

“Oh, but that’s only because he is feeling ill and miserable,” said
Eirene quickly, but checked herself. After all, even if this change of
feeling on Wylie’s part was only temporary, why not take advantage of
it? A marriage between Armitage and Zoe might not be all that her
ambition had planned, but it offered certain solid benefits. Eirene
was not blind to the fact that the support of a British peer, with an
ancient title and a fair amount of wealth, had already proved useful
in investing the Theophanis cause with an atmosphere of
plausibility--even respectability, and it would be a wise stroke to
attach him permanently to the family. There could be no question of
putting pressure on Zoe, of course, and Maurice, in his
unreasonableness, would see to it that the final decision rested
freely with her; but pending the prospect of a more magnificent
alliance, there could be no harm in not destroying Armitage’s hopes.
Eirene spoke low and confidentially. “I can make no promises for Zoe,”
she said; “for what you have told me may surprise her as much as it
does me, but I see no reason--at any rate at present--why she should
refuse you. Certainly I can promise that I shall not set myself
against the idea.”

“You are awfully good, ma’am. I don’t think I could be more interested
in Teffany’s--I mean the Prince’s--cause than I was before, but it
makes one frightfully keen to feel that one’s in it oneself in a sort
of way. I know I have nothing to offer Princess Zoe compared with what
she might expect, but----”

“I have found my happiness in marrying an English gentleman, and I can
wish nothing better for my sister,” said Eirene, with something of
reproof in her voice, and Armitage wondered how he had erred. He could
not know that the mere suspicion of failure in the great scheme, the
hint at a possible future in which Lord Armitage would once more be a
bridegroom in no way to be despised by the sister of Maurice Teffany
of Stone Acton, had become intolerable to Eirene. Zoe had misjudged
her when she told Wylie that Mr Teffany-Wise’s legacy had led her to
make a religion of the Theophanis claims. It was the birth of her son,
in whose veins ran the blood of both the elder and younger lines of
the descendants of John Theophanis, that had roused afresh in Eirene
the ambition which had slumbered a little under her husband’s
influence during the first years of their marriage. Constantine
Theophanis must yet sit on the throne of Czarigrad, and be invested
with the imperial diadem in the cathedral of Hagion Pneuma, and to
this end his parents must submit, if necessary, to the humiliating
task of accepting office as the nominees of the Powers, to
masquerading as temporary tenants where they were the rightful
inheritors. This Eirene could do without a murmur, but she could not
contemplate returning unsuccessful to Stone Acton, to meet the
half-veiled contempt of the acquaintances whose friendly advances she
had rebuffed, and to hear them ask whether she and Mr Teffany thought
of sending their little boy to the Grammar-school in the neighbouring
town? “No? and the education is so thoroughly good! A public school?
Mr Teffany was at Harrow? Oh, of course, but in these days of reduced
rents---- And boys picked up such expensive ideas at public schools.”
Eirene drew in her breath sharply, and said, in the tone which
Armitage had learnt to interpret as a dismissal, “You may rely on me.
If you want my advice at any time I shall be delighted to give it. Do
I see Professor Panagiotis coming through the house? Bring him to me
at once, please.”

Armitage obeyed, retiring when he had finished his errand. The
Professor waited until he was out of sight before he spoke. “You have
received further news from Scythia, madame?” he asked then, but rather
as though stating a fact than putting a question. Eirene, who had
guessed before this that he contrived to make acquaintance with at
least the outside of the letters intended for his nominal employers,
betrayed no resentment.

“Yes, I have another letter from the Grand-Duchess Sonya,” she said;
“and I can hardly doubt that she writes with the knowledge of the
Empress. The tone is markedly friendly, and she speaks more than once
of the sympathy with which they are watching events here, and their
strong hope that the Prince will be able to prove his title.”

The Professor’s face did not show the satisfaction that might have
been expected. “It is too good,” he said. “I distrust this excessive
amiability.”

“I think they are surprised at our strength,” said Eirene quickly,
“and already bidding for our future support.”

“Without an effort to realise the hopes of centuries, which our
success would frustrate?” asked the Professor. “No, madame. There is
something behind. It is this warm encouragement that perplexes me.
Tacit sympathy I should have expected, but coupled with warnings
against rashness, and with every other recommendation that might tend
to cause delay.”

“But they cannot know how fast we are moving,” she urged eagerly. “You
yourself have said that the reasonableness of the delegates astonishes
you.”

“True, madame; the impression produced by his Highness is most
gratifying, Greek and Slav both believing that they have found their
champion in him. The military proposals of Colonel Wylie have also
been well received. But as I said just now, it is too good. I should
wish to see more opposition. Knives have not been drawn once during
the sittings. One delegate’s hand went to his revolver during a
discussion which had become a little heated, but the Prince borrowed
the weapon at once to look at, and kept it on the table before him the
rest of the morning.”

“Ah, you see, they know him already, and they do not care to oppose
him. Our task will be shorter than we expected. The delegates will
swear allegiance to him, and he will have Christian Emathia at his
feet. Then----”

“Then, madame, we shall have to deal with the Powers--a very different
matter. The conscience of Europe has to be roused before they can be
induced to intervene.”

“By massacres, I suppose?” Eirene shuddered. “The Prince will never
agree to that.”

“The Prince will not be consulted, madame. The lamented philanthropist
to whom the Emathia of the future owes so much recognised that in
certain qualities your Royal Highness has the advantage over your
husband, while in other respects he is superior. It is this
combination that is of such promise for your future rule. You will not
shrink from the measures necessary to bring that rule about.”

“No, it would be criminal to hold back now.”

“Madame, you put into words my very thoughts. Assume--though I cannot
believe it possible--that this conference closes next week, having
arrived at a unanimous decision to support your husband. There will be
just time for the delegates to return to their districts before the
snow melts sufficiently to allow of the movement of troops. The Roumis
are already irritated by our successes of the autumn, and the attacks
that have been made even during the winter on their outposts. They
will be in a mood to act energetically, and repress all outbreaks with
severity. You know what that means. Outbreaks will occur. They will be
put down. The details will be spread far and wide. Christendom will be
roused, will send representatives to inquire into the state of
affairs. We shall continue to resist. The Roumis will continue to act
with vigour. The Powers inquire into our demands. We desire a
constitutional government under the suzerainty of Roum, but with a
Christian Governor appointed by the Powers and responsible to them,
and for the post we suggest the descendant of our ancient Emperors, to
whose banner all sections of Christians in Emathia are willing to
rally. We may not at first obtain all we ask, but Minoa has taught us
the value of perseverance.”

“But if the Roumis should not act with severity?” broke in Eirene.
“This new Greek Vali of Therma, appointed in response to the protests
of the Powers in the autumn--he will not promote massacres.”

“For Skopiadi Pasha’s influence I would give that!” cried the
Professor, snapping his fingers. “It is not he who rules,--he has
enough to do to look after his own safety,--but the Military Governor,
Jalal-ud-din Pasha. He commands the troops in the city and in the
field; he is one of the old school, and believes in prompt repression.
He would not hesitate to arrange for Skopiadi’s removal if he opposed
him--and truly we could ask for nothing better!”

“At least,” urged Eirene, “let there be as little bloodshed as
possible. Could we not contrive to rescue and arm the threatened
Christians before they could be massacred? Lord Armitage’s yacht, with
plenty of rifles and cartridges on board, is lying at Pentikosti,
ready to sail night or day.”

“And then where would be our moral effect on the minds of the Powers,
madame? You are like most ladies who indulge in revolutions--willing
to assent to any amount of bloodshed provided it takes place out of
your sight and hearing. A massacre is necessary, but you may well
salve your conscience by laying the blame on the Powers, who will be
moved by nothing else.”

“I think you have an appointment to meet Dr Terminoff now that the
games are over for the morning?” Eirene rose with marked displeasure,
which the Professor chose to disregard.

“I am honoured by your recollection, madame. You may rely on me to
keep you informed of any new points that may arise. May I also depend
on you for early information of any suspicious circumstances that
strike you? It is some underground action on the part of Pannonia that
I fear, for her silence, coupled with the benevolence of Scythia,
upsets all my calculations.”




 CHAPTER III.
 THE RIVAL HEIR.

At the Palace, Zoe was enjoying a new experience, and enjoying not
least the humorous side of it, for she was not one of the people who
can never see anything funny in what concerns themselves.
Entertainments given in her honour, and lavish compliments, were no
novelty to her, but she had never hitherto met with the whole-hearted
devotion shown by her youthful hostess. A very young girl when the
Prince of Dardania carried her captive by the force of a masterful
personality and a touch of Eastern fascination, Princess Emilia had
felt it to be extremely romantic that after one sight of her he should
have broken off the engagement arranged for him by his mother, and
refused to marry any one but the little sister of the Magnagrecian
monarch. Her brother, the king, yielded to the demand of the two
lovers, and Princess Emilia left the greatest centre of culture in
Southern Europe to reign over a nation of half-barbarous mountaineers,
and incidentally to introduce a new issue and a new complication into
the Balkan question. Dardania was now no longer to be regarded as the
faithful henchman of Scythia, she looked westwards instead of east;
and her Prince had announced publicly that he desired no accession of
territory on the Emathian side, while not denying that the rocky coast
region of Illyria had attractions which would make him and his
Magnagrecian brother-in-law very willing to police and civilise it in
unison. Princess Emilia cared nothing for politics, save in their
romantic aspect. She thought her husband’s self-denying ordinance with
respect to Emathia was most noble, and the Theophanis claim to the
throne of the Eastern Empire filled her with enthusiasm, though this
was less by reason of its intrinsic merits than because Maurice was
Zoe’s brother. Brought up in a highly literary society, the Princess
suffered from a kind of mental starvation in her new sphere, for which
she tried to compensate herself in every way open to her. She was an
omnivorous reader and a born critic, and her favourite maid-of-honour,
Donna Olimpia Pazzi, shared her mistress’s tastes, though in a minor
degree, as was becoming. Together they plied Zoe with questions and
comments on every book ever written, made her read portions of her own
novels aloud to them, recited the great poems of their native land
with an accent that enhanced the beauty of the words, and called in
the Court bard, who held a hereditary place in the household of the
Alexeiévitch family, that they might translate to her his wild
ballads of border war and revenge. On this particular morning they
enjoyed themselves so thoroughly that when the Prince returned from
the games he scoffed openly at his wife’s plea of indisposition, and
wished he had thought of escaping some very dull gymnastic contests in
the same way. When he left them, Princess Emilia linked her arm in
Zoe’s, and walked down with her through the Palace garden to the gate
by which the house allotted to the Theophanis party was reached.

“You must promise me again that nothing shall prevent you from coming
to the reception to-night,” she said. “It is our last chance of
welcoming our own friends in peace before my mother-in-law arrives.”

“The Dowager Princess comes to-morrow, doesn’t she?” asked Zoe.
Princess Emilia assented with a little grimace.

“Yes, and she says it is because she is yearning to see us again,
though she hates me, and can’t forgive Alexis for marrying me. She is
really coming to spy, I know. She wishes to see whether your brother
is likely to succeed, and endanger her dear Kazimir’s future. You know
she hopes to make him Prince of Emathia?”

“I know, and I have often wondered--though perhaps I ought not to say
it--why the Prince of Dardania doesn’t support his brother rather than
a stranger.”

“Oh, Kazimir is a thorough Scythian,--he is in the Imperial Guard, you
know,--and Alexis and he have never agreed. And perhaps it was a
little my doing, too. The Princess Dowager had made herself so very
disagreeable that I wasn’t sorry when I found out a way to punish her.
You think me very wicked? Wait till you see my mother-in-law!”

“I have heard plenty about her,” said Zoe, with an involuntary smile,
“and I certainly don’t expect to like her. But she has had rather a
sad life lately, hasn’t she? All her plans seem to have gone wrong for
the last few years.”

“Then she shouldn’t make such unpleasant plans. You can’t expect me to
be glad that her plan for marrying Alexis to that Scythian girl
failed?” She drew up her small figure with mock dignity, and Zoe
acknowledged that this would be too much to expect. “My mother-in-law
has no feeling for romance,” Princess Emilia went on, “though her own
marriage was so romantic. All the matches she promotes are cold,
calculating, political things. Now I--I palpitate with romance to the
tips of my fingers!” she flung them out airily. “That is the sole want
I find in you, my sweetest Zeto. You have plenty of romance somewhere
about you, but it is all shut up inside you and locked tight, when it
ought to overflow into your life. Dearest, indulge me; allow me the
chance of arranging a little romance for you!”

“No, thanks,” said Zoe, with a little shiver. “Romances in real life
are uncomfortable things, and I’m not sure that people are not
happiest without them.”

“Ah, there is your cold, cautious English spirit--afraid to take the
plunge for fear of the consequences! We Magnagrecians are not like
that. I waited--oh, so eagerly!--for my romance, and now I live in it.
And Olimpia, she is waiting for hers. You can see it in her eyes,
can’t you? But you--you hold back; you put out your hands to push
romance away; you cry out, ‘Leave me alone! I don’t wish to lose my
peace of mind for the sake of a possible overwhelming joy.’”

The vivacious pantomime with which the Princess illustrated her idea
of her friend’s mental attitude was irresistible, and Zoe was moved,
for peace’ sake, to an imperfect confession.

“You and Donna Olimpia are both very young,” she said. “I have had my
romance, and it is over.”

Momentary dismay was succeeded by renewed satisfaction on Princess
Emilia’s face. “You shall tell me all about it some day,” she said.
“But it is over, is it not?--quite over?” Zoe’s unwilling affirmative
seemed to herself like the irrevocable stamping-down of earth upon a
grave, but the Princess did not realise the reason of her reluctance.
“Then all is well,” she continued enthusiastically. “That is past,
done with, but romance is still alive in your heart, and you shall
forget that old sadness in a happier present. You will not hold aloof;
you will yield yourself to me; is it not so? Do not make me unhappy by
refusing happiness if I can put it into your power.”

For a moment Zoe really imagined that the Princess had in some way
learnt her story, had penetrated the secret of the gradual death of
her hopes as Wylie went serenely on his remorseless way, seeming to be
utterly oblivious of the old days when he had been the suppliant, and
Zoe had shown herself callous. The bitterness of hope deferred was in
her voice as she answered with a catch in her breath, “If I have
learnt nothing else since those days, I have, at any rate, learnt to
take happiness when it is offered--not to put it off to the future.”

“Ah, I knew you would be reasonable!” cried the Princess, not
realising that she was about to destroy the hope so lightly raised.
“Then listen. Dear, dear Zeto, you have never met Apolis?”

“The author of ‘Rêves d’Exil’?” Zoe forced herself to answer. “No--I
think not; I am sure I have not.”

“He is coming to-night!” announced Princess Emilia, almost with awe.
“We met him in Paris; he is the incarnation of romance. You see my
plan, then? Here is this gifted poet, himself a disappointed
being,--his works show that, don’t they?--and you, cherishing the
memory of a dead romance. Why should you not console one another?
Think what books you might write in collaboration!”

Zoe’s first impulse was to laugh at the thought of this unknown poet
and herself uniting the pageants of their respective bleeding hearts
for the edification of Europe, but Princess Emilia was gazing at her
with an affection and anxiety hard to resist. “Say you will be kind to
him. It is my dearest, most cherished scheme,” she was murmuring.

“I won’t turn my back on him when he is introduced, Principessina,”
Zoe assured her. “But I must honestly tell you that your prospect
doesn’t appeal to me. I never do care for men of letters in daily
life--as witness the Professor. What I like is a man of action.”

“But if Apolis is also a man of action?” said the Princess
mysteriously. “Ah, I must not say more, but you cannot imagine how
much it might mean to your brother if you could attach him to your
cause, and that can only be by attaching him to yourself.”

“A sort of private Byron?” suggested Zoe scoffingly, but Princess
Emilia was evidently deeply in earnest.

“You don’t know what hangs upon it,” she repeated as she let Zoe out
of the gate, and again Zoe wondered at the importance in her voice.

At the Palace in the evening the reception was of an informal kind,
the Prince and Princess moving about among their guests and talking
freely. It was especially a literary party, so that instead of the
Balkanic athletes who had been prominent at these gatherings of late,
the winners in the poetic competitions and the European press
representatives formed the majority of those present. Very early in
the evening Princess Emilia brought a slender, handsome young man, of
an unmistakably Greek type of face, up to Zoe.

“I now have the pleasure of fulfilling one of my life’s ambitions,”
she said prettily, “in presenting Apolis to Zeto.”

“And in doing so, madame, you gratify my own chief desire,” was the
ready reply of the poet.

Zoe sought in vain for any remark equally compatible with truth and
responsive to his politeness, but her failure passed unnoticed, for he
was quite capable of taking charge of the conversation without her
assistance. He had solved the difficulty of talking about himself
without appearing egotistical, by regarding his own history entirely
from a literary point of view, producing, as it were, a monograph from
it in response to any turn of the talk. Zoe found it quite interesting
to note the ingenuity with which he adapted the most hopeless
conditions to his purpose, though she was conscious of an uneasy doubt
as to the literal veracity of all the experiences he described. When
she came to analyse them afterwards, however, she discovered that he
had mentioned very few facts, since most of his descriptions concerned
feelings and impressions which he had experienced, or might have
experienced, in given circumstances. The principal landmarks which
emerged from the flood were a long sojourn in Paris, and the cause
which led to it, a quarrel with his father--recounted with exquisite
but not exactly filial humour--over a beautiful girl whom he had not
been allowed to marry. For her sake, therefore, he was an exile from
the rocky island, the beloved home of his forefathers, in the
unsympathetic West.

“That is the lady to whom you have written as Meteora?” asked Zoe.
“Was it her real name?”

“In my earlier poems--yes, mademoiselle. Let me see, what was her real
name--Xenocraté? Praxinoë? I cannot remember! How a man’s memory
betrays him!”

“But some of the poems to Meteora were among the latest in the book!”
objected Zoe.

“To her latest incarnation, mademoiselle. I see the ideal Meteora
under the form of many a very unideal woman, alas! Love is one, but
the lover perceives it in more places than one.”

“You are frank, monsieur.” Zoe was reflecting how singularly agreeable
this theory must be for the poet, and how very inconvenient for the
ladies who enjoyed successively the honour of embodying his ideal.

“I am, mademoiselle. I had flattered myself that frankness was the
personal note of my work, but it seems that this has not suggested
itself to you.”

“Certainly I noticed that Meteora’s personal appearance seemed to
vary.”

“Exactly, mademoiselle. Where beauty is, there is the loved one.” His
eyes strayed to the graceful figure of Donna Olimpia Pazzi, as she
passed them on an errand for the Princess. “Why should such details as
the colour of eyes and hair interfere with the course of love?”

“Why, indeed?” said Zoe. “What a _poseur_ the man is!” she thought
impatiently. “Would Emilia consider it unkind if I passed him on to
some one else now?” Looking round for a way of escape, her eyes
encountered the fixed gaze of Professor Panagiotis, who had been
walking through the rooms with Maurice, but had stopped dead, and was
staring at her companion with something like stupefaction. Maurice
turned impatiently to see why he was waiting, but the Professor
grasped his arm and drew him towards Zoe, whom he addressed in tones
like distant thunder.

“Will you have the goodness, madame, to present that gentleman to his
Highness your brother?”

“It is rather difficult, since I only know his pseudonym,” said Zoe.
“This is Apolis, the poet, Maurice.”

“Say, rather, this is Prince Romanos Christodoridi, the hereditary
enemy of your line,” the Professor corrected her savagely. “Pray,
monsieur, how did you come here?”

“I do not acknowledge the right of this person to question me,” said
the poet, turning from the Professor and addressing himself to
Maurice. “You, sir, are my opponent, I presume. Have you anything to
ask?”

“I should certainly be glad to know your object in coming to Bashi
Konak,” said Maurice.

“Nothing is simpler, sir--to assert my cause. I learn that
negotiations are proceeding here which may gravely prejudice my
rights, and I determine to watch over them in person. The
Christodoridis are not entirely without friends, even though Professor
Panagiotis has chosen to transfer his valuable support to the opposite
party.”

“It was time to transfer my support when your father refused to
contribute a drachma of his hoarded wealth to the cause on which my
whole fortune has been lavished!” burst forth the Professor.

“I refused nothing,--but then I had no hoarded wealth,” said Prince
Romanos with dignity. “If money is to liberate Emathia, I acknowledge
that Mr Teffany--oh, pardon me; Prince Theophanis, I think?--has the
advantage over one who can offer only his pen and his sword; but
nothing shall withhold me from contributing my worthless life to the
cause of freedom, and requesting Emathia to judge between us.”

“So be it!” said Maurice, holding out his hand. “We are enemies, but
friendly ones, I hope. Together we will do our best to free Emathia,
and then she shall judge.”

“Sir, you are mad! Impossible!” protested Professor Panagiotis, but
Prince Romanos bowed like a duellist about to engage.

“I accept your courtesy, Prince. My freedom of action I must preserve,
but there need be no personal enmity between us. That would indeed be
impossible in the presence of my accomplished _confrère_, the
Princess your sister.”

The elaborate bow towards Zoe, with which he concluded, carried
comfort to the anxious heart of Princess Emilia, watching from a
distance. In her relief she seized upon Eirene as the nearest
available person to whom she could pour forth her feelings.

“I was so frightened!” she said breathlessly. “It was so like a scene
in the theatre,--the meeting of the rival heirs,--and they might have
fought, or anything.”

“But who is the man?” asked Eirene, in bewilderment.

“Oh, Prince Christodoridi’s son Romanos, the other claimant, you know.
When he wrote to my husband that he understood we were promoting a
negotiation that gravely concerned his interests, we couldn’t wait to
ask how he had heard of it, we could only invite him here. My husband
wished to tell you at once, but I persuaded him to let the meeting be
a surprise. I wanted Prince Romanos to meet my dear Zeto and fall in
love with her without knowing who she was, so that there could be no
quarrelling when it became known that he was here.”

“But what good could it do if he did fall in love with her?” asked
Eirene blankly, her mind running upon the various disastrous
consequences that were bound to ensue from this most inconvenient
intrusion.

“Oh, but he could not fight against her brother then!” said Princess
Emilia with conviction. “And Zeto might say she would not marry him
unless he consented to acknowledge Prince Theophanis as the rightful
heir. Of course I hoped she would fall in love with him too, because
then she could make him do anything she wanted. That was why I did not
tell her who he was, lest she should steel her heart against him as
the enemy of her family.”

“It would have done no good if we had known of his coming earlier,”
murmured Eirene, still intent upon her own thoughts. “We should not
have been able to do anything,--it is not time yet.”

Princess Emilia listened with a puzzled face. “But you do think mine
was a good plan, don’t you?” she asked. “I can’t quite decide whether
it has succeeded or not yet, but you would be glad if it did?”

“Glad? Oh, yes!” laughed Eirene drearily. “But you don’t realise that
Zoe is not the right girl to make a plan like that succeed. And he is
not the right man.”

The worst forebodings of Eirene and the Professor were justified by
the effect produced on the Emathian delegates by the appearance of
Prince Romanos. All the animosities and differences of opinion which
had begun to show signs of slumbering broke out afresh, and purely
practical questions were shelved indefinitely in view of the primary
importance of a disputed title. Among the bewildering complexities of
race, religion, and political feeling that divided the delegates, it
became gradually clear that while the Slavs, with whom went those of
Scythian sympathies, were on Maurice’s side, the Greeks, and with them
the friends of Pannonian ascendency, took that of Prince Romanos. A
small group of Greeks--the personal adherents of Professor
Panagiotis--remained faithful to Maurice, and an irreconcilable party,
headed by Lazar Nilischeff, advocated the cutting of the Gordian knot
by a request to Thracia to take over the whole of Emathia, while there
were isolated supporters of similar action on the part of Mœsia and
Morea. Still, the salient fact was that the harmony, and therefore the
advantage, of the conference was destroyed. It was no use continuing
to thresh out the questions from the discussion of which the rough
draft of a constitution had gradually been emerging; and even Wylie’s
scheme of raising a body of Sikhs, time-expired soldiers of the Indian
army, as the nucleus of a central police, which had been warmly
welcomed on the one hand and as violently opposed on the other, had
lost its interest. As the less educated among the delegates demanded
with one voice, whenever any attempt was made to continue the
interrupted deliberations, what was the good of fiddling about details
when the essential question, Who was to rule Emathia as the nominee of
the Powers and the people? was still undecided. Passing _popas_ were
seized upon and catechised, and expeditions were made to interrogate
mountain hermits of special sanctity, with the result of a wonderfully
varied collection of answers. Was Maurice Theophanis, descendant in
the direct line of the elder son of the Emperor John, debarred from
succeeding by the fact that neither his immediate ancestors nor
himself were members of the Orthodox Church? Did her marriage with a
schismatic also invalidate the claim of his wife Eirene, descended
from the younger son of John Theophanis? And in view of this flaw, was
the otherwise inferior claim of the Christodoridi family, who sprang
only from a female descendant of the Emperor, that which ought to
prevail?

The arguments were interminable and warm, and the arbitrators to whom
it was suggested to refer the matter ranged from the Hercynian Emperor
to the President of the United States. Prince Romanos himself adhered
firmly to the condition he had announced on his first appearance
before the delegates. He was prepared to submit his claim to the
arbitration of the Œcumenical Patriarch, and abide by his decision.
Could anything be fairer, as the question was one of religion? Since
it was practically a foregone conclusion that the Patriarch would
decide in favour of the Orthodox candidate of Orthodox descent,
Maurice and his supporters were unable to feel the same confidence in
his impartiality, but a rift began to make itself felt between the
Emathian Slavs and those with Scythian sympathies. The latter, though
usually much opposed to the claims of the Patriarch, supported the
reference of the matter to him, and in consequence of this defection
it became clear that, in case of a division, Maurice would be
outvoted. This point was not actually reached, but on the adjournment
of the debate Professor Panagiotis hurried to Eirene.

“This is what I feared!” he cried. “It is an arrangement between
Scythia and Pannonia. In order to gain time, one of them will support
your husband, the other the Christodoridis, and they will both favour
a reference to the Œcumenical Patriarch, who will take from a year to
a year and a half to give his decision. We can do nothing until the
snow melts, and yet, unless we can checkmate this plan, we are
condemned to a delay that will be fatal to our hopes.”

“We must try to work on Prince Romanos,” suggested Eirene, but not
cheerfully. “The Princess of Dardania is very anxious that he should
marry Princess Zoe.”

“Ah, if that might be!” cried the Professor quickly. “But it is too
much to hope.”

“But what good could it do?” asked Eirene, as she had asked of
Princess Emilia. “He would hardly withdraw his claim through affection
for her.”

“No, but if he marries her, he marries a schismatic, and his claim
becomes infinitely weaker than your own,” was the fierce answer. Their
eyes met, and Eirene drew a long breath. If Zoe’s fate had depended
upon the deliberations of these two plotters, it would have been
settled there and then.




 CHAPTER IV.
 THE STERN PARENT.

“Dear Zeto, why are you so unkind to poor Apolis?”

“I wish I could be, Principessina; it would do him good. But he sees
nothing that he doesn’t wish to see.”

“Oh, but he feels it dreadfully. That poem which he addressed to
you--how could you have the heart to read it aloud? It brought the
tears to my eyes.”

“But it wasn’t addressed to me personally, you know. It was to the
ideal love whom he sees in all women that are not actually old and
ugly.”

“Ah, now you are unjust, and I can prove it to you. He has confessed
to me that he knew before he came who Zeto was, and that he consented
to conceal his identity because he hoped to win your favour before you
had been prejudiced against him.”

“There is no prejudice whatever. The man doesn’t appeal to me. Can’t
you realise that he hasn’t a chance? Why, I must be much more romantic
than you really. You think one ought to be able to settle down
comfortably with the second-best when one has missed the best, but
that’s what I can’t do. The better the thing one has lost, the worse
is the punishment of wanting it when one can’t have it, but that’s
only fair, when the loss was one’s own fault.” There was a kind of
soothing finality in speaking as if the loss in question had been
irrevocably incurred a long time ago, not left hanging in doubt until
quite lately, but it led Princess Emilia astray, very naturally.

“Yes, but the punishment need not last for ever,” she said eagerly.
“You can never be quite so happy as you might have been, of course,
but there is something in making another person happy. Apolis himself
does not pretend that he never loved before----” Zoe’s lip curled
involuntarily. “His first love married some one else. He can never
forget her, of course, but he does not steel his heart against
happiness. He quoted to me so pathetically--


       ‘I saw him stand
  Before an Altar--with a gentle bride;
  Her face was fair, but was not that which made
  The Starlight of his Boyhood;’


and he quite agreed with me what a beautiful idea it was for the two
wounded hearts to console one another. He was only afraid that the
opposition of your family would prevent your ever listening to him,
and I was so glad to be able to tell him how favourably Prince and
Princess Theophanis regarded the idea.”

“Favourably?” cried Zoe. “Why, Maurice will have no more to do with
him than he can possibly help. He just tolerates him as an opponent,
but he could not stand him as a friend. But Eirene---- Ah, I see!” a
light breaking in upon her, “this is Eirene’s doing. She thinks it
would further her plans in some way if I married Prince Romanos. Very
well, I will talk to her.”

“But you will be kind to the poor man?” pleaded Princess Emilia.

Zoe could not trust herself to reply. She was eager to get back to
Eirene and reproach her with her duplicity, for it was evident that
she had, to say the least, allowed the Princess to believe that
Maurice favoured the pretensions of Prince Romanos. When she succeeded
in finding her sister-in-law alone, and poured forth her accusation,
Eirene quailed at first before the storm.

“If you knew my difficulties, Zoe!” she said deprecatingly. “Our plans
are threatened on every side, and I am perfectly distracted--ready to
catch at a straw.”

“But what possible good could it do if I did marry Prince Romanos?”
demanded Zoe.

Eirene dissembled, for her true reason must at all costs be hidden
both from Zoe and from Maurice. To her uneasy conscience, it was
extraordinary that they did not divine it, and she lived in constant
dread of its suddenly occurring to them. “Of course it would be to
Maurice’s advantage,” she said. “Prince Romanos could not go to any
lengths in opposing him if you were his wife. You might even prevail
upon him to withdraw his claim altogether.”

“And what if I prevailed upon him to push his claim strongly, and
helped him to win?”

“Zoe, you couldn’t! No, you are English. You could never turn traitor
to your own family, and support the cause of a stranger against
Maurice!”

“Turning traitor to my husband would not signify, of course.”

“It is not as if you cared for him,” said Eirene inadvertently.

“No, it is not. But I am to pretend to care for him, simply that I may
betray him better! And you suggest it, you who know that there is only
one man I would ever marry, and that therefore I shall not marry at
all!”

“I thought you were old enough now to be willing to sacrifice your
feelings for the sake of your family,” said Eirene, with deliberation.
“_Noblesse oblige_, Zoe. It is part of a princess’s duty to make a
political marriage. It is not as if I was asking you to give up any
one on whom you had set your heart. As you say, that other episode is
over--one need only look at Colonel Wylie to be sure of it. Besides,
he told Lord Armitage that you had cured him, and he hadn’t the
slightest thought of asking you again. So there is merely a memory to
sacrifice,--a romantic idea of faithfulness,--and think what it may
mean to Maurice. He and I have made sacrifices, too----”

“Maurice’s being entirely involuntary,” broke in Zoe, the impulse to
return blow for blow strong upon her. “You have sacrificed his home
and his domestic peace for him, which certainly ought to count in his
favour. But you are not going to sacrifice my conscience for me. At
any rate I am old enough to have learnt not to do evil that good may
come, and I prefer to remain faithful to what you call my romantic
ideas. For your own sake I would advise you not to make use of
Princess Emilia to put any more false notions into young
Christodoridi’s head, for if he speaks to me I shall certainly tell
him the truth--and Maurice will support me.”

And with this Parthian shot--the sting of which to Eirene lay in the
fact that it was only too literally true--Zoe departed. The next few
days were marked, so far as politics went, by aimless rushings to and
fro, conferences between groups, abortive negotiations, and other
devices of the Professor for postponing that general meeting of the
delegates which would lead to the adverse vote he feared. Then a
stupendous fact precipitated itself like a landslip to dam up the
stream of talk. The annual spring disturbances in Emathia began
without showing Europe the courtesy of waiting for the melting of the
snows. From the balcony of a house in the Christian quarter of Therma
bombs were thrown at a passing body of Roumi troops, killing several
men and horses, and producing a momentary panic. But the stout old
Mohammedan military governor, Jalal-ud-din Pasha, was not a good
subject for panic. He drew a cordon round the neighbourhood, and
rumours crept about that the whole street in which the incident had
occurred was to be razed to the ground. Before there was time either
for this to be done, or for his soldiers to convert into facts, if
such was their intention, the tales of murder and outrage which ran
concurrently with the rumour, the bells of a church outside the
threatened area rang violently, and hell was let loose. Bands of
excited revolutionaries, armed with weapons hastily brought forth from
concealment, attacked the soldiers, and were themselves attacked by
the Mohammedan mob of the rest of the city, who had demanded arms from
Jalal-ud-din to protect their lives,--a plea the justice of which that
astute politician recognised instantly. Bomb explosions occurred in
innumerable places, all the shops closed as if automatically, the
churches and the foreign Consulates became a seething mass of
refugees, and the Consuls telegraphed wildly in all directions for
warships. That night a glow that lit up the sky for many miles
proclaimed to seafarers that something larger than the ordinary
nightly fires, which might be said to be epidemic in Therma, was in
progress. A great part of the city was in flames, and by the light of
the burning houses men fought like demons, or broke into buildings as
yet untouched in quest of plunder and victims. The ships in the
harbour put out to sea hurriedly, lest the conflagration should reach
them, and every road and path leading from the city had its stream of
fugitives, who had dropped from the walls, or bribed the guard with
such valuables as they had saved to let them pass the gates. In the
morning an indignant body of foreign representatives, shepherded
through the roaring streets by an escort furnished by Jalal-ud-din,
presented themselves at the residence of the Vali, who was a Greek by
race, and demanded an interview. To their stupefaction they were
received, not by Skopiadi Pasha, but by Jalal-ud-din himself, who
explained that the Vali had disappeared during the course of the
outbreak, whereupon he himself had taken up the duties of acting-Vali,
pending instructions from Czarigrad, which could not be expected
immediately, since all the telegraph-wires were destroyed. He promised
protection and a speedy restoration of order; and the Consuls, knowing
that Skopiadi Pasha could not have said more, and would probably have
done less, went home convinced that Jalal-ud-din, though almost
certainly responsible for his superior’s disappearance, was not
without his good points. Poor Skopiadi, always anxious to please, but
vacillating between the demands of the Powers and the directions of
his own government, nominally free to act, but in reality fettered by
a deadly fear of Jalal-ud-din and his troops, had worn out most
people’s patience. For the more frivolous officials of the various
Consulates it became an agreeable relief to the tedium of the day to
exchange bets as to whether his military governor had had him murdered
or only imprisoned.

The latest news that reached Bashi Konak from Therma, before the
destruction of the telegraphs, was that the city was on fire and the
troops engaged in a general massacre, and the excitement among the
Emathian delegates and their sympathisers rose to fever-heat. Eirene
durst not meet the eye of Professor Panagiotis, lest she should read
there that all the horrors now occurring were a part of the plan she
had concerted with him, nor was her conscience quieted by his vigorous
denunciation of _agents provocateurs_ and unauthorised
revolutionaries. She knew that he was continually receiving and
sending messages, and that his protestations did not ring quite true,
and she had a horrible fear that in his eyes the untimeliness of the
outbreak was atoned for by the severity it had evoked from
Jalal-ud-din. With the inconsistency which Zoe was wont to call
Eirene-ish, she made no attempt to undo what she had done, and found
her comfort in refusing to let her boy out of her sight. Clasping him
in her arms, regardless of his unconcealed preference for the toys
from which she had snatched him, she could remind herself that it was
all for his sake. Out of the blood and fire of the present would rise
the imperial throne on which he should sit in the future.

It was at first suggested that the games, now drawing towards their
close, should be discontinued in consequence of the news from Therma,
but the Prince of Dardania decided otherwise. His little capital was
filled with a motley crowd of competitors from all parts of the
Balkans and sightseers from many parts of Europe, and to leave these
without the occupation for which they had come to Bashi Konak would
inevitably tend to turn their thoughts to politics. Then would come
heated discussions and inflammatory speeches, and the correctness of
attitude on which Prince Alexis prided himself as characteristic of
his state would be imperilled. He had sacrificed much in order to give
no offence to any one, allowing Princess Emilia to feed daily a large
company of refugees from Emathia at great expense and in a highly
inefficient manner, and refusing to allow volunteers or warlike stores
to be conveyed across his frontier into the disturbed districts, and
he had no mind to lose his reward. When the general break-up came, who
would be so fit to receive an accession of territory as the ruler who
had resisted every temptation to take part in hostilities, who had
contrived, as far as mortal man could, to live peaceably with each of
his neighbours and yet alienate none of the others? Therefore the
Prince decreed that the aquatic sports, with which the festival was to
end, should take place as had been announced, and the Court and its
guests prepared to migrate from the capital to the port for the
purpose.

The day before the move, Zoe went to the Palace as usual by way of the
garden, and was surprised to find Princess Emilia in a highly
disturbed state. Her flushed face and agitated manner suggested that
she had just gone through a trying scene, and Zoe ascribed the trouble
mentally to the Dowager Princess, whose visit was certainly not
proving an unmixed success. Princess Emilia looked up at her friend’s
entrance, and ran to her impulsively.

“Zeto, dearest Zeto, tell me; you have learnt to care for him, haven’t
you? You are going to make me happy?”

“Not in that way, Principessina. But you mustn’t let it make you
miserable. He is happy enough.”

“Oh, _he_!” cried the Princess viciously, dismissing the absent
Romanos with an emphatic gesture. “I don’t care about him; it is you.
That he should have dared----! Oh, but I promised I would say nothing.
But assure me that you don’t care for him, Zeto. Comfort me in that
way, if not in the other. If you do care for him, he shall still----
But you wouldn’t like that. Oh, I don’t know what I am saying!”

“Most certainly I don’t care for him, if that will comfort you,” said
Zoe, bewildered. “But what has he done--or is it I? I always told you
I should never think of marrying him, so please don’t try to bring him
reluctantly to my feet. Of course I knew he didn’t really care, but
you wouldn’t believe me. How have you found out now that I was right?”

“Oh, it was a revelation--a detestable revelation! It was my
mother-in-law who brought it about, of course; all the disagreeable
things happen through her. Pretending to gratify my dear romantic
heart, too! But, Zeto, he is to ask you formally to marry him, and
abide by your answer. I insisted on that.”

“My dear child, what was the necessity?” cried Zoe impatiently, but
Princess Emilia drew herself up.

“It was due to me. I will have it done, and he understands perfectly.
You will find him in the garden. I sent her--Olimpia--to tell him to
wait for you on the terrace. Don’t go near the orange walk, for my
mother-in-law is there. She retired there to weep over my ingratitude,
she said, so keep to the other end of the terrace.”

Zoe was conscious of a strong wish that both Princess Emilia and her
mother-in-law would confine themselves to their own affairs, but as
nothing would satisfy the former but that she should immediately
receive and refuse the formal proposal of Prince Romanos, without
betraying any knowledge of his alleged perfidy, she went out into the
garden again. A graceful figure in white, with a large parasol, passed
her on the steps of the terrace, and Zoe thought with surprise that
she had never known before that Donna Olimpia disliked her. Perhaps
she was jealous of her Princess’s favour for the stranger. On the
terrace was Prince Romanos, leaning in an interesting attitude upon
the marble balustrade. He turned with a start as she appeared at the
top of the steps, and she wondered once more that this _poseur_, with
his instinctive knowledge of the artistic effect of his every word and
action, should even care to enter upon the rough-and-tumble strife for
supremacy in Emathia, and far more that he should be able to intervene
with the decision and shrewdness he had already displayed. With a wave
of the hand, as he met her, he indicated the view upon which he had
been gazing.

“Is it not characteristic of this land of ours?” he asked her. “Hills
barren almost to bareness, intersected by lines of unsurpassable
verdure wherever water is to be found. Do we not see in it also a type
of the Emathian character, Princess--strength, even rigidity of
outline, united with a peculiar tenderness in the region of the
affections?”

“How very original!” said Zoe, much entertained as she realised the
accomplished way in which he was leading up to the performance of his
task. “In those few words you have given me quite a new view of the
Emathian nature.”

“Have you not studied it too little, Princess? Forgive my suggesting
it, but don’t you isolate yourself unduly from your own race,--from
its Greek portion, at any rate? A closer knowledge--the companionship
of one who would as humbly teach as he would proudly learn from
you--might not this----?”

He paused, with speaking eyes fixed upon her face, and she perceived
that he had so thrown himself into his part that for the moment he was
living in it. The dramatic strain in her own nature responded to his
success.

“Some people are too old to learn,” she replied, with a touch of
suitable melancholy; “and some have already had such hard lessons that
they don’t care to take more.”

“But not such natures as yours, Princess! Or at least your kind heart
would overrule the promptings of your wounded spirit. I also have
suffered. We are linked by the kinship of sorrow; why not then----”

“Stop, rascal!” The startling words, in Greek, broke in upon the
murmured conference, causing Prince Romanos to spring away from Zoe,
of whose hand he had been trying to possess himself. Across the
stage--this was how Zoe, already impressed with the theatrical nature
of the occasion, phrased it to herself--swaggered a venerable
gentleman who might have stepped out of an opera, so gay was he with
stiff white kilt, embroidered jacket and tasselled cap, and so warlike
with his sashful of bristling weapons.

“You, lord!” responded Prince Romanos mechanically.

“Yes, I!” replied the apparition, speaking now in bad but vigorous
French, evidently for Zoe’s benefit; “and it is high time I came. I
find my only son, the heir to the imperial heritage, saying soft
things to a schismatic woman, who hopes to beguile him into marrying
her.”

“Sir, you insult the lady!” broke forth his son. “Permit me to present
you to the Princess Zoe Theophanis.”

“What! one of the English impostors? Why, this is worse than I
believed. Miserable boy, have you no pride of race? is the honour of
your house nothing to you? Can’t you see that it is the one chance of
these--these----” Prince Christodoridi choked back the word upon his
lips, and replaced it weakly with “these impostors--to draw you into
their coils, to make it appear that we--we the Christodoridis--think
them fit to marry with? You, who can show an unbroken Greek and
Orthodox descent from Eudoxia Theophanis, think it no shame to seek in
marriage the daughter of a race of schismatics!”

“Perhaps I may as well say that I have no intention whatever of
marrying your son. In fact, the question had not arisen,” said Zoe. “I
will leave you to discuss your family matters together.”

“Wait one moment!” cried the old man, placing himself in her way. “I
know how you and this degenerate son of mine think to laugh at me
behind my back and carry out your plans, but remember this. I will
acknowledge no such marriage, and if you venture to set foot on the
island of Strio, you may land, but you will never leave it again. I am
lord of life and death on my own ground. When the first King of Morea
tried to enforce the conscription among the Striotes, my father sent
him back a boat-load of his soldiers’ heads, and if I furnish twenty
sailors yearly to the Morean navy, it is by virtue of a treaty as
between equals. Therefore bear in mind that Strio has dungeons as well
as a palace.”

“It sounds interesting,” said Zoe, with a sigh; “but if marrying your
son is the only way of getting there, I am never likely to see Strio,
I fear. Would you kindly----?”

Prince Christodoridi obeyed the gesture and stood aside, and Zoe
descended the steps slowly. A change seemed to have passed over Prince
Romanos with her departure, and he beckoned authoritatively to his
father.

“Come to the other end of the terrace and let us talk. You are
satisfied now, I suppose? You renounce the prospect of the imperial
throne rather than disgorge a few of the hoarded coins which my
grandfather gained by piracy----”

“Hush, hush!” said his father, looking round apprehensively.

“Oh, I am not accusing you of piracy--you know the Powers would blow
Strio out of the water if you tried it. You refuse even to allow me
any help towards asserting our rights, and when I lay a plan for
profiting by the efforts of these people here, you come to spoil it.”

“You shall not marry a schismatic,” was the obstinate reply.

Prince Romanos shrugged his shoulders hopelessly. “Must I point out to
you in so many words that I have never had the faintest intention of
marrying the impostor’s sister? But I had every intention of
accounting for my presence here, and keeping them all in good temper,
by making love to her. Now that is ruined.”

“She would have trapped you into marrying her. A man is no match for a
woman.”

“Not some men, perhaps,” with scarcely veiled contempt. “But this
woman cares for some one else. Otherwise, most excellent lord, you
would not have had the chance to interrupt us to-day, for we should be
betrothed already, and I should be on the point of success.”

“I have done nothing,” grumbled Prince Christodoridi.

“You have created an atmosphere of suspicion and hostility, whereas,
under cover of the general friendliness, I was about to step into
possession of all the advantages our enemies have secured, and oust
them with their own weapons, without spending a drachma. Was not that
worth doing?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“It is quite true, though you would not believe it two years ago, that
Panagiotis has honeycombed southern Emathia with Greek societies. They
are supplied with arms, and are under orders to assemble when he gives
them the signal, and seize a number of positions, which can easily be
fortified, about Hagiamavra. He means to direct them from here, with
Theophanis, but I mean to throw myself among them, and take the lead
in the fighting. Which Prince is more likely to win the suffrages of
the Emathians--the one who remained safe at a distance, or the one who
has fought for freedom at their head?”

Prince Christodoridi looked at his son with grudging admiration. “That
is indeed a plan!” he said. “To make use of the impostor’s own
preparations to defeat him, and without any expense! Is there--must
you give it up now?”

“Can you show yourself friendly to all--even to the impostor--while I
try to soothe Princess Zoe and convey to her that my devotion is
unchanged? It will only be for a few days.”

“Did not your grandfather welcome the King of Morea’s officer and set
wine before him an hour before he stabbed him to the heart? Fear not,
son; I can do as well as he.”




 CHAPTER V.
 TWO DIPLOMATISTS.

The colloquy between Prince Christodoridi and his son had taken
place at the farther end of the terrace, from which led the orange
walk mentioned by Princess Emilia in speaking to Zoe. On a marble seat
under the orange-trees, shaded by the terrace but invisible from it,
sat a lady in black, who was a deeply interested auditor of all that
passed. When Prince Romanos and his father prepared to descend the
steps, she rose from her seat and hastened noiselessly down the
avenue, turning sharply when she had gone about twenty yards, so that
as they came round the curve in the marble staircase she was visible
coming towards them under the orange-trees with a book in her hand.

“It is the Dowager Princess,” murmured Prince Romanos. “Permit me,
madame, to present my father.”

A thought seemed to strike Prince Christodoridi as he glanced at the
still handsome face, and noted the repressed fire of the dark eyes.
“It is perhaps to you, madame, that I am indebted for the message that
brought me here?” he asked in his bad French.

The Princess looked surprised. “To me, monsieur? Certainly not. It is
not for me to send invitations to my son’s capital nowadays.”

“I am at Bashi Konak uninvited, madame. The message to which I refer
was a warning that my son here was on the point of marriage with a
schismatic, the sister of the impostor Teffany.”

“A message which I am hardly likely to have sent, since I have the
best means of knowing that your son has not the slightest thought of
the kind.” The Princess bestowed a sympathetic smile on Prince
Romanos, who looked distinctly uncomfortable.

“So he tells me. As to the truth of the matter, you are happy if you
can feel sure you have come upon it, madame. I trust you are on my
side?”

“Undoubtedly, Prince. In my opinion it would be a grave mistake for
your son to countenance the Teffany claims by allying himself with one
of the family, as with an equal.”

“Madame, I see you are a woman of sense. But permit me to say I had
doubted it. What is your connection with a wretched renegade Greek in
Roumi employ, whom we picked up last night from the wreck of a
fishing-boat we ran down?”

“Are you asking me riddles?” demanded the Princess, with distinct
displeasure. “Pray, does this person assert that he is in my service?
You will allow me to remind you that he is not necessarily speaking
the truth.”

“With that I have nothing to do,” was the rough reply. “When I saw the
fellow’s frock-coat and fez I nearly bade my men throw him back into
the water again, but he pleaded with me by God and the all-holy Virgin
to spare his life and land him at some Pannonian port. I told him
plainly that I would not go an inch out of my way for him, but he
might slink on shore here if he liked. Then he seemed happier, and
said that the Dowager Princess would vouch for him. He had escaped
from Therma, he told one of my men.”

The Princess’s eyes met those of Prince Romanos in amused surprise.
“Can it possibly be Skopiadi Pasha?” broke from both of them. “A
grey-haired man with a glass eye?” added the Princess.

“That’s the fellow,” assented Prince Christodoridi.

“This is really very funny,” said the Princess, with decorous mirth.
“It is a good thing you did not throw the poor man back into the
water, Prince. Now we shall get authentic news as to what has happened
at Therma. And am I really the only person to whom poor Skopiadi could
appeal? I came in contact with him years ago, at the time of the
Rhodope negotiations, but I never expected to be asked to vouch for
him after a shipwreck. We must certainly relieve his mind at once, and
see that he is treated properly. You are rather too stalwart a
partisan for the present day, Prince.”

She had turned and walked towards the Palace with them, and now left
them, with an amused smile. Prince Christodoridi was purple with
indignation.

“Does the woman expect me to make an apostate a welcome guest?” he
demanded. “These are fine times, indeed! Why, your grandfather would
have fastened him up in the rigging, and let the worst shots among the
crew practise on him. A good thing I didn’t put him back into the
water, was it? I wish I had!”

“We have to consider our neighbours’ susceptibilities a little
nowadays,” said Prince Romanos languidly. “After all, Skopiadi is
still Vali of Therma, and the Prince of Dardania doesn’t want to get
into trouble at Czarigrad. I think there may yet be some surprises in
store for you, lord.”

Prince Christodoridi recognised the truth of this prophecy in the
afternoon, when he found the man he had treated so cavalierly received
as a guest whom the Dardanian Court delighted to honour, and
accorded--so his jealous mind averred, though no one else could
distinguish it--a precedence superior to his own. Prince Christodoridi
and his ship’s crew were accepted as welcome recruits for the aquatic
sports of the morrow, but in social matters they were outer barbarians
compared with the despised Skopiadi, who was in the inmost circle of
European diplomacy, and knew everybody. It was some consolation to the
wounded spirit of the island ruler that his rival begged to be allowed
to absent himself from the festivities at the port, on the plea that
his health was suffering from the hardships met with in his escape.
His account of this reflected the highest credit upon himself. Driven
to desperation by the insubordinate conduct of Jalal-ud-din, whom he
had discovered to be plotting a massacre of the Christians, and who
had incited his own guard to murder him, he had gone on board a
steamer in the harbour at the beginning of the troubles, intending to
go straight to Czarigrad, and lay his case before the Grand Seignior,
demanding support against his aspiring colleague. Unfortunately, when
the fire broke out in the city, and accounts of fresh horrors arrived
perpetually by the mouth of a continuous stream of refugees, the
captain of the steamer refused to take his ship to Czarigrad, or any
Roumi port, and the unfortunate Skopiadi would have been carried off
to Egypt if he had not insisted on being transferred to a
fishing-boat, the crew of which promised to put him on shore at some
Illyrian coast-town. The sad accident which had brought about the loss
of the fishing-boat prevented this, and it was to the prompt help of
Prince Christodoridi that the Pasha owed his life. It was only natural
that he should feel unstrung and disinclined for gaiety, and he
listened without regret to the bustle which marked the departure of
his hosts and their other guests. The Palace and its grounds were at
his command, and he wandered out into the garden with great
contentment, though not without the occasional apprehensive start
which betrayed that his dwelling-place had of late been in the midst
of alarms. He encountered nothing more alarming than the Dowager
Princess, sitting at work on the marble seat in the orange walk, but
for a moment it seemed as if he found her as terrifying a sight as he
could well have met. Then he rallied his courage, and was about to
retire with a bow, when she stopped him.

“Pray, monsieur, do not treat me as if I were a monster. We seem to be
left to keep each other company, so you must be good enough to
entertain me.”

At her gesture he took a seat, as far from her as the limits of the
marble bench would allow, and protested, with all the ease and
vivacity of a criminal summoned to execution, that he could ask for
nothing better than to be allowed to make an humble effort to
entertain her Royal Highness. She watched him through half-closed
eyelids, enjoying his discomfiture.

“And when do you propose to return to take up the duties of your post,
monsieur?” she asked him softly. “I have not observed any undue
anxiety on your part to discover the quickest way of getting back to
Therma.”

“My health, madame--the shocks I have undergone----”

“Ah, yes--true. The first shock occurred before you embarked, did it
not? Otherwise you could hardly have mistaken a Port Said boat for a
Czarigrad one.” The unhappy man writhed. “And it must have been most
humiliating when the captain defied you to your face,--of course you
had threatened him with condign punishment if he did not put back and
land you on the quay again?--and even refused your lavish offers of
money.” She looked across at him, then laughed gently. “No, my poor
Skopiadi, nature never intended you for a hero, but she made you a
serviceable diplomatist. Why did you run counter to all her warnings
by allowing them to make you Vali of Therma?”

“Alas, madame! I had no choice.”

“I see. On the whole it was rather less dangerous to accept than
refuse, was it? Your ruin was only problematical if you went, but
certain if you stayed at Czarigrad. I imagine, however, that you gave
no hostages to fortune? Madame Skopiadi and your daughters are nowhere
in the Roumi dominions?”

“My wife was unable to accompany me to Therma, madame. She was ordered
to take a protracted cure at Charlottenbad, and she is now in Paris,
superintending the education of her daughters.”

“Very wise. And I shall not be doing you an injustice if I suppose
that your fortune is safely invested--also outside the Roumi
dominions? On the whole, then, we may take it that you have no thought
of returning to Czarigrad at present--in fact, that you will
studiously remain at a distance from it?”

“Madame, I neither assent to your conclusions nor deny them.”

“It is unnecessary. But observe, monsieur, they are more than
conclusions, they are facts. Still, they will remain hidden in my
mind, unless I have occasion to make them public. You have a
considerable reputation in Europe, I believe? The Powers all favoured
your appointment?”

“Unfortunately for me, madame, they did.”

“Then you have some thought, doubtless, of visiting the Foreign
Ministers of the interested Powers, and explaining the reasons for the
failure of your mission? I think it might be well, in your own
interest.”

“I shall be honoured, madame, if I can combine any interest of yours
with my own.”

The Princess frowned. “If these things are to be done, they should not
be said, monsieur.” He bowed, crestfallen. “It is your unbiassed
opinion, is it not, that the present state of things in Emathia cannot
continue? Nothing is to be hoped for from the system of illusory
safeguards imposed by the Powers on the Roumi Government?” He bowed
again, but evidently thought silence wiser than speech. “A new plan
must be tried, involving the virtual expatriation of the Roumis. They
may keep garrisons in Therma and two or three other cities, in token
of suzerainty, but the province must be administered by a Commissioner
appointed by the Powers, and responsible to them.”

“You have voiced my own opinion, madame. But these claimants--which do
you support?” He trembled at his own audacity in asking the question,
but an answer was vital for the direction of his future course. The
Princess showed no anger as she replied with much frankness--

“Neither. I hope to show you that they are both impossible. What do
you think of a plan to seize the Hagiamavra peninsula, and defy the
Roumis there at the head of the Emathian insurgents?”

“There is no doubt that such a scheme would gravely prejudice its
planner in the eyes of Europe, madame.”

“This is more than a scheme. In a few days it will be a fact.”

“And you would have the Powers occupy the peninsula, madame, and thus
frustrate the plot?”

“By no means!” There was something almost amounting to despair at his
obtuseness in the Princess’s voice. “It must not be frustrated. They
must carry it out, and make themselves impossible. Listen. It is
Romanos Christodoridi who has conceived the plan, but I can ensure
that the other party adopt it. They are stronger than he, and will
probably succeed in establishing themselves at Hagiamavra. If blows
are exchanged, it will only be a proof of the unfitness of both sides
to rule; it may even eliminate him altogether. But if not, he can be
removed from the path in another way--by a schismatic marriage.”

“With Princess Zoe Theophanis?” asked the listener.

“No, that would be too great a risk. The united claims of the
Theophanis descendants would be too strong, if they agreed to act
together instead of quarrelling. Another marriage, far more
efficacious for the purpose---- But leave that to me.”

“I desire nothing better, madame. But who, then, is your candidate?”

“Need you ask, monsieur?”

“I must have it from your own lips, madame.”

“That is absolutely unnecessary.” The Princess was clearly annoyed,
but there was a point beyond which the Greek could not be brow-beaten.

“Unless I know your wishes, I cannot undertake to forward them,
madame.”

Defeated by his obstinacy, she spoke hurriedly. “You must represent
the importance of haste. Unless Europe intervenes at once, the Balkans
will be in a blaze, and the conflagration may spread. The delay for
which Scythia and Pannonia hoped, which was to defer the crisis until
they were ready to divide Emathia between them, is out of the
question. In the circumstances, what better ruler could there be than
my son Kazimir,--a _persona grata_ to Scythia, connected with every
royal house in Europe, born and brought up in the Balkans, in the one
state which has given the Powers no trouble, and unmarried?”

“Undoubtedly, madame, there are few candidates with superior
claims--if those of descent are to be ignored.”

“I tell you, the claimants here shall render themselves impossible. My
son will need advisers, monsieur,--men acquainted with Emathia----”

“You honour me, madame. Provided, then, that the Theophanis claim
becomes a mockery----”

“Trust me for that. I have a little experience, you will allow?
Indeed, I believe I know too much for my son’s gardeners. I always
declared that this orange walk ought to run in the opposite direction,
and you can see how much better the growth of the trees would have
been.”

The words might have suggested that the Princess had suddenly taken
leave of her senses, as she rose and emphasised her meaning vigorously
with gestures; but they were accounted for to Skopiadi Pasha by the
appearance of a lady-in-waiting, who was hovering in the middle
distance, anxious to know where her Royal Highness would have tea
served. The colloquy was at an end, but all that was necessary had
been said, and it remained only for both parties to carry out their
agreement. The Princess was the first to make a move, having the
advantage over Skopiadi Pasha in that the material on which she had to
work was close at hand. She began upon it the same evening, when the
princely party returned from the port, tired and sunburnt, and
decidedly inclined to think that aquatic sports were generally
over-praised, at any rate from the spectators’ point of view. In
Princess Emilia’s hearing she asked Donna Olimpia to come to her rooms
when she was dismissed for the night, and write a letter for her that
she wished to send to a Magnagrecian acquaintance. The maid-of-honour,
who had been looking weary and dispirited, brightened up at once, and
presented herself in the Princess’s sitting-room with shining eyes,
which lost their light, however, after a hasty glance round.

“No, he is not here this evening,” said the Princess, with a
sympathetic smile. “We must be prudent, you know. It would not take
much to make my daughter-in-law send you back to Magnagrecia, and then
you might never see him again.”

The girl acquiesced silently, though the tears had started to her
eyes. The Princess laid her hand kindly on hers. “It has been a hard
day, I am afraid?” she asked.

“Oh, so hard!” breathed Donna Olimpia, with difficulty. “My Princess
was so exacting. She kept me close to her the whole time--always
wanting me to hand her things, or tell her which the boats were. And
he--he was at Princess Zoe’s side all day, talking and laughing--and
looking at her as he does at me.”

The Princess restrained a smile at the simplicity of the passionate
girl who expected Prince Romanos to keep the expressive glances of his
fine eyes for her alone, but she made no comment. “This is what I
feared,” she said. “Political necessities, you know----”

“He promised he would make her refuse him.”

“She has not refused him. I happen to know that.”

Donna Olimpia turned so white that even the hard-hearted plotter
before her was frightened, and added hastily, “I don’t mean that she
has accepted him. He has not proposed. His father arrived and
interrupted their conversation.”

“If she had, I would have killed her--and him,” muttered the girl,
looking so like a beautiful fury that for a second time the Princess
was dismayed by the strength of the storm which she had fanned for her
own purposes. This all-important instrument needed supremely dexterous
handling, and she drew away from her a little.

“I hardly know whether to go on with what I was going to tell you,”
she said. “I thought you would be anxious to protect Prince Romanos
from the consequences of his own indiscretion, but perhaps you would
rather leave him to his punishment.”

“He is in danger from the other Englishman? But this is foolishness!
She has not encouraged him--even I can see that.”

“I don’t understand. The danger has nothing to do with Princess Zoe or
any Englishman. It is political.”

“Ah, he is so daring, so rash! What has he done?”

“It is what he proposes to do.” The Princess was encouraged by the
softness of Donna Olimpia’s voice. “He means to throw himself into the
midst of the Emathian insurgents, and lead them against the Roumis.
That sounds a very fine thing to do,” with some irritation, as the
girl’s eyes lighted up, “but you don’t seem to see that it means
almost certain death to him, and in any case ruin to his hope of
obtaining a throne.”

“For his possible throne I care nothing!” cried Donna Olimpia; “but
his life--that is different. He shall not destroy himself!”

“So I thought you would say. Well, my plan was that we must
manage--you and I--to keep him back, and induce Prince and Princess
Theophanis to take this mad step in his place.”

The girl laughed gleefully. “And so relieve him of his opponent as
well!” she said.

“Exactly. But we must work very carefully. Prince Romanos is waiting
for some signal before he starts. Either he expects messengers of his
own, or--which I think is more likely--he is bribing the messengers of
Professor Panagiotis. It must be your business to discover when he
receives the signal. He must promise not to start without bidding you
farewell, and must tell you as long before he goes as possible.”

“Yes, I can manage that.”

“Then I will manage the rest. He must be detained, and the Theophanis
party must be warned of his intention, and hasten to anticipate it.
They will be in Emathia before they discover their mistake, and then
they cannot retreat. He will be safe, and ought to be grateful, though
I cannot say that he will obtain his throne even then. He may have
involved himself too far in this foolish plot. But your love for him
does not depend on a throne?”

“I hate the very thought of it! It is that alone that made him pay
attention to Princess Zoe: he has told me so. But for his imperial
descent and his great future, he would marry me to-morrow.”

“I see. Some women would prefer the lover to succeed, even at the cost
of their happiness,” said the Princess drily.

“Ah, I am not like that. A throne which he could share with me--yes;
but a throne for him without me--no,” was the frank reply. “Not that I
wish Princess Theophanis to put her husband on the throne. That is a
woman of the most absolute heartlessness. All these troubles are due
to her.”

“Why, how is that?” asked the Princess, rather startled.

“It was before you came, madame. She wished Princess Zoe to marry the
Englishman, Lord Armitage. I knew it; I saw her schemes. Then came
he--Romanos--and she changes her mind, and will have him and no other
as brother-in-law. All the pleasant opportunities are now for him, and
the poor snubbed Englishman scowls in the background. Ah, madame, I
entreat you, punish Princess Eirene, and do it through Lord Armitage!
She deserves it, and he--it will be some satisfaction for him.”

“Your methods are forcible, but crude.” The Princess spoke with the
air of a connoisseur. “But leave it to me. I think I see what to do.”




 CHAPTER VI.
 THE RED GODS CALL.

“Are you in a tremendous hurry? Could you spare me a minute or two?”
Armitage rose from the seat in the orange walk and intercepted Zoe on
her way to the terrace.

“Oh yes. I was only going to wait for Princess Emilia. Is anything the
matter?”

“Oh, nothing much. Only that I want to tell you something, and after
that--well, I suppose I shan’t trouble you again.”

“You mustn’t be so doleful,” said Zoe, in her elder-sisterly way. “If
there is anything wrong, you know that every one of us would do all we
could to help you. It’s nothing about the yacht, is it? She hasn’t
gone on shore?”

“_No!_” he burst out with great vehemence. “What do I care about the
yacht, except to help your brother with? It’s you--and that
Christodoridi chap.”

“Really,” said Zoe, half laughing, half angry, “I shall have to be
rude to that young man in public, if he persists in worrying me as he
does. Maurice thought fit to ask me this morning why I always had him
hanging about, and now you! The general opinion of my taste must be
painfully low.”

“No one imagines you could like a theatrical fool like that,” said
Armitage, somewhat comforted; “but for political reasons, you know.
The Professor--and your sister----”

“Neither the Professor nor Eirene will ever make me accept any one for
political reasons, though they are quite likely to try. I should have
thought you knew me better than to think so.” It did not occur to Zoe
that the kindly reproach in her voice was dangerous, for Armitage had
been a silent adorer for so long that she had learnt to regard him as
that most pleasant and useful possession--a safe friend. But he
interrupted her now, his eager, boyish voice full of feeling.

“You don’t see. It’s just because I know what you are--know how a good
woman loves to sacrifice herself for other people. And that fellow
could never make you happy.”

“No, he certainly could not. But don’t be afraid, he doesn’t want to
try. As far as I can tell, he only haunts me because it makes him feel
uncomfortable to find one woman who is proof against his
fascinations.”

“The conceited brute!” cried Armitage explosively. “Let me deal with
him, Princess. I promise you he won’t fancy himself so much when I’ve
taken him in hand.”

“Probably not. But I am quite able to protect myself, thank you, and I
have Maurice to appeal to.”

“Ah, but it wouldn’t look well for him to come to blows with his
rival,” said Armitage, with unexpected shrewdness. “I don’t signify,
you see. And if you would just give me the right, I could polish him
off before starting, and you would be free from him while I was gone.”

“Starting! Why, where are you going?”

“Oh, that business over there,” jerking his head vaguely in the
direction of Therma. “Will you? You can’t think how much easier it
would make my mind.”

Zoe looked at him quizzically, still unaware of the gravity of the
occasion. “What a boy you are!” she said, as she had often said
before. “You really force me to ask you why you can’t pick a quarrel
with him--not that I want you to,” hastily; “in fact, I forbid
it--without a mandate from me.”

“Because I wouldn’t quarrel with a brute like that--especially about a
lady. But if I could say to him, ‘Princess Zoe is engaged to me, and
if I catch you bothering her any more, you had better look out----’
why, either he takes a back seat, or I kick him for a cad.”

“But I am not engaged to you,” said Zoe involuntarily.

“No, but I want you to be. I have cared for you an awfully long time,
and you have always been frightfully good to me. I don’t bore you as
much as some people, do I?--not as much as he does, at any rate?
Couldn’t you think of it?”

“I really couldn’t.” Zoe was hardly able to regard this very
unconventional proposal as serious, but she managed to speak without a
smile. “I should need something more in a man than that he didn’t bore
me--a good deal more. In fact, I should need so much that I shall
never marry at all.”

“If you would only try me!” he pleaded. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do
to please you.”

“Except what you can’t do, and that is to grow up,” was on the tip of
Zoe’s tongue, but she crushed it down nobly. “I am very sorry,” she
said, with finality, “but it’s quite impossible. I have never given
you any reason----”

“I know you haven’t.” His eagerness to justify her brought the tears
to Zoe’s eyes. “It was all my fault. Only it seemed, you know, as
if---- But I was a fool. You’ll let things be as they were before,
won’t you, when I come back? Then I’ll go off with Wylie, and knock
about a bit----”

“Colonel Wylie? Is he going too? What is it for?”

“Well, we aren’t exactly supposed--I oughtn’t to have----”

“You must tell me now. Where are you going?”

“I am to take Wylie round in the yacht to a place called Skandalo,
from which you can get to Hagiamavra, where these Emathian fellows are
establishing an insurgent stronghold. He goes as your brother’s
representative, to see what can be done, and what chance there is of
success. If there’s none, he might be able to get them to disband
before the Roumis have time to move troops to attack them, but they
seem pretty confident. Panagiotis had a message yesterday evening to
say that they were ready, so we’re off to-night.”

“But is there danger?” gasped Zoe.

“Ought to be none. I wish there was any chance of it.”

“But after his fever. There is sure to be exposure----”

“Oh, for Wylie, you mean. It is still Wylie, then?”

“You have no right to say that----” began Zoe warmly, but her tone
changed. “No, why should I be ashamed to confess it? It is, and it
always will be.”

“Couldn’t be a better man,” said Armitage, with settled depression. “I
always knew that if he was against me I hadn’t the ghost of a chance.
But why I asked was, that I thought I might look after him a little
for you--see that he didn’t do rash things, you know.”

“If you would!” murmured Zoe. “But you will never, never let him guess
why you are doing it?”

“He’ll put me down as a disgusting meddler, I know, but I can stand
it. You can feel he has a deputy guardian angel to look after him, as
you can’t be there yourself.”

“I can’t thank you enough,” said Zoe, giving him her hand; “but I do
thank you. Oh, there is Princess Emilia looking for me on the terrace!
She must have come up the other way.”

She hurried up the steps, leaving Armitage to return mournfully to the
solitude of the marble bench, and try to rearrange his outlook on life
in view of the change the last half-hour had made in it. Presently a
dark shadow paused on the pounded marble of the walk, and looking up,
he found the Dowager Princess contemplating with some surprise the
interloper who had taken possession of her favourite seat. He sprang
up in confusion, and would have departed in haste, with many
apologies, if she had not graciously desired him to sit down again.
The invitation did not place him altogether at his ease, since he was
well aware of the Princess’s diplomatic reputation; but fearing that
she might intend to worm some of his friends’ secrets from him, he
determined to be intensely careful, and if possible to go so far in
Machiavellian astuteness as even to penetrate the designs of his
interlocutor. He had an uncomfortable feeling that she had probably
decided to attack him as the easiest of the party to pump, and he
tried to con over hastily all the points on which caution was
necessary. But there was nothing dangerously political about the
Princess’s first remark, uttered with a sympathetic smile.

“I see you find this a soothing spot, Lord Armitage, as I do. I have
brought many troubles here--many perplexities, too, in the days when I
was my husband’s chief counsellor, and Dardania was threatened by
enemies on every side. Mine has not been a very happy life, but at
least I can look with satisfaction on the Dardania of to-day, the only
contented state in the Balkans. Some of the credit ought to be given
to this quiet seat. I hope it has proved helpful to you also?”

“Well, hardly. Perhaps I haven’t tried it long enough,” said Armitage,
rather at a loss.

“You can see no light on your difficulties? And yet I fancy your
Princess feels more kindly towards you than you think.”

Armitage started involuntarily. “She has confided in you, madame?” he
asked, feeling his way.

“Not directly, but there are ways of judging. Only a person totally
devoid of discrimination could imagine that she found pleasure in the
attentions of Prince Romanos.”

“I know she hates the sight of him!” Armitage thought it safe to
reply.

“And yet it is only too likely that she may be forced to marry him.
Her ambitious sister-in-law----”

“Princess Theophanis can’t make her marry him against her will,
madame.”

“It is not only the Princess; the force of circumstances may compel
her. If her brother attains his object, she must make a marriage that
will strengthen his position. The man may or may not be young
Christodoridi, but it will certainly not be you.”

“No, I suppose not,” he murmured, less crushed than if he had not
already heard the same hard truth from Zoe herself.

“But take courage. I have a foreboding--I do not think that Maurice
Theophanis will ever be Prince of Emathia.”

“Do you mean that there’s a plot, madame?”

“Oh no, not a plot. I merely advise you not to lose hope. The matter
came to my knowledge confidentially, so that I can hardly---- Still,
you are not likely to betray me, so why should I not allow you the
consolation of watching for the event which will ensure the fulfilment
of your hopes?”

“I can’t promise not to make use of any warning you may give me,
madame.” Armitage was more mystified than ever. The Princess laughed.

“If I thought you an honest, quixotic fool, Lord Armitage, should I
tell you? Well, then, your Prince, with the prudence and caution so
characteristic of him, proposes to send his follower, Colonel Wylie,
to discover whether the Emathian insurrection is sufficiently
widespread, well-supported--safe, in fact--to justify him in extending
to it the patronage of his name. Prince Romanos, on the other hand,
presents himself among the insurgents as one of themselves, asking
only to be allowed to fight and die in their ranks. Which is likely to
commend himself most to their favour?”

Armitage’s face was a study while she spoke. Amazement at the
matter-of-course way in which Wylie’s secret mission was mentioned,
followed by indignation at the slur thrown on Maurice, was again
succeeded by surprise at her announcement of the intentions of Prince
Romanos.

“You mean that Christodoridi will disappear from here to throw in his
lot with the insurgents, madame?”

“At very nearly the same hour to-night as your Colonel Wylie, and for
the same reason. They are both considerate enough to wish not to
compromise my son, and therefore both will attend the farewell
reception of the athletes, and then slip away quietly. Colonel Wylie
may be a perfect paladin, but I think you may assure yourself that the
man who goes among his future subjects in person is more likely to be
chosen than the one who sends his servant.”

Armitage assented mechanically, while the Princess went on--

“Therefore, as I say, you may be cheerful. It is not likely to occur
to Prince Theophanis to go to Hagiamavra himself, and you will not put
it into his head. I am rather surprised that his wife has not insisted
upon it already, but perhaps he has kept her in the dark. You must be
most careful not to let her suspect anything to-day, for your face is
eloquent of tremendous news. I can’t advise you too strongly not to
say anything to her about Emathia or Hagiamavra, for she would guess
at once that you were concealing something, and she has force of
character enough to hurry her husband off this evening. But I need not
tell you to be careful.”

She watched his face narrowly. The risk she had taken was
great,--though she had calculated upon her reading of Armitage’s
character,--but she saw she had succeeded. He might accept information
from this intruder, but not advice. She smiled contentedly when he
made the excuse of urgent business to take his departure. Even if he
had not spent some minutes in conversation elaborately designed to
divert her mind from the previous subject, she could have read in his
disturbed expression the thoughts that were chasing each other through
his brain:--“I must put her off the scent, mustn’t let her see that I
believe it. After all, it mayn’t be true. Must see if there’s anything
to confirm it before I tell anybody.”

That evening Wylie was busy in the room which was nominally a sanctum
for Armitage and himself, but served in reality as a council-chamber
when Eirene’s presence was not desired. He was dressed for the Prince
of Dardania’s reception, but his luggage was ready packed, and his
riding clothes were laid out in the bedroom adjoining. Presently
Maurice came in, and his follower looked up from the money-belt he was
filling, and nodded.

“I can’t tell you how glad I am that you are letting me prospect
around a little before throwing yourself into this thing,” he said,
when his calculations were over.

“My wife doesn’t like it at all,” returned Maurice gloomily. “She
thinks I am letting slip a golden opportunity.”

“Let her think!” was the uncourteous reply. “If she hasn’t learnt yet
that it’s safer to prove the statements of Panagiotis and his friends
before acting on them, you and I have.”

“Maurice!” It was Eirene who stood before them, wrapped in a loose
gown, and with her hair only partially dressed. “We must all start for
Hagiamavra to-night. Romanos Christodoridi is going!”

“He can’t. He knows nothing about it,” said Wylie.

“There has been treachery. He has bribed some one. Lord Armitage heard
the first rumour of it this morning, and has spent the day in
discovering the truth. Prince Romanos has horses ready after the
reception, and a fast sailing-boat waiting for him at Pentikosti. Lord
Armitage came to look for you, Maurice, but you were not in your
rooms, and I opened the letter and spoke to him. I have sent him now
to get horses for us.”

“You sent him! Without telling me?”

“Yes.” Eirene’s voice was hard. “Because, if you will not go, I shall
take Constantine and go by myself, with Colonel Wylie in attendance. I
have thought it all out. You have loitered and delayed and preached
prudence too long. I will not have my boy’s rights sacrificed through
your precautions.”

“If you will allow me, sir, I will leave the room to the Princess and
yourself,” said Wylie to Maurice, with marked respect. Eirene turned
upon him.

“You will kindly remain,” she said. “I wish you to be a witness of
what I say to the Prince. You understand me, Maurice? If you will act,
I go as your wife; if you refuse, I go to assert my own claim. In
either case Constantine’s rights are secured. They can only be lost
through cowardice, and I, at least, am not a coward. I have the means
of acting without you, you know.”

“I do know it, unfortunately. You have every advantage over me. Short
of placing you under personal restraint, I can’t hope to influence
you.”

“And that you would never do!” she said triumphantly.

“That I would not do. You are determined not to listen to reason?”

“I will listen to any argument in favour of starting to-night, to none
for putting things off.”

“Very well, then. As you have guessed, I shall not allow my wife to
start on this preposterous expedition by herself, to assert a claim
which stands or falls with mine. We will go together, but the claim
which will be put forward is not yours, but mine. Such rights as the
boy has are derived from me--reinforced, if you like, by yours. You
understand this?”

“I don’t mind what conditions you make, provided that you go,” she
answered, with a laugh that was nervous in spite of her effort to make
it merely light.

“Pardon me, sir. May I remind her Royal Highness of one or two things
she seems to have forgotten?” asked Wylie. A nod gave him permission,
and he went on, “Are you wise, ma’am, in risking the health, perhaps
even the life, of your son in the way you propose? The journey to
Pentikosti is a difficult one, even for men, and at Hagiamavra the
hardships will be considerable. You can take no other woman with you,
and no heavy luggage.”

“You have done your duty to your master by trying to frighten me,” she
returned defiantly; “but I am not frightened.”

“And it does not occur to you that this expedition will irritate the
Powers against his Highness to such an extent as to make him an
impossible candidate in future?”

“Then Prince Romanos will be equally impossible. No, the Prince may go
or not, as he likes, but I go. The horses will be ready at eleven
o’clock, which will give us time to change our clothes after the
reception, if we leave fairly early. I am sorry to keep you waiting
now, Maurice. I shall be ready in ten minutes.”

“I suppose you are compassionating me as a henpecked wretch?” said
Maurice bitterly, as Wylie closed the door after Eirene.

“If I advised you to take your wife by the shoulders and give her a
good shaking, you would set me down as a brute, and I don’t know that
it would do much good,” said Wylie.

“Not a bit. I always knew something of this kind was bound to happen.
You see, there’s no question about my having robbed her of her rights,
and I am bound to back her up in recovering them. I have never been
able to satisfy her in that way yet, and of course she thinks me
slack.”

“Why not offer to go yourself if she and the child will stay quietly
here?”

“Quietly? What would she be doing here--can you say? You know the way
in which that money was left----”

“I know; it’s rough on you every way. Makes a man glad to have escaped
matrimony so far,” said Wylie. “But if I had to deal with that young
woman, she would soon learn to behave herself!” was his
self-sufficient mental remark, for which a speedy Nemesis was already
lying in wait for him.

The night was very dark when, armed with a lantern, he awaited his
fellow-travellers at a side door. In spite of the care taken not to
compromise him, the Prince of Dardania was fully aware that something
was going on, and had issued orders to his officials not to be too
inquisitive with respect to any horsemen leaving the city. But it was
not considered advisable to ride through the principal streets, and
run the risk of encountering belated guests coming from the Palace, so
that every possible advantage was to be taken of lanes and byways.
Armitage, laden with saddle-bags and hold-alls till he could scarcely
walk, came staggering through the doorway, whispering that the rest
were close at hand; and presently Maurice appeared, with little
Constantine, wrapped up like an infant mummy, in his arms, and two
women close upon his heels. Wylie stepped forward with natural
indignation.

“You can’t go,” he said, stopping the taller of the two. “The Princess
knows she is not to take a maid.”

“She is not taking me, but I am going,” said Zoe’s voice. Wylie still
barred the path.

“No, you’re not. There’s no horse for you.”

Zoe laughed. “You mustn’t rate our intelligence quite so low. Eirene
knew I should come, and asked Lord Armitage to get a horse for me. I
think myself you are making a mistake in not letting us take my good
Linton, who has gone through all sorts of horrors with me without
turning a hair, but she will be ready to join us with supplies
whenever I wire to her.”

“But you can’t go. It’s quite impossible. It’s--it’s useless. The
Princess goes to assert her rights, and she has her husband to protect
her, but you have no one to look after you.” Wylie was growing
desperate.

“I am very much obliged to you,” said Zoe, with meaning in her voice.
“Still, I can assure you that if both you and Lord Armitage turn your
backs on me, I am quite capable of looking after myself.”

“Oh, look here, Princess,” he said, in a tone that startled Zoe, so
long was it since she had heard it, “don’t bring the whole thing to
smash, I beg of you. You stay behind, like a--like a sensible woman,
and persuade your sister to stay too. You forget that your brother and
I know something already about dragging ladies through the wilds of
Emathia, and we don’t want to try it again. And to take women and
children when there’s a prospect of fighting Roumis--it’s unthinkable,
simply sickening folly. Now you will go back?”

His earnestness was quite pathetic, but Zoe hardened her heart. “If
you ask me as a friend, I will,” she said.

Wylie recollected himself. “No, I won’t--ma’am,” he said angrily.

“Then I won’t go back,” said Zoe.




 CHAPTER VII.
 THE ENEMY IN THE WAY.

It was a silent company that rode through the night from Bashi Konak
towards the Roumi frontier. Zoe and Eirene were presumably triumphant,
but they were also in disgrace, and they were made to feel it. One of
the men, either Wylie or Armitage, rode first, to see that the way was
clear, then came the two culprits, left severely to themselves, then
Maurice and the other man, conversing occasionally in low murmurs
which were quite inaudible to the pair in front. Maurice had refused
curtly Eirene’s demand to take little Constantine with her on her
horse, and she had yielded the point without remonstrance, somewhat to
the surprise and much to the relief of the rest. If the worst came to
the worst, Maurice had one weapon the mere mention of which would
bring her to her knees in terror, and she knew it. Her threat of
leaving him could have been rendered nugatory in a moment by the
counter-threat of depriving her of her boy, and she was afraid to push
her husband too far, since he had a way of quietly assuming the
command when she was in full tide of advance, which she found
extremely disconcerting. She had no voice now in the conduct of the
expedition, nor did she expect it, and both she and Zoe would have
fallen from their horses with fatigue sooner than confess how tired
they were getting as the night wore on. It was a welcome surprise
when, just as the first faint light of dawn enabled them to see a
cluster of white-walled houses in front, Armitage, who had ridden
ahead, came back to them.

“We halt here for an hour or two, ma’am,” he said. “This is the
customs station, and there is a fairly clean inn just over the
frontier. I fancy there is a storm coming on, but we shall be in
shelter.”

The customs examination was shortened and simplified by the judicious
use of arguments which the Roumi officials could understand, and Zoe
fancied that a discussion of the same kind was going on with the man
in charge of the telegraph-office on the Dardanian side of the
frontier. Something was said as to the telegraph-poles having been
destroyed in the storm, which appeared premature, since the storm had
not begun, and the poles looked particularly firm and strong, and it
was clear that an attempt was to be made to cover the trail of the
fugitives. Zoe smiled, with a recollection of past experiences of the
kind, and betook herself thankfully to the inn, where Eirene was
bestowing little Constantine in a perfect nest of rugs. The woman of
the house brought them coffee, and they were soon asleep.

Outside the inn, Maurice and Wylie were stamping about, shivering,
while Armitage interviewed the landlord, whose acquaintance he had
made in the course of former journeys to Pentikosti. Presently he
appeared.

“He says he is quite certain no one has passed, sir,” he said.

“Then he must still be behind us,” said Maurice. “I should have
thought he would catch us up long ago. He ought to travel faster than
we do.”

“Had a fall, perhaps,” suggested Wylie. “He doesn’t look as if he had
much of a seat. If you and Armitage will rest in the house, sir, I’ll
go to the top of the road and watch for him, and call you when I see
him.”

“No, you will be getting fever,” said Maurice. “Armitage will watch.
We can’t afford to run risks with you.”

Armitage laughed cheerfully as he climbed the road again, while the
other two men made themselves as comfortable as possible on the uneasy
divan of the inn. They had had time to fall asleep and wake with a
start more than once before they heard him outside.

“I can see him in the distance!” he said breathlessly. “He is riding
hard, and has only one man with him.”

They hurried out, and up the ridge. In the growing light the two
straining figures below were clearly visible. Wylie scanned them
closely.

“The servant has the luggage,” he said. “That’s all right. He’ll stay
behind at the customs, while Christodoridi comes on here to see if his
fresh horses are ready. He’ll want them.”

“Couldn’t ask for a better place than this for stopping him,” said
Maurice. “I only hope he won’t make a fool of himself and take to
shooting.”

“Two can play at that game,” said Wylie grimly, and they waited. It
seemed a long time before the feet of a struggling horse were heard on
the rocky road, and Romanos Christodoridi came in sight over the
ridge.

“Might have walked that last bit,” growled Wylie in disgust, as the
rider pulled up in surprise at the sight of the three men confronting
him.

“Will you be good enough to dismount and step aside with us, Prince?”
said Maurice. “There is a point I should be glad to settle with you
before we join the ladies at the inn.”

“None of that!” said Wylie sharply, arresting the Greek’s arm as he
raised his whip. It had a loaded handle, and his evident intention was
to bring it down on Maurice’s head, and dash forward in the confusion.
“Will you get off or be pulled off?”

“I bow to superior force,” said Prince Romanos, with an angry flush on
his sallow cheek. “I suppose it did not strike you, Mr Teffany, that
it would have been more in order if you had brought one of my friends
here, instead of two of your own?”

“We are not going to fight a duel,” said Maurice.

“No? Only to murder me?” He threw his horse’s bridle to Wylie and
dismounted. “You have chosen your ground well. It seems that I should
have done better, after all, to listen to the warning of your tool,
but you will admit that her method of detaining me was open to
misconstruction.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” said Maurice. “Who tried to detain you?
Who’s the tool? We have been expecting you for hours.”

Prince Romanos looked virtuously indignant. “Your ways are too deep
for me, Mr Teffany. I am tricked, by means of my tenderest affections,
into an interview which I discover is intended to prevent me from
starting as I had intended. On that discovery I tear myself
away--practically by force--ride headlong all night, and find you in
ambush awaiting me. Proceed, sir; I confess you have succeeded in
catching me unawares, but you need not hope to gain anything by this
treachery.”

“Once for all,” said Maurice, “there has been no treachery--on our
part, at any rate. We made no attempt to detain you.”

Prince Romanos bowed, obviously unconvinced. “The attempt was made,
and it was clearly to your interest that it should succeed,” he said.
“However, this argument is unprofitable. You are three to one; pray do
your business.”

“You seem to have treachery on the brain,” said Maurice. “There is no
question of violence of any kind. I asked you to come here that I
might make a certain proposal to you.”

“Which you intend to compel me to accept? Continue, pray.”

“You are on your way to Emathia to throw in your lot with the
insurgents; so are we. I imagine that, like myself, you are moved by
the wretched condition of the country. If it had been properly
governed, and the people contented, your claim, like mine, would have
remained in abeyance. Therefore neither of us is fighting for his own
hand, but in the hope of delivering Emathia. Do you agree?”

“Sir,” said Prince Romanos, “your sentiments are most admirable, and
I--admire them.”

“Then,” said Maurice, rather impatiently, “what I propose is that for
the present you and I should lay aside our opposing claims, and fight
shoulder to shoulder. Since we are both in reality working for the
good of Emathia, don’t let the mere look of things divide us. You know
as well as I do that nothing would delight Scythia and Pannonia more
than to see the friends of freedom fighting among themselves, so that
they might point out how impossible it was to entrust them with the
government. But if by sinking our differences we can keep our
followers from quarrelling, we shall have gone a long way towards
proving the fitness of the Emathians for liberty.”

“And for the rule of Prince Maurice the First? Really, Mr Teffany, I
can hardly take it as a compliment that you appear to expect me to
welcome this proposal.”

“You have not heard me to the end. I was going to suggest that when
the Roumis are driven out, and peace achieved, we should submit our
claims to the decision of the Emathian people, and abide by the
result.”

Armitage and Wylie were scarcely less astonished this time than Prince
Romanos, who was obviously thunder-struck. “I have offered to submit
my claim to the arbitration of the Œcumenical Patriarch,” he said at
last.

“And I have refused,” said Maurice shortly. “The only arbitration I
will accept is that of a referendum or a _plébiscite_--whatever you
like to call it--an appeal to the people most concerned.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then I shall be under the painful necessity of asking Lord Armitage
to keep you in safe custody on board his yacht. Now that there is at
last a chance of freeing Emathia, it shall not be sacrificed to
personal jealousies.”

“Then this is compulsion, after all?”

“Oh no. You shall be released in time to submit your claim to the
Emathians. But it seems to me that what I have suggested gives you a
better chance.”

“I have done you an injustice, Mr Teffany. Your methods are not so
simple as I imagined.”

“I think it would be as well if you left off calling me Mr Teffany. To
you, as to others, I am Prince Theophanis, if you please.”

“Ah, you would trick me into acknowledging your title?”

“Not at all. It is a mere matter of courtesy. I have made no attempt
to deprive you of your rank.”

“Sir, my rank cannot be touched by you. My ancestors were Patricians
of Venice.”

“Sir, mine were Emperors of the East. But this is all nonsense!”
Maurice broke off impatiently. “The question at issue is your present
conduct, not your ancestors’ nobility. I offer you a free hand, and as
good a chance as my own of establishing your claim, on the sole
condition that while we are in the field with the insurgents you make
no attempt to raise a party against me, or to divide our forces. In
fact, it is to be as if we were twin brothers, and there was a doubt
which was the elder. We are to fight for our common heritage, and not
for our own hand.”

Prince Romanos seemed to find some difficulty in answering. He walked
two or three steps backwards and forwards, closely watched by Wylie,
whose hand was in his pocket. Then he faced Maurice again.

“I am at a loss,” he said frankly. “My whole nature rises up against
the compulsion you wish to exercise over me, Prince, and yet I find
something noble in your theory. But you make a large demand in asking
that I should place myself voluntarily in subordination to you.”

“I ask nothing of the kind. If the Emathians are wise, they will elect
Colonel Wylie to supreme command, and I shall want nothing better than
to serve under him. If they are not--why, I suppose we shall all
command guerilla bands, and do the best we can with them.”

“And you are willing to swear that you will honourably withdraw from
the contest if, when the fighting is over, the Emathians elect me?”

“I give you my word here and now, but I will swear if you like.”

“And if--if you should not see the end of the fighting?”

“If anything happens to me, you will have a walk-over, for neither the
Powers nor the Emathians are likely to put a woman and a child upon
the throne.”

“But you had better be very careful not to have anything to do with
that happening,” broke in Wylie; “or you will not see the end of the
fighting either.”

“These insinuations are highly offensive, Prince,” said the Greek, as
Maurice turned angrily upon his follower.

“I simply stated a fact, sir,” said Wylie, in answer to the look. “If
you choose to invite people to murder you, it is only fair they should
know that you don’t stand alone.”

“And Prince Romanos accused you of wishing to murder him a few minutes
ago, sir,” said Armitage. The Greek laughed.

“It seems we are quits, then. There is as much, or as little,
intention to murder on one side as on the other. Prince Theophanis, I
accept your terms, subject to a solemn ratification over the holy
relics at Hagiamavra. But I should like to ask your sister a question
before I throw in my lot with you. I cannot yet forget the way in
which I was deceived last night.”

“I hope you don’t imply----” said Maurice quickly.

“I imply nothing, Prince. The simple word of my _confrère_ Zeto will
at once drive all doubt from my mind.”

Nothing more was to be got from him, and they walked down to the inn,
where the servant who had accompanied Prince Romanos was awaiting him
in considerable perplexity. Maurice sent the woman of the house to
fetch Zoe, who came out presently, sleepy and dishevelled. Prince
Romanos waved the three Englishmen out of earshot.

“If you are asked what my question was, Princess, you may say that I
inquired your motive in laying that trap for me last night,” he said.
“But I do not ask, for I know that the chance of furthering your
brother’s schemes and at the same time punishing a faithless suitor
must have been irresistible. What I want to know----”

“But I never laid a trap for you!” cried Zoe indignantly. “I don’t
know what you mean.”

He waved his hand indulgently. “We all disown our agents when they
fail,” he said. “It is my misfortune that I have incurred--and
doubtless deserved--the enmity of various ladies, and yours is not the
first plot laid against me. But I recognise the difference. Zeto would
draw the line between political extinction and murder. I put my life
in your hands, Princess. Am I safe”--he spoke low and
confidentially--“in accepting your brother’s proposal and throwing in
my lot with him and his friends? I distrust the man with blue eyes.”

The extraordinary mixture of coxcombry, confidence, and suspicion in
the man’s speech filled Zoe with mingled amusement and disgust. “You
will be as safe from us as you would be on your own island--I am sorry
to say!” she cried, with flaming eyes.

“Prince,” said Prince Romanos gravely, turning to Maurice, “your
sister has reassured me with regard to the trap laid for me last
night. I was already convinced, but I desired the formality of her
assurance. Now I am yours. You may regard me from henceforth as your
most trusted colleague.”

“I am glad to hear it,” said Maurice with all seriousness. “Eirene,”
turning to his wife, who had appeared in the doorway, “Prince Romanos
Christodoridi and I have agreed to lay aside our differences, and
fight only for the deliverance of Emathia. When that is accomplished,
we shall invite the Emathians to choose between us, and elect as
prince the one whom they consider best qualified.”

“Maurice! You have sacrificed----” began Eirene, but she broke off and
went indoors, closing her lips tightly. Zoe found her presently
walking up and down the narrow inner room where her boy was still
sleeping, with her hands clenched and her head thrown back.

“I might have known!” she cried. “Maurice always manages to defeat me
somehow. I ought to have taken Constantine and come away by myself,
without warning him,--it is the only way. He would have been so
anxious about us that he would have been willing to do anything. To
surrender without being forced to it! To submit our sacred rights to
the choice of the people!”

“I suppose he thinks that it will be better for the Emathians if they
can agree upon a ruler rather than have one forced upon them,” said
Zoe.

“The Emathians! what do they signify? It is a matter of right, of my
boy’s rights! But I have not sworn. I am not bound, and nothing shall
ever make me submit to this iniquitous arrangement.”

Remonstrance was useless, and Zoe, with a vivid memory of old times,
held her tongue. They continued their journey after a hasty meal,
Prince Romanos and his servant being added to the party. The two were
born mountaineers, and their experience proved most useful in getting
the horses over the precipitous tracks which here, in Roumi territory,
represented the good Dardanian roads. A guide, secured by Armitage,
took charge of them from the inn to Pentikosti, and explained matters
to various truculent-looking groups of highlanders, who appeared at
awkward points and seemed quite capable of making themselves
unpleasant. Thus, though exciting enough, the journey stopped short of
providing actual adventure, and in the evening they rode down into
Pentikosti, and found Armitage’s yacht, with her fires banked,
awaiting them in the rude little harbour. A further distribution of
palm-oil among the Roumi notables who came to do honour to Armitage
secured a promise that in the minds of these worthy men the arrival of
the strangers should be as though it had not been, and before
nightfall the yacht had taken her passengers on board and was steaming
down the coast.

The next morning the passengers presented rather a curious appearance,
for Armitage, after a talk with his captain, had ransacked his
yachting wardrobe and practically forced the other men to don his
clothes. Prince Romanos looked like a masquerading pirate, and Wylie,
so the rest told him, like a horse-marine; but the incongruity of
riding-clothes on shipboard was sufficiently obvious, even without
Armitage’s evident anxiety. Zoe and Eirene, entreated with becoming
diffidence to make themselves look as “frilly” as they could, complied
as far as the severe limitations of their campaigning luggage would
allow, and wondered what was the use of trying to deceive the crew,
who must know when and where, and probably also why, they had really
come on board.

It was not until after two days and nights of continuous steaming that
the true reason for the precaution became apparent. The yacht’s head
was turned northwards again, and Armitage was up and down and
everywhere, in a perfect fever of excitement, driving Captain Waters,
whose attention was sufficiently demanded by the intricacy of the
navigation, to the verge of frenzy. Suddenly he calmed down, and
appeared among the rest with a look of pale determination, for which
there seemed no particular reason.

“Man-of-war going to board us,” he explained to the ladies. “Just go
on with what you are doing, please, as if there was nothing the
matter. Don’t be frightened.”

“Why should we be frightened?” asked Zoe, astonished, but Eirene’s
eyes were anxious. Together they moved to the rail, where Wylie was
holding up little Constantine to look at the low, thick, two-funnelled
vessel which was rushing swiftly towards them. The child shrieked with
delight as the destroyer circled round and came to a halt, while a
boat put off from its grey side. A pleasant English-speaking officer
mounted the yacht’s ladder, and looked in astonishment at the group
before him. He made himself very agreeable to Mrs and Miss Smith, the
ladies to whom he was presented, and asked the necessary inquisitorial
questions as politely as possible, accepting as altogether natural the
avowed intention of Armitage to run into Therma and see what was
really going on there. But he had a word to add as he took his leave.

“I see you have zat Apolis on board,” he said to Armitage. “You know
he is incendiary, revolutionist? I have heard him talk in Paris.”

“He doesn’t talk in that way here,” said Armitage. “Perhaps he knows
better.”

The officer shrugged his shoulders. “He is dangerous man. Why is he
here, if not to join those fools of insurgents on the mainland?”

“I really can’t tell you,--unless because I asked him.”

“I sink I should do my duty in arresting him.”

“I think not. On board a British ship, in the waters of another
nation? Hardly.”

“We are on patrol duty here.”

“But no blockade has been declared. No, really, I couldn’t allow it.”
The officer looked from the boyish speaker and the dainty yacht to the
frowning dark vessel a little way off, and smiled, only just
perceptibly. “But look here,” Armitage went on, “I can’t answer for
what’s in his mind, but I can promise that he shan’t go on shore
unless I do. How’s that?”

“Zat is ol-right, if you will remember ze ladies, and not run into
peril. You listen my advice, and make your cruise in less troubled
waters, is it not so? But no, where zere is disturbance, zere also is
a mad Englishman and his yacht. Well, beware of ze Roumis.”

“Thanks. We certainly will,” said Armitage.

“This is not the first time we have been thankful to adopt the
aristocratic and high-sounding name of Smith,” said Zoe to Wylie, as
they watched the friendly foreigner returning to his own vessel.

“Our trip would certainly have ended here if that fellow had guessed
who you really were,” he replied. “It’s not going to be all smooth
sailing, you see. Haven’t you done enough for honour now? Why not let
us put into Korona and land you?”

“Because--you don’t seem to have seen it, but I did--if we had not
been on board, the officer would have turned the yacht back, and your
trip would have ended too. We are not altogether useless, you
perceive!”




 CHAPTER VIII.
 A PORT OF REFUGE.

“That was a narrow squeak this morning,” said Armitage to Maurice,
as they stood watching for the first sight of the heights of
Hagiamavra in the evening.

“Why particularly? That fellow had no authority to turn us back, as
there isn’t a blockade, and we could probably have dodged him in the
night if he had tried it.”

“It’s not that. It’s what we have on board. If he had insisted on
searching us!”

“Why, are you gun-running?” asked Maurice in surprise.

Armitage was surprised too. “Well, rifles and cartridges and a couple
of machine-guns are rather an unusual cargo for a yacht, aren’t they?”

Maurice understood. “Ah, another of my wife’s little speculations?” he
said, trying to keep out of his voice the bitterness he felt.

“Yes, and that’s given us an idea for getting them on shore. I’ve been
talking it over with Waters, who’s an awfully knowing chap, and he
told me the same thing had been puzzling him. You see, the risk is not
all over when we have them and ourselves landed at Skandalo. Your
precious subjects-that-are-to-be are quite capable of annexing the
arms and kicking you out. What you want is to secure a defensive
position in the middle of them before they realise what you’ve got.
Wylie quite agrees with me.”

“The prospect is certainly a pleasant one,” said Maurice
indifferently. Few people realised--his wife least of all--the disgust
with which he was filled by the necessity of constantly putting
himself forward, of forcing his claims upon an unwilling, or at best
uninterested, people.

“The place for you is the Hagiamavra Monastery,” went on Armitage
eagerly,--“in the heart of the insurgents’ position, defensible
against any unsupported rush. It’s a good way from the sea, that’s the
worst of it, and the paths through the hills are simply beastly; but
once up there, there you are. If you stayed down at Skandalo, you’d
always be exposed to attack from the sea, either a bombardment or a
Roumi landing. At the monastery--well, I suppose the _Dreadnought’s_
guns could touch you, but nothing else that floats, and no Roumi force
is likely to be able to force its way up in the face of opposition.”

“And what about provisions?”

“I can leave you a fair store, and then I’ll go off and forage. I
think I can do better for you in that way than if I landed with part
of the crew to help in the fighting. They were not engaged for
war-service, you see, but anything like running a blockade will
delight them.”

“I see.” Maurice saw more than Armitage intended, and guessed why he
had given up his former plan of attaching himself through thick and
thin to the party that included Zoe, but he did not say so. “I suppose
you realise that you’re more than likely to lose the yacht?” he asked.

“Meaning that the Powers will sink her? Let ’em. She may as well leave
her bones here as at the North Pole, though I hope she won’t do it
till you’re well supplied. But about these guns and things. Waters has
hit on an awfully neat dodge, and made use of it to keep the men from
getting rusty while he was hanging about off Pentikosti. He has had
canvas covers made for all the cases, with red braid on them--like the
things you see old ladies with on their travels, you know--and
initials stencilled on the tops,--most swagger luggage you ever saw.
He’ll pad them up a little with waste, to disguise the shape and the
sharp corners, and we’ll get them landed and up to the monastery as
the ladies’ boxes.”

“Awfully neat!” said Maurice, laughing in spite of himself. “But what
about the weight? And the case of a machine-gun must be a fair size, I
should imagine.”

“Oh, don’t you know those things as big as a house, that some women
lug about their ball-dresses in--all standing, so to speak? It can’t
be bigger than that. And as to the weight--oh, we’ll stuff the
insurgents about Byzantine robes, stiff with gold and jewels, and all
that sort of thing, you know. They’ll take it as an awful compliment
that the Princesses should have come prepared to hold a court.”

Maurice was hardly convinced, but Armitage was so fully persuaded of
the feasibility of his plan that he offered no further objection. The
yacht anchored off Skandalo that night, jealously scrutinised by
fishing-boats, which drifted out of the darkness into the circle of
her lights, asked a question or two, and faded into nothingness again,
and with earliest daylight Armitage and Captain Waters went on shore
to make judicious inquiries, lest the Roumis might, with unwonted
energy, have occupied the little town. When they came off again, they
brought with them one of the insurgent leaders, no other than Dr
Afanasi Terminoff, who was exercising authority at Skandalo in the
name of the Emathian Revolutionary Committee, the Roumi inhabitants
having wisely effaced themselves on the invasion of the peninsula by a
mixed multitude of patriots and refugees from Therma. It appeared that
Professor Panagiotis had, as Armitage said, played up nobly. He had
not been informed of the flight from Bashi Konak save by a note left
to be delivered to him on the following morning, but on receiving it
he had promptly waited upon the Prince of Dardania to inform him that
Prince Theophanis and all his party had been laid low in the night
with influenza, and would be unable to leave their rooms for some
days. At the same time he had communicated with the insurgent
headquarters,--by the historic method of fire-signals, Zoe suggested,
but more probably by mere prosaic messages carried overland by
returning delegates. The really ardent among these men had been
stealing away from Bashi Konak one by one since the first news of the
massacres at Therma, more anxious to take part in any fighting there
might be than to consume additional time in theoretical negotiations,
and their news travelled before them in some mysterious way.

The arrival of Prince Theophanis was expected, and Dr Terminoff had
had time to prepare information and advice, with both of which he was
overflowing. The state of things was not altogether propitious. The
Hagiamavra peninsula was now affording standing-ground--accommodation
it could hardly be called--for quite three times its ordinary
population, even allowing for the expatriated Moslems. A certain
proportion of the newcomers consisted of stalwart members of
revolutionary bands from all parts of Emathia, who had obeyed the
summons to concentrate for a great struggle, but the rest were a
heterogeneous mob from Therma, among them a large number of men whose
enthusiasm for freedom was of a wildly anarchistic character. These
refugees were not amenable even to such limited authority as was
possessed by the captains of bands over their followers, and led by
any plausible talker among themselves who could gain their ear, they
raided the houses and farms of the inhabitants in search of
provisions, establishing a worse than Roumi tyranny in the peninsula.
Some central authority, with sufficient power at its command to
enforce its orders, was urgently needed, and it was equally necessary
to devise some means of feeding not only the fighting men, but the
troops of helpless women and children who had sought safety with them.
Maurice and Wylie, as they listened, perceived that the task before
them was much larger than they had anticipated, since it had not
occurred to their minds that they would be called upon to combine the
functions of a relief agency with those of a military dictatorship. To
do this from a precarious foothold on the coast was obviously
impossible, but Dr Terminoff was as anxious as Armitage to establish
the whole party safely at the monastery. Besides the predatory hordes
from Therma, who were spread over the lower hills immediately behind
the town, there were the insurgent bands, hardly less truculent though
better disciplined, occupying the heights in the interior, and only
too likely to welcome an opportunity of returning to their wonted
avocation of brigandage. Moreover, since the delegates who had
accepted Maurice’s leadership at Bashi Konak had not had time to
explain their action to their supporters, a strong republican spirit
was prevalent, and might manifest itself in disagreeable ways.

In the face of a complicated emergency of this kind, Maurice was at
his best. Prompt action was urgently necessary, not only in order to
circumvent possible objectors, but that the yacht might unload her
cargo and depart before the news of her presence could be carried to
any of the European warships in these waters. Dr Terminoff was sent on
shore again to requisition every available mule for the transport of
the party and their “luggage,” and summon as many members of his own
band as could be readily assembled to act as escort. Wylie accompanied
him, with the idea of gaining an insight into the conditions
prevailing on shore; while the important cases were being got up from
the hold and enclosed in their innocent-seeming wrappers, and Armitage
and his stewards despoiled the cabins of mattresses, cushions,
carpets, and whatever else could add to the comfort of the ladies.
Captain Waters proved himself a tower of strength when it came to
improvising means of getting the cases transferred from the deck along
the ruined stone pier which showed that Skandalo had once known more
prosperous days, and Wylie, as transport officer without subordinates,
exhibited a knowledge of the idiosyncrasies of the Hagiamavran mule,
and the best way of combating them, which was clearly the fruit of
long and bitter experience in like circumstances. By the captain’s
advice, the load was reduced by breaking open one case of rifles and
one of cartridges, and distributing the contents among fifteen men of
the yacht’s crew, who were to act as an additional escort under
command of Armitage. By dint of herculean efforts, all the packs were
adjusted by noon, Zoe and Eirene were mounted on improvised saddles on
the quietest mules, Wylie appointed the bodyguard their stations, and
the long line trickled through the narrow streets of the little town
and up the hills behind.

A curious throng watched them from roofs and alleys, with much
speculation, but with a notable and natural absence of enthusiasm. The
inhabitants of the peninsula could hardly be expected to welcome the
choice of their neighbourhood as the theatre of great events, however
proud they might be in the distant future that it had been the scene
of the freeing of Emathia. These newcomers looked as if they might be
more profitable guests than the Therma refugees, but the fact that
they were seeking quarters at once in the mountains, instead of
demanding the best accommodation the town could produce, showed that
there was something not quite right about them, and the haggard man
with the blue eyes who regulated their march looked capable of making
himself very unpleasant to honest people who only wished to lead a
quiet life and decorate the caps of their daughters with as fine a
show of piastres as possible.

The many-coloured crowd and the white houses once left behind, the
track led up the hillside, covered with short grass, where the
sweet-scented shrubs which should have clothed it had been rooted up
for fuel. At the top of the ridge Zoe turned to take a last look at
the yacht, the one remaining link with civilisation, but she was
speedily taught that this was no moment for the indulgence of
sentiment. In the hollow below the ridge a number of the Therma
refugees were encamped, in holes grubbed out of the hillside or in
wretched shelters made with blankets, and when the strangers came in
sight there was a rush of ragged, half-starved creatures clamouring
with piteous voices and outstretched hands. Mothers held up their
wizened babies, old men exhibited roughly bandaged wounds, but even
more terrible was the sight of those who had lost either the desire or
the power to beg, and sat stolid in the apathy of helplessness. Eirene
and Zoe emptied their purses and the lunch-basket, and entreated that
the provisions which were being carried up to the monastery might be
distributed here instead, but Wylie was adamant. The able-bodied men
belonging to this party of refugees had been set to work improving the
pier by Dr Terminoff, and would earn enough to keep their dependants
for a day or two. After that he hoped it would be possible to make
organised arrangements for relief, but it would be mere foolishness to
sacrifice, on an impulse of pity, what might be of inestimable value
to the Emathian cause in the future. Zoe relieved her feelings by
abusing his hardness to Eirene as she rode on, but Eirene did not
answer. Holding her boy closely to her, she was haunted, as with a
foreboding of evil, by the thought that this misery was, in part at
least, due to her ambition for him.

The uplands beyond the hollow were almost solitary, save for an
occasional goatherd. Once Wylie left the rest to examine a deserted
village, which had been inhabited hitherto, it seemed, by the vanished
Moslems. Now the houses were roofless, the gardens destroyed, and the
fruit-trees cut down, so that the hope he had entertained of settling
some of the refugees there could not be fulfilled at present. He and
Maurice were continually in converse on the many questions pressing
for immediate solution, calling up now Armitage and now Dr Terminoff
for consultation, and leaving to Prince Romanos the duty of attending
on the ladies, which he performed with a very good grace.

“I am no student of social problems, I confess it,” he said airily. “I
came here to fight, and fight I will as long as I can hold a sword,
but place me face to face with that crowd of miserable objects back
there, and what can I do but empty my purse and hurry away, covering
ears and eyes?”

“But if you were responsible for them as their prince?” suggested Zoe.

He shrugged his shoulders. “My heart would perhaps grow harder,
Princess. Certainly my purse would soon be exhausted. I fear I should
take refuge in the philosophy of our Roumi friends, and find comfort
in repeating that all was Kismet.”

“That would be very consoling to your poor people,” said Zoe.

He accepted the rebuke with surprising meekness. “Indeed, Princess, in
my view the ideal government for Emathia would be a triumvirate
composed of your brother, Colonel Wylie, and myself; but how could I
say so publicly without seeming to undervalue my rights?”

“You to do the ornamental part, Maurice the practical, and Colonel
Wylie the military and police?” said Zoe cruelly. “It would save
Maurice a good deal of trouble--but then, you see, we don’t allow that
you have any rights at all.”

“Naturally, Princess,” was all he could be induced to say, with his
usual shrug.

The character of the scenery was now changing, the grassy downs being
left behind for wilder and loftier hills. Sometimes a glimpse could be
caught of the monastery itself, far above and beyond, like the
Celestial City in old illustrations to the ‘Pilgrim’s Progress,’ its
tiled roofs clinging to the sides of a great rift in the rock, and
then again it would be hidden by the intervening crags. This broken
country was the chosen haunt of the bands from the mainland, whom it
reminded of their own hills, and challenges rang from the rocky
heights, to be answered with anxious explanations by Dr Terminoff, who
did all he could to magnify the importance of the new recruits to the
cause without revealing either their identity or the nature of the
contribution they brought for the war-chest. His guarded answers
excited much interest, and a gradually increasing crowd of insurgents
attached itself to the travellers, betraying an unconcealed desire to
know the contents of the luggage, which seemed so much heavier than it
looked. This was the moment Wylie had feared, and the sailors and Dr
Terminoff’s men were placed as a screen at the head and tail of the
cavalcade. The sides could not be protected, nor was it indeed
necessary, since the path was only wide enough for a mule and its
driver. “It’s a blessing they haven’t had time to arrange an ambuscade
with stones, or they would have cut the column in two,” said Wylie;
“but I think we have taken them by surprise.”

As the long procession approached the monastery, an obvious excitement
began to make itself felt among the hangers-on, a certain number of
whom detached themselves and ran on to the gate, where they demanded
entrance with much banging and many shouts. No response, however, came
from within, and the self-appointed couriers rushed back with fervid
zeal to complain that the never-to-be-sufficiently-execrated
Patriarchist monks refused admission to the noble English visitors.
With generous indignation the surrounding mob demanded that Wylie
should lead them to force an entrance, and it was clear that between
the monks and the mainlanders there existed a grudge as old as the
latter’s first encampment on the hills ten days ago, when they had
been excluded, as schismatics, from the sacred precincts. Such a
revival of the feud between the Greek and Slav elements of Emathian
society promised badly for the success of Maurice’s mission of unity,
and he and Armitage went forward to call a parley, while Wylie
prepared for action if necessary. For some time the frowning front of
the monastery appeared utterly unresponsive to all the knocking and
shouting that besieged it, but at length a high black cap and a
venerable beard appeared on the top of the gateway, and a conversation
ensued. Presently Maurice came back and summoned Wylie.

“They won’t let us in, because the Roumi Government has always treated
them fairly well, and they are afraid what may happen when we come to
smash,” he said.

“They must let us in,” said Wylie. “Otherwise we shall come to smash
in less than ten minutes. We must break the gate down.”

“Then our Emathian friends will simply swarm in and loot the place. We
shall be as badly off for accommodation as ever, and have to bear the
everlasting stigma of having plundered an Orthodox monastery.”

“Oh, we must fake it somehow. Tell your venerable friend that we will
save his face by technically forcing an entrance. Fifteen sailors with
rifles which half of them can’t use look imposing enough to justify
any man of peace in opening his door to them if they threaten to fire.
Of course you will add that if this is not inducement enough we will
let the Emathians loose on them, and then they need have no further
anxiety about the Roumis.”

“All right. Get the mules as close up to the gate as possible, and let
the sailors be ready to turn their rifles against the Emathians once
it’s opened.”

“Your brother’s welcome from his subjects is even embarrassing in its
warmth,” remarked Prince Romanos to Zoe, with a fine air of
detachment.

“Oh, the monastery has seen many leaders of revolts,” replied Zoe
airily. “How should the poor old monks know that Maurice is the leader
of a revolution?”

“Ladies nearest the gate,” said Wylie’s voice. “Cartridges and
machine-guns next, then the rifles. Terminoff, are your men to be
trusted if one or two of them get inside?”

“If your sailors are there too,” was the not very encouraging reply.

Maurice turned and waved his hand. The sailors, instructed by Wylie in
a stage whisper how to hold their rifles, were summoned to the front,
and produced an awe-inspiring click at the word of command. Very
slowly and heavily one of the gates creaked open, leaving just room
for the passage of one mule at a time. At a word from Wylie, Prince
Romanos took the bridle of Eirene’s mule and led it in, and Zoe’s
followed, while the sailors turned to face the crowd instead of the
gate. One by one the mules were dragged in, Maurice and Prince Romanos
opening the second leaf of the door by main force to allow of the
entrance of the cases, while Armitage and Wylie, last of all, facing
outwards, kept back the mob that surged behind. The last and most
obstreperous mule disappeared with a final flourish of heels, the
double row of sailors on either side of the gate drew together and
vanished two by two, and Wylie and Armitage retreated slowly
backwards, each with a hand in his pocket, the crowd pressing round,
but leaving a clear space in front of them. Armitage tripped over the
threshold, but was dragged in, head first, by Maurice, and the sailors
closed half the door while Wylie stood on guard. Then he also slipped
within, and the remaining leaf was slammed and barred, while a howl of
disappointment went up from the mob outside. Wylie smiled ironically.

“Before I do anything else,” he said, “I’ll put those machine-guns
together, and mount one on the top of the gate, and the other just
here to command it. They seem needed to save us from our friends.”




 CHAPTER IX.
 ARTS OF PEACE.

The expedition had reached port, but this was all that could be
said. The quiet fore-court of the monastery was filled with kicking
mules, vociferating drivers, and curious sailors, while two or three
agitated monks bewailed the invasion with uplifted hands. The
strangers had brought women within the sacred gates, and were further
polluting the precincts with the presence of schismatics and of
weapons of war. The glory of Hagiamavra had departed, for the stain
could never be removed. Leaving Wylie to arrange measures of defence,
Maurice set himself to soothe the feelings of the distracted hosts. A
little diplomacy induced them to confess that the monastery had on one
former occasion in its history given shelter to the abhorred sex, in
the shape of a number of women and children from Skandalo seeking
refuge on account of the visit of a Roumi fleet, but then these
suppliants had asked no more than to crouch on the bare stones of the
courtyard. However, in answer to a tactful question or two, the
Hegoumenos, or Abbot, owned that the number of monks was now so much
reduced as to occupy only the innermost cells, those which clustered
round the church, in the narrowest part of the rift, thus leaving the
buildings near the gateway free for the accommodation of the visitors.
A promise from Maurice that the ladies would make no attempt to
penetrate farther than the fore-court contributed still more to smooth
matters, and the Hegoumenos volunteered to send a couple of lay
brethren to sweep out the rooms and to provide firewood.

Returning to the rest, Maurice found that Wylie had got one of the
guns unpacked and set up to protect the entrance, but was in doubt
whether to carry out the rest of his plan and mount the other upon the
gateway itself. The idea was opposed vehemently by Dr Terminoff, who
urged that since the monastery had so fortunately been reached without
the shedding of a drop of blood, there was every hope of coming to a
happy understanding with the insurgents, but that this would be
grievously imperilled by any show of distrust. At his earnest request
Maurice allowed the insurgent leader to go up to the gateway and
address the crowd outside, which he did with much effect. A marked and
somewhat awestruck silence succeeded the din which had hitherto
prevailed, and the various chiefs who were present requested Dr
Terminoff to convey their assurances of friendship to the English
visitors. As he descended from the gateway, the English visitors
seized upon him.

“What was that you told them about Roumi troops being on their way
here?” demanded Maurice.

“It is quite true. Five battalions are already embarked, we
understand, and others are on the point of departure.”

“But how have you heard it up here?” cried Wylie.

“Oh, I heard it at Skandalo. A messenger from Therma--one of the men
who work for Professor Panagiotis--came in this morning.”

“And why in the world didn’t you tell us at once?”

“Because I thought you would go away in your ship without landing if
I did,” was the ingenuous reply.

“Oh, look here!” cried Armitage indignantly, “this is a little too
much! We must get the ladies back to the yacht as soon as
possible--to-night, if they are not too tired.”

“Why?” asked Maurice. “You surely didn’t think the Roumis would not
send troops? We have known all along that we should probably have to
face them. You can do much more good by bringing up supplies,
Armitage, as we arranged.”

“But I can’t take my men away, and leave you and the ladies at the
mercy of these fellows outside. The Roumis couldn’t be worse.”

“These men are Christians--patriots,” said Dr Terminoff with
indignation. “In their holy war they welcome the aid of Prince
Theophanis and his friends. To-morrow, in full assembly, the
conditions of alliance will be settled, and the defence of the
peninsula will be entrusted to the illustrious Colonel Wylie. Our
patriots are brave as lions, but they know little of discipline, and
just now there was no time to enter into explanations. But having
heard the truth, they will freely allow the passage of the Milordo and
his men.”

“I’m not afraid of that!” cried Armitage, flushing angrily. “It is
that I don’t think the Prince and his family are safe.”

“Sir, you throw doubts on the patriots of Emathia?” Dr Terminoff was
bristling with rage, but Wylie interposed.

“He doesn’t know them as we do, and their behaviour this afternoon has
been calculated to prejudice a stranger rather unfavourably. Leave the
ladies to us, Armitage, and ransack the Mediterranean for supplies and
ammunition. Not rifles,--we have enough for the men who have
none,--but cartridges to fit our Mausers, in packages small enough to
be carried by one man. With anything like an adequate supply, we might
hold that country we passed through to-day for months. You had better
arrange for a further consignment to be sent out from England to meet
you at some safe place, but just now you must pick up what you can
get, and hurry back before the Roumis appear.”

“But they may be here to-morrow!” cried Armitage.

“Not they. Roumi troops are not kept ready for service at a moment’s
notice, and transports are not to be had for nothing. The five
battalions are probably in the first agonies of mobilising at this
moment, and the Jews of Czarigrad are chartering all the condemned
tramps they can hear of to carry them, so you will just have time to
make a foraging trip and get back. And by the bye, if the Princess
will let you make use of her letters of credit, bring us a good supply
of small change,--any currency will do. We don’t want to have to add a
mint to the other activities before us, and our New Model army will
require to be paid.”

Taken aback, alike by the nature of Wylie’s calculations and their
ultra-practical character, Armitage allowed himself to be dismissed
with his sailors after a hasty meal. They were mounted on the Skandalo
mules, and escorted in triumphal procession by the repentant
insurgents outside, who were now only anxious to embrace the men for
whose blood they had previously been thirsting. A code of signals had
been arranged, by means of which Armitage, on sighting a precipitous
headland not far from Skandalo, might know whether it was safe for the
yacht to approach the land, and where she was to disembark her stores.

The accommodation provided by the monastery was not luxurious, though
the steward of the yacht had done what he could to make the bare
cells, hollowed out in the rock and opening in front into wooden
galleries, habitable. He had been left at Hagiamavra to act as cook,
since the Greek retainer of Prince Romanos, who would not make himself
useful for any one but his master, was the only servant with the
party. Dr Terminoff chose out six members of his band, guaranteed to
be trustworthy, to serve as guards, and they camped round a fire in
the fore-court. At the head of the shallow steps leading to the lowest
gallery, from which all the others were approached, Wylie had built up
the cases of arms into a breastwork, on which he mounted the
machine-gun he had unpacked, not caring to leave it exposed to the
active curiosity of the guards in the court. Thus the position was as
safe as it was possible to make it, and the adventurers talked and
laughed round the inadequate brazier provided for their comfort, with
a determination not to let things flag which suggested inevitably a
certain amount of effort. Their reception at Hagiamavra had not been
quite what they expected, but they were resolved to make the best of
things.

With the morning came the necessity of meeting the insurgent chiefs in
full assembly, as Dr Terminoff had promised, and it was an assembly
that lasted for three days. Wylie excused himself after the first
morning, for the assembly appeared to be possessed of unlimited powers
of talk, and to be determined to exercise them. It seemed to be the
custom that every man should have the opportunity of addressing his
fellows if he desired it, and there were few sufficiently merciful or
retiring to waive the privilege. Hour after hour Maurice and Prince
Romanos sat side by side listening to the flow of like sentiments
delivered in different dialects and with varying gestures by the
highlanders from the mainland, the cosmopolitan refugees from Therma,
and the Greek fishermen and artisans from the coast districts. The
speeches all began in the same way, with a declaration of the
speaker’s theoretical preference for a republic on the American--Wylie
unkindly suggested the South American--model, but nearly all of them
came to the lame conclusion that in view of the dislike felt by some
of the Powers for republican institutions, and the benefits certain to
be conferred upon the cause by the adhesion to it of the Theophanis
family, it would be well to recognise their pretensions. The returning
delegates from Bashi Konak had now had time to make their influence
felt, and the imminent peril of a Roumi invasion in force inclined
Greek and Slav for once to lay aside their differences and agree to
postpone the actual choice of a Prince until the danger was over. In
the presence of the assembly, Maurice swore on the head of his little
son, and Prince Romanos on the sacred relics, brought with great pomp
and precaution from the monastery, to fight side by side as
brothers-in-arms, and submit their respective claims to the judgment
of the Emathian people when success should have brought peace. Upon
this the gathering resolved, only a few austere republicans
dissenting, to change its name from the Revolutionary to the
Constitutional Assembly, and an intimation of the fact, together with
the information that Emathia had determined to choose a ruler from
among the descendants of the Theophanis Emperors, was sent to
Professor Panagiotis for dissemination by the usual channels.

While Maurice was thus establishing his position by patient endurance
of dilatory declamation, Wylie was hard at work. At his request Dr
Terminoff picked out for him each day twenty men from among the most
intelligent and adaptable of the insurgents, and they accompanied him
in a survey of the coasts of the peninsula. They found that their new
leader (Glaukos, or Glafko, was the name they gave him among
themselves) had an eye for country as good as their own, and a
conception of military tactics which went far beyond their crude idea
of firing from ambush until their retreat was seriously threatened,
and then retiring with all speed to take up a new position to the
rear. The few precarious landing-places which broke the line of the
precipitous cliffs were noted, and the fishermen living near them
enrolled as scouts, while a ledge of rock here, and a sheltered hollow
there, were marked as the site of rough fortifications from which the
port might be defended. There was much interest as to Wylie’s plans
for defending the narrow isthmus which united the peninsula with the
mainland, and considerable disappointment, and even murmurs of
treachery, when he refused to requisition the services of the
inhabitants _en masse_ for the purpose of digging a ditch and erecting
a rampart across it. He took no notice of the grumbling, but when,
after much consultation among themselves, a deputation of his
followers inquired the reason for his inaction, he pointed out to them
that nothing better could be desired than that the Roumis should
attack Hagiamavra by land. The broken ground of the interior continued
as far as the isthmus, which was not traversed by any road, and an
army making its way painfully into the hills would be subject to
perpetual attacks from an active enemy well posted and knowing the
country. Since the insurgents were so much in love with digging, he
promised them plenty of it in making shelter-trenches, but if they
wanted to help in something really large and important, he could only
advise them to offer their services in making the strong earthwork
above Skandalo, which had been undertaken by Dr Terminoff partly in
response to the demands of the inhabitants, and partly to provide
relief employment for the refugees. In the face of ships’ guns it
would be untenable, and only draw destruction upon the place, but the
townspeople were loud in demanding protection, and a landing in boats
might be prevented by rifle-fire from its shelter.

While Wylie was regaining his own health in the hard open-air life,
and attaching to himself the men whom he destined as the nucleus of a
disciplined force, Zoe and Eirene had found work of their own. Time
threatened at first to hang heavy on their hands, for they were
forbidden to move about inside the monastery, or to go outside it
without an escort, which every one was too busy to supply. But on the
second morning, to Zoe’s astonishment, Eirene broke in upon her in her
impulsive way.

“Zoe, I want to do something for those poor wretched women--the people
from Therma. Maurice has arranged that those who can work shall be
fed, but some of them were ill, and there are the babies. I can’t bear
to think of them with no proper shelter.”

Zoe had been assuring herself that if she proposed doing anything for
the refugees, Eirene would throw cold water on the suggestion, and she
assented with surprise and some remorse. The guards, who were
grumbling at their enforced detention in the courtyard, remote alike
from the deliberations of the Assembly and from Wylie’s explorations,
were despatched to find mules, and welcomed the break in the monotony
of their lot. The reception at the refugee camp, after the toilsome
journey necessary to reach it, was not equally encouraging. The women
seemed to have only one idea of bettering their condition, and that
was by begging, and the most strenuous efforts, enforced by personal
example, were needed to induce them to set to work. Zoe, longing in
vain for her invaluable maid, Linton of the strong arm and caustic
tongue, felt herself shamed by Eirene, who seemed to find no work too
hard, no task too degrading. Only Eirene herself knew that she was
undertaking the care of these people as in some sort an expiation.
Their present plight was largely due to her; what if the punishment
should fall on the dearly loved boy for whose future she planned and
plotted night and day? If any humiliation or exertion of hers could
turn away the danger from him, it should not be wanting. Thus she and
Zoe toiled to induce the women to improve their temporary habitations,
and make at least an effort to keep them clean, and to separate the
fever-stricken from the rest, gathering them into a makeshift
hospital. Some people might think, said Zoe, after various trying
experiences with some of the more active elderly women who had been
chosen as nurses, that philanthropic work among Emathian refugees was
romantic; whereas workhouse nursing at home was instinct with romance
in comparison. The medical officer would naturally have been Dr
Terminoff, but he was already fully occupied with his duties as a
leader of revolt. However, since his liege ladies gave him no peace,
and he was anxious to impress upon his followers the necessity of
deference to Maurice and his family, he unearthed two medical students
who had run away from their studies at Bellaviste to join one of the
bands, and appointed them to hospital posts. Their consent was not
asked, and they proved, unfortunately, to be the only two men in the
peninsula who positively yearned for drill, so that they were
invariably missing whenever Wylie was working at the raw material of
his army.

Notwithstanding all the drawbacks, Armitage found a distinct
improvement in the condition of the insurgent forces when he returned
at the end of a fortnight. By dint of a lavish expenditure of money,
he had got together a good cargo of provisions, but no efforts seemed
effectual in securing satisfactory ammunition. At one port, where he
thought he had the promise of a large quantity of cartridges, it
proved necessary to get the cases on board in tremendous haste owing
to the suspicions of the harbour authorities and an alarm as to the
arrival of a British warship, and on being opened they turned out to
be largely filled with scrap-metal, while such cartridges as they did
contain were of all sorts and kinds. He brought good news, however, in
the positive assurance that, owing to the representations of the
Powers at Czarigrad, the projected despatch of Roumi troops had been
abandoned. The massacres at Therma had touched the conscience of
Europe--or perhaps, as Wylie said, the devastation of so important a
commercial centre had touched its pocket; in any case, the Roumis were
not to have a free hand in Hagiamavra. Such troops as Jalal-ud-din
Pasha already possessed in and around Therma he might employ against
the insurgents, but they were not to be swept out of existence by
overwhelming force.

The news produced a profound impression upon the insurgents, who came
by bands solemnly to congratulate Maurice, and thank him for his
efforts in their cause. Not until an indiscreet remark of Dr Terminoff
let the cat out of the bag did he and Armitage understand why he was
supposed to be responsible for the action of the Powers.

“You know, and I know,” said the Emathian, “that you had nothing to do
with the Czarigrad negotiations, since the Powers are not even aware
of your presence here, so well has Professor Panagiotis manipulated
the press. But it is very well for the people to believe that this
success is due to you.”

“I don’t want them to believe anything that isn’t true,” said Maurice.
“What are you hinting at?”

“The Professor has only allowed it to become known that the Assembly
has addressed a hearty request to any prince of the house of
Theophanis to place himself at their head, and achieve the deliverance
of Emathia,” was the reply. “This the reactionary Powers fear above
all things, and therefore they will not allow Roum to attempt to crush
the Emathians, lest Western sympathy should be roused and autonomy
demanded for them. The Powers will act in concert, wasting time and
effecting nothing, but prolonging the present state of affairs until
Scythia and Pannonia are ready for action. Then the wretched
troublesome country will be gladly handed over to them.”

“You mean that though the Roumis are forbidden to crush us, the Powers
will do it for them?” said Armitage.

Dr Terminoff nodded. “Yes, and that is why it is well for the Prince
that the people should believe the Powers are acting in his support.
Nilischeff and the anti-dynastic party are hiding their heads at
present, but if they knew that the Prince would be disowned by the
country of his birth, they would urge that his presence here was
merely a danger to the cause, and he ought to be given up.”

“Cheerful prospect for the immediate future!” said Maurice. “Wylie
would hardly let those fellows of his make the row they are doing if
he knew how mistaken their rejoicing was.”

With dramatic propriety Wylie appeared at the moment from the
direction of the extemporised drill-ground.

“More news!” he said. “One of my fishermen scouts brought it, and
thought fit to announce it to the whole army as well as to me. Last
night he spoke a Therma boat which told him that several
ironclads were leaving this morning for these waters, and by the
description it must be a division of the British Mediterranean Fleet.
My beauties down there are mad with joy, anticipating a triumphal
procession to Therma, and Jalal-ud-din’s head on a charger.”

“We must make them understand that the fleet is much more likely to
act against us than with us,” said Maurice.

“You cannot, sir,” said Dr Terminoff. “They would only ascribe your
denials to diplomacy. Many years of disappointment have not been able
to destroy their confidence in the goodwill of England, and they
believe that she has just given a superlative proof of it at
Czarigrad. Only the personal assurance of the British Admiral will
convince them.”

“Backed by a shell or two, I suppose?” said Maurice. “Well, Armitage,
it’s very clear that you must be off at once. It isn’t only that you
mustn’t be caught at Skandalo, but we don’t want to give them a chance
to recognise the yacht if they meet her again.”

“The ironclads will have to lie about a mile out,” said Armitage
reflectively. “We must hug the shore to the southward and slip round
them. There will just be time.”

“And when you come back,” said Maurice, “bring provisions, whatever
you have to leave behind. We find that the Skandalo people have been
turning an honest penny by shipping all their spare supplies to
Therma, where prices are enormous, of course, while we have been at
our wits’ end to feed our refugees. We shall have to establish an
embargo if it goes on, for it’s almost certain that news leaks out as
well; but it would be horribly difficult to enforce, and make a
fearful amount of ill-feeling.”

“Our recruits are not a success as police,” explained Wylie, as they
returned to the monastery. “They are most zealous in hunting
evil-doers, but then I have to hunt the police. Just wait till I get
my Sikhs, though!”

“I say, you know,” said Armitage, “you fellows have really done a lot
in this short time. You’ve got the beginnings of an army, and public
works, and a judicial system, and you’re contemplating tariff reform!”

“Until the British fleet comes and blows the peninsula out of the
water,” said Maurice. “Well, I never expected to fight against the
Union Jack, nor did you, Wylie, I’m sure,--but we mean to stick to
this job unless we’re turned out. To have got Greeks and Slavs to
drill shoulder to shoulder is a bigger thing than it looks.”




 CHAPTER X.
 THE INTERVENTION OF THE ADMIRAL.

Before the long dark shapes, dimly discernible from the highest
point of the rock above the monastery, had been apparently floating in
the air on the horizon for more than a day, events began to move in
Hagiamavra. On the isthmus connecting the peninsula with the mainland
stood a village, or rather its remains, for it had formerly been
inhabited by Moslems, and these had required more than merely moral
suasion to induce them to quit it. It served now as an outpost of the
insurgents, and its garrison was surprised by the approach of a small
body of Roumi troops, accompanied very unwillingly by the elders of
the dispossessed community. Much elated by the prospect of a fight at
last, the garrison prepared to let the foe approach within short range
and then annihilate them, but the troops had not come out to be
killed. They remained in cover, while the wretched villagers were
driven forward, to be turned back in confusion by a few contemptuous
shots from the ruins. To the intense disappointment of the defenders,
the Roumis were not stirred to action even by this defiance, and
retired in safety, merely exchanging shots with them at long range.
The next visitor was a Greek pope from Therma, who came as the
mouthpiece of Jalal-ud-din to inquire the reason for the extraordinary
reception given to the soldiers whom he had deputed to restore the
evicted villagers to their homes. In the mild reasonableness of this
demand the insurgents saw the hand of the Powers, restraining the
Pasha from the vigorous measures he would naturally have taken, and
triumphed accordingly. The priest was sent back with the message that
the peninsula now recognised only the authority of the Constitutional
Assembly, and that no stranger would be permitted to set foot on it,
with the exception of properly accredited ambassadors.

The next two or three days and nights were spent by the insulted
authorities outside in testing the reality of the Assembly’s
occupation. A steamer crowded with troops appeared off Skandalo, but
was fired upon both from the redoubt above the town and from the
water’s edge, and withdrew with dignity. Two attempts were made either
to surprise Karakula, the ruined village, or to slip past it under
cover of darkness into the interior, but these were frustrated by the
watchfulness of the garrison. The steamer foiled at Skandalo proceeded
slowly along the coast, sending a boat ashore at various possible
landing-places, but in every case an outburst of firing met it from
the positions previously selected by Wylie, and the would-be invaders
retreated. The exultation of the insurgents was unbounded, and their
self-complacency seemed to be justified when a resplendent dragoman,
approaching Karakula under a flag of truce, announced that the Consuls
of the Powers at Therma were desirous of offering their mediation, and
wished to meet representatives of the Assembly. Over the election of
these delegates there was much excitement, the general desire being to
choose the men who could be trusted to insist most obstinately on the
most extravagant demands, and on the matter of their instructions
there was something like a battle, when Maurice and Prince Romanos,
supported by the more moderate members, refused even to put forward
such points as the instant withdrawal of the Roumis from Czarigrad and
from Europe.

The Consuls were admitted, with much ceremony, within the defences as
far as the slope overlooking Karakula, where the delegates met them.
The diplomatists struck a harsh note at the beginning of the interview
by declaring that their mission began and ended with advising the
insurgents to lay down their arms and return to their homes, allowing
the dispossessed Mohammedans to do the same. The delegates retorted by
presenting the demands agreed upon, which comprised the practical
autonomy of Emathia, the suzerainty of Roum being recognised merely by
the permission to keep a garrison in Therma and the concession of a
yearly tribute, which was not to exceed a definite proportion of the
revenues of the province. The Emathians were to elect their own
Governor-General, whose appointment was to be made by the Powers and
confirmed at Czarigrad. He was to be chosen for five years, with the
possibility of re-election; to have full authority to reorganise the
police and judicial systems, with the aid of assessors representing
the various religious bodies under his control; he was to be
responsible only to the Powers, and Czarigrad was to possess no veto
on his acts of government. There were other conditions, but these were
sufficient to make the Consuls raise their hands in horror. With one
voice they besought the delegates not to allow themselves to be led
away by European agitators, who would never be permitted by the Powers
to exercise authority in Emathia. The demands were absolutely
impossible, and to insist upon them would merely be to unite the
Powers with Roum against the Emathian cause. The delegates, proud of
their late success in repelling invasion, and sustained by their
unconfessed belief that England was secretly on their side, retorted
warmly that the demands represented the irreducible minimum they could
accept, and the conference broke up in disorder, the Consuls washing
their hands of all responsibility for the fate of such unreasonable
people.

While the negotiations were going on, there was a good deal of
intercourse between the British squadron and the canny people of
Skandalo. Boats laden with provisions and sightseers plied between the
town and the ships, and steam pinnaces from the fleet disembarked
keen-eyed officers, who strolled carelessly up the steep streets in
twos and threes, and were politely but firmly turned back when they
attempted to extend their rambles beyond the actual confines of the
place. They complained indignantly to Dr Terminoff, who was again
acting as the Assembly’s representative at the port, and he
sympathised with them in the most friendly spirit. That new erection,
or earthwork, or whatever it was, which had altered the aspect of the
hill above the town, must be sadly provocative of curiosity, but most
unfortunately, knowing nothing of military matters, he could not tell
them anything about it. Both sides understood perfectly what this
fencing meant, and the officers retired to devise further measures.

The day after the abortive termination of the conference, Eirene and
Zoe were working as usual at the refugee camp. The daily course of
lessons on the advantages of cleanliness was being exemplified on this
particular afternoon by a definite effort to combat the ophthalmia
which abounded among the babies, and Eirene was bathing the eyes of a
protesting infant, held by Zoe, in the centre of a ring of
disapproving women, when one of their guards broke in upon the
demonstration in a state of wild excitement. Two officers from the
fleet had just been captured by the escort, which had discovered them
making their way cautiously down the ridge, and ambushed them in a
hollow. They offered no resistance, and pretended at first that they
had lost their way; but when their captors proceeded to conduct them
back towards the shore, they confessed that in reality they were
anxious to pay their respects to the insurgent prince of whom they had
heard, and begged to be taken to his stronghold. To the guards this
was proof positive that the British Admiral was trying to open up
communication with Maurice in order to offer him the support which
they were persuaded England was desirous of affording, though
stealthily, so as not to allow the other Powers a pretext for helping
Roum. It was useless to assure them that England had no intention
whatever of acting in opposition to the Concert of Europe, and Eirene
was obliged to resort to stratagem to ensure the observance of even a
moderate amount of precaution. It was quite possible, she pointed out,
that the prisoners might not be British naval officers at all, but
spies in the pay of Roum or of one of the other Powers. If, on being
told that they must be blindfolded and deprived of their weapons
before being conveyed to the monastery, they submitted without
objection, this would be a presumptive proof of their good faith, but
if they showed anger or apprehension, it would be best to take them
down to the sea at once, and not lose sight of them until they were
safely on board their boat. It was evident that the suspected persons
stood the test, for when Zoe and Eirene prepared to return home, two
blindfolded figures, a man and a youth, scarcely more than a boy, were
being mounted on mules, giving no help in the process, by way of being
as troublesome to their captors as they could. By Eirene’s orders,
they were placed at the head of the procession, so that she could
distinguish in a moment if either of them tried to get rid of their
wrappings, and she and Zoe, following in the rear of the guard,
conversed only in whispers, that the prisoners might not guess how
near they were to fellow-countrywomen. As they approached the
monastery, Zoe turned to her suddenly.

“Let us give them a surprise, Eirene. I expect they think they are
coming to a most awful place--a sort of bandits’ lair--and that they
have taken their lives in their hands. Tell the guards to make a good
deal of fuss about bringing them into the presence of the Prince,--a
savage and ferocious insurgent chieftain, of course,--and then let
them just come in and find us at afternoon tea.”

The idea seemed to Eirene unworthy of the dignity of the occasion, but
Maurice enjoyed it so heartily when it was communicated to him that
she withdrew her protest. Tea was prepared, and the guards, not
understanding the joke, but perceiving that some fun was on foot,
dragged and shoved the prisoners up the steps to the gallery, and
suddenly removed the bandages from their eyes. Then Zoe was sorry for
her suggestion, for the dazed and astonished aspect of the two
officers provoked shouts of laughter from the Emathians, and she was
disgusted to think that she had exposed Englishmen to the ridicule of
foreigners. But Maurice stepped forward to welcome them.

“Very kind of you to give us a call!” he said, holding out his hand.
“I must present you to Princess Theophanis and my sister, Princess
Zoe. This is Prince Romanos Christodoridi, my hated rival, who is
working with us in the Emathian cause, and this is Colonel Wylie, our
Commander-in-Chief, late of the Egyptian Army. You both belong to the
_Magniloquent_, I think?”

The elder officer had recovered his composure by this time, and
introduced himself as Lieutenant Cotway, and his companion as Mr
Suter, both of the _Magniloquent_, flagship of Vice-Admiral Essiter.
In view of the nature of their reception, both appeared to think it
advisable not to enter at the moment upon their reasons for
undertaking this adventure, and the midshipman was quickly handing
round hot cakes as though to the manner born, while his superior made
small-talk for Zoe and Eirene, assuming in them an ordinary feminine
interest in the recent Carnival gaieties among the foreign community
at Czarigrad. It was a little difficult to know how to talk to ladies
met in such peculiar circumstances, but the naval man acquitted
himself nobly, and the rest listened and admired him. It was not until
tea was over that Maurice took advantage of a pause to say--

“And did you really face the journey up here to bring the ladies all
this interesting news?”

“Well, you see, Prince, I was not aware that I should have the honour
of meeting them.”

“Then you had another object? Was it official?”

“Perhaps you would prefer me to state it in private?”

“Not at all. We are all in the same boat here.”

“Well, then,” Lieutenant Cotway looked round with a smile in which
there was a trace of deprecation, “the Admiral had heard there were
some British sympathisers with the insurgents up here, and he sent
me--unofficially--to see whether it was true, and if so, to clear them
out.”

“By a judicious combination of persuasion and physical force, I
suppose? It didn’t strike him that you might find yourselves slightly
outnumbered?”

“Why, we had no idea, of course---- I mean, he expected to find the
sort of people who come out and spend two days in an insurgent camp,
and then go home and shriek against the Roumis in the papers. The sort
of people that the insurgents wouldn’t be particularly anxious to
keep, you know. But this is a pretty big thing.”

“You flatter us!” said Zoe ironically.

“Well,” said the sailor, with a good-humoured laugh, “it’s so big that
I could hardly expect you to leave it and come down meekly to Skandalo
with me to be deported.”

“Hardly,” agreed Maurice.

“But old Point Seven will never believe how big it is,” said Mr Suter
meditatively. Lieutenant Cotway frowned, and repeated the remark in
more decorous language.

“There will be some difficulty in convincing the Admiral how firmly
you have established yourself up here, Prince. I suppose it’s quite
beyond the bounds of possibility that you and he should meet face to
face and hold a palaver?”

“It would merely convince all our people more firmly than ever that
England was to be relied on to back them up,” said Maurice. “That is
scarcely the impression the Admiral would wish to convey, I presume?”

“The very opposite. But I am sure he would wish to meet you if
possible.”

“He had better creep on shore one night, and be smuggled up here in
disguise,” said Zoe. “It would be an adventure.”

“If it were only possible for you to visit the flagship, sir?”
suggested Lieutenant Cotway, with a polite smile for Zoe.

“It might be done,” said Maurice. “Admiral Essiter is an old family
friend. He was with the Naval Brigade in the Soudan in my father’s
time.”

“Oh, I remember! The Lieutenant Essiter who brought us home his
sword,” said Zoe.

“Maurice,” Eirene broke in harshly, “whether you go or not, I refuse
to leave Hagiamavra even for a day.”

“The Admiral’s intentions are dubious, evidently,” said Maurice, with
a smile that was a little forced. “I was just going to say,” he added,
turning to Eirene, “that I fear Lieutenant Cotway must remain here as
a hostage if I go on board the flagship.”

“What would they value him in comparison with you? I shall remain here
with Constantine, so that the cause will not be lost if treachery is
attempted.”

“It is to be hoped for your sake, Lieutenant, that your Admiral’s
tastes do not lie in the direction of kidnapping,” said Prince
Romanos, in his most languid tones.

The sailor’s bronzed face flushed. “It is hardly necessary for me to
say that Prince Theophanis will leave the _Magniloquent_ as free as
when he came on board,” he said. “If I did not believe it, I should
scarcely consent to remain here.”

“And if I did not believe it, I should certainly not go,” said Maurice
heartily. “I am glad to have the opportunity of putting the real state
of affairs before the Admiral. Even if it does no good at present, it
may be of advantage afterwards. But I think it will be advisable to
make it a surprise visit, for the going to and fro of messengers would
lead to the suspicion that something very different was on foot.”

“May I suggest, sir, that you should leave me here to-morrow as the
captive of Princess Theophanis, and take Mr Suter down with you? I
will write a note to the Admiral by him, and he can go on board and
deliver it, leaving you in Skandalo. If the Admiral does not feel able
in the circumstances to invite you on board, he may ask you to give
him an interview on shore, but if not, then no harm will have been
done.”

“Oh, but I hope the Admiral won’t be so inhospitable,” said Zoe, “for
I am going down too. I have always wanted to see over a battleship,
and I may never have the chance again.”

“The _Magniloquents_ will be tremendously honoured, Princess. The
Admiral couldn’t be inhospitable to a lady to save his life. If I may
speak for him, I am sure he would wish Prince Theophanis to bring the
whole of his party.”

“To give us a piece of his mind?” asked Wylie.

“Possibly, but only in the hope of inducing some of you to back out of
this affair before it gets dangerous, you know.”

“Ah, Lieutenant, danger is the one thing we have sought in it that we
have not found,” said Prince Romanos. “But count me as a visitor to
the _Magniloquent_, I beg of you.”

“The more the merrier,” said the officer politely.

“You must make friends with the monks before to-morrow,” said Zoe, “or
you will have a very dull time when we are all away. Perhaps Prince
Romanos will take you to pay your respects to the Hegoumenos now?”

This suggestion broke up the party, as Zoe had intended, and Maurice
and his wife were left alone in the deserted gallery. He turned to her
quickly.

“Is there any need to advertise our differences in public, Eirene?
Must you show your distrust of me so openly?”

“You gave me no choice,” she replied, with quickened breath. “I know
how little interest you have in this venture, and how easily you would
let yourself be persuaded to give it up. I was obliged to show you,
before you committed yourself farther, that any pledges you might give
to the Admiral would make no difference to me.”

“You are wrong. I am deeply interested in this venture, for it has
cost me too much to retire from it lightly. It has broken up my home
and alienated my wife from me. When we left Bashi Konak I knew that
there could be no ending to it but death or success.”

Eirene’s lips were trembling. “You are so tiresome!” she said
pettishly, trying to hide her involuntary weakness. “You will do
nothing without being driven to it, and then you go further than I
should ever have asked you. Don’t you see that the Admiral would have
thought he had only to get us all safe on board and then sail away?”

“Admiral Essiter? Hardly. But putting that aside, can’t you see how
important it is that he and I should meet? Zoe saw it at once, and
gave me just the help I wanted.”

“Zoe is only a looker-on. All this is a sort of play to her. She has
nothing at stake, and can afford to make herself useful in
conversation. She is not distracted between a husband who won’t look
after his own interests, and a son whose rights must not be
sacrificed. I don’t believe she cares for a single creature.”

“You forget you are talking of my sister,” said Maurice angrily. “As
to her not caring for any one, that’s her business and not ours. I
should have been thankful to see her happy with Wylie, but I suppose
there’s no chance of that now. At any rate, she has stood by us all
this time, and you would often have been lonely without her.”

“It’s only for amusement. She has no real interest,” persisted Eirene
rebelliously. Maurice gave up the attempt.

“At least,” he said, “I hope you approve of my plan of meeting the
Admiral, now that your precautions have obviated the risk of
treachery, if there was any?”

“It will make the people more convinced that England is on our side; I
am glad of it for that.”

“You seem determined to encourage these false hopes. My sole idea is
to lay the actual state of things before Essiter,--not that it will
make the slightest difference in his action. If the Powers decide that
we are to be bombarded, he will do his part without turning a hair.
But he will report our conversation to his Government, and those of
the Emathians who survive the fighting and the massacres may have an
easier time. They may not get me as Governor-General, but they will
get some one who is not in bondage to Czarigrad.”

“They must have you as Governor-General,” said Eirene doggedly.

“Not necessarily, even if we succeed. There is Christodoridi.”

“He is nothing. I have taken no oath to him. Listen, Maurice. For the
sake of Constantine’s rights I have opposed you--broken up our home,
as you say. Do you think I would deal more kindly with that upstart
Romanos? Let him look to himself. If he succeeds, as you call it, and
you tamely abdicate your rights in his favour, don’t imagine that I
shall also be tame, and retire meekly with you to Stone Acton. I shall
intrigue, plot, inspire. I have the means, you know. I must and will
see my boy either Prince or Hereditary Prince of Emathia before I die.
I should prefer to see him Hereditary Prince, and you in your rightful
place upon the throne, but if you won’t work with me, I shall work
alone.”

“These are things it is not wise to say,” said Maurice, very pale.
“Are you prepared to bring upon the little chap--an innocent
child--the guilt of all the bloodshed and civil war that you propose?”

“No, no!” she cried quickly. “The guilt will be mine, and the
punishment. Only the success will be his.”




 CHAPTER XI.
 THE SYMPATHY OF EUROPE.

A guard of twelve stalwart Emathians, armed with the European
rifles, escorted the party from Hagiamavra through the hills to
Skandalo the next day. Mr Suter, his eyes again bandaged as a
precaution against his possible return to guide an invading force
through the wilds, was in high spirits over the important part
assigned to him as intermediary between the fleet and the insurgent
stronghold. He rode next to Zoe, and talked unceasingly whenever the
nature of the path allowed it, explaining, among other things, why
Admiral Essiter was called “Point Seven,” an explanation which
involved the further explanation of a recondite question of naval
gunnery. When the riders came abreast of the refugee camp the
midshipman’s eyes were unbound, and he rode proudly into the town,
attended by one of the guards, and big with importance, though
refusing to explain either his night’s absence on shore or his present
errand, obtained a passage back to the fleet in one of the
_Magniloquent’s_ boats, which had come on shore for fresh meat. The
rest followed more slowly, and established themselves in Dr
Terminoff’s office, the house of the chief man of the place, to watch
what would follow. Dr Terminoff was delighted at the prospect of their
visiting the fleet, though for the same perverse reason as Eirene, and
declared exultingly that Nilischeff and his party would find
themselves altogether checkmated.

“A boat putting off from the _Magniloquent_!” announced Wylie, who had
been watching the flagship through his glasses. “A highly superior
boat, too.”

“Oh, it must be the Admiral’s barge!” cried Zoe, drawing upon her
recollections of sea-stories read in her youth. “Do please let me
look. Isn’t it splendid? Doesn’t it make you feel exactly like
Nelson?”

“In a steam-launch? Particularly so,” responded Wylie, surrendering
the glass, which Zoe monopolised until the arrival of Mr Suter,
bearing a cordial invitation from the Admiral to the son of his old
friend to visit him on board the flagship. Going down to the renovated
pier, they were received by an officer whose uniform, as Prince
Romanos expressed it, “exhibited something more of ornamentation” than
that of Lieutenant Cotway, and who at once conciliated the scruples
and rejoiced the hearts of the guards by insisting that the invitation
included them. Welcomed, after the miraculously short voyage, as
honoured guests, the adventurers stood at length on the deck of the
_Magniloquent_, there to be received in state by Admiral Essiter, a
small spruce man with a plum-coloured complexion, and the air of
finding his own inscrutable thoughts faintly amusing. The expression
was probably habitual, not due to the circumstances of the occasion,
and Zoe had the idea that, like the protective colouring of some
animals, it must be assumable at pleasure, for watching her host
keenly at lunch, she saw that a look of anxiety sometimes took its
place, though the mask went on again as soon as the Admiral perceived
that he was observed. When the meal was over, he asked Maurice to give
him a quarter of an hour in his cabin, requesting his officers to
entertain the rest of the party, even as the astonished Emathian
guards were being initiated into the wonders of the great ship by
bands of grinning seamen and marines. To the Admiral’s surprise,
Prince Romanos appeared to consider himself included in the invitation
given to Maurice.

“Your friend doesn’t speak English, perhaps?” said the host,
courteously waving Prince Romanos back. “Will you tell him that
Captain Bryson will show him over the ship?”

“I thank you--Mr Admiral,” Prince Romanos was wavering between “M.
l’Amiral” and Maurice’s “Admiral,” which sounded to him disagreeably
curt; “but I understand perfectly. Only I conceive myself to possess
an interest not inferior to that of Prince Theophanis in the subject
of your discussion.”

“Prince Christodoridi is the rival heir,” explained Maurice, as the
Admiral glanced inquiringly towards him. “I think myself that his
claims have not a shadow of foundation, and he, of course, thinks the
same of mine, but we are pledged not to fight it out until Emathia is
free.”

“Which puts it off for a few hundred years or so? Well, if you don’t
mind his being present, it’s not for me to object. You are your father
all over. There was a story--I don’t guarantee its truth, mind--that
when the square was broken at El Met, he was attacked by an Arab with
a long spear, who gave him all he could do to defend himself. Somehow
or other, he managed to twist the spear out of the fellow’s grip. Did
he finish him off when he had him at his mercy? Not he; he waited till
he got up, and handed him back the spear to go on with.”

“No, Admiral; that’s a little too stiff,” said Maurice.

“Well,” said the Admiral deliberately, “I never believed it myself
till to-day. Now I do. But, pray, what is the meaning of the farce you
are playing in that old rat-hole up yonder, masquerading as a Greek
prince, as if your honest English ancestors were not good enough for
you?”

“Unfortunately they were not English; they were Greek too, descendants
of the last Emperor of the East. I have merely returned to the
original form of our name.”

“Merely? and what about your assumption of sovereignty?”

“It was in response to a repeated appeal that I would place myself at
the head of the Emathian Christians.”

“And who is backing you, if I may be so indiscreet as to ask? Your men
are armed with Mausers, and you have a Maxim or two in position, I
hear.”

“Your officers must have made good use of their eyes while they were
with us. Yes, we are fairly well supplied, but we have no outside
backers. A member of my family left a substantial legacy to be applied
to the restoration of the fortunes of the house, and we are using
that.”

“You mean that you are playing ducks and drakes with it. Why not have
bought up a South American republic, or negotiated with the Emperor of
Scythia for a dukedom, if a sensational way of throwing away good
money for the sake of a shadow was all you wanted?”

“But it was not. What we hope to do is to free Emathia now, and
eventually to turn the Roumis out of Europe.”

“A nice modest programme! Couldn’t you have found some less utterly
hopeless material to work upon than the Emathian Christians? I have no
particular admiration for the Roumi in civil life, though he’s a
first-class fighting man, but he is an intelligent gentleman beside
these fellows, who torture and mutilate and burn each other’s women
and children because one man calls himself a Patriarchist and the
other an Exarchist. Have you ever considered seriously what hope there
can be of ruling, except by martial law, a set of people who all
profess to be Christians, and yet can’t keep their hands off each
other’s throats?”

“We have been considering it for years, and now we are trying an
experiment. The thing can scarcely be harder than to keep the peace
between Mohammedans and Hindus in India. Two things are wanted,--money
to keep us going until we can establish some sort of revenue
system--which we have--and a body of impartial police to keep the
balance between the creeds. There would probably be objections to our
enlisting Englishmen, but Colonel Wylie could work as well with Sikhs,
and he could get as many as he wanted, if permission was once given.”

“Your intentions are as excellent as your plans are ingenious,” said
the Admiral sarcastically, “but you are altogether too idyllic, the
whole lot of you. The coasts of the Egean are not No-man’s-land,
waiting to be colonised. For a private individual to seize upon a
desirable peninsula and settle down to govern it is simply stealing,
though I allow that if it had been done by a sovereign state it would
merely be called annexation.”

“It is an experiment,” repeated Maurice. “If we can show that it is
possible to induce Emathian Christians of different sects to live
peaceably together and to serve under the same flag, surely it is an
object-lesson worth trying on a larger scale? We hear a great deal of
the sympathy of Europe for Emathia, and the absolute impossibility of
showing that sympathy except in words. But you can show it here by
simply saying ‘Hands off!’ to Roum when she tries to turn us out of
Hagiamavra. In return for not being molested we would pay to Czarigrad
a tribute amounting to the present average revenue from the peninsula,
and acknowledge the Roumi suzerainty. If, at the end of the year, the
condition of Hagiamavra compared favourably with that of the rest of
Emathia, a larger area might be entrusted to us--perhaps the vilayet
of Therma.”

The Admiral stared at his guest in exasperated consternation. “If you
were only starting with an entirely new world, your plan might work,”
he said slowly, “but you seem to forget entirely the various interests
involved. Europe is quite determined that there shall be no fighting
over Emathia--whether rightly or wrongly it’s not for me to say. Of
course a devastating warfare in the Balkans might wipe out a few
inconvenient nationalities, and sweep the map clean for some such
experiment as yours, but the Powers won’t have it. We shall maintain
the _status quo_ for a year or two, grumbling more and more every
month, no doubt, until Scythia and Pannonia are ready. Then those two
public-spirited Powers will unselfishly offer to divide Emathia
between them and administer it as it should be administered. The
Roumis daren’t protest, Thracia and Dacia and Mœsia daren’t fly at
the throats of their betters, and order will reign in the Balkans.
That’s the plan mapped out, signed and sealed, and when you set up
your personal ambitions as a bar to its realisation, you are simply an
impertinence to be brushed out of the way. The Powers will have none
of you.”

“The Powers have sometimes yielded points on which they had declared
themselves absolutely immovable,” said Maurice. “Think of Minoa.”

“There the claimant had dynastic support of the highest and most
extraordinarily widespread kind. You have not.”

“My wife believes we can count upon the benevolence of Scythia. She
was brought up at that Court, and the Empress has been sending her
kind messages of late.”

“All moonshine. They will fool you to the top of your bent, make use
of you, and then throw you over. No, don’t deceive yourselves. Reforms
in Emathia, short of the partition of the country, won’t succeed,
because they are not meant to succeed. They are intended to lead up to
that partition when the time is ripe, and disgusted Europe is only too
thankful to any one taking an endless problem off her hands. Scythia
and Pannonia can’t afford to let you try your experiment, lest by some
miracle it should be successful, and because we are acting with them
we shall prevent your trying it. Now will you let me give you my frank
advice?”

“I can’t promise to take it, but I shall be grateful.”

“Then look here. You can’t say that I have done anything to injure
your prestige in the sight of your followers. I have received you as
distinguished guests, and I’ll give you a royal salute if it’s a
matter of importance to you. Remain safe on board here, and I’ll send
a landing-party to bring off the rest of your people--Europeans, of
course I mean. You will retire with a good grace, and leave your rival
here in possession. He’s up to the sort of thing--it’s in his
blood--and you are not.”

“Mr Admiral, you flatter me,” said Prince Romanos, deeply gratified,
with an elaborate bow.

“No, sir, I don’t,” retorted the Admiral. “I think a quixotic
conscience is an unlucky possession for a filibuster, and I don’t
imagine you have got one. Moreover, you are a single man, and I
understand that Teffany has a wife and child on that forsaken
mountain-top, besides his sister on board here. Well, Teffany, will
you save your face and retire in a blaze of glory--of course to give
up all this foolishness and retire into private life for the future?”

“No, Admiral; with many thanks to you, I won’t.”

“So I imagined, since you are your father’s son. Understand, then,
that it’s war to the knife. I am here as the representative of the
Powers to maintain the authority of Roum, and I’ll do it. If your
fellows allow Jalal-ud-din’s forces to advance peaceably and recover
the peninsula, that’s all right. Also I shall not land men to take
part in any fighting unless it’s a case of rescue. But if your men
interfere with the landing of troops, or otherwise carry on
hostilities within range of my guns, I shall shell them. And to-night
a strict blockade will be declared of all the coasts of the peninsula,
and any vessel approaching with supplies of any kind, and not turning
back when summoned to do so, will be sunk. What yacht is it that has
been provisioning you so far? My midshipman saw that your cook wore a
yachtsman’s cap.”

“You can hardly expect us to let you into the secret of our ways and
means,” said Maurice lightly. “Well, Admiral, we must thank you for
your patience and your warning. When the warning comes true, I hope we
may fall into no worse hands than yours.”

“God grant it!” cried the Admiral, with startling vehemence. “Good
heavens! Teffany,--Theophanis or whatever you call yourself,--what
possessed you to bring ladies and children into this affair?”

Maurice hesitated, and Prince Romanos replied for him. “I think, Mr
Admiral, I shall only be doing justice to my friend’s wife and sister
if I say that these intrepid ladies brought themselves into it.”

“Ah, I daresay! poor ignorant creatures, expecting to find everything
made smooth for them, and every Roumi a plaster saint! But you know
better,” he turned fiercely upon Maurice. “What did you do it
for?--tell me. What possibility is there of your getting them out
unharmed?”

“Simply that if we can hold out long enough, the Liberal Powers may
get tired of doing Scythia and Pannonia’s dirty work, and insist on
giving us a chance.”

“Then Heaven help you, if that’s all you have to hope for!” The
Admiral led the way impetuously out of the cabin and plunged into the
group of officers who had been making the tour of the ship with Zoe
and Wylie. “If I hadn’t invited you on board,” he said in a shaking
voice to his guests, “I’d have put you all under arrest and kept you
here safe. As it is, I beg and beseech you to save me the disgrace of
kidnapping you by staying on board of your own free will. You, sir!”
he turned on Wylie, “how dare you encourage these absurd, illegal,
fantastic proceedings? It strikes me that you will hear from the War
Office before long, and to some purpose.”

“Possibly the War Office has heard from me already, sir,” said Wylie,
and the calmness of the reply restored the Admiral’s composure.

“Well, I wash my hands of it. I have done what I could to save you,
and as you won’t be saved, I warn you that you’ll have to take the
consequences. Wait! call up those Emathians of yours, if you please,”
to Maurice. “I presume that if they leave you in the lurch you will be
able to yield with a good conscience.”

The guards were summoned, and stood ranged before the Admiral, with
obviously agonising efforts to recall Wylie’s instructions as to
attitude.

“I wish you to understand,” said the great man harshly, “that Prince
Theophanis is engaged in an enterprise which the Powers have entirely
forbidden. This rebellion will be put down by force, and no mercy will
be shown to any who take part in it. The warships of the Powers will
co-operate with Jalal-ud-din Pasha and his army in restoring
tranquillity.”

“Yes, lord,” chorused the guards obediently, when Wylie had translated
the speech.

“I don’t believe they understand what I mean. What’s that end man
grinning for? Do you all understand?”

“Oh yes, lord, we understand perfectly!” and as the Admiral turned on
his heel, the furtive grins became broad ones. He made no further
attempt to shake the determination of his guests, but as they were
embarking he put a note into Mr Suter’s hand.

“Give that to Mr Cotway at the monastery, and tell him I will endorse
any arrangement he makes.”

The incident passed without remark, for there was a general depression
pervading the ship. The officers bade the visitors farewell as if they
were predestined victims, and a faint cheer which broke out among the
men was quickly silenced. Zoe, always sensitive to mental atmosphere,
shivered as she sat in the boat, though the sun was only beginning to
decline. These impartial observers, who would have liked to help but
were forced to oppose, were so plainly convinced that nothing but
failure was before Maurice and his cause. And failure, in the
circumstances, meant----? A little frightened sigh broke from Zoe’s
lips, and Wylie turned and looked at her. He asked her if she was
cold, and she did not guess that he had read her thoughts until they
had passed through Skandalo, and were on their way to Hagiamavra. Then
she found him beside her mule.

“I suppose,” he said in a low voice, “there is no hope even now of
your consenting to ease our minds by going on board the fleet--you and
Princess Theophanis and Con, I mean, of course?”

“What! forsake Maurice now?” cried Zoe. “Certainly not.”

“But think what a comfort it would be to him--to all of us--to know
that you were safe. How can a man fight his best when his wife and
sister are in the most frightful danger? And then the necessity of
dividing our forces,--the monastery must always be guarded, you know,
however badly the men may be wanted elsewhere. And after all, what is
to be the end of it?”

“You would really be glad if we left you and took refuge with the
Admiral?” she asked meditatively.

“Glad? I could sing for joy!” he cried.

“Ah,” said Zoe, “if you had talked like this before, we might have
done it, but now it is too late. To escape now would be like rats
leaving a sinking ship.”

“Then it is my fault--my cursed pride? Look here, Princess, have pity
upon me. Do you want me to go to my death knowing that I have brought
you two into all this?”

“Oh, no!” said Zoe quickly; “I ought not to have put it upon you.
Eirene would never have turned back, even at Bashi Konak, and I could
not have let her go on alone. Nothing would have made us stay behind,
so that may comfort you.”

“Pretty comfort!” he growled. “The facts are the same.”

“Oh, but it is not your fault,” responded Zoe, with such evident
conviction of the efficacy of her consolation that he attempted no
further remonstrance. He was miserably uneasy at the prospect of the
future, and hailed even the necessity of a farther journey, when the
monastery had been reached, as a means of banishing thought. Admiral
Essiter had sent strict orders that Lieutenant Cotway and Mr Suter
were to rejoin the _Magniloquent_ that night, and Wylie set out with
an escort to conduct them to the edge of the insurgents’ country.
Shortly before reaching the point at which they were to part company,
Lieutenant Cotway requested Mr Suter to ride a short distance ahead,
much to the disgust of that promising officer, and drew close to
Wylie.

“Old Point Seven is awfully cut up about the Princesses,” he said.
“Can nothing be done to get them away?”

“Nothing. I’ve tried again to-night,” groaned Wylie.

“Well, look here. I presume, when the smash comes, we shall be round
somewhere to pick up the pieces. Afraid we can’t do anything for
you--you see that?” Wylie nodded, “but the admiral will stretch a good
many points to save the ladies. Now can you suggest anything?”

“Nothing short of carrying them off by force would really be
effectual,” said Wylie bitterly.

“No last resort? no way of appealing to their better feelings and
getting rid of them in that way? Bright idea! why not kidnap the
baby?”

“Because you would never get the chance,” said Wylie, laughing in
spite of himself. “His mother doesn’t let him out of her sight night
or day. But I believe there’s something in your notion. Princess
Theophanis has driven her husband to his ruin, but she doesn’t really
want the family wiped out, though you might think it. When things get
very black, I think it will be possible to induce her to escape, so as
to save the child. Yes, and I see how it’s to be done. You know a
place called Ephestilo, on the other coast--not the Skandalo side?
There are two bays close together. One looks like an excellent
harbour, but the cliffs rise sheer from the water’s edge, and there’s
no path up them. Avoid that, and steer for the next bay, where there
are pillars and things, ruins of a temple of some sort, and a fishing
village. There’s a reef of rocks which only leaves room for one boat
to enter at a time, but still there is room, and there’s a path down
from the top of the cliffs. When things get to the worst, we’ll send
away the ladies there by by-paths, and you can take them on board. Of
course this is supposing that we are not surrounded. If we are, it’s
good-bye, unless the monks have any secret passages.”

“Not likely in this part. But I’ll back you for getting the ladies out
of the monastery somehow. You manage that, and we do the rest. We
shall be patrolling both coasts to keep supplies from reaching you. By
the bye, can’t you do anything to show us when we are wanted at
Ephestilo? It would be rather bad not to be on the spot, in case the
Roumis were after them.”

“We might light a beacon-fire, but it would be difficult to
distinguish----”

“It would, with camp-fires all round. No, I know what’s far
better--blue lights. I was going to smuggle a few books and papers on
shore for the ladies,--to the care of your medical friend at Skandalo,
of course,--and I’ll put in half a dozen blue lights in a box
addressed to you. Then you can burn them at half-hour intervals on the
monastery gateway, which has a clear view down to the sea, the night
before your last stand, and we shall be ready the next day.”

“Right; and if we are unfortunately obliged to make our last stand
without warning--why, that’s one of the accidents to which adventures
of this kind are liable, and you will excuse notice.”




 CHAPTER XII.
 A BAPTISM OF FIRE.

The day after the visit to the fleet found Eirene a prey to nervous
headache, and absolutely unable to leave her bed, the slightest sound,
even the voice of her little son, intensifying the pain almost to the
point of distraction. Zoe was frightened, fearing fever, and wished to
entreat Admiral Essiter to abate his righteous wrath and allow the
_Magniloquent’s_ surgeon to come and see her; but Eirene, groaning on
her uneasy couch--a mattress from the yacht laid upon a stone
divan--forbade her to gratify the oppressor by so abject an appeal.

“It’s only because of yesterday,” she moaned. “The strain was awful.”

“Why? You don’t mean that Lieutenant Cotway tried to escape--when he
was a hostage?”

“Of course not. He was telling Con stories and cutting out a boat for
him all day--gave me no trouble whatever. But I had to think--if there
was treachery--if you were not allowed to come back----”

“Well?” demanded Zoe, with keen curiosity.

“I should have given him over to the Emathians and told them to treat
him as they thought right. And--a good many of them have been
brigands, you know.”

“Eirene, you must be mad! You make my blood run cold.”

“I made up my mind to do it. The Powers must learn that we are in
earnest. But it was not necessary.”

“I should think not!” Zoe spoke with good-humoured tolerance. “Don’t
try to be mediæval another time, Eirene; you haven’t the physique for
it. Your amiable predecessor, the Empress Isidora, would have handed
over an innocent man to torture without a qualm, no doubt, but we poor
moderns don’t possess her nerves. Now I am going to take Con for a
walk and leave you perfectly quiet. But do, for goodness’ sake, put
these ideas out of your head.”

Eirene struggled up from her pillow. “I won’t have you take
Constantine to the camp without me!” she cried. “He will be playing
with the children and getting fever. Oh!” and she lay down again with
a moan of pain.

“I am not going near the camp,” said Zoe patiently, covering her up.
“We are going to look for orchises on the cliffs. One of the
fishermen’s children at Ephestilo gave me a great bunch the other day,
which she said grew just beyond there, and Con is longing to find
them.”

“You’ll let him fall over,” protested Eirene faintly, “or the Roumis
will land----”

“Ephestilo is the last place they will choose if they do, for Colonel
Wylie and the Emathians are practising coast defence there this very
morning. And the place for the orchises is in the next bay, where no
one could land if they tried. And I shan’t let him fall over the
cliff, Eirene. You know he’s always good with me,--not that he gets
much chance of showing it,--and of course we won’t even go near any
dangerous places.”

Eirene, vanquished, turned her face to the wall with another groan,
and Zoe pulled the makeshift curtain they had arranged over the
doorless doorway so as to deaden the light, and went out to find her
little nephew, who was waiting for her in the gallery. He was a quiet,
serious child, reproducing, to her secret joy, in bodily and mental
characteristics the sobered Maurice of these later years, with hardly
a trace of Eirene. A cause of contention from his very birth, he had
developed a longing for peace and quietness strange in a child, and
was always on the alert to escape from his mother’s exacting devotion
to follow his father about, content to remain unnoticed if he might
hold his hand. Eirene resented bitterly what she chose to consider
this perverseness, and Maurice was constrained to discourage as much
as possible his little son’s desire for his society. “Not to-day, old
man,” he had said this same morning. “Poor mamma is ill, and will want
Con.”

Zoe had heard this, and it was with something of unholy satisfaction
that she witnessed Eirene’s unavailing struggles to conceal the agony
the boy’s voice and movements caused her. He should have a treat
to-day, she told herself, and be a real child for once, not the
unconscious inheritor of strife-provoking dynastic claims.

“Such a big bastick, Auntie Zoe!” he exclaimed, dragging towards her
one of the baskets used by the lay-brethren of the monastery when they
made foraging expeditions down to Skandalo; “and steward has given me
a lot of little cakes, all tied up in leaves.”

“Paper havin’ run short, ma’am,” said the cook, appearing from his
sanctum at the end of the gallery; “but I thought maybe you’d like to
take some lunch with you.”

“Thank you, steward; it’s a very good idea. Oh, Con, what a lovely
walk we will have! Now gently, so as not to wake poor mamma.”

They crept down the steps and out at the gate, Constantine saluting
the monk who kept watch there in his own tongue, and receiving a
blessing in return, then out along the rocky path. There was no need
for a guard to-day, as the walk lay within the region constantly
patrolled by the insurgents, and Zoe felt extraordinarily free and
happy, in marked contrast with the gloom that had oppressed her the
night before. She carried the basket, and Constantine was absolutely
obedient, holding her hand and walking on the inside when the path was
narrow. As she answered his endless questions she scoffed mentally at
Eirene’s fears. What harm could befall the child on such a day?

Descending the hills in the direction of the sea, they came in sight
of the bay of Ephestilo, with Wylie and his motley force hard at work.
Zoe and her nephew stood for some time watching, fascinated, the
stealthy entrance of a boat through the opening in the reef, and its
reception by riflemen posted at various points. Wylie was marking the
different ranges covered by the course the boat must take, and was so
deeply occupied that Zoe would not allow Constantine to run down and
disturb him, even to ask what was that funny thing he had in his hand?
why did the boat come in so slowly? why did the men only pretend to
fire? and a score of other whats and whys. They tore themselves away
at last, and walked on over the short turf of the cliffs to the next
bay, which presented a very different aspect from that of Ephestilo,
with its village of fishermen’s huts clustered on the slope, and boats
drawn up on the shore. Here there was only one hut, built of rough
limestone blocks and sods of turf, and looking as uninviting as the
reputed character of its occupant, a solitary man who had once been a
fisherman of Ephestilo. He had done, or been suspected of doing,
something that cut him off for ever from the society of his kind. What
it was Zoe had never been able to find out exactly, but she gathered
that it was some service to the Roumi authorities, who had been able
to protect him from the vengeance of his fellows until it gradually
became clear that his lonely and blasted existence was a stronger
deterrent against following his example than even his death would have
been. No smoke rose from the roof of Janni’s abode as Zoe and the
child went by it at a distance, Constantine holding tightly to his
aunt’s hand, for he had somehow picked up the prevalent idea of the
ill-omened nature of the spot. But the cottage once passed, all was
enchantment, for the face of this cliff was broken away in the most
fascinating manner, hollows full of rich grass and flowers alternating
with bare faces of limestone rock. From here the sea looked so close
that one might have believed the gradual slope extended to the beach
itself, but Zoe knew well that about half-way down it broke off
suddenly, encircling the bay with sheer cliffs and isolated needles of
rock.

“Don’t run on in front, Con. Wait for me!” she called, noticing that
the space of turf they were treading was crossed in various directions
by footmarks, as if it was trodden not infrequently by some one who
was yet careful not to make a path. It seemed as though Janni must
have some eyrie in the cliffs, some look-out post where he spent his
solitary days, and she was by no means anxious to come upon him
suddenly. Constantine came back at her call, and in another moment she
was able to reward him by showing him that what he had acclaimed as an
insect was in reality a flower. Thenceforward she had no more anxiety
as to his wandering in advance. His patience was admirable, and his
method thorough. Every hollow to which they came must be absolutely
cleared of orchises before he would consent to go on to another, and
all the while his little tongue kept up a dropping fire of questions
on the natural history of flowers and bees. Working their way steadily
downwards, they came at length to a spot so thick with blossoms that
even Constantine’s energy flagged in contemplating it, and he
suggested sitting down to consider where it would be best to begin.
This seemed a suitable moment for bringing out the steward’s provision
of cakes, and when they had been consumed Constantine set to work like
a giant refreshed. Zoe was glad to see him happily occupied, for she
had caught sight of a ledge a little way farther down, on which the
flowers seemed to be of quite a different variety. It was easy for her
to reach it, but the descent would not be very safe for her nephew,
and she meant to attempt it alone.

Scrambling down, and tearing her gown in the process, she was rather
disgusted to find that the flowers were merely overblown specimens of
the kind she had been picking all morning, but when she sat down to
pin up the hanging braid, she found that she was rewarded for her
trouble by an exquisite view of the entrance to the bay. The water was
very blue in the noontide stillness, and the cliffs rose straight from
it with a curious effect of being painted in different shades of
white. She was mentally cataloguing them when her attention was
attracted by something moving at the base of the headland on the
left--the one remote from the direction of Ephestilo. Scarcely able to
believe her eyes, she watched narrowly, and saw that it was a boat--a
boat creeping into the bay, as close under the cliffs as the depth of
water would allow. The evident wish of the occupants for secrecy, and
the curious fact that they should be rowing hard at a time of day when
all the fisher population were enjoying their siesta, struck her as
suspicious, and she ran over the probabilities hastily in her mind. It
could hardly be a Roumi raid, for what could one boatful of men do?
Perhaps it was a boat from the fleet, examining the bay to see if it
afforded any landing-place that would need to be watched in view of
the blockade. Secure in her conviction of the inaccessibility of her
perch, she sat watching the boat, until she saw a glass turned upon
her, and realised that her white gown must be clearly visible against
the grass on which she was sitting. Then astonishment seized her, for
she distinctly saw a man in the boat take up a gun and aim it in her
direction, but it was pushed down by another, and he did not fire.

Zoe was very angry. Whether the people in the boat were fishermen, as
their caps seemed to show, or sailors from the fleet in some attempt
at disguise, they had no right to try and frighten inoffensive females
who were merely looking at them. Well, she was not going to be
frightened. She would remain where she was, and do her best to find
out who these intruders might be. When the boat passed beneath her,
she must hear their voices, for even at this distance the sound of the
oars was audible in the clear air, and it would be hard if she could
not distinguish what language they were speaking. It was out of sight
now, and she sat and waited, fixing her eyes on a tall needle of rock
which rose up close to her platform, and looked as though it had once
formed part of it, but was now, as she found by crawling to the edge
and looking over, separated from it right down to the water-level, as
if by one straight, clean cut. The sound of voices was so long in
coming that at last she grew tired of waiting, and, taking off her hat
lest it should be seen, she lay down and peered through the grass that
fringed the edge of the hollow--then drew back with a feeling of
absolute suffocation, as if the blood had all ebbed from her heart and
rushed to her throat. The men had landed, landed there below her,
where no landing-place existed, and one of them was beginning to work
his way up between the needle and the cliff, as though the fissure was
a “chimney” in the Alps. The boat, with two men in it, one of whom had
a gun, was rowing out again, evidently to keep her in sight, lest she
should escape before the climber reached her.

Zoe drew back, sat up, and mechanically pinned on her hat again. Her
lips were saying hurriedly, “I must be calm. I must keep cool,” even
while voices seemed to fill the air, crying “Constantine!
Constantine!” She had brought him into danger, and she must save him,
even if it cost her own life. “Con!” she called gently, for fear of
attracting the attention of the men below; “Con, can you hear me?”

“Yes, Auntie Zoe.” The roguish little face peered over the ledge above
her. “Shall I come? I haven’t nearly finished this place yet.”

“No. I want you to be a very brave boy, Con.” She tried hard to speak
so as to impress the child without frightening him. “Dare you go all
the way back by yourself, to the place where we saw Colonel Wylie with
that funny thing this morning, and take him a message?”

“Oh, Auntie Zoe!” the disappointment was poignant. “There’s sixty
million flowers here that I haven’t picked yet.”

“It’s to do something for father, Con. There are naughty men who want
to hurt him. Tell Colonel Wylie that they are here in a boat, and he
must come round in another boat and catch them. Poor Auntie must stay
here till Colonel Wylie comes, so tell him to be quick. Don’t walk on
the nice grass, Con--it--it isn’t safe--until you get to the very top,
and then run. Oh, Con!” as the sound of something being dragged over
the stones reached her, “don’t take the basket. Auntie will bring it
when she comes. Think of father!”

She sent the appeal after him despairingly, for she knew well his
tenacity of purpose. “And if any of the flowers fall out, he’ll stop
and pick them up!” she groaned to herself. How long would he take to
get to the top of the cliff? How would his little scrambling childish
feet manage to clamber up those slippery limestone slopes? If he
avoided the grassy hollows, as she had told him to do, his holland
overall would hardly be seen against the rocks by any one who was not
looking specially for it. She must occupy the attention of the men in
the boat, and keep them from looking at the cliff above her, whence
the rattle of fragments of stone as they fell showed her that
Constantine was somehow working his way up. She stood forward and
looked out to sea, as though watching for ships, her figure boldly
outlined against the green of the hollow. Suddenly the boat shot out
from beneath her into her field of vision, and she started violently,
making vehement gestures of astonishment, as though unable to credit
what she saw. Both men were watching her every movement, and the rifle
was pointed directly at her. If she could keep their eyes fixed on
herself, Constantine would be able to escape. Making a
speaking-trumpet of her hands, she called out the Greek “Good day!”
and inquired whether the fishing had been successful. The men in the
boat did not appear to understand, but they were evidently amused, and
returned answers which she could not distinguish. But they were not
speaking either Greek or the Thracian dialect used by the majority of
the Slavic Emathians, of this she was sure. She stood there, calling
out incoherencies in Greek, and receiving irrelevant replies in the
unknown tongue, until voice and strength failed her simultaneously,
for the approach of the climber in the chimney became audible in
grunts and a kind of shuffling noise. She had sufficient presence of
mind to wave her hand to the men in the boat before she sat down,
trying to look as though it was not because her limbs refused to
support her. Still apparently gazing out to sea, she watched, with
dilated eyes and panting breath, for the appearance of a red-capped
head above the brink. When would it come? and what should she do?
Constantine must have reached the top of the cliff by this time, and
now that he was safe, the love of life regained its strength in her.
She looked round once at the rocky slope above her, with a wild idea
of leaping at it and scrambling up too fast for the man in the boat to
be able to take aim. But it was so steep. She would have found it
difficult to climb at any time, and now she was trembling all over.
And even above it there was no possible shelter until nearly the top
of the cliff, where a projecting rock might hide her from the view of
the marksman in the boat. But nothing could shelter her from the men
who were climbing up. Could she pretend to meet them
unsuspiciously--disarm their hostility, temporise, hold them in talk
until help was in sight? If she addressed the first that appeared in
French, which all educated Roumis might be supposed to understand----?
But a moment’s thought reminded her that the first man was certain to
be Janni, who had doubtless discovered and often used this way of
reaching his abode, and who would let down a rope, or even a
rope-ladder, before his confederates would venture on the climb. And
Janni--dark-browed Janni, who scowled angrily even at little
Constantine, and knew no language but his own, which she only spoke
very imperfectly,--how could she hope to conciliate him? Could
she--would she have the courage to push him down when he was climbing
over the edge? For that moment he would be at her mercy, since the man
in the boat would not venture to fire for fear of hitting him. But no,
she had not the nerves for it, as she had said to Eirene so long ago.
“And besides, I don’t _know_ that he means anything dreadful. He may
be merely coming home with some friends,” she told herself by way of
half-excuse, and then laughed at her own moral cowardice.

There was a sudden quickening of attitude on the part of the men in
the boat. The rifle was raised, and pointed not at Zoe, but at the top
of the cliff far above her. There was the sound of something striking
the rock overhead, bringing down a shower of small fragments, and
almost simultaneously came the report. Other bullets followed, and
then there was a report closer at hand--from overhead, in fact.
Something struck the sea near the boat, raising a little splash, and
then, after--but only momentarily after--a second near report, the man
who held the gun seemed to crumple up, and the weapon dropped from his
hands into the water. Looking up, Zoe had a fleeting impression of a
man kneeling at the top of the cliff, with a rifle raised to his
shoulder; but as she looked, he lowered it, and began to swing himself
down, taking a more direct way than the pleasant path by which she had
wandered with Constantine. Then her attention was distracted, for a
face surmounted by a red cap appeared over the edge of the hollow, and
resolved itself into that of Janni the fisherman, with a knife held
between his teeth. His eyes seemed to fascinate her. She could not
move, and watched in helpless silence while he drew himself up
gradually to her level.

There was a click on the ledge above her, where Constantine had been
left. “Jammed!” said Wylie’s voice, in a tone of such angry disgust
that she nearly laughed, just as Janni pulled himself over the brink
with a final effort, and ran at her, brandishing the knife.

“Take my hand,” said the voice overhead, clear and hard, and turning
mechanically to obey, she saw that Wylie was lying on the ledge above,
stretching out his left hand to her, while his right held the rifle
clubbed. She sprang at the rock, and scrambled wildly up its slippery
face. Presently Wylie was assisting her with both hands instead of
one, and now she crouched panting on the ledge beside him. Looking
round involuntarily for Janni and his knife, she saw that he was not,
as she had imagined, an inch or two behind her. He was kneeling at the
edge of the hollow she had left, fixing the end of a rope-ladder that
he had carried with him, and another man, with a rifle on his back,
was already visible upon it. Wylie whirled her to her feet, and
dragged her up the path.

“He was not really going for you,” he said, in an odd, muffled voice.
“That was a dodge to keep me from coming down and preventing his
fixing the ladder. He knew that when once this thing had jammed I
could do him no harm except at close quarters.”

He went on to discourse of the iniquities of the Mauser rifle, still
in the same curious voice, as if he was talking for talking’s sake,
without in the least thinking of what he said, and Zoe made no effort
to understand or respond. For one moment, as he lay on the ledge, she
had caught in his eyes the look she had not seen there for seven
years, and she could think of nothing else. She had not deceived
herself. He did care. Nothing else mattered.




 CHAPTER XIII.
 KNIGHTLY EMULATION.

“I--I can’t go any farther,” panted Zoe at last, as Wylie
half-dragged, half-carried her up the cliff.

“You must. But only a little way. As far as that rock.”

He pointed to the projection she had noticed as affording a possible
shelter if she could reach it, and she let him drag her on. Almost
unconscious, with failing eyes and swimming brain, she found herself
seated on the grass on the farther side of the rock, and realised that
he was speaking to her.

“You may rest here for two minutes exactly.”

He turned his back and stood looking down the cliff, and she strove
painfully to collect her thoughts and to recover her breath.

“Time’s up,” he said, turning half round. “Go on, and don’t stop till
you get to the top. Then run.”

“But you?” she murmured faintly.

“I stay here until you are at the top, of course. The quicker you are,
the better for me.”

“I won’t go and leave you.”

“Do what you are told.” He flung the words at her with a rasp which
would have at once awed the boldest and stirred to revolt the meekest
of women. Zoe was neither the one nor the other. She struggled to her
feet and toiled feebly up the path, but the moment she reached the
short turf at the top she sat down resolutely, excusing her
disobedience by the reflection that she could not have run to save her
life. She could see Wylie waiting behind the rock, but it hid from her
view the assailants who, as she judged from his attitude, were
crowding up the path to attack him. They were afraid to face him
alone, and he preferred that they should come at him in a body, that
they might not be able to use their rifles. Ah, there they were! Zoe
hid her face as the first man appeared, to fall under the butt-end of
the Mauser. Others followed, as she could tell by the sounds, and she
judged that Wylie was maintaining his position, with his back against
the rock. But it could only be a question of time. If they once got
near enough to use their knives----! She shuddered and grew sick, then
opened her eyes with a vague feeling that the solid earth was failing
beneath her feet. Yes, the ground was moving. Craning her neck round
as she lay at the edge of the cliff, she could see a sort of crack in
the turf behind her, slowly widening. Roots of grass, a thin layer of
soil, yellowish marl, the white rock--why, the cliff was falling, and
she was falling with it.

“Colonel Wylie, the cliff! the cliff!” she shrieked, as she turned
round, and threw herself desperately forward, across the crack. Her
sudden movement accelerated the pace of the falling mass, and it went
crashing down as she dropped helpless on the turf, her feet hanging
over the edge. She must have fainted in the horror of the moment, for
she knew nothing more until she heard Wylie’s voice speaking to her,
and started up wildly, to find him kneeling beside her with blood
flowing down his face.

“Sorry to trouble you,” he said apologetically, “but would you mind
tying this handkerchief round my head?”

Her whole being rose up in revolt against him as she folded the
handkerchief mechanically. To have gone through such a scene with him,
and to be expected to ignore it! Then she realised what his request
meant. He had no idea that he had betrayed himself. The mask was on
again, and the blue eyes which had looked love into hers for one
moment had been forbidden to endanger his secret any further. But she
knew! He might do what he liked, say what he liked, leave undone and
unsaid what he liked, but nothing could shake the evidence of that
moment of anxiety intense enough to break down the guard which he had
fixed between his heart and hers. She smiled triumphantly as she
fastened the bandage.

“I can only do it roughly now,” she said. “When we get back to the
monastery I will bandage it properly, as I did Maurice’s in the
brigands’ camp long ago--do you remember?”

“Thanks. You are awfully good,” he replied without effusion; and she
knew as well as if he had put it into words that she would have no
chance of doing anything more for him. But what good were his
precautions now?

“Please help me up,” she said, looking up at him with the merest hint
of reproach. “I feel so shaky.”

He muttered an apology as he complied, and was sufficiently moved by
compunction to offer her his arm. “We ought to be getting back,” he
said. “Prince and Princess Theophanis will be anxious about you.”

“Oh, but what happened?” cried Zoe, all the terrors of the past hour
returning upon her with a rush.

“Why, Con burst upon me, like the little brick he is, scarcely able to
speak for running, and I sent off a boat round the headland, and
snatched a rifle from one of my men and came here myself. The rest you
know.”

“No, I don’t. About the landslip, I mean.”

“Your scream made me look up, and I jumped back and flattened myself
against the cliff almost unconsciously. The Roumis were outside, and
besides, they didn’t understand what you meant, of course. Some of
them were carried down by the fall of cliff, and the rest made for
their ladder with all possible speed. If they ever get to their boat,
ours is waiting to intercept them.”

“Then they were Roumis?”

“Undoubtedly. I always suspected Janni, but there was no reason for
arresting him, and he didn’t seem to have any means of doing actual
harm. Of course the idea was that these fellows should hide in his
house till nightfall, and then co-operate in some way with an attack
on Ephestilo from the outside, probably setting the village and the
boats on fire and creating a panic, under cover of which a landing
might be effected.”

“It was very dreadful, I know, but--they took their lives in their
hands, and--don’t you think that some of those who were buried under
the fall of cliff may not be dead?” asked Zoe incoherently.

“If you remember, I suggested just now that we should hurry back to
the monastery,” he replied with admirable politeness. “As soon as I
have placed you in safety, I shall return and see what can be done.”

“Oh, but let us turn back and do it now. Let me help.”

“Certainly not,” in a tone of such finality that Zoe did not venture
even to protest. Once again she smiled involuntarily, and when Wylie
looked at her with a mixture of astonishment and injury, was driven to
attempt an explanation.

“I can’t help feeling rather proud that it was through me this plot
was foiled,” she said meekly. “Yesterday you were so convinced that
Eirene and I were nothing but a care and an anxiety, you know.”

“I’m afraid I still consider your services overbalanced by your
presence here,” was the ungallant reply.

“I am so sorry,” in a voice as though tears were not far off. “What
can we do to make ourselves more worth having? Do you want us to
fight?”

“Fight? No! There are two women in men’s clothes among my fellows, who
give me more trouble than all the rest put together.”

“How horrid!” said Zoe.

“Oh, the men are awfully good to them, and consider them a sort of
saints. But they don’t drill--of course I haven’t given them the
chance--and they won’t see the necessity of it for others. What they
want is blood, like the old lady in Dickens, and they are always
haranguing the men and stirring them up to bother me to lead them to
the slaughter of the Roumis. They have wrongs to avenge, no doubt; but
it’s furies like that who make the men lose their heads and lead to
regrettable incidents when there comes a fight.”

“Princess!” They had reached the crest of a rise, and Prince Romanos,
flushed and disturbed, met them with a rush. “What is this that I
hear? You have been in danger--proper care was not taken for your
safety? Allow me to relieve you, Colonel. You will doubtless be glad
to return to your duties.”

“Colonel Wylie’s duty at the present moment is to see me to the
monastery,” said Zoe, angry for Wylie’s sake rather than her own. “He
has said so twice.”

But Wylie failed in the basest manner to second her. “If the Prince
will allow me to surrender the charge to him, I will venture to leave
you, ma’am,” and he removed her hand resolutely from his arm. Zoe
could have wept.

“If I didn’t care for you so much, I should hate you!” she said to him
in her thoughts. “But after all, it is not your fault, but the fault
of your pride. That is fighting hard, but you yourself are on my side.
And how sorry you will be some day for all the horrid things you have
said!”

The thought assisted her to parry good-humouredly the anxious
inquiries of Prince Romanos, who could not understand how she could be
at all calm, far less cheerful, after what she had gone through; and
since he did not know of the cordial received as Wylie drew her up on
the ledge, she might well seem to him a remarkably equable person. The
Greek, who had been silent and thoughtful since his visit to the
_Magniloquent_, took her friendliness as a good omen, and was
encouraged by it to talk about himself, a subject on which he was
still brimful of recondite information. Negativing Zoe’s suggestion
that they should go down into Ephestilo to fetch Constantine, with the
assurance that he had met him joyously riding towards the monastery on
the shoulder of a stalwart Emathian, the poet claimed the attention of
his auditor with a deep sigh.

“I am afraid you are sorry I was rescued,” said Zoe, for the sake of
saying something.

“Not sorry you were rescued, Princess, but sorry--yes, desolated--that
Colonel Wylie enjoyed the honour of rescuing you. Why, why was it not
to the wretched Apolis that thus supreme distinction came?”

“Because he didn’t happen to be in the neighbourhood, I suppose,” said
Zoe prosaically.

“Ah, Princess, do you imply that you blame this neglect of his? Not
more than he does, I assure you. But from henceforth Apolis shall be
the shadow of Zeto. Never shall she look round without beholding him!”

“Dear me, I hope not!” cried Zoe in alarm. “Think, Prince, your duty
is at the front, not with the non-combatants. You came here to fight.”

“And does Zeto bid me fight? Then shall the sword of Apolis be doubly
winged with victory! What trophies will he lay at her feet! in what
imperishable poems shall be celebrated the fame of her who called upon
a _flâneur_ and sent a hero to the fight!”

“It’s very satisfactory to know from your own lips that you are a
hero--or is it that you are going to be one?” said Zoe, much amused.
“But you mustn’t ascribe the glory to me. We are on opposite sides,
you know.”

“Ah, no, not on opposite sides. Apolis can be opposed to no family
that numbers Zeto among its members. But there are possible
arrangements---- Only yesterday I received encouragement--an actual
promise of support--from the most unexpected quarter. Your brother is
above all things a reasonable man; I have his pledge to allow matters
to take their course.” Zoe was looking at him in utter bewilderment,
but he did not see it. “In the fairy tales it is always the Prince who
wins the Princess, is it not so?”

“Not a bit of it!” declared Zoe vigorously. “It is just as often the
poor and nameless knight,” with a tender intonation the significance
of which was lost upon Prince Romanos. “And really,” sudden
indignation getting the better of her, “have you forgotten all that
happened at Bashi Konak? I am not going to treat it as a dream, if you
are.”

“Princess!” reproachfully, “do you forget that I am a basely deceived,
an injured man?--that the woman to whom I gave my heart’s allegiance
proved herself the tool of my enemies?”

“Of what enemies, pray? I remember you accused me before of having
employed some one to keep you from following us. Who was it? I want
this cleared up. Was it Donna Olimpia Pazzi?”

Prince Romanos shuddered pitifully. “It is hard for the man who has
loved and been deceived to hear without a pang the name of the
forsworn one,” he said. “It was that miserable woman, whom I would
have trusted with my life, and who tried to rob me of my honour.”

“But what did she do?”

“I received a message entreating me to bid her farewell. We met--at
our usual rendezvous. I was surprised to find the time so much earlier
than I thought. We sat hand in hand, plunged in the ‘sweet sorrow’ of
which your Shakespeare speaks. It was indeed an hour of blissful woe.
Suddenly my eye falls upon a small travelling-clock on a bracket. It
indicates a time at least three-quarters of an hour later than the
large clock on the side-table, and I had already thought that I was
prolonging my stay to its utmost limits. I spring to my feet, I
proclaim my immediate departure. But she--that faithless
one--endeavours to hinder me. She throws herself before me, she holds
me with her white hands. Finding me resolute, she locks the door, and
before my face hides the key in her dress, daring me to take it. I
wrench it from her, in spite of her entreaties, her struggles----”

“I suppose you think that was a heroic thing to do?” cried Zoe in
disgust.

“Princess, she had set herself to ruin my career. I paused before
unlocking the door, and loaded her with reproaches, as she knelt,
sobbing, where I had left her. I refused to hear her. ‘You have
endeavoured to betray me,’ I told her. ‘Were I only a Christodoridi,
I should repay your treachery with death. But I am also Apolis, and
therefore I grant you the boon of life, in which to realise the value
of the love which I now tear from my heart. Live, and hate yourself!’”

“Truly dramatic!” said Zoe. “Well, if that is the way in which you
treat a poor girl whose only fault is that she loved you better than
your career----”

“Ah, if I could only believe that!” he interrupted, his face visibly
brightening. “But no, she set herself to betray me. She played the
game of my enemies. From whom could she have learnt of my departure
but from them?”

“What enemies?” demanded Zoe again. “Do you still insinuate that we
had anything to do with it?”

“You had excellent reasons, I admit it. My opposition to your brother,
my--equivocal conduct to yourself----”

“Oh!” she cried in despair, “will you never believe that when you
turned your attention to Donna Olimpia, it simply relieved me of a
standing worry?”

He looked at her with deep admiration. “Princess, you are more than
woman. I confess that I have not discovered in your brother the
capacity--the faculty, I should say--for such a plot, and if you
assure me that you cherished no grudge against me, I rejoice to
proclaim my conviction of your ignorance of it.”

“So far was I from cherishing a grudge, that when once you left off
following me about, your affairs did not even interest me,” said Zoe,
rather hastily.

“Ah, there spoke the woman, after all! That blessed little touch of
pique! But have no fear of me, Princess. You shall not be ‘worried’ by
your patient Apolis. You impose a probation, a test? So be it, then.
You shall see me emerge from it with credit, or die in the attempt.”

“I don’t impose anything of the kind!” in alarm. Evidently nothing but
the plain declaration that she cared for some one else would pierce
the armour of this man’s self-conceit, and she had far too little
confidence in his discretion to make it. “I hope you will emerge with
credit, of course, but it has nothing to do with me.”

“Ah, cruel! But since you will it----” with a deep sigh. “Henceforth
Apolis is silent, until his moment of triumph. Then---- But it is
forbidden. I understand. I am discreet as the tomb.”

“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.”




 CHAPTER XVII.
 THE HOPE THAT FAILED.

Leaving Sir Frank Francis to pursue his dignified way alone, Wylie
ran back to the village, only to see a considerable body of
insurgents, armed with rifles hastily snatched up, half-way to the
tower. They were approaching it from the back, whereas the Consuls and
their forces, with the rescued garrison, were assembled in front of
it, waiting for Sir Frank’s return to begin their march back to the
sea, but a collision seemed inevitable. With a wild idea of flinging
himself between the contending parties, Wylie ran towards the tower,
hoping to intercept his followers before they could reach the front of
the building. Sir Frank, in the natural exasperation induced by
intercourse with these wretched insurgents, who were giving the
consular body trouble so absurdly disproportionate to their
importance, might call him a renegade Englishman, but he could not see
the British flag fired upon by his own men. His intention was
frustrated, however, by two of them, who rose up, as if by magic, from
behind a bush, and laid violent hands upon him. Protest, command,
entreat as he might, it was no use; they dragged him behind the bush
and held him fast there, considerately choosing a position from which
the tower and its assailants were clearly visible. To Wylie’s intense
relief, the main body of his men halted at a ridge which commanded the
whole side of the tower, and lay down behind it, covering the consular
force with their rifles. Only three ran on, and Wylie saw that they
carried ropes. Arrived at the back of the tower, one of them threw his
rope over a sculptured gargoyle which projected from the building at
about a third of its height, and wriggled up it, his companions
holding the ends. The lower part of the masonry alone had been kept in
good repair, and when he reached the gargoyle the climber had passed
his greatest difficulty--the stretch of squared stones with the
crevices well filled with mortar. Above it the stones were
weather-worn, and the mortar of the Venetian builders was crumbling
away from between them, so that he was able to find holes for his feet
and hands. Wylie gathered from the remarks of the men who held him
that the adventurer was a noted cliff-climber, and smiled, even in his
disgust, at the reticence which had hitherto been maintained as to his
profession. With such an auxiliary it would have been comparatively
easy to storm the tower on a windy night, with the garrison in the
proper state of exhaustion, induced by constant false alarms, but the
man and his associates had alike kept their own counsel.

The approach of the insurgents to the tower had not passed unnoticed
by the rear ranks of the consular force in the front, and when the
three men ran forward warning shouts were raised, two or three
officers stepping out and calling to them, evidently under the
impression that they did not know the place was mined. As they took no
notice, the commander of the Magnagrecian guard, who was the nearest,
began to march his men round to the back. Instantly, to Wylie’s
speechless horror, the insurgents lining the ridge fired a volley. He
could hardly believe his eyes when he saw that they had fired into the
air, and that the Magnagrecian detachment was untouched. But the
bullets whistling overhead had alarmed the rest of the force, and the
Magnagrecians were hastily recalled. No one seemed quite to know
whether the volley had been an accident, an act of hostility or one of
warning, and while the officers of various nationalities discussed the
matter excitedly, a shout of triumph from the insurgents drew their
attention to the top of the tower. The daring climber stood there, and
the Roumi flag which had floated proudly from its staff was torn down
and rent savagely into fragments. In its place the eagle of the
Eastern Empire rose into view and blew out defiantly. So much they
saw, then the climber seemed to throw himself headlong from the
battlements, scrambling down the ruined masonry for dear life. Arrived
at the gargoyle, he took a flying leap, regardless of safety, and as
his feet touched the ground the building blew up. The time-worn walls,
which had seen so many changes since their builders had first hoisted
the standard of St Mark, ended their career under the flag of Free
Emathia.

In the shock and amazement of this transformation scene, it was
difficult to perceive what actually happened. The Consuls and their
naval contingents declared that the insurgents lining the roofs of
Ahmed Pasha, in the excitement of their triumph, opened fire upon the
representatives of Europe. The insurgents, on the other hand,
declared, and Wylie believed they spoke the truth, that it was not
bullets that wounded several sailors at this juncture, but flying
fragments of masonry, and that they had merely fired their rifles
again into the air. However this might be, there was no doubt that the
consular force, with marvellous celerity, took cover behind the ruins
of Segreti, and that bullets were flying between it and Ahmed Pasha,
rendering the position of those who found themselves on the broken
ground stretching from one to the other unpleasant in the extreme. The
insurgents lining the ridge behaved with a steadiness of which Wylie
would have been proud in less exasperating circumstances. They
separated into two parties, which took turns in running back and
halting to cover each other’s retreat with the greatest precision,
picking up Wylie and his two guards by the way, and tumbling proudly
into Ahmed Pasha without the loss of a man, though one or two
exhibited flesh-wounds. Even the climber and his two companions had
somehow escaped from the wreck of the tower, and joined the rest.

An informal Assembly for mutual congratulation was, of course, the
first thing to be thought of, the periods of the orators being
pleasantly punctuated by the bullets which struck the houses round
them. Nobody was concerned to apologise to Wylie, who had very
skilfully been prevented, so the general opinion seemed to run, from
making a regrettable exhibition of himself, and the seriousness of the
situation was quite overborne by the gratifying reflection that
Emathia was actually engaged in hostilities with the whole of envious
Europe. But it was very speedily borne in upon the minds of the
triumphant talkers that war with Europe did not merely mean exchanging
long shots from cover with another force equally well protected. A
shell came screaming and tearing overhead, without any innocuous
warning this time, and exploded in the courtyard of one of the houses,
from which rose a thick cloud of smoke. Other shells followed, one
dropping almost in the midst of the Assembly, which broke up with
unprecedented celerity, and Wylie seized the opportunity of the
general consternation to resume his command. It was useless to try and
retain Ahmed Pasha under the fire of the ships, but the fact had in it
this compensation, that it would be equally impossible for the Powers
to reestablish the Roumis in the place if they could be beguiled into
destroying it. They would probably go on dropping shells as long as no
sign of surrender appeared, and by sunset the place would be untenable
for any self-respecting Moslems. The insurgents, confused and
terrified by the sudden reversal of their fortunes, were willing
enough to obey the man who proposed to deprive their enemies of any
profit from it, and under Wylie’s orders the wounded were first
conveyed out at the back of the village, and then such stores as
remained. Lastly, the garrison left in small parties, keeping the now
burning houses between themselves and Segreti, and taking care not to
concentrate anywhere on the road, lest the ships should take a fancy
to enlarge the area of their fire. Wylie was perhaps the only man
present who realised that the brief attempt of the insurgents to
obtain a footing on the mainland was now ended. They were driven back
upon Karakula, and might be thankful if they were allowed to retain
even that.

Though the insurgents’ love for the Powers could hardly be expected to
have been increased by the events of the day, they were sufficiently
frightened by this second bombardment and its results to become more
amenable to discipline. Ahmed Pasha was now a heap of smoking ruins,
and the shells began to fall into Karakula--apparently out of pure
vindictiveness, since it was well within the line which the Admirals
had laid down as the limit of the insurgents’ territory. The village
itself was not capable of defence, as the houses had never been
repaired since its first seizure, and it was commanded by the steep
slope behind it, and therefore Wylie did not linger there. He posted
his pickets from shore to shore of the isthmus, in case an attempt
should be made by the Roumis to break through, and concentrated the
rest of his force in a hollow well shielded from the fire of the
warships, from which they could quickly reinforce any part of the line
that might be threatened. From a high point of the ridge which formed
the backbone of the peninsula he could obtain a view of the consular
force sheltering behind Segreti, and he noted that the firing ceased
as though at a signal, presumably when each ship had dropped a certain
number of shells. A detachment of armed sailors was then thrown
forward to examine the ruins and make sure that they were not
occupied, and thereafter the Consuls, their guards and their rescued
charges, embarked in safety. No attempt was made to cross the line and
approach Karakula, for which Wylie was devoutly thankful, since his
men, posted in an advantageous position, which the fire from the ships
could not easily search out, would certainly have refused to withdraw
without fighting, and could not have been dislodged without heavy
loss.

Night fell at last, and leaving Prince Romanos in command on one shore
of the isthmus, Wylie took up his post on the other, that nearest to
Therma and Skandalo. It was here, if anywhere on the isthmus, that an
attack would be made, and he had conceived a plan for drawing the
assailants into a morass not far from the shore by means of a feigned
retreat. He had everything in readiness to give them a warm reception,
but with a sad lack of consideration they declined to come.
Distrustful, owing to much bitter experience, of the wakefulness of
his supporters, he watched through most of the night himself, and felt
almost as if he had been cheated when it had passed uneventfully. The
labours and trials of the last few days had left their mark upon him,
and Prince Romanos started when they met.

“You are ill!” he said. “Or were you wounded yesterday after all?”

“This place is feverish,” said Wylie irritably. “I felt it in the
night. I suppose I had no business to sleep out, but there wasn’t much
choice. I must send for my quinine from the monastery, and then I
daresay I shall shake it off.”

“Better rest for to-day,” suggested Prince Romanos; but Wylie was an
impracticable patient, all the more determined to do all he could at
once because he knew it was highly unlikely that he would be able to
do it on the morrow. The new line of defence behind Karakula must be
strengthened, and more use made of the marsh, so that it might appear
to be the only unguarded spot, positively inviting an attack. This was
a kind of warfare the insurgents could understand, and they entered
heartily into the contrivances for concentrating a heavy fire on an
imaginary force in difficulties. One man even volunteered to offer to
act as guide to the Roumis, with the amiable intention of leading them
into the trap, but the drawback to this scheme was that there were no
Roumis to lead astray--not the slightest apparent intention on the
part of Jalal-ud-din to profit from the advantage secured for him by
the Powers yesterday. Still Wylie worked on, growing more ghastly in
appearance as the hours passed, until Prince Romanos was summoned by a
violent outcry from the trench which was being dug under his
superintendence. Wylie had collapsed at last, and as he lay insensible
in the sun, knives were being drawn above him. His own guards, and the
other Slavs in the neighbourhood, declared that the Greeks had
murdered him, and the Greeks were vehemently rebutting the accusation,
crying out that the Slavs had brought it against them to conceal their
own guilt. Prince Romanos patched up a hollow peace by sending for Dr
Terminoff, who pronounced the illness to be entirely due to natural
causes, and ordered the patient to be carried to the hospital. Before
he arrived there, however, Wylie recovered consciousness sufficiently
to murmur, “Ephestilo camp; not hospital--not monastery,” and the
doctor consented unwillingly to do as he wished, sending word to
Maurice of the change. Maurice hurried to Ephestilo as soon as the
news reached him, and found his friend established in the chief house
in the village, from which his guards had expelled the inhabitants on
their own authority. Wylie could not lift his head from the rolled-up
cloak which served as a pillow, but his eyes met Maurice’s anxiously.

“Hoped I should be--sensible--when you came,” he said with difficulty.
“Don’t let--ladies--come here.”

“But it’s nothing infectious,” said Maurice, in astonishment. “I know
they will want to nurse you.”

“Then don’t--tell them,” was the obstinate reply.

“My dear fellow, you must be properly looked after,” remonstrated
Maurice. “They won’t tease you to talk, or anything of that sort,”
with a vague effort to get at the root of the objection.

“My men”--with an attempt to glance in the direction of the guards,
who were sitting playing cards on the floor--“look after--me all
right--good fellows--do as they’re told. I will not--have any one
else. Promise.”

There was so much determination in the weak voice that Maurice
compromised. “Well, if Terminoff thinks your men are enough----”

“Promise,” persisted Wylie. “Not even--if--I mention names.”

“Whose names?” asked Maurice, taken aback. Wylie glanced at him with a
kind of sick contempt.

“Zoe’s, of course,” he said irritably. “I might call out for her--no,
of course I shan’t,”--with a momentary accession of strength,--“but I
might. Don’t let her come.”

“Of course not,” said Maurice quickly; and Wylie sighed with something
like contentment, and then began to murmur incoherently, while Maurice
relieved his feelings by turning the guards out of the room, and
forbidding cards anywhere but on the piazza outside. One of the men,
who had acted as Wylie’s servant, was appointed head-nurse, and told
that he would be held responsible for the patient, and might choose
his own assistants, who must obey the doctor’s orders implicitly. The
men were all willing enough, but a very primitive surgery was their
only notion of curative treatment, and Maurice returned to the
monastery full of anxiety. Zoe was waiting for him at the gate.

“Colonel Wylie is ill?” she said.

“Attack of fever. I left him fairly comfortable.”

“And he won’t let me go near him, of course?”

“How did you know?” he asked in surprise.

“I know him. I suppose he has made you promise, Maurice? Don’t be
afraid; I am not going to make a fuss--only you must tell me if he is
dying.”

“I hope there’s no fear of that. If there was----”

“If there is, you must let me know, and I shall go to him. Even he
would not wish to keep me away then--he would forgive me at last. Do
you remember, Maurice?--‘an unforgiving brute,’ you called him once.”
She laughed drearily. “But he wouldn’t deprive me of that one little
scrap of comfort when there was no chance of my presuming upon it in
the future.”

“Then you think”--Maurice hesitated--“that he cares for you still?”

“I know he does. But he can’t forgive me.”

“I don’t know--I had an idea somehow that it was you. Eirene thought
you didn’t care for him.”

“Eirene ought to know better,” said Zoe indignantly. “But she really
thinks you don’t care for a person unless you show it by doing
something wild, I suppose. Maurice, if I had married him seven years
ago, do you think we should have been saved all this?” with a wave of
her hand that included the peninsula generally. “He would have been
quartered somewhere in Egypt or India, I suppose, and he would be an
ordinary hard-working soldier, and I the usual Anglo-Indian regimental
lady. You would not have embarked on this without him?”

“I don’t know,” said Maurice again slowly. “We should have had
Teffany-Wise’s legacy just the same, I imagine, and Eirene would have
been the same. She would not have waited for Wylie, you know. No, I
don’t think you need reproach yourself with that, Zoe,--as if you
hadn’t enough to bear.”

“Don’t!” said Zoe quickly, dashing away an intrusive tear. “And the
worst of it is that what I said to him when I refused him was
perfectly justified--absolutely true. Any reasonable man would have
seen it, only--you know----”

“This particular man is not reasonable?” suggested Maurice. “Of course
he isn’t--on this subject. If he was, he wouldn’t be Wylie. But if he
was, how glad I should have been if he had married you and taken you
out of this!”

“He wouldn’t have gone, and I wouldn’t have been taken,” said Zoe with
conviction. “We should stand by you and Eirene to the end, Maurice--as
we shall now. But surely things are no worse now than they were, if
the warships are going to let us alone? You and--he--always said that
it was only a source of weakness to hold Ahmed Pasha.”

“If the warships let us alone to starve?” said Maurice. “We can hold
out for a week on the present restricted allowance, no longer. And how
are we to get supplies?”

“Lord Armitage may come any day,” Zoe reminded him.

“No; I forgot to tell you. Demetri the fisherman came in to Skandalo
when I was there this morning, and said he had actually sighted the
yacht outside the blockading warships. He tried to signal to her how
bad our plight was, but unfortunately his boat attracted the notice of
a Hercynian destroyer,--she was beyond our own waters, of course. They
came to order her back, sighted the yacht, and went off in chase. He
heard the sound of firing, but can’t say whether she was captured.
It’s just possible that she gave them the slip in the night, of
course.”

“I should have thought Lord Armitage would have taken the risk and run
for Skandalo,” said Zoe.

“Then he would have been sunk, to a certainty, and what good would his
stores be to us at the bottom of the sea? No, he will try to keep out
of sight till he finds a chance of getting in, but the worst of it is
they will all be looking for him now.”

“I should send the refugees back to the mainland,” said Zoe suddenly.
“The food would last much longer if we had only the insurgents and the
regular inhabitants.”

“My dear Zoe, don’t you think the Powers know that, and the Roumis
too? The moment our poor wretches showed their noses beyond that
barren labyrinth where Wylie and Christodoridi held up Jalal-ud-din,
they would be turned back, you may be sure. They would have tried it
themselves long ago if they hadn’t been certain of that. No, the
Powers, in the interests of humanity, will see us starved to the point
at which the Roumis are certain of a walk-over. That’s the secret of
their forbearance, in spite of all the moral sympathy that Panagiotis
assures us they feel. They are cruel only to be kind, of course.”

Two days of the allotted week passed by, and still the Powers and the
Roumis remained inactive. Wylie muttered incoherently on his sick-bed
at Ephestilo, and Zoe tried to compensate herself for her banishment
from him by caring for the wounded from Ahmed Pasha, who had at least
gained their injuries in his company. The third night was very foggy,
and the watchers along the coast could hear the muffled sound of
sirens and whistles as the European warships talked to one another.
The morning was also foggy, but the fog lay over the sea, not the
land. The warships were moored too far out to be seen, and even the
fishing-boats at anchor loomed dimly through the haze. From Skandalo
came exciting news. The boats lying farthest out had caught a glimpse
of the yacht. She had burst upon them out of the gloom, and they had
cheered her on, thinking that nothing could now prevent her from
reaching the port. But from the direction of Therma there came a small
foreign ship, steaming parallel with the shore, so as to cut the yacht
off from Skandalo, and she had turned and fled back into the fog. From
the cliffs at the southern extremity of the peninsula one or two
glimpses of her had been caught, and refugees and insurgents were now
crowding to the coast to watch for her. The warship had followed her
out of the range of vision, so there was still the hope that she might
shake off pursuit and run safely for Ephestilo, the only practicable
harbour on that side, and one into which the pursuer would not be able
to follow her.

Work was at a standstill that morning, for the imminence of the crisis
drew every one to the cliffs. Mothers carrying their babies, sick and
wounded men dragging themselves painfully over the ground, warriors
forsaking their posts inland, townspeople and farmers who were now
feeling the pinch of famine like their guests,--all converged on
Ephestilo. The slopes on either side of the bay down to the water’s
edge were parti-coloured with people, and all eyes were fixed on the
space between the headlands, looking out to sea, as though it were the
stage of a natural amphitheatre. Boom! came a hollow sound from
seaward, and as though the shot had rent the curtain of fog, the yacht
ran into sight at that moment, sparks mingling with the smoke from her
funnels in the intensity of her effort to reach the shore. Her pursuer
was visible immediately afterwards, close--terribly close--upon her,
and steaming as before to cut her off from the one opening in the
rocks that guarded the harbour. Sighs and moans of sympathy broke from
the watching people as the shells of the pursuer fell before, behind,
beside the yacht, then on board, causing her to shrink and stagger,
but she still held on.

“Good old Armitage! He’s going to run her on the rocks--thinks we can
salve the stores from her then,” said Maurice, and as he spoke a great
cry rose up from the multitude on the shore. The yacht had run
straight upon the reef. The fishermen, led by Maurice, rushed for
their boats, only to recoil in terror as a shell splashed into the
water of the harbour. Amid the tears and groans of the crowd, the
commander of the destroyer went about his work methodically, sending
an occasional shot into the bay to keep the onlookers quiet. The crew
of the yacht were taken off in boats and transferred to the pursuer,
which then withdrew a short distance and fired shot after shot into
the grounded vessel. Her boiler blew up at last, with a tremendous
explosion, and her shattered remains sank gently into the deep water
outside the rocks, followed by a long despairing wail from the shore.




 CHAPTER XVIII.
 A _RUSE DE GUERRE._

When the fog cleared away that evening, a sight ominous of doom met
the eyes of the blockaded inhabitants of the peninsula. Inside the
line of warships lay a row of other vessels, Roumi transports packed
with troops, waiting like vultures for the dying agonies of their
prey. The sight seemed to infuse a desperate resolution into the
luckless refugees, for that night an epidemic of desertion set in. The
insurgents and their leaders made no attempt to stay it, arguing, as
Zoe had done, that in the absence of the refugees the food would hold
out much longer. Therefore the Skandalo boatmen reaped after dark a
rich harvest of jewels and other treasures saved from devastated homes
in Therma, and the force guarding the Karakula lines also found
opportunities of turning a more or less honest penny. Boat after boat
put out into the darkness from the port, and a long straggling train
of fugitives streamed along the isthmus. The morning light saw the
boats returning, laden as when they started. They had been turned back
by the picket-boats from the warships, and told that in future no
craft from the peninsula would be allowed to pass the line of
transports, while the Roumis on board the transports promised
faithfully thenceforth to sink any boat approaching them that did not
bring an offer of surrender. The fugitives who had chosen the land
route came straggling back at intervals through the day. They also had
been stopped by Jalal-ud-din’s force, and told to go back and
starve,--or else bring about a surrender. When they would have flung
themselves down to die round about the Roumi camp, they were driven
back across the isthmus at the bayonet’s point. At present the Roumis
considered their hungry mouths more desirable even than their blood,
for not only would they help to consume the insurgents’ stores, but
their clamorous misery would weaken the hearts of the fighting men.

The returning fugitives were shepherded once more into their allotted
camps, and supplied with their meagre rations, to supplement which
they wandered over the hills, seeking leaves and roots. The
townspeople were openly mutinous, the insurgents angry and
discontented. The only class not absolutely destitute were the
fishermen, who found an eager market for whatever they could catch,
but their operations were now restricted by the transports, which
fired on them whenever they ventured more than a few hundred yards
from the shore. Otherwise there was no further attempt at hostilities,
only the dark masses looming ominous on the horizon. Gradually the
belief spread that the Powers had forbidden the Roumis to engage in
actual warfare, while allowing them to blockade the peninsula until
its inhabitants were too much reduced to offer any resistance to a
landing, and on the sixth day Prince Romanos came to Maurice.

“We must do something, or else all starve together,” he said. “I
propose to cross the isthmus to-night, take the shore road, and attack
Jalal-ud-din’s camp in the rear. The attack will merely be a cover for
a raid upon his stores, which are the only thing we care about.”

“You will be shelled by the fleets,” said Maurice.

“I think not. The camp lies inland, and we shall return through the
defiles. We must see that no one slips past to take the news of the
attack to the ships, and then I hope we shall get back across the
isthmus unmolested.”

“Then go, in God’s name! To see these unfortunate women and children
suffering--and with no hope for them but worse suffering, and no
prospect of any good from it--is heartrending. I will take command at
Karakula while you are gone, and Terminoff will look after this end of
the place. Pick your men, and don’t let them know what duty they’re
on. We don’t want to raise the hopes of the people unnecessarily--and
besides, plans leak out sometimes.”

Prince Romanos looked at him keenly. “You suspect some one. Is it
Nilischeff?”

“I don’t like the way in which he keeps Skandalo in a ferment. And
there’s no denying that he favours neither my claim nor yours. But I
have no proof against him.”

“M. Nilischeff must be watched. The same thought had occurred to me.
But I go to revictual the garrison. If we do not return, at least you
will have fewer mouths to feed.”

But Prince Romanos and his men returned triumphant. The Roumis had
apparently concentrated their attention on the mouth of the defile as
the only spot from which the insurgents might be expected to appear,
and their stores and transport were all at the other side of the camp,
on which the attack was actually made. One of the first and chief
prizes of the assailants was a herd of cattle, which they drove
straight through the camp to the mouth of the defile, overthrowing
tents and huts, and knocking down and trampling the startled soldiers
who tried to stop them. Behind the maddened cattle came the
insurgents, laden with everything in the way of food they could
possibly lay hands on, from live sheep to tinned delicacies sacred to
the Pasha himself. The Roumis had blocked the mouth of the defile,
leaving only a narrow passage, so as to make it easier to stop
fugitives, and this was held without difficulty by a rearguard, when
the main body of the assailants had passed through with their spoils.
The rearguard, unencumbered, fought its way back over the familiar
ground just before dawn, and when daylight came the whole force was
safely inside the Karakula lines, with remarkably few casualties to
report.

The day was a grand one for all the occupants of the peninsula.
Maurice’s desire that the whole of the spoil should at once be placed
under guard and issued only as rations was unanimously scouted, and
the hunger-stricken people gave themselves up to a whole day’s
feasting, with its inevitable waste and excess. On the morrow they
realised their mistake, and agreed that what was left should be
strictly preserved, but this would barely supply their needs for a
week longer. Naturally the cry soon arose for a fresh foray, and the
men who had ranged themselves under the banner of Prince Romanos
demanded to be led once more against the Roumi camp. It was useless to
point out to them that the first attack had succeeded entirely because
it was a surprise, and that a repetition of the assault would now be
provided against. They ascribed the delay to pusillanimity on
Maurice’s part, and openly urged his rival to act in opposition to
him. As the question of food was once more becoming urgent, the two
leaders agreed at length that Prince Romanos should take his servant
Petros and one or two trustworthy men, and make a scouting expedition
through the defiles, to discover in what part of the camp
Jalal-ud-din’s commissariat was now located, and whether there was any
chance of raiding it successfully, either from the front, flank, or
rear. Having made his observations, he was to return and communicate
them to Maurice, who would then take command at Karakula as before,
while the picked force under his rival made a further attempt.

The evening after the departure of Prince Romanos was an anxious one
for Maurice. He had sat up the night before with Wylie, who lay in a
kind of stupor during the daytime, but became violently excited during
the hours of darkness, calling loudly for Zoe, or holding imaginary
conversations with her, rebutting accusations of unkindness on her
part, which must presumably have been suggested by his own conscience.
Then he would imagine that an attack was imminent, and insist on
getting up and taking part in the defence,--a determination which it
required much tact and skilful humouring to combat. The early part of
the day had been spent in a mournful succession of funerals, the dead
drawn alike from among the wounded in the hospital and the
half-starved refugees, and the afternoon in the court-martial--or
rather, the trial before the Assembly--of a Skandalote who had been
caught stealing off to the Roumi ships, presumably with the intention
of carrying news. The man was defended by Lazar Nilischeff, who
asserted that he knew him well, and that his only object was to try to
buy some food from the sailors,--a defence received with ridicule by
the Greek portion of the Assembly, who declared unanimously for death.
Nilischeff’s followers declared with equal determination in favour of
acquittal, while the dynastic Slavs, on whose support Maurice could
always count, devised a compromise which placed him in a most
invidious position while apparently exalting his authority, by
desiring that the issue of life or death should be decided by him
alone. In the end, the man was remanded to prison, and Maurice turned
to the necessary but inevitably disagreeable task of superintending
the distribution of the evening rations to the refugees and sick. The
fighting men, who might be supposed to be endowed with some portion of
self-control, received theirs only once a-day, in the morning; but
experience had shown that the refugees had no idea of making their
supplies last out, but consumed at once what was intended to feed them
for twenty-four hours, and then wandered about with mournful
lamentations, or begged from their more provident companions. This
evening, however, the expectant throng was not confined to these
weaker souls. It appeared that the impression had somehow got about
that the absence of Prince Romanos betokened a foray that night, and a
consequent abundance of provisions on the morrow, so that from all the
nearer posts the garrisons had come in to demand that the food in hand
should at once be distributed to all alike, and delegates had arrived
from the Karakula lines with the same request. With his little band of
faithful men at his back, Maurice refused it absolutely. There was no
likelihood whatever of a raid that night. It might not take place for
three or four days, perhaps not at all, and it would be madness to
consume all the available supplies. The men were not sufficiently
ravenous to use force, but there was an ugly mutinous spirit among
them, which showed itself in the defiant raising of the cry, “Romanos
for Prince!” as they returned to their respective posts.

The night passed without alarm, and Maurice rejoiced that the
monastery guard and the men at the nearest encampment were all Slavs,
since they felt a natural inclination to champion his cause against
that of Prince Romanos, and might be relied upon to warn him if any
treachery was attempted against him personally. There was no sign of
the scouting party in the morning, and Maurice hurried down to
Ephestilo to see Wylie, and returned to the usual daily routine,
issuing rations, judging small causes, and arranging for funerals,
while Eirene and Zoe visited the hospital. It was about mid-day that
the unmistakable sound of rifle-fire reached him, coming from the
direction of the isthmus. Seizing a glass, he ran up to the top of the
gateway. Did his eyes deceive him, or was the line of Roumi transports
shorter than before? He counted them; there were two less on the
horizon, and all were moving northwards. The sound of firing grew
louder; was it merely heavier, or was it approaching? The guards were
assembling in groups, looking, with almost stupid astonishment, in the
direction of Karakula, and discussing what the meaning of the sound
could be. Maurice ran down again, sent off a messenger to recall
Eirene and Zoe, and to warn the refugees to seek shelter round the
monastery, and leaving a small guard there, started for the isthmus
with the rest of his men. Before they had gone far, a breathless
messenger came toiling up the path in front and met them.

“Lord, the Roumis have landed on the isthmus, and are inside the lines
of Karakula.”

“Inside? But what has happened to the garrison?”

“Lord, many of them had followed the Lord Romanos into the defiles,
and there was no time to recall them. There were some who remained,
but they were killed or driven back. And the Roumis have captured the
hermitage of Akri, for all the men there had departed.”

“Akri lost?” cried Maurice. The blow was a heavy one, for the post
commanded both the lines of Karakula in front of it and the next line
of defence in the rear. “Is there no one left? Where is the picked
force?”

“They are all gone across the isthmus, lord. When the message came
from the Lord Romanos, an hour before dawn, only the picked force were
summoned, but all the rest went also, saying they would get food for
themselves, since it was not given them.”

“A message? to the force--not to me?”

“I know not, lord. Gatso the fisherman brought it.”

Maurice turned to the ex-brigand Zeko. “Find Gatso, if he is anywhere
inside the lines, and bring him to me,” he said. “Come on, the rest of
you.”

As they hurried on along the precipitous paths, it became clear from
the sound of the firing that the inner line of defences was being
attacked, and when they reached them, crawling on hands and knees for
the last part of the way, they were a welcome reinforcement to the
defenders. The Roumis had not yet realised the full advantage given
them by the possession of the height of Akri, from which they could
have rendered the lower breastworks untenable, but their riflemen were
keeping up a heavy fire from cover in front. Maurice divided the men
who had come with him, sending parties away on both sides to reinforce
the weakest points, and taking the rifle of a man who had been killed,
settled himself at a loophole in the breastwork at which he had first
arrived, which was that commanding the chief path into the interior.
In the intervals of firing he questioned the men on either side as to
the events of the morning, of which their impressions were somewhat
hazy. The message brought by Gatso in the darkness, to the effect that
Prince Romanos had discovered a large provision-convoy, on its way
from Therma, halted outside the Roumi camp, and that he was about to
attack it immediately, had drawn away more than half of the Karakula
force, while the garrisons of Akri and other isolated points had
deserted _en masse_. They had crossed the isthmus and entered the
defiles without alarm, and those left behind had thought of nothing
but what was going on beyond the hills. Even the consciousness of
superior virtue could not keep them from grumbling as they gathered
round their fires and made coffee at dawn, and into the midst of their
grumbling came the volley which told them that the Roumis had landed.
During Wylie’s illness, a number of lazy men, who found it took them
too long to go round the marsh, had made a rough path across it with
hurdles and bundles of reeds, intending, of course, to remove these
stepping-stones at the first hint of a landing. They had not had time
to do so, however, and the Roumis, landing unobserved in the twilight,
had stolen up, and were inside the defences before their presence was
even suspected. Taken absolutely by surprise, the defenders fought
like heroes, and succeeded in keeping back their assailants
sufficiently to secure their own retreat on the second line, only to
discover that this disastrous morning’s work had been crowned by the
abandonment of Akri, up which two or three daring Roumis crept, to
find themselves, much to their elation, masters of the position. Until
they should occupy it in force, matters remained at a standstill, both
sides firing at each other from cover, and neither venturing to show
themselves. In this interval a diversion was caused by the entrance
into Maurice’s redoubt of the stalwart Zeko, dragging and pushing a
protesting Greek.

“Gatso the fisherman, lord,” he announced, with a final shove that
cast his victim prone at Maurice’s feet. “I found him hiding in a cave
on the way to Ephestilo.”

Gatso protested incoherently as he knelt that he had given his message
word for word. The Lord Romanos had indeed discovered a rich convoy,
only waiting to be attacked, and had despatched him with the news,
which he had duly delivered. Maurice interrupted him.

“To whom were you told to take the news?” he demanded.

“To the picked force, lord,” was the glib answer.

“To them first?” Gatso declared with much invocation of saints that it
was so, but Zeko’s grip descended again on the back of his neck, and
changed his tune. “To--to you, lord, at the monastery,” he gasped.
“Oh, Holy Virgin, I shall be choked!”

“Let him go, Zeko,” said Maurice contemptuously. “You see what he has
done,” he added to the other men. “Instead of delivering his message
as he was told, he has spread it broadcast, and by drawing the
garrisons from their posts, has brought about this defeat. What does
he deserve?”

“Death, lord,” was the unanimous answer, and every man in the redoubt
looked ready to execute the sentence. But Maurice waved them back.

“We have lost too many men to waste more,” he said. “You ought to be
shot, Gatso, but take this rifle and see how many Roumis you can shoot
instead.”

There was a murmur of discontent, and Gatso himself showed no
particular gratitude; but he took the rifle and crawled to the
loophole, while Maurice set himself to work along the line and see
whether it was in immediate danger of being pierced at any other
point. Everywhere he found his men confronted by the Roumis, and shots
being exchanged at intervals. The enemy had already landed troops
enough to outnumber his force twice over, and he was hopelessly cut
off from his best men, who were all with Prince Romanos beyond the
isthmus. A determined rush on the part of the Roumis must break the
weak line. Perhaps they were waiting until night to make it, or
perhaps they were planning to make a second landing at disaffected
Skandalo, or in one of the smaller bays, and take him in the rear. He
thought of Wylie lying sick at Ephestilo, of Eirene and Zoe and the
other women practically defenceless at the monastery, and reflected
bitterly that he could not depend on the guards at the various
landing-places even to warn him of an attack unless he was in the
immediate neighbourhood. “We must certainly have either Wylie’s Sikhs
or some other force that we can trust, as a nucleus, before we can
hope to turn these chaps into soldiers,” he said to himself, and then
remembered that he was planning for a future which his short-lived
sovereignty would now never see. There was just the chance that Prince
Romanos, with his victorious force, might be keeping out of sight in
the defiles, intending to make a rear attack, when darkness fell, on
the Roumis who barred his way, in which case there would be more hope
of the stubborn defence, contesting each inch of ground, on which they
had relied, in the last resort, to awaken the tardy sympathy of
Europe. But when he reached the right-hand extremity of his line,
resting on the sea, a chorus of lamentation met him. The men not at
the loopholes were gathered round a dripping form, which they were
wrapping in their own clothes, and plying with coffee.

“The only one escaped!” they told Maurice, with awe. “He saw the Lord
Romanos fall.”

“Tell me,” said Maurice, and the fugitive sat up. He was a Greek from
the mainland, who had been foremost in pressing the claims of Prince
Romanos, but now he saluted Maurice as Prince.

“You are left, lord,” he said. “The Lord Romanos is slain.”

“Tell me,” said Maurice again, while a groan broke from the listeners.

“Lord, I was one of those who went from Akri when the message came of
the spoil at hand. The Lord Romanos was angry that we had forsaken our
posts, but said he would make use of us before sending us back. Under
his orders we attacked the convoy, which was encamped in no order,
every cart having halted where it chose--an easy prey. But it was a
trap, and nothing more. In the carts, under the coverings, were
men--Roumis--and upon us, as we fought with them, came other Roumis
from behind, while in front the Pasha’s camp turned out at the alarm.
We saw that an ambush had been laid for us, and that death was at
hand, and every man sought only to slay as many of the accursed as
possible before dying himself. I saw the Lord Romanos struck down,
fighting with sword and revolver, and the accursed raised a mighty
shout. How I escaped I know not, but I found myself on the outskirts
of the fight, and the sea not far off, and life was strong within me.
Therefore I flung myself from the rocks, and sometimes swimming, and
again wading along the shore, I passed the hills and the isthmus, and
seeing the Roumis at Karakula, cast myself into the sea once more and
reached this place, which is now little better----”

“Lord!” a panting herald of disaster burst into the group and
confronted Maurice, “the Roumis are firing from Akri, and the sons of
freedom fall fast. Is it your pleasure that they should hold the
breastwork until all are slain?”

“I will come,” said Maurice.




 CHAPTER XIX.
 THE BITTER END.

Inside the breastwork commanding the path the defenders were
crouching close under the loopholes to avoid the fire which was being
poured in by a strong body of riflemen posted on Akri. Several dead
bodies lay unheeded behind them, victims of the first volley, and most
of the men had received wounds. They met Maurice with a subdued cheer
as he crawled in among them.

“You will not keep us here to be shot, lord?” they questioned him
eagerly. “You will give the word for us to dash upon the bayonets, and
kill as we are killed?”

“You would be shot down before you could cover half the distance. No,
lie still, and don’t reply to the fire. Then they may think we are all
killed, and try to rush the breastwork.”

But even as Maurice spoke, he remembered that the enemy on Akri could
pour in a volley that would kill all his men the moment they rose to
their feet, and he began to wonder whether he ought to withdraw them
one by one while the Roumis in front were still lying down and taking
long shots. If this line were pierced, the way would be open, with
only occasional obstacles, to the defences surrounding the monastery
itself, and when they were attacked, then it would indeed be the
beginning of the end. But could the line be held? “Oh, if only Wylie
were here!” he breathed, and started when one of the men laid a hand
upon his arm, and directed his attention to the dry stream-bed behind
a projecting rock which afforded a sheltered entrance to the
breastwork from the rear. There was Wylie, haggard and unshaven,
holding fast with both hands to the packsaddle of the mule on which he
was precariously perched, riding down towards the threatened point,
his guards accompanying him with sullen faces. The enemy on Akri
seemed to detect a reinforcement in the half-seen forms moving behind
rocks and bushes, and sent a volley in their direction for a change.
The mule was hit, and came down on its knees, the guards dragging
Wylie off just in time. Maurice crawled back to meet him, and found
him sitting upon a stone, hardly able to speak.

“This is madness!” said Maurice. “Let them take you back at once.”

“Akri gone?” asked Wylie, speaking slowly and with difficulty, and
paying no attention to his friend. “Send ten men with Mausers up
here,” indicating the protecting rock above him. “Just cover
enough--enfilade Akri--keep down fire.”

Astonished and delighted, Maurice obeyed, leading the men up in
person, to find that from the summit of the rock they could indeed
obtain a side view of the top of Akri, and that the riflemen there
were absolutely exposed. A few minutes made a gratifying difference in
the state of affairs. The fire which had had such damaging results
ceased entirely, the few survivors of the Roumi marksmen crawling away
to huddle in the shelter of the ruins of the hermitage. Leaving his
men to hold the rock, Maurice descended it to report.

“Thought so,” said Wylie. “Top of Akri slopes on that side--no cover.
They must bring up sandbags before they can fire again--won’t do that
till dark. Suppose you haven’t thought of sending for one of the
Maxims?”

“No, indeed,” confessed Maurice. “Shall I take some of the men and
fetch it?”

“Better. Not the one commanding the gateway--we may want that--the
other. Prolong the agony a bit while the ammunition holds out--they’ll
hardly face it. I’ll hold the fort here while you’re gone.”

Divided between relief at this unexpected accession of strength and
anxiety for Wylie, Maurice departed on his errand. At the monastery he
found that Eirene and Zoe had organised a corps of messengers,--small
boys who were to bring periodical reports from the various possible
landing-places,--and that at present there was no sign of a Roumi
descent on any other point.

“Good reason,” growled Wylie, when he returned with the gun and told
him of this. “They know that the paths leading to the monastery from
Skandalo and Ephestilo are practically impassable in the face of any
opposition at all. This path along the hills is the only hopeful one
for an army.”

He spoke more easily, and now that the exhaustion caused by the rough
ride was over, something of his ordinary alert look was returning.
While Maurice was absent, he had directed the building of a rough
shelter, a mere framework of loose stones, for the men working the
Maxim, and it was now placed in position, commanding the path.

“Pure bluff,” he remarked. “They are bound to break the line somewhere
if they keep on trying, but this gives us a slight moral advantage.
They know that we can wipe out a good many of them when it comes to a
final tussle, and therefore it may just make them willing to
negotiate.”

“It’s come to that, then?” said Maurice.

Wylie nodded. “I gather from the men that Christodoridi has played the
fool to some purpose. He has relieved us of more than half our
fighting men, with their rifles and ammunition, and those we have left
have been pouring out cartridges like water, to judge by the firing I
heard at Ephestilo. We can’t go on long at that rate. Our food may
hold out for two days, now that we have lost so many mouths, but not
longer. Therefore it would be as well to make use of the two days.”

“It’s a little sudden,” said Maurice, almost apologetically. “Last
night the food was the only trouble.”

“Yes, and might have been so still if Christodoridi had happened to
carry a piece of paper and a pencil instead of sending a verbal
message. You would have realised, if he didn’t, that his beautiful
halted convoy must be a trap. But it’s no good crying over wasted
casualties. I’ll stay here while you go back and settle things with
Terminoff and the rest. When you are ready, we must send a flag of
truce, I suppose.”

“To suggest what?”

Wylie looked up at him with approval. “You see, as I do, that it’s all
up,” he said, “but we’ll keep a stiff upper lip. Offer to surrender as
prisoners of war. The Roumis will probably accept, without for a
moment intending to keep the terms, but if we are once recognised as
belligerents, the Admirals must for very shame interfere if anything
in the way of a massacre is attempted. Let Terminoff go as envoy, and
tell him to communicate with the Admirals if he can, so as to get
their guarantee for the terms.”

“Do you think they’ll give it? You imagine that there’s some faint
chance still?” asked Maurice incredulously.

Wylie shook his head. “They won’t give it. But we preserve our high
moral attitude. Not that it’ll do much good to you and me, but it may
save the lives of some of those wretched refugees, and it may be of
some future service to the Emathian cause.”

“Of which you have no reason to think kindly. Wylie, I won’t insult
you by asking you to forgive me for dragging you into this, but I will
say that if I had guessed how the Powers would behave, and the
Christians, I should have thought my own life was enough to throw
away.”

“Can’t be helped,” said Wylie. “Luck’s been against us all through.
Well, ‘whirligig of time,’ don’t you know? A hundred years hence they
may be worshipping you and me with haloes on in every village of a
free Emathia.”

“As martyrs?” said Maurice lightly as he turned away, but his mouth
set firmly when he had taken the path to the monastery. “No martyrdom
for you, if I can help it!” he said, addressing in his thoughts the
distant Wylie. “Eirene owes me something, and she may as well pay it
in this way as any other. And pay it she shall.”

Arrived at the monastery, he summoned Dr Terminoff and the other
insurgent leaders to a council. He had thought that by this time he
knew the men with whom he had to deal, but it came upon him with a
shock that he was mistaken. Dr Terminoff, hitherto so obliging, so
ready to listen to reason, refused definitely to become the bearer of
the offer of surrender. He explained his position frankly.

“It is quite possible,” he said, “that the Roumis may, under the
influence of the Admirals, repeat their former offer of immunity for
the common people if the leaders are given up. Our leaders have
throughout been Prince Theophanis, Prince Christodoridi, and Colonel
Wylie. I see no reason to put myself forward as a leader when I have
enjoyed none of the privileges of leadership.”

“Perhaps you would prefer me to carry the offer in person?” suggested
Maurice, unable to keep a hint of sarcasm out of his voice. “Only I
fear that if the Roumis should refuse to recognise the flag of truce
and seize me, you would have lost your chief asset without any
equivalent.”

The usual scene of disorder ensued. Every one saw that it was out of
the question for Maurice to go, but nobody wished to go himself.
Finally some one suggested that the task would be a suitable one for a
monk, and as the monks of Hagiamavra were known to have objected
strenuously to the selection of their monastery as an insurgent
stronghold, they might be able to obtain at least a hearing from
Jalal-ud-din. The Hegoumenos, when the matter was laid before him by a
deputation, was very naturally averse from compromising himself by
doing anything to help his unwelcome guests out of their difficulties,
but his objections were vigorously combated. If the insurgents
continued to hold out, the monks must starve with them; while if the
Roumis stormed the place, it was highly unlikely that they would be
spared in the general slaughter, so that it was distinctly to their
interest to bring about a settlement if possible. One of the officials
of the monastery and a lay brother were at length chosen by lot to
carry the proposal, which was signed by Maurice alone. The insurgent
chiefs, in their new-born zeal for self-effacement, would not put
their names to it, and he flatly refused to ask Wylie for his
signature.

“Colonel Wylie is here as my servant,” he said, when the rest
objected. “Prince Christodoridi and I have been your only leaders. Now
I am left alone, but I need no one to share my responsibility.”

This attitude was so surprising that it inspired Lazar Nilischeff and
his group with the suspicion that Maurice intended to purchase his own
safety by betraying the insurgents. They insisted on the English
stewards being called in and required suddenly to translate the offer
of surrender, that they might be sure it contained no conditions of
which they were ignorant, and they would not allow Maurice to hand it
himself to the two monks, lest he should give them secret
instructions. A month ago such behaviour on their part would have
filled him with disgust, but to-day he submitted to their exactions
with a patience that surprised them. They were like a wild animal in a
trap, he realised, snapping desperately even at the hand which tries
to release it.

There had been some doubt whether Jalal-ud-din, once out of sight of
the Admirals, would recognise a flag of truce, but that run up on the
breastwork which was held by Wylie and dominated by the Maxim was
responded to by one from the Roumi line, and the two monks walked
boldly out into the open. Their high caps and black robes crossed the
space swept during the day by the fire of both parties, and
disappeared into the Roumi lines, and those left behind resigned
themselves to wait. It was not until after dark that the return of the
ambassadors was announced by the approach of a party bearing a flag of
truce, who left them midway across the open space and departed. The
two old men were much shaken by their experience, though they had
suffered no bodily harm. They had been taken before Jalal-ud-din
himself, who had thundered out a demand for unconditional surrender,
and refused even to listen to the suggestion of any other terms.
Permission to communicate either with the Admirals or with the Consuls
at Therma had been denied, but the only European in the camp, a
Hercynian whose status did not appear to be exactly defined, had held
out no hope of help from Europe. He would do his best to intercede for
the lives of any of the inhabitants of the peninsula who were not
taken with arms in their hands, but that was all; and the general
impression gained from this conversation was that Europe would not be
sorry to see the place swept clear by a general massacre, thus at once
punishing past defiance and saving future trouble.

The truce was to remain in force until the next evening, to allow the
insurgents time to discuss their hard case among themselves, and
Maurice went down to the breastwork and carried Wylie off to the
monastery almost by main force, dexterously depriving him of his last
excuse by first sending for his possessions from Ephestilo. The hour
that followed, spent under the shelter of impending doom, reminded the
four who shared the recollection of an evening passed long ago in the
brigands’ camp. Zoe and Eirene had not been told of the severe
alternative which was all that was offered, but the prospect of
surrender, even as prisoners of war, was painful enough in its
destruction of all that they had lived for during the last few months.
Still, each kept up for the sake of the rest, pretending all the while
that it was for the sake of little Constantine, who clung to his
father with a determination that appealed to Maurice as a kind of
premonition, and could hardly be torn from him when bedtime came.

Troubles began early the next day. Maurice was roused by Wylie’s voice
in the gallery, and going out, found him leaning on a stick and giving
orders to his guards, who looked thoroughly frightened.

“What’s the matter?” asked Maurice, when the men had gone.

“Matter enough. The Roumis have broken the truce and pierced our line
in the night. They are posted all along the deep gully between us and
Ephestilo.”

“But there was no firing--no alarm!” cried Maurice.

“No need. Nilischeff and his men were holding a palaver, and they had
only to slip past.”

“But we can turn them out?”

“If we try it we shall have them on us along the whole line. No,
honestly I think it will be best to let them stay there for the
day--taking care they get no farther, of course--and make use of the
truce if they will let us.”

“How? by trying to communicate with the Admirals again?”

“No, that’s useless. By getting your wife and sister away.”

“But, good Heavens! you say we are cut off from Ephestilo.”

“By the direct path, but there is a longer way round. Zeko will take
them down all right.”

“But not to-day. You have not warned the ships.”

“As soon as it is dusk this evening. That will give us time to burn
the blue lights on the gateway, for they can’t get to Ephestilo by the
long way till to-morrow morning at earliest. Then Cotway will be ready
for them.”

“But--old man, I know you’re doing your best for them, but do you
realise what it means--a night journey through these hills, with the
Roumis swarming in every direction? Wouldn’t they be better even
staying here?”

“No,” said Wylie shortly. “You don’t know what Nilischeff and his men
were discussing in the night, but I do. They mean to save their own
wretched skins by handing us all over--all, mind--to the Roumis.”

“Then let us do one piece of justice before our chance is gone, and
shoot the lot of them.”

Wylie shook his head. “No; keep on the mask and anticipate them by
surrendering, when once the ladies are safe. I doubt if you would have
men enough behind you to do it, for one thing. Nilischeff has made
them believe that the enmity of the Powers is against us personally,
and that when we are once out of the way Thracia will step forward as
the deliverer favoured by all Europe.”

“I don’t mind what he makes out about me,” said Maurice wrathfully,
“but to contemplate giving up women to the Roumis!--and this from men
who know what it means! Well, I will tell Eirene to be ready.”

It was some time before he had the opportunity of speaking to his wife
in private, and when he called her she was at first too busy to
respond. Then she came out of her room looking annoyed.

“I wish you wouldn’t speak so loud, Maurice,” she said. “You know how
difficult it is to get Constantine settled for his day-sleep, and he
always starts up when he hears your voice.”

“Well, he won’t be disturbed in that way much longer. You understand
that it’s all up with us here, Eirene? I think it is better that you
and Zoe and Con should be out of the way before all the business of
the surrender begins, so I shall pack you off this evening to
Ephestilo, where Admiral Essiter will send a boat to fetch you on
board the _Magniloquent_.”

“I have never asked you to face any disagreeables that I was not
willing to share,” said Eirene. “I shall stay here with you, of
course.”

“I think not. I am sorry to be obliged to speak plainly, Eirene. You
would not wish Zoe to be left as Con’s guardian?”

“Maurice!” she cried quickly, but he went on unheeding.

“The Admiral will protect you, and give you advice if you need it. You
will have the independent control of Teffany-Wise’s money, and no
doubt you will be able to use it more profitably for Con than for me.”

“But you talk as if--something was going to happen to you,” she
faltered.

“It’s extremely likely that something is. But that need not trouble
you. You will have Con to yourself, and can plan his future as you
like.”

“Maurice!” Eirene took her courage in both hands, and went close to
him. “Has it seemed--I mean, you could not have thought that--that
when we had all those quarrels I--I didn’t care?”

“We will say that you dissembled your love with remarkable skill,”
said Maurice, as lightly as he could. “Don’t imagine I blame you. You
ought never to have married me. We thought you knew your own mind, but
you were too young. I couldn’t give you what you had a right to
expect, and you couldn’t do without it, as you once thought you could.
I have been nothing but a disappointment to you.”

“No, no!” she cried eagerly. “I have never repented--never. I would
marry you again to-morrow if---- Oh, Maurice!” struck by his lack of
response, “don’t say you have repented--all along!”

“That I certainly have not. There have been times---- But it does no
good to talk about it. How could I help repenting, for your sake, when
I saw you struggling, chafing, hardly able to keep back the contempt
you felt for me?”

“I wanted to bring out the best in you,” she said, choking back a
sob,--“to make you worthy of your birthright, not let you sink into a
mere country gentleman. Perhaps I have seemed unkind, but I meant it
for your good.”

“I never doubted it,” he assured her; “but you see, I knew all along
that my good meant your ambition. The conjunction was unfortunate, but
it was not your fault.”

“You are cruel!” burst from Eirene.

“Am I? That was the last thing I intended. I hoped that when you
explained to Con that his father was a failure, you would at least be
able to say that he meant well.”

“You will break my heart, Maurice. You loved me once; is your love
quite gone? Have I destroyed it? Oh, don’t answer me in that cruel
cold voice! Is there nothing I can do? I do care; I have always cared.
Let me do something to make you believe it. Maurice!” she laid her
hands on his shoulders, “ask me to stay with you, let me die with
you--just to show you have forgiven me.”

“Certainly not. No, no!” as he saw the agony in her eyes, “there is
nothing to forgive. We both made a mistake, and it is about my only
piece of comfort that you will now have the chance of repairing it.
But as to doing something for me--there is one thing----”

“Tell me. Let me do it,” she panted.

“Insist on my sending Wylie to escort you to Ephestilo. Then I shall
not have his blood on my head.”

“Colonel Wylie? But why not you?”

“Because I can’t leave these poor wretches, whom I have led into this,
but he has nothing to do with them. It would take a load from my mind
if I knew he was safe. And he will be a good friend to you.”

“I have never liked him----” began Eirene, but she interrupted herself
quickly. “No, I will do it, I will; but only for your sake, Maurice.
You understand that?”

“I do, and I thank you. But, Eirene, you must put no more obstacles
between him and Zoe. She is not to be a pawn in your game any longer.
Is that quite clear?”

“If it is another thing I can do for you, it is.”




 CHAPTER XX.
 FUGITIVES.

“Maurice, it isn’t true! You are not sending us away and staying
here yourself?”

“My dear Zoe, it’s the only thing to be done. But I foresee that my
hair will be grey before it is done.”

“But don’t you see that when we have held out so long---- Oh, Maurice,
we came for the sake of the cause, and we don’t want to forsake it
when it has failed. We don’t mean to go away and be saved without
you.”

“Don’t you think I know that? But when the only thing you can do for
me is to go quietly----? There’s Con, you know. We couldn’t let the
little chap be killed without trying to save him, could we? And you
will have to help look after him, see that he doesn’t quite forget me,
don’t you know?”

“I hate Eirene!” cried Zoe passionately.

“No, don’t say that. She is awfully cut up--didn’t realise how near we
were to the end of all things, of course. I say, Zoe, you mustn’t
visit this on her. It’s not her fault really, and I want you two to
stick together. If you say to yourself--I mean, if you remember--if it
occurs to you, don’t you know?--that I--I cared for her, perhaps it
might make it easier.”

“It won’t, because she has treated you so shamefully.”

“At least she has promised to do the last thing I shall ask her, and
you won’t.”

“Oh, Maurice, of course I will! Oh, what a shame! you have made me
promise. But, my dear boy----”

“Maurice!” the curtain at the door was lifted, and Eirene came in,
very pale and quiet. “I want to know who is to go with us to-night.
They say that the way to Ephestilo is blocked, and that we shall have
to go round.”

“Wylie thought Zeko would be the best man to command the escort,” said
Maurice, guessing that Wylie was within hearing; “and we shall pick
out six of our best men to go with him.”

“It is not enough,” said Eirene imperiously. “I mean, we must have a
European. We may come on the Roumis anywhere. You must send Colonel
Wylie with us.”

“Of course, the very thing!” said Maurice, with almost too ready
acquiescence. “I’ll tell him he is to go.”

“I beg your pardon,” said Wylie, appearing in the doorway; “but I have
a voice in the matter, and I am not going. You will find Zeko quite
trustworthy, Princess, and he knows the way as well as I do.”

“It is not fitting,” persisted Eirene. “Maurice, I decline to go
unless we are properly escorted.”

“Your husband commands here, ma’am,” said Wylie sharply. “If it is his
order that you are to go, go you will.”

“Not at all. Are you not teaching me to defy him at this very moment,
Colonel Wylie? I can quite believe you are capable of sending me away
by force, but I may remind you that if I chose to scream or struggle,
all your plans would be betrayed.”

Wylie turned away impatiently. “You may say what you like, ma’am, but
I am not going.”

“Not if I ask it, Wylie?” said Maurice.

“No,” was the gruff reply. “You are plotting to save me from whatever
happens to you, and I won’t have it.”

“‘I will be drowned, and nobody shall save me,’” quoted Maurice, in a
perplexity so hopeless that it became humorous. “Look at it sensibly,
old man. Can’t you realise what a comfort it would be to me to know
that the girls had some one to look after them?”

“I stay here to look after you.” Wylie was unmoved.

“But you are on the sick list. Really, you wouldn’t add to our
fighting strength much, you know, and if we succeed in surrendering
before Nilischeff does it for us, your presence would complicate
matters horribly. You are a meddlesome foreigner, you see, without
even as much right here as I have. To make things easier--as a favour
to me----”

“Don’t ask favours, Maurice; give your orders!” cried Eirene, her
voice high and harsh. “You realise, if Colonel Wylie doesn’t, that we
may never reach Ephestilo, and that we must not fall into the hands of
the Roumis. Do you see now, both of you? Neither Constantine nor Zoe
nor I--no descendant of John Theophanis--must fall into the hands of
the Roumis.”

“Wylie, you see?” cried Maurice passionately. “How could I put such a
responsibility into the hands of Zeko?”

“For God’s sake, don’t put it into mine!” cried Wylie in horror. “Go
yourself, and leave me here.”

“I can’t, and you know it. Wylie, you must go. You are the only man I
can trust in a thing of this kind.”

Wylie looked round him with hunted eyes, as though seeking a way of
escape. Then, with a groan, “All right. I’ll go,” he said.

“I knew you would. Thanks, old man.”

“And after all,” said Zoe, trying to keep her lips from trembling as
she spoke, “we may meet the party from the ship quite soon, and then
Colonel Wylie can come back at once to you, Maurice.”

“Ah, of course. That I will,” said Wylie.

“Only if you have handed them over safely,” said Maurice. “Don’t let
me see you again if you can’t do that.”

“All right. We start as soon as it is dusk, then.” His voice had
regained its usual tones as he turned to Eirene and Zoe. “Put on
native shoes, and dark clothes, if you have them--handkerchiefs on
your heads instead of hats, like the women here. No luggage, of
course. I will give you the blue lights,” he added to Maurice. “You
must burn them on the gateway at half-hour intervals, without fail. If
the Emathians object, tell them it is a signal of distress, a last
appeal for help from the Admirals. You must keep our absence a secret,
of course. I will have the men we are to take with us put on guard, so
that they can get away without being seen.”

How the hours of that dreadful day wore themselves away, none of the
people chiefly affected could have told. By far the most cheerful was
Maurice, over whom the impending doom hung most certainly. Eirene was
filled with a passionate remorse, which it was now too late to prove
save by the promptest acquiescence in anything her husband suggested,
and Wylie went about like a man under sentence of death. As for Zoe,
the active imagination which had played such a large part in her
history ran riot now in scenes and possibilities of horror, until she
could only restore herself to some measure of calmness by the sage
reflection that nothing in all her life had ever proved as terrible as
she had pictured it beforehand. The only humorous element in the day’s
doings was furnished by Zeko and his six men, who objected as strongly
as did Wylie to being sent out of the way of danger, and could only be
induced to go by the promise that they should return with him when the
ladies had been placed in safety.

It was more difficult now to leave the monastery secretly than it had
been when the adventurers reached Hagiamavra, for the hills round it
were no longer solitary, but dotted with the huts and tents and
camp-fires of the insurgents and refugees, who were crowding closer to
this central point as the lines were tightened round them. Maurice was
naturally the chief object of interest to these people, and he
concentrated their attention on himself by preparing to start with his
guards, shortly before dusk, for the breastwork on which the Maxim had
been mounted the day before, to resume the defence as soon as the
armistice expired. The malcontents under Nilischeff, their occupation
gone by the loss of the line they should have defended, hung about
sullenly until he ordered them away to strengthen other weak points,
and begging women and wailing children, demanding vainly the food
which he had not to give them, watched the departure of the forlorn
hope. For that it was a forlorn hope there could be no doubt. The
Roumi seizure of the ravine between the monastery and Ephestilo had
driven a wedge into the heart of the defences, and no one knew better
than Maurice that at any moment he might be stabbed in the back by his
own men. But his business was to keep matters going somehow until the
morning, and then to obtain such terms as he could for the poor
starving people around.

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.


 “Things have come to a crisis sooner than I expected. If anything is
 to be done, it must be to-day.--O.”


“I will come,” she said, and with trembling fingers tied on the black
bonnet with its long fall of crape reaching to the ground, reminiscent
of the court mourning of her early days in Scythia, which had made
Maurice so anxious and uneasy when he caught sight of it once that the
doctor had fairly driven her out of the room. Together they had
concocted a myth concerning Eirene’s desire to show sympathy with the
families of the slain insurgents, which the patient’s dulled brain and
limited powers of asking questions had not yet been able to penetrate;
but Eirene had not ventured to appear in the bonnet again in his room,
though she scouted angrily the surgeon’s blunt advice that she should
consider the living husband before the dead child, and defer the
outward tokens of woe for the present. She did not herself realise the
actual satisfaction that her depth of crape gave her; it was in
accordance with her feelings and the situation, and she derived a
certain mournful pleasure from it.

“I am glad you have lost no time,” said the Princess, when she was
ushered into her presence. “This affair at Therma renders your
husband’s position most precarious.”

“Are the rioters demanding his death?” asked Eirene, almost in a
whisper.

“Rioters? This is not a riot. It is an attack by Roumi troops on the
troops and Consulates of the three ‘Liberal’ Powers--the three Powers
which are protecting your husband. Jalal-ud-din remains passive. The
Scythian and Pannonian Consulates have so far escaped, and the
Hercynian Consulate has actually been saluted by the revolted troops.
There lies your danger.”

“Hercynia has always been hostile,” murmured Eirene.

“Hercynia is ranged on the side of Roum. If this outbreak is quelled,
Hercynia will act as mediator between her _protégée_ and the
insulted Powers, and her first duty will be to show that Roum is more
sinned against than sinning. She will demand the instant surrender of
the Hagiamavra leaders.”

“But they would not grant it, when Roum has allowed the Consuls to be
attacked.”

“They would not, if there was a sufficiently strong party in the
Concert against it. At present the Powers are three and three, and
because Scythia and Pannonia and Hercynia know what they want, and
England is willing to obey any one who tells her what to do, they will
prevail. But if one of them is detached, England will gladly help to
form a majority on the side she herself prefers.”

“And which of them is to be detached? and what is the price?”

“I will tell you presently. It is some years now since you were in
Scythia, madame, but you will remember the characteristics of her
diplomacy sufficiently to be sure that in the unprecedented situation
arising out of your husband’s filibustering expedition she has not
forgotten her own plans for the future of Emathia. For the promotion
of those plans, it is necessary that Emathia should only be released
from Roum to come under the rule of a Scythian nominee.”

“Your son Kazimir,” murmured Eirene involuntarily.

The Princess frowned. “We are not concerned with personalities,
madame, but with facts. Let it suffice that the person chosen must be
possessed of certain qualifications to which your husband cannot
pretend.”

“I know,” said Eirene wearily. “And therefore he is to retire in the
other person’s favour. Why not say so at once?”

“Because that is not what is required of you. Your husband is not
recognised by Europe as a candidate. Therefore his withdrawal would be
the private act of a private person, and have no political
significance whatever. At the same time, it might have a slightly
invidious appearance for Scythia suddenly to propose the virtual
independence of Emathia under a prince of her choosing.”

“I can’t imagine what you want me to do.” Eirene was wearied to
impatience. “Please say what it is, and let me go back to my husband.
Only”--with a sudden thought--“it is no use suggesting that Maurice
should become a puppet prince under the thumb of Scythia, for nothing
would ever induce him to do it.”

“Dear madame, I know your husband and his prejudices. In this little
matter, you and I are going to arrange things for his good, for his
life’s sake”--the emphasis was significant--“without consulting him.
You will believe that it is with the keenest pleasure I tell you that
we shall also gratify, though, alas! only temporarily, the ambition
you have cherished so long.”

“Madame,” said Eirene, with quivering lips, “my ambition is dead, and
you know it. It was for my child I cherished it, and it died with him.
No political success can be more than dust and ashes to me now. It is
for the sake of my husband’s life, and that alone, that I listen to
you.”

The Princess shrugged her shoulders slightly. “Very well, let it pass.
To my suggestion, madame. If you agree, the Scythian Ambassador at
Czarigrad will definitely propose your husband as Governor-General and
Prince of Emathia, under the nominal sovereignty of Roum, but with the
guarantee of the Powers and owning responsibility to them. The Liberal
Powers will testify surprise, but will eventually joyfully agree. If a
popular election is demanded--well, we all know that these things are
managed somehow--he will be the person elected. I shall have the
honour of paying my respects to the Princess of Emathia in the Konak
at Therma.”

“And the price?”

“A mere nothing. A promise signed by your husband to resign his post,
for reasons of health, when he is required to do so by Scythia.”

“He would never do it.”

“I think he would, when he knew that the document would be made public
in case of his refusing.”

Eirene flushed angrily. “You know I don’t mean that!” she cried. “What
Maurice promised he would do, of course. But he would never give the
promise.”

“Then he will be handed over to Roum, and--shot.”

“Madame, you ask impossibilities. Why tantalise me like this? My
husband would refuse the suggestion with scorn.”

“Dear madame, did I not say that you and I would arrange the matter
for his good? He will sign the promise, but it is not necessary he
should know what it is.”

“He would never sign it without reading it.”

“Then he must think it something different from what it is. Madame, I
understand that your husband has something to forgive you. Have you
not the courage, the cunning, if you will, to play a slight trick upon
him for his life’s sake?”

“He would never forgive me,” said Eirene, trembling.

“He need never know, unless you tell him. Listen--the intimation that
his retirement is desired shall be conveyed to you first. I will not
do you the injustice to imagine that you cannot induce him--by urging
ill-health on your own part, if necessary--to take a step on which you
have set your heart. Once he has complied, the paper shall be handed
back to you, to be dealt with as you please.”

Eirene caught at a straw. “But even if he did resign, the people would
at once elect Prince Romanos Christodoridi. He is the Pannonian
candidate, and the Greeks adore him.”

“My dear friend, it is quite unnecessary for you to trouble yourself
about that young man. I know something about him that would make him,
if I even whispered it abroad, an impossible candidate. I assure you
that everything has been provided for. But I will make your task as
easy as I can. The preliminary to proposing your husband as candidate
must of course be the decision on the part of the Powers that he is
not to be handed over to Roum--that he is, in short, a free man. This
I will undertake to obtain at once, confiding in your honour. If I am
able to announce to you--and events confirm it--that his life is safe,
may I depend upon you to perform your part of the compact?”

“But his life is all that I want. I don’t care now about his becoming
Prince.”

“But I do. As I have already pointed out, his life depends upon his
being useful in the future.”

“But if I drew back then--you don’t mean----”

“I mean that if you were so foolish as to deny that you had entered
into this engagement--well, it is not beyond the resources of
diplomacy to discover that the illegal acts of which your husband was
guilty during his occupation of Hagiamavra were such as to place him,
after all, outside the pale of pardon. We are not to be played with,
madame.”

“The--the pardon would cover Colonel Wylie and Lord Armitage, and all
who were concerned?”

“Certainly. The Powers--except perhaps Hercynia--are not really
thirsting for the blood of these obscure individuals, you know! You
have decided to take action, madame--you have conceived a plan? Good!
In return, then, for the assurance I trust to be able to convey to
you, in two days at most, of the safety of your husband and his
associates, you will deliver to me a paper signed by him, containing
a solemn promise on his part to resign the Governor-Generalship of
Emathia, without assigning other than private reasons, whenever he
shall be required to do so by the Emperor of Scythia or his
representatives, in consideration of their good offices in bringing
about his release?”

“You mean to make him impossible for ever as a candidate!” cried
Eirene. Then her indignation faded. “Well, it does not signify. After
all, it is for his life. But wait,” her tone was full of animation
once more. “It is possible that he will not be elected. Prince Romanos
has many supporters. Don’t be afraid,” noticing the Princess’s
expression; “Maurice shall offer himself as candidate, according to
our compact, and I will do nothing and say nothing to prevent his
succeeding. But if he fails, if Prince Romanos is elected, you can do
what you like with him, so you have said. Therefore the paper will be
of no further use to you. In that case will you give it me back?”

The Princess considered the matter. “Yes,” she said, “I think I can
promise that.”

“Swear it!” cried Eirene eagerly. “You have an icon of great sanctity
there, I see. Swear upon it.”

“You ask a great deal, madame.” The Princess shot an angry glance at
this suppliant who was presuming to make terms with her, but she moved
across to the icon and kissed it. “I swear that if Prince
Christodoridi is elected, I will return the paper signed by your
husband to ‘you,’” she said, with an emphasis on the pronoun which
Eirene remembered afterwards. “But do not be afraid, the election will
be properly managed, and our friend Apolis will have no chance.”

“I will give or send you the paper when it is certain that my
husband’s life is safe,” said Eirene. “I see how it is to be done. You
need not be afraid.”

She went out with a pale face and set lips, determined on betraying
Maurice for his life’s sake, even arguing to herself that her action
was justifiable, since it involved the loss of her own ambition. But
on one point she had no illusions. Maurice would never forgive her for
setting his life above his honour. She returned home, and before going
into the sick-room chose out two sheets of black-edged paper and wrote
two letters, arranging the sentences carefully, so that when glanced
at cursorily, or seen upside-down, the wording appeared to be the
same. Taking these in her hand, with several loose pieces of
blotting-paper, she went into Maurice’s room.

“Hush!” came softly from Zoe, who was sitting close to the door. “He’s
asleep.”

“No, I’m not,” said a weak voice from the bed. “Eirene, I think you
might let Con in to-day. I feel as if I hadn’t seen him for years, and
he will be quite good.”

“Oh, hush!” cried Eirene, in a voice that thrilled with pain. Then she
recollected herself hurriedly. “No, Maurice, you are not strong enough
yet. But I do want you to sign this letter if you feel fairly well. I
want Merceda to sell out ten thousand pounds of Mr Teffany-Wise’s
money, and pay it into our joint account.”

“What! not had enough adventures yet?” groaned Maurice.

“This is not an adventure; it is a most excellent thing. Zoe, you
heard Admiral Essiter talking of the new idea the Constitutional
Assembly have started, to police the peninsula themselves, under the
Admirals?”

“Yes, but I thought you didn’t care about it,” said Zoe.

“Oh, I have been thinking about it since. They only need money,
Maurice, and it would be a step to self-government. Let us lend them
this ten thousand.”

“I don’t like taking such a step without consulting any one,” said
Maurice.

“You can consult the Admiral before doing it. It can’t be any harm to
have the money ready. And it would show that we really wished well to
the people, and didn’t care about them merely as potential subjects.”

“I should like to think it over a little.”

“Oh, but I want to do it at once!” Zoe frowned as Eirene’s voice rose
higher. “I have written the letter. Look, Zoe, that is all right,
isn’t it? Maurice will only have to sign it. You can read it to him if
you like, so as not to try his eyes.”

“Just like Eirene!” thought Zoe as she read the letter through.
“Pushing her schemes exactly as usual, after all that has happened! If
Eirene won’t be satisfied unless you sign it, Maurice,” she added
aloud, “I suppose it can’t do much harm. You will have to sign the
transfer first, and then the cheque, before she can do anything with
the money.”

“Of course. I only feel that one ought to be rather careful what one
does in present circumstances, for fear of adding to the Admirals’
difficulties,” said Maurice, by way of apology to his wife for Zoe’s
chilling tone and dignified withdrawal to the window. “We will find
out exactly what Essiter thinks before taking any further step, but as
you say, it can’t hurt to have the money in the bank.”

“Do be careful, Eirene! You will be giving Maurice the blotting-paper
to sign,” said Zoe sharply, as the papers fluttered from her
sister-in-law’s trembling hands.

“Much more likely to spill the ink,” retorted Eirene, gathering them
up, and holding one in front of Maurice with a book to keep it steady.
The room was dim and his eyes weak, and neither he nor Zoe had the
faintest idea that the paper to which he had laboriously scrawled his
name was not the letter to the stockbroker, but the promise demanded
by the Princess.




 CHAPTER XXIV.
 THE WAGES OF UNRIGHTEOUSNESS.

The situation at Therma was “serious” in the opinion of the most
optimistic observers, “critical” in that of others. The Roumi troops
were irritated beyond endurance, so said their apologists, by the
action of the Admirals in saving the Hagiamavra insurgents from the
punishment they merited, and were still further incensed by the
importation of European soldiers to guard the Consulates. An indemnity
had been demanded by the three “Liberal” powers for the damage to
person and property sustained by their nationals during the rioting of
which Zoe had spoken to Wylie, and since settlement was deferred in
the old familiar way, it was thought well to act decisively, and seize
the Therma quays. This was the last straw. The international force
sent to take over the customs buildings was attacked by an armed mob,
largely composed of Roumi soldiers, led by their officers. Not
expecting serious opposition, and desirous of sparing Roumi
susceptibilities as much as possible, the Consuls had sent only small
detachments, and these were compelled to retreat down the quay, fired
at from windows and roofs, and sustaining many casualties. The British
destroyer lying in the harbour shelled the mob, and covered the
embarkation of the survivors, but could not protect either the
European or the Christian parts of the town. The fact that three of
the great Powers were to some extent in sympathy with the malcontents
made it impossible to arrange for a joint defence of the diplomatic
quarter, and the British, Neustrian, and Magnagrecian Consulates were
subjected to three separate sieges, in which the occupants suffered
severely, until their Admirals, arriving in haste, landed parties to
relieve them. When the sacred abodes of diplomacy were thus treated,
it was clear that no consideration for the homes of ordinary
Christians, whether Roumi subjects or foreigners, was to be expected.
The rest of the city was given up to rapine of all kinds; the ravages
of the massacres in the spring, which had been in process of being
repaired, were renewed, and anarchy reigned. Jalal-ud-din Pasha,
summoned by the Admirals to recall his soldiers to barracks, declared
his inability to restrain them unless the foreign troops whose
presence excited their ire were removed, and when this was indignantly
refused, relapsed into a benevolent neutrality. But unfortunately for
himself and his master, he had misread the situation. Outrages on
Emathian Christians were one thing,--Europe had endured them with more
or less equanimity for centuries; but to burn European officials in
their houses and shoot down European troops was something very
different. The insulted Powers hurried reinforcements to the spot
(those of England were already on their way, thanks to Admiral
Essiter’s appreciation of Wylie’s warning), and the Admirals were
given full authority to deal with the state of affairs.

Nor was the vindication of the insulted dignity of Europe left
entirely to the sword. The Ambassadors at Czarigrad, who had debated
earnestly and fruitlessly for many months, labouring at a Sisyphean
task with a patience and lack of success that were little less than
pathetic, found a ray of light suddenly cast upon their path. The
Neustrian and Scythian Ambassadors arrived at the scene of their
discussions one morning in company,--a circumstance that in itself
aroused comment, since the representatives of the friendly and allied
nations had for some time been on opposite sides. The reconciliation
was emphasised when the Neustrian Ambassador, acting under instruction
from his Government, pointed out that the events now occurring at
Therma showed how unlikely it was that the Hagiamavran leaders would
receive fair treatment at Roumi hands, and proposed their immediate
release. The Scythian Ambassador, similarly instructed from home,
caused an immense sensation by seconding the suggestion, and it was
carried. The Magnagrecian Ambassador was thereupon encouraged to bring
forward the proposal, which had been shelved for so long, that Emathia
should be constituted an autonomous principality, under the merely
nominal suzerainty of Roum; but his Pannonian colleague, who had by
this time recovered from the shock of finding himself deserted by
Scythia, countered his plan with the suggestion that a Christian
Governor-General, approved by the Powers, but responsible to
Czarigrad, was all that was necessary. That this Christian Vali should
be a Roumi subject was of course a foregone conclusion, and he
believed that the Grand Seignior might be induced to reappoint M.
Nestor Skopiadi, who had already proved himself so zealous and capable
a ruler. This barefaced attempt to establish over again the hopeless
state of things which had ended with Skopiadi Pasha’s flight from
massacre in the spring was a little too much for the rest of the
Ambassadors, and the gathering broke up without expressing any
collective opinion, that its members might report to their respective
Governments the alternative proposals submitted to it.

But at least the lives of the insurgent leaders were safe. The tidings
was brought to Skandalo by the _Magniloquent’s_ steam pinnace,
carrying Admiral Essiter’s flag-lieutenant, who was charged with
despatches for the Magnagrecian commander at Ephestilo. He brought
also the Admiral’s own suggestion that he should offer to take Zoe to
Ephestilo with him, in case she might like to carry the news to Wylie
herself, and she accepted the invitation joyfully. While she was
getting ready, Eirene was summoned from the sick-room by the news that
the Princess Dowager of Dardania was inquiring for her. The creditor
had come to demand the payment of the bond, and Eirene took the
fateful paper from its hiding-place inside the bodice of her dress,
and went to face her.

“I felt that I must come and bring my congratulations in person,” said
the Princess, in a tone loud enough to be heard by the flag-lieutenant
in the next room. “Well, have I kept my promise?” she asked, in a
lowered voice.

“You are very good, madame,” said Eirene loudly. “Yes, and I will keep
mine,” she added, almost in a whisper.

The Princess took the paper from her hand, and without ceremony opened
and read it. “Good!” she said lightly. “This is quite satisfactory.
Prince Theophanis is fully aware of the nature of what he has signed,
of course?”

“You know he is not!” said Eirene indignantly.

“Ah, well, sooner or later he will be. Good-bye, dear friend. So glad
to have had just this glimpse of you!”

She rustled out, and the flag-lieutenant wondered why Eirene’s face
should look so tragic after a mere visit of kindly courtesy. But Zoe
came hurrying from her room, and the incident was forgotten. He had a
good deal to tell her as the pinnace carried them down the coast and
round the point and up again, for the Roumis had shown their
resentment at Scythia’s defection from their cause by attacking the
Scythian Consulate at Therma, the guards of which were not expecting
an assault, and while the occupants were rescued by a sortie from the
British Consulate, the place itself was looted and burnt. It was the
general opinion, he told her, that this change of front on the part of
Scythia portended the separation of Emathia from Roum, and its
establishment as an autonomous state under Maurice, insomuch that
various old and orthodox Mussulmans at Therma were already packing up
their goods, preferring transplantation to living under the rule of
the Giaour. This news troubled Zoe almost as much as the tidings of
the prisoners’ safety had rejoiced her, for it recalled to her Wylie’s
unbending attitude in the past, and she wondered, sick at heart,
whether he would again think it right to withhold from her, for her
own sake, all that she cared for. It was with fear and trembling that
she climbed the steps to the verandah, in the wake of the sentry, who
was beaming with sympathy for her good news. She did not quite see why
he insisted on going up first, and proclaiming, “The lady, sir, with a
hannouncement,” but when Wylie actually walked to meet her, leaning on
a stick, she understood.

“Oh, have you walked from your chair to the steps quite by yourself?”
she cried in delight.

“Absolutely. How’s that for improvement? And I don’t mean you to enjoy
all the privileges of our engagement in future,” he said, stooping and
kissing her. “Why, Zoe, what’s the matter?” as he looked into her
face. Her tearful eyes, and the general air of agitation about her,
prepared him for the tidings she must be bringing. “Is it news, dear?”

“Yes. I have something--to tell you,” she broke out, stopping short,
and putting out her hands to keep him from her.

“My dear girl, I can guess. Do these naval fellows think I can’t stand
a shock, that they send you to break it to me? Don’t trouble to say
it.”

Zoe gave a little shivering laugh, which sounded oddly in his ears. “I
must. I said I would,” she gasped, but she let herself be drawn into
his arms, and clung to him convulsively. “You won’t turn away from
me?” she besought him. “You won’t be different? Everything will be as
it has been till now?”

“Turn away from you--because the brutes have given you such a thing to
do, poor little girl?” His tone was answer enough. “Here, let me say
it for you. They are going to hand me over to the Roumis, I suppose?”

“No. They are going to set you free,” came from Zoe in a kind of wail,
and her fingers tightened their hold.

“But you must be dreaming, my darling. Or am I dreaming? It is all
right--and you are _sorry_?”

“Oh no, no!” Zoe freed herself, and stamped her foot at him. “I was
only afraid--you might want to give me up. But you shan’t!” as she saw
the look she knew so well creeping over his face. “You promised that
everything should be as it has been, and I won’t give you up--not if
Maurice was made Emperor to-morrow! That was why I was glad when the
Admiral let me bring you the news--that mere gratitude might keep you
from throwing me over.”

“Don’t talk about my throwing you over,” he said, more sternly than
she had heard him speak for a long time. “I might feel bound in honour
to release you from your promise.”

“You couldn’t if I refused to release you.”

“I must think what is the best thing to be done for you.”

“The best thing? Ask Maurice. When I told him you and I were engaged,
he said it was the finest news he had heard for many a day.”

“It would have been wiser to ask your sister-in-law.”

“Worldly-wiser, perhaps! No, not even that. Have I been so
particularly happy and useful all these years, so conspicuously
successful in my influence on every one around me, that you want to
condemn me to it all again? I suppose you think that trouble is good
for me, since you are kind enough to let me be engaged to you as long
as you are expecting to be killed, and then, as soon as that strain is
over, go on to jilt me.”

“You must let me think,” repeated Wylie, dropping into his chair. “It
is harder for me than for you.”

Zoe’s eyes flamed. “Harder!” she cried. “If you cared for me, it might
be.”

“Not care?” he groaned. “It’s because I do care----”

“It is not!” she said passionately, standing in front of him like an
accuser. “It is because you are afraid what people will say, or hint,
or think about you. You say it would be hard to give me up, but it
would be harder to say to yourself,--I don’t even ask you to say it to
me,--‘It was pride that kept us apart all these years, and I won’t let
it do us any more harm now.’”

“I can’t argue with you, but I am going to try to do the proper
thing,” persisted Wylie.

“Very well, then. I can’t go on pleading for myself with a man who
tells me plainly he doesn’t care what I say. But remember this: if you
throw me over now, you must never, never cross my path again, never
think of helping Maurice in his work. I could not stand seeing you,
meeting you--thinking of these few days when you could afford to let
me be happy, because you were going to die and I could not presume
upon it! And I suppose even you would hardly wish to cut me off from
Maurice, the only person I have left in the world?”

“Zoe, Zoe!” His voice reached her as she walked away, and she paused,
but could not trust herself to turn round.

“If you send me away now, it’s for ever,” she jerked out.

“Let me think,” he entreated.

“No, I won’t. Am I to go or not? You must make up your mind at once.
Oh, Graham, can’t you see--I can’t bear it----”

“No, don’t go! I can’t give you up again. Forgive me, dearest. I
thought I was thinking of you, and it was myself after all.”

White and trembling, Zoe allowed herself to be drawn back. “You must
never do it again,” she managed to say.

“I won’t--it isn’t worth it. What does it signify if all Europe cries
shame upon me as a fortune-hunter, when it would make us both
miserable for ever if I wasn’t?”

“Especially when my fortune is so very desirable,” said Zoe, regaining
calmness. “Plenty of hard work, with a little fancy fighting thrown
in, and a month or two of imprisonment under sentence of death as an
occasional variety.”

“You are the fortune,” said Wylie. She shook her head.

“That sounds very nice, but it isn’t true. My fortune is that I have
Maurice for a brother. That’s all you care about. You know quite well
it was not until you found you would lose him that you changed your
mind about giving me up. But don’t think I mind. I am glad that any
one should appreciate him properly. Oh, there’s the whistle! I must
go--and leave you to think of Maurice.”

“Come here first.” She approached incautiously, and found her hands
seized. “Now tell me whether you really believe I care more about
Maurice than you?”

“You will make me keep the boat waiting. I think you like me nearly as
much as Maurice, you know; well, almost--quite--as much. Oh, you are
hurting my wrists!”

“Only when you try to pull your hands away. No, go on, that’s not
enough. I am not going to be libelled by you, at any rate, whatever
Europe may say. Maurice is my friend, and you think I care for you
just about as much as for him?”

“Well, perhaps a little differently, you know.”

“Only differently--not more? And you are satisfied?”

“I am. But I shouldn’t be if I believed it.”

Her hands had lain passive in Wylie’s, and she twisted them
dexterously away and hurried down the steps, laughing and blushing.
She knew he could not follow her, but he succeeded in reaching the top
of the steps, and his “Just wait till next time!” met her as she
turned to wave him farewell. The flag-lieutenant found it absolutely
useless to speak of politics to her during the return voyage.

It was like coming out of the sunshine into cold shadow to return to
Skandalo. As soon as she entered the house, Dr Terminoff, who was in
charge of Maurice during the absence of the fleet, hurried out to meet
her.

“Can you remain with your brother, madame, while I look after Princess
Theophanis? It has been necessary to inform him of the death of the
poor child, and we have had a very sad scene. She has quite broken
down, and I was obliged to get her out of the room.”

“But think of spoiling the good news from Czarigrad by telling him
to-day!” cried Zoe.

“Hush! he will hear you. Pray go to him, and if there is any rise of
temperature, tell me at once. He insisted that I should go to the
Princess, but I am anxious about him.”

Zoe took the thermometer and went into the sick-room, half hoping that
Maurice would be asleep. But he spoke to her as soon as she approached
the bed.

“It was not Eirene’s fault, Zoe. I made her tell me. I told her she
absolutely must bring him in.”

Zoe could not speak, but she laid her hand on his forehead for a
moment, and he went on.

“I wish you--they--had told me before. I have been looking forward so
much---- I thought he would come and sit on the bed, and we should
have such talks together.”

“Yes, he was so good and quiet.” Zoe commanded her voice with
difficulty.

“But it is worse for Eirene than me. She had such hopes and plans for
him. He was to be all that I am not.”

“He would have been exactly like you, and I’m glad of it,” said Zoe,
with fierce conviction. “And Eirene has no one but herself to thank
for the destruction of her hopes.”

“Don’t, don’t!” said Maurice. Then, after a pause, “You have never
been able to be quite fair to her, have you, Zoe?”

“At any rate, I can’t help seeing that but for her you two would have
been living quietly at Stone Acton--with Con.”

“How can you tell? If his time was come---- And I suppose it is--it
must be--better for him. That was what Eirene said--that he could
never disappoint us now, that I need have no fear of treachery from
him, that he need never be afraid to meet my eye. What could she
mean?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps she didn’t quite know what she was saying.
Maurice, you say I haven’t been fair to her, and I confess that about
the time we came here I was very angry with her, thinking she didn’t
care for you at all compared with her ambition. But I believe she
does.”

“You think it is necessary to tell me that? It would be a poor
look-out for me if she didn’t, since she is all that I have now.”

“Oh, Maurice, don’t you count me?”

“You have old Wylie, and it will be quite different. You’ll understand
soon enough.” Zoe felt insulted, for was it not her prescriptive
right, as a novelist, to understand the feelings proper to all sorts
of circumstances, without having experienced them? She could not quite
keep the injured tone out of her voice.

“If you heard Graham talk, you would see that I couldn’t possibly
change, even if I was likely to,” she said. “Why, I told him just now
that he would be marrying me more for your sake than my own.”

“And what did he say?”

“Oh, of course he made a fuss. But really, you know, I feel that all
our future will be decided by yours. Have you thought at all----”

“It is for Europe to decide.” Maurice spoke with a curious hardness.
“But if they nominate me Prince of Emathia, I shall accept it.”

“Oh, Maurice, after all? I thought perhaps----”

“You will bear me witness that I took this thing up because I thought
it right, not from any yearning for a throne for ourselves or--the
poor little chap. We started our enterprise at the wrong time,
possibly, but that’s neither here nor there. If it was right before,
it’s right now. And if there was no other reason, it has cost me too
much for me to give it up without good cause. Zoe, will you take a
message to Eirene for me? Give her my love, and ask how she is, and
say I want her to come and sit with me as soon as she feels up to it.”

 * * * * * * * *

With a madness which suggested that the gods had determined upon their
destruction, the Roumi troops in Therma continued to devastate the
city with fire and sword, until the small European detachments were
hard put to it to hold their ground. More than this they were helpless
to do until their reinforcements arrived, for the Admirals were loath
to face the destruction of life and property which would be caused by
a bombardment, and waited in grim impatience. Meanwhile, the
newspapers of many nations at a safe distance asked, with piteous
reiteration, Are we really in the twentieth century? Is Therma in
Europe or in darkest Africa? Does the European Concert exist? and
similar rhetorical questions which neither needed nor expected an
answer. The British reinforcements were the first to arrive, but the
Power most injured was Neustria, whose Vice-Consul, with all his
family and staff, had been massacred at the beginning of the outbreak.
Therefore the British troops were landed and held in reserve on the
heights overlooking the city, until the arrival of the Neustrian fleet
under command of an officer of impressive seniority, and the next day
an ultimatum, in which the Magnagrecian Admiral concurred, was
despatched to Jalal-ud-din. It demanded, among other things, that he
should surrender for trial by an international commission those of his
soldiers who had been concerned in the murder of Europeans, and embark
the rest immediately for Czarigrad.

As soon as the terms of the ultimatum became known, Pannonia withdrew
her ships promptly from the fleet threatening Therma, though her
Ambassador continued to attend the meetings of his colleagues at
Czarigrad, while Hercynia, in a more uncompromising spirit, retired
from all participation in the Concert and its doings. These
demonstrations of sympathy, it was imagined, stimulated Jalal-ud-din
to reply that the Powers had themselves to thank for the behaviour of
his troops, and need not look to him to get them out of their
difficulties. After this, he translated his words into action, so it
was asserted, by leading in person an overwhelming attack on the
dilapidated remains of the British Consulate. The Powers had had their
answer, and after an hour’s delay, to afford any peaceably disposed
persons an opportunity of removing beyond the bounds of the city, they
delivered their rejoinder in the form of a bombardment. When the
cannonade from the ships ceased, the British force already on shore
covered the landing of the other troops, and that evening the flags of
four nationalities waved on the ruins which had once been the city
walls, and their forces were only waiting for the subsidence of the
flames to penetrate the blocked streets. The knell of Roumi domination
in the two western vilayets of Emathia had sounded when Jalal-ud-din
Pasha surrendered, with his surviving troops, to the Neustrian Admiral
amid the ruins of his Konak.

The heaps of rubbish which had once been Therma were still smoking
when Scythia flung another metaphorical bombshell into the
ambassadorial conference at Czarigrad. The discussions of that august
body were being carried on under difficulties, since there were lively
apprehensions of an outburst of Moslem fury, roused by the course of
events in Emathia, that would sweep away every Christian in the
capital, but the solemn farce of suggesting and considering the names
of candidates likely to be acceptable at once to the Grand Seignior,
and to one and all of the Powers, must be continued at all costs. The
mask was thrown off, however, when the Scythian Ambassador, without
previous consultation with his colleagues, proposed Prince Maurice
Theophanis as High Commissioner of Emathia. His wealth, and his
comparative success in the brief experiment of administering
Hagiamavra, were not forgotten, and much stress was laid upon the fact
of his marriage with a lady of recognised imperial lineage and lofty
connections. The other side of the case was presented by the Pannonian
Ambassador, who could hardly find words in which to exhibit the
absurdity of conferring such a distinction upon an upstart whose
claims had never been scrutinised, far less established, and who had
not only defied the Concert of Europe, but kept it at bay for months.
However, since topsy-turviness was to be the order of the day, he
would not pose as the one wise man in a world of fools, but would
propose, in opposition to Prince Theophanis, a candidate whose claims
were far superior, and his drawbacks no greater, in the person of
Prince Romanos Christodoridi.




 CHAPTER XXV.
 A CONTESTED ELECTION.

If Pannonia imagined that Maurice’s failure to secure a unanimous
nomination would lead to the withdrawal of his candidature, events
proved her to be mistaken. The present anomalous system of government
by an International Commission was not to be perpetuated until in pure
weariness Europe agreed to the partition of Emathia between her and
her great rival. Since neither party would withdraw its candidate, the
British Ambassador displayed the impatience and ignorance of the rules
of the diplomatic game characteristic of his nation by proposing that
the matter should be referred to the Emathians themselves for
decision. The _naïveté_ and rashness of the suggestion brought
Scythia and Pannonia together in opposition to it, but in the absence
of Hercynia the other three Powers had a clear majority. There was no
excuse for foreign interference, since neither of the candidates
belonged to a reigning house, and the election of delegates could be
supervised by the European officers of the Gendarmerie already at
work. Moreover, the Emathians had already shown their capacity for
representative institutions by the way in which, under the noses of
their rulers but without their knowledge, they had elected delegates
to the informal assembly held at Bashi Konak under cover of the Prince
of Dardania’s Pan-Balkanic Games. The protest of the two Powers which
considered themselves specially interested, and aggrieved, was
therefore overruled, and a stern warning addressed to the various
Balkan states, which were one and all thrilling with indignation at
this new development of affairs, by which they were threatened with a
rival instead of the acquisition of territory they had demanded. The
Dardanian attitude alone remained perfectly correct, the Prince
managing to restrain the activities of his warlike subjects, even
while he allowed their tongues to wag. The question of Illyria was
still in abeyance, for there was no thought of complicating the
problems already clustering thick in the path of the new state by
adding to it an inaccessible highland largely peopled by
irreconcilable Moslems. At present the Illyrians were loudly putting
forward their claim to enjoy a republic of their own, but they would
soon forsake words in favour of aggressions on the territory of their
more civilised neighbours, and then Prince Alexis intended to act as
the mandatory of the European Congress which must be held for the
final settlement of Balkan affairs. If he once had the opportunity of
getting a footing in Illyria, there were innumerable precedents and
solid facts which made it extremely unlikely that he would ever be
turned out.

Therma was now once more the cynosure of European eyes, for here the
delegates from the whole of Emathia were to meet for the purpose of
choosing their Prince. The city was rising like a phœnix from its
ashes, since the engineers of the four occupying Powers, seconded by
an army of labourers from all the eastern Mediterranean, had hardly
waited for the ruins to cool before they were at work upon the new
Therma. It was highly superior to the old Therma, of course,--in
sanitation if not in picturesqueness,--and the poorer fugitives who
returned to it wandered about disconsolately, unable to find rest for
the soles of their feet. Everything was so wide and clean and highly
whitewashed, and when they tried to erect their little huts and
lean-tos, in which they might have felt comfortable, in the spaces
which were one day to be public gardens, or clinging to the skirts of
the great new houses, unsympathetic soldiers came and cleared them
away, sweeping off the owners and their belongings to be disinfected.
Therma was to become the model city of the Egean, but its former
inhabitants could hardly be expected to appreciate the change. The
people who did appreciate it were the sightseers of the Old and New
Worlds, who flocked to it with enthusiasm, charmed with the
cosmopolitan population, the passing to and fro of soldiers of four
armies, the presence of the great warships lying in the harbour, and
an occasional glimpse of the diplomatists of European reputation who
were assisting at the birth of the new state. All these people lived
in tents at first, then crowded into the newly erected houses before
the plaster was even dry, and concealing deficiencies with precious
carpets and Eastern draperies bought from the faithful Moslems who
were shaking from their feet the dust of the faithless city and
escaping to more rigidly orthodox shores, held festivities as polyglot
and almost as unrestrained as those that follow a gold rush.

Among the diplomatists who bent their steps towards Therma was one
whose advent proved singularly displeasing to the Dowager Princess of
Dardania, who had quitted Skandalo, in common with those more deeply
interested in the approaching election, for the larger life of the
reconstructed city. It was not the first time that Prince Soudaroff
had followed in her steps when she had been in charge of a negotiation
which she was carrying out with full satisfaction to herself, and she
resented extremely the idea that he was appointed to inspect, perhaps
to revise, her methods. Nominally, of course, he had no connection
with her, but as soon as she had heard of his arrival in the city, and
found his name in her visitors’ book, she knew that sooner or later he
would ask for a business interview. This time the request came very
quickly. He was the bearer of an autograph letter from the Empress of
Scythia to Princess Theophanis; would the Princess of Dardania advise
him as to the best way of presenting it to her, as he understood she
had maintained a strict seclusion since her recent bereavement? The
Princess gave him an appointment, and it was without surprise that she
remembered afterwards the total omission of any mention of the
Empress’s letter.

“It does not strike you, madame, that we are in danger of being too
successful?” asked the envoy, after a few preliminary civilities
designed to allow Donna Olimpia to be safely despatched out of
hearing.

“Too successful, Prince? How could that be?”

“I find, madame, that the candidate we are supporting is too strong.
To-day I have examined the secret returns prepared for me as to the
predilections of the delegates, and I should say that Prince
Theophanis would be elected by an absolutely overwhelming majority.
The partisans of Prince Christodoridi are noisy enough, but his
behaviour at Hagiamavra, which brought about the final catastrophe,
has told against him with many.”

“But so long as the candidate we favour is elected, how can it signify
whether the majority is small or large?” cried the Princess.

“On the contrary, madame, it is of supreme importance that the
majority should be small. There have been cases before when a
_parvenu_ prince, finding himself unexpectedly strong, has repudiated
the conditions on which he was raised to the throne. If Prince
Theophanis has practically the whole of Emathia at his back, he may
even venture to deny the authenticity of the document you hold, and
refuse to resign when called upon.”

“He will not dare to break with his wife,” said the Princess eagerly.
“To deny his signature would be to expose her, and she is his link
with our court, besides being the inheritor of claims rather better
than his own.”

“I do not for a moment expect him to denounce her as having practised
a fraud upon him, madame. But what if Princess Theophanis should
declare the document a forgery?”

“It is impossible!” cried the Princess, in anxious protest. “It is in
her own writing, with his signature added.”

“Still, handwriting has been counterfeited before to-day. You know
your own sex better than I do, madame, but I must own that a woman who
would deliberately deceive a sick husband, even for his advantage,
would not seem to me incapable of denying the deception in order to
set herself right in his eyes. I assume, as you say, that their
interests are identical, and that he has a high respect for her.”

“It is possible,” she allowed unwillingly. “But who could foresee such
a thing? What more could I have done?”

“Witnesses?” suggested Prince Soudaroff.

“My lady saw her come, but knew nothing of her business. Indeed, I
could not have admitted her to the secret, for she is a strong
partisan of the Christodoridi.”

Their eyes met, and Prince Soudaroff permitted himself a smile. “_The_
lady, I presume?” he said. “No, madame, I agree that it would not have
been prudent to complicate matters further in that direction.”

“Then what is to be done? Shall I get Princess Theophanis here, on the
plea that you have doubts as to the authenticity of the document, and
make her swear to her husband’s signature?”

He shook his head slowly. “I fear, madame, that so decisive an act
might lead to the Princess’s confessing everything to her husband,
which would be most disastrous at this juncture. The memory had better
slumber for the present. No, I think it would be advisable to detach
some of the Theophanis supporters.”

“And allow Prince Christodoridi to be elected?”

“Possibly; I do not know. To ensure that the majority, on whichever
side it is, should at any rate be very small.”

“You would not think of exposing Prince Christodoridi at once, and
removing one obstacle altogether.”

“And allowing Prince Theophanis an absolutely unanimous return? No,
madame. I must recommend you once more to cultivate patience. But I am
pleased to observe that our championship of the Englishman has already
created an uneasy feeling among the party which is always intensely
suspicious of our designs. If that feeling of uneasiness were to
deepen----?”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Madame, your promptness is admirable. Nothing, save to emphasise in
conversation the favour with which Princess Theophanis is regarded at
our court, the anxiety felt in the highest quarters to see her husband
successful--the efforts, indeed, that are being made to ensure his
election. You will know how best to disseminate the impression in the
most likely soil.”

“You may trust me!” said the Princess.

The first tangible result of this conversation was the presentation to
Eirene, with great ceremony, of the Empress’s letter. It was
accompanied by a most sacred icon, which had been specially blessed by
Father Serafim, the favourite miracle-worker of the day in Scythia,
and he had sent with it an assurance of his prayers for Maurice’s
success. The sensation caused by this embassy had hardly subsided,
when all the cosmopolitan circles of Therma were buzzing with the news
of a most extraordinary indiscretion on the part of Prince Soudaroff.
He had actually said--true, it was after dinner and in the presence of
only a few intimate diplomatic friends,--but he had said that Scythia
looked to Emathia under her new ruler to compensate her for the losses
and disappointments she had sustained in the Far East. Instantly all
the people who had been thunderstruck when the Scythian Ambassador at
Czarigrad proposed Maurice’s election nodded wisely at one another.
This was the explanation, then! No one had ever suspected Scythia of
acting on an impulse of pure philanthropy, and it was abundantly clear
that she had received ample guarantees from Prince Theophanis before
she put her interest in him to the test of publicity. When Maurice’s
supporters denied indignantly that he had given her any pledges, they
merely nodded more wisely still, and implied that the denial raised
their opinion of his political sagacity.

The most keenly amused of his critics was Prince Romanos, who had been
one of the first arrivals at the resuscitated city, carrying one arm
in a sling, but more gay and debonnaire than ever, so bubbling over
with pleasure at meeting his friends again that it would have been
sheer cruelty to refer to the circumstances in which he had parted
from them. A violent flirtation with Donna Olimpia occupied most of
his time at first, but the Princess Dowager took a very strong view of
this amusement when it came to her knowledge, and practically forbade
him her house, so that his rivals were free to enjoy his society all
day long.

“You are unfortunate in your backer,” he said one day, when Maurice
and Wylie had been discussing with considerable irritation the latest
Scythian manœuvre. “Now I cannot flatter myself that Pannonia
proposed me for any more exalted reason than to prevent your being
elected, but at least she lets me alone.”

“Probably much better for your prospects,” growled Wylie.

“But certainly. Scythia’s fussy eagerness for your success can only do
you harm, while Pannonia’s wholesome neglect will bring me in
triumphantly.”

“You seem very sure you are going to succeed,” said Maurice.

“I am; absolutely certain. I feel it here,” he struck his chest. “I
will tell you why,” he lowered his voice mysteriously; “everything has
succeeded with me lately. I am in the--what do you call it?--line of
success.”

“I can’t for the life of me see why you should succeed,” said Wylie.

“Because I am not handicapped by the favour of Scythia, if for no
other reason. You cannot deny that Princess Theophanis was the
playmate of the Emperor’s sisters, or that the Scythian court is
showing the kindest interest in her. Now no one can say that I have a
wife at all, far less one connected in any way with royalty, so that
I stand upon my own merits--a poor foundation, perhaps, but less
slippery than the Scythian iceberg.”

Not less perturbed than Maurice and Wylie by the unaccountable
benevolence of Scythia were the former’s supporters among the
delegates, who were now beginning to pour into the city. Most of the
men who survived the fall of Hagiamavra seemed to have contrived to
get themselves elected, and they gravitated naturally to the house
(little more than a broad verandah approached by steps and with some
cupboards beneath and in the rear), which was the headquarters of the
Theophanis cause. Here Maurice and Wylie were generally to be found,
with Dr Terminoff, and Professor Panagiotis when he could spare time
from his wire-pulling, and the delegates became accustomed after a
time to see Prince Romanos there also. This friendly association of
the two candidates, which at first revolted their sense of propriety,
began to recall the days at Hagiamavra, over which a glamour was
already tending to gather, and the delegates applied themselves to
well-meant efforts for perpetuating the happy state of things that had
reigned there, quite oblivious of the fact that an arrangement which
had not even answered particularly well temporarily might be a
disastrous failure if adopted in permanency. To their practical minds
it seemed now quite beside the question to determine which of the
candidates had the greater right on his side; the important thing was
to compose an unhappy family feud in such a way that all parties
should, if possible, be satisfied. Early one morning a number of them
invaded the verandah, and when Maurice had been established in his
chair in their midst, and coffee and cigarettes brought in, the
spokesman demanded one more assurance that he was not in any way
pledged to Scythia in the event of his being elected.

“It is not that we doubt the Prince’s word,” said the old man; “but we
desire to treat the Lord Romanos with all fairness, and we have a word
to say for him to-day.”

Prince Romanos, leaning against the wall with a cigarette in his hand,
smiled, and acknowledged the kind intention lazily.

“The Lord Romanos is the younger man, and unmarried,” pursued the
spokesman. Prince Romanos started involuntarily. “Let him marry the
sister of the Lord Mavrikios, and they two shall be next heirs after
him and his wife.”

“My sister is already betrothed, with my full consent, to the Lord
Glafko here,” said Maurice, keeping a grave face. A look of dismay
went round the assembly.

“Yet another prince!” muttered the spokesman. “There were two kings in
Sparta, but who ever heard of three?”

“I am the Prince’s servant, and desire no more,” said Wylie.

The old man’s face cleared. “But it is beneath the dignity of the Lady
Zoe to wed a servant. Will the Lord Glafko stand in the way of this
excellent arrangement?”

“Certainly not, if the Lady Zoe prefers it,” said Wylie heartily.
“Shall I go and tell her so? But I suppose I am not the proper person.
Would you like to represent it to her?” he asked the spokesman, who
hesitated, but recovered himself quickly.

“Nay, lord; how could I put the thing as it should be put? Let the
Lord Romanos himself ask her, for who should plead his cause better
than he himself?”

Again the rest applauded, and Prince Romanos seemed to shake off a
certain hesitation, and looked round laughing.

“I take you all to witness that I am sent on this errand without my
consent. One does not go by choice to propose to another man’s bride.
But if I have your moral support----? The ladies are at home, Prince?”

He disappeared indoors, and the assembly awaited his return
breathlessly. When he came back, he was still laughing.

“The Lady Zoe says she would not marry me if I were the only man in
the world,” he said. “Well, you will at least bear witness that it was
not I who refused, but she.”

The delegates assented sadly, and the spokesman propounded, without
enthusiasm, an alternative plan.

“Let the Prince and his wife adopt the Lord Romanos as their son.”
Maurice winced painfully. “Then he may take part in the government
while they live, and reign after them.”

“The idea is not a bad one,” murmured Professor Panagiotis, who had
come in almost unnoticed, and taken his place beside Maurice. But
Prince Romanos laughed boisterously.

“My dear good friends, I hope Prince Theophanis will live a hundred
years, but I do not propose to be kept out of my inheritance as long
as that. No, what I want is to be Prince of Emathia at once. He wants
the same. Therefore we must fight it out.”

The assembly subsided into silence, and suggested no more schemes that
day. But in the evening, when the delegates were gone, and Dr
Terminoff had joined the party on the verandah, the Professor recurred
to the second one.

“I could wish that Prince Christodoridi were willing to waive his
present claims in view of recognition as hereditary prince, and
eventual successor,” he said.

“No doubt you could,” said Prince Romanos. “But what have you ever
seen in me, my dear Professor, to make you imagine me a model of
patient unselfishness?”

“Nothing, I confess it,” said the Professor emphatically. “But I
should like to see our forces united. As it is, Scythia and Pannonia
have every chance of ruining our hopes, and they are already taking
advantage of it. Nilischeff is proclaiming loudly that Prince
Theophanis is the mere instrument of Scythia, and he influences many
votes.”

“And you have already lost so many that if he votes for me, I shall be
elected?” said Prince Romanos. “Come, this cheering prophecy gives me
courage to make a modest proposal of my own. Let us face the situation
without disguise. Emathia is Slav, is Greek. We should probably
disagree about the proportions, therefore I will not go into details.
Rightly or wrongly, the Slavs entertain a preference for you, my
friend,” to Maurice, “the Greeks for me. I speak roughly, of course,
but that is the general idea. The Slavs occupy the high ground in the
interior--speaking roughly again--the Greeks the low country nearer
the sea. Therefore Emathia is capable of division into two provinces,
the population of one predominantly Greek, of the other predominantly
Slav. Let us determine to divide her thus. Whichever of us succeeds in
the election will be Prince of Emathia, and mouthpiece of the Powers,
but he cannot dispense with the other. I have no liking for your
rugged hillmen, you have no sympathy with my brilliant elusive Greeks.
Therefore, if I become Prince, I will place you in charge of the Slav
province and the scattered Slavs in the low country. If you succeed,
give me the care of the lower province and the Greeks dwelling in the
upper.”

“But you are merely perpetuating the racial cleavage which has done
all the mischief!” cried Maurice, as Prince Romanos stopped short with
gleaming eyes.

“I think not. There would be one army, one judicial system. Colonel
Wylie will give us the benefit of his Indian experience in organising
them. The plan could not of course be worked unless we were bound by
the closest friendship, but we have been through much together----”

“The plan would checkmate Scythia,” said the Professor sharply.

“I could not suggest it to any one possessing less nobility of
character than Prince Theophanis,” said Prince Romanos, not without a
hint of malice. “His zeal is so entirely for the sake of Emathia that
I can do so without being misunderstood.”

“It sounds excellent now, when we expect to succeed,” said Wylie. “The
question is, how it will look to us if we fail. What do you say,
Prince?”

“The Prince will say that if it is for the good of Emathia, he will
agree to it,” said Prince Romanos boldly.

“Very likely,” grumbled Wylie. “I am not the person to judge. It takes
a poet to think of a thing of this kind----”

“And a fool to agree to it?” said Maurice. “But if it will give the
strength we need for the struggle against disruption? After all, it
would only be doing on a large scale what we tried on a small one at
Hagiamavra.”

“Where it was not exactly successful,” said Wylie. “Oh, I know it’s
ideally desirable, but these things want ideal people to carry them
out.”

“There is no idea of binding ourselves by a hard and fast agreement,”
said Maurice, as Prince Romanos laughed and bowed. “It must be
understood that the thing is purely tentative. If the man in
possession finds that the other is not working loyally with him, or if
the other--the under dog--finds he is thwarted in his pet schemes
without good cause, either may terminate it. We must have arrangements
for talking things over thoroughly together at frequent intervals, of
course.”

“Then you agree?” cried Prince Romanos joyfully. “Welcome, then, my
colleague! You observe that I at once claim for myself the part of
upper dog--what is that you say, top dog?--and proceed to constitute
my cabinet. Prince Theophanis my Prime Minister, my Protector of
Slavs, my second self; Colonel Wylie my War Minister; Professor
Panagiotis my Foreign Secretary, Press Censor, Director of Public
Education and of my political conscience; Dr Terminoff, Minister of
Public Health. This day week the Prince of Emathia will claim your
services, gentlemen.”




 CHAPTER XXVI.
 PAYING THE BILL.

By a majority of thirty-three, Prince Romanos Christodoridi was
elected High Commissioner of Emathia. This result caused no surprise
at the Theophanis headquarters, where hope was practically extinct
from the moment that a pencil note was received from Professor
Panagiotis shortly after the opening of the poll:--


 “Treachery. Nilischeff has demanded that he and his followers should
 be allowed to vote in favour of union with Thracia. Informed that this
 is not the question before the delegates, he declines to vote at all.
 He influences seventy-eight votes.”


The abstention of these delegates, all Slavs, coupled with the adverse
voting of those who had been led to believe that Maurice was merely
the tool of Scythia, turned the scale in favour of Prince Romanos, and
led to much lively mutual recrimination afterwards. This ceased only
in presence of the astonishing sight of the defeated candidate shaking
hands with his successful rival, and promising him all the help he
could give in his arduous task. The world, as represented by the
diplomatists of Europe and the sightseers, looked on cynically, as at
a formal ceremony that meant nothing whatever, but the unsophisticated
Emathians accepted the scene in good faith, possibly considering that
the experiences of Hagiamavra gave them a more intimate knowledge of
the two men than that enjoyed by the politicians.

It was a day of surprises, and not the least of them fell to Zoe’s
share. She was standing on the verandah in the afternoon, awaiting
eagerly the return of Maurice and Wylie with full details of the
defeat, when a carriage drove up to the door, and a slender
black-robed figure descended. It was Donna Olimpia Pazzi, and when she
saw Zoe looking down at her she made her an eager sign.

“Please don’t call the servants. It is you I am come to see,” she said
breathlessly, and hastened up the steps. “I have brought you a book
and a message from the Princess,” she went on, still in the same
hurried way. “No, not the Princess Dowager--my own Princess, Princess
Emilia--a book of poems, which she submits with humility to your
matured judgment--they are her own, of course--and hopes that your
friendship will justify her boldness. That was my excuse for getting
leave to come, but I had something to say to you.”

“Yes?” said Zoe. “Do sit down. Is anything the matter?”

“I will not sit down,” said the girl, with something like defiance.
“Forgive me----” she broke off hastily. “I am in great trouble, and I
must tell some one. You will not betray me?”

“Certainly not,” said Zoe, much surprised. “Your secret will be safe
with me.”

“It is not my own secret only, but I can trust you. Last week you
refused a proposal of marriage from the Prince--from Romanos
Christodoridi?”

“Most certainly I refused him, though I have no idea how you heard
anything about it.” Zoe spoke coldly. “I regarded his proposal as an
insult, since he knew I was already engaged.”

“It was a greater insult than you imagined. He is my husband.”

“Your husband--married to you? When? How long----?”

“At Bashi Konak, when he was there wounded. In my Princess’s private
chapel, by her chaplain. She was present, and the Princess Dowager.”

“But by Latin rites--and you are a Roman Catholic, too? But the Greeks
would never forgive him! It is impossible for him to be Prince.”

“He is Prince, and you will not betray him, because you have promised;
nor shall I, because I am his wife--his most unhappy wife. But I could
not let you continue to think you had refused him, when he was mine
already.”

The curious perverted pride in Donna Olimpia’s voice as she drew up
her head haughtily made Zoe wonder, and she felt half repelled, half
pitiful. “I don’t understand,” she said. “You are married to him; you
have got what you wanted, then, I suppose? Then why are you not
happy?”

“How can I be happy?” the girl’s voice was choked. “He cannot
acknowledge me, or the Greeks would howl him out of Emathia. The
Princess promised me--the Princess Dowager, I mean--that he should not
be elected. Then I was to meet him in Paris, where his father would
not trouble him, and we should be left in peace. She brought me away
from Bashi Konak because she said the secret could never be kept if we
were seen together, and it must not come out until we were both safely
away from Emathia. Then he came here, and she has hardly let me see
him--even in her presence. And now he is Prince, and he can’t claim me
after all.” The tears flowed fast.

“Then claim him,” said Zoe, rather unsympathetically.

“And destroy his position? Never! I did not want him to be Prince, but
he wishes it, and I dare not cross his will. If he had been defeated
in the election, it would not have been my fault, and I could have
comforted him. But now he would never forgive me if I betrayed him.”

“Well, really,” said Zoe with some impatience, “so far as I can see,
there are only two things that you might do. You can make the marriage
public and claim him, or you can go back to Bashi Konak and keep out
of his way.”

“You say that, knowing what he is?” cried Donna Olimpia.

“But, speaking as one woman to another, there is one thing you can’t
do,” said Zoe earnestly. “You can’t stay on here unless the marriage
is recognised. I say that, knowing what he is, as you say. Go back to
Magnagrecia if you like--to Bashi Konak at any rate--but don’t stay
here.”

“You think he will find himself compelled to follow me, and so ruin
his own cause,” was the suspicious reply.

Zoe started angrily. “I was speaking to you for your good,” she said.
“Knowing Prince Romanos, I should think it highly unlikely---- No, I
won’t say it. But surely you see that you must protect yourself? He
won’t do it. I can’t quite make out what part the Princess Dowager has
been playing. You don’t think she deceived you deliberately?”

“I think not, but one cannot tell--with her. I don’t believe she
wished my husband to be Prince, or why take such pains to promote our
marriage?”

“I think you are both merely pawns in her game,” said Zoe. “At any
rate, you can’t feel any confidence in consulting her. If it suited
her, she would sacrifice you without a qualm. That’s what I always
feel about her.”

“You know that she has your brother also in her power?” said Donna
Olimpia suddenly. “I know it, because she told me so once, to comfort
me. I did not want my husband to be Prince, but neither did I wish him
to suffer the humiliation of being defeated by Prince Theophanis. ‘Be
tranquil,’ she said; ‘Prince Theophanis will not reign. A word from me
would make him impossible.’”

“Then you think she has brought about his defeat?” cried Zoe
indignantly. Donna Olimpia shook her head.

“No, and I will tell you why. The hold she has over him is something
connected with a paper. When we were at Skandalo, Princess Theophanis
visited her twice, in great trouble. They talked very low, and I heard
nothing in the anteroom until the end of the second visit. Then they
seemed to have come suddenly close to the door, where the icon hangs,
and something was said about Prince Christodoridi’s being elected, but
I could not hear distinctly. Then I heard the Princess Dowager say
something about ‘the paper signed by your husband,’ and Princess
Theophanis said, ‘I will give you the paper when my husband’s life is
safe,’ or words like that.”

“Well?” said Zoe breathlessly.

“Then on the day we heard that the prisoners were to be released--I am
certain of it, because the English naval officer told me the news when
he brought a packet of letters and telegrams addressed to the Princess
at Therma--she went out without me, to congratulate Princess
Theophanis. When she came back, she locked a large envelope up in her
desk. Before she did it, she took out a paper that was inside it, with
a deep mourning border, read it through, and put it back again. I saw
her.”

“The day the flag-lieutenant came?” said Zoe. “But Maurice had only
signed one paper then--a letter to a stockbroker--and he could hardly
manage that. That was black-edged, I know, but there was nothing in it
that could get him or anybody into trouble. Unless Eirene had added
what she wanted the money for--but even then---- No, I don’t see what
it could have been.”

“You won’t mind my interrupting you for a moment, Zoe?” said Eirene,
coming out of the house, “but I saw that you had Donna Olimpia here,
and I wanted her to take a note back to the Princess for me. You will
be sure to give it her at once, won’t you?” she asked of the girl. “It
is very important.”

“Without fail, madame,” said Donna Olimpia, with a certain excitement
in her tone. Neither she nor Zoe could help noticing the change in
Eirene’s appearance. It was as if years had fallen from her in a few
hours, and for the first time since Constantine’s death she actually
smiled as she went back into the house.

“I can’t understand it,” said Zoe breathlessly; “but I think there
can’t be a doubt that you would be better away from the Princess. I
must write and thank Princess Emilia for her book; shall I mention
that you are longing to return to her?”

“Am I to leave my husband at the Princess Dowager’s mercy?”

“If you stay here, she has a weapon continually at hand with which to
attack him. Once you are at Bashi Konak, he cannot approach you
without acknowledging his marriage.”

“Princess, I am torn asunder. I will try to go--and yet I cannot
resolve to leave him to himself. While I am in the same city, even
though I don’t see him, I can watch over him a little, but if I go
away, who knows into what toils he may fall?” wringing her hands with
a hopeless gesture.

“Think about it,” said Zoe soothingly. “Would you like my brother or
Colonel Wylie to speak to him?” The unhappy girl shrank away. “They
would never take advantage of what you have told me, you know; but I
see that it would put them in a very awkward position. Well, if you
think of anything I could do---- Don’t forget my sister’s note.”

Donna Olimpia caught up the note, and hurried away, almost without a
farewell. She found that her mistress had returned from witnessing the
public proclamation of Prince Romanos, to which she had not been
permitted to attend her, and she received a sharp rebuke for staying
out so long. But the sight of Eirene’s note turned the Princess’s
thoughts into another channel.

“Insolent!” she muttered, for though impatience might be one of her
own failings, this did not make her any more tender towards it in
others. “Well, if she will have it, she shall!”

Going to her desk, she took out Eirene’s paper in its envelope, and
enclosed both in another envelope, which she addressed to Prince and
Princess Theophanis, as if it contained an invitation. Then she called
her Dardanian servant.

“You are to give this into the hands of Prince Theophanis and no one
else,” she said. “Ask him to open it at once, and to send a message by
you that he has received it safely. Go first to the Place de l’Europe
Unie--you know where his seat was on the platform--and if he is no
longer there, follow him to his house. Lose no time.”

The man obeyed with alacrity, seeing his chance of settling a bet
which he had made on the subject of the election with a compatriot
employed at the British Consulate and detailed to guard Prince
Theophanis. His own sharpest dagger, and the compatriot’s largest and
most highly ornamented revolver, had been the stakes, and both would
now adorn his girdle. He swaggered out with immense importance, almost
knocking down a quiet gentleman who had just alighted at the door as
he did so. Prince Soudaroff looked after him uncertainly. If the man
had been going in the direction of the Theophanis headquarters he
would have ventured to stop him, but the great square in front of the
site marked out for the High Commissioner’s palace was the common
rallying-ground this afternoon, and he let him go on. The flush of
gratified resentment had hardly died from the Princess’s cheek when
she received her visitor.

“And the next step?” she said eagerly.

“Patience, madame, patience! You must remember that we do not wish to
perpetuate the present unsettled state of affairs. No, let the
Emathians perceive the advantages of a settled government,
perhaps--who knows?--begin to find them press a little hardly; then
will come the opportunity of discrediting the temporary ruler, and the
necessity of supplying his place immediately. But we must be prepared
to prevent Prince Theophanis from stepping into the vacant place. I
presume the document which you hold contains no limitations as to
time?”

“None whatever,” said the Princess, concealing beneath a mask of
absolute certainty the sudden alarm she felt.

“Since the task was in your hands, madame, I knew it would be well
carried out. Still, I think, if I may say so, that in view of your
constant journeys, the time has come when the document would be safer
in my possession than in yours.”

“I’m afraid I can’t agree to that,” said the Princess, with a smile of
which her practised opponent detected the hollowness. “You see I have
promised Princess Theophanis not to let it out of my hands unless it
becomes necessary----”

“To produce it? Quite so. The promise is given. The mind of the
Princess Theophanis is at rest. The promise has done its work; let it
pass,” he waved his hand. “You will at any rate permit me to inspect
the document, madame? If I should retain it, disregarding your
protests, no blame can attach to you.”

“Fie, casuist!” said the Princess playfully.

“You flatter me, madame.”

“But I could not think of such a thing!”

“I await the document, madame.”

“It is useless, Prince.”

“Madame, here I am. Must I say that I do not leave the house without
that paper?”

“But I cannot give it you.”

“Cannot, madame? Why not?”

“Because I have returned it. I swore that I would.”

“You have returned it? to Princess Theophanis?”

“Yes--at least to her husband.” The triumph in her tone did not escape
Prince Soudaroff, but it was not with sympathy that his eyes gleamed.

“At least, madame, you took the precaution of having it photographed
before parting with it?”

“No--I am sorry.” The Princess was startled at last. “I never thought
of that.”

“I also am sorry, madame. Do you perceive what you have done? For the
gratification of a moment’s malice you have wrecked this great
scheme--deliberately thrown away the results of the labour of years.
Could you not have been satisfied with sending this priceless paper to
Princess Theophanis? Then we might have procured its return by
threatening to reveal everything to her husband. But no, you must send
it direct to that most impracticable of men, of whom one can only say
that he will take the course the least in accordance with prudence and
calculation--an honest, single-minded fool! He will probably make it
public forthwith.”

“No,” said the Princess, with an inspiration born of dismay, “he will
keep it secret--to shield her. Go quickly and play upon his feelings.
You will promise secrecy if he will. Otherwise you will make public
the conduct of his wife.”

“I will try,” said Prince Soudaroff, a hint of hope in his tones. “But
remember, madame, you have failed--grievously. You know the penalty.”

“You will disown me to save yourselves? Oh, quite so! But I have been
disowned before this, Prince, and you have been glad to ask for my
help again.”

“I hardly think that Prince Kazimir is likely to ask for your help
again, madame,” was the biting reply with which Prince Soudaroff took
his leave. He chose a somewhat roundabout way to Maurice’s house, for
he was anxious to think out the best means of dealing with the
situation. The nettle must be grasped boldly, for the slightest sign
of weakness would draw attention to the insecurity of his position. To
his disgust, there was standing at the Theophanis door a highly ornate
carriage and pair,--one of those which had taken part in the state
procession round the city,--which from the cavasses and other
attendants attached to it he knew to be that of the British Admiral.
It was with the fervent hope that the presence of the distinguished
visitor would have prevented Maurice from opening the Princess’s
envelope that he asked for admittance, to find Wylie and Zoe
entertaining the flag-lieutenant in the verandah.

Fate was against him, as he realised the moment he heard that Admiral
Essiter was being received by Prince and Princess Theophanis in
private. The Dardanian had followed Maurice home from the square, and
caught him up just as he reached his own door. He opened the letter as
he mounted the steps, and Zoe saw his face change.

“Oh, Maurice, what is it?” she cried. “Not the black-edged paper? Oh!”
with a sudden thought, “you don’t say that Eirene gave the ten
thousand pounds to the Princess?”

“What does it mean?” said Maurice, bewildered. “What do you mean? What
black-edged paper?”

“Donna Olimpia told me just now that the Princess had a black-edged
paper, signed by you, which Eirene had given her to save your life;
and I knew you had signed nothing but the letter to Merceda. But it
was such a small sum, comparatively----”

“This is worse. That could only have discredited the Princess. This
discredits us--me.” He laid it before her, and Zoe, after reading it,
rose superior to her natural jealousy in a way that showed she had
learnt something since her engagement.

“Maurice, you must take it to Eirene, and have it out with her at
once. It mayn’t be as bad as it looks. Perhaps she will be able to say
something to explain---- At any rate you must settle it with her
before you speak to another creature, or things will never be right
again between you.”

“That’s true. I will. And you might as well tell Wylie how it is when
he comes in. He’ll have to know why I can’t stay in Emathia as we
agreed to do.”

He went into Eirene’s sitting-room, and she started up to meet him,
but turned white at the sight of the paper in his hand.

“What does this mean, Eirene?” he asked, laying it on the table, and
she bent over it and pretended to read it, for the sake of gaining
time.

“She swore on the icon to give it back to me,” she murmured at last.
It was not what she had intended to say, but all the arguments that
raced through her mind seemed utterly futile.

“Perhaps she agreed with me, that when one is disgraced it is as well
to know it,” he replied.

“It was to save your life.”

“At the cost of honour.”

“It was the only way. I do care for your honour, Maurice, you know it,
but when it was a choice between that and your life----”

“It would have been more--regular--to leave the choice to me.”

“Ah, but I knew which you would choose. Oh, Maurice, don’t look at me
like that! I killed Constantine. Was I to kill you too?” It was the
first time she had mentioned the child’s death since she had broken
the news of it to him, and he realised the intense feeling which had
forced the words from her lips, and left her standing like a culprit
before him, supporting herself by the table. He strove for calmness.

“No, I suppose it could hardly be expected of you,” he said.

“Maurice!” she flung herself at his feet, “don’t look at me in that
way! What is the good of talking quietly when your eyes are killing
me? Say what you like--curse me; I deserve it.”

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, get up!” he groaned impatiently. “I don’t want
to be hard on you, Eirene. Don’t talk nonsense about cursing. But
really, life is not so excessively delightful that one cares to think
one has bought it at the price of honour.”

Eirene rose and stood before him. “You have your remedy,” she said,
very quietly. “Put the whole blame on me. Deny your signature. Send me
away--only forgive me first. I will never utter a word of complaint,
and I will always pray for you.”

“You forget that I did sign the thing, after all. Do you want me to
cover one baseness with another? No, we will go home quietly, and drop
out of sight.”

“There is no need for your future to be ruined. I will go--as you
cannot bear to see me. Zoe will take care of you--and Graham Wylie.”
Her voice trembled, but she fought down the rising tears. “You trust
them; they have not deceived you. You will have your work, and I shall
have my punishment. Perhaps when I am dying----”

“Nonsense!” cried Maurice, driven to exasperation. “There is no need
for heroic measures. If you will think a moment, you will see it is
impossible for me to stay here after this. Our Emathians are brave, at
any rate. Well, Scythia spreads a whisper that I saved my life by a
disgraceful compact with a Scythian agent. What influence should I
have after that? I could not deny it, and you may be quite certain
that I shan’t.”

“Maurice,” said Zoe’s diffident voice at the door, “Admiral Essiter
and his flag-lieutenant are here. Shall I say you are really too tired
to see them?”

“No!” cried Eirene, waking suddenly into fiery energy. “Bring the
Admiral in here, in here--at once, Zoe. Maurice, I forbid you to say
a word! Leave this to me.”

Poor Admiral Essiter, perceiving on the threshold that he was
intruding upon a domestic difference, wished heartily that he had not
thought of following up his official visit of congratulation to Prince
Romanos with one of condolence to the defeated candidate. He knew
something of Eirene by personal experience, and more by report, and
the sight of the black-edged paper on the table suggested to him that
she was about to separate from Maurice owing to his ill-success in the
election, and that he had been pitched upon to assist at the final
arrangements. For all the magnificence of his appearance, and his
natural coolness, he came very near retreating ignominiously, and
Eirene saw it.

“Come in, please, and shut the door,” she said imperiously. “I wish to
make a confession in your presence, sir. I have forged my husband’s
signature to that paper.”

“Really, Eirene!” said Maurice indignantly. “My wife is not quite
herself, Admiral. I signed the paper with my own hand. She doesn’t
know what she is saying.”

“Of course not--very natural,” murmured the Admiral soothingly. “This
is rather an inconvenient time, isn’t it? You would rather I called
another day?”

“No, no!” cried Eirene. “You are to stay. Don’t mind what my husband
says.”

“But I must pay a little attention to him in his own house, mustn’t
I?” said the Admiral, in the genial voice which had so many times
averted a break-up of the European Concert. “You can speak frankly to
me, Teffany, you know. If there is anything I can help to arrange, you
have only to say so. If not, I go, seeing nothing and remembering
nothing.”

“If nothing else will satisfy my wife----” began Maurice unwillingly.

“Nothing will,” said Eirene, with such determination that her husband
and the Admiral alike bowed to it.

“Then may I suggest that we should sit down?” said the arbitrator
pleasantly, drawing forward a chair for Eirene. “This is not a
court-martial, is it?--merely a little friendly talk. You were going
to tell me something, Princess?”

“I want you to know,” said Eirene, leaning forward in her chair, with
her hands clasped rigidly on her knee, “that I have deceived Maurice
and disgraced him----”

“Eirene! You will make the Admiral think----” cried Maurice, but the
Admiral held up his hand.

“One at a time, please. We will hear the Princess first. You deceived
your husband, ma’am--for his good, of course?”

“Of course,” said Eirene, unconscious of sarcasm. “I made him sign
that paper, when he thought he was only signing a letter.”

“You had better see it,” said Maurice, handing the document across the
table. The Admiral read it with astonishment.

“This has never left your own possession, I hope, Princess?”

“I wrote it for the Princess Dowager of Dardania, and she has had it
till now. She has great influence at the Scythian Court, and she got
the Emperor to save Maurice’s life, in return for that. I knew he
wouldn’t like my doing it, so I had to mislead him about it.” Eirene’s
tone was impenitent.

“And your feeling is that if the existence of this document should
ever be asserted, you would be unable to deny it?” asked the Admiral
of Maurice, who nodded. “Well, it seems to me that it is at least as
discreditable to Scythia as to you--more so, in fact. They can hardly
have intended ever to make it public. It was to be a weapon held over
you, I presume.”

“Yes. I was to get him to resign without mentioning it, if I could,”
assented Eirene, charmed with the Admiral’s penetration. “And it has
saved his life, and if I could have helped it he would never have
known anything about it. But I know it is just the kind of thing he
will never forgive----”

“Eirene!” cried Maurice, stung beyond endurance. “Can’t you see that
it is not the thing itself, but your having done it, that is so
horrible?”

“And so,” said Eirene, looking very straight at the wall to keep her
tears from overflowing, “I am going to take all the blame, and go away
to a convent, and never see him again.”

“Come, come!” said the Admiral reprovingly. “We don’t do things of
that sort in England, Princess, off the stage--or at least we don’t
talk about doing them. You have treated your husband very badly, and
I don’t wonder he feels it, but there’s no need to make things worse.”

Eirene drew herself up, and the Admiral noted with secret satisfaction
that Maurice moved nearer her involuntarily, and that his voice was
very chilling as he said, “My wife and I can settle that between
ourselves, Admiral. But if you think there is anything to be done
about this paper----”

“You would like to approach the Princess Dowager about it, perhaps? We
might frighten her with the threat of making it public. But I fancy
she is merely a tool. What I should like would be to get at the person
behind her.”

As if in answer to the aspiration, Zoe opened the door and came in,
closing it carefully. “Maurice, Prince Soudaroff is here, and is very
anxious to see you. I told him the Admiral was with you, and he said
he was come about a paper. Do you think it could be----”

“The very man I should have chosen!” said the Admiral.

“Bring him in, Zoe,” said Maurice, taking his stand resolutely beside
Eirene, with his hand on her shoulder--a point that Prince Soudaroff
noted immediately as he entered. His decision had been reached the
moment he learned that the Admiral was closeted with Maurice and
Eirene, and he did not wait to be addressed. The Princess Dowager must
be thrown over.

“I have come on rather a painful errand,” he said. “There is a
document in existence, I understand, affecting the honour of Prince
Theophanis. How it was fabricated I hardly know, but I have a horrible
fear that a certain exalted lady of our acquaintance has been meddling
with politics again. These little irregularities will occur, one must
regretfully admit, when ladies interfere in things they know nothing
about.”

“The document embodied a certain engagement, to be carried out if
Prince Theophanis was elected?” asked the Admiral, who had the paper,
face downwards, in his hand.

“Exactly. And I fear the absurd thing has been made the means of
causing some little pain to Princess Theophanis? Ah, I was afraid so.
Really, a woman can be very cruel when her affections are concerned,
and of course the lady of whom I speak imagined she was acting in the
interests of her son.”

“Which was a pure delusion?” said the Admiral.

“Absolutely. The idea was puerile.” Never was a lie uttered more
unflinchingly like truth.

“And the promise wrung from Princess Theophanis had no effect whatever
in obtaining her husband’s release?”

“How could it? Admiral Essiter will hardly imagine that we should
traffic with an affectionate wife for the life of her husband at the
price of a piece of paper?”

“I could hardly credit it. Then this document is quite valueless?” The
Admiral spoke casually, but he had produced a match-box from
somewhere, and as he spoke he lighted the paper he held. He saw, if
neither of the others did, Prince Soudaroff’s involuntary start
forward, instantly checked, to snatch it from destruction. “I think,”
he went on, in a business-like tone, as he crushed the last flaming
corner, “that it would be as well to have a record of the facts,
signed by all of us, for reference in case of need. The lady Prince
Soudaroff has mentioned might try to repeat her game on some future
occasion. Otherwise, of course, I must safeguard the interests of
Prince Theophanis by laying the whole affair before my colleagues, but
I should prefer to keep the matter between ourselves.”

“I should prefer it infinitely,” said Prince Soudaroff--on this
occasion, probably, with truth.

“Is Colonel Wylie acquainted with the facts?” asked the Admiral of
Maurice. “Yes? Then he might act as secretary.”

“I will fetch him,” said Maurice, and Wylie was called, and wrote out
a very uncompromising, if not wholly literal, history of the case.
When Prince Soudaroff had signed it and taken his leave, the Admiral
laughed.

“If Colonel Wylie would be good enough to make another copy, to be
laid up in the Theophanis family archives,--which in view of the
uncertainty of life in these regions had better be represented by the
Bank of England,--I should feel more at ease,” he said. “Otherwise, if
the _Magniloquent_ shared the fate of the _Maine_ one night, you would
be as badly off as ever.”

Wylie set to work on the copy, and Zoe remained to help him, while
Maurice escorted the Admiral to his carriage. When he returned to the
verandah, Eirene was awaiting him at the top of the steps.

“Am I to go, Maurice?” she asked him.

“Go? where?”

“I don’t know. To some convent in Scythia, I suppose.”

“Not with my consent.”

“But do you forgive me?”

“Would you do it again?”

“Oh, Maurice!” she hid her face on his shoulder. “If your life
depended upon it?”

“Not even then. Not without asking me, at any rate.”

“But that would mean not doing it. Don’t make me promise!”

“I must. Eirene, we have hard work before us, and we ought to be
shoulder to shoulder. You mustn’t make me feel that there’s a danger
of your working against me, for any reason whatever. Only tell me
before you do things. I think you’ll find that it’s happier for both
of us.”

“I will,” she murmured. “And look, Maurice, I scribbled this down just
now, and I want you to have it put into proper form. Is it too dark
for you to read it? It is to say that I give up my right of dealing
with Mr Teffany-Wise’s money. It has done more to separate us than
anything.”

“It has.” He sighed involuntarily. “If it hadn’t come between us----
Still, it has helped to free Emathia. But we will only deal with it
together in future, dear.”

 THE END.




 TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES.

Sydney C. Grier was the pseudonym of Hilda Caroline Gregg.

This book is part of the author’s “Balkan Series II.” The series, in
order, being: _The Heir_, _The Heritage_, and _The Prize_.

Alterations to the text:

Note: minor spelling and hyphenization inconsistencies (_e.g._
thunderstruck/thunder-struck, rank-and-file/rank and file, etc.) have
been preserved.

[Title Page]

Add brief note indicating this novel’s position in the series. See
above.

[Chapter VI]

Change “You _musn’t_ be so doleful” to _mustn’t_.

[Chapter IX]

“detention in the _court yard_” to _courtyard_.

[Chapter XIV]

“it may be necessary any day to to get all our forces together” delete
one _to_.

[Chapter XVI]

“there was no _gurantee_ of even temporary safety” to _guarantee_.

[Chapter XX]

“for the poor starving _peeple_ around” to _people_.

[Chapter XXI]

“_Wyllie_ transferred his whole force” to _Wylie_.

[End of Text]