TO A PLACE OF SAFETY
"I will walk with you to the other end of the village," said Aglaia.
Papa-Spiro had returned also from the roadside. He had talked with a
young man from Canea. The English were thoroughly angry because their
soldiers had been killed. They were going to send over a great army.
"O yes, it would be perfectly safe for a Christian to go anywhere now.
Not a Turk would dare peep."
Panayota had long ago formed her plans, when she had dreamed of escape
in the house of Kostakes. Her mother's brother, Kyrios Kurmulidhes,
lived at Asprochori, a little village about twenty miles from Canea.
She had often heard her father speak of him as a godly man, and now
Papa-Spiro said that Asprochori had not fallen into the hands of the
Turks. In the early days of the insurrection the Cretans had held that
region, and since the arrival of Colonel Vassos from Greece the
Mohammedans had not been able to get out there at all. It was still
early morning; she would be able to reach the place before nightfall.
She talked excitedly as she set forth, carrying the cotton bag into
which Aglaia had put a half loaf of bread and some cheese.
"O yes, this is a glorious thing for Crete. God was long suffering,
but everything came right in the end."
Aglaia's enthusiasm passed away as suddenly as it had come. Her leg
felt lamer than usual and she had great difficulty in keeping up with
the strong, healthy young woman who was going out into a world of light
and joy. They were passing a row of square, white huts, each
containing but one room. The first half dozen that they passed were
vacant; their occupants had gone to hear the music, and had remained by
the roadside to beg.
They passed the little graveyard, at the farther end of the town.
Several humble tombstones standing among the tall grass and a black
cross or two marked the last resting place of lepers who have gone to
the comfort prepared for those who do not get their good things in this
lifetime.
"Now good-bye, and God bless you!" said Panayota.
"Why, where are you going?" asked Papa-Spiro.
"She is not a leper," explained Aglaia. "She came to me last night for
refuge, and I took her in."
"Not a leper!" exclaimed the priest. "Now pray God that she has not
caught it."
"Christ and the Virgin save me! Christ and the Virgin!" cried
Panayota, crossing herself.
"Amen! Amen!" said Aglaia. "Do not even speak of it, Papa-Spiro."
"Adio!" said Panayota, moving away. "Adio, and God be with you!" The
old priest with the bloated face and the white beard extended his hands.
"Before you go, daughter," he said, "take the blessing of a poor old
leper, who still believes in the mercy of God."
Panayota bowed her head.
"God be with this Thine handmaiden," said the priest, solemnly; "bless
her and keep her and bring her to a place of safety. In the name of
the Father, Son and Holy Ghost, amen."
Once out of the leper village, Panayota walked very rapidly, once or
twice actually breaking into a run. The great hills, upon whose lower
slopes lived her mother's brother, looked so near that she fancied
herself able to climb to the top in half an hour. But she soon lost
breath and was obliged to stop and rest beneath a tree. She had no
doubt of her welcome by Kyrios Kurmulidhes. He had often written to
her father--poor papa!--and had expressed the greatest wish to see his
sister's daughter.
"I must not tire myself all out at the start," she reasoned. "It is
much farther away than it seems."
So she struck out again in the bright sun at a strong, steady gait.
Once she heard the clatter of horses' hoofs in the distance, rapidly
growing louder as they came near, and she fancied herself pursued, and
looked about for some hiding place. Then, turning around, she saw half
a dozen red-cheeked, light-haired foreigners upon horseback, and at
their head a mere boy, with a face like a girl, but who, nevertheless,
sat very straight and took himself quite seriously. She felt the earth
shake with the beating of hoofs, and stepped to the side of the road to
see them pound by in a whirl of dust. But they had not gone far before
the young officer threw his arm in the air and called out a single
syllable in a clear, sharp tone, and the horses stopped so suddenly
that they reared on their haunches. The officer spoke a few words
hurriedly, and one of the troopers fell out and rode back toward her.
She must have exhibited evidences of fright, for the man called out in
Greek, laughing merrily:
"Don't be afraid, stupid. We are friends."
"What is it? What is it, fellow countryman?" cried Panayota,
delightedly. What a change had come over the earth! But yesterday you
met only Turks, heard only Turkish, and now the whole world was
speaking Greek.
"Are you from Canea?" asked the trooper.
"No, I am a Sphakiote maiden. I was taken prisoner by the Turks, but
now, thank God, I am escaping."
"You wouldn't happen to know Yussuf Effendi by sight, then?"
"No."
"Did any old Turk with a white beard pass here on a mule?"
"Not a soul; but I've only been on the road about half an hour. Why,
who are you? What has Yussuf done? Where does he----"
"We're arresting the ringleaders in the massacre. Yussuf is one of
them. I'm an interpreter with the English army. You can go back to
Canea or anywhere you wish, sister, in perfect safety. It isn't
healthy to be a Turk these days. Adio, and many thanks."
"Adio."
They were gone, and Panayota resumed her way. After an hour's walk
through gardens and vineyards inclosed in low mud fences overgrown with
vines, she came to the foot of a tiny hill. Climbing this, she saw
plainly the triangular little village of the lepers, with its suburb of
tombs--houses for the dying and the dead. The huts were all neatly
whitewashed, and looked very peaceful and pretty against the foreground
of green trees and vines. Farther away were the round Turkish mosques,
the Christian bell towers of Canea, and the tops of high buildings
rising above the gray walls. Two or three thin columns of smoke rose
to a great height and bent lazily landwards.
Toward noon Panayota came to a mountain stream, beside which grew
several fig trees. She climbed into one of these that forked near the
ground and succeeded in finding half a dozen purple figs among the cool
green leaves. Then she washed her face and hands in the brook and took
the bread from the bag.
"Poor Aglaia! Poor Aglaia!" she said, shuddering. "Heavenly Virgin
comfort her!"
She pulled the crust off the bread and threw it away, together with the
sack and the cheese. "The first thing I shall do when I get to Uncle
Petro's," she resolved, "will be to ask him for some clothes. Then I
will burn these--uh!"
Much refreshed with the bread and figs and a drink of the cool mountain
water, Panayota again set out briskly on her journey, her heart full of
hope. Indeed, she seemed to be under the Virgin's special care, for
just as she had come to a place where there were two roads, and was in
doubt as to which one she ought to take, a venerable priest came
trotting around a corner, seated sidewise upon a very small,
bluish-gray donkey.
"Yes, the road to the right led to Asprochori, about ten miles
distant," he replied, removing his tall hat and wiping his brow with a
red bandanna handkerchief. "O yes, he knew Kyrios Kurmulidhes very
well indeed, a godly and a just man--be quiet there!"
The last remark was addressed to a pair of young goats, hung to the
saddle in a sack and covered by the father's long black robe. He had
already heard of the arrival of the English, and was in hopes, by the
grace of God, to, sell them these two kids at twice their value. So he
trotted away, bobbing up and down on his little donkey, not looking at
all grotesque to Panayota, in his tall hat with eaves, his gray chignon
and his long, wind-lifted robe.
And as Panayota fared onward, she had ever in her mind that she was
coming into the country of the Cretan insurgents, and she muttered
again and again:
"Perhaps I shall hear something of him. Perhaps he will be there!"
In this new, bright world everything seemed possible.