THE GIRDLE OF ISIDORA.
“It’s a dog’s life!” said Zeko, leaning against one of the columns
of the deserted church, and rolling a cigarette.
“I should have thought you had rather a good time, on the whole,” said
Maurice, who was sitting on the steps below the _ikonostasis_. The
girls sat on the top step behind him, looking out through the ruined
west doorway, the lower part of which was blocked by the remains of
the narthex. Rain was falling heavily, and they could not go out, but
between the battered columns they could see the wild mountain
landscape like a picture in a frame. Most of the brigands were
luxuriating in the warmth of the underground kitchen, but the chief,
with Milosch and Vlasto, had gone out into the rain some time before,
and Zeko and one other were keeping an eye upon the prisoners.
“A good time!” repeated Zeko scornfully. “It’s hard work, and constant
danger, and no comfort, and what does it lead to? Sometimes we pull
off a good thing, as when we got hold of you, but what good will it do
us? The Committee will take nearly all the money; it isn’t as if we
could retire and settle down upon what we do get. It’s all very well
to swagger through a village with your belt full of weapons, with all
the girls pointing at you, and whispering, ‘There goes the valiant
Zeko of Stoyan’s band,’ and all the lads wanting to join you, but it’s
different when you come to the village, frozen and starving, on a
winter’s night, and want food and shelter. The people dare not refuse
you, but you can see their black looks, and you know they are cursing
you under their breath. We say we don’t rob the poor, but they know,
and we know, that our bags must be filled with bread, though the
children go hungry, and we must have greatcoats, if we take them from
the old grandfathers. Then if the Vali gets to know of our being in
the neighbourhood, and wishes to get a good name for activity with the
foreign consuls, he doesn’t go after us, but down he comes on the poor
souls who have fed us, and robs them of what we have left them. And
they don’t venture to denounce, much less betray us, for they are more
afraid of us than him.”
“But if you are so sorry for the people, why expose them to all this?”
asked Maurice.
Zeko shrugged his shoulders. “We must live,” he said. “And our own
relations are supporting other bands in our own villages in the same
way. We don’t remain in our own neighbourhood, for it would make it
too easy for the Vali. He could destroy our village if he wanted to be
revenged on us. But since we all come from different villages, and
work at long distances from our homes, he knows it would do no good to
destroy any particular village. Of course, it means that we can only
visit our own people by stealth, and with great precautions, perhaps
at intervals of many months.”
“But if the life is so hard, why go on with it?” persisted Maurice.
“What else is there to do? There are the taxes, and the troubles with
the police, and the blood-feuds--all the different reasons that made
us take to the hills; how can we go back to them? All you rich people
who grind the faces of the poor shriek loud enough when we make you
taste a little of what our life is, but you drive us to it. Perhaps
you will pity us a little now that you have tried what hunger and cold
and hardship really are.”
“I pitied you long before I came to Emathia,” said Maurice, “but I
pity you less now. Your misfortunes are so much your own fault.
United, you Emathian Christians might have wrung concessions, even
self-government, from Roum, and extorted the respect of Europe, but
you have made yourselves a byword by your dissensions. Village fights
village, and one side of a street the other side. When you should be
all banded together against the Roumis, you Illyrians and Thracians
and Dardanians are murdering Greeks, and the Greeks are preparing for
revenge. Christian hates Christian worse than Roumi.”
“Of course,” said Zeko, with entire acquiescence. “Are not the
Patriarchists--curse them to the lowest depths of hell!”--he spat on
the ground--“worse than the Roumis? If we could get rid of them we
should have no more trouble.”
“And so you waste and weaken your strength in fighting one another!”
said Maurice. “I tell you, if I were your leader, I would not trouble
about the Roumis, but I would put down with an iron hand these feuds
among Christians.”
He had spoken with more earnestness than he realised, and the brigands
laughed, while Zoe thought of the youthful Pompey in the pirate
stronghold, and Eirene frowned, not approving of this imaginary
encroachment upon her rights. Before any one had taken the trouble to
controvert Maurice’s absurd theories, the talk was interrupted. The
chief and Milosch came up the church, and Stoyan, with a lowering
brow, gripped Eirene by the shoulder.
“Is it true that you still have jewels concealed about you, though you
declared you had given up everything?” he demanded.
Eirene had turned pale, but she answered boldly, “Yes.”
“And you were aware of this?” asked the chief of Maurice.
“I did not know----” began Maurice. Then he changed the form of his
sentence. “Yes, I know.”
“Don’t hold me,” said Eirene. “I will give it up.”
“No, you are welcome to it. I hear it brings ill-luck. It has done so
already to you. Keep it, and its ill-luck with it.”
Zeko and his companion, who had begun to murmur, were appeased on
hearing this, and withdrew to discuss the matter with their comrades,
while the chief and Milosch strode out again. Zoe grasped Maurice’s
arm and drew him aside.
“Why didn’t you say you had no idea of it?” she asked indignantly.
“How could I give her away? It sounds so insane of her to have tried
to deceive even us.”
“You think only of her. Don’t you see they believe that Captain Wylie
knew, and deliberately took a false oath?”
“Oh, nonsense! how could they? But I don’t quite see what I could do
now, anyhow. They wouldn’t believe me if I explained.”
“No, you have done the mischief--you and Eirene between you,” said Zoe
bitterly. “I suppose you will both be convinced now that Vlasto was a
spy?”
No further reference was made to the matter, for Eirene, realising
what she had done, shrank painfully from any approach to it, but the
prisoners found themselves regarded with deep suspicion. They were not
allowed to move outside the church unescorted, or to enter the forest
at all, and two additional sentries, with rifles which they loaded
ostentatiously, kept guard on the sanctuary steps at night, one on
each side of Maurice. Zeko and one or two others, who had shown some
approach to friendliness, now scowled whenever their eyes fell on the
captives, and most ominous of all, Milosch went about bubbling over
with malicious and irrepressible glee. Thus a week went by, until it
was the day before that appointed for the ransom and the release. Once
more the prisoners were ordered to collect their belongings for a
march, and they obeyed with fast-beating hearts. Was freedom before
them at last?
Leaving the ruined church, they spent the morning on the rugged tracks
to which they were now becoming accustomed, climbing up and down and
winding round mountain-shoulders in a seemingly purposeless way. At
noon they sheltered in a cave, while two of the brigands went on,
apparently to spy out the land. About an hour later these men
returned, in a state of great excitement, and much talking and
discussion ensued. Finally Stoyan vouchsafed to tell the prisoners
that they would not march again until dark, and this for a
sufficiently disquieting reason. By the road they had been taking it
was necessary to pass through the district terrorised by a rival
chief, of the name of Kayo, and his band, and it had only been chosen
because it was the nearest way, and because Kayo was believed to be
busy besieging a recalcitrant Greek notable at the farther end of his
territory. But it appeared that he had become aware of the fact that
the ransom was about to be paid, and he was on the watch for Stoyan
and his band, intending either to capture the prisoners from him, and
secure the money for himself, or at least to enforce a division of the
spoil. It was necessary, therefore, to turn back and take a more
roundabout way, which would occupy at least two days more than the
other. In spite of his bitter disappointment, Maurice could not but
realise the reasonableness of Stoyan’s contention that if there was a
fight between the two bands, the girls were very likely to come off
badly, while they would not suffer from the extra journey, since he
had succeeded in procuring horses for them. Maurice suggested that
Wylie would be made very anxious by the non-appearance of his friends,
but received the assurance that a message would be despatched to him
through the country people, and that he need not pay over the ransom
until he was satisfied. The girls resigned themselves to the
inevitable, when Maurice brought them the news, with as good grace as
they could, and rested during the afternoon in preparation for the
night journey, having learnt, among other things, to utilise every
opportunity for repose that offered itself while on the march.
At dusk the two men stole out again and brought back the horses, or
rather ponies, and as soon as the girls were mounted the party set
out, proceeding at first very slowly, and with intense caution. By the
time the moon rose they were far enough from Kayo’s boundaries to be
able to move on at a good pace, though the track was so narrow, and
the precipices so steep, that the girls found it more comfortable to
shut their eyes, and leave the guidance of their steeds to the
brigands who led them. They were tired and thoroughly chilled when the
moonlight began to fail them, and welcomed the decision of Stoyan that
he could not find the way in this unfamiliar region in the dark. A
halt was called on a shelf of rock--a mere widening of the track--and
the girls lay down on their rugs on the inner side, sheltered by the
horses from the biting wind, and Maurice and the brigands on the track
itself. Hard rock and sharp stones vied with the cold in making their
resting-place uncomfortable, but they succeeded in getting a little
sleep, and were ready to go on in the morning. It was now necessary,
they were told, for them to be blindfolded again, as they were about
to pass through a passage in the mountains which the brigands were all
pledged not to show to any eyes but their own, and to this they
submitted. But when Milosch produced a cake of beeswax from his bag,
and ordered them to stop their ears as well, they rebelled.
“We spare you fright,” he asserted. “Zere is Roumi garrison in front.
If you hear ze drum, you scream, and zat betray us all. Wiz ears
obstructed, you hear nossing.”
“We shan’t scream,” declared Zoe indignantly. “We won’t make a sound,
whatever we hear.”
Milosch appealed to the chief, who pondered the matter gloomily.
“We owe you no consideration,” he grumbled. “For a whole month we have
clothed and fed you, and provided you with shelter while we lay in the
cold, and you have been deceiving us the whole time. For your sakes we
have been hunted from our usual haunts, have made forced marches, and
wandered about whole nights. You have no gratitude. If you see a
chance of betraying us to the Roumis, you will do it.”
“We are not such fools,” said Maurice. “If it came to a fight we
should be the first to suffer, as you said yesterday. We have promised
not to try to escape, and we don’t mean to.”
“What are your promises worth?” sneered Stoyan; but nothing more was
said about the wax, and the girls rode on in darkness, Maurice being
led between them. They had been marching about two hours when a sudden
tension made itself felt among the brigands. Rifles were cocked, and
there were excited whispers. The horses were turned and made to stand
across the road, with their tails to the rock, and Maurice was placed
between them and ordered to hold the bridles of both, while all the
brigands apparently went forward to reconnoitre. It was some time
before the soft pad of moccasined feet announced their return.
Milosch’s voice said, in a strident whisper, “Utter not one single
word, or ze price is death.” The bridles were taken from Maurice’s
hands, he felt a man on each side of him as before, and the march was
resumed. It was continued, still in absolute silence, for hours, until
the girls were nearly dropping from their horses with fatigue; but at
last those in front stopped, and the handkerchief was removed from
Maurice’s eyes. He stared about him in astonishment. They had halted
in a stony valley, with towering peaks all round it, and the sun was
nearing its setting. A number of men were standing round, leaning on
their rifles, but they wore rough brown clothes instead of the dirty
kilts and long leggings of Stoyan and his band. There was not a
familiar face to be seen. As if by magic, an entirely new set of
brigands had taken the place of the old.
“Do help us down, Maurice,” said Zoe, rather impatiently. “I am too
stiff to move,” and he complied mechanically. But while he fumbled
with the knot of the handkerchief which covered her eyes, he tried to
prepare her.
“Zoe--Eirene--there’s something wrong. None of our brigands are here.
These are all strangers.”
“Our brigands? How funny to call them that!” said Eirene, twisting off
the handkerchief for herself. “Oh!” and she and Zoe stared blankly at
their new companions.
“Ask them what it means, Maurice,” said Zoe, in a rather shaky voice,
and Maurice obeyed. But the strangers proved, or pretended, to be
ignorant of all the languages which their prisoners could muster among
them, though they talked to one another in an unknown tongue which
Eirene thought must be Mœsian. They declined also to understand, or
at any rate to answer, questions asked by means of signs, though when
Maurice pointed the way they had come, and signified that he and the
girls wished to go back, they quickly barred his progress, patting
their rifles meaningly. Baffled and worn out, the prisoners sat down,
whereupon the chief of the new brigands smiled upon them approvingly,
and pointed to the preparations which were being made for the night. A
pole was thrust into a crevice of the rock, and a long piece of rough
canvas hung over it and pegged down at each side to form a tent, a
second piece, fastened to the projecting end of the pole, serving as a
curtain. Maurice advised the girls to take possession, and the chief
beamed approval. A fire had been kindled, and food of some kind was
cooking in a large pot, watched eagerly by the brigands. There was the
usual deficiency of plates, but the captives were accommodated with
their share in the lid, while their guards ate out of the pot, and as,
like them, they now each possessed a wooden spoon, given them by the
women at the farm, they found no difficulty in making a meal. The fare
was a kind of hasty-pudding, made of flour boiled with grape-treacle,
very sweet and sticky, and eminently satisfying. The girls had soon
had enough, and then came the moment Maurice had been dreading. He
advised them to go to bed as soon as they had finished, but neither of
them stirred.
“Maurice, what does it mean? We must know,” said Zoe. “Has Kayo’s band
got hold of us after all?”
“How could they, without a fight? One can’t believe that Stoyan and
all his men were wiped out without a shot or a cry. No, I’m afraid it
is that Stoyan has handed us over to some other band.”
“And where are they taking us?” asked Eirene harshly.
Maurice hesitated, then decided that it was no use to attempt
concealment. “As far as I can tell, we ought to have gone south-east
to get to Therma,” he said, “but we seemed to be going south-west, in
the direction of the Morean frontier.”
“And no one will know! Perhaps we shall never be rescued,” said Zoe,
with quivering lips.
“And it is all my fault!” cried Eirene. “I have brought you into this
trouble, and I can do nothing.”
“Oh, don’t!” said Zoe hastily, forcing back her own tears when she saw
Eirene’s. “We have been in worse troubles than this, and have got
through. It’s--it’s just that everything seemed to be all right, and
now we have to begin it all over again. And we’re tired, too. We shall
look at these things more cheerfully in the morning.”
If the girls cried themselves to sleep that night, Maurice was not to
know it, and in the morning they were almost ostentatiously cheerful,
though the line of march still led away from Therma and towards the
unknown. The character of the mountains was changing. The familiar
sloping hillsides and tapering peaks were giving place to
perpendicular or even overhanging cliffs, and stupendous pillars of
rock towering in isolated masses.
“It’s like being at the bottom of a cañon,” said Zoe, late in the
afternoon, looking up at the walls of rock. “How curiously it widens
in front, Maurice! And there is another of those rock columns. Why,
there is a little house at the very top! How do they get up? No, it is
a big one--a castle.”
“It must be a rock monastery,” said Maurice, “though I didn’t know
there were any in Emathia.”
They gazed up into the sky, where the monastery of Hadgi-Antoniou
stood on its pillar like a bud at the end of a long stalk.
[Image: images/img_206.jpg
Caption:
“_Why, there is a little house at the very top! How do they get up?_”]
* * * * * * *
The day before, Wylie, with his friend Armitage, the artist, who had
insisted on being present at the release of the captives, had made his
way to the spot agreed upon, convoying the ransom, carefully packed
and carried on donkeyback. The rendezvous was a wayside inn, or _han_,
of doubtful character, providing the same accommodation for man as for
beast, and little enough for either. The brigands had stipulated that
no soldiers or armed men of any kind were to escort the treasure, and
for this reason Wylie and Armitage were obliged to come alone, even
the donkey-drivers declining the last stage, lest they should find
themselves marked men in future. Before they would embark on the
adventure at all, they had insisted that the value of their beasts,
liberally calculated, should be deposited with the British
Consul-General, and they were therefore quite at their ease in the
more attractive _han_ where they remained. Wylie had indulged in a
faint hope that he might be able to pay over the ransom at once,
receive back his friends, and carry them off the same day to these
more desirable quarters, where he had left a large collection of
clothes and other comforts, contributed by Madame Panagiotis, the
ladies at the British Consulate, and other sympathisers; but when he
suggested this to the ill-favoured landlord of the brigands’ inn, the
man only laughed at him. Did the Capitan Bey really expect the band to
be waiting to receive him, without making sure that he had kept his
word and brought no soldiers? he asked. He himself was to send word to
a point farther on in the mountains that the ransom had arrived, and
from thence notice would be sent to the brigands, who would scour the
neighbourhood before trusting themselves in the vicinity of the inn.
Wylie set his teeth doggedly. He had not sacrificed everything to
raise the ransom that it might be stolen from him now, and he and
Armitage carried in the boxes of gold with their own hands, and spread
their carpet over them. All night they relieved each other, one
sleeping above the treasure while the other, armed with sword and
revolver, kept watch.
The early part of the next day passed wearily, for they durst not
leave the boxes unguarded; but at last the innkeeper announced that
Stoyan was awaiting them at the point he had mentioned, and they
loaded the donkeys again and followed him. Stoyan and Milosch came
forward to meet them on the outskirts of a small wood, and led the way
to a clearing in the middle of it. No one else was officially present,
but Wylie was persuaded that the bushes had eyes, and that
rifle-barrels protruded through the underwood. The boxes were lifted
down, the gold counted and tested, and the chief announced that he was
satisfied.
“Then where are our friends?” asked Wylie.
“They are already released,” was the answer.
“But why? I thought they were to be given up to us here?”
“Ah, we know the Capitan of old, that he baits traps for us,” smiled
Stoyan. “If he had his friends safe, what should prevent him from
calling forward soldiers to seize us before we could escape with the
gold? Therefore he will not meet his friends while he is in our
district. They are already on the way to Therma, and he can catch them
up.”
“But why release them before the ransom was paid?”
“It was promised, and we know that an Englishman always keeps his
word. It is so, is it not? An Englishman’s word is never broken?”
“Never. But who is with them?” asked Wylie, puzzled and uneasy, he
knew not why.
“None of us. We despatched them alone, the two women riding on horses.
Hasten after them, lest some other harm befall them. See!” He
whistled, and brigands rose out of every bush, like the clansmen of
Roderick Dhu. “We are all here. The Capitan can count the whole band.”
Wylie counted, and found none absent, and he and Armitage withdrew,
awkwardly enough. As they reached the inn, a peasant who was talking
to the landlord turned and looked at them.
“You are the person for whom I had a message,” he said. “I met a man
and two women riding towards Therma, and they bade me watch for a
European gentleman with blue eyes, and tell him that they would reach
the city first.”
Wylie flung the man a coin, and shouting to Armitage to pay the
reckoning, rushed indoors to fetch their belongings. These were soon
piled upon the donkeys, and they set out, Wylie keeping the cavalcade
moving at a smart pace, for the desire to see his friends again was
heightened by the anxiety inspired by Stoyan’s words. As they hurried
on, a voice hailed them suddenly from the mountain-side, and, looking
up, they saw Milosch standing on a jutting crag.
“When you not find zat you seek,” he cried, “remember ze perjured
oass!”
“What in the world is a perjured oass?” said Armitage. “Does he mean
oaf?” with vague reminiscences of Kipling.
“From what I know of the gentleman, I should say he meant a broken
oath,” said Wylie. “But I don’t know of any broken oath, unless
they’ve broken theirs. Come on.”