BRIBERY AND CORRUPTION.
“Now that you have your information,” said Armitage, when he had
recounted to Wylie what had passed during his audience of Eirene,
“what do you think of doing?”
“There can’t be much doubt about that. We must go to Czarigrad and get
hold of the Patriarch. Panagiotis must go, I suppose, as he is the
only one likely to have influence in that quarter, and I must go to
keep him up to the mark when he gets discouraged.”
“You won’t exactly publish abroad the object of your journey, I
suppose?”
“What do you take me for? We go to Czarigrad to stir up the Embassy,
of course.”
“And what is my part in the programme?”
“To stay here and keep an eye on Princess Eirene, I presume. She may
manage to send us some further particulars. You are sure she is
staunch?”
“Not a doubt of it, and wild to give what help she can, I should say.
All right, I’ll look out. But how if at the same time I make
unostentatious preparations for a visit to Hadgi-Antoniou, for the
purpose of painting a picture of it for the devout and orthodox
Imperial Princess Eirene Theophanis? She gave me a commission for the
outside, and said she would like one of the church as well. They will
probably grant me a passport all right, if you are known to be safe at
Czarigrad, for it won’t do to keep all Europeans away from
Hadgi-Antoniou, or people will begin to think there’s something wrong
there. Sir Frank will back me up, too, when he has got you off his
mind. Then you must cover up your tracks at Czarigrad, and come
across, preferably by sea, and join me without passing through Therma.
There’s a little port called Myriaki where we could rendezvous
comfortably, and at the worst I can leave one of my servants behind
and take you in his place.”
“You must have done a good deal of thinking between the Scythian
Consulate and here,” said Wylie drily.
“Ah, you don’t know how my brain works when it’s put to it. I’m bound
to see this thing through now. How are you off for the wherewithal?”
“Oh, the Professor has just come into another quarter’s income, and
he’s quite chirpy.”
“That’s all right for Czarigrad, but at Hadgi-Antoniou we may have to
outbid the Scythian agent. I can raise anything up to a
thousand--shall I do it?”
“I suppose it would be as well,” said Wylie unwillingly. “It sounds
awfully odd to hear you talking about ‘we,’” he explained, rather
ashamed of his coldness. “I seem to have let you in for a good deal,
when you remember that the Smiths have nothing to do with you.”
“Well, for the matter of that, they have nothing to do with you
either, have they? It was a mere accident of association that brought
you together. Of course, you went through a lot in their company, but
I hope I may do what little I can to help an English lady in distress,
though I haven’t had the honour of being introduced to her.”
“Right you are! You must think me a surly brute. I’m glad you have
pulled me up--honestly I am. I suppose I might have gone on to wish
the Smiths not to be rescued unless I had the chief hand in it.”
“You shall have the chief hand in it, so far as it depends on me,”
said Armitage heartily. “After all you have done, it would be a black
shame to rob you of the honour. I’m under your orders, remember, and
you may be sure I shall say so. I’ll get things ready here, while you
do the Czarigrad part of the business, and then we’ll meet and achieve
our final _coup_ in company.”
There was no hesitation in Wylie’s agreement, but during the next week
or two he was inclined to consider that Armitage had chosen
conspicuously the easier task. Nothing but iron resolution on his part
would have dragged the Professor to Czarigrad, and kept him there when
he had arrived. His dislike of approaching the Patriarch was so marked
that Wylie began to suspect that the tales he had heard of the secret
organisation of Greek bands in Emathia were true, and that the
Professor intended to employ them to rescue Maurice by force, thus
committing him to their cause, and them to his. But since the
Professor vouchsafed no account of his plans, Wylie could only proceed
with his own, which were not rendered easier of execution by the
reluctance of the Patriarch and his _entourage_ to do their part.
There could be little doubt that Scythian agents had been beforehand
with him, for it required weary days of waiting, and persistent
refusals to depart, before he could gain a sight of any one in
authority. By this time Professor Panagiotis seemed to have made up
his mind to work heartily with him, and they went together to the
Patriarchal palace, where they were received by a kind of domestic
chaplain, or clerical private secretary, a dark-robed, high-capped
monk with a keen, astute face. Having heard their request, the
secretary addressed himself to the Professor, apparently regarding him
as the more reasonable being of the two.
“If you realised the state of the community at Hadgi-Antoniou, you
would know that what you ask is impossible,” he said. “Since the first
Thracian monks were unfortunately admitted, under an agreement that
their number was never to exceed one-fourth of the whole, they have
steadily aimed at dominating the monastery. The agreement is still
nominally in force, but certainly half the brethren must be Thracian,
and in a year or two they will swamp the Greek element altogether. At
present the community remains faithful to the Patriarchate because the
Hegoumenos and other officials are Greeks, but should anything
precipitate a collision between the two bodies, it is almost certain
that they would be out-voted. To avoid such a collision is our
perpetual aim. How, then, can you expect us, for the sake of a couple
of unknown English tourists, to bring about the loss of an important
outpost?”
“You would wink at murder, if you might keep your monastery?” asked
Wylie. The monk shrugged his shoulders.
“Why don’t you apply to your Embassy?” he asked.
“Because we know that before any demand for the release of the
prisoners could be made effective, they would be carried away
somewhere else, or handed over to one of the brigand bands to be
murdered.”
“We are alike, then,” smiled the secretary. “You will not do what you
might, for fear of the consequences. Neither will we. There is no
question of any immediate danger to your friends, I believe? Why
trouble about them, then?”
Wylie rose angrily, but Professor Panagiotis laid a hand upon his
sleeve. “We have not taken into consideration the fact that the
prisoners are not unknown English tourists, but the heirs of the
blessed John Theophanis,” he said.
“The fact is curious, but no more,” said the secretary, with a wooden
face. “Living, as we do, under the tolerant and enlightened rule of
the Grand Seignior, survivals of the kind you mention have no interest
for us.”
“In certain eventualities, it might be inconvenient for the
Patriarchate if the heir of John Theophanis had a just cause of
resentment against it,” pursued the Professor.
“It is not for us to consider possible eventualities, but to maintain
truth and loyalty in the present,” was the answer, which filled Wylie
with helpless fury. The Professor remained calm.
“Very well: we will consider the present alone. The only other heir is
in the hands of the Scythians, pledged supporters of the schismatical
Exarchate. Is it or is it not a matter of importance that a nearer
heir should exist, attached by bonds of gratitude and affection to the
Patriarchate, and capable of being brought forward whenever Scythia
shows signs of asserting the claims of her candidate?”
“This sounds more businesslike,” said the secretary approvingly. “You
can answer for the young man’s strict Orthodoxy?”
“I have myself instructed him, and the experiences he has since
undergone at the hands of the schismatics can hardly have attracted
him to their cause. If the Patriarch intervened to rescue him, it
would bind the youth to him indissolubly.”
“The idea is good, but there are difficulties in the way of carrying
it out. To give you an order directing the release of the prisoners
would probably lead to their disappearance--we are surrounded by
spies--and would certainly lose us the monastery. It must be in
general terms. But even then you are too well known,” to the
Professor, “and I have been warned against this English gentleman,
your companion, so that he also will be watched for. You must find
some trustworthy agent, who may receive the Patriarchal letter, and do
your business by its aid.”
“Make it out in the name of Harold Armitage, an English painter, who
is commissioned to obtain views of the monastery for the Princess
Eirene Theophanis,” said Wylie.
“The Scythian candidate? You are ingenious, monsieur, to make the
devout purpose of the Princess contribute to her undoing. Well, the
letter shall be prepared, and all possible assistance desired for Mr
Armitage in his pious task. The rest of the business you must manage
for yourselves.”
He bowed them out, and as soon as they had crossed the threshold Wylie
expressed his candid opinion of the Patriarchal surroundings. The
Professor smiled grimly.
“When the Morean insurrection broke out, the Patriarch of the day was
hanged at his own church door,” he said. “We are not all ready to be
martyrs nowadays.”
Wylie said nothing, for the explanation was evidently all-sufficient
in the Professor’s eyes, but he wondered how much affection and
gratitude Maurice was expected to feel towards the Patriarchate, and
whether too much had not been promised in his name.
The Patriarchal letter arrived next day, its preparation having been
quickened by a discreet distribution of gifts among the persons
concerned, and Wylie was able to carry out his plans. The Professor
was to remain some days in Czarigrad, visiting the British Embassy
daily, and apparently devoting all his energies to obtaining the
release of the prisoners by its means, while Wylie took his departure
in a small fast sailing-vessel for Myriaki. The boat was chartered by
the Professor exclusively for this service, and Wylie suspected that
it was not the first time he had employed it on secret errands, so
knowing did the captain show himself with respect to ships and
customs-stations which it was advisable to avoid. Arriving off Myriaki
late one evening, Wylie, standing in the bows, raised and dipped a
light three times. The signal was answered from the shore, and
presently Armitage came off, brimming over with excitement.
“It’s all right,” he said. “You are my _cavass_, Spiridion Istriotis,
and I have brought you a suit of his clothes. The real Spiro is
remaining in the seclusion of the paternal mansion, on full wages,
until I send him word. You had better get the things on before coming
on shore, hadn’t you? Your cabin is large enough to allow of that,
though it certainly wouldn’t hold us both at once.”
“What about the passport?” demanded Wylie, as he made the change
rapidly in his little shelter under the half-deck, while Armitage
leaned against the bulkhead outside.
“Oh, that’s the greatest joke! The _teskereh_ they’ve given me would
apply to you, or your friend Smith, or any mortal man, just as well as
to me. I believe they keep a form in stock with the description of an
ideal Englishman--tall, fair hair, blue eyes, and so on--and simply
copy it. It will really fit you best, for the eyes will be right, at
any rate. What coloured eyes has Smith?”
“I don’t know--ordinary, I suppose,” growled Wylie, with whom the
point was a sore one.
“Well, it can’t be more unlike him than it is to me, so we ought all
to be able to use the same passport, if we can bribe the police to
look away while we pass it from one to the other. But you’ll go as
Spiro, of course, so you won’t want it. Ready? I sculled myself off,
to the great disapproval of the seafaring population on the quay,
because I had something I wanted to say without eavesdroppers.”
Wylie’s possessions were transferred to the boat, and he bade farewell
to the captain of the vessel, arranging with him to lie off Myriaki
for the next fortnight. In the boat he took the oars, and Armitage
pushed off. When they were about half-way to the shore, the artist
produced a small but weighty parcel contained in a chamois-leather
bag.
“Put that in the safest and best-hidden pocket you can find in Spiro’s
garments,” he said. “It has two hundred and fifty pounds in English
gold in it, and I have another just the same. I have scarcely dared to
sleep since I left Therma. The rest of my money is in notes and cash
of various fancy currencies peculiar to this delectable peninsula, and
is contained in an imposing cash-box, which all my servants have been
taught to regard with profound respect. But I thought it might be
desirable to have a secret store in an attractive form, and I’m
thankful to shift half the responsibility--and weight--off on you.”
“Good man!” said Wylie, concealing the bag inside his shirt, and
securing it with his girdle, and they rowed to the quay, where
Armitage was quartered in a villainous little Greek inn, having chosen
it that he might be able to keep watch for the vessel. He had allowed
it to become known that he was expecting the arrival of a special
messenger with a letter from the Patriarch to assist him in his work
at Hadgi-Antoniou, and Wylie was an object of intense veneration to
the Greeks of the port as he swaggered in front of Armitage, clearing
the way as the absent Spiro would have done. A number of the notables
of the place visited them after supper, anxious to enjoy the honour of
beholding the outside of the Patriarchal letter, and one or two of the
chief of them were allowed the supreme distinction of kissing it. In
the morning they escorted the letter and its bearers some distance on
their way, and parted from them the best of friends, amid much festive
firing of guns.
Armitage had neglected no precaution for ensuring the success of his
journey that the wisdom of many advisers in Therma could suggest to
him. The four men whom he called servants were really guards,
Mohammedan Illyrians, armed to the teeth, and faithful unto death
until the job for which they were engaged was over, after which they
would be quite ready to murder their late employer at the bidding of a
new one. Their presence ensured a friendly reception whenever Roumis
were met with, and the unofficial rulers of the country were
recognised by a letter to the principal brigand chief in the district,
who rejoiced in the name of Fido--a letter of safe-conduct obtained,
for a consideration, from Fido’s accredited agent in Therma. Armitage
had not ventured to make any preparations that might suggest his
intention of rescuing the prisoners, but he calculated that by the
time they reached Hadgi-Antoniou the stores would have diminished so
much that there would be a mule for Zoe to ride coming back, and he
had laid in a lavish provision of scented soap, handkerchiefs, and
other minor luxuries, ostensibly for his own benefit.
The journey proved to be uneventful, for such trifling incidents as
the frequent stopping of the cavalcade by bands of armed men could not
be considered events when the exhibition--with due discrimination--of
the Patriarchal letter, the brigand’s safe-conduct, or the Roumi
passport, according to circumstances, sufficed to close them. One of
Armitage’s precautions had been to provide a large store of
sugar-candy and other sweets, and the unfriendliness of the most
ferocious brigand or densest commissary of police was never proof
against a gift from it. The arrival at Hadgi-Antoniou was the close of
a triumphal progress, and Armitage and Wylie looked up at the
monastery on its pillar of rock, and wondered whether the rest of
their work was to be as easy.
The firing of the rifles of the escort brought the monks, as usual, to
their watch-tower, and questions and answers were bellowed up and down
the cliff. The news that the English lord was the bearer of a letter
from the Œcumenical Patriarch caused great excitement, and the net
was let down at once. Wylie went up in it, lest the monks should
refuse to admit him if Armitage went first. He was grabbed and hauled
in as the prisoners had been, and while he waited for his friend to
make the ascent he examined the tower and capstan with a keen eye.
Armitage having been landed, rather pale and uncomfortable-looking,
they were led first into the church, where the monks bowed to the
ikons and chanted with extreme rapidity a very brief service, which
might have been intended either as a welcome to the visitors or a
thanksgiving for their safe arrival. Wylie accepted it gratefully as
the latter. He was once more within a few yards of his friends, after
their long separation.
The old Hegoumenos, who had sent an apology for not welcoming the
strangers immediately, was awaiting them in the guest-room, with his
monks assembled round him. Armitage presented the Patriarch’s letter,
which the Hegoumenos kissed and laid to his forehead, and handed to
Papa Athanasios to read. The artist’s devout intention of painting
pictures of the monastery for the illustrious Princess who had so
lately been their guest was announced to the brethren with high
commendation, and after the letter had been handed round for them to
kiss, they retired. The last, and apparently the most reluctant to
quit the room, was a grey-bearded man with a look of authority, who
had been watching Wylie narrowly. When he had gone, a young and rather
foolish-looking monk came back furtively and peered at the visitors,
and they heard him saying something to his fellows outside. Papa
Athanasios looked annoyed, but he also cast an inquisitive glance at
Wylie.
“What are they saying?” asked Armitage.
“Oh, our younger brethren are foolish--they are like children,
unaccustomed to strangers--there is a silly saying among them----”
said the monk incoherently. “They do not often see any one like the
English lord’s _cavass_.”
“But what is the saying? Is it an old one?”
“No, not very--in fact, it is only a few weeks old. The Scythian lord
who came to escort the Princess to Therma bade one of our brethren
beware of the man with blue eyes, and they think they have found him.
But this is foolishness. The Lord Hegoumenos desires to know what else
he can do for you, since the sacred letter of the Universal Patriarch
orders him to pleasure you not only in your devout purpose, but in
other matters which you will confide to his ear.”
But when Armitage had asked for the release of the two English
prisoners, Papa Athanasios and the Hegoumenos looked at one another,
puzzled, timid, and anxious. Then they began to explain in low tones
that if it had depended on them, the prisoners would never have been
detained, but that M. Kirileff had arranged matters with Papa Demetri,
the treasurer of the monastery, and the only Thracian who had as yet
attained office. Papa Demetri was a most wonderful treasurer, his two
superiors confessed reluctantly; everything he touched seemed to turn
to gold, and the monastic revenues had never been so elastic. The
church was being entirely redecorated--this merely meant that the
frescoes and ikons were being painted over in exactly the same forms
and colours as before--and even the Greek brethren would support him
through thick and thin for making such a thing possible. The reason
for the wonderful advance of the Thracian element in the monastery was
now clear to the listeners, but they could not bring themselves to
point out to the two old monks that they were--however delicately the
transaction might be disguised--selling their nationality for Scythian
gold.
“Papa Demetri must be getting something out of Kirileff for this
business,” said Armitage to Wylie. “We must outbid him. Did the
Scythian traveller make any gift to the monastery?” he asked of Papa
Athanasios.
“He promised a very great gift, through Brother Demetri”--the monk
named a sum which worked out at about four hundred pounds. “The
brethren have all been rejoicing because it will restore the
_ikonostasis_, and complete the renewing of the church.”
“If he only promised it, whether it was through prudence or because he
hadn’t it with him, it’s a most lucky thing for us,” said Wylie.
“Offer them the five hundred down if they’ll give the prisoners up at
once.”
But this was much too summary a suggestion. The matter must be laid
before the monks in full conclave, it appeared, and they must choose
between five hundred pounds certain and a possible four hundred. Wylie
suggested that it might make the choice easier if they were not asked
actually to release the prisoners, but only to leave their cells
unlocked and unguarded, and the ladders on the face of the rock
available for use. The capstan he did not venture to advise, since no
one in the monastery could remain ignorant when it was being used. The
idea seemed to remove much of the two old men’s alarm, and the
Hegoumenos announced quite cheerfully that he would call a conclave
for the next day to consider the generous offer of the English lord.
“Can’t you show us where the prisoners are?” asked Wylie of Papa
Athanasios, as they paused in the courtyard, after leaving the
guest-room, to allow Armitage to make a hasty sketch of a corner of
the church. The old monk had already shepherded back the supposed
_cavass_, gently but firmly, from so many unauthorised excursions into
other buildings and courtyards, that he began to think M. Kirileff’s
warning not uncalled for, and he answered with some asperity--
“The lodging of the monastery’s guests is no concern of yours.”
“At least tell us how they are,” entreated Wylie, and Papa Athanasios
answered more gently--
“They are both in good health. I myself have allowed the youth to walk
in the courtyard at hours when Brother Demetri thought him safely
locked unto his cell, so eagerly did he entreat leave to smell the
air, and I have talked much with him at other times. The girl is left
to the charge of a devout woman, who has been much edified to behold
her continually rapt in contemplation, so that, had she been Orthodox,
she would have imagined her to be a seer of holy visions. One thing
perturbed our sister greatly--that her prisoner made many strange
signs on her wall with a nail, which she feared might be unholy
spells. So much was she troubled, that on a certain feast-day--was it
Holy Trinity or Holy John? I forget-- I allowed the girl also to walk
in the garden, and examined the marks for myself. But there was
nothing evil in them; they were such foolish and meaningless scrawls
as might be made by one distraught, and I quieted our sister’s mind
with this assurance.”
Armitage was laughing involuntarily, but to Wylie the thought of Zoe
enjoying a glimpse of liberty on Trinity Sunday, unconscious that her
scribbles were being scrutinised for evidences of witchcraft, was pure
pathos, and he turned away abruptly.