“THERE’S MANY A SLIP----”
The conclave was held, and despite the strenuous efforts of Papa
Demetri, the monks decided by a large majority to accept Armitage’s
offer, and wink at the escape of the prisoners. Had M. Kirileff paid
down his two thousand five hundred roubles, the monastery would have
been bound in honour to fulfil his conditions, as the aged Papa
Apostolos pertinently observed, but since he had merely promised it,
and had not so far fulfilled his promise, it would be folly to refuse
an additional sum which would allow the silver-gilt haloes of the
saints on the _ikonostasis_ to be replaced by plates of pure gold.
And, after all, they were not asked to promote the prisoners’ escape;
it was merely a matter of leaving the ladders down for a few nights
instead of drawing them up, and of a temporary mislaying of his keys
by Papa Athanasios. It was also arranged--the suggestion came from
Brother Nikola, the vacuous-faced young monk who had identified
Wylie--that the escape should not take place until Armitage had
finished his picture of the church, lest the Princess Eirene should be
disappointed of her devout desires. The good news was carried by Papa
Athanasios to Armitage, who was diligently at work in the courtyard,
and he conveyed it to Wylie, whose indiscreet behaviour the day
before, coupled with M. Kirileff’s warning, had caused him to be
denied further admittance. He bore the monks no ill-will for his
exclusion, since Brother Evangelos, who was in charge of the ladders,
was authorised to show him how they were managed, and he spent the
afternoon of the day of the conclave in crawling up and down the
cliff-face like a fly on a wall. The next evening, however, when
Armitage descended in the net after a long day’s work, Wylie met him
and drew him aside from their camp.
“Those venerable frauds at the top there are up to some mischief,” he
said.
“How? what do you mean?” asked Armitage.
“Fellow came down the ladders this morning with a basket--apparently a
lay-brother going to the village for provisions. It struck me he
seemed to look about him a good deal, as if he was afraid of being
followed, so I promptly followed him, stalking him through the
brushwood on hands and knees. It was just as I expected. When he had
got well out of sight of our camp, he put down his basket, tucked up
his gown, and scampered off as hard as he could in the opposite
direction from the village. I tried to follow him, but as I didn’t
dare to stand upright he distanced me easily, so I took cover near his
basket to see when he came back. He was about an hour gone, then he
came and picked up his basket again, and went off to the village as
jauntily as you please.”
“But where do you think he went?”
“Clearly to some one who acts as go-between for Papa Demetri and the
Scythians--probably a brigand. The village is Greek, you see, so they
would have to look elsewhere. Of course, the plan is to fetch Kirileff
back with larger offers before we can get away. I distrusted that
stipulation about your finishing the picture, you know. When are you
likely to get it done?”
“Not for a good many years, if the monks are to be the judges. They
expect a regular Byzantine arrangement, showing every stone in the
walls and every tile that’s missing from the roof. They aren’t
educated up to modern methods, you see, and I’m putting as much detail
into it as I conscientiously can, just to please them. Still, with
another day’s work I ought to be able to produce a daub that will
pass, at any rate.”
“That’s all right. We couldn’t start to-night, anyhow. I am going up
the ladders when it’s dark, so as to know my way about them. I
couldn’t undertake to get Miss Smith down without. It’s a bad enough
climb to take a woman anyhow, and in the dark----! But perhaps that’s
just as well, since she won’t see what it’s like.”
“I wish I had your cool head. I suffer agonies every time I go up and
down in the net, even. By the bye, to avoid further artistic
controversy with the brethren, can you make a drawing, roughly to
scale, of the place for me to-morrow, from the ground, and jot down
the colours, so that I can paint from it afterwards? They’re so full
of the church that they haven’t remembered the outside view yet, but
Papa Demetri is quite capable of making use of it to delay us.”
“All right. It’ll be very rough, but that won’t signify. Meanwhile,
you tip the wink to Papa Athanasios to lose his keys before locking-up
time to-morrow night, will you?”
* * * * * * *
Only one incident occurred to trouble the conspirators during the
following day, and this was a mishap to Brother Evangelos, who, in
passing through a dark passage, tripped over one of the crutches on
which the monks supported themselves during the long services, and
sprained his ankle so severely that he could not leave his cell. But
Wylie had ascended and descended the ladders safely during the night,
and was confident that he knew his way from one to the other, so that
there seemed no reason for delay. Papa Athanasios had warned Maurice
to be ready when the _semantron_ sounded for midnight service, and the
judicious gift of a rosary from the Holy Mountain had induced old
Marigo to convey the same message to Zoe. A dark robe and high cap,
such as were worn by the monks, had also been smuggled into the cell
of each, in case any belated brother, hurrying into church, should run
across the two strangers.
Wylie was half-way up the ladders when the clangour of the _semantron_
smote upon his ear, and he climbed the rest of the way in entire
forgetfulness of the perilous nature of his path. The sound was still
reverberating through the monastery when he reached the tower to which
the ladders led, and he could see the last-awakened among the monks
scurrying through the courtyard. Presently the noise died away, the
brother who had been wielding the mallet followed the rest into
church, and Wylie went softly across to the quarters of the Hegoumenos
and laid upon his divan the second packet containing two hundred and
fifty pounds, the first having been handed over as soon as the result
of the conclave was declared. Then he returned to the shelter of his
tower, and waited with beating heart, not daring to make his presence
known, even when two figures appeared round the end of the church, for
in the monkish garb it was impossible to distinguish who they were.
But they came unhesitatingly straight to the tower, and stepping out
from the doorway to meet them, he grasped a hand of each and led the
way to the ladder, sternly silencing their eager questions. Without
giving them time to consider the means by which they were to descend,
he went a few steps down, with his face to the ladder, then told Zoe
to follow him, and guided her feet to the steps, which were by no
means evenly placed. Maurice came last, well behind Zoe, that she
might have full liberty to cling to the sides of the ladder, and thus
they worked their way down, the cold sweat standing on Wylie’s brow.
The camp fire looked so small and so distant below--almost as distant
as the great clear stars, which seemed unnaturally bright in that
cloudless atmosphere. Had Maurice alone been in question, he would
have faced the adventure with a laugh, but that Zoe should be hanging
between heaven and earth on that rickety ladder, with the night-wind
whistling round her, was something unspeakably horrible. His feet
seemed like lead, and he could hardly feel the next rung as he moved
down to it, but Zoe distinguished no trembling as he guided her slowly
lower and lower. She followed his muttered directions as if in a
dream, for the imaginary world in which she had spent the greater part
of her captivity still lay about her, and it was as though her mind
received and her body obeyed his orders, while her real self was not
there at all.
At last they came to a ledge of rock, on which Wylie allowed a rest
from sheer necessity, for he found himself forced to cling to the
ladder even when standing on firm ground. But no sooner had Zoe’s feet
touched the rock than an exclamation from her turned his nerves to
iron again.
“What’s that?” she cried. “There’s some one here! Something high and
dark went round the corner.”
Neither Wylie nor Maurice, with their faces to the ladder, had seen
anything, but she had turned her head to see where Wylie was, and she
persisted that in that moment some one who had been standing close to
him had vanished. Peering round the corner, they could see nothing,
but Wylie drew a revolver as he led the way along the path which
formed the link between this ladder and the next. Still there was no
one to be seen, and he returned the weapon to his sash before stooping
to feel for the head of the ladder. All along the brink he groped
without success before the truth dawned upon him. The ladder was not
there. It was not a very long one, but it crossed slantwise a deep
chasm in the rock, which offered an insurmountable obstacle to any one
trying to ascend the cliff without it.
“The ladder is gone,” he said, turning to the other two, and hoping
that his voice did not betray his feelings. “We must let ourselves
down. Take off those monks’ gowns you have on. They will have to do
for ropes.”
They obeyed, and Wylie slit the long shapeless garments in two from
neck to hem with his dagger, then tied the halves together by their
huge sleeves, and the two gowns to one another. “I’ll go first,” he
said, “and you had better both hang on to the rope, for it’ll be a big
strain.”
They obeyed, not understanding how he meant to get across; but to
their horror, when he had let himself down over the edge, the rope
began to oscillate violently. He had fastened the end round his waist,
so as to leave his hands free, and he was doing his utmost to swing
across the chasm. Again and again his efforts fell short, and he swung
back bruised; but at last, with a wild clutch, he caught hold of the
bushes growing on the other side, and hauled himself up.
“Now, Miss Smith,” he said breathlessly, “recall your gym. days at
school. Do you think you can come down this rope hand over hand?”
Zoe would have died sooner than confess to inability or fear at that
moment, though the clumsy knotted cable had little resemblance to a
gymnasium-rope. “Rather!” she said promptly, and Wylie twisted the end
he held round and round, so as to make the bridge as strong as
possible. Sliding down it was out of the question, on account of the
knots, and she saw that she must work her way along. Maurice put his
end of the rope under the largest stone he could find, as an added
security against slipping, then, bracing himself firmly, held it as
taut as he could. Zoe gripped it with hands and feet, thankful for the
flexible moccasins, which were so much more serviceable than shoes,
and dropped slowly from knot to knot, descending diagonally until
Wylie, standing on his end of the rope, was able to catch her in his
arms. She stood aside, panting, while he asked Maurice whether the
stone was large enough to balance his weight.
“Nothing like,” was the reply. “I shall jump. In case I miss, I shall
tie the rope round my waist, and you must pull me up. Zoe had better
hold on to it as well, for fear the jerk might drag you over. Stand
clear.”
Wylie and Zoe stood well back, and waited for the shock, but Maurice
had judged his distance so well that though he did not land on the
rock where they were standing, he was able to grasp the bushes which
grew below it, and before they could give way, Wylie had him by the
hand. The bushes afforded sufficient foothold to enable him to raise
himself over the edge of the rock, and winding the rope round him in
case it should be needed again, he followed the other two to the head
of the next ladder. This was duly in place, and they began to descend
it in the same order as before, but about midway Wylie’s heart stood
still. What if the unknown enemy who had removed the second ladder
should have sawn through the supports of this one? He said nothing to
his friends, and they went on steadily until they reached the foot of
this ladder, and passed through a hole cut in the rock to the head of
a fourth. This also was passed in safety, and they stood on a rocky
platform, extending some way into the rock in the form of a cave. This
was only some hundred and fifty feet above the ground, and the
rope-ladder was hanging from its two iron stanchions ready for their
descent.
“I say,” said Maurice, “I don’t like the look of this cave. We can’t
very well search it without a light, for any one hiding in it could
see us against the stars, but if Zoe’s phantom is there, he might
think it rather a good dodge to cut the ladder while we were all on
it. You take Zoe down first, Wylie, and I’ll stay on guard until you
are safe down.”
“All right,” said Wylie. “Take my revolver, and don’t hesitate to
shoot. I wonder if Armitage is down below?”
He whistled softly, and an answering whistle came up, while the limp,
dangling ladder became firm. Once again Zoe was thankful for her
moccasins, for it was much more nervous work descending the loose
rungs of rope than those of the wooden ladders. Wylie guided her feet
as before, and slowly and steadily they came nearer to the darkness
which meant firm ground. She had kept up valiantly hitherto, but when
it came to the last step she could not induce herself to take it. She
seemed to have been crawling down shaking ladders for unnumbered
hours, and she clung shivering to the ropes, utterly unable to quit
her hold. Wylie unclasped her hands gently at last, and lifted her
down, saying, in a commonplace, society voice which dried up her
threatening tears, “I want to introduce my friend Armitage, Miss
Smith. You have to thank him for getting you out, for he wasn’t
suspected as I was.”
“Awfully glad to see you safe on firm ground,” said Armitage. “I’m
afraid you’ll find things rather rough, but if you’ll kindly put up
with it----”
“We should like to have brought a whole outfit, and a lady’s-maid, and
all sorts of Eastern luxuries for you,” said Wylie, who was holding
the ladder steady for Maurice to descend; “but we were afraid of
rousing suspicion. As your sister--I mean Princess Eirene--isn’t here,
may I say that you must think you are on active service?”
Zoe had been laughing rather nervously, but the question roused her to
recollection. “Oh,” she cried, “have you brought me any note-books?”
“No, really, I’m afraid not,” said Wylie, dismayed. “Why?”
“Oh, I have been living the most splendid story all the time I have
been in the monastery, and I wanted to write it down before I forget.
I know it will all fade when I get with other people.”
Her tone spoke of such complete absorption in the story that Wylie was
conscious of a jealous feeling that the absence of the note-books was
not an unmixed misfortune.
“I’m awfully sorry,” he said hypocritically. “We’ll bring you
cartloads of note-books as soon as we get to Th----”
An exclamation from Armitage broke into his sentence. Above, on the
edge of the rocky platform, a high cap and a bearded face were
momentarily outlined against the starry sky, and something shining
caught the light. One side of the ladder seemed to drop, and the rungs
hung drooping. Wylie felt for his revolver, but it was in Maurice’s
sash as he clung half-way down the ladder, and before Armitage could
thrust his into his hand, the remaining side-rope parted with a sound
like the report of a gun, and Maurice seemed to fly outwards through
the air. He came to the ground with a thud which drew an agonised
shriek from Zoe, and Wylie scarcely doubted that he must be killed. He
was unconscious when they reached him, but as they were anxiously
feeling his limbs, he opened his eyes for a moment.
“Broken, I think,” he said, as Armitage touched his right arm, and
Wylie confirmed the opinion.
“Well, better than a leg,” said Maurice feebly. “You’d have had to
leave me here if it had been that.”
“Nonsense, we’d have rigged you up a cacolet, and carried you on a
baggage-mule,” said Wylie, examining into the extent of the injury by
the light of the vestas which Armitage struck. “You may think yourself
jolly lucky if this is all that’s wrong with you, Smith. I can
manufacture some splints and strap it up, but if it had been an elbow,
or a compound fracture of any sort, it would have been beyond me. Now,
can you get to the camp if we help you along?”
Maurice set his teeth, and submitted to be helped up and supported as
far as the tents, where Zoe, much to her indignation, was ruthlessly
ordered to rest for an hour or so, on the ground of having gone
through quite enough already. In vain she recalled her possession of
First Aid certificates, Wylie was adamant, and even the ungrateful
Maurice entreated her to go and lie down and not make a fuss. When she
was called, in the early morning, the arm was set, and Maurice, though
pale and in considerable pain, was quite ready to start. Wylie gave up
his horse to him and walked at his side, and Zoe was mounted, as had
been arranged, on the mule. What the guards thought of the additions
to the party no one knew, for they asked no questions and made no
remarks, and all went smoothly. There was one disagreeable moment
during the day, when a peripatetic police official, travelling with an
escort, was encountered. He accepted with enthusiasm the assurance
that Maurice and Zoe were the two famous Europeans whose capture and
detention by brigands had produced such a stir, and immediately
afterwards declared his intention of arresting them for travelling in
the interior of the country without a passport. Asked what he intended
to do with them, he replied that it was his duty to conduct them
immediately to the nearest port, whereupon he was assured that they
were going thither as fast as they could. To this he rejoined that he
felt it right to escort them there, and as his room, and that of his
ragged regiment, was infinitely to be preferred to his company, it was
clear that an attempt must be made to overcome his sense of duty. The
means of doing this was simple, but expensive, and to the last it was
doubtful whether his affection for the travellers would not lead him
to attach himself to them as long as they had anything left that
commended itself to his fancy. They succeeded in freeing themselves
from him, however, and the rest of the return journey was as
uneventful as that from the coast had been. Maurice bore the
travelling well, and he and Zoe took unfeigned delight in the open-air
life after four weeks within stone walls.
The only person who was not satisfied was Wylie. He had accomplished
the object to which all his efforts had been bent, he had the society
of his friends again, but the reality was not equal to the
anticipation. Zoe and he were not close comrades, as they had been in
the early days of their captivity. Sometimes he tried to look at the
fact from a common-sense point of view, deciding that Maurice’s
accident was enough to account for the change, but at other times he
told himself bitterly that it was all his own fault for forgetting the
note-books. Of course, Zoe must think that he was utterly and wilfully
indifferent to the things that interested her. It was so unfair, too,
for though, like most men of his type, he had little fancy for any
woman with whom he had to do “mixing herself up with writing,” he was
sure that Zoe could not have discovered this. He had acquiesced in the
jesting, matter-of-fact way in which she chose to allude to her
literary efforts, and had even congratulated himself that the taste
could not be very deep-rooted. And now this wretched story of hers was
coming between them, he was sure of it. When she rode for an hour in
silence, and had to be recalled to her present surroundings with a
start, he knew she was living in that world of hers in which he had no
part. It did not affect his feelings towards her. If she chose to
write novels all day and every day, he would accept the fact, and
prize the results, however little he could enter into them, because
they were hers, but the sense of aloofness came from her side. As she
had put it to herself after their parting in the forest, she had been
learning to do without him, and with her mind preoccupied with her
story, she had found it easy.