Next year Vernon left England early in March. He had resolved to visit
again his grandmother's country and to indulge his passion for cruising
in new waters.
His 20-ton yawl was sent as deck cargo to Patras, while he followed by
way of Venice. He brought one man with him from Wyvenhoe, a lean gipsy
lad called Martell, and for his other hand he found an Epirote at Corfu,
who bore a string of names that began with Constantine. From Patras with
a west wind they made good sailing up the Gulf of Corinth, and, passing
through the Canal, came in the last days of March to the Piræus. In that
place of polyglot speech, whistling engines, and the odour of gasworks,
they delayed only for water and supplies, and presently had rounded
Sunium, and were beating up the Euripus with the Attic hills rising
sharp and clear in the spring sunlight. Vernon had no plans. It was a
joy to him to be alone with the racing seas and the dancing winds, to
scud past little headlands, pink and white with blossom, or to lie of a
night in some hidden bay beneath the thymy crags. It was his habit on
his journeys to discard the clothes of civilisation. In a blue jersey
and old corduroy trousers, bareheaded and barefooted, he steered his
craft and waited on the passing of the hours. Like an acolyte before the
temple gate, he believed himself to be on the threshold of a new life.
Trouble began under the snows of Pelion as they turned the north end of
Euboea. On the morning of the first Monday in April the light west winds
died away, and sirocco blew harshly from the south. By midday it was
half a gale, and in those yeasty shallow seas with an iron coast on the
port the prospect looked doubtful. The nearest harbour was twenty miles
distant, and as no one of the crew had been there before it was a
question if they could make it by nightfall. With the evening the gale
increased, and Constantine advised a retreat from the maze of rocky
islands to the safer deeps of the Ægean. It was a hard night for the
three, and there was no chance of sleep. More by luck than skill they
escaped the butt of Skiathos, and the first light found them far to the
east among the long seas of the North Ægean, well on the way to Lemnos.
By eight o'clock the gale had blown itself out, and three soaked and
chilly mortals relaxed their vigil. Soon bacon was frizzling on the
cuddy-stove, and hot coffee and dry clothes restored them to comfort.
The sky cleared, and in bright sunlight, with the dregs of the gale
behind him, Vernon stood in for the mainland, where the white crest of
Olympus hung in the northern heavens. In the late afternoon they came
into a little bay carved from the side of a high mountain. The slopes
were gay with flowers, yellow and white and scarlet, and the young green
of crops showed in the clearings. Among the thyme a flock of goats was
browsing, shepherded by a little girl in a saffron skirt, who sang
shrilly in snatches. Midway in the bay and just above the anchorage rose
a great white building, which showed to seaward a blank white wall
pierced with a few narrow windows. At first sight Vernon took it for a
monastery, but a look through the glasses convinced him that its purpose
was not religious. Once it had been fortified, and even now a broad
causeway ran between it and the sea, which looked as if it had once held
guns. The architecture was a jumble, showing here the enriched Gothic of
Venice and there the straight lines and round arches of the East. It had
once, he conjectured, been the hold of some Venetian sea-king, then the
palace of a Turkish conqueror, and now was, perhaps, the homely
manor-house of this pleasant domain.
A fishing-boat was putting out from the shore. He hailed its occupant
and asked who owned the castle.
The man crossed himself and spat overboard. "Basilissa," he said, and
turned his eyes seaward.
Vernon called Constantine from the bows and asked him what the word
might mean. The Epirote crossed himself also before he spoke. "It is the
Lady of the Land," he said, in a hushed voice. "It is the great witch
who is the Devil's bride. In old days in spring they made sacrifice to
her, but they say her power is dying now. In my country we do not speak
her name, but elsewhere they call her 'Queen.'" The man's bluff sailorly
assurance had disappeared, and as Vernon stared at him in bewilderment
he stammered and averted his eyes.
By supper-time he had recovered himself, and the weather-beaten three
made such a meal as befits those who have faced danger together.
Afterwards Vernon, as was his custom, sat alone in the stern, smoking
and thinking his thoughts. He wrote up his diary with a ship's lantern
beside him, while overhead the starless velvet sky seemed to hang low
and soft like an awning. Little fires burned on the shore at which folk
were cooking food--he could hear their voices, and from the keep one
single lit window made an eye in the night.
He had leisure now for the thought which had all day been at the back of
his mind. The night had passed and there had been no dream. The
adventure for which he had prepared himself had vanished into the Ægean
tides. He told himself that it was a relief, that an old folly was over,
but he knew in his heart that he was bitterly disappointed. The fates
had prepared the stage and rung up the curtain without providing the
play. He had been fooled, and somehow the zest and savour of life had
gone from him. No man can be strung high and then find his preparation
idle without suffering a cruel recoil.
As he scribbled idly in his diary he found some trouble about dates.
Down in his bunk was a sheaf of Greek papers bought at the Piræus and
still unlooked at. He fetched them up and turned them over with a
growing mystification. There was something very odd about the business.
One gets hazy about dates at sea, but he could have sworn that he had
made no mistake. Yet here it was down in black and white, for there was
no question about the number of days since he left the Piræus. The day
was not Tuesday, as he had believed, but Monday, the first Monday of
April.
He stood up with a beating heart and that sense of unseen hands which
comes to all men once or twice in their lives. The night was yet to
come, and with it the end of the dream. Suddenly he was glad, absurdly
glad; he could almost have wept with the joy of it. And then he was
conscious for the first time of the strangeness of the place in which he
had anchored. The night was dark over him like a shell, enclosing the
half-moon of bay and its one lit dwelling. The great hills, unseen but
felt, ran up to snows, warding it off from a profane world. His nerves
tingled with a joyful anticipation. Something, some wonderful thing, was
coming to him out of the darkness.
Under an impulse for which he could give no reason, he called
Constantine and gave his orders. Let him be ready to sail at any
moment--a possible thing, for there was a light breeze off shore. Also
let the yacht's dinghy be ready in case he wanted it. Then Vernon sat
himself down again in the stern beside the lantern, and waited....
He was dreaming, and did not hear the sound of oars or the grating of a
boat alongside. Suddenly he found a face looking at him in the ring of
lamplight--an old bearded face curiously wrinkled. The eyes, which were
grave and penetrating, scanned him for a second or two, and then a voice
spoke,--
"Will the Signor come with me? There is work for him to do this night."
Vernon rose obediently. He had waited for this call these many years,
and he was there to answer it. He went below and put a loaded revolver
in his trouser-pocket, and then dropped over the yacht's side into a
cockleshell of a boat. The messenger took the oars and rowed for the
point of light on shore.
A middle-aged woman stood on a rock above the tide, holding a small
lantern. In its thin flicker he made out a person with the air and dress
of a French maid. She cast one glance at Vernon, and then turned wearily
to the other. "Fool, Mitri!" she said. "You have brought a peasant."
"Nay," said the old man, "he is no peasant. He is a Signor, and as I
judge, a man of his hands."
The woman passed the light of her lantern over Vernon's form and face.
"His dress is a peasant's, but such clothes may be a nobleman's whim. I
have heard it of the English."
"I am English," said Vernon in French.
She turned on him with a quick movement of relief.
"You are English and a gentleman? But I know nothing of you, only that
you have come out of the sea. Up in the House we women are alone, and my
mistress has death to face, or a worse than death. We have no claim on
you, and if you give us your service it means danger--oh, what danger!
The boat is waiting. You have time to go back and go away and forget
that you have seen this accursed place. But, O Monsieur, if you hope for
Heaven and have pity on a defenceless angel, you will not leave us."
"I am ready," said Vernon.
"God's mercy," she sighed, and, seizing his arm, drew him up the steep
causeway, while the old man went ahead with the lantern. Now and then
she cast anxious glances to the right where the little fires of the
fishers twinkled along the shore. Then came a point when the three
entered a narrow uphill road, where rocky steps had been cut in a
tamarisk thicket. She spoke low in French to Vernon's ear,--
"My mistress is the last of her line, you figure; a girl with a wild
estate and a father long dead. She is good and gracious, as I who have
tended her can witness, but she is young and cannot govern the wolves
who are the men of these parts. They have a long hatred of her house,
and now they have it rumoured that she is a witch and blights the crops
and slays the children. No one will look at her; the priest--for they
are all in the plot--signs himself and crosses the road; the little ones
run screaming to their mothers. Once, twice, they have cursed our
threshold and made the blood mark on the door. For two years we have
been prisoners in the House, and only Mitri is true. They name her
Basilissa, meaning the Queen of Hell, whom the ancients called
Proserpine. There is no babe but will faint with fright if it casts eyes
on her, and she as mild and innocent as Mother Mary...."
The woman stopped at a little door in a high wall of masonry. "Nay, wait
and hear me out. It is better that you hear the tale from me than from
her. Mitri has the gossip of the place through his daughter's husband,
and the word has gone round to burn the witch out. The winter in the
hills has been cruel, and they blame their sorrow on her. The dark of
the moon in April is the time fixed, for they say that a witch has power
only in moonlight. This is the night, and down on the shore the fishers
are gathered. The men from the hills are in the higher woods."
"Have they a leader?" Vernon asked.
"A leader?" her voice echoed shrilly. "But that is the worst of our
terrors. There is one Vlastos, a lord in the mountains, who saw my
mistress a year ago as she looked from the balcony at the
Swallow-singing, and was filled with a passion for her. He has
persecuted her since with his desires. He is a king among these savages,
being himself a very wolf in man's flesh. We have denied him, but he
persists, and this night he announces that he comes for an answer. He
offers to save her if she will trust him, but what is the honour of his
kind? He is like a brute out of a cave. It were better for my lady to go
to God in the fire than to meet all Hell in his arms. But this night we
must choose, unless you prove a saviour."
"Did you see my boat anchor in the bay?" Vernon asked, though he
already knew the answer.
"But no," she said. "We live only on the landward side of the House. My
lady told me that God would send a man to our aid. And I bade Mitri
fetch him."
The door was unlocked and the three climbed a staircase which seemed to
follow the wall of a round tower. Presently they came into a stone hall
with curious hangings like the old banners in a church. From the open
flame of the lantern another was kindled, and the light showed a
desolate place with crumbling mosaics on the floor and plaster dropping
from the cornices. Through another corridor they went, where the air
blew warmer and there was that indefinable scent which comes from human
habitation. Then came a door which the woman held open for Vernon to
enter. "Wait there, Monsieur," she said, "My mistress will come to you."
It was his own room, where annually he had waited with a fluttering
heart since he was a child at Severns. A fire of wood--some resinous
thing like juniper--burned on the hearth, and spirals of blue smoke
escaped the stone chimney and filled the air with their pungent
fragrance. On a Spanish cabinet stood an antique silver lamp, and there
was a great blue Chinese vase filled with spring flowers. Soft Turcoman
rugs covered the wooden floor--Vernon noted every detail, for never
before had he been able to see his room clearly. A woman had lived here,
for an embroidery frame lay on a table and there were silken cushions on
the low divans. And facing him in the other wall there was a door.
In the old days he had regarded it with vague terror in his soul. Now he
looked at it with the hungry gladness with which a traveller sees again
the familiar objects of home. The hour of his destiny had struck. The
thing for which he had trained himself in body and spirit was about to
reveal itself in that doorway....
It opened, and a girl entered. She was tall and very slim, and moved
with the free grace of a boy. She trod the floor like one walking in
spring meadows. Her little head on the flower-like neck was bent
sideways as if she were listening, and her eyes had the strange
disquieting innocence of a child's. Yet she was a grown woman, nobly
made, and lithe and supple as Artemis herself when she ranged with her
maidens through the moonlit glades. Her face had the delicate pallor of
pure health, and above it the masses of dark hair were bound with a
thin gold circlet. She wore a gown of some soft white stuff, and had
thrown over it a cloak of russet furs.
For a second--or so it seemed to Vernon--she looked at him as he stood
tense and expectant like a runner at the start. Then the hesitation fled
from her face. She ran to him with the confidence of a child who has
waited long for the coming of a friend and has grown lonely and fearful.
She gave him both her hands and in her tall pride looked him full in the
eyes. "You have come," she sighed happily. "I did not doubt it. They
told me there was no help, but, you see, they did not know about you.
That was my own secret. The Monster had nearly gobbled me, Perseus, but
of course you could not come quicker. And now you will take me away with
you? See, I am ready. And Elise will come too, and old Mitri, for they
could not live without me. We must hurry, for the Monster is very near."
In that high moment of romance, when young love had burst upon him like
spring, Vernon retained his odd discipline of soul. The adventure of the
dream could not be satisfied by flight, even though his companion was a
goddess.
"We will go, Andromeda, but not yet. I have something to say to the
Monster."
She broke into a ripple of laughter. "Yes, that is the better way. Mitri
will admit him alone, and he will think to find us women. But you will
be here and you will speak to him." Then her eyes grew solemn. "He is
very cruel, Perseus, and he is full of evil. He may devour us both. Let
us be gone before he comes."
It was Vernon's turn to laugh. At the moment no enterprise seemed too
formidable, and a price must be paid for this far-away princess. And
even as he laughed the noise of a great bell clanged through the house.
Mitri stole in with a scared face, and it was from Vernon that he took
his orders. "Speak them fair, but let one man enter and no more. Bring
him here, and see that the gate is barred behind him. After that make
ready for the road." Then to the girl: "Take off your cloak and wait
here as if you were expecting him. I will stand behind the screen. Have
no fear, for I will have him covered, and I will shoot him like a dog if
he lays a finger on you."
From the shelter of the screen Vernon saw the door open and a man enter.
He was a big fellow of the common mountain type, gorgeously dressed in
a uniform of white and crimson, with boots of yellow untanned leather,
and a beltful of weapons. He was handsome in a coarse way, but his
slanting eyes and the heavy lips scarcely hidden by the curling
moustaches were ugly and sinister. He smiled, showing his white teeth,
and spoke hurriedly in the guttural Greek of the north. The girl
shivered at the sound of his voice, and to the watcher it seemed like
Pan pursuing one of Dian's nymphs.
"You have no choice, my Queen," he was saying. "I have a hundred men at
the gate who will do my bidding, and protect you against those fools of
villagers till you are safe with me at Louko. But if you refuse me I
cannot hold the people. They will burn the place over your head, and by
to-morrow's morn these walls will be smouldering ashes with your fair
body in the midst of them."
Then his wooing became rougher. The satyr awoke in his passionate eyes.
"Nay, you are mine, whether you will it or not. I and my folk will carry
you off when the trouble begins. Take your choice, my girl, whether you
will go with a good grace, or trussed up behind a servant. We have rough
ways in the hills with ungracious wenches."
"I am going away," she whispered, "but not with you!"
The man laughed. "Have you fetched down friend Michael and his angels to
help you? By Saint John the Hunter, I would I had a rival. I would carve
him prettily for the sake of your sweet flesh."
Vernon kicked aside the screen. "You will have your chance," he said. "I
am ready."
Vlastos stepped back with his hand at his belt. "Who in the devil's name
are you?" he asked.
"One who would dispute the lady with you," said Vernon.
The man had recovered his confidence. "I know nothing of you or whence
you come, but to-night I am merciful. I give you ten seconds to
disappear. If not, I will spit you, my fine cock, and you will roast in
this oven."
"Nevertheless the lady goes with me," said Vernon, smiling.
Vlastos plucked a whistle from his belt, but before it reached his mouth
he was looking into the barrel of Vernon's revolver. "Pitch that thing
on the floor," came the command. "Not there! Behind me! Off with that
belt and give it to the lady. Quick, my friend."
The dancing grey eyes dominated the sombre black ones. Vlastos flung
down the whistle, and slowly removed the belt with its silver-mounted
pistols and its brace of knives.
"Put up your weapon," he muttered, "and fight me for her, as a man
should."
"I ask nothing better," said Vernon, and he laid his revolver in the
girl's lap.
He had expected a fight with fists, and was not prepared for what
followed. Vlastos sprang at him like a wild beast and clasped him round
the waist. He was swung off his feet in a grip that seemed more than
human. For a second or two he swayed to and fro, recovered himself, and
by a back-heel stroke forced his assailant to relax a little. Then,
locked together in the middle of the room, the struggle began. Dimly out
of a corner of his eye he saw the girl pick up the silver lamp and stand
by the door holding it high.
Vernon had learned the rudiments of wrestling among the dalesmen of the
North, but now he was dealing with one who followed no ordinary methods.
It was a contest of sheer physical power. Vlastos was a stone or two
heavier, and had an uncommon length of arm; but he was clumsily made,
and flabby from gross living. Vernon was spare and hard and clean, but
he lacked one advantage--he had never striven with a man save in
friendly games, and the other was bred to kill. For a minute or two they
swayed and stumbled, while Vernon strove for the old Westmorland "inside
click." Every second brought him nearer to it, while the other's face
was pressed close to his shoulder.
Suddenly he felt a sharp pain. Teeth met in his flesh, and there was the
jar and shiver of a torn muscle. The thing sickened him, and his grip
slackened. In a moment Vlastos had swung him over in a strangle-hold,
and had his neck bent almost to breaking.
On the sickness followed a revulsion of fierce anger. He was contending
not with a man, but with some shaggy beast from the thicket. The passion
brought out the extra power which is dormant in us all against the last
extremity. Two years before he had been mauled by a leopard on the
Congo, and had clutched its throat with his hand and torn the life out.
Such and no other was his antagonist. He was fighting with one who knew
no code, and would gouge his eyes if he got the chance. The fear which
had sickened him was driven out by fury. This wolf should go the way of
other wolves who dared to strive with man.
By a mighty effort he got his right arm free, and though his own neck
was in torture, he forced Vlastos' chin upward. It was a struggle of
sheer endurance, till with a snarl the other slackened his pressure.
Vernon slipped from his grasp, gave back a step, and then leaped for the
under-grip. He seemed possessed with unholy strength, for the barrel of
the man gave in his embrace. A rib cracked, and as they swayed to the
breast-stroke, he felt the breath of his opponent coming in harsh gasps.
It was the end, for with a twist which unlocked his arms he swung him
high, and hurled him towards the fireplace. The head crashed on the
stone hearth, and the man lay stunned among the blue jets of wood-smoke.
Vernon turned dizzily to the girl. She stood, statue-like, with the lamp
in her hand, and beside her huddled Mitri and Elise.
"Bring ropes," he cried to the servants. "We will truss up this beast.
The other wolves will find him and learn a lesson." He bound his legs
and arms and laid him on a divan.
The fire of battle was still in his eyes, but it faded when they fell
upon the pale girl. A great pity and tenderness filled him. She swayed
to his arms, and her head dropped on his shoulder. He picked her up
like a child, and followed the servants to the sea-stair.
But first he found Vlastos' whistle, and blew it shrilly. The answer was
a furious hammering at the castle door.
Far out at sea, in the small hours, the yacht sped eastward with a
favouring wind. Behind in the vault of night at a great distance shone a
point of brightness, which flickered and fell as if from some mighty
fire.
The two sat in the stern in that first rapture of comradeship which has
no words to fit it. Her head lay in the crook of his arm, and she sighed
happily, like one awakened to a summer's dawn from a night of ill
dreams. At last he spoke.
"Do you know that I have been looking for you for twenty years?"
She nestled closer to him.
"And I," she said, "have been waiting on you from the beginning of the
world."