THE GIRDLE OF ISIDORA.
It was about ten o’clock in the morning, and Despina was clattering
things furiously in the kitchen as she collected baskets and other
aids to shopping, for she was late in starting. The Lady sat in the
morning-room opening on the verandah, writing a letter which seemed,
from her frequent pauses, to be difficult to frame, and Danaë was
playing bo-peep with Janni in and out of the window. Above the child’s
shouts of laughter came the imperative sound of the door-bell, and
Danaë caught him up in her arms, and followed at a discreet distance
in Despina’s wake as she went to open the door.
“Aha, old mother, you won’t be able to start just yet!” she cried
mockingly, as the Prince rode in, followed by Petros, for Despina
would never delegate even to Mariora the duty of keeping the door in
her absence.
“May he that is without and afar [_i.e._, the devil] fly away with
that girl! If I catch her, I’ll teach her saucy tongue a lesson!”
muttered the old woman furiously.
“I should recommend a red-hot skewer,” was the soothing suggestion of
Petros, as he flashed a glance towards Danaë to show that he had
understood her intimation. “A monk at the Holy Mountain told me that
the worst of scolds could be cured by marking a cross on her tongue
with it, if the proper prayers were said at the same time.”
Despina requited his sympathy with another curse, and Danaë laughed
as she followed the Prince, who had taken Janni in his arms. He gave
the child back to her as they reached the house, and she sat down
again on the verandah while he greeted his wife. Reading in her eyes
the question she was too proud to ask, he unbuttoned his tunic, and
took out something wrapped in linen which had been concealed there.
Danaë, her curiosity aroused, watched him with eager eyes while he
unrolled it, but she sang mechanically to Janni the while, lest her
interest should be observed. One by one he released from the
protecting folds a series of circular plaques of gold, gleaming with
jewels and translucent enamel, while the Lady looked on, puzzled and a
little disappointed, and Danaë’s breath came quick and fast.
“Byzantine, I suppose?” said the Lady, fingering one of the plaques;
“and not intentionally comic?”
“Wait!” said Prince Romanos sharply. He was fitting the plaques
together by means of the little gold hooks and chains attached to
each, until they formed a small portrait-gallery of severe-featured
saints, with jewelled halos and dresses. He held it up. “If the people
in the streets as I passed had known that I was bringing this to you,
Olimpia, they would have torn me limb from limb. It is the girdle of
the Empress Isidora.”
Danaë gasped, in spite of herself, at the sound of the name, which
was the only word she understood, but she had already guessed what the
jewel was. Handed down in the Christodoridi family was a metrical
version of the exploits of the famous, and infamous, Empress, in which
the girdle figured largely, and Danaë could have named each
ill-favoured saint from memory. And this treasure, the badge of
Orthodox sovereignty, her infatuated brother was now handing over to
the schismatic woman who had bewitched him! Even the Lady, who knew
nothing of its legendary fame, was impressed as she took it into her
hands.
“It is a magnificent thing!” she said. “Why have you never shown it to
me before?”
“Because I have never had it in my possession, or even set eyes upon
it, till now. In fact, I did not know that it was still in existence.
For your possession of it, my most beautiful, you may thank Prince
Theophanis, or rather Lady Eirene, his wife.”
“You will hardly ask me to believe that Princess Theophanis has
acknowledged the justice of your claims so far as to send you this by
her husband?”
“Very far from it, my dearest. She has no knowledge of its present
whereabouts, and if you are to keep it, she had better not know.”
“But to whom does it really belong?”
“To the head of the descendants of John Theophanis. That, my Olimpia,
is your husband, as the inhabitants of Emathia testified by their free
vote. But the girdle has been preserved since the fall of Czarigrad in
the family of the Princess Eirene, and I have reason to believe that
she regards it as her own property.”
“And you have contrived to rob her jewel-case during her husband’s
absence here?” asked the Lady lightly.
“Your poet does not go to work quite so crudely, Olimpia. No, it seems
that it is ten years or more since anyone saw the girdle. Before her
marriage the Princess was detained in a sort of honourable captivity
at the old Scythian Consulate here, from which she escaped to join
Theophanis. Unfortunately for her, knowing that the Scythian Imperial
family were most anxious to possess the jewel, in order to support
their claims to the heritage of the Cæsars, she contrived a
hiding-place for it, from which she had not time to rescue it when the
opportunity of escape came. There it must have remained ever since,
for even when the Consulate was burnt by the Roumi mob before the
bombardment, the walls in great part remained standing. But just
lately she saw in the papers that we were clearing away the ruins to
make the new boulevard, and immediately hurried her husband off to
make inquiries. Knowing Maurice Theophanis, you won’t be surprised to
hear that he chose me, in strictest secrecy, as the recipient of his
inquiries--for which I should imagine his wife will have a word or two
to say to him when he gets home. It seems that Princess Eirene managed
to pick a large stone out of the wall with her scissors, and hide the
girdle in the rubble behind it. As she had fitted the stone in again
neatly enough to escape the observation of the spies who surrounded
her, I thought it was very likely the treasure was there still, but I
said a good deal to Theophanis about fire and plunderers. We visited
the ruins, and Glafko--who has a plaguy exact mind--located as nearly
as he could the spot where the Princess’s room had been. In their
presence I promised the workmen a large reward if they found anything,
and fearful penalties unless they gave it up, and then I carried our
friends off to a review. The walls were duly knocked down, and nothing
was found. But Daniloff, the chief of police, used himself to be
employed at the Scythian Consulate in the old days, and he had visited
the spot the night before. He found the girdle and brought it to me,
wrapped up in odds and ends of paper, and he and I cleaned it and
polished it ourselves. No one else on earth dreams where it is.”
“That girl outside will know,” said the Lady, without looking towards
Danaë.
“Nonsense! she doesn’t understand French. All she knows is that I have
brought you a present of jewellery to-day--surely a very natural thing
to do. It is not as if she had ever heard of the girdle and its
history.”
“And the obvious thing, to her, would be that I should put it on at
once.” She passed the glittering links round her waist, confining the
folds of the loose flowing gown of rich wine-colour she was wearing.
Before she could snap the clasp into place the Prince’s hand stopped
her.
“Wait, Olimpia. I must tell you that they say the girdle brings
ill-luck with it.”
The Lady laughed, and fastened the clasp. “I will risk the ill-luck if
it makes me Empress,” she said.
Prince Romanos gazed at her in unfeigned admiration. “Olimpia, you are
magnificent! You look the Empress to the life. May I yet see you wear
the girdle at our coronation in Hagion Pneuma!” He knelt and lifted
the edge of the wine-coloured robe to his lips. “Hail to the Orthodox
Empress!” he said fervently in Greek, and Danaë thrilled with horror
at the sacrilege. Were there no bounds to her brother’s infatuation?
The Lady blushed slightly at the fervour of her husband’s tone.
Perhaps she also saw, as she looked dreamily far beyond him, the dim
splendours of the great cathedral of Czarigrad, rescued from the
Moslem and restored to Christian uses, and crowded with rejoicing
people assembled to welcome back the descendant of John Theophanis to
the throne of his ancestors--saw herself in imperial robes beside him,
and Janni, grown a goodly youth, acclaimed as the heir of the Eastern
Empire. Then she shivered a little, and unfastened the clasp again.
“Don’t speak Greek; it is not safe with the girl about. You have made
me almost afraid of letting even Despina know that I have the girdle,
yet she has my keys. I will put it here,” she opened a drawer of her
bureau by a spring, and laid the jewel inside it, Danaë watching her
every movement, “until I can make an excuse to get them and hide it in
the safe. And now tell me what it is you want me to do for you in
return for it.”
“Most beautiful and beloved, will you not believe that your poet
brought you a gift solely that he might feast his eyes upon your
beauty adorned with it, and enjoy your pleasure?”
“Not for a moment,” said the Lady decisively.
“Ah, hard-hearted one! will nothing move you? Well, then, dearest, I
claim your promise made the other day. You will allow me to quarter a
guard for you within these walls?”
“I made no promise!” she said quickly.
“Not in words, I own, but it was implied, in return for the gift I
hoped to bring you, and have now brought. Listen, Olimpia; I am in a
very difficult position. Theophanis and his brother-in-law have made
this week a perfect hell to me. The shifts and excuses to which I have
been driven to baulk their curiosity are really humiliating to look
back upon. I am compelled--simply for the sake of averting the
suspicions I saw beginning to spring up in their minds--to appear to
fall in with their scheme for the railway route. Of course it is
exactly opposite to the one on which your hopes--our hopes--depend,
but I must throw them off the scent for a week or two, or until I can
get things definitely settled. Theophanis and Glafko are returning
home fairly satisfied, but to make things quite smooth I was obliged
to volunteer to go part of the way with them, to see a place where
there would be difficulty in getting the line through. It is a Moslem
colony--_evkaf_ [or _wakf_, land set apart for religious uses] land,
a mosque and a cemetery--and any sensible person would have seen at
once that it was an insuperable obstacle to their pet route, but they
want to negociate about it, relying on Glafko’s influence with the
Roumis, I suppose, and--in a moment of thoughtlessness, I confess--I
proposed enthusiastically to go with them and see what could be done.”
“Which means that you will be away from Therma--how long?”
“Four days, not more; three, if I am lucky.”
“And you have never gone away before without sending Janni and me into
safety at Thamnos first!”
“My dear Olimpia, this is such a short time. And the notice was so
brief; I start with them to-day, and there was no time to arrange
anything. Then consider what is to be gained--the fulfilment of our
dearest hopes. You on the throne beside me, Janni acknowledged heir of
Emathia--safety and recognition, in short, if I can only keep those
two meddlesome Englishmen in the dark till my great _coup_ is made.”
“And your police are not capable of protecting this house against the
mob, even with the help of the soldiers outside?”
“It is not the mob I am afraid of, but those who are
your--our--enemies for political, dynastic reasons.”
She raised her eyebrows. “The Theophanis family?”
“Let me beg you not to consider me altogether a fool, Olimpia. No, not
the Theophanis family. But you are aware that your existence is not
entirely unknown in the city; you have often complained to me of the
fact. I have reason to believe that it has reached the knowledge of
the very people with whom I am carrying on my secret negociations.
They may not know your real position, but they are quite capable of
seeing in you and Janni a possible obstacle to the realisation of
their aims, and in that case you and Janni would be sentenced to
disappear. Now do you see what I mean? I may have been brutal, but you
have forced me to speak plainly.”
The Lady frowned, paying little attention to his excuses. “In plain
words, then, you think that opportunity will be taken of your absence
to murder your wife and son?”
“I don’t think it will be so, or I should not go, but I think it is
possible that such an attempt might be made. Consider Janni, Olimpia,
if you will not consider yourself.”
“I am considering myself,” she said quickly; “or rather, I am
considering the dignity of your wife. The Princess of Emathia may be
pardoned a little pride, Romanos--may she not? But Janni is in danger,
you say? Well, then, I well yield as far as this. You may post your
guards round the house at night. Arrange matters with Despina, and let
me hear nothing of them. They must be gone before I come out of doors
in the morning, and they must only arrive after dark--I will not walk
in the garden late. I will not see or be seen by any more of your
subjects till you acknowledge me; that piece of pride I keep. But we
shall be protected, according to your wish; for I suppose even you do
not expect a murderous attack to be made upon us in the daytime?”
“No, I think that ought to be enough,” he said reluctantly. “I shall
be a little happier in my mind, knowing that the garden is thoroughly
patrolled. Accept your poet’s gratitude, my Princess, and vouchsafe
him a gracious farewell. I have innumerable things to do before I join
Theophanis and Glafko this afternoon. They start this morning, with a
patriarchal paraphernalia of tents and baggage-mules, for the fancy
for exploring their proposed new route forbids their making use of the
railway, and I catch them up, travelling light. But I dare not stay
longer.”
“And poor Despina will be distracted by the delay in her marketing,”
said the Lady lightly. She took her husband’s arm, and walked with him
into the garden, Danaë following with Janni in her arms, and the
little iron wedge which Petros had given her clasped tightly in her
hand. The Lady remained out of sight of the gate, but while his father
was speaking to Despina, Janni clamoured to see the horses, and Danaë
carried him to watch the riders mount. She hardly knew how she could
contrive to slip the wedge into the lock, for Despina, fuming with
impatience, was clearly in a desperate hurry. To add to her
irritation, the horse which Petros rode began to dance hither and
thither, apparently desiring to go anywhere rather than through the
gate, and in his efforts to control it, Petros caught his spur in the
old woman’s embroidered apron, and the stuff only yielded with a
jagged tear. Then the horse went through the gateway with a bound, and
Petros was left sitting on the ground with an expression of such
intense astonishment that even Despina, while reviling him loudly,
could hardly help laughing.
“Come on, Petraki! What’s the matter?” cried his master, turning
round.
“I knew something would happen when we met that priest just as we were
starting, my Prince,” moaned Petros lugubriously, noting with the tail
of his eye that Danaë, venturing as far as the doorpost in
sympathetic curiosity, had slipped the wedge into the hole.
“If you hadn’t been so clumsy, nothing would have happened, fellow,”
snapped Despina, contemplating her ruined apron. “I didn’t meet a
priest, so why should I be unlucky?”
“And I did meet him, and nothing has happened to me,” said Prince
Romanos gaily. “Get yourself a new apron with that, old mother, and
don’t croak. Make haste, friend Petros,” as the sentry brought up the
horse, which he had captured; “or shall I send the police for you with
an ambulance?”
“O my Prince, I think I can get to the Palace,” said Petros, rising
with many groans, “but after that----”
“You will have to go on the sick-list instead of coming into the
country with me. That’s where my ill-luck comes in,” said the Prince,
as his retainer hoisted himself with tremendous difficulty into the
saddle.
“Take the little lord in, Eurynomé,” cried Despina wrathfully. “How
often have I not told you that no modest girl goes peeping out of
gates, and there you are, absolutely outside! You’re a bad one, and I
always said so.”
Danaë obeyed, too much excited even to give Despina as good as she
gave, so near and clear to her mind was the culmination of the plot.
Her brother was going away somewhere, and Petros had contrived to
avoid going with him, and the door could be opened by anyone who knew
the secret of the obstructed lock. Moreover, the saints--so she
gratefully phrased it--had put in her way the means of escape from the
fears of Janni’s future in Strio which had been suggested by the words
of Petros when last they met. With the Girdle of Isidora in her
possession, she could bargain for his safety with her father. Prince
Christodoridi was an unsatisfactory person to bargain with--she
recognised it quite dispassionately and not without admiration--since
he never kept any promises that were not strictly in accordance with
his own interests, but with the treasure of the family in her hands,
it would be hard if Danaë could not manage to bind him down to
tolerance of Janni’s presence, if not to actual recognition of his
rights. To leave the girdle where it was, for her brother to bestow on
some other schismatic woman, was a thought which only suggested itself
to be scouted.
The morning passed quietly. Despina went out with her baskets,
shutting the gate with a tremendous bang, since the lock was difficult
to manipulate. The Lady compassionated her on having to start so late
on such a hot day, and called Mariora to carry her chair and table out
of doors. The favourite spot on the lawn in front of the house was not
sufficiently shady to-day, and only the thick foliage of the ilexes
afforded tolerable shelter. The Lady sat down to finish her letter,
with Danaë and Janni playing on the ground beside her, and Mariora
returned to her work. As the day grew hotter and the air and the hum
of insects more drowsy, the child became sleepy and fretful.
“Carry him indoors, Eurynomé,” said the Lady, looking up from her
writing. “It is early for his sleep, but the excitement this morning
must have tired him. I will come and sit beside him while you have
your dinner.”
“It is done as you command, my Lady,” responded Danaë, with unusual
meekness, and she lifted the child to carry him into the house. On the
verandah she paused. There were sounds at the gate. The Lady had heard
them too, and risen from her chair, just as Mariora rushed through the
hall from the kitchen.
“Fly, my Lady, hide yourself! Murderers!” shrieked the old woman. “I
will keep them back!” and she pushed her mistress violently inside the
house and ran towards the gate, brandishing a chopper. The Lady turned
to snatch Janni out of Danaë’s arms, but drew back suddenly.
“Hide him, my Eurynomé, save him! You love him, I know.”
“They will do you no harm, Lady,” responded Danaë confidently, “nor
the little lord either.”
“What do you know about it, girl? Listen!” as the clash of weapons and
a terrible sobbing shriek reached their ears. “Ah, my poor Mariora!
Take him, hide him--you have some place. I will go and meet them and
give you time.” She pressed a passionate kiss on Janni’s sleepy eyes.
“Save him, I charge you, Eurynomé. Go, go quickly!”
Overmastered by sheer force of will, Danaë fled through the hall and
kitchen and out into the ilex-grove, seeing nothing but the tall red
figure stepping out with uncovered head into the blinding sunshine. A
clamour of words followed her, menaces and evil names, then the Lady’s
voice, very clear and distinct in her foreign Greek.
“I am the wife of the Lord Romanos. If you kill me, you kill your
Princess.”
Again that clash of steel, and Danaë’s stubborn heart misgave her.
Pausing only to wind her shawl firmly round Janni and herself, she
began to climb, hurriedly and furiously, and never ceased until she
had reached her eyrie, where no one could see her from below. She
found a cradle among the branches for Janni, and tied him there safely
before she ventured to look out of the window she had made for
herself. On the lawn lay a prostrate figure in a red gown, dreadfully
still, with a deeper red spreading from it to the grass, and men in
the uniform of the Prince’s guard were searching eagerly among the
trees. Others came rushing out of the house as she watched.
“Not a soul there! Where are they?” was the cry. “What is the use of
killing the she-wolf if the cub is left alive?”
Then Petros was false! More than that, it came upon Danaë like a blow
that her father had planned this murder all along, and deliberately
made use of her to further his plot. In the sudden revulsion of
feeling she forgot her own hatred of the Lady, and the ignoble part it
had led her to play. Janni was alive, left to her charge by his
murdered mother, and she would save him if she died for it. Sick and
shaking, she crawled back to where she had left him, and found him
peacefully asleep. Seating herself in a fork of the branches beside
him, she loosened her dagger in its sheath. If they were tracked to
the tree, no one should touch him while she remained alive.