A RESCUE EXPEDITION.
Danaë had been three or four days at her new work, conscientiously
returning scorn with scorn, when one afternoon the sound of music drew
the servants out into the courtyard. A band of gipsies with a dancing
bear had obtained admittance, affording a welcome distraction to the
suitors waiting their turn to be heard by Prince Theophanis, and
Artemisia and her subordinates hastened to take part in the fun.
Danaë alone remained in the kitchen, morosely determined to accept no
lightening of the penalty she had imposed on herself, though the
many-stringed fiddles of the gipsies sounded very pleasant in her
ears, and she had a great curiosity to see what a bear was like. She
stood with her back to the door, pounding corn, and trying to keep the
great pestle from beating time to the music, which made her feet long
to dance, and the soft tread of moccasined footsteps failed to reach
her ears until, looking up suddenly, she found one of the gipsies
close beside her. Before she could scream, he threw back his hooded
cloak and revealed the features of Petros. She stared at him aghast.
“So you have come down in the world, my lady!” he observed genially.
“But so much the better for me, for I might have found it difficult to
speak to you upstairs.”
“What are you doing here? You should have been at Therma before this,”
cried Danaë, finding her tongue.
“Without what I came for, my lady? Besides, the roads were not safe. I
had to wait here for a day or two, and it has given me this second
chance.”
“But what do you want?” she asked, bewildered.
“Why, the little lord, of course. Yourself too, lady, if you insist
upon it, but the Lord Janni at any rate.”
“But you took the Lord Harold. You can’t want both!”
“Oh, can’t I?” Petros grinned. “The Lord Harold has a value of his
own, my lady. I own that I meant at first to make him serve both
purposes, but now you might sooner carry a pet dog through the streets
of Czarigrad than a blue-eyed child through the ranks of Glafko’s
police. He must stay where he is for the present, but you and I and
the other can get through all right with the help of the gipsies. They
know something about disguises.”
“So I see,” said Danaë absently, glancing at the skilful alterations
made in his appearance by the dark dye on his face and the ferocious
horns of his moustache. “Bring the Lord Harold back, and I will come
at once.”
“Not so, lady. I have said I want both.”
“And I have said I will do nothing to help you until he is here.”
“Will you ruin your brother, my lady?”
“No, it is you who are ruining him, wasting your time here, and
raising the country against you for no good.”
“That is for the Lord Romanos to say,” muttered Petros mysteriously.
“But if I have to go to him at Therma without either child, who will
bear the blame then, lady mine?”
“You!” cried Danaë. “As you will when the Lord Glafko has you up
before him in a minute or two.”
She had been edging gradually sideways, so as to bring the large
kitchen table between herself and him, and now she made a dash for the
door. But before she reached it, his voice arrested her.
“Betray me if you like, my lady, but that will not restore the Lord
Harold. He is where no one can find him, though the police have been
closer to him than I am to you, and the gipsies will no more give him
up than I would. If necessary they will kill him rather than that he
should be discovered in their hands.”
“But you have confessed to me that the gipsies are hiding him!” cried
Danaë triumphantly.
“True, lady, and you may tell it to the Lord Glafko. But when the
gipsies swear that they have no knowledge of him, and the strictest
search fails to discover him, is your word of such power that it will
be believed in opposition to theirs?”
The hit was a shrewd one, and it told. All the misery of the loss of
confidence of the last few days returned upon Danaë. No, her word
would not be taken.
“Kalliopé!” Artemisia’s voice broke into her indecision from the
courtyard. “Where are you, girl? Bring out that plate of honey cakes.
The Tzigany says the bear likes them.”
She caught up the cakes from the table, but paused at the door. “Go to
Therma, then, without the Lord Janni, for you shall not have him. And
if any harm comes to the Lord Romanos by this delay, be sure he shall
know who is to blame for it.”
She was out in the courtyard in a moment, and making for the stalwart
form of Artemisia, whose presence would be an effectual protection
against any further argument on the part of Petros. The performance
having come to an end, and the gipsies reaped their reward of small
coins, somebody had suggested that the bear also deserved something.
“Are you sure he likes them?” asked Artemisia doubtfully, with the
plate in her hand. “I thought bears ate people and sheep.”
“Try him, lady; he would do anything for a honey cake,” said the
leading gipsy. “If you knew how to hold it, he would dance for it.”
“It’s all very well to say ‘try him,’ but what if he prefers me to the
cake?” The question was received with a chorus of dutiful laughter by
Artemisia’s satellites.
“Ladies,” said the gipsy, “you seem to think this is an ordinary wild
savage bear. I assure you that he is most civilised and polite. Far
from eating human beings, he prefers honey cakes to any meat you could
offer him. Now if the chief lady will throw one when I say the
word----”
The bear opened his mouth at the word of command, and caught the cake
which Artemisia threw. After that, amid screams and giggles, the
kitchen-girls took their turn, until the cakes were gone. The gipsy
smiled superior.
“Now, ladies, I hope you are satisfied. You should see this old fellow
playing with the children--never a scratch nor a bite! And his
kindness to a little cub we have got----”
“Why, where did you get a bear-cub at this time of the year?” asked a
forester standing by.
“Found him in the woods, of course--eight or nine months old now, I
suppose. Anyhow he’s there, and anyone who likes can come and see him.
Does any lady or gentleman want a nice handsome young bear for a pet?
We are open to an offer, for he scratches and bites like a little
fiend--has to have a muzzle on whenever he sees company. Would the
gracious Prince like to buy him, do you think? He would make a fine
ornament to this courtyard, chained to a good strong pole in the
middle.” Fresh screams, and vehement exclamations of dissent from the
feminine part of the audience. “Well, you are not very encouraging, I
must say, but if anyone can get me into the Prince’s presence, and he
buys him, I can promise a handsome commission.”
The women-servants called down loud maledictions on anyone who might
venture to influence the Prince in the desired direction, but Danaë
was silent. When the gipsies and the bear moved towards the gateway,
to give another performance for the benefit of the guards in their
quarters, she followed in the crowd, and observed minutely the various
words of command. Princess Theophanis, standing on the verandah of the
Prince’s house, pointed her out to Armitage.
“That girl is absolutely heartless,” she said. “Look at her enjoying
that wretched creature’s antics!”
“I should be inclined to believe that she hoped to slip outside with
the gipsies, and so escape,” he said. “But I don’t think any of us
really understand her yet.”
“At any rate, there will be no harm in warning the guard at the gate
to be on the alert,” said Eirene, “since the Prince seems to think it
is important to keep her here.”
A servant was summoned and took the message, and her safe custody
assured, Danaë passed out of Armitage’s thoughts for an hour or two.
Then, as he was passing the unused ground-floor rooms on the way to
his own room in the dusk, a voice spoke to him out of a doorway.
“Lord!” it said, and looking round, he saw a figure crouching against
the door.
“Lord,” it said again, “were the caves where the gipsies live searched
when the Lord Harold was lost?”
“Yes, that was one of the first places where the police went. We all
thought of the gipsies, and the caves were searched most thoroughly.
I’m afraid there’s not much hope in that direction, Kalliopé.”
“Lord, would you like to find the Lord Harold?”
“Like to find him? What are you thinking about? Of course I should!”
cried Armitage indignantly.
“Well, lord, if you would like to discover him yourself, and with your
own hands restore him to the Lady Zoe, will you go out shooting
to-morrow, taking my cousin Sotīri as guide, and saying that you will
be away all night?”
“Your cousin? I didn’t know you had one here. Who is he?”
“He is a very good boy, lord, who can walk far over the mountains. He
will carry your gun and food, and show you good sport. Also he will
guide you to where the Lord Harold is hidden.”
“Kalliopé!” said Armitage, grievously disappointed, “is it possible
that you have known where he is all this time? If so, come with me at
once to the Lady Zoe, and restore him to her yourself. You can’t think
that I want the credit instead of you--especially at the price of two
more days’ unhappiness for her. But no, I can’t believe you lied to me
the other day.”
“No, lord, I spoke the truth, though you alone believed me. And I have
known nothing till to-day, nor do I indeed know now. But I guess. If a
great force of police went to the place, the people might kill the
child or carry him farther away, but seeing only a Milordo and a boy,
they will feel no fear. I will tell my cousin Sotīri all that I
think, so that he may lead you. And if the child is not there, then
the blame is mine and I am deceived. But if he is there----”
“If there’s a chance of his being there, it’s worth trying. When are
we to start, and what is there to shoot?”
“You must start about mid-day, lord. Holy Vasili! I know not what
there is to shoot. Wolves? bears?”
“I hope your cousin will be a better guide than you are,” said
Armitage drily. “How am I to know what gun to take?”
“Lord, your wisdom is great, you know what it will be best to say.
Only tell me, that Sotīri may say the same. Shall it be wolves?”
“Bears, I think. They haven’t begun their winter sleep yet, and their
skins are better. On the whole, I think it will be enough if you say
one particular bear.”
“Oh no, lord!” she cried in a panic for which Armitage could not
account. “I will tell him bears. Then when you are ready, and waiting
at the gate, will you call out loudly and angrily for Sotīri, and he
will come?”
“Certainly I shall be very angry if he keeps me waiting,” said
Armitage, with great gravity, and bidding her good-day, went on. His
evening was a cheerless one, with Zoe and Wylie, both haggard with
hope deferred, each trying to keep up for the sake of the other. As he
had said, if there was the slightest chance of relieving their
anxiety, it was worthwhile following up the slenderest clue. That
Kalliopé believed she had hold of one was evident, but to him,
remembering the close search that had been made already, the
probability of success seemed but faint. And Danaë herself, now that
she had taken the desperate step of enlisting Armitage’s support was
little more hopeful. Petros was at present among the gipsies, and
might be expected, since she had declined to help him in securing
Janni, to have left them to-morrow on his way to Therma; Harold was
also concealed among them, and in a hiding-place so cunningly
contrived that the police had passed quite close to it without
suspecting his presence. That was all she had to go upon--that, and
the idea which had darted into her mind that afternoon, as she
listened to the talk in the courtyard; an idea monstrous, incredible,
but just possible.
Armitage was conscious of a disconcerting suspicion that he was a fool
when he found himself at the gate the next day, laden with his gun, a
thick coat, and a basket of provisions. He was quite certain that the
man on guard thought him one.
“I am looking for a Greek boy who was coming with me, Gavril. Sotīri
is his name. Have you seen him?”
“There are plenty of the young rascals about, lord, but I don’t know
all their silly names. What should a Greek know of our mountains?
Better take an honest Slav. I myself, if you would ask leave for me
from the Lord Glafko----”
“That must be another day. The boy shall have his chance. He has
promised to show me a bear. Sotīri!”
“Take care that he isn’t a brigand spy, lord, hired to lead you into
an ambush. The ransom of a Milordo----”
“Well, if I am not back by this time to-morrow, you must come and look
for me. Sotīri! I shall not wait any longer.”
“Here, lord, here!” cried a panting voice, and a handsome boy in Greek
dress dashed across the courtyard. His _kapota_ was rolled up over one
shoulder, but he seized the basket and Armitage’s gun. “My cousin kept
me so long talking. Let me carry your coat too, lord. It can go over
my other shoulder.”
“I will carry the basket, then. Be careful with the gun,” and Armitage
passed out, followed by his henchman. They went through the streets of
the town, exchanging greetings with the people they met, but Armitage
noticed that Sotīri did not seem to be known personally to the Greeks
who saluted him, for though his dress was a passport to their
sympathies they looked curiously at his face. On the other side of the
town the mountains frowned close above the houses, divided by a gorge
down which flowed the torrent which provided the water-supply, and in
a series of caves, natural or artificial, in the sides of this gorge
the gipsies had sojourned from time immemorial. When they reached the
foot of the path which led to the caves, Armitage stopped and called
up the boy, who had managed to make himself almost invisible under his
load of coats.
“Now, Sotīri, tell me what your cousin’s plan is. We are not to march
up to the first cave we come to, and demand the Lord Harold, I
suppose?”
“No, lord, we cannot hope to recover him till night. But we can find
out where he is. Will you graciously ask to see the bear-cub that the
gipsies offered for sale at the Konak yesterday, and offer to buy him?
My cousin does not think they will be willing to sell him, but it is
important we should see the cave in which the bears live.”
“Very well. Your voice is curiously like your cousin’s, Sotīri. You
had better give me the gun while we are going up hill. It is too heavy
for you.”
“Nay, lord, rather do you give me the basket. You must not judge my
strength by Kalliopé’s,” cried the boy, with a gay laugh. “I have
carried far heavier loads up worse hills than these. And it is unkind
to compare my voice to a girl’s.”
“So it is, Sotīri. I beg your pardon. Well, in a year or two you will
be able to laugh at the idea. Meanwhile I will stick to the basket.
And be sure to stand where I can see you when I am talking to the
gipsies, in case you want to make any sign to me.”
“As you will, lord.” Sotīri dropped behind again respectfully, and
presently Armitage received confirmation of certain suspicions that
had occurred to him. Missing the sound of the labouring breath behind
him, he turned suddenly, to discover coats and gun on the ground,
while with frantic haste Sotīri was twisting up a long plait of hair
which had escaped from beneath his cap. Not having been seen, Armitage
allowed himself a smile, and went on a step or two.
“Do you find it too heavy, Sotīri?” he called out, without turning
round.
“No, lord,” replied a hasty voice. “I dropped my cap, and had to go
back for it.”
“Better keep close to me here,” said Armitage, as they turned the
corner of a rock, and came out on a narrow platform of stone which
appeared to form the centre of the social life of the gipsy community.
The moment they showed themselves, every hole and cranny in the cliff
seemed to disgorge humanity, and they were quickly surrounded by a
crowd--old women offering to tell their fortunes, young women rolling
bold eyes at them, children pawing their clothes with dirty hands, and
all begging shrilly in a dozen different languages. With great wisdom
Armitage addressed himself to the oldest, ugliest, most withered and
most generally witch-like of the women, and presenting her with a
handful of small coin for general distribution, asked if he could
speak to the head of the tribe about the bear-cub he had to sell. The
old woman looked doubtful. She was not sure whether the tribe would
sell the cub after all. It had brought them good luck, and they
thought of keeping it and training it to perform with the other bear.
Armitage expressed so much disappointment, however, and hinted at such
a good price, that the old woman hobbled off at last to the cave where
the chief, who turned out to be her son, was sleeping, and woke him.
With him a dozen swarthy, cunning-eyed rapscallions were added to the
group, and listened greedily while Armitage made his offer. But the
chief was adamant, though for a different reason from that given by
his mother. The cub had been sold that very morning--a murmur of
resentment rose from the women--to a rich Pannonian gentleman who was
going to present it to the Zoological Gardens at Vindobona.
“This is most disappointing,” said Armitage. “I wanted to make a
sketch of him, and then to present him to Prince Romanos, who is
establishing a natural history collection at Therma. Would you mind
showing him to me, that I may see whether he is larger than another I
have heard of?”
“There’s no objection to that, if the gracious gentleman quite
understands that the creature is not to be bought,” said the chief.
“The bears are kept here.”
They moved towards another cave, and two men went in. One led out the
dancing bear, which shambled blinking into the light, the other,
standing just inside the entrance, showed a brown furry body in his
arms.
“We dare not bring him out, lord, lest seeing a stranger he should
begin to scratch and fight,” explained the chief. “He is muzzled
already, as you see.”
Armitage looked critically at the little bear, while Sotīri, at his
side, gazed with awestruck eyes into the gloomy recesses of the cave.
“A fine little beast! Do you think you could get him quiet if I came
here to sketch him another day? I would pay, of course.”
The chief seemed doubtful. The creature had a very uncertain temper,
but if the gracious gentleman cared to take the trouble of coming
again, and run the risk of disappointment---- Armitage reassured him,
and arranged to come again the next morning, in case the purchaser of
the cub should wish to take him away soon. Then, guided by a gipsy who
was to lead them to the top of the gorge, and show them the way into
the woods, he and Sotīri went on. When they had parted with their
guide, he turned eagerly to the boy.
“Well, Sotīri, is it all right? Did you find out what you wanted to
know?”
“Yes, lord, I found what I expected to find.”
A light broke upon Armitage. “You mean that they have the child hidden
in the bear’s den?” he cried.
“Yes, lord, he is hidden in the bear’s den. And now, with your
gracious permission, we must go a long way into the woods, in case the
gipsies send after us, and then we must come back to this same place.”
Armitage took out his compass and made the necessary observations, and
then he and Sotīri plunged into the forest and walked on till they
were tired. Dusk was beginning to fall, and retracing their steps was
a long and painful process. It was quite dark when at length they
arrived again at the edge of the wood, at a point where, by going a
few steps further, they could look down the gorge, and see the
twinkling lights which showed where the gipsies were cooking their
supper in the mouths of their caves. Sotīri helped Armitage into his
coat, unfastened the straps of the provision-basket, and retired to a
respectful distance. It was a mild night, and the withered
beech-leaves made a comfortable couch. Armitage ate and drank, and
then reflected that if Sotīri were as hungry as he was, the share of
food which he had given him on his horrified refusal to sit down and
eat with his employer must be quite insufficient. He called to the
boy, in a low voice at first, then louder, but no answer came.
Following the direction he had taken, he came upon him, wrapped in his
_kapota_, fast asleep, with the untasted food by his side. Armitage
stole back to his place without waking him.
“They may say what they like, but that is a fine creature!” he said to
himself.