Zeno left his house noiselessly half an hour later, after changing his
clothes. He was now lightly clad in dark hose and a soft deerskin
doublet with tight sleeves, a close-fitting woollen skull-cap covered
his head, and he had no weapon but one good knife of which the sheath
was fastened to the back of his belt, as a sailor carries it when he
goes aloft to work on rigging. The night was cool, and he had a wide
cloak over his shoulders, ready to drop in an instant if necessary.
It was intensely dark as he came out, and after being in the light he
could hardly see the white marble steps of the landing. He almost lost
his balance at the last one, and when he stepped quickly towards the
boat, to save himself, he could not see it at all, and was
considerably relieved to find himself in the stern sheets instead of
in the water.
'Gorlias!' he whispered, leaning forwards.
'Yes!' answered the astrologer-fisherman.
The light skiff shot out into the darkness, away from the shore,
instead of heading directly for Blachernæ. After a few minutes Gorlias
rested on his oars. Zeno had grown used to the gloom and could now see
him quite distinctly. Both men peered about them and listened for the
sound of other oars, but there was nothing; they were alone on the
water.
'Is everything ready?' Zeno asked in a low tone.
'Everything. At the signal over eight hundred men will be before
Blachernæ in a few minutes. There are fifty ladders in the ruined
houses by the wall of the city. The money has had an excellent effect
on the guard, for most of them were drunk this evening, and are asleep
now. In the tower, the captain is asleep too, for his wife showed the
red light an hour ago. She took up the package of opium last night by
the thread.'
'And Johannes himself? Is he ready?'
'He is timid, but he will risk his life to get out of the tower. You
may be sure of that!'
'Have you everything we need? The fishing-line, the tail-block, and
the two ropes? And the basket? Is everything ready in the bows,
there?'
'Everything, just as you ordered it, and the rope clear to pay out.'
'Give way, then.'
'In the name of God,' said Gorlias, as he dipped his oars again.
'Amen,' answered Zeno quietly.
The oars were muffled with rags at the thole-pins, and Gorlias was an
accomplished oarsman. He dipped the blades into the stream so gently
that there was hardly a ripple, and he pulled them through with long,
steady strokes, keeping the boat on its course by the scattered lights
of the city.
Zeno watched the lights, too, leaning back in the stern, and turning
over the last details of his plan. Everything depended on getting the
imprisoned man out of the Amena tower at once, and he believed he
could do that without much difficulty. At first sight it might seem
madness to attempt a revolution with only eight hundred men to bear
arms in the cause, against ten or fifteen thousand, but the Venetian
knew what sort of men they were, and how profoundly Andronicus was
hated by all the army except his body-guard. The latter would fight,
no doubt, and perhaps die to a man, for they had everything to lose,
and expected no quarter; but for the next two hours most of them would
be still helplessly asleep after their potations, and if they woke at
all they would hardly be in a condition to defend themselves. Money
had been distributed to them without knowledge of their officers,
purporting to be sent to them from Sultan Amurad, now in Asia Minor.
It had pleased the Turk more than once to keep the guards in a good
humour towards him, and the soldiers were not surprised. Besides, they
cared very little whence money came, provided it got into their hands,
and could be spent in drink, for they were not sober Greeks or
Italians; most of them were wild barbarians, who would rather drink
than eat, and rather fight than drink, as the saying goes.
For nearly twenty minutes Gorlias pulled steadily upstream. Then he
slackened speed, and brought the boat slowly to the foot of the tower.
The windows were all dark now, and the great mass towered up into the
night till the top was lost in the black sky. During the hours Gorlias
had spent in fishing from the pier he had succeeded in wedging a
stout oak peg between the stones; he found it at once in the dark,
got out and made the boat fast to it by the painter. His bare feet
clung to the sloping surface like a fly's to a smooth wall; he pulled
the boat alongside the pier, holding it by the gunwale, and held up
his other hand to help Zeno. But the Venetian was in no need of that,
and was standing beside his companion in an instant. It was only then,
a whole second after the fact, that he knew he had stepped upon
something oddly soft and at the same time elastic and resisting, that
lay amidships in the bottom of the boat, covered with canvas. The
quick recollection was that of having unconsciously placed one foot on
a human body when getting out. He had taken off his shoes, but the
cloth soles of his hose were thick, and he could not feel sure of what
he had touched. Besides, he had no time to lose in speculating as to
what Gorlias might have in the skiff besides his lines and his coil of
rope.
Gorlias now got the end of the fishing-line ashore, and took it in his
teeth in order to climb up the inclined plane of the pier on his hands
and feet, ape-fashion. In a few seconds he had found the end of a
string that hung down from the blackness above, with a small stone
tied to it to keep it from being blown adrift. To this string he bent
the fishing-line. Until this was done neither of the men had made the
least sound that could possibly be heard above, but now Gorlias gave a
signal. It was the cry of the beautiful little owl that haunts ruined
houses in Italy and the East, one soft and musical note, repeated at
short and regular intervals. The bird always gives it thus, but for
the signal Gorlias whistled it twice each time, instead of once. No
living owl ever did that, and yet it was a thousand to one that nobody
would notice the difference, if any one heard him at all, except the
person for whom the call was meant.
He had not been whistling more than a quarter of a minute when he felt
the twine passing upwards through his fingers, and then the line after
it. He let the latter run through his hand to be sure that it did not
foul and kink, though he had purposely chosen one that had been long
in use, and he had kept it in a dry place for a week.
Zeno had dropped his cloak in the stern of the boat before getting
out, and he now sat at the water's edge with his hands on the moving
line ready to check the end when it came, in case it were not already
fast to the rope that was to follow it. But Gorlias had done that
beforehand, lest any time should be lost, and presently Zeno felt the
line growing taut as it began to pull on the rope itself.
This had single overhand knots in it, about two feet apart, for
climbing, and instead of coiling it down, Gorlias had ranged it fore
and aft on the forward thwarts so that it came ashore clear. Whatever
the astrologer's original profession had been, it was evident that he
understood how to handle rope as well as if he had been to sea.
Moreover Zeno, who was as much a sailor as a soldier, understood from
the speed at which the rope was now taken up, that there was a
tolerably strong person at the other end of it, high up in the
topmost story of the tower. The end came sooner than he expected, and
a slight noise of something catching and knocking against the inner
side of the boat brought Gorlias instantly to the water's edge.
'The tail-block is fast to the end,' he whispered; 'and the other line
is already rove, with the basket at one end of it. When you are aloft,
you must haul up the climbing rope and make the block fast--you
understand.'
'Of course,' Zeno answered, 'I have been to sea.'
'Whistle when you are ready and I will answer. As he comes down I can
check the rope with a turn round a smooth stone I have found at the
corner of the tower. You must come down the climbing rope at the same
time, and steer the basket as well as you can with your foot.'
'Yes. Is all fast above?'
Gorlias listened.
'Not yet,' he whispered. 'Wait for the signal.'
It came presently, the cry of the owlet repeated, as Gorlias had
repeated it. Zeno heard it and began to climb, while Gorlias steadied
the rope, though there was hardly any need for that. The young
Venetian walked up with his feet to the wall, taking the rope hand
over hand, as if he were going up a bare pole by a gant-line.
When he was twenty feet above the pier and was fast disappearing in
the darkness, something moved in the boat, and a white face looked up
cautiously over the gunwale. It was a woman's face. Zeno had stepped
upon her with his whole weight when he was getting ashore, but she had
made no sound. Her eyes tried to pierce the gloom, to follow him
upwards in his dizzy ascent. Soon she could not see him any longer,
nor hear the soft sound of his cloth-shod feet as he planted them
against the stones.
Up he went, higher and higher. Gorlias steadied the end below, keeping
one foot on the block lest it should thrash about on the stones and
make a noise. He could feel each of Zeno's movements along the rope;
and though he had seen many feats in his life, he wondered at the wind
and endurance of a man who could make such an ascent without once
crooking his leg round the rope to rest and take breath. But Carlo
Zeno never stopped till his feet were on the slight projecting
moulding of the highest story, and his hands on the stone sill.
As he drew himself up with a spring his face almost struck the chest
of a large woman who was standing at the window to receive him. He saw
her outline faintly, for there was a little light from one small lamp,
placed on the floor in the farthest corner of the oblong room. The
tower was square, but the north side of the chamber was walled off to
make a space for the head of the staircase and a narrow entry. The
single door was in this partition. Zeno looked round while he took
breath, and he was aware of a tall man with a long beard who stood on
one side of the window, and seemed inclined to flatten himself against
the wall, as if he feared being seen from without, even at that height
and in the dark.
The woman moved a step backwards, and Carlo put one leg over the
window-sill and got in. He took his skull-cap from his head and bowed
low to the imprisoned Emperor before he spoke to the woman in a
whisper.
'I will haul up the basket,' he said, and he laid his hands on the
knotted rope to do so.
But the tall man with the beard touched him on the shoulder, and spoke
in a low voice.
'We must talk together,' he said.
Zeno hardly turned his head, and did not stop hauling in the rope.
Below, Gorlias was steering the tail-block clear of the wall, lest it
should strike the stones and make a noise.
'This is no time for talking,' Zeno said. 'When your Majesty is free
and in safety we can talk at leisure.'
The knotted rope was coming in fast; Zeno threw it upon the floor
behind him in a wide coil to keep it clear.
'Stop!' commanded the Emperor, laying one hand on the Venetian's arm.
Zeno set his foot on the rope to keep it from running out, and turned
to the prisoner in surprise.
'Every moment is precious,' he said. 'If we are discovered from
outside the tower the game is up, and we shall be caught like rats in
a trap. I have a basket at the end of this rope in which you will be
quite safe from falling, if that is what makes you hesitate. Fear
nothing. We are two good men, I and my companion below.'
'You are a good man indeed, to have risked your life in climbing
here,' answered Johannes.
He made a few steps, bending his still handsome head in thought. He
limped slightly in his walk, and he was said to have only four toes on
his left foot.
Zeno at once continued hauling up the rope, but a moment later the
Emperor stopped close beside him.
'It is of no use,' he said; 'I cannot go with you.'
Zeno was thunderstruck, and stood still with the rope in his two
hands.
'You will not go?' he repeated, almost stupidly. 'You will not be
free, now that everything is ready?'
'I cannot. Go down your rope before there is an alarm. Take God's
blessing for your generous courage, and my heartfelt thanks. I am
ashamed that I should have nothing else to offer you. I cannot go.'
'But why? Why?'
Carlo Zeno could not remember that he had ever been so much surprised
in his life, and so are they who gather round the story-teller and
listen to his tale. But it is a true one; and many years afterwards
one of Carlo Zeno's grandsons, the good old Bishop of Belluno, wrote
it down as he had heard it from his grandsire's lips. Moreover it is
history. The imprisoned Emperor Johannes refused to leave his prison,
after Zeno had risked life and limb to prepare a revolution, and had
scaled the tower alone.
'Andronicus has my little son in the palace,' said the prisoner; 'if I
escape he will put out the child's eyes with boiling vinegar, and
perhaps mutilate him or kill him by inches. Save him first, then I
will go with you.'
There was something very noble in the prisoner's tone, and in the turn
of his handsome head as he spoke. Zeno could not help respecting him,
yet he was profoundly disappointed. He tried one argument.
'If you will come at once,' he said, 'I promise you that we shall hold
the palace before daybreak, and the little prince will be as free as
you.'
Johannes shook his head sadly.
'The guards will kill him instantly,' he said; 'the more certainly if
they see that they must fight for their lives.'
'In short, your Majesty is resolved? You will not come with me?'
'I cannot.' The Emperor turned away, and covered his face with his
hands, more as if trying to concentrate his thoughts than as if in
despair. 'No, I cannot,' he repeated presently. 'Save the boy first,'
he repeated, dropping his hands and turning to Zeno again, 'then I
will go with you.'
Zeno was silent for a moment, and then spoke in a determined tone.
'Hear me, sire,' he said. 'A man does not run such risks twice, except
for his own blood. You must either come with me at once, or give up
the idea that I shall ever help you to escape. The boy may be in
danger, but so are you yourself, and your life is worth more to this
unhappy Empire than his. To-night, to-morrow, at any moment, your son
Andronicus may send the executioner here, and there will be an end of
you and of many hopes. You must risk your younger boy's life for your
cause. I see no other way.'
'The other way is this; I will stay here and risk my own. I would
rather die ten deaths than let my child be tortured, blinded, and
murdered.'
'Very well,' answered Zeno; 'then I must go.'
He let the knotted rope go over the sill again till it was all out,
and he sat astride the window mullion ready to begin the descent.
'Cast off the rope when I whistle,' he said, 'and let it down by the
line, and the line after it by the twine.'
He spoke to the big woman, who was the wife of the keeper, himself a
trusted captain of veterans. She nodded by way of answer.
'For the last time,' Zeno said, looking towards Johannes, 'will you
come with me? There is still time.'
The Emperor looked prematurely old in the faint light, and his figure
was bent as he rested with one hand on the heavy table. His voice was
weak too, as if he were very tired after some great effort.
'For the last time, no,' he answered. 'I am sorry. I thank you with
all my heart----'
Zeno did not wait for more, and his head disappeared below the window
almost before the prisoner had spoken the last words. Five minutes had
not elapsed since he had reached the chamber.
Below, Gorlias had been surprised when he felt the second rope slack
in his hand, and when the basket and block, which had been half-way up
the wall, began to come down again. The astrologer could only suppose
that there was an alarm within the tower, and that Zeno was getting
away as fast as he could. The last written message, lowered by the
yarn at dusk that evening, had been to say that the Emperor was ready,
and that a red light would be shown when the captain was asleep, under
the influence of the drug his wife had given him. It could not
possibly occur to the astrologer that Johannes would change his mind
at the very last moment.
'Take care!' Gorlias whispered quickly to the woman at his elbow, as
soon as he was sure of what was happening. 'He is coming down again.'
'Alone?' The anxious inquiry answered his words in the same breath.
'Alone--yes! He is on the rope now, he is coming down, hand under
hand.'
The woman slipped down the inclined surface, almost fell, recovered
her foothold, and nearly fell again as she sprang into the boat, and
threw herself at full length upon the bottom boards. Zeno was half-way
down, and before she covered herself with the canvas she glanced up
and distinctly saw his dark figure descending through the gloom.
She had scarcely stretched herself out when she was startled by a loud
cry, close at hand.
'Phylaké! Aho--ho--o! Watch, ho! Watch, ho!'
A boat had shot out of the darkness to the edge of the pier. In an
instant three men had sprung ashore, and were clambering up the
sloping masonry towards Gorlias. The woman stood up in Zeno's skiff,
almost upsetting it, and her eyes pierced the gloom to see what was
happening.
Gorlias threw himself desperately against the three men, with
outstretched arms, hoping to sweep them altogether into the water from
a place where they had so little foothold. The woman held her breath.
One of the three men, active as a monkey, dodged past the astrologer,
caught the knotted rope, and began climbing it. The other two fell,
their feet entangled in the line-rove through the tail-block, and with
the strong man's weight behind them they tumbled headlong down the
incline. With a heavy splash, and scarcely more than one for all
three, Gorlias and his opponents fell into the water.
There was silence then, while the other man climbed higher and higher.
The woman watched in horror. In falling, the men had struck against
the stem of the skiff, dragging the painter from the peg. The other
boat was not moored at all, and both were now adrift on the sluggish
stream. The woman steadied herself, and tried to see.
The man climbed fast, and above him the dark figure moved quickly
upwards. But Zeno's pursuer was fresher than he, and as quick as a
cat, and gained on him. If he caught him, he might crook his leg round
the knotted rope to drag Zeno down and hurl him to the ground.
Still he gained, while the boats began to drift, but still the woman
could make out both figures, nearer and nearer to each other. Now
there were not ten feet between them.
A faint cry was heard, a heavy thud on the stones, and silence again.
Zeno had cut the rope below him. The woman drew a sharp breath between
her closed teeth. There was no noise, now, for the man that had been
as active as a cat was dead.
But an instant later one of the other three was out of the water, and
on the edge of the pier, panting for breath.
The woman took up one of the oars, and tried to paddle with it. She
thought that the man who had come up must be Gorlias, and that the
other two were drowned, and she tried to get the boat to the pier
again; she had never held an oar in her life, and she was trembling
now. High in mid-air Zeno was hanging on what was left of the rope,
slowly working his way upwards, fully fifty feet above the base of the
tower.
The skiff bumped against the other boat alongside, and the woman began
to despair of getting nearer to the land, and tried to shove the empty
boat away with her hands. The effect was to push her own skiff towards
the pier, for the other was much the heavier of the two. Then,
paddling a little, she made a little way. The man ashore seemed to be
examining the body of the one who had been killed; it lay sprawling on
the stones, the head smashed. The living one was not Gorlias; the
woman could see his outline now. She was strong, and with the one oar
shoved her skiff still farther from the other boat, and nearer to the
pier. The man heard her, got upon his feet, and slipped down to the
water's edge again.
'Hold out the end of the oar to me,' he said, 'and I will pull the
boat in.'
It was not the voice of Gorlias that spoke, and the woman did not obey
the instructions it gave. On the contrary she tried to paddle away,
lest the man should jump aboard. Strangely enough the skiff seemed to
answer at once to her will, as if some unseen power were helping her.
It could not be her unskilled, almost helpless movements of the oar
that guided it away.
But the man rose to his feet, on the lowest course of the stones,
where there was a ledge, and he sprang forwards, struck the water
without putting his head under, and was at the stern of the boat in a
few seconds.
The woman seemed fearless, for she stepped quickly over the after
thwart, taking her oar with her, and a moment later she struck a
desperate blow with it at the swimmer, and raised it again. She could
not see him any more, and she knew that if she had struck his head he
must have sunk instantly; but she waited a little longer in the stern,
the oar still uplifted in both her hands.
At that moment, the repeated call of the owlet came down from far
above. It could only mean that Zeno had reached the upper window in
safety. Then the boat rocked violently two or three times, and the
woman was thrown down, sitting, in the stern sheets; she saw that a
man was getting in over the bows, and was already on board.
'That was well done, Kokóna,' said the voice of Gorlias, softly.
Zoë sank back in the stern, half-fainting with exhaustion, pain, and
past anxiety.
'Is he safe?' she managed to ask.
'That was his call. He has reached the window again, but it was a
narrow escape.'
She could hardly breathe. Gorlias had taken the oars, and the skiff
was moving.