Zoë sat in the dark just within the open doorway of Zeno's house,
before the marble steps. She was shivering with cold, now that the
danger to herself was over, and she was bent with pain, though she
scarcely knew she was hurt; for she was conscious only of her anxiety
for Zeno. If he got out of the tower and reached his home, he would
certainly come in by that door, since he had left it open, and the one
on the land side was barred; and there was a way of coming round the
house to the water's edge without entering the gate or passing through
the fore-court.
Zeno had unconsciously stepped upon her body with his whole weight in
getting out, when she lay hidden in the bottom of the boat, but she
would rather have died than have made a sound or winced under the
pressure. And now her side hurt her, and the pain ran down to her knee
and her foot, so that she had hardly been able to walk after Gorlias
had helped her ashore.
It had been impossible to hinder her from getting in, when she had run
down to the landing while Zeno was changing his clothes; there had not
been time, and she had not waited to argue the question, but had
simply whispered to Gorlias that she was going, and that he must hide
her as well as he could, and say nothing. He was not a man to be
easily surprised, and he reflected that as she was in the secret, and
as it was her influence that had decided Zeno to act at last, she
might possibly be useful; as indeed she afterwards proved herself to
be. Besides, Gorlias thought it likely that Zeno had told her all his
plans, although he did not wish to take her with him; for the
astrologer was not at all clear as to the relations existing between
the master and the slave.
She sat alone and shivering in the dark. Gorlias had left her and had
hastened back to the foot of the tower to remove all traces of the
unsuccessful attempt before daybreak, by throwing the dead body into
the water with a weight, and carrying off the gear that had been left
lying on the sloping pier. Zoë thought he must be of iron. He had been
some time in the water in his clothes, and had probably been more or
less bruised in the struggle, and in rolling down the stones, if not
by the fall at the end. But he seemed as calm and collected as ever,
and apparently had no idea of drying himself before morning.
Zoë thought of him only very vaguely as of a person connected with
Zeno, round whom alone the whole world had moved since she had known
that he loved her; and in her imagination she followed him on after he
had reached the tower window the second time and had whistled the call
that told her he was safe so far.
It was agonising to think of his danger. She did not believe that he
could possibly escape from within the prison through the palace
precincts; in some way or other he must succeed in climbing down the
wall again, and Gorlias would find him and bring him home. But when
she had said this to the astrologer, he had shaken his head. There
were good reasons why Zeno should not attempt the perilous descent
that night, when there had just been an alarm from below of which it
was not possible to let him know the result. Moreover, no one knew
whether the man whom Zoë had struck had sunk and was drowned, or had
parried the blow with his arm and had succeeded in swimming ashore.
Neither Gorlias nor Zoë knew that yet, and they might never know it.
She waited, but not a sound disturbed the silence of the chilly night.
Within the house every one was sleeping; the two little slave-girls,
curled up on their carpet in the corner, where Zoë had left them,
would not wake till dawn; Omobono slept the sleep of the just in his
small bedroom behind the counting-house, dreaming of the mysteries of
four toes and five toes, and quenching his insatiable curiosity at
last in the overflowing fountain of fancy. As for the servants and
slaves, all slumbered profoundly, after the way of their kind.
But Zeno did not come. Zoë crouched in the doorway, and drew the
skirts of her long Greek coat round her little white feet more than
half instinctively, for she did not care if she died of the cold,
since he did not come.
A mad longing seized her to go out into the city to look for him in
the dark and silent streets; he might be lying somewhere, wounded and
alone, perhaps left for dead; if she did not come upon him she would
push on to the great gate of Blachernæ; and she was sure that she
could find the way, though it was far. She would slip in, unnoticed by
the sentries; she would pass herself for a woman of the palace, where
she had often been taken by Kyría Agatha in the happy days; she
remembered where the great tower stood in the corner of the palace
yard, the farthest corner to the right, and she could almost see its
door, though indeed she had never noticed one. He was somewhere behind
it, somewhere in there, above or below ground, caught in the trap,
waiting for the dawn of his dying day. For Andronicus would not let
him live. If he was taken, his hours were numbered. He must die the
death Michael Rhangabé had died; there was none more cruel.
As she thought of it, there alone in the cold, a sharp pain bit at her
heart, and in the gloom she could no longer make out the white marble
steps, the chequered black-and-white pavement, nor the last
unextinguished lights of Pera reflected in the water; she saw nothing,
and she sank back against the step behind her, fainting and
unconscious.
She lay there alone, quite still; but he did not come. When she opened
her eyes again she thought she had fallen asleep, and was angry with
herself at the thought of having rested while he was in danger of his
life. She would go out to find him, come what might. Then she tried to
get upon her feet, and was startled to find that she could not.
Chilled to the bone and bruised as she was, she could not move her
limbs, and she wondered in terror whether she were paralysed. But she
was brave still, and after a time she managed to turn on one side,
and with her hands on the cold step she laboriously got upon her
knees. Sensation came back and pain with it, and presently she was
able to raise herself by holding the edge of the door, first on one
knee, then on her feet. But that was all, and she knew that she could
do no more. Perhaps she might crawl upstairs by and by, after resting
a little.
She stood still a long time, holding the door and hesitating, for in
her intense anxiety it seemed impossible to think of giving up and
going to bed. He must come. It would be late, it might be daylight,
but he must come; for if he came not, that could only mean that he was
taken, and if he was taken he must die.
Again the pain bit savagely at her heart, but she set her lips and
grasped the door with both hands, and refused to let herself faint.
She could at least rouse Omobono and the household to go out and
search for the master. She had almost let go of the door to make the
first step forward, when the counter-thought checked her. The attempt
to free the Emperor had been made very secretly; if she called the
secretary, the servants, the slaves, she would be revealing that
secret, and if, by some miracle, Zeno were still free and safe, some
one might betray him. Some one must have betrayed him already, else
the watch would not have come upon him exactly at the most critical
moment. The three men had been lurking near, waiting till he was on
the rope the second time, and expecting to catch him in the very act
of bringing out the prisoner. Who was the traitor? Most probably some
one in the house. It would not be wise to call the servants, after
all.
The hopelessness of it all came over the lonely girl now, and she
almost let herself sink down again upon the steps to wait till
daylight, if need be, for the awful news that was sure to reach her
only too soon. Gorlias would bring it, and no one else.
But she was too proud to give way altogether, unless she fainted
outright. It was torture, but she would bear it, as he would if he
were taken. Perhaps at that very moment they were questioning him
before Andronicus, twisting his handsome limbs till the joints
cracked, or holding red-hot irons close to his blistering feet. He
would set his teeth and turn white, but he would not speak; he would
be torn piecemeal and die, but his tormentors would not get a word
from him, not a syllable. Again and again, she felt the pain in
imagination; but she wished that she could indeed feel it for him, and
be in his place at that moment, if he were suffering. The pain would
be less, even the pain of the rack and the glowing irons, than the
agony of being powerless to help him.
Now, the time seemed endless; now, again, an hour passed quickly in a
waking dream, wherein Zeno was vividly before her, and she lived again
the moments that had taught her the truth in the touch of his lips.
Then, the world was dark once more and she was alone and shivering,
and mad with anxiety for the one living thing she loved.
He did not come. The northern stars sank to the west and he did not
come; they touched the horizon, yet he did not come; an icy breath
foreran the coming dawn, and still he came not, but still Zoë waited.
Then the stars faded, and the sky was less black, and she thought day
was coming; but it was the faint light of the waning moon rising above
the Bosphorus. It was not light, now, but the thick darkness had
become transparent; it was possible to see through it, and Zoë saw a
skiff come silently alongside the landing. It was Gorlias; he moored
the craft quickly and came up the steps. Zoë had recognised his
outline, because she expected him, and she made a step to meet him,
though it hurt her very much to move. He came quickly and securely, as
men do who can see at night, like cats and wild animals; when he was
near, Zoë even fancied that his eyes emitted a faint light of their
own in the dark, but her imagination was no doubt disturbed by her
bodily pain and terrible mental anxiety.
'Has he not come yet?' Gorlias asked in a low tone.
The question could only mean that Zeno was taken, and Zoë grasped the
astrologer's arm in sudden fear.
'He is lost!' she exclaimed. 'They will kill him to-morrow!'
'It is not easy to kill Carlo Zeno,' answered Gorlias, rubbing his
stiffened hands, and then slowly pulling each finger in succession
till the joints cracked. 'He is not dead yet,' he added.
'Not yet!' echoed Zoë despairingly.
'No,' said Gorlias, 'for he got out of the palace.'
'Got out? You are sure?' Zoë could have screamed for joy; the
revulsion was almost too sudden.
'Yes, I am sure of that. There is a search for him in all the quarters
about the palace. When I had cleared everything away below the tower,
I dropped downstream to a quiet place I know, and went ashore to learn
what I could. The great gate of Blachernæ was open, the court was full
of lights, and the guards had been called out. Half of them were
reeling about, still very drunk, but I met many that were more sober,
searching the streets and lanes with lanterns. I lingered till the
same party found me twice and looked at me suspiciously, and then I
slipped away again and came here. I do not believe any of them know
whom they are looking for; they have only been told that some one has
broken out of the palace, I suppose. That made me think that Zeno had
come quietly home, quite sure that he had not been recognised.'
Gorlias told his story in the low, monotonous tone peculiar to him,
which seemed to express the most perfect indifference to anything that
might happen. But Zoë cared nothing for his way of telling what was
just then the best possible news. Zeno was not safe yet, but she knew
him well enough to feel sure that if he had not been taken within the
palace, he had little to fear. Sooner or later he would come home, as
if nothing had happened. Gorlias understood her sigh of relief.
'You must go in and rest, Kokóna,' he said, and he quietly pushed her
towards the door. 'I will watch till daylight in the boat, in case he
should come and need anything.'
She could hardly walk, and he now noticed her lameness for the first
time, and asked the cause of it.
'He stepped on me when I was lying under the canvas,' she answered.
'But it is nothing,' she added quietly. 'I hardly felt anything at
first.'
'I will carry you,' said Gorlias.
Before she could prevent him, he had lifted her in his arms and was
carrying her into the house. He knew the way up to her apartment,
having been to see her there, and he stepped easily and surely with
his burden, his bare feet hardly making any sound on the marble steps.
She lay across his arms like a thing without weight, borne along as a
maid carries a fresh gown that she is afraid of ruffling. But the
man's arms and clothes were wet and cold, and even his breath chilled
her.
Her nerves were overwrought, and she was foolishly frightened now. The
stairs were very dark, and the touch of the man who carried her was
like that of a wet monster of night, cold and horribly strong, holding
her and carrying her in his vast arms as the autumn night wind whirls
the leaves along. He never paused for breath, he never stopped to try
and see the steps under his feet; he only went on and up, up, up, till
she fancied she was not in Zeno's house, but in some high and
mysterious tower to which she had been suddenly transported by an
awful being from another world who was taking her to the top and would
hurl her from the highest turret into space.
But now Gorlias stood still and set her on her feet at her own door,
steadying her by her shoulders, and guiding her in, for he could see
the ray of light that crept out between the curtain and the doorpost
of the inner entrance.
He lifted the heavy stuff and still supported her with his other hand.
After being so long in the dark the light of the little lamps was
dazzling, though they were burning low. Three or four of them had
already gone out, and the acrid smell of the burnt-out olive-oil and
the singed wicks hung in the air.
[Illustration: Saw her sink down there exhausted, and draw a heavy
silk shawl across her body.]
Gorlias watched Zoë while she limped over the thick carpet to the
divan, and he saw her sink down there exhausted, and draw a heavy silk
shawl across her body.
'Thank you,' she sighed, as her weary head pressed the pillow at last.
But he had already dropped the curtain again and was gone, and almost
at the same instant she shut her eyes and fell asleep.
Gorlias reached the bottom of the stairs without waking any one,
closed the door, which he could not fasten, and got into his boat to
wait for Zeno until daybreak, and also to watch lest any one should
try to enter the house.
But no one came, neither Zeno, nor any messenger from him, nor any
stealthy thief; and at last the dawn rose behind Constantinople and
dissolved the night, and the poor waning moon had not much light left
and almost went out altogether as the day broke. Then Gorlias drew his
oars inboard, and laid them across the boat before him, leaning his
elbows on them and resting his chin upon his folded hands, like a man
in deep thought; and he let the craft drift slowly away towards the
Bosphorus, into the morning mist.
Also, the dawn crept into the house between the half-closed shutters
of Zoë's room and made the lingering flame of the last lamp seem but a
smoky little yellow point in the cold clearness; and the girl's pale
face, that had taken a golden tinge from the lamplight, now turned as
white as silver.
Also, the coming sun waked Omobono, and he sat up in bed and gravely
rubbed his eyes, quite unaware that anything had happened during the
night; and it roused the slaves and the servants, and presently all
the house was astir; and Yulia and Lucilla got up too and came softly
and stood beside Zoë, who did not stir, and they wondered at her deep
sleep and at the weariness of her face, and at the look of pain all
about her mouth.
But where Zeno was the light did not enter; for dawn and sunset, and
noon and midnight were all alike there.