A little later another man entered the arena, from the western gate.

Going to the centre he looked carefully around him; as if content with

the inspection, he went next to a cell and knocked. Two persons

responded by coming out of the door; one an armed guardsman, the other

a monk. The latter wore a hat of clerical style, and a black gown

dropping to his bare feet, its sleeves of immoderate length completely

muffling his hands. Instantly the concourse on the benches arose. There

was no shouting--one might have supposed them all suddenly seized with

shuddering sympathy. But directly a word began passing from mouth to

mouth; at first, it was scarcely more than a murmur; soon it was a

byname on every tongue:

"The heretic! The heretic!"

The monk was Sergius.

His guard conducted him to the centre of the field, and, taking off his

hat, left him there. In going he let his gauntlet fall. Sergius picked

it up, and gave it to him; then calm, resigned, fearless, he turned to

the east, rested his hands on his breast palm to palm, closed his eyes,

and raised his face. He may have had a hope of rescue in reserve;

certain it is, they who saw him, taller of his long gown, his hair on

his shoulders and down his back, his head upturned, the sunlight a

radiant imprint on his forehead, and wanting only a nimbus to be the

Christ in apparition, ceased jeering him; it seemed to them that in a

moment, without effort, he had withdrawn his thoughts from this world,

and surrendered himself. They could see his lips move; but what they

supposed his last prayer was only a quiet recitation: "I believe in

God, and Jesus Christ, his Son."

The guard withdrawn, three sharp mots of a trumpet rang out from the

stand. A door at the left of the tunnel gate was then slowly raised;

whereupon a lion stalked out of the darkened depths, and stopped on the

edge of the den thus exposed, winking to accustom his eyes to the

day-splendor. He lingered there very leisurely, turning his ponderous

head from right to left and up and down, like a prisoner questioning if

he were indeed at liberty. Having viewed the sky and the benches, and

filled his deep chest with ample draughts of fresh air, suddenly

Tamerlane noticed the monk. The head rose higher, the ears erected,

and, snuffing like a hound, he fretted his shaggy mane; his yellow eyes

changed to coals alive, and he growled and lashed his sides with his

tail. A majestic figure was he now. "What is it?" he appeared asking

himself. "Prey or combat?" Still in a maze, he stepped out into the

arena, and shrinking close to the sand, inched forward creeping toward

the object of his wonder.

The spectators had opportunity to measure him, and drink their fill of

terror. The monk was a goodly specimen of manhood, young, tall, strong;

but a fig for his chances once this enemy struck him or set its teeth

in his flesh! An ox could not stand the momentum of that bulk of bone

and brawn. It were vain telling how many--not all of them women and

children--furtively studied the height of the wall enclosing the pit to

make sure of their own safety upon the seats.

Sergius meantime remained in prayer and recitation; he was prepared for

the attack, but as a non-resistant; if indeed he thought of battle, he

was not merely unarmed--the sleeves of his gown deprived him of the use

of his hands. From the man to the lion, from the lion to the man, the

multitude turned shivering, unable nevertheless to look away.

Presently the lion stopped, whined, and behaved uneasily. Was he

afraid? Such was the appearance when he began trotting around at the

base of the wall, halting before the gates, and seeking an escape.

Under the urgency, whatever it was, from the trot he broke into a

gallop, without so much as a glance at the monk.

A murmur descended from the benches. It was the people recovering from

their horror, and impatient. Ere long they became positive in

expression; in dread doubtless of losing the catastrophe of the show,

they yelled at the cowardly beast.

In the height of this tempest, the gate of the tunnel under the grand

stand opened quickly, and was as quickly shut. Death brings no deeper

hush than fell upon the assemblage then. A woman was crossing the sand

toward the monk! Round sped the lion, forward she went! Two victims!

Well worth the monster's hunger through the three days to be so

banqueted on the fourth!

There are no laws of behavior for such situations. Impulse and instinct

rush in and take possession. While the thousands held their breath,

they were all quickened to know who the intruder was.

She was robed in white, was bareheaded and barefooted. The dress, the

action, the seraphic face were not infrequent on the water, and

especially in the churches; recognition was instantaneous, and through

the eager crowded ranks the whisper flew:

"God o' Mercy! It is the Princess--the Princess Irene!"

Strong men covered their eyes, women fainted.

The grand stand had been given up to the St. James', and they and their

intimates filled it from the top seat to the bottom; and now directly

the identity became assured, toward them, or rather to the Hegumen

conspicuous in their midst, innumerable arms were outstretched,

seconding the cry: "Save her! Save her! Let the lion be killed!"

Easier said than done. Crediting the Brotherhood with lingering sparks

of humanity, the game was beyond their interference. The brute was

lord. Who dared go in and confront him?

About this time, the black man, of whom we have spoken, looked out of

his cell again. To him the pleading arms were turned. He saw the monk,

the Princess, and the lion making its furious circuit--saw them and

retreated, but a moment after reappeared, attired in the savageries

which were his delight. In the waist-belt he had a short sword, and

over his left shoulder a roll like a fisherman's net. And now he did

not retreat.

The Princess reached Sergius safely, and placing a hand on his arm,

brought him back, as it were, to life and the situation.

"Fly, little mother--by the way you came--fly!" he cried, in mighty

anguish. "O God! it is too late--too late."

Wringing his hands, he gave way to tears.

"No, I will not fly. Did I not bring you to this? Let death come to us

both. Better the quick work of the lion than the slow torture of

conscience. I will not fly! We will die together. I too believe in God

and Jesus Christ his Son."

She reached up, and rested her hand upon his shoulder. The repetition

of the Creed, and her companionship restored his courage, and smiling,

despite the tears on his cheeks, he said:

"Very well, little mother. The army of the martyrs will receive us, and

the dear Lord is at his mansion door to let us in."

The lion now ceased galloping. Stopping over in the west quarter of the

field, he turned his big burning eyes on the two thus resigning

themselves, and crouching, put himself in motion toward them; his mane

all on end; his jaws agape, their white armature whiter of the crimson

tongue lolling adrip below the lips. He had given up escape, and, his

curiosity sated, was bent upon his prey. The charge of cowardice had

been premature. The near thunder of his roaring was exultant and awful.

There was great ease of heart to the people when Nilo--for he it

was--taking position between the devoted pair and their enemy, shook

the net from his shoulder, and proceeded to give an example of his

practice with lions in the jungles of Kash-Cush.

Keeping the brute steadily eye to eye, he managed so that while

retaining the leaden balls tied to its disengaged corners one in each

hand, the net was presently in an extended roll on the ground before

him. Leaning forward then, his hands bent inwardly knuckle to knuckle

at his breast, his right foot advanced, the left behind the right ready

to carry him by a step left aside, he waited the attack--to the

beholders, a figure in shining ebony, giantesque in proportions,

Phidian in grace.

Tamerlane stopped. What new wonder was this? And while making the

study, he settled flat on the sand, and sunk his roaring into uneasy

whines and growls.

By this time every one looking on understood Nilo's intent--that he

meant to bide the lion's leap, and catch and entangle him in the net.

What nerve and nicety of calculation--what certainty of eye--what

knowledge of the savage nature dealt with--what mastery of self, limb

and soul were required for the feat!

Just at this crisis there was a tumult in the grand stand. Those who

turned that way saw a man in glistening armor pushing through the

brethren there in most unceremonious sort. In haste to reach the front,

he stepped from bench to bench, knocking the gowned Churchmen right and

left as if they were but so many lay figures. On the edge of the wall,

he tossed his sword and shield into the arena, and next instant leaped

after them. Before astonishment was spent, before the dull of faculties

could comprehend the intruder, before minds could be made up to so much

as yell, he had fitted the shield to his arm, snatched up the sword,

and run to the point of danger. There, with quick understanding of the

negro's strategy, he took place behind him, but in front of the

Princess and the monk. His agility, cumbered though he was, his amazing

spirit, together with the thought that the fair woman had yet another

champion over whom the lion must go ere reaching her, wrought the whole

multitude into ecstasy. They sprang upon the benches, and their

shouting was impossible of interpretation except as an indication of a

complete revulsion of feeling. In fact, many who but a little before

had cheered the lion or cursed him for cowardice now prayed aloud for

his victims.

The noise was not without effect on the veteran Tamerlane. He surveyed

the benches haughtily once, then set forward again, intent on Nilo.

The movement, in its sinuous, flexile gliding, resembled somewhat a

serpent's crawl. And now he neither roared nor growled. The lolling

tongue dragged the sand; the beating of the tail was like pounding with

a flail; the mane all erect trebly enlarged the head; and the eyes were

like live coals in a burning bush. The people hushed. Nilo stood firm;

thunder could as easily have diverted a statue; and behind him, not

less steadfast and watchful, Count Corti kept guard. Thirty feet

away--twenty-five--twenty--then the great beast stopped, collected

himself, and with an indescribable roar launched clear of the ground.

Up, at the same instant, and forward on divergent lines, went the

leaden balls; the netting they dragged after them had the appearance of

yellow spray blown suddenly in the air. When the monster touched the

sand again, he was completely enveloped.

The struggle which ensued--the gnashing of teeth, the bellowing, the

rolling and blind tossing and pitching, the labor with the mighty

limbs, the snapping of the net, the burrowing into the sand, the

further and more inextricable entanglement of the enraged brute may be

left to imagination. Almost before the spectators realized the altered

condition, Nilo was stabbing him with the short sword.

The well-directed steel at length accomplished the work, and the pride

of the Cynegion lay still in the bloody tangle--then the benches found

voice.

Amidst the uproar Count Corti went to Nilo.

"Who art thou?" he asked, in admiration.

The King smiled, and signified his inability to hear or speak.

Whereupon the Count led him to the Princess.

"Take heart, fair saint," he said. "The lion is dead, and thou art

safe."

She scarcely heard him.

He dropped upon his knee.

"The lion is dead, O Princess, and here is the hand which slew

him--here thy rescuer."

She looked her gratitude to Nilo--speak she could not.

"And thou, too," the Count continued, to the monk, "must have thanks

for him."

Sergius replied: "I give thee thanks, Nilo--and thou, noble Italian--I

am only a little less obliged to thee--thou wast ready with thy sword."

He paused, glanced at the grand stand, and went on: "It is plain to me,

Count Corti, that thou thinkest my trial happily ended. The beast is

dead truly; but yonder are some not less thirsty for blood. It is for

them to say what I must further endure. I am still the heretic they

adjudged me. Do thou therefore banish me from thy generous mind; then

thou canst give it entirely to her who is most in need of it. Remove

the Princess--find a chair for her, and leave me to God."

"What further can they do?" asked the Count. "Heaven hath decided the

trial in thy favor. Have they another lion?"

The propriety of the monk's suggestion was obvious; it was not becoming

for the Princess to remain in the public eye; besides, under reaction

of spirit, she was suffering.

"Have they another lion?" the Count repeated.

Anxious as he was to assist the Princess, he was not less anxious, if

there was further combat, to take part in it. The Count was essentially

a fighting man. The open door of Nilo's cell speedily attracted his

attention.

"Help me, sir monk. Yonder is a refuge for the Princess. Let us place

her in safety. I will return, and stay with thee. If the reverend

Christians, thy brethren in the grand stand, are not content, by

Allah"--he checked himself--"their cruelty would turn the stomach of a

Mohammedan."

A few minutes, and she was comfortably housed in the cell.

"Now, go to thy place; I will send for a chair, and rejoin thee."

At the tunnel gate, the Count was met by a number of the St. James',

and he forgot his errand.

"We have come," said one of them to Sergius, "to renew thy arrest."

"Be it so," Sergius replied; "lead on."

But Count Corti strode forward.

"By whose authority is this arrest renewed?" he demanded.

"Our Hegumen hath so ordered."

"It shall not be--no, by the Mother of your Christ, it shall not be

unless you bring me the written word of His Majesty making it lawful."

"The Hegumen"--

"I have said it, and I carry a sword"--the Count struck the hilt of the

weapon with his mailed hand, so the clang was heard on the benches. "I

have said it, and my sword says it. Go, tell thy Hegumen."

Then Sergius spoke:

"I pray you interfere not. The Heavenly Father who saved me this once

is powerful to save me often."

"Have done, sir monk," the Count returned, with increasing earnestness.

"Did I not hear thee say the same in thy holy Sancta Sophia, in such

wise that these deserved to cast themselves at thy feet? Instead, lo!

the lion there. And for the truth, which is the soul of the world as

God is its Maker--the Truth and the Maker being the same--it is not

interest in thee alone which moves me. She, thy patroness yonder, is my

motive as well. There are who will say she followed thee hither being

thy lover; but thou knowest better, and so do I. She came bidden by

conscience, and except thou live, there will be no ease of conscience

for her--never. Wherefore, sir monk, hold thy peace. Thou shalt no more

go hence of thine own will than these shall take thee against it....

Return, ye men of blood--return to him who sent you, and tell him my

sword vouches my word, being so accustomed all these years I have been

a man. Bring they the written word of His Majesty, I will give way. Let

them send to him."

The brethren stared at the Count. Had he not been willing to meet old

Tamerlane with that same sword? They turned about, and were near the

tunnel gate going to report, when it was thrown open with great force,

and the Emperor Constantine appeared on horseback, the horse bloody

with spurring and necked with foam. Riding to the Count he drew rein.

"Sir Count, where is my kinswoman?"

Corti kissed his hand.

"She is safe, Your Majesty--she is in the cell yonder."

The Emperor's eye fell upon the carcass of the lion.

"Thou didst it, Count?"

"No--this man did it."

The Emperor gazed at Nilo, thus designated, and taking a golden chain

of fine workmanship from his neck, he threw it over the black King's.

At the door of the cell, he dismounted; within, he kissed the Princess

on the forehead.

"A chair will be here directly."

"And Sergius?" she asked.

"The Brotherhood must forego their claim now. Heaven has signified its

will."

He thereupon entered into explanation. The necessity upon him was sore

and trying, else he had never surrendered Sergius to the Brotherhood.

He expected the Hegumen would subject him to discipline--imprisonment

or penance. He had even signed the order placing the lion at service,

supposing they meant merely a trial of the monk's constancy. Withal the

proceeding was so offensive he had refused to witness it. An officer

came to the palace with intelligence which led him to believe the worst

was really intended. To stop it summarily, he had ordered a horse and a

guard. Another officer reported the Princess in the arena with Sergius

and the lion. With that His Majesty had come at speed. And he was

grateful to God for the issue.

In a short time the sedan was brought, and the Princess borne to her

house.

Summoning the Brotherhood from the grand stand, the Emperor forbade

their pursuing Sergius further; the punishment had already been too

severe. The Hegumen protested. Constantine arose in genuine majesty,

and denouncing all clerical usurpations, he declared that for the

future he would be governed by his own judgment in whatever concerned

the lives of his subjects and the welfare of his empire. The

declaration was heard by the people on the benches.

By his order, Sergius was conducted to Blacherne, and next day

installed a janitor of the imperial Chapel; thus ending his connection

with the Brotherhood of the St. James'.

"Your Majesty," said Count Corti, at the conclusion of the scene in the

arena, "I pray a favor."

Constantine, by this time apprised of the Count's gallantry, bade him

speak.

"Give me the keeping of this negro."

"If you mean his release from prison, Sir Count, take him. He can have

no more suitable guardian. But it is to be remembered he came to the

city with one calling himself the Prince of India, and if at any time

that mysterious person reappears, the man is to be given back to his

master."

The Count regarded Nilo curiously--he was merely recalling the Prince.

"Your Majesty is most gracious. I accept the condition."

The captain of the guard, coming to the tunnel under the grand stand,

was addressed by the sentinel there.

"See--here are a dress, a pair of shoes, and a veil. I found them by

the gate there."

"How came they there?"

"A woman asked me to let her stand by the gate, and see the heretic

when they brought him out, and I gave her permission. She wore these

things."

"The Princess Irene!" exclaimed the officer. "Very well. Send them to

me, and I will have her pleasure taken concerning them."

The Cynegion speedily returned to its customary state. But the

expiation remained in the public mind a date to which all manner of

events in city life was referred; none of them, however, of such

consequence as the loss to the Emperor of the allegiance of the St.

James'. Thenceforth the Brotherhoods were united against him.

BOOK VI

CONSTANTINE

CHAPTER I

THE SWORD OF SOLOMON

The current of our story takes us once more to the White Castle at the

mouth of the Sweet Waters of Asia.

It is the twenty-fifth of March, 1452. The weather, for some days

cloudy and tending to the tempestuous, changed at noon, permitting the

sun to show himself in a field of spotless blue. At the edge of the

mountainous steep above Roumeli Hissar, the day-giver lingered in his

going down, as loath to leave the life concentrated in the famous

narrows in front of the old Castle.

On the land, there was an army in waiting; therefore the city of tents

and brushwood booths extending from the shore back to the hills, and

the smoke pervading the perspective in every direction.

On the water, swinging to each other, crowding all the shallows of the

delta of the little river, reaching out into the sweep of the

Bosphorus, boats open and boats roofed--scows, barges, galleys oared

and galleys with masts--ships--a vast conglomerate raft.

About the camp, and to and fro on the raft, men went and came, like

ants in storing time. Two things, besides the locality, identified

them--their turbans, and the crescent and star in the red field of the

flags they displayed.

History, it would appear, takes pleasure in repetition. Full a thousand

years before this, a greater army had encamped on the banks of the same

Sweet Waters. Then it was of Persians; now it is of Turks; and

curiously there are no soldiers to be seen, but only working men, while

the flotilla is composed of carrying vessels; here boats laden with

stone; there boats with lime; yonder boats piled high with timber.

At length the sun, drawing the last ravelling of light after it,

disappeared. About that time, the sea gate in front of the Palace of

Julian down at Constantinople opened, and a boat passed out into the

Marmora. Five men plied the oars. Two sat near the stern. These latter

were Count Corti and Ali, son of Abed-din the Faithful.

Two hours prior, Ali, with a fresh catch of fish, entered the gate, and

finding no purchaser in the galley, pushed on to the landing, and

thence to the Palace.

"O Emir," he said, when admitted to the Count, "the Light of the World,

our Lord Mahommed is arrived."

The intelligence seemed to strike the Count with a sudden ague.

"Where is he?" he asked, his voice hollow as from a closed helmet. Ere

the other could answer, he added a saving clause: "May the love of

Allah be to him a staff of life!"

"He is at the White Castle with Mollahs, Pachas, and engineers a

host.... What a way they were in, rushing here and there, like

squealing swine, and hunting quarters, if but a crib to lie in and

blow! Shintan take them, beards, boots, and turbans! So have they lived

on fat things, slept on divans of down under hangings of silk, breathed

perfumed airs in crowded harems, Heaven knows if now they are even fit

to stop an arrow. They thought the old Castle of Bajazet-Ilderim

another Jehan-Numa. By the delights of Paradise, O Emir--ha, ha,

ha!--it was good to see how little the Light of the World cared for

them! At the Castle, he took in with him for household the ancient

_Gabour_ Ortachi-Khalil and a Prince of India, whom he calls his

Messenger of the Stars; the rest were left to shift for themselves till

their tents arrive. Halting the Incomparables, [Footnote: Janissaries.]

out beyond Roumeli-Hissar, he summoned the Three Tails, [Footnote:

Pachas.] nearly dead from fatigue, having been in the saddle since

morning, and rode off with them fast as his Arab could gallop across

the country, and down the long hill behind Therapia, drawing rein at

the gate before the Palace of the Princess Irene."

"The Palace of the Princess Irene," the Count repeated. "What did he

there?"

"He dismounted, looked at the brass plate on the gate-post, went in,

and asked if she were at home. Being told she was yet in the city, he

said: 'A message for her to be delivered to-night. Here is a purse to

pay for going. Tell her Aboo-Obeidah, the Singing Sheik'--only the

Prophet knows of such a Sheik--'has been here, bidden by Sultan

Mahommed to see if her house had been respected, and inquire if she has

yet her health and happiness.' With that, he called for his horse, and

went through the garden and up to the top of the promontory; then he

returned to Hissar faster than he went to Therapia; and when, to take

boat for the White Castle, he walked down the height, two of the Three

Tails had to be lifted from their saddles, so nearly dead were they."

Here Ali stopped to laugh.

"Pardon me, O Emir," he resumed, "if I say last what I should have said

first, it being the marrow of the bone I bring you.... Before sitting

to his pilaf, our Lord Mahommed sent me here. 'Thou knowest to get in

and out of the unbelieving city,' he said. 'Go privily to the Emir

Mirza, and bid him come to me to-night.'"

"What now, Ali?"

"My Lord was too wise to tell me."

"It is a great honor, Ali. I shall get ready immediately."

When the night was deep enough to veil the departure, the Count seated

himself in the fisher's boat, a great cloak covering his armor. Half a

mile below the Sweet Waters the party was halted.

"What is this, Ali?"

"The Lord Mahommed's galleys of war are down from the Black Sea. These

are their outlyers."

At the side of one of the vessels, the Count showed the Sultan's

signet, and there was no further interruption.

A few words now with respect to Corti.

He had become a Christian. Next, the bewilderment into which the first

sight of the Princess Irene had thrown him instead of passing off had

deepened into hopeless love.

And farther--Constantine, a genuine knight himself; in fact more knight

than statesman; delighting in arms, armor, hounds, horses, and martial

exercises, including tournaments, hawking, and hunting, found one

abiding regret on his throne--he could have a favorite but never a

comrade. The denial only stimulated the desire, until finally he

concluded to bring the Italian to Court for observation and trial, his

advancement to depend upon the fitness, tact, and capacity he might

develop.

One day an order was placed in the Count's hand, directing him to find

quarters at Blacherne. The Count saw the honor intended, and discerned

that acceptance would place him in better position to get information

for Mahommed, but what would the advantage avail if he were hindered in

forwarding his budget promptly?

No, the mastership of the gate was of most importance; besides which

the seclusion of the Julian residence was so favorable to the part he

was playing; literally he had no one there to make him afraid.

Upon receipt of the order he called for his horse, and rode to

Blacherne, where his argument of the necessity of keeping the Moslem

crew of his galley apart brought about a compromise. His Majesty would

require the Count's presence during the day, but permit him the nights

at Julian. He was also allowed to retain command of the gate.

A few months then found him in Constantine's confidence, the imperial

favorite. Yet more surprising as a coincidence, he actually became to

the Emperor what he had been to Mahommed. He fenced and jousted with

him, instructed him in riding, trained him to sword and bow. Every day

during certain hours he had his new master's life at mercy. With a

thrust of sword, stroke of battle-axe, or flash of an arrow, it was in

his power to rid Mahommed of an opponent concerning whom he wrote: "O

my Lord, I think you are his better, yet if ever you meet him in

personal encounter, have a care."

But the unexpected now happened to the Count. He came to have an

affection for this second lord which seriously interfered with his

obligations to the first one. Its coming about was simple. Association

with the Greek forced a comparison with the Turk. The latter's passion

was a tide before which the better gifts of God to rulers--mercy,

justice, discrimination, recognition of truth, loyalty, services--were

as willows in the sweep of a wave. Constantine, on the other hand, was

thoughtful, just, merciful, tender-hearted, indisposed to offend or to

fancy provocation intended. The difference between a man with and a man

without conscience--between a king all whose actuations are dominated

by religion and a king void of both conscience and religion--slowly but

surely, we say, the difference became apparent to the Count, and had

its inevitable consequences.

Such was the Count's new footing in Blacherne.

The changes wrought in his feeling were forwarded more than he was

aware by the standing accorded him in the reception-room of the

Princess Irene.

After the affair at the Cynegion he had the delicacy not to push

himself upon the attention of the noble lady. In preference he sent a

servant every morning to inquire after her health. Ere long he was the

recipient of an invitation to come in person; after which his visits

increased in frequency. Going to Blacherne, and coming from it, he

stopped at her house, and with every interview it seemed his passion

for her intensified.

Now it were not creditable to the young Princess' discernment to say

she was blind to his feeling; yet she was careful to conceal the

discovery from him, and still more careful not to encourage his hope.

She placed the favor shown him to the account of gratitude; at the same

time she admired him, and was deeply interested in the religious

sentiment he was beginning to manifest.

In the Count's first audience after the rescue from the lion, she

explained how she came to be drawn to the Cynegion. This led to detail

of her relations with Sergius, concluding with the declaration: "I gave

him the signal to speak in Sancta Sophia, and felt I could not live if

he died the death, sent to it by me."

"Princess," the Count replied, "I heard the monk's sermon in Sancta

Sophia, but did not know of your giving the signal. Has any one

impugned your motive in going to the Cynegion? Give me his name. My

sword says you did well."

"Count Corti, the Lord has taken care of His own."

"As you say, Princess Irene. Hear me before addressing yourself to

something else.... I remember the words of the Creed--or if I have them

wrong correct me: 'I believe in God, and Jesus Christ, his Son.'"

"It is word for word."

"Am I to understand you gave him the form?"

"The idea is Father Hilarion's."

"And the Two Articles. Are they indeed sayings of Jesus Christ?"

"Even so."

"Give me the book containing them."

Taking a New Testament from the table, she gave it to him.

"You will find the sayings easily. On the margins opposite them there

are markings illuminated in gold."

"Thanks, O Princess, most humbly. I will return the book."

"No, Count, it is yours."

An expression she did not understand darkened his face.

"Are you a Christian?" she asked.

He flushed deeply, and bowed while answering:

"My mother is a Christian."

That night Count Corti searched the book, and found that the strength

of faith underlying his mother's prayers for his return to her, and the

Princess' determination to die with the monk, were but Christian lights.

"Princess Irene," he said one day, "I have studied the book you gave

me; and knowing now who Christ is, I am ready to accept your Creed.

Tell me how I may know myself a believer?"

A lamp in the hollow of an alabaster vase glows through the

transparency; so her countenance responded to the joy behind it.

"Render obedience to His commands--do His will, O Count--then wilt thou

be a believer in Christ, and know it."

The darkness she had observed fall once before on his face obscured it

again, and he arose and went out in silence.

Brave he certainly was, and strong. Who could strike like him? He loved

opposition for the delight there was in overcoming it; yet in his

chamber that night he was never so weak. He resorted to the book, but

could not read. It seemed to accuse him. "Thou Islamite--thou son of

Mahomet, though born of a Christian, whom servest thou? Judas, what

dost thou in this city? Hypocrite--traitor--which is thy master,

Mahomet or Christ?"

He fell upon his knees, tore at his beard, buried his head in his arms.

He essayed prayer to Christ.

"Jesus--Mother of Jesus--O my mother!" he cried in agony.

The hour he was accustomed to give to Mahommed came round. He drew out

the writing materials. "The Princess"--thus he began a sentence, but

stopped--something caught hold of his heart--the speaking face of the

beloved woman appeared to him--her eyes were reproachful--her lips

moved--she spoke: "Count Corti, I am she whom thou lovest; but what

dost thou? Is it not enough to betray my kinsman? Thy courage--what

makest thou of it but wickedness? ... Write of me to thy master. Come

every day, and contrive that I speak, then tell him of it. Am I sick?

Tell him of it. Do I hold to this or that? Tell him. Am I shaken by

visions of ruin to my country? Tell him of them. What is thy love if

not the servant for hire of his love? Traitor--panderer!"

The Count pushed the table from him, and sprang to foot writhing. To

shut out the word abhorrent above all other words, he clapped his hands

tight over his ears--in vain.

"Panderer!"--he heard with his soul--"Panderer! When thou hast

delivered me to Mahommed, what is he to give thee? How much?"

Thus shame, like a wild dog, bayed at him. For relief he ran out into

the garden. And it was only the beginning of misery. Such the

introduction or first chapter, what of the catastrophe? He could not

sleep for shame.

In the morning he ordered his horse, but had not courage to go to

Blacherne. How could he look at the kindly face of the master he was

betraying? He thought of the Princess. Could he endure her salutation?

She whom he was under compact to deliver to Mahommed? A paroxysm of

despair seized him.

He rode to the Gate St. Romain, and out of it into the country. Gallop,

gallop--the steed was good--his best Arab, fleet and tireless. Noon

overtook him--few things else could--still he galloped. The earth

turned into a green ribbon under the flying hoofs, and there was relief

in the speed. The air, whisked through, was soothing. At length he came

to a wood, wild and interminable, Belgrade, though he knew it not, and

dismounting by a stream, he spent the day there. If now and then the

steed turned its eyes upon him, attracted by his sighs, groans and

prayer, there was at least no accusation in them. The solitude was

restful; and returning after nightfall, he entered the city through the

sortie under the Palace of Blacherne known as the Cercoporta.

It is well pain of spirit has its intermissions; otherwise long life

could not be; and if sleep bring them, so much the better.

Next day betimes, the Count was at Blacherne.

"I pray grace, O my Lord!" he said, speaking to the question in the

Emperor's look. "Yesterday I had to ride. This confinement in the city

deadens me. I rode all day."

The good, easy master sighed: "Would I had been with you, Count."

Thus he dismissed the truancy. But with the Princess it was a lengthy

chapter. If the Emperor was never so gracious, she seemed never so

charming. He wrote to Mahommed in the evening, and walked the garden

the residue of the night.

So weeks and months passed, and March came--even the night of the

twenty-fifth, with its order from the Sultan to the White Castle--an

interval of indecision, shame, and self-indictment. How many plans of

relief he formed who can say? Suicide he put by, a very last resort.

There was also a temptation to cut loose from Mahommed, and go boldly

over to the Emperor. That would be a truly Christian enlistment for the

approaching war; and aside from conformity to his present sympathies,

it would give him a right to wear the Princess' favor on his helmet.

But a fear shook the resort out of mind. Mahommed, whether successful

or defeated, would demand an explanation of him, possibly an

accounting. He knew the Sultan. Of all the schemes presented, the most

plausible was flight. There was the gate, and he its keeper, and beyond

the gate, the sunny Italian shore, and his father's castle. The seas

and sailing between were as green landscapes to a weary prisoner, and

he saw in them only the joy of going and freedom to do. Welcome, and to

God the praise! More than once he locked his portables of greatest

value in the cabin of the galley. But alas! He was in bonds. Life in

Constantinople now comprehended two of the ultimate excellencies to

him, Princess Irene and Christ--and their joinder in the argument he

took to be no offence.

From one to another of these projects he passed, and they but served to

hide the flight of time. He was drifting--ahead, and not far, he heard

the thunder of coming events--yet he drifted.

In this condition, the most envied man in Constantinople and the most

wretched, the Sultan's order was delivered to him by Ali.

The time for decision was come. Tired--ashamed--angry with himself, he

determined to force the end.

The Count arrived at the Castle, was immediately admitted to the

Sultan; indeed, had he been less resolute, his master's promptitude

would have been a circumstance of disturbing significance.

Observation satisfied him Mahommed was in the field; for with all his

Epicureanism in times of peace, when a campaign was in progress the

Conqueror resolved himself into a soldierly example of indifference to

luxury. In other words, with respect to furnishment, the interior of

the old Castle presented its every day ruggedness.

One lamp fixed to the wall near the door of the audience chamber

struggled with the murk of a narrow passage, giving to view an

assistant chamberlain, an armed sentinel, and two jauntily attired

pages in waiting. Surrendering his sword to the chamberlain, the Count

halted before the door, while being announced; at the same time, he

noticed a man come out of a neighboring apartment clad in black velvet

from head to foot, followed closely by a servant. It was the Prince of

India.

The mysterious person advanced slowly, his eyes fixed on the floor, his

velvet-shod feet giving out no sound. His air indicated deep

reflection. In previous encounters with him, the Count had been

pleased; now his sensations were of repugnance mixed with doubt and

suspicion. He had not time to account for the change. It may have had

origin in the higher prescience sometimes an endowment of the spirit by

which we stand advised of a friend or an enemy; most likely, however,

it was a consequence of the curious tales abroad in Constantinople; for

at the recognition up sprang the history of the Prince's connection

with Lael, and her abandonment by him, the more extraordinary from the

evidences of his attachment to her. Up sprang also the opinion of

universal prevalence in the city that he had perished in the great

fire. What did it all mean? What kind of man was he?

The servant carried a package wrapped in gold-embroidered green silk.

Coming near, the Prince raised his eyes--stopped--smiled--and said:

"Count Corti--or Mirza the Emir--which have I the honor of meeting?"

In spite of the offence he felt, Corti blushed, such a flood of light

did the salutation let in upon the falsity of his position. Far from

losing presence of mind, he perceived at once how intimately the Prince

stood in the councils of the Sultan.

"The Lord Mahommed must be heard before I can answer," he returned,

calmly.

In an instant the Prince became cordial.

"That was well answered," he said. "I am pleased to have my judgment of

you confirmed. Your mission has been a trying one, but you have

conducted it like a master. The Lord Mahommed has thanked me many times

that I suggested you for it. He is impatient to see you. We will go in

together."

Mahommed, in armor, was standing by a table on which were a bare

cimeter, a lamp brightly burning, and two large unrolled maps. In one

of the latter, the Count recognized Constantinople and its environs

cast together from his own surveys.

Retired a few steps were the two Viziers, Kalil Pacha and his rival,

Saganos Pacha, the Mollah Kourani, and the Sheik Akschem-sed-din. The

preaching of the Mollah had powerfully contributed to arousing the

fanatical spirit of the Sultan's Mohammedan subjects. The four were

standing in the attitude usual to Turkish officials in presence of a

superior, their heads bowed, their hands upon their stomachs. In

speaking, if they raised their eyes from the floor it was to shoot a

furtive glance, then drop them again.

"This is the grand design of the work by which you will be governed,"

Mahommed said to the counsellors, laying the finger points of his right

hand upon the map unknown to the Count, and speaking earnestly. "You

will take it, and make copies tonight; for if the stars fail not, I

will send the masons and their workmen to the other shore in the

morning."

The advisers saluted--it would be difficult to say which of them with

the greatest unction.

Looking sharply at Kalil, the master asked: "You say you superintended

the running of the lines in person?"

Kalil saluted separately, and returned: "My Lord may depend upon the

survey."

"Very well. I wait now only the indication of Heaven that the time is

ripe for the movement. Is the Prince of India coming?"

"I am here, my Lord."

Mahommed turned as the Prince spoke, and let his eyes rest a moment

upon Count Corti, without a sign of recognition.

"Come forward, Prince," he said. "What is the message you bring me?"

"My Lord," the Prince replied, after prostration, "in the Hebrew

Scriptures there is a saying in proof of the influence the planets have

in the affairs of men: 'Then fought the kings of Canaan in Taanach by

the waters of Megiddo; they fought from heaven; the stars in their

courses fought against Sisera.' Now art thou truly Sultan of Sultans.

To-morrow--the twenty-sixth of March--will be memorable amongst days,

for then thou mayst begin the war with the perfidious Greek. From four

o'clock in the morning the stars which fought against Sisera will fight

for Mahommed. Let those who love him salute and rejoice."

The counsellors, dropping on their knees, fell forward, their faces on

their hands. The Prince of India did the same. Count Corti alone

remained standing, and Mahommed again observed him.

"Hear you," the latter said, to his officers. "Go assemble the masons

and their workmen, the masters of boats, and the chiefs charged with

duties. At four o'clock in the morning I will move against Europe. The

stars have said it, and their permission is my law. Rise!"

As his associates were moving backward with repeated genuflections, the

Prince of India spoke:

"O most favored of men! Let them stay a moment."

At a sign from the Sultan they halted; thereupon the Prince of India

beckoned Syama to come, and taking the package from his hands, he laid

it on the table.

"For my Lord Mahommed," he said.

"What is it?" Mahommed demanded.

"A sign of conquest.... My Lord knows King Solomon ruled the world in

his day, its soul of wisdom. At his death dominion did not depart from

him. The secret ministers in the earth, the air and the waters,

obedient to Allah, became his slaves. My Lord knows of whom I speak.

Who can resist them? ... In the tomb of Hiram, King of Tyre, the friend

of King Solomon, I found a sarcophagus. It was covered with a model in

marble of the Temple of the Hebrew Almighty God. Removing the lid, lo!

the mummy of Hiram, a crown upon its head, and at its feet the sword of

Solomon, a present without price. I brought it away, resolved to give

it to him whom the stars should elect for the overthrow of the

superstitions devised by Jesus, the bastard son of Joseph the carpenter

of Nazareth.... Undo the wrappings, Lord Mahommed."

The Sultan obeyed, and laying the last fold of the cloth aside, drew

back staring, and with uplifted hands.

"Kalil--Kourani--Akschem-sed-din--all of you, come look. Tell me what

it is--it blinds me."

The sword of Solomon lay before them; its curved blade a gleam of

splendor, its scabbard a mass of brilliants, its hilt a ruby so pure we

may say it retained in its heart the life of a flame.

"Take it in hand, Lord Mahommed," said the Prince of India.

The young Sultan lifted the sword, and as he did so down a groove in

its back a stream of pearls started and ran, ringing musically, and

would not rest while he kept the blade in motion. He was speechless

from wonder.

"Now may my Lord march upon Constantinople, for the stars and every

secret minister of Solomon will fight for him."

So saying, the Prince knelt before the Sultan, and laid his lips on the

instep of his foot, adding: "Oh, my Lord! with that symbol in hand,

march, and surely as Tabor is among the mountains and Carmel by the

sea, so surely Christ will give place to Mahomet in Sancta Sophia.

March at four o'clock."

And the counsellors left kisses on the same instep, and departed.

Thence through the night the noises of preparation kept the space

between the hills of the narrows alive with echoes. At the hour

permitted by the stars--four o'clock--a cloud of boats cast loose from

the Asiatic shore, and with six thousand laborers, handmen to a

thousand master masons, crossed at racing speed to Europe. "God is God,

and Mahomet is his Prophet," they shouted. The vessels of burden, those

with lime, those with stone, those with wood, followed as they were

called, and unloading, hauled out, to give place to others.

Before sun up the lines of the triangular fort whose walls near

Roumeli-Hissar are yet intact, prospectively a landmark enduring as the

Pyramids, were defined and swarming with laborers. The three Pachas,

Kalil, Sarudje, and Saganos, superintended each a side of the work, and

over them all, active and fiercely zealous, moved Mahommed, the sword

of Solomon in his hand.

And there was no lack of material for the structure extensive as it

was. Asia furnished its quota, and Christian towns and churches on the

Bosphorus were remorselessly levelled for the stones in them; wherefore

the outer faces of the curtains and towers are yet speckled with

marbles in block, capital and column.

Thus Mahommed, taking his first step in the war so long a fervid dream,

made sure of his base of operations.

On the twenty-eighth of August, the work completed, from his camp on

the old Asometon promontory he reconnoitred the country up to the ditch

of Constantinople, and on the first of September betook himself to

Adrianople.

CHAPTER II

MAHOMMED AND COUNT CORTI MAKE A WAGER

Upon the retirement of the Prince of India and the counsellors,

Mahommed took seat by the table, and played with the sword of Solomon,

making the pearls travel up and down the groove in the blade, listening

to their low ringing, and searching for inscriptions. This went on

until Count Corti began to think himself forgotten. At length the

Sultan, looking under the guard, uttered an exclamation--looked

again--and cried out:

"O Allah! It is true!--May I be forgiven for doubting him!--Come,

Mirza, come see if my eyes deceive me. Here at my side!"

The Count mastered his surprise, and was presently leaning over the

Sultan's shoulder.

"You remember, Mirza, we set out together studying Hebrew. Against your

will I carried you along with me until you knew the alphabet, and could

read a little. You preferred Italian, and when I brought the learned

men, and submitted to them that Hebrew was one of a family of tongues

more or less alike, and would have sent you with them to the Sidonian

coast for inscriptions, you refused. Do you remember?"

"My Lord, those were the happiest days of my life."

Mahommed laughed. "I kept you three days on bread and water, and let

you off then because I could not do without you.... But for the matter

now. Under this guard--look--are not the brilliants set in the form of

letters?"

Corti examined closely.

"Yes, yes; there are letters--I see them plainly--a name."

"Spell it."

"S-O-L-O-M-O-N."

"Then I have not deceived myself," Mahommed exclaimed. "Nor less has

the Prince of India deceived me." He grew more serious. "A marvellous

man! I cannot make him out. The more I do with him the more

incomprehensible he becomes. The long past is familiar to him as the

present to me. He is continually digging up things ages old, and

amazing me with them. Several times I have asked him when he was born,

and he has always made the same reply: 'I will tell when you are Lord

of Constantinople.' ... How he hates Christ and the Christians! ...

This is indeed the sword of Solomon--and he found it in the tomb of

Hiram, and gives it to me as the elect of the stars now. Ponder it, O

Mirza! Now at the mid of the night in which I whistle up my dogs of war

to loose them on the _Gabour_--How, Mirza--what ails you? Why that

change of countenance? Is he not a dog of an unbeliever? On your knees

before me--I have more to tell you than to ask. No, spurs are

troublesome. To the door and bid the keeper there bring a stool--and

look lest the lock have an ear hanging to it. Old Kalil, going out,

though bowing, and lip-handing me, never took his eyes off you."

The stool brought, Corti was about to sit.

"Take off your cap"--Mahommed spoke sternly--"for as you are not the

Mirza I sent away, I want to see your face while we talk. Sit here, in

the full of the light."

The Count seated, placed his hooded cap on the floor. He was perfectly

collected. Mahommed fingered the ruby hilt while searching the eyes

which as calmly searched his.

"How brave you are!" the Sultan began, but stopped. "Poor Mirza!" he

began again, his countenance softened. One would have said some tender

recollection was melting the shell of his heart. "Poor Mirza! I loved

you better than I loved my father, better than I loved my brothers,

well as I loved my mother--with a love surpassing all I ever knew but

one, and of that we will presently speak. If honor has a soul, it lives

in you, and the breath you draw is its wine, purer than the first

expressage of grapes from the Prophet's garden down by Medina. Your

eyes look truth, your tongue drips it as a broken honey-comb drips

honey. You are truth as God is God."

He was speaking sincerely.

"Fool--fool--that I let you go!--and I would not--no, by the rose-door

of Paradise and the golden stairs to the House of Allah, I would not

had I loved my full moon of full moons less. She was parted from me;

and with whose eyes could I see her so well as with yours, O my falcon?

Who else would report to me so truly her words? Love makes men and

lions mad; it possessed me; and I should have died of it but for your

ministering. Wherefore, O Mirza"--

The Count had been growing restive; now he spoke. "My Lord is about

committing himself to some pledge. He were wise, did he hear me first."

"Perhaps so," the Sultan rejoined, uncertainly, but added immediately:

"I will hear you."

"It is true, as my Lord said, I am not the Mirza he despatched to

Italy. The changes I have undergone are material; and in recounting

them I anticipate his anger. He sees before him the most wretched of

men to whom death would be mercy."

"Is it so bad? You were happy when you went away. Was not the mission

to your content?"

"My Lord's memory is a crystal cup from which nothing escapes--a cup

without a leak. He must recall how I prayed to stay with him."

"Yes, yes."

"My dread was prophetic."

"Tell me of the changes."

"I will--and truly as there is but one God, and he the father of life

and maker of things. First, then, the affection which at my going was

my Lord's, and which gave me to see him as the Light of the World, and

the perfection of glory in promise, is now divided."

"You mean there is another Light of the World? Be it so, and still you

leave me flattered. How far you had to travel before finding the other!

Who is he?"

"The Emperor of the Greeks."

"Constantine? Are his gifts so many and rich? The next."

"I am a Christian."

"Indeed? Perhaps you can tell me the difference between God and Allah.

Yesterday Kourani said they were the same."

"Nay, my Lord, the difference is between Christ and Mahomet."

"The mother of the one was a Jewess, the mother of the other an Arab--I

see. Go on."

The Count did not flinch. "My Lord, great as is your love of the

Princess Irene"--Mahommed half raised his hands, his brows knit, his

eyes filled with fire, but the Count continued composedly--"mine is

greater."

The Sultan recovered himself.

"The proof, the proof!" he said, his voice a little raised. "My love of

her is consuming me, but I see you alive."

"My Lord's demand is reasonable. I came here to make the avowal, and

die. Would my Lord so much?"

"You would die for the Princess?"

"My Lord has said it."

"Is there not something else in the urgency?"

"Yes--honor."

The Count's astonishment was unspeakable. He expected an outburst of

wrath unappeasable, a summons for an executioner; instead, Mahommed's

eyes became humid, and resting his elbow on the table, and his face on

the thumb and forefinger, he said, gazing sorrowfully:

"Ahmed was my little brother. His mother published before my father's

death, that my mother was a slave. She was working for her child

already, and I had him smothered in a bath. Cruel? God forgive me! It

was my duty to provide for the peace of my people. I had a right to

take care of myself; yet will I never be forgiven. Kismet!... I have

had many men slain since. I travel, going to mighty events beckoned by

destiny. The ordinary cheap soul cannot understand how necessary it is

that my path should be smooth and clear; for sometime I may want to

run; and he will amuse or avenge himself by stamping me in history a

monster without a soul. Kismet! ... But you, my poor Mirza, you should

know me better. You are my brother without guile. I am not afraid to

love you. I do love you. Let us see.... Your letters from

Constantinople--I have them all--told me so much more than you

intended, I could not suspect your fidelity. They prepared me for

everything you have confessed. Hear how in my mind I disposed of them

point by point.... 'Mirza,' I said, 'pities the _Gabour_ Emperor; in

the end he will love him. Loving a hundred men is less miraculous in a

man than loving one. He will make comparisons. Why not? The _Gabour_

appeals to him through his weakness, I through my strength. I would

rather be feared than pitied. Moreover, the _Gabour's_ day runs to its

close, and as it closes, mine opens. Pity never justified treason.' ...

And I said, too, on reading the despatch detailing your adventures in

Italy: 'Poor Mirza! now has he discovered he is an Italian, stolen when

a child, and having found his father's castle and his mother, a noble

woman, he will become a Christian, for so would I in his place.' Did I

stop there? The wife of the Pacha who received you from your abductors

is in Broussa. I sent to her asking if she had a keepsake or memento

which would help prove your family and country. See what she returned

to me."

From under a cloth at the further end of the table, Mahommed drew a

box, and opening it, produced a collar of lace fastened with a cameo

pin. On the pin there was a graven figure.

"Tell me, Mirza, if you recognize the engraving." The Count took the

cameo, looked at it, and replied, with a shaking voice:

"The arms of the Corti! God be praised!"

"And here--what are these, and what the name on them?"

Mahommed gave him a pair of red morocco half-boots for a child, on

which, near the tops, a name was worked in silk.

"It is mine, my Lord--my name--'Ugo.'"

He cast himself before the Sultan, and embraced his knees, saying, in

snatches as best he could:

"I do not know what my Lord intends--whether he means I am to die or

live--if it be death, I pray him to complete his mercy by sending these

proofs to my mother"--

"Poor Mirza, arise! I prefer to have your face before me."

Directly the Count was reseated, Mahommed continued:

"And you, too, love the Princess Irene? You say you love her more than

I? And you thought I could not endure hearing you tell it? That I would

summon black Hassan with his bowstring? With all your opportunities,

your seeing and hearing her, as the days multiplied from tens to

hundreds, is it for me to teach you she will come to no man except as a

sacrifice? What great thing have you to offer her? While I--well, by

this sword of Solomon, to-morrow morning I set out to say to her: 'For

thy love, O my full Moon of full Moons, for thy love thou shalt have

the redemption of thy Church.'... And besides, did I not foresee your

passion? Courtiers stoop low and take pains to win favor; but no

courtier, not even a professional, intending merely to please me, could

have written of her as you did; and by that sign, O Mirza, I knew you

were in the extremity of passion. Offended? Not so, not so! I sent you

to take care of her--fight for her--die, if her need were so great. Of

whom might I expect such service but a lover? Did I not, the night of

our parting, foretell what would happen?" He paused gazing at the ruby

of the ring on his finger.

"See, Mirza! There has not been a waking hour since you left me but I

have looked at this jewel; and it has kept color faithfully. Often as I

beheld it, I said: 'Mirza loves her because he cannot help it; yet he

is keeping honor with me. Mirza is truth, as God is God. From his hand

will I receive her in Constantinople'"--

"O my Lord"--

"Peace, peace! The night wanes, and you have to return. Of what was I

speaking? Oh, yes"--

"But hear me, my Lord. At the risk of your displeasure I must speak."

"What is it?"

"In her presence my heart is always like to burst, yet, as I am to be

judged in the last great day, I have kept faith with my Lord. Once she

thanked me--it was after I offered myself to the lion--O Heaven! how

nearly I lost my honor! Oh, the agony of that silence! The anguish of

that remembrance! I have kept the faith, my Lord. But day by day now

the will to keep it grows weaker. All that holds me steadfast is my

position in Constantinople. What am I there?"

The Count buried his face in his hands, and through the links in his

surcoat the tremor which shook his body was apparent.

Mahommed waited.

"What am I there? Having come to see the goodness of the Emperor, I

must run daily to betray him. I am a Christian; yet as Judas sold his

Master, I am under compact to sell my religion. I love a noble woman,

yet am pledged to keep her safely, and deliver her to another. O my

Lord, my Lord! This cannot go on. Shame is a vulture, and it is tearing

me--my heart bleeds in its beak. Release me, or give me to death. If

you love me, release me."

"Poor Mirza!"

"My Lord, I am not afraid."

Mahommed struck the table violently, and his eyes glittered. "That ever

one should think I loved a coward! Yet more intolerable, that he whom I

have called brother should know me so little! Can it be, O Mirza, can

it be, you tell me these things imagining them new to me? ... Let me

have done. What we are saying would have become us ten years ago, not

now. It is unmanly. I had a purpose in sending for you.... Your mission

in Constantinople ends in the morning at four o'clock. In other words,

O Mirza, the condition passes from preparation for war with the

_Gabour_ to war. Observe now. You are a fighting man--a knight of skill

and courage. In the rencounters to which I am going--the sorties, the

assaults, the duels single and in force, the exchanges with all arms,

bow, arbalist, guns small and great, the mines and countermines--you

cannot stay out. You must fight. Is it not so?"

Corti's head arose, his countenance brightened.

"My Lord, I fear I run forward of your words--forgive me."

"Yes, give ear.... The question now is, whom will you fight--me or the

_Gabour?_"

"O my Lord"--

"Be quiet, I say. The issue is not whether you love me less. I prefer

you give him your best service."

"How, my Lord?"

"I am not speaking in contempt, but with full knowledge of your

superiority with weapons--of the many of mine who must go down before

you. And that you may not be under restraint of conscience or arm-tied

in the melee, I not only conclude your mission, but release you from

every obligation to me."

"Every obligation!"

"I know my words, Emir, yet I will leave nothing uncertain.... You will

go back to the city free of every obligation to me--arm-free,

mind-free. Be a Christian, if you like. Send me no more despatches

advisory of the Emperor"--

"And the Princess Irene, my Lord?"

Mahommed smiled at the Count's eagerness.

"Have patience, Mirza.... Of the moneys had from me, and the properties

heretofore mine in trust, goods, horses, arms, armor, the galley and

its crew, I give them to you without an accounting. You cannot deliver

them to me or dispose of them, except with an explanation which would

weaken your standing in Blacherne, if not undo you utterly. You have

earned them."

Corti's face reddened.

"With all my Lord's generosity, I cannot accept this favor. Honor"--

"Silence, Emir, and hear me. I have never been careless of your honor.

When you set out for Italy, preparatory to the mission at

Constantinople, you owed me duty, and there was no shame in the

performance; but now--so have the changes wrought--that which was

honorable to Mirza the Emir is scandalous to Count Corti. After four

o'clock you will owe me no duty; neither will you be in my service.

From that hour Mirza, my falcon, will cease to be. He will have

vanished. Or if ever I know him more, it will be as Count Corti,

Christian, stranger, and enemy."

"Enemy--my Lord's enemy? Never!"

The Count protested with extended arms.

"Yes, circumstances will govern. And now the Princess Irene."

Mahommed paused; then, summoning his might of will, and giving it

expression in a look, he laid a forcible hand on the listener's

shoulder.

"Of her now.... I have devised a promotion for you, Emir. After

to-night we will be rivals."

Corti was speechless--he could only stare.

"By the rose-door of Paradise--the only oath fit for a lover--or, as

more becoming a knight, by this sword of Solomon, Emir, I mean the

rivalry to be becoming and just. I have an advantage of you. With women

rank and riches are as candles to moths. On the other side your

advantage is double; you are a Christian, and may be in her eyes day

after day. And not to leave you in mean condition, I give you the

moneys and property now in your possession; not as a payment--God

forbid!--but for pride's sake--my pride. Mahommed the Sultan may not

dispute with a knight who has only a sword."

"I have estates in Italy."

"They might as well be in the moon. I shall enclose Constantinople

before you could arrange with the Jews, and have money enough to buy a

feather for your cap. If this were less true, comes then the argument:

How can you dispose of the properties in hand, and quiet the gossips in

the _Gabour's_ palace? 'Where are your horses?' they will ask. What

answer have you? 'Where your galley?' Answer. 'Where your Mohammedan

crew?' Answer."

The Count yielded the debate, saying: "I cannot comprehend my Lord.

Such thing was never heard of before."

"Must men be restrained because the thing they wish to do was never

heard of before? Shall I not build a mosque with five minarets because

other builders stopped with three? ... To the sum of it all now.

Christian or Moslem, are you willing to refer our rivalry for the young

woman to God?"

"My wonder grows with listening to my Lord."

"Nay, this surprises you because it is new. I have had it in mind for

months. It did not come to me easily. It demanded

self-denial--something I am unused to.... Here it is--I am willing to

call Heaven in, and let it decide whether she shall be mine or

yours--this lily of Paradise whom all men love at sight. Dare you as

much?"

The soldier spirit arose in the Count.

"Now or then, here or there, as my Lord may appoint. I am ready. He has

but to name his champion."

"I protest. The duel would be unequal. As well match a heron and a

hawk. There is a better way of making our appeal. Listen.... The walls

of Constantinople have never succumbed to attack. Hosts have dashed

against them, and fled or been lost. It may be so with me; but I will

march, and in my turn assault them, and thou defending with thy best

might. If I am beaten, if I retire, be the cause of failure this or

that, we--you and I, O Mirza--will call it a judgment of Heaven, and

the Princess shall be yours; but if I success and enter the city, it

shall be a judgment no less, and then"--Mahommed's eyes were full of

fire--"then"--

"What then, my Lord?"

"Thou shalt see to her safety in the last struggle, and conduct her to

Sancta Sophia, and there deliver her to me as ordered by God."

Corti was never so agitated. He turned pale and red--he trembled

visibly.

Mahommed asked mockingly: "Is it Mirza I am treating with, or Count

Corti? Are Christians so unwilling to trust God?"

"But, my Lord, it is a wager you offer me."

"Call it so."

"And its conditions imply slavery for the Princess. Change them, my

Lord--allow her to be consulted and have her will, be the judgment this

or that."

Mahommed clinched his hands.

"Am I a brute? Did ever woman lay her head on my breast perforce?"

The Count replied, firmly:

"Such a condition would be against us both alike."

The Sultan struggled with himself a moment.

"Be it so," he rejoined. "The wager is my proposal, and I will go

through with it. Take the condition, Emir. If I win, she shall come to

me of her free will or not at all."

"A wife, my Lord?"

"In my love first, and in my household first--my Sultana."

The animation which then came to the Count was wonderful. He kissed

Mahommed's hand.

"Now has my Lord outdone himself in generosity. I accept. In no other

mode could the issue be made so absolutely a determination of Heaven."

Mahommed arose.

"We are agreed.--The interview is finished.--Ali is waiting for you."

He replaced the cover on the box containing the collar and the

half-boots.

"I will send these to the Countess your mother; for hereafter you are

to be to me Ugo, Count Corti.... My falcon hath cast its jess and hood.

Mirza is no more. Farewell Mirza."

Corti was deeply moved. Prostrating himself, he arose, and replied:

"I go hence more my Lord's lover than ever. Death to the stranger who

in my presence takes his name in vain."

As he was retiring, Mahommed spoke again:

"A word, Count.... In what we are going to, the comfort and safety of

the Princess Irene may require you to communicate with me. You have

ready wit for such emergencies. Leave me a suggestion."

Corti reflected an instant.

"The signal must proceed from me," he said. "My Lord will pitch his

tent in sight"--

"By Solomon, and this his sword, yes! Every _Gabour_ who dares look

over the wall shall see it while there is a hill abiding."

The Count bowed.

"I know my Lord, and give him this--God helping me, I will make myself

notorious to the besiegers as he will be to the besieged. If at any

time he sees my banderole, or if it be reported to him, let him look if

my shield be black; if so, he shall come himself with a shield the

color of mine, and place himself in my view. My Lord knows I make my

own arrows. If I shoot one black feathered, he must pick it up. The

ferrule will be of hollow lead covering a bit of scrip."

"Once more, Count Corti, the issue is with God. Good night."

Traversing the passage outside the door, the Count met the Prince of

India.

"An hour ago I would have entitled you Emir: but now"--the Prince

smiled while speaking--"I have stayed to thank Count Corti for his

kindness to my black friend Nilo."

"Your servant?"

"My friend and ally--Nilo the King.... If the Count desires to add to

the obligation, he will send the royal person to me with Ali when he

returns to-night."

"I will send him."

"Thanks, Count Corti."

The latter lingered, gazing into the large eyes and ruddy face,

expecting at least an inquiry after Lael. He received merely a bow, and

the words: "We will meet again."

Night was yet over the city, when Ali, having landed the Count, drew

out of the gate with Nilo. The gladness of the King at being restored

to his master can be easily fancied.

CHAPTER III

THE BLOODY HARVEST

In June, a few days after the completion of the enormous work begun by

Mahommed on the Asometon promontory, out of a gate attached to the High

Residence of Blacherne, familiarly known as the Caligaria, there issued

a small troop of horsemen of the imperial military establishment.

The leader of this party--ten in all--was Count Corti. Quite a body of

spectators witnessed the exit, and in their eyes he was the most

gallant knight they had ever seen. They cheered him as, turning to the

right after issuance from the gate, he plunged at a lively trot into

the ravine at the foot of the wall, practically an immense natural

fosse. "God and our Lady of Blacherne," they shouted, and continued

shouting while he was in sight, notwithstanding he did not so much as

shake the banderole on his lance in reply.

Of the Count's appearance this morning it is unnecessary to say more

than that he was in the suit of light armor habitual to him, and as an

indication of serious intent, bore, besides the lance, a hammer or

battle-axe fixed to his saddle-bow, a curved sword considerably longer,

though not so broad as a cimeter, a bow and quiver of arrows at his

back, and a small shield or buckler over the quiver. The favorite

chestnut Arab served him for mount, its head and neck clothed in

flexible mail. The nine men following were equipped like himself in

every particular, except that their heads were protected by

close-fitting conical caps, and instead of armor on their legs, they

wore flowing red trousers.

Of them it may be further remarked, their mode of riding, due to their

short stirrups, was indicative of folk akin to the Bedouin of the

Desert.

Upon returning from the last interview with Mahommed in the White

Castle, the Count had subjected the crew of his galley to rigorous

trial of fitness for land service. Nine of them he found excellent

riders after their fashion, and selecting them as the most promising,

he proceeded to instruct them in the use of the arms they were now

bearing. His object in this small organization was a support to rush in

after him rather than a battle front. That is, in a charge he was to be

the lance's point, and they the broadening of the lance's blade; while

he was engaged, intent on the foe before him, eight of them were to

guard him right and left, and, as the exigencies of combat might

demand, open and close in fan-like movement. The ninth man was a

fighter in their rear. In the simple manoeuvring of this order of

battle he had practised them diligently through the months. The skill

attained was remarkable; and the drilling having been in the

Hippodrome, open to the public, the concourse to see it had been

encouraging.

In truth, the wager with Mahommed had supplied the Count with energy of

body and mind. He studied the chances of the contest, knowing how

swiftly it was coming, and believed it possible to defend the city

successfully. At all events, he would do his best, and if the judgment

were adverse, it should not be through default on his part.

The danger--and he discerned it with painful clearness--was in the

religious dissensions of the Greeks; still he fancied the first serious

blow struck by the Turks, the first bloodshed, would bring the factions

together, if only for the common safety.

It is well worth while here to ascertain the views and feelings of the

people whom Count Corti was thus making ready to defend. This may be

said of them generally: It seemed impossible to bring them to believe

the Sultan really intended war against the city.

"What if he does?" they argued. "Who but a young fool would think of

such a thing? If he comes, we will show him the banner of the Blessed

Lady from the walls."

If in the argument there was allusion to the tower on the Asometon

heights, so tall one could stand on its lead-covered roof, and looking

over the intermediate hills, almost see into Constantinople, the

careless populace hooted at the exaggeration: "There be royal idiots as

well as every-day idiots. Staring at us is one thing, shooting at us is

another. Towers with walls thirty feet thick are not movable."

One day a report was wafted through the gates that a gun in the water

battery of the new Turkish fort had sunk a passing ship. "What flag was

the ship flying?" "The Venetian." "Ah, that settles it," the public

cried. "The Sultan wants to keep the Venetians out of the Black Sea.

The Turks and the Venetians have always been at war."

A trifle later intelligence came that the Sultan, lingering at

Basch-Kegan, supposably because the air along the Bosphorus was better

than the air at Adrianople, had effected a treaty by which the Podesta

of Galata bound his city to neutrality; still the complacency of the

Byzantines was in no wise disturbed. "Score one for the Genoese. It is

good to hear of their beating the Venetians."

Occasionally a wanderer--possibly a merchant, more likely a

spy--passing the bazaars of Byzantium, entertained the booth-keepers

with stories of cannon being cast for the Sultan so big that six men

tied together might be fired from them at once. The Greeks only jeered.

Some said: "Oh, the Mahound must be intending a salute for the man in

the moon of Ramazan!" Others decided: "Well, he is crazier than we

thought him. There are many hills on the road to Adrianople, and at the

foot of every hill there is a bridge. To get here he must invent wings

for his guns, and even then it will be long before they can be taught

to fly."

At times, too, the old city was set agog with rumors from the Asiatic

provinces opposite that the Sultan was levying unheard-of armies; he

had half a million recruits already, but wanted a million. "Oh, he

means to put a lasting quietus on Huniades and his Hungarians. He is

sensible in taking so many men."

In compliment to the intelligence of the public, this obliviousness to

danger had one fostering circumstance--the gates of the city on land

and water stood open day and night.

"See," it was everywhere said, "the Emperor is not alarmed. Who has

more at stake than he? He is a soldier, if he is an _azymite_. He keeps

ambassadors with the Sultan--what for, if not to be advised?"

And there was a great deal in the argument.

At length the Greek ambassadors were expelled by Mahommed. It was while

he lay at Basch-Kegan. They themselves brought the news. This was

ominous, yet the public kept its spirits. The churches, notably Sancta

Sophia, were more than usually crowded with women; that was all, for

the gates not only remained open, but traffic went in and out of them

unhindered--out even to the Turkish camp, the Byzantines actually

competing with their neighbors of Galata in the furnishment of

supplies. Nay, at this very period every morning a troop of the

Imperial guard convoyed a wagon from Blacherne out to Basch-Kegan laden

with the choicest food and wines; and to the officer receiving them the

captain of the convoy invariably delivered himself: "From His Majesty,

the Emperor of the Romans and Greeks, to the Lord Mahommed, Sultan of

the Turks. Prosperity and long life to the Sultan."

If these were empty compliments, if the relations between the

potentates were slippery, if war were hatching, what was the Emperor

about?

Six months before the fort opposite the White Castle was begun,

Constantine had been warned of Mahommed's projected movement against

his capital. The warning was from Kalil Pacha; and whether Kalil was

moved by pity, friendship, or avarice is of no moment; certain it is

the Emperor acted upon the advice. He summoned a council, and proposed

war; but was advised to send a protesting embassy to the enemy. A

scornful answer was returned. Seeing the timidity of his cabinet, cast

upon himself, he resolved to effect a policy, and accordingly

expostulated, prayed, sent presents, offered tribute, and by such means

managed to satisfy his advisers; yet all the time he was straining his

resources in preparation.

In the outset, he forced himself to face two facts of the gravest

import: first, of his people, those of age and thews for fighting were

in frocks, burrowing in monasteries; next, the clergy and their

affiliates were his enemies, many openly preferring a Turk to an

_azymite_. A more discouraging prospect it is difficult to imagine.

There was but one hope left him. Europe was full of professional

soldiers. Perhaps the Pope had influence to send him a sufficient

contingent. Would His Holiness interest himself so far? The brave

Emperor despatched an embassy to Rome, promising submission to the

Papacy, and praying help in Christ's name.

Meantime his agents dispersed themselves through the Aegean, buying

provisions and arms, enginery, and war material of all kinds. This

business kept his remnant of a navy occupied. Every few days a vessel

would arrive with stores for the magazine under the Hippodrome. By the

time the fort at Roumeli Hissar was finished, one of his anxieties was

in a measure relieved. The other was more serious. Then the frequency

with which he climbed the Tower of Isaac, the hours he passed there

gazing wistfully southward down the mirror of the Marmora, became

observable. The valorous, knightly heart, groaning under the

humiliations of the haughty Turk, weary not less of the incapacity of

his own people to perceive their peril, and arise heroically to meet

it, found opportunity to meditate while he was pacing the lofty

lookout, and struggling to descry the advance of the expected succor.

In this apology the reader who has wondered at the inaction of the

Emperor what time the Sultan was perfecting his Asiatic communications

is answered. There was nothing for him but a siege. To that alternative

the last of the Romans was reduced. He could not promise himself enough

of his own subjects to keep the gates, much less take the field.

The country around Constantinople was given to agriculture. During the

planting season, and the growing, the Greek husbandmen received neither

offence nor alarm from the Turks. But in June, when the emerald of the

cornfields was turning to gold, herds of mules and cavalry horses began

to ravage the fields, and the watchmen, hastening from their little

huts on the hills to drive them out, were set upon by the soldiers and

beaten. They complained to the Emperor, and he sent an embassy to the

Sultan praying him to save the crops from ruin. In reply, Mahommed

ordered the son of Isfendiar, a relative, to destroy the harvest. The

peasants resisted, and not unsuccessfully. In the South, and in the

fields near Hissar on the north, there were deaths on both sides.

Intelligence of the affair coming to Constantine, he summoned Count

Corti.

"The long expected has arrived," he said. "Blood has been shed. My

people have been attacked and slain in their fields; their bodies lie

out unburied. The war cannot be longer deferred. It is true the succors

from the Holy Father have not arrived; but they are on the way, and

until they come we must defend ourselves. Cold and indifferent my

people have certainly been. Now I will make a last effort to arouse

them. Go out toward Hissar, and recover the dead. Have the bodies

brought in just as they are. I will expose them in the Hippodrome.

Perhaps their bruises and blood may have an effect; if not, God help

this Christian city. I will give you a force."

"Your Majesty," the Count replied, "such an expedition might provoke an

advance upon the city before you are entirely prepared. Permit me to

select a party from my own men." "As you choose. A guide will accompany

you."

To get to the uplands, so to speak, over which, north of Galata, the

road to Hissar stretched, Corti was conducted past the Cynegion and

through the districts of Eyoub to the Sweet Waters of Europe, which he

crossed by a bridge below the site of the present neglected country

palace of the Sultan. Up on the heights he turned left of Pera, and

after half an hour's rapid movement was trending northward parallel

with the Bosphorus, reaches of which were occasionally visible through

cleftings of the mountainous shore. Straw-thatched farmhouses dotted

the hills and slopes, and the harvest spread right and left in cheerful

prospect.

The adventurer had ample time to think; but did little of it, being too

full of self-gratulation at having before him an opportunity to

recommend himself to the Emperor, with a possibility of earning

distinction creditable in the opinion of the Princess Irene.

At length an exclamation of his guide aroused him to action.

"The Turks, the Turks!"

"Where?"

"See that smoke."

Over a hilltop in his front, the Count beheld the sign of alarm

crawling slowly into the sky.

"Here is a village--to our left, but"--

"Have done," said Corti, "and get me to the fire. Is there a nearer way

than this?"

"Yes, under the hill yonder."

"Is it broken?"

"It narrows to a path, but is clear."

The Count spoke in Arabic to his followers, and taking the gallop,

pushed the guide forward. Shortly a party of terror-stricken peasants

ran down toward him.

"Why do you run? What is the matter?" he asked.

"Oh, the Turks, the Turks!"

"What of them? Stand, and tell me."

"We went to work this morning cutting corn, for it is now ripe enough.

The Mahounds broke in on us. We were a dozen to their fifty or more. We

only escaped, and they set fire to the field. O Christ, and the Most

Holy Mother! Let us pass, or we too will be slain!"

"Are they mounted?"

"Some have horses, some are afoot."

"Where are they now?"

"In the field on the hill."

"Well, go to the village fast as you can, and tell the men there to

come and pick up their dead. Tell them not to fear, for the Emperor has

sent me to take care of them."

With that the Count rode on.

This was the sight presented him when he made the ascent: A wheat field

sloping gradually to the northeast; fire creeping across it crackling,

smoking, momentarily widening; through the cloud a company of Turkish

soldiers halted, mostly horsemen, their arms glinting brightly in the

noon sun; blackened objects, unmistakably dead men, lying here and

there. Thus the tale of the survivors of the massacre was confirmed.

Corti gave his lance with the banderole on it to the guide. By

direction his Berbers drove their lances into the earth that they might

leave them standing, drew their swords, and brought their bucklers

forward. Then he led them into the field. A few words more, directions

probably, and he started toward the enemy, his followers close behind

two and two, with a rear-guardsman. He allowed no outcry, but gradually

increased the pace.

There were two hundred and more yards to be crossed, level, except the

slope, and with only the moving line of fire as an impediment. The

crop, short and thin, was no obstacle under the hoofs.

The Turks watched the movement herded, like astonished sheep. They may

not have comprehended that they were being charged, or they may have

despised the assailants on account of their inferiority in numbers, or

they may have relied on the fire as a defensive wall; whatever the

reason, they stood passively waiting.

When the Count came to the fire, he gave his horse the spur, and

plunging into the smoke and through the flame full speed, appeared on

the other side, shouting: "Christ and Our Lady of Blacherne!" His long

sword flashed seemingly brighter of the passage just made. Fleckings of

flame clung to the horses. What the battle-cry of the Berbers we may

not tell. They screamed something un-Christian, echoes of the Desert.

Then the enemy stirred; some drew their blades, some strung their bows;

the footmen amongst them caught their javelins or half-spears in the

middle, and facing to the rear, fled, and kept flying, without once

looking over their shoulders.

One man mounted, and in brighter armor than the others, his steel cap

surmounted with an immense white turban, a sparkling aigrette pinned to

the turban, cimeter in hand, strove to form his companions--but it was

too late. "Christ and our Lady of Blacherne!"--and with that Corti was

in their midst; and after him, into the lane he opened, his Berbers

drove pell-mell, knocking Turks from their saddles, and overthrowing

horses--and there was cutting and thrusting, and wounds given, and

souls rendered up through darkened eyes.

The killing was all on one side; then as a bowl splinters under a

stroke, the Turkish mass flew apart, and went helter-skelter off, each

man striving to take care of himself. The Berbers spared none of the

overtaken.

Spying the man with the showy armor, the Count made a dash to get to

him, and succeeded, for to say truth, he was not an unwilling foeman. A

brief combat took place, scarcely more than a blow, and the Turk was

disarmed and at mercy.

"Son of Isfendiar," said Corti, "the slaying these poor people with

only their harvest knives for weapons was murder. Why should I spare

your life?"

"I was ordered to punish them."

"By whom?"

"My Lord the Sultan."

"Do your master no shame. I know and honor him."

"Yesterday they slew our Moslems."

"They but defended their own.... You deserve death, but I have a

message for the Lord Mahommed. Swear by the bones of the Prophet to

deliver it, and I will spare you."

"If you know my master, as you say, he is quick and fierce of temper,

and if I must die, the stroke may be preferable at your hand. Give me

the message first."

"Well, come with me."

The two remained together until the flight and pursuit were ended;

then, the fire reduced to patches for want of stalks to feed it, the

Count led the way back to the point at which he entered the field.

Taking his lance from the guide, he passed it to the prisoner.

"This is what I would have you do," he said. "The lance is mine. Carry

it to your master, the Lord Mahommed, and say to him, Ugo, Count Corti,

salute him, and prays him to look at the banderole, and fix it in his

memory. He will understand the message, and be grateful for it. Now

will you swear?"

The banderole was a small flag of yellow silk, with a red moon in the

centre, and on the face of the moon a white cross. Glancing at it, the

son of Isfendiar replied:

"Take off the cross, and you show me a miniature standard of the

_Silihdars_, my Lord's guard of the Palace." Then looking the Count

full in the face, he added: "Under other conditions I should salute you

Mirza, Emir of the Hajj."

"I have given you my name and title. Answer."

"I will deliver the lance and message to my Lord--I swear it by the

bones of the Prophet."

Scarcely had the Turk disappeared in the direction of Hissar, when a

crowd of peasants, men and women, were seen coming timorously from the

direction of the village. The Count rode to meet them, and as they were

provided with all manner of litters, by his direction the dead Greeks

were collected, and soon, with piteous lamentations, a funeral cortege

was on the road moving slowly to Constantinople. Anticipating a speedy

reappearance of the Turks, hostilities being now unavoidable, Count

Corti despatched messengers everywhere along the Bosphorus, warning the

farmers and villagers to let their fields go, and seek refuge in the

city. So it came about that the escort of the murdered peasants

momentarily increased until at the bridge over the Sweet Waters of

Europe it became a column composed for the most part of women,

children, and old men. Many of the women carried babies. The old men

staggered under such goods as they could lay their hands on in haste.

The able-bodied straggled far in the rear with herds of goats, sheep,

and cattle; the air above the road rang with cries and prayers, and the

road itself was sprinkled with tears. In a word, the movement was a

flight.

Corti, with his Berbers, lingered in the vicinity of the field of fight

watchful of the enemy. In the evening, having forwarded a messenger to

the Emperor, he took stand at the bridge; and well enough, for about

dusk a horde of Turkish militia swept down from the heights in search

of plunder and belated victims. At the first bite of his sword, they

took to their heels, and were not again seen.

By midnight the settlements and farmhouses of the up-country were

abandoned; almost the entire district from Galata to Fanar on the Black

Sea was reduced to ashes. The Greek Emperor had no longer a frontier or

a province--all that remained to him was his capital.

Many of the fugitives, under quickening of the demonstration at the

bridge, threw their burdens away; so the greater part of them at an

early hour after nightfall appeared at the Adrianople gate objects of

harrowing appeal, empty-handed, broken down, miserable.

Constantine had the funeral escort met at the gate by torch-bearers,

and the sextons of the Blacherne Chapel. Intelligence of the massacre,

and that the corpses of the harvesters would be conveyed to the

Hippodrome for public exposure, having been proclaimed generally

through the city, a vast multitude was also assembled at the gate. The

sensation was prodigious.

There were twenty litters, each with a body upon it unwashed and in

bloody garments, exactly as brought in. On the right and left of the

litters the torchmen took their places. The sextons lit their long

candles, and formed in front. Behind trudged the worn, dust-covered,

wretched fugitives; and as they failed to realize their rescue, and

that they were at last in safety, they did not abate their

lamentations. When the innumerable procession passed the gate, and

commenced its laborious progress along the narrow streets, seldom, if

ever, has anything of the kind more pathetic and funereally impressive

been witnessed.

Let be said what may, after all nothing shall stir the human heart like

the faces of fellowmen done to death by a common enemy. There was no

misjudgment of the power of the appeal in this instance. It is no

exaggeration to say Byzantium was out assisting--so did the people

throng the thoroughfares, block the street intersections, and look down

from the windows and balconies. Afar they heard the chanting of the

sextons, monotonous, yet solemnly effective; afar they saw the swaying

candles and torches; and an awful silence signalized the approach of

the pageant; but when it was up, and the bodies were borne past,

especially when the ghastly countenances of the sufferers were under

eye plainly visible in the red torchlight, the outburst of grief and

rage in every form, groans, curses, prayers, was terrible, and the

amazing voice, such by unity of utterance, went with the dead, and

followed after them until at last the Hippodrome was reached. There the

Emperor, on horseback, and with his court and guards, was waiting, and

his presence lent nationality to the mournful spectacle.

Conducting the bearers of the litters to the middle of the oblong area,

he bade them lay their burdens down, and summoned the city to the view.

"Let there be no haste," he said, "for, in want of their souls, the

bruised bodies of our poor countrymen shall lie here all tomorrow,

every gaping wound crying for vengeance. Then on the next day it will

be for us to say what we will do--fight, fly, or surrender."

Through the remainder of the night the work of closing the gates and

making them secure continued without cessation. The guards were

strengthened at each of them, and no one permitted to pass out.

Singular to say, a number of eunuchs belonging to the Sultan were

caught and held. Some of the enraged Greeks insisted on their death;

but the good heart of the Emperor prevailed, and the prisoners were

escorted to their master. The embassy which went with them announced

the closing of the gates.

"Since neither oaths, nor treaty, nor submission can secure peace,

pursue your impious warfare"--thus Constantine despatched to Mahommed.

"My trust is in God; if it shall please him to mollify your heart, I

shall rejoice in the change; if he delivers the city in your hands, I

submit without a murmur to his holy will. But until he shall pronounce

between us, it is my duty to live and die in defence of my people."

[Footnote: Gibbon]

Mahommed answered with a formal declaration of war.

It remains to say that the bodies of the harvesters were viewed as

promised. They lay in a row near the Twisted Serpent, and the people

passed them tearfully; in the night they were taken away and buried.

Sadder still, the result did not answer the Emperor's hope. The

feeling, mixed of sorrow and rage, was loudly manifested; but it was

succeeded by fear, and when the organization of companies was

attempted, the exodus was shameful. Thousands fled, leaving about one

hundred thousand behind, not to fight, but firm in the faith that

Heaven would take care of the city.

After weeks of effort, five thousand Greeks took the arms offered them,

and were enrolled.

CHAPTER IV

EUROPE ANSWERS THE CRY FOR HELP

A man in love, though the hero of many battles, shall be afraid in the

presence of his beloved, and it shall be easier for him to challenge an

enemy than to ask her love in return.

Count Corti's eagerness to face the lion in the gallery of the Cynegion

had established his reputation in Constantinople for courage; his

recent defence of the harvesters raised it yet higher; now his name was

on every tongue.

His habit of going about in armor had in the first days of his coming

subjected him to criticism; for the eyes before which he passed

belonged for the most part to a generation more given to prospecting

for bezants in fields of peace than the pursuit of glory in the

ruggeder fields of war. But the custom was now accepted, and at sight

of him, mounted and in glistening armor, even the critics smiled, and

showered his head with silent good wishes, or if they spoke it was to

say to each other: "Oh, that the Blessed Mother would send us more like

him!" And the Count knew he had the general favor. We somehow learn

such things without their being told us.

Up in the empyrean courtly circles his relations were quite as

gratifying. The Emperor made no concealment of his partiality, and

again insisted on bringing him to Blacherne.

"Your Majesty," the Count said one day, "I have no further need of my

galley and its crew. I beg you to do with them as you think best."

Constantine received the offer gratefully.

"The galley is a godsend. I will order payment for it. Duke Notaras,

the Grand Admiral, will agree with you about the price."

"If Your Majesty will permit me to have my way," the Count rejoined,

"you will order the vessel into the harbor with the fleet, and if the

result of the war is with Your Majesty, the Grand Admiral can arrange

for the payment; if otherwise"--he smiled at the alternative--"I think

neither Your Majesty nor myself will have occasion for a ship."

The galley was transferred from the Bay of Julian to anchorage in the

Golden Horn. That night, speaking of the tender, the Emperor said to

Phranza: "Count Corti has cast his lot with us. As I interpret him, he

does not mean to survive our defeat. See that he be charged to select a

bodyguard to accompany me in action."

"Is he to be Captain of the guard?"

"Yes."

The duty brought the Count to Blacherne. In a few days he had fifty

men, including his nine Berbers.

These circumstances made him happy. He found peace of mind also in his

release from Mahommed. Not an hour of the day passed without his

silently thanking the Sultan for his magnanimity.

But no matter for rejoicing came to him like the privilege of freely

attending the Princess Irene.

Not only was her reception-room open to him; whether she went to

Blacherne or Sancta Sophia, he appeared in her train. Often when the

hour of prayer arrived, she invited him as one of her household to

accompany her to the apartment she had set apart for chapel exercises;

and at such times he strove to be devout, but in taking her for his

pattern of conduct--as yet he hardly knew when to arise or kneel, or

cross himself--if his thoughts wandered from the Madonna and Child to

her, if sometimes he fell to making comparisons in which the Madonna

suffered as lacking beauty--nay, if not infrequently he caught himself

worshipping the living woman at the foot of the altar rather than the

divinity above it, few there were who would have been in haste to

condemn him even in that day. There is nothing modern in the world's

love of a lover.

By the treaty with Mahommed he was free to tell the Princess of his

passion; and there were moments in which it seemed he must cast himself

at her feet and speak; but then he would be seized with a trembling,

his tongue would unaccountably refuse its office, and he would quiet

himself with the weakling's plea--another time--to-morrow, to-morrow.

And always upon the passing of the opportunity, the impulse being laid

with so many of its predecessors in the graveyard of broken

resolutions--every swain afraid keeps such a graveyard--always he

sallied from her door eager for an enemy on whom to vent his vexation.

"Ah," he would say, with prolonged emphasis upon the exclamation--"if

Mahommed were only at the gate! Is he never coming?"

One day he dismounted at the Princess' door, and was ushered into the

reception-room by Lysander. "I bring you good news," he said, in course

of the conversation.

"What now?" she asked.

"Every sword counts. I am just from the Port of Blacherne, whither I

accompanied the Grand Equerry to assist in receiving one John Grant,

who has arrived with a following of Free Lances, mostly my own

countrymen."

"Who is John Grant?"

"A German old in Eastern service; more particularly an expert in making

and throwing hollow iron balls filled with inflammable liquid. On

striking, the balls burst, after which the fire is unquenchable with

water."

"Oh! our Greek fire rediscovered!"

"So he declares. His Majesty has ordered him the materials he asks, and

that he go to work to-morrow getting a store of his missiles ready. The

man declares also, if His Holiness would only proclaim a crusade

against the Turks. Constantinople has not space on her walls to hold

the volunteers who would hasten to her defence. He says Genoa, Venice,

all Italy, is aroused and waiting."

"John Grant is welcome," the Princess returned; "the more so that His

Holiness is slow."

Afterward, about the first of December, the Count again dismounted at

her door with news.

"What is it now?" she inquired.

"Noble Princess, His Holiness has been heard from."

"At last?"

"A Legate will arrive to-morrow."

"Only a Legate! What is his name?"

"Isidore, Grand Metropolitan of Russia."

"Brings he a following?"

"No soldiers; only a suite of priests high and low."

"I see. He comes to negotiate. Alas!"

"Why alas?"

"Oh, the factions, the factions!" she exclaimed, disconsolately; then,

seeing the Count still in wonder, she added: "Know you not that

Isidore, familiarly called the Cardinal, was appointed Metropolitan of

the Russian Greek Church by the Pope, and, rejected by it, was driven

to refuge in Poland? What welcome can we suppose he will receive here?"

"Is he not a Greek?"

"Yes, truly; but being a Latin Churchman, the Brotherhoods hold him an

apostate. His first demand will be to celebrate mass in Sancta Sophia.

If the world were about shaking itself to pieces, the commotion would

be but little greater than the breaking of things we will then hear.

Oh, it is an ill wind which blows him to our gates!" Meantime the

Hippodrome had been converted into a Campus Martius, where at all hours

of the day the newly enlisted men were being drilled in the arms to

which they were assigned; now as archers, now as slingers; now with

balistas and catapults and arquebuses; now to the small artillery

especially constructed for service on the walls. And as trade was at an

end in the city, as in fact martial preparation occupied attention to

the exclusion of business in the commercial sense, the ancient site was

a centre of resort. Thither the Count hastened to work off the

disheartenment into which the comments of the Princess had thrown him.

That same week, however, he and the loyal population of Constantinople

in general, were cheered by a coming of real importance. Early one

morning some vessels of war hove in sight down the Marmora. Their flags

proclaimed them Christian. Simultaneously the lookouts at Point

Demetrius reported a number of Turkish galleys plying to and fro up the

Bosphorus. It was concluded that a naval battle was imminent. The walls

in the vicinity of the Point were speedily crowded with spectators. In

fact, the anxiety was great enough to draw the Emperor from his High

Residence. Not doubting the galleys were bringing him stores, possibly

reinforcements, he directed his small fleet in the Golden Horn to be

ready to go to their assistance. His conjecture was right; yet more

happily the Turks made no attempt upon them. Turning into the harbor,

the strangers ran up the flags of Venice and Genoa, and never did they

appear so beautiful, seen by Byzantines--never were they more welcome.

The decks were crowded with helmed men who responded vigorously to the

cheering with which they were saluted.

Constantine in person received the newcomers at the Port of Blacherne.

From the wall over the gate the Princess Irene, with an escort of noble

ladies, witnessed the landing.

A knight of excellent presence stepped from a boat, and announced

himself.

"I am John Justiniani of Genoa," he said, "come with two thousand

companions in arms to the succor of the most Christian Emperor

Constantine. Guide me to him, I pray."

"The Emperor is here--I am he."

Justiniani kissed the hand extended to him, and returned with fervor:

"Christ and the Mother be praised! Much have I been disquieted lest we

should be too late. Your Majesty, command me."

"Duke Notaras," said the Emperor, "assist this noble gentleman and his

companions. When they are disembarked, conduct them to me. For the

present I will lodge them in my residence." Then he addressed the

Genoese: "Duke Notaras, High Admiral of the Empire, will answer your

every demand. In God's name, and for the imperilled religion of our

Redeeming Lord, I bid you welcome."

It seemed the waving of scarfs and white hands on the wall, and the

noisy salutations of the people present, were not agreeable to the

Duke; although coldly polite, he impressed Justiniani as an ill second

to the stately but courteous Emperor.

At night there was an audience in the Very High Residence, and

Justiniani assisted Phranza in the presentation of his companions; and

though the banquet which shortly succeeded the audience may not, in the

courses served or in its table splendors, have vied with those Alexis

resorted to for the dazzlement of the chiefs of the first crusade, it

was not entirely wanting in such particulars; for it has often

happened, if the chronicles may be trusted, that the expiring light of

great countries has lingered longest in their festive halls, just as

old families have been known to nurture their pride in sparkling

heirlooms, all else having been swept away. The failings on this

occasion, if any there were, Constantine more than amended by his

engaging demeanor. Soldier not less than Emperor, he knew to win the

sympathy and devotion of soldiers. Of his foreign guests that evening

many afterwards died hardly distinguishing between him and the Holy

Cause which led them to their fate.

The table was long, and without head or foot. On one side, in the

middle, the Emperor presided; opposite him sat the Princess Irene; and

on their right and left, in gallant interspersion, other ladies, the

wives and daughters of senators, nobles, and officials of the court,

helped charm the Western chivalry.

And of the guests, the names of a few have been preserved by history,

together with the commands to which they were assigned in the siege.

There was Andrew Dinia, under Duke Notaras, a captain of galleys.

There was the Venetian Contarino, intrusted with the defence of the

Golden Grate.

There was Maurice Cataneo, a soldier of Genoa, commandant of the walls

on the landward side between the Golden Gate and the Gate Selimbria.

There were two brothers, gentlemen of Genoa,

Paul Bochiardi and Antonin Troilus Bochiardi, defendants of the

Adrianople Gate.

There was Jerome Minotte, Bayle of Venice, charged with safe keeping

the walls between the Adrianople Gate and the Cerco Portas.

There was the artillerist, German John Grant, who, with Theodore

Carystos, made sure of the Gate Charsias.

There was Leonardo de Langasco, another Genoese, keeper of the Wood

Gate.

There was Gabriel Travisan; with four hundred other Venetians, he

maintained the stretch of wall on the harbor front between Point

Demetrius and the Port St. Peter.

There was Pedro Guiliani, the Spanish Consul, assigned to the

guardianship of the wall on the sea side from Point Demetrius to the

Port of Julian.

There also was stout Nicholas Gudelli; with the Emperor's brother, he

commanded the force in reserve.

Now these, or the major part of them, may have been Free Lances; yet

they did not await the motion of Nicholas, the dilatory Pope, and were

faithful, and to-day exemplify the saying:

"That men may rise on stepping-stones

Of their dead selves to higher things."

CHAPTER V

COUNT CORTI RECEIVES A FAVOR

"Gracious Princess, the Italian, Count Corti, is at the door. He prays

you to hear a request from him."

"Return, Lysander, and bring the Count."

It was early morning, with February in its last days.

The visitor's iron shoes clanked sharply on the marble floor of the

reception room, and the absence of everything like ornament in his

equipment bespoke preparation for immediate hard service.

"I hope the Mother is keeping you well," she said, presenting her hand

to him.

With a fervor somewhat more marked than common, he kissed the white

offering, and awaited her bidding.

"My attendants are gone to the chapel, but I will hear you--or will you

lend us your presence at the service, and have the audience afterwards?"

"I am in armor, and my steed is at the door, and my men biding at the

Adrianople Gate; wherefore, fair Princess, if it be your pleasure, I

will present my petition now."

In grave mistrust, she returned:

"God help us, Count! I doubt you have something ill to relate. Since

the good Gregory fled into exile to escape his persecutors, but more

especially since Cardinal Isidore attempted Latin mass in Sancta

Sophia, and the madman Gennadius so frightened the people with his

senseless anathemas, [Footnote: The scene here alluded to by the

Princess Irene is doubtless the one so vividly described by Gibbon as

having taken place in Sancta Sophia, the 12th of December, 1452, being

the mass celebrated by Cardinal Isidore in an attempt to reconcile the

Latin and Greek factions.

Enumerating the consequences of the same futile effort at compromise,

Von Hammer says: "Instead of uniting for the common defence, the Greeks

and Latins fled, leaving the churches empty; the priests refused the

sacrament to the dying who were not of their faith; the monks and nuns

repudiated confessors who acknowledged the _henoticon_ (decree

ordaining the reunion of the two churches); a spirit of frenzy took

possession of the convents; one _religieuse_, to the great scandal of

all the faithful, adopted the faith and costume of the Mussulmans,

eating meat and adoring the Prophet. Thus Lent passed." (Vol. II., p.

397.)

To the same effect we read in the Universal History of the Catholic

Church (Vol. XXII., p. 103): "The religious who affected to surpass

others in sanctity of life and purity of faith, following the advice of

Gennadius and their spiritual advisers, as well as that of the

preachers and laity of their party, condemned the decree of union, and

anathematized those who approved or might approve it. The common

people, sallying from the monasteries, betook themselves to the

taverns; there flourishing glasses of wine, they reviled all who had

consented to the union, and drinking in honor of an image of the Mother

of God, prayed her to protect and defend the city against Mahomet, as

she had formerly defended it against Chosroes and the Kagan. We will

have nothing to do with assistance from the Latins or a union with

them. Far from us be the worship of the _azymites_."] I have been beset

with forebodings until I startle at my own thoughts. It were gentle,

did you go to your request at once."

She permitted him to lead her to an armless chair, and, standing before

her, he spoke with decision:

"Princess Irene, now that you have resolved finally to remain in the

city, and abide the issue of the siege, rightly judging it an affair

determinable by God, it is but saying the truth as I see it, that no

one is more interested in what betides us from day to day than you; for

if Heaven frowns upon our efforts at defence, and there comes an

assault, and we are taken, the Conqueror, by a cruel law of war, has at

disposal the property both public and private he gains, and every

living thing as well. We who fight may die the death he pleases;

you--alas, most noble and virtuous lady, my tongue refuses the words

that rise to it for utterance!"

The rose tints in her cheeks faded, yet she answered: "I know what you

would say, and confess it has appalled me. Sometimes it tempts me to

fly while yet I can; then I remember I am a Palaeologus. I remember

also my kinsman the Emperor is to be sustained in the trial confronting

him. I remember too the other women, high and low, who will stay and

share the fortunes of their fighting husbands and brothers. If I have

less at stake than they, Count Corti, the demands of honor are more

rigorous upon me."

The count's eyes glowed with admiration, but next moment the light in

them went out.

"Noble lady," he began, "I hope it will not be judged too great a

familiarity to say I have some days been troubled on your account. I

have feared you might be too confident of our ability to beat the

enemy. It seems my duty to warn you of the real outlook that you may

permit us to provide for your safety while opportunities favor."

"For my flight, Count Corti?"

"Nay, Princess Irene, your retirement from the city."

She smiled at the distinction he made, but replied:

"I will hear you, Count."

"It is for you to consider, O Princess--if reports of the Sultan's

preparation are true--this assault in one feature at least will be

unparalleled. The great guns for which he has been delaying are said to

be larger than ever before used against walls. They may destroy our

defences at once; they may command all the space within those defences;

they may search every hiding-place; the uncertainties they bring with

them are not to be disregarded by the bravest soldier, much less the

unresisting classes.... In the next place, I think it warrantable from

the mass of rumors which has filled the month to believe the city will

be assailed by a force much greater than was ever drawn together under

her walls. Suffer me to refer to them, O Princess... The Sultan is yet

at Adrianople assembling his army. Large bodies of footmen are crossing

the Hellespont at Gallipolis and the Bosphorus at Hissar; in the region

of Adrianople the country is covered with hordes of horsemen speaking

all known tongues and armed with every known weapon--Cossacks from the

north, Arabs from the south, Koords and Tartars from the east,

Roumanians and Slavs from beyond the Balkans. The roads from the

northwest are lined with trains bringing supplies and siege-machinery.

The cities along the shores of the Black Sea have yielded to Mahommed;

those which defied him are in ruins. An army is devastating Morea. The

brother whom His Majesty the Emperor installed ruler there is dead or a

wanderer, no man can say in what parts. Assistance cannot be expected

from him. Above us, far as the sea, the bays are crowded with ships of

all classes; four hundred hostile sail have been counted from the

hill-tops. And now that there is no longer a hope of further aid from

the Christians of Europe, the effect of the news upon our garrison is

dispiriting. Our garrison! Alas, Princess, with the foreigners come to

our aid, it is not sufficient to man the walls on the landward side

alone."

"The picture is gloomy, Count, but if you have drawn it to shake my

purpose, it is not enough. I have put myself in the hands of the

Blessed Mother. I shall stay, and be done with as God orders."

Again the Count's face glowed with admiration.

"I thought as much, O Princess," he said warmly; "yet it seemed to me a

duty to advise you of the odds against us; and now, the duty done, I

pray you hear me as graciously upon another matter.... Last night,

seeing the need of information of the enemy, I besought His Majesty to

allow me to ride toward Adrianople. He consented, and I set out

immediately; but before going, before bidding you adieu, noble Princess

and dear lady, I have a prayer to offer you."

He hesitated; then plucking courage from the embarrassment of silence,

went on:

"Dear lady, your resolution to stay and face the dangers of the siege

and assault fills me with alarm for your safety."

He cast himself upon his knees, and stretched his hands to her.

"Give me permission to protect you. I devote my sword to you, and the

skill of my hands--my life, my soul. Let me be your knight."

She arose, but he continued: