"Do you know the mind of Gauton who commands at the citadel in
Sfetigrade?" asked Amesa of his new confederate, as they parted.
"I have talked with him," replied the man. "He is very cautious."
"Discover his opinion on the matter of my advancement," said Amesa.
"Send him some gift," suggested the man, "I will take it to him. He is
very fond of dogs, and I learn that he has just lost a valuable
mastiff. Could you replace it from your kennels at the castle?"
"No, but I have a greyhound, of straight breed since his ancestors
came out of the ark. His jaws are as slender as a heron's beak: chest
deep as a lion's: belly thin as a weasel's: a double span of my arms
from tip to tail. To-morrow night meet me at the castle. Should I not
have arrived, this will give you admission," presenting him with a
small knife, on the bone handle of which was a rude carving of the
crest of Amesa. "Give it to the warden. He will recognize it."
Long before the arrival of Amesa and Drakul at the castle in company
with Elissa, the stranger, whom the reader will recognize as Captain
Ballaban dressed as an Albanian peasant, had been admitted. He had
wandered about the court, mounted the parapet, inspected the
draw-bridge and portcullis, clambered down and up again the almost
precipitous scarp of the rock, and asked a hundred questions of the
servants regarding the paths by which the castle was approached. The
old warden entertained him with stories of Amesa's early life, his
acquisition of the estate, and his prowess in battle; in all of which,
while the warden intended only the praise of his master, he discovered
to the attentive listener all the weaknesses of the voivode's
character.
Upon Amesa's arrival late in the day, Ballaban avoided much
intercourse with him, except in relation to the selection of the dog.
To Elissa he gave a few words of advice, to the effect that she was
now the object of the young lord's adoration; and that, in order to
secure her advantage, she should make as much as possible a mystery of
her previous life. With this council--which was as much as he dared to
venture upon in his own ignorance of the exact part he was
playing--Ballaban departed, leading a magnificent hound in leash. A
little way from the castle he sat down, and drawing from his breast a
roll of paper, added certain lines and comments, as he muttered to
himself,--
"I have made neater drawings than this for old Bestorf in the school
of the Yeni-Tscheri, but none that will please the Aga more. There is
not a goat path on the borders that I have not got. A sudden movement
of our armies, occupying ground here and here and here, where I have
blazed the trees, would hold this country against Ivan Beg and
Scanderbeg. And with this black-hearted traitor, Amesa, in my
fingers!--Well! Let's see! I will force him into open rebellion
against Scanderbeg, unless he is deeper witted than he seems. But
which plan would be best in the long run?--to stir up a feud between
him and Scanderbeg, and let them cut each other's throats? Or,
inveigle him to open alliance with our side, under promise of being
made king of Albania? That last would settle all the Moslem trouble
with these Giaours. And it could be done. The Padishah offered
Scanderbeg the country on condition of paying a nominal tribute, and
would offer the same to Amesa. And Amesa would take it, though he had
to become Moslem. I will leave these propositions with the Aga," said
he, folding up the papers, and putting them back into his bosom. "In
either case I shall keep my vow with Amesa to help him against
Scanderbeg. But the devil help them both!"
Whistling a snatch of a rude tune, part of which belonged to an
Albanian religious hymn he had heard in his rambles, and part to a
Turkish love song--swinging his long arms, and striding as far at each
step as his short legs would allow him, he went down the mountain.