The day following the three ruffians lingered about the site of the
old Hippodrome--through the open space of which the citizens passed in
going from one part of the city to another. Toward evening a stone was
thrown against the bronze-sheathed column, or walled pyramid, which
still held some of the great plates that in the palmy days of
Byzantium made it one of the wonders of the city. It was the signal
for alertness. A short-bodied, long-armed, red-haired man, dressed in
the white kilt and gold-embroidered jacket of a citizen, sauntered
leisurely through the Hippodrome. He measured with his eye the space
which once blazed with the splendor of fashion, when, beneath the
imperial eye of a Justinian or Theodosius, the horses of Araby and
Thracia ran, and the factions of "the Blues" and "the Greens" shouted,
and the whirling wheels of the golden chariots sprinkled the dust upon
the multitudes.
The man paused to gaze at the bronze column of three intertwined
serpents, with silver-crested heads, which was believed to have been
brought from the temple at Delphi to his new city by the great
Constantine. He stood reverently before the tall Egyptian obelisk of
rose-granite, whose light red glowed with deeper hue in the eastern
flush of the twilight sky; puzzled over its vertical lines of
hieroglyphs which thirty centuries had not obliterated, and studied
the figures on its marble base, representing the machines used by the
engineers of Theodosius in hoisting the great monolith to its place,
a thousand years ago. Broken statues--the spoil of conquered cities in
generations of Greek prowess which shamed the supineness of the
present, stood or lay about the grand pillar of porphyry, which was
once surmounted by the statue of Apollo wrought by Phidias.
"Shame for such neglect!" muttered the man. "A people that cannot keep
its art from cracking to pieces with age, cannot long keep the old
empire of the Cæsars."
The narrow street to the north of the Hippodrome square shut out the
remnant of daylight as the man turned into it. His attention was drawn
by the groaning of some poor outcast crouching in the dark shadow of
an angle in the wall. As he stooped to inspect this object a stunning
blow fell upon his head. Two stalwart men instantly pinioned his arms.
They rolled his helpless body a few yards, and carried or slid it down
a flight of steps into a dark cavern, whose sides echoed their
footfalls and whispers, as if it were the place of the last Judgment
where the secrets of life are all to be proclaimed. Reaching the
bottom, one of the men produced a light. The glare seemed to excavate
a hollow sphere out of the thick darkness, but revealed nothing,
except the spectral flash of the bats flitting around the heads of the
intruders, and the damp earthen floor upon which the men had thrown
their victim. At length great forms rose through the gloom, like the
trunks of a forest. The water of a subterranean lake gleamed from near
their feet, but its smooth black sheen was soon lost in the darkness.
A small boat, or raft, was near, into which the man was lifted; one
of the ruffians sitting on his feet, the other by his head, while the
third propelled the craft by pushing against great granite pillars
between which they passed. After going some distance the boat ground
its bottom against a mass of fallen masonry and dirt, which made a
sort of island, perhaps twenty feet across. Here they landed, and
dragged their victim.
"What would you have with me?" said the prostrate man.
"It is enough that we have you," said Pedro, in broken Greek. "We want
nothing more; not even to keep your miserable carcass, since we have
already got our pay for burying it. I'll be your father-confessor and
shrive you. If you like the Latin--Absolvo te! and away go your sins
as easily as I can strip this gold-laced jacket off your back. Or if
you prefer the Greek--By the horns of Nebuchadnezzar, I've forgotten
the priestly words! But I'll shrive you all the same without the holy
mumble. And if you want to pray a bit yourself, why fold your feet in
front of your nose and kneel on your back."
"Why do you kill me?" said the man. "I am nothing to you."
"Nothing to us, but something to him who has hired us. As honest men
we must do what we were paid to do."
"Unless I can pay you more," said the man, instantly taking a hopeful
hint.
"Do you wear the belt of Phranza, that you think you can pay so much?"
replied one of the ruffians, feeling about the person of the helpless
man.
"What I have I give--a hundred ducats."
"A hundred! Are you love-crossed that you value life so little? You'll
skin well, my gentle lambkin; and as you are half tanned already, we
will sell your hide to the buskin maker for almost that sum; and your
fat (feeling his ribs) will grease a hundred galley masts. A thousand
ducats is your value, you Albanian imp!"
"I do not possess so much," said the victim.
"But your sister does," said the ruffian; and not noting the surprised
look of the man, continued: "We have arranged for that. Your life is
worth to us just one thousand ducats of gold. Sign this!" producing a
bit of paper on which was something written.
"I cannot read it in this light. You read it. I may trust such honest
fellows as you are."
The man read--"To my sister, the Albanian, at the house of Phranza. I
am in danger from which I can escape only if you will give the bearer
one thousand ducats. Speak not to any one of it, or my life is
forfeit. That you may know this is genuine the bearer will show you my
ring and a clip of my hair."
"Give me your ring; and, comrade, warm the wax to seal the letter,"
said Giovan.
"But I am not the man you seek," said the victim.
"And who in the devil's name are you then?"
"A mere stranger."
"Prove it!"
"Take the ring, and the lady will not recognize it."
"We shall see," said the ruffian, "but we will take the hundred
ducats now to pay for any trouble you have put us to."
His belt was stripped off, and its golden contents ripped out. The
victim was untied, first having been completely disarmed. The three
men entering the boat, pushed off in the direction from which they had
entered.
The island prisoner watched the receding light as it flashed its long
rays on the water, illumined the arches of the roof, and lit the
crouching figures in the boat. The multiplying pillars became like a
solid wall as the light receded, until at length the darkness was
complete. The sound of the boat as it scratched against the stone at
the landing, gave place to the most oppressive silence.
To attempt escape in the direction of the entrance would be folly. If
he could find his way his captors would doubtless be on guard and
easily overpower him, as he would have to wade or swim. But to remain
where he was would be as hazardous, for the wretches would not risk
exposure for the sake of the hundred ducats they had secured; but
would probably return and put him out of the way of witnessing against
them.
As he meditated, a low rumble like distant thunder, ran along the
arches. "Some passing vehicle in the city above," he concluded.
A light drip, as of a bat's wing touching the water! Another! and
another! "Strange that they should be so regular!" thought the man.
"There must be some inlet: I will explore."
He walked cautiously into the water in the direction of the sound.
Soon he was beyond his depth; but, being an expert swimmer, kept on;
his outstretched arms answering as antennæ of some huge water-spider,
and guarding him from collision with the pillars.
The dripping sound became louder. Now it was just above his head. He
felt his way with his hands until it became evident that he was at the
end or side of the subterranean lake. But the shore was steep; indeed,
a wall. Fixing his fingers into the crevices between the stones, he
was able to raise himself half out of the water. Reaching up with one
hand he felt the curved edge of a viaduct, by which the dark lake was
evidently fed, or had been in earlier days. But, bah! The water now
trickling through it was foul. The spring had been stopped, and the
viaduct become a sewer; fed doubtless through its rents with the
soakage of the city.
But might there not be an opening into the upper air? If not, a great
human mole--especially if, to blind scratching power, he adds the
skill of one trained in the art of engineering--can possibly make an
opening.
The prisoner climbed into the viaduct. It was large enough to allow
him to crawl a short distance. A faint glimmer of light proved the
correctness of his surmise that it was connected with the surface. But
fallen stones blocked his way. As he lay planning with fingers and
brain for his further progress, voices sounded from the reservoir.
They were those of two of the cut-throats returning. He pushed himself
back to the opening. His captors had missed him at the island. If
they knew of this sluice, or chanced to come upon it in their search,
he was lost in his present position; for a pair of bare heels was the
only weapon he could show against their sharp daggers. He let himself
down into the water, and swam silently away. The light, however, from
his captors' lamp came nearer.
"Hist!" said one. "He is yonder; perhaps by the devil's window."
The boat pushed directly toward the viaduct he had left.
While they explored the opening, which might well be called the window
into the blackness of darkness of the nether world, their victim swam
rapidly, keeping always in the shadow of the great pillars. But the
boat was upon his track again.
The fugitive now made a fortunate discovery. Several feet below the
surface of the water the base of each pillar projected far enough for
standing room. This base had probably marked the height to which the
water was originally allowed to rise. By standing upon one of these
projections, he was able to move round the pillar, so as to keep its
huge block between himself and his pursuers. Thus they passed him. By
the light in the boat he could discern the ground or shore near which
was the entrance.
Returning to coast the other side of the cavern, they had passed close
by him, when, his foot slipping, he was projected into the water. The
wretches hailed with grim joy the splash, and turned the boat in the
direction of the noise. But, dropping beneath the surface, the man
swam to a pillar near by, from which he watched their baffled circuit
of his former retreat.
This chase could not be kept up endlessly. Plunging again under the
water, he swam directly to the boat. Rising suddenly, he grasped its
side with main weight and overturned it. The cries of the men and the
splashing of the boat echoed a hundred times among the arches; while
the hissing oil of the open lamp, which, poured on the surface of the
water, blazed for a moment, made as near a representation of
pandemonium as this world ever affords, except in the brain of the
demented.
Though the captive had endeavored to keep his bearings, and had not
lost for an instant his presence of mind, the swirling of the boat had
destroyed all impression of the direction he should take. He
remembered that on one of the pillars the projecting base was broken.
It was that on which he had stood when he caught a glimpse of the
ground near the entrance. If he could find that pillar again he could
take his bearings as readily as if a star guided him. Several pillars
were tried before the talismanic one was discovered. Feeling the
broken place, and recalling the way in which he stood upon the narrow
ledge when he saw the entrance, he took his course accordingly, and
swam on.
One of his pursuers had evidently found a lodgment somewhere, and was
calling lustily to his comrade for help. But there came back no answer
to his call.
On went the swimmer until the light of the outer world gleamed through
the crevice of the door, twenty or thirty feet above him, and he
crawled upon the ground.
Squeezing the water from his garments, he climbed the stairway, and,
opening the heavy and worm-eaten doors, peered out. The street was
crowded with passers; for another day had come since his entrance to
the old reservoir. In his half naked and bedrabbled condition he
hesitated to make his exit, and returned to the bottom of the stairs.
A hand on the door above made him leap to one side.
Giovan entered. Peering intensely into the shadows, he descended the
steps. Pausing a moment he whistled through his teeth. There was no
response. He whistled louder on his fingers. A shout came back.
"Help! Giovan--help!"
Giovan's dagger protruded from his belt. Another's hand suddenly drew
it, and, before he had recovered from his surprise, it entered his
neck to the haft. The Italian's short breeches, velveteen jacket and
skull cap were made to take the place of the remnant of the prisoner's
once most reputable wardrobe, and he sallied forth.