Imminent as was the danger still, the curiosity of both at the
strangeness of the Providence which had brought them back to each
other, as from the dead, was such that they must talk; and the
freshness of the newly-kindled love stole many a moment for endearing
embrace. Indeed an hour passed, and the night might have flown while
they loitered, were it not that the rising wind brought a distant
sound which awakened them to the remembrance that they were still
fugitives.
Constantine at length insisted that his companion should lie upon the
bottom of the boat, and take needed rest.
"If I had now my feridjé!" said she.
"I have provided for that," replied Constantine. "Yours would be
recognized. I have one belonging to the common women, which will be
better." In addition to the feridjé, the foresight of Constantine had
laid in warm wraps and a store of provisions. These were packed in
bundles that they might be carried conveniently on horses, in the
hand, or in the boat, as necessity should compel.
"I cannot rest," said Morsinia, "when there is so much to say and
hear."
"But you must lie down. I will tell you my story; then you can tell me
yours."
"But can we not stop?"
"No. It will not be safe to do so yet."
"I have learned to trust your guidance as well as your love," said
she, and reclined in the stern of the boat.
The moon rose near to midnight. The fog illumined by it made them
clearly visible to each other, while it shut out the possibility of
their being seen by any from a distance.
"It is the blessing of Jesu upon us," said Morsinia. "The same as when
He stood upon the little lake in Galilee, like a form of light, and
said, 'Be not afraid.'"
Constantine gave his story in hasty sentences and detached portions,
breaking it by pauses in which he listened for pursuers, or gave his
whole strength to the oars, or, more frequently, did nothing but gaze
at his companion: more than once reaching out his hand to touch her,
and see if she were not an apparition.
He told of his escape from the Turks, his arrest as a lunatic and the
scene before the Sultan, his return to Constantinople after its
capture, and the apparent evidence he there had from the old beggar,
of Morsinia's death: with all of which the reader is familiar. He also
related how he had gone to Albania. The report of Morsinia's death had
caused the greatest grief to Kabilovitsch, and thrown General Castriot
into such a rage that he found easement for it in a special raid upon
the Turkish camp; which raid was remembered, and was still spoken of
by the soldiers, as the "Call of the Maiden." For as Castriot returned
from fearful slaughter, in which he had completely riddled the enemy's
quarters, captured their commander and compelled them to break up the
campaign, the general was overheard to say, "The maiden's spirit
called us and we have answered." Without knowing the meaning of these
words the soldiers probably assumed that they were a reference to the
Holy Virgin Mary, whose blessing Castriot had invoked upon the
enterprise. After that Sultan Mahomet sent a special embassage and
proposal of peace to Albania. In the royal letter he stated,
"She whom the Emperor of the Greeks was unable to keep for Scanderbeg
is now in the custody of the royal harem, safe and inviolate; to be
delivered into Scanderbeg's hand as a pledge of a treaty by which
Scanderbeg shall agree to cease from further depredations and invasion
of Macedonia, and to submit to hold his kingdom in fief to the Ottoman
throne."
The letter ended with a boastful reference to the Sultan's conquest of
Constantinople, Caramania and other countries, and the threat of
invading Albania with a host so great as to cover all its territory
with the shadow of the camps.
Castriot's reply, when known, filled the Dibrians and Epirots with
greatest enthusiasm. It closed with the words,--
"What if you have subjugated Greece, and put into servitude them of
Asia! These are no examples for the free hearts of Albania!"[104]
The news contained in Mahomet's missive led Castriot to allow
Constantine to go to Constantinople, that he might discover, if
possible, whether Morsinia was really living, and was the person
referred to by the Sultan. On reaching the city, Constantine had
sought out the monk Gennadius, with whom he had been often thrown
before and during the siege. From him he learned nothing of Morsinia
except the old story of her self-sacrifice by the side of the
altar;--which story had become so adorned with many additions in
passing from mouth to mouth, that the "Fair Saint of Albania" was
likely to be enrolled upon the calendar of the holy martyrs.
Constantine was returning with the monk from the church of Baloukli,
where they had gone to see the perpetuated miracle of the fishes which
leaped from the pan on hearing of the capture of the city, and which
are still, with one side black with the frying, swimming in the tank
of holy water. He had just reached the little gate of the monk's
lodging when Morsinia's message was put into his hand by a little old
woman.
"But how did you know of my arrival in Constantinople?" Constantine
asked, as he concluded his account.
The question led to Morsinia's story, and the revelation that his
brother Michael was still living, an officer of the Sultan, as like to
Constantine as one eye to the other; their mistaken identity by Kala
Hanoum having led to the present happy denouement. The mutual
narratives of the past grew into plans for the future, the chief part
of which related to the restoration of Michael from the service of the
Moslem.
While they talked, the day broke over the Asiatic coast. The faint
glow of light rapidly changed into bars of gold, which were
transformed into those of silver, and melted again into a broad sheen
of orange and purple tints. But for the shadowed slopes of the eastern
shore that lay between the water and the sky, this would have made
Marmora like an infinite sea of glory.
But there was a fairer sight before the eyes of Constantine; one more
suggestive of the heavenly. It was the face of his beloved, now first
clearly seen. It seemed to him that she could not have been more
enchanting if he had discovered her by the "River of the Water of
Life" in the Golden City, where only he had hoped ever again to gaze
upon her.
FOOTNOTE:
[104] According to Knowles, this was a part of Scanderbeg's reply to
Amurath II.