After the defeat of Moses as a Turkish leader, and his return to his
patriotic allegiance, there was a lull in active hostilities between
the two powers. Amesa, like other of the prominent voivodes in
Scanderbeg's army, took the occasion offered to look after his own
estates. He had added somewhat to his local importance by marrying the
daughter of a neighboring land-owner. But neither conjugal delights,
nor the additional acres his marriage brought him, covered his
ambition. His envy of Castriot had deepened into inveterate hatred.
The Voivode sat alone in the great dining hall of his castle. It was
late in the night. As the blazing logs at one end of the room cast
alternately their glare and shadows around, the rude furniture seemed
to be thrown into a witching dance. Helmets and corselets gleamed
bravely from their pegs, suggesting that they were animated by heroic
souls. The great bear-skin, with its enormous head, lying at the
Voivode's feet, crouched in readiness to receive the lunge of the
boar's tusks which threatened it from the corner. Pikes, spears, bows
and broad-mouthed arquebuses were ranged about, as if to defend their
owner, should any demon inspire these lifeless forms for sudden
assault upon him.
Amesa had been sitting upon a low seat between the fire and a
half-drained tankard of home-brewed liquor, his brows knit with the
concentration of his thoughts.
A slight sound without arrested his attention.
"Drakul is late, but is coming at last. If only he has brought me the
red forelock of that fellow who used to be always crossing my track,
and has now come back to Albania!" he said, in a tone of musing, but
intended to be heard by the delinquent as the great oaken door creaked
behind him. Raising his eyes, but not turning his head to look, Amesa
changed his soliloquy into a volley of oaths at the comer.
"I thought your name-sake, Drakul, had run off with you, you lazy
imp.[106] What kept you?"
"A long journey," was the reply.
Amesa started to his feet, for the voice was not that of Drakul. He
faced one whose appearance was not the less startling because it was
familiar.
"I have brought the red forelock myself," said the visitor.
Amesa stared stupidly an instant, then reached toward his weapon lying
upon the table near.
"Stop!" said the man, laying the flat side of his sword across the
Voivode's arm before he could grasp his yataghan.
"How dare you intrude yourself unbidden here!" cried the enraged
Amesa.
"It required no daring," was the cool reply, "for I am the stronger."
"Help! Help!" shouted the voivode, as he realized that he would not be
permitted to reach his weapon.
The door swung, and a band of strange men stood in the opening.
"I feared, noble Amesa," said the intruder, "that I should not be a
welcome guest, and so brought with me a party of friends to help me to
good cheer while under your roof. You need not disturb your servants
to help you, for, if they should hear, they could not obey, as they
are all safely guarded in their quarters. If they should come out they
might be harmed. Let them rest. Retire, men! You recognize me, Lord
Amesa?"
"Ay. You are Arnaud's whelp," sneered the entrapped man.
"More gentle words would befit the courtesy of my host," was the quiet
reply. "But you are as much mistaken as when you took the simple
witted Elissa on my commendation. Do not respond, Sire! In your heat
you might say that which pride would prevent your recalling. I am a
Moslem soldier, and you are my prisoner; as secure as if you were in
Constantinople." The visitor threw off the Albanian cape, and
revealed the elegantly wrought jacket of the Janizary Aga.
"And what would you have of me? Is there nothing that can satisfy you
less than my life?" asked Amesa.
"My noble Amesa," said Ballaban Aga, taking a seat and motioning the
Voivode to another. "Years ago I gave you my word in honor that I
would serve you against Scanderbeg. I have come to redeem that pledge,
and you must help me."
"How can that be, if you are an officer of the Moslems?" asked Amesa,
taking the seat, and adopting the low tone of the other; for these
words had excited in him all his cupidity, and stirred his natural
secretiveness and habit of sinister dealing. His eyes ceased to glare
like a tiger's when at bay; they shone now like a snake's.
"Amesa must enter the service of the Padishah."
"Impossible!" cried he; but in a tone that indicated, not indignant
rejection of the proposition; rather doubt of its practicability.
"But first you must raise here in Albania the standard of revolt
against Scanderbeg, claiming the title of king of Epirus and the
Dibrias for yourself. Scanderbeg's sword will, of course, compel the
next step--your safety in the Turkish camp. The Padishah will then
become your patron, offering to withdraw his armies and restore the
ancient liberties of the country, with the solitary limitation that
you shall acknowledge the suzerainty of the Sultan. The revenues you
may collect shall remain in your possession for the strengthening of
your local power. The defection of Moses Goleme well nigh destroyed
the leadership of Scanderbeg--yours will complete the work. Yet it
will not be defection; rather, as Moses Goleme regarded it, the truest
service of your country, because the only service that is
practicable."
"But I cannot thus break with the patriot leaders," said Amesa,
apparently having felt a real touch of honor.
"It must be," replied the Aga. "You cannot longer remain as you are,
even if you would. You, Sire, have been guilty of some great crime.
Nay, do not deny it! Nor need you take time to give expression to any
wrath you may feel on being plainly accused of it," continued
Ballaban, silencing Amesa more effectively by the straight look into
his eyes than by his words. "My moments here are too few to talk about
the matter, and you should have exhausted any feeling you may have had
in private penitence heretofore, rather than reserve it until another
person lays it to your charge. But the point is this:--Scanderbeg is
aware of your crime, and awaits only the opportune moment to punish
you as it deserves."
"How do you know that?" said Amesa, the bright gleam of his eye
changing to a stony stare, as the color failed from his face, and he
leaned back in ghastly consternation.
"It is enough that I know it. The Janizaries have not roamed these
Albanian hills for twelve years without finding out the secrets of the
country. The holes in the ground are our ears, and the very owls spy
for us through the dark. But enough of words. Sign this, and set to it
your seal!"
Ballaban presented a parchment, offering formally, in the name of the
Sultan, the government of Albania to Amesa, on the condition set forth
above.
"I would consider the"--began Amesa; but he was cut short by
Ballaban--
"No! sign instantly! I have done for you all the considering that is
necessary, and must be gone."
"But," began Amesa again, "so important a matter--"
"Sign instantly!" repeated Ballaban; and, pointing to the door where
the soldiers stood waiting their orders--"or neither Amesa nor his
castle will exist until the day breaks."
The baffled man took from a niche in the wall a horn of thickened ink,
and, with the wooden pen, made his signature, and pressed the ancient
seal of the De Streeses against the ball of softened wax attached to
it.
"This will serve to keep you true: for if by the next fulness of the
moon Amesa's standard be not raised against Scanderbeg's, this, as
evidence of your treason, shall be read in all your Albanian camps,"
said Ballaban, placing the document in his bosom. "And should you need
to confer with your new friends, your faithful Drakul may inquire at
our lines for Ballaban Badera, Aga of the Janizaries."
With a low salâm he withdrew. A few muffled orders, a shuffling of
feet, and the castle was as quiet as the stars that looked down upon
it.
FOOTNOTES:
[105] The firman of Sultan Mahomet was never revoked, and from his
time until the extinction of the order of Janizaries by Sultan
Mahmoud, in 1834, the Padishah always appointed the Chief Aga.
[106] The word Drakul signifies in Servian "the Devil."