The conversation between Gervaise and his fellow slave was interrupted
by the arrival at the side of the quay of a party of knights. Silence
instantly fell upon the slaves; all straightened themselves up to the
oars, and prepared for a start. Among the knights who took their places
on the poop Gervaise saw with amusement his friend Ralph. He had no fear
of a recognition, for the darkly stained skin and the black hair had so
completely altered him that when he had looked at himself in a mirror,
after the application of the dye, he was surprised to find that he would
not have known it to be his own face. Ralph was in command of the party,
which consisted of young knights who had but recently arrived at Rhodes;
and as it was the first time he had been appointed as instructor,
Gervaise saw that he was greatly pleased at what he rightly regarded as
promotion.
The galley at once pushed off from the wharf, and rowed out of the
port. The work was hard; but as the slaves were not pressed to any
extraordinary exertions, Gervaise did not find it excessive. He
congratulated himself, however, that the stain was, as he had been
assured, indelible, save by time, for after a few minutes' exercise he
was bathed in perspiration. As the galley had been taken out only that
instruction might be given to the young knights, the work was frequently
broken.
Sometimes they went ahead at full speed for a few hundred yards, as if
to chase an adversary; then they would swerve aside, the slaves on one
side rowing, while those on the other backed, so as to make a rapid
turn. Then she lay for a minute or two immovable, and then backed water,
or turned to avoid the attack of an imaginary foe. Then for an hour she
lay quiet, while the knights, divesting themselves of their mantles and
armour, worked one of the guns on the poop, aiming at a floating
barrel moored for the purpose a mile out at sea. At eleven o'clock they
returned to the port. Bread and water were served out to the slaves, and
they were then permitted to lie down and sleep, the galley being moored
under the shadow of the wall.
At four o'clock another party of knights came down, and the work was
similar to that which had been performed in the morning. At seven
o'clock the slaves were taken back to their barracks.
“Well, what do you think of your work?” one of the slaves asked
Gervaise, as they ate their evening meal.
“It would not be so bad if it was all like that.”
“No. But I can tell you that when you have to row from sunrise to
sunset, with perhaps but one or two pauses for a few minutes, it is
a different thing altogether, especially if the galley is carrying
despatches, and speed is necessary. Then you get so worn out and
exhausted, that you can scarce move an oar through the water, until you
are wakened up by a smart as if a red hot iron had been laid across your
shoulders. It is terrible work then. The whip cracks every minute across
some one's back; you are blinded by exhaustion and rage, and you feel
that you would give the world if you could but burst your chain, rush on
your taskmasters, and strike, if only one blow, before you are killed.”
“It must be terrible,” Gervaise said. “And do you never get loose, and
fall upon them?”
The man shook his head.
“The chains are too strong, and the watch too vigilant,” he said. “Since
I came here I have heard tales of crews having freed themselves in the
night, and fallen upon the Christians, but for my part I do not believe
in them. I have thought, as I suppose every one of us has thought, how
such a thing could be done; but as far as I know no one has hit on a
plan yet. Now and then men have managed to become possessed of a file,
and have, by long and patient work, sawn through a chain, and have,
when a galley has been lying near our own shore, sprung overboard
and escaped; but for every attempt that succeeds there must be twenty
failures, for the chains are frequently examined, and woe be to the man
who is found to have been tampering with his. But as to a whole gang
getting free at once, it is altogether impossible, unless the key of
the pad locks could be stolen from an overseer, or the man bribed into
aiding us.”
“And that, I suppose, is impossible?” Gervaise said.
“Certainly, impossible for us who have no money to bribe them with, but
easy enough if any one outside, with ample means, were to set about it.
These overseers are, many of them, sons of Turkish mothers, and have
no sympathy, save that caused by interest, with one parent more than
another. Of course, they are brought up Christians, and taught to hold
Moslems in abhorrence, but I think many of them, if they had their free
choice, would cross to the mainland. Here they have no chance of ever
being aught but what they are--overseers of slaves, or small prison
officials. They are despised by these haughty knights, and hated by us,
while were they to reach the mainland and adopt their mothers' religion,
everything would be open to them. All followers of the Prophet have
an equal chance, and one may be a soldier today, a bey tomorrow, and
a pasha a year hence, if he be brave, or astute, or capable in any way
beyond his fellows. Men like these warders would be sure to make their
way.
“They cannot have gathered much during their service, therefore the
offer of a large sum of money would find plenty among them eager to earn
it. But, you see, they are but the inferiors. On our voyages on board
the galley, the knights inspect our fetters twice a day, and the keys
are kept in the commander's cabin. For an hour or two, when we are not
on a long passage, the padlocks are unfastened, in order that we may
jump over and bathe, and exercise our limbs; but at this time the
knights are always on guard, and as we are without arms we are
altogether powerless. It is the same thing here. The senior warders, who
all belong to the Order, although of an inferior grade, come round, as
you have seen, to examine our fetters, and themselves lock and bar the
doors. If one or two of these could be corrupted, escape would be easy
enough.”
“But is it impossible to do this?” Gervaise asked eagerly. “My father
has money, and would I know be ready, if I could communicate with him,
to pay a handsome sum, if sure that it would result in my obtaining my
freedom.”
The man nodded significantly.
“There may be other means of doing it,” he said. “Perhaps it will not be
long before you hear of it. You seem a stout fellow, and full of spirit,
but, as yet, anything that may be going on is known but to a few, and
will go no further until the time comes that all may be told. I think
not so badly of men of our faith as to believe that any one would betray
the secret for the sake of obtaining his own freedom and a big reward;
but secrets, when known by many, are apt to leak out. A muttered word or
two in sleep, or the ravings of one down with fever, might afford ground
for suspicion, and torture would soon do the rest. I myself know nothing
of the secret, but I do know that there is something going on which, if
successful, will give us our freedom. I am content to know no more until
the time comes; but there are few, save those engaged in the matter,
that know as much as this, and you can see that it is better it should
be so. Look at that man opposite; he has been here fifteen years; he
seldom speaks; he does his work, but it is as a brute beast--despair has
well nigh turned him into one. Think you that if such a man as that were
to know that there is hope, he would not be so changed that even the
dullest would observe it? I see you are a brisk young fellow, and I say
to you, keep up your courage. The time is nearer than you think when you
will be free from these accursed shackles.”
Each morning, as he went out to work with his gang, Gervaise saw the
servant from the auberge standing near; but he made no sign. He was
satisfied that his suspicions had been justified, and that he was not
leading this life in vain, but he thought it better to wait until the
week passed, and he was taken away to have his colour renewed, than to
make a sign that might possibly rouse the suspicions of his comrades. On
the eighth morning, when the door of the room was unlocked, the overseer
said--“Number 36, you will remain here. You are wanted for other work.”
After the gang had left the prison, the overseer returned.
“I am to take you up to the English auberge. The knight who handed
you over to me when you landed, told me that you might be wanted as a
servitor; and as it is he who has sent down, it may be that a vacancy
has occurred. If so, you are in luck, for the servitors have a vastly
better time of it than the galley slaves, and the English auberge has
the best reputation in that respect. Come along with me.”
The English auberge was one of the most handsome of the buildings
standing in the great street of the Knights. Its architecture was Gothic
in its character, and, although the langue was one of the smallest of
those represented at Rhodes, it vied with any of them in the splendour
of its appointments. Sir John Boswell was standing in the interior
courtyard.
“Wait here for a few minutes,” he said to the overseer. “The bailiff
will himself question the slave as to his accomplishments; but I fancy
he will not be considered of sufficient age for the post that is vacant.
However, if this should not be so, I shall no doubt find a post to fit
him ere long, for he seems a smart young fellow, and, what is better, a
willing one, and bears himself well under his misfortunes.”
Then he motioned to Gervaise to follow him to the bailiff's apartments.
“Well, Sir Gervaise,” Sir John Kendall exclaimed, as the door closed
behind him, “have you found aught to justify this cruel penance you have
undertaken?”
“As to the penance, Sir John, it has been nothing unsupportable. The
exercise is hard enough, but none too hard for one in good health and
strength, and, save for the filth of the chamber in which we are shut
up at night, and the foul state of the rushes on which we lie, I
should have naught to complain of. No, I have as yet heard nothing of a
surety--and yet enough to show me that my suspicions were justified, and
that there is a plot of some sort on foot,” and he related to the two
knights the conversation he had had with the galley slave.
“By St. George!” the bailiff said, “you have indeed been justified in
your surmises, and I am glad that I attached sufficient importance to
your suspicions to let you undertake this strange enterprise. What think
you, Sir John Boswell?”
“I think with you, that Sir Gervaise has fully justified his insistence
in this matter, which I own I considered to be hare brained folly. What
is to be done next, Sir Gervaise?”
“That is what I have been turning over in my mind. You see, I may have
little warning of what is going to take place. I may not hear of it
until we are locked up for the night and the affair is on the point of
taking place, and it will, of course, be most needful that I shall be
able to communicate with you speedily.”
“That, of course, is of vital importance,” the bailiff said. “But how is
it to be managed?”
“That is what I cannot exactly see, Sir John. An armed guard remains in
our room all night. But, in the first place, he might be himself in the
plot, and if not, the slaves would almost certainly overpower him and
kill him, as a preliminary to the work of knocking off their chains.”
“Is there a window to the room? At least, of course there is a window,
but is it within your reach?”
“There are six small loopholes--one on each side of the door, and two in
each of the side walls; they are but four inches across and three feet
in length, and there are two crossbars to each; they are four feet from
the floor.”
“At any rate, they are large enough for your arm to pass through, Sir
Gervaise, and you might drop a strip of cloth out.”
“Certainly I could, Sir John. I could easily hide a piece of white
cotton a yard or so long in my clothes, scanty as these are, and could
certainly manage, unobserved, to drop it outside the window.”
“Then the rest is for us to contrive, Boswell. We must have some one
posted in the yard of the prison, with instructions to go every ten
minutes throughout the night to see if a strip of white cotton has been
dropped out. When he finds it he must go at once to William Neave, the
governor. He is a sturdy Englishman, and there is no fear of his having
been bribed to turn traitor; but it were well to take no one into
our confidence. I think we cannot do better than employ Ahmet on this
business, as he already knows that Sir Gervaise is masquerading there.
We will have William Neave up here presently. Tell him that for certain
reasons we wish Ahmet to pass the night for the present in the prison,
and arrange with him on what excuse we can best bestow him there without
exciting suspicion. At any rate, Sir Gervaise, that is our affair.”
He went to a closet and took out a white mantle, tore a strip off the
bottom, and gave it to Gervaise.
“It would be best not to keep you here any longer,” he said, “so renew
your stain while I speak. As soon as you learn the details of the plot,
you will drop this out from the loophole on the right hand side of the
door; that is to say, the one on your right, standing inside. If the
affair is not to come off at once, it were best for you to proceed as
before. Ahmet will be outside when you go out with your gang, and on
your nodding to him we will make some excuse to take you away on your
return. I say this because if you see that the affair, whatever it is,
is not imminent, you might think it better to remain with them longer,
so as to learn their plans more fully, instead of having the thing put a
stop to at once.”
“I understand, Sir John; but, as I have said, I do not think we should
all be told until the blow is ready to be struck, as they would be
afraid that some one might inform against them, if time and opportunity
were granted them.”
“I think so too, Sir Gervaise. This afternoon we will call upon the
grand master, for we have no means of knowing how serious or how
extended this plot may be; it may include only the crew of a single
galley, and, on the other hand, the whole of the slaves may be
implicated in it. It is evident, therefore, that the matter is too
serious to be kept any longer from his knowledge.”
Three more days passed. On the third evening, after the allowance of
broth and bread had been consumed, and the door was closed and locked
upon them for the night, three or four of the galley slaves, after
talking eagerly together, beckoned to the others to gather round them
at the end of the room farthest from the door. Two of them took up arms
full of the bedding, and stuffed it into the side windows. Gervaise
saw, in the dim light, a look of intense excitement on the faces of the
slaves. It had been vaguely known among them that a plot was in hand,
although but few had been admitted into the confidence of the leaders.
Hitherto all had feared that it concerned only a small number, but
the preparations now made to insure that they should not be overheard,
showed that, whatever the plan might be, all were to share in it.
“Thanks be to Allah, the All Powerful,” one of the men began, “my lips
are unsealed, and I can tell you the great news that our hour for escape
from bondage is at hand! We need not fear the warder there,” he went on,
as several eyes were turned apprehensively towards the guard, who, with
his spear beside him, was leaning carelessly against the wall at the
farther end, looking through the window into the courtyard; “he is
with us. You must know that for the last two months an agent from
Constantinople has been on the Island, and has been engaged in arranging
this affair. Two of our taskmasters belonging to the Order have been
bribed by large sums of money, and several of the overseers, who are
half of our blood, have eagerly embraced the prospect of returning
to their mothers' country, and of avowing openly their belief in our
religion. These, again, have bought over many of the guards, ours
included, and tonight all will be ready for action. Those not of our
party will be killed without ceremony. Duplicate keys have been made of
all the padlocks of the fetters; the guards who are with us have each
one of them, the others will have been slipped into the hands of one man
in each gang as they returned tonight from work. The overseers who are
in the plot will, at midnight, go quietly round and unlock the doors,
and remove the bars from the outside. We have, therefore, only to
overcome the eight or ten men who patrol the prison; and as we shall
have the arms of the guards, some thirty in number, we shall make quick
work of them.
“The two guards at the outside gates must, of course, be killed.
Duplicates of the keys have been made, and will be hidden in a spot
known to some of our party, close to the gate. Thus we have but to issue
out and rush down, in a body, to the port. I and another are to take the
arms of our guard, and two others are told off in each room to do the
same. That will give us sixty armed men. We shall make very short work
of the guards at the gate leading into the port. Then twenty of us are
to run along the mole to Fort St. Nicholas, twenty to the Tower of St.
Michael, and twenty to that of St. John. There will be, at the most, but
three or four men keeping watch at each fort, and thus we shall have in
our possession the three forts commanding the entrance to the harbour.
There are, as you know, six galleys manned by crews from our prison
there. The crew of each galley will embark upon it, and man the oars;
the rest will divide themselves among the galleys. Before starting, we
shall seize and set fire to all other galleys and ships in the port. The
gangs in four of the rooms have been told off specially for this duty.
Before firing them, they are to take out such provisions as they may
find, and transport them to the galleys. We who take the forts are
provided with hammers and long nails, to drive down the vent holes of
the cannon; when we have done this, we are to wait until one of the
galleys fetches us off. Ten minutes should be ample time for all there
is to be done, and even if the alarm is given at once, we shall be
away long before the knights can be aroused from sleep, buckle on their
armour, and get down to the port.”
Exclamations of delight and approbation burst from his hearers.
“Then it is only we of this prison who are in the plot?” one said.
“Yes. In the first place, it would have been too dangerous to attempt to
free all. In the second, the galleys would not carry them; we shall be
closely packed as it is, for there are over a thousand here. I hear that
there was a talk of freeing all, and that we, instead of embarking at
first, should make for the other prisons, burst open the doors, and
rescue the others; but by the time we could do so the knights would
be all in arms, and our enterprise would fail altogether, for as but a
small proportion of us can obtain weapons, we could not hope to overcome
them. Were it not for the strong wall that separates their quarter from
the town, we might make straight for their houses and slay them before
the alarm could be given. As it is, that would be impossible, and
therefore the plan will be carried out as I have told you. The loss of
all their galleys and of over one thousand slaves will be a heavy blow
for them. Great pains have been taken to prevent confusion when we reach
the port. The men in each room have been instructed as to the galleys on
which they are to embark. As for you, you know precisely what is to be
done; you will simply take your places, and then wait until all are on
board. No galley is to push out from the wharf until the last man of
those employed in burning the ships has returned, with the provisions
found in them. Then the order will be given by the man who has arranged
all this, and the six galleys will put out together.
“One is to row to each of the forts to carry off the party that will
have been engaged in silencing its cannon. Our galley is to row to St.
Nicholas, and take off the twenty men I shall lead there. There is no
possibility of failure. Everything has, you see, been arranged. One of
the overseers who is in the plot walked by my side as we returned from
the port, and gave me the instructions, and all the others will have
been told in the same way, or else by the guards in charge of them.”
The gang now broke up into little groups, talking excitedly over the
unlooked for news, and exulting over the speedy advent of liberty.
Gervaise strolled carelessly to the window, and dropped out the white
strip of stuff. It was now quite dark, and there was no fear of any one
observing the movement. Then he joined the others. After an hour and
a half had passed he heard footsteps approaching the door. There was a
pause; then the outside bars were taken down, and a key turned in the
lock. A deep silence fell on the slaves. Then a voice called, “Number
36!”
“What is it?” replied Gervaise, without raising himself from his seat on
the bedding. “I have done my share of work today, and earned my night's
sleep.”
“It is a knight from the English auberge; he has come to fetch you. It
seems that you are to go there as a servitor.”
“What a cursed fortune,” Gervaise muttered, in Turkish, “just when a
road to freedom is open! I have a good mind to say I am ill, and cannot
go till the morning.”
“No, no!” one of the others exclaimed. “They would only drag you out,
and when they saw that there was naught the matter with you, would
suspect that there must be some reason why you did not want to go,
when, as every one knows, the position of the servitors is in every way
preferable to ours.”
“Now then, why are you delaying?” a voice said sharply, and a warder
entered with a lighted torch. “Get up, you lazy hound! It will be worse
for you if I have to speak again.”
“I am coming,” Gervaise grumbled. “I was just asleep.”
He rose, as if reluctantly, and went forward. The warder gave him an
angry push, followed him out, and locked and barred the door after him.
“I suppose this is the right man?” Sir John Boswell said.
“This is Number 36, Sir Knight, the same who was taken over to your
auberge the other day,” and he held the light close to Gervaise's face.
“Yes, that is the man. Follow me,” he added, in Turkish. The gate of
the courtyard was unbarred, and they passed out unquestioned. Sir John
strolled on ahead. Gervaise followed him a pace or two behind. Not until
they had passed through the gate of the castle did Sir John turn.
“I have not spoken to you,” he said, “as we may have been watched. Keep
your news until we reach the auberge.”
Upon entering it they went up at once to Sir John Kendall's apartments.
“Well, Sir Gervaise, the strip of cotton was brought to us safely. What
is your news?”
“It is very serious, Sir John, and I have been in terrible anxiety since
I dropped it out, lest it should not come to hand in time. As it is,
you have till midnight to make your preparations.” He then repeated the
statement made by the galley slave.
“By my faith,” Sir John Kendall exclaimed, “this is a pretty plot
indeed! And had it succeeded, as it certainly would have done but for
your vigilance, it would have been a heavy blow to us. The burning of
all our galleys would have crippled us sorely, and the loss of over
a thousand slaves would have been a serious one indeed, when we so
urgently require them for completing our defences. Get rid of those
clothes at once, Sir Gervaise, and don your own. We must go straight
to the grand master. You will find your clothes and armour in the next
room. I had them taken there as soon as your token was brought me.”
In a few minutes Gervaise returned in his usual attire, and with his
armour buckled on. The two knights were already in their coats of
mail, and leaving the auberge they went to the grand master's palace.
A servitor had already been sent to D'Aubusson to inform him that they
were coming, and he advanced to meet them as they entered.
“Welcome, Sir Gervaise!” he said. “Whether your news be good or bad,
whether you have found that it is a general rising of the slaves that
is intended, or a plot by which a handful of slaves may seize a boat
and escape, the gratitude of the Order is no less due to you for the
hardships and humiliations you have undergone on its behalf.”
“It concerns but one prison: that of St. Pelagius.”
“The largest of them,” the grand master put in.
“The whole of the slaves there are to be liberated at twelve o'clock
tonight, are to seize the three water towers and to spike the guns, to
burn all the shipping in the harbour, to make off with six galleys, and
destroy the rest.”
“By St. John!” D'Aubusson exclaimed, “this is indeed a serious matter.
But tell me all about it. There must be treachery indeed at work for
such a scheme to be carried out.”
Gervaise now told him all the details he had learned.
“So two of the Order, though but of the inferior grade, are in the
plot?” the grand master said; “and several of the overseers? One of the
villains is, of course, the man you saw this Greek talking with. We
must get hold of the other if we can. As to the slaves, now that we have
warning, there is an end of the matter, though without such warning they
would surely have succeeded, for the plans are well laid, and they would
have been at sea before we could have gathered in any force at the port.
If it were not that it would cost the lives of many of the warders and
of the prison guards, I should say we ought to take post outside the
gate, for we should then catch the traitors who are to accompany them.
As it is, we must be beforehand with them. A hundred men will be more
than ample for our purpose. Do you take fifty of your knights, Sir John
Kendall, and I will draw fifty of those of Auvergne. At eleven o'clock
we will meet at the gate leading down into the town, and will march to
the private entrance of the governor's house. I will go in first with a
few of you, tell him what we have discovered, and post guards to prevent
any one from leaving his house. Then, having admitted the others, we
will go quietly out and place a party at each door of the overseers'
house, with orders to seize any who may come out. The rest, in small
parties, will then go round the prison, and, entering each room, show
the slaves that their plot has been discovered. This we must do to save
the lives of the guards who may be faithful to their trust. As to the
higher officials engaged in the affair, we must obtain their names from
the overseers or slaves. It is not likely that the two traitors will
quit their houses, as they will leave the matter in the hands of the
overseers, who, as you say, intend to first open the doors, and then to
accompany the slaves in their escape. Do not warn the knights until it
is nearly time to start, Sir John. The less stir made the better, for no
one can say whether they may not have suborned some of the servitors to
send instant news of any unusual movements in any of the auberges.”
At half past ten Sir John Kendall went round among the knights and bade
fifty of them arm themselves quietly, and proceed, one by one, down to
the gate, and there await orders. Up to this time Gervaise had remained
in the bailiff's room, so as to avoid the questioning that would take
place, and he went down to the gate with the bailiff and Sir John
Boswell.
The knights assembled rapidly. None were aware of the reason for which
they had been called out at such an hour, and there was a buzz of talk
and conjecture until Sir John Kendall arrived. He was followed by four
of the servants, who at once lighted the torches they carried, when
he proceeded to go through the roll, and found that the muster was
complete. Many of the knights had gazed in some surprise at Gervaise,
whose dark complexion altogether concealed his identity, and it was
supposed that he must be some newly arrived knight, though none had
heard that any ship had entered the harbour that day.
Two or three minutes later fifty knights of the langue of Auvergne
came down, headed by the grand master himself, whose appearance greatly
heightened the surprise of the English knights. The torches were now
extinguished, the gate thrown open, and the party descended into the
town. Gervaise had purposely fallen in by the side of Harcourt.
“You are but newly arrived, Sir Knight?” the latter said, as they moved
off.
“Not so very newly, Ralph,” Gervaise replied.
“What! is it you, Gervaise?” Harcourt exclaimed, with a start of
surprise. “Why, I did not know you, though I looked hard at you in the
torch light. What have you done with yourself? Where have you been? Do
you know what all this is about?”
“I cannot tell you now, Ralph. You must be content to know that I have
been in prison, and working in the galleys.”
“The saints defend us! Why, what on earth had you done to entail such
punishment as that? It is an outrage. The grand master and the council
have the right to expel a knight from the Order after due trial and
investigation, but not to condemn him to such penalties as the galleys.
It is an outrage upon the whole Order, and I would say so to the grand
master himself.”
“There was no outrage in it, Ralph. Wait until you hear the whole story.
That I have not disgraced you, you may judge from the fact that I am in
the armour and mantle of the Order, and that, as you saw, I came down
with Sir John Kendall himself.”
There were no people about in the streets, though the lights still
burned on a few of the roofs. For a short distance the knights marched
down towards the port, and then turned down a street to the right. After
a few minutes' marching they halted under a high wall which all knew to
be that of the prison of St. Pelagius. Six knights were posted at the
main entrance, with orders that none should be allowed to leave the
prison, and that any persons who came up to the gate were to be at once
seized and made prisoners.
The rest marched on to a small door leading into the governor's house.
Here they were halted, and told to wait till called in; six knights of
England, and as many of Auvergne, being told off to accompany the grand
master and Sir John Kendall. A note had been sent to the governor,
informing him that the grand master intended to visit the prison at
eleven o'clock, but that the matter was to be kept an absolute secret;
and that the governor himself was to be down at the gate to admit him.