Chapter XXI: “there’s Many a Slip----”

The conclave was held, and despite the strenuous efforts of Papa Demetri, the monks decided by a large majority to accept Armitage’s offer, and wink at the escape of the prisoners. Had M. Kirileff paid down his two thousand five hundred roubles, the monastery would have been bound in honour to fulfil his conditions, as the aged Papa Apostolos pertinently observed, but since he had merely promised it, and had not so far fulfilled his promise, it would be folly to refuse an additional sum which would allow the silver-gilt haloes of the saints on the _ikonostasis_ to be replaced by plates of pure gold. And, after all, they were not asked to promote the prisoners’ escape; it was merely a matter of leaving the ladders down for a few nights instead of drawing them up, and of a temporary mislaying of his keys by Papa Athanasios. It was also arranged--the suggestion came from Brother Nikola, the vacuous-faced young monk who had identified Wylie--that the escape should not take place until Armitage had finished his picture of the church, lest the Princess Eirene should be disappointed of her devout desires. The good news was carried by Papa Athanasios to Armitage, who was diligently at work in the courtyard, and he conveyed it to Wylie, whose indiscreet behaviour the day before, coupled with M. Kirileff’s warning, had caused him to be denied further admittance. He bore the monks no ill-will for his exclusion, since Brother Evangelos, who was in charge of the ladders, was authorised to show him how they were managed, and he spent the afternoon of the day of the conclave in crawling up and down the cliff-face like a fly on a wall. The next evening, however, when Armitage descended in the net after a long day’s work, Wylie met him and drew him aside from their camp.

“Those venerable frauds at the top there are up to some mischief,” he said.

“How? what do you mean?” asked Armitage.

“Fellow came down the ladders this morning with a basket--apparently a lay-brother going to the village for provisions. It struck me he seemed to look about him a good deal, as if he was afraid of being followed, so I promptly followed him, stalking him through the brushwood on hands and knees. It was just as I expected. When he had got well out of sight of our camp, he put down his basket, tucked up his gown, and scampered off as hard as he could in the opposite direction from the village. I tried to follow him, but as I didn’t dare to stand upright he distanced me easily, so I took cover near his basket to see when he came back. He was about an hour gone, then he came and picked up his basket again, and went off to the village as jauntily as you please.”

“But where do you think he went?”

“Clearly to some one who acts as go-between for Papa Demetri and the Scythians--probably a brigand. The village is Greek, you see, so they would have to look elsewhere. Of course, the plan is to fetch Kirileff back with larger offers before we can get away. I distrusted that stipulation about your finishing the picture, you know. When are you likely to get it done?”

“Not for a good many years, if the monks are to be the judges. They expect a regular Byzantine arrangement, showing every stone in the walls and every tile that’s missing from the roof. They aren’t educated up to modern methods, you see, and I’m putting as much detail into it as I conscientiously can, just to please them. Still, with another day’s work I ought to be able to produce a daub that will pass, at any rate.”

“That’s all right. We couldn’t start to-night, anyhow. I am going up the ladders when it’s dark, so as to know my way about them. I couldn’t undertake to get Miss Smith down without. It’s a bad enough climb to take a woman anyhow, and in the dark----! But perhaps that’s just as well, since she won’t see what it’s like.”

“I wish I had your cool head. I suffer agonies every time I go up and down in the net, even. By the bye, to avoid further artistic controversy with the brethren, can you make a drawing, roughly to scale, of the place for me to-morrow, from the ground, and jot down the colours, so that I can paint from it afterwards? They’re so full of the church that they haven’t remembered the outside view yet, but Papa Demetri is quite capable of making use of it to delay us.”

“All right. It’ll be very rough, but that won’t signify. Meanwhile, you tip the wink to Papa Athanasios to lose his keys before locking-up time to-morrow night, will you?”

* * * * * * *

Only one incident occurred to trouble the conspirators during the following day, and this was a mishap to Brother Evangelos, who, in passing through a dark passage, tripped over one of the crutches on which the monks supported themselves during the long services, and sprained his ankle so severely that he could not leave his cell. But Wylie had ascended and descended the ladders safely during the night, and was confident that he knew his way from one to the other, so that there seemed no reason for delay. Papa Athanasios had warned Maurice to be ready when the _semantron_ sounded for midnight service, and the judicious gift of a rosary from the Holy Mountain had induced old Marigo to convey the same message to Zoe. A dark robe and high cap, such as were worn by the monks, had also been smuggled into the cell of each, in case any belated brother, hurrying into church, should run across the two strangers.

Wylie was half-way up the ladders when the clangour of the _semantron_ smote upon his ear, and he climbed the rest of the way in entire forgetfulness of the perilous nature of his path. The sound was still reverberating through the monastery when he reached the tower to which the ladders led, and he could see the last-awakened among the monks scurrying through the courtyard. Presently the noise died away, the brother who had been wielding the mallet followed the rest into church, and Wylie went softly across to the quarters of the Hegoumenos and laid upon his divan the second packet containing two hundred and fifty pounds, the first having been handed over as soon as the result of the conclave was declared. Then he returned to the shelter of his tower, and waited with beating heart, not daring to make his presence known, even when two figures appeared round the end of the church, for in the monkish garb it was impossible to distinguish who they were. But they came unhesitatingly straight to the tower, and stepping out from the doorway to meet them, he grasped a hand of each and led the way to the ladder, sternly silencing their eager questions. Without giving them time to consider the means by which they were to descend, he went a few steps down, with his face to the ladder, then told Zoe to follow him, and guided her feet to the steps, which were by no means evenly placed. Maurice came last, well behind Zoe, that she might have full liberty to cling to the sides of the ladder, and thus they worked their way down, the cold sweat standing on Wylie’s brow. The camp fire looked so small and so distant below--almost as distant as the great clear stars, which seemed unnaturally bright in that cloudless atmosphere. Had Maurice alone been in question, he would have faced the adventure with a laugh, but that Zoe should be hanging between heaven and earth on that rickety ladder, with the night-wind whistling round her, was something unspeakably horrible. His feet seemed like lead, and he could hardly feel the next rung as he moved down to it, but Zoe distinguished no trembling as he guided her slowly lower and lower. She followed his muttered directions as if in a dream, for the imaginary world in which she had spent the greater part of her captivity still lay about her, and it was as though her mind received and her body obeyed his orders, while her real self was not there at all.

At last they came to a ledge of rock, on which Wylie allowed a rest from sheer necessity, for he found himself forced to cling to the ladder even when standing on firm ground. But no sooner had Zoe’s feet touched the rock than an exclamation from her turned his nerves to iron again.

“What’s that?” she cried. “There’s some one here! Something high and dark went round the corner.”

Neither Wylie nor Maurice, with their faces to the ladder, had seen anything, but she had turned her head to see where Wylie was, and she persisted that in that moment some one who had been standing close to him had vanished. Peering round the corner, they could see nothing, but Wylie drew a revolver as he led the way along the path which formed the link between this ladder and the next. Still there was no one to be seen, and he returned the weapon to his sash before stooping to feel for the head of the ladder. All along the brink he groped without success before the truth dawned upon him. The ladder was not there. It was not a very long one, but it crossed slantwise a deep chasm in the rock, which offered an insurmountable obstacle to any one trying to ascend the cliff without it.

“The ladder is gone,” he said, turning to the other two, and hoping that his voice did not betray his feelings. “We must let ourselves down. Take off those monks’ gowns you have on. They will have to do for ropes.”

They obeyed, and Wylie slit the long shapeless garments in two from neck to hem with his dagger, then tied the halves together by their huge sleeves, and the two gowns to one another. “I’ll go first,” he said, “and you had better both hang on to the rope, for it’ll be a big strain.”

They obeyed, not understanding how he meant to get across; but to their horror, when he had let himself down over the edge, the rope began to oscillate violently. He had fastened the end round his waist, so as to leave his hands free, and he was doing his utmost to swing across the chasm. Again and again his efforts fell short, and he swung back bruised; but at last, with a wild clutch, he caught hold of the bushes growing on the other side, and hauled himself up.

“Now, Miss Smith,” he said breathlessly, “recall your gym. days at school. Do you think you can come down this rope hand over hand?”

Zoe would have died sooner than confess to inability or fear at that moment, though the clumsy knotted cable had little resemblance to a gymnasium-rope. “Rather!” she said promptly, and Wylie twisted the end he held round and round, so as to make the bridge as strong as possible. Sliding down it was out of the question, on account of the knots, and she saw that she must work her way along. Maurice put his end of the rope under the largest stone he could find, as an added security against slipping, then, bracing himself firmly, held it as taut as he could. Zoe gripped it with hands and feet, thankful for the flexible moccasins, which were so much more serviceable than shoes, and dropped slowly from knot to knot, descending diagonally until Wylie, standing on his end of the rope, was able to catch her in his arms. She stood aside, panting, while he asked Maurice whether the stone was large enough to balance his weight.

“Nothing like,” was the reply. “I shall jump. In case I miss, I shall tie the rope round my waist, and you must pull me up. Zoe had better hold on to it as well, for fear the jerk might drag you over. Stand clear.”

Wylie and Zoe stood well back, and waited for the shock, but Maurice had judged his distance so well that though he did not land on the rock where they were standing, he was able to grasp the bushes which grew below it, and before they could give way, Wylie had him by the hand. The bushes afforded sufficient foothold to enable him to raise himself over the edge of the rock, and winding the rope round him in case it should be needed again, he followed the other two to the head of the next ladder. This was duly in place, and they began to descend it in the same order as before, but about midway Wylie’s heart stood still. What if the unknown enemy who had removed the second ladder should have sawn through the supports of this one? He said nothing to his friends, and they went on steadily until they reached the foot of this ladder, and passed through a hole cut in the rock to the head of a fourth. This also was passed in safety, and they stood on a rocky platform, extending some way into the rock in the form of a cave. This was only some hundred and fifty feet above the ground, and the rope-ladder was hanging from its two iron stanchions ready for their descent.

“I say,” said Maurice, “I don’t like the look of this cave. We can’t very well search it without a light, for any one hiding in it could see us against the stars, but if Zoe’s phantom is there, he might think it rather a good dodge to cut the ladder while we were all on it. You take Zoe down first, Wylie, and I’ll stay on guard until you are safe down.”

“All right,” said Wylie. “Take my revolver, and don’t hesitate to shoot. I wonder if Armitage is down below?”

He whistled softly, and an answering whistle came up, while the limp, dangling ladder became firm. Once again Zoe was thankful for her moccasins, for it was much more nervous work descending the loose rungs of rope than those of the wooden ladders. Wylie guided her feet as before, and slowly and steadily they came nearer to the darkness which meant firm ground. She had kept up valiantly hitherto, but when it came to the last step she could not induce herself to take it. She seemed to have been crawling down shaking ladders for unnumbered hours, and she clung shivering to the ropes, utterly unable to quit her hold. Wylie unclasped her hands gently at last, and lifted her down, saying, in a commonplace, society voice which dried up her threatening tears, “I want to introduce my friend Armitage, Miss Smith. You have to thank him for getting you out, for he wasn’t suspected as I was.”

“Awfully glad to see you safe on firm ground,” said Armitage. “I’m afraid you’ll find things rather rough, but if you’ll kindly put up with it----”

“We should like to have brought a whole outfit, and a lady’s-maid, and all sorts of Eastern luxuries for you,” said Wylie, who was holding the ladder steady for Maurice to descend; “but we were afraid of rousing suspicion. As your sister--I mean Princess Eirene--isn’t here, may I say that you must think you are on active service?”

Zoe had been laughing rather nervously, but the question roused her to recollection. “Oh,” she cried, “have you brought me any note-books?”

“No, really, I’m afraid not,” said Wylie, dismayed. “Why?”

“Oh, I have been living the most splendid story all the time I have been in the monastery, and I wanted to write it down before I forget. I know it will all fade when I get with other people.”

Her tone spoke of such complete absorption in the story that Wylie was conscious of a jealous feeling that the absence of the note-books was not an unmixed misfortune.

“I’m awfully sorry,” he said hypocritically. “We’ll bring you cartloads of note-books as soon as we get to Th----”

An exclamation from Armitage broke into his sentence. Above, on the edge of the rocky platform, a high cap and a bearded face were momentarily outlined against the starry sky, and something shining caught the light. One side of the ladder seemed to drop, and the rungs hung drooping. Wylie felt for his revolver, but it was in Maurice’s sash as he clung half-way down the ladder, and before Armitage could thrust his into his hand, the remaining side-rope parted with a sound like the report of a gun, and Maurice seemed to fly outwards through the air. He came to the ground with a thud which drew an agonised shriek from Zoe, and Wylie scarcely doubted that he must be killed. He was unconscious when they reached him, but as they were anxiously feeling his limbs, he opened his eyes for a moment.

“Broken, I think,” he said, as Armitage touched his right arm, and Wylie confirmed the opinion.

“Well, better than a leg,” said Maurice feebly. “You’d have had to leave me here if it had been that.”

“Nonsense, we’d have rigged you up a cacolet, and carried you on a baggage-mule,” said Wylie, examining into the extent of the injury by the light of the vestas which Armitage struck. “You may think yourself jolly lucky if this is all that’s wrong with you, Smith. I can manufacture some splints and strap it up, but if it had been an elbow, or a compound fracture of any sort, it would have been beyond me. Now, can you get to the camp if we help you along?”

Maurice set his teeth, and submitted to be helped up and supported as far as the tents, where Zoe, much to her indignation, was ruthlessly ordered to rest for an hour or so, on the ground of having gone through quite enough already. In vain she recalled her possession of First Aid certificates, Wylie was adamant, and even the ungrateful Maurice entreated her to go and lie down and not make a fuss. When she was called, in the early morning, the arm was set, and Maurice, though pale and in considerable pain, was quite ready to start. Wylie gave up his horse to him and walked at his side, and Zoe was mounted, as had been arranged, on the mule. What the guards thought of the additions to the party no one knew, for they asked no questions and made no remarks, and all went smoothly. There was one disagreeable moment during the day, when a peripatetic police official, travelling with an escort, was encountered. He accepted with enthusiasm the assurance that Maurice and Zoe were the two famous Europeans whose capture and detention by brigands had produced such a stir, and immediately afterwards declared his intention of arresting them for travelling in the interior of the country without a passport. Asked what he intended to do with them, he replied that it was his duty to conduct them immediately to the nearest port, whereupon he was assured that they were going thither as fast as they could. To this he rejoined that he felt it right to escort them there, and as his room, and that of his ragged regiment, was infinitely to be preferred to his company, it was clear that an attempt must be made to overcome his sense of duty. The means of doing this was simple, but expensive, and to the last it was doubtful whether his affection for the travellers would not lead him to attach himself to them as long as they had anything left that commended itself to his fancy. They succeeded in freeing themselves from him, however, and the rest of the return journey was as uneventful as that from the coast had been. Maurice bore the travelling well, and he and Zoe took unfeigned delight in the open-air life after four weeks within stone walls.

The only person who was not satisfied was Wylie. He had accomplished the object to which all his efforts had been bent, he had the society of his friends again, but the reality was not equal to the anticipation. Zoe and he were not close comrades, as they had been in the early days of their captivity. Sometimes he tried to look at the fact from a common-sense point of view, deciding that Maurice’s accident was enough to account for the change, but at other times he told himself bitterly that it was all his own fault for forgetting the note-books. Of course, Zoe must think that he was utterly and wilfully indifferent to the things that interested her. It was so unfair, too, for though, like most men of his type, he had little fancy for any woman with whom he had to do “mixing herself up with writing,” he was sure that Zoe could not have discovered this. He had acquiesced in the jesting, matter-of-fact way in which she chose to allude to her literary efforts, and had even congratulated himself that the taste could not be very deep-rooted. And now this wretched story of hers was coming between them, he was sure of it. When she rode for an hour in silence, and had to be recalled to her present surroundings with a start, he knew she was living in that world of hers in which he had no part. It did not affect his feelings towards her. If she chose to write novels all day and every day, he would accept the fact, and prize the results, however little he could enter into them, because they were hers, but the sense of aloofness came from her side. As she had put it to herself after their parting in the forest, she had been learning to do without him, and with her mind preoccupied with her story, she had found it easy.