Chapter XIX: The Bitter End

Inside the breastwork commanding the path the defenders were crouching close under the loopholes to avoid the fire which was being poured in by a strong body of riflemen posted on Akri. Several dead bodies lay unheeded behind them, victims of the first volley, and most of the men had received wounds. They met Maurice with a subdued cheer as he crawled in among them.

“You will not keep us here to be shot, lord?” they questioned him eagerly. “You will give the word for us to dash upon the bayonets, and kill as we are killed?”

“You would be shot down before you could cover half the distance. No, lie still, and don’t reply to the fire. Then they may think we are all killed, and try to rush the breastwork.”

But even as Maurice spoke, he remembered that the enemy on Akri could pour in a volley that would kill all his men the moment they rose to their feet, and he began to wonder whether he ought to withdraw them one by one while the Roumis in front were still lying down and taking long shots. If this line were pierced, the way would be open, with only occasional obstacles, to the defences surrounding the monastery itself, and when they were attacked, then it would indeed be the beginning of the end. But could the line be held? “Oh, if only Wylie were here!” he breathed, and started when one of the men laid a hand upon his arm, and directed his attention to the dry stream-bed behind a projecting rock which afforded a sheltered entrance to the breastwork from the rear. There was Wylie, haggard and unshaven, holding fast with both hands to the packsaddle of the mule on which he was precariously perched, riding down towards the threatened point, his guards accompanying him with sullen faces. The enemy on Akri seemed to detect a reinforcement in the half-seen forms moving behind rocks and bushes, and sent a volley in their direction for a change. The mule was hit, and came down on its knees, the guards dragging Wylie off just in time. Maurice crawled back to meet him, and found him sitting upon a stone, hardly able to speak.

“This is madness!” said Maurice. “Let them take you back at once.”

“Akri gone?” asked Wylie, speaking slowly and with difficulty, and paying no attention to his friend. “Send ten men with Mausers up here,” indicating the protecting rock above him. “Just cover enough--enfilade Akri--keep down fire.”

Astonished and delighted, Maurice obeyed, leading the men up in person, to find that from the summit of the rock they could indeed obtain a side view of the top of Akri, and that the riflemen there were absolutely exposed. A few minutes made a gratifying difference in the state of affairs. The fire which had had such damaging results ceased entirely, the few survivors of the Roumi marksmen crawling away to huddle in the shelter of the ruins of the hermitage. Leaving his men to hold the rock, Maurice descended it to report.

“Thought so,” said Wylie. “Top of Akri slopes on that side--no cover. They must bring up sandbags before they can fire again--won’t do that till dark. Suppose you haven’t thought of sending for one of the Maxims?”

“No, indeed,” confessed Maurice. “Shall I take some of the men and fetch it?”

“Better. Not the one commanding the gateway--we may want that--the other. Prolong the agony a bit while the ammunition holds out--they’ll hardly face it. I’ll hold the fort here while you’re gone.”

Divided between relief at this unexpected accession of strength and anxiety for Wylie, Maurice departed on his errand. At the monastery he found that Eirene and Zoe had organised a corps of messengers,--small boys who were to bring periodical reports from the various possible landing-places,--and that at present there was no sign of a Roumi descent on any other point.

“Good reason,” growled Wylie, when he returned with the gun and told him of this. “They know that the paths leading to the monastery from Skandalo and Ephestilo are practically impassable in the face of any opposition at all. This path along the hills is the only hopeful one for an army.”

He spoke more easily, and now that the exhaustion caused by the rough ride was over, something of his ordinary alert look was returning. While Maurice was absent, he had directed the building of a rough shelter, a mere framework of loose stones, for the men working the Maxim, and it was now placed in position, commanding the path.

“Pure bluff,” he remarked. “They are bound to break the line somewhere if they keep on trying, but this gives us a slight moral advantage. They know that we can wipe out a good many of them when it comes to a final tussle, and therefore it may just make them willing to negotiate.”

“It’s come to that, then?” said Maurice.

Wylie nodded. “I gather from the men that Christodoridi has played the fool to some purpose. He has relieved us of more than half our fighting men, with their rifles and ammunition, and those we have left have been pouring out cartridges like water, to judge by the firing I heard at Ephestilo. We can’t go on long at that rate. Our food may hold out for two days, now that we have lost so many mouths, but not longer. Therefore it would be as well to make use of the two days.”

“It’s a little sudden,” said Maurice, almost apologetically. “Last night the food was the only trouble.”

“Yes, and might have been so still if Christodoridi had happened to carry a piece of paper and a pencil instead of sending a verbal message. You would have realised, if he didn’t, that his beautiful halted convoy must be a trap. But it’s no good crying over wasted casualties. I’ll stay here while you go back and settle things with Terminoff and the rest. When you are ready, we must send a flag of truce, I suppose.”

“To suggest what?”

Wylie looked up at him with approval. “You see, as I do, that it’s all up,” he said, “but we’ll keep a stiff upper lip. Offer to surrender as prisoners of war. The Roumis will probably accept, without for a moment intending to keep the terms, but if we are once recognised as belligerents, the Admirals must for very shame interfere if anything in the way of a massacre is attempted. Let Terminoff go as envoy, and tell him to communicate with the Admirals if he can, so as to get their guarantee for the terms.”

“Do you think they’ll give it? You imagine that there’s some faint chance still?” asked Maurice incredulously.

Wylie shook his head. “They won’t give it. But we preserve our high moral attitude. Not that it’ll do much good to you and me, but it may save the lives of some of those wretched refugees, and it may be of some future service to the Emathian cause.”

“Of which you have no reason to think kindly. Wylie, I won’t insult you by asking you to forgive me for dragging you into this, but I will say that if I had guessed how the Powers would behave, and the Christians, I should have thought my own life was enough to throw away.”

“Can’t be helped,” said Wylie. “Luck’s been against us all through. Well, ‘whirligig of time,’ don’t you know? A hundred years hence they may be worshipping you and me with haloes on in every village of a free Emathia.”

“As martyrs?” said Maurice lightly as he turned away, but his mouth set firmly when he had taken the path to the monastery. “No martyrdom for you, if I can help it!” he said, addressing in his thoughts the distant Wylie. “Eirene owes me something, and she may as well pay it in this way as any other. And pay it she shall.”

Arrived at the monastery, he summoned Dr Terminoff and the other insurgent leaders to a council. He had thought that by this time he knew the men with whom he had to deal, but it came upon him with a shock that he was mistaken. Dr Terminoff, hitherto so obliging, so ready to listen to reason, refused definitely to become the bearer of the offer of surrender. He explained his position frankly.

“It is quite possible,” he said, “that the Roumis may, under the influence of the Admirals, repeat their former offer of immunity for the common people if the leaders are given up. Our leaders have throughout been Prince Theophanis, Prince Christodoridi, and Colonel Wylie. I see no reason to put myself forward as a leader when I have enjoyed none of the privileges of leadership.”

“Perhaps you would prefer me to carry the offer in person?” suggested Maurice, unable to keep a hint of sarcasm out of his voice. “Only I fear that if the Roumis should refuse to recognise the flag of truce and seize me, you would have lost your chief asset without any equivalent.”

The usual scene of disorder ensued. Every one saw that it was out of the question for Maurice to go, but nobody wished to go himself. Finally some one suggested that the task would be a suitable one for a monk, and as the monks of Hagiamavra were known to have objected strenuously to the selection of their monastery as an insurgent stronghold, they might be able to obtain at least a hearing from Jalal-ud-din. The Hegoumenos, when the matter was laid before him by a deputation, was very naturally averse from compromising himself by doing anything to help his unwelcome guests out of their difficulties, but his objections were vigorously combated. If the insurgents continued to hold out, the monks must starve with them; while if the Roumis stormed the place, it was highly unlikely that they would be spared in the general slaughter, so that it was distinctly to their interest to bring about a settlement if possible. One of the officials of the monastery and a lay brother were at length chosen by lot to carry the proposal, which was signed by Maurice alone. The insurgent chiefs, in their new-born zeal for self-effacement, would not put their names to it, and he flatly refused to ask Wylie for his signature.

“Colonel Wylie is here as my servant,” he said, when the rest objected. “Prince Christodoridi and I have been your only leaders. Now I am left alone, but I need no one to share my responsibility.”

This attitude was so surprising that it inspired Lazar Nilischeff and his group with the suspicion that Maurice intended to purchase his own safety by betraying the insurgents. They insisted on the English stewards being called in and required suddenly to translate the offer of surrender, that they might be sure it contained no conditions of which they were ignorant, and they would not allow Maurice to hand it himself to the two monks, lest he should give them secret instructions. A month ago such behaviour on their part would have filled him with disgust, but to-day he submitted to their exactions with a patience that surprised them. They were like a wild animal in a trap, he realised, snapping desperately even at the hand which tries to release it.

There had been some doubt whether Jalal-ud-din, once out of sight of the Admirals, would recognise a flag of truce, but that run up on the breastwork which was held by Wylie and dominated by the Maxim was responded to by one from the Roumi line, and the two monks walked boldly out into the open. Their high caps and black robes crossed the space swept during the day by the fire of both parties, and disappeared into the Roumi lines, and those left behind resigned themselves to wait. It was not until after dark that the return of the ambassadors was announced by the approach of a party bearing a flag of truce, who left them midway across the open space and departed. The two old men were much shaken by their experience, though they had suffered no bodily harm. They had been taken before Jalal-ud-din himself, who had thundered out a demand for unconditional surrender, and refused even to listen to the suggestion of any other terms. Permission to communicate either with the Admirals or with the Consuls at Therma had been denied, but the only European in the camp, a Hercynian whose status did not appear to be exactly defined, had held out no hope of help from Europe. He would do his best to intercede for the lives of any of the inhabitants of the peninsula who were not taken with arms in their hands, but that was all; and the general impression gained from this conversation was that Europe would not be sorry to see the place swept clear by a general massacre, thus at once punishing past defiance and saving future trouble.

The truce was to remain in force until the next evening, to allow the insurgents time to discuss their hard case among themselves, and Maurice went down to the breastwork and carried Wylie off to the monastery almost by main force, dexterously depriving him of his last excuse by first sending for his possessions from Ephestilo. The hour that followed, spent under the shelter of impending doom, reminded the four who shared the recollection of an evening passed long ago in the brigands’ camp. Zoe and Eirene had not been told of the severe alternative which was all that was offered, but the prospect of surrender, even as prisoners of war, was painful enough in its destruction of all that they had lived for during the last few months. Still, each kept up for the sake of the rest, pretending all the while that it was for the sake of little Constantine, who clung to his father with a determination that appealed to Maurice as a kind of premonition, and could hardly be torn from him when bedtime came.

Troubles began early the next day. Maurice was roused by Wylie’s voice in the gallery, and going out, found him leaning on a stick and giving orders to his guards, who looked thoroughly frightened.

“What’s the matter?” asked Maurice, when the men had gone.

“Matter enough. The Roumis have broken the truce and pierced our line in the night. They are posted all along the deep gully between us and Ephestilo.”

“But there was no firing--no alarm!” cried Maurice.

“No need. Nilischeff and his men were holding a palaver, and they had only to slip past.”

“But we can turn them out?”

“If we try it we shall have them on us along the whole line. No, honestly I think it will be best to let them stay there for the day--taking care they get no farther, of course--and make use of the truce if they will let us.”

“How? by trying to communicate with the Admirals again?”

“No, that’s useless. By getting your wife and sister away.”

“But, good Heavens! you say we are cut off from Ephestilo.”

“By the direct path, but there is a longer way round. Zeko will take them down all right.”

“But not to-day. You have not warned the ships.”

“As soon as it is dusk this evening. That will give us time to burn the blue lights on the gateway, for they can’t get to Ephestilo by the long way till to-morrow morning at earliest. Then Cotway will be ready for them.”

“But--old man, I know you’re doing your best for them, but do you realise what it means--a night journey through these hills, with the Roumis swarming in every direction? Wouldn’t they be better even staying here?”

“No,” said Wylie shortly. “You don’t know what Nilischeff and his men were discussing in the night, but I do. They mean to save their own wretched skins by handing us all over--all, mind--to the Roumis.”

“Then let us do one piece of justice before our chance is gone, and shoot the lot of them.”

Wylie shook his head. “No; keep on the mask and anticipate them by surrendering, when once the ladies are safe. I doubt if you would have men enough behind you to do it, for one thing. Nilischeff has made them believe that the enmity of the Powers is against us personally, and that when we are once out of the way Thracia will step forward as the deliverer favoured by all Europe.”

“I don’t mind what he makes out about me,” said Maurice wrathfully, “but to contemplate giving up women to the Roumis!--and this from men who know what it means! Well, I will tell Eirene to be ready.”

It was some time before he had the opportunity of speaking to his wife in private, and when he called her she was at first too busy to respond. Then she came out of her room looking annoyed.

“I wish you wouldn’t speak so loud, Maurice,” she said. “You know how difficult it is to get Constantine settled for his day-sleep, and he always starts up when he hears your voice.”

“Well, he won’t be disturbed in that way much longer. You understand that it’s all up with us here, Eirene? I think it is better that you and Zoe and Con should be out of the way before all the business of the surrender begins, so I shall pack you off this evening to Ephestilo, where Admiral Essiter will send a boat to fetch you on board the _Magniloquent_.”

“I have never asked you to face any disagreeables that I was not willing to share,” said Eirene. “I shall stay here with you, of course.”

“I think not. I am sorry to be obliged to speak plainly, Eirene. You would not wish Zoe to be left as Con’s guardian?”

“Maurice!” she cried quickly, but he went on unheeding.

“The Admiral will protect you, and give you advice if you need it. You will have the independent control of Teffany-Wise’s money, and no doubt you will be able to use it more profitably for Con than for me.”

“But you talk as if--something was going to happen to you,” she faltered.

“It’s extremely likely that something is. But that need not trouble you. You will have Con to yourself, and can plan his future as you like.”

“Maurice!” Eirene took her courage in both hands, and went close to him. “Has it seemed--I mean, you could not have thought that--that when we had all those quarrels I--I didn’t care?”

“We will say that you dissembled your love with remarkable skill,” said Maurice, as lightly as he could. “Don’t imagine I blame you. You ought never to have married me. We thought you knew your own mind, but you were too young. I couldn’t give you what you had a right to expect, and you couldn’t do without it, as you once thought you could. I have been nothing but a disappointment to you.”

“No, no!” she cried eagerly. “I have never repented--never. I would marry you again to-morrow if---- Oh, Maurice!” struck by his lack of response, “don’t say you have repented--all along!”

“That I certainly have not. There have been times---- But it does no good to talk about it. How could I help repenting, for your sake, when I saw you struggling, chafing, hardly able to keep back the contempt you felt for me?”

“I wanted to bring out the best in you,” she said, choking back a sob,--“to make you worthy of your birthright, not let you sink into a mere country gentleman. Perhaps I have seemed unkind, but I meant it for your good.”

“I never doubted it,” he assured her; “but you see, I knew all along that my good meant your ambition. The conjunction was unfortunate, but it was not your fault.”

“You are cruel!” burst from Eirene.

“Am I? That was the last thing I intended. I hoped that when you explained to Con that his father was a failure, you would at least be able to say that he meant well.”

“You will break my heart, Maurice. You loved me once; is your love quite gone? Have I destroyed it? Oh, don’t answer me in that cruel cold voice! Is there nothing I can do? I do care; I have always cared. Let me do something to make you believe it. Maurice!” she laid her hands on his shoulders, “ask me to stay with you, let me die with you--just to show you have forgiven me.”

“Certainly not. No, no!” as he saw the agony in her eyes, “there is nothing to forgive. We both made a mistake, and it is about my only piece of comfort that you will now have the chance of repairing it. But as to doing something for me--there is one thing----”

“Tell me. Let me do it,” she panted.

“Insist on my sending Wylie to escort you to Ephestilo. Then I shall not have his blood on my head.”

“Colonel Wylie? But why not you?”

“Because I can’t leave these poor wretches, whom I have led into this, but he has nothing to do with them. It would take a load from my mind if I knew he was safe. And he will be a good friend to you.”

“I have never liked him----” began Eirene, but she interrupted herself quickly. “No, I will do it, I will; but only for your sake, Maurice. You understand that?”

“I do, and I thank you. But, Eirene, you must put no more obstacles between him and Zoe. She is not to be a pawn in your game any longer. Is that quite clear?”

“If it is another thing I can do for you, it is.”