Chapter VII: The Enemy in the Way

It was a silent company that rode through the night from Bashi Konak towards the Roumi frontier. Zoe and Eirene were presumably triumphant, but they were also in disgrace, and they were made to feel it. One of the men, either Wylie or Armitage, rode first, to see that the way was clear, then came the two culprits, left severely to themselves, then Maurice and the other man, conversing occasionally in low murmurs which were quite inaudible to the pair in front. Maurice had refused curtly Eirene’s demand to take little Constantine with her on her horse, and she had yielded the point without remonstrance, somewhat to the surprise and much to the relief of the rest. If the worst came to the worst, Maurice had one weapon the mere mention of which would bring her to her knees in terror, and she knew it. Her threat of leaving him could have been rendered nugatory in a moment by the counter-threat of depriving her of her boy, and she was afraid to push her husband too far, since he had a way of quietly assuming the command when she was in full tide of advance, which she found extremely disconcerting. She had no voice now in the conduct of the expedition, nor did she expect it, and both she and Zoe would have fallen from their horses with fatigue sooner than confess how tired they were getting as the night wore on. It was a welcome surprise when, just as the first faint light of dawn enabled them to see a cluster of white-walled houses in front, Armitage, who had ridden ahead, came back to them.

“We halt here for an hour or two, ma’am,” he said. “This is the customs station, and there is a fairly clean inn just over the frontier. I fancy there is a storm coming on, but we shall be in shelter.”

The customs examination was shortened and simplified by the judicious use of arguments which the Roumi officials could understand, and Zoe fancied that a discussion of the same kind was going on with the man in charge of the telegraph-office on the Dardanian side of the frontier. Something was said as to the telegraph-poles having been destroyed in the storm, which appeared premature, since the storm had not begun, and the poles looked particularly firm and strong, and it was clear that an attempt was to be made to cover the trail of the fugitives. Zoe smiled, with a recollection of past experiences of the kind, and betook herself thankfully to the inn, where Eirene was bestowing little Constantine in a perfect nest of rugs. The woman of the house brought them coffee, and they were soon asleep.

Outside the inn, Maurice and Wylie were stamping about, shivering, while Armitage interviewed the landlord, whose acquaintance he had made in the course of former journeys to Pentikosti. Presently he appeared.

“He says he is quite certain no one has passed, sir,” he said.

“Then he must still be behind us,” said Maurice. “I should have thought he would catch us up long ago. He ought to travel faster than we do.”

“Had a fall, perhaps,” suggested Wylie. “He doesn’t look as if he had much of a seat. If you and Armitage will rest in the house, sir, I’ll go to the top of the road and watch for him, and call you when I see him.”

“No, you will be getting fever,” said Maurice. “Armitage will watch. We can’t afford to run risks with you.”

Armitage laughed cheerfully as he climbed the road again, while the other two men made themselves as comfortable as possible on the uneasy divan of the inn. They had had time to fall asleep and wake with a start more than once before they heard him outside.

“I can see him in the distance!” he said breathlessly. “He is riding hard, and has only one man with him.”

They hurried out, and up the ridge. In the growing light the two straining figures below were clearly visible. Wylie scanned them closely.

“The servant has the luggage,” he said. “That’s all right. He’ll stay behind at the customs, while Christodoridi comes on here to see if his fresh horses are ready. He’ll want them.”

“Couldn’t ask for a better place than this for stopping him,” said Maurice. “I only hope he won’t make a fool of himself and take to shooting.”

“Two can play at that game,” said Wylie grimly, and they waited. It seemed a long time before the feet of a struggling horse were heard on the rocky road, and Romanos Christodoridi came in sight over the ridge.

“Might have walked that last bit,” growled Wylie in disgust, as the rider pulled up in surprise at the sight of the three men confronting him.

“Will you be good enough to dismount and step aside with us, Prince?” said Maurice. “There is a point I should be glad to settle with you before we join the ladies at the inn.”

“None of that!” said Wylie sharply, arresting the Greek’s arm as he raised his whip. It had a loaded handle, and his evident intention was to bring it down on Maurice’s head, and dash forward in the confusion. “Will you get off or be pulled off?”

“I bow to superior force,” said Prince Romanos, with an angry flush on his sallow cheek. “I suppose it did not strike you, Mr Teffany, that it would have been more in order if you had brought one of my friends here, instead of two of your own?”

“We are not going to fight a duel,” said Maurice.

“No? Only to murder me?” He threw his horse’s bridle to Wylie and dismounted. “You have chosen your ground well. It seems that I should have done better, after all, to listen to the warning of your tool, but you will admit that her method of detaining me was open to misconstruction.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” said Maurice. “Who tried to detain you? Who’s the tool? We have been expecting you for hours.”

Prince Romanos looked virtuously indignant. “Your ways are too deep for me, Mr Teffany. I am tricked, by means of my tenderest affections, into an interview which I discover is intended to prevent me from starting as I had intended. On that discovery I tear myself away--practically by force--ride headlong all night, and find you in ambush awaiting me. Proceed, sir; I confess you have succeeded in catching me unawares, but you need not hope to gain anything by this treachery.”

“Once for all,” said Maurice, “there has been no treachery--on our part, at any rate. We made no attempt to detain you.”

Prince Romanos bowed, obviously unconvinced. “The attempt was made, and it was clearly to your interest that it should succeed,” he said. “However, this argument is unprofitable. You are three to one; pray do your business.”

“You seem to have treachery on the brain,” said Maurice. “There is no question of violence of any kind. I asked you to come here that I might make a certain proposal to you.”

“Which you intend to compel me to accept? Continue, pray.”

“You are on your way to Emathia to throw in your lot with the insurgents; so are we. I imagine that, like myself, you are moved by the wretched condition of the country. If it had been properly governed, and the people contented, your claim, like mine, would have remained in abeyance. Therefore neither of us is fighting for his own hand, but in the hope of delivering Emathia. Do you agree?”

“Sir,” said Prince Romanos, “your sentiments are most admirable, and I--admire them.”

“Then,” said Maurice, rather impatiently, “what I propose is that for the present you and I should lay aside our opposing claims, and fight shoulder to shoulder. Since we are both in reality working for the good of Emathia, don’t let the mere look of things divide us. You know as well as I do that nothing would delight Scythia and Pannonia more than to see the friends of freedom fighting among themselves, so that they might point out how impossible it was to entrust them with the government. But if by sinking our differences we can keep our followers from quarrelling, we shall have gone a long way towards proving the fitness of the Emathians for liberty.”

“And for the rule of Prince Maurice the First? Really, Mr Teffany, I can hardly take it as a compliment that you appear to expect me to welcome this proposal.”

“You have not heard me to the end. I was going to suggest that when the Roumis are driven out, and peace achieved, we should submit our claims to the decision of the Emathian people, and abide by the result.”

Armitage and Wylie were scarcely less astonished this time than Prince Romanos, who was obviously thunder-struck. “I have offered to submit my claim to the arbitration of the Œcumenical Patriarch,” he said at last.

“And I have refused,” said Maurice shortly. “The only arbitration I will accept is that of a referendum or a _plébiscite_--whatever you like to call it--an appeal to the people most concerned.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then I shall be under the painful necessity of asking Lord Armitage to keep you in safe custody on board his yacht. Now that there is at last a chance of freeing Emathia, it shall not be sacrificed to personal jealousies.”

“Then this is compulsion, after all?”

“Oh no. You shall be released in time to submit your claim to the Emathians. But it seems to me that what I have suggested gives you a better chance.”

“I have done you an injustice, Mr Teffany. Your methods are not so simple as I imagined.”

“I think it would be as well if you left off calling me Mr Teffany. To you, as to others, I am Prince Theophanis, if you please.”

“Ah, you would trick me into acknowledging your title?”

“Not at all. It is a mere matter of courtesy. I have made no attempt to deprive you of your rank.”

“Sir, my rank cannot be touched by you. My ancestors were Patricians of Venice.”

“Sir, mine were Emperors of the East. But this is all nonsense!” Maurice broke off impatiently. “The question at issue is your present conduct, not your ancestors’ nobility. I offer you a free hand, and as good a chance as my own of establishing your claim, on the sole condition that while we are in the field with the insurgents you make no attempt to raise a party against me, or to divide our forces. In fact, it is to be as if we were twin brothers, and there was a doubt which was the elder. We are to fight for our common heritage, and not for our own hand.”

Prince Romanos seemed to find some difficulty in answering. He walked two or three steps backwards and forwards, closely watched by Wylie, whose hand was in his pocket. Then he faced Maurice again.

“I am at a loss,” he said frankly. “My whole nature rises up against the compulsion you wish to exercise over me, Prince, and yet I find something noble in your theory. But you make a large demand in asking that I should place myself voluntarily in subordination to you.”

“I ask nothing of the kind. If the Emathians are wise, they will elect Colonel Wylie to supreme command, and I shall want nothing better than to serve under him. If they are not--why, I suppose we shall all command guerilla bands, and do the best we can with them.”

“And you are willing to swear that you will honourably withdraw from the contest if, when the fighting is over, the Emathians elect me?”

“I give you my word here and now, but I will swear if you like.”

“And if--if you should not see the end of the fighting?”

“If anything happens to me, you will have a walk-over, for neither the Powers nor the Emathians are likely to put a woman and a child upon the throne.”

“But you had better be very careful not to have anything to do with that happening,” broke in Wylie; “or you will not see the end of the fighting either.”

“These insinuations are highly offensive, Prince,” said the Greek, as Maurice turned angrily upon his follower.

“I simply stated a fact, sir,” said Wylie, in answer to the look. “If you choose to invite people to murder you, it is only fair they should know that you don’t stand alone.”

“And Prince Romanos accused you of wishing to murder him a few minutes ago, sir,” said Armitage. The Greek laughed.

“It seems we are quits, then. There is as much, or as little, intention to murder on one side as on the other. Prince Theophanis, I accept your terms, subject to a solemn ratification over the holy relics at Hagiamavra. But I should like to ask your sister a question before I throw in my lot with you. I cannot yet forget the way in which I was deceived last night.”

“I hope you don’t imply----” said Maurice quickly.

“I imply nothing, Prince. The simple word of my _confrère_ Zeto will at once drive all doubt from my mind.”

Nothing more was to be got from him, and they walked down to the inn, where the servant who had accompanied Prince Romanos was awaiting him in considerable perplexity. Maurice sent the woman of the house to fetch Zoe, who came out presently, sleepy and dishevelled. Prince Romanos waved the three Englishmen out of earshot.

“If you are asked what my question was, Princess, you may say that I inquired your motive in laying that trap for me last night,” he said. “But I do not ask, for I know that the chance of furthering your brother’s schemes and at the same time punishing a faithless suitor must have been irresistible. What I want to know----”

“But I never laid a trap for you!” cried Zoe indignantly. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He waved his hand indulgently. “We all disown our agents when they fail,” he said. “It is my misfortune that I have incurred--and doubtless deserved--the enmity of various ladies, and yours is not the first plot laid against me. But I recognise the difference. Zeto would draw the line between political extinction and murder. I put my life in your hands, Princess. Am I safe”--he spoke low and confidentially--“in accepting your brother’s proposal and throwing in my lot with him and his friends? I distrust the man with blue eyes.”

The extraordinary mixture of coxcombry, confidence, and suspicion in the man’s speech filled Zoe with mingled amusement and disgust. “You will be as safe from us as you would be on your own island--I am sorry to say!” she cried, with flaming eyes.

“Prince,” said Prince Romanos gravely, turning to Maurice, “your sister has reassured me with regard to the trap laid for me last night. I was already convinced, but I desired the formality of her assurance. Now I am yours. You may regard me from henceforth as your most trusted colleague.”

“I am glad to hear it,” said Maurice with all seriousness. “Eirene,” turning to his wife, who had appeared in the doorway, “Prince Romanos Christodoridi and I have agreed to lay aside our differences, and fight only for the deliverance of Emathia. When that is accomplished, we shall invite the Emathians to choose between us, and elect as prince the one whom they consider best qualified.”

“Maurice! You have sacrificed----” began Eirene, but she broke off and went indoors, closing her lips tightly. Zoe found her presently walking up and down the narrow inner room where her boy was still sleeping, with her hands clenched and her head thrown back.

“I might have known!” she cried. “Maurice always manages to defeat me somehow. I ought to have taken Constantine and come away by myself, without warning him,--it is the only way. He would have been so anxious about us that he would have been willing to do anything. To surrender without being forced to it! To submit our sacred rights to the choice of the people!”

“I suppose he thinks that it will be better for the Emathians if they can agree upon a ruler rather than have one forced upon them,” said Zoe.

“The Emathians! what do they signify? It is a matter of right, of my boy’s rights! But I have not sworn. I am not bound, and nothing shall ever make me submit to this iniquitous arrangement.”

Remonstrance was useless, and Zoe, with a vivid memory of old times, held her tongue. They continued their journey after a hasty meal, Prince Romanos and his servant being added to the party. The two were born mountaineers, and their experience proved most useful in getting the horses over the precipitous tracks which here, in Roumi territory, represented the good Dardanian roads. A guide, secured by Armitage, took charge of them from the inn to Pentikosti, and explained matters to various truculent-looking groups of highlanders, who appeared at awkward points and seemed quite capable of making themselves unpleasant. Thus, though exciting enough, the journey stopped short of providing actual adventure, and in the evening they rode down into Pentikosti, and found Armitage’s yacht, with her fires banked, awaiting them in the rude little harbour. A further distribution of palm-oil among the Roumi notables who came to do honour to Armitage secured a promise that in the minds of these worthy men the arrival of the strangers should be as though it had not been, and before nightfall the yacht had taken her passengers on board and was steaming down the coast.

The next morning the passengers presented rather a curious appearance, for Armitage, after a talk with his captain, had ransacked his yachting wardrobe and practically forced the other men to don his clothes. Prince Romanos looked like a masquerading pirate, and Wylie, so the rest told him, like a horse-marine; but the incongruity of riding-clothes on shipboard was sufficiently obvious, even without Armitage’s evident anxiety. Zoe and Eirene, entreated with becoming diffidence to make themselves look as “frilly” as they could, complied as far as the severe limitations of their campaigning luggage would allow, and wondered what was the use of trying to deceive the crew, who must know when and where, and probably also why, they had really come on board.

It was not until after two days and nights of continuous steaming that the true reason for the precaution became apparent. The yacht’s head was turned northwards again, and Armitage was up and down and everywhere, in a perfect fever of excitement, driving Captain Waters, whose attention was sufficiently demanded by the intricacy of the navigation, to the verge of frenzy. Suddenly he calmed down, and appeared among the rest with a look of pale determination, for which there seemed no particular reason.

“Man-of-war going to board us,” he explained to the ladies. “Just go on with what you are doing, please, as if there was nothing the matter. Don’t be frightened.”

“Why should we be frightened?” asked Zoe, astonished, but Eirene’s eyes were anxious. Together they moved to the rail, where Wylie was holding up little Constantine to look at the low, thick, two-funnelled vessel which was rushing swiftly towards them. The child shrieked with delight as the destroyer circled round and came to a halt, while a boat put off from its grey side. A pleasant English-speaking officer mounted the yacht’s ladder, and looked in astonishment at the group before him. He made himself very agreeable to Mrs and Miss Smith, the ladies to whom he was presented, and asked the necessary inquisitorial questions as politely as possible, accepting as altogether natural the avowed intention of Armitage to run into Therma and see what was really going on there. But he had a word to add as he took his leave.

“I see you have zat Apolis on board,” he said to Armitage. “You know he is incendiary, revolutionist? I have heard him talk in Paris.”

“He doesn’t talk in that way here,” said Armitage. “Perhaps he knows better.”

The officer shrugged his shoulders. “He is dangerous man. Why is he here, if not to join those fools of insurgents on the mainland?”

“I really can’t tell you,--unless because I asked him.”

“I sink I should do my duty in arresting him.”

“I think not. On board a British ship, in the waters of another nation? Hardly.”

“We are on patrol duty here.”

“But no blockade has been declared. No, really, I couldn’t allow it.” The officer looked from the boyish speaker and the dainty yacht to the frowning dark vessel a little way off, and smiled, only just perceptibly. “But look here,” Armitage went on, “I can’t answer for what’s in his mind, but I can promise that he shan’t go on shore unless I do. How’s that?”

“Zat is ol-right, if you will remember ze ladies, and not run into peril. You listen my advice, and make your cruise in less troubled waters, is it not so? But no, where zere is disturbance, zere also is a mad Englishman and his yacht. Well, beware of ze Roumis.”

“Thanks. We certainly will,” said Armitage.

“This is not the first time we have been thankful to adopt the aristocratic and high-sounding name of Smith,” said Zoe to Wylie, as they watched the friendly foreigner returning to his own vessel.

“Our trip would certainly have ended here if that fellow had guessed who you really were,” he replied. “It’s not going to be all smooth sailing, you see. Haven’t you done enough for honour now? Why not let us put into Korona and land you?”

“Because--you don’t seem to have seen it, but I did--if we had not been on board, the officer would have turned the yacht back, and your trip would have ended too. We are not altogether useless, you perceive!”