Then, all at once, he felt that she had received one of those inspirations of the practical sense which visit women who are driven to extremities.
Then, all at once, he felt that she had received one of those inspirations of the practical sense which visit women who are driven to extremities.
'I have thought of a way,' she said at last.
Gorlias turned, crossed the room, and stood beside her to listen; but he did not think she had any practicable scheme to propose, and at first, while she was speaking, he was much more inclined to follow his own line of thought than hers. Then, all at once, he felt that she had received one of those inspirations of the practical sense which visit women who are driven to extremities, and which have been the wonder of men since Jacob's mother showed him how to steal his father's blessing. It is quite certain that it was a woman who showed Columbus the trick with the egg, when he himself was trying to balance one on its point. Only a woman could have thought of anything so simple.
And now, after Gorlias had vainly racked his ingenious brain for an idea, it was the girl that suggested the only possible one. He grasped it easily.
'It is a daring plan, and it could not succeed in broad daylight,' he said, when she had finished, 'but it may at dusk.'
'It must,' Zoë said emphatically. 'If it fails, we shall not see each other again.'
'Not unless it occurs to Andronicus to crucify us together,' Gorlias answered, rather gravely. 'Very much depends on our timing ourselves as exactly as possible.'
'Yes. Let it be a little more than half an hour after sunset, just when the dusk is closing in. Have you everything you need?'
'I can get what is lacking. We have three good hours still before us.'
'Go, then, and do not be late. You know what will happen to me if you do not come just at the right time.'
'You are risking more than I,' Gorlias said.
'I have more to lose, and more to win,' Zoë answered.
She was thinking of Zeno,—of life with him, of life without him, and of the life she would give for his. But Gorlias wondered at her courage, for it was held nothing in those days to tear a living man or woman to shreds, piecemeal, on the mere suspicion of treason, and that would surely be her fate if he could not carry out precisely and successfully the plan she had thought of. A delay of half an hour might mean death to her, though it would not of necessity affect the result so far as Johannes and Zeno were concerned.
Gorlias left her to make his own preparations. When he was gone Zoë sent Yulia for Zeno's own man, Vito, the Venetian boatman. He came and stood on the threshold while she spoke to him, out of the maids' hearing, and in Italian, lest they should creep near and listen.
'Vito,' said Zoë, 'how is the secretary?'
'Excellency,' the Venetian answered, 'fear is an ugly sickness, which makes healthy men tremble worse than the fever does.'
He either forgot that he was supposed to be speaking to a slave who had no more claim to be called 'Excellency' than he had himself, and less, if anything; or else he had made up his mind that this beautiful Arethusa whom he had to-day seen for the first time, was not a slave at all, but a great lady in disguise.
'You are never frightened, are you, Vito?' she asked with a smile.
'I?' Vito grinned. 'Am I of iron, or of stone? Or am I perhaps a lion? When there is fear I am afraid.'
'But the master is never frightened,' suggested Zoë. 'Is he of stone, then?'
'Oh, he!' Vito laughed now, and shrugged his shoulders. 'Would you compare me with the master? Then compare copper with gold. The master is the master, and that is enough, but I am only a sailor man in his service. If there is fighting, I fight while I see that I am the stronger, but when I see that I may die I run away. We are all thus.'
'But surely you would not run away and leave Messer Carlo to be killed, would you?'
'No,' Vito answered quite simply. 'That would be another affair. It would be shame to go home alive if the master were killed. When one must die, one must, as God wills. It may be for the master, it may be for Venice. But for myself, I ask you? Why should I die for nothing? I run away. It is more sensible.'
'You need not risk being killed if you do what I am going to ask,' Zoë said, for after talking with the man she liked his honest face, and thought none the less of him for his frankness. 'It is a very simple matter.'
'What is it, Excellency?'
'You need not call me that, Vito,' answered Zoë. 'I want you to row me at sunset to the landing which is nearest to the palace gate. It must be the dirty little one on this side of the Amena tower, is it not?'
'That is it. But without the master's orders——'
Vito looked at her doubtfully, for he had been reminded that she considered herself a slave, and it occurred to him that she meant to escape in Zeno's absence.
'Messer Carlo would wish me to go, if he were here,' said Zoë quietly, and not at all as if she were insisting, for she saw what was the matter.
'I have no doubt it is as you say,' Vito answered. 'But I have no orders.'
'There is a message from the master to some one in the palace,' Zoë explained. 'No one but I can deliver it.'
'That is easily said,' observed Vito bluntly. 'There are no orders.'
Zoë felt the blood rising to her forehead at the man's rudeness and distrust of her, but she controlled herself, for much depended on obtaining what she wished.
'It is not a message,' she said; 'it is a letter.'
'Where is it?' asked Vito incredulously.
'I will show it to you,' Zoë answered, but she first turned to the maids, who waited at the end of the room. 'Go and prepare me the bath,' she said.
The two disappeared, though they did not believe that their mistress really wished to bathe again so soon. When they were gone, she stooped and took the letter from her shoe, unfolded it, and spread it out for Vito to see. The effect it made upon him was instantaneous; he looked at it carefully, and took a corner of it between his thumb and finger.
'This is the paper on which the master writes,' he said, as if convinced.
It did not occur to him that the slave Arethusa could write at all, nor any one else in the house except Omobono; and as for the latter, if he had written anything he must have done so under Zeno's orders. Writing of any sort commanded his profound and almost superstitious respect.
'This is certainly a letter from the master,' he said, satisfied at last, after what he considered a thoroughly conscientious inspection.
'And he wishes me to deliver it,' Zoë said. 'If I am to do that, you must be good enough to take me to the landing in the boat. There is no other way.'
'I could take the letter myself,' Vito suggested.
'No. Only a woman will be allowed to pass, where this must go.'
Vito began to understand, and nodded his head wisely.
'It is for Handsome John,' he said, with conviction, and fixing his eyes on Zoë's. 'It is for the other Emperor, whom the master wishes to set free.'
'Yes—since you have guessed it,' Zoë answered. 'Will you take me now?'
'You will take one of your slaves with you, as you do when you go out in the boat with the secretary, I suppose?'
Vito still felt a little hesitation.
'No. I must go alone with you. And I myself shall be dressed like a slave, and I shall have a basket of things to carry on my head to the wife of the gaoler.'
'I see,' said Vito, who really loved adventure for its own sake, and was much less inclined to run away fromdanger than he represented. 'Did you say you wished to go at sunset?'
'Yes.'
'I shall be ready. But it will be better to take an old boat, and I will put on ragged clothes, to look like a hired boatman.'
'Yes; that will be better.'
Vito went away, delighted with the prospect before him. He was too young and too true a Venetian not to look forward with pleasure to rowing the beautiful Arethusa up the Golden Horn, though he was only a servant and she was the master's most treasured possession. He felt, too, some manly pride in the thought of possibly protecting her, for he meant to follow her ashore and look on from a distance, to see whether she got safely into the tower, and he would wait until she came out. The master would expect that much of him, at least.
As yet, neither Vito nor any member of the household, except Zoë, knew that Zeno was a prisoner, held for ransom. It had pleased him to go out of his house during the previous night, and some important business detained him; that was all. When he was at leisure he would come home. The men-servants who had waited on the guests and had heard Tocktamish's words, to the effect that Zeno had sent him for money, looked upon the statement as a clumsy trick which the half-drunken robber was trying to play in Zeno's absence, and as nothing more. But they had been far too badly frightened to stay and listen, as has been seen. To Vito, whowas, nevertheless, by far the best of them, it had been a matter of utter indifference whether the Tartar cut the throats of the four guests or not, compared with the urgent necessity of keeping out of his reach. If the master had been present another side of their character would have come into play, but as he was absent they had thought of their own safety first.
The sun had set, and the wide court of Blachernæ was filled with purple light to the wall tops, like a wine-vat full to the brim; and everything that was in the glow took colour from it, as silver does in claret, the polished trappings of the guards' uniforms, the creamy marble steps of the palace, the white Tunisian charger of the officer who rode in just then, and the swallows that circled round and round the courtyard. The world moved in that short deep dream that comes just when the sun has slipped away to rest, when the light is everywhere at once, so that things cast no shadows on the ground, because they glow from within, as in fairyland, or perhaps in heaven.
The officer rode in on his charger, and after him entered a girl slave, dressed in coarse blue cotton, and carrying on her head a small round basket, which was covered with a clean white cloth. The four corners of the napkin hung down, and one of them would have flapped across her face if she had not held it between her teeth to keep it down. It partly hid her features, and her head was tied up in a blue cotton kerchief passed twice round and knotted upon her forehead. She limped a little as she walked. What could be seen of her face was pale and quiet, and had a rather fixed look.
She was walking boldly through the gate, without slackening her pace, when one of the two sentinels stopped her, and asked where she was going. She stood still, and one hand steadied the basket on her head, while the other pointed to the Amena tower.
'My mistress sends some fine wheat bread and cream cheese to the wife of the captain who keeps the tower,' said Zoë, affecting the mincing accent very common with female slaves and Greek ladies' maids.
The second sentinel, returning on his short beat, now came up and stood on her other side. He was a big Bulgarian, and he lifted one corner of the cloth and looked down into the basket, merely for the sake of detaining the girl. He saw the wheaten loaves and the cream cheese neatly disposed on a second napkin, and the cheese was nested in green leaves to keep it fresh. Both the soldiers at once thought of tasting it with the points of their daggers, but at that moment the officer of the watch strolled out of the guard-house, a magnificent young man in scarlet and gold. The two sentinels at once turned their backs on the cheese and Zoë, and marched away in opposite directions on their beats, leaving her standing in the middle. The officer was far too high and mighty a person to look at a slave-girl or her basket, and Zoë therefore went on without turning her head, taking it for granted that she was now free to enter. In her baggy blue cotton clothes, and with her face almost covered by the napkin, there was nothing about her to attract attention, unless it were her slightly limping gait; and she instinctively made an effort to walk evenly,for she could not help feeling ashamed of being suddenly lame, as perfectly sound and healthy people do. But she realised that the folded letter was in the wrong shoe and increased her lameness, whereas if she had carried it in the other it might have made walking easier.
She went from under the great gate into the liquid purple light in the court, and it was pleasant to be in it. But then again it made her think of yesterday, when she had sat in her window at sunset, not dreaming of all that was to happen to her in one night and one day. It made her think of the man she loved so dearly, imprisoned somewhere under the great city, starving and thirsting no doubt, and face to face with thoughts of death; and it was to save him that she was crossing the courtyard of Blachernæ disguised as a household slave. It was because there was no other way; and if Gorlias Pietrogliant failed her, or came too late, the end would overtake her in a few hours, or perhaps quite suddenly, which would be more merciful. She knew what she was doing, and she did not deceive herself. They would put out her eyes first; but that would be the least of the cruel things they would do to her, if Gorlias failed.
She was only a weak girl, after all, and once or twice, when she thought of the pain, a sharp little shiver ran down her back to her very heels, and things swam before her for an instant in the deep sea of colour; but that only lasted for a moment, and when she reached the foot of the tower and went in under the archway that led to the door, she was thinking of Zeno again, and of nothing else.
It was as Gorlias had told her. A very different watch was set there since the attempt of the previous night, and she found herself face to face with an obstacle she had not anticipated. The iron door was shut and was guarded by two huge Africans in black mail armour, who stood on either side with drawn scimitars.
They looked over her head as she approached them, and they seemed to take no notice of her existence. She thought she had never seen such expressionless faces as theirs; the features were as shiny and motionless as bronze, and the purple haze of the sunset without filled the deep arch and lent them an unnatural colour which was positively terrifying.
'If you please, kind sirs,' Zoë began as she stood still, 'my mistress sends some fine wheat bread and fresh cream cheese to the wife of the captain.'
She might as well have spoken to statues; neither of the negroes paid the slightest attention. But she was not to be put off so easily.
'If you please,' she repeated with pleading emphasis and more loudly, 'my mistress——'
She stopped speaking in the middle of the sentence, suddenly scared by the immobility of the two black men, and by their size, and by the purple glare that was reflected from their great polished scimitars, of which one noiseless sweep could sever her head from her body. They were like the genii in one of those tales of the Arabian Nights which Greek story-tellers were then just learning from the Persians, and from the Tartar merchants of Samarcand and Tashkent. Zoë had listenedto them by the hour when she was a little girl, and now she suddenly felt an irrational conviction that she had dreamed herself into one of them, and that the imprisoned Emperor was guarded by supernatural beings.
However, when she looked at the motionless features and at the broad, polished blades, she did not feel that painful shiver which had run down her when she had thought of being tortured by the people of the palace, and she soon took courage again and began to speak a third time.
'If you please,' she said, but she got no further, for she had gently plucked at the mailed sleeve of the man on her right, to attract his attention, and he moved at once, and bent down a little.
He touched his ear with his left forefinger and shook his head slowly to show that he was deaf, and pointed to his companion and back to his own ear and shook his head again; and then, to Zoë's horror, he opened his enormous mouth just before her eyes, and she saw that it was empty. He had no tongue.
Johannes was guarded by deaf mutes, and Zoë knew Constantinople and the ways of the palace well enough to understand that they were placed there to make an end of any one, man or woman, who should attempt to pass.
She tried signs, now. She took her basket from her head and set it down on the step between the sentinels, and crouched on her heels to uncover it and show the contents. The men saw and nodded, and then inclined their heads to one side in that peculiar way which meansindifference all over the East. And indeed they did not care whether the basket held cheese or sweetmeats, and their faces grew stony again as they looked outwards, over her head.
She covered up her little basket disconsolately and rose to her feet. The glow was beginning to fade in the courtyard, and she felt her heart sink as the shadows deepened. It was absolutely necessary to the success of the dangerous enterprise on which she and Gorlias had embarked, that Johannes himself, or at least the captain's wife should be warned of what was to take place in less than half an hour. If this could not be done, everything might go wrong at the last minute, their cleverly concerted trick would fail and be exposed, and she and Gorlias, and Zeno himself, would probably pay for their audacity with their lives.
The closed door between the sentinels was covered with iron and studded with big nails. It was perfectly clear that it must be opened from within, if at all, and that the men themselves would have to knock or make some other signal by sound in order to obtain entrance for any one who was really authorised to go in. It was also clear that if the men on the other side of the door were stone deaf like the two guards, they could not hear any such knocking, and no entrance would be possible at all except when those within opened for some reason of their own or at fixed hours. Again, thought Zoë, it followed that there was probably some one near who could hear sounds from without, and there was always a bare possibility, in such times, that this person mightbe a secret friend to the prisoner, though supposed to be one of his gaolers.
All these thoughts flashed across her mind in a few seconds, while she was covering her basket. She therefore took rather more time over this than was necessary, and as the mutes did not show signs of driving her away, she at once began to sing, quite sure that they could not hear her. It was a forlorn hope, indeed, but anything was worth trying. Her voice sounded loud and clear under the archway:—
Over the water to my love, for the hour is come!The water, the blue water, the water salt and the water fresh!Open, my very dear love, open thy door to me,For I have come swiftly over the water——
Over the water to my love, for the hour is come!The water, the blue water, the water salt and the water fresh!Open, my very dear love, open thy door to me,For I have come swiftly over the water——
Over the water to my love, for the hour is come!
The water, the blue water, the water salt and the water fresh!
Open, my very dear love, open thy door to me,
For I have come swiftly over the water——
At this point, to Zoë's inexpressible amazement and delight, the door really opened, and she almost choked for sheer joy.
The captain's wife appeared in the dim evening light, standing well within, and Zoë recognised her at once from the description Gorlias had given of her. The sentinels, being perfectly deaf, did not at first know that the door had been opened, as they stood looking straight before them. The stout woman spoke in a low voice.
'By four toes and by five toes,' she said, by way of answer to the words Zoë had sung.
The girl lost no time, for there was none to lose, and though there was little light she saw that there were four or five more armed Ethiopians in the small chamber, so that it would be impossible to deliver her letter.
'Tell him from Carlo Zeno to be ready at once,' she said quickly, 'and not to show surprise at anything that happens.'
The deaf mutes outside now perceived that she was speaking with some one, and that the entrance behind them was open. She had just handed her basket to the captain's wife when the two turned together to see who had opened, but almost at the same instant the heavy iron door swung quickly on its hinges again and shut with a clang that echoed out to the courtyard. Zoë sprang back hastily lest the door itself should strike her as it closed, and the quick movement hurt her a little, for she made a false step on the foot with which she limped, turning it slightly as her weight came upon it.
That one step nearly cost her life, for though the sentinels were deaf and dumb they were not blind. She thought they were going to let her go away unhindered, and she was already almost out of the archway when she felt herself seized by the arms from behind.
When she had stumbled, her low shoe had turned a little, and the folded letter, now useless, had fallen out. As it was white, the guards had seen it instantly on the dark pavement, and one of them had picked it up while the other had caught her.
Zoë instinctively struggled with all her might for a few seconds, but the dumb man twisted one of her arms behind her till it was agony to move, and she was powerless. Her captor now handed her over to his companion, who had sheathed his scimitar and had placed the letter inside his steel cap. She could not look round, but shefelt that the grip on her twisted wrist changed, and she was pushed out into the courtyard and made to walk in the direction of the palace. She could not help limping much more than before, and in the grasp of the big Ethiopian she felt what a small weak thing she would be in the tormentors' hands if Gorlias did not come in time.
The purple light had almost faded below, and the grey dusk was creeping up out of the ground, though the high upper story of the marble palace was still bathed in the evening glow, and still a few swallows circled round the eaves. Zoë looked up to the vast cornices and at the fleecy pink clouds that floated in the sky, and as she was forced along, almost as fast as she could walk, she wondered whether she should ever again see the bright noonday sun. It would not take long to kill her if Gorlias did not come in time.
There were many men coming and going now, and there were guards in scarlet, drawn up at the entrance to the palace as if they were waiting. Some slaves, hastening away, paused a moment to watch Zoë go by, smooth-faced creatures who lived among the Emperor's women.
'There goes five hundred ducats' worth!' laughed one, in a voice like a girl's.
'What has she done?' asked another, of the dumb Ethiopian.
The speaker was a newcomer in the palace, and the others jeered at him for not knowing that the man was one of the mutes.
And he pushed and dragged Zoë along without noticing them. She looked straight before her now, at the palace door, and as she went, she was in a kind of dream, and she wondered what the room to which she was being taken would be like, the place where she was presently to be tortured if Gorlias did not come in time; she wondered whether it would be light or dark, and what the colour of the walls would be.
The African hurt her very much as he forced her along, though she made no resistance; but she did not think of the pain she felt, nor of the pain she would surely be made to feel presently. It was as if she were detached from her own personality, and could speculate about what was going to happen to her, and about the men who would ask her questions, and about the queer-looking instruments of torture that would be brought, and even the colour of the executioner's hair. She fancied him a red-haired man with ugly, yellow eyes and bad teeth that he showed. She did not know whether it were fear or courage that so took her out of herself.
But all the time she was listening for a distant sound that might come, or that might not; and her hearing grew so sharp that she could have heard it a mile away, and the distance between her and the palace door grew shorter very quickly, and the ruthless mute urged her along faster and faster, though she limped so badly.
Then her heart leapt and stood still a moment, and the Ethiopian's grasp relaxed a little, and he slackened his pace. Not that he heard what she heard, for he was stone deaf; but the guards who stood about the doorhad begun to range themselves in even ranks on either side, and a tall officer made signs to the African to stand out of the way. The air rang with the music of distant silver trumpets, there was a subdued hum of many voices and the trampling of many horses' hoofs on the hard earth outside the court.
'The Emperor comes!' cried the officer, again motioning the mute and his prisoner away.
The man understood well enough, and dragged her aside quickly and roughly out of the straight way, but not out of sight; and the sounds grew louder, and the trumpet-notes clearer, as the imperial cavalcade passed in under the great gate. First there rode a score of guards on their white horses; six running footmen came next, in short hose and red tunics that fitted close to their bodies and glared in the twilight; then two officers of the household on their chargers; and young Andronicus himself rode in on a bay Arab mare between two ministers of state, followed by many more guards who pressed close upon him to protect him from any treacherous attack. He was dressed all in cloth of gold, and his tall Greek cap was wrought with gold and jewels; but the day had gone down, and neither the metal nor the stones gave any light, while the scarlet uniforms of the guards and footmen surged about him like waves of blood in the gathering dusk.
The Ethiopian held Zoë pinioned by the arms and looked over her head as the Emperor came near. Andronicus had pale and suspicious eyes that searched every crowd for danger, and saw peril everywhere. Hehung his head a little, his jaw was heavy, his lip was loose, and his uneasy glance wandered continually hither and thither. There was still plenty of light near the palace, and Zoë saw every little thing; and the cloth of gold he wore was lit up again by the reflexion from the marble walls.
He saw the girl, too, but though her hands were behind her, he did not see at once that the African held them, for she stood quite still and met his gaze. Then he perceived that the face was the most lovely he had ever seen, and he made a motion in the saddle that was like the rising of the snake when its prey is near, and his pale eyes gleamed, and his loose lower lip shook and moved against the upper one.
He drew rein and spoke in a low tone to the minister on his right, a Greek with a fawning face, who instantly made a sign to the girl to come nearer; and the Ethiopian mute saw the gesture, and pushed her forward with one hand, close to the Emperor's stirrup, and with the other hand he took his steel cap very carefully from his head, drawing it down close to his head and over his ear so that the letter should not fall out; then, still grasping Zoë's wrist, he held the helmet up like a cup, so that Andronicus might see what was in it.
The action needed no explaining, for the young usurper had himself ordered that his father should be guarded by the dumb Ethiopians after the alarm of the previous night. The Emperor looked down at the girl's beautiful white face, but he took the letter from the soldier's steel cap and spread it out, and read it quickly, andthen passed it to the minister at his elbow, who read it too.
He looked at Zoë again, but in his eyes her beauty was all gone at once. She was one of those monsters that were always conspiring against him, against his throne and his life; she was one of those thousands whom he saw nightly in his dreams of fear, stealing upon him when he was alone and helpless, to blind him and kill him, and to bear his crowned father to the throne high on their shoulders. Zoë might have been as lovely as Aphrodite herself, just wafted from the foam of the sea by the breath of spring; to Andronicus she would have been but one of the countless evil beings who for ever plotted his destruction.
But this one was in his power. He sat on his horse and looked down at her, and his loose lips smiled; yet her face was still and proud, and in her poor blue cotton slave's dress she faced him like a young goddess.
'Who sent you with this?' he asked in the deep silence, and every man there listened for her answer.
'Since you have read it, you know,' she answered, and there was no tremor in her voice.
'Take care! Where is this Venetian, this Zeno?'
'I do not know.'
'Take care, again! I ask, where is he?'
Zoë was silent for a moment, and though she did not take her eyes from the young Emperor's face she listened intently for a distant sound that did not come.
'I do not know where he is,' she said at last, 'but I think you will see him before long, for he is coming here.'
'Here?' Andronicus was taken by surprise. 'Here?' he repeated in wonder.
'Yes, here,' Zoë answered, 'and soon. He has business here to-night.'
'The girl is mad,' said the Emperor, looking towards the ministers.
'Quite mad, your august Majesty,' said one.
'Evidently out of her mind, Sire,' echoed the other. 'It will be well to put out her eyes and let her go.'
The one who had spoken first, the fawning Greek, made a sign to an officer near him, and the latter gave an order to one of the running footmen who stood waiting. The latter instantly ran in through the great open doorway of the palace. Where Andronicus was, the torturer was never hard to find.
'And pray,' asked the Emperor, with an ugly smile, 'what possible business can a Venetian merchant have here at this hour? Will you please to tell us?'
'A business that will be soon despatched, if God will,' answered Zoë.
She could not look away from the man who had murdered Michael Rhangabé, and though she knew what she was risking if she did not gain time, the longing for just vengeance was too strong for her, so that she could not control her speech, and in her clear young voice Andronicus heard an accent that struck terror to his heart.
'She is not mad!' he exclaimed in sudden anxiety. 'She knows something! Make her speak!'
While the words were on his lips the running footman returned, and after him another man came quickly,carrying a worn leathern bag. He was very tall and thin, and he stooped, he had the face of a corpse and there was no light in his eyes. Zoë did not see him, but he came and stood behind her, close to the Ethiopian, and he fumbled in his bag; and all around the uniforms of the guard were as red as blood in the twilight.
'I am not afraid to speak, since I am caught,' Zoë said, answering the Emperor's words, 'and what I say is true. For what you owe me, you owe to many and many more, and the name of that debt is blood!'
'She is raving!' cried Andronicus in an unsteady voice.
'No, I am not mad,' Zoë answered, speaking loud and clear. 'Your reckoning has been due these two years, and a man is coming within the hour to claim it, and you shall pay all, both to others and to me, whether you will or not!'
'Who is this creature?' asked the Emperor, but his cheeks were whiter now.
Not a sound broke the silence, and the man with the leathern bag crept a little nearer to the defenceless girl, and the Ethiopian's grip tightened on her wrists. From somewhere beyond the walls of the courtyard the neighing of a horse broke the stillness.
'Who is this girl that dares me within my own gates?' Andronicus asked again, turning to his ministers and officers.
The Greek with the fawning face bent in his saddle towards the young Emperor as if he were prostrating himself, and he spoke in a very low voice.
'Your Majesty would do well to have her tongue torn out before she says more.'
'Who is she, I say?' cried the sovereign, suddenly furious, as cowards can be.
No one spoke. The corpse-faced man crept nearer to Zoë, his dull eyes fixed on her features. Beyond the wall and far off the unseen horse neighed again. It was growing darker, but all around the scarlet tunics of the guards were as red as blood.
Then the answer came. The twisted lips of the tormentor moved slowly, and words came from them in a thin, harsh voice, like the creaking of the rack.
'She is Michael Rhangabé's daughter.'
'The Protosparthos?' The Emperor's voice shook again.
The corpse-faced man nodded twice in assent, and his thin lips writhed hideously when Zoë's eyes fell on him.
'I saw her at the prison when I took him out to die,' he said.
His bony hand, all knotty and stained from his horrid work, took the girl's delicate chin, forcing her to turn her full face to him; and she quivered from head to foot at his touch. He knew well the convulsive shiver that ran through the victim he touched for the first time; he could feel it in his fingers as the musician feels the strings; he was familiar with it, as the fisherman's hand is with the tremor and tension of his rod when a fish strikes; and he smiled in a ghastly way.
'Yes,' he said, 'it is she.' And he laughed.
He held her by the chin and wagged her beautiful head to right and left.
Since the Emperor had spoken no sound had been heard but the torturer's discordant voice; but now the outraged girl's shriek of fury split the air.
'Wretch!'
Her small hands suddenly slipped through the Ethiopian's capacious hold. Before he could catch her she had wrenched herself free from both men and had struck a furious blow full in the torturer's livid face; and though she was but a slender girl her anger gave her a man's strength, and her swiftness lent her a sudden advantage. The man reeled back three paces before he could steady himself again.
'Hold her!' cried Andronicus, for he feared she might have a knife hidden on her, and both her hands were free.
But only for that instant. Though the African was huge, he was quick, and he was behind her. Almost before the Emperor had called out, Zoë was a prisoner again, and the man she had struck was close to her with his battered leathern bag. He looked up to Andronicus for a command before he began his work.
'Make her tell what she knows,' the Emperor said, reassured since she was again fast in the African's great hands.
He leaned forward a little, the better to hear the words which pain was to draw from Zoë's lips, and the Greek minister settled himself comfortably in the saddle to enjoy the rare amusement of seeing a beautiful and noble girl deliberately tortured before half a hundred men.Some of the guards also pressed upon each other to see; but there were some among them who had served under Rhangabé, and these looked into one another's faces and spoke words almost under their breath, that all together swelled to a low murmur, such as the tide makes on a still night, just when it turns back from the ebb.
The sunset had faded, but there was light enough to see the dark bruise across the corpse-like face where Zoë had struck it with all her might.
The man opened his old leathern bag, and his stained hands fumbled in it, amongst irons that were brown but not rusty, and thongs plaited with wire, and strangely shaped tools in which there were well-greased screws that turned easily.
But all these his knotty fingers rejected. He knew each by the touch. They were good enough for ordinary slaves, or perhaps for a double-dealing steward, or even a lying courtier. For a highborn maiden victim he had an instrument far more refined and exquisitely keen than any of these things, and he treasured it as a very rare possession which never left him day or night; for it had been sent to him from very far away in the south as a present of great value; and it was alive, and needed the warmth of his body constantly lest it should die. But there was something in the bag that belonged to it and must be found before it could be taken from its little cage of silver filigree in the bosom of the corpse-faced man.
He found it. His stained hand drew from the bag adry walnut. With the point of the knife he wore at his belt he split it carefully, and turned the nut out of one of the half shells, tossing the other into the bag.
The Greek minister watched him with the deepest interest, but Andronicus drummed impatiently with his gloved fingers on the high gilt pommel of his saddle. Yet it was all very quickly done, and though there was less light there was still enough; and while he waited the Emperor again read the letter Zoë had dropped.
But she watched him, calm and fearless, and ready to face death if need be; she wondered what sort of hold Carlo Zeno would take on his neck, when all was known. And she saw red all round him and behind him and beside him up to his knees, the red of the guards' tunics that were like scarlet stains in the twilight air.
Once more the restless horse neighed, far off, and another answered him.
Then the man was ready. He took his knife and ripped Zoë's blue cotton tunic from her throat to her left shoulder and down her side, and she tried not even to shudder, for she did not know what was coming but she would die bravely; and when she was dead Zeno would come, and Gorlias, and they would avenge her. Death was but death, even by torture, and there were worse things in life which had been spared her.
Furthermore, if she died, it would be for a good cause, as well as to help Zeno to be free. Therefore, now that it was all decided, she looked a last time at the face of Andronicus, loose-lipped and cruel, and then shut her eyes and prayed God that she might neither flinch norutter one word that could hinder the end, if it was at hand, as she still hoped.
She felt the chilly air on her shoulder and side, and then something small and hard was pressed against her, just under her arm; and hands that felt like horns, but were horribly quick and skilful, put a bandage round her and drew it tight, and it kept the thing in its place.
But under that thing, which was the half walnut shell, something small was alive and moved slowly round and round. There was no real pain at first, but she felt that the slow and delicate irritation might drive her mad.
Then, suddenly, a thrill of wild agony ran through her and convulsed her body against her will, but many hands held her now and she could not move. The horrible borer-beetle had begun to work its way into her flesh, under the walnut shell.
The corpse-faced man had watched her attentively, and when he saw her start his creaking voice was heard in the stillness.
'She will speak before you can count ten score,' he said.
Zoë had closed her eyes to bear the pain better, and a tiny drop of blood slowly trickled from the lip she had bitten in the first moment of the torture. It made a thin, dark line from her mouth downward, a little on the left side, over her white chin. Her breath came in deep and quivering sobs, drawn through her clenched teeth, but no other sound escaped her in those awful seconds. She was praying that death might come soon, but she did not ask for strength to be silent; that she had, for Carlo Zeno's sake, and for the sake of the just vengeance that would overtake Andronicus when she was dead, if only he were not warned of what was perhaps so near. She thought she might die of the pain only; she was sure that she must faint away if it lasted many moments longer.
The Emperor bent down in his saddle to see her agonised white face more clearly in the gathering gloom, and to catch the least syllable she might speak; and his loose lip moved, for he was counting to himself, counting the ten score, after which she would be able to bear no more and would tell him where the danger was. For the corpse-faced man knew his business, and his experience had been wide and long, and the Emperor knew that he never made a mistake. Moreover, the Greekminister smiled with sheer pleasure at the sight, and hoped that his master would command them to put the girl to death by very slow torments.
The guards, too, crowded upon each other to see, but they were not all silent now; for there were brave men amongst them, savage adventurers from the wild mountains beyond the Black Sea, who feared neither God, nor Emperor, nor man; and they did not like the sight they saw, and they said words one to another in strange tongues which the Greeks could not understand.
Andronicus counted slowly to twenty, and then still more slowly to forty, and the tortured girl's sharp breathing irritated him.
'Speak!' he cried, in a tone that was low and angry. 'Tell me where the danger is, or the thing shall eat out your heart!'
Then the answer came, but not in Zoë's voice, nor by one voice, but by many, loud and deep; and though the words were confused, some could be heard well enough; and they told the loose-lipped cowardly youth where the danger was, for it was upon him.
'Johannes! Johannes reigns! God and the Emperor! Emperor Johannes!'
That was what the voices shouted from the gate, as the multitude swept in, driving the sentinels and guards before them as the gale drives dry leaves. With but one breathing-space for thought and resolve, the guards in their scarlet tunics closed round Andronicus like waves of blood in the deep dusk, and he went down under them, and heard them answer the coming people—
'Johannes reigns! Emperor Johannes!'
Zoë heard the cry through her torment and forgot the pain for one moment, and the next, the dumb Ethiopian who had held her, slit the torturer's bandage and plucked the walnut shell from under her arm, with its living contents, and threw them away; for he had seen Andronicus go down, and knew that there was a new master. Then some of the men, who remembered it afterwards, saw the corpse-faced man grovelling on the ground and searching for his treasure, which could make the toughest victim speak before one could count ten score; for he served the Emperor, whoever he might be, as he and his father before him had served many. No one ever killed the torturer. So he went amongst the trampling feet on his hands and knees, feeling nothing, if so be that he might find his pet and get it back safely into its cage in his bosom. And when he found it still in the walnut shell, by the strange chance that protects all evil, he laughed like a maniac and slipped between the guards' legs on all fours, like a hideous white-faced ape, and ran away into the palace.
Zoë had opened her eyes, and the pain was gone, leaving only a throb behind, and she gathered her torn tunic to her neck with one hand as best she could and slipped out of the turmoil; and only she, of all those that heard the first shout, knew how it was that the people were cheering for the delivered Emperor, while Johannes was still shut up in the tower and guarded by the deaf-and-dumb Africans; and in the glorious triumph of her plan she forgot everything else but the man she loved,and he was safe now, beyond all doubt. Was he not the friend of the restored Johannes? The soldiers would not dare, on their lives, to keep him a prisoner now, not for one hour, not for one moment.
And there he rode, surely enough, in the front rank of the multitude, on the right hand of Emperor John. She knew him, though the last grey light was fading from the sky. She would have known him in the dark, it seemed to her that if she had been blind she would have known that he was near; and her joy rose in her throat, after the torture she had endured, and almost choked her, so that she reeled unsteadily and gasped for breath.
He was on the right hand of the Emperor John, 'Handsome John,' whom the people had once loved and whom they were now ready to love again, having tasted of the scorpions with which Andronicus had regaled them. 'Handsome John,' with his splendid brown beard—the light of torches flashed upon it now—and his cloth-of-gold cloak drawn closely round him like a bishop's cope, so that it hid his hands and half his bridle on each side, and covered the back of his head, too, and a great part of his cheeks; he wore the tall imperial head-dress also, and it shaded his eyes. The people had recognised him more by his fine beard and his cloth of gold than by his face, but the beard was unmistakable; and besides, there were men with him who scattered coins to the multitude, and those coins were good. But the followers who were nearest to him and Zeno, and who pressed round them both to defend them, if need be, were almost all sailors, Venetian shipwrights and workmen from thedocks, though Tocktamish's Tartars were close behind, making a tremendous shouting, and striking their long tasselled spears against each other after their manner, with a clatter of wood like a monstrous rattle; and other soldiers had joined them by hundreds, and after them pressed the artisans of Constantinople, the Bulgarian blacksmiths, the Italian stone-cutters and masons, the Moorish armourers and the Syrian sword-smiths from Damascus, the Sicilian rope-makers, the Persian silk-weavers, and the Smyrniote carpet-weavers, and the linen-weavers from Alexandria with many others; and every man who was not a soldier had something in his hand for a weapon—a hammer, a mallet, or a carpet-maker's staff, or only a stout cudgel. And they ran, and pushed, and forced their way through the gate, spreading out again within the court, cheering and yelling for Johannes in a dozen languages at once.
The Emperor John sat quite still on his horse, wrapped in his cloak, but Zeno rode forward, till he was almost upon the knot of the guards who had pulled down Andronicus, and he threw up his hand, crying out to the men not to kill, in a voice that dominated the terrific din; and he was but just in time, for he was only obeyed because he offered a reward.
'Ten pounds of gold for Andronicus alive!' he shouted.
For that was the price Andronicus had set on his head that morning, and what was enough for Zeno was enough for an Emperor. So half a dozen of the guards dragged the man alive into the palace, and bound him securely with his hands behind him, and stripped off his jewelsand his gold, and kicked him into a small secret room behind the porter's lodge, and shut the door. There the corpse-faced man was squatting in a dark corner, blowing some coals to a glow in an earthen pan, because he might soon be called to do more work, and unless the vinegar was really boiling hot the fumes of it would not put out the eyesight. As Andronicus lay on the floor he could see the man.
But outside, the confusion grew and the noise increased as the people poured into the vast courtyard and pressed behind upon those who had entered before them.
Then the door of the tower in the corner was opened from within, and the African mutes came out and joined the other soldiers, and from an upper window the captain and his wife looked down, and by the help of what she told him he understood that it was time to set his prisoner free, if he did not mean to risk being torn to shreds by the people, though he could not at all understand who it was whom he saw on horseback in the torchlight, dressed in cloth of gold, with the imperial head-dress on his head, for he knew well enough that so long as the key of the upper prison hung at his own belt, Johannes could not get out. Yet there was no mistaking the cry of the people, and his wife urged him not to lose time.
The crowd was surging towards the tower now, led by Zeno and the Emperor, and they and their sailors and dockmen kept in front of the crowd to be the first to dismount and enter the tower, and then the sailors kept the throng back, telling them that Johannes hadgone in to free his youngest son, and the two men who had the deep bags of money threw lavish handfuls to the people, to amuse them while they waited.
But when Zeno and the Emperor came out again, Johannes' face was all uncovered, and the cloth-of-gold cope hung loosely on his shoulders; and by the glare of many torches every one knew that it was Johannes himself, and none other, and men cheered and yelled till they were hoarse.
After the Emperor and Zeno came a man whom no one had seen go in with them, and he had a very scanty dark beard and was dressed in quiet brown, though he wore a horseman's boots, and he was Gorlias Pietrogliant, who had acted so well the part which Zoë had imagined for him.
But Zeno knew nothing of Arethusa, yesterday his slave, and since last night the woman of his heart, for in the haste and stress of that tremendous half-hour, Gorlias could tell him nothing, except that he was Gorlias and not the Emperor, and that the deed giving Tenedos over to Venice was signed and in his bosom; and Zeno supposed that he had devised all the wonderful scheme, which looked so simple as soon as it began to be carried out. Arethusa, he thought, was safe at home; sleepless, worn out with waiting, trembling with anxiety, perhaps, but safe. Now that the deed was done, now that Andronicus was bound, and Johannes, his father, was restored to the throne, Carlo Zeno thought only of leaving Constantinople without delay, before the Emperor could take back his word, and revoke the cession of Tenedos.For Zeno did not put his trust in Oriental princes, and feared the Greeks even when they offered gifts. With a swift Venetian vessel and a fair wind, the coveted island could be reached in two days, or even less; its governor had always at heart been faithful to Johannes, and would obey the deed which Gorlias had thrust into Zeno's hand in the tower, and if once the standard of St. Mark were raised on the fort there was small chance that any enemy would be able to tear it down.
Therefore, just when the soldiers were lifting Johannes from his horse to carry him to the throne-room with wild triumph and rejoicing, Zeno slipped from the saddle to escape notice, elbowed his way to the outskirts of the crowd, and was on the point of making for the gate when Gorlias found him again.
'Arethusa asks you to come to her,' Gorlias said.
'I am going——'
'No. She is here. It was all her plan; she risked her life for it, we were a few moments late, and she has been tortured. Come quickly!'
Zeno's face changed. Gorlias saw that, even in the dim light of the now distant torches. It was the change that comes into a master swordman's face when he makes up his mind to kill, after only defending himself because his adversary has tried some dastardly murderous trick of fence. But Zeno said nothing as he strode swiftly by his companion's side.
Gorlias had found her and had brought her into the lower chamber of the tower, now deserted by the guards. The captain's wife had been standing at the door, notdaring to go out amongst the half-frantic soldiers. She might have fared ill at their hands if she had been recognised just then as the wife of the Emperor's gaoler. So she had stood under the archway, watching and listening, and Gorlias had given Zoë half-fainting into her care while he went to find Zeno.
She had taken the girl on her knees like a child, while she herself sat on the narrow stone bench that ran round the wall, for there was no furniture of any sort there. Zoë's head lay upon the shoulder of the big woman who gently smoothed and patted the soft brown hair, and rocked the light figure on her knees with a side motion as nurses do. She did not know what was the matter, but she recognised the girl who had brought the message and who had been caught outside the door.
Then Zeno came, and in a moment he was close beside Zoë; resting one knee on the stone bench, bending down, and very tenderly lifting the lovely head into his own arm.
She knew his touch, she turned her face up with a great effort, for she had hardly any strength left, and her lids that were but half-closed like a dying person's, quivered and opened, and for one instant her eyes were full of light. Her voice came to him from far off, almost from the other world.
'Safe! Ah, thank God! It was worth the pain!'
Then she fainted quite away in his arms, but he knew that she was not dying, for he had seen many pass from life, and the signs were familiar to him.
He gathered her to him and carried her lightly through the open door, where Gorlias was ready; and Gorlias knew where Vito was waiting with the skiff at the oldlanding not far below the tower, and he helped the boatman to row them home.
Thus ended that long day, which had so nearly been Zoë's last and Zeno's too; and when she opened her eyes again and found herself lying on her own divan under the soft light of the lamps, and looked into his anxious, loving face, all the weariness sank away from her own, and for an instant she felt as strong as if she had freshly waked from rest; then she put up her arms together, though it hurt her very much to lift the left one, and she clasped her hands round his handsome brown neck and drew him down to her without a word.
It was only for a moment. Her strength failed her again, and he felt her little hands relax; so he knelt down by the divan and laid his cheek upon the edge of her pillow, so that he could look into her face, and they both smiled; and his smile was anxious, but hers was satisfied. He did not know what they had done to her, but he was sure that she needed care.
'You are suffering,' he said. 'What shall I do? Shall I send for a physician?'
'No. Stay with me. Let me look at you. That is all I need.'
Her speech came in short, soft phrases, like kisses from lips half-asleep, when there is a little dream between each sentence and the next. But even when she was asleep he still knelt beside her, and now and then her body quivered, and she drew a sharp breath suddenly as if the pain she had borne ran through her again, though more in memory than in real suffering now.
Zeno left her when she was breathing quietly, after ordering the two little maids to watch her by turns, or at least to go to sleep very near her, in case she should wake and call. He himself was worn out with fatigue and hunger, for he had not tasted anything since he had supped with Zoë on the previous evening. He went down to his own rooms, where Vito had prepared him food and wine, which he had asked Gorlias to share with him. But the ex-astrologer was gone, and the master ate and drank alone that night, smiling now and then at the recollection of the dark hours in the dry cistern, and giving orders to Vito about the journey which was to be begun on the morrow, if possible. And Vito gave him a detailed account of what had happened in his absence.
Now that Zoë was safe he was supremely happy. In his heart the fighting man had detested the peaceful merchant's life he had chosen to lead for more than two years, and already, in imagination, his hands were on the helm, the salt spray was in his face, and his ship was going free on her course for the wonderful Isles of Adventure.
But by the orders he gave while he ate his supper, Vito understood that he was not going alone. Whenhad Carlo Zeno ever taken rich carpets, soft cushions, silver basins, and delicate provisions to sea with him, except as merchandise, packed in bales and stowed below? A camp-bed ashore, a hammock at sea, were enough for his comfort. Vito mentally noted each order, and when the time came he had forgotten nothing; but he asked no questions.
Early in the morning, when Zeno had learned that Zoë was still asleep, he went down to the harbour and found that Sebastian Cornèr's ship was to sail the next day at dawn, the same vessel that had brought the letter from Venice which had led him to buy Arethusa; the very galley by which she should have been carried to Marco Pesaro, if Zeno had not thought better of the matter before drawing the three hundred ducats.
Now Sebastian Cornèr was a brave captain, as well as a man of business, and could be trusted; and when Zeno had shown him the deed which gave Tenedos to the Serene Republic he did not hesitate, but promised to help Carlo to take possession of the island within three days, before Johannes could change his mind. So that matter was settled, and Zeno departed, saying that he would send his baggage on board during the day.
When he came home he found the secretary waiting with his tale of woe. Omobono looked and felt like an elderly sick lamb, very sorry for himself and terribly anxious not to be blamed for what had happened, while equally afraid of being scolded for talking too much. He had passed through the most awful ordeal of his peaceful life very bravely, he believed; and if Zenohad called him a cackling hen that morning the shock might have unsettled his brain, and would certainly have broken his heart.
But Zeno had been informed by Vito of the events that had disturbed his household, and knew that Omobono had done his best, considering what his worst might have been, he being of a timid temperament.
'You did very well,' said the master. 'In ancient days, Omobono, those who died for their faith were indeed venerated as martyrs, but those who suffered and lived were afterwards revered as confessors. That is your position.'
This piece of information Zeno had acquired, with more of the same kind, when he had expected to be made a canon of Patras. Omobono's heart glowed at the praise.
'And the confessor, sir, has the advantage of being alive and can still be useful,' he ventured to suggest, though with some diffidence.
'Precisely,' Zeno assented. 'A live dog is better than a dead lion. I mean a watch-dog, of course, Omobono,' he added rather hastily, 'a faithful watch-dog.'
Omobono's appearance that morning did not suggest the guardian of the flock, the shepherd's shaggy friend. Not in the least; but he was pleased, and when he was told that he was to pack his belongings and make ready to leave Constantinople for a trip to Venice his delight actually brought a little colour into his grey cheeks.
'And may I enquire, sir,' he began, 'about the——'he paused and looked significantly at the ceiling, to indicate the upper story of the house,—'about the lady?' he added, finishing his question at last.
'She goes with us,' answered Zeno briefly.
'Yes, sir. But may I ask whether it will be part of my duty to be responsible for her?'
'You?' Zeno looked at the little man in undisguised astonishment.
'I mean, sir, on Messer Marco Pesaro's account. I had understood——'
'No,' said Zeno, 'you had not understood.'
'But then, sir——'
'Omobono, I have often warned you against your curiosity.'
'Yes, sir. I pray every day for strength to withstand it. Nevertheless, though I know it is a sin it sometimes leads me to learn things which are of use. I do not think that if you knew what I know, sir, you would contemplate the possibility of disposing of——'
'You talk too much,' said Zeno. 'If you have anything to say, then say it. If you have nothing to say, then say nothing. But do not talk. What have you found out?'
Thus deprived of the pleasure of telling a long story, Omobono conscientiously tried to impart his information in the fewest possible words.
'The lady is not called Arethusa, sir. Before she sold herself to Rustan to save her people from starvation she was called Zoë Rhangabé, the daughter of the Protosparthos who was executed by Andronicus——'
'Rhangabé?' repeated Zeno, not believing him; for it was a great name, and is still.
'Yes, sir. But that was not her name, either, for he and his wife had adopted her because they had no children, but afterwards two boys were born to them——'
'Confound their boys!' interrupted Zeno. 'Who is she?'
'Her real name is Bianca Giustiniani; she is a Venetian by birth, and her father and mother died of the plague here soon after she was born. You see, sir, under the circumstances, and although the lady called herself a slave, such a commission as Messer Marco Pesaro's——'
'Omobono,' said Zeno, interrupting him again, 'get a priest here at once. I am going to be married.'
'Married, sir?' The little secretary was aghast.
'Send Vito for the priest!'
And before Omobono could say more, Zeno had left the room.
He found Zoë standing by the open window, and the morning sun was still streaming in. Her hair was not taken up yet, but lay like silk all over her shoulders, still damp from the bath. She was a little pale, as a flower that has blossomed in a dark room, and the rough white silk of the robe she drew closely round her showed by contrast the delicate tint and texture of her skin, and the sweet freshness of the tender and spiritual mouth.