CHAPTER II
AN IMPRESSED SOLDIER
The events of that night long remained in Zaidos’ memory, a blurred picture of pain and heart-break. There was a brief and precious hour with the father whom he had so seldom seen; a time filled with the priceless last communications which seemed to bridge all absence and bring them close, close together at last. His coming seemed to fill his dying father with a strange new strength. He talked rationally and earnestly with his beloved son. Zaidos could not believe that the end was near. Count Zaidos gave the boy a paper containing a list of the places where the family treasure was put away or concealed. Also other papers of the greatest value. Without these he would be unable to prove his heirship to the title and estates of the Zaidos family. In case of the boy’s death all would go to a distant cousin, Velo Kupenol, who had long made his home with the Count. Zaidos turned to meet this cousin, whom he had not seen for so many years that his existence had been forgotten. He saw a keen, ferret-faced lad, a little older than himself. He took an instant dislike to the boy, and rebuked himself for doing so. Yet the hard eyes looked too steadily into his, with a cold, piercing, deadly look.
“I’m in the way,” thought Zaidos, as he turned again to his father. And some sure instinct in his heart cried, “Beware, beware!”
When the dying Count handed the thin packet of precious papers to his son, Zaidos slipped them in the inner pocket of his blouse. At that moment Velo approached the bedside.
“Uncle,” he said, “unfortunately my cousin here has been impressed into service. Would it not be well for me to keep these papers? I would guard them with my life, and as I do not intend to fight they would be safe with me in any case.”
The Count frowned. “No,” he cried. “Velo Kupenol, I have not found you true to your name! You have been here with me for years, and I know you through and through. I have treated you with all patience, have paid your debts, have saved you from disgrace for the sake of the family. I have forgiven you over and over. You have not shown me even the loyalty that a true friend would expect, to say nothing of a relative. If anything happens to my son, unfortunately the estates will be yours; but while he lives, the papers will remain in his possession, to do with as he sees fit. Ah!” he cried, turning to his son, “be worthy of our name, my boy! No Zaidos has ever yet disgraced it. I put my trust in you, and I know you will not fail me. To the day she died, your mother planned great things for her baby boy. She—”
He fixed his eyes on space. A look of surprise and happiness lit his face. Slowly he raised his arms as though in greeting, then sank back, dead.
Zaidos, kneeling, buried his face in the pillow. So it was over, all over! Someone raised him to his feet, as the nurse tenderly drew the sheet over his father’s face. He lifted it and with one last lingering look replaced it gently, then left the room.
The clock struck three.
As he sank wearily in a chair, the old nurse entered. Her face was stained with tears. She glanced about, then seized Zaidos by the arm.
“Don’t trust Velo!” she whispered, and left his side. None too soon, for Velo entered the room and with a gesture dismissed the old servant.
“Now, Zaidos,” he said abruptly, “we will talk. You are crazy to carry such valuables around with you. After we have had breakfast, we will decide where to keep those papers. I am the next in line, as you know, and it is only just that I should know where they are in case you should get in trouble.”
Zaidos shook his head. “I shall keep the papers,” he said. “Of course you may remain here. I shall always look out for you. I shall not be killed in this fighting; I feel it.”
“So have other men,” sneered Velo. “How did you get away?”
Zaidos told him.
“Do you mean that you could not get permission, and that you escaped and came anyhow?” he asked, an evil gleam lighting his narrow eyes.
“That’s about it,” said Zaidos, nodding. “I must go back at once. The doctor’s car will take me close to the barracks. I must get there before dawn.” He went to the window and looked out. “I have no time to waste!” he cried.
“But look here, if you are caught, it means desertion,” said Velo.
“Yes!”
“In war-time that means death,” said Velo.
“Yes, but I am not going to be caught,” answered Zaidos.
“Then you must hurry,” declared his cousin. “Wait here just a moment, and I will see that the car is ready and get a cloak to cover you. I almost fear you have waited too long, cousin,” and hurried from the room with a last sidelong look at Zaidos’ bent head.
Five minutes passed; then with a last look at his father’s closed door, Zaidos went down and found Velo standing beside the automobile, talking to the chauffeur. Already the intense blackness of the night was lifting. Zaidos felt a chill of apprehension.
“You will have to hurry,” said his cousin. “I will come down later and look you up. Hope you get back.” He stepped back, and the car shot forward, but only for a short distance. With a queer grinding noise the engine stopped. The driver leaped out and examined it with a flashlight. He uttered an exclamation of dismay.
“Someone has put sand in the engine!” he exclaimed. “Yet I have been in it all night long!”
“You must have left it,” said Zaidos. “Or did you go to sleep?”
“Yes, yes!” stammered the driver excitedly. “I was called away just now, when Velo Kupenol sent me to my master to tell him that I was to take you back to barracks. Ah, what shall we do?”
“How far is it?” demanded Zaidos. The night was lifting. He shivered.
“A mile straight down that avenue, Excellency, until you reach the great fountain in the public square. Then a half block to the left. You cannot miss it, but you cannot make it before dawn.”
“Good-bye!” called Zaidos. He started down the wide avenue with the gentle, easy stride that had made him the best long-distance runner in school. His wind was perfect and he covered ground like a deer; but clearer and clearer as he raced he could see the grey forms of surrounding objects take shape. He reached the fountain in the public square; he made the turn to the left and slowed to a walk. The sentry, walking slowly, reached the opposite corner, and before Zaidos could reach the open door he turned. It was too late to turn back. Zaidos squared his shoulders and approached. The sentry eyed him sharply and was about to speak but Zaidos said, “Good-morning,” with civil ease. The man returned the salutation. Then, “What are you doing here?” he questioned.
“With a letter,” said Zaidos, tapping his pocket.
“Where from?” demanded the sentry.
“Over there,” said Zaidos, nodding his head in the direction of the avenue. It was a bold shot, but it carried.
“Oh!” said the sentry. “The other barracks, eh? Well, will your errand wait, or must I wake them up within?”
“There is no hurry at all,” said Zaidos, easily. “I must see the commanding officer by seven o’clock, that’s all.”
“Very well,” said the man. “I’ll take you in then. I’m tired enough myself tramping up and down here all night. That place is full of recruits, and a lot of them are unwilling ones, I can tell you. But they are under lock and key. They can’t escape. All the air they get even is from that crack in the door. A fly couldn’t get out there.” He was a fat sentry, and he laughed. Zaidos joined his mirth.
“Perhaps a thin fly might,” he said.
The man shrugged. “Perhaps!” he said. “Those recruits are raw, I can tell you. You can be glad you are a trained soldier. I could tell it by your walk, even in this dim light. The walk always tells.”
Zaidos nodded and squatted down near the open door. Moment by moment his danger was growing. The sentry turned and sauntered to the end of the block. Zaidos counted slowly. Once the man turned and nodded in a friendly fashion, then resumed his slow pace. Sixty steps. He stood for a moment on the corner, then came back. “Not long now,” he said, and smiled. Then he passed in the other direction. Eighty steps that way. Zaidos counted. Again the man returned. Zaidos could feel his muscles stiffening, as if about to spring. He cautiously shifted to a position still nearer the partly open door and measured the opening. He felt heavy and awkward. He studied the dark opening. It did indeed look very narrow. He had squirmed through it without much trouble, but that was in the densest darkness, and he had taken all the time he needed. Now if the sentry should turn * * * Well, it would be the end of Zaidos, and a most ignominious end at that. He was not a coward, but he had no fancy to find himself against a wall with a firing squad before him.
Sixty steps and back walked the sentry, and Zaidos, head against the wall, body reclining close to the open door, seemed to be dozing. One, two, three steps past him, went the sentry again—
With the quickness of a cat Zaidos ripped off his uniform blouse, thrust it through the door, stretched his arms over his head, and with a mighty shove of his strong young legs thrust himself into the opening.
There was a terrific struggle for a moment, a series of agile twists, and Zaidos fell forward on the stone floor. Quickly he kicked away his shoes and tumbled down on his pallet. After the gray dawn outside the room was very dark. He heard the sentry outside come running to the door, push it against its stout chain and stand thinking. Zaidos laughed to himself. The opening, “too small for a fly,” had swallowed him; and the unsuspicious fellow outside was filled with almost superstitious amazement. He knew that Zaidos could not by any possibility have reached the corner without making the least sound, and the street was absolutely silent. Zaidos, scarcely daring to breathe, smiled in the dark.
Then, fatherless and friendless as he was, and thrust by a strange fate of birth into a war in which he had no part, Zaidos, exhausted by his night’s experiences, dropped asleep. About him men tired by a long night spent on pallets as hard as the stone flooring tossed and groaned or sighed wakefully. Zaidos slept on.
He was sleeping so heavily an hour later that he did not hear two soldiers enter with a slender young fellow in civilian dress. He never stirred as they went from pallet to pallet, scanning the faces as they passed. When they reached his side the young man looked down at him with an expression which might have been taken for startled amazement if anyone had been watching. He nodded to the officers, and spoke a word of thanks.
“This is my cousin,” he said in a low voice. “With your permission I will sit here by him until he awakes. It would be cruel to rouse him only to tell him of his father’s death.”
“Yes, you may stay,” said the older soldier. “There can be no objection to that.”
They turned and soon the distant door closed behind them. Then the newcomer did a strange thing. He cast a swift glance over the sleeping faces, to assure himself that he was not watched, and with the light-fingered stealth of the born thief, he slipped his thin hand into Zaidos’ breast pocket. Withdrawing it, he smiled wickedly at the sight of what he held. He rose to his feet, hastily pocketed his find, and for a moment stood looking down at Zaidos. With a noiseless laugh he nodded sneeringly at the sleeping boy, picked his way carefully among the men and left the room.
When Velo Kupenol had sifted sand in the engine of the automobile, he had made his first move in a dastardly campaign. Most of his life had been spent surrounded by the ease and luxury of the Zaidos castle. He had had horses and automobiles to use; he had had great stretches of park and woodland to roam through and hunt over. And best of all, he had had the best teachers in all Greece. But these he had neglected and defied at every possible turn. Velo Kupenol was lazy, cowardly and deceitful. That he was not yet a criminal was due to the watchful care and great forgiveness of the uncle who had befriended him. In the past few years this forgiveness had been stretched to its utmost. Velo himself was not aware of the number of disgraceful things his uncle had had to face for his sake. But it would have mattered not at all. He did not know the meaning of gratitude. This boy, who should have been on his knees beside the death-bed of the truest friend of his life, shedding the tears that are an honor to true men, had instantly, with his uncle’s last breath, bent his quick and wicked brain on the problem of wresting the Zaidos title and estates from his cousin. The knowledge that the kindness and forbearance of the father would be continued on the part of the son never occurred to him. He would have laughed if it had. It was all or nothing. He determined that the cruel chance of war was on his side. So he dropped sand in the engine when he had sent the chauffeur on an errand, and then had hurried to headquarters. And it happened that while Zaidos sat on the sidewalk beside the chained door, talking to the friendly sentry, Velo himself was at the front door of the barracks waiting for it to be opened for visitors.
Fortunately, in telling Velo of his escape from barracks, Zaidos did not go into details, so Velo did not know of the door through which Zaidos had crept. He had taken it for granted that he had slipped unnoticed through the door at which he himself was standing, and as he waited he momentarily expected his cousin to come hurrying up. Velo smiled. He hoped Zaidos would come. He wanted to be there when he tried to make his lame excuses for leaving the barracks in the face of the refusal to give him permission. Velo knew well that in the troubled times in which Greece found herself, no excuse would be accepted. It was desertion; and the fact of his return would not soften the offense. There was no place or time for punishment or imprisonment. Velo shuddered, but smiled evilly.
However, Zaidos did not appear, time passed, and finally the doors opened. Velo, very humble and apologetic, made his simple request that he should be allowed to speak with his cousin who was with the soldiers in the inner room. The request was granted, and with two soldiers he entered the room full of sleeping men. He went from cot to cot, making an idle examination of each face. He was waiting for the moment when he could turn to his escort and say, “He is not here.”
But there he was! Velo could not believe his senses. The soldiers, seeing that he had found his relative, turned back to the door, and Velo noiselessly knelt beside the sleeper. He stared long and curiously at the serene and open face. How he had returned was a mystery which maddened him. He was foiled for the present at least; but securing the coveted papers, he silently withdrew.
“Did you find him?” asked the young officer in charge, as Velo came up to his desk.
“Yes, thank you,” said Velo, “but he could not tell me what I wanted to know. I wanted tidings of a cousin, the son of Count Zaidos, who died last night.”
“Zaidos?” said the officer. “That’s the name of one of our recruits.”
“Yes, he is my cousin,” said Velo. “But not the one we want. This fellow in here is a lazy no-account, and the army is the best place for him, although I am sorry to say so.”
“Yes, the army nowadays is a good place for lazy-bones,” agreed the officer. A queer look came over his face. “We are picking up all the single men we can.” He leaned on the desk and spoke as one man to another. “You see we found that the army had to be doubled in short order and the only way to do it was to insist on compulsory enlistment. That’s the reason,” he continued calmly, “that you are now a private in the army of Greece.”
“Me? Oh, no!” said Velo hastily. “It is impossible. I—I—have other things to consider. You will have to excuse me, Captain.”
“I am Lieutenant,” said the officer, “but you will learn the difference in rank shortly.”
“But I can’t do it!” said Velo violently, a red flush mounting to his forehead. “I simply can’t do it! Why, my uncle died last night, and unless we find his son I am the only heir. I have got to stay here. I am the heir doubtless.”
“That’s fine!” said the officer, smiling. “In case you are shot, which is likely, all your property will revert to the crown. Greece is going to need all she can raise. I hope your uncle is rich.”
Velo could not keep from boasting.
“One of the richest men in the country!” he bragged.
“Fine, fine!” said the officer. Then his manner changed. “Now, my boy, your name and address. This is straight. We need you.”
Velo mumbled his name, a deadly fear growing in him. He was a coward and the thought of bloodshed filled him with a cold, deadly terror.
He regarded the Lieutenant with staring eyes. His teeth chattered.
The young officer smiled. He called two soldiers.
“Take this man to the South Barracks,” he said coldly. “Under guard,” he added significantly. He knew men. He saw that the boy before him would have to be whipped into shape. He thought of a recruit made the day before. Zaidos his name was. He remembered with respect and appreciation the manner of the lad. He looked once more at the new recruit. Then he took a piece of paper from his desk, wrote one word on it, addressed it “Officer in Command at South Recruiting Station,” handed it to one of the soldiers standing beside Velo, and turned away. For him the incident was closed.
But Velo, feeling as though he was under arrest, walked miserably and fearfully through the streets, a soldier on either side, wondering with all his might what was written in the folded paper.
He finally asked the bearer to let him see it, but the soldier refused scornfully. As they neared the South Station his fears grew, if such a thing could be possible. Once more he tried to get the mysterious note. He had some money with him. He tried to bribe the man. For answer the soldier struck him in the face. Velo sunk into a sulky silence, and stood with eyes on the ground while the officer in charge opened the message and read the single word therein.
“Good enough!” he exclaimed. “Just what we need!” and waved the two men toward an inner room where Velo was stripped of his comfortable clothes and fitted to the new uniform of the Greek Army.
And not until then did he find out his fate. A third man sauntered up and stood watching.
“Rank and file?” he said jestingly.
“No,” said the man who had carried the note. “Stoker!”