CHAPTER XIV.
A RESCUE EXPEDITION.
DANAË had been three or four days at her new work, conscientiously returning scorn with scorn, when one afternoon the sound of music drew the servants out into the courtyard. A band of gipsies with a dancing bear had obtained admittance, affording a welcome distraction to the suitors waiting their turn to be heard by Prince Theophanis, and Artemisia and her subordinates hastened to take part in the fun. Danaë alone remained in the kitchen, morosely determined to accept no lightening of the penalty she had imposed on herself, though the many-stringed fiddles of the gipsies sounded very pleasant in her ears, and she had a great curiosity to see what a bear was like. She stood with her back to the door, pounding corn, and trying to keep the great pestle from beating time to the music, which made her feet long to dance, and the soft tread of moccasined footsteps failed to reach her ears until, looking up suddenly, she found one of the gipsies close beside her. Before she could scream, he threw back his hooded cloak and revealed the features of Petros. She stared at him aghast.
“So you have come down in the world, my lady!” he observed genially. “But so much the better for me, for I might have found it difficult to speak to you upstairs.”
“What are you doing here? You should have been at Therma before this,” cried Danaë, finding her tongue.
“Without what I came for, my lady? Besides, the roads were not safe. I had to wait here for a day or two, and it has given me this second chance.”
“But what do you want?” she asked, bewildered.
“Why, the little lord, of course. Yourself too, lady, if you insist upon it, but the Lord Janni at any rate.”
“But you took the Lord Harold. You can’t want both!”
“Oh, can’t I?” Petros grinned. “The Lord Harold has a value of his own, my lady. I own that I meant at first to make him serve both purposes, but now you might sooner carry a pet dog through the streets of Czarigrad than a blue-eyed child through the ranks of Glafko’s police. He must stay where he is for the present, but you and I and the other can get through all right with the help of the gipsies. They know something about disguises.”
“So I see,” said Danaë absently, glancing at the skilful alterations made in his appearance by the dark dye on his face and the ferocious horns of his moustache. “Bring the Lord Harold back, and I will come at once.”
“Not so, lady. I have said I want both.”
“And I have said I will do nothing to help you until he is here.”
“Will you ruin your brother, my lady?”
“No, it is you who are ruining him, wasting your time here, and raising the country against you for no good.”
“That is for the Lord Romanos to say,” muttered Petros mysteriously. “But if I have to go to him at Therma without either child, who will bear the blame then, lady mine?”
“You!” cried Danaë. “As you will when the Lord Glafko has you up before him in a minute or two.”
She had been edging gradually sideways, so as to bring the large kitchen table between herself and him, and now she made a dash for the door. But before she reached it, his voice arrested her.
“Betray me if you like, my lady, but that will not restore the Lord Harold. He is where no one can find him, though the police have been closer to him than I am to you, and the gipsies will no more give him up than I would. If necessary they will kill him rather than that he should be discovered in their hands.”
“But you have confessed to me that the gipsies are hiding him!” cried Danaë triumphantly.
“True, lady, and you may tell it to the Lord Glafko. But when the gipsies swear that they have no knowledge of him, and the strictest search fails to discover him, is your word of such power that it will be believed in opposition to theirs?”
The hit was a shrewd one, and it told. All the misery of the loss of confidence of the last few days returned upon Danaë. No, her word would not be taken.
“Kalliopé!” Artemisia’s voice broke into her indecision from the courtyard. “Where are you, girl? Bring out that plate of honey cakes. The Tzigany says the bear likes them.”
She caught up the cakes from the table, but paused at the door. “Go to Therma, then, without the Lord Janni, for you shall not have him. And if any harm comes to the Lord Romanos by this delay, be sure he shall know who is to blame for it.”
She was out in the courtyard in a moment, and making for the stalwart form of Artemisia, whose presence would be an effectual protection against any further argument on the part of Petros. The performance having come to an end, and the gipsies reaped their reward of small coins, somebody had suggested that the bear also deserved something.
“Are you sure he likes them?” asked Artemisia doubtfully, with the plate in her hand. “I thought bears ate people and sheep.”
“Try him, lady; he would do anything for a honey cake,” said the leading gipsy. “If you knew how to hold it, he would dance for it.”
“It’s all very well to say ‘try him,’ but what if he prefers me to the cake?” The question was received with a chorus of dutiful laughter by Artemisia’s satellites.
“Ladies,” said the gipsy, “you seem to think this is an ordinary wild savage bear. I assure you that he is most civilised and polite. Far from eating human beings, he prefers honey cakes to any meat you could offer him. Now if the chief lady will throw one when I say the word——”
The bear opened his mouth at the word of command, and caught the cake which Artemisia threw. After that, amid screams and giggles, the kitchen-girls took their turn, until the cakes were gone. The gipsy smiled superior.
“Now, ladies, I hope you are satisfied. You should see this old fellow playing with the children—never a scratch nor a bite! And his kindness to a little cub we have got——”
“Why, where did you get a bear-cub at this time of the year?” asked a forester standing by.
“Found him in the woods, of course—eight or nine months old now, I suppose. Anyhow he’s there, and anyone who likes can come and see him. Does any lady or gentleman want a nice handsome young bear for a pet? We are open to an offer, for he scratches and bites like a little fiend—has to have a muzzle on whenever he sees company. Would the gracious Prince like to buy him, do you think? He would make a fine ornament to this courtyard, chained to a good strong pole in the middle.” Fresh screams, and vehement exclamations of dissent from the feminine part of the audience. “Well, you are not very encouraging, I must say, but if anyone can get me into the Prince’s presence, and he buys him, I can promise a handsome commission.”
The women-servants called down loud maledictions on anyone who might venture to influence the Prince in the desired direction, but Danaë was silent. When the gipsies and the bear moved towards the gateway, to give another performance for the benefit of the guards in their quarters, she followed in the crowd, and observed minutely the various words of command. Princess Theophanis, standing on the verandah of the Prince’s house, pointed her out to Armitage.
“That girl is absolutely heartless,” she said. “Look at her enjoying that wretched creature’s antics!”
“I should be inclined to believe that she hoped to slip outside with the gipsies, and so escape,” he said. “But I don’t think any of us really understand her yet.”
“At any rate, there will be no harm in warning the guard at the gate to be on the alert,” said Eirene, “since the Prince seems to think it is important to keep her here.”
A servant was summoned and took the message, and her safe custody assured, Danaë passed out of Armitage’s thoughts for an hour or two. Then, as he was passing the unused ground-floor rooms on the way to his own room in the dusk, a voice spoke to him out of a doorway. “Lord!” it said, and looking round, he saw a figure crouching against the door.
“Lord,” it said again, “were the caves where the gipsies live searched when the Lord Harold was lost?”
“Yes, that was one of the first places where the police went. We all thought of the gipsies, and the caves were searched most thoroughly. I’m afraid there’s not much hope in that direction, Kalliopé.”
“Lord, would you like to find the Lord Harold?”
“Like to find him? What are you thinking about? Of course I should!” cried Armitage indignantly.
“Well, lord, if you would like to discover him yourself, and with your own hands restore him to the Lady Zoe, will you go out shooting to-morrow, taking my cousin Sotīri as guide, and saying that you will be away all night?”
“Your cousin? I didn’t know you had one here. Who is he?”
“He is a very good boy, lord, who can walk far over the mountains. He will carry your gun and food, and show you good sport. Also he will guide you to where the Lord Harold is hidden.”
“Kalliopé!” said Armitage, grievously disappointed, “is it possible that you have known where he is all this time? If so, come with me at once to the Lady Zoe, and restore him to her yourself. You can’t think that I want the credit instead of you—especially at the price of two more days’ unhappiness for her. But no, I can’t believe you lied to me the other day.”
“No, lord, I spoke the truth, though you alone believed me. And I have known nothing till to-day, nor do I indeed know now. But I guess. If a great force of police went to the place, the people might kill the child or carry him farther away, but seeing only a Milordo and a boy, they will feel no fear. I will tell my cousin Sotīri all that I think, so that he may lead you. And if the child is not there, then the blame is mine and I am deceived. But if he is there——”
“If there’s a chance of his being there, it’s worth trying. When are we to start, and what is there to shoot?”
“You must start about mid-day, lord. Holy Vasili! I know not what there is to shoot. Wolves? bears?”
“I hope your cousin will be a better guide than you are,” said Armitage drily. “How am I to know what gun to take?”
“Lord, your wisdom is great, you know what it will be best to say. Only tell me, that Sotīri may say the same. Shall it be wolves?”
“Bears, I think. They haven’t begun their winter sleep yet, and their skins are better. On the whole, I think it will be enough if you say one particular bear.”
“Oh no, lord!” she cried in a panic for which Armitage could not account. “I will tell him bears. Then when you are ready, and waiting at the gate, will you call out loudly and angrily for Sotīri, and he will come?”
“Certainly I shall be very angry if he keeps me waiting,” said Armitage, with great gravity, and bidding her good-day, went on. His evening was a cheerless one, with Zoe and Wylie, both haggard with hope deferred, each trying to keep up for the sake of the other. As he had said, if there was the slightest chance of relieving their anxiety, it was worthwhile following up the slenderest clue. That Kalliopé believed she had hold of one was evident, but to him, remembering the close search that had been made already, the probability of success seemed but faint. And Danaë herself, now that she had taken the desperate step of enlisting Armitage’s support was little more hopeful. Petros was at present among the gipsies, and might be expected, since she had declined to help him in securing Janni, to have left them to-morrow on his way to Therma; Harold was also concealed among them, and in a hiding-place so cunningly contrived that the police had passed quite close to it without suspecting his presence. That was all she had to go upon—that, and the idea which had darted into her mind that afternoon, as she listened to the talk in the courtyard; an idea monstrous, incredible, but just possible.
Armitage was conscious of a disconcerting suspicion that he was a fool when he found himself at the gate the next day, laden with his gun, a thick coat, and a basket of provisions. He was quite certain that the man on guard thought him one.
“I am looking for a Greek boy who was coming with me, Gavril. Sotīri is his name. Have you seen him?”
“There are plenty of the young rascals about, lord, but I don’t know all their silly names. What should a Greek know of our mountains? Better take an honest Slav. I myself, if you would ask leave for me from the Lord Glafko——”
“That must be another day. The boy shall have his chance. He has promised to show me a bear. Sotīri!”
“Take care that he isn’t a brigand spy, lord, hired to lead you into an ambush. The ransom of a Milordo——”
“Well, if I am not back by this time to-morrow, you must come and look for me. Sotīri! I shall not wait any longer.”
“Here, lord, here!” cried a panting voice, and a handsome boy in Greek dress dashed across the courtyard. His kapota was rolled up over one shoulder, but he seized the basket and Armitage’s gun. “My cousin kept me so long talking. Let me carry your coat too, lord. It can go over my other shoulder.”
“I will carry the basket, then. Be careful with the gun,” and Armitage passed out, followed by his henchman. They went through the streets of the town, exchanging greetings with the people they met, but Armitage noticed that Sotīri did not seem to be known personally to the Greeks who saluted him, for though his dress was a passport to their sympathies they looked curiously at his face. On the other side of the town the mountains frowned close above the houses, divided by a gorge down which flowed the torrent which provided the water-supply, and in a series of caves, natural or artificial, in the sides of this gorge the gipsies had sojourned from time immemorial. When they reached the foot of the path which led to the caves, Armitage stopped and called up the boy, who had managed to make himself almost invisible under his load of coats.
“Now, Sotīri, tell me what your cousin’s plan is. We are not to march up to the first cave we come to, and demand the Lord Harold, I suppose?”
“No, lord, we cannot hope to recover him till night. But we can find out where he is. Will you graciously ask to see the bear-cub that the gipsies offered for sale at the Konak yesterday, and offer to buy him? My cousin does not think they will be willing to sell him, but it is important we should see the cave in which the bears live.”
“Very well. Your voice is curiously like your cousin’s, Sotīri. You had better give me the gun while we are going up hill. It is too heavy for you.”
“Nay, lord, rather do you give me the basket. You must not judge my strength by Kalliopé’s,” cried the boy, with a gay laugh. “I have carried far heavier loads up worse hills than these. And it is unkind to compare my voice to a girl’s.”
“So it is, Sotīri. I beg your pardon. Well, in a year or two you will be able to laugh at the idea. Meanwhile I will stick to the basket. And be sure to stand where I can see you when I am talking to the gipsies, in case you want to make any sign to me.”
“As you will, lord.” Sotīri dropped behind again respectfully, and presently Armitage received confirmation of certain suspicions that had occurred to him. Missing the sound of the labouring breath behind him, he turned suddenly, to discover coats and gun on the ground, while with frantic haste Sotīri was twisting up a long plait of hair which had escaped from beneath his cap. Not having been seen, Armitage allowed himself a smile, and went on a step or two.
“Do you find it too heavy, Sotīri?” he called out, without turning round.
“No, lord,” replied a hasty voice. “I dropped my cap, and had to go back for it.”
“Better keep close to me here,” said Armitage, as they turned the corner of a rock, and came out on a narrow platform of stone which appeared to form the centre of the social life of the gipsy community. The moment they showed themselves, every hole and cranny in the cliff seemed to disgorge humanity, and they were quickly surrounded by a crowd—old women offering to tell their fortunes, young women rolling bold eyes at them, children pawing their clothes with dirty hands, and all begging shrilly in a dozen different languages. With great wisdom Armitage addressed himself to the oldest, ugliest, most withered and most generally witch-like of the women, and presenting her with a handful of small coin for general distribution, asked if he could speak to the head of the tribe about the bear-cub he had to sell. The old woman looked doubtful. She was not sure whether the tribe would sell the cub after all. It had brought them good luck, and they thought of keeping it and training it to perform with the other bear. Armitage expressed so much disappointment, however, and hinted at such a good price, that the old woman hobbled off at last to the cave where the chief, who turned out to be her son, was sleeping, and woke him. With him a dozen swarthy, cunning-eyed rapscallions were added to the group, and listened greedily while Armitage made his offer. But the chief was adamant, though for a different reason from that given by his mother. The cub had been sold that very morning—a murmur of resentment rose from the women—to a rich Pannonian gentleman who was going to present it to the Zoological Gardens at Vindobona.
“This is most disappointing,” said Armitage. “I wanted to make a sketch of him, and then to present him to Prince Romanos, who is establishing a natural history collection at Therma. Would you mind showing him to me, that I may see whether he is larger than another I have heard of?”
“There’s no objection to that, if the gracious gentleman quite understands that the creature is not to be bought,” said the chief. “The bears are kept here.”
They moved towards another cave, and two men went in. One led out the dancing bear, which shambled blinking into the light, the other, standing just inside the entrance, showed a brown furry body in his arms.
“We dare not bring him out, lord, lest seeing a stranger he should begin to scratch and fight,” explained the chief. “He is muzzled already, as you see.”
Armitage looked critically at the little bear, while Sotīri, at his side, gazed with awestruck eyes into the gloomy recesses of the cave. “A fine little beast! Do you think you could get him quiet if I came here to sketch him another day? I would pay, of course.”
The chief seemed doubtful. The creature had a very uncertain temper, but if the gracious gentleman cared to take the trouble of coming again, and run the risk of disappointment—— Armitage reassured him, and arranged to come again the next morning, in case the purchaser of the cub should wish to take him away soon. Then, guided by a gipsy who was to lead them to the top of the gorge, and show them the way into the woods, he and Sotīri went on. When they had parted with their guide, he turned eagerly to the boy.
“Well, Sotīri, is it all right? Did you find out what you wanted to know?”
“Yes, lord, I found what I expected to find.”
A light broke upon Armitage. “You mean that they have the child hidden in the bear’s den?” he cried.
“Yes, lord, he is hidden in the bear’s den. And now, with your gracious permission, we must go a long way into the woods, in case the gipsies send after us, and then we must come back to this same place.”
Armitage took out his compass and made the necessary observations, and then he and Sotīri plunged into the forest and walked on till they were tired. Dusk was beginning to fall, and retracing their steps was a long and painful process. It was quite dark when at length they arrived again at the edge of the wood, at a point where, by going a few steps further, they could look down the gorge, and see the twinkling lights which showed where the gipsies were cooking their supper in the mouths of their caves. Sotīri helped Armitage into his coat, unfastened the straps of the provision-basket, and retired to a respectful distance. It was a mild night, and the withered beech-leaves made a comfortable couch. Armitage ate and drank, and then reflected that if Sotīri were as hungry as he was, the share of food which he had given him on his horrified refusal to sit down and eat with his employer must be quite insufficient. He called to the boy, in a low voice at first, then louder, but no answer came. Following the direction he had taken, he came upon him, wrapped in his kapota, fast asleep, with the untasted food by his side. Armitage stole back to his place without waking him.
“They may say what they like, but that is a fine creature!” he said to himself.