CHAPTER XXI.
MARRIAGE BY CAPTURE.
PRINCE CHRISTODORIDI sat alone on the terrace, in the most unamiable of tempers. Evening was drawing on, and the guests had departed, after doing full justice to the coffee and syrup, the preserves of roses and quinces, handed round by the girls. They were provided with a subject of conversation that would crop up for many a long day, and Prince Christodoridi writhed under the knowledge of it. He had been over-reached and publicly flouted, and what was worse, Loukas Smaragdopoulos held fast to the extra five hundred drachmæ. He had intended his son to marry the Despot’s elder daughter, he said, and had prepared apartments for them on a suitable scale, and if he was to be put off with the younger, at least he would not be done out of his money as well. It had required all the diplomacy of Parthenios Chalkiadi, and the restraint imposed by the presence of the English stranger, to keep the wrangle within due bounds, but Kyrios Loukas had gone away without consenting to forgo his claim, which meant that it would have to be acknowledged. And this was not the worst. If Prince Christodoridi carried his grievance to the Patriarchal tribunal, and asked for the annulment of the betrothal, it was ten to one that he would merely waste more money without obtaining satisfaction. But if Angeliké were married before her elder sister, he would be eternally disgraced in the opinion of all his acquaintances, yet to find a husband for Danaë as well meant the provision of two dowries at once—a prospect which was enough to wring tears of blood from the hapless father. It was little wonder that when Angeliké made an unobtrusive appearance, and began to clear away the coffee-cups, he swore at her angrily and bade her bring him his stick. But it seemed indeed as if the very foundations of the earth were out of course, since this hitherto submissive slave made no attempt to obey. Instead, she stood before him meekly with clasped hands.
“Why would you beat me, lord?” she asked softly.
“You know very well. Fetch that stick!” vociferated her father.
“Nay, lord; listen a moment. You robbed me of the bridegroom you had promised. Did I rebel? I wept, but even my tears were put away in obedience to your will. But when the opportunity offered—ah, lord, I was resigned, as I thought, but a voice in my heart bade me seize my chance, and I listened. Beat me if you will, but had you been in my place, would you have suffered your sister to steal your bridegroom?”
“It was not your sister’s doing; it was mine—and you have made your father a laughing-stock, girl.”
“Ah, lord, not so—never! Surely no one could ever laugh at you!”
The tone was so serious, so reverential, that Prince Christodoridi found his wrath melting away in a most unwonted manner. The thought was a gratifying one—and Angeliké was nestling close to his knees, and gazing up with admiring eyes into his face. Quite without warning she gave a little laugh. “I wonder why Danaë fainted!” she said.
“Because she is a fool, and you are another,” growled her father.
“I wonder—” Angeliké edged away a little—“I wonder why the English lord came here.”
“Not to behold your beauty, at any rate.”
“Oh!” with breathless interest; “was it to behold Danaë’s, lord?”
“Nonsense! The thoughts of you girls run on nothing but bridegrooms. Milordo was passing by, and came like a well-mannered man to salute me on his way.”
“Oh!” this time the tone breathed intense disappointment. “I did hope it might be on account of Danaë.”
“What do you mean by that?” Prince Christodoridi gripped her shoulder as she made a movement to rise. “What should he know about Danaë?”
“I don’t know, lord,” gazing at him with wide eyes of terror. “I have never spoken to him, nor seen him.”
“Of course not,” impatiently. “Do you mean that your sister has?”
“I—I don’t know. Perhaps—I don’t think so. It may not have been the same man. Don’t ask me, lord; ask Petros. I know no more than you do; how should I?”
“What has Petros been saying to you? What is this about your sister? Can this be the man——? Tell me at once, girl.”
“Petros said—” whimpered Angeliké—“at least, I mean he told Aristomaché, and she told me (but he said you knew),—that all the talk at Klaustra was that Milordo would marry Danaë. And one night she was dressed up in Frank clothes—all in cloth of gold like an empress—and they made a great feast, and Milordo and she sat side by side. She—she even put her arm in his, lord,” breathed modest Angeliké in horror, turning away her eyes. But Prince Christodoridi had been a scandalized participant in European dinner-parties, and had even, under pressure from his son, consented to offer his arm to a lady, so that he bore up under the shock better than she had hoped.
“But this cannot be the same man. How could he have the effrontery—? And yet he said—— Well, what of all this?”
“Why, lord, they all thought the betrothal would take place the next day, when my brother arrived suddenly, but instead of that, there was much talk at the house of Prince Theophanis, to which Danaë was summoned, and she came away looking like one dead, and the next day my brother brought her away to Therma. So everyone said that Milordo had refused to marry her, and they supposed it was because she had pretended to be a servant.”
“But he knew all about that!” said Prince Christodoridi, thoroughly puzzled.
“Did you know of it, then, lord? Oh, why was it?” Curiosity had led Angeliké beyond the bounds of prudence, and her father frowned.
“That is no concern of yours, girl. If he saw her at Klaustra, it was when she was passing as a servant.”
This was a bad blow to Angeliké’s theory, but a happy idea struck her. “But perhaps his parents interfered, lord. They may have thought she would have no dowry.”
“Your brother would have referred the matter to me. He knows that I should not grudge a—a reasonable sum to establish you both suitably.”
“Of course, lord, he must know. And yet—the match was broken off, and Milordo is here.”
“True. He is here,” her father repeated mechanically.
“And his parents are not here, lord.”
Prince Christodoridi looked at her sharply. “What do you mean by that, girl?”
“It looks almost,” said Angeliké, with an innocent little giggle, “as if he wanted to marry her after all.” This was going much farther than she had intended, but Armitage’s arrival had fitted in so miraculously with her plans that she could not allow it to be wasted.
“After all? What do you mean?”
“As if he might be willing even to marry her without a dowry, lord.”
The siren-voice was sweet, and Angeliké was crouching very confidingly close to her father. He shook her off with an oath.
“All-Holy Mother! He has said nothing about it.”
“But perhaps he will, lord; or you might notice something that would enable you to speak.”
“The fellow is not going to refuse my daughter twice!”
“No, lord; but since he has come here, surely he has no wish to refuse? And how could he say anything? Every civilised man knows that it falls to the maiden’s father to speak first. And—and he might not be sorry—just to satisfy his parents——”
“Yes? Plague take the girl, why won’t she speak out?”
“He might not be sorry if you insisted on the marriage, lord.”
The idea appealed to Prince Christodoridi, since it savoured of the methods of his ancestors, and he welcomed it with a pleased smile. But none the less, he put it aside valiantly.
“No, no; he is my guest, and we can’t force a wife upon him. But if I see anything to make me believe he has really come after Danaë, and that good manners are keeping him back—— But mind, not a word to your sister!”
“Oh no, lord!” said Angeliké heartily, with the full intention of disobeying at the earliest possible opportunity. When she went up to bed, creeping stealthily into their room, she found Danaë, as she expected, kneeling at the window with her eyes fixed on the distant lights of the yacht. With great tact, Angeliké took no notice of her immediate change of position, but yawned softly as she lighted the lamp.
“It has been a great day!” she said. “And to-morrow come the gifts. Oh, how I hope Narkissos will have chosen my dress the right colour! I told him blue and citron most carefully, but I know his father would get any other stripe that was a little cheaper, no matter how ugly it was.”
“Well, you have got Narkissos, at any rate,” said Danaë sharply. Angeliké’s claws were out in an instant.
“I believe you wanted him after all! You didn’t faint.”
“You know I don’t want him. I—I forgot.”
“You wouldn’t have done it at all if I had not cried out. If anyone had been looking they must have noticed. I know why you forgot,” with awful directness. “It was because of Milordo.”
“It wasn’t!” cried Danaë. But Angeliké’s distrustful eyes warned her that there was only one possible alternative, and she temporised. “Well, I was surprised to see him, of course.”
“Of course! If you mean glad, why don’t you say so?”
“Because I was not glad!” cried Danaë vehemently. “I was bowed down with shame—I could have died——”
“Oh, you are always talking about dying!” said Angeliké, altering her tactics skilfully to meet this surprise. “He is rich, and pleasant to look upon—though he has the face of a boy; I prefer men—and our father favours him.”
“What are you talking about?” demanded Danaë.
“Promise not to tell—never to let out a word about it. Our father has chosen him for your bridegroom.”
Danaë flung up her arms wildly, then dropped them in despair. “Has he—has he spoken to him?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I think not; but perhaps he has.” It was necessary to walk warily in dealing with such explosive material.
“Then he must not. Oh, Angeliké, sister mine, he must not! It is not the custom of the English. With them the man speaks first.”
“But he might be refused!” cried Angeliké, aghast at the idea of subjecting the nobler sex to such an indignity. “Are you sure? Who told you?”
“Sofia, the Lady Zoe’s maid. And she said that with them a woman whose parents spoke for her would be eternally despised. Nor would the man consent to marry her.”
“Well, of all the barbarous customs! But fear not, my sister. No man refuses what the Despot of Strio offers.”
“Do you think I want him to marry me against his will?”
“But why should it be against his will? Kyrios Loukas was glad enough for Narkissos to marry one of us, though he had to make a fuss about the dowry——” She stopped abruptly. The crowning shame, her suggestion that Armitage might be induced to marry Danaë without a dowry, must be discreetly concealed, for by immemorial custom, a Striote girl whose father refused without due cause to provide for her had the right of appeal to the people in public assembly against the insult put upon her, and such an exposure would not suit Prince Christodoridi.
“It’s not a question of dowry!” cried Danaë. “Would you have cared to marry Narkissos if you knew he didn’t want you?”
“Of course, if I wanted him,” said the practical Angeliké. “And you want the English lord; you know you do.”
“I don’t! I don’t! I don’t want to marry anyone.”
“But that’s silly. You have got to be married. What else could become of you?”
“In Europe women do all sorts of things now. There are female teachers, and scribes.”
“As if we should ever be allowed to do anything of the kind! Of course, if one had a chance like that of getting away from here, and living where there was something going on, one would not care about getting married. But as it is, we may be thankful that there are bridegrooms to be found for us.”
“I am not! I won’t marry him! I don’t want to.”
“You talk so foolishly,” said Angeliké patiently. “If our father means you to marry Milordo, he will have to take you, and you will have to go to him. And once you are his wife——”
“Angeliké,” said Danaë quickly, “how is it that you have managed to send messages to Narkissos when you wished? I never heard of anyone’s doing it before.”
Then the seed so casually dropped had borne fruit! Angeliké smiled to herself as she replied, “That’s all you know about it! All the girls send messages if they wish. Why not make use of friend Petros?”
“I would not trust Petros if there was no one else in the world.”
“Well, what I do,” reluctantly, “is to get hold of Aristomaché. She is always going about, looking for suitable brides and bridegrooms, and she is to be trusted. She is sleeping here to-night, so as to see the gifts to-morrow.”
And the next morning Angeliké smiled again, when she found Danaë missing when she woke, and saw her shortly afterwards returning breathless from a hurried visit to the women-servants’ quarters. She could picture, as well as if she had heard the request uttered, the old woman despatching her grandson to waylay Armitage as he landed, and to tell him that some one wished to speak to him at a certain place. That would be the form of the message, since the matter was too delicate to be confided to the go-between, and the important thing now was to discover the place, and to contrive to direct Prince Christodoridi’s steps thither at the right time. But the Angeliké of the last two days was such an ingratiating creature, and the ruse to discover the date of her wedding so prettily transparent, that her father was rather pleased than otherwise to be dragged off to examine her own particular myrtle, and decide whether it would flower in time to provide her wreath, or whether some bush growing on lower ground must be laid under contribution.
Armitage received his message duly, and with mixed feelings. He was to turn aside to examine a built-up archway some little distance to the left of the fortress gate, and some one—nods and winks and meaning gestures—would come to speak to him there. He hoped in one way that it might be Danaë, for it seemed that etiquette would otherwise prevent him from speaking to her at all, and he had Zoe’s inquiries to make. But Parthenios Chalkiadi’s warning rang in his ears, and he had caught certain looks passing among the women the day before which seemed to indicate that he was somehow connected with Danaë in their minds. This was the more undesirable in that he had no very definite idea what his wishes or intentions were, and only a vague notion that perhaps he had better not have come to the island. But this was forgotten when he saw Danaë standing in the shelter of the archway, and sprang forward to meet her. She allowed him no time for conventional greeting.
“You will wonder how I got here, lord. I climbed down the wall.” She held out her hands, all bruised and scratched, and looked down at her torn and dusty skirt. “You will guess I should not have done that for nothing. Lord, turn back. There is a plot to kidnap you.”
On this version of the facts she had decided, after much mental wrestling. But Armitage was incredulous.
“But who would do such a thing, Lady Danaë? I am more than sorry that you should have taken so much trouble——”
She interrupted him hastily. “Don’t think of me, lord; but believe what I tell you. Do not enter the fortress. You would not have me betray my own people?” with the ghost of a smile. “But we are all pirates, you know, and you are rich, and can pay ransom. Go back while you can.”
“But I have messages for you from the Lady Zoe. Are you happy here?”
The glance she turned on him thrilled him with the remembrance of that other glance of yesterday. But she recollected herself quickly. “At least I am happier than yesterday morning I expected to be,” she said. “Yes, lord, tell the Lady Zoe that all is well. I am here in my own place, in the life to which I belong. It must be the best for me. Why should I not be happy?”
“Look me in the face and tell me that you are, Danaë.”
He spoke very gently, but Danaë could not meet his kind eyes. “No, that is unfair. You have no right to ask me that!” she said incoherently, with both hands pressed to her breast. “Go, lord, go, and tell my Princess that I tried to remember what I had learnt from her, but it would be happier for me if I could forget it. Ah, lord, if you have any kindness for the poor girl whom you once called beautiful, go, and let me forget!”
She avoided his attempt to detain her, and fled. Armitage would have followed her, but started to find himself suddenly confronted by Petros, who might have sprung from the earth, but more probably from the recess formed by the side of the gateway and the wall.
“My lord the Despot awaits Milordo,” he said with a bow.
Had he heard all that had passed? It was impossible to say; his face told nothing, and after one quick glance at him, Armitage turned again towards the great gate, very much perturbed in his mind. Should he ask Danaë to marry him? Pity, admiration, romance, urged him to do so; reason, prudence, a kind of shame that the man who had loved Zoe Theophanis should think of linking himself with a mere beautiful savage, held him back. In his mental struggle the warning Danaë had given him was slighted. These were not the days when British peers could be held to ransom in the islands of the Egean, nor would Prince Christodoridi be foolish enough to dream of such a thing.
“You have something to say to me, friend Milordo?” The words, uttered with extreme coldness, roused him from his reverie. Prince Christodoridi stood before him, but did not hold out his hand or offer any other sign of welcome. “I understand that such is the custom of your country,” he added impatiently, as Armitage stared at him.
“You must pardon me, lord, but I have not the slightest idea——”
The truth never occurred to Armitage, for Petros was still behind him, and it was impossible he should have told his master yet of the meeting under the wall. The Despot waved his hand magnificently.
“From the rampart just now, Milordo, I saw you in close converse with my elder daughter. Perhaps that also is one of your national customs?”
“It is certainly not the custom for a man to turn his back when he happens to meet a lady whose acquaintance he enjoys,” said Armitage with spirit. Prince Christodoridi smiled grimly.
“With us, when a man is found talking with an unmarried girl, he marries her—without a dowry.”
“And that is a grave deterrent?” with an answering smile.
“If he refuses, he is found the next dark night with a dagger in his heart.” Armitage’s eyes followed his host’s hand, by a kind of fascination, to the longest of the long curved daggers in his belt, but like most Englishmen, he had a rooted objection to being driven into any course. Five minutes ago he had been seriously contemplating the possibility of marrying Danaë, now it was absolutely out of the question.
“I can only recommend you to change your customs, lord. They are unduly old-fashioned,” he replied deliberately.
“You have cast a slur upon my daughter’s name, and you refuse to take the only step that can remove it. I suppose you are thinking of the dowry?” with a sneer.
“The dowry makes no difference whatever, but I refuse to be coerced into marrying any woman on earth—even the Lady Danaë. But nothing is farther from my wishes than to cast any slur upon her. In fact—— But we are neither of us cool enough to discuss such a question at this moment, Prince. With your permission, I will return on board, and you shall hear from me.”
“Have I your promise that you will send a formal request for my daughter’s hand?”
“Certainly not,” replied Armitage, in the gentle, reasonable tone of voice which always led his opponents astray. “You are still trying to force a promise out of me, which is preposterous.”
“You shall not go until you give it!” Prince Christodoridi had been coming nearer and nearer, and now he made a spring at his guest. Stepping back instinctively, Armitage set his back to the wall, but the wall gave way behind him, and the floor failed beneath his feet. Staggering helplessly, he had a momentary vision of the appalled face of Angeliké in the distance, before the wall which had opened to receive him closed again with a crash, leaving him in utter darkness on a steep smooth slope. Stumbling, sliding, clutching blindly at the walls, he descended swiftly, until he was brought up violently against masonry of some sort. To his left was a faint glimmer of light, and he groped his way towards it, to find himself in a chamber apparently hewn out of the living rock, with a small hole admitting light high above his head. The slope down which he had come was too steep and smooth to climb, and there was no means of reaching the window. Opposite the doorway of the dungeon, to the right of the slope, was a wooden door, which he shook in vain, and at the keyhole of which he shouted till he was tired. Most undoubtedly he was in a place from which it would be very difficult to get out, and he confessed to himself that he had walked neatly into a trap. For one moment he experienced a sinking of the heart as he wondered whether Danaë could be in the plot, but he drove away the doubt with a determination that surprised himself. No, she was not to blame, except for the attempt to save him which had led to this. Of course she could not tell him the exact nature of the demand to be made on him, and she had unwittingly precipitated the very danger she had tried to avert. Would they ill-treat her? he wondered, remembering her godfather’s warning. It was horrible to think of. If that absurd old father would only let him see her for a moment! It would be ridiculous to marry her without knowing that she wished it. At present she was scarcely likely to wish it, since the terrified sister had probably rushed with all speed to tell her that the English lord had chosen a dungeon rather than marriage with her. It was a horrible tangle, and he saw no way out of it.