CHAPTER XXV.
THE MASTER OF THE SITUATION.
THE cold eyes fixed upon her recalled Danaë to the present. If her own brother had doomed her to death for the wrong done in her days of ignorance, this foreign woman should see no fear in her. She summoned her innate courage and her acquired politeness to her aid.
“Welcome is the messenger who bears good news!” she said. “Truly, lady, it was good of you to bring the carriage yourself for my husband. Now we can take him to the Palace in more comfort.”
She beckoned to the men who were carrying Armitage, but as they approached the carriage, before she could slip from her saddle, Madame Panagiotis stopped her.
“Lady, may I entreat you not to dismount? There is work to be done before you return to the Palace.”
“What work could prevent me from taking care of my husband?” asked Danaë in astonishment. “You can’t mean that I should keep him here?”
“My husband bade me ask you to leave Milordo to my care, lady, and save Emathia for your brother.”
Danaë stared at her. “But Emathia is in no danger!”
“We thought it lost until you brought back the cavalry to their allegiance a few minutes ago, lady. Now it is for you to finish your work, if you will.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Danaë mechanically, as she watched the soldiers making Armitage as comfortable as they could in the carriage. He was regaining a measure of consciousness, for he smiled faintly as his eyes met hers. Madame Panagiotis laid a firm hand upon the bridle.
“Lady, you must listen, and you must play the man to-day, since your husband and brother are both helpless. There is a rising in the city.”
“Against my brother? But who——?”
“Not against your brother, but a report of his death has been spread, and the forces of disorder see their opportunity. They may be led by the agents of the Theophanis family; I do not know.”
“That is absurd,” said Danaë with decision. “No one who knows them could believe it for an instant. There must be foreign treachery at work.”
“So my husband says, lady, for the danger lies in this, that any widespread rioting, involving danger to foreign property, will bring the Powers—and especially Pannonia—down on us at once. Your brother is prostrate with weakness, and the doctors dare not excite him by informing him of the rioting. Is he to rise from his sick-bed to find himself an exile, and his son without a future?”
“No!” cried Danaë. “But what is to be done? Let Professor Panagiotis come himself and take command. I know nothing of the proper measures.”
“Lady, my husband does not dare leave the Palace. Besides the doctors, he is the only person admitted to the presence of his Highness. The mob which is making a demonstration in the Place de l’Europe Unie, and threatening the government offices, must be dispersed, and the streets patrolled, and every attempt at a gathering broken up. The duty would have fallen to Milordo had he been able to undertake it, but now you are your brother’s representative.”
“And the force at my command?” asked Danaë sharply.
“This regiment, which you have saved for his Highness, as I saw by means of the Palace telescope. The Klaustra police, since you vouch for their loyalty. And as a reserve the Guard, but that must be kept to garrison the Palace unless the necessity elsewhere is overwhelming.”
“And what support is to be expected?”
“The Ministers and officials will rally round you when they learn that the news of the Prince’s death is false. At present they are afraid of becoming marked men if they take any decisive steps. My husband is preparing two documents for his Highness’s signature at the earliest possible moment, one constituting you colonel of the cavalry regiment, the other—to be used only in case of necessity—proclaiming martial law in the city.”
“It is well. Let him telephone to the various Ministries that if the mob do not scatter, they will be dispersed by cavalry,” said Danaë resolutely. Then her eyes fell on Armitage’s white face, and her courage failed. “Lord,” she said, riding close to the side of the carriage again, “you hear that they want me to fight for my brother and Janni, when I would fain be tending you? Must I go?” She spoke in a low voice.
“Yes—if it is to save Emathia,” he answered feebly.
“I hate the wife of Panagiotis!” was the inconsequent reply. “Lord, if I must go, give me your wedding-ring. I had to use mine as a token. There was nothing else.”
Armitage took off the ring, and put it upon the finger she held out. “If I could go with you I would, but I should only hamper you,” he said. “But don’t be rash, or I shall come and fetch you.”
There were tears in Danaë’s eyes, but perceiving that this was a joke, she smiled dutifully and unwillingly. Stooping from the saddle, she caught up her husband’s hand and kissed it fiercely, then commended him by a gesture to the care of Madame Panagiotis, and turned back to her soldiers. The messenger whom she had despatched was just returning.
“Lady, it is done as you commanded, and here are the keys. But there is fighting in the city, and no orders have come to the troops or the police from the Palace.”
“The police have not given way?” cried Danaë in disgust.
“No, lady, but the chief of police fears to act without orders, and is keeping his men in reserve. His Highness’s hand has always been heavy on those who acted without his leave, and now it is said that he is dead.”
“That is not true. He is alive and doing well, and has appointed me to represent him. What is the fighting about?”
“I know not, lady, and I doubt whether the mob know themselves. Some are crying one thing and some another, but those who are threatening the Police Bureau have a red flag, and are calling out for a revolution.”
“Can you get to the Police Bureau from the back?”
“Yes, my lady; through by-lanes.”
“Then go, and tell the chief of police to march his men into the thickest of the crowd when we enter from the two opposite corners of the square. That will separate them and force them down the side streets.”
She looked round, and saw that her strategy was approved. Only one of the officers seemed to have something to suggest, and she glanced towards him.
“The machine-guns, lady?” he ventured.
“To be sure. We will fetch them,” said Danaë, but her troops were evidently waiting for a word of command. In despair, she turned to the officer who had spoken, and made a shot—happily a successful one—at his rank. “Captain, I appoint you my aide-de-camp. You will ride beside me, if you please, and transmit my words, lest my voice should not reach the men.”
A smile flitted across one or two faces, but the captain thus honoured was equal to the occasion. With a perfectly grave face he gave the necessary order, and they clattered across the parade-ground in the direction of the cavalry barracks. The machine-guns were secured, and the force increased by the addition of a number of men who had not listened to the disloyal suggestions of the former colonel, and who had been informed by the messenger of the change in the condition of affairs. The smallest possible guard was left at the barracks, for Danaë did not underrate the difficulty of the task before her. Above all things she was anxious to overawe and not to infuriate the mob. A rising put down by bloodshed would be only less disastrous, as giving an opening for foreign intervention, than a rising which was successful, and this was her reason for leaving the streets at the side of the square open.
From the barracks a messenger had been despatched to the Klaustra police ordering them to join her, and they came up now, a welcome reinforcement to her own four troops. A judicious reconnaissance through the garden of a house deserted by its panic-stricken inhabitants showed her that the time was ripe for action. The splendid square was turned into a perfect pandemonium. The new Therma had contrived to attract to itself an undue proportion of the dregs of Europe and the Levant, and these seemed to have ranged themselves with one accord under the banner of revolution. Red flags dotted the seething, shouting, gesticulating mass of people, and garden-seats and railings from the trampled flower-beds had been torn up to provide weapons, though the frequent popping of revolvers and gleam of daggers showed that the demonstrators had by no means come unarmed to the place of rendezvous. The lack of unity in the would-be revolutionists was remarkable. Each flag seemed to mark the position of a separate orator with a separate panacea for the popular woes, and such fighting as had yet taken place was merely between the advocates of opposing remedies. But while Danaë waited for the Klaustra police to come up, the mob had become more homogeneous, and there was a distinct movement towards the north end of the square, where the Legislative Chamber, the Ministry of Justice, and the Police Bureau were situated. Before rejoining her troops, Danaë cast a glance to either hand. The other Ministries at the sides of the square were all barricaded and the inmates of the few private houses had either followed their example or fled. This particular house had a broad piazza in the front, and here she took her stand, with one troop and the two machine-gun detachments as a reserve in the garden below her. The Klaustra police and another troop of her own men had been sent some little distance down the broad street which left the square at the two northern corners, with orders to prevent the mob’s re-forming, and it was now time for the two remaining troops to enter at the south-east and south-west openings, and drive their respective wedges into the crowd. Just before they appeared, the two or three terrified functionaries who had been vainly endeavouring to pacify the people from the portico of the Ministry of Justice fled panic-stricken before a shower of stones, and a handkerchief waved from the roof of the Police Bureau showed Danaë that her orders had been received and understood. One change she made in her arrangements at the last moment, even while her squadrons were entering the square. The two front gates of the garden were thrown wide open, revealing a quick-firer ready for action posted in each, with a force of soldiers standing by their horses behind it.
The first effect of the entry of the cavalry upon the scene was ludicrous rather than impressive. The mob were making so much noise themselves that they never heard the approach of the soldiers till they were actually upon them, pressing steadily on, though using only the flat of their swords, towards the centre of the square. The cries of dismay from the back had no sooner penetrated to the front of the crowd than a strong body of mounted police rode out from the courtyard of the Police Bureau, and the demonstrators showed little desire to face them. The troops were not in large numbers, and there were three roads on each side of the square down which flight was possible—who knew how long it might be so? There were one or two struggles round the red flags, here and there a soldier was struck by a revolver-bullet better aimed than its fellows, and fell from his horse, but his comrades pressed on, and the mob was broken up. That portion of it which was farthest from the police, at the back of the square, did indeed, on discovering the smallness of the forces at the command of law and order, make an attempt at a rush, which would have overwhelmed the slender line of horsemen, but Danaë flung her reserve troop upon them boldly, and they also gave way. Riding into the square with the machine-guns, she accelerated their flight, and meeting the chief of police, promised him the assistance of troops in keeping the space clear. But her own duties were not yet over, for while she was considering how many men she could spare him, two messengers reached her. One, coming from the Palace by way of the rear of the Police Bureau, carried the edict proclaiming martial law, which was put aside for use if necessary, the other brought the news of a mutiny at the cadet-school. The commandant had succeeded in keeping his pupils from actually joining the rioters, but they were encouraging them from the windows and roof, and the mob dispersed from the square was re-forming before the school.
Danaë was now becoming quite expert in dealing with crowds, and leaving the square to the police for the present, she led her troops to the neighbourhood of the cadet-school. This time the mob were expecting interference. Their nerve was shaken, and the men on the outskirts were keeping an eye open for the appearance of the soldiers. When the horses’ heads emerged from the street opposite, and the troops, in three bodies radiating fanwise, began to ride through the crowd, all the cheers and reproaches of the rebellious cadets could not induce them to face the onslaught, while the discharge of the two quick-firers, though the bullets were judiciously aimed skywards, drove the young gentlemen pell-mell from their points of vantage. Once forced from them, they had to face their commandant, but the numbers within the walls were so equally divided that when Danaë demanded admittance, the gates were not opened without a considerable scuffle. The commandant appeared alone, in great disarray, and without any formal greeting entreated her Highness to retire, and honour the school with a visit on a more propitious occasion. He could deal with his rebels himself if he was only let alone. But the situation was too serious for the risk to be run of supplying the revolutionaries with trained officers, and an idea had suggested itself to Danaë, based on the discomforts of her own first voyage from Strio. Reluctantly the commandant allowed her to enter the place, and proceeded to muster the cadets at her request. The presence of the cavalry and the quick-firers stimulated obedience, even on the part of the rebels, though some of them had to be dragged to the parade by main force, and others indulged in disloyal cries and insulting remarks. Commanded, through the aide-de-camp, to separate themselves into supporters and opponents of the existing régime, they complied with some surprise, and an appeal to the commandant disinterred from the ranks of the loyalists only one or two whose political opinions had undergone a quick change since the collapse of the demonstration. With the thirty or forty recalcitrants ranged before her, Danaë pronounced sentence. They would proceed at once upon a disciplinary cruise, under the charge of the deputy-commandant, and would be escorted on board forthwith by the Klaustra police. The first result of the announcement was that the commandant presented his resignation on the spot, indignant that affairs should be taken out of his hands, but he was induced to withdraw it on being assured that the culprits should be restored to his jurisdiction the moment the crisis was over. Then Danaë called up the sailor, who had attached himself to one of the gun-detachments, and impressed upon him, with endless repetition to make sure that he understood, a message for the captain of the yacht. He was to get up steam at once, and sail as soon as he had received his unwilling passengers on board, and was then to cruise up and down outside the mouth of the harbour, in the roughest water he could find within sight of signals from the shore. The sailor grinned broadly when he understood the significance of the message.
“And are they to be fed, lady?” he asked, in his halting Greek.
“Certainly—if they are hungry,” replied Danaë, without a smile.
“I see, lady. Fat salt pork is what we usually recommend in these cases.”
“The captain will know what to do better than I,” said Danaë, and having seen her captives on their way to the quay, rode away, heartlessly rejoicing that they would think no more of revolution for the next few hours, at any rate. Her own task was far from being fulfilled as yet. The infantry barracks had to be visited, and the temper of the men ascertained, but the result of the inquiry was encouraging. What might have happened if the revolutionists had met with an initial success was doubtful, but the rank and file were now staunch in their loyalty. Here and there an officer was missing, and had evidently thought it prudent to disappear before inquiry was made, but the empty places were quickly filled up from the loyal cadets, and guards were provided for the public buildings and the Place de l’Europe Unie as if nothing had happened. Then came more riding through the streets, breaking up any semblance of a crowd, and receiving complaints and appeals for protection from Jews, Moslems, and other unpopular people, and a hurried journey to the scene of a violent explosion, in an obscure house on the outskirts of the city, which proved to be an anarchist bomb-factory. Then, leaving the chief of police in charge of the public peace, since it had not been necessary to make use of the martial law proclamation, Danaë retraced her steps to the Palace, so tired that she could hardly remain in the saddle. One further ordeal was awaiting her, in the shape of an interview with the foreign Consuls, who had come in a body to enforce the rather obvious truths that the riotous proceedings of the day were calculated to prejudice Emathia in the eyes of the Powers, and that steps ought to be taken to put a stop to them. Supported by Professor Panagiotis, Danaë had no difficulty in showing that the necessary steps had been taken, and that she had a reserve of force in hand if further riots occurred. This was so clear that the dreaded offer of outside help in coping with the situation could not well be made, and the diplomatists withdrew, congratulating Danaë on her own escape and her brother’s progress towards recovery. Then at last she was free to find Armitage, who had defied all the doctors by refusing to go to bed, and was awaiting her eagerly.
“At last!” he said, as she slipped into her old place on the floor beside him, and rested her head against his arm.
“You ought to be in bed,” she murmured reproachfully.
“Not a bit of it! You know I was coming to fetch you, if you did anything rash. Now tell me all about it.”
She obeyed with immense delight, fighting the day’s battles over again as if she had been reciting one of her island ballads, and ended with—
“And the chief of police said that I had saved everything by acting at once. The crisis was so sudden that the Anarchists had not got their bombs charged. They were charging them in a hurry when the explosion occurred. But if they had had them in the square, the troops must have been driven back.”
Armitage’s hand came down and pressed hers tightly, and he asked, “Were you frightened?”
“I had no time to be—except when I wanted the soldiers to go on, and I did not know the words. Shall I have to command them for long, do you think?”
“Only till some time to-morrow. Panagiotis has telegraphed to Wylie to beg him to leave his wife where she is, and come on at once.”
“I am glad. All will be well when the Lord Glafko comes. But I wonder whether I shall have earned my life by then?”
“What do you mean? That’s what your brother said last night. Have you found out——?”
“He had a list of all who were concerned in the death of the Lady. Petros told me so this morning, when his own name was the last but one on the list. All the rest were dead, and now he is dead too. I am the only one left.”
“If I had known this, you would have wasted no time in saving your brother’s throne for him,” said Armitage wrathfully. “We would have gone on board the yacht at once. Let us go now.”
“Ah no, lord, not when things are so nearly safe! Besides, you forget that I am making use of the yacht already. And I am not afraid, with you.”
“I should not be afraid for you, but that I think your brother must be a little mad on the subject. Danaë! to please me, will you ask if you may see him now? I will come with you if you prefer it. It is only natural that you should wish to see him, and he can hardly refuse. Then we can judge by what he says whether he has laid aside his grudge against you, or not.”
“Are you really in earnest?” she asked, puzzled. “I will go if you wish it,” and she rose stiffly, for she was aching in every limb. “No, do not come. I am not afraid he will hurt me. But if he has still not forgiven me, what should we do?”
“Keep watch all night, and go on board at daybreak,” said Armitage decisively, and Danaë laughed in sympathy as she went out. She returned very soon.
“They won’t let me see him. He is asleep, and the doctors forbid him to be disturbed. The wife of Panagiotis is in charge of the nursing. I was angry, and asked her husband why she took so much upon herself, and he said she had been trained under the best German surgeons.”
“But did you want to nurse him?” asked Armitage, in surprise.
“No, indeed; she is welcome to him, though I did not see why she should be there. But if it had been you, I would have dragged her out of the room by her hair!”
“I believe you would. But meanwhile, we are still in the dark as to your brother’s feelings.”
“Oh no,” said Danaë unconcernedly. “Panagiotis says that he was pleased to hear what I had done, and spoke of me as one who had deserved well at his hands.”
“I hope that puts things all right,” said Armitage, still anxious.
“Surely his gratitude ought to last while we are here,” said Danaë, with an irrepressible yawn. “And when I am at Klaustra, he can’t do anything to me there.”
“Klaustra! I had forgotten all about it.”
“But you spoke about it only last night. Besides, you promised!”
“I hadn’t spent a whole day without you then. Oh, you shall go if you wish, but I shall go too. I can’t spare you.”
“I am so sleepy!” murmured Danaë irrelevantly. But her head nestled down against his shoulder, and she fell asleep crouching beside him.