EVEN when the first strangeness had worn off, Danaë remained an incongruous element in the Lady’s secluded household. As a Striote, speaking the island patois, she was a predestined adherent of the Prince in the eyes of the two old women, and therefore an enemy of their mistress, and to make things worse, she was ignorant of the standard of “European” culture to which they had painfully attained. Life within the bounds of the garden, mitigated only by a saint’s-day visit to the nearest church, was miserably confined after the active existence to which Danaë had been accustomed, and she scandalised her custodians by her exploits in climbing trees and scrambling up walls. Old Despina went out every day to do the household shopping, in the course of which she managed to pick up and bring home to her mistress an extraordinary variety of gossip reflecting on the Prince, but she would never take the girl with her. Danaë’s longings to make closer acquaintance with the crowded streets and the enticing shops were in no way satisfied by the short walks to church in the company of Mariora, both of them so closely swathed in their shawls that nothing of their faces could be seen. But Despina assured her mistress that the girl was such a savage that if she was allowed into the town she was sure to make a scene of some kind, or at least to attract attention by her staring and her uncouth remarks, and as the Lady was above all things desirous to escape notice until the moment of her vindication arrived, Danaë was sentenced to remain within the grounds.
Even the thought of the punishment in store for the Lady would not have enabled the girl to endure the confinement but for the society of the baby. He was a notably joyous child, the brooding sorrow of his unhappy mother leaving him untouched. Danaë and he took to one another at first sight, and she became his devoted slave. With sublime inconsistency, she saw in him the heir of the Christodoridi. He was named Joannes, after the patriot Emperor who had fallen on the walls of Czarigrad in the vain attempt to repel the final onslaught of the conquering Roumis, and from whom the Christodoridi were descended in the female line, and Danaë told herself proudly that he should yet sit upon his ancestor’s throne. His preparation for this exalted future should be her task, and hers alone. Released from the baleful influence of the Lady, Prince Romanos might be trusted to make his Imperial marriage and safeguard his own career, but Danaë would carry off Janni to Strio, and bring him up a fearless climber and a daring seaman, as became a son of the sea. Whether the Prince allowed her quietly to take possession of his son, or whether she was obliged to act without consulting him, she hugged herself daily in the thought that the Lady would have no voice in the matter. Nay, from her prison the unfortunate mother should be permitted to see her child in the distance, growing up without knowledge of her and happy in his ignorance.
It was impossible for the Lady to be unaware of the feelings with which Danaë regarded her, though she found the girl’s island Greek almost unintelligible. Sullen looks, deepening into positive hostility when Janni was taken to his mother, could not be mistaken, but the Lady set them down to an excessive loyalty to the house of Christodoridi, and jealousy of the foreigner who had married into it. Eurynomé suffered from home-sickness, no doubt, and that was why she was always so cross. Kindness was wasted on her, since one could not import her native rock bodily into Therma harbour, and after one or two careless attempts to break down the nurse-girl’s enmity, her mistress shrugged her shoulders and left her to herself, secure in her devotion to Janni. Danaë breathed more freely when the Lady ceased her efforts, for was she not a witch? and kindness from her could only be looked upon with suspicion. But it was possible that her indifference was merely a ruse, and therefore Danaë exhausted all her store of charms to protect herself and the baby. Mariora caught her one day stealing into the kitchen to rub her finger on the sooty side of a saucepan, for did not everyone—save foreigners and atheists—know that a dab of soot behind a child’s ear was the surest means of averting the evil eye? But Despina and Mariora laid aside their differences to drag the culprit into their mistress’s presence, and accuse her with one voice of laying spells on the illustrious little lord—a charge which Danaë found particularly galling from those who ought to have shared her Orthodox beliefs had they not been corrupted by European incredulity. The Lady would have been merely amused, had not the remedy been such a dirty one, but as it was, Danaë received so severe a scolding that Despina ventured hopefully to ask leave to give her a good beating. The Lady looked annoyed.
“No,” she said; “if Eurynomé cannot do what she is told, she must go back to her island. I am not going to take the responsibility of teaching her common sense. Her uncle is the person to do that. You may go, Eurynomé.”
“Alas, Lady mine!” lamented Despina, “you have lost a chance. There is great evil in this wicked girl’s heart towards you, and I would have beaten it out before it grows into deeds.”
“My good Despina, what harm can a wretched nurse-girl, who could not even make herself understood outside, do to me? It is the Prince’s fancy that she should attend on the little lord, and I should be sorry if he thought I had a prejudice against her. If he sees for himself that she is troublesome, he will tell Petros to take her away.”
Danaë, lingering shamelessly to listen at the door, stamped her foot as she hurried away, boiling over with rage.
“So be it, Lady! so be it!” she muttered. “I can do you no harm, can I? And I can’t talk your mincing foreign Greek? You will find before very long that I can! I make my bow to you, my Lady. You will know me better when I bring my Jannaki to the window of your dungeon, and teach him to spit upon you!”
Danaë could not have explained why her mistress’s indifference wounded her more than active dislike would have done, but so it was. The company of the two old women, with their taunts and nods of triumph, was equally intolerable, and she never rested until she had found a hiding-place for herself and Janni where they could be by themselves. It was close to the house, so that she could hear at once if she was called, in the grove of ilex-trees which masked the approach to the kitchen premises. The branches of one of the trees grew close to the ground, and to Danaë it was child’s play to clamber into them with Janni girt closely to her with a shawl. Once well above the ground, she climbed higher and higher until they were quite concealed by the foliage from anyone below, reaching a convenient forked branch where she could sit in comfort, and where she broke away the twigs cautiously to give herself a view over the garden. In spite of all her care, it was not long before her two enemies divined that she had some hidden refuge, and began to hunt for it. Shaking with laughter, and holding up a warning finger in front of Janni’s rosy face, she would hear them shuffling among the stiff dead leaves below her, peering round the tree-trunks and scanning the lower branches keenly. They knew that she must be in the wood, unfortunately, for the first time that she took Janni up the tree the climb made him fractious, and she was obliged to sing to quiet him, so that it was no use denying the fact when Mariora demanded where she had been, making that noise so close to the house, but when they required further particulars, she assumed an expression of idiocy that was absolutely impenetrable. The old women were equal to her, however, and one unfortunate day, descending her tree hastily in answer to Mariora’s loud summons from the kitchen door, Danaë almost fell into the arms of Despina, crouching among the dead leaves. Then indeed there was a moment of triumph for the Lady’s two faithful attendants. Gleefully they haled Danaë by main force before their mistress, and charged her with endangering the little lord’s life and limbs by taking him to the top of the tallest tree in the gardens. She was voluble in her denials, but the tell-tale leaves and pieces of bark, traces of her hurried descent, which decorated her hair and clothes and the shawl in which Janni was wrapped, belied her words, and her mistress was the more disturbed because of her former confidence.
“I knew you were disobedient to the servants and disrespectful to me, Eurynomé, but I thought I could trust you to take care of the little lord,” she said. “This is too much. Your uncle must deal with you. I can stand no more.”
With huge delight Despina and Mariora dragged their prisoner away and shut her up in the wood-shed until Petros should arrive with the Prince. Janni’s piteous wailings for “Nono,” which could only be calmed by undivided attention from his mother, troubled them not a whit, but they added fuel to the fire which burned in the rebellious heart of the girl who crouched exhausted on the ground after a wild and futile attack on the door. If Danaë had felt before that she did well to be angry with the Lady and her household, she would now gladly have seen them all lying dead before her. Her wrath was still hot when the two old women reappeared, and with various kicks and pinches, which were returned with interest, pulled and pushed her into the presence of her judges. Her cap, with its rows of silver coins, was half torn off, the many little plaits of her hair ragged and dishevelled, as she stood with sullen face and heaving breast before the Prince; but Janni, seated on his father’s knee, held out his arms to her with a delighted “Ah, Nono!” The girl’s face changed as if by magic as she started forward to take him, but Despina and Mariora held her forcibly back, and the Lady took instant possession of her son—a precaution which he resented by a violent howl.
“Give him your watch to play with,” she said hastily to her husband, “or we shall not be able to hear ourselves speak. Eurynomé is the only person who can manage him when he gets into these passions.”
Obediently Prince Romanos dangled his watch by the chain before his son’s face, held it close to his ear that he might hear it tick, and finally relinquished it to him to suck—as is the wont of inexperienced fathers confronted with a crisis of the kind, until the howls subsided sufficiently to allow his wife to make herself heard.
“You understand,” she said to Petros, who stood deprecatingly by, “that this is not the first time your niece has behaved badly. I have borne with her as long as I could, but we have had no peace since she entered the household. She is a most extraordinary girl. Why can’t she do what she is told? Is it your island independence?”
“If it please the Lady, I think some demon must have taken up his dwelling in her,” said Petros helplessly, and Despina and Mariora exchanged triumphant glances.
“She had better go home at once. The little lord’s life is not safe while she is here,” said the Lady decisively.
“Will it be safe when she is gone?” asked the Prince, with a desperate effort to rescue the watch, which Janni, now growing black in the face, was attempting to swallow.
“All-Holy Mother! you will kill the child, lord!” shrieked Danaë, tearing herself from her warders and rushing forward. A moment’s struggle and the watch was once more in its owner’s possession, and Janni in his nurse’s arms, crowing with delight as he grabbed at the coins in her cap.
“See how fond the child is of her!” said the Prince to his wife. “Is it true, Eurynomé, that thou wouldst have killed the little lord?”
“Lord, I would die for him,” replied Danaë fervently.
“You see, Olimpia. There must be some mistake.”
“I can never have her about him again.”
“My most beloved, you don’t understand our island-people. The women make the most devoted nurses in the world, and have died for their charges, as she says. She is a wild creature who does not understand civilised ways, but I would trust her with the child through anything. Let Petros speak to her seriously, and I’ll be bound you will see a great change in her.”
“If Petros can make her understand that she is to do what she is told, and that Janni is to be brought up in my way, not hers, I might think of it.”
“Surely, my Lady, there is a way of making women understand, and I have never known it fail,” said Petros unctuously, with a glance at his master’s riding-whip. The Prince laughed uncomfortably.
“No, no, friend Petraki, we are not in the islands now. Give the girl a good talking-to, that’s enough.”
Petros looked at the Lady, whose delicate brows were drawn into a slight frown. “Leave it to me, lord. Does not the girl come from my place? Is she to bring disgrace on me by angering the mistress I brought her to serve? In five minutes she shall kiss the Lady’s foot and ask pardon—yes, and promise amendment. Follow me, wretched one.”
“Well, don’t be too hard upon her. Follow thine uncle, little one, and fear not. The Lady and I will come to thy help if he beats thee.”
“He will not, lord.” The words were uttered with such concentrated fury that Prince Romanos turned rather uneasily to his wife as Danaë, with head held high, followed the retreating form of Petros.
“That is really a very remarkable girl, Olimpia. Our women are usually kept in better order.”
“Then I wish Petros had not chosen the exception to bring here. If you knew the trouble Eurynomé has made in the house, you would not be so horrified by the thought of her getting a beating. She thoroughly deserves it, and no doubt, as her uncle says, it is the only argument that people of that type understand. I have stood endless unpleasantness, but when it comes to risking Janni’s life——”
“My beautiful one, you are agitating yourself needlessly. Rather than bring a tear into the eyes of my Princess—” he stole a glance at her to see how the word was received—“the girl shall go back to her place to-morrow. But if she is really penitent, and promises to do better, is it not well to have one about the child who is truly devoted to him?”
“And who recalls to you, lord, those happy days of your youth in Strio?” said the Lady, imitating sarcastically Danaë’s island-speech. “Well, as it seems quite certain that Petros is not beating her, do you think we might venture to have tea?”
Behind the screen of trees, Danaë was facing Petros with blazing eyes. “If you dare to lay a finger upon me, I will tell everything to the Lord Romanos,” she said hoarsely.
“I am not such a fool, my lady. I will leave my lord your father to do the beating when you are packed back to Strio with the work undone that you came for.”
“And why is the work undone?” Danaë recovered herself after a momentary pause of consternation. “Because you were not ready! I have been waiting eagerly to do my part, but you have never called upon me. You may be sure, insolent one, that the Despot shall hear the truth, whatever he may be pleased to do to me.”
The hereditary tendency to obedience in Petros responded immediately to the hectoring tone. “Indeed, my lady, I am to blame, but it has not been my fault. This is the first time that I have seen you alone, to make the final arrangements.”
“Is everything arranged on your side?” demanded Danaë, unappeased.
“Everything, lady mine. The helpers are secured—and indeed it was not difficult to find them. There are those in Therma as well as in Strio who hate the Lady. And it will be well to do it soon—this week—while the English lords are here. The Lord Romanos will have less time for coming here, nor will he so easily remark my absence. Moreover, he will have less opportunity for inquiring into the matter afterwards.”
“That does not concern me,” said Danaë loftily. “It is your part to leave no traces. You have a boat ready at a suitable place, able to sail at any moment?”
“A boat, my lady?” Petros was taken aback. “Why a boat?”
Danaë stamped her foot. “Fool! to carry off the Lady to Strio to her prison, of course. And how are the little lord and I to return thither, pray? Did you think the Lord Romanos would willingly part with his son?”
“My lady”—Petros looked at her with cunning eyes—“you are wiser than I. I have indeed been remiss, but the boat shall be ready. How could my lord your father be other than delighted to receive the beloved wife and child of his illustrious son?”
“She is not his wife!” cried Danaë. “His wife must be Orthodox and of royal blood. She is neither.”
“Yet the little lord will be welcomed and honoured as the heir of the Christodoridi?” insinuated Petros humbly.
Danaë felt as though a pitfall had opened before her feet, but she faced him undauntedly. “That does not concern you, friend Petros. The Despot will do as he pleases. I have not felt obliged to share with you the secret instructions he gave me.”
“And I did not expect it, my lady. Only—there are some who would willingly make everything secure by killing the Lady instead of merely carrying her off.”
The chronicles of the Christodoridi included a not inconsiderable variety of cold-blooded murders, but Danaë blenched. Nevertheless, she endeavoured vigorously to justify herself, realising that Petros was gloating over her horror.
“What is that to us? You have the Despot’s orders to bring her to Strio, not to kill her. To remove her evil influence from the Lord Romanos is a good deed, but to shed blood would be to bring sin upon our souls. Moreover, I, at least, would sooner have the witch in captivity, where I knew her to be secure, than set her malicious ghost free to haunt me.”
“Great is the wisdom of Kyria Danaë!” said Petros, with extreme respect, “and her words shall be obeyed. Take this, my lady,” he handed her a minute wedge of iron, “and hide it safely. The time we choose must be when Despina has gone to do her shopping, for the fewer witnesses the better, and therefore you must find means to let me know if she has not been out yet any day when I attend the Lord Romanos hither. Then I will keep her in talk while she lets us out, and you must slip the wedge into the hole of the lock, so that the bolt cannot shoot home. The rest you can leave to me.”
Danaë considered her instructions. “It will be difficult to get near the gate, but I will manage it somehow. You have made arrangements for getting the Lady unperceived to the boat?”
“Is it for me to share with you the secret instructions I have received from my lord your father, lady?” asked Petros sulkily—then, with a spasm of geniality, “But all the Despot’s thoughts are yours, as we know. Does the idea of a mock funeral procession, with yourself and the little lord among the mourners, please you, my lady?”
“Excellent!” cried Danaë. “Nothing could be better.”
“Then all is well, and all is ready. Therefore return now, Eurynomé, and kiss the Lady’s hand, and promise her to behave better in future.”
“I will not do it!” cried Danaë, her anger reviving.
“Then you return at once to Strio, my lady, and the plan falls through. No vengeance on the Lady!”
“Even for that I would not do it,” she said wrathfully. “But to save my brother and Janni from her evil arts—” she pushed past Petros, and marched doggedly to the tea-table. “Grant me pardon, Lady mine. I will not risk the little lord’s life again,” she forced herself to say.
“On your knees, Eurynomé!” said Prince Romanos sharply, conscious of his wife’s raised eyebrows, and the girl obeyed sullenly. The Lady held out a delicate hand with obvious lack of eagerness, and Danaë kissed it and dropped it as if it had been a hot coal, retiring awkwardly enough at an imperative sign from her brother.
“I can’t congratulate you on your protégée’s manners,” said the Lady lightly.
“No one is better fitted to improve them than yourself, my beloved Olimpia. And at least she is staunch, and would give her heart’s blood for Janni.”
“What is the danger at which you are always hinting? Is there something new?”
“There is always a certain amount of unpleasantness,” he replied evasively. “And this visit of Theophanis and his brother-in-law will stir up their supporters. My beautiful one, it is my particular wish that you have a proper guard for the present—inside the garden.”
“To guard the Princess—or the Lady?” she asked coldly.
He uttered a furious exclamation. “Olimpia, you are enough to drive a man mad! Do you think I have invited Theophanis here to hand over the crown to him? It will task all my powers to hoodwink him and Glafko as to the promising negociation which is to end by seating you beside me on the throne, and would you have me ruin everything by making him aware of your existence now?”
“Perhaps you are also hoodwinking me on the same subject? No, I will have no guards within these walls. Here, at any rate, I need not see the pointing finger, or hear the things your people say of me. Any danger that may threaten Janni or me is entirely due to your refusing, in defiance of all your promises, to acknowledge us, and I will not accept further protection at your hands while the concealment lasts.”
“Olimpia!” Prince Romanos had thrown himself on his knees, in an attitude that would have been impossibly theatrical in any other man. “You wrong me deeply; I call all the saints to witness to it. Believe me, you should not remain in concealment another hour, if the necessity were not urgent. It is your throne and mine—Janni’s throne, our son’s throne—that is in danger. Trust your husband,” he leaned forward and enfolded her hands in his—“or if not your husband, trust the poet to whom you plighted your troth on the marble terrace among the orange-trees.”
“I do trust you,” she said wearily, allowing her hands to rest in his—“because I must. I remain here because I have nowhere else to go. I have wounded my father grievously for your sake by begging him not to come. You may send your guards here if you will tell them the truth about me. But within these walls everyone must know that I am the Princess and your wife.”
“It is impossible,” he murmured gloomily.
“So I thought. So it will always be when I urge you to make the truth known. You have no intention whatever of acknowledging it.”
“My most beautiful and best beloved, you are cruelly wrong, and I will prove it to you. If I place in your keeping the most sacred treasure of our house, handed down for hundreds of years before the birth of John Theophanis himself, will you believe me then? If anything should happen to me, you have only to produce that jewel to show that I acknowledged you as my honoured wife, and as rightful Empress of the East. Ah, my beloved, you are yielding! I will not ask you to see me again until I can put the treasure into your hands, and you will own how much you have misjudged your Apolis.”