DANAË woke from the sleep or stupor that had overcome her to find Janni patting her face.
“Wake up, Nono, wake up!” he was saying, as he was wont to do in the early morning. “Breakfast!”
With a horrible spasm of fear, she covered his mouth quickly with the shawl, fearing his voice might have been heard, then listened apprehensively. But no sound came from below, and Janni was struggling to get rid of the shawl, and insisting, in his own language, which only Danaë understood, that he was very hungry, and would shortly roar if breakfast was not forthcoming. Judging by her own sensations that some hours must have passed since she had climbed the tree, she ventured to crawl back to her point of vantage and peer cautiously forth. The dreadful red form still lay where it had fallen, marring the peaceful beauty of the garden with its rigid lines and clenched hands, but of the murderers there was no sign. Could they have guessed that she and Janni were hidden in the grounds, and be lying in wait in the house, ready to pounce upon them when hunger should drive them forth? Danaë shook from head to foot as the thought occurred to her, but a howl from Janni brought her back to him in a panic, and made action inevitable. Quieting him with promises and entreaties, she let herself down from the tree, and starting at every sound, crept through the bushes and reconnoitred the kitchen door. There was no one to be seen, and she ventured inside. Everything was thrown about and broken, but no one was there. Kicking off her slippers, she crept through the hall to the front of the house. Curtains had been roughly pulled down, pieces of furniture dragged from their places, evidently to make sure that no one was hiding behind them, and all receptacles ransacked. The sight of the bureau standing open gave her a shock, but she saw at once that the secret drawer had not been discovered. Approaching noiselessly, she touched the spring, and the Girdle of Isidora, in all its antique and sacred beauty, lay before her worshipping eyes. With a sudden impulse she snatched it up, and fastened it with trembling fingers round her waist, hidden by her long coat and apron, leaving the drawer open.
A distant wail reminded her of her charge, and she returned hastily into the kitchen to look for food. Some milk she was able to rescue from a broken crock, but there was none of the white bread which was always bought for Janni. Surely Despina ought to have returned with her purchases by this time? Danaë ran out towards the gate, avoiding with a shudder the tumbled heap which showed where Mariora had made her gallant and ineffectual stand on behalf of her mistress, but recoiled hastily. Almost at her very feet lay Despina, dead among her baskets. She had been attacked from behind and cut down as soon as she was inside the gate. With iron resolution the girl crushed down the desire that seized her to run away screaming—anywhere, anywhere, away from those three corpses. Janni remained alive and dependent on her, and she must take care of him. Setting her teeth, she stepped forward gingerly until she was able to seize one of the baskets. Happily, it was the one containing the bread, and she hurried back to Janni, and brought him down from the tree and fed him. She found a hiding-place in the bushes, close to the spot where the Lady had sat writing that morning, and tried to get the child to sleep again while she thought things out. How she was to place him in safety she could not tell. She did not even know the way to the Palace, and besides, her brother might even now have started on his expedition. Moreover, there was the disquieting fact that the murderers had all worn the uniform of the guard, which seemed to ring her round with fresh perils. The guard were then in the plot to destroy the Lady and her son, and to go to the Palace would be to walk straight into their clutches. Worse still, they were to provide a detachment to garrison the garden that night, so the Prince had told Despina when he announced his approaching journey before he rode out, and they would no doubt use the opportunity to place the three dead bodies inside the house, and remove all traces of the tragedy from the outside. They were not to come near the house itself, nor to see anything of the inmates, so their orders ran, and therefore the horrible business would in the most natural way remain undiscovered until Prince Romanos returned to Therma and came to see his wife.
And in the meantime? Danaë’s heart sank. Her brother would be away three or four days, as he had told Despina, and it would fall to her to keep Janni safely concealed and fed for that time. The slightest sign of their presence, the faintest wail from the child, and the murderous crew who had killed his mother would be upon them. There would be no more milk, even if she could make the bread last which she had found in the basket, and Janni was not accustomed to bear privation silently. Nor was a tree an ideal sleeping-place for three or four nights, especially when any movement in the branches might betray your presence to bloodthirsty enemies below. Slowly a plan grew up in Danaë’s mind. She and Janni would escape from the garden while there was time, before the guard arrived that evening. The gate was out of the question owing to the presence of the sentry, but the wall was easy to climb, especially where trees grew close to it. Danaë had no mind to trust herself in Therma, but she knew, by longing observation from her treetops, which way lay the open country, and there it must be possible to find villages where she and Janni might be sheltered until she could manage to communicate with her brother. Crawling out of her concealment, she picked up the letter which the Lady had been writing, and which had fallen to the ground, folded it and hid it in her dress. It would be a credential should she be forced to approach Prince Romanos through a third person, less likely by far to arouse suspicion or to provoke danger than the famous girdle. Then she ventured back into the house to collect a few clothes for herself and Janni, which she made into a bundle with the rest of the bread, and hid among the trees at the point she thought best for crossing the wall. Returning to fetch the child, she was horrified to hear violent blows upon the gate. The guard had arrived early—the mob of the city were attacking the house—the conjectures, both equally alarming, chased one another through her brain as she caught up Janni, and rushed with him once more to the tree of refuge. But before she could mount it she heard her brother’s voice.
“Open the door, Despina! it is I. The lock will not work. Unfasten the bolt. Are you all asleep?”
Saved as by a miracle! Danaë left Janni on the ground, and ran joyfully to the gate, where she struggled vainly with the lock, while the Prince demanded impatiently why the door was not opened.
“It is I, lord—Eurynomé; and the bolts are not fastened, but the key will not turn.”
“The key? What are you doing with the key? Where is Despina? She knows how to open it.”
“Alas, lord! I found it in the door. An evil fate has overtaken Despina.”
“Holy Basil! what do you mean, girl? Call Mariora, then. What has happened? Will you fumble to all eternity?”
“Lord, there is no one to call.” In spite of herself, tears were very near Danaë’s voice. “There came men——”
“Men? what men? What did they do? Open the door, girl! What of my wife—of the Lady?”
“The little lord is safe, lord.”
The words were spoken very low, and they were downed by the noise of a vigorous assault on the door. Evidently Prince Romanos had called the sentry to his help, for the stout planks gave way with a crash, and he burst in. “Where is your mistress?” he cried fiercely, seizing Danaë by the shoulder.
“She lies there, lord. She has not moved,” she faltered.
“A doctor! fetch a doctor!” cried Prince Romanos to the sentry, “and, Christos,” to the guard who was holding his horse, “the police—no, the chief of police. He is to come alone. Show me where your mistress is, Eurynomé. You say she has fainted?”
He passed the bodies of the two old women without heeding them, dragging Danaë with him at a pace which almost whirled her off her feet, until he released her with a suddenness that sent her staggering among the bushes. He had seen the rigid red figure on the grass. For the moment Danaë thought he would have fled, unable to face it, but he pulled himself together and went on, treading with fearful, uncertain steps. He was kneeling beside his dead wife, laying a hand on heart and brow, assuring himself of the awful truth, and then he broke into a wild lamentation which thrilled Danaë to the core, for its rough island Greek showed her the primitive Striote under the mask of the denationalised European.
“Alas, Olimpia, my fairest! Dear love of my heart, whom I wooed under the orange-trees in the twilight, who shouldst have sat beside me on the throne! Beloved, thou hast left me too soon; thou, who didst lay a healing hand upon my tortured brow, shouldst have worn with me the diadem of New Rome. Like a shy proud fawn wast thou when I first beheld thee, fearing to hear of the love to which thine own heart leaped out in response; like the stricken deer wounded by the huntsman do I see thee now. In thy glory did I behold thee last, beautiful exceedingly, worthily apparelled—not Helen’s self could have excelled thee. But now thou liest low; cruel Charon has snatched thee from me, who wast my eyes, my soul, my life, my all——”
Danaë could bear no more. Her brother was unconscious of her presence, and she burst through the bushes and ran across the lawn to the spot where she had left Janni. Catching him up, she hastened back and tried to put him into his father’s arms.
“See, lord, you are not left wholly desolate. There is yet one to love and that loves you.”
“Take the child away!” said Prince Romanos angrily.
“But, lord, your little son!”
“Take him away. What do I care for him? It is his mother I want—not a baby that cannot speak.” He turned again to the Lady’s body. “Sweet, hast thou no word for thy lover? How has he sinned that those lips are closed and silent which have so often overflowed with words of love? But no, it is neither his sin nor thine, but the iniquity of those who sought to strike him through thee——”
A howl from Janni, whom the indignant and perplexed Danaë had been vainly endeavouring to console for his father’s repulse, broke into the lament.
“Will you take that child away, girl? Is this a scene for his young eyes? Take him to the nursery, and keep him there until I send for you.”
“You bid me go, lord, and take with me the little lord?” demanded Danaë, thrilling with outraged pride and affection on behalf of her little charge.
“Yes, go, in the name of the All-Holy Mother of God, and leave me alone with my dead!”
“I go, lord!” said Danaë impressively, but she doubted whether he even heard her. He was bending over his wife again.
“Most beloved, open those lips but for an instant, and tell me to whose cursed treachery I owe this blow. Let thy spirit visit me at night, my beautiful one, and keep vengeance ever in my mind. If there be one left alive of those who slew thee——”
The familiar voice, raised in a half chant, grew faint in Danaë’s ears. She was stalking majestically across the grass, hushing the protesting Janni in her arms, and listening greedily for some word of recall. No one should say she had stolen away secretly, but if she was driven out she would go. His son, his heir, was nothing to Prince Romanos in comparison with the dead body of the schismatic woman! He would leave him without protection in the house, till the conspirators returned and finished their deadly work! Very well, then; he should see no more of Janni until he had learnt to value him properly. Danaë would at once save the child and punish the father. Mingled with her lofty resolves was perhaps a vague idea of averting retribution. The death of the Lady was without doubt in some measure due to her; she would blot out her guilt by saving the Lady’s son.
Prince Romanos did not call her back, and when she looked round from the edge of the wood he was still kneeling over his wife’s body. Her heart hardened against him, and she picked up the bundle she had left under the trees and went on as far as the wall. She climbed up easily enough, and dropped the bundle over, then returned for Janni, and wound him closely in her shawl. The ground outside was happily soft, for on this side the garden adjoined a large piece of land belonging to the Prince which he had planted with trees, with the intention of making it into a park in future, and she was able to let herself down safely by her hands. She had often longed to explore this piece of woodland, and when it was once crossed she would be well away from the city. She started very happily, beguiling the way by conversation with Janni, though after a time it occurred to her that there was nothing very interesting in the rows of young trees and the growing shrubs. Janni was heavy to carry, too, when it was not a question of merely rambling about the garden, but she held on stoutly, sustained by her very mingled motives.
Sitting down at last to rest at the top of a hill up which she had laboured with considerable difficulty, she looked back over the way she had come. The sea in the distance gave her a moment’s wild longing for Strio, but there would be no safety there for Janni, she saw that now. Rather must she look nearer, to the new Therma, with its streets of tall white houses crossing and recrossing with mathematical regularity, and the Emathian flag flying over the Palace, the position of which she could easily distinguish now, dominating the broad road leading from the great square called the Place de l’Europe Unie. But between the Palace and herself was the villa among its woods, with her brother mourning over the tragedy she had helped to bring upon him, and she wondered hopelessly how the tangle was ever to be unravelled, how she could keep Janni in her own charge, and yet see him restored to his proper position. But her desultory musings were suddenly focussed into a keen and pressing anxiety. Among the young trees between her and the wall of the garden something was moving. At first it looked like a bright bird flying low, but as she watched it she realised that it was the gay fez and golden tassel of a man of the Prince’s guard. There was no need to ask herself who it could be. Petros had guessed that she had fled with the child, had tracked her path, and was following hard on her heels, that he might finish his evil work, and make sure of the victim who had been snatched from him in the morning.
Terror lent wings to Danaë’s tired feet, and catching up Janni, she hurried on down the hill. There was no time to look for villages, and what village would shelter her against the demand of a servant of the Prince? She stumbled along wildly, looking hopelessly round for some hiding-place that might enable her to evade the pursuer. But he had reached the top of the hill while she was still full in view, and his shouts of “Eurynomé! stop, girl!” his adjurations and threats of vengeance, came to her faintly on the wind, though she strove to shut her ears to them. Tired as she was, and burdened with the child, she had no hope of outdistancing him, but she struggled on, though it seemed to her that he was now so close that she could hear his heavy footsteps. Then, as she reached the foot of the hill, and an artfully contrived glade opened before her, she saw one single chance of safety, for there were the figures of men and horses under the trees. Two men wearing “European” clothes, and evidently not Emathians, were walking up and down impatiently, as though waiting for somebody, and behind them were four horses under the charge of two armed guards. There was no doubt in Danaë’s mind as to the identity of the strangers. They must be the Englishmen whom Prince Romanos had told Despina he was to meet and accompany on their journey—and therefore they were an additional danger. The single subject on which Danaë and the two old women were in agreement was that of the preposterous baselessness of the claims of the schismatic Englishman who dared to put himself forward as heir of the Eastern Empire by right of direct descent from the Emperor John Theophanis. When the Orthodox position was triumphantly vindicated by the election of Prince Romanos, who could trace his lineage only in the female line, to the throne of Emathia, he had relegated the rival claimant, so Danaë firmly believed, to a species of honourable imprisonment in a remote part of the principality. Here he could amuse himself by playing the ruler under strict supervision, and was even allowed to visit Therma on asking permission. Judging him by herself, however, Danaë had no faith in his gratitude for this considerate treatment, and saw in him merely another menace to Janni’s safety if he discovered who he was. But the danger of Petros hot on her heels was more pressing, since she had always understood that Englishmen were easily to be deceived. Yet how, in any case, was Petros to be kept from publishing the perilous truth? Her quick scheming brain worked at tremendous pressure during the last agitated minutes of her stumbling run.
“Come back, girl! Will you ruin everything?” she heard Petros cry, as he made a final attempt to head her off, and only found himself at the top of a slope too steep to descend. He was obliged to go round, and she reached the two Englishmen, who had paused, astonished, in their walk, and threw herself panting at the feet of one of them, a keen hard-faced man with noticeably blue eyes.
“Mercy, lord! justice! protection!” she sobbed.
“This is Prince Theophanis, if you want to speak to him.” The blue-eyed man indicated his companion, and Danaë transferred her plea to him almost mechanically, her tired arms loosing their hold of Janni, who slid to the ground and began to investigate the strangers’ boots with much interest.
“Save us, lord, this poor child and me, from the evildoer who pursues us! He will tell you that he is my uncle, but it is not true. I have nothing to do with him, nothing whatever.”
“Why, it is Petros!” said Prince Theophanis in surprise, as the guardsman made his appearance, hot and angry. “Do you say that this girl is your niece, friend Petros?”
“Why should I say it, lord, when it is not true? Thank the saints, she is no kin of mine!”
He stopped abruptly, and Danaë could have cried aloud with joy. She had Petros in her power; he was afraid of her, or he would have contradicted her words. He was waiting for her to tell her story; obviously, then, he did not wish these strangers to know of his treachery to his master, and she might use her hold over him to save Janni. With an admirable transport of gratitude, she flung herself down and kissed the ground before the Prince’s feet.
“Ah, lord, what power is yours since even this wicked wretch must tell the truth in your presence! You will permit your suppliant to lay her woes before you?”
“Tell me your trouble, by all means, if I can help you, but don’t kneel there. What is your name?”
“Lord, it is meet for me to kneel at your gracious feet, and this child with me.” She captured Janni’s hands, and made him embrace the Prince’s boots, then sat up and poured forth her tale. “Lord, my name is Kalliopé Vlasso, and I dwell in Therma with my sister and her husband, who is in the Prince’s guard—a comrade of that ruffian there. He it was who led my brother-in-law into the love of strong drink—not mastika, lord, but raki and such horrible things—so that he would come home and frighten and grievously abuse my sister and me. But last night he was like one possessed of a demon, and after beating us both, he dragged my unhappy sister out of the house by the hair of her head, and beat and kicked her till she died—the neighbours all looking on and fearing to interfere. Then, terrified lest he should kill us also, I snatched up the child, my nephew, and fled away, out of the street and the city, seeking only safety. But why this evil wretch should have pursued us I know not, save that it can be for no good reason.”
“You come from the islands, as he does, and he meant to take care of you, perhaps?” suggested the blue-eyed man. Danaë repudiated the suggestion with terrified vigour.
“Nay, lord, I have never been out of Therma in my life. I speak but as the people in our street speak.”
“Well, friend Petros, what have you to say?” asked Prince Theophanis. “Why were you chasing the girl?”
“For no pleasure of my own, I assure you, lord,” responded Petros, with excellent indignation. “The ungrateful minx may say what she likes, but I came merely because I was sworn by the holy cross to do it, and I wish I had never promised. All the morning I was busy helping—busy, I mean—” he paused, embarrassed.
“Helping the murderer to escape, I suppose?” said the blue-eyed man, and he brightened up.
“There is no deceiving the Lord Glafko, I know that of old. Well, lord, my unhappy comrade found means to entreat me to seek out this girl and the child, his son, and see that they did not starve, so I tracked them as far as this. Your excellencies can see that compassion alone made me do it. The girl has the tongue of a demon, and the brat is too young to work. I have nowhere to put them, but I came, and you see my reward.”
“The girl will be wanted as a witness, surely?” said the Prince.
Petros shrugged his shoulders. “Oh, as to that, there will be witnesses enough,” he said. “But it will relieve me of her. The police will clap her into prison and keep her safe.”
“My Prince!” cried Danaë frantically, “you will not let them throw me into prison, and rob me of the child entrusted to me with her last breath by my dying sister?”
She stopped abruptly, for the dramatic instinct was leading her into possible pitfalls, but the two Englishmen were consulting apart for a moment, and had not noticed the slip. An Emathian prison, though better than in Roumi days, was not an ideal training-school for a respectable girl.
“The place is overrun with servants already,” said the blue-eyed man.
“One more would not make much difference. Zoe might find work for her in the nursery, and the child is about your boy’s age. Make a good playfellow for him.”
“H’m! we had better leave that to Zoe,” remarked the blue-eyed man, with distinct hesitation. “A child from the slums of Therma——”
“Lord,” interposed Danaë tearfully, aware that her case was being discussed, “you will not give me up to him?”
“See, lord,” said Petros, with the air of one conferring a vast benefit, “why not take the girl to serve in your house? She has been taught to work, and a good beating now and then will keep her up to it. If her witness should be needed, I will get a letter written to say so, but I should be glad to let my poor comrade know that she and the child were safely away from the city, and not getting into mischief.”
“We will see,” said Prince Theophanis. “Will you come to Klaustra, Kalliopé, to serve my wife, or my sister, the Lord Glafko’s wife, as they shall decide? You can bring the child with you, of course.”
Danaë bowed her head again at his feet. “Your handmaid could ask no better, lord,” she said.