CHAPTER X
THE JUSTICE OF THE ISLAND
Helplessness brings its own peculiar consolation. After a week'splanning and scheming what you will do to the enemy, it is a kind ofrelief to sit with hands in pockets and wonder what the enemy may bepleased to do with you. This relaxation was vouchsafed to my brainwhen I awoke in the morning and found the sun streaming into thewhitewashed cell-like room. It was the feast of St Tryphon, all praiseto him! Kortes said that I could not be executed that day. I doubtedConstantine's scruples; yet probably he would not venture to outragethe popular sentiment of Neopalia. But nothing forbade my executionto-morrow. Well, to-morrow is to-morrow, and to-day is to-day, andthere will be that difference between them so long as the world lasts.I stretched myself and yawned luxuriously. I was, strangely enough, ina hopeful frame of mind. I made sure that Denny had found his waysafely, and that the Cypriote fishermen had been benevolent. I provedto myself that with Constantine's exposure his power would end. Iplumed myself on having put Vlacho _hors de combat_. I believe I saidto myself that villainy would not triumph, that honest men would comeby their own, and that unprotected beauty would find help from heaven:convictions which showed that relics of youth hung about me, and (I amafraid it depends on this rather) that I was feeling very well aftermy refreshing sleep.
Alas, my soothing reveries were rudely interrupted.
'At a touch sweet pleasure melteth, Like to bubbles when rain pelteth!'
And at the sound of a gruff voice outside my dreams melted: harshreality was pressing hard on me again, crushing hope into resignation,buoyancy into a grim resolve to take what came with courage.
'Bring him out,' cried the voice.
'It's that brute Demetri,' said I to myself, wondering what had becomeof my friendly gaoler, Kortes.
A moment later half-a-dozen men filed into the room, Demetri at theirhead. I asked him what he wanted. He answered only with a commandthat I should get up. 'Bring him along,' he added to his men; and wewalked out into the street.
Evidently Neopalia was _en fete_. The houses were decked with flags;several windows exhibited pictures of the Saint. Women in their gayand spotlessly clean holiday attire strolled along the road, holdingtheir children by the hand. Everybody made way for our procession,many whispers and pointed fingers proving the interest and curiositywhich it was my unwilling privilege to arouse. For about a quarter ofa mile we mounted the road, then we turned suddenly down to the leftand began to descend again towards the sea. Soon now we arrived at thelittle church whose bell I had heard. Here we halted; and presentlyanother procession appeared from the building. An old white-beardedman headed it, carrying a large picture of St. Tryphon. The old man'sdress was little different from that of the rest of the islanders, buthe wore the gown and cap of a priest. He was followed by someattendants; the women and children fell in behind him, three or fourcripples brought up the rear, praying as they went, and stretching outtheir hands towards the sacred picture which the old man carried. At asign from Demetri we also put ourselves in motion again, and the wholebody of us thus made for the seashore. But some three hundred yardsshort of the water I perceived a broad level space, covered withshort rough turf and surrounded for about half its circuit by acrescent-shaped bank two or three feet high. On this bank sat sometwenty people, and crowded in front of it was the same raggedpicturesque company of armed peasants that I had seen gather in thestreet on the occasion of our arrival. The old man with the picturemade his way to the centre of the level ground. Thrice he raised thepicture towards the sky, every one uncovering his head and kneelingdown the while. He began to pray, but I did not listen to what hesaid; for by this time my attention had wandered from him and wasfixed intently on a small group which occupied the centre of theraised bank. There, sitting side by side, with the space of a foot orso between them, were Phroso and her cousin Constantine. On a rudehurdle, covered with a rug, at Constantine's feet lay Vlacho, his facepale and his eyes closed. Behind Phroso stood my new acquaintance,Kortes, with one hand on the knife in his girdle and the other holdinga long gun, which rested on the ground. One figure I missed. I lookedround for Constantine's wife, but she was nowhere to be seen. Then Ilooked again at Phroso. She was dressed in rich fine garments ofwhite, profusely embroidered, but her face was paler even thanVlacho's, and when I sought her eyes she would not meet mine, butkept her gaze persistently lowered. Constantine sat motionless, with afrown on his brow but a slight smile on his lips, as he waited with anobviously forced patience through the long rigmarole of the old man'sprayer.
Evidently important business was to be transacted; yet nobody seemedto be in a hurry to arrive at it. When the old priest had finished hisprayers the cripples came and prostrated themselves before the sacredpicture. No miracle, however, followed; and the priest took up thetale again, pouring forth a copious harangue, in which I detectedfrequent references to 'the barbarians'--a term he used to denote myfriends, myself, and all the world apparently, except the islanders ofNeopalia. Then he seated himself between Phroso and Constantine, whomade room for him. I was surprised to see him assume so much dignity,but I presumed that he was treated with exceptional honour on thefeast day. When he had taken his place, about twenty of the men cameinto the middle of the ring and began to dance, arranging themselvesin a semicircle, moving at first in slow rhythmical steps, andgradually quickening their motions till they ended with a wonderfuldisplay of activity. During this performance Phroso and Constantinesat still and impassive, while Vlacho's lifeless face was scorched bythe growing heat of the sun. The men who had been told off to watchme leaned on their long guns, and I wondered wearily when my part inthis strangely mixed ceremony was to begin.
At last it came. The dance ended, the performers flung themselvesfatigued on the turf, there was a hush of expectation, and thesurrounding crowd of women and children drew closer in towards wherethe rest of the men had taken up their position in ranks on eitherside of the central seats. 'Step forward,' said one of my guards, andI, obeying him, lifted my hat and bowed to Phroso. Then replacing myhat, I stood waiting the pleasure of the assembly. All eyes were fixedon Constantine, who remained seated and silent yet a little whilelonger. Then he rose slowly to his feet, bowed to Phroso, and pointedin a melodramatic fashion at Vlacho's body. But I was not in the leastinclined to listen to an oration in the manner of Mark Antony over thebody of Caesar, and just as Constantine was opening his mouth Iobserved loudly:
'Yes, I killed him, and the reason no man knows better thanConstantine Stefanopoulos.'
Constantine glared at me, and, ignoring the bearing of my remark,launched out on an eulogium of the dead innkeeper. It was coldlyreceived. Vlacho's virtues were not recognised by any outburst ofgrief or indignation; indeed there was a smothered laugh or two whenConstantine called him 'a brave true man.' The orator detected hisfailure and shifted his ground dexterously, passing on, in rapidtransition, to ask in what quarrel Vlacho had died. Now he wasgripping his audience. They drew closer; they became very still; angryand threatening glances were bent on me. Constantine lashed himself tofury as he cried, 'He died for our island, which this barbarian claimsas his!'
'He died--' I began; but a heavy hand on my shoulder and the menace ofa knife cut short my protest. Demetri had come and taken his stand byme, and I knew that Demetri would jump at the first excuse to make mysilence perpetual. So I held my peace, and the men caught upConstantine's last point, crying angrily, 'Ay, he takes our islandfrom us.'
'Yes,' said Constantine, 'he has taken our island, and he claims itfor his. He has killed our brethren and put our Lady out of herinheritance. What shall he suffer? For although we may not kill on StTryphon's day, we may judge on it, and the sentence may be performedat daybreak to-morrow. What shall this man suffer? Is he not worthy ofdeath?'
It was what lawyers call a leading question, and it found itsexpected answer in a deep fierce growl, of 'Death, death!' Clearly theisland was the thing, Vlacho's death merely an incidental affair of nogreat importance.
I suppose that Phroso understood this as well as I,for now she rose suddenly. Constantine seemed disinclined to sufferthe interruption; but she stood her ground firmly, though her face wasvery pale, and I saw her hands tremble. At last he sank back on to thebank.
'Why this turmoil?' she asked. 'The stranger did not know our customs.He thought that the island was his by right, and when he was attackedhe defended himself. I pray you may all fight as bravely as he hasfought.'
'But the island, the island!' they cried.
'Yes,' said she, 'I also love the island. Well, he has given back theisland to me. Behold his writing!' She held up the paper which I hadgiven to her and read the writing aloud in a clear voice. 'What haveyou against him now?' she asked. 'His people have loved the Hellenes.He has given back the island. Why shall he not depart in peace?'
The effect was great. The old priest seized the paper and scanned iteagerly: it was snatched from him and passed rapidly from hand tohand, greeted with surprised murmurs and intense excitement. Phrosostood watching its progress. Constantine sat with a heavy scowl on hisface, and the frown grew yet deeper when I smiled at him with pleasanturbanity.
'It is true,' said the priest, with a sigh of relief. 'He has givenback the island. He need not die.'
Phroso sat down; a sudden faintness seemed to follow on the strain,and I saw Kortes support her with his arm. But Constantine was notbeaten yet. He sprang up and cried in bitterly scornful tones:
'Ay, let him go--let him go to Rhodes and tell the Governor that yousought to slay him and his friends, and that you extorted the paperfrom him by threat of death, and that he gave it in fear, but did notmean it, and that you are turbulent murderous men who deserve greatpunishment. How guileless you are, O Neopalians! But this man is notguileless. He can delude a girl. He can delude you also, it seems. Ay,let him go with his story to the Governor at Rhodes, and do you hidein the rocks when the Governor comes with his soldiers. Hideyourselves, and hide your women, when the soldiers come to set thisman over your island and to punish you! Do you not remember when theGovernor came before? Is not the mark of his anger branded on yourhearts?'
Hesitation and suspicion were aroused again by this appeal. Phrososeemed bewildered at it and gazed at her cousin with parted lips.Angry glances were again fixed on me. But the old priest rose andstretched out his hand for silence.
'Let the man speak for himself,' he said. 'Let him tell us what hewill do if we set him free. It may be that he will give us an oath notto harm us, but to go away peaceably to his own land and leave us ourisland. Speak, sir. We will listen.'
I was never much of a hand at a speech, and I did not enjoy beingfaced with the necessity of making one which might have such importantresults this way or that. But I was quite clear in my own mind what Iwanted to say; so I took a step forward and began:
'I bear you Neopalians no malice,' said I. 'You've not succeeded inhurting me, and I suppose you've not caught my friends, or they wouldbe here, prisoners as I am a prisoner. Now I have killed two good menof yours, Vlacho there, and Spiro. I am content with that. I'll cryyou quits. I have given back the island to the Lady Euphrosyne; andwhat I give to a woman--ay, or to a man--I do not ask again either ofa Governor or of anybody else. Therefore your island is safe, and Iwill swear to that by what oath you will. And, so far as I have power,no man or woman of all who stand round me shall come to any harm byreason of what has been done; and to that also I will swear.'
They had heard me intently, and they nodded in assent and approbationwhen the old priest, true to his part of peacemaker, looking round,said:
'He speaks well. He will not do what my lord feared. He will give usan oath. Why should he not depart in peace?'
Phroso's eyes sought mine, and she smiled sadly. Constantine wasgnawing his finger nails and looking as sour as a man could look. Itwent to my heart to go on, for I knew that what I had to say nextwould give him another chance against me; but I preferred that risk tothe only alternative.
'Wait,' said I. 'An oath is a sacred thing, and I swore an oath when Iwas there in the house of the Stefanopouloi. There is a man here whohas done murder on an old man his kinsman, who has contrived murderagainst a woman, who has foully deceived a girl. With that man I'llnot cry quits; for I swore that I would not rest till he paid thepenalty of his crimes. By that oath I stand. Therefore, when I gofrom here, I shall, as Constantine Stefanopoulos has said, go toRhodes and to the Governor, and I shall pray him to send here toNeopalia, and take that one man and hang him on the highest tree inthe island. And I will come with the Governor's men and see that thingdone. Then I will go peaceably to my own land.'
There was a pause of surprise. Constantine lifted his lids and lookedat me; I saw his hand move towards a pocket. I suspected what lay inthat pocket. I heard low eager whisperings and questions. At last theold priest asked in a timid hesitating voice:
'Who is this man of whom you speak?'
'There he is,' said I. 'There--Constantine Stefanopoulos.'
The words were hardly out when Demetri clapped a large hairy handacross my mouth, whispering fiercely, 'Hold your tongue.' I drew backa step and struck him fairly between the eyes. He went down. A hoarsecry rose from the crowd; but in an instant Kortes had leapt from wherehe stood behind Phroso and was by my side. I had some adherents alsoamong the bystanders; for I had been bidden to speak freely, andDemetri had no authority to silence me.
'Yes, Constantine Stefanopoulos,' I cried. 'Did he not stab the oldman after he had yielded? Did he not--'
'The old man sold the island,' growled a dozen low fierce voices; butthe priest's rose high above them.
'We are not here to judge my Lord Constantine,' said he, 'but this manhere.'
'We all had a hand in the business of the old man,' said Demetri, whohad picked himself up and was looking very vicious.
'You lie, and you know it,' said I hotly. 'He had yielded, and therest had left off attacking him; but Constantine stabbed him. Why didhe stab him?'
There came no answer, and Constantine caught at this advantage.
'Yes,' he cried. 'Why? Why should I stab him? He was stabbed by someone who did not know that he had yielded.' Then I saw his eye fallsuddenly on Vlacho. Dead men tell no tales and deny no accusations.
'Since Vlacho is dead,' Constantine went on with wonderful readiness,'my tongue is loosed. It was Vlacho who, in his hasty zeal, stabbedthe old man.'
He had gained a point by this clever lie, and he made haste to pressit to the full against me.
'This man,' he exclaimed, 'will go to Rhodes and denounce me! But didI kill the old man alone? Did I besiege the Englishman alone? Will theGovernor be content with one victim? Is it not one head in ten when hecomes to punish? Men of the island, it is your lives and my lifeagainst this man's life!'
They were with him again, and many shouted:
'Let him die! Let him die!'
Then suddenly, before I could speak, Phroso rose, and, stretching outher hands towards me, said:
'Promise what they ask, my lord. Save your own life, my lord. If mycousin be guilty, heaven will punish him.'
But I did not listen even to her. With a sudden leap I was free fromthose who held me; for, in the ranks of listening women, I saw thatold woman whom we had found watching by the dying lord of the island.I seized her by the wrist and dragged her into the middle, crying toher:
'As God's above you, tell the truth. Who stabbed the old lord? Whosename did he utter in reproach when he lay dying?'
She stood shivering and trembling in the centre of the throng. Thesurprise of my sudden action held them all silent and motionless.
'Did he not say "Constantine! You, Constantine"?' I asked, 'justbefore he died?'
The old woman's lips moved, but no sound came; she was half dead withfear and fastened fascinated eyes on Constantine. He surveyed her witha rigid smile on his pale face.
'Speak the truth, woman,' I cried. 'Speak the truth.'
'Yes, speak the truth,' said Constantine, his eyes
gleaming in triumphas he turned a glance of hatred on me. 'Tell us truly who killed myuncle.'
My witness failed me. The terror of Constantine, which had locked hertongue when I questioned her at the house, lay on her still: thesingle word that came from her trembling lips was 'Vlacho.'Constantine gave a cry of triumph, Demetri a wild shout; the islandersdrew together. My chance looked black. Even St Tryphon would hardlysave me from immediate death. But I made another effort.
'Swear her on the sacred picture,' I cried. 'Swear her on the picture.If she swears by the picture, and then says it was Vlacho, I amcontent to die as a false accuser, and to die here and now.'
My bold challenge won me a respite: it appealed to their rude sense ofjustice and their strong leaven of superstition.
'Yes, let her swear on the sacred picture,' cried several. 'Then weshall know.'
The priest brought the picture to her and swore her on it with greatsolemnity. She shook her head feebly and fell to choked weeping. Butthe men round her were resolute, one of them menacing even Constantinehimself when he began to ask whether her first testimony were notenough.
'Now you are sworn, speak,' said the priest solemnly.
A hush fell on us all. If she answered 'Constantine,' my life stillhung by a thread; but by saying 'Vlacho' she would cut the thread. Shelooked at me, at Constantine, then up to the sky, while her lips movedin rapid whispered prayers.
'Speak,' said the priest to her gently.
Then she spoke in low fearful tones.
'Vlacho was there, and his knife was ready. But my lord yielded, andcried that he would not sell the island. When they heard that theydrew back, Vlacho with the rest. But my Lord Constantine struck; andwhen my lord lay dying it was the name of Constantine that he utteredin reproach.' And the old woman reeled and would have fallen, and thenflung herself on the ground at Constantine's feet, crying, 'Pardon, mylord, pardon! I could not swear falsely on the picture. Ah, my lord,mercy, mercy!'
But Constantine, though he had, as I do not doubt, a good memory foroffences, could not afford to think of the old woman now. One instanthe sat still, then he sprang to his feet, crying:
'Let my friends come round me! Yes, if you will, I killed the old man.Was not the deed done? Was not the island sold? Was he not bound tothis man here? The half of the money had been paid! If he had lived,and if this man had lived, they would have brought soldiers andconstrained us. So I slew him, and therefore I have sought to kill thestranger also. Who blames me? If there be any, let him stand now bythe stranger, and let my friends stand by me. Have we not had enoughtalk? Is it not time to act? Who loves Neopalia? Who loves me?'
While he spoke many had been gathering round him. With every freshappeal more flocked to him. There were but three or four left now,wavering between him and me, and Kortes alone stood by my side.
'Are you children, that you shrink from me because I struck a blow forour country? Was the old man to escape and live to help this man totake our island? Yes, I, Constantine Stefanopoulos, though I was bloodof his blood--I killed him. Who blames me? Shall we not finish thework? There the stranger stands! Men of the island, shall we notfinish the work?'
'Well, it's come at last,' thought I to myself. St. Tryphon would notstop it now. 'It's no use,' I said to Kortes. 'Don't get yourself intotrouble!' Then I folded my arms and waited. But I do not mean to saythat I did not turn a little pale. Perhaps I did. At any rate Icontrived to show no fear except in that.
The islanders looked at one another and then at Constantine. FriendConstantine had been ready with his stirring words, but he did notrush first to the attack. Besides myself there was Kortes, who had notleft his place by me, in spite of my invitation to him. And Korteslooked as though he could give an account of one or two. But thehesitation among Constantine's followers did not last long. Demetriwas no coward at all events, although he was as big a scoundrel as Ihave known. He carried a great sword which he must have got from thecollection on the walls of the hall; he brandished it now over hishead and rushed straight at me. It seemed to be all over, and Ithought that the best I could do was to take it quietly; so I stoodstill. But on a sudden I was pulled back by a powerful arm. Kortesflung me behind him and stood between me and Demetri's rush. Aninstant later ten or more of them were round Kortes. He struck atthem, but they dodged him. One cried, 'Don't hurt Kortes,' andanother, running agilely round, caught his arms from behind, and, allgathering about him, they wrested his weapons from him. My lastchampion was disarmed; he had but protracted the bitterness of deathfor me by his gallant attempt. I fixed my eyes steadily on the horizonand waited. The time of my waiting must have been infinitesimal, yet Iseemed to wait some little while. Then Demetri's great sword flashedsuddenly between me and the sky. But it did not fall. Another flashcame--the flash of white, darting across between me and the grimfigure of my assailant--and Phroso, pale, breathless, trembling inevery limb, yet holding her head bravely, and with anger gleaming inher dark eyes, cried:
'If you kill him you must kill me; I will not live if he dies.'
Even Demetri paused; the rest gave back. I saw Constantine'shatchet-face peering in gloomy wrath and trembling excitement frombehind the protecting backs of his stout adherents. But Demetri,holding his sword poised for the stroke, growled angrily:
'What is his life to you, Lady?'
Phroso drew herself up. Her face was away from me, but as she spoke Isaw a sudden rush of red spread over her neck; yet she spoke steadilyand boldly in a voice that all could hear:
'His life is my life; for I love him as I love my life--ah, and Godknows, more, more, more!'
"WHAT IS HIS LIFE TO YOU, LADY?"]