Arethusa

by F. Marion Crawford

  CHAPTER III

  When it was quite dark the old woman came back with something hiddenunder her tattered shawl, and Zoe drew the rotten shutters that barelyhung by the hinges and fastened them inside with bits of rain-bleachedcord that were knotted through holes in the wood. She also shut thedoor and put up a wooden bar across it. While she was doing this shecould hear Anastasia, the crazy paralytic who lived farther down thelane, singing a sort of mad litany of hunger to herself in the dark.It was the thin nasal voice of a starving lunatic, rising sharply andthen dying away in a tuneless wail:--

  Holy Mother, send us a little food, for we are hungry!

  Kyrie eleeison! Eleeison!

  Blessed Michael Archangel, gives us meat, for we starve! Eleeison!

  O blessed Charalambos, for the love of Heaven, a kid roasted on the coals and good bread with it! Eleeison, eleeison! We are hungry!

  Holy Sergius and Bacchus, Martyrs, have mercy upon us and send us a savoury meal of pottage! Eleeison! Pottage with oil and pepper! Eleeison, eleeison!

  Holy Peter and Paul and Zacharius, send your angels with fish, and with meat, and with sweet cooked herbs! Eleeison, let us eat and be filled, and sleep! Eleeison! Spread us your heavenly tables, and let us drink of the good water from the heavenly spring!

  Oh, we are hungry! We are starving! Eleeison! Eleeison! Eleeison!

  The miserable, crazy voice rose to a piercing scream, that made Zoeshudder; and then there came a little low, faint wailing, as the madwoman collapsed in her chair, dreaming perhaps that her prayer wasabout to be answered.

  Zoe had shut the door, and there was now a little light in the ruinedroom; for Nectaria, the old beggar woman, had been crouching in acorner over an earthen pan in which a few live coals were buried underashes, and she had blown upon them till they glowed and had kindled asplinter of dry wood to a flame, and with this she had lit the smallwick of an earthen lamp which held mingled oil and sheep's fat. Butshe placed the light on the stone floor so shaded that not a singleray could fall towards the door or the cracked shutters, lest somelate returning beggar should see a glimmer from outside and guess thatthere was something to get by breaking in and stealing; for they wereonly three women, one dying, one very old, and the third Zoe herself,and two young children, and some of the beggars were strong men whohad only lost one eye, or perhaps one hand, which had been chopped offfor stealing.

  When the light was burning Zoe could see that the sick woman wasawake, and she poured out some milk from a small jug which Nectariahad brought, and warmed it over the coals in a cracked cup, and heldit to the tired lips, propping up the pillow with her other hand. Andthe sick one drank, and tried to smile.

  Meanwhile Nectaria spread out the rest of the supplies she hadbrought on a clean board; there was a small black loaf and threelittle fishes fried in oil, such as could be bought where food iscooked at the corners of the streets for the very poor. The twochildren gazed at this delicious meal with hungry eyes. They wereboys, not more than seven and eight years old, and their rags weretied to them, to cover them, with all sorts of bits of string andstrips of torn linen. But they were quite quiet, and did not try totake their share till Zoe came to the board and broke the black loafinto four equal portions with her white fingers. There was a piece foreach of the boys, and a piece for Nectaria, and the girl kept a piecefor herself; but she would not take a fish, as there were only three.

  'This is all I could buy for the money,' said Nectaria. 'The milk isvery dear now.'

  'Why do you give it to me?' asked the sick woman, in a sweet and faintvoice. 'You are only feeding the dead, and the living need the food.'

  'Mother!' cried Zoe reproachfully, 'if you love us, do not talk ofleaving us! The Bokharian has promised to bring a physician to seeyou, and to give us money for what you need. He will come in themorning, early in the morning, and you shall be cured, and live! Is itnot as I say, Nectaria?'

  The old woman nodded her head in answer as she munched her blackbread, but would say nothing, and would not look up. There was silencefor a while.

  'And what have you promised the Bokharian?' asked the mother at last,fixing her sad eyes on Zoe's face. 'Did ever one of his people giveone of us anything without return?'

  'I have promised nothing,' Zoe answered, meeting her mother's gazequietly. Yet there was a shade of effort in her tone.

  'Nothing yet,' said the sick woman. 'I understand. But it willcome--it will come too soon!'

  She turned away her face on the pillow and the last words were hardlyaudible. The little boys did not hear them, and would not haveunderstood; but old Nectaria heard and made signs to Zoe. The signsmeant that by and by, when the sick woman should be dozing, Nectariahad something to tell; and Zoe nodded.

  There was silence again till all had finished eating and had drunk inturn from the earthen jar of water. Then they sat still and silent fora little while, and though the windows and the door were shut theycould hear the mad woman singing again:--

  Eleeison! Spread heavenly tables! Eleeison! We are starving! Eleeison! Eleeison! Eleeison!

  The sick woman breathed softly and regularly. The little boys grewsleepy and nodded, and huddled against each other as they sat. Thenold Nectaria took the light and led them, half asleep, to a sort ofbunk of boards and dry straw, in a small inner room, and put them tobed, covering them as well as she could; and they were soon asleep.She came back, shading the light carefully with her hand; andpresently, when the sick woman seemed to be sleeping also, Nectariaand Zoe crept softly to the other end of the room and talked inwhispers.

  'She is better to-night,' said the girl.

  Nectaria shook her head doubtfully.

  'How can any one get well here, without medicine, without food,without fire?' she asked. 'Yes--she is better--a little. It will onlytake her longer to die.'

  'She shall not die,' said Zoe. 'The Bokharian has promised money andhelp.'

  'For nothing? he will give nothing,' Nectaria answered sadly. 'Hetalked long with me this afternoon, out in the street. I implored himto give us a little help now, till the danger is passed, because ifyou leave her she will die.'

  'Did you try to make him believe that if he would help us now youwould betray me to him in a few days?'

  'Yes, but he laughed at me--softly and wisely as Bokharians laugh. Heasked me if one should feed wolves with flesh before baiting thepit-fall that is to catch them. He says plainly that until you canmake up your mind, we shall have only the three pennies he gives usevery day, and if your mother dies, so much the worse; and if thechildren die, so much the worse; and if I die, so much the worse; forhe says you are the strongest of us and will outlive us all.'

  'It is true!' Zoe clasped her hands against the wall and pressed herforehead against them, closing her eyes. 'It is true,' she repeated,in the same whisper, 'I am so strong!'

  Old Nectaria stood beside her and laid one wrinkled cheek to the coldwall, so that her face was near Zoe's, and they could still talk.

  'If I refuse,' said the girl, quivering a little in her distress, 'Ishall see you all die before my eyes, one by one!'

  'Yet, if you leave your mother now----' the old woman began.

  'She has lived through much more than losing me,' answered Zoe. 'Myfather's long imprisonment, his awful death!' she shuddered now, fromhead to foot.

  Nectaria laid a withered hand sympathetically on her tremblingshoulder, but Zoe mastered herself after a moment's silence and turnedher face to her companion.

  'You must make her think that I shall come back,' she whispered.'There is no other way--unless I give my soul, too. That would killher indeed--she could not live through that!'

  'And to think that my old bones are worth nothing!' sighed the poorold woman; she took the rags of Zoe's tattered sleeve and pressed themto her lips.

  But Zoe bent down, for she was the taller by a head, and she tenderlykissed the wrinkled face.

  'Hush!
' she whispered softly. 'You will wake her if you cry. I must doit, Ria, to save you all from death, since I can. If I wait longer, Ishall grow thinner, and though I am so strong I may fall ill. Then Ishall be worth nothing to the Bokharian.'

  'But it is slavery, child! Do you not understand that it is slavery?That he will take you and sell you in the market, as he would sell anArab mare, to the highest bidder?'

  She tenderly kissed the wrinkled face.]

  Zoe leaned sideways against the wall, and the faint light that shoneupwards from the earthen lamp on the floor, fell upon her lovelyupturned face, and on the outlines of her graceful body, ill-concealedby her thin rags.

  'Is it true that I am still beautiful?' she asked after a pause.

  'Yes,' answered the old woman, looking at her, 'it is true. You werenot a pretty child, you were sallow, and your nose----'

  Zoe interrupted her.

  'Do you think that many girls as beautiful as I are offered in theslave market?'

  'Not in my time,' answered the old woman. 'When I was in the market Inever saw one that could compare with you.'

  She had been sold herself, when she was thirteen.

  'Of course,' she added, 'the handsome ones were kept apart from us andwere better fed before they were sold, but we waited on them--we whomno one would buy except to make us work--and so we saw them everyday.'

  'He says he will give a hundred Venetian ducats for me, does he not?'

  'Yes; and you are worth three hundred anywhere,' answered the oldslave, and the tears came to her eyes, though she tried to squeezethem back with her crooked fingers.

  The sick woman called to the two in a weak voice. Zoe was at her sideinstantly, and Nectaria shuffled as fast as she could to the pan ofcoals and crouched down to blow upon the embers in order to warm somemilk.

  'I am cold,' complained the sufferer, 'so cold!'

  Zoe found one of her hands and began to chafe it gently between herown.

  'It is like ice,' she said.

  The girl was ill-clothed enough, as it was, and the early spring nightwas chilly; but she slipped off her ragged outer garment, thelong-skirted coat of the Greeks, and spread it over the other wretchedcoverings of the bed, tucking it in round her mother's neck.

  'But you, child?' protested the sick woman feebly.

  'I am too hot, mother,' answered Zoe, whose teeth were chattering.

  Nectaria brought the warm milk, and Zoe lifted the pillow as she haddone before, and held the cup to the eager lips till the liquid wasall gone.

  'It is of no use,' sighed her mother. 'I shall die. I shall not livetill morning.'

  She had been a very great lady of Constantinople, the Kyria Agatha,wife of the Protosparthos Michael Rhangabe, whom the EmperorAndronicus had put to death with frightful tortures more than a yearago, because he had been faithful to the Emperor Johannes. Until herhusband had been imprisoned, she had spent her life in a marble palaceby the Golden Horn, or in a beautiful villa on the Bosphorus. She hadlived delicately and had loved her existence, and even after all herhusband's goods had been confiscated as well as all her own, she hadlived in plenty for many months with her children, borrowing here andthere of her friends and relatives. But they had forsaken her at last;not but that some of them were generous and would have supported herfor years, if it had been only a matter of money, but it had become aquestion of life and death after Rhangabe had been executed, and noneof them would risk being blinded, or maimed, or perhaps strangled forthe sake of helping her. Then she had fallen into abject poverty; herslaves had all been taken from her with the rest of the property andsold again in the market, but old Nectaria had hidden herself and sohad escaped; and she, who knew the city, had brought Kyria Agatha andher three children to the beggars' quarter as a last refuge, when noone would take them in. The old slave had toiled for them, and beggedfor them, and would have stolen for them if she had not beenprofoundly convinced that stealing was not only a crime punishable atthe very least by the loss of the right hand, but that it was also amuch greater sin because it proved that the thief did not believe inthe goodness of Providence. For Providence, said Nectaria, was alwaysright, and so long as men did right, men and Providence mustnecessarily agree; in other words, all would end well, either on earthor in heaven. But to steal, or kill by treachery, or otherwise toinjure one's neighbour for one's own advantage, was to interfere withthe ways of Providence, and people who did such things would in theend find themselves in a place diametrically opposite to that heavenin which Providence resided. Of its kind, Nectaria's reasoning wassound, and whether truly philosophical or not, it was undeniablymoral.

  Zoe was not Kyria Agatha's own daughter. No children had been born tothe Protosparthos and his wife for several years after their marriage,and at last, in despair, they had adopted a little baby girl, thechild of a young Venetian couple who had both died of the cholera thatperiodically visited Constantinople. Kyria Agatha and Rhangabe broughther up as their own daughter, and again years passed by; then, atlast, two boys were born to them within eighteen months. MichaelRhangabe's affection for the adopted girl never suffered the slightestchange. Kyria Agatha loved her own children better, as any motherwould, and as any children would have a right to expect when they wereold enough to reason. She had not been unkind to Zoe, still less hadshe conceived a dislike for her; but she had grown indifferent to herand had looked forward with pleasure to the time when the girl shouldmarry and leave the house. Then the great catastrophe had come, andloss of fortune, and at last beggary and actual starvation; and thoughZoe's devotion had grown deeper and more unselfish with every trial,the elder woman's anxiety now, in her last dire extremity, was for herboys first, then for herself, and for Zoe last of all.

  The girl knew the truth about her birth, for Rhangabe himself had notthought it right that she should be deceived, but she had not theleast recollection of her own parents; the Protosparthos and his wifehad been her real father and mother and had been kind, and it was hernature to be grateful and devoted. She saw that the Kyria loved theboys best, but she was already too womanly not to feel that humannature must have its way where the ties of flesh and blood areconcerned; and besides, if her adoptive mother had been cruel andcold, instead of only indifferent where she had once been loving, thegirl would still have given her life for her, for dead Rhangabe'ssake. While he had lived, she had almost worshipped him; in his lastagonies he had sent a message to his wife and children, and to her,which by some happy miracle had been delivered; and now that he wasdead she was ready to die for those who had been his; more than that,she was willing to be sold into slavery for them.

  She stood by the bedside only half covered, and she tried to think ofsomething more that she might do, while she gazed on the pale facethat was turned up to hers.

  'Are you warmer, now?' she asked tenderly.

  'Yes--a little. Thank you, child.'

  Kyria Agatha closed her eyes again, but Zoe still watched her. Theconviction grew in the girl that the real danger was over, and thatthe delicately nurtured woman only needed care and warmth and food.That was all, but that was the unattainable, since there was nothingleft that could be sold; nothing but Zoe's rare and lovely self. Ahundred golden ducats were a fortune. In old Nectaria's hands such asum would buy real comfort for more than a year, and in that time noone could tell what might happen. A turn of fortune might bring theEmperor John back to the throne. He had been a weak ruler, but neithercruel nor ungrateful, and surely he would provide for the widow ofthe Commander of his Guards who had perished in torment for beingfaithful to him. Then Zoe's freedom might be bought again, and shewould go into a convent and live a good life to the end, in expiationof such evil as might be thrust upon her as a bought slave.

  This she could do, and this she must do, for there was no other way tosave Agatha's life, and the lives of the little boys.

  'A little more milk,' said the sick woman, opening her eyes again.

  Nectaria crouched over the embers, and warmed what was left of the
milk. Zoe, watching her movements, saw that it was the last; but KyriaAgatha was surely better, and would ask for more during the night, andthere would be none to give her; none, perhaps, until nearly noonto-morrow.

  Nectaria took the pan of coals away to replenish it, going out to theback of the ruined house in order to light the charcoal in the openair. The sick woman closed her eyes again, being momentarily satisfiedand warm.

  Zoe sank upon her knees beside the bed, forgetting that she was coldand half-starved, as the tide of her thoughts rose in a wave ofdespair.

  The fitful night breeze wafted the words of the mad woman's crooningalong the lane, 'Eleeison! Eleeison!'

  And Zoe unconsciously answered, as she would have answered in church,'Kyrie eleeison!'

  'Blessed Michael, Archangel, give us meat, we starve!' came the wildsong, now high and distinct.

  'Kyrie eleeison!' answered Zoe on her knees.

  Then she sprang to her feet like a startled animal. Some one hadknocked at the door. With one hand she gathered her thin rags acrossher bosom, the other unconsciously went to the sick woman's shoulder,as if at once to reassure her and to bid her be silent.

  Again the knocking came, discreet still, but a little louder thanbefore. Nectaria was still away and busy with the pan of coals, andthe sick woman heard nothing, for she was sound asleep at last. Zoesaw this, and drew her bare feet out of her patched slippers beforeshe ran lightly to the door.

  'Who knocks?' she asked in a very low tone, clasping her tatteredgarment to her body.

  The Bokharian's smooth voice answered her in oily accents.

  'I am Rustan,' he said. 'I am suddenly obliged to go on a journey, andI start at dawn.'

  Zoe held her breath, for she felt that the last chance of saving hermother was slipping away.

  'Do you hear me?' asked Rustan, outside.

  'Yes.'

  'Will you make up your mind? I will give half as much again as Ipromised.'

  The girl's face had been pale; it turned white now, for the greatmoment had come very suddenly. She made an effort to swallow, in orderto speak distinctly, and she glanced towards the bed. Kyria Agatha wasin a deep sleep.

  'Have your brought the money with you?' Zoe asked, almost panting.

  'Yes.'

  The hand that grasped the rags to keep them together presseddesperately against her heart. While Rustan could have counted ten,there was silence. Twice again she looked towards the bed and then,with infinite precaution, she slipped out the wooden bar that kept thedoor closed. Once more she drew her rags over her, for they had fallenback when she used both her hands. She opened the door a little, andsaw Rustan muffled in a cloak, his eager face and black beard thrustforward in anticipation of entering. But she stopped him, and held outone hand.

  'My mother has fallen into a deep sleep,' she said. 'Give me the moneyand I will go with you.'

  Without hesitation Rustan placed in her outstretched hand a small bagmade of coarse sail-cloth, and closely tied with hemp twine.

  'How much is it?' she whispered.

  'One hundred and fifty gold ducats,' answered the Bokharian under hisbreath, for he knew that if he did not wake the sleeping woman therewould be less trouble.

  At that moment Nectaria came back from within, with the pan of coals.Zoe caught her eye and held out the heavy little bag. The womanstared, looked at Kyria Agatha's sleeping face, set down the pan uponthe floor, and came forward.

  'He has brought the money, a hundred and fifty ducats,' Zoe whispered,forcing the bag into Nectaria's trembling hands. 'It is the only way.Good-bye--quick--shut the door before she wakes--tell her I am asleepin the straw--God bless you----'

  'Eleeison! Eleeison!' came the wail of the mad woman on the wind.

  Before Nectaria could answer Zoe had pulled the door till it shutbehind her, and was outside, barefooted on the hardening mud, andscarcely covered. She said nothing now, and Rustan was silent too, buthe had taken one of her wrists and held it firmly without hurting it.The fleet young creature might make a dash for freedom yet, foolish asthat would be, since he could easily force his way into the ruinedhouse and take back his money if she escaped him. But he had nearlylost a young slave once before, and he would risk nothing, so he kepthis strong hand tightly clasped round the slender wrist, though Zoewalked beside him quietly in the deep gloom, thinking only of coveringherself from his gaze, though indeed he could scarcely see the outlineof her figure.

  They went on quickly. For the last time, as Rustan led her round asharp turn, she heard the wild cry of the poor mad creature she hadlistened to so often by day and in the dead of night. Then she was inanother street and could hear it no more.

  She was not allowed time to think of her condition yet. A few stepsfarther and Rustan stopped short, still holding her fast by the wrist,and she saw that they had come upon a group of men who were waitingfor them. One suddenly held up a lantern which had been covered, andnow shed a yellow light through thin leaves of horn, and Zoe saw thathe was a big Ethiopian, as black as ebony. She drew her tatters stillmore closely over her with her free hand and turned away from thelight, as well as Rustan's unrelaxing hold would allow.

  A moment later some one she could not see threw a wide warm cloak overher shoulders from behind her, and she caught it gladly and drew thefolds to her breast.

  'Get into the litter,' said Rustan, sharply but not loudly.

  There was nothing soft or oily in his tone now. He had bought her andshe was a part of his property. Four men had lifted a coveredpalanquin and held it up with the small open door just in front ofher. She turned, sat upon the edge, and bent her head to slip into theconveyance backwards, as Eastern women learn to do very easily. Rustanheld her wrist till she was ready to draw in her feet, and as he lether go at last she disappeared within. He instantly closed the slidingpanel and fastened it with a bronze pin. There were half-a-dozen roundholes in each door to let in air, not quite big enough to allow thepassage of an ordinary woman's hand.

  Zoe sank back in the close darkness and found herself leaning againstyielding pillows covered with soft leather. The palanquin began tomove steadily forwards, hardly swaying from side to side, and notrising or falling at all, as the porters walked on with a smooth,shuffling gait, each timing his step a fraction of a second later thanthat of the man next before him; lest, by all keeping step together,they should set their burden swinging, which is intolerable to theperson carried.

  Four men carried the litter, a fifth, armed with an iron-shod staff,went before with the lantern, and Rustan followed after. There wasnothing in the appearance of the party to excite surprise or curiosityin a city where every well-to-do person who went out in the eveningwas carried in a palanquin, and accompanied by at least two trustyservants. For that matter, too, Rustan's business was perfectlylegitimate, and it concerned no one that he should have a newly boughtbeauty carried in a closed litter from a distant quarter of the cityto his home.

  It was true that he had no receipt for his money, acknowledging thatit was the stipulated price paid for a full-grown white maid betweeneighteen and nineteen years old, with brown eyes, brown hair,twenty-eight teeth, all sound, and a pale complexion; who weighedabout two Attic talents and five minae, and measured just six palms,standing on her bare feet. In strict law, he should have had such adocument, signed by the father or mother or owner of the slave, but heknew that he was quite safe without it. Like all Bokharians, he was aprofound judge of human nature, and he was quite sure that having oncesubmitted to her fate Zoe would not cheat him by claiming the freedomshe had sacrificed; moreover, he knew that the adopted daughter ofMichael Rhangabe who had died on the stake in the Hippodrome as anenemy of the reigning Emperor, would have but a small chance ofobtaining justice, even if she attempted to prove that she had beencarried off by force. Rustan Karaboghazji felt that his position wasunassailable as he followed the litter that carried his latestbargain through the winding streets of Constantinople towards thenarrow lane, one side of which was formed by that my
sterious wallwhich had but one door in it.

  He was well pleased with his day's business, for he was quite surethat he had netted a handsome profit. Under his cloak he held a stringof beads in one hand, and as he walked he made the calculation of hisprobable gains, pushing the beads along the string with his thumb. Hehad paid one hundred and fifty gold ducats for Zoe; but fifty of themwere at least a quarter of their value under weight, so that theactual value of the gold was one hundred and thirty-seven and a halfducats. He was quite sure that Zeno would approve the purchase on acareful inspection, and that he would be willing to give three hundredand fifty sequins, though the girl was a little over age, as slaves'ages were counted. She should have been between sixteen and seventeen,yet she was exceptionally pretty, and spoke three languages--Greek,Latin, and Italian. If Zeno paid the price, the clear profit would betwo hundred and twelve and a half ducats. The beads worked quickly inRustan's fingers, and his hard grey eyes gleamed in the dark. Twohundred and twelve and a half on one hundred and thirty-seven and ahalf, by the new Venetian method of so much in the hundred, which wasa very convenient way of reckoning profits, meant one hundred andfifty-four and a half per centum. The beads worked furiously, as themerchant's imagination carried him off into a mercantile paradisewhere he could make a hundred and fifty per cent on his capital everyday of the year except Sundays and high feast days. This calculationwas complicated, even for a Bokharian brain, but it was a delightfulone to follow out, and Rustan's blood coursed pleasantly through hisveins as he walked behind his purchase.

  He had lost no time after he had left the beggars' quarter late in theafternoon, by no means sure that Zoe meant to surrender at all, andvery doubtful as to her doing so within the next three days. Yet hehad boldly promised that Carlo Zeno should see her on approval on thefollowing morning. After all, he risked nothing but a first failure,for if he did not succeed in buying Zoe in time he could neverthelessshow the Venetian merchant some very pretty wares. Zeno was not a manto waste words with such a creature as a slave-dealer, and theinterview had not lasted ten minutes. It had taken longer than that toweigh the ducats in order to be sure that a certain number of themwere under weight. The only thing Rustan now wished was that he hadput many more light ones into the bag, since it had not even beenopened; for he had naturally expected to be obliged to count them outbefore old Nectaria, who had a born slave's intelligence about money.

  Inside the litter the girl lay on her cushions in the dark, wonderingwith a sort of horror at what she had done. She had thought of itindeed, through many days and sleepless nights, and she did not regretit; she would not have gone back, now that she had left plenty andcomfort where there had been nothing but ruin and hunger; but shethought of what was before her and prayed that she might close hereyes and die before the morning came, or better still, before thelitter stopped and Rustan drew back the sliding door.

  In an age and a land of slavery, the slave's fate was familiar to her.She knew that there were public markets and private markets, and thather beauty, which meant her value, would save her from the former; butto the daughter of freeborn parents the difference between the one andthe other was not so great as to be a consolation. She would be welllodged, well covered, and well fed, it was true, and she need not fearcruel treatment; but customers would come, perhaps to-morrow, and shewas to be shown to them like a valuable horse; they would judge herpoints and discuss her and the sum that Rustan would ask; and if theythought the price too high they would go away and others would come,and others, till a bargain was struck at last. After that, she couldonly think of death as the end. She knew that many handsome girls weresecretly sold to Sultan Amurad and the Turkish chiefs over in AsiaMinor or in Adrianople, and it was more than likely that she herselfwould fare no better, for the conquerors were lavish with their gold,whereas the Greeks were either half-ruined nobles or sordid merchantswho counted every penny.

  The men carried the litter smoothly and steadily, never slackening andnever hastening their pace. The time seemed endless. Now and then sheheard voices and many steps, with the clatter of horses' hoofs, whichtold her that she was in one of the more frequented streets, but mostof the time she heard scarcely anything but the shuffling walk of themen in their heavy sandals and the firmer tread of Rustan's well-shodfeet where the road was hard. She guessed that he was avoiding thegreat thoroughfares, probably because the people who thronged themeven at that hour would have hindered the progress of the palanquin.Zoe knew as well as the dealer that there was nothing as yet in thetransaction which need be hidden; possibly, if she were afterwardssold to the Turks, she would be taken across the Bosphorus secretly,for though there was no law against selling Christian girls tounbelievers the people of the city looked upon the traffic withsomething like horror, and an angry crowd might rescue the merchandisefrom the dealer's hands. Zoe did not expect that rare good fortune,for Rustan was not a man to run any risks in his business.

  As she lay among her cushions, dreading the end of the journey, butgradually wearying of the future, her thoughts went back to the firstcause of all her misfortunes, of Michael Rhangabe's awful death, ofall the suffering that had followed them. One man alone had wroughtthat evil and much more, one man, the reigning Emperor Andronicus. Zoewas not revengeful, not cruel, very far from bloodthirsty; but whenshe thought of him she felt that she would kill him if she could, andthat it would only be justice. Suddenly a ray of something like hopeflashed through her darkness. Nectaria had told her how beautiful shewas; perhaps, being so much more valuable than most of the slaves thatwent to the market, she might be destined for the Emperor himself. Itwas just possible. She set her teeth and clenched her little hands inthe dark. If that should be her fate, the usurper's days werenumbered. She would free her country from its tyrant and be revengedfor Rhangabe's murder and for all the rest at one quick stroke, thoughshe might be condemned to die within the hour. That was indeedsomething to hope for.

  The litter stopped and she heard keys thrust into locks, and felt thatthe porters turned short to the left to enter a door. Her journeythrough the city was at an end.