CHAPTER XX
Zeno left her when she was breathing quietly, after ordering the twolittle maids to watch her by turns, or at least to go to sleep verynear her, in case she should wake and call. He himself was worn outwith fatigue and hunger, for he had not tasted anything since he hadsupped with Zoe on the previous evening. He went down to his ownrooms, where Vito had prepared him food and wine, which he had askedGorlias to share with him. But the ex-astrologer was gone, and themaster ate and drank alone that night, smiling now and then at therecollection of the dark hours in the dry cistern, and giving ordersto Vito about the journey which was to be begun on the morrow, ifpossible. And Vito gave him a detailed account of what had happened inhis absence.
Now that Zoe was safe he was supremely happy. In his heart thefighting man had detested the peaceful merchant's life he had chosento lead for more than two years, and already, in imagination, hishands were on the helm, the salt spray was in his face, and his shipwas going free on her course for the wonderful Isles of Adventure.
But by the orders he gave while he ate his supper, Vito understoodthat he was not going alone. When had Carlo Zeno ever taken richcarpets, soft cushions, silver basins, and delicate provisions to seawith him, except as merchandise, packed in bales and stowed below? Acamp-bed ashore, a hammock at sea, were enough for his comfort. Vitomentally noted each order, and when the time came he had forgottennothing; but he asked no questions.
Early in the morning, when Zeno had learned that Zoe was still asleep,he went down to the harbour and found that Sebastian Corner's ship wasto sail the next day at dawn, the same vessel that had brought theletter from Venice which had led him to buy Arethusa; the very galleyby which she should have been carried to Marco Pesaro, if Zeno had notthought better of the matter before drawing the three hundred ducats.
Now Sebastian Corner was a brave captain, as well as a man ofbusiness, and could be trusted; and when Zeno had shown him the deedwhich gave Tenedos to the Serene Republic he did not hesitate, butpromised to help Carlo to take possession of the island within threedays, before Johannes could change his mind. So that matter wassettled, and Zeno departed, saying that he would send his baggage onboard during the day.
When he came home he found the secretary waiting with his tale of woe.Omobono looked and felt like an elderly sick lamb, very sorry forhimself and terribly anxious not to be blamed for what had happened,while equally afraid of being scolded for talking too much. He hadpassed through the most awful ordeal of his peaceful life verybravely, he believed; and if Zeno had called him a cackling hen thatmorning the shock might have unsettled his brain, and would certainlyhave broken his heart.
But Zeno had been informed by Vito of the events that had disturbedhis household, and knew that Omobono had done his best, consideringwhat his worst might have been, he being of a timid temperament.
'You did very well,' said the master. 'In ancient days, Omobono, thosewho died for their faith were indeed venerated as martyrs, but thosewho suffered and lived were afterwards revered as confessors. That isyour position.'
This piece of information Zeno had acquired, with more of the samekind, when he had expected to be made a canon of Patras. Omobono'sheart glowed at the praise.
'And the confessor, sir, has the advantage of being alive and canstill be useful,' he ventured to suggest, though with some diffidence.
'Precisely,' Zeno assented. 'A live dog is better than a dead lion. Imean a watch-dog, of course, Omobono,' he added rather hastily, 'afaithful watch-dog.'
Omobono's appearance that morning did not suggest the guardian of theflock, the shepherd's shaggy friend. Not in the least; but he waspleased, and when he was told that he was to pack his belongings andmake ready to leave Constantinople for a trip to Venice his delightactually brought a little colour into his grey cheeks.
'And may I enquire, sir,' he began, 'about the----' he paused andlooked significantly at the ceiling, to indicate the upper story ofthe house,--'about the lady?' he added, finishing his question atlast.
'She goes with us,' answered Zeno briefly.
'Yes, sir. But may I ask whether it will be part of my duty to beresponsible for her?'
'You?' Zeno looked at the little man in undisguised astonishment.
'I mean, sir, on Messer Marco Pesaro's account. I had understood----'
'No,' said Zeno, 'you had not understood.'
'But then, sir----'
'Omobono, I have often warned you against your curiosity.'
'Yes, sir. I pray every day for strength to withstand it.Nevertheless, though I know it is a sin it sometimes leads me to learnthings which are of use. I do not think that if you knew what I know,sir, you would contemplate the possibility of disposing of----'
'You talk too much,' said Zeno. 'If you have anything to say, then sayit. If you have nothing to say, then say nothing. But do not talk.What have you found out?'
Thus deprived of the pleasure of telling a long story, Omobonoconscientiously tried to impart his information in the fewest possiblewords.
'The lady is not called Arethusa, sir. Before she sold herself toRustan to save her people from starvation she was called Zoe Rhangabe,the daughter of the Protosparthos who was executed by Andronicus----'
'Rhangabe?' repeated Zeno, not believing him; for it was a great name,and is still.
'Yes, sir. But that was not her name, either, for he and his wife hadadopted her because they had no children, but afterwards two boys wereborn to them----'
'Confound their boys!' interrupted Zeno. 'Who is she?'
'Her real name is Bianca Giustiniani; she is a Venetian by birth, andher father and mother died of the plague here soon after she was born.You see, sir, under the circumstances, and although the lady calledherself a slave, such a commission as Messer Marco Pesaro's----'
'Omobono,' said Zeno, interrupting him again, 'get a priest here atonce. I am going to be married.'
'Married, sir?' The little secretary was aghast.
'Send Vito for the priest!'
And before Omobono could say more, Zeno had left the room.
He found Zoe standing by the open window, and the morning sun wasstill streaming in. Her hair was not taken up yet, but lay like silkall over her shoulders, still damp from the bath. She was a littlepale, as a flower that has blossomed in a dark room, and the roughwhite silk of the robe she drew closely round her showed by contrastthe delicate tint and texture of her skin, and the sweet freshness ofthe tender and spiritual mouth.
He took her hand and looked at her earnestly before he spoke. Onlya night, a day and a night, had passed since he had understood whathad hidden itself in his heart for weeks. That same truth had stoleninto hers, too, but she had known what it meant.
'You kept your secret well,' he said--'too well!'
She shook her head, thinking he spoke of her love.
'You knew it long ago,' she answered. 'And what you did not know, youguessed. You kept yours better far.'
'I kept that one from myself, as best I could,' said he, understandingwhat she meant. 'I could not keep it for ever! But since we know thatwe love, our life begins here, and together. Together, because yousaved mine--I know everything, for they have told me; and so my lifeis yours, and yours is mine, because we were born to mate, as falconsmate with falcons, doves with doves, and song-birds with song-birds.'
'Say falcons!' laughed Zoe. 'I like the brave bird better!'
'I do, too,--and so my little falcon, Arethusa, we must wing ittogether to a safer nest before Tocktamish or some other barbarianstirs up a counter-revolution. Will you come with me?'
'Am I not your bought slave?' she asked. 'I must obey.']
She smiled and laid her hand in his.
'Am I not your bought slave?' she asked. 'I must obey.'
'That is not enough. We are Christian man and maid. You shall go withme in honour to my own people.'
'A gentleman of Venice cannot marry a slave,' she objected, though shesmiled.
He laughed, happi
ly, and drew back from her a little.
'A gentleman of Venice may do what seems good in his own eyes, if itbe not treason,' he said. 'I publish the banns of marriage betweenMesser Carlo Zeno, of Venice, bachelor, and Arethusa----'
'Of Rustan Karaboghazji's slave market, spinster!' suggested Zoe,laughing with him. 'It is a noble alliance for the great Doge's house,sir!'
'Oh! You talk of Doges? Then I will put it in another way, as thepriest will say it presently, for I think he is waiting downstairs bythis time, and Omobono is teaching him his lesson.'
'How shall you put it?'
'Bianca Giustiniani, wilt thou take this man to be thy weddedhusband?'
She was taken by surprise, and for a moment the words would not come.
'Wilt thou take this man?' he asked again, but more softly now, andnearer to her lips, though he did not see them; for he thought he sawher soul in her brave brown eyes, and as for her answer, he knew it.
* * * * *
Now the rest of Zeno's life, with much of what the story-teller hastold here, is extant in very bad Latin, written by one of hisgrandsons, the good bishop Jacopo Zeno of Belluno: how he sailed downthe Dardanelles, and made good the Emperor John's gift of Tenedos tothe Republic; and how the Genoese tried hard to take it from him; andhow he fought like the hero he was, with a handful of men against ahost, and drove them off and saved the island; and also how he livedto save Venice herself from them when all seemed lost, and broke theirpower for ever afterwards; and how he did many other glorious andgreat things, all after he had taken Bianca Giustiniani to wife.
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