The Captain of the Janizaries

by James M. Ludlow

  CHAPTER VIII.

  "Thank Heaven! the plan did not fail," said the chief officer, ridingby the side of the fugitive general.

  "In no particular has it failed, Colonel," replied Scanderbeg. "Andfor this every praise is due your wise precautions. I have never knownbetter work of brain or nerve. With such grand soldiers as you andyour men, I fear nothing for Albania. But your name, Colonel?"

  "Moses Goleme," replied the officer courteously.

  Scanderbeg reined his horse, and gave him his hand heartily. "A man asgrand as he is brave! And do I really look into the face of him whom Iwas to have sought out in Dibria, that I might tell him his words hadbeen to me like a voice from heaven? Heaven reward you, good Moses!But you must vow to stand by me yet as patiently as you have donehitherto--during my apostasy. I shall need your charity still; for Iam but a returning prodigal; a half-Christian; a man of strange ways;of a temper which I understand not myself, and which will disappointyou. Pledge me that you will be my good angel. Counsel me frankly,fearlessly, as a man should always counsel a man. Rebuke me freely:but bear with me in your heart, as you would with a child."

  "I may not advise the most capable general in the world," repliedMoses Goleme. "I vow to obey. Let that be my part. As I have alreadyimperilled my estates by open opposition to the Turkish rule, andgiven my life to the liberty of my country, so I offer all to thee,Sire, the sovereign of my heart, until you shall be acknowledged thesovereign of Albania, and a new empire be founded on the east of theAdriatic which shall take the place of the decaying powers of Italy onthe west."

  "The task your patriotism proposes is vast," replied Scanderbeg; "toovast for one man and one lifetime."

  "Too great for any but the great Castriot!" was the answer, evidentlyas honest as it was reverent. "But you do me too much honor, General,in praising my plan of meeting you. I was ably seconded by my men, andespecially by two of them. One of them was wounded."

  "I trust you speak not of a brave fellow who brought me the time andplace of the rendezvous: for I never saw such strength and daring inmy life."

  "The same, I fear," said Moses. "A Servian, whom I had not knownbefore yesterday. But he was boiling over with rage for the slaughterof his family, and commended to me by our most trusted scout."

  "Did he tell you how he found me out, and communicated your plan tome?"

  "No, for he was too severely hurt to speak much."

  "I will tell that part for him, then," said Scanderbeg. "It was in thehottest of the fight. My own body-guard was thrown into confusion. Afellow, clad like one of my own staff, crowded close to my side. Hishorse actually rested against my own, and I would have severed hishead from his shoulders for his impudent valor, had not his oath athis beast been 'by the beard of Moses!' Seeing that I observed it hegrunted, 'At the brook to the north!' as he dodged the circles of thecimeters; and 'Near the Roman road!' he hissed as he pared the capfrom a Christian's head with his sword; and 'At the ninth hourto-night!' he shouted as he parried a thrust. Before I had breathingspace--for I was closely beset at the time--he had gone; borne back bya Spahi,[20] who envied him his place and emulated his valor. But hewas not skilful in using his weapon or managing his horse. I amgrieved, but not surprised, at his receiving hurt. I thought he musthave fallen. But who was the other?"

  "Yonder old fellow with a huge green turban on the saddle before him.If his brain were as big as his head-piece, he could not have plannedbetter. He has dwelt about here lately."

  "I must thank him in person," said Scanderbeg, riding back toward him.

  "What!" he exclaimed as the full daylight fell upon the man'sfeatures, "Kabilovitsch?"

  The old man diverted Scanderbeg's compliments by an expression ofsolicitude for Milosch, whom he had permitted to undertake thedesperate venture already narrated, although until a few days beforehe, being a Servian, had no knowledge of the project of the Albanians.

  "We must haste, Sire," said Moses. "It is advised that you cross tothe north of the pass in the Balkans, and take thence the valley waybetween Caratova and the Egrisu. A message from General Hunyadesinforms me that relays can be provided along the road, and that everyfacility shall be given us."

  "Kabilovitsch will accompany us?" asked Scanderbeg.

  "On one condition, Sire," replied the old man. "My little daughtermust go with me: a lass of ten spring tides--"

  "Impossible! for our ride must be night and day."

  "Then I may follow, but cannot accompany you," said Kabilovitsch.

  "I need such men as you with me. No true Albanian will delay for achild. Country must be child and mother to us all," said the general.

  The cheeks of Kabilovitsch whitened; his eyes flashed. LookingScanderbeg squarely in the face, he said quietly, but puttingintention into every word,

  "George Castriot may lead, but may not rebuke the patriots who havewatched for Albania with sacrifices he knows not of, while he has beenamong our country's enemies. An old man, thy father's friend beforethou wast born, may say that, Sire."

  Scanderbeg grew pale in turn. He had been unaccustomed to brookinsubordination, however righteous. Who had dared to question him? Whoto fling the taunt into his face? The hot words were upon his lips.But he paused, at first from the mere habit of self-restraint. Then,because he was a wise man, and realized that he was no longer thetyrant, with power of life and death over his soldiers--men who hadbeen hired, stolen, impressed into the service, and transformed intomere machinery of flesh and blood--but was to be the public liberatorof a people every man of whom was already as free as he. Then, he hadbecome a just man. Strange and sanguinary as had been the eventsaccompanying his desertion of the Turks, he had taken this step onlyafter a deep moral struggle. He had revolted from his own past life;and felt an inward disgrace for what had been his outward glory--theservice of the Moslem; he despised himself more than any other personcould. It was this sense of the justice of Kabilovitsch's rebuke thatchecked the rage which had blanched his face, and sent the flush tohis temples, as he slowly, replied, "I bow to the merited chastisementof your words. Your years and your better life give you license toutter them. My future shall atone for the past. But cannot your childbe left safely where she is?"

  "She is safe where she is; but I may not leave her without providingfor her future. Milosch is lying in a cottage but a little before us.If his wounds are not fatal--as I believe they are not, though theleech thought otherwise--I may bring the girl to him, and stillovertake you before you come in sight of the Black Mountains. I cancross this country by paths through which I could not direct you.During many years, for justice's sake and our country's, I havewandered over these mountains where only the eagle's shadow hasfallen."

  "I will stop with you at the cottage," said Scanderbeg, "for, thoughthe moments are precious, I would bless the brave fellow for his workyesterday."

  There were several wounded Christian soldiers at the little hovel. AGreek monk was administering both spiritual and physical comfort; forRilo Monastir had sent its inmates along the track of the Christianarmy in spite of the insults of the Latin soldiers, who, though insight of the common enemy of their faith, could not repress themeanness of their sectarian jealousy and hatred. Milosch was doingwell. His wounds were, one in the fleshy part of the shoulder, theother a contusion on the head, from a blow which had stunned him. Afew weeks would put him again upon his feet, though perhaps hisfighting days were over; for the flesh wound lay across an importantmuscle, and would permanently destroy the strength of the right arm.

  Milosch fell in with the proposition of Kabilovitsch regardingMorsinia. Though a Servian, he had lost interest in his own countrybecause of the vacillating course of the Despot, George Brankovitch,who was half Christian and half Moslem, according to the policy of themoment. Milosch would identify himself with the cause of Albania, forwhich he had already done and suffered so much.

  The two men entered into what is known among the Servians andAlbanians as "Brotherhood in God," covenanting in the name of God
andSt. John to devote their lives, each to the other, and both to theircommon cause. The compact was sealed by each putting the left handupon the other's heart, and holding up the right hand in invocation ofthe Divine witness. Kabilovitsch said:

  "My brother, I commit to thy keeping our daughter, Morsinia, thine andmine, from henceforth. She is all I have but life to share with thee,which also I freely give."

  To this Milosch replied:

  "My brother, I commit to thy keeping our boy, Constantine, thine andmine from henceforth. He is all I have that I wot of to share withthee, but my life which--God spare it--I freely give."

  "Bismallah!"[21] said Scanderbeg. "And if the girl and the boy werethe ones I saw asleep in each other's arms by the fire the othernight, the compact is good for two generations at least."

  It was agreed that, upon his sufficient recovery, Milosch should bringthe children from the camp of Hunyades to Albania.

  The ride by the Vitosh and Rilo Mountains where the mighty ranges ofthe Balkans, the Upper Moesian, and the Rhodope are thrown closetogether, was sufficiently grand to engross the eye and mind of thedashing riders. Thus most of the day was passed in silence, brokenonly by the clatter of the horses' hoofs against the rocks; the roarof cascades making their awful plunge hundreds of feet from theprecipices; the complaint of rivers far down at the bottom of ravines,fretting beneath the prison roof of ice and snow; and glorious pines,pluming the brow of crag and ledge, through which the everlastingwinds breathed the dirge over fallen empires of men.

  As they forced their way up a long and tedious ascent, Scanderbegjoined Kabilovitsch and said:

  "To relieve the tedium of this slow part of the journey you must tellme about that lass you would not leave for the love of Albania. Asweet face as I saw it. I could have run off with it myself, had I notother business on hand. And I can pardon a father's heart forclinging very closely to such a child. You will forget my rude speecha while ago. I played with a little lass like that when I was a boy.The face of your child, that night I watched for you, carried me backto those happy days. I could see my little sweet-heart in her; thoughthirty years have thrown their shadows of dark events across mymemory."

  Kabilovitsch turned familiarly to Scanderbeg with the query,

  "May I read your thoughts, Sire?"

  "Yes, he is welcome to do so who can find my soul beneath thisbattered face."

  "That child was the fair Mara, the daughter of the noble GeorgeCernoviche, whose castle ruins lie now by the shore of Ochrida. Am Inot right?"

  "Right! but I knew not of the fall of her father's house. Can you tellme aught of the history of my little maiden. If she lives, she must bea goodly matron now."

  "Yes, I can tell her story and more. She married the noble Musache deStreeses, whose castle once stood near the Skadar."[22]

  "Ah! I have heard of his sad fate," replied the general. "Oh, forvengeance on these villains who have despoiled the land! Musache deStreeses was the richest of all the land-owners on the coast of Adria,the soul of honor, a genuine patriot, with whom my father heldconfidential intercourse. His purse and sword were freely offered forservice against the Turk. It was a favorite scheme of my father tosome day unite our families. I hear that my nephew, Amesa, has becomepossessed of those estates, being also nephew to De Streeses, who wasslain by the Turks. But my fairy, Mara, you said was married to DeStreeses. It was she, then, who, with her infant child, was killed bythe Turks during the raid?"

  "Noble Castriot! De Streeses and the Lady Mara were murdered, foully,treacherously," said the old man, reining his horse, and speaking withterrible passion.

  "Oh, to take vengeance!" exclaimed Scanderbeg. "By the fair face ofMara! this, with the thousand other murders of these years, shall bewashed out, if my sword drains a myriad veins of Turkish blood to makesure of his who struck so brutal a blow!"

  "Your sword need not search so wide as that," said Kabilovitsch. "Thefamily of De Streeses were murdered by hands we both know but toowell."

  "How know you, Kabilovitsch?"

  The man removed his cap as if inviting the inspection of his face,and, lowering his voice, replied,

  "I am not Kabilovitsch, I am Arnaud."

  "Arnaud, the forester of De Streeses? Arnaud, whose shoulders Ibestrode before I ever mounted a steed?" exclaimed Scanderbeg, turninghis horse and stopping, but at his companion's motion indicatingcaution, lowering his tone, and moving close beside him.

  "The same, Sire. And the Turks who murdered the nobleman and hisbeautiful wife were not such Turks as you have been accustomed tocommand. Too white of skin and too black of heart were they. I wouldnot say this, but that I give you also my reasons for so grave anaccusation. Turks in raiding do not discriminate in theirdepredations; but these harmed not a leaf beyond the castle of DeStreeses. Nor do Turks swear by St. John, as I heard one of them do ashe cursed a fellow villain for some slip in the plan. Nor again wouldTurks, seeking only for plunder, have shown as much eagerness to killthe little babe as they did to slay its father; and this they did,searching even among the ashes for evidence that the tiny bones hadbeen sufficiently charred to prevent their recognition. But the childwas not in the castle at the time. My good wife was suckling it--theLady Mara being of delicate condition--and that night the babe was atthe lodge. As soon as the commotion was heard at the castle the childwas hidden in the copse."

  "But where is this child now?" asked Scanderbeg eagerly.

  "You have gazed upon her by my camp-fire, sire; and your soul saw inher face that of the sainted Mara, though your eyes detected her not."

  "And you know the perpetrator of this damnable deed?" askedScanderbeg.

  "I may not say I know, since your noble father refused to believe thatany other than Turkish hands did it. But he who possesses the estatenow knows too much of this affair to thank God in his prayers for hisinheritance. I saved the child; yet Lord Amesa has sworn that once aTurk who fell beneath his sword in a private brawl confessed to himthat his hands had strangled the infant on the night of the raid. Someone interested had suspicion of where the truth lay, for my own cotwas raided, and my wife slain one night during my absence. But thechild was safe elsewhere. Since then, knowing that her life was secureonly through her being secreted, I have been a wanderer. A price wassecretly set upon my head by Amesa. In the mountains of Macedonia, inthe pass of the Balkans, have I kept watch over my sacred charge. Iwant not to see Albania, but as I can see justice done in Albania.Therefore I said I would go only if the lass might go with me, andunder the strong protection of a Castriot who knows the truth, whosevery soul recognized the child of Mara."

  "The child's life shall be as sacred to me as if Mara had become mywife as she vowed in her play, and the child were my own," saidScanderbeg. "But this perplexes our cause. Amesa is one of ourbravest, wiliest voivodes. To antagonize him with this old chargewould imperil my reception with the people and the liberty of ourland. But I pledge you, my good Arnaud, that though vengeance waits,it shall not sleep. In the time when it shall be most severe upon theoffender, and most honorable to the name of Albanian justice, the boltshall fall."

  It was readily foreseen by both that only at the peril of her lifecould Morsinia be allowed to accompany her foster father, Arnaud orKabilovitsch, to the camp of Castriot. The former forester would berecognized and suspicion at once excited as to the person of his ward.It was, therefore, determined that she should be domiciled safely in alittle hamlet on the borders of Albania, where her history wasunknown; and that, to elude suspicion, Milosch and the boy,Constantine, should accompany her, as her father and brother, neitherof whom knew her true history. The "Brotherhood in God" betweenKabilovitsch and his old neighbor gave sufficient warrant forMilosch's claim to paternity.

  FOOTNOTES:

  [20] Spahi: master of cavalry.

  [21] Bismallah; "Please God," a Turkish common exclamation.

  [22] Lake Scutari.