Complete Works of F Marion Crawford

by F. Marion Crawford

  ‘He is good for twelve hours’ sleep,’ he said. ‘Give me his cloak and helmet. If I find no one awake I will leave them at the outer gate. Otherwise I will send them to the tower in a clothes-basket to-morrow morning.’

  The captain’s wife obeyed, less frightened than she had been at first; Zeno muffled half his face in the big cloak, and threw the end over his shoulder whence it hung down, displaying the three broad stripes of gold lace that formed the border distinctive of a captain’s rank in the guards. The bright helmet had a gilt eagle for a crest, scarcely differing from that of the modern German Gardes du Corps regiment.

  ‘Now show me the way,’ Zeno said.

  Under the folds of the cloak he had the short broad sheath-knife ready in his grasp, and it was no bad weapon in the hand of such a fighter as Carlo Zeno. The captain’s wife led the way with the lantern.

  The captain’s wife obeyed, less frightened than she had been at first.

  At the foot of the next flight of stairs she almost stumbled over the sentinel, half-seated on the lowest step in a drunken sleep; his shaggy head had fallen forwards on his breast, and his legs stuck straight out before him, wide apart, like the legs of a wooden doll. His hands lay open with the palms upwards, one on his knee, the other on the step beside him; and his helmet, which had rolled off his head, had happened to stop just between his feet, the right side up, and facing him, as if it were watching him in his slumber like a living thing.

  The story they had now reached contained the living room of the captain and his wife, and no sentinel was needed higher up in the tower. An iron door, fastened on the inside, cut off the descent, and had to be opened for Zeno to pass. But being constantly in use the lock was well oiled, and the bolts slipped back almost without noise. Nevertheless, as he followed his companion down the next flight, Zeno drew up the folds of the cloak on his right arm till the edge barely covered the drawn knife in his hand.

  They reached the next story below, where the upper guard-room was. The door was half-open, and a lamp was burning within, but as the window was over the great court of Blachernæ no light had been visible from the water. Zeno heard voices, and caught sight of two guards carousing at the end of an oak table. At the sound of footsteps one of the men rose quickly, but staggered when he tried to walk to the door.

  ‘Who goes there?’ he called out, steadying himself by the door-post, and looking out.

  The captain’s wife had the presence of mind to hold up the lantern, so that the light fell full upon the helmet Zeno wore. Instantly the soldier tried to straighten himself to an attitude of attention, with his hands by his sides. But this was too much for his unstable balance, and he reeled backwards half across the room within, till he struck the table behind him, and tumbled down with a clatter of accoutrements and a rattling of the horn drinking-cups that were thrown to the ground. His companion, who was altogether too drunk even to leave his seat, broke into a loud idiotic laugh at his accident.

  ‘You have done your share well, Kyría,’ said Zeno, as he followed her again. ‘The Emperor’s friends could have brought him down by the stairs in triumph without being stopped.’

  ‘You are not out of the palace precincts yet,’ answered the captain’s wife in a warning tone.

  She went on, treading more softly as she descended, and carrying the lantern low lest she or her companion should stumble over another sleeping sentinel; but the staircase and the door that led into the court were deserted, for the captain was a very exact man, and had his supper at the same hour every evening, and went to bed soon afterwards like an honest citizen, after setting the watch and locking the iron door of his own lower landing. In two years he had never once come down the tower after sunset. The consequence was that the guards, who were mostly rough barbarians from the Don country and the shores of the Black Sea, did as they pleased, or as their lieutenant pleased; for he found it pleasant to spend his nights in another part of the palace, and was extremely popular with his men, because they were thus enabled to go to bed like good Christians and sleep all night.

  All this the captain’s wife knew well enough. Her apprehension was for what might happen to Zeno between leaving the tower and passing the great gate, which was the only way to get out of the fortified precincts. The wide courtyard was very dark, but there were lights here and there in the windows of the buildings that surrounded it on three sides, the great mass of the palace on the right, the barracks of the guards along the wall to the left, and the main post at the great gate in front with the buildings on each side of it, some occupied by slaves and some used as stables.

  Zeno wished that he had stripped one of the sleeping soldiers and had put on his dress, for he had been informed of the captain’s habits, and knew that the disguise was no longer a safe one after leaving the tower. Indeed it was a chief part of the captain’s duty never to go out after dark, on any excuse, and he apparently made sure of obeying this permanent order by going to bed early and getting up late. For the rest, he had always left the personal care of his prisoner to his wife, judging that her stout middle-age and fiery cheeks sufficiently protected his domestic honour. She had been young and very pretty once, it was true, but the captain did not know that Johannes had even seen her then, much less did he guess that many years ago, when the Emperor was a handsome young prince and she was a lovely girl in the old Empress’s train, she had worshipped him and he had condescended to accept her admiration for a few weeks. But this was the truth, as Zeno’s grandson the bishop very clearly explains.

  She left her lantern just inside the door and came out with Carlo into the open air. After walking a few steps she laid her hand on his arm, stopped, looked round, and listened. As yet they had not exchanged two words about the situation, and were far from sure that the watch which had detected Carlo from the water and had failed to catch him, had not come round by land to the palace gate to give the alarm.

  Zeno slipped the cloak from his shoulders and wrapped it round the helmet, so that the captain’s wife could carry both conveniently.

  ‘It is hopeless,’ she whispered, as she took them. ‘This morning he promised that he would leave the prison if you could bring him out. He has often spoken to me as he spoke to you this evening — he loves the boy dearly; but I was sure that he had made up his mind to risk everything, else I would not have shown the red light.’

  ‘After all,’ Zeno observed, ‘it is just as well that he would not come, since we were seen, though I really believe Gorlias was too much for the men who almost caught us. He and I together could certainly have settled them all — there were only three. I saw them distinctly when they first jumped ashore, and one was killed by the fall when I cut the rope. Gorlias silenced the other two, for if they were alive there would have been an alarm here by this time.’

  ‘Yes,’ the woman answered. ‘But some one must have betrayed us. We cannot try that way again.’

  ‘I shall not try that, or any other way again!’ Zeno said with emphasis. ‘In the name of the Evangelist, why should I risk my neck to free a man who prefers to be a prisoner?’

  ‘The wonder is that you are alive this time!’

  ‘It will not even be safe to communicate by the thread again. Will you take him a message?’

  ‘As well as I can remember it.’

  ‘Tell him that the next time he asks my help he must send me, by the same messenger, a deed giving Tenedos to Venice, signed and sealed. Otherwise I will not stir!’

  ‘Shall I tell him that?’

  ‘Yes. Tell him so from me. And now, go back, Kyría, and thank you for your guidance and your lantern in those dark stairs.’

  ‘How shall you pass the gate?’ asked the captain’s wife.

  She spoke anxiously, for Zeno was a handsome man, and she had seen how brave he was.

  ‘I do not know,’ he answered, ‘but one of two things must happen.’

  ‘What things?’

  ‘Either I shall get out or I shall never see daylight again! I sh
all not let myself be taken alive to be impaled in the Hippodrome, I assure you. Thank you again, and good-night.’

  She drew back into the shadow of the tower door and watched the handsome young man with the peculiar half-motherly, half-sentimental anxiety of the middle-aged woman, who was a flirt in her youth and turned the heads of just such men, who knows that she is grown fat and ugly and can never turn the head of another, but who has preserved many tender and pleasant recollections of all the sex.

  Zeno did not walk straight towards the gate, though it was easily distinguished from the adjacent buildings by the greater number of its lights. He crossed the wide court diagonally to the right, in the direction of the stables, till he was near enough to see distinctly any one who chanced to come under the rays of one of the scattered lamps that burned here and there in doorways and open windows. Before long he saw a trooper of the guards emerging rather unsteadily out of the darkness into one of these small circles of light. Zeno could not help smiling to himself at the idea that there was hardly one sober man awake among the guards that night, and that they had all drunk themselves stupid with his money.

  He overtook the man in half-a-dozen strides, and spoke to him in a low voice.

  ‘Hi! comrade! You who are still perfectly sober, help a friend who is very drunk!’

  The man stopped, steadied himself, and answered with ponderous gravity.

  ‘Perfectly — hic — hic — sober!’

  ‘I wish I were!’ replied Zeno. ‘The truth is, I am exceedingly drunk, though I do not show it. Wine only affects my brains, never my legs or my tongue. It is a very strange thing!’

  ‘Very — cu — hic — rious!’ responded the soldier, trying to see his interlocutor clearly, by screwing up his eyes.

  ‘Extraordinarily cuhicrious, as you justly observe,’ Zeno answered gravely. ‘But the fact is — —’

  ‘Excuse me — hic,’ interrupted the soldier. ‘Are you one man — hic — or two men?’

  ‘One man,’ Zeno answered. ‘Only one, and so drunk that I have quite forgotten the password.’

  ‘Sec — hic — ret,’ hiccoughed the man. ‘Password secret,’ he repeated, with a tremendous effort.

  ‘Here is a gold piece, my dear friend. You will help a comrade in trouble.’

  The man took the money eagerly, and tried to put it into his wallet. To do so he had to bend his head down so as to see the thongs that fastened it. It took a long time to find them.

  ‘Just give me the password before you do that,’ Zeno said in a coaxing tone.

  ‘Password?’ The man looked up stupidly.

  The effort of undoing the thongs had been too much for him, and had sent the blood to his head. He staggered against the Venetian, and tried to speak. After many efforts he got the words out suddenly.

  ‘Drunk, by Moses!’ he cried, quite distinctly, as he fell in a heap at Zeno’s feet.

  In his vexation Zeno could have kicked the stupid mass of humanity across the great yard, but he was far too wise to waste his time so unprofitably. Instead of kicking him he stepped across him, thrust his hands under the unconscious man’s armpits, hove him up like a sack of flour, got him over his shoulder, and carried him to the open door of the nearest stable, whence the light came. Five horses stood or lay in their stalls, but the sixth stall was vacant, and there was fresh straw in it. Zeno threw the man down there, and looked round, to see that no one else was in the place. He hesitated a moment as to whether he should shut the door, but decided that to do so might attract the attention of a sober man, if there were any about, which was doubtful.

  The trooper was now sound asleep, and it was the work of a few moments to pull off his boots of soft leather and slip them on, for Zeno had left his own in the boat, and had walked in his cloth hose; he took off the soldier’s sword-belt and tunic next, the latter of rich scarlet cloth trimmed with heavy silver lace, the belt being entirely covered with silver scales. The drunken sleeper grunted with satisfaction when he felt himself relieved of his useless clothes, and settled himself comfortably in the straw while Zeno put on the tunic over his own buff jerkin and drew the belt tight round his waist, settled the man’s tall Greek cap on his own head at the proper angle, as the troopers wore it, and threw the military cloak over his arm.

  He could now easily pass himself for a trooper at the gate, and a man who has been a soldier is rarely at a loss amongst soldiers, especially if he wears a uniform. In consideration of what he had taken, Zeno, who was an honest man of business, left the man his wallet with the piece of gold and anything else it might contain, and after carefully removing a few wisps of straw that clung to his clothes, he went towards the door of the stable.

  His plan was to saunter to the gate and loiter there till a chance offered of opening the small night-postern in the great door, which he had noticed in passing the palace when the gates were open. The fact of his being sober when almost every one else was more or less intoxicated, would give him a great advantage.

  But as he turned from the sleeper and walked along the line from the empty stall, which was the last, his eye fell on the saddles and bridles, neatly arranged on stout pegs that projected from the walls, each set opposite the stall of the horse to which it belonged. He peered out into the wide court, and listened for the sound of voices. From very far away he heard the echo of a drinking chorus, less loud than the noise made behind him by one of the horses that had a fancy for a mouthful of hay just then, and was chewing it conscientiously as only animals can chew.

  All was very quiet outside. Zeno changed his plan, turned back into the stable, and began to saddle the horse farthest from the door. He did not mean to ride far, else he would have picked out his mount with all the judgement he possessed. There was but a dash to make, and it was far more important that no passing trooper should see him in the act of putting on saddle and bridle than that he should have the best horse under him afterwards. Besides, they were all big, hay-fed animals, sleek and sleepy, mostly white Tunisians, and much more fit for a procession than a campaign.

  When he had finished, he led the charger past the other stalls, stopping just before he reached the door to put out the oil lamp that hung by the entrance. This done, he slipped his arm through the bridle and left the stable. He struck across the deserted court towards the palace, until he was almost in the middle of the yard, and opposite the great gate, towards which he looked steadily for some seconds, trying to make out, by the uncertain light that dimly illuminated it from within, whether the doors under the arch were open or shut. There was just a possibility that they might be open. It was worth trying for; and after all, if they were barred, he was sure that he could impose upon the sentinels to open them. A man accustomed to command does not doubt that he must be obeyed when he asserts himself.

  Zeno mounted the big horse, which was as quiet as any old circus hack in the Hippodrome, trained to let a dancing-girl skip the rope on his broad back. His rider put him from a walk to a canter, and from a canter to a thundering gallop that roused echoes all round the court.

  As he came near he saw that the doors were shut, but he did not slacken speed till he was almost upon the startled sentinels. Then he drew rein suddenly, as was the practice of horsemanship in those days, and the great Tunisian threw himself back on his haunches with outstretched forefeet, while Zeno called out to the watch.

  ‘On the Emperor’s service!’ he shouted. ‘The gates, and quickly!’

  The sentinels were tolerably sober, for they were not to get their full share of the flood of wine that was flowing till their guard was relieved. But they could hardly be blamed for obeying Zeno’s imperative command. It was not likely that a guardsman of their troop who wished to slip out of barracks for a night’s amusement would dress himself in full uniform and come galloping and shouting to the gate, nor that any trooper would dare to pretend that he rode on the Emperor’s business if it were not true.

  The two sentinels therefore did not hesitate, but set their long caval
ry lances upright against the walls on either side, took down the bar, and laid hold of the ponderous gates, each man taking one and throwing himself backwards with all his weight to move it. When once started, the doors swung slowly but easily backwards. Zeno sat motionless in the saddle, ready to dash forward as soon as there was room for him to pass. He had halted just far enough away to allow the doors to swing clear of his horse’s head as they were pulled inward. It was an anxious moment.

  A second more and there would be space between the yawning gates. But that second had not yet passed when a tall officer in scarlet rushed shouting from the open door of the guard-house, and seized Zeno’s bridle.

  ‘Stop him!’ yelled the lieutenant. ‘Shut the gates!’

  The two soldiers did their best to obey instantly, but the leaves of the gate were of cypress wood four inches thick, and covered with bronze, and were swinging back faster now under the impulse they had received. It was impossible to check them suddenly, and the order was hardly spoken when Zeno saw that there was room to ride through.

  He would have given his fortune for a pair of Arab spurs at that moment, but he struck the corners of his heels at the horse’s sides with all his might, and almost lifted him by the bridle at the same time. The big Tunisian answered the call upon his strength better than the rider had dared to hope; he gathered himself and lifted his forequarters, shaking his head savagely to get rid of the hands that grasped the off rein close to the bit, and then he dashed forwards, straight between the doors, throwing the officer to the ground and dragging him violently away in the powerful stride of his heavy gallop.

  Seeing what had happened the sentinels started in pursuit at full speed, following the sound of the charger’s shoes on the cobble-stones rather than anything they could see, for it was as dark as pitch outside.

  The officer, who was very active and seemed indifferent to the frightful risk he ran, still clung to the bridle, regained his feet, ran nimbly by the side of the galloping horse, and seemed about to spring up and close with Zeno to drag him from the saddle. Zeno had no weapon within reach now, for his knife was in his own belt, under the belted tunic he wore over his clothes, and he could not possibly get at it. But the officer was unarmed, too, as he had sprung from his couch, and was at a great disadvantage on foot.