The Vintage: A Romance of the Greek War of Independence by E. F. Benson
CHAPTER IV
THE MIDNIGHT ORDEAL
For the next two days Nicholas devoted himself to the education ofMitsos. He took the boy out shooting with him and taught him how tostand as still as a rock or a tree, how to take advantage of theslightest cover in approaching game, and how, if there was no cover, towriggle snake-wise along the ground so that the coarse tall grass andheather concealed him. There were plenty of mountain hares and roe-deeron the hills outside Nauplia towards Epidaurus, and they had two days'excellent shooting.
They were walking home together after sunset on the second day, andslung over the pony's back were two roe-deer, one of which Mitsos hadshot himself, and several hares which Nicholas, with a skill thatappeared almost superhuman to the boy, had killed running. The pony wastired and hung back on the bridle, and Mitsos, with the rope over hisshoulder, was pulling more than leading it.
"And if," Nicholas was saying to him, "if you can approach a roe-deeras you approached that one to-day, Mitsos, without being seen, you canalso approach a man in the same way, for in things like these the moststupid of beasts is man. And it is very important when you are huntingman, or being hunted by him, which is quite as exciting and much lesspleasant, that you should be able to approach him, or pass by himunseen. After two days I shall be going away, but I shall leave thisgun behind for you."
"For me, Uncle Nicholas?" said Mitsos, scarcely believing his ears.
"Yes, but it shall be no toy-thing to you. For the present you mustgo out every day shooting, but you must take the sport as a matterconcerning your life or death, instead of the life and death of a pieceof meat. Stalk every roe as if it were a man whose purpose is to killyou, and if ever it sees you before you get a shot you must cry shameon yourself for having wasted your time and my gift to you. But gofishing, too, and treat that seriously. Do not go mooning in the boatjust to amuse yourself, or only for the catching of fish. Before youstart settle how you are to make your course, in two tacks it may be,or three, and do so. Practise taking advantage of a wind which blows nostronger than a man whistling."
"I can sail a boat against any one in Nauplia," said Mitsos, proudly.
"And Nauplia is a very small place, little Mitsos. For instance, weought to have got back from our fishing in two tacks, not three. Andstudy the winds--know what wind to expect in the morning, and knowexactly when the land breeze springs up. Go outside the harbor, too;know the shapes of the capes and inlets of the gulf outside as you knowthe shape of your own hand."
"But how can I shoot and fish, and also look after the vines and getwork in other vineyards in the autumn?"
"That will be otherwise seen to. Obey your father absolutely. I havespoken to him. Also, you stop at home too much in the evenings. Go andsit at the cafes in the town and play cards and draughts after dinner,yet not only for the sake of playing. Keep your ears always open, andremember all you hear said about these Turks. When I come back youmust be able to tell me, if I ask you, who are good Greeks, who wouldrisk something for the sake of their wives and children, and who arethe mules, who care for nothing but to drink their sour wine and livepig-lives. Above all, remember that you haven't seen me for a year--fortwo, if you like."
Mitsos laughed.
"Let it not be a year before you come again, uncle."
"It may be more; I cannot tell. You are full young, but--but--well, weshall see when I come back. Here we are on the plain again. Give methat lazy brute's bridle. Are you tired, little one?"
"Hungry, chiefly."
"And I also. But, luckily, it is a small thing whether one is hungryor not. You will learn some day what it is to be dead beat--so hungrythat you cannot eat, so tired that you cannot sleep. And when that daycomes, for come it will, God send you a friend to be by your side, orat least a drain of brandy; but never drink brandy unless you feel youwill be better for it. Well, that is counsel enough for now. If youremember it all, and act by it, it will be a fine man we shall make ofthe little one."
Nicholas went to see the mayor of Nauplia the next day, and toldMitsos he had to put on his best clothes and come with him. His bestclothes were, of course, Albanian, consisting of a frilled shirt, anembroidered jacket, fustanella, gaiters, and red shoes with tassels. Tosay that he abhorred best clothes as coverings for the skin would bea weak way of stating the twitching discomfort they produced in him;but somehow, when Nicholas was there, it seemed to him natural to wishto look smart, and he found himself regretting that his fustanellahad not been very freshly washed, and that it was getting ingloriouslyshort for his long legs.
The mayor received Nicholas with great respect, and ordered his wife tobring in coffee and spirits for them. He looked at Mitsos with interestas he came in, and, as Mitsos thought, nodded to Nicholas as if therewas some understanding between them.
When coffee had come and the woman had left the room, Nicholas drew hischair up closer, and beckoned Mitsos to come to him.
"This is the young wolf," he said. "He is learning to prowl forhimself."
"So that he may prowl for others?" said Demetri.
"Exactly. Now, friend, I go to-morrow, and while I am away I want youto be as quiet as a hunting cat. I have done all I wanted to do here,and it is for you to keep very quiet till we are ready. There has beenmuch harm done in Athens by men who cannot hold their tongues. As youknow, the patriots there are collecting money and men, but they are soproud of their subscriptions, which are very large, that they simplybehave like cocks at sunrise on the house-roofs. Here let there be notalking. When the time comes Father Andrea will speak; he will put thesimmering-pot on the fire. I would give five years of my life to beable to talk as he can talk."
"The next five years?" asked Demetri.
Nicholas smiled.
"Well, no, not the next five years. I would not give them up for fiftythousand years of heaven, I think. Have you any corn?"
"Black corn for the Turk?"
"Surely."
Demetri glanced at Mitsos, and raised his eyebrows. "Even now the millsare grinding," he said.
"Let there be no famine."
Mitsos, of course, understood no word of this, and his uncle did notthink fit to enlighten him.
"You will hear more about the black corn," he said to him. "It makesgood bread. At present forget that you have heard of it at all. Haveyou got these men for me?" he asked, turning again to Demetri.
"Yes; do you want them to-day?"
"No. Mitsos will go with me as far as Nemea, and they had better joinme there to-morrow night. Turkish dress will be safer."
He rose, leaving the brandy untasted.
"Will you not drink?" asked Demetri.
"No, thanks. I never drink spirits."
Nicholas left next day after sunset, for a half-moon would be risingby ten of the night, and during the day the plain was no better thana grilling-rack. Already also it was safer for Greeks to travel bynight, for it was known or suspected among the Turks that some movementof no friendly sort was on foot among them, and it had several timeshappened before now that an attack had been made upon countrymen,who were waylaid and stopped in solitary mountain paths by bands ofTurkish soldiers. They were questioned about the suspected designs oftheir nation, on which subject they for the most part were entirelyignorant, as the plans of their leaders were at present but sparinglyknown, and the interview often ended with a shot or a dangling body.But through the incredible indolence and laziness of the Turks, whilethey feared and suspected what was going on, they contented themselveswith stopping and questioning travellers whom they chanced on, and madeno increase in the local garrisons, and kept no watch upon the roadsat night. Nicholas, of course, knew this, and when, as now, he wasmaking a long journey into a disaffected part of the country, wherehis presence would at once have aroused suspicion--and indeed, as hehad told Mitsos, there had been a price put on his head twenty yearsago--he travelled by night, reaching the village where he was to staybefore daybreak, and not moving again till after dark.
According
"They say the kings of Greece are buried here, little Mitsos," said he;"and perhaps your beard will scarce be grown before there are kings ofGreece once more."
Beyond Mycenae they followed a mountain path leading through the woods,which joined a few miles farther up the main road from Corinth toArgos, and as it was now late, and the ways were quiet, Nicholas sawno reason for not taking this road as soon as they struck it, and theywound their way up along the steep narrow path towards it.
The moon had cleared the top of Mount Elias behind them--the moonof midsummer southern nights--and shone with a great light as clearas running water, and turning everything to ebony and gleamingcream-colored ivory. Mitsos was riding first, more than half asleep,and letting his pony pick its own way among the big stones and bowlderswhich strewed the rough path, when suddenly it shied violently, nearlyunseating him, and wheeled sheer round. He woke with a start andgrasped at the rope bridle, which he had tied to the wooden pommel onthe saddle-board, to check it. Nicholas's pony had shied too, but hewas the first to head it round again, and Mitsos, who had been carriedpast him, dismounted and led his pony, trembling and restive, up to theother. Nicholas had dismounted too, and was standing at the point wherethe bridle-path led into the main road when Mitsos came up.
"What did they shy at?" Mitsos began, when suddenly he saw that whichstopped the words on his tongue.
From a tree at the juncture of the paths, in the full, white blaze ofthe moonlight, hung the figure of a man. His arms were dropped limplyby his side, and his feet dangled some two feet from the ground. On hisshoulder was a deep gash, speaking of a struggle before he was secured,and blood in black clots was sprinkled on the front of his white linentunic. Above the strangling line which went round his neck the muscleswere thick and swollen and the glands of the throat congested intomonstrous lumps.
But Nicholas only stopped the space of a deep-drawn breath, and then,throwing his bridle to Mitsos, drew his knife and cut the rope. Thetwo horses shied so violently as Nicholas staggered forward with hismurdered burden that Mitsos, unable to hold them both, let go of hisown and clung with both hands to the bridle of Nicholas's horse, whilehis own animal clattered off down the path homeward. Then soothing itsterror from the other, he led it past into the main road, where he tiedit up to a tree some twenty yards on, and himself returned to whereNicholas was kneeling over the body.
He looked up and spoke with a deadly calm. "We are too late," he said;"he is quite dead."
And suddenly, after the hot-blooded, warm-hearted nature of his race,this strong man, who had lived half his life with blood and death andmurder to be the companions of his days and nights, burst into tears.
Mitsos was awed and silent.
"Do you know him, Uncle Nicholas?" he asked, at length.
"No, I do not know him, but he is one of my unhappy race, whom thisbrood of devils oppresses and treats as it would not treat a dog.Mitsos," he said, with a gesture of fire, "swear that you will neverforget this! Look here, look here!" he cried. "Look how they havemade of him an offence to the light; look how they killed him by adisgraceful death, and why? For no reason but because he was a Greek.Look at his face; force yourself to look at it. The lips are purple;the eyes, as dead as grapes, start from his head. He was killed likea dog. If they catch you alone in such a place they will do the sameto you, to you whose only offence is, as this poor burden's has been,that you are Greek. Look at his neck, swollen in his death struggle. Doyou know how the accursed men killed Katzantones and his brother? Theybeat them to death with wooden hammers, sparing the head only, so thatthey might live the longer. Katzantones was ill and weak, and cried outwith the pain; but Yorgi, as he lay on the ground, with arms and legsand ankles and hands broken, and lying out of semblance of a man, onlylaughed, and told them they could not kill a fly with such puny blows."
The boy suddenly turned away.
"Enough, enough!" he said. "I do not wish to look. It is too horrible.Why do you make it more frightful to me?"
Nicholas did not seem to hear what he said, and went on, in a sort ofsavage frenzy.
"Look, look, I tell you!" he cried, "and then swear in the name of God,remembering also what I told you of my wife and child, that you willhave no pity on the race that has done this--on neither man, woman,nor child; not even on the poor, weak women, for they are the mothersof monsters who do these things. This is the work of the men theybear--this and outrage and infamous lust, and the sins of the citieswhich God destroyed."
He was silent a moment, and then spoke more calmly.
"So swear, Mitsos, in the name of God!"
And Mitsos, with quivering lips of horror, but suddenly steeled, lookedat the dead thing and swore.
"And now," said Nicholas, "take hold of the feet, and we will give itwhat burial we can. Stay, wait a moment." He tore off a piece of theman's tunic, and, dipping his finger in the blood that still was weton the shoulder, wrote in Turkish the word "Revenge," and fastened itto the end of the rope which still dangled from the tree. Then he andMitsos took the body some yards distant into the copse that lined theroad, and tearing up brushwood gave it covering. On this they laidstones until it was completely concealed and defended against thepreying creatures of the mountain.
Then Nicholas bared his head.
"God forgive him all his sins," he said, "and impute the double of themto his murderers. Ah, God," he cried, and his voice rose to a yell,"grant me that I may kill and kill and kill; and their souls I leave toThee, most Just and most Terrible!"
They went to where Nicholas's horse was tied up, and he, hearing theother had bolted, made Mitsos mount his, as he would have to walk back,and himself went on foot. It was in silence that they climbed the pass,but in another hour they came to the junction of the two roads fromNemea and Corinth, and Nicholas told his nephew to go no farther.
"It is safer that I should go alone here," he said; "and it is alreadylate, and you will have to walk. Waste no time about getting back tothe plain; the nights are short."
He paused for a moment, looking affectionately at the boy.
"Thus are you baptized in blood," he said, then paused, and hemoistened his lips. "A great deal may depend on you, little one," hewent on. "I have watched you growing up, and you are growing up as Iwould have you grow. Distrust everything and everybody except, perhaps,your father and myself, and be afraid of nothing, while you suspecteverything. At the same time I want you, and many will want you; sotake care."
He put his hands on his shoulders.
"I shall be back in a year or six months, or perhaps to-morrow, orperhaps never. That does not concern you. Your father and I will alwaystell you what to do. And now good-bye."
He kissed him on the cheek, mounted his horse, and rode off, neverlooking behind. Mitsos stopped still for a moment looking after him,and then turned to go home.
Five minutes more brought Nicholas to the edge of the village wherethe three men whom Demetri had sent were waiting for him. One of themwas a Greek servant, who held Nicholas's horse while he dismountedand changed his Albanian costume for a Turkish dress; the others wereleaders of local movements against the Turks, a
Nicholas dressed himself quickly, but then stopped for a momentirresolute. Then--
"Take the horse on," he said to the servant. "I will go on foot awhile."
Mitsos meantime was walking quickly along the road back towards Argos.He would scarcely acknowledge to himself how very much he dislikedthe thought of taking that bridle-path through the woods, for therecollection he retained of that end of rope dangling from the tree,with the fragment of tunic fluttering in the breeze, and that heap ofwhite stones glimmering among the bushes, was too vivid for his liking.Even his pony would have been companionable; but his pony, as he hoped,was near home by this time.
Once or twice he thought he heard movements and whispered rustlings inthe bushes, which made his heart beat rather quicker than its wont.Ordinarily he would not have noticed such things, but the scene at thecrossroad still twanged some string of horror within him.
However, the road must be trod, and keeping his eyes steadilyaverted--for like his race he held ghosts in accredited horror--hemarched with a show of courage past the spot, and began making his waydown the rough bridle-path.
Thin skeins of clouds had risen from the sea, and the moon wastravelling swiftly through them, casting only a diffused and aqueouslight; but the path, with the glimmering white stones of its cobbling,showed clearly enough, and there was no fear of his missing his way.But about a couple of hundred yards down the path he heard a noisewhich made his heart spring suddenly into his throat and stay therepoised for a moment, giving a little cracking sound at each beat. Thesound needed not interpretation; two men, if not three, were runningdown the main road he had just left. Instantly he had left the path,and striking into the bushes at the side moved quickly up the hillagain, hoping to turn them off the scent. But as they came nearer hestopped, still crouching in the bushes, and though he was, as he knew,very indifferently concealed, he dared not go farther among the treesfor fear that the sound of his steps crackling among the dry brushwoodshould lead them to him, and, remembering Nicholas's lessons in theart of keeping still, he waited. His pursuers, if pursuers they were,seemed to go the more slowly as they turned into the path he had justleft, and soon he caught sight of them through the tree trunks. Therewere two of them, and he saw they were Turks. As they came nearer hecould hear them speaking together in low tones, and then one ran offdown the path, in order, so he supposed, to see whether he was still onahead.
Mitsos drew a long breath; there was only one to be reckoned with now,and stealing out of the bush where he had been crouching, he moved asquietly as he could farther into cover. But a twig cracking with asharp report under his foot revealed his hiding, and the man who hadwaited in the path shouted out to the other. The next moment they werein pursuit.
As he pushed through the trees that seemed to stretch out fingers toclutch him, Mitsos felt in his belt for the knife he always carriedwith him, but to his wondering dismay found it had gone. Never in hislife could he remember being without it; but this was no season towaste time, and knowing that his only chance lay in running he plungedalong through the bushes in order to get back to the path and match hisspeed against theirs. But his pursuers were close behind him, and injumping, or trying to jump, a small thicket which closed his path, hecaught his foot and fell.
Then came cold fear with a clutch. Before he had time to recoverhimself they had seized him. Once he let out with his right hand at theface of one of the men, who just avoided the blow, and then both wristswere seized. They whipped a cord round his legs, tied his hands behindhis back, and carried him off straight to the tree from which the endof the rope and its ghastly legend were still hanging.
A third Turk was sitting there on the ground in the shadow smoking, andas the others came up he said a word to them in Turkish which Mitsosdid not understand. Then one of his captors turned to him, and speakingin Greek, "Tell us where Nicholas Vidalis is," he said, "and we willlet you go."
Silence.
"We know who you are. You are Mitsos Codones, the son of Constantine,from Nauplia, and he is your uncle."
Mitsos looked up.
"That is so. But I have not seen him for a year--more than a year," hesaid.
One of the men laughed.
"Tell us where he is," he said, "and we will let you go, and this foryour information, for you were seen with him yesterday in Nauplia," andhe held out a handful of piastres.
This time Mitsos laughed, though laughing was not in his thoughts, andthe sound was strange to his own ears.
"That is a lie," he said; "he has not been at Nauplia for a year. Asfor your piastres, if you think I am telling you a lie, do you supposethat I should speak differently for the sake of them? Be damned to yourpiastres," and he laughed again.
"I will give you one minute," said the other, "and then you will hangfrom that tree if you do not tell us. One of your countrymen, I see,has cut the rope, but there will be enough for a tall boy like you."
They strolled away towards where the third man was sitting, leaving himthere bound.
"Perhaps the end of the rope might help him to speak," said one. Butthe third man shook his head.
What Mitsos thought of during these few seconds he never clearly knew,and as far as he wished for anything, he wished them to be quick. Henoticed that the edge of the moon was free of the clouds again, and itwould soon be lighter. He felt a breeze come up from the east, whichfluttered the rag of tunic hanging from the rope, and once a smallbird, clucking and frightened, flew out of a thicket near. Then thetwo men came up and pulled him under the tree. The end of the piece oftunic flapped against his forehead.
They untied the rope, and the one made a noose in it, while the otherturned back the collar of his coat. Then the rope was passed round histhroat and tightened till he felt the knot behind, just where the hairgrows short on the neck.
"One more chance," said the man. "Will you tell us?"
Mitsos had shut his eyes, and he clinched his teeth to help himself notto speak. For a moment they all waited, quite still.
"Then up with him," said the man.
He waited for the choking tension of the rope, still silent, still withclinched teeth and eyelids. But instead of that he felt two hands onhis shoulders, and fingers at the knot behind, and he opened his eyes.The third man, who had been silent, was standing in front of him.
"Mitsos," he said, "my great little Mitsos."
For a moment the world spun dizzily round him, and he half fell, halfstaggered against Nicholas.
"You!" he said.
"Yes, I. Mitsos, will you forgive me? I ought to have been certain ofyou, and indeed in my heart I was; but I wanted to test you to thefull, to put the fear of death before you, for it was needful that Ishould give convincing proof to others. My poor boy, don't tremble so;it was necessary, believe me. By the Virgin, Mitsos, if you had hitone hundredth part of a second sooner one of these men would have gonehome with no nose and fewer teeth. You hit straight from the shoulder,with your weight in your fist. And that double you made up the hill wassplendid. Mitsos, speak to me!"
But the boy, pale and trembling, had sunk down on the ground with benthead, and said nothing.
"Here, spirits," said Nicholas, and he made Mitsos drink.
He sat down by him, and with almost womanly tenderness was stroking hishair.
"You were as firm as a rock," he said, "when you stood there, and I sawthe muscle of your jaw clinch."
Mitsos, to whom spirit was a new thing, recovered himself quickly witha little choking.
"I wasn't frightened at the moment," he said; "I was only frightenedbefore, when I knew I was caught."
Then, as his boyish spirits began to reassert themselves, "Did I--did Ibehave all right, Uncle Nicholas?"
"I wish to see no better behavior. It is even as your father told me,that you were fit for the keeping of secrets."
Mitsos flushed with pleasure.
"Then I don't mind if it has mad
Nicholas laughed.
"Here it is," he said. "It was even I who took it away from you whileyou were dozing as you rode. I thought it might be dangerous in yourbarbarous young hands."
Mitsos put it back in his belt.
"I am ready now. I shall start off again."
Nicholas rose, too.
"I will come with you as far as the plain, and then my road is forward.The piastres were a poor trick, eh?"
"Very poor indeed, I thought," said Mitsos, grinning.
The uncle and nephew walked on together, and the other two men strolledmore slowly after them. Nicholas could have shouted aloud for joy. Hehad found what he had sought with such fastidiousness--some one whomhe could trust unreservedly, and over whom he had influence. To dohim justice, the cruelty of what he had done made his stomach turnagainst himself; but he was associated with men who rightly mistrustedeverybody, except on convincing proof of their trustworthiness. Mitsoshad stood the severest test that could be devised without flinching. Hewas one of ten thousand.
At the end of the woods they parted. Mitsos' nerve had come back tohim, and the knowledge that he had won Nicholas's trust, combined withthe fascination the man exercised over him, quite overscored any grudgehe might have felt, for Nicholas's last words to him were words to beremembered.
"And now, good-bye," he said. "You have behaved in a way I scarcedared to hope you could, though I think I believed you would. You havebeen through a man's test, the test of a strong, faithful man. Otherswill soon know of it, and know you to be trustworthy to the uttermost.Greece shall be revenged, and you shall be among the foremost of heravengers."
So Nicholas went his way northward and Mitsos towards home, and just asthe earliest streak of dawn lit the sky he reached his father's house.
The truant pony was standing by the way-side cropping the dew-drenchedgrass.