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Title: The Beauty of the Purple.
   A Romance of Imperial Constantinople Twelve Centuries Ago.
Author: Davis, William Stearns (1877-1930)
Date of first publication: 1924
Edition used as base for this ebook:
   London: Leonard Parsons, 1925
   [first U.K. edition]
Date first posted: 30 December 2013
Date last updated: 30 December 2013
Project Gutenberg Canada ebook #1144

This ebook was produced by David T. Jones, Al Haines
& the Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team
at http://www.pgdpcanada.net

PUBLISHER'S NOTE

In the printed edition of this novel, the name of the principal
street of Constantinople, the Mese, is spelt with a horizontal
bar (macron) over the second 'e', in order to make it clear that
this letter represents the Greek letter eta rather than the Greek
letter epsilon. These macrons may cause problems on some display
devices, and have consequently been omitted from this ebook.






  THE BEAUTY OF THE PURPLE

  _A Romance of Imperial Constantinople Twelve Centuries Ago_

  BY

  WILLIAM STEARNS DAVIS

  LONDON
  LEONARD PARSONS
  DEVONSHIRE STREET




_First Published in Great Britain in 1925 by Leonard Parsons, Ltd., and
Printed in the U.S.A._

_All Rights Reserved_




AUTHOR'S NOTE


This romance attempts to show forth something of the brilliancy,
magnificence and teeming life of Christian Constantinople in an age when
London and Paris were little better than squalid villages. It also tries
to tell the story of the rise and the mighty deeds of Leo the Isaurian,
that peasant youth who saved Constantinople and the Later Roman Empire
from the Saracens, and thereby postponed for seven hundred years the
extension of Moslem supremacy in the Near East. Historians are now well
agreed that by his victorious defence of "New Rome" in 717-718 A.D., far
more than by the repulse of the Saracen raiders by Karl Martel at Tours
fifteen years later, Christian civilization was rescued from Islam, and
that it did not come to pass (to quote Gibbon's famous words) that "the
interpretation of the Koran was taught at Oxford, nor did her pulpits
demonstrate the sanctity and truth of the revelation of Mohammed."

The tale of Leo's humble origin, his interview with the strange prophets
from Syria, his astonishing rise to high command and then to Empire, of
his battles by land and sea against the Saracens and of the unexpected
discovery and terrific use of "Greek Fire" in the great siege of
Constantinople, are rescued from the half-forgotten pages of such
monk-chroniclers as Theophanes and Nikephoros.

Those who recall the well-authenticated accounts of how the Emperors
Constantine VI, Staurikos and Theophilus choose their brides will not
doubt the precise story of the award of the "Golden Apple" given here
in the final chapter. Those familiar with the characters of such
Emperors as Maurice, Leo the Armenian, Nikephoros Phokas and Basil II,
will find confirmation of the statement that Leo the Isaurian like them
was a man of deep and unaffected religious faith.

Constantinople in the eighth Christian century was a Greek-speaking city
for all the boasts of its inhabitants that they were "Romans" and their
metropolis "New Rome." In spelling proper names therefore, while those
that have a familiar Latin form have so been given, those less familiar
have ordinarily been spelled by transliteration from the Greek.

                                                          W. S. D.

  The University of Minnesota,
    Minneapolis, Minnesota.




CONTENTS


                                         PAGE

  PROEM--BY THE OAKS OF ST. THEODORE         1

  CHAPTER

  I. A HUMAN CHATTEL APPROACHING NEW ROME  23
  II. A WHARF BY THE GOLDEN HORN           34
  III. HOW FERGAL FOUND A MISTRESS         47
  IV. KASIA AND LEO                        58
  V. AT THE SACRED PALACE                  71
  VI. THE HOUSE OF PEACE                   86
  VII. THE PROCESSION OF THE EMPRESS      102
  VIII. A DEACON OF HAGIA SOPHIA          117
  IX. THE HOUSE OF PEACE IS VIOLATED      131
  X. THE TRIBUNAL OF THE PATRIARCH        145
  XI. THE UNMAKING OF THE EMPEROR         165
  XII. THE VILLA AT THERAPIA              179
  XIII. A NIGHT ON THE MARMORA            193
  XIV. THE CAPTAIN GENERAL OF ANATOLIA    208
  XV. THE ISLE OF CEDARS                  222
  XVI. THE PIETY OF NEOKLES               238
  XVII. BY THE RIVERS OF DAMASCUS         248
  XVIII. THE DIVAN OF THE KALIF           261
  XIX. A HAREM TRAGEDY                    274
  XX. AT AMORIUM                          288
  XXI. THE DISCOVERY OF KASIA             299
  XXII. "LEO, TU VINCAS!"                 312
  XXIII. THE GUESTS AT SOPHIA'S WEDDING   329
  XXIV. A COUNCIL AT GALATA               344
  XXV. KALLINIKOS MAKES AN ANNOUNCEMENT   357
  XXVI. THE COMING OF THE SARACENS        370
  XXVII. THE EMPEROR SPEAKS FOR THE MAN   385
  XXVIII. THE MIRACLE OF FIRE             396
  XXIX. THE GATE OF ST. ROMANOS           408
  XXX. IN THE CAMP OF MOSLEMAH            424
  XXXI. THE ROAR OF THE LION              440
  XXXII. HOW CYRUS REDEEMED HIS SOUL      455
  XXXIII. EVAGRIOS CHOOSES HIS ROAD       471
  XXXIV. THE BATHS OF XEUXIPPOS           485
  XXXV. THE DOGS BEFRIEND SALOMA          501
  XXXVI. THE TRIUMPH OF THE LION          516
  XXXVII. THE GREAT CHRISTMAS             531
  XXXVIII. THE GOLDEN APPLE               549
  EXPLANATION OF CERTAIN TERMS USED       569




PROEM

BY THE OAKS OF ST. THEODORE

     This is the story which the monks who wrote the annals of the
     Christian Empire of Constantinople desired other ages to
     accept as true.


In the year which later generations would reckon as 705 A.D., on a
certain midsummer's day a droning peace brooded over the village of St.
Theodore. The village was very small, only a few white-walled, red-tiled
houses and barns clustered around the grey stuccoed dome of the little
church before which opened a market-place. The latter was sprinkled with
a dozen oak-trees useful for tying cattle when the Thracian farmers
gathered to barter their rural products. This, however, was not a market
day, and the signs of life were few except just by the church where
sprawled the low buildings of a tavern and posting station. Here
travellers sometimes changed horses, for St. Theodore lay on the
highroad betwixt Constantinople and Adrianople, and here also diverged a
way southward to Kallipolis if one wanted to cross to Asia without first
going to the capital.

It was, to repeat, a sleepy moment in the early afternoon. The
long-haired "pope" of the church, having intoned his last office to an
empty nave, was sitting with his red-cheeked wife at one of the small
tables in the shade by the tavern door, each meditating over a pot of
thin country wine. Two farmers' churls were throwing dice for a stake of
three coppers at the next table, while a drover, an unkempt man in a
dirty sheepskin coat, leaned on his crook-topped staff and recounted his
adventures to Simmias, the idling inn-keeper.

"Yes, the pigs were sold at a good price,--praised be the Panagia![1]
The recent uproars in Constantinople have made almost a famine, though
the country is still so unsettled that I feel lucky to have trudged back
these fifty miles with this wallet (he slapped his thigh) without attack
or adventure. When I saw the old tavern I said, 'Only three miles more
to the farm,' and turned in to wet my throat after the dust."

[1] "All Holy Lady" = The Blessed Virgin.

"So old Justinian Slit-nose is back in the palace?" suggested Simmias,
rubbing his face with a much-spotted apron.

"He's back and his temporary supplanters are in heaven or a place more
fiery. _Ai!_ but there was a strange sight! The merchant who bought the
pigs got me a seat in the Hippodrome; up high, of course, but I could
see very well. You know all about the Hippodrome?"

"I saw the 'Blue' chariots win there four years ago," assented the
inn-keeper.

"Well, that of course was when Justinian II was in exile. St. Kosmas
smite me, but I can't remember how in these queer days they change
around their 'Sacred Clemencies' in the palace. Tiberius Aspimar must
have been reigning then. As I remember it's just ten years since
Leontios deposed Justinian, slit up his nose and packed him off to exile
in Scythia; then after three years Tiberius deposed Leontios, shaved off
_his_ nose in turn and clapped him in a monastery."

The publican plucked at his own nose, as if to make sure that familiar
ornament was still in normal condition.

"Then, d'you see," continued the drover, "after seven odd years,
Justinian breaks away from exile, gets help from the Bulgarians and
retakes Constantinople."

"Haven't we heard all that?" retorted the other.

"No doubt," condescended his customer, "but perhaps you haven't heard
what lately befell in the city while I was there. After Tiberius Aspimar
had been deposed they dragged his nigh-forgotten rival Leontios out of
his monastery. The restored Justinian had the two usurpers haled around
the streets in chains, of course with a mob hooting and throwing offal.
Then as many of us as could packed into the Hippodrome, everybody
roaring and applauding together. Whereupon in came Justinian, clad in
purple and gold, so splendid he could be seen clear across the arena,
with all his 'Protectors' shining in silvered armour around him. He took
his seat in the Kathisma--that's the imperial box, you know--amid
greater uproar still; and next they dragged in Leontios and Tiberius
Aspimar. Poor wretches! They must have been nigh dead already. With my
own eyes I saw them forced to prostrate themselves on the top step of
the throne, and then Justinian put his right foot on the neck of one and
his left on that of the other. Whereupon all the courtiers, Protectors
and the Blue and Green faction leaders around the Kathisma took up a
great chant, something from the Psalter, I think: 'Thou shalt tread upon
the LION and the ASP, the young lion and the dragon shalt thou trample
under thy feet!' And there those two miserable creatures had to lie
while the chariots raced, and while we all wagered and cheered like mad.
After that I've heard they took the usurpers away and chopped their
heads off, also that Justinian burned out the old Patriarch's eyes and
set up a new 'Holy Beatitude' on the archbishop's throne in Hagia
Sophia. _Ai!_ These have been brisk days in Constantinople."

Simmias crossed himself with deliberation. "When I pray to the saints
to-night," said he, "I shall give thanks that I sell wine in a quiet
village and am neither Emperor nor Patriarch. Fine titles are fine
things, but a firm neck and two good eyes seem better. Hei?--but what's
that moving in the road?"

As a matter of fact two of the roads which converged near the church
were clouded with dust, the one from the city obviously by two or three
vehicles, the one from the north apparently by the approach of a large
flock of sheep. The wagons rolled in rapidly and soon were halting at
the tavern while Simmias ran forward.

"What are the _kyrios'_ commands?"[2] he began.

[2] "_Kyrios_" = gentleman; "_kyria_" = lady; usual forms of courtesy.

The "kyrios" in this case was a tall grey man with a remarkably lengthy
beard and a long dark cloak which made the pope rise abruptly from his
table, ready to crave the blessing of a hegumen over a great monastery.
But the newcomer, who now descended, was clearly a secular personage. He
wore many rings and a heavy gold chain with a large gilt medal about his
neck, and instead of the tall monastic hat a kind of black turban. His
aquiline countenance made the pope sit down muttering, "A Jew."

"More probably a Syrian," whispered his wife; "see, the little girl
leaving the second wagon has a crucifix hung around her neck."

Not one but two girls, aged about eleven and nine, were now clambering
from under the canvas hood of the second wagon. They were bright-eyed,
winsome young mortals, the older with dark, the younger with much
lighter hair, but both with healthy cheeks, rosy lips and a gaze most
desirous to take in all the world. An elderly maidservant descended
after them, ordering sharply "not to wander"--which mandate their animal
spirits, repressed by the long ride, made it hard to obey. Meantime the
Syrian gentleman was joined by two other quasi-Orientals also of
peculiar yet venerable aspect, who had been riding with him. The third
wagon was laden with baggage, and several competent servants made haste
to water the horses and summon the hostler for forage.

In the interval Simmias respectfully informed "His Most Reverend
Lordship" that a government regulation required him to take the names of
all travellers halting at St. Theodore. The gentleman waved his hand
graciously.

"Write then that I am Kallinikos of Heliopolis--by profession a scholar
of all fair learning, of late lecturer in the Imperial University at
Constantinople, but now journeying to Thessalonica to expound Plato in
the schools of that city. These are my daughters, Sophia and Anthusa
Maria, and thus far have come with me my erudite fellow-countrymen
Barses and Chioba. They, however, leave me here, going afoot to
Kallipolis to get shipping for foreign parts to keep alive the divine
fire of our ancient learning perchance among the western Barbarians."

This last flourish was lost on the publican as he scratched down the
names on a smudgy waxen tablet. "These are your servants, I suppose," he
remarked, then tactlessly added, "and your wife----"

The scholar frowned. "I am a widower," he replied curtly.

"A thousand pardons, _kyrios_; I'm only doing my duty. Now you and your
very learned friends will doubtless have some of our good Thracian wine
and a few figs while the horses are resting.--Holy Mother, what's that!"

This exclamation followed a piercing scream which sent the whole tavern
population into the market-place. What followed took far less time than
it needs for the telling. Down the Adrianople road had shambled a huge
flock of sheep, baaing and bleating and nosing one another desperately
to get to the little river which they sniffed as flowing just beyond
the church. Onward they came, headed by an august bellwether, an emperor
among rams, with huge horns and terrifying frontlet. As he led on the
van of his ewes, lo! the younger maid, Anthusa Maria, roving composedly
about the market-place, suddenly found herself directly in front of him.
The sight of the formidable beast froze the very blood in her veins. She
stood helpless to flee, paralyzed even as a bird before the proverbial
serpent, shrieking and trembling from head to foot. The ram halted one
ominous instant, fixed his eyes on her, bellowed raucously, and charged.

A dozen rescuers had run from the tavern, but all would have been too
late to save Anthusa. Then, unwarned, out of the dust cloud of the
advancing herd, came flying a human form. In full charge, the ram was
caught by the horns, whirled about with a marvellous concentration of
strength and skill, and flung upon his back, kicking in vain fury.

The victorious champion was instantly the centre of a gesticulating,
congratulating throng composed of every one from Kallinikos to the
pope's wife.... "Such a rescue! If the ram had charged Anthusa would
have been killed, or at least had all her bones broken, or at least had
all her breath knocked out!" So the other drovers behind guided the
sheep onward to the river, and in a great flurry they had the rescuer
across to the tavern.

Speedily it was evident that if the Lady Anthusa had been slightly older
she might have been embarrassed to express with maidenly decorum proper
thanks to her deliverer, for the vanquisher of the great ram made the
good pope (who knew his Scriptures) recall a certain other lad who once
"kept the sheep" yet was "ruddy and withal of a beautiful countenance
and was goodly to look upon." The present youth stood straight and tall
with features not perfect but sufficiently regular, short reddish hair,
a reddish first beard, a firm but friendly mouth, a clear eye and a high
forehead. His dress was simple yet neat, and superior to that worn by
most drovers. His sandal thongs were of green leather. In his belt hung
a long ivory-hilted dagger. One glance at his shoulders told (without
the proof upon the ram), "He is very strong"; a second glance at his
face would have added, "He is very intelligent and can be trusted."

Congratulations being over, natural inquiries followed. The youth stated
with perfect frankness that he came from Mesembria, a coastal city at
some distance, where his parents were prosperous peasants, and that now,
with a favourite servant Peter and other adjutants, he was driving some
five hundred sheep to Constantinople upon assurances of a good market.
They had come through without mishap, despite rumours of Bulgarian
raiders. Loud were his apologies that his ram had thus terrified the
little _kyria_--it was the first misadventure of the journey. As for
himself, they had christened him Konon, but he had long since been
called Leo ("Lion") "because," he added simply, "I have always wished to
be a soldier, and have never disliked a chance for brave fighting."

One of the Syrians regarded him closely.

"You are from Mesembria, young sir, yet your Greek seems of an Eastern
flavour?"

"No doubt, worshipful father," answered Leo; "my parents are from the
Isaurian mountains on the confines of Cilicia. They were part of that
great band of Isaurians who were compelled, when I was a babe, to
migrate to Thrace by command of the Emperor. In my home my parents still
keep up their Asiatic style of speech, although at our monastery school
I hope I learned fair Greek as well as how to turn over a few books."

"I knew you were no ordinary Thracian," remarked Kallinikos, with a
shrug. "Isaurians as a nation have greater fame as bandits than as
readers. But this is a surly return for your brave promptness! Well,
young master, we must be journeying. The angels know when we shall meet
again. By your looks I'm fearful you'd refuse some money. Anthusa, my
dear----"

"Yes, father," from the girl who with recovered colour was clinging to
his long sleeve.

"Go over to Master Leo and thank him for his strength and courage. You
are not too old to pay him with a kiss."

Blushingly the reward was given: still more awkwardly was it received.
Leo appeared happy when the ceremony was over. Presently, the horses
having been baited and rested, Kallinikos still with dignity paid
precisely the proper sum to the host. He bade a private and solicitous
farewell to the two Syrians. The girls climbed into the wagon and waved
vigorously to Leo as the little party drove away. The young peasant
gazed after them until the wagons vanished up the Adrianople road, then,
declining the broad hint of Simmias that he should order refreshment,
walked to where a line of evergreen oaks behind the church indicated a
clear stream and a placid meadow. His drovers with their barking dogs
had driven the sheep along the marge, where they could nibble in safety,
while Peter, the head servant, laid out simple provisions and the party
arranged for its siesta.

       *       *       *       *       *

Leo sated his hunger and spread out his cloak a little apart from the
drovers. The day was sultry. An hour's slumber would not hinder the
journey, but the young man (so he clearly remembered it later) saw the
two venerable Syrians sitting at a slight distance in the shade,
consuming a wallet of bread and dried fish. They silently beckoned him
to join them, and leaving his men he obeyed. The twain were marvellously
alike in costume and person, and presumably were brothers: they gravely
offered him a small silver cup of wine superior to any he had ever
before tasted. He noticed now that their garments, although very plain,
were of remarkably fine material, and that each wore a girdle ornamented
with gold plates set in gems, and embossed apparently with the signs of
the zodiac. Their manner, however, excited confidence, and Leo was soon
chatting freely, explaining how the proximity of a small convent to his
parents' farm had given him a tolerable education; but that, although he
had no distaste for letters, he felt no vocation for a religious life,
because all his ambition was to become a soldier.

"Why then, stalwart sir," questioned Barses, the elder Syrian,
benevolently, "have you not enrolled in one of the Emperor's cavalry
'themes'? Your broad shoulders commend you to any recruiting centurion."

Leo laughed ingenuously. "I will tell you, good fathers. I've a mother
who rules me in everything. She has an ambition for me that's so high
that as long as she lives--and the saints lengthen her days!"--he
crossed himself--"I fear I must stay a simple trader of sheep. She
swears that I must never enter the army save as a 'Protector.'"

"A lofty ambition, Brother Barses," commented Chioba, the second Syrian,
looking upon his companion fixedly. "The Emperor's life guard is
reserved for youths of noble blood and courtly influence, and many even
of these are denied the honour. There are few enough peasants from
Mesembria in that corps."

"Well, so I told my good mother an hundred times," rejoined Leo, "yet
she always repeats, 'No son of mine is good enough to lay down his bones
as a common private. Join the Protectors or follow the sheep.'
Heigh-ho! It's hard to be thwarted by a beloved parent!" The young man
seemed far from being down-hearted, however, and Chioba continued the
conversation, albeit on more general matters:

"Your mother should know that the day may come when he who can serve as
a simple archer, nay, as a mere rower in the fleet, can please God
better than the pious monk who wears out his knees with long prayers."

The young man surveyed the others incredulously. "Why, venerable
_kyrioi_, no churchmen ever talked to me like that. It's on my
conscience that last week I told old Father Eukodimos that while I
presumed that God loved the monks the best, I'd have to risk getting
less of His love by refusing to enter the convent."

"This is a deep matter, we will not argue," rejoined Barses incisively.
"Nevertheless, it was written of old, 'To everything there is season and
a time for every purpose under heaven.' But I say to you--with your own
eyes you shall behold the day when all the monks in the Empire shall
join in one prayer, 'That God make the hands of all Roman soldiers
mighty in battle!' What know you, young man, of the state of the Empire
and the power of its foes?"

"Only what is said everywhere: that the Saracens press in from the east
and the Bulgarians from the north: that there is riot and mutiny in the
army: that the treasury grows bare though taxes ever increase, and that
every time an Emperor is changed there is a woeful spilling of Christian
blood. Even in Mesembria we hear all that. But old peasants always add,
'When was there a time when the years were not called evil and the foe
dangerous? The Roman Empire is ordained of God, and being ordained of
God will endure forever.'"

Barses laid a long gaunt hand on that of Leo.

"Young man, give ear. No Empire is eternally ordained of God, and any
Empire can perish save as its sons fight for it valiantly. We from Syria
know the power of the Saracens, the Misbelievers who call on their
Anti-Christ. Syria, Egypt and now Africa bend to their yoke. Every year
adds to their emirates while churches become mosques. Our children
forget the Gospels for the Koran. Daily are victories reported to the
Kalif in Damascus. While rival emperors slay one another and the witless
racing factions howl in the Hippodrome, the Kalif counsels with his
divan, 'How can we strike off the very head of Christendom? How can our
Prophet give us dominion over Constantinople?' Every day brings the hour
of their great enterprise nearer, and that sore ordeal shall you witness
with your two eyes."

Leo recoiled. The manner no less than the words of the Syrian made him
ejaculate, "God forbid!"

"God forbids nothing," persisted Barses, "when lawlessness, pride,
iniquity work the ruin of Empires. Forty years ago in the reign of the
Fourth Constantine the Infidels came and assailed Constantinople. You
know how they dashed themselves upon the walls in vain. Now yet again
will their hosts advance, and beside this second onslaught the former
shall be merely as the first patter of rain before the thunderbolt. For
these many years what has there been in the Roman armies save mutiny?
What in the palace save tyranny? What in the capital save corrupting
luxury? What in God's church save contending doctors and clutching
bishops? Great was Babylon, yet for its sins Babylon fell. Great was Old
Rome, yet for its sins Old Rome fell. Great is New Rome, that is to say
Constantinople, but think not that God will be more kind to
Constantinople than to Old Rome and to Babylon."

The young shepherd drew back yet more: the two strangers had fixed their
strange eyes on him, their gaze as piercing as swords.

"Why, venerable sirs," protested the youth in discomfort, "all this to
me? Am I of the great patricians to counsel about the Empire's safety?
Who are you that have the right to talk thus darkly and wildly?"

"Take then this answer," returned Chioba, still holding Leo spellbound.
"We are masters of the foreknowledge of the East, permitted to read the
horoscopes of the nations. Twelve years shall the Moslem terror wax in
strength until nigh overmastering, then in the thirteenth shall a
gracious God vouchsafe deliverance. And that deliverance shall come from
a man of the people----"

"What man?" cried the youth, his flesh creeping as he listened.

The two seers appeared to be speaking no longer directly to him, but
seemed in dialogue between themselves.

"This is the youth our science told us we should meet," spoke Barses.

"It is he," responded Chioba.

"Sprung from Asia, but bred in Europe; born from peasant stock, yet not
unlettered; bred of the cleanness of the land, and not amid the
corruption of cities; strong of limb, clear of eye, faithful of
purpose,--this is he."

Whereat Chioba took up the speech, "He shall fling back the Infidels. He
shall purify the state. He shall renovate the Church. For hundreds of
years he shall prolong the life of this Christian Empire."

"Master Leo," suddenly interposed Barses, still compelling awestruck
attention, "do you not desire to be a Protector?"

"Most certainly."

"And a _spatharios_?"

"Aide-de-camp to the Emperor? Why, yes." Leo began to smile again. The
jest seemed evident. The Syrians were clearly indulging in a somewhat
forced pleasantry.

"And a patrician?"

"Of course--if you can make me one!"

"And Emperor?"

"By the Panagia, sirs, why not ask if I wish to have yonder brook
pebbles turned forthwith into gold? Who would refuse to be Emperor?"

"So many an Augustus has said on his day of acclamation. Later he has
perished miserably. It is a fearful thing to be Emperor."

"Good then," laughed the youth, making to rise, "I will cancel that
particular wish. There are others I must forgo with greater pain."

But Chioba retained him with a grasp of remarkable firmness, and Leo
broke out in protest: "Why do you gaze thus upon me? I begin to mislike
you both. What have I, the son of plain Christian folk, to do with
Syrian astrologers even if they profess the true religion?"

Chioba, however, still held him at arm's length, while Barses spoke once
more, as if addressing his companion, but with rising voice:

"He shall bear great burdens. On him shall rest the fate of millions. He
shall know sorrow, care and the crushing anxiety lest after having dared
all things he should fail. But after the winter shall come the time of
the singing of birds, after the storm brightness, after the conflict
peace. Victory over the Infidel shall attend his arms, and new life and
healing shall he bring the afflicted Empire. Nations shall obey his
laws, strong princes shall spring out of his loins, and a thousand years
after him men shall extol his name, LEO THE ISAURIAN, Leo Augustus,
Deliverer and Emperor."

The shepherd leaped angrily to his feet, his eyes blazing.

"You make pitiful sport of an unpretending youth. The Holy Apostles
forbid that such a burden should rest upon me! I beseech you both--talk
as reasonable men."

But Chioba turned on him a smile inscrutable, tantalizing and quizzical.
"For this end, nevertheless, you are summoned of God. Forget it not:
turn not aside to the right hand nor the left, turn not for pleasure of
men nor love of women. Remember you belong not to yourself, but to the
Holy Christian Empire until the Infidel peril is ended."

"You rave wildly," protested Leo, his wrath still kindling.

"Nevertheless," replied Chioba calmly, "we ask you not to believe but
only to remember. In all that shall come after forget not our saying and
the oaks and the stream by St. Theodore. Our journey is long, Brother
Barses, we must be going, for we are to carry our warning concerning the
Saracen even to the Lords of the Western Franks."

They rose and picked up quaintly carved staffs, preparing to take the
road, but Barses held out his hand as if desiring a friendly parting:

"Master Leo, you have said that you desired to become a Protector. That
is a bold but not quite a superhuman desire. Do you still cherish it?"

"Of course--if it were possible."

The Syrian pointed with his long staff toward the sun. He seemed writing
figures in the air. "Mark then these words. Ere the sun has sunk half
way to the horizon you will be a Protector. Remember _then_ all else
that was spoken by Barses and Chioba." ...

       *       *       *       *       *

... Leo glanced about him. His head was upon the soft grass. He heard
the brook purling over the round stones, and the wind in the oak
leaves. The Syrians were nowhere, but to him came, running, Peter the
herdsman. "You surely slept hard, young _kyrios_; at least I called many
times and never an answer. We must get the sheep together and hasten."

"Where are the strangers?" the youth demanded.

"I was not looking particularly, but I think I saw them pack their
wallets some time since and take the road to Kallipolis."

"A curse go with them," muttered Leo, "if I did not merely dream all
they seemed to say--what with their senseless talk, their wagging
beards, and their snake-bright eyes. What could have been their jest?
And so I am to be Protector in a little while? A pretty spot for
induction into the corps! They say it is always done in the great court
of the Palace."

The dogs and drovers were again herding the sheep into the little
market-place and Leo strode vigorously about, mustering his bleating
army. But there were to be more visitors to St. Theodore that afternoon.
Even while the sheep were forming their fleecy companies, great clouds
of dust were seen rising over the rolling hills which covered the
Constantinople road. "Horsemen: many horsemen and at speed," hastily
observed Simmias, shading his forehead, and Leo was ordering Peter to
hurry the sheep back to the stream side (for armed bands often meant
lawless foraging) when straight into the village galloped at full speed
four riders whose tall bay steeds had carried them far ahead of the
advancing squadrons.

The newcomers rode horses of superb mane, coat and limb. The housings of
three of them gleamed with silver. Silvered, too, were the peaked
helmets and the coats of mail of their riders, who carried lances whence
streamed blue banderoles. Over the cavaliers' backs clattered light
targets likewise of silver plate, marked in the centre with crimson
eagles having outspread wings. Their cloaks and the tunics under their
cuirasses were of blue silk brilliantly embroidered. There were pearls
on their sword hilts and on their golden baldrics. All three of them
were handsome, proud-visaged young men who carried their armour
superbly, but every curvet and gesture indicated that their attention
was fixed on the least doings of the fourth rider, their chief.

As the horsemen whirled up, Leo as by instinct stood unafraid at
military attention. Behind him shuffled and crowded the drovers and the
sheep, but come what might he would not let himself be plundered
unresisting. All his gaze also was upon this fourth rider.

The leading horseman wore likewise a silvered helm, cuirass and shield,
but his tunic was a very deep red. Around his helmet ran a circlet of
large pearls. His feet were cased in tall leather leggings dyed a
brilliant purple, and each set at the ankle with a conspicuous gold
eagle. All these things Leo took in at a glance as the four swept by
him. They entered the market-place at full gallop, then the leader
jerked back the reins and sent his powerful steed almost down upon the
haunches.

"Halt!" he ordered in a voice sharp as edged steel. The three aides
reined automatically and vaulted to the ground.

"Cool wine!" enjoined the leader, turning his face towards the little
group that had assembled before the tavern: and at sight of him first
Simmias and next all his guests and myrmidons in sheer terror dropped
upon their knees, nor for a moment kept wits enough to heed the demands
flung at them. Under the pearl-wreathed helmet showed forth a face aged,
sensual and cynical, but every particular feature was forgotten in the
realization that the nostrils had been slit hideously and then almost
cut away. There was no mistaking this latest visitor to St. Theodore.

"Mercy, great Emperor," began Simmias, when at last chattering words
came to him, "we are dust: we are dung: we crave your famous and ever
abundant pardon!"

"Pardon for what?" roared Justinian. "If you've done anything evil do
you suppose I'll spare you! Mice and lizards--you've not the courage for
any genuine villainy! Move briskly, don't grovel, do what's
commanded--then you can keep your skins."

The Emperor shot his eyes around the market-place, and took in the
closely packed sheep and their master drover. When he fastened his gaze
on Leo the youth raised his arm in soldierly salute. He did not fall on
his knees.

Justinian threw up his distorted face with a brattling laugh: "Sacred
wounds! What's here? A shepherd who salutes like a centurion! And this
great flock of sheep? True manna from heaven, considering the plight of
our commissariat. Question him, Demetrios--whose sheep are they and who
is the fellow himself?"

The spatharios so ordered approached Leo and briefly learned all he
desired.

"May it please the august Basileus,"[3] he reported, "the lad says his
father is a prosperous peasant of Mesembria. The sheep are to sell in
Constantinople."

[3] "Basileus," official title of the Emperors of Constantinople.

"Tell him," quoth the Emperor, "that the fat citizens will never grow
fatter upon all that mutton. Here we have been constrained to march
suddenly to save Philippopolis from the Slavs, with the capital so
stripped of provisions that we've had to forage along the way to feed
the army. These five hundred sheep are a gift from the angels. Give
orders to the camp treasurer so his father won't weep over our
requisitions, but first bid the tall boy to step nearer."

"The Emperor would speak to you," announced the spatharios to Leo.

The young peasant, not without awkwardness, but with a manly step,
approached the great war horse. He saw the hideous face turn towards
him.

"Tell me, sirrah," began Justinian, "why you didn't fall on your knees
and bleat like all those other clowns."

"I would some day be a soldier, Sacred Clemency," responded Leo without
trembling; "soldiers do not kneel before their masters. They salute
their commanders, meaning that they are ready to die at their bidding."

"Nobly said. Heard you that, Demetrios? I hope all the Protectors mean
the same when they salute me.--But why do you call me 'Sacred
Clemency'?"

"I've heard that is the respectful way to address an Emperor."

"And you think I am always very 'clement'? Ha!"--the mutilated face
broke again into laughter.

"I'm only a youth from Mesembria. People will talk, but I've no right to
believe anything but good of those whom God has set over us."

"Better and better still. If only all people had obeyed _that_ Holy
Gospel I wouldn't be spurring over this accursed road to-day. You say
you want to become a soldier? Haven't you ever met a recruiting
officer?"

"Often, Sacred Clemency, but my mother forbids me to enlist as a
private. She consents to my enlisting only on a condition which is the
same as forbidding me."

"Your mother? Oh, Blessed Lord Jesus, who is it that obeys one's mother
any more than one's emperor in these fearsome days! This grows ever more
wonderful, Demetrios. And what is the strange condition which deprives
our imperial service of such a strong-limbed fellow as you?"

"Your Sacred Clemency would be overwhelmed with anger if I told it."

"Pah! Say it out. You aren't Leontios or Tiberius Aspimar to need
beheading."

"May it please the Emperor, my mother is so vain that she says I can
only serve if I am made a Protector."

The three aides-de-camp nowise suppressed a loud guffaw, which however
died away instantly at a withering glance from Justinian.

"Why is this, laughing jackasses? Finely have my high-born Protectors
guarded me in the past! A band of silver-sheathed turncoats I call you.
Leontios you 'guarded' lately, then Tiberius yesterday and Justinian
again to-day. I wonder whom you'll 'defend' to-morrow! God's lightning
blast me if I don't recruit up the corps with more heed to valour and
fidelity than to long pedigrees. What's your name, my brave cockerel?"

"Leo, please your Sacred Clemency."

"Leo, 'Lion'--by all good omens! But what do you know of arms? You've
swung something better than a scythe, I warrant."

"I'm unskilled with many weapons but my friends say I have a ready hand
and a good eye. Sometimes I have flung the javelin."

Justinian nodded to the second spatharios. "Give him your lance,
Genesios. It's an over-heavy weapon, but it'll prove him. Now, my fine
younger brother to Achilles, mark that knot on the oak bough over
yonder. It's a mettlesome distance, but see how near you can come to
striking it."

"I can only try, Sacred Clemency." Leo's heart had been pounding at
first: now, however, he was perfectly cool. An inward sense was telling
him that he was completely his own master. It was a fair sight to see
his supple form poise itself and swing. The lance sang through the air
and quivered high on the tree in the centre of the knot. The Emperor
gave a deep "_Euge!_" and his aides exchanged frankly admiring glances.

"What else can you do? Can you wrestle?" demanded the monarch.

"I've shown a little skill, but among my fellows merely," calmly
responded the shepherd, brushing back his hair.

"Good, then; we'll prove how little. Eustasios"--the third adjutant
stepped forward--"you pass for the first wrestler in the corps. Strip
off your cuirass and give this bold rascal a fall."

Only the implicit obedience due to the purple leggings prevented
Eustasios from refusing this unwelcome behest. To soil his patrician
hands with the person of that dusty shepherd was anything but to his
liking, but the commanding eye of the despot kept him from more than an
impatient gesture. The two men stripped to their tunics. Already the van
of the cavalry had cantered into the market-place and a swarm of
gleaming staff officers was gathering around Justinian, whose fondness
for sudden pranks and follies was abundantly known.

Eustasios approached his adversary with an unpleasant smile, muttering
just as they grappled, "Now learn, my young swaggerer, not to boast
again." But Leo, good-humoured and apparently quite at ease, parried his
opening tricks, then suddenly had him round the middle with a grip of
steel. The unfortunate aide felt his ribs crack. Almost before the new
arrivals had ceased asking one another, "What is the Basileus' latest
pleasure?" behold the "Very Exalted" Eustasios, whose father was a
Senator, whose uncle a Logothete, and whose great-uncle had been a
Patriarch, lay on the dust of the market-place of St. Theodore, with Leo
the peasant standing over him, and all his own comrades joining in
sardonic applause.

The victor brushed the sand from his arms and neck, complacently
assisted his late foe to rise, and respectfully looked towards the
Emperor. Justinian beckoned towards his staff:

"Makrinos," he summoned, and a high officer, his breast covered with
broad gold medals, advanced and saluted; "how many vacancies are there
now in the Protectors?"

"I think ten, Sacred Clemency."

"I think nine, Illustrious Strategos. In these times of disloyalty we
cannot ask too closely concerning noble ancestors. This lad from
Mesembria can serve me better than by herding sheep or carrying a spear
as a common private. It will also sound well to have men say, 'Justinian
is terrible to his foes, but honours sturdy worth before pedigrees.'
Therefore enroll this Leo among your Protectors, and assign him suitable
armour, horses and allowance." A perceptible murmur began to spread
through the staff, but ceased before one bold sweep of the imperial
hand: "And say to his new comrades that he is not to be mortified or
misprized because his parents do not own a high palace upon the Mese.
_This is my will_----"

The autocrat had spoken. If the Emperor chose to lift an inferior
subject from the dust, and enroll him in the privileged life guard what
loyal officer had the right to say him nay? Instantly Leo was embraced
by a score of noble arms, and flattering lips were lauding the monarch's
"remarkable judgment" and welcoming the new member of the Protectors.

"Thus shall be done unto the man whom the king delighteth to honour,"
murmured the astonished village pope, silent witness of the whole
proceeding.... A led horse was put at Leo's service, then a shrill
trumpet blew and the whole force of cavalry went whirling away. Some
quartermaster's men drove off the sheep, while the infantry divisions
advancing by a parallel road did not enter the village.

       *       *       *       *       *

Soon all was droning quiet again around St. Theodore. The sun was
precisely half way betwixt zenith and horizon.




CHAPTER I

A HUMAN CHATTEL APPROACHING NEW ROME


It was very early on a warm September morning in the year 712. Justinian
II had been slain in his sins more than two years earlier and
Philippicus reigned in the Sacred Palace. From the quay of the little
island of Proti near the eastern mouth of the Bosphorus a heavy coasting
boat was setting out across the Marmora, her prow pointing towards
Constantinople.

The _Holy Elias_ crawled over the grey water under a lumbering
triangular sail. A dense fog rested on the sea, not merely hiding the
land but even making navigation dangerous. The captain, a swarthy,
hawk-eyed fellow from the Archipelago, who wore a bright red sash (his
name was Plato, but he was no philosopher), was fain to shift his big
steering oars often, while yelling fierce orders to the half-naked boys
in charge of the ponderous lateen yard. However, after he finished
cursing at a tall government dromond that had shot out of the mist and
almost grazed his stern, ere flying away under her double oar-bank, the
fog lifted by a little, and the skipper ventured to chat with his chief
passenger.

"St. Theodore smite me," he bluntly informed the latter, "if I put out
from Proti again before sun-up, without at least a better bargain than
you were shrewd enough to drive last night, my good Hormisdas!"

The man addressed, who liked to pass for a Persian Christian, but who
had a decidedly Semitic cast of countenance, thrust out a beak-like
nose from under a dingy cloak and answered mollifyingly:

"Ah! my dear friend Plato, don't you realize that you will get my cargo
down at the wharf by the Navy Yard before the day is even started, and
then pick up a most profitable fare? This trip is pure gain----"

"The Apostles grant it," assented the skipper, turning to gesticulate
his greetings to a familiar fishing boat that loomed up suddenly, "but
perhaps I'll wait all day and only get two old women merely bound for
Chalcedon with a few boxes. However," with a pious sigh, "it's all as
the Panagia sends!" Then he added, casting a calculating glance at
Hormisdas' cargo, "Why do you land your cargo first at Proti, anyway?
Why not take it straight up to the city? You've good shackles."

Hormisdas' dark eye was cunning as a rat's.

"Why not? Alas! because there is no such thing in this sinful world as
Christian gratitude for kindness. Where can one lose a rogue who can pry
off his fetters quicker than in the blind lanes of Constantinople? I
weep still to think of what happened three years ago. As fine a pair of
young Lombards as I ever handled, strong as oxen. I thought I had them
snug and tight in a nice cell in Galata. They were worth fifty solidi[4]
apiece, but lo! the night before I could sell them, the devil let the
twain escape. All because I treated them too well and spared the
fetters! Now I've leased a good bagnio on Proti. They'll first have to
break prison, then swim off the island. I take them to market just a few
at a time as chance offers."

[4] The solidus or bezant was a gold coin worth about $5.00.

The slave-trader drew from his bosom a gold-set relic, a martyr's
finger-bone apparently, and kissed it devoutly to enlist heavenly aid
for his approaching traffic. Plato shrugged his shoulders:

"My boat takes you, and I take your money, but blessed be the Four
Evangelists for giving me a different calling! Last year I was voyaging
off Rhodes and we were nigh snapped up by a Saracen raider. I could
almost feel the shackles on my legs, and see myself on sale in the
Beyrut market."

"You'd have found those Syrian dealers wonderfully decent to their
wares," consoled Hormisdas; "for Infidels," he added hastily.

"I'd rather not test out their good nature," returned Plato vigorously;
"however, no offense, Master Persian, it won't be _your_ sins I'll have
to account for. And do you mind telling how you came by those poor
fellows here that you've got in those gentle fetters of yours?"

Thickness of hide being among Hormisdas' prime virtues, he answered with
oily accents, "Got 'em at Naxos down in the Islands. An Amalfi trader
passed on three of 'em to me. How he got 'em is none of my business,
seeing they aren't the Emperor's subjects, and I paid him good money."

"You've no women to-day?" persisted Plato.

"Not to-day. To-morrow I'll bring over three Gothic girls--strapping
wenches, the Moors' booty snapped up in Spain."

"There's a fearsome amount of kidnapping," continued the skipper; "I
pity the poor folk on the open coasts to westward, with the Infidels
harrying everywhere."

"It surely forces down the market," assented the dealer dolefully; "I
used to get forty solidi apiece for these fellows; now blessed be the
Saints if I get twenty. Constantinople is glutted with slaves."

Plato ran his eye over the four prisoners who reclined sullenly on the
roof of the little cabin. "Well, that negro'll make a good house porter
for some High Excellency. That little chap chained to his ankle is a
Sardinian--stupid and probably lazy. The older of the other pair looks
like a regular Greek, but the fourth--the Apostles help me if he isn't a
bird with queer feathers--lank and bony enough for a hermit, tall as a
pillar, with a nose like a falcon's, and, oh, wonder! hair as red as
carrots! Whence came he?"

"The Amalfian called him a Frank," replied the trader; "but I gather he
sucked his first milk in a very remote region of even those Barbarians.
He can jabber the mongrel Greek of you sailors very well, and I learn
that he's called an Armorican,[5] from a region extending far out into
the Sea of Darkness. He said his name was Fergal, and that his father
was a kind of chief or petty king among his half-savages."

[5] A later age would have called him a "Breton."

"All captives are 'princes'--by their own story," remarked Plato
astutely.

"Of course; still I think his tale hangs together. His family was wiped
out in a feud with another chief. As a captive lad he passed to an
honest man in my own trade, and then on to another who sold him through
Rialto (or Venice, as they're beginning now to call it) to a Syrian
emir. Our fellow was then several years among the Infidels at Damascus
and might have come to big things had he only accepted the Prophet; but,
like a pious rascal, he kept to our Holy Religion, and presently along
with some fellow Christian captives he escaped by sea. However, it's
plain the Panagia didn't want him to face the temptations of being his
own master. Their crazy bark was smashed off Crete and the
strand-wreckers seized him as he swam ashore half-drowned. So the
Amalfian got him and then your humble servant, and to-day he's to see
Constantinople."

"For which no doubt he'll thank you," leered the skipper.

"He should wax proud when I sell him for fifty solidi," replied
Hormisdas, ending the conversation by sitting down upon a coil of rope,
producing a wax tablet and beginning a calculation.

Plato resumed his attention to the helm. Meantime the four human
chattels, dumb and silent at first, were beginning to take interest in
their surroundings. The negro indeed, ignorant of every Christian
tongue, could only grin and gesticulate to his involuntary comrade, the
Sardinian, but the elderly Greek found the Armorican, shackled by a
short chain to his own ankle, more communicative. The two perforce sat
close together, the younger man cupping his hands around his eyes while
peering into the mist.

"Heigh-ho!" declared the Celt at length with a bitter grin. "What can't
be cured must be endured--an old saying, I take it, in every country.
To-day I'm sold again like a pig or a sheep, but at least it'll be in a
city which the old monks by my father's smoky hall chattered about, and
which the emirs in the Kalif's palace at Damascus envied. Hardly can I
believe that Constantinople can rise to a tenth of its fame."

His companion, a grey, unkempt fellow, and very melancholy, looked up
listlessly from his tattered cloak: "You'll see the city all right; too
much of it, I fancy, if Hormisdas sells us, as he probably will. Curse
my eyes! Wasn't I second cook to a turmarch, free in everything but
name, and happy and fat at Corinth? Then that wretched affair of the
missing silver cups--what if I _did_ know who snitched them! Ten years
ago I quitted Constantinople expecting to come home a Senator perhaps,
and now----"

He spat disgustedly into the gliding water.

"Don't take on, friend Neokles," soothed the Armorican with a friendly
glint in his shrewd young eye. "The Saints send us all foul weather. At
least I'm comforted that this time I'm like to get a Christian master
and not an Infidel. Forget the cups and if we can't make a merry
morning, why, make the best of a sad one. Did you live long in
Constantinople ere your master went to Corinth?"

"Most of my days," grunted Neokles, a bit less surly.

"Well then, let us pretend we do not enjoy this jewelry"--Fergal cast a
spiteful glance at his leg shackle--"and that I am some brisk merchant
nearing the city to sell and not to be sold. You are my guide and travel
companion and shall tell me everything."

"An idle game," growled the ex-cook.

"Yet play it for lack of a better. Lift up your head, man, and look
about you."

Neokles shook himself. He was indeed the victim of black thoughts, but
the Celt's elasticity and cheerfulness even in such an hour were not
quite to be resisted. He peered out into the mist.

"Still fog everywhere. The Marmora's often full of it in the autumn."

"See where the sun is just creeping up to eastward. I get the thin
tracery of a sky-line. Hills, masses of cypress trees and buildings.
What are they?"

Neokles' face lightened. "Chrysopolis,"[6] he exclaimed, standing up.
"We are nearer in than I reckoned. We will be in the Golden Horn in half
an hour."

[6] The modern Turkish Scutari.

"The fog is lifting!" rang the voice of Plato. "Shift the sail, you
brats! We'll get the breeze and make the Point of St. Demetrios and the
harbour on this tack."

Fergal leaped also to his feet, almost tripping his companion. The fog
was rolling away in a smoky gauze, which still hung closely over the
choppy waves, but through it now were lifting dimly masts by sea, and
ghostly domes and pinnacles by land. Straight across the _Holy Elias'_
clumsy bows shot an elegant barge, her sixteen oars pumiced white and
leaping with mechanical rhythm. They caught the gilding and brave
colours on her curving prow, the rippling scarlet canopy on the stern,
the brilliant dresses of two or three women beneath the canopy.

"A patricianess going to visit some convent down the coast. The
liveries, I think, of the great house of Bringas." Neokles forgot his
sorrows in his kindling excitement.

Instantly Fergal became aware that all about Plato's sordid bark there
moved shipping. A tall merchantman laden perhaps for Sicily was working
out into the Marmora, her sails still flapping on the yards, and her
sailors chanting lustily as they plied the long sweeps. A deeply laden
barge glided past. On her decks was a sheen of white marble. "Pillars
from Proconnesus for a new wing to the palace, I take it," confided
Neokles, his spirits momentarily rising. This was passed by a more
speedy fishing boat, her brown sails set like picturesque pinions, her
decks swarming with the orange-capped crew, plying keen knives as they
cleaned their catch for market. Ever and anon out of the fast-dispersing
mist would shoot _caiques_--slim, elegant skiffs of beechwood, with
upturned prows and cushioned sterns, a pair of boatmen making each skim
the waves like a swallow, while again like swallows they were darting
hither and thither.

Close behind Plato's bulwarks sped one of these craft. Fergal could
almost touch the passengers in the stern, a young man and a young woman.
He could even sniff the redolent musk of their festival garments, and
catch a few words of the song they were merrily raising together. Then a
little knot of mist covered them. Slavery and rejoicing license had met
and parted each for its separate destiny. Nevertheless, the reaction
upon Fergal was not unpleasant; in a city thus sending forth its
messengers of wealth, mirth and ease, how could it prove all sorrow for
him?

"This pair seem very gay together," spoke he. "Does Constantinople begin
its merry-making so early?"

"They are off on an all-day lark to Kartalimen, where there are
delightful pleasances for little money, but we'll find troubles enough
after we've landed," responded the other captive, shaking his head
again.

"But look, Neokles! Oh! marvel, the light!"

The sun had shot above the dark contours of Chrysopolis. A sudden puff
from the Marmora sent the last mists flying. As by magic the great veil
to westward over the imperial city melted, and before the wondering eyes
of the Armorican was spread out the majestic panorama of "New Rome"--of
Constantinople--under the young light every detail from headland to
headland standing forth with intense clearness of line and rigour of
colour.

Fergal had seen many lands amid involuntary wanderings; he had heard of
the present spectacle many times. Yet the reality surpassed all fame.

The _Holy Elias_ was gliding steadily up the entrance of that mile-wide
river, the blue Bosphorus. On the left, washed by the Marmora waves, for
over five miles extended a vast circuit of imposing seawalls crowned by
a magnificent confusion of greenery, terraced roofs, domes, enormous
piles and stately pinnacles. The reach of the fortifications ran off
dimly into the distance, almost beyond the scope of human eye. To the
right were now revealed the white mansions and cypress groves of
Chrysopolis with white and yellow villages crowding down to the Asiatic
shore. Not far from these, lifting ruddy masses from the sparkling deep,
rose the rough contour of unhappy Proti and behind her the larger bulks
of Chaleitis, Pityusa and their sister "Isles of the Princes." Straight
ahead was opening the Bosphorus, one retreating vista of villa-crowned
hills, terraced vineyards, nestling towns and frowning towers.

But Fergal's gaze was all ahead and to the left, while, overcome by the
once familiar spectacle, Neokles had dropped on his knees and was
praying wildly:

"Oh! ye Saints who make blessed this immortal city, whose images never
lack your multitudinous candles, whose relics are worshipped by a
million, have pity on my plight!" Then the elder captive pointed in a
kind of ecstasy to a majestic gilded dome supported by vast masses of
grey masonry.

"Hagia Sophia," he cried, "the temple beyond compare!" Fergal himself
was fain to stand awestruck, trying to make his eyes bring some order
out of the amazing spectacle, until Neokles recovered from his emotions
enough to answer and explain. At last he began to point and wax
eloquent:

"Right before us is now the imperial residence: not a palace of course,
but a marvellous enclosed park, a mile and a half long and jutting out
into the Bosphorus. You see how it rises terrace above terrace out of
the sea. That two-storied building with long tiers of round-topped
windows is the Bukoleon, a special residence beside which is the private
haven for the Emperor's yachts. A state dromond is at the quay even now.
Those waving tropical trees are in the incomparable imperial gardens.
All that confusion of lofty buildings contains the halls of state and
the government ministries. Behind these of course extends the city
itself. You can count most of the Seven Hills. Hagia Sophia is on the
nearest, but all are crowned by some mighty edifice or tower. The
Hippodrome is hidden behind the palace compound, but try to number the
domes of the churches silvered or gilded:--that lesser one near Hagia
Sophia is Hagia Irene,[7] further south you see Hagia Anastasia,[8] far
away on another hill is the second noblest of them all, "Holy Apostles,"
where they bury the Emperors. Yonder column is that of Constantine
overlooking his own great Forum----" But here Neokles overran his
eloquence, gloomy thoughts enforcing silence, and Fergal was left to
drink in the spectacle unaided.

[7] "Holy Peace."

[8] "Holy Resurrection."

Plato shifted the helm, hugging close to the walls of the palace, so
that on the battlements above could be seen pacing the silver-armoured
guardsmen of majesty. Then as the wind bore them around a fortified
headland, suddenly there flashed forth a new vista. A long, deep inlet
of the sea was revealed, its length again fading into the distance. On
the left hand, as the coaster turned westward, the buildings of
Constantinople (no longer restrained by walls) seemed crowding tier
above tier down to the harbour's edge. Brightly coloured wooden houses
appeared, mingled with marble palaces. Everywhere waved foliage. There
were even gleams of flowering gardens. Churches, columns, residences,
public buildings, colossal statues, many-storied dwellings, all were
thrown together in an astonishing disorder.

These were on the southern bank of the harbour, while on the northern
apparently rose another city of innumerable black buildings and of
labyrinthine lanes, backed in turn by a lofty ridge. This was crowned
with yet more cypresses and gardens, and by masses of white houses with
nobly wooded hills spreading out beyond the range of vision.

"The Golden Horn?" queried Fergal, and Neokles recovered enough from his
black mood to nod, and add: "Here to the north is Galata; on the height
above is Pera. _Ai!_ Our voyage is soon over; we'll know our fates!"

But now the progress of Plato's craft slackened. The entrance to the
Golden Horn was one jumble of vessels. Deeply laden corn ships from the
Black Sea and Crimea were contending for the fairway with lighter
traders from Salonica and Smyrna. Fearful were the curses exchanged
betwixt the mariners as their craft barely avoided collisions; reckless
were the taunts hurled at the larger ships by the rowers of the
numberless caiques which shot daringly across every path of danger. Over
them all hung the sapphire sky of morning, flinging its light into the
yet bluer water. The Armorican stood for the instant transfixed,
forgetful of present chains and impending barter.

"I thank ye saints," he spoke aloud in his own Celtic tongue, "that I am
suffered to behold this miracle. Now I understand what often I have
heard of Constantinople, 'If men there could be immortal, this city
would be very heaven!'"

"Here comes Hormisdas after us," croaked Neokles at his elbow. "The
devil wither him! Now our troubles begin."

As the ex-cook spoke, Plato dexterously seized with a boat hook one of
the large bronze rings set along the quays. The long yard fell with a
clatter. Hormisdas flourished an ugly, loaded cudgel.

"Here, you four, ashore with you! Don't trip over your chains, and get a
pair of you drowned together. The sun is high and a customer may have
come and gone already."

... And thus it was that Fergal the Armorican, second son of a kinglet
of Vannes, set foot in New Rome.




CHAPTER II

A WHARF BY THE GOLDEN HORN


The "Stairs" or Wharf of Chalcedon rose from the Golden Horn close to
the Neoria, the Imperial Navy Yard, while a little westward was the
frequented landing place for the ferry from Galata.

Close by the ferry station was a fish market, where imposing piles of
Bosphorus mullet, pilchards, tunny, Black Sea turbot and swordfish were
spread upon the pavement to be vociferated over by ardent buyers and
vendors, and sniffed by the ubiquitous mangy dogs. Nearer the Dock
Yards, however, rose the brazen statue of an ox, and beside this a more
orderly crowd had mustered to listen to the morning sermon of the pillar
saint Marinos.

Any loafer along the waterfront would have told you that in holy
imitation of St. Simeon Stylites and others of blessed memory, Marinos
had now these twenty years lived on top of a stone pillar some thirty
feet in height, and about four in diameter, exposed to wind and weather,
sleeping standing, and protected from falling only by a light railing
around the summit.[9] How he had trained his body to this feat was
heavenly mystery not lightly to be pried into. While daylight lasted,
scores would watch him, fascinated by his constant genuflections in
honour of the Deity, while every morning he favoured a larger company
with a sermon, usually composed of repetitious praises of the Trinity,
although very often "when the fleas bit him too sorely" (said the few
scoffers) he would scourge with dire prophecies the sins of the Imperial
City. This day Marinos had been in his least conciliatory mood. His
shrill voice had sent terror shooting down the spines of all the Slavs,
Thracians, Greeks, Armenians and Caucasians in the motley throng which
was gazing up at him.

[9] Far greater feats than these were authentically recorded of the
original pillar-saint, Simeon Stylites.

"Yet forty days and Constantinople even as Nineveh shall be destroyed!
Yea, it shall be with this iniquitous city as with Old Jerusalem! The
angel of the Lord shall smite upon it and its gates shall lament and
mourn. In place of a sweet smell there shall be a stink. In place of a
girdle a rent garment." But here Marinos' eyes lit on the wimple of some
female hanging on the edge of the crowd. "Woe, too, unto all ye mincing
women, who walk with stretched-forth necks and wanton eyes!" His voice
rose to a passionate scream. "Therefore the Lord will smite with the
scab their heads and will take away their tinkling ornaments and their
round tires like the moon. For your sins are great, I say unto you, and
none shall deliver any of you in your hour of desolation!"

"He means that the Saracens will soon take the city," shivered a
caterer, picking up his portable oven, wherein meat was roasting to hawk
to the passers-by.

"It's an awful doom--they say the Infidels advance daily," groaned back
an Armenian porter, lifting an enormous bale to the pad on his shoulders
and staggering away.

Meantime Marinos, his gust of passion peacefully subsiding, leaned over
his railing and carefully drew upward a small bucket of beans, his daily
ration, attached to a cord by the porter of a near-by chapel. The crowd
melted. The traffic along the quay thickened. Marinos, apparently a
gaunt individual, one mass of filthy hair and clad in an equally filthy
sheepskin, began devouring his meal with great equanimity.

There was a constant scurrying of loose-trousered Bulgars, yellow-faced
Huns, tall Persians with peaked sheepskin caps, and of swarthy Greek
stevedores and sailors, but no visitors of note until a sudden "Way
there!" from an outrider indicated travellers of quality. A gaily
painted wagon rattled upon the quay. Its panels were adorned with
excellent pictures of the martyrdom of St. Stephen. The harness of the
two mules was set with silver. The canopy curtains were embroidered with
the story of Adam and Eve. A dapper brown Coptic boy, its driver, went
cracking his whip almost down to the very water edge, then drew up with
a flourish, close to the base of Marinos' pillar. Hormisdas, evidently
expecting the arrival, presented himself beside the wagon with a fulsome
smile.

The curtains opened and there appeared a stoutish man and a woman. The
former was still in his thirties, but his ample dark hair and beard, his
long, white tunic, white veil and flat-topped black hat proclaimed him a
deacon. The lady seemed of elegant figure, yet wore the black hood, grey
mantle and black shoes of a religious virgin. She had dropped a veil
across her face, but the gauze was thin enough to betray features
regular though highly rouged, while her hands flashed with rings and all
her garments were charged with perfume.

"My lord the most sacred deacon Evagrios," bowed Hormisdas, his hooked
nose nigh touching the pavement, "and this most sacred lady----"

"My beloved 'Spiritual Sister' Nikosia," confirmed the ecclesiastic.

"I count myself fortunate in her holy acquaintance," Hormisdas salaamed
again. "If your Blessednesses can deign to such carnal things, the
slaves which I sent word about are ready for your approval."

"We will see them," announced the lady; whereupon Hormisdas waved his
visitors forward to a stone bench by the waterfront, where were seated,
sour and anxious, his four captives, the chains still rattling at their
ankles.

"These are the two which I commend--the cook, and, let me call him, the
porter. The strength of this red-headed fellow is tremendous. They breed
giants in Frankland. Around your holy establishment you can find
innumerable uses for him." And here Hormisdas dissolved into flowery
praise of the intelligence, industry and faithfulness of his two
chattels, which was cut short when Evagrios seized the unhappy Neokles
by the arm.

"Flabby! Old!" proclaimed the deacon incisively. "You say he was a cook
in a good house? Sold for thieving, then! He's dear at five solidi."

"Thirty! A gift at thirty, most sacred Reverence," cried Hormisdas.

"Well, let's try the other." Evagrios gripped Fergal above the elbow. At
a touch of the oily hand of the deacon the Celt's face crimsoned. His
teeth gritted. "More muscle," confessed the churchman, "and perhaps more
honesty! But what can he do? We want a porter, not a barbarian mule who
must be flogged into learning everything. What do you think of him,
Nikosia?"

The lady pushed back her veil, confirming the impression that although
past her first youth, her features were as handsome and voluptuous, as
certainly her manners were coquettish.

"I think him very possible. His red head will command attention. They
say those western Barbarians are usually honest. Since old Pogon died
I've needed such a man."

Fergal's teeth ground harder. His ankle chain tugged at that of Neokles.

"What's his price?" demanded Evagrios abruptly.

"Sixty solidi, most sacred Reverence."

"Sixty solidi? The Holy Ghost deny salvation if I hear aright!" Evagrios
threw up his plump hands in outraged astonishment. "Why did you waste my
time if your first talking price was not at worst thirty?"

"Oh, Sacred Reverence, hearken! He is young and stalwart. Consider:
forty years of service out of him. No sickness. No epilepsy. Mark well
his honest countenance. Forty years of porter's work is the least----"

A hissing noise sounded betwixt Fergal's teeth. How the bargaining might
have ended none might say, but even then across the hum of traffic came
the boom of a great _semantron_, a sounding board hung in the porch of a
church and struck with a mallet before every service. Immediately
Nikosia dropped her veil and crossed herself devoutly, raising her hand
to her forehead, then drawing it to her heart, her right shoulder and
her left.

"I must go into St. Gabriel's," she declared, "and hear the morning
'office.' When it is over we can decide whether to make you a reasonable
offer for this boy and the cook."

"And I have business with the sacristan over a new chalice," confirmed
Evagrios, drawing away with her.

"Brimstone consume them," cursed Hormisdas, the instant they were beyond
hearing; "they only go to consider how far they can beat me down!"

Fergal heaved a sigh of temporary relief. He knew enough of a sinful
world to take the measure of the churchly couple, and every fibre of his
being swelled with the prayer that whatever his calamity he might be
spared such masters. Meantime he and Hormisdas alike scanned closely,
such passers on the quay as might be ambitious enough to seek a stalwart
slave.

The moments sped and the Celt was dreading the speedy return of Evagrios
and Nikosia, when his eye caught a gleam of bright armour moving along
the quay from the Navy Yard. Two officers were approaching with
swinging martial strides. Even the unversed Fergal could surmise that
one was of high naval rank, while the other was perhaps his superior in
the army. The dromond captain, for he was surely that, was a short,
jovial-faced little man, with great brown mustaches, a resounding laugh,
and a hand clapped incessantly to the hilt of a long, clattering sabre.
He was in a loose red costume, wore a crimson cap set with gold lace,
and sported a great array of silken tassels from his cloak and baldric.

His companion, of commanding height, was equally of ample and powerful
build. His arms and hands were long; his large features, intelligent and
penetrating, were surrounded with a reddish beard. He wore high, green
leggings laced with scarlet thongs, and a light leather cuirass with
gilt plates, over which he had thrown a loose, blue mantle. On his thick
locks was a small, silvered helmet topped with a very long and raking
plume. His gestures were slower, his speech less boisterous than the
sailor's, yet at intervals a genial smile would flash across his fine
teeth. Fergal saw donkey boys and hucksters give one glance at the
numerous gold medals which sprinkled both officers' breasts, then make
way respectfully. Here were men of importance.

Another wagon, more elegant than Nikosia's, its wheels and body splendid
with gilt plates, had drawn up at the landing stage. The car was drawn
by four superb bay horses, and around it moved a full score of
gorgeously liveried menials and running footmen.

"A carriage from the Dukas palace," passed a whisper down the quay. The
two officers stepped past the lackeys and stood side by side at the
water's edge as a magnificent barge shot nearer. There was one clash as
the perfectly trained crew unshipped the oars, then right under the
eyes of Hormisdas' quivering chattels, surrounded by her maids and with
a beardless fat eunuch bending and giving her the hand, a great lady all
in blue silks and gold lace stepped upon the landing. Fergal caught the
general murmur, "Theophano Dukas, the patrician's daughter." He saw the
two officers stand in salute, then approach the noblewoman. Her manner
he could notice, was polite to the sailor, and was more than gracious to
the soldier.

"Thanks, indeed, my very Excellent Leo and Basil!" was her greeting.
"Your homage sends me home in good humour after a weary row down from
Chelai.[10] How is your good wife, Captain Basil? And you, Sir
Spatharios Leo--you have no pretty bride to ask after; but my father
admires your exploits in the Caucasus and will soon bid you to dine with
us and tell more of them. The Saints give you both a lucky day."

[10] Now Bebek on the Bosphorus.

The lady extended a slim hand covered with gems. Basil kissed it
politely, Leo's kiss was equally polite, and for him the hand was
withdrawn a little slowly. The two officers escorted Theophano to the
carriage and conged low when her train swept away.

Basil burst into a ferocious laugh.

"Oh, dear comrade Leo! What inordinate luck! Here you've come to the
quay to meet your mother from the ferry, and lo! up sweeps her
Magnificence Theophano Dukas and takes it all for herself. Man!--since
you returned to Constantinople your fortune's clearly made. Everybody
says you're soon to rise to greater things, and every patrician girl is
after you. There's much worse that can happen than being Count Maurice
Dukas' son-in-law!"

"And better also," returned Leo, slightly flushing.

"Why, nobody has better blood, better influence, better villas, or
better estates in Bithynia."

"But you don't add 'a better daughter'--for the wife of the son of a
Mesembrian peasant."

Basil slapped his comrade's powerful shoulder.

"Your pedigree will be illustrious enough after they publish those
patents that are now drafting at the palace. Your old comrades will have
a merry night in your honour soon."

"Loyal fellow," declared Leo affectionately, "I've a thousand things on
my mind much more urgent than that of taking a wife."

"Such as----"

"Well, the unwelcome fact that I returned from my Black Sea mission to
Constantinople, and found our Sacred Masters in the palace even more
cowardly, luxurious and inefficient than when I departed."

Leo delivered this opinion in a prudently lowered tone, but Basil
recklessly slapped his own thigh.

"Holy Wounds! You speak for us all in the navy. The present Sacred
Clemency Philippicus is worse in his sodden ease than raging old
Justinian Slit-Nose. That eunuch Paul does everything. And who is _he_
(smooth, sexless cat) to stop the Omiad kalif and all the advancing
Hagarines?"[11]

[11] The Byzantine name of contempt for the Saracens.

"We're on the quay," admonished Leo, smiling; "I shouldn't have started
you----"

Fergal had not of course caught this conversation, but he had watched
the two officers intently while they stood chatting only a few paces
from him. The sale of slaves on the quay was too common to attract their
least attention. Hormisdas, despairing of other customers, was beginning
to mutter a prayer and kiss his relic as a stimulant to profit, when yet
another strange party appeared upon the waterfront.

Two Syrian youths with striped turbans advanced, leading two patient
donkeys. The saddle of one was empty. On the other rode a woman,
evidently young, although decently veiled. Her dress was plain but of
fine green material, and the trailing skirt was embroidered with
skillful figures of Abraham and Isaac. Beside her walked a venerable man
who commanded instant attention. His dark eye was very bright, but
seemed surveying the mercantile tumult with distant abstraction. On his
breast gleamed a single large gold medal set with gems showing the signs
of the zodiac. He wore a saffron turban and a perfectly plain saffron
gown of the finest wool. At his elbow another Syrian, evidently an
elderly and trusted servant, twitched his master's mantle as if to
remind him when to avoid hucksters' booths or piles of offal. The little
party moved directly down upon the quay, and then halted as if
disappointed to find the ferry-stage quite empty.

"Has not the ferry-boat come from Galata?" inquired the servant of
Hormisdas, who (scenting no traffic) answered insolently: "You have
eyes," and shrugged his shoulders. But the Syrian turned to the two
officials, justly believing that high rank did not imply discourtesy.

"Will my gracious lords tell my master if the ferry-boat from Galata has
been in sight?"

A glance at the patriarchal stranger made soldier, and sailor salaam
together.

"It is late already," responded Basil with a flourish, "but the shipping
conceals it, and it can only come through slowly."

"We must wait therefore, Sophia," spoke the ancient, dropping his head
as if in an abstruse calculation. The lady, however, unveiled and gazed
forth upon the animated harbour. Fergal was observing that she was very
comely, with bright, gladsome features unspoiled by kohl, rouge or
henna, when to his infinite misery back from the neighbouring church
came Evagrios and Nikosia. The deacon set his eyes first on Neokles.

"Twelve solidi--not an obol more," he proclaimed. "You know why he's
being sold. You'll never get a better offer."

"Twelve--ah! ruin," began Hormisdas, his arms going like flails; "twelve
for this incomparable cook. I am a poor man--eight children, seven are
girls. Your sacred Reverences would not----"

"Pist!" responded Evagrios. "Twelve or nothing--I see you don't mean
business. Where's the mule car, Nikosia?"

"Twelve, twelve, gracious Sacrednesses," dissolved Hormisdas, "I am only
too happy. Twelve for the cook. But this porter, the Armorican? Such an
opportunity!"

"Well, twelve more for him."

But now Hormisdas became obdurate. His oratory in praise of the strength
and virtues of the younger captive was worthy of a Demosthenes or a St.
John Chrysostom. It availed so much that Evagrios at last said,
"Fifteen."

Thus far Fergal had followed the proceedings with the desperate hope
that the deacon's desires would not match the trader's cupidity, but at
length he caught the triumphant gleam in Hormisdas' eye which
proclaimed: "We will make a bargain."

In sheer recklessness the Celt uprose from his stone bench, his fetters
rattling piteously.

"Oh, gracious and valorous Lords!" he cried, uplifting his voice. Basil
and Leo turned immediately. Fergal sprang forward the length of his
chain and cast himself upon his knees. "You are men of generosity and
honour. Wretch that I seem here, I am the son of a valorous chief, of a
free race not taught to bear fetters, but to wield the spear and sword.
Hear my tale. Deliver me from this hell. I will serve such as you
forever."

Hormisdas in sheer horror uplifted his club to smite, but lowered it at
a flash from Leo's eyes.

"What would you, strange rascal?" spoke the spatharios, astonished but
not unkindly.

In frantic words Fergal poured out his story, his mongrel Greek uncouth
enough but quite intelligible. Captivity in Armorica, Frankland,
Venetia, Syria--long bondage with the Infidels, escape, a little gleam
of freedom, then new bondage and degradation! Passion and anguish
attested his truthfulness, and when he finished Leo at least was not
unmoved.

"A sorry plight for a fine stout fellow," assented the soldier,
apprizing the Celt's sinewy frame. "If you can speak Arabic and know the
Hagarines you ought to sell for something better than a porter."

Whereupon Hormisdas, scenting now a rare opportunity for a higher
bidder, renewed his patter commending his article as "an ideal servant
for his Very Puissant Nobility, apt for any kind of desperate service,
and versed in all the tongues, both Christian and Infidels'."

Evagrios had watched this whole proceeding with rising disgust. "This
brute will prove intractable," vowed the deacon, "let us be off with
only the cook."

"On the contrary, that red-headed porter takes my fancy, I can tame
him," rejoined Nikosia with a defiant toss. "Take twenty solidi----"

"What is the price of this lad?" demanded Leo, admiring again the Celt's
magnificent physique.

"Thirty-five solidi--so I just told their Sacrednesses," gesticulated
Hormisdas; "he is a gift!"

"Don't be hoodwinked," muttered Basil in his friend's ear; "these
rogues know your gullible heart. Probably the slave is imposing on you
in collusion with his master."

"Twenty-four solidi," interposed Nikosia, with a defiant glance at
Evagrios.

"Unhobble him," commanded Leo; "I would see him test his limbs."

Hormisdas instantly produced a key. "With the forehead, Excellency; with
the forehead. Your will is my pleasure."

The key turned, the chain dropped, Fergal shook his ankle clear and gave
a great leap in the air. "Most gracious Lord," he pleaded, "I cannot
know your rank and name, but high as you may be, while I have power to
serve you that power is yours. My own land and kin are lost to me
forever. Give me the word and with mind and courage, as well as body, I
am yours for life."

The appeal, the enkindled eye of the young Celt were compelling, but Leo
hesitated. "Honest Frank," he confessed openly, "your plight I pity, but
I must not play with you. I am not rich and my household is small. This
good Persian--ahem! Christian--holds you too dearly. I cannot rescue
every deserving prisoner sold on the Stairs of Chalcedon."

"Twenty-six solidi," pressed Nikosia, and to Fergal's unspeakable misery
Leo turned away his face. Then this and every other group of chafferers
were struck dumb by the sudden voice of Marinos, screaming from his
pinnacle directly above their heads.

"Behold, even now is God's wrath upon the frivolous and wanton! In place
of mirth, destruction. In place of thoughtlessness, death. Look, look
forth, ye sinners, and see the finger of Heaven upon the wicked who said
'Aha! the evil day is not for me!' Woe! woe! ye fools, this moment your
souls are required of you."

The shouts of the pillar saint for an instant made every eye turn upward
to his station. They saw him swaying on high, pointing a long, bony
finger towards the harbour. Then the spell broke, and there was a rush
by scores to the side of the quay. A serious accident had occurred in
the Golden Horn directly before the ferry-landing.




CHAPTER III

HOW FERGAL FOUND A MISTRESS


Unseen from the quay a ferry-boat had been urging her course across from
Galata. The craft was very clumsy, so that at best her crew of ten made
slow work with their long oars. But this morning the crowding with
passengers had been unusual. A party of nuns from the Convent of St.
Lydia in Pera had wished to visit and adore the new relics at the Church
of St. Diomed, and had wedged aboard a deck already well filled. Then at
the last moment a Cappadocian oil merchant had appeared and demanded
transit for himself, three servants, and no less than three camels. Some
of the earlier passengers had protested, but the ferry captain (against
an extra fare) had admitted the creatures. The boat therefore had been
grievously over-laden, and the camels had become restive, frightened and
grunting ere they were fairly clear of the Galata wharf.

However, despite a great press of shipping, the boat made more than half
the passage in safety, and the nuns were looking hopefully towards the
looming warehouses above the nearing quays, when a wheat ship from
Trebizond moved awkwardly across her bows. While backing water to avoid
collision, the ferry captain's long oar snapped, and that worthy
sprawled upon the deck amid curses and confusion, while his boat
partially lost way, and swung her broadside across the southerly breeze.
At this critical instant she was rammed by a lumber barge trying to make
the timber wharves higher up the Golden Horn. The shock was great, but
the splintering of wood and the squalls of the women were drowned by the
frantic screams and neighs of the camels, now plunging beyond control.
No one could explain precisely what happened next, but a twinkling later
the ferry-boat had turned turtle, and discharged its terrified crew and
passengers into the harbour.

From his pillar Marinos was the first on land to glimpse the
catastrophe, but as the lumber barge swung aside a cry of horror swelled
along the quay. Frantic orders were shouted upon many vessels. Several
caiques headed towards the disaster, but to excited onlookers their
distance seemed enormous. On the water rose bobbing and struggling the
unfortunate women. The ferry crew, true cowards, were seen striking off
towards the barge, although a hundred voices hooted them. Then out of
the groans and panic came leadership and action. In the sight of all
men, Leo the Spatharios was standing on the edge of the quay, stripping
off his cuirass and beckoning for others to imitate. His voice rang like
a trumpet far down the frantic wharves.

"Call the boats moored at the Navy Yard (don't loiter here, Basil, bring
down your men) and meantime whoever here can swim and has love for wife,
mother or sister--follow me!"

The patriarch with the zodiac medal caught at his elbow, his old eyes
staring wide:

"My younger daughter," he besought; "I think I see her in the waves----"

"And I my mother," responded Leo coolly; "I'll do all I can." And
forthwith he sprang into the Golden Horn.

As the water closed over him, a second splash sounded, ere a dozen other
men (who had skill and courage to obey the officer) imitated Leo. Fergal
the Armorican had leaped into the harbour like a fish into its element.

Hormisdas at the quay's edge dissolved in agony:

"Cursed wretch that I was to unlock the shackle! Drowned! Surely
drowned! Vilest ingratitude. Alas, my lost solidi--all the profits of
the voyage. Oh, blessed Saints----"

Nobody heeded. With speechless anxiety the crowd on the wharves followed
the swimmers. Leo's strokes were long, but the Celt instantly passed
him. Commander and slave--in that instant the latter was superior.

"Your mother--where?" demanded Fergal, as he shot by the officer.

"Yonder. The green cloak. An old woman--small and round." There was no
nice choosing in Leo's words as he spat out the brine. "She's going down
again."

"Fear nothing, I can reach her."

The Celt literally sprang across the water. Leo made his best speed. It
irked him to see his mother rescued by an utter alien, but seconds were
precious. Ten fathoms away he saw Fergal seize his quarry with one hand,
then hasten along with her, blowing and struggling, towards the nearest
cargo boat, which was now casting out lines.

The officer pressed onward. A stout nun bobbed up beside him, sputtering
her, "Mother of God, rescue! rescue!" but a nimble stevedore--the best
of the other swimmers, snatched at her trailing hood and began towing
her away to safety. Leo turned towards a more distant nun when out of
the waters shot up something red. A woman's face, very pallid, with
streaming brown hair, lifted itself. Her hands beat the water, but she
was evidently imprisoned by her heavy crimson cloak. She seemed nigh
spent and ready to go under for the last time, when Leo seized her hair.

It was no instant for civilities. Though without Fergal's speed the
officer was a good swimmer, and had kept all his wits. A fierce tug at
the shoulder brooch made the cloak drift safely away. The instant she
felt assistance the woman collapsed and floated a dead weight, which
fact made Leo's task somewhat easier. Keeping her head emerged, he
paddled steadily, encouraged now by rising shouts from the quay. "They
come!"--and at length with swinging stroke four long, slim cutters bore
down from the Navy Yard with Basil standing in the stern-sheets of the
nearest and trumpeting orders to his men.

Leo lifted himself and shouted. In a moment the captain's craft was
beside him, and ready arms dragged the spatharios and his charge aboard.
"Your mother?" was Basil's first demand, but learning of her rescue, he
cast an experienced eye upon the woman now lying on his bottom boards.
"A pretty little whippet," he announced bluntly. "See the blood! A
timber has bruised her forehead. She was nigh helpless, and about to
give it up. You were just in time."

And so, amid splashing, shouting, screaming, ordering, countermanding,
swearing, applauding--tragedy was everywhere averted. Even the three
camels were steered ashore, sorely bedraggled. A sergeant of the watch
duly arrested the unlucky ferry skipper for violating the imperial
ordinance against overcrowding his vessel. When Leo, still in dripping
tunic, sprang upon the landing stage, the numerous soldiers who had run
up and witnessed the rescue raised a shout which pealed along the
wharves, "Leo the Spatharios! Ten thousand years to Leo the Spatharios,
the pride of the army!"

But the hero of this applause heeded nothing as he ran precipitately to
a second boat that was just pulling to the quay from an anchored
coaster, then opened his arms wide for a fat little woman, whose
dishevelled grey head came far beneath his shoulder, and next smothered
her with kisses even as with chokings and coughings she declared, "Your
old mother Kasia has been splashing like a fool, but is very safe!"

       *       *       *       *       *

Kasia was safe, and so were the nuns, despite wet garments, groans to
the saints and general excitement. For a few moments, however, this was
not so certain about the young woman Leo had rescued, and whom the
patriarch anxiously claimed as "My daughter, Anthusa Maria." Her sister,
Sophia, seemed aghast at her insensible state, and the nuns were too
demoralized to assist. It was Kasia who broke through the ring of
stupidly baffled men-o'-war's men, soldiers and stevedores, loosened the
girl's wet undergarments, raised her feet, and lifted her arms with a
calm efficiency whereon Leo and Basil gazed helpless and humble. Then
came the rush of colour to the cheeks, and two large, brown eyes opened
wonderingly, while Kasia wiped away the blood still oozing from a slight
bruise on the temple. Hurt more by the blow from some shattered timber
of the capsizing ferry than by the wetting, Anthusa at length smiled
feebly, drew herself together and essayed to lift herself upon the stone
bench whereon she rested.

"Ei! _makaira_--blessed dear!" encouraged Kasia, with vigorous arms
around the girl, "all is safe. A shrewd knock, but 'well ended is half
forgotten.' Your father is here, and your sister. And you, Leo"--with a
lightning glance at her puissant son--"haven't you and these other
he-asses wits enough to know that your mother, this young mistress, and
all these holy nuns are cold and dripping, and that dry clothes are
better than dumb gaping?"

Thus inspired, many things soon happened. An oily-tongued old-clothes
vendor appeared by some magic out of his lair under an adjoining rope
walk. He had elegant garments for their Reverendesses and Nobilities
and "would trust for his reward to God." Whereupon two Armenian women
who ran a little wine-shop chased out their few morning customers, and
sheltered Kasia, Anthusa and the nuns until they were all dry, reclad,
and tolerably personable, albeit in most uncourtly motley.

The young woman whom Leo had rescued, had recovered part of her strength
and faculties, although she was still rubbing her forehead and laughing
a little hysterically. She came out of the wine-shop clad in a faded
violet mantle that had first graced a merchant's wife and then her
tire-woman ere reaching the pledge shop. The dingy colour and the
threadbare picture of the Good Shepherd sewed to the bosom increased
Anthusa's appearance of pallor, but on her softly moulded neck there had
remained a gold chain dangling a very fine Egyptian cameo. Over delicate
little ears Kasia had tied up her long, brown hair in a tight, plain
knot, increasing the height of a naturally lofty forehead. Her features
were smaller than her sister's, her lips more sensitive. On quitting the
friendly wine-shop she winced at sight of the swarming strangers, then
her colour flushed back with a charming confusion, but she came straight
forward to the embraces of her father.

"Now by Christian saints and philosophers' daimons," exclaimed the old
man, "be thanks to this brave officer for restoring you safe!
Unpardonable was my folly when I let you go to your cousins in Pera, and
did not promise to send Ephraim for you with a caique."

"But Eudoros took me safely to the ferry," replied Anthusa with
returning composure. "I knew you'd meet me here. Who could expect----"

"Say no more," commanded the patriarch. "Are you recovered enough to
ride? Shall we call a litter? We have waited so long upon these unhappy
'Stairs' and I'm so shaken by my fright that I fear I can't proceed
with my researches and experiments all day."

"I can ride the donkey," answered Anthusa, with a brave toss of her head
belying her white lips, "that is if--if Ephraim walks very close beside
me. My temples will ring less by and by. But first," collecting herself
with an obvious effort of will, "let us proffer thanks to the gallant
officer who plucked me from the harbour."

Her father smote his breast, then turned to Leo and bowed with innate
dignity.

"Valiant _kyrios_"--his Attic Greek became the purity of the Academy or
the Porch--"forgive the emotions of a parent and the futile wanderings
of a pedant. Where is my gratitude? Miserably did I reflect while you so
gallantly proved yourself a very Nereus in the waves that not all the
the physics of Aristotle, the mechanics of Archimedes, or the
mathematics of Eratosthenes could avail me to save from a watery death
one whom I prize beyond life. I cannot insult your Excellency by offer
of material reward, but can only say, 'Kallinikos, lecturer at the
University, thanks you.'"

This speech, coxcombical and absurd from another, was uttered with
perfect fitness and dignity. Leo, with equal dignity, lifted the old
man's mantle to his lips, "With the forehead, most learned _kyrios_.
Fortunate I am to have rendered this service to one whose fame sheds
lustre on Constantinople; and"--his eye turned respectfully to
Anthusa--"to this gracious _kyria_."

As he spoke, rescuer and rescued stood face to face. Was it mere vagrant
curiosity that made them scan one another closely? Across the young
lady's pale lips there trembled a smile, not merely grateful now, but
quizzical.

"Most noble Spatharios," spoke she, "just now they have told me your
name and rank. The fame of your success has long since reached even our
quiet home; and well might we wish you fair fortune. Do you recall a
certain day seven years ago, at a certain village of St. Theodore, and a
certain venturesome little maid, and a certain great ram, and how
then----" She stopped in growing confusion at her own unwonted boldness.

Leo's blank countenance began to beam with friendly recollection.

"The day I was made Protector? Can it be, gracious _kyria_, that a
second time I am permitted----"

But here Sophia interposed with guileful laughter: "Oh, the pity, brave
Excellency, my little sister cannot repay as she did then!" A barbed
sally that made both Anthusa and Leo blush to their ears; whereat Sophia
more discreetly turned to Kasia: "Noble lady, this is the second time
your gallant son has played a true Perseus to my sister's Andromeda. If
he's not told you, then let my father and myself speak out our double
gratitude in a better place than this foul quay."

Kasia manifestly reckoned neither Perseus nor Andromeda among her
gossips, but she acknowledged the speech with a rustical courtesy. Still
exceedingly pale and with her head doubtless throbbing, Anthusa was
lifted upon the waiting donkey, but the Spatharios stepped politely
forward.

"Your favour, _kyria_," he requested. Anthusa cast down her eyes, but
held out her hand. He kissed it, and saw the white fingers whisk back
promptly under the violet mantle. With Ephraim and Kallinikos close at
either side she started away behind her sister. The nuns had already
assembled their clothes and faculties and had departed. Only Kasia
remained beside her son and Basil.

The old woman was still puffing with the excitement. "Where now, son
Leo?" she demanded.

"I'll call a sedan chair and take you home," announced the officer
directly, "since you persist in forgetting that the mother of spatharios
should not wander around Constantinople without even one maid, like a
green grocer's dame. You, too, should have summoned a caique."

But here the others beheld the old woman dart away with fire blazing
from her black little eyes.

"Holy Trinity, what do I see! The lad who saved me is being shackled
like a brigand!" And her powerful fist descended with startling force
upon the ear of Hormisdas, who had stooped to snap the fetter back upon
the ankle of Fergal.

The slave-trader had lived in a Gehenna of fears until Fergal, after
rescuing Kasia, so far from attempting to escape, had deliberately swum
back to the quay. All chaffering being of course interrupted, Evagrios
had piously muttered prayers while the nuns were being rescued, and
Nikosia had produced a crystal vial filled with the tears of Mary
Magdalene and kissed it passionately. After the crisis was past the
deacon considered that his calling still demanded a decent delay ere
resuming carnal commerce, and Hormisdas had waited with patience until,
unable to trust the Celt's intention longer, he had made his unlucky
movement to secure him.

The vociferation and fury that followed Kasia's onslaught at last calmed
into explanations and apologies. Hormisdas wisely refrained from
meddling again with the fetters, smirked, bowed and attempted to resume
the sorely interrupted bargaining. Nikosia, whose veil did not conceal
her curling contempt for the older woman, hastily renewed her last bid
of twenty-six solidi. The trader, however, calmly declined less than
thirty-five, glancing hopefully towards Leo, who stood somewhat
irresolute, but his mother promptly took up the bargaining.

"Twenty-seven," declared Kasia.

Nikosia smiled frigidly through her fine teeth, remarking: "Don't be
foolish, my worthy woman. Your son has already said he doesn't need this
porter, while I----"

"No need for the lad who has just fished me out of the harbour? While
you, cat-faced 'Spiritual Sister,'" broke out Kasia yet again, when Leo
whispered hastily: "Calm yourself, mother, I beseech you. You are not in
the old village. The dignity of my position requires----"

But here, to his friend's no slight relief, Basil interposed, looking
fixedly from Hormisdas to Evagrios.

"Reverend Deacon, you will not find it advantageous to bid against my
noble friend whose good will can be worth more to you than many porters.
And you, sirrah slave-trader, since loitering on this quay I've recalled
your face. You were at Salonica four years since?"

"Not at all, most valorous captain, not at all!" asserted Hormisdas
hastily.

"I think differently. I might make the City Prefect agree with me. Let
his Excellency Leo have this lad for fifteen solidi, and save yourself a
most unpleasant trip back to Salonica."

"Oh, _despotes_!" Hormisdas crouched at Basil's feet and the tears
fairly squeezed from his eyes.

"Yes, fifteen. My memory becomes perfect. You know why you'd be welcome
in Salonica."

Nikosia turned in disgust. "Vulgar swashbucklers!" she snapped. "Let us
go, Evagrios. Have him bring the cook around to our place to-morrow and
get his money. We can find another porter."

The pair mounted their mule car and clattered away. Hormisdas shrugged
his shoulders in capitulation, produced an ink-horn and dirty parchment,
and scribbled a bill of sale. Leo in turn wrote a brief order on a Mese
banking house and pressed it with his signet ring. A military orderly
hitherto discreetly in the background, appeared to announce that the
_despotes'_ horse and escort were ready, and that the sedan chair had
been ordered for the _despoina_.[12]

[12] _Despotes_ and _despoina_ were terms of abject submission by
inferiors.

Fergal had watched and listened as if caught in some agonizing dream.
Now he knew that Neokles was wringing his hand and slobbering, "Don't
forget me!" and he saw Kasia beckoning towards him with her short,
little fingers.

"Come, red-head," she commanded.

"Oh, gracious lady," cried the Celt, kneeling in the dust at her feet,
"you have saved me from a living death. My life henceforth belongs to
you."

"Pish," was the irrepressible answer, "as for our lives we're more than
quits! I only want honest service. Here you, Peter"--to the
orderly--"show him the way."

Leo sprang upon his steed. A file of four archers fell in behind him.
Two porters shouldered Kasia's sedan chair, and set forth with steady
gait, Peter and the dazed Fergal following in the rear. Basil stood for
an instant beside his mounted friend, his eyes twinkling maliciously.

"Well, comrade," remarked he, "it's not often you get _two_ such nice
hands to put under your lips within one morning hour. Which was the
prettier?"

"My friend is a sailor, and sailors have a right to jest," was Leo's
response with a dignity totally unexpected. Before Basil had devised a
winged reply, the Spatharios and his little company had vanished up the
street.




CHAPTER IV

KASIA AND LEO


Fergal followed dumbly beside Peter. The latter, grizzled and scarred,
obviously had been Leo's factotum for years. He wasted no explanations
upon the Celt, and his glances merely betrayed a contemptuous patronage,
but Fergal found occupation enough with his own eyes, as going southward
from the Golden Horn they plunged apparently into the very heart of the
city.

The actual distance traversed was less than a mile, but thanks to the
many meanderings through strange places, the Armorican gained all the
impression of a lengthy journey. Speedily the waterfront was hidden.
They urged their way up tortuous streets barely fifteen feet wide, where
high wooden houses with projecting balconies almost cut off the
sunlight. Now they were in a lane infested by Turkoman merchants from
beyond the Caspian--flat-faced, oblique-eyed yellow men, muscular and
hard, whose dwellings seemed oases of sheer barbarism. Now all around
rang the clamour of Armenian bronze-smiths and kettle-makers, or again
through open doors could be seen the tall silk-looms where women with
clear Greek profiles were making bright webs grow under skillful
fingers.

Presently at length the litter-bearers halted to adjust their poles in a
small square. Under a single plane-tree bubbled a fountain above a
marble basin which bore a relief of sporting nymphs and dolphins. By the
great bowl jostled and laughed broad-featured Slavic girls, filling
tawny pitchers, while a viciously horned buffalo waited with a driver to
quench his thirst. On the pavement of the square in an ample heap slept
a dozen mangy, yellow dogs, the public scavengers, almost at the very
entrance to a squat-domed parish church. The portal of the latter stood
open, and there drifted out into the square the deep male voices of the
choir, and the wailing "_Kyrie eleison_" of the worshippers chanting
through a long liturgy. One world seemed treading on the heels of
another every instant as Fergal advanced.

Uphill and down he was led; often through filthy lanes and blind
cat-alleys, where fearful hags leaned forth and all but touched him.
Then the streets gradually widened. The air grew purer, the shops less
starving; the passers better clad. Repeatedly the litter was halted
before other sedans, wagons or outriders; but Leo's snapping whip and
high-stepping charger made impudent donkey boys and sweetmeat vendors
give back and others swerve respectfully, and presently his little party
entered a true avenue, where an enormous traffic hummed more smoothly.

To right and to left extended a majestic portico, with shops under the
promenades, and stone steps leading to yet other shops in the stories
above. The shops yielded to pillared fronts and portals, flanked by
statues of pagan gods or by pictures of brilliant mosaic set into the
brick work. At the open gates lounged porters, negroes often, and
through the openings came glimpses of cool patios set with tropical
shrubs, of bronze or marble sculptures, of gilded tables and playing
fountains.

"Patricians' palaces?" ventured Fergal at length to Peter.

"Patricians'?" echoed the disgusted orderly. "Blessed Lord, why must I
answer such ignorance! Only well-to-do merchants. Little you know of
Constantinople!"

But now at length Leo's modest cortge showed signs of nearing its goal.
They passed a broad parade ground where a century of infantry recruits
was at spear drill. Peter condescended to point out a long line of grey
barracks and of massive many-windowed buildings, and informed his
companion that here were located the ordinary city garrison and the
offices of the War Department. Subaltern officers in undress armour
saluted Leo as he passed. Presently a shouting was heard, "Way! way!"
and at headlong speed with a dozen outriders, along clattered a heavy
vehicle boasting six horses and an infinite display of silk trappings
and gilding. In the open car rode a venerable nobleman with robes of
pure white edged with purple and with a high, flat-topped hat of like
colours. As he passed, Leo reined and saluted. The magnate raised his
hand; the whole train halted instantly. He beckoned; Leo bowed politely
and rode beside the carriage, whose master beamed affably.

"We have the report on the Psidian fortresses. Your opinion is needed. I
have ordered that you be added to the council to consider it. My palace
is always open to you. A fortunate day----" And the great man swept on.

"His Magnificence the Logothete Libanios," admired Peter in delight.
"Look you, Frank, he treats the Little Master like a younger brother!
Every day our fortune betters." ...

... The litter turned abruptly along a side street near the War
Department. The door of a house, small but new and clean, swung open.
Over a pavement of particoloured flags Fergal found himself entering a
courtyard, also small but surrounded by Corinthian pillars of
grey-veined marble. In the centre was a pool of luxurious water-plants
between which stupid brown fish were waving their fins and ogling
upward. The ceiling was tastefully fretted and gilded. On one wall was
a good mosaic of David smiting off the head of Goliath, beside the other
stood a pedestal upbearing a fine bronze Nike that perchance had once
graced a mansion in pagan Ephesus or Athens.

Leo had tossed his bridle to Peter and entered with his mother. A still
older retainer appeared, and the master pointed to the dumb and
marvelling Fergal, adding, "The _despoina_ bought this lad after he had
saved her life. Treat him well. I will hear his story later."

With that the officer followed Kasia through the court to the inner
chambers, himself in just need of fresh apparel. When he found his
mother again she was in a small garden in the extreme rear of the
dwelling. A sun-dial made the centre, and some palms in portable tubs
and a profusion of grape and gourd vines provided a modest arbour. Here
were a table, benches and stools, on one whereof now sat Kasia, suitably
clothed and deep in talk with a man whose black coat, white veil, black
hat and gold pectoral cross proclaimed him at least a priest. His
grey-streaked hair fell upon his shoulders, his untrimmed beard half
covered his face, but his eyes were wise and his deep voice kindly. Leo
dropped on one knee before him.

"Your blessing, reverend Pope Michael. You have heard how God afforded
us a great mercy to-day?"

The priest raised his hand, extending three fingers and muttering a
formula; then, as the officer rose, he responded, "Yes, and under God we
must thank that red-haired barbarian whereof your mother has just told.
Of a truth, dear _kyria_," turning to Kasia, "I think the Saints will
hardly let you drown when so many sick and poor are kept by your bounty
at the Hospital of Samson. I came to bring good news. The lad Trophios
is better. They say he will leave in ten days; and old Hermina is no
worse, which is all we dare to pray for. And now I am off to the
Pharnar district. Jacob the sailor has quitted his wife just as she
expects her seventh babe. I must see the kind sisters of St. Dorkas----"

"Money," interrupted Kasia and turning to Leo.

"Was it not 'money' yesterday?" returned the latter, smiling.

"It'll be more 'money' no doubt to-morrow, at least if Pope Michael
calls," announced the old woman; "your mother may have her sins, but the
preachers can't scourge her from their ambos as they do the fine hussies
come from the palaces: 'You fasten in your ears gold to feed a thousand
poor: and lo! Christ's little ones are starving.'"

Leo clapped his hands, whereat appeared Peter.

"Unlock the chest," ordered his master, "and give his Reverence twenty
_keratia_.[13] You see," he added, smiling to the priest, "I am a
soldier, and a soldier's first duty is to his commander."

[13] A _keration_ was a silver coin worth about 13 cents.

"You could find a worse commander," responded Michael, returning the
smile. Then he thanked them sincerely and without unction, repeated his
blessing and departed.

"A man of God," repeated Kasia after him.

"A man of God," echoed the officer, "full of good works and
faithfulness. Ah! my mother, when I see such as Michael thrust aside for
preferment in the Patriarch's hall, and that screaming wretch Marinos
adored by half of Constantinople as a saint, I know there are two things
in this sinful world right hard to understand."

But here, with a shift of mood, he knelt on the greensward beside Kasia.
"Oh, Mother Mine, what an awful moment you have given me. What profits
success, promotion, men's praise, if you--my happiness--were taken? Why
can you not learn that Constantinople is not Mesembria: that to steal
away to your gossips unattended is not the way for dames whose husbands
or sons go often to the palace? We are not rich, but our means will
permit a modest train--and yesterday, back I came from the arsenal to
find that you had gone to visit old neighbours in Galata, with only a
message for your son 'that you were not too old yet to find your own
way.'"

Kasia stroked his head and rocked her fat body to and fro; then
answered, "You mean well, _philotate_, but you forget that while your
mother's not too old to pick her road, she is, to change her life.
Peasant I'm born and peasant I'll stay, though you, my _Lion_"--her
caress grew very affectionate--"at last roar so loud that perhaps all
the world will hear you. Laugh at me they must, but they'll never scold
how 'My Lord Leo's mother wears the clothes of a patricianess after the
manner of the cowmaid that she truly is!' The Panagia pity me if ever I
have to put on stiff brocade and finger great gems, and bow haughtily
and have forty lackeys touching their noses to the dust at my feet. Why,
even now the few honest servants which we have catch the mood and call
me 'Gracious _Despoina_.' I would almost laugh in their faces.
'_Despoina_ of what?' I want to cry, then go and cook your dinner."

"Mother, mother," exclaimed Leo, laughing and clutching his hair, "can
you ever understand? Are you sorry that we are not still on the
Mesembrian farm, that your son is now consulted by logothetes, that my
friends even predict----"

"Hoity-toity, no!" she answered, leaping up, her little black eyes
beaming with pride. "Was ever a widowed mother luckier in her son than
Kasia? Don't I wear out my knees thanking the Trinity for your goodness
to me and beseeching that you prosper ever more? Prosper," the levity
left her voice, and her hand touched his face gently, "until the whole
of that strange prophecy of Barses and Chioba be fulfilled."

"Do you know what you're wishing?" interposed Leo hurriedly.

"Why not?" ran on the old woman. "If a shepherd may become a spatharios,
why may not a spatharios become----" She did not finish the sentence,
but drew the soldier down upon a bench. Soon his head was upon her ample
lap. Between mother and son there was obviously complete trust and
comradeship. "Let us tell over again, my Lion, all the favours which the
Saints have showered upon you. The recalling will give us confidence for
the future."

"Well," he began, gazing up in lazy affection, "you know after I became
Protector I had an unhappy year before I learned the ways of the court
and how to carry myself with assurance. My noble comrades despised my
birth and picked on me incessantly despite the Emperor's orders. Then I
killed Sergios Botaniates in that duel. After that I was feared and
patronized. Next old Justinian Slit-Nose gave me a small command on the
Cilician frontier. I destroyed the raiding band of Emir Mutazz, and
Iconium hailed me as 'Saviour of the City!' This brought me back to
Constantinople with some small honour. The Emperor named me Protostrator
of the Thracian corps.[14] Justinian deemed me a fit adjutant for his
bloody schemes, but I evaded his worst orders, while avoiding charges of
disobedience. Finally, needing a man for the difficult mission to the
Caucasus, he made me his spatharios, but hardly had the patent been
issued ere I met my greatest peril. Jealous comrades charged me with
conspiracy. One night----"

[14] Practically "Chief of Staff."

"I remember that night," said his mother, laughing, yet wincing.

"They had me in the lowest hold of the Numera, the palace prison.
Gleeful tongues whispered, 'To-morrow that upstart's head falls in the
Amestrian Forum.' But a just God and my mother's good angel were with
me. Justinian was a very fiend of cruelty but was seldom deliberately
unjust. Good friends came forward: Basil, and Daniel the Prfect, and
many another. The charges were disproved. I was freed and vindicated. So
the Emperor sent me off to the Caucasus--a thankless undertaking. With
an escort rather than an army I was to restore the Roman name among the
barbarous Alans and Abasgi. How my kind Saints prospered me there; how I
brought the tribesmen to subjection and taught them the length of the
Roman arm; how I crossed with my men over the ice-bound Caucasus on
snow-shoes, and got back safe to Trebizond--that's a long, tedious
story.

"When I returned to Constantinople, Justinian had gone to his account.
He had lived by the sword and had perished by the sword, but his
overthrow and the setting up of Philippicus was no deed of mine. It now
has pleased their Magnificences in the palace bureaus to speak well of
me. The army needs new leaders, and my record has been fortunate; and
so," he raised himself and kissed her, "you have me here to-day once
more, oh, my mother!"

Leo sluggishly regained his seat, then sat pressing his mother's hand.
Both for a long time seemed watching a brown lizard as he scuttled among
the palm tubs; then Kasia resumed:

"You think the Saracens are still making way?"

"Constantly, best of mothers. Philippicus is a sybarite and is hated by
the army. Of the soft-handed patricians and eunuchs who rule in his
name some mean well ignorantly, some sacrifice the Empire for their own
sordid power and profit. The themes[15] are demoralized. Basil tells me
not twenty dromonds at the Navy Yard are fit for sea. Daily reports come
in of Infidel raids in the gean. The governors of Sicily and Apulia
keep back their tributes. Even our city walls here are in bad repair.
Meantime every messenger tells of the swelling Moslem armaments: how
Kalif Walid and his viziers deliberate whether our Roman Empire is not a
ripe apple--ready to fall at a touch. Spain, we hear, has succumbed.
They are to-day rearing mosques in Cordova and Toledo; and in Hagia
Sophia, Christ's noblest church itself," Leo rose and paced the little
garden nervously, "they will soon read from the book of the Hagarines'
false prophet, unless----"

[15] Territorial divisions of the army.

"Unless what?" cried Kasia, frowning now and troubled.

"Unless when the foes come up against us, God rain down his fire as once
on guilty Sodom."

Kasia shook her head. "You are trying to scare me, son. Is not
Constantinople always called 'The City Guarded of God'?"

"His watchcare will be sorely tested," retorted the soldier
irreverently. "Well, little mother, I must not terrify you. The Saracens
won't come to-day, nor probably to-morrow. Meantime, their Sublimities
and Magnificences at the palace may snatch some wisdom--though I doubt
it. For a while Constantinople can go on trading, and crowding the
Hippodrome races and variety theatres, and driving or promenading along
the Mese, and going to ftes at the Bosphorus villas, and rejoicing in
Church processions and displays of holy relics, and thronging to watch
the dumb shows at the palace. After that the Saints know what is best,
not I----"

"You know what Barses and Chioba said," she reminded.

"I know what they said, or rather what I dreamed. Best of mothers, let
us have no more of this. I have seen enough of the palace and the camp
to know it is no great thing to become wearer of the purple leggings.
But the man who becomes Emperor in the next few years with the Saracen
ordeal ahead--Christ pity him!"

Then, seeing his brow darkened, she deliberately chose a lighter vein.
"Boy," she began, "there is still another thing that troubles me."

Leo laughed. "What is it? When you say 'boy' I know reproaches will
follow."

"Did I not get from Basil that you met Theophano Dukas at the quay?"

"Her Ladyship's barge landed while I waited for you. I was merely
courteous."

"Boy," her keen little black eyes were full on her son, "was it not her
father who has been so extremely gracious to you of late?"

"Why, yes; he has been somewhat kind."

"And that Logothete Libanios we passed--he has an unwedded daughter,
too?"

"I've only seen her with her mother at a few of the palace ftes."

"Her mother? That's far worse."

"Dear soul," cried Leo, kissing her forehead and laughing most heartily.
"It's only to _my_ mother that her son is so handsome!"

"Handsome? As if it mattered whether you were ugly as the great ape they
showed on St. Thomas' Day at the Hippodrome! It's only to _your_ mother
that her son is not the most envied officer in the army, unwedded still
and with a boundless career before him."

"This is very discouraging," responded the spatharios with a mock sigh;
"now, beside the intrigues in the Council and the scimitars of the
Saracens, I've got to fight all the barbed tongues of the relentless
patricianesses. I'll be overwhelmed by numbers----"

Kasia boxed his ear almost as roundly as she had favoured Hormisdas.
"Boy," she asserted, "do you imagine that every woman in Constantinople
does not know that you have now these many years treated them all with
as frigid courtesy as would become St. Anthony the Hermit, and that it's
all put down to most clever policy--that they all gossip in the
churches, public baths, and theatres, 'Now he can reach for the highest
match. Will it be Maurice's daughter, or Libanios', or perhaps the
heiress of great Alexios Rendakes?'"

"Don't be foolish, mother," commanded Leo, testily.

"Foolish? I'm rustic enough in looks, but farm breeding at least teaches
me how to take in hen's cackle. I've tried to scorn it, but I'm growing
afraid."

"Scorn it still. I've already two commanders, my soldierly duty and my
mother. How can I add a third?"

"And why not, you big sheep? Aren't you of proper age? Haven't I a right
some day to a daughter; yes, and to grand-children when you're off to
the wars? Blessed God--how canst Thou suffer men to muster armies,
govern empires--yes, and rule Thy universe--yet have no wit concerning
things which touch them most!"

"Well, my mother," responded Leo, knowing the best way to terminate
unwelcome conversation, "I have ever prospered by obeying you. How can I
obey you now?"

Kasia went beside him, thrusting her homely wrinkled little features up
close to his face.

"Hearken, boy: if your love for me is more than greasy perfume, give me
no daughter who'll walk only in silks and eat only from a golden dish.
Remember we're peasant-born, and the sniff of the cowbarn is still upon
us. The bride who may fall in the arms of the spatharios may still shoot
out her forked tongue at his stupid old mother."

"Then farewell to them all," vowed Leo merrily; "to Theophano and all
the rest!"

"Yet there may be one," her eyes closed cunningly; "there may----And
what was named that girl you saved years ago from the huge ram, and
now,--astounding luck,--fished out of the harbour?"

"They call her Anthusa, daughter of Kallinikos; but I would just as lief
have rescued a pursy nun, seeing that Fergal had you safe."

"No doubt; no doubt: I only meant that she seemed to have a good heart
and a modest face, and I don't think she would ever thrust needles in my
back if I _do_ come from Mesembria. But I've clattered enough already,
and goes not the proverb, 'No young lion trembles at his parent's
roaring'? This isn't a fast day and I grow starved."

She clapped her hands. A decent man-servant set on the garden table a
large tray, whereon was a silver plate piled with soft cakes folded over
highly-spiced mutton. There was a sweet sherbet in a tall blue-glass
ewer. Mother and son were busy with this simple meal, when Peter
appeared and saluted.

"A _mandator_ from the palace," he announced.

"Bring him in," ordered his master. Whereupon a gorgeously apparelled
functionary, with red slashings conspicuous upon his long black mantle,
strode into the garden. The messenger held out a scroll, at sight
whereof the officer made a slight obeisance. The other then dropped on
one knee and delivered the document.

Leo read aloud:

     "_Paul, Master of the Palace, to the most excellent
     Spatharios, Flavius Leo, greeting_:

     "Know that his Sacred Clemency the Basileus was humbly advised
     to command your presence at a Sacred Consistory to be held
     to-morrow morning. His Sacred Clemency has deigned to confirm
     this loyal suggestion of his councillors. Fail not therefore
     to obey this summons. Farewell."

Leo nodded with grave formality to the mandator, and that pompous
messenger of despotism salaamed almost to the gravel, then swept out of
the garden. The officer sighed:

"A whole morning lost; and I had promised to go over the project for
reorganizing the Anatolic theme. Now it is of more importance that I
should be bowing and prostrating at some worthless ceremonial. But go I
must."

"Peter!" called out Kasia at the top of her voice, "you've been
listening. Don't deny it--of course you have. Bring me his best dalmatic
and the new buskins laced with gold thread. I've got to see if they're
fit for the palace." And so in partial bad humour the two finished the
cakes and mutton.




CHAPTER V

AT THE SACRED PALACE


The water clock in his courtyard had just discharged three balls upon a
silver slab, marking the third hour of the morning, when Leo set forth
for the palace. He wore a new gilt helmet set with a few good opals. His
dalmatic of green brocade trailed very low. In token of his rank he
carried a slender red lance, with a golden pomegranate upon the butt,
while from the head streamed a purple banderole. The four archers ran at
dog trot ahead of his high-stepping bay, and Peter and three other
servitors, including Fergal, fed, clothed and happy, followed in the
rear.

The Celt found his master and humbler companions little enough inclined
to loiter that he might gape at the ensuing wonders, yet even they might
have lingered to gaze upon the noblest quarters of Constantinople. The
route from the Golden Horn to the War Department had led through some of
the least select regions of the capital, but now must be traversed those
fora and high avenues which made New Rome the Wonder of the World. Not
Old Rome herself in the spacious days of Hadrian could have spread out
plazas and palaces more magnificent.

Striking boldly along a few inferior lanes, the company entered an ample
thoroughfare lined with huge residences, whose columned fronts indicated
increasing degrees of magnificence. The ways now were thronged with
servitors of all ages and sexes wearing the striking liveries of the
great Senatorial[16] houses, mingled with guardsmen off duty and private
gentlemen taking in the sights. These last were clad in heavy
embroidered and fringed garments, with a bravery of jewels on shoes,
belt and turbaned cap, and carefully curled hair and beard. Behind all
persons of consequence walked at least one servant bearing a folding
stool, and often a second with a ready umbrella. Of the numberless
women, some were brilliantly gowned and coquettishly veiled, others were
wrapped in sober mantles, and still others were in the long black gowns
of nuns or the grey of real or avowed "Spiritual Sisters" attached to
the Church.

[16] Nearly all the higher Byzantine nobles ranked as "Senators," the
mightiest of these were designated "Patricians."

Next followed the black cloaks and high caps of monks, the crimson robes
of a professional lawyer, the blue of a physician, or even the saffron
of Kallinikos' colleagues at the University. Everywhere swung sedans and
litters; everywhere dashed silver-plated carriages, each drawn by four
mettlesome horses yoked abreast. The rattling of wheels, the incessant
shoutings "Way for his Nobility!" the constant greetings of dignified
personages, the careful genuflections, the ceremonious adieus--these
smote Fergal with utter bewilderment.

But now Leo's party reached the monarch of avenues--the Mese. Clear
across Constantinople ran this High Street, more than four miles from
the Golden Gate by the Propontis to the Brazen Gate which gave entrance
to the imperial palace. The spatharios entered just before the street
broadened into the Forum of Constantine, a noble plaza paved with fine
marble, its area scattered with numerous lofty statues pillaged from
ancient Greece and Italy. In the centre soared a porphyry column one
hundred and twenty feet in height, the whole crowned by a majestic
golden statue of Constantine the Great himself. Quitting this forum,
the Mese ran eastward, flanked on either side by a majestic double
portico for foot-passengers, while carriages and chariots could speed
between. Off from the porticoes opened the shops of those silversmiths
and bankers whose treasure barbarian kings and Moslem kalifs vainly had
envied. To the left, as the party advanced, could be seen the long tiers
of arches of the Hippodrome, while to the right were the stately Courts
of Justice with their porches already sprinkled with clients and
pleaders.

And now yet another area opened. The course lay across the northern end
of the stateliest forum of them all--the Augustum. To the left loomed
the colossal mass and far uplifted dome of Hagia Sophia; to the right
extended the great square itself, lined with a dozen public buildings,
each unique in the world. The Golden Milestone set under a triumphal
arch, the enormous Baths of Xeuxippos, the Palace of the Patriarch, and
the Hall of the Senate were only the most conspicuous. On every hand one
beheld statues, bronze and marble, rearing quadrigas, equestrian
warriors, hero-tall emperors, or Winged Victories and nobly-poised
goddesses of departed paganism. The sunlight ran over broad designs of
jewel-like mosaics set into the walls and over the portals of nearly all
the buildings, while under and around all this splendour, surged and
resurged the multitudes on pleasure or business bent, that
Greek-speaking "Roman People" who were keeping alive the flame of
civilization when Old Rome was nigh to sinking into a venerable ruin,
and when Paris and London were clusters of smoky cabins upon their
swamps by the Seine and Thames....

... Saluting an occasional acquaintance, Leo led his party directly
across the Augustum to its eastern limits. There came now to view a
long battlemented wall capable of resolute defence, before which rose an
advanced portal crowned with a lofty coppered dome upheld by eight tall
arches. The arches themselves were sealed by enormous bronze gates of
exquisite relief work, and the ceiling within the dome was set with
elaborate mosaic tableaus portraying the conquests of Belisarius. All
that was not of bronze or mosaic was of rarely-veined marble. This
structure was the "Chalke," the great entrance to the "Sacred Palace."

Leo reined. A personage wearing a blue tunic with red facings, with
white hose and a very heavy gold necklet, stepped forward from among the
golden-mailed sentinels who were pacing before the portal. He was a
lieutenant of the Protectors, one of the personal guards of majesty.

"Most Serene Leo--you are expected." His salaam was profound.

"I am only a 'Valiant Excellency,'" corrected the other.

The noble guardsman answered with a deprecatory sweep of the hand. "No
matter. I have orders to conduct you to the Most Sublime Master of the
Palace. Follow me immediately."

Leo tossed the bridle to Peter, leaped to the pavement, and followed the
Protector into the magnificent courtyard behind the Chalke, leaving his
followers to spend an idle hour.

       *       *       *       *       *

In a room high in the upper stories of the great Daphne, an enormous
conglomeration of public halls, ministerial offices and official
apartments, three personages were deep in conference.

The windows before the trio commanded a magnificent view. At their feet
spread the great park of the palace grounds dotted with pillared
pavilions, the domes and vaulted roofs of the Monastery of the Virgin
which lay within the imperial compound, the rank foliage of the
horticultural gardens, and the isolated Bukoleon palace close to the
seaside; beyond these reached the sparkling Bosphorus, alive now with
caiques and tawny sails. Farther still rose the white houses of
Chrysopolis, and farthest of all the snowy outline of the summit of
Asiatic Olympus.

The three present cared for none of these things. Ceremony had been cast
aside. They sat on heavily-cushioned armchairs around an elaborately
carved and gilded table piled with tablets and parchments. All were
patricians, as could be told by their gowns of lustrous white silk sewed
with large purple squares over the knees, by their red girdles and their
black shoes. All were past fifty. The beards of two fell to a venerable
length, but the face of the third was absolutely smooth, fat and with
projecting fish-like eyes, while the boyish tremolo of his voice seemed
to belie the carefully pomaded grey hairs upon his forehead. At his belt
dangled a large bunch of golden keys, evidently a token of high office.
All Constantinople knew that here was Paul the Eunuch, Master of the
Palace, the most powerful official in the Empire.

One of his companions, the Logothete of the Civil Service, Niketas, was
speaking:

"I grant the situation is bad, but why take alarm? The Saracens can
hardly come in greater force than they did forty years ago in
Constantine IV's day. Then they raged vainly against the walls, tried to
make a pirate lair over at Cyzicus and to harry Thrace, found they had
bitten on iron and slunk away. They know this now. They are not fools at
Damascus. Their wild fanatics will win paradise more comfortably and
will have more worldly booty to enjoy first, by pushing their present
conquests in Spain."

"A mistake," rejoined his colleague, Theokistos, the arch-secretary.
"Those accursed Hagarines know their business. Eighty years ago we lost
Syria and Egypt just by saying 'What's the danger from those
camel-drivers from the desert?' We've proof the Kalif has plenty of
agents in Constantinople, not to say spies in your own chancellery and
mine to tell him how since the fall of Tiberius Aspimar we've merely
slaughtered one another: how the Slavs and Bulgars have ravaged
Macedonia: how the army is----"

"Don't thresh out old straw," enjoined Paul, rubbing his fleshy fingers.
"Niketas can nurse his hopes, but even he will grant that it will be
more pleasant to keep our honours and our palaces here than to be haled
off as slaves to Damascus or Kufa, or else (the Panagia forefend!)," he
crossed himself hastily, "be forced to change our most holy religion."

"We are agreed," resumed Theokistos, "that no chances must be run. The
army must be reorganized drastically by a single competent hand. The
present Majestic Clemency is--well, let me say, too happily devoted to
the pleasures of the banquet and the Hippodrome to interfere with our
administration. There is a grave peril in promoting to very high command
any son of a great house. A premium would be put on conspiracies most
deplorable for his Clemency----"

"And for ourselves!" completed Paul with a high-pitched laugh.

"Therefore," the arch-secretary summed up, rather pedantically, "it
behooves us to advance to a most responsible military post some
individual who, although possessing the confidence of the troops and the
essential technical knowledge, shall nevertheless be of such humble
social origin as to make him no easy aspirant for the throne, and who
shall be entirely beholden to us and our faction for his honours and
therefore be responsive to our wishes."

"In other words," resumed the Master of the Palace, pithily, "we propose
to promote Leo the Spatharios, ordinarily called Leo the Isaurian, to
the rank of Strategos and general War Minister."

Niketas combed his beard. "I had expected this," he said slowly, "and I
give consent. Nevertheless, take care: the fellow is clever. Underneath
his tact, modesty and affected simplicity of life I suspect a deep
design. Remember the old fable--King Log was bad, but King Stork proved
worse."

"But we are not frogs," responded Paul dryly, reaching to the table and
taking thence a mass of soft wax, ready for seals. "Fear nothing. I can
mould him like this!"---rolling out the substance between his palms.
"Consider his history: A Protector only by the crazy whim of Justinian;
without family, or worse rather, loaded with a mother whom he must hide
in the background because she's simply a boorish peasant. He's so
engrossed with his cavalry tactics and fortification systems that he
will not take the trouble to marry--which he might do now to great
advantage. Our favour will dazzle him. If we give him a free hand at the
War Department and a reasonable appropriation we can control him
absolutely."

"Unless some one teaches him ambition," spoke Niketas.

"Our enemies may do that," added Theokistos.

"I think I understand human nature, my dear Logothete," remarked Paul
composedly; "I have already read this Leo's character. He is one of
those men who can best be ruled--by a woman. It will be our care to find
him a suitable wife. After that we will have to dread--nothing. Ha!"

"So be it," assented Niketas. "Let us proceed with him. I understand the
Emperor is so busy arranging a feast in the Hall of the Nineteen Couches
that he's in a mood now to sign anything to avoid trouble. Have the
patent drafted immediately."

"We will meet again in the Presence," remarked Theokistos, rising and
with Niketas disappearing through a small door. The eunuch tinkled a
golden bell, and through a larger door a handsome boy appeared.

"Bring in the Spatharios," he commanded.

Leo entered, saluted the Master of the Palace, then stood at military
attention.

"You are curious to know why you are summoned to the Consistory to-day?"
inquired Paul.

"That is but natural, your Sublimity."

The eunuch stood up in his stiff robes, smiling unctuously:

"I cannot anticipate the official announcement. Nevertheless, I may say
that his Sacred Clemency has been induced to think well of you. A heavy
responsibility with corresponding honours is about to be laid upon your
shoulders."

The soldier started and flushed slightly, then murmured a few words of
gratitude.

"I am not here," pursued Paul, in insinuating tones, "to discuss your
new duties. I am merely the minister who in a humble degree, a very
humble degree, brought home to the Most August Basileus your fitness.
Your well-known discretion will teach you to respect the wishes of your
patrons. The hands that can exalt can also abase, and ambition
(especially for one of modest birth) should always rest its feet on
solid ground."

"Your Sublimity will always find me heedful of your suggestions."

"You understand therefore my friendly caution." The eunuch took a step
nearer; his squeaking tones became confidential: "You understand that
since the fall of Justinian the imperial government is somewhat
imitating the custom of those Western Franks, whose king indeed retains
his outlandish honours, but whose actual power seems largely committed
to a faithful deputy, called, I believe, 'The Mayor of the Palace.'
This you quite realize?"

Again Leo bowed his assent. Paul with affected familiarity came nearer
and laid his thick hand upon the young man's shoulder.

"So far as an official: now I will speak--ah! let us say as a
scrutinizing uncle intent on your welfare. Your allowances will be
increased to match your honours. A word then of advice. They say you
have a mother--a worthy soul; the Saints bless her! a very worthy soul,
full of good works"--the eunuch's voice broke in a sniffle--"but for
courtly society, alas! unfitted. Find her some comfortable villa, say at
Perinthos on the Marmora, or elsewhere not too near, and provide for her
handsomely. Then consider well that you are still unmarried, and how the
advantage of an exalted alliance can advance you. Count Maurice Dukas
has the noblest palace on the Mese. He has also a daughter--ahem! I need
not continue. The Count has assisted me faithfully. I can open the
matter to him whenever you desire."

Leo's flush deepened, Paul assumed with satisfaction.

"I am treasuring your Sublimity's words," answered the soldier
awkwardly. "Of course you do not press for an immediate reply."

"Of course," smiled the eunuch; "only consider well."

A clarion pealed down the corridors of the vast palace. Paul gathered
his robes about him. "The Consistory in an hour. I have much to do." He
swept out, while the officer saluted again, then stood for a long
interval buried in his own thoughts.

       *       *       *       *       *

The "Purple Hall" of audience occupied another wing of that vast complex
of structures grouped around the Daphne and Chalke. Its vestibule was a
majestic apartment in itself. Pillars, pavement, walls and vaulting were
a sheen of many-coloured marbles and mosaics, with purple tints
predominating. When Leo entered, the long alabaster seats extending down
either side of a lengthy promenade were lined with high officials, all
in their state dalmatics and wearing medals of honour, waiting their
turn to be admitted to "Kiss the Purple," a ceremony necessary before
departing on a public mission, or laying down official duties, and also
for merely testifying a loyal respect for the Emperor. Many were ahead
of Leo and his wait promised to be long. Beside him sat an old
acquaintance, a commissioner reporting on the aqueducts of Adrianople.
The latter had just heard the abundant gossip concerning Leo's exploits
at the harbour, and congratulated his friend vigorously.

"And the damsel you saved," laughed on the functionary, "a lady Arion,
with you the succouring dolphin, they say is the musical daughter of
preposterous old Kallinikos the lecturer?"

"Musical?" queried Leo. "I heard nothing of that."

"Why, yes. I was formerly much at my sister's house near the Forum of
Theodosius. Kallinikos lives close by; many is the evening I've sat
dreaming of heaven while that girl would sit all unconscious at her
window and play her little organ. My sister says she is still a merry,
modest lass, but I can never think of her as anything but cousin to St.
Gabriel."

"And her father?"

"As you of course know, the most learned and pathetically useless man in
all Constantinople. Now he lectures on pagan philosophy, now on abstract
physics, now on Homer and now on geography. Rumour says that he shuts
himself up with dark experiments, seeking the ring of Gyges which makes
invisible, and the philosopher's stone. Many idle young men crowd his
hall, fascinated by his flow of absolutely unpractical erudition. I
heard that some of his colleagues were jealous of his vast knowledge,
and, more serious still, that various fanatical monks have talked of
accusing him as a wizard. But I consider him absolutely harmless."

"Very likely," remarked Leo. "See, the Lombard ambassadors are being
brought in."

Three tall blond men, with long unkempt beards, ill-fitting blue robes
and wearing heavy gold necklets, were being marched towards the silver
door of the throne room, by a squad of ushers and interpreters. Their
astonishment and absolute lack of ease was patent, and at sight of a
splendid official emerging from the Presence, one of them began bowing
and scraping.

"Alas! the poor envoys," laughed the commissioner, "they have saluted a
mere Protostrator. What will they do when overwhelmed by the sight of
the Basileus? They'll sign away half their master's sorry kingdom."

"This pomp and ceremonial has its value, therefore sensible men endure
it," responded Leo; "for some barbarians it takes the place of our
overblunted swords and spears. Would to God it could avail as much
against the Saracens."

The envoys were not admitted immediately, however. Policy in fact
required that they should be kept standing long on the threshold, while
one and another favoured servant of autocracy passed in before them.

The silver doors reopened. A "silentiary"[17] in white and scarlet tunic
with yellow crosses on the shoulders announced in clear voice:

"Flavius Leo."

[17] Subordinate chamberlain.

"It is not yet my turn," murmured the officer.

"Flavius Leo," was repeated loudly.

The soldier rose and passed through the portal. Once inside, obedient to
rigid ceremonial, he cast himself on his knees, bowed almost to the
pavement and then only arose partially, his hand shading his eyes as if
to shut out the effulgence shining from the throne.

In physical fact the audience chamber seemed dimly lighted. Overhead in
a soaring dome were gleaming vague labyrinths of mosaics. Through small,
high-set windows a pale illumination fell across the circular chamber.
When etiquette permitted Leo to look about him, he perceived sitting
immovable as statues some twenty white-robed patricians in ivory-armed
chairs of state. Standing grouped behind them were about twice as many
other dignitaries of slightly lesser glory--clad in green, blue or
purple dalmatics. On either wing of this arrogant hierarchy stood also a
decade of rigid Protectors in golden armour holding gilded swords.

But no visitor to this awful assemblage could suffer his gaze to wander
far. Straight ahead across the wide hall rose a silver ciborium, a small
dome in itself, supported by four pillars of like metal raising the
canopy high enough to disclose a motionless figure sitting upon a chair
encrusted with ivory, jewels and gold. In the half-light none could
distinguish the features, but there was assuredly a face encased between
a deep purple robe and a ponderous diadem. The latter was studded with
enormous pearls and had four great lappets of pearls which fell, two
over either ear, downward to the shoulders. Purple were the shoes,
purple and gold the belt. In the left hand of this dumb figure was a
globe (also of gold and gems) of the size of a large apple, surmounted
by a cross. Here was the successor of the first Augustus and of the
first Constantine!

"Flavius Leo!" announced the silentiary.

The officer continued kneeling a long instant until there was a slight
rustle and murmur from the figure on the throne.

"Arise, Flavius Leo!" commanded the herald.

The officer rose and stood mute and steadfast.

One of the hitherto motionless patricians suddenly stood erect. He held
up a parchment codicil, engrossed with purple ink and dangling a
ponderous seal: then read with loud voice:

     "_Alexios Bardanes Philippicus, Csar, Augustus, and
     Christ-loving Basileus of the Romans, to all dominions and
     provinces, officials and subjects_: Know ye that in our
     paternal care for the universal welfare we have sought out a
     man most expert, valiant and faithful, to set him over the
     Thracian theme of our army and to become our war-minister. Let
     Flavius Leo, hitherto Spatharios, be exalted to the rank of
     Strategos. Let our Count of the Sacred Largesses pay him an
     allowance annually of four hundred pounds of gold. Let his
     kindred partake of his nobility----"

and so through many clauses.

When the chancellor ceased, the newly-created Strategos cast himself
again upon the tessellated pavement, and remained with head bowed as if
overwhelmed by the greatness of the new honours, until a hollow voice
proceeded from the throne: "Draw near."

Leo ascended the three porphyry steps leading to the ciborium. As he did
this, the seated figure bent forward and with a stiff gesture extended
to him a ponderous fold of the purple robe. Leo kissed it, then retired
slowly backward. Simultaneously two silentiaries stepped to his side,
deftly detached his green dalmatic and substituted another of brilliant
red, while a trumpet pealed a silvery blast. "Hail! All hail to the
Strategos of Thrace!" burst as a kind of chant from the assembled
company, when the two chamberlains led the fortunate man to his new
station at the right of the throne, close to the seat of the Master of
the Palace.

Thus the audience proceeded. The doors were reopened: a sub-governor was
permitted to kneel at the throne and touch his lips to the purple, then
take his station in the hierarchy, and finally the Lombard embassy was
admitted....

... At length the Master of the Palace rose from his seat of honour, and
shook the golden keys held in his upraised hand. The remainder of the
company dropped on its knees and fixed its gaze devoutly upon the
monarch. Instantly unseen hands drew close the curtain about the
imperial canopy. The throne was hidden; then, amid a dead hush, the
creaking of a mechanism sounded faintly. The curtains flew back. Behold!
Throne and Basileus had vanished.

All ceremony forthwith abandoned, the entire company rushed around Leo.
Custom as well as friendship demanded profuse congratulations.
"Strategos! Strategos! Hail to his new Serenity!" Loudest and warmest
were the rejoicings of Count Maurice Dukas.

They brought Leo home with pompous procession, a great concourse of
civil magnates and army officers followed by a shouting, cheering mob
sweeping up the Mese. When the gates of the little house by the War
Department closed behind him, the new general ran into the embrace of
Kasia, and rapturously kissed on both cheeks "The most Serene and
Illustrious Strategissa who has made me all I am...."

... Meantime Paul and Theokistos were conversing at the Palace.

"Well," queried the latter, "the plunge is taken. We have made him great
for lack of any agent better. You have talked with him. Will he prove
pliable?"

"Pliable?" echoed the eunuch. "By the Trinity, yes! Of course he said
little, but he received my proposals about thinking of the Dukas
marriage like a lamb. And once married to that Theophano"--the eunuch
gave a wheezy chuckle--"my negro boy Amasis won't belong to us more
utterly!"




CHAPTER VI

THE HOUSE OF PEACE


So Leo, the peasant's son, became Commandant of Thrace and War Minister;
but although he accepted all the formal honours of his new station, to
the marvel of all the gossips of Constantinople, he still dwelt in the
little house by the War Department. His mother went about her wonted
charities, although at length with a modest escort, and her now "Serene"
son remained unwedded, despite constant small talk connecting him with
several eligible patricianesses.

He seemed lost in the infinite problems connected with reorganizing an
army whose morale and efficiency had been nigh ruined by twenty years of
tyranny and civil war. He promoted officers without fear or favour.
Veteran subalterns suddenly found their merits recognized. Comfortable
sinecures were abolished. The soldiers, who knew a true man, grumbled
not when he restored strict discipline. In the barracks
leathern-throated centurions and _decarchs_ shouted his praise over
their flagons, and drilled their recruits with new ardour. Thus through
the winter and into the spring Leo was happy--for he saw his work
prospering.

While Leo worked, Fergal, his new retainer, somewhat idled. The
Armorican speedily ceased to be a slave, for Kasia declared, "she did
not care to _own_ the fellow who saved her life," and had him to the
prefecture for the formalities of emancipation. Fergal therefore became
his patroness' guard of honour, marching now in resplendent livery
ahead of her sedan chair, and learning soon to swing a white baton and
cry, "Way for her Serenity!" When not thus convoying Kasia to hospitals,
almshouses, churches, or to personal acquaintances of less prosperous
days, his time was his own, and he soon rambled the length of
Constantinople.

The more Fergal beheld of the city the more his wonder grew. All that
was best, all that was worst in the world was converged in New Rome.
Within a pebble's toss of the marble Mese were vile lanes and hovels,
the haunts of vice unspeakable. Yet there were in Constantinople at
least four hundred churches, and as many monasteries, with full two
thousand lesser chapels and sanctuaries. There were legions of monks,
nuns and less regularly consecrated ascetics of both sexes. The bulk of
the population spoke Greek, yet called themselves proudly "Romans,"
mingling their speech with many uncouth terms of Latin; nevertheless
there were whole precincts of outlandish people of every skin and
tongue: Gepids and Goths, Lombards and Slavs, Huns and Bulgars, Syrians
and Turkomans. There were numerous Italians, a small colony of Franks
and even a very few exiles from rock-bound Armorica, from whom Fergal
could hear his own Celtic speech and renew dear memories of his
irretrievably lost home-land.

Often he turned in disgust from the flaunting evil, the pretentious
luxury, the vicious artificiality seen everywhere. Then in an hour he
would be delighted with the displays of elegant munificence and the
elaborate philanthropies, by the orderly police control, by the
scientific administration of justice, by the splendour of dress and
architecture, by the heavenly music in the churches, by the colourful
processions from the imperial palace, and finally by beholding the
hosts of cultivated men and women, each in his or her own way actively
bent on doing good.

Presently, too, he became increasingly intent on walks to a certain
house near the Forum of Theodosius, and his visits began in this manner:

A few days after the ferry disaster and Leo's promotion, Kallinikos and
his daughters called upon Kasia. The girls were not a little shy of the
newly acclaimed "Strategissa," but the old woman laughed in Anthusa's
face when she attempted to use the title, and put them immediately at
their ease. Leo of course was preoccupied, but Kasia was delighted at
the visit. Anthusa and Sophia neither patronized her ignorance nor
fawned upon her new dignity. They spoke the purest Attic Greek, and in
fact had evidently been educated in an atmosphere where "Excellencies"
and "Serenities" counted for little, and honest courtesy and kindliness
for much.

Kallinikos indeed was lost when attempting to converse with the old
woman. When he alluded to a phrase in "Plato's 'Apology,'" Kasia
interrupted to say that Plato's boat, she was sure, was not the
_Apology_ but the _Holy Elias_. This was too much for the younger women.
They dissolved in gales of melodious laughter, but so inoffensively that
Kasia's little body promptly swayed with them, and she had to wipe her
eyes for very glee. After that they were the best of friends, and when
they parted, Kasia promised to return their visit speedily.

She kept her word. Escorted by Fergal, she found Kallinikos' house in a
decent, quiet street on the "Third Hill," near the Forum of Theodosius
whereon faced the University buildings and the Public Record Office. The
mighty aqueduct of Valens ran its lofty ivy-covered arches close to the
rear of the dwelling and from the upper casements in front there was an
enrapturing view of the Marmora, the Isles of the Princes and the dim
shores of Bithynia. Like many good houses away from the Mese, this
residence was of wood, painted a dark red and rising to three stories
with iron-grated balconies and windows.

Once inside, Kasia's domestic eyes were delighted by every sign of
excellent housekeeping. Kallinikos' wealth was moderate, but his normal
wants were simple. Soft-footed Syrian servants waged truceless war upon
dust and cobwebs. The courtyard pool was full of rare plants, "From
Arabia and India," Sophia explained, "for our father's studies." The
marble Artemis by the ever-bubbling fountain was an original from the
chisel of Lysippos. In a large cage screamed three bright tropical
birds, while a pair of enormous cats ("Lethe and Tobias," informed
Anthusa) which climbed purring into Kasia's broad lap claimed lineal
descent from the famous felines of old Egypt sacred to the dreadful
goddess Pasht.

The visitors' marvelling, however, grew especially at the profusion of
books scattered everywhere. Unclerkly as both Kasia and Fergal were,
they knew that no palace of a Dukas or a Bardas could boast any such
library. The house seemed over-running with manuscripts. Old-style
papyrus rolls set in round leathern cases were intermixed with the newer
parchment codexes in opening covers of red or purple vellum. With no
consideration of his guest's untutored state, Kallinikos boasted of a
few of his treasures--a copy of Homer annotated by the master-critic
Didymos, a recension of Herodotus older and more accurate than any other
in Constantinople, a sermon of St. Basil's in the holy man's own hand,
and many others--until Anthusa tactfully induced her father to display
his improved timepiece, not yet quite perfected, to be sure, but in
which by a wheel, weight and pulley, he hoped to revolve an arrow
around a dial, and thus mark the hours far more closely than was
possible by sun-staff or water clock.[18]

[18] Dial clocks were first introduced in Western Europe a little less
than a century after the date of this narrative.

All this made Kasia's little eyes veritably start from her head, yet she
was not dismayed. The learning of Kallinikos was never patronizing, and
his daughters treated his jargon with a playful humour which put their
visitors wholly at ease. Kasia loved direct questioning, and soon she
had all the family history. Her host was from Northern Syria. To escape
Saracen domination he had removed to Constantinople before Sophia was
born. When Anthusa was an infant her mother had died of the great
plague. The father had lectured awhile at Salonica, but a few years
since had returned to his old chair at the University. The girls had an
aunt in Pera, but in the main their father had been their official tutor
with the sedate Marsa, their nurse, as domestic mentor.

As a result, explained Kallinikos gravely, "Although Sophia, I grieve to
say, has profited little, being too much like that Martha of Holy Writ,
'cumbered with much serving,' I have found Anthusa Maria not unlike her
sister Mary who 'chose that good part'; for I have been able to teach
her not a little of the epic, lyric and tragic poets, yes, and of the
lighter and more apprehensible dialogues and theories of Plato,
although, to my great sorrow, her grasp upon Aristotle and Kleanthes
leaves much to be desired."[19]

[19] This was a bare modicum of the learning sometimes possessed by
Byzantine ladies--witness the famous Anna Komnena.

"St. Theodore preserve us!" cried Kasia, gazing in astonishment at
Anthusa. "To imagine that you carry fearful things like those under your
thick hair and inside your cunning little head!"

"But really, dear lady," confided Anthusa demurely, "I've no need to
remember all the wise lore my father pours into me. Since Sophia must
order the house and keep the maids from quarrelling, haven't I task
enough," she playfully wrung her hands, "to keep returning incessantly
to their cases and cupboards all my father's multitudinous books?"

"Verily, you have, _makaira_!" assented the admiring Kasia, who could
spell only with the greatest difficulty. And so, accepting two or three
tropical roots to put in her garden boxes, the old lady went home,
assuring Fergal and Peter that "Here were the first people who smelled
of parchment, yet didn't let that smell turn her stomach."

This was the first of many visits. The motherless sisters under
Kallinikos' abstracted tutelage were wont to go about Constantinople
with a freedom unusual for the run of genteel unmarried women, but Kasia
soon found that no neighbour was peevish enough to breathe a word
against their characters. Michael reported that the priests at St. Mary
the Deaconess, their parish church, praised their piety and charity,
although their father came rather seldom to mass and was suspected of
the Nestorian heresy. So Kasia visited them often, and Fergal never
grudged attendance, especially after his mistress explained bluntly to
the sisters, "He's not a slave, this red head. In his own land his
father was some kind of a 'Serenity,' I suppose, and no doubt he's got
bluer blood than a certain old Strategissa, shaped like an oil-vat,
whose name I _might_ mention."

Therefore on pretext of trifling errands Fergal went often to the house
of the Lecturer. Anthusa seemed always assisting her father with his
crucibles or bookish researches, but Sophia was more accessible. With
Marsa of course bestowing discreet countenance, Fergal was thus favoured
with many interviews. The native wit and gift of speech of the Celt
kindled with each opportunity. His long captivity at Damascus supplied
him endless anecdotes, which, artful rascal, he could expand to the best
of advantage. Soon he found himself incessantly calculating how soon he
might decently repeat his visits. In this way Hormisdas' quondam chattel
found the days beginning to glide by in a decidedly pleasant fashion.

Matters had thus been ripening steadily, when one evening Leo returned
from the War Ministry in a state of unwonted petulance. Accustomed to
talk freely to Kasia, he poured out his wrath against a certain
self-confident engineer who had proposed a new type of catapult, and had
constructed a costly mechanism, only to have it fail ludicrously. When
the Strategos' passion had subsided, Fergal, serving the modest supper,
fell on one knee before Leo:

"Would the _despotes_ suffer him to speak?"

"Certainly," cried the general testily, "did you learn among the
Saracens how to make better war engines?"

"Not so, _despotes_; but I know one who can. I have seen the models of a
marvellous catapult at the house of Kallinikos."

"Kallinikos? That most peaceful of dotards?"

"Yes, truly. His daughters tell me that he has been hiring in a skillful
wood-worker and a smith to aid him to prepare imitations of all the
machines described by a certain wise Archimedes--somebody long
departed."

"Archimedes? I think I've seen his name in the military books,"
confessed Leo. "Tell me more. Perhaps the queer old pedant has hit on
something useful, after all."

Possibly for his own devious ends Fergal exerted his Celtic eloquence.
As a result, the next day Leo returned early from his bureau, wrapped
himself in a plain chlamys to avoid frequent recognitions, and with
Kasia in her sedan, its bearers and Fergal and Peter as sole
attendants, he set forth for the Forum of Theodosius.

The appearance of the mighty war-minister, even in Kasia's friendly
company, put all the household of Syrians in a wondrous flutter. Old
Ephraim almost broke his back salaaming when he took the message, "Leo
the Strategos requests an interview with the most learned Kallinikos."

The menial, however, returned only after a long interval, and not with
his master, but with Anthusa. She was red and obviously embarrassed.

"My father, most Illustrious Serenity," she courtesied, "says he is in
the midst of a vital experiment. His crucibles are at precisely the
right heat. He cannot leave them. He prays to be excused."

"Tell him, gracious _kyria_," replied Leo smiling, "that for once I have
plenty of that rare thing--time. We will wait."

"Show my son your father's books, girl," commanded Kasia, bustling
about; "he can make much more out of gilt initials and black hen's
tracks than I can."

Anthusa threw open the chests and presses, and brought out the best
treasures. After a little she forgot she conversed with the Strategos of
Thrace. Her words came naturally. Her explanations of rare volumes lost
nothing with Leo, because they were uttered with an exquisite diction
and accent which the greatest patricianesses might have envied. Possibly
the interval was long for Anthusa. It was far shorter to her guest. At
last, to the maiden's great relief, Ephraim appeared bowing and doubling
again.

"May it please your extraordinarily Magnificent Lordship," he announced,
"my master says that while the crucibles are cooling he will see you."

Ephraim was closely followed by Kallinikos in person. The savant wore an
astonishingly dirty robe, burned through in several places. His hands
were smutty with charcoal; even his beard was slightly singed. Leo, not
without amusement, caught the glances of mortified dismay exchanged
between Sophia and Anthusa. Upon his chief guest Kallinikos gazed
somewhat blankly, then began mumbling his wonder that his antiquarian
researches should interest busy men of affairs.

The strategos explained with soldierly directness what Fergal had told
him, and described his own disappointment with the unsuccessful
catapult. Kallinikos' eye kindled directly: "I need not be told
wherefore it failed. The levers were arranged on the fallacious
principles proposed by Zenodotos. Not that he was a feeble
mathematician; indeed, his treatise on the 'Equal Periphery' is worthy
of profound reverence; but in mechanics--what a child!--Now if your
engineer had but sat at the feet of Archimedes----"

But here the sage ran off into a long discourse as to how, while turning
over ill-arranged manuscripts in the public library at the Octagon by
the Augustum, he had lighted upon a unique document, giving the very
specifications and drawings of those incomparable military engines
wherewith "the diving Archimedes" had so long baffled the Roman
Marcellus at the siege of Syracuse. Forthwith Kallinikos had engaged
craftsmen, and with much labour had prepared working models of all the
machines described.

"Not that he, a man of peace, so hateful of bloodshed that he even
shrank from ordering the extermination of superabundant kittens, desired
the destruction of mankind by such siege engines, but he was anxious to
test the accuracy of the manuscript, and also to vindicate to a certain
misdoubting colleague the authority of the great Syracusan as a master
of mechanics, statics, and hydrostatics, as well as in pure
mathematics; for in such matters as quadrature of the circle----" Here
mercifully he paused for lack of breath.

Leo could therefore interpose, "I pray you, learned father; I doubt not
the fame of your great Archimedes, but since I do not share your erudite
disputations, favour me with a sight of the models themselves."

"Follow me," commanded Kallinikos, plunging across his courtyard and
swinging open a heavy door. Leo entered a spacious apartment the like
whereof he had never seen. A broad table was strewn with parchments,
calculating tablets, mathematical dividers and a bronze globe whereon
were inscribed all the constellations. Around the room ran numerous
shelves, some bearing a carefully arranged collection of curious stones,
others covered with birds and small quadrupeds, artfully preserved and
skillfully mounted. The soldier recoiled for an instant. A full-sized
leopard seemed opening his fangs before him, but Anthusa's smothered
laugh proclaimed that the figure was harmless. Speedily his eye was
caught by a broad copper plate mounted on a stand, and Kallinikos was
explaining that here was a map of the world according to Strabo, and
containing (he made bold to say) certain additions beyond the knowledge
of the sage of Alexandria. Then at every turn Leo beheld models in wood
and metal of strange mechanisms, some for military purposes, but others
whereof the design baffled him completely. In one corner a fire was
glowing under copper cauldrons, and the room reeked with the penetrating
odour of some drug that just had been under experiment.

With courtesy but firmness Leo compelled the sage to omit a long lecture
on poliorcetics, and to display his newest models. Small as these were,
their faithful construction and proportions illustrated all their
principles. The soldier laid aside as hopelessly impractical the
attempt to prepare a series of mirrors powerful enough to converge the
sun's rays upon a hostile ship and burn it from a distance, but in the
catapult he instantly perceived an adjustment of ropes, counterweights
and levers surpassing the best in the arsenal. Not without boyish ardour
he shot harmless missiles, while Kallinikos watched his enthusiasm with
unconcealed delight. At length Leo set down the model.

"Venerable _kyrios_," he declared, "a full-powered catapult like this
should fling its bolts full fifty fathoms beyond the best range of any
we possess. In a siege ten such engines might be worth a thousand men.
Let Fergal take this model away, and to-morrow you shall receive such an
order on the Count of the Treasury as will prove the imperial
gratitude."

The lecturer shook his head vehemently.

"Take it hence. I am gratified that a thing prepared out of pure love of
science, even as men study the moon, should have so utilitarian an
end--but nothing from the Treasury; let my wealth never grow by devising
the slaughter even of Hagarines. Besides, the idea was not mine, but
Archimedes'. My wants are simple. My girls are not penniless. Every
solidus above sufficiency is a snare to divert me from the noble quest
of undefiled truth."

Leo whistled through his teeth. Pillar saints might possibly thus sweep
gold aside, but not many other mortals, according to his experience.
Then his wonder and withal his sense of humility grew as Kallinikos
showed to him yet other things--the presses of dried plants and herbs
which her father said Anthusa had mounted; the great living African bat
that blinked grotesquely from an inverted cage on the ceiling; an
elaborate combination of blocks and pulleys wherewith a child might lift
a marble pillar, and finally a sizable bronze cylinder, pivoted upon a
central axis and with bent pipes projecting at certain intervals from
its surface.

The strategos gazed upon this last device with unconcealed bewilderment,
whereat the delighted savant signalled to Ephraim. The domestic poured
water into a tightly closed cauldron beneath the cylinder, laid charcoal
under the cauldron, ignited the fuel, and presently, even as Kallinikos
was explaining to his guest the different veinings of Parian, Pentelic
and Proconnesian marbles, there was a hissing noise as of an hundred
serpents. Lo! without human touch or other apparent agency, right under
their mortal eyes the bronze cylinder was whirling around with lightning
velocity, with hot jets of vapour leaping from all its tubes.

"Art magic," screamed Kasia, clapping her hands over her ears; "the
devil's inside it!"

"It is merely Hero's nigh forgotten 'aeropile,'" explained Kallinikos
benevolently, and told how the unseen power came neither from demons nor
from wizard spells, but simply from the energy contained in the steam
which arises from boiling water.

"But what's the good of it all?" cried she.

"Every substance, every power which God has planted in this world is
good," responded the lecturer simply; "it is only for us patiently to
search them out. Then in time He will reveal the purpose."

"I would we found some solid use for this strange 'vapour engine,'"
remarked Leo, not a little awestruck; "it irks me to see the strength of
men, horses or even of mere water flying all to waste."

"Since the strength is there," remarked Kallinikos unconcernedly, "some
day, doubt it not, God will reveal its uses to men--though perhaps only
after a thousand years."

But now the shelves and the presses had all been explored, and the
Strategos was seeking courteous words of thanks and farewell, when
Kallinikos plucked at his mantle.

"Good youth," the savant had long since cast official honorifics to the
winds when addressing his visitor, "grant to an old man one small
petition."

"Anything, venerable father."

"We are greatly in your debt. Payment is impossible, but as token our
gratitude is not vain, do you and your good mother remain and break
bread with us."

The look of consternation stamped simultaneously upon the countenances
of the two sisters assailed the soldier's gravity, but he answered at
once:

"My evening--thanked be the Saints--is free; we are greatly honoured."

Sophia, with a despairing gesture towards her father, suddenly
disappeared. There was an unwonted running to and fro among the Syrian
servitors. Anthusa also glided away. Leo gave Kallinikos a rare
happiness by listening to an exposition of Poseidonios' theory of the
tides--a matter whereof the soldier was in sheer and unabashed
ignorance. When the girls reappeared, Leo was only vaguely conscious
that both seemed more charming than ever, but Kasia more professionally
noticed that they had slipped on silken gowns and had flowers in their
hair. And then Ephraim announced that supper was ready.

Kallinikos took his guests to a modest dining-room, where two choice
mosaics of Odysseus and the Sirens, and of Joseph uplifting Benjamin
faced in friendly proximity. A large semi-circular table stood covered
with viands. The lecturer apologized for having abandoned the
still-frequent custom of reclining at meat, and ushered Leo to the seat
of honour at his right hand, next which was placed his mother. The food
was simple, but Kasia noticed with approval that the cooking was the
best. When her father's allusions seemed too recondite, Anthusa fell to
boasting how the eggs and vegetables were from their own farm by his
villa at Therapia. After a little, Leo forgot all about the intrigues of
worthless officers and the knavery he had just unearthed in the
quartermaster's department. Completely at ease, his laugh was merry, his
speech free, and his stories of bizarre adventures in the Caucasus lost
nothing when recited to such an audience. With no pleasant surprise he
presently realized that the board was cleared--that the innocent feast
was at an end.

Kallinikos nodded to his daughters.

"Our guests will pardon our custom. We are simple people and show our
simplicity by making every night the same."

Then the lecturer and the two maidens stood together, and with downcast
eyes chanted what Leo knew was the very old "Apostolic hymn" of
thanksgiving after meat:

    "Thou art blessed, O Lord, who nourishest me in my youth:
        Who givest food to all flesh.
    Fill now our hearts with joy and gladness,
        That at all times, having all-sufficiency,
    We may abound to every good work,
        In Christ Jesus, our Lord!
    With whom and to Thee be glory, honour and might,
        Forever and ever! Amen!"

When the grace was ended, Kallinikos turned again to Anthusa: "And now,
of course, the organ."

Anthusa compressed her lips: "Not to-night, father, our guests grow
weary."

"_Kyria_," cried Leo, hardly knowing what he said, "I am the least weary
man in all the world."

Anthusa sighed prettily, blushed again, but submitted. The servants
tugged in and set before her a portable organ with three octaves of
bronze pipes set over silver keys. Sophia stood beside it, gently
working the lever for the bellows. Then Leo sat spellbound while
Anthusa, after pressing down a few soft notes, let her calm eyes wander
afar, then opened her lips--and from them rushed a melody clear and
sweet as bells across the summer sea.

And for the first time in his life Leo heard the great choruses of the
poets of Athens poured out as noble song. After her first embarrassment
was over, Anthusa lost herself in the music. The Antigone, the Orestes,
the Prometheus, the Ion--she knew them all. Now some winged ode of
Theban Pindar would leap to her tongue, and now some high choral of
Simonides. A new world as it were--a world of vocal, incarnate spirits,
infinitely fair, seemed suddenly opening before the pragmatic soldier.
He felt lifted out of self, with all the dross and dregs of life
retreating. And almost he thought himself to be drifting veritably with
the "Clouds" in empyrean, when at last Anthusa struck on some lilting
chorus of Aristophanes, such as

    "Cloud maidens who float on forever,
        Dew-sprinkled, fleet-bodied and fair,
    Let us rise from our Sire's loud river,
        Great Ocean, and soar through the air
    To the peaks of the pine-covered mountains
        Where the pines hang as tresses of hair!
    Let us seek the watch-towers undaunted
        Where the well-watered corn-fields abound,
    And through murmurs of rivers nymph-haunted
        The songs of the sea-waves resound:
    And the sun in the sky never wearies
        Of spreading his radiance around...."

At last the flow of song ended. Anthusa's hands fell. She glanced at her
father.

"Sufficient, child," he nodded dreamily. "We are Christians, not pagans.
So once again give us the evening hymn."

Many a time had Leo heard the familiar stanzas of Patriarch Anatolios,
but never as now carried by that voice:

    "The day is past and over,
        All thanks, O Lord, to Thee!
    I pray Thee now that sinless
        The hours of dark may be:
    O Jesu, keep me in Thy sight
        And save me through the coming night.

    "Be Thou my soul's preserver,
        O God, for Thou dost know
    How many are the perils
        Through which I have to go.
    Lover of men, oh, hear my call,
        And guard and save me from them all...."

... Very low was Leo's reverence when he took his leave of Kallinikos
that night. His words were few, but his whole manner told how he had
been stirred by a flood of hitherto unwonted emotions. He assured the
lecturer that he would not fail to return and examine with greater care
his other models. Out in the darkened streets, where link boys were
running before the carriages and litters, Kasia spoke to him:

"Well, wasn't Fergal right about the catapult?"

"Ei, the catapult?" said Leo, rousing himself from a deep reverie. "I
had nigh forgotten all about the catapult, the other engines and the
wars. We have been--what shall I say?--_to the House of Peace_."




CHAPTER VII

THE PROCESSION OF THE EMPRESS


As the spring advanced, subalterns and associates at the War Department
noted a subtle change in the young Strategos of Thrace. He was less
abrupt in his commands, more gentle in his manner, more whimsical in his
phrases. He was seen at the great bazaars on the "Street of Lamps"[20]
selecting garments of price which set off his fine military figure to
best advantage. He even visited the shop of Ibas the Armenian, the most
exclusive jeweller in the city, and made relatively extravagant
purchases of costly rings. The women talked about him more than ever
when they met at their variety theatres and baths. It was long taken for
granted that he was contemplating a wealthy marriage; but nothing
happened, although Theophano Dukas continued unwedded, and the War
Minister was occasionally a guest at her father's palace.

[20] A section of the Mese, with the best shops, and brilliantly
illuminated at night.

One day when Leo visited the Daphne to secure the signet of Paul upon
certain documents, the eunuch beckoned to his secretaries to withdraw to
a proper distance, and then his manner became confidential.

"I have been watching you, Sir Strategos," he said, smiling with his
hairless lips.

"You have then learned my mistakes," replied Leo boldly. "You have also
learned that I have striven my best."

"I have learned that there was no blunder in your appointment. All
hopes in your abilities have been justified. And yet--we are
disappointed."

"I do not quite understand your Sublimity."

"A man who will let his personal opportunities slip through his fingers,
as do you, can sometimes fail in his public duties also."

"I am still puzzled," confessed the soldier.

Paul half closed his eyes and gazed at the other penetratingly: "Perhaps
you think to conquer in some deep game which my friends and I cannot
understand. Think hard. Look well to your pieces on the board. If you
intrigue, you play against masters. The son of an Isaurian peasant
should take no chances. Once before I reminded you that you continued
unmarried----"

The form of the strategos straightened. "My superiors command my
obedience," he announced with emphasis; "my patrons deserve my
gratitude. But my household and my private desires are my own."

The eunuch shrugged his ill-shapen shoulders and forced a short laugh.

"_Pfui!_ Let's not quarrel, my dear general." He smiled unpleasantly.
"What can an old courtier like myself do but play the busybody? Your
work at the War Ministry rejoices us all. Here, let me seal the
diplomas."

After Leo had bowed himself out a little stiffly, the prime minister's
bell tinkled, and a page went out with a hasty summons to Niketas and
Theokistos.

The junior members of the palace triumvirate came to their senior
colleague immediately, and Paul revealed the unsatisfactory attitude of
the Isaurian.

"Manifestly," commented Theokistos, "his refusal to marry springs from
some deep cause. He's not pious enough for some absurd vow of celibacy.
If he gets out of control, it's a blow to all our party."

"The more so," confirmed the eunuch, "because the clerks in my pay in
the War Department report his services there are indispensable. He has
reformed the General Staff with firmness, yet tact. A remarkable new
catapult is being manufactured at the arsenal. Now he is reorganizing,
with astonishing prudence, the great Armeniac theme. His popularity with
the army is such that to remove him might veritably set the palace on
fire. We must act most warily."

"That loutish mother of his," remarked Niketas, "is at least harmless,
though he won't send her from the city. Our concern should be elsewhere.
His refusal to push his suit for the Dukas girl, considering her wealth
and connection, is the act of no sane man; yet, where's there a cooler
head than his?"

"I like the case little," thrust back Theokistos. "If Leo's not already
betrothed to Theophano it's for reasons that touch our safety. The
Patrician Soganes has the blood of the old deposed Heraclius dynasty in
his veins, and, though he's too old to head a conspiracy, he's got a
marriageable daughter. Has this Isaurian been inveigled into seeking her
hand along with her father's claims? Such a thing might be."

Paul shook his head. "I've thought of that, but Soganes' butler (who
gets my fees) swears that his master and Leo are barely acquainted."

"And common report," pursued Niketas, "makes our fine strategos as moral
as a cenobite, not given to wine or dice, seldom at the races or
pantomime theatres, and with an appetite only for reports, fortress
plans and infantry reviews. We must hunt more diligently."

"There is something else, _philotate_," announced the eunuch cynically.
"Before we wander farther it shall be searched out. I've not dried up in
the palace all my days without learning to know men--and women. Helen
ruined Troy. Cleopatra undid Antony. The conduct of the most Serene Leo
can be explained, I think it is safe to say, simply by remarking: 'He
has a mistress.'"

"Well, what's the harm?" rejoined Theokistos in a relieved tone.
"Mistresses are common and safe."

"Merely, my very noble Secretary," spoke Paul, "because mistresses are
pliable and corruptible. Of course, she's keeping her lover from the
Dukas marriage, which would probably mean her downfall. Very possibly
she's playing the other faction's game (I know that Nikephoros Skleros
and his following!) and perhaps winning for them control of the army.
The whole case, then, becomes very simple."

Theokistos made the eunuch a profound reverence:

"I marvelled at your Sublimity's astuteness before. I am more than ever
convinced of its powers now. We must find her out."

Paul's bell tinkled again. "Send in Petronax," he ordered. After some
moments a sleek, well-formed young man, in brilliant livery, with eyes
subtle as a cat's, was plumping on his knees before the patricians.

"Petronax," ordered the eunuch, "in the past you have discharged
delicate missions; take now another. Find out if Leo the Strategos has a
mistress and where he keeps her. Learn all about her. Of course, move
secretly. Nothing overt, you understand, but report promptly. It's a
matter of weight."

"With the forehead, Sublimity; with the forehead," and Petronax,
literally fulfilling his words, smote his head upon the carpet.

"A most useful fellow," assured Paul, dismissing him with a wave; "and
quite to be trusted. In three days we will know everything."

"And decide whether a bribe, a halter or a nunnery will answer us the
best," laughed Niketas as the heavy curtain closed behind the emissary.

       *       *       *       *       *

In these same days Leo had been undergoing a new experience. No man
could have risen as had he, without drinking much of life's cup, too
often even to the evil lees. Saint and ascetic he had never been. Great
crimes had not stained his soul, but in occasional self-searching
moments he had reviewed with self-reproach his share in deeds oblique,
brutal or fleshly. The guard-corps of Justinian II had been no monastery
of the virtues. He had known the ways of a luxurious court and its
sordid intrigues, of the barracks and their coarseness, of the battle
and its bloody perils, of the glozing society of the magnates, of the
base wiles of unholy women. If he had been saved from the searing
effects of the life about him, it had been because of an innate disgust
for things artificial, unmanly and vile, and because the influence of
his mother, even in his most tempted moments, had ever remained his
guiding star.

Kasia, however, although she had given her son all that she might of
positive virtue, of unpretending piety, and of abhorrence of pretense,
had made it her open boast that she could not rise above her peasant
viewpoint. If their home contained sundry refinements, these existed at
Leo's behest, not hers. If he showed an instinctive love for books, and
spent many an hour over Polybios and Prokopios, when his associates were
at banquet, she simply marvelled at his use of spare time.[21] Hitherto,
caught in his military life, he had looked on the world of the intellect
and the nobler arts, as a super-mundane realm, wherein entrance was
perhaps to be forever denied him. And now--an opportunity.

[21] Leo's personal love of letters is attested by the detailed diaries
he left of his expedition to the Caucasus, and later of his campaign in
Anatolia against the Saracens.

Fergal had no longer any difficulty in finding excuses for interviews
with Sophia. His master provided all the excuses for him. The interest
which the strategos developed in Kallinikos' military models presently
made the astute Armorican's eyes roll in his head. The new catapult
worked excellently, but Leo must needs visit the lecturer repeatedly to
consult about a small adjustment which might well have been settled by a
letter. The War Minister even saw possibilities in a proposed movable
siege-tower, although Kallinikos professed that the plans were faulty,
thanks to errors in the manuscript. Furthermore, Leo suddenly discovered
that the Aqueduct of Valens, so essential for filling the city
reservoirs in emergency, needed careful repairs. Every afternoon as the
work progressed he rode to confer with the master mason, and Fergal
failed not to note that his patron invariably went through a certain
side street, and by a certain house, with his eye on a certain lattice.

Seldom the victim of torturing self-analysis, Leo long kept from
questioning why he found the learned converse of Kallinikos fascinating,
although, truth to tell, the old man was often well worth a hearer. The
great thing the soldier knew was that in these days he was often
entering a house the like whereof had never swung its doors to him
before: a house where voices were melodious and low: a house where
gentle consideration ruled every act--where there abounded not golden
cups and gilded couches, but books of noble thoughts and deeds: where
pelf was only prized so far as it ministered to the things of the
spirit: where happiness rested not on the life without but on the life
within. All these things Leo observed wonderingly; and unconsciously he
grew humble, and also very glad.

When Kasia came not with her son, at first Sophia and Anthusa kept
discreetly in the background, but Kallinikos needed his daughters to
help display his models, and after a little the shyness wore off. The
girls no longer called Leo "Serenity," but merely the friendly "Kyrios,"
and soon they met his unassuming moods with a frank demeanour befitting
that granted a dignified cousin.

At last Fergal ceased counting his patron's visits. Once or twice the
discussions with Kallinikos would run into the evening, when Leo would
need no persuasion to stay to supper. Sophia was no longer disturbed
when he did so, and later must appear the little organ to evoke the
silver voice of Anthusa. Once the girls paid an afternoon call upon
Kasia. Fergal never explained how it was Sophia's donkey most
unaccountably fell lame, and how no substitute could be obtained until
the strategos himself strode in after a weary day at his ministry. Then
Kasia's cookery must needs be sampled, after which Leo (asserting that
footpads were many and the watch unreliable) convoyed them homeward
himself, with his archers clattering on ahead to guard the way.

All this time Kasia and Fergal spoke not a word about a certain matter,
although sometimes the twain winked at one another slyly. Equally silent
was Leo as to which of the two sisters interested him more; but the
strategos (so Fergal with no sorrow observed) always seemed to have the
more conversation with Anthusa, and in his abstracted moments when he
had the habit of humming raucously certain tunes, they were always tunes
that had first fallen much more melodiously from the lips of the younger
sister.

Thus matters progressed through Lent and the great feast of Easter, and
on a pleasant day soon after, Leo had to ride out again to inspect the
aqueduct, and must needs go to the red house on the quiet street (his
horse now knew the way without touch of bridle), and ask for speech
with Kallinikos. Scarcely had the sisters greeted him in the aula, and
Sophia had disappeared to summon her father, when in the street was
heard a shouting. Anthusa sprang to the lattice.

A bustle suddenly pervaded the peaceful way. Varlets in imperial livery,
with the Csarian eagle blazoned on their breasts, were running along
routing from their lairs in the gutters the innumerable street dogs
wherewith the city abounded. Other menials were scattering over the
pavement great masses of myrtle and laurel leaves, box and ivy, while
here and there they were setting down lighted pots of incense which
released a heavy smoke so that one saw the avenue only through a blue
haze. Sophia, running back from the study, gazed also and clapped her
hands.

"I have it! This is the Saint's name day at the Convent of St. Floros,
and the shortest way from the palace lies hither. The Empress is
coming."

Leo inwardly thanked the Trinity that he had not been summoned to join
the other dignitaries undoubtedly required to march in the train of
Majesty. The procession presented scant novelty for him, but the sisters
had been too home-bound often to witness the palace ftes, and their
faces glowed prettily with excitement. The strategos dimly realized that
he had never beheld Anthusa so animated and charming. Even Kallinikos
laid down his Ptolemy to gaze upon the invasion of their wontedly
peaceful quarter.

Presently sounded a great clamour of oboes, lutes, dulcimers, trumpets
and cymbals. Then could be heard the deep chanting of the priests and
monks heading the procession. Their hymn was supposedly in praise of the
Panagia and of St. Floros, but at intervals would rise the obsequious
refrain to their human patroness:

        "Thou crownd of God,
        Basilissa, belovd of Christ,
        Thou Beauty of the Purple,
    Come now and shine upon thy servants:
        Rejoice the hearts of thy people!"

"'The Beauty of the Purple?'" questioned Anthusa, leaning against the
lattice. "Is her Sacred Majesty indeed that?"

"Wait and see," responded Leo enigmatically, his eyes intent upon the
glowing colour in her face.

Now sounded the thunderous shout from the multitudes of citizens and
idlers who invariably thronged all the street corners and areas along
the way.

    "Christ-loving Basilissa shine forth!
    Shine forth, thou Beauty of the Purple!"

Leo wondered to himself whether he could loyally and wisely tell the
girls that Vania, Philippicus' Empress, was a fit mate for her sybaritic
husband--a luxury-loving Armenian woman, too fat to waddle save when
borne on the arms of eunuchs, too doltish to give intelligent orders to
her women. He kept his peace. Such unspoiled delight in an empty
spectacle refreshed his soul. He stood back from the lattice, watching
not the bowing and scraping throngs below, but the eager movements of
Anthusa.

Now the van of the marchers came in sight. First a corps of heralds in
long red gabardines went swinging white staves to clear the way. Then
came three solid platoons of Protectors in their blue silk uniforms,
carrying long spears and blue shields sprinkled with black stars. Leo
pointed out his friend the Count of the Guards, their commander, on
horseback, trailing a flaming red tunic, purple-breasted, and bearing a
green shield centred with a huge golden cross.

The chanting and rhythmic acclamations grew louder. The great corps of
musicians followed, and a company of black-robed, white-veiled priests
and monks, their tall hats all bobbing together. Above them floated half
a dozen gauzy banners covered with religious pictures. One stalwart
deacon carried on high a silver statue of St. Floros, at sight whereof
the more pious spectators fell on their knees. The rhythmic acclamations
intensified.

        "Christ have mercy upon us!
        Thou Mother of God preserve us!
        Thou holy St. Floros intercede for us!
    Preserve and intercede for the most pious and fortunate Augusta.
    The Panagia preserve the Basilissa, belovd of Christ!"

Now followed the civil officials of the palace, each haughty functionary
mounted on a white mule, his robe falling in enormous folds, and his
steed surrounded by a squad of menials in turbans and mantles made
gorgeous with colour. After half a score of these high logothetes,
counts and consulars, appeared still more white mules bearing the
patricianesses who attended upon the Empress. They were all in flowing
costumes of blue silk, and wore their state "proplom"--lofty-peaked
headdresses with white veils, held down by circlets of gold. Then pealed
the acclamations again:

        "The Beauty of the Purple!--
    Ten thousand years to the Joy of the whole World!"

The "Beauty of the Purple" rode in an open four-wheeled car completely
covered with gold-plate and drawn by four horses with coats like new
snow. Their trappings were purple, marked with golden eagles. Around the
car marched a square of twenty beardless eunuchs in liveries stiff with
jewels and ornaments. At the bridle of one of the imperial horses, with
an ostentatious humility marking him out as proudest of the proud,
walked the acknowledged first power in the Empire, Paul himself, the
Master of the Palace.

The imperial car advanced with befitting deliberation. Under the clear
light its sole passenger, centre of all applause and glory, flashed
like a terrestrial sun. The sisters saw an obese woman sitting in an
enormous purple mantle spangled plenteously with gold. Gold were the
slippers which peeped from under its folds. Gold of course the diadem
upon her head. The gleaming metal was however partly hidden by the gems.
Even from the lattice one could almost identify the heavy emeralds and
topazes. The crown was surmounted by an elaborate pearl-set cross, and
heavy strings of pearls hid the wearer's neck and shoulders.

Motionless and passionless the Basilissa rode straight on, the
thunderous chanting seemingly no more to her than the dashings of the
sea. Whether the features beneath the diadem were coarse or mobile,
passionate or pitiful, what mattered it? A bedizened doll might have
shown as much life as the Augusta. The sovereign was almost past the red
house, and the rear guard of yet other Protectors was coming to view,
when suddenly the automatic progress of the imperial car was
interrupted.

Inspired by some fiend, an unlucky street dog, chased perhaps by boys
from his refuge, darted before the white horses, surprising the one at
whose bridle was complacently marching Paul. The mettlesome horse reared
and curvetted. For an instant the car was shaken. The eunuch had the
reins twitched from his grasp and barely escaped a kick and a fall. His
white robe was dashed with mud ere a dozen hands could calm the horses.
Under its enormous crown, the sisters could just catch the startled eyes
and blanching face of the Empress. As the malefic dog shot away, an
outraged Protector avenged the insult to Majesty with a keen lunge of
his spear. The dog ran off on three legs, bleeding, while his piercing
yelp rose above the chanting of the priests. Then the acclamations
resumed. The monarch settled back into her state of petrified calm. The
eunuch resumed his post at the bridle. Soon the chanting and cheering
died around the next street corner, and the little quarter settled to
its accustomed quiet.

Some hundreds may have witnessed the trifling incident of the dog. Not
one had wisdom enough to know that on that incident there would some day
in large measure depend the life or death of Leo, Anthusa, and Paul, or
even of the entire safety of Constantinople and the Roman Empire....

... Leo had seen little of the procession. He had seen very much of the
sisters. Giving free rein to his fancy, he had tried to picture the
sensitively moulded features of Anthusa looking forth betwixt a purple
robe and a pearl-encrusted diadem. The thought contained nothing
displeasing. As the crowds in the street dispersed, he asked an idle
question:

"Well, most gracious _kyriai_, how would one of _you_ like to be 'The
Beauty of the Purple'?"

Sophia's eyes kindled immediately.

"Pray, sir, don't ask silly questions! What man doesn't want to be
Emperor?"

"Yet the crown was heavy and the day was hot."

"As if she thought of _that_!" retorted the elder sister disdainfully.

"But your opinion, Kyria Anthusa?" continued the officer.

The younger maiden's calm forehead wrinkled.

"I don't agree with Sophia," she replied with a pretty shrug; "a
Basilissa's slavery must be intolerable--a slavery to one's own
greatness, forever in purple bonds and golden fetters. I could never
endure it---that is, unless I loved my husband very much."

"Then, dear _kyria_," laughed the strategos, "from what I know of the
Daphne you would find life there very stupid!"

So passed the afternoon; but one other trifling event followed: In the
doorway was found cowering and trembling the luckless dog which had cost
Paul his dignity. The spear-thrust had been vicious, and, to boot, the
creature was only half-fed. His mangled ears and tail proclaimed him the
veteran of many street battles. Kallinikos began elaborate remarks about
how he possessed some poison on the formul once tested by Cleopatra
upon criminals prior to her own suicide, and here was a chance to "end
the poor creature's misery, and to test out the prescription." But
Anthusa immediately had the animal up in her soft arms (Leo watching
with wondering eyes), washed off and salved the wound, fed the wretch
nigh to bursting, then laid him on straw in the courtyard--her patient
enduring unresistingly and wagging his tail in silent gratitude.

This done, the strategos, in the full spirit of the hour, remarked
merrily that so favoured a creature must forthwith have a name.
Kallinikos learnedly suggested "Argos" after the famous hound of
Odysseus; but the sisters denied their father's right to voice in the
matter, and gladly took the suggestion of Leo that he be christened
"Dorkon," for the renowned charger which Heraclius bestrode when he
defeated the Persians. "Because," said the officer gaily, "if this
Dorkon did not defeat the Barbarians, at least he smote a Chief Minister
and an Empress with fright--and few are the mortals that can do that. So
let us give him a good Christian and Roman name."

They parted that evening with more than the usual deliberation. There
was even some remark that now the weather was so fine, a water party up
the Golden Horn would be enjoyable. When Leo bent over Anthusa's hand
he thought she did not withdraw it as quickly as at first. The manner in
which he whistled and hummed to himself all the way homeward made his
archers say that their general was surely very well pleased with old
Kallinikos' military engines.

Once returned, however, Fergal demanded a private word with his master:

"_Despotes_, I think I should tell you. While you were
engaged--otherwise"--the Armorican's cough was very discreet--"Ephraim
said that something had troubled him. Strange men have been lurking
around the house of Kallinikos for several days. Once a beggar-woman
made impertinent inquiries of the maids about their young mistresses.
Just as we were returning home I thought I caught sight of a smooth sort
of fellow observing us. My suspicion is that I've seen him once before
when sent on a message to the palace."

Leo bit his mustaches angrily.

"This shall be looked into. If any wretched fool should venture----" His
hand almost crushed the lion's head on his armchair. He did not pursue
further because simultaneously Peter entered the chamber!

"A messenger from the War Department. The great beacon is reported to be
blazing on the heights of Mount Damatrys[22] on the Asiatic shore."

[22] To-day known as Mt. Boulgourlou.

The minister leaped to his feet. "The fire-signal is flashed on from
Mount Tauros and across all Anatolia. So the Saracens have attacked the
Cilician passes at last. Perhaps their great advance has begun.
Heigh-ho!"--he vented a mingled laugh and sigh--"no more afternoons at
Kallinikos' house for yet a while. I must cross to Asia very early to
consult on many things. Pack as usual, Peter; and you, Fergal"--he
turned earnestly to the Celt--"look to my mother (so far of course as
she will let you!), and if you be not the greatest numskull whose head
was ever thatched with red, sift out Ephraim's story, and if some
scoundrel is hatching mischief against _that_ house, bring me back to
Constantinople--yes, though I were in combat with the great Kalif
himself." ...

... At grey dawn the strategos' barge landed him at Chrysopolis.




CHAPTER VIII

A DEACON OF HAGIA SOPHIA


The Most Reverend Evagrios, Deacon of Hagia Sophia, rented a small but
pleasant apartment on the second floor of a large residence building
near the Julian Haven. From the central court a staircase led up to his
rooms the outer windows whereof opened upon a pleasing view over the
small harbour, and across the domes of the Church of Saints Sergios and
Bacchos to the bright Marmora. Most of the near-by dwellings were filled
with the families of minor court officials, and the lower entrance to
the Hippodrome was near enough to provide a great convenience in
attending the races. The neighbourhood, in short, was highly genteel and
suitable for a self-important member of the clergy.

The deacon had furnished his rooms handsomely, although certain captious
visitors had complained that his furniture carried too much gilt paint,
that the holy books in his cupboards were most indifferent copies
although in very sumptuous purple bindings, that his mosaic of the
Marriage at Cana was garish, and that the marble Priapos in his
dining-room was in doubtful taste for the home of a man in holy orders.
None could deny, however, that the dinners served in this dining-room
were excellent, and had been even improved by the advent of the new cook
Neokles; while by general consent in the gayer circles of the city,
Evagrios' Nikosia was counted as comely and vivacious a "Spiritual
Sister" as any such damsel flaunted by an unmarried churchman.

Evagrios ranked merely as a deacon, but to be deacon of Hagia Sophia,
which reckoned over five hundred clerics in its service, implied the
handling of a vast secular endowment. Wide landed properties, hospitals,
poorhouses and orphanages all had to be maintained. Several hundred
shops, on land owned by the cathedral, had to be rented out. The holy
man therefore had often to talk confidentially with the Patriarch
himself. It was said the Logothete of the Treasury once actually asked
him to advance a thousand pounds of Hagia Sophia's gold to tide over a
temporary stringency at the Exchequer. The popes of small churches
cringed before such a deacon, and he could with perfect safety patronize
all the lesser bishops and hegumens. Everybody spoke of him as "a man
sure to rise," and as a consequence he was one of the most envied of the
younger clerics in the capital. If a few grieved quietly over certain
aspects of his career these captious souls seemed wholly without
influence.

Evagrios therefore ought to have been a very contented man. When he
returned home one afternoon immediately after Leo's departure for Asia,
the deacon however was in a most unclerical ill-humour. He flung into
his aula after a spiteful command to the driver of his mule car, and
clapped his hands emphatically, bringing into his presence a
pleasant-featured young girl wearing a long blue peasant smock.

"Where's Nikosia?" was his demand.

"She's out lunching with a friend," was the somewhat hesitant response.
"She also said something about going to see the dancers, the farce and
the performing bear at the 'Merry Wenches.'"[23]

[23] A well-known variety theatre.

"More likely she stopped at the perfumers' shops on the Augustum,
spending my good money," fumed the deacon; but here his eye lit fairly
on the damsel, his black mood fled, and he beamed fulsomely:

"Saloma, my dear?"

The girl cast down her eyes, flushed and bit her lip.

"We're quite alone, I think," suggested Evagrios, "won't you give me
just a little kiss?"

Saloma's lips trembled: "Oh, despotes, not now! I pray you by the Mother
of God not now. I was an honest girl at my father's farm at Dagne. Then
I was induced to take service in the city, and you seemed so kind----"

"And haven't I been kind?" smiled the deacon, plucking her sleeve as she
shrunk away from him. The girl, however, slipped back from his grasp,
tears filling her large eyes.

"_Ai_, yes! Too kind! How can I ever go back to my parents? How can I
even go to confession? The priest will ask----"

"There, there," soothed the churchman, holding out a silver piece in his
thick fingers, "let no grey hairs grow. I know a pope who'll confess
you, and never let his questions or penances tax a flea. Here's a
keration for some gewgaw on the Mese. Now let your red little lips give
me that kiss."

Saloma stood piteously hesitant. Whether she would have obeyed the order
of Evagrios, or fled the room in distress, will never be recorded, for
at that instant a heavy latch rattled with just warning enough to enable
the deacon to assume an easy attitude and for the servant to pretend to
be picking up dead rose-petals from the carpet. Nikosia entered,
followed by her Coptic boy.

The lady had thrown back her ascetic's robe, disclosing an inner tunic
of fine pink wool. She wore extremely heavy earrings set with amethysts
and a number of fine brooches. Her cheeks, reddened at the outset by
too much rouge, were now more genuinely flushed by some sudden passion,
and her dark eyes snapped angrily.

"Well, little dove," remarked Evagrios coolly, "what sends you home in a
flurry? Didn't those Ephesian acrobats perform well?"

"By the Panagia," began Nikosia, panting, "this is unendurable. I could
have that fellow at Hagia Anastasia scourged!"

"Scourged? It must have been something extraordinary then; explain."

Nikosia cast off her robe, tossed her black gloves to the silent Saloma
and dropped into a chair.

"Merely this: I went to the 'Merry Wenches.' The tightrope performer was
good, the puppet-show excellent, the mimes most amusing; but, you
understand, all were rather broad, even for that particular theatre."

"It never had fame as a nunnery," sympathized the deacon.

"After quitting it," pursued Nikosia, "I wandered with my friends into
the narthex of Hagia Anastasia to match some ribbons at the stall of
Malchos.[24] After getting a few ells we bethought us that it were only
pious (considering the worldly character of the farce) to enter the
church and listen to the sermon just beginning."

[24] Hawkers often were allowed to keep their stalls in the great outer
courts and porches of the churches of Constantinople.

"Highly pious, _philotata_," approved the deacon.

"I expected to hear that dear man, Pope Kedranos. He always takes you to
the seventh heaven when he talks about the Holy Trinity. Absolutely
nothing to offend the most tender conscience. Well, I was hardly in a
nice seat just opposite the ambo, when behold! there appeared not holy
Kedranos, but that abominable rustic Pope Michael, whom they won't have
in so many churches, and who, they say, hangs around the hospitals
making miserable the poor and incurable. He mounted the pulpit and
delivered such a sermon that I feel as if I had been carded alive in the
prefect's torture chamber."

"My poor lamb," soothed Evagrios compassionately; "but what'd he say?"

"He first denounced all kinds of sins in general, such as 'Pride' (I'm
not proud) and 'Gambling' (I never dice--at least, not for very high
stakes); and I was just thinking, 'The fellow isn't really so bad,' when
suddenly his tune changed. 'I see before me,' he cried, 'not men but
mostly women; let me therefore speak of the sins peculiar to their sex!'
And off he rushed with his whips actually snapping in the air.

"My dear gossip Eualia wept aloud, and Plotina, Deacon Kodrox' 'Sister,'
seemed ready to leap across and stab him right there on the ambo with
her bodkin. 'Why,' thundered the wretch, 'will you deform the faces God
hath given you? Hearken unto the words of St. Jerome: "What business
have rouge and paint upon a Christian cheek? Who can weep for her sins
when her tears wash her face bare, and mark furrows upon her skin? With
what trust can faces be lifted towards heaven, which the Maker himself
cannot recognize as his own workmanship?"' And sometimes I vow he
pointed his finger straight at me, and every eye was turned my way.
'Yea,' he shouted out, 'there are even females in this church wearing
the sober robes of nuns, when all the world knows they violate that law
which forbids light women to appear save in garments scarlet and awful
as their sins.' Then, worst of all, when he had ended, a thunder of
applause went all through the church.[25] I wrapped my gown about me,
and home I came. And now"--her passion wound up--"get you over to Hagia
Anastasia and tell the pope in charge never to let that Michael speak
there again, or I----"

[25] Applauding eloquent sermons was very common. Worshippers sat
through the preaching, although expected to stand through the liturgies.

"_Euge!_" ejaculated Evagrios, "you _are_ in a pretty temper. If ever
our affections cool, ask the director of the 'Merry Wenches' to give you
a place in the farce. Theodora was a variety actress before she caught
the Crown Prince, and soon became Empress. And so I see now that, as St.
John Chrysostom once said, 'Herodias is raging! Herodias is dancing!
Herodias demands the head of John!'--I mean, of course, of Michael."

"Holy Trinity!" screamed Nikosia in rising fury, "I come home asking for
sympathy. I am met by this!" Then she turned viciously on the gazing
Saloma. "Out of the room, quean! If you dare to eavesdrop----"

Saloma glided from the room in alarm. Nikosia ran to the door to make
sure it was closed, then faced the deacon again:

"Haven't I a right to a passion? Have I ever before been thus insulted?
But it's just as well. Now I've got up courage at last to talk about
worse things than even that outrageous preacher. First of all, about
Saloma: Is everything innocent between you two?"

"Absolutely, my little dove; absolutely," assured Evagrios very hastily.
"I swear by the spotless Mother of God----"

"I only half believe you; but let that pass. I'll come to the point:
When are we going to get married?"

The deacon's jaw dropped, and his fingers twitched. "Married?" he
echoed. "We? Are you serious, Nikosia?"

"Why not?" she demanded with returning calmness. "You are only a deacon.
Deacons can marry. Then I can hold up my head as a Deaconissa of Hagia
Sophia and nobody will shrug and point at me."

Evagrios threw up his arms proclaiming the total inanity of the female
sex: "Most beloved Nikosia," he began, "in all things please be
reasonable. Ask a new ring, a new shawl, a new waiting boy, if you will,
but don't thresh over _that_ old straw! How often have I explained, and
you seemed to comprehend, that although a deacon can marry, and after
that can even be ordained a priest, no married clergyman can become a
Bishop and still keep his wife. Then where's my career? Where go my
hopes, which you know so well, that some day the old eunuch--I should
say the Master of the Palace--may recognize my abilities, and later if
the Patriarch's throne should become vacant----"

"Vah!" ejaculated the lady, sarcastically, "what a 'Sacred Beatitude'
you'd make! Don't hunt for moonbeams!"

"I assure you," persisted the deacon, "my hopes are not groundless. The
present incumbent, John, is feeble in health and weak as water. Any day
may see his downfall. The patriarchate demands not a saint, but a keen
man of affairs who can settle vast properties, who----"

"Just as you have managed the cathedral funds; you know all about the
banker Elpidios and how he got the solidi for that ship to Cyprus."

The deacon grew very red. "Silence," he commanded. "You know that money
was replaced. Let's talk of something pleasant."

"Well then, our marriage."

Evagrios smote the table with fury. "Be reasonable, woman. What would
become of you if I were made a bishop? Says not the canon that a bishop
must send away his consort to a 'tolerably distant nunnery'? How would
you like to have your hair clipped and be interned for life?"

Nikosia shrugged her shoulders. "I'll risk it. You're not bishop yet."

The deacon was ready with a yet more vehement answer, when the Copt boy
thrust his head in at the doorway:

"The kyrios Petronax and another strange kyrios."

"Show them in," ordered Evagrios, not sorry to end so unpleasant a
discussion, while Nikosia deliberately gathered up her gown and flounced
towards an inner room.

Petronax, clad in a good walking tunic, entered and salaamed graciously;
behind him walked a squatter figure, almost completely hidden in a huge
brown chlamys hooded over his head.

"You've no guests?" asked the palace myrmidon, after the initial
salutations.

"None, my dear Petronax," assured the deacon.

"Then his Sublimity may safely uncover."

Whereat, to the perfect astonishment of Evagrios, the second visitor
thrust back his mantle, disclosing the fish-like eyes and hairless
countenance of Paul. The deacon literally crouched at his feet when he
paid his reverence. "I am overwhelmed," he began; "upon my humble rooms
comes the greatest conceivable honour!"

Paul moved towards a chair, short-winded and puffing, and beckoned
Evagrios to take another. "Don't name me," he enjoined; "don't act so
your servants will chatter. I'm not here for compliments. There are
enough of them at the palace." He reviewed the deacon's person and then
his apartment with a shrewd glance. "Nice rooms, and in an expensive
quarter of the city. You've a pretty 'Sister' also, eh? Costs money to
keep her?"

"Yes, Sublimity; yes, yes," assented Evagrios, trying to collect his
wits.

"Your allowance from Hagia Sophia is small. You could use a few solidi
more?"

"Yes, Sublimity; yes, yes."

"And would perhaps prize my favour in certain other matters?"

"Oh! I'm your devoted slave; your least commands----"

"I understand all that," waved the eunuch. "Don't 'Sublimity' me so
much. I want to be private. Now give ear: You know Petronax. He's
procured me certain desired information. But to act on it requires a
churchman. Therefore I come to you."

The deacon's face glowed. "Your condescension overwhelms me."

"Listen to the end. You wonder why I prefer to come here in a disguise
and don't summon you to the palace. Understand then that the business
touches the Strategos of Thrace and demands the uttermost delicacy. He
must never learn my interest. At the palace he has friends and the very
walls can have ears. This place is safest. Now to business."

Paul then stated briefly that for sufficient reasons he desired to break
off the infatuation of the strategos for a certain woman who doubtless
controlled him. Petronax had investigated her identity. Leo, it seemed,
had been making frequent and unrequired visits to one Kallinikos,
lecturer at the University. At first he may have gone merely to
investigate certain military machines constructed by that absurd pedant,
but Kallinikos, it appeared, had the additional asset of two daughters,
reported to be well favoured, and quite able to cast their nets to
advantage.

"_Two_ daughters," quoth Evagrios in his churchliest accents; "but with
which was he infatuated?"

"On that point," reported Petronax, "there was some uncertainty, but a
female agent of mine had gossip with their maids. The latter assured
her, 'It's plain to see that it's our younger mistress who has the
strategos' eye!'"

Evagrios rubbed his hands knowingly:

"I recall the girl often in the churches. Very coy and modest, of
course--part of her trade if she's after such big game as the War
Minister. A pretty little thing, though you can't tell how much is rouge
and paint. Can sing a little, too: probably therefore will take to the
theatres if she misses with a rich lover. She's the one to snare his
Serenity Leo, who, being by common report absolutely indifferent to
women, will doubtless be a very Samson shorn and blinded by his Delilah
when at last he _does_ succumb."

"Admirably to the point," commended Paul, "no physician discovered a
malady better. My worthy Evagrios, you should rise to great things."

The deacon bowed himself double, quivering with delight.

"Again I am transported. Assuming that we deal with this Anthusa--that's
her name, I recall--graciously explain how the least of your servants
can aid to handle her? As one in holy orders I hope that other means can
be found than an abduction--at least, until other expedients fail."

"I prefer less blunted and brutal weapons," replied the eunuch coolly;
"that is, unless pressed by necessity. You need not, Reverend Sir, mix
up in anything unchurchly. I merely require your coperation to
prosecute a charge before the Patriarch of wizardry and dealings with
the Devil."

A great light broke over Evagrios' countenance: "Oh! Sublimity, what
surpassing insight! You mean to have such a charge brought against
Kallinikos."

"I praise your quick understanding. Petronax will go over all the
details he has discovered to support the case. The old driveller has
said a number of things which certain jealous colleagues will perhaps
maintain against him. There is good chance too of catching him partaking
in the Nestorian heresy."

"The Blessed Apostles forbid," cried the deacon, hastily crossing
himself.

"It is probably the truth. Perhaps, too, you could find some magic books
in his library--the kind St. Paul got them to burn at Ephesus long ago,
and which have since been forbidden by all our pious Christian emperors.
However, it's probably simplest to base the main charge around a strange
bronze device which we understand he possesses, a cylinder with curious
metal arms that some of the servants admitted they had seen in their
master's workroom, whirling around and emitting hot vapour."

"Undoubtedly from a demon inside," completed the deacon, again crossing
himself.

"So it would seem," pursued the Master of the Palace. "This Kallinikos
may be a very consort to the Witch of Endor, the possessor of a familiar
spirit, and so God has wisely ordered it"--his tones broke with a pious
sniffle--"that in guarding our more worldly interests we may also be
punishing a gross spiritual wickedness."

The deacon drew himself up, his eyes gleaming:

"My duty as a churchman becomes clear. Charges will be laid before the
Patriarch: the case investigated: the wizard deposed from his
lectureship, and of course as soon as convicted"--he paused, catching
something in the minister's eye--"but my Humility should recollect that
it is not so much Kallinikos as that Anthusa you desire to entangle?"

The eunuch spat contemptuously. "Think you, sirrah, I'm here to war on
mice? Don't imagine I want an ordinary ecclesiastical trial, long as a
year of litanies, while your fool of a Patriarch decides just what shade
of misbelief afflicts that doddering philosopher. Now give ear closely:
This hussy is the mistress of the Strategos of Thrace. Last night I
caused a small Saracen raid to be made the excuse for causing him to
cross to Asia. He'll be detained there a week ere he finds his time
wasted and returns. If he's in Constantinople and Kallinikos and his
girls are arrested, look you, deacon--I'd not love to be one of the
accusers."

"I would have your august protection?" meekly suggested Evagrios.

"Certainly not, fool. Leo's influence is becoming irresistible. I dare
not quarrel with him. That's why the power of this wench must be broken,
and some woman pliable to my will substituted. I can do nothing openly.
If you fail, I must disown you. But take now your orders: stir up the
monks of three or four fanatical convents. Press a charge suddenly
before the Patriarch. I'll at least arrange to have the sworn affidavits
ready. Sallustios the Advocate will help with the legal formalities.
Arrest Kallinikos and his daughters with all speed. Get the monks to
fill the streets with clamour and to make the mob join them, howling
'Death to the wizard and his brats!' Attalos, sub-captain of the Blue
faction, is a handy man. He can go to the Patriarch demanding an instant
trial lest there be a bloody riot. Then get the matter at once to the
Patriarch's tribunal and there'll be only one issue. All will be over
before Leo returns to Constantinople."

"You prefer the accused should be executed?" inquired the attentive
deacon.

"Why, no!" Paul smiled benevolently. "As true Christians are we not
bidden to love our enemies?--that is, so far as circumstances will
permit--and capital punishment might meet legal obstacles. The moment
Kallinikos is condemned, urge that he be merely blinded by having the
hot bowls of glowing copper passed before his eyes, and as for the girls
(his accomplices of course) suggest that their heads be shaven
immediately and they be perpetually consecrated and sent off as nuns to
St. Gastria--that's the convent for incorrigible profligates. Leo'll
think twice ere he tries to recover them from _there_, and will accept
the inevitable. After all, he's a matter-of-fact fellow, and we'll know
how to console him."

Evagrios' smile had ever deepened during this speech, but now his
expression slightly changed: "The perfection of your proposals justifies
the fame of your Sublimity's intellect, yet consider: the time is short.
Leo may return unexpectedly. His vengeance will fall on my unprotected
head. Forgive me if I hesitate."

Paul's eyes closed enigmatically. "Very well, reverend deacon. You know
of course I'm not ungrateful if all goes properly; however, decline if
you wish. Of course"--his teeth snapped suddenly--"I may have heard
about the rentals of the cathedral properties in Pera, and could suggest
an investigation."

"Oh, Sublimity, those rumours were vile lies. I swear it by the True
Cross. What was I saying? I'm wholly at your service. I'll see the
hegumen of St. Abraham's ere sundown; I'll burn up with activity
to-morrow. The day after to-morrow at latest we will strike!"

"Wise words," spoke Paul, not without a sneer. "I think we can at least
make it hard for Leo to interrupt you. Here's an advance for expenses."
A heavy purse was cast upon the floor. "Come, Petronax, when that girl,
called Anthusa, has been duly consecrated and put under perpetual
penance, remind me of this man's services."

The minister muffled the mantle around his head and went out, followed
by his retainer. The deacon bowed them all the way to the door, then
pounced on the purse as a cat upon a sparrow. In delight he poured the
jingling gold-pieces into his lap.

"Two hundred solidi," he cried to himself. "The costs won't be half of
that, with more booty to follow! Who wouldn't take a little risk for
such a stake, and what's that Leo but only a thick-skulled soldier?"




CHAPTER IX

THE HOUSE OF PEACE IS VIOLATED


Fergal had conveyed his master's apologies to Kallinikos, and duly
conferred with Ephraim as to whether there had been other spies and
intruders. No new incidents, however, were reported, and the same was
true the next day, when the Celt's heart was rejoiced by an unusually
extended conversation with Sophia. Glad of any excuse, however, Fergal
announced he would return the following afternoon for a new
investigation. In the morning of this third day after Leo's departure,
Kasia directed her bodyguard to take an altar cloth of her own
embroidering to the Church of St. Anna, the pope whereof was a peculiar
friend of her chaplain, Michael. Fergal gladly obeyed the order, for the
trip carried him far out towards the walls into quarters of the capital
he could seldom explore. Kasia had procured him a quick-stepping black
mule with a good vermilion saddle and silver bells, and the Armorican
(vain fellow!) thought he made a brave showing of himself as he snapped
his lash along the Mese--and wished that Sophia might see him.

The messenger followed the great high street, first through the Forum of
Theodosius, and then as it ran southward, through the plebeian quarters.
After he had passed the Amestrian Forum, where a vulgar crowd was
witnessing the beheading of two bandits, the Forum of the Ox and finally
the Forum and lofty Column of Arcadius, the black mule trotted through
the so-called "Broad Gate," which marked the limits of the city as
originally laid out by the First Constantine. Here the crowds of
pedestrians became thinner, the street mountebanks, jugglers and hawkers
less conspicuous, the tall, wooden houses less huddled together.
Villa-like structures surrounded by bright gardens appeared down winding
lanes, and frequently the Celt came to high, masonry enclosures, above
which rose the domes of churches or the red-tiled roofs of other
buildings, indicating the wide compounds of monasteries or nunneries.

Presently the frowning battlements and massive towers of the great outer
wall of Theodosius II loomed in sight. Fergal turned aside from the Mese
as it ran onward to the "Golden Gate" of the triumphal and coronation
processions, and through verdant ways lined with garden walls sought the
less-frequented Selymbrian Gate, near which nestled the little suburban
Church of St. Anna. He quickly placed his package with the amiable
papissa, who was filling her husband's holy water basin in the
vestibule, and put his beast at best pace homeward. Then, swinging back
towards the Mese, he must needs pass the portal of the great Monastery
of St. Diomed.

The gate was open; a whole cohort of black robes and tall, black hats
was streaming forth. There was much gesticulating and shouting. A
long-haired hegumen[26] was waving a gilt cross upon a staff and giving
orders:

[26] The hegumen corresponded with the abbot or prior of Western
monasteries. The archimandrites were over groups of monasteries and
sometimes over very large single institutions.

"Hurry, brethren! We must see how the Lord will devour the wicked!
Heresy and devil-worship shall meet their reward. Hurry, our summons
came late, but we may be needed."

"What a strange religious procession," muttered Fergal, reining his mule
to let the dark gowns pass; "no relics, no banners." Then suddenly his
eye caught a layman's costume following the rear of the holy men.

"Neokles, as I'm a sinner," he cried, dropping his bridle and leaping to
the ground. In a trice he had his erstwhile comrade-in-misery by the
hand. The cook greeted him heartily, and the twain exchanged prompt
confidences. Neokles was again reasonably happy. His new masters gave
good dinners, allowed him easy hours, and did not beat him too
frequently. Fergal was outlining his own more prosperous fortunes, when
the cook showed signs of impatience to get away.

"Gladly I'd halt and gossip, but my hide'll pay for it if I don't keep
up with those monks. Already they're turning into the Mese."

"Keep up with those monks?" echoed the astonished Celt. "What have _you_
got to do with those devout jackdaws? Your master surely hasn't forced
you to take the vows!"

"Sacred Mother, no! But Evagrios sent me with a letter to the hegumen,
something to bring down all his brethren to help countenance the arrest
and punishment of a fearful wizard. I was to guide the holy brothers to
this diabolical fellow's house near the Forum of Theodosius. My
_despotes_ is raising all the convents in the city. Something great
seems afoot. All yesterday he was racing about Constantinople like mad."

"Near the Forum of Theodosius?" Fergal's ears had pricked up like a
rabbit's. "And who might that wizard be?"

"Why, I think they named an old Kallinikos, who hobbles around the
University--Prophets and Saints! What've I done? Why've you got me by
the throat?"

A moment later Fergal, having literally shaken out of Neokles every
morsel of information the cook possessed touching his master's project,
was sending the black mule along the High Street at a speed which made
the spectators gape, and which far outdistanced the serried monks of St.
Diomed. In desperation he flogged the beast to her uttermost pace,
little heeding that he nigh upset the litter of a rich merchant's lady,
swerved against a pastry vendor's booth, and splashed copious mud
against a silk-clad, musk-scented young Senator who was just lounging
across the Forum of Arcadius.

Yet with all his speed, the Celt knew in his heart that he was probably
too late. At the Forum of Theodosius men were shouting and running
towards the Aqueduct of Valens. "A fire," cried many, and there were
indeed watchmen hasting with their hooked-poles and axes, but the sight
of companies of monks, some in small groups, some in the full strength
of their convents, made Fergal's soul sink within him. Frantically he
forced the mule through the thickening multitudes, until he reached the
parish church of St. Mary the Deaconess, then casting the bridle over a
post he plunged down a familiar alley. He was just in time to see a
force of the _collegati_, the city police, brush aside a less orderly
rabble of monks, tradesmen and excited women, and thrust open the portal
of the house of Kallinikos. A subaltern officer was directing the men,
and was evidently trying to make his arrests in a lawful and orderly
manner.

Dust was rising in the air. Strident and ribald voices were screaming.
Scores of naked arms were tossing, or brandishing clubs.

"The wizard! The necromancer! To the fire with him! To the circus lions
with him! The young witches, too, pluck them in pieces!"

"This way, Christians--don't let the friends of the devil escape
alive."

"Pull down the house. The neighbourhood's tainted. All our children'll
die of the plague."

Many cries were of unspeakable vileness. Kallinikos had passed for years
as a harmless pedant. Now every evil imaginable was suddenly being
trumpeted against him. Fergal thought he could see certain black gowns
gliding from group to group and whispering; then the yells redoubled.

Ephraim and the other servants had evidently defended the door against
the first howling multitude until summoned to yield by lawful authority.
Fergal saw a band of constables thrusting inside. Their swords were
drawn as if for desperate business. After them a knot of gesticulating
monks attempted to follow, but the Celt with a great elbow-thrust
reached the mail-clad police centurion who was trying to flourish back
the unofficial intruders with his spear. To his great joy he recognized
a junior officer often seen about the War Department.

"Besas," he demanded, "have you warrant for this?"

"You here, Red-Head?" cried the centurion. "What's your business? Yes,
we've very straight warrants, signed by the Patriarch himself."

"Then as you love salvation, look to your deeds. There's a fearful
mistake. This old Kallinikos is the Strategos' particular friend; his
daughters are guileless doves. The old man invented that new catapult
you admired. When Leo crossed to Asia he bade me watch over this family
and bring him word----"

A howl that made the roofs and pinnacles shake drowned Fergal's voice.
Gasping and helpless in the clutch of two powerful "collegians" (who for
all their strength half feared he would wither them with a spell),
dumbfounded and dismayed, appeared Kallinikos. Behind him, a constable
clutching each of their wrists, and white-faced with unspeakable terror
were led Sophia and Anthusa. The very pigeons on the roofs rose flapping
in alarm as the horrid shouts were flung skyward.

"The wizard! The young witches! That's why Skopis, the chandler's girl,
died yesterday. The region's accursed. The Panagia's blighting us. _Huz!
Huz!_ Away with them instantly! Pluck in pieces!"

A brawny butcher's wife, flourishing a cleaver over her head, sprang
forward, but Besas (a competent officer after his light) thrust her back
with a timely spear thrust; and Fergal shot in his ear: "Keep the old
man and the girls unscathed, and their house unpillaged. I swear the
Strategos' eternal favour or ill-will depends on it."

"I'll do my duty," tossed back Besas. "St. Theodore strike me if I like
this work." Then he whistled shrilly to his men: "Form before the door.
Beat back this rabble. Give 'em your sword-points if need be. Now
Sallustios"--to a spruce young man in an advocate's crimson, standing
by--"what's the extent of these orders? To arrest Kallinikos and his two
daughters; to detain their servants as witnesses; to seal up all the
chief defendant's books, parchments, and apparatus pending examination,
but particularly to seize a certain bronze cylinder with all its parts
and to transport the same to the Patriarch's palace under vehement
suspicion that said device may be a means of intercourse with the
devil."

"Correct," assented Sallustios; "and now the prisoners (since these good
people must be denied their Christian but too abrupt desires) will be
sent, I presume, the wizard to the Patriarch's own private dungeon for
depraved members of the clergy, and the witches straight to St. Gastria,
where the nuns can search their persons straitly for amulets, charms and
devil's marks."

But Fergal had never taken his eyes from Besas, and the latter was
inspired to answer firmly: "They'll all go to the Prtorium, the regular
jail by the harbour. If this poor old fool invented that new catapult,
I'll forgive not a little wizardry. Why's the case before the Patriarch,
anyway? The folk aren't clerics. Now men, get up your closed litters,
for these wretches can't walk. Bring out that bronze contraption,
rascals. Don't be so afraid of it. You'll not find the fiend squatting
inside. And you"--to another platoon--"push back those black gowns and
screaming beldames. Clear the street if they won't stand aside!"

While a knot of very timorous "collegians" bore out the unfortunate
engine of Hero, Fergal thrust himself beside the sisters. Sophia was
almost fainting. Anthusa's ghastly lips moved as in prayer.

"Some hideous blunder," whispered the Celt. "Your father must have an
enemy. Everything shall be done. Keep up good hearts. I'm off to Kasia
and Michael. If they can't avail, I'm away to Asia to summon _him_."

It was sorry work to abandon Kallinikos and his daughters in the midst
of a crowd still shrieking and cursing. The only open friend was the
poor dog Dorkon, who sniffed and howled piteously around his
benefactress Anthusa, but Fergal could accomplish nothing more, and
Besas seemed resolute in discharging his strict duty, and vigorous in
protecting the house from spoliation. The brethren of St. Diomed had
just come up to join their fellows.

"So they've got all three," monk was calling cheerfully to monk; "the
old sorcerer and the young she-ones. The devil couldn't save them.
They'll get justice from the Patriarch to-morrow. The whole convent must
be at the trial."

Fergal, having forced his way through the press, at last reached his
mule, and flew away, kicking her sides until the creature tore across
the military parade ground at a foaming gallop. A few moments later his
own glib tongue was racing off the entire story to Michael and Kasia.

       *       *       *       *       *

Michael departed immediately, first to the Prtorium prison and then to
the Patriarchate. He was back in two hours with a very grave face. At
the jail indeed a liberal fee had assured the prisoners tolerable cells
and civil treatment, but the Patriarch's offices had been already
crowded by excited popes, hegumens, and even one or two archimandrites
frantically denouncing "the scandal," and how: "It surpassed belief that
an outrageous wizard actually should venture to inculcate his
soul-destroying blasphemies from a chair in the imperial university; and
especially to construct a malefic machine operated beyond a doubt by
demons, and keep the same in his dwelling, or rather lair, within
arrowshot of a consecrated church and holy nunnery."

In the face of this tumultuous protest, and fearful lest he himself be
assailed for tolerating sacrilege, the Patriarch had consented to try
the wizard and his female accomplices the next day at noon. One or two
of the unhappy lecturer's colleagues had indeed pleaded for a slight
delay. There had also been suggestions that, since civilians were
involved, the case should go properly to the court of the City Prfect,
but the Patriarch had bridled at the hint that he was not a competent
judge in the matter; the High Prfect Daniel was at his Bosphorus villa
near Nikopolis, and his deputy professed complete indifference. Michael
himself had tried to urge deliberation. "But," he added sorrowfully, "my
influence is nothing. His Beatitude half laughed while he listened to
me, and at once the great hegumen Hygenios cried out: 'If that servant
of the devil waits for his deserts after to-morrow, my monks will pull
down the prison, stone by stone!' A terrible agitation has been worked
up. And so, Christ pity our poor friends; here I am!"

"Red-Head," spoke Kasia immediately, "it's time that son of mine was
told that God needs him more in Constantinople than gawking around in
Asia."

"The Strategos was now to be in Nicomedia," observed Fergal, tightening
his belt. "How far is that?"

"Sixty miles from Chalcedon," responded Michael gravely.

"And the trial is at noon to-morrow!" The Celt's eyes darkened, then lit
the reckless gleam of his genius. "Blessed Mother, but there'll be spray
around boats and lather around horses ere then--but what can be, can
be." ...

... A little later, Fergal was at the "Stairs" of Timasios, nearest the
mouth of the Golden Horn, intent on negotiating at a familiar stand for
a caique to Chalcedon. To his astonishment not a skiff was stirring. The
harbour was almost motionless, and the Bosphorus was deserted by ships
save those at safe anchor.

"No boats for anybody," an idle wharf officer explained; "three hours
ago orders came from the palace that a conspiracy against the Basileus
had been unearthed. Not a keel is to cross to Asia or even to Galata,
until they nip the suspects, unless with a special pass from high
authority."

Fergal measured the shimmering blue water with his eye. One mile away
across the dancing wavelets, beckoned Chrysopolis and Chalcedon with
their little white, yellow and red houses crowding down upon the marge,
beyond them the domes of churches and the crests of enormous cypresses
with villages half hidden in verdure uprearing on the heights behind. If
Basil had been at the Navy Yard, possibly he might have supplied a boat
and a pass, but the dromond captain had followed his military friend to
Nicomedia. The messenger, therefore, took his rebuff coolly and walked
away, whistling softly and deep in thought....

... When the shadows of the afternoon were lengthening, if any one had
been interested in following Fergal, he would have seen him lurking
about some empty sheds, under the very shadow of the Tower of Eugenios,
the massive fortification guarding the southern side of the entrance to
the Golden Horn. It was, however, a hot and dozy hour. The sentries on
the battlements, ordered to watch sharply for any illicit boats, had
found the view of the vacant channels very stupid, and were now giving
one glance towards the sea-ways, and ten for the game of dice which was
in progress in the shade of a certain guard tower.

Casting himself upon his belly the Celt crept out the length of a small
deserted breakwater until at a point where its base was splashed by a
sea of sufficient depth to risk a dive. In the shadow of the friendly
masonry he stripped off everything save a loin cloth, wherein was
carefully knotted a purse of Kasia's providing. A glance towards the
battlements revealed no unfriendly scrutiny. Fergal therefore slipped
quietly down into the cool, blue water.

His heart gave a mighty bound as his strong limbs carried him onward
through a once accustomed element. Immediately he dived--coming to the
surface as slightly and as infrequently as possible. The strong,
southward current of the Bosphorus was his friend. With little effort he
was hurried away from the seawalls and out into the Marmora. He
continued thus, drifting and diving until well beyond range of detection
from the walls. From discovery by boats, he had, thanks to the mandate
from the palace, absolutely nothing to dread. At last he raised himself
boldly in the water, shook the brine from his eyes and looked about him.
Constantinople rose behind in an imposing mass of domes and battlements.
The current would have borne him steadily southward, but he could see
the shores of Asia almost beckoning "hasten hither!"

The manly delight of being master of his fate possessed the Celt. He
spat forth the bitter water, and shook his fist towards the receding
Palace. "Ei! 'Magnificence This' or 'Sublimity That' whoever you may be
who've cooked this thing," he cried recklessly, "order your sentries and
forbid your boats. You have not halted the fish in the sea or paralyzed
the limbs of a son of Armorica!"

Then with his most powerful stroke he turned and sent himself across
dark ripples towards Chalcedon.

       *       *       *       *       *

Around the commandant's residence in the cantonments at Nicomedia the
sentries were exchanging their "All's well!" ere changing guard for the
eighth hour of the night, when Leo was awakened with a start from his
slumber. A seasoned soldier, he had long since trained himself to drop
asleep under most untoward circumstances and to awaken and arise almost
instantly. Peter was now stumbling into his chamber.

"Fergal is here, little _despotes_," announced the old bodyguard.

The Strategos leaped from his hard camp bed and threw a chlamys about
him. "My mother----" he began.

"The _despoina_ is well," replied Peter coolly, "but the family of
Kallinikos is in sore danger."

"Angels and apostles!" swore the general. "Have Fergal in."

The Celt staggered across the threshold. Even under Peter's feeble
rush-light he had an astonishing aspect. He was half naked. His body
was crusted with sweat and grime. He caught at the door-curtain to
steady himself.

"When did you leave Constantinople?" demanded Leo instantly.

"Shortly before evening. The departure of boats was forbidden, so I had
to delay till the light was waning and they couldn't spot a swimmer
readily from the walls."

"Mother of God!" gasped the astonished Peter, his jaw dropping. "You
swam?"

"He says so," rejoined his master with better poise, "and I believe him.
Now go on."

"The current carried me well down towards the Isles of the Princes. It
was some fight to make the mainland. When I reached Chrysopolis the
market was closed and I needed a garment and a horse. It took more time
to buy the one and hire the other. Then I was off. My beast foundered
after ten miles to Pantichion. Got another that took me on to Karta.
Then had to change twice again. When nearing Nikomedia two footpads
tried to stop me. Never mind the story. They won't stop other
travellers, but there was more delay. Got here and of course the gates
had been closed for many hours. The watch sent down a javelin at me when
I clamoured for admission. He had good aim, but I won't go to heaven
yet!"

"_Ai_, woe!" broke out Peter again; "his shoulder's bloody--see!"

"Merely a scratch from the barb," continued the messenger. "Well, it
took my finest talking, and about all the rest of the gold Mistress
Kasia gave me first to get inside the gate, and then to procure a boy to
lead me hither through this black, strange town. Last of all, the
sentries here at the barracks almost speared me when I demanded to rouse
your Lordship, but--here I am."

Leo had waited calmly during the whole of this panting recital. Now he
seated himself upon the bed, and merely commanded: "Take that stool and
get breath. Peter, find him some wine and food. Now if you're ready,
tell what brings you to Nicomedia."

In straightforward detail Fergal related all that had happened since his
chance meeting with Neokles. Ere he had finished, the Strategos' jaw had
become hard. "You say the monks of many convents seemed excited against
Kallinikos, and that this cook had been especially sent by his master to
lead the Brethren of St. Diomed to the house of the lecturer?"

"Even so, _despotes_."

"You also say that this order to stop the passage of boats from
Constantinople was issued immediately after Kallinikos' arrest. Were
there the slightest other signs that a conspiracy had been really
discovered at the Palace? Forum rumours? Concentrations of troops?
Closing of public buildings?"

"None that I observed, Serenity."

"Peter," demanded Leo, as his bodyguard returned with a hastily piled
platter and a silver flagon, "you have good ears for gossip; when before
had this deacon Evagrios such zeal for pure religion that he would hunt
out a harmless greybeard like Kallinikos as a wizard?"

"He could discover it if good solidi or pledge of patronage helped his
piety."

"But the motive?" cried the Strategos incredulously. "The old man had
professional rivals, but they had no pelf to scatter or patronage to
promise." Then suddenly he smote his head, "It cannot be--be _that_! The
eunuch would not have the vile audacity----"

"I do not understand you, _despotes_," spoke Fergal, looking up from
ravenous mouthfuls.

"No matter. I need not explain." The Strategos was throwing on his
clothes as for a hard journey. "How's the wind?"

The Celt assured him the breeze was from the eastward and the night was
fair, whereat his master ordered Peter to make no ceremony, but rouse
Basil and bring him with speed.

"I bless the Saints, Armorican," remarked the Strategos deliberately,
tightening his buckles, "that your parents were ducks or dolphins.
Yesterday I sent a rebuke to the Chief of the Fire-signal Service for
permitting the great beacons to be used for so insignificant a raid as
that which sent me over to Asia. But at dawn I've promised to go with
the Protostrator Helios, on his pressing request, upon a three-day hunt
by Lake Sophron. If there's been a plot to keep me from Constantinople
and to stop news from the city"--his teeth closed hard--"they'll recall
soon, I'm named the Lion!"

After that the sleeping barracks woke to life. Basil appeared, rubbing
his eyes and muttering questions, but transforming himself into a demon
of activity when his friend and superior spread his problem.

"A barge and crew?" quoth the sailor, "and to be in Constantinople at
noon? A shrewd pull, but thanked be the Trinity, the 'Manger of
Bethlehem' lads are its equal. Spare rowers with the easterly breeze
will do the trick. And if those black crows caw too loudly at the
Patriarch's hall, remember my marines." ...

... And so it was that two hours after Fergal entered Nicomedia on
horseback he was leaving it on the stern seat of a long barge, his
patron deep in conference with Basil. The Celt was still grimy, bruised,
bleeding even, and utterly weary. But he was happy. The shadow-veiled
Marmora again was opening ahead, and thirty good oars were a-flying.




CHAPTER X

THE TRIBUNAL OF THE PATRIARCH


On the great plaza of the Augustum, and close to the Chalke, the state
entrance to the imperial palace, stood the residence of the Patriarch,
first prelate of the Christian East. It was a second palace itself, with
huge offices for the numerous clerks busy with the protocols, briefs and
codicils of a great ecclesiastical machinery: with suites of chambers
for his Beatitude himself and all his ghostly lieutenants, and with
mosaic-vaulted halls of audience for the incessant clerical synods or
litigation. Last, but not least, there was attached to the building an
elaborate garden where the saintly man and his holy associates could
refresh themselves under magnificent fruit trees, almost equal to those
in the orchards of the Emperor.

The Patriarchate was always the scene of bustle and crowding. The
administration of the enormous church interests collected almost as many
suitors and advocates as swarmed the Basilica of the Supreme Civil
Courts at the head of the Mese, or the lower tribunal of the City
Prfect. Any day a visitor might stand on one of the three broad
staircases leading up to the "Tricline," the great central hall, and
witness the constant flux and flow of popes, bishops, hegumens and
archimandrites, interspersed with as many laymen often of the highest
dignity.

This day, however, the crowds were exceptional. The situation was
growing tense, so that considerably before noon the Qustor, the chief
police officer of the capital, had ordered a heavy guard of Collegians
into the Augustum, while the money-changers and bankers in their stalls
at the Chalkoprateia by the palace entrance put up their shutters and
bade their clerks take cudgels and stand guard.

Not even on major festivals were so many monks wont to appear in the
Augustum, and the mere presence of the serried masses of sacred
brethren drew increasing throngs alike of ordinary pious gazers and of
those lewd fellows of the baser sort who found in every mob their
opportunity. It was reported that several convents on the Isles of the
Princes had sent up zealous contingents by boat. The monks of St.
Michael, the patron saint of the Bosphorus, were present _en masse_. A
whole sisterhood of super-austere nuns had crossed from Chalcedon. Men
gazed with awe upon numerous ascetics of renowned self-mortification who
had quitted their solitary cells in the suburbs and who now wandered
around the great square barefoot, ostentatiously laden with chains upon
wrists and ankles, and with long, unkempt hair and beards, and mantles
unspeakably filthy.

These groups of holy men kept up an incessant chanting, or
psalm-singing, sometimes in unison, but more often in a jangling of
different anthems sadly suggestive of carnal rivalry. Nevertheless, at
intervals a strange hush would sweep over the entire multitude. Then
with one accord the thousands would beat their breasts, and join in a
moaning "_Kyrie eleison! Christe eleison!_" Or again a powerful voice
would lead off with the great "Trisagion" and all the multitude would
thunder it together:

  "Holy God: Holy Strong One: Holy Immortal One:
      Have mercy upon us!"

The concourse was tolerably orderly at first, but when one famous
anchorite after another appeared, and when finally a body of monks
marched in from the outlying Church of the Chora, displaying an
especially revered banner of the Virgin, the chanting began to give
place to an ominous shouting:

"To the faggots with the necromancers!"

"Let the bones of the wizards be dug up!"

"Purge thyself, O Constantinople, or the Hagarines will purge thee!"

Such were the more intelligible exhortations; but, mixed with the same,
rose increasingly mere hootings and noise. The clamour was waxing ever
louder when Evagrios stepped out upon the upper balcony of the
Patriarchate with the advocate Sallustios at his side. The pair
exchanged glances of congratulation.

"I can name another wizard," exclaimed the lawyer, smiling slyly, "if
the stirring of huge multitudes demands art magic. This mob is truly
howling for blood. There'll be little need of _simulating_ a riot to
intimidate his Beatitude. The thing's too genuine! See, the Qustor is
posting a second line of Collegians already, and they seem too few. My
head cracks with the yelling. How did you really do it?"

"It was some slight trouble," replied the deacon, with a deprecatory
gesture, "but I knew the right hegumens to approach, and my Nikosia
(poor girl, she shall have new pearls for this) was most useful in
handling the matter with certain influential nuns. Ha! I'd worked for
this climax, yet I hardly hoped for it. Behold!"

All over the wide Augustum men were dropping on their knees, beating
their breasts, crossing themselves or holding out their arms in
supplication. Many were calling, "Your blessing, Holy One; your
blessing!" A few actually cast themselves prostrate on the stones.
Looking not to right or left, but upraising his bony hand mechanically
in benediction, moved the pillar saint Marinos himself, descended from
his "throne" for the first time, perchance, in years, although hobbling
"not a little stiffly for want of practice," as the irreverent Evagrios
imparted in the congenial ear of the advocate.

Amid an abrupt silence, Marinos swept his rags around his filthy limbs,
and sent his strident voice over the entire plaza:

"The word of the Lord is upon me: to publish a day of wrath: a day when
the moon shall withdraw herself and the sun withhold light: when the
first-born shall be stricken and the babe in arms perish, unless ye,
sinful dwellers in Constantinople, cast out the abomination which is in
your midst. Yea, saith the Lord, in the words of Micah the prophet, 'I
will cut off witchcrafts out of thine hand,' and again in the holy law
given unto Moses, 'A man or woman who hath a familiar spirit or that is
a wizard shall be surely put to death!'"

The blood-curdling yell which drowned the anchorite's last utterance
made Sallustios turn a little uneasily:

"They howl for prey like famished wolves. That smelly he-goat may excite
them too far. It's all well enough to intimidate the Patriarch, but
won't we somehow have to pay if matters should really get to a bloody
riot? _Eu!_ But here we're summoned to the hall, and I trust the thing's
soon over."

       *       *       *       *       *

The opening formalities, however, took some little time. To avoid
mob-violence, the prisoners had been brought to the tribunal by a
private way betwixt the Patriarchate and the Palace. Kallinikos, still
apparently groping about in a bewildered dream, was heavily manacled,
"lest"--the whisper spread--"he lift his hands and call up his demons."
The two sisters, limp and speechless, had not been fettered, but they
were clinging to one another, overwhelmed by acute consciousness of
fearful danger. Despite the devious route, the howlings of the multitude
smote their ears, and their piteous state evoked the obvious compassion
of the squad of Collegians and others who were very willing to believe
the worst about their father.

Nevertheless, the old lecturer was not wholly deserted. Several
colleagues had aided Michael to secure a well-known advocate, Proterios,
to appear for the defence. The learned jurist, however, was manifestly
anxious and intimidated. Another attempt to induce the deputy-prfect to
question the Patriarch's jurisdiction over a civilian had failed. "The
case is doubtful, my superior absent, and the danger of a riot great,"
had been his unheroic response. Therefore just as the water-clocks were
discharging six balls, his Sacred Beatitude John, Patriarch and
Oecumenical Bishop, took his lofty seat under the canopy in the great
chamber of the Tricline, while his assessors, the Bishop of Rhaidestos
and the Arch-Priest Nicholas, took lower chairs beside him and the
bailiffs bawled for silence in the already crowded and buzzing hall.

His Beatitude was in no happy state of mind. A mere political appointee
of the reigning Emperor, and suspected himself of unorthodox opinions,
he knew well that the ill-will of the monks might cost him the hat, veil
and staff of his mighty office. The precipitancy with which the case
against Kallinikos had been urged disturbed him. Every precedent of the
venerable Roman and Canon Law alike demanded deliberation and honest
inquiry. But the shrieks and tumultuous chanting rising from the
Augustum became ever more threatening. Even in the better-behaved
audience admitted to the Tricline were gaunt hegumens and self-torturing
anchorites muttering and gesticulating. Therefore the instant there was
a sufficient silence in the courtroom, John nodded to Sallustios: "The
accuser may stand forth."

The prosecutor knew all the trickeries of Roman advocacy. His red robe
fell in statuesque folds. His hands glittered with costly rings. He used
his voice perfectly. His speech was interlarded with an imposing number
of Latin phrases and references to half-forgotten "Novels."[27] He
informed the court that edicts of Tiberius II and Constantine IV
undoubtedly gave it jurisdiction over cases involving black arts and the
invocation of demons. As for the general law against wizardry, why
invoke more than the ancient rescript of Theodosius I? The case by its
very nature admitted no delay. The same malignant power which had
inspired the construction of that bronze engine (he pointed to the
aeropile deposited before the Patriarch's throne, while all the audience
craned, shuddered and crossed themselves) would no doubt assist its vile
servants, if only granted a little more time, somehow to slip unscathed
out of the very hands of Christian justice. And even without formal
evidence, who dared suggest that the unanimous instincts of so many holy
monks, nuns and ascetics could be deceived?

[27] Greek was by this time the official language of the Empire, but a
great number of half-understood Latin expressions were still used in the
courts. The "Novels" were special laws for special cases, as against the
older laws in the great imperial "Codes."

Passing to particulars, Sallustios reminded his Beatitude that
everywhere perils were now crowding upon true religion. Omitting the
ravages of the Saracens, what evil tidings came daily from the Latin
churches of the West! Soul-destroying phrases were added to the Creed.
The sacred symbol of the Cross was being venerated with its lower arm
made twice the length of the others, instead of being merely of the same
size according to the unswerving usage of the Orthodox. Worse still,
the so-called Pope or Bishop of Rome was actually sanctioning the
omission of _yeast_ from the consecrated communion wafer!

By this time the audience, mostly composed of ecclesiastics, was again
groaning, and became so turbulent that the Patriarch was fain to strike
loudly with his staff to enforce order before the orator could continue.

When Sallustios proceeded to his direct charges, however, Michael, who
was standing within friendly distance of the prisoners, detected a
change of manner. The advocate's great voice still boomed across the
hall, but his language grew vague. Why these vast botanical and mineral
collections in Kallinikos' house except to supply material for
abominable incantations? In the defendant's vast library of curious
books could there fail to be found many dealing with forbidden magic?
Certain colleagues of the lecturer would assist in maintaining the
charge that he had harboured a domestic demon. His servants would
confirm the accusation. His daughters--young, comely, but alas! partners
in guilt--could be made to give convincing testimony. Finally, and with
renewed assurance, the advocate pointed again to the aeropile. Would his
learned brother Proterios ever undertake to convince the most Holy Court
that this indescribably irrational contrivance could have the slightest
purpose save as it was intended for animation by the devil?

When Sallustios concluded, the vaulting rang with applause. Even the
Patriarch stirred a little impatiently when Proterios began his reply.

The defendant's counsel was in bad voice, but he made his points
clearly, and the three judges were constrained to hearken. "Sallustios'
charges were technically irregular. Even holy monks could weigh not
evidence as could his Beatitude. The crime of wizardry was great, the
more reason, therefore, the case should be convincing. The very
witnesses the prosecutor invoked could not bear out the accusation."

Proterios ended amid cat-calls, hissing and the insulting "_Huz! Huz!_"
which were only silenced by threats of the judges to clear the hall. One
Menander, a younger colleague of Kallinikos, was now sworn on the
Gospels and True Cross, and submitted to interrogation by the
Arch-Priest Nicholas. He avowed that Kallinikos had explained to him his
collections and books, and his aims had been purely scientific. The sage
was counted by his colleagues visionary but harmless and truly pious. He
had never seemed interested in demonology. His lectures had been mostly
based on Plato and Aristotle, and he had never trenched upon Christian
theology. The witness admitted he had not seen the aeropile. Kallinikos
must have made it only recently.

When Menander was excused, Sallustios' smile became less complacent.
However, a second witness and colleague, Saborios, caused even the
Patriarch to sit upright on his throne. After admitting that he had
quarrelled with Kallinikos about a theorem of Euclid, Saborios declared
himself nevertheless obligated to speak out the whole truth. He
understood only by hearsay that the old man befriended demons, but to
his own ears Kallinikos had professed sympathy for--Nestorianism!

A veritable shock passed through the courtroom. Vainly did Proterios
urge that mere charges of heresy were not at issue. The inquisitor
instantly pounced upon the witness.

"Had the defendant expressed doubts as to precise statement of the human
and divine natures of Christ as expressed in the official creeds?"

"He had."

"Had he spoken of the Blessed Virgin as being the 'Mother of Christ' and
not as the 'Mother of God'?"

"He had."

"Your Beatitude," thundered Sallustios above the rising tumult in the
hall, "what need for further witnesses? He who can harbour heresies like
these will stickle at no commerce with demons!"

The Patriarch indeed enjoined "silence," and the case proceeded, but
Proterios' countenance was now stamped with sheer despair. Outside the
clamour was now sometimes fierce enough to drown the voices of
questioner and witness. Saborios was just being excused, when an excited
official thrust himself into the hall. By the conspicuous blue ribbons
trailing from his dalmatic and his cap of like colour, all recognized
Attalos, sub-captain of the Blue circus faction. He forced his way to
the tribunal, plumped on one knee and spoke hastily:

"Forgiveness, O Beatitude, but the matter presses. The Qustor fears the
monks and laity are getting beyond control. His force is insufficient.
The multitude cannot understand why judgment is delayed. The public
peace cannot be guaranteed very much longer."

In the excitement around the judgment seat, following this announcement,
nobody noticed three laymen of military carriage, muffled with heavy
cloaks about their faces, who elbowed themselves close to the tribunal.

The Bishop of Rhaidestos put his mouth to the ear of his hesitant chief.

"This is a case," announced John, with a vain effort at extra dignity,
"wherein the weal of true religion requires that attention be given the
spirit rather than the forms of legalism. Let the chief defendant be at
once interrogated."

Blinking still, haggard and dishevelled, yet not without a certain poise
and majesty, Kallinikos rose to face the Arch-priest. Vehemently he
denied that in all his researches he had gone beyond the natural and
permissible quest for truth. All his experiments had been merely
attempts to reproduce the discoveries of ancient worthies, as contained
in lawful books, obscure indeed, but not illicit, whereof copies lay in
the imperial libraries. As for his own conduct, he had ever followed the
injunctions of the sage Egyptian, Kosmos, who taught that the true
scholar "should not laugh, should not swear, and should not lie."
Touching theological views, he had been too busy to read all the subtle
books of the controversialists, nevertheless "love of truth compelled
him to avouch"--his quavering voice rose boldly--"that he had known
Nestorians in Syria who seemed honest disciples of Jesus Christ, and he
had indeed told Saborios, in the heat of their discussion, that it ill
became any man of real learning to brand them as godless reprobates
until he had personally investigated their doctrines."

The Patriarch, leaning forward upon his throne, was now seen to clasp
his hands tightly at this fell avowal, but he allowed Kallinikos to be
pressed further concerning the aeropile:

"He had made it," the defendant openly confessed, "after the
specifications in the books of Hero. It was a simple mechanical
contrivance, as simple as a catapult."

John rose in his vestments and stood pompously upon the judgment seat.

"And do you actually assert that this ponderous brazen device before us
can be made to revolve rapidly through no other means than so absurd and
feeble an agent as the mere vapour from boiling water?"

"Assuredly I do," rejoined Kallinikos doggedly.

"I think we may consider the case ended," remarked the assisting Bishop.
"This insult to the judges' intelligence surpasses belief. It is
needless to investigate the old books, perhaps themselves charged with
immoral magic. Reason teaches that if this cylinder can be made to
rotate at all it is because it is made the abode of demons."

The other assessor nodded likewise to the Patriarch, while Proterios
made a vain gesture of supplication. John pulled at his long beard, then
announced:

"The holy monks need not, I think, be kept in anxiety much longer.
Still, technical proof of guilt seems wanting. No witness swears he has
seen the defendants in intercourse with demons, nor have any of the
accused perfected the case with a confession. To investigate the chief
defendant's library, doubtless full of implicating books, will require
many days. To hasten proceedings therefore, let Kallinikos be examined
next by torture."

"We save time," suggested the Bishop of Rhaidestos, "by selecting one of
the daughters. This stubborn old man may hold out a long time. The girls
will confess immediately."

John promptly gestured to a bull-faced functionary who stood near the
tribunal fingering a terrific whip set along the lash with bits of
brass.

"Question that younger wench under the whip," directed the prelate.

"All's ended now," confided Evagrios in Sallustios' ear, as hundreds of
necks bent forward to watch giant hands gripping the helpless form of
Anthusa, when suddenly the torturer turned as he stood, gazing in mortal
astonishment.

Among the spectators, between two groups of ogling hegumens, had risen a
martial figure. His scarlet general's cloak was thrown back to disclose
silvered armour. Not one word he spoke, but a single wave of command
made the torturer drop his arms while his eyes rolled in his head.
Followed by Peter and Fergal, Leo the Strategos was advancing towards
the tribunal, while the seated or standing multitude parted before him
like waves before the speeding galley.

"Holy Mother preserve us," groaned Evagrios, his knees suddenly smiting
together, and his jaws chattering. "How'd he come from Asia!"

Leo advanced to the step of the judgment seat, then, instead of kneeling
to kiss the prelate's pallium, gave a stern military salute.

"If your Illustrious Serenity," began the Patriarch with an uneasy
smile, "had earlier revealed yourself, a more honourable seat would have
been provided. We welcome you to join our two assessors."

"A gallows high as Haman's is provided"--the Strategos' eye lit on the
shivering Sallustios--"for whosoever shall urge a groundless suit before
your Beatitude, and think to eke out feeble evidence with riotous
intimidation. I was present when Attalos saw fit to insult your tribunal
by an outrageous warning. I am more competent to speak for the
authorities. Officially I would tell you not to fear to acquit these
defendants because the secular government dreads the consequences."

He swung his mail-clad form betwixt Anthusa and the sorely perplexed
whip-bearer, while Peter and Fergal stationed themselves significantly
near Kallinikos and Sophia. John and his assessors exchanged very
uncomfortable glances. The sudden intervention of the mighty war
minister in behalf of the prisoners had been the very last of their
calculations.

"We are waiting further your very noble suggestions," suggested the
Arch-priest anxiously.

Leo saluted again with greater ceremony.

"In view of the paucity of testimony adduced, I am persuaded this most
Holy Court was merely ordering the simulacrum of torture as a painless
formality prior to acquitting the defendants. If it should be otherwise,
it is but right to inform the tribunal that my friend the High-Prfect
Daniel is directly on his way thither to demand lawful jurisdiction, the
trial of a layman for wizardry being a matter touching closely his own
prerogative. I need not suggest that to administer torture, much more to
render any judgment in his absence will aggravate a serious situation."

A bolt of lightning could scarce have produced greater consternation on
the judgment seat. Sallustios' blank dismay was heightened by beholding
Evagrios worming his way rapidly towards the door. The advocate started
to follow, but was detained by an iron clutch on the wrist by Fergal.

"You've raised the fiend," warningly muttered the Celt, "now you may
wait till we see how they're going to lay him!"

John whispered in panic with his assessors. "How can we retreat? Daniel
is all-powerful. He and the Strategos between them can ruin me. If our
verdict is set aside we are the laughing-stock of Constantinople."

The Arch-priest turned pompously to Leo.

"With the most Sublime Prfect we are the last to invite a conflict. His
Beatitude says that his natural and paternal predisposition to lenity
had already inclined him to mercy. The alleged Nestorianism is not part
of the impeachment. However, the presumption of diabolical intent in
constructing this bronze engine remains extreme."

The remarks of the Strategos had been only partly heard through the
Tricline; now, however, the word "mercy" sent an open murmur of dismay
through all the closely pressed ecclesiastics. But the soldier stood as
granite.

"Do I then understand the Holy Court that the chief allegation centres
itself around this bronze cylinder?" he demanded.

"Most assuredly," interposed Proterios with rising courage.

A look of almost boyish glee and anticipation flashed across the face of
the general. He bent and seemed inspecting with a kind of merriment the
aeropile, as if to ascertain whether its condition were perfect. Next he
turned with no very dignified laugh.

"Then I assure these astute as well as holy judges that there is a far
better method of learning the truth than questioning this unhappy lady.
Am _I_ suspected of wizardry?"

"_You_--Serenity?" cried the amazed Arch-priest. "The Panagia forbid! Do
you condescend to testify?"

Leo gave him a gesture of extreme impatience.

"To save the time of his Beatitude and to warn accusers against
iniquitous charges, let the machine itself testify. As visitor to
Kallinikos' studies I have often examined it. Are there demons in common
charcoal and water? Let these substances at once be brought--from the
Patriarch's own most sacred kitchens, since those are least suspect."

... A tense silence held the interior of the Tricline, broken indeed by
the tumultuous shouting and chanting from the plaza, while attendants
produced articles no more formidable than a large jar of warm water, a
basket of charcoal and a torch. The leaning and muttering clerics saw
the Strategos, self-contained and smiling, throw open sundry orifices in
the engine, beckoning to the judges to note their nature. They saw water
poured into the cauldron beneath the cylinder and a bellows force the
underlying charcoal to a glow. Next followed moments of waiting, during
which assurance never quitted the face of the officer, even though
hegumen muttered angrily to hegumen, and outside the hooting and howling
rose to an unearthly chorus. And then--but all Constantinople told the
story in the evening. With a screech of hot vapour, and an unearthly
grinding, behold, under the very eyes of the Most Holy Oecumenical
Bishop and Apostolic Patriarch himself the bronze cylinder was whirling
itself about, discharging hot liquid from all its flying arms, as it
became possessed with some ferocious energy.

With the laugh of lad triumphing in a new toy, the War Minister sprang
on the steps of the tribunal.

"_Euge!_" went out his shout. "Let now Sallustios impeach _me_ for
wizardry!"

The Patriarch took a second awestruck glance at the whirling metal as it
gathered speed. A jet of boiling water spewed itself over a corner of
his pontifical robe.

"The accusation breaks down!" exclaimed John, precipitately vacating the
judgment seat. "Tell the Prfect not to interfere. We unanimously acquit
the defendants. Bailiffs, clear the court!"

But even as he spoke, the roarings of the aeropile were drowned by a
many-voiced clamour at the entrance of the Tricline itself and the rush
of feet.

"The guard lines have broken," shouted a terrified door-keeper; "the
monks are swarming in!"

Leo made a sweeping survey of the courtroom. The nearer and more
reasonable spectators were quite ready to acquiesce in the hasty
verdict, but they were helpless to check the onslaught of numbers from
without. A few superannuated doorkeepers, and six Collegians who had
guarded the prisoners and the baffled public torturer alone made some
signs of maintaining order. In at the doors swarmed the raging monks,
cursing and shrieking together. Some flourished clubs. Others snatched
up light benches. At their head advanced Marinos himself, brandishing a
large brazen cross. At sight of the flying engine, and of Kallinikos
who still stood in his fetters beside it, his voice rose as a tempest:

"Now is the abomination of desolation standing in the holy place! Hear
ye not the angel flying through heaven and crying with loud voice: 'Woe!
Woe! Woe! unto the inhabitants of the earth, for the day of doom cometh
quickly!' Death to the demon worshipper and his offspring! As the earth
opened and swallowed up Dathan and Abiram, so shall it devour them and
their impious protectors!"

Leo flung off his cloak, and his naked sword danced in his hands.

"Do your duty, guards!" And at his trumpet-like command the watchmen
swung themselves before their late prisoners. The three judges fled
ignominiously. Dignified archimandrites in the spectators vainly
implored their onrushing monks to stay and hearken; their voices were
drowned in the tumult. Many of the earlier spectators were hurled down
and trampled upon by the raging fanatics.

A brawny monk clutched Sophia's robe only to be felled by a loaded club
which Fergal had snatched from another anchorite, and now swung about
with marvellous facility. The mob surged up to the ill-fated aeropile,
and for one instant recoiled, terror-stricken lest it were emitting not
steam but the breath of demons; then the press of numbers from behind
upset the engine upon the floor, a gush of scalding water adding to the
pandemonium.

The Strategos lifted Anthusa bodily and thrust her into the seat just
quitted by the Patriarch. "Fear not," he spoke in her ear. "I suspected
this; help will be here soon."

"How can I fear," he caught the answer, "when you----"

A final rush of some of the more frantic monks almost swept the little
knot of watchmen from their feet. Hyena-like rose their howl: "Death to
the devil worshippers! Death to their defenders! Tear in pieces! Kill,
kill!"

Leo turned on the fanatics, his own teeth snapping fiercely.

"O Lord Jesus!" he cried aloud. "Still do men scream their 'Crucify!
Crucify!' and in God's name." Then to the guards: "Give them steel,
men!" And with all the power of a mighty arm, his blade cut down a
foaming anchorite who was aiming a bludgeon at Kallinikos.

The moments that followed were to the distressed sisters the lurid
climax of what had been one prolonged, agonizing dream. Had the fanatics
attacked with discipline, by sheer rage and numbers defended and
defenders might have been swept down and plucked in pieces. But the
watchmen were inspired to steady valour by the presence and example of
their exalted chief. They plied sword and spear as became Roman
soldiers. The torturer's lash smote about like a flail, while Leo's
great blade leaped in a red circle around the dais which he kept
inviolate amid all the roar and fury. Over the crash of combat, and the
curses and howlings of the monks, resounded the native yells of Fergal,
sheer love of combat possessing him, as he dashed his club now on one
black hat, now on another, until a veritable barrier of bodies, stunned
and bleeding if not slain, partly blocked the desperate attempts of
Marinos to bring up yet other holy battalions.

Then in a lull in the strife, just as the monks were gathering for
another rush, and as Leo was anxiously noting that thrusting to their
front were low-browed fellows with daggers, the criminal scum of the
city, there came a welcome shouting from the plaza, "At them, men! Give
the old crows a lesson!" followed by the rush of martial feet, next the
tramplings of horsemen and shrill cries of terror.

It took an instant for the mob that had stormed the Tricline to realize
what had befallen. Then a surge of panic sent its fury flying. Hundreds
fought together to gain the doors. Distraught hegumens climbed from
under benches or emerged from corners. Marinos indeed made one last
effort to rally his followers:

"Lo, the wicked triumph! The blasphemers prevail! Turn, Christians,
turn! Let not the Philistines destroy Israel!"

He ran into the powerful grasp of the watch-centurion, Besas, entering
by a rear door, who twisted his hands behind his back in a twinkling.
Soon all the portals were filled with spearpoints and armour. The noise
from the Augustum told that the military were clearing the square with
ruthless energy. Following Besas, Basil himself appeared in the
Tricline, followed by a forty of his marines, swinging great cutlasses.
Caught as trapped foxes most of the monks who had invaded the courtroom
submitted to being pinioned with silent meekness. The feeling between
these brethren and the sailors was not the best, and the latter looked
sorry at missing a chance to use their weapons.

Leo stepped from the tribunal and sheathed his sword. Blood was on his
Armour, and a long welt over his forehead, but he acknowledged Basil's
salute with official dignity. The sailors were dragging apart the mass
of groaning bodies before the judgment seat. One of the defending
watchmen was dead and at least six of the rioters.

"Shrewd work!" admired the naval captain, leaning upon his blade.
"Becoming a Strategos hasn't made you less of a soldier. Lucky you
thought to send off those messengers to Daniel and to bring up extra men
ere coming here. There might have been too much chance for valour. _Eu!_
all those holy scoundrels can explain their pious deeds in the
Prfect's court to-morrow. Who egged them on, I wonder?"

"Basil," urged Leo, with a solemn gesture, "no more of this now. These
friends have been through hell since yesterday, and I darkly fear on my
account. Anthusa was about to be lashed. Get conveyance as you love me.
My mother's house is nearest. Be quick." ...

... Anthusa collapsed just as they took her to the litter to bear her to
Kasia's. Sophia's state was hardly better. Kallinikos took long to
realize that the ordeal was over, and kept begging piteously that they
might torture him instead of his children. All that afternoon cavalry
from the War Department coursed the streets, seizing suspected rioters
and striking terror into evil doers. So ended one of the most hectic
days for long in Constantinople.

       *       *       *       *       *

Very late that night in a low wine shop in the slums of Galata, a haunt
obscure enough to be safe from the police, Petronax was conversing with
the white-lipped and demoralized Evagrios.

"It wasn't _my_ fault," the miserable ecclesiastic was groaning; "that
red-headed demon slipped through to Nicomedia, when they told me the
port was tightly closed. The monks did everything just as I told them."

"Everything and more," pungently returned the myrmidon. "The risk was
wholly yours when you undertook the mission. Don't whine----"

"But his Sublimity," began Evagrios in despair.

"His Sublimity can't protect you. If you're taken you're lost. Listen:
The Patriarch's in a blind panic lest it be said he was in collusion
with the accusers. Much property was destroyed. The great merchants are
furious. Already your name's ordered stricken from the cathedral rolls.
Sallustios was arrested, and Leo got Daniel to give him a dose of the
whip. He howled out enough not merely to implicate you, but to send Leo
straight to my master with very ugly suspicions. Their talk was private,
but I know that words passed brisk and bitter. The two are now anything
but cordial. To clear himself Paul had actually to sign an order sending
Sallustios to plead his causes to the fishermen on a remote island. You
can see what's waiting, if you're taken."

"The Holy Ghost pity me," moaned the fugitive, "I'm ruined forever!
What's to be done?"

"Nothing at present," replied Petronax blandly, "so don't howl over
spilled water. Now, however, take some comfort; I've at least seen to it
that your girls, Nikosia and Saloma, got away betimes from your
quarters. Luckily they haven't found any evidence against _me_. I'll
send the women over here, and do you keep safe with them till this gale
blows over. After that"--the emissary's tone grew more soft and
confidential--"his Sublimity bids me tell you this: that he hopes to
find _other_ means of showing his interest in our Serene Leo's ladylove.
In the meantime tuck away this little bag; it'll keep you from
starving."




CHAPTER XI

THE UNMAKING OF THE EMPEROR


The attack upon Kallinikos gave Constantinople seven days of gossip.
Evagrios vanished from the police, but the fate of Sallustios (after
Leo's not gentle interrogations) was a fearful warning to every
pettifogger in the basilicas. The Patriarch cursed his chaplains
whenever they made the slightest reference to the disastrous trial, but
the better hegumens repented and punished their more riotous monks,
while the great archimandrite of St. John of the Studium, the largest
monastery in the city, actually preached in Hagia Sophia against "being
carried about by every kind of doctrine."

At the Prfect's court the justly incensed Daniel dealt out fitting
penalties. Two self-proclaimed ascetics who had used swords instead of
clubs were ordered hanged. Many others received sharp lessons at the
whipping post. Marinos, lest his admirers consider him a martyr, was
allowed to reascend his "throne," but only as a sadder and sorer pillar
saint. Saborios suddenly found it needful to quit the university for an
obscure chair in mathematics in the schools of Nicaea; while Kallinikos'
more friendly colleagues ostentatiously reconstructed the aeropile, and
exhibited it again, as a useless but harmless curiosity, to a select
audience in the great aula of the university.

So the outward crisis passed, but life at the "House of Peace" was not
the same. Kallinikos would sit for hours with pathetically folded hands
and vacant eyes amid his restored books and apparatus. Only gradually
did his daughters recover from the shock of their ordeal. Leo and Fergal
could see them seldom. Even Kasia sometimes found her visits denied.

Meantime, of course, wherever people gathered, tongues buzzed. At the
variety theatres, at the water parties up the Golden Horn or to the
Sweet Waters of Asia, female heads were often together. Why had the War
Minister interfered so dramatically? Even if Kallinikos wasn't a wizard,
what concern was it of _his_? Just because the poor old pedant had
discovered the military engines? Wasn't there another reason? Who'd seen
that girl, Anthusa? Was she really good-looking? Considering she had no
mother, what wonder if her morals were perhaps deplorable?

Fergal caught some of this gossip, but dared not repeat it to his
patron. Kasia, however, let a little slip through, and the Celt observed
that Leo was becoming strangely restless and moody. His interviews with
Paul, following the trial, he had disclosed to no one, but all his
intimates knew for a surety that the eunuch had been left cowed and
trembling by the War Minister's clearly voiced suspicions, and that
between the twain there was now nothing more than a cold neutrality,
capable of blazing easily into open war.

But the Strategos had his mind on more than private concerns. Every day
came evil tidings from the frontiers. Over the Thracian passes came raids
of the Bulgars even to the gates of strong Adrianople. In the gean Moslem
pirates were half-ruining peaceful commerce. Worst of all, in Asia Minor
the razzias of the Saracens through the Cilician highlands were becoming
ever more systematized and formidable, and a great emir had led a
successful attack upon the major fortress of Antioch-in-Psidia.

Greater dangers seemed behind. Reports were ever multiplying that the
Kalif was meditating a vast assault by land and sea upon New Rome
itself, to seat the Commander of the Faithful upon the very throne of
the Csars. At Damascus enormous numbers of fanatical warriors were
being mobilized ready to be flung whithersoever the Successor of the
Prophet willed. Was their goal to be Constantinople?

Every day to Leo, as he returned home from the War Department, wearied
by the endless routine of appointments, plans and requisitions, would
come the passionate longing to be away on the Anatolian marches, with
the horse-archers and spearmen of the themes, and show the Hagarines how
Roman steel could smite. But every day duty plainly said to him that a
faithful war minister was worth more than a headlong cavalry captain,
and at his post he remained.

Nevertheless, he detected a subtle alteration in the public atmosphere.
It was alike his pleasure and his policy to remain studiously aloof from
the sordid networks of intrigue which were the curse of the palace and
the great patricians' mansions, but he could not remain wholly ignorant.
Constantly men whispered about Philippicus' criminal indifference to
public duties; his laughable attempts to ignore the crowding dangers of
the situation; his blank helplessness when compelled to act, and above
all his insatiate passion for extravagant ftes, pageants and revels,
when every obol was needed for the army and navy. Wiseacres went about
the long porticoes wagging their heads, hinting "Things will change."
The only answering question was "When?" or "Who?"

So amid increasing tension, but with no open catastrophe the season
advanced to the eleventh of May, the "Name-day" of the capital.
Forgetful of evil rumours the great city celebrated its founding by the
First Constantine. The law courts were closed. All the public baths,
including the magnificent Baths of Xeuxippos, were thrown open to the
populace without fee. Cakes were distributed gratis from the numerous
government bakeries. Every theatre was open for performances, vile or
noble. In the fora the populace held riotous carnival to pipe and
tambour. Then in the evening a gilded statue of Constantine, along with
another of the "Fortune of New Rome" was placed in an ivory chariot, and
with semi-pagan rites was conveyed around the Hippodrome by a great
escort of soldiers in white uniforms and bearing lighted tapers.

The festival had fallen on a Friday. The next Sunday was to be
Whitsunday. The intervening day was given over to elaborate contests in
the Hippodrome, such as delighted the sodden soul of Philippicus. At
grey dawn, citizens of all ages, maimed and crippled even, battered at
the gates of the race course. Those without the modest admission price
had scrambled upon the very domes and pinnacles overlooking the huge
oval. The Emperor surrounded by the Protectors and a vast civilian train
took his station in the Kathisma, the magnificent imperial box, threw
the official starting napkin upon the sands and sent the chariots
tearing away.

There were four races that morning, each seven times around the great
track; while the forty thousand spectators--"Blues" facing
"Greens"--cheered, wagered, cursed and groaned like madmen. Betwixt the
races were displays of acrobats, boxers and wrestlers, and even the
fight betwixt a tiger and a bear.[28] Nor was tragic excitement lacking.
One charioteer was thrown, dragged in his own reins and picked up dead;
a second was maimed for life. The Green jockeys won the decisive
race-off to the indescribable rapture of their faction, and the
corresponding anguish of the Blues.

[28] Gladiator contests had been abolished, but not occasional beast
fights.

More races were promised for the afternoon. The Emperor, it was
proclaimed, would return to the palace for his "Sacred Siesta" and then
would condescend to re-enter the imperial box. As his train swept out it
was noted that certain patricians, including several opposed to the
ruling clique, seemed missing, but the day was so hot that their absence
was excusable....

... Leo had not gone to the Hippodrome. The War Department was closed,
and its clerks were on holiday. The Strategos had brought home a mass of
confidential dispatches, and had spread them on the table in Kasia's
little garden. At the other end of the short, gravel walk his mother and
Michael were placidly discussing the case of an orphan girl. The day was
warm and droning. A huge bee buzzed in the oleander plants. Small brown
lizards darted across the patches of shade and sunlight. Even from the
distance came the thunderous roar of the thousands in the Hippodrome,
indicating the end of the morning contests.

The Strategos caught at his head. All was so peaceful, so very
peaceful--yet the tablets in his hands told of nothing but the imminent
threat of danger which could snuff out this vast teeming, luxury-loving
Constantinople like a moth in the flame.

Another roar from the Hippodrome. Leo knew they were calling, "Ten
Thousand Years to the Christ-loving Basileus Philippicus!" The futility
of the whole pageant, its atrocious absurdity took hold of the soldier's
soul. How was it to be possible, do what he and other good men might, to
rouse this enormous unwarlike capital to a sense of danger until all was
too late? He nervously pushed the dispatches from him and began pacing
the little garden walk, when Peter entered to announce:

"The Patrician Nikephoros Skleros and the Consular Leontios Berones."

Leo hastily swept the tablets into a small coffer, and motioned to
Michael and Kasia to withdraw.

Two elderly noblemen of smiling mien, but plainly dressed and
unattended, were bowed into the garden. After the ceremonious greetings
proper for visitors of rank, the twain approached Leo in a confidential,
sidling manner.

"We are quite secure against eavesdroppers?" suggested Nikephoros, the
senior of the pair.

Their host assured them of perfect privacy, and waved them into seats.
Nikephoros immediately became talkative:

"We have not been honoured by your close acquaintance, but now will
repair lost opportunities. You are aware we belong to the faction
opposed to Paul the Eunuch and his associates at the palace."

"I am entirely aware," replied Leo, studying his visitors quietly.

"You are also aware, better even than we, that the Empire is drifting on
the very rocks of calamity. A great assault by the Kalif can ruin us
all."

"I realize that every moment of the day."

"In this crisis," pursued the Patrician, "in his private capacity a
devoted subject can do all too little. We need an Emperor who can prove
a second Heraclius and turn back a peril greater than that from Persia a
century ago."

"Only a fool can dispute your opinion."

Nikephoros edged closer and glanced at his companion. The latter,
Leontios, spoke in a bare whisper:

"We have come to tell you something. There will be a new
Emperor--to-night."

Leo half started from his seat. His hands twitched. "What mean you? I've
no dispatches that any of the themes have revolted, nor the garrison
here."

"The provinces and bulk of the army have little to do with it."
Leontios' voice grew, if possible, still more confidential. "You know
Rufos the Protostrator?"

"An officer of the Opsikian[29] theme--a very daring fellow."

[29] The military district in northwestern Asia Minor.

"He's at the palace even now--and some proper men with him."

The War Minister leaped to his feet. "By the Trinity explain yourselves.
If you've hatched such a plot, why are you here with me of all men?"

"Explanations in time," returned Nikephoros blandly; "meantime, my dear
Strategos, I'd say that we knew you were a man with--well, a few
old-fashioned scruples. Therefore we can declare that matters are now
gone too far for you to interfere, however much you desire."

"Yet I adjure you!" cried the now agitated soldier. "If your scheme's
thus far advanced, why come to me? If you've been seen entering this
house and your plot miscarries, I indeed am implicated. But where's your
gain?"

"Rufos will not miscarry," reassured the old magnate. "All's as certain
of success as that to-morrow will be Sunday. The Silentiaries and
Protectors around the Sacred Bedchamber have been won over. Nothing has
been left to chance. We come with perfect confidence in the result."

Leo struck his hands together with angry impatience!

"You know I love Philippicus personally as I would love a street dog.
But I've no part in your conspiracy. You did well to leave me out. I'll
not betray you, though silence may cost me my head; but now you'll
please me best if you'll discharge your absurd mission and begone."

Nikephoros deliberately produced a small parchment from his flowing
sleeve and nodded significantly to Leontios.

"I repeat, Most Serene Strategos, we knew you were a man of honour. In
preparing this revolution we left nothing to chance. I take you now into
our full confidence. Here is a list of the destined honours and
promotions for our faction: the new Logothetes, the new
Theme-commanders; Paul, you observe, may be suffered to keep his titular
position, but will be shorn of most of his real power. I have humbly
selected for myself the Countship of the Treasury. The noble Leontios
here is to be Exalted Chamberlain. The new Emperor will be firmly bound
to marry at once the widowed Patricianess Ignatia Chopas, the great
Chopas interest having assisted us to gain over the Silentiaries."

Leo raised his eyebrows; his manner grew calmer.

"A long list of names, my High Nobilities," he commented; "the
deliverers of the empire have not forgotten their own ambitions to serve
in lofty office. They say, too, the Lady Ignatia is a widow of seasoned
years, sharp-tongued and none too comely. But let that pass. You omit,
however, the first actor in your stage play. Who's the new Emperor?"

Nikephoros turned on his host with a smile of infinite meaning.

"Permit us the honour." And simultaneously he and Leontios fell each on
one knee, seized Leo's robe and pressed it to their lips. "Let us be the
first to salute the new Sacred Clemency."

The Strategos sprang back, his eyes blazing fury. "Just God! What is my
crime that I must undergo this insult?"

"Insult?" cried Leontios, the first of the pair to recover breath. "You
call the proffer of the throne of the Roman Empire insulting, when you
are selected above a thousand officers of higher birth! When the plot
has been devised without your knowledge, without a single compromising
act on your part! When you've but to go with a few attendants toward
Hagia Sophia the moment the rumour of what's happened at the palace
spreads--and spread it will--and let your friends raise their
acclamations! Soon all Constantinople will be chanting its 'Ten thousand
years to Leo Augustus!' This sudden good fortune's unstrung your wits.
Nikephoros should have broken the news more slowly."

Leo took three deliberate turns along the garden walk before he spoke.
"I'm not unmoved that you think well of me, but I say to you clearly
that he who takes the diadem after such a plot should make his peace
right soon with God. Perhaps he can be proclaimed to-day. His post
becomes desperate to-morrow. What's your new Basileus pledged to do at
the palace? To take the power from one clique of silk-robed
Magnificences, and give it to another--perchance a trifle less
incapable. Your sovran will be another Philippicus, a gilden puppet not
even permitted to choose his own bride. The army has had enough selfish
dictation by soft-handed civilians. It would never accept any man of
your choice when lifted by such sponsors."

"We think we've the Opsikian theme," weakly objected the misdoubting
Nikephoros.

"One theme in twelve, and that the weakest--if you indeed have it! All
the others will be outraged to see the purple tossed about as a
gamester's bauble at Constantinople, while brave men are trying to hold
back the Saracen on the frontiers. Philippicus is vile, but you prepare
something worse than a sybarite in the palace--a civil war, with the
Moslem soon at the gates."

Both visitors flushed deeply; Leontios' voice shook when he answered:

"When has Empire been refused? And by such as you, peasant-born from
Isauria? We'd reckoned on every possible contingency save this. Your
popularity with the garrison and city watch would assure us possession
of the city the instant Philippicus was harmless. What's to be done?
That list of appointments can be revived!"

"Useless folly!" warned the Strategos with heat. "You have cooked this
rank pottage without my aid. Go finish your banquet. If Rufos can be
warned----"

"He's acting now," groaned Nikephoros in a frenzy. "It was arranged that
we should go to you precisely as he went to the palace. Leontios and I
especially craved this mission as one destined to make us your friends
forever."

"Your confusion be on your own heads," thundered the enraged officer.
"What in my life has made you dream I'd pawn my soul for a crown of wax
and a robe of spotted purple, first to take your orders and then to meet
with speedy deposition and blinding or a sorry death? Now get you gone
as quietly as you can. I'll not betray you."

"I'm still unnerved," muttered Leontios. "Everything was prepared.
Everything anticipated--but this. Oh! Impossible! We've agreed on no
other candidate. Such madness; lack of ambition; ingratitude!"

The two magnates, blank and shivering, quitted the garden with the most
hurried adieus. Leo sat again for long moments, desperately twisting his
hair and watching the shooting lizards; then he summoned his mother....

... One glance told Kasia her son was deeply moved. Concisely Leo told
of his visitors' errand. When he had finished, the old woman stood
beside him as he sat, and cast her arms about his head.

"Ah, boy!" spoke she, "now I know that you are strong and that God has
reserved great things for you. It was not thus that Barses and Chioba
promised you should save the Empire."

The soldier raised himself and kissed both her cheeks.

"No, my mother, for no Basileus who dons the purple after such a plot
can save so much as his own freedom. Let us trust in Heaven, and if at
any time God should lay an awful burden of Empire upon me, it shall not
come without fair show of worldly strength to bear it. And now--we must
wait and pray."

An hour passed, then a second hour. Leo and Kasia alike knew that if the
plot miscarried at the palace and the visit of the two conspirators to
the War Minister was traced, the latter would be in awful peril.
Defeated plotters would be ready to accuse any one to avoid the rack.
Soon there might be one more blinded monk in the island monasteries, if
the Strategos' head did not fall before the howling thousands in the
Hippodrome. Often the impulse returned to cry: "The only safety is
boldness; the die is cast!" to summon a few personal followers, to rush
to Hagia Sophia and risk all on one desperate pronunciamento. The
soldier's brows knitted hard, but he put the demon behind him.

Presently even in their quiet street they heard the trampling of many.
Voices sounded: "What's at the Palace? What's at the Hippodrome?" Then
came confused and thunderous shouting as from the Augustum. Leo calmly
ordered Peter and Fergal to go forth and bring back sure tidings.
Another mortal hour and they returned. Kasia and her son fell on their
knees while Michael proffered thanksgiving. Leo was safe.

The tale brought back was the one which wise monks wrote in detail in
their sober histories that it might not be considered merely as horrid
legend. In all the blood-spattered line of Roman monarchs not one had
fallen more suddenly and shamefully than Philippicus.

That morning he had delighted his puny soul at the race track. He had
then spent much time with the President of the Sacred Kitchen arranging
the dishes for the great banquet to be offered the entire nobility the
next day. Full at last of food and wine, after a hearty luncheon, the
Emperor had lain down for a long siesta. With his own confederates, now
in perfect readiness, Rufos of the Opsikians had made his way to the
very bedside, admitted by the treason of the Count of the Sacred
Cubicle. The conspirators had seized the wretched Philippicus, heavy
with sleep, hurried him out of the palace along privy passages, then had
taken him to the dressing-room of the Green Faction behind the
Hippodrome. Of all the menials they passed, not one was willing to
recognize his Autocrat and Basileus. At the Hippodrome hot
pricking-irons were ready. There were two agonized screams and
Philippicus was blinded forever. Years afterward he would die a helpless
prisoner in a distant monastery. And so the two-year reign ended.

But with this triumph Rufos' commission was at an end. Only a select
circle even among the conspirators knew who had been the chosen
candidate. At the very moment the deed of cruelty was being finished,
Nikephoros and Leontios were seeking their confederates with the
astonishing tidings of Leo's refusal. There could be no preconcerted
rush to Hagia Sophia, no acclamations of the favoured successor, no
clamorous demand on the Patriarch that he crown at once "the choice of
the Roman Senate and army." So passed an evening of wild rumours and
waves of panic, while excited emissaries hastened from one patrician
palace to another, and from ministry to ministry.

The moment Leo received formal word that the throne was vacant and the
Senate was meeting to choose another Basileus he sent reply that he was
a soldier, not a politician, and that his business was to obey emperors,
not to create them; in the interval he would muster all his men to
maintain public order. Then, late on Sunday morning, the heralds blew
their silver trumpets in the crowded Augustum. "Anastasius II," the
former chancellor, was to be the new monarch of the Romans, and all men
knew that in the crisis the great noble families had composed their
feuds to save their grasp on the government.

Constantinople said that a well-intentioned civilian had been chosen, a
man of better parts than Philippicus, but that there had been no real
revolution at the palace. Nikephoros, Leontios and sundry of their
friends had received various offices, inferior of course to their hopes,
to halt further conspiracy. But Paul the Eunuch still kept the
Mastership of the Palace, with a fair portion of his old power, and
Niketas and Theokistos retained their dignities. The new Emperor would
take a more active part in the government. A real attempt would be made
to prepare for the Saracens. As for the provincial armies, it was
pretended that they would not mutiny. In short, some new wine had been
poured in old and rotten bottles. Military men shook their heads and
hoped for the best.

The renunciation by Leo could not remain an absolute secret; there was
too much gossip as to why the climax of the conspiracy miscarried.
Anastasius was honourable enough to be grateful for a modesty which he
put down to Leo's distrust arising from his ignoble birth. Three days
after the palace revolution it was duly placarded with the other
official notices on the Chalke posting-boards that the new "Sacred
Clemency was graciously pleased to continue in office the present
Strategos of Thrace and to commend his abilities and fidelity." It was
also announced that to ascertain the real intentions of the Hagarine
Kalif a special embassy would be sent to Damascus headed by Daniel the
High Prfect of Constantinople.




CHAPTER XII

THE VILLA AT THERAPIA


The military themes sent in their allegiance to Anastasius so grudgingly
that Leo was given the worst forebodings. Everybody knew that the
provincial armies felt outraged at seeing the government still in the
power of soft-handed, greedy civilians when every thought should have
been given to meeting the Saracen. The Strategos of Thrace set an
example by his loyalty to the new ruler, but other high officers blew
hot and cold. Leo knew what was pretty surely impending.

In Constantinople, however, life continued with perfect normality. The
coronation of the new sovereign excused a round of magnificent pageants
and processions. Never had the purveyors of silk and gems, of silver
plate, ebony furniture, and precious nard rejoiced in better sales along
the Street of Lamps, nor the great Senatorial palaces in more
magnificent banquets, for which the depths of the Euxine and the forests
of Thrace and Bithynia were robbed to provide fish and game. In the
churches the popular preachers constantly expounded the comfortable
doctrine, "Fear not, dearly beloved: rightly is our city named 'The
Guarded of God.' This Roman Empire is ordained to stand forever. When ye
hear (as saith the Bible) of 'wars and rumours of wars see that ye be
not troubled.' They shall not touch Constantinople!"

Vainly did Leo inspire Michael and a few other seriously minded popes to
try to rouse the people. The warnings fell on indifferent ears. "We
are," lamented Michael, "even as in the days before the flood, 'when
they were eating and drinking and knew not until the flood came and took
them all away.'" Thus the great capital with its million made light of
the Saracen danger, which every rumour and messenger from the East
incessantly confirmed.

Yet the efforts of the War Minister were not wasted. The new Emperor at
least supplied him with tolerable funds for his projects. The city
fortifications were carefully repaired. From the dockyards rose a mighty
hammering upon new dromonds. Into Constantinople, thanks now to Leo's
far-flung recruiting officers, streamed uncouth companies of Franks,
Avars, Lombards, Slavs, and Circassians, battle-worthy barbarians,
enlisted to take the Basileus' solidi and service. A new vigour infused
through the Asiatic garrisons turned back a vigorous Saracen raid into
Cappadocia. And Leo, when he saw the effect of the powers that were in
him: when he knew that he possessed the ability to stir his lieutenants
to high resolves and to get the best out of a man, thanked God humbly in
his heart, and when one misdoubting voice in his soul questioned, "Can
the Hagarines be turned back?" another clearer voice answered, "Under
Heaven they can!" Therefore the soldier persevered in his work at the
War Department.

Yet his thoughts often ran to other things than the appointment of staff
officers, and Basil's design of an improved beak for the dromonds. Once
more he was finding his way to the House of Peace, and once more he was
finding a welcome.

Kallinikos indeed had been shaken by the recent catastrophe. Not even a
patent from the new Basileus, creating him "Consul of the Philosophers,"
could help him to resume his old studies with ardour. His torpor became
pitiful. Fortunately, the University lectures were closed for the
summer, and when Kasia suggested to his daughters that their father
would be happiest at his Therapia villa, her words fell on congenial
soil. Early in June the House of Peace was let to a caretaker, to the
great sorrow of the mongrel Dorkon who howled mournfully around its
deserted portal. Its inmates had departed up the Bosphorus.

The day that Kallinikos went thither, Kasia and Fergal observed a
marvel: the indefatigable Strategos suddenly discovered the need for a
day of relaxation. Basil's speedy barge was easily available. "The
rowers need the practice," with a wink remarked their captain. Under the
stern canopy Basil's rosy-cheeked and broad-zoned wife Placidia, with
three over-active babies, gladly matched gossip with Kasia. For the
sixth time Fergal told the wholly receptive Sophia of his adventurous
trip to Nicomedia. As for Leo, he listened with all politeness to a
meandering discourse by Kallinikos on the siege of ancient Byzantium by
Philip the Macedonian; and Anthusa (still a little pale from the court
ordeal) sat at her father's side, looking at Leo--of course in a most
respectful manner. If his Serenity the Strategos also looked often at
her it was simply unavoidable in following the discourse of Kallinikos.

Thus it was that upon a fine June morning the _Manger of Bethlehem_
glided forth from the crowded harbour and out into the Queen of
Sea-Ways. The domes, cupolas, marble piles and blooming terraces of the
palace point dwindled behind. On the right stretched the cypress-crowned
heights of Chrysopolis, on the left in Europe sprawled the commercial
suburb of Galata overlooked by the high tower of Anastasius I[30] and
backed by the lofty hills of Pera. Blue and beautiful the Bosphorus
opened before them, covered with caiques and the yellow sails of
superior shipping, lined with palaces, villages, vineyards and villas,
and vaulted over all by a limpid sky.

[30] Now called the "Tower of Galata."

Kallinikos' dim glance lighted as they turned headland after headland,
giving him the satisfaction of learned observation on every winding
prospect. Now he must remind the Strategos that the whole Bosphorus was
sacred to Saint Andrew, who, coming to Byzantium three years after the
Crucifixion, found the deep azure of the channel astonishingly like his
native Galilee. Now it was to descant on the seventy species of fish
taken on their constant migrations betwixt the Euxine and the gean. Now
again he must talk of the two shrines of St. Michael on opposite banks a
little above Galata, and of how they had replaced pagan fanes to Artemis
and Apollo.

Perchance Leo and Anthusa heard all this; perchance they studied the
garden-fringed shores and forest-crowned hills as the barge pulled up
the swift current of the Narrows; perchance they reckoned the distance
across the shimmering waters when they glided over the wider stretches
and saw the towns and country seats retreat in the flashing distance.
Certain it is that never before had the Strategos realized that Basil's
barge could ply too swiftly, and seldom had he felt more glad than when
Placidia said to her husband (Therapia being now abreast), "The men are
not weary. The day is fine. Let us keep on to the Rocks."

Therefore up to the end of the Bosphorus they glided, beyond the bleak
Kyanean Rocks, where the great surf spouted and the dark waters of the
broad Euxine stretched away to the sky-line; then the helm was perforce
swung back and into the Straits again they ran. Now Europe was beckoning
them from the embowered heights of Polichion[31] with its guard towers
for the imperial customs, now Asia from the opposite ridge of
Hieron[32] where a grey temple to the "Twelve Gods" was crumbling away
after the downfall of paganism.

[31] To-day called Rumili Kavak.

[32] Very near to modern Anadoli Kavak.

Everywhere were the white-pillared villas of the magnates of the lordly
city; everywhere garden walls, orchards, brightly-painted wooden
villages, the domes of parish churches, the waving groves of cypress and
yew, of box and plane trees. The women wearied of counting the flying
caiques and the stately barges plying to and from the little quays. At
"Great Valley," where a deep meadow led back to villages and charming
woodlands and hills, they glided by a great company of revellers
disembarking. Already on the greensward youth and maidens were ordering
the dance. The citheras were thrumming, the castanets tinkling, and some
old half-heathen drinking song was recalling the days of Bacchos and his
nymphs. Every sound, sunbeam and ripple spoke of luxurious peace.

Long before the voyage ended Kallinikos had grown silent. His weary gaze
wandered along the passing shores. Anthusa and Leo were alone together
in the extreme stern of the barge. Kasia and Placidia were discussing
the newest fashions in embroidered sleeves. Fergal was holding Sophia
fascinated with some weird tale of Armorica. The Strategos strove to
catch Anthusa's eye but her glance persistently sought the distant
hills. There was a long silence. The soldier, by wont so ready of
speech, felt a great awkwardness coming upon him, then in simple desire
to say something he uttered mere banality:

"I have never seen the Bosphorus more beautiful."

"Peaceful indeed it is," replied Anthusa, apparently as he was merely
seeking for words. "Who can imagine anything to disturb this? And yet
you talk of Saracens."

"The Saracens have not come yet," he replied as unreadily as a
schoolboy. "Of course you know my fears. Does not the possibility of a
great attack upon Constantinople affright you?"

"Sometimes," she answered truthfully, "but not as much as once."

"And why is that?"

Anthusa grew red. Her gaze was now down upon the darkling water, but she
replied without evasion: "Because after our day and night of deadly
peril, I have come to think that if God can interpose thus to save just
three of us from hideous danger, He cannot in His mercy commit to
destruction the million of helpless ones--old men and women and
guileless children--in all Constantinople. He will raise up a strong
deliverer for this great Christian city, even as in our extremity He
raised up for us--a brave and mighty friend."

Her last words were nigh inaudible. She would not meet Leo's eye. The
soldier also studied the fleeting wavelets, then replied stiffly:

"God must indeed send us peculiar help or all is lost."

Anthusa raised her head. Her lips were white but she seemed to have
plucked up courage: "Will you be angry if I tell you something?"

"How can I be angry with anything you say, _kyria_?"

"Sometimes I think our own deliverer whose bright sword saved us in our
helplessness from those raging monks is the selfsame man whom Heaven
will ordain to save Constantinople."

Leo forced a scoffing laugh. "God avert a burden like that. You've been
listening with too much indulgence to my good mother's vagaries about
her son!"

"That is wrong. I'm not too secluded to miss what they are saying
everywhere, 'Philippicus is gone, Anastasius is in the palace: what
matter so long as he leaves the Isaurian in the War Office? He's our
"Lion" to face down the Kalif.'"

"I'll not pretend to ignore your meaning," replied Leo a little
frigidly; "the populace has its favourites. Would to God they praised me
less and aided me more to get ready for the Hagarines. Little you know,
dear _kyria_, how grievous it is to have great things expected of one,
and then know in one's inner heart, 'You're but a very feeble man. Try
your best you are very like to fail.'"

"Ah!" cried Anthusa, the warm colour springing to her cheeks, the light
glancing suddenly from her eyes. "Say not this, for you'll _not_ fail!"

Then her hands dropped suddenly at her side:

"Most Serene Strategos," she said blushingly, "what have I done? An
untaught girl counselling an imperial minister. Your friendship for my
father has made me presume too much. Can you forgive?"

"Forgive never, for to forgive there must be offense." The soldier only
knew that he was sitting close behind her, and that the sound of her
voice was inconceivably sweet. "Most honoured _kyria_, to-morrow I shall
again be at my bureau. I shall be perplexed with problems and petitions.
I shall be very weary. But I shall be less weary and make fewer mistakes
because I shall remember your words to-day."

"And I," spoke Anthusa, still charmingly red and embarrassed, "shall
find Therapia very stupid and tedious--until--until your mother can come
with report of everything you do."

A rope of the canopy was trailing away in the breeze. Anthusa caught at
it, but failed to knot it down readily. In assisting her, Leo must needs
pass his own hand over her own. Both pairs of hands were very close as
they plied together, and the time required to make fast that rope grew
excessive--and all the while Kasia watched shrewdly out of the corners
of wise old eyes.

Having no further excuse for loitering, they made for Therapia, where
stretches the little crescent of a bay scourged from the north in winter
but balmy in summer and outlined with a charming village. Here was a
luxurious complex of garden walls, bright vineyards and cool orchards
wherein already the fragrant fruit was ripening. Close to the shore, and
slightly apart from the other pleasances, lay the unpretending villa of
Kallinikos, where Ephraim and the other servants had made ready for
their master.

Basil disembarked the latter, his daughters and sundry household gear.
There was laughter and scurrying when Tobias slipped from his basket
into the water, to be speedily rescued, mewing desperately, by the more
aquatic Fergal. Leo assured Kallinikos with wholly needless repetitions
that as soon as official duty would permit him, he would revisit
Therapia and enjoy a hunting expedition in the adjacent forest of
Belgrade. His farewells to the sisters were very brief, but when from
the receding quay Anthusa waved a blue handkerchief (of course to Kasia)
the soldier was observed very chivalrously to lift the small gonfalon
from its sockets in the stern and flourish it vigorously in reply.

All through the pull homeward Leo sat saying little, with eyes only for
the flying water and seemingly oblivious to the shifts of brilliant
colour upon the Asian hills. But Fergal observed that his patron's lips
were smiling, his brow untroubled, and that he even hummed unconsciously
the rowers' chant when the men struck up a deep-toned chorus. As for
Kasia and Placidia they exchanged glances, as intelligent women, which
told one another an important story.

       *       *       *       *       *

That evening Sophia and Anthusa sat long together on the benches beneath
the patriarchal chestnut trees which spread their majestic boughs almost
over the swift current of the Bosphorus.

After sunset the stars came peeping forth over the "Bed of Herakles"[33]
which loomed darkly on the heights of Asia and flashed back the steely
ripples in the water. Now and then small fish, chased by one greater,
leaped from the waves. Far away towards Miloudion where nestled a summer
palace of the emperors, flared the red torch from the skiff of some
fisherman, luring his evening prey. Overhead from the black masses of
foliage began the tremulous notes of an early nightingale. It was a
moment to provoke sisterly confidences, and Sophia, as the elder of the
twain, was moved to speak with more than even her wonted freedom.

[33] To-day called the "Giant's Mountain."

"The Strategos was very gracious to-day," she began.

"He is always gracious. He is a good friend of our father," replied
Anthusa, gathering Lethe, Tobias' sleek companion, into her lap.

"Are you sure he is only a friend to our father?"

"If he did not admire his work, appreciate his learning, expect to use
other devices of his contriving, what can be his purpose?" responded the
younger sister innocently.

"My dear Anthusa," exclaimed Sophia, snatching up the jealous Tobias in
her turn, "our father named you for the most pious mother of St. John
Chrysostom, hoping, I suppose, that you would turn out a saint yourself.
Heaven knows the only saint you imitate now is St. Mary Magdalene before
her conversion. I never conceived that you possessed such art and
ambition as you have of late displayed."

Even in the darkness Sophia saw the quick gesture of her sister.

"As you care for me, explain yourself," demanded the other.

"My dear Anthusa," reiterated Sophia in that superior manner known to
elder sisters since the first daughters of Eve, "I speak thus openly
because you know my love for you is great. It is time you realized your
position, before grievous mortification or still worse comes upon you.
If your ears have been deaf to certain rumours as to why the Strategos
so often visits our house, not so have been mine. I know that your heart
is really as innocent as a young pigeon's. I am older and bound to try
to protect you. The other day Fergal said----"

"What said that red-headed whip-scoundrel?" demanded Anthusa, casting
aside the cat and leaping up with energy.

"Oh, never mind; I shouldn't have mentioned him. It was nothing. Well,
to return to the Strategos: You can tell me many things, my beloved
sister, but not that you have never dreamed the reason the War Minister
is so kind."

Anthusa stood with her back towards the current, waving her arms in
angry silhouette.

"_Kyria_ Sophia," cried she, "never for long have we quarrelled. We're
about to quarrel now. How dare you speak thus of Leo, of the man who in
sheer goodness, at direful peril of being slain himself, saved us all
from a horrible death?"

The elder maiden remained provokingly calm.

"I'm compelled to anger you," she resumed sweetly, "that you may awaken
to the truth. Perhaps it's too late already. Our father is so wrapped up
in his impossible learning he does not give us the protection befitting
girls of our station. Long since if he had cared more for his daughters
than for that wretched aeropile, he'd have sought us out proper
husbands, or if that were too much trouble at least employed some
old-woman match-maker[34] to find him the right sons-in-law. Not so; all
is left to chance until at last fortune sends to our house the
Strategos."

[34] Such as abounded and were often employed in Constantinople.

"And Fergal!" darted Anthusa, her lithe body swaying with sheer anger.

"Fergal," responded Sophia hurriedly, "is different. Perhaps his father
_was_ a great chief away off in Armorica, but here he's only what his
keen wits and guardian saints make of him. Fergal is a much safer
friend."

"For you," shot back the younger sister, struggling to control her
wrath.

"Let us leave Fergal out of the discussion," asserted Sophia, her voice
in its turn rising. "Hear then, my fine patricianess, what I was trying
to tell you more delicately. I don't blame any woman for admiring the
Strategos, but don't raise your own eyes too high. You're pretty enough
to snap his fancy, or many another man's who angles more than does he
for women. No doubt he thinks well of you. No doubt (as men of his class
go) his deeds and words so far are honourable. He comes of course to our
house without great state, and his mother makes no bones about her
peasant birth, but think you who he really is! Not Spatharios now, but
actual Strategos, the next thing to a full patrician in rank and sure to
be that right speedily. When in cold reckoning he determines his career,
whom will he decide to marry: the daughter of some great and wealthy
house, or the daughter of a feeble old philosopher of modest fortune and
as little worldly influence as Lethe here or Tobias?"

"How dare you speak these lies, Sophia?" demanded Anthusa, fighting back
the tears.

"Are they lies?" answered her sister with exasperating inflection. "I
fear there's been overmuch gossip already. I know you'd never consent to
anything base; therefore I merely suggest that, to save you much
pain----"

But these last words were spoken to the great trees. With a cry of fury
and anguish Anthusa had fled precipitately into the villa.

       *       *       *       *       *

That selfsame evening Leo sat in his mother's little garden, meditating
long. His thoughts were not on fortress plans, the court-martial of an
embezzling protostrator, or the new Khazar auxiliaries, but on another
garden and a certain slim girl in Therapia. The next day shortly after
noon he amazed his clerks and subalterns by deliberately quitting his
bureau (though important dispatches were unanswered) and proceeding to
the Mese.

At the great establishment of Sosthenes, the most exclusive purveyor on
the Street of Lamps, he made the obsequious clerks turn over their
costliest dalmatics until he found one of crimson silk, heavy with gold
embroidery and seed pearls, which set off his military form rarely. He
added long hose to match and red shoes of the finest Persian leather. At
Merdas the cutler's stall he bought a silver inlaid dagger with large
gems in its golden hilt. Finally, from the master jeweller Ibas he took
a great necklet of pearls, no despicable gift for Theophano Dukas
herself. The orders he sealed on Ardazanos the Armenian banker would
threaten for a while his balance, but he was well content. He had
reached a firm decision. The next day he would go again to Therapia, and
say to Kallinikos: "Give me Anthusa in marriage."

Leo knew perfectly well what a storm of reproach would immediately blow
behind his back. He knew such an alliance would advance his worldly
prospects not one iota. Every magnate who reckoned him a possible
son-in-law would puff with anger. Every Senatorial matron would
commiserate, scold and blame. Anthusa's station in life was simply high
enough to prevent the charge of a gross mesalliance and a formal
scandal. All this he knew perfectly. Nevertheless----

It gave him joy to think of how he would confound the scheming high-born
matchmakers whose pretenses he despised; how he would proclaim his true
estimate of the self-seeking Magnificences who honoured and flattered
him because his services had become indispensable, though never ceasing
to sneer privately about his "peasant birth." Gladly he could picture
Anthusa learning, as he and Kasia might never learn, to accept the
social prerogatives of rank and to shine at court among the brightest
stars. Nay, it would give him new incentive to reach forward, even to
things highest, when honours which might bring him new burdens would
bring also to his best beloved new opportunity to show forth the grace
and beauty which God had set within her.

Leo lived in no age of romance; he composed no lyrics; he tortured not
himself with self-analysis; he indulged in no tedious sentimentality.
But he knew that the honest instincts of right-minded men had mastered
him, and that Anthusa had become as needful to his happiness as food or
breath. Being in all things a soldier, he therefore drove bluntly and
immediately towards a determined goal.

To his mind there were many reasons for action, none for delay. Any
moment the fire-signals might blaze again their call which would send
him to Asia, this time perhaps for many months. He intended to marry
Anthusa after as short a betrothal as decent formulas would suffer. His
ardent desires and the pride that was in him did not permit the thought
that either Kallinikos or she would raise objection, and of course he
knew the mind of Kasia. His salary as Strategos would permit him now to
take a good mansion near the Mese, and to live as became a high
official. To the War Minister, therefore, it all seemed very simple,
just as it seemed to send a dispatch to the commandant at Ancyra
ordering him to degrade two centurions for gross inattention to duty.

The next morning he dressed himself in his new gala robes with unusual
nicety. "He was going to Therapia," he said to his mother, but he did
not ask her company. Kasia's little body swayed with happiness as he
strode out the door. Basil's barge was again ready, and the men pulled
with more than wonted vim. To their passenger the Bosphorus flew by in
perfect beauty. Every caique was full of happy revellers, every cypress
on the shore was waving in fair greetings. For once on terms of absolute
content with himself and with all the world, Leo leaped upon the little
quay at Therapia. He had already framed the words of his demand to
Kallinikos, his speech presenting the pearls to Anthusa....

... At the quay he saw old Ephraim. The Syrian ran to him with streaming
eyes, seized his hand, and gasped out a tale of bewilderment and
distress.

The preceding night Sophia and Anthusa had vanished. In the garden there
were a few signs that they had been seized by the water-side after a
struggle. Otherwise the Bosphorus might have closed over them.




CHAPTER XIII

A NIGHT ON THE MARMORA


The night before the second trip of Leo to Therapia a dense fog had
crept again out of the Marmora and wrapped itself over the Bosphorus and
the Golden Horn. The great beacon on the palace point, and the opposite
light on the outer promontory of Galata sank to red glimmerings. Once
the sentry by the last-named guard-post heard quick oars, as from a boat
of some size, entering the harbour from the north. The Golden Horn was
supposed to be closed at night, but there had been no Saracen raids
inside the Hellespont, and the business of most craft was presumably
innocent. The sentinel therefore did not even take trouble to report the
noise to his decarch.

Inside the harbour the fog was slightly less dense. Along both shores
loomed the forests of masts, or the bulk of ungainly ship- and
warehouses, dimly traced against the darkness. There were no bridges as
yet across the lower harbour, and the boat which the sentry had noted
pulled swiftly and unchallenged past the ferry stations, and reached the
"Stairs of Sych," just beyond which reared the gloomy outlines of the
huge timber market.

Here under the sunlight would have been observed the vast piles of
lumber and fuel needful to the metropolis, while the streets behind
would have proved among the vilest and filthiest in Constantinople: the
purlieus of hap, cut-purses, and the mangiest dogs of the city. Even
now, under the merciful darkness, a fetid odour told of the evil haunts
barely concealed. The night, however, was very still. A couple of storks
were rattling in their nest. A lonesome cur howled at intervals. From a
ship in the harbour drifted the song of a few tipsy seamen. Otherwise,
save in one quarter, there was silence and darkness.

The strange boat was approaching an old ship-house--a long timber-roofed
structure running far out over the water, black, weather-beaten and
smelling of rotten wood and general decay. At the piling a merchantman
of some size was moored, and her crew were finishing her lading. Dim
torches and lamps flashed over figures bustling actively upon her decks.
There was the rattle of blocks and tackle, and the banging of casks
being trundled down a gangway.

Upon the wharf, a little away from the ship's side, a single lantern
light gleamed through its oiled parchment upon four persons who
manifested many signs of impatience. Their voices speedily disclosed the
presence of Nikosia, Evagrios and Hormisdas, while the fourth of the
party was none other than Satyros, the master of the _Jacob and Joseph_
nearly ready for the sea.

Nikosia's tones were sharp and impatient: "They're calling off another
hour already. We might have known the time allowed to get from Therapia
was insufficient. Can't you stay a little longer, Satyros?"

"By St. Phokas of Sinope, the sailor's guardian," cast back the mariner,
"d'you think I love this business enough to risk daylight? If I'd known
your matter touched the War Minister never would I have sworn to the
bargain at the first. The risk makes my nerves tingle. The time's
calculated for too nicely. But I'll wait till two hours before first
dawn, and then the ship's off--will you, nill you. Till then the compact
holds."

"Don't get uneasy, _philotata_," soothed Evagrios, "there's still plenty
of time. It's been troublesome business to arrange, but if all goes
well the eunuch is bound to give us enough to let us both slip off to
Ephesus and live splendidly until this Leo has somehow stopped his
roaring and we can return here in fine fettle."

"Yes," assented Nikosia, "it'll take a pretty reward to recompense for
your being struck from the clergy lists, and our having to hide all
these weeks in those nasty quarters in Galata. I hope you compounded in
this business better than the last time."

"I've taken due precautions, my little dear," replied her consort. "The
Master of the Palace has lost part of his public authority but not his
private fortune. He still thinks that with that necromancer's girl out
of the way a good understanding with Leo is possible. If we succeed----"

"The last time we succeeded altogether too well. The Strategos of Thrace
is a dreadful enemy. If we're nipped it'll be hanging for you and a
harsh convent lifelong for me. Now, one thing I've on my mind: that
hoyden Saloma isn't going with us to Ephesus."

"Isn't?" mildly rejoined Evagrios. "Why, what've you now against her?"

"You know very well, faithless wretch"--Nikosia's voice became
unsteady--"all I've borne from you--and from her."

"This isn't the place," replied the deposed deacon unconcernedly, "for
such a talk. We can't well abandon Saloma because--well, because she
knows too much."

"The pest upon me," vowed Nikosia, "if I don't get Hormisdas to handle
her just as he handles those poor wenches we're now waiting for."

"_Ei!_ Something in my line of business, gracious _despoina_?" suddenly
queried the slave-dealer, who had been apparently ignoring the others'
conversation.

"Saloma's not here, fortunately," announced Evagrios; "let's have no
more of this. Ha! At last, thanks be--oars!"

Around the bend of the ship-house shot the dim form of a boat, from
which came the low whistle of some signal. The craft drew alongside the
wharf. Men ran with a torch and made her fast. Figures scrambled out
upon the quay. Nikosia, Evagrios and Hormisdas ran forward together, to
stumble upon the looming form of Plato, evidently very glad to see them.

"Success?" demanded the trio together.

"Success in the Holy Mother's name!" cried the gleeful coaster. "We've
the two beauties for you here, trig and tight."

"The Blessed Trinity be praised," murmured Nikosia, stopping to cross
herself. "I vow my patron St. Barnabas a ten-pound candle on his next
name day. And did you all get off safely and quietly?"

"Without the peep of one sparrow. In the morning at that villa they'll
think their young mistresses flitted off on two clouds."

"God is indeed with us," spoke the ex-deacon unctuously. "Later we can
acknowledge our mercies. But now to details: Satyros is waiting and
we've much to settle. Where's that handy man of yours, Kannebos, as you
call him?"

"Here, your Reverence"--and another powerful figure came forward under
the torchlight.

"You must give Kannebos the main thanks," confessed Plato generously.
"You remember when we learned the old wizard was going with his girls to
Therapia, and that our chance would come, I told you he was a proper
fellow for our job. You remember, too, you warned me, 'No murder; the
line's drawn there'--very proper of course for a churchman. But, barring
such a little matter, you bade us to be handy Christians. St. Nicodemus,
but didn't all go nicely! What luck that the poor girls' father had that
villa so close to the waterfront! You know how the current runs near
Therapia; the channel's so deep and swings in so by the shores that
sometimes the ship's booms hit the houses."[35]

[35] A familiar fact at several places along the Bosphorus.

"I understand," assented Evagrios. "But just how'd you do it?"

"Why, simple as sailing out to Pityusa, if you know the trick. Your
Reverence's money got us this good boat and crew. We slipped up the
Bosphorus at first dusk and lay quiet over at Miloudion. Then when
fairly dark we pulled over to the Therapia shore. There's a tiny
breakwater just by old Kallinikos' villa, the very thing for our
purpose. Kannebos had been ashore earlier, and that maid in our employ
(you know all about her) passed him the news. Kannebos got her to watch
and give a kind of bird-whistle when the servants had quitted the garden
and had mostly gone to bed. The two girls must have been chatting under
the trees, thinking themselves as safe as in their chambers; high garden
walls on three sides, and a deep salt channel on the fourth!"

"Excellent!" cried Evagrios breathlessly.

"_Phui!_ But it was quick work at the end. We glided near in the dark,
slid up to the shore, and while I held the boat steady Kannebos and
three other good hands leaped on the bank and nipped the two girls in
less time than your Reverence could say off one 'Our Father.' The poor
things couldn't have known what was really befalling them ere we had
them both nicely gagged and laid in the bottom of the boat. Kannebos got
the younger girl as neatly and quietly as one would choke a kitten. The
lads with the other weren't quite so brisk. She struggled a bit and they
had to squeeze her throat pretty hard to stop a scream. The maid had
been ordered to tell old Kallinikos that his brats had gone to their
chambers for the night. Whether she betrays us in the morning or not
won't matter. She wasn't told anything about the plot that wasn't
strictly needful, and had no dealings with anybody save Kannebos.
However, for her own sake she'll probably keep still as long as
possible."

"You have done well," proclaimed Evagrios with dignity. "Your reward
will be immediate. Nevertheless"--here Nikosia nudged his arm--"lest
there be some mistake, we must identify these young women before paying
you. Get them up upon the quay."

Plato muttered sundry orders. Kannebos and his helpers dragged upward
from the boat first one, then another female figure, with arms and feet
firmly bound, and both also gagged with a stifling quantity of rags. The
two prisoners stood stiff and helpless as statues, their limbs barely
twitching.

"Be careful," whispered Nikosia in her consort's ear, "those fellows can
cheat us."

"Remove the gags so we can see their faces," ordered Evagrios, waving a
lantern before the prisoners. "Now, my fine _despoinai_, screaming won't
do any good. You'd best be resigned to the ways of your friend
Hormisdas, who'll take you as safely and sweetly as two girls were ever
abducted. He'll tell you how there are worse things for such pretty
maids than a trip with him to Syria. Yes, that's the older girl, Sophia,
they call her. Quiet, my dove, we don't want to hurt you. 'Twas your
sister we wanted most, but if you both are missing they'll be more
likely to think it's just a common kidnapping. Better gag her again,
Plato, until the ship sails, and let me have a look at Anthusa, the
other--she's the one really on our minds. Prut! If she isn't trying to
kneel and weep out something about 'her father and her sister.' As if
other likely girls fallen into bad luck hadn't had fathers and sisters
also! Well, quiet her, too, since she must needs squeal. And now get
the brace of them aboard quickly. The sooner you're off, the better. My
stomach's turned by this stinking wharf."

While ungentle hands were again securing Anthusa, Evagrios had caught
Kannebos' arm and pointed towards her:

"Plato and Hormisdas aren't looking; you see clearly which one of the
two she is. There mustn't be any mistake."

The tall sailor nodded. "I understand the arrangement: nothing to any of
the others. When we're near the Isle of Cedars I'm to take the younger."

"Very good; now come with the rest and be paid off."

"With the forehead, your Reverence; with the forehead."

While Evagrios was gathering the entire boat crew about him by the
magical chinking of a heavy wallet, Nikosia had edged herself over by
the helpless Anthusa. The latter was struggling against her bands like
some wild animal newly caught.

"Don't take on so, _philotata_," remarked Nikosia through her fine
teeth. "It isn't every girl who can come so close to snaring a
strategos. You'll have that much consolation till you're dried and grey.
And of one thing don't be afraid: whatever happens to that sister of
yours, _you_ won't get a chance to dance before the Kalif."

       *       *       *       *       *

By the following evening the _Jacob and Joseph_ under her huge lateen
sails had glided far down the Marmora. Satyros had prudently taken his
clearance papers the night before departure, and his ship had been
allowed to slip down the Bosphorus through the fog like a white ghost. A
strong cool breeze from the Euxine had afforded good speed. Not
infrequently after the sun dispersed the vapour the shipmaster had cast
uneasy glances astern in dread of a pursuing dromond. "In which case,"
he cheerfully informed Hormisdas, "it's overboard with the two wenches,
with weights on their ankles." However, to the great relief of the
slave-dealer, "who hated nothing so much as cruelty," no craft more
formidable bore up from behind than a cargo-boat with decks piled with
empty casks to trans-ship at Cyzicus. As the day advanced, Satyros'
fears had dwindled, and Hormisdas became talkative about his trade
prospects:

"I wasn't planning to go clear through to Syria," he finally confided;
"it's usually best to change at Rhodes. But d'ye see, that churchman
stipulated I was to see these girls clear out of the country, and since
you've letters of protection sealed by the Grand Vizier to stave off
Hagarine pirates, you're just my man."

"There'll be no trouble after we near Syria," rejoined Satyros. "Bless
me if nowadays men of spirit don't change their religion just as they
change their cloaks. Several times at a pinch I've raised a finger and
said, 'There's no Allah but Allah, and Mohammed's His prophet.' And I
meant no disrespect to the Panagia and the Saints either."

"Business would multiply," assented Hormisdas affably, "if everybody
showed your liberality. Of course, it's my return cargo which'll make my
gains; but these two girls should fatten my bag not a little. Wish I
knew why Evagrios picked them. They're rather finer peacocks than I get
in common trade. All we're told is that somehow the War Minister is
friendly to one of them, and somehow some other Serenity or Sublimity is
interested to break the thing up. St. Elias call his fire on me if that
deacon shouldn't have turned slave-trader himself. A very proper man for
business!"

"Well," responded Satyros, "if I get fairly clear with the pair, there
my business rests. A sailor of fortune like myself won't revisit
Constantinople right away. We left Plato on the quay, but that Kannebos
and one of his men enlisted in the crew. Know anything about Kannebos?"

"Nothing," replied Hormisdas, pulling reflectively at a golden earring,
"except he seems a clever waterman. Comes from Parion, I hear, a little
lower down the Marmora. Seems a rather pious fellow, always saying his
prayers or fumbling his crucifix."

"He'll have to quit that when we get to Beyrut," said the master. "_Ei!_
Thanked be St. Phokas, we're not likely to get overhauled if this wind
holds. Better untie and ungag your little ladies; all the screaming in
the world won't make a bit of difference now except to fill the sails."

"A good idea; you know how I hate _needless_ cruelty," rejoined the
trader, bustling off.

The sisters had been lying in the noisome little cabin as helpless as
the bales of woollens and metalwares in the cargo. Now when Hormisdas
released them the time for stormy raging was passed. Each had clearly
realized her situation, and had mustered enough dignity to refrain from
frantic and futile protests. Hormisdas set food before them, and with
much smoothing of his well-oiled locks assured them of good treatment.
Then, to their infinite relief, he quitted the cabin. The two girls
rushed into each other's arms in an agony of tears. For long their sobs
prevented all words. At last Sophia threw back her dishevelled hair and
spoke with despairing calmness:

"We shall never see our home again."

Anthusa cast herself at the other's feet:

"Oh, I know why! I know why! Wherefore was Leo suffered to save me from
the harbour? Would that I had drowned; then you at least were safe. Why
was I fool enough to drift into the favour of a man who might have
great enemies who saw in me some barrier to their schemes! You heard
what Nikosia said. First there was the prosecution before the Patriarch,
and now that cruder blow. Dear God, take away my life! Nay, let me die
twice over, once for myself, once for my sister--if only she can go
free!"

Sophia lifted her up and kissed her. "Poor little sister," she said,
"you are innocent as a fledgling swallow. Forgive my heartless words the
other night. I wished to spare you pain, but never I dreamed of this.
Yet there's a chance we can still be rescued."

"I think not," said Anthusa hopelessly. "I overheard the sailors saying
the wind was fair. You can hear the water rushing around the ship.
To-night they will be in the Hellespont, next out into the open sea.
Every one in Therapia thought we had gone to bed, and we won't be missed
till dawn. Even when Leo hears, it will be many hours ere a few things
are sifted out. All was horribly well planned. You are right. We shall
never see our home again."

Then followed hours of silent torture, the girls sitting side by side on
a crude bunk, clasping each other's hands. Nature asserted itself enough
to compel them to drink a little sour wine and eat a few barley cakes.
Guarded as their lives had been, they had not escaped the stories of
kidnapped Christian girls shipped to the marts of Syria to vanish
forever in the harems of Damascus or Ispahan. The blow which had smitten
them was so numbing that in mercy imagination was partly baffled.
Neither sister could bring herself to think of the worst; neither to
dwell on the possible consequences of their loss to their father.

The afternoon thus drifted by. The shadows from the small cabin
portholes shifted. Then darkness closed around them, and nothing for a
while disturbed their desperate thoughts save the creaking of the
booms, the purling of the water, and the occasional shouts of Satyros to
his men. At length the odour of hot, rancid pottage suggested that
supper was prepared forward for the crew. There was a trampling of feet
towards the forecastle, the jargon of coarse voices, then a more
complete silence. Probably the deck was deserted save for the helmsman;
and Anthusa was just begging Sophia to eat again when the hatch was slid
noiselessly aside, and then was darkened by the huge form of Kannebos.

The sailor landed in the cabin with a single leap, and in a twinkling
his great hands closed over Anthusa with a grip so potent that even the
strength to scream passed instantly from her. For one moment he held her
face to the pale western light still creeping through a porthole. "She's
the one!" Sophia heard him mutter; then, clutching his prisoner under
his arm he sprang through the hatchway. The elder sister made a frenzied
effort to snatch his sash, but was dashed aside by a blow of his fist.
"St. Theodore curse you, girl; she won't be murdered!" he tossed at her,
as he disappeared on the deck, after which the hatch was closed
immediately.

Anthusa (who had been in that terrible clutch the night before)
struggled not. A great surge of mingled relief and horror told her that
her troubles were about to end at the bottom of the Marmora, despite
Kannebos' announcement. His grimy hand was crushed over her mouth. She
was dimly aware that another sailor was helping him: that they were
lowering her into a boat towing alongside the _Jacob and Joseph_, and
that next they were casting the small craft off as quietly as possible
from the vessel, which, under a fair wind, was rapidly slipping away
from them into the darkness.

"Bend to it, Bassos!" ordered Kannebos, still pressing his paw over
Anthusa's lips. But presently his hand was withdrawn. "The ship's far
enough now so a scream won't matter," declared the older sailor, taking
up a second pair of oars.

Anthusa, who had closed her eyes, quivering in mortal terror, opened
them again. She was once more on the bottom of a skiff much smaller now
than Plato's barge at Therapia. Overhead she saw the great vault of the
stars, swaying to and fro as the boat tossed on the waves of the
Marmora. Kannebos was pressing the prow of the boat around until it
pointed in the wind's eye. For the _Jacob and Joseph_ to have overhauled
them now would have required many tacks. Interception was practically
impossible.

Bewildered and desperate, Anthusa leaped up in the skiff, only to be
thrust down again by the irresistible Kannebos.

"Here, you _kyria_! You're not to make a meal for the tunnies, if that's
what's crossing your mind," he admonished; "keep quiet and all's safe."

"For the love of Christ," adjured Anthusa, "what means all this? Why did
you not take my sister? Do you intend to save me?"

"As for saving, if you mean saving from a trip to the Infidels, yes,"
returned Kannebos slowly, throwing a mighty power into his oars. "As for
your sister, you'd best toss the memory of her out of your nets as
worthless fish. You're likely to have another kind of sisters for the
rest of your days. That's my thinking."

Anthusa struggled again to her feet, as if to seek refuge in the black
water. Again Kannebos repressed her with one thrust; but the second
sailor, Bassos, was not quite so obdurate.

"Best to tell her, mate," he suggested, "if she'll swear not to try to
leap overboard."

"I promise anything; only let me know what has happened," moaned the
captive.

"Well, then," resumed the elder boatman, "it'll be an hour more of good
pulling, and the better speed if you lie quiet, so you may as well know.
I'm only a handy man around the Bosphorus, but I'm known for a
Christian, mind you--a Christian. Evagrios knew that if I swore by the
Blessed Sacrament to do this little business for him without telling
Plato, Satyros or Hormisdas, I could be trusted. So then: have you ever
heard of the Isle of Cedars?"

"No," came from Anthusa.

"You'll hear of it often enough hereafter. It's between Proconnesus and
Parion, my old birthplace, well down the Marmora. Now, d'you see, it's
this way: Evagrios is working for some great lord--I don't know who--and
what Plato and I did last night I needn't tell over again. But while we
were arranging for things at Therapia and Constantinople, Evagrios and
that fine lady of his (blessed St. Barbara, but she knows how to wear
her paint!) got me aside and put extra gold in my hand. And the sum of
the second part of this merry stage play is this: When you're missing,
no doubt there'll be a stir, court warrants and rewards. Plato is a
leaky tub. A few keratia and a little fear of the rack can get anything
out of him, oaths or no oaths. And once your friends hear 'Syria,' won't
there be all sorts of schemes for ransoms and rescues? Something which
his Reverence Evagrios didn't seem to enjoy. So it was arranged that
when we were off Proconnesus, without a word to Hormisdas and Satyros,
Bassos and I should whisk you into this skiff and take you to the Isle
of Cedars. All the rest can think what they please. You'll be safe for
the rest of your days, and I"--Kannebos' gruff voice grew measured and
pious--"I shall have cancelled not a few sins by saving a sacred virgin
for the service of the Panagia. And of course, if you're 'gone to
Syria,' never in the world will man or mouse think of finding you
_there_."

Anthusa pressed her hands to her throbbing temples. Out of the
background of memory came vague tales of communities of female ascetics,
fanatical in their austerities, who inhabited certain islets in the
Marmora. With maddening clearness it came over her how absolutely
ingenious had been Evagrios' plot. Even if her friends exerted all their
power, captured or corrupted Plato or Hormisdas, sent agents to
Damascus, and offered great ransoms, this could avail nothing for her.
She would be within a hundred miles of Constantinople, and her friends
would be merely beating the air for her rescue.

She peered over the gunwale. Far away now against the stars by the
sky-line were traced the sails of the _Jacob and Joseph_ bearing Sophia
from her. In that instant of utter desolation, even the prospect of
Moslem captivity would have seemed sweet could she have rejoined her
sister. The strength had gone clean out of her. She had not even the
power to lift her head a second time and consider whether, despite her
promise, she should not strive to leap into the sea.

The two sailors rowed on doggedly. Bassos, the younger, was not quite
calloused to their passenger's misery. "Blast me," he muttered, "if I
like this way of earning even a lot of solidi. Something else next
time!"

"We've sworn on the Blessed Sacrament to go through with it," returned
Kannebos, "and if we don't, our luck's cursed through all eternity.
After all, aren't we saving her soul from the Infidels? Conveying her
to a holy life? Lay on, mate. I think I see the Tall Rocks through the
dark!"

The rasping of the thole-pins continued monotonously, but to their noise
Anthusa now lay mercifully unconscious.




CHAPTER XIV

THE CAPTAIN GENERAL OF ANATOLIA


Could Evagrios and his familiars have seen Leo the Strategos for the few
days following the disappearance of the two sisters they would have
trembled in very truth. Never had the War Minister shown himself more
visibly the raging "Lion." Every engine of government was invoked to
unravel the mystery. The clues were scanty, but in the garden at
Therapia a chair had been found upset, and a table whereon the unhappy
girls had spread embroidery had been cast down and the needlework strewn
over the little lawn; also a handkerchief identified as Anthusa's had
been found on a shrub as if suddenly plucked from her head.

Other evidence speedily came in. The keen eyes of Fergal detected heavy
foot-marks upon an adjacent sandpit indicative possibly of a landing
from a boat. There was also much vague testimony from villagers as to
various craft which had been seen passing in the Bosphorus just before
nightfall. Leo next proceeded to interrogate personally Kallinikos'
servants, and suspicion was promptly directed upon one of the maids, a
sly and slatternly girl from the Islands, one Malgina, whom Sophia had
taken into service shortly before quitting Constantinople, and whom
Ephraim had already taxed as an incompetent busybody.

Confronted by the terrible War Minister himself, and with Peter
significantly flourishing a loaded cudgel, the unhappy girl broke down
and confessed that soon after she had entered the household she had been
corrupted by a strange sailor (whom she could describe only feebly)
first into supplying him information as to her mistresses' movements,
and then into meeting him the night of the abduction, giving him a
signal when the sisters were alone in the garden, and finally conveying
a false message to their father that they had gone to bed.

That was as far at first as she would go. But when at a gesture from Leo
they bound her to a post and bared her back for the stripes, her memory
was refreshed. She remembered that she had actually lurked in a corner
of the garden and had seen a boat glide up and part of its crew leap
ashore and carry off both the sisters. She was ready to swear by the
Panagia, the True Cross and her personal hopes of heaven that this was
all that she knew, and Leo believed the wretched girl spoke truly. He
had gained sufficient information to put the whole police machinery into
violent action.

During the next few days all the panders, cut-purses, tavern-bravoes and
water-rats of Galata and the great wicked Pharnar district cursed the
energy of the police. The Collegians raided and arrested in every low
haunt and hovel. Many a lurking miscreant found himself whining in the
Prfect's court. A score of coarse hoydens were consigned to St.
Gastria. A whole gang of robbers was suddenly trapped and then duly
beheaded in the Amestrian Forum. But all the zeal of the police,
supported by the Qustor (anxious to do the War Minister a service) at
first did nothing to unravel the original mystery.

Then a nosing decarch came upon a comfortable den in Galata where
evidently Evagrios had been in hiding since the earlier affair at the
Patriarchate. Leo with shrewd surmise ordered renewed search for the
ex-deacon and Nikosia. The birds had flown, disappearing the very day
after the affair at Therapia. They had left, however, certain traces
behind them, and it was learned that Plato had been often seen in their
company; and for Plato therefore diligent search was made.

The master of the _Holy Elias_ assuredly played in poor luck. Evagrios
had paid him liberally, and, very confident that he could cover his
tracks, Plato had indulged in a sousing orgy with boon companions,
exhibited his gold, resisted an inevitable attempt to rob him, and had
been consequently not merely stripped but bludgeoned half-dead. As a
result, he was too mauled and wounded to make his projected flight to
Crete. The police found him in a familiar tavern while recovering, and
the Qustor rolled an incredulous eye when he endeavoured to prove that
he had been taking a cargo to Selymbria on the night of the kidnapping.

"A little salt on your hand will make you explain differently," remarked
the official pithily, ordering him off to jail.

Plato understood the remark and blenched. He was placed in the great
court of the Prtorium prison, where hundreds of captives were allowed
to wander about, and even to gossip with outside friends through the
heavy bars of the tall, iron fencing. But the coaster was not merely
hobbled with a short chain between his ankles; his right hand was
strapped behind his back and enclosed in a leather bag full of coarse
salt. In four weeks the member would be rigid and withered for life, and
Plato, wisely considering how a right hand might prove much more useful
to him than keeping his oath to Evagrios, and also the great chance that
other peccadilloes might be fastened upon him, soon told a turnkey that
he wished to talk again to the Qustor.

Under promise of his life if his confession proved reliable, Plato
accordingly provided the official with a reasonably full and honest
account of Evagrios' intrigue and crime up to the moment the _Jacob and
Joseph_ put forth from the Golden Horn. It was now six full days since
the affair at Therapia, nevertheless the following night a dromond with
a double relief of rowers flew away for the Hellespont, and a placard
among the Hippodrome notices in the Augustum promised five pounds of
gold to whosoever would procure the arrest of Evagrios, unfrocked deacon
of Hagia Sophia, and of Nikosia, falsely reputed his "Spiritual Sister."
...

... In those six days Leo had aged. The boyish eagerness, the humorous
playfulness of his manner seemed gone. There were heavy lines upon his
forehead and about his eyes, as of a man who slept little and sorrowed
much. To his subordinates his manner was still gentle, but they obeyed
him with trembling, fearing the power behind his frown. By a great
effort of will he had brought himself to resume his work at the War
Department, leaving to the Collegians the sordid hunt for the criminals.
Only to Basil and his mother did he impart some of his inner thoughts.

"When I find the mortal who inspired this thing--Christ pity me if I
pity him!"

"You have envious rivals in the army," suggested the sympathizing
sailor.

"Enemies in the army, who will stab at a comrade's heart like that? Who
send forth ruffians against frail women? Don't malign the army, Basil,
even if you are in the navy. Dear Lord Jesus! If only for those helpless
poisoning words 'I suspect' I could speak the manly words 'I know!'"

Then after the bitter days of waiting, of the hopes deferred, which made
the heart sick, came the messenger from the Qustor, "Plato has
confessed," and an apparent solution of the sorry mystery. But even
while the Strategos was debating with Basil what desperate chances might
exist of intercepting Satyros off the coast of Cyprus, came again an
official mandator from the palace. The presence of Leo was required, not
this time for pompous consistory, but for an urgent meeting of the
"Sacred Council of State."

       *       *       *       *       *

Anastasius II had vainly striven to prove himself an efficient Emperor.
Everybody knew, however, that he was a man of parchments and sealing
wax, entirely at the mercy of the great civil officials and patricians,
and that he felt nigh helpless before the great storm blowing up from
Syria, although well-meant proclamations had been issued, ordering
non-residents to quit Constantinople, and for residents to fill their
cellars with corn for a long siege. Court expenses had been ordered
curtailed, and a well-meant effort was made to humour the soldiery; but
the chiefs of the army hardly made any concealment of their contempt for
the civilian rgime. Every day rumours ran around the great fora: "The
Macedonian theme has mutinied," or "The Armeniacs have risen." Yet one
man never seemed connected with grasping ambition, listened to no
ambitious hintings, and appeared to be consumed with a holy passion for
preparing against the Infidel. That man might now--by general
confession--have blown the trumpet and had four-fifths of the army
support him instantly. He was the Strategos of Thrace.

As their best hope to avert a mutiny of the army, which seemed more
probable every day, the civil magnates around Anastasius resolved upon a
last move to save at least the simulacrum of their power. They summoned
Leo to the palace.

In other days and moods the son of Kasia would not have been unmoved by
the manner in which this time his retinue crossed the Augustum. The
forum loungers, the idling advocates under the basilica porticoes, the
pushing throngs of traffickers and sightseers had long since learned
those signs which meant in Constantinople: "Salute the rising sun!"
There were salvos of applause, "Ten Thousand Years!" when with cracking
whips the escort cried its "Way for the most Serene Strategos!" There
was a full platoon of Protectors to salute with their bannered spears,
while Leo reined in the Chalke. When the smiling silentiaries led him
across the marble-paved courts of the Daphne it was between two lines of
salaaming officials and courtiers, each man striving desperately to
catch his approving eye. Leo walked straight forward with solemn brow.
Only mechanically did his stiff salute return the homage. "He's like all
the rest," one envious moirarch[36] muttered to a comrade; "a little
good fortune, and all men become dust to his feet."

[36] Commander of a brigade of 2,000 men.

The centre of all this envy was that instant saying in his heart: "Now I
must meet the eunuch. I must not burst out with foul suspicions. I must
remember my duty as a Roman soldier. Would that I might close my hands
around his hairless neck!"

And when with distant lofty mien he looked across the long files of
conging officers, he saw neither bowed heads nor gorgeous uniforms, but
before his mind after a manner was floating the form of a girl in a
soft, blue dress, with white flowers upon her brown hair, with features
alike befitting Artemis and the Panagia, and a voice like the songs of
heaven; while his thoughts ran off asking himself: "What could be done
if I went to Syria?"

"Ten thousand years to the Darling of the Army!" The plaudits died
behind him. With more than his wonted poise he entered the glittering
corridors, and at the door of an inner chamber a ten of the new guard of
Frankish giants saluted with their huge battle-axes. Leo passed into an
apartment of no great size, but gleaming with superb mosaics. At the
head of a long table, ranged above the arch-magnificoes, was a higher
seat under a baldachin of gilded copper. The personage beneath its
shadow wore a voluminous purple dalmatic and a small circlet set with
emeralds. He was a small, timid-appearing man who fidgeted upon his
cushions, and looked towards Leo with an uneasy smile.

The soldier drew near and reverently but formally knelt, kissed the
purple hem, then rose and stood with folded arms.

"Flavius Leo, we are not unmindful of your zealous labours at the War
Ministry," began Anastasius.

"I am rejoiced at the notice of your Sacred Clemency," replied the
soldier, fixing his eye not upon the Emperor, but upon the eunuch Paul,
seated near the head of the table. The minister returned the glance,
shiftily and uncomfortably.

"Too well we are aware," pursued the Basileus, "of unfortunate
prejudices which exist in certain sections of our valiant army against
our imperial person. With singular pleasure we have observed the
implicit loyalty of all your acts."

"A soldier's duty is to obey," returned the Strategos, "a Roman's to
defend the Empire, a Christian's to turn back the Hagarines. For all
these reasons I have supported the throne against all waverers."

"When every day brings tidings," resumed Anastasius in studiously
official tones, "brings tidings of how our Asiatic fortresses are beset,
our subjects harried, our very realm menaced, our impulse inevitably is
to lead in person our military themes, even as the great Heraclius
departed from Constantinople to carry fire and sword into the heart of
Persia." Anastasius halted to rub a retreating chin. "Nevertheless the
solemn remonstrances of our most competent ministers have taught us that
our duty is still at the capital." The Emperor glanced towards Paul, who
interposed hastily:

"His Sacred Clemency is very right. His duty _is_ at the capital."

"I concur," rejoined Leo with an emphatic nod.

"Therefore we have ripely determined," hastened the Emperor, "to appoint
a high deputy of accomplished science and valour, who shall have
undivided authority as in our own person over all the Asiatic themes
save those nearest Constantinople, and who--with help of the Blessed
Trinity--shall protect our dominions from the Infidel."

"From the standpoint of a soldier, I commend your Sacred decision,"
replied the War Minister coolly.

"Zounds, how he takes it!" complained Niketas, sitting beside
Theokistos. "One would think the Emperor was merely saying 'Stay to
dinner!'"

"Therefore, Flavius Leo," concluded Anastasius, speaking rapidly as if
anxious to hasten to his end, "imitating the example of our august
predecessor, Justinian I of immortal memory, even as he promoted the
renowned Belisarius, it is now our pleasure that you be advanced
forthwith to the extraordinary rank of 'Hyper-Strategos'--of Captain
General of Anatolia, with the power, attendance and emoluments suitable
for such a lofty dignity."

The fortunate general stood as impassive as the carved pillar beside him
until the silence following the Emperor's speech was becoming awkward.
He smiled not; only his eyes burned with a deeper fire. Then very
deliberately he dropped again on his knee and lifted the purple to his
lips. With real anxiety monarch and council listened to his measured
words as he rose.

"This is no time, your Clemency, for courtly compliment. If these noble
lords did not deem me worthy of this trust, I would not be at this
council. If I do not deem myself now able to serve this Christian Empire
of the Romans I were a traitor to the Saracen. A hundred rumours tell us
the Kalif is preparing a deadly stroke. I hope the embassy of Daniel may
bring back to us the truth. Meantime I will face the facts. We may not
besiege God with prayers to save us by miracle while we have keen swords
and strength to grasp them. I shall act in all things as a soldier, for
to men of peace the days of peace. I must go to Anatolia with full
powers or not at all. No officious orders from Constantinople must
hamper me. The Asiatic revenues must be mine. Is this clearly
understood?"

"It is understood," spoke Anastasius blankly. "These are indeed military
matters. We are in your hands. To-morrow will be the formal consistory
for your investiture."

Leo's brow clouded and he struck the table with a mighty fist:

"To-morrow I shall be in Nicaea! Do these silken-robed magnificoes of
the Council think the Saracens will delay for the drafting of purple
protocols and for our pompous functions? Did St. Michael await a patent
signed by St. Gabriel when he went forth for warfare with the devil?
To-night I quit Constantinople with my chosen officers. Let the rest
wait until after peace with victory."

"Since your confidence seems so great," quavered an elderly patrician,
"doubtless you can explain your military projects, this honour to-day
not being, I think, wholly unexpected."

Leo turned with cold courtesy. "I will not burden the Count of the
Privy Purse with martial details. Long since competent soldiers have
known what ought to be done. We must not stake the Empire upon any
single battle. We still possess one good army, where the Roman name is
still matched by Roman discipline--the Anatolians helped by the
Armeniacs. We must hold fast the Cappadocian and Phrygian fortresses,
wear down the Infidel and make him dash himself on our strongholds. Then
either he will shrink back altogether, or if he dare to move on
Constantinople it will be with a hostile country along his line of
retreat and our own Anatolian themesmen sound and ready to recall to the
capital to give him blow for blow."

"You really think the Hagarines will get as far as our walls?" queried a
second Logothete hastily. "My villa at Rhegion--it'll be very exposed."

"Your Magnificence had better be more concerned about the safety of your
family palace near Hagia Eirene." Leo concealed not his scorn. "There
are over a million Christians in Constantinople. We of the army intend
to save them all--your household with the rest."

The patricians looked at one another with flushed foreheads. The
imperial fingers twisted under the purple sleeves. Leo saved the Council
further embarrassment by himself concluding the audience:

"This is a private conclave, therefore let his Sacred Clemency endure
plain words, befitting a Roman soldier to speak and a Roman emperor to
hear. I stand here to-day not because I am loved, but because I am
needed. The Isaurian, peasant and interloper, deserves not the breath of
many of these lordships' anger, but the Strategos who can control the
Anatolian army and perchance turn back the Saracen, must be clothed with
authority. So there are no subtleties between us, and if by fell
chance"--his eye swept the gathering and lit again on the uneasy
Paul--"there are those who have thought to work harm to Leo the man
while exalting Leo the soldier--when I find leisure, let them look to
their safety."

Amid silence again oppressive, Leo a third time bowed to the Basileus.

"I thank the imperial Clemency for its confidence; to-morrow I am in
Asia," he announced, and then to the intense relief of the confounded
magnates he strode out of the door.

The instant the council dissolved, Niketas and Theokistos laid their
heads together with the Master of the Palace. All three were white and
furious.

"Can we retrace nothing?" stormed the first named. "Must we be
incessantly thrusting this brutish yokel upward? His insulting manner
and threats! Better endure the Saracens!"

"He is not wontedly so blunt," added Theokistos. "Something has enraged
him or turned his head."

Paul, however, compelled himself to put on a calmer countenance.

"Control yourselves, dear colleagues," he enjoined; "I confess events
have indeed forced our hands. He has proved ungrateful--which I should
have known--and we have been driven to promote him far higher than I had
ever expected. Nevertheless let us make the best of evils. While the
Hagarines prevail we must dissemble. Were he disgraced, you know the
army would sack Constantinople, including, I fear, your own very
pleasant palaces. But this Saracen peril will wane. Once over we can
handle so crude a man with perfect readiness. I say this the more
confidently--despite his black looks just now--because I have at last
removed a certain alien influence that has been perverting him from us."

"Where is the girl?" inquired Theokistos sharply.

"Ah, my beloved Secretary; that's a secret wisely kept to myself. It's
enough that after our fickle swashbuckler has forgotten his loss, we can
revive the old Dukas alliance for him. Count Maurice is still hanging on
in hopes. After all, this peasant's son can't prove indispensable much
longer, and perhaps you recall what Cicero said--I'm a little vain of my
learning--concerning young Octavius when the Roman Commonwealth perforce
had to employ him and his army, 'The young man can be praised,
complimented and--thrust aside.'"

"I'm a poor student of distant history," rejoined Niketas with a
disgusted frown, "but my remembrance is that Octavius merely cut off
Cicero's head and went on to empire. I hope our Leo won't prove his
pupil."

And with that, in no cheerful humour, the three erstwhile triumvirs
separated.

       *       *       *       *       *

At the little house by the War Department, Leo was in grave conference
with Kasia, Michael and Fergal. All the way homeward from the palace the
streets had been roaring with applause for the new Captain General.
Basil almost had been obliged to use force to keep back the officers who
would have thrust into the house to congratulate, even while the object
of all this envy was sitting at his mother's feet, clutching his hair,
and in all things miserable. "_She_ a captive to Syria, and I go to
Anatolia! Oh, blessed Lord God, why must such things be!"

Nevertheless, after a little, this black mood passed. The situation was
accepted calmly. If Leo could not go to Syria, at least Fergal was no
prisoner of his own greatness, and he had not spent his years in
Damascus in vain. The Celt might go on Daniel's embassy to the Kalif,
and what five sharp wits and indomitable energy could do, by Fergal
could be done. A little hair-dye and bronze might make him pass for a
very Arab, and Leo, no mean judge of men, knew he could trust his
protg as his own soul.

So the Armorican went with his patron's request to Daniel, and Leo was
left standing now and facing Kasia. The little woman's eyes were very
bright despite her distress at the fate of the sisters.

"God is with you, boy," she kept saying. "God is with you. Now I know
how he guided you when you said 'Nay' to Nikephoros and Leontios. Barses
and Chioba did not prophesy in vain!"

"Best of mothers," answered the soldier, "pray for your son. Never
needed I your prayers more than now. A great cup of happiness seemed to
be raised to my lips. Perhaps I let my own bright hopes swerve me a
little from my hard round of duty, though why the sorer calamity should
fall on that pure saint, not on me directly, let Heaven tell. Now a
great public burden is set more than ever upon my shoulders. I am
forbidden to think of private griefs or summons to private vengeance. I
am a man of simple faith. I cannot believe that God can say to me, 'Save
this Christian Empire,' and then deny me strength to obey His behest."

"He will give it! He will give it!" cried Kasia. "Lonely I shall be
without you. The poor sisters--gone. Their distraught father is with his
kin in Pera. I'll have only Michael's charities to occupy my stupid old
mind. But you, my glorious _Lion_, joy of my heart, when next you enter
Constantinople--I know it well!--it shall be through the Golden Gate."

"My mother," said Leo soberly, "remember this: he who rides in at the
Golden Gate to be crowned Basileus, will enter to fight the most fearful
battle since Constantine founded New Rome." Then he turned to the
waiting Michael. "Care for my mother; I cannot leave her in care of a
daughter, as I had hoped; but now, dear Father, bless me."

Forthwith he fell on his knees and the good pope uplifted his hand with
the fingers raised, made the sign of the cross, and spoke aloud:

"In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost, Amen."
...

... That evening the new Captain General crossed to Asia. He ordered to
follow him not merely all his favourite officers, but many of the great
corps of technical experts he had assembled at the War Office. He
dispensed with any but the barest military honours. Peter was his sole
body servant. His proclamations were of Spartan brevity. He would make
his headquarters, he announced, at Amorium and from that strong city
direct the defense of Anatolia against the Saracen.




CHAPTER XV

THE ISLE OF CEDARS


A shaggy, brown rock, rising from the breast of the blue Marmora; its
crags beaten by crisp waves; its long spine crowned with dense masses of
cedars--such was the island. Dim in the distance rose the loftier
heights of Proconnesus, the isle of marble; still more dimly in the
opposite quarter were traceable the azure mountaintops of Bithynia. To
the north, far out on the horizon, drifted the sails, red, tawny and
white, of the great commerce betwixt Constantinople and the Hellespont.
No ships, however, came near the Isle of Cedars. Placed though it was
within a few miles of the busy fairway, it was one of the most isolated
spots in all the Levantine waters.

Near the western end, amid a clearing in the forest, rose the Doric
columns of a one-time temple to Aphrodite. The building was still in
fair condition, although Christian zeal had torn down some of the
sea-gods from the pediment, and had mutilated the luxurious forms of the
dancing nymphs, who flung out their limbs and drapery in bas-reliefs all
around the great altar by the portal. About the temple were a number of
huts and cabins built partly of boughs, partly of stones and rubble.
These were for the sisterhood of St. Asella, the most austere of nuns
betwixt Trebizond and Corinth.

Every pious Christian knew of St. Asella, how she had so devoted herself
to God that from the age of twelve she had never conversed with a man,
how her knees had become "hard as a camel's" by constant genuflections
and prayer, and how the great St. Jerome himself had commended her as
an example of sanctified womanhood worthy of all possible imitation.

Record there was not when the last priestesses of Aphrodite had fled,
following the collapse of paganism, and the nuns of St. Asella had
replaced them. Every Sunday now for generations a fishing skiff pulled
over from the mainland bearing a priest, the most dried, deaf and
palsied who could endure the journey, and he said mass upon the smaller
altar inside the old temple. The skiff, too, brought a modest supply of
beans, onions and other vegetables, whereon the forty-odd nuns
subsisted. The two boys with the boat were not suffered to roam any
distance from their craft, and barring the priest, no male human--with
one exception noted presently--was tolerated long upon the Isle of
Cedars.

Certain of the nuns, indeed, repined because the Church forbade the
ordination of women. Was not even the weekly presence of Father
Hierokles, for all his snowy beard and whistling accents, a detraction
from perfect virtue? The Monks of Mt. Athos were so much more fortunate.
Not merely could they exterminate all female cats and mice in their
domains, but they could enjoy all the consolations of religion without
the distracting presence of a single member of the opposite sex!

Nevertheless, there still remained a few contacts with "The World." The
seraphic perfection of St. Asella was not for all her votaries. Certain
of the older nuns were allowed at rare intervals to converse with male
relatives always supposedly in company and at a safe distance; and it
was the sub-hegumena Salvina herself who had not quite forgotten her
brother Kannebos the sailor. To her on a certain night came a summons
through one of the younger sisters to "go down upon the beach." Salvina
arose from before the chapel altar, where she had been lying rigidly,
spread out like a cross, and went forth under the starlight. Despite the
darkness she knew that a skiff had landed and a voice, which she
recognized, spoke to her across the pebbles and sands: "I am Kannebos,
and here with good reason."

Holy thoughts and much fasting had not softened Salvina's tongue. She
spoke with asperity: "Good reason there must be to call me away to the
world and its lusts at such an hour, though you be my brother after the
flesh."

"You will beg the Blessed Saint to forgive me. I also am performing a
sacred work. I have brought you a novice."

Salvina's tone grew more cheerful. "A novice? Another brand truly
plucked from the burning?"

"You say well, Sister. At least plucked she'll be if she don't pass from
this sinful world altogether, for there seems little life now left in
her. Here, Bassos, get her up from the boat and lay her on the sands."

"If, Brother," spoke the nun somewhat mollified, "you have actually
brought hither a sinful woman, who may now be reclaimed to the
glorifying of God, you have done well. Whence and what is she?"

Whereupon Kannebos plunged into a long tale, which he partly believed
himself, how his prisoner had been the brazen minion of a certain great
lord at Constantinople, how various enemies of her master had caused her
to be seized to be transported among the Infidels, but how that
he--Kannebos--anxious for the rescuing of her soul, and the profiting of
his own, had stolen her from the ship and brought her forthwith to the
Isle of Cedars. And there, he concluded, she must remain forever,
because he had sworn by the Blessed Sacrament to put her where she could
never return to Constantinople, and Heaven would blast him if he had
promised for nought.

"Fear nothing, Brother," quoth Salvina, rubbing her bony arms, "the Isle
of Cedars never surrenders an immortal soul entrusted to its austere
mercies until the spirit returns to Heaven. You have done well. I shall
request the Hegumena for a special intercession in your behalf."

After a little more conversation, in which the nun brought herself to
ask the carnal question, "Does our father still live?" and received a
bare affirmative, Kannebos--who felt himself trespassing on very holy
shores--bade Bassos launch forth the skiff, and Salvina saw the boat
fading away in the gloom towards the mainland.

The new arrival lay on the sands, only a fluttering pulse indicating
that still she lived. One of the other nuns ran for help from the
cabins, and between four sisters Anthusa was carried to the sleeping
quarters and laid on a pallet of boughs and needles. The chief Hegumena
Arkadia came from her own vigils to applaud the piety of Kannebos and
the discernment of his sister. The advent of a new member, and in such a
remarkable fashion, was enough to shake the entire community, for--as
Arkadia assured the delighted women--"If there was joy amongst the
angels over one sinner who merely repented, how much greater now the
rejoicing in heaven when a daughter of the world was born into the very
kingdom of righteousness which was in the sisterhood of St. Asella!"

So Anthusa, all unwitting, was received that night upon the Isle of
Cedars. The nuns shook their heads when they took off her dainty
clothes--"the prinkings and ornaments of Satan." Salvina and Arkadia
gazed disapprovingly, too, upon her softly moulded neck and arms, and
delicate face.

"A child of the flesh; and met to work the works of the Devil," observed
Salvina.

"Grievously true, Sister," rejoined the superior nun, "but for that same
reason the greater merit for us in reclaiming her. Stripped of her
luxurious vanities her earthly allurements will fade. Her face will put
off the comeliness of an evil life, and will put on the more enduring
beauties of heaven."

"Her long hair may prove a snare to those sisters whose thoughts still
partake of the unregenerate," spoke the other.

"That offense endures not for danger. The shears!" And Arkadia snipped
off the offending tresses close to the unconscious stranger's head....

... Nevertheless the nuns were not without a certain skill and
kindliness in their treatment of Anthusa. They had no desire to see her
die. Her limbs were warmed and chafed. The one gurglet of wine upon the
island was produced and a deep draught poured within her. For two days
she lay in an exhausted stupor, tended assiduously, but on the whole
mercifully consigned to the best physician--Nature. The double shock she
had undergone would have broken the strength of many, but youth and the
health of honest living were on her side. On the third day she began to
realize where she was, to question, to look about her.

The nuns had clothed Anthusa like themselves, in a gown of brown
sacking, and had given her sandals of plaited straw. Kerchief or hood
she had none. The sisters boasted that on their unmasculine isle a
veiled head was a needless vanity. She touched her hair. It was clipped
close as a boy's. When she had strength at last to look in a mirror-like
pool in the rocks, she recoiled in horror from her own aspect. Was this
uncouth, unwomanly creature the daughter of Kallinikos? Ere she could
turn around, in her ears sounded the shrill laugh of Rhoda, a grey and
fleshless nun who had been her chief nurse.

"Admiring your charms, my pretty peacock? Never mind. It's in that same
pool I looked myself after they'd cut off _my_ hair thirty years ago,
and wondered if I'd ever be handsome again. I know your thoughts. You'll
be in a more holy frame of mind six months from now!"

"Thirty years," cried Anthusa, trembling as she gazed at the creature;
"you were once young and----"

"Beautiful," completed Rhoda with a malicious gesture. "Why not? Don't
think yours was the first pretty face to see this island. Did you ever
hear of Sergios Malukas?"

"A great Senator under Justinian II, as I recall."

"You recall rightly. Well, I was his ladylove; no, not his wife, oh, no!
But for all that I had rings on my fingers, rubies in my ears, negro
boys to carry my litter on the Mese, my own box in the Hippodrome, my
own caique for the islands. Well, Sergios must needs lose the Basileus'
favour. They pricked out his eyes. My eyes were in danger, too, but
somebody said: 'Let her spend her life repenting on the Isle of Cedars.'
So here I came. I raged and took on the first six months more than do
you. It needs all that time to break your spirit. After that I stopped
struggling. I began chanting and wearing out my knees with the rest. So
I've been redeeming my soul. The world's lost its hold upon me--glory be
to the Panagia!" Whether there was sincerity or sarcasm in these last
words, who could tell?

"Oh, my hair, my hair," lamented Anthusa, this small sorrow for the
moment swallowing up all the greater.

"Bless the Trinity, Sister, that your friends have obeyed the precept of
the great Saint Ambrose, who urges women to shear away 'that which by
vain glory might have tempted them to the sin of luxury.' Be grateful in
your erring heart that we are not even as those strait Egyptian nuns who
shave their heads instead of merely cutting short its carnal ornaments."

In a torment Anthusa fled into the dense forest covering the island.
All was monotonous. Trees, rocks, a few green dingles, and then more
glimpses of the ever-imprisoning sea. Nowhere appeared life save in the
little cluster of huts by the temple. The only sounds were the droning
of great bees and the wailing chants of the nuns from the chapel, where
they were renewing their prolonged litanies.

... Now, inasmuch as from first to last this narration concerns itself
not with inward thoughts, but with outward deeds, let the story of
Anthusa's exquisite misery when the horrors of her condition dawned upon
her, of her days and nights of frantic anguish, of the piteous beatings
of the wings of her spirit, be suggested rather than told. Arkadia the
hegumena was not without a certain wisdom. Many were the unwilling
novices who had come to the Isle, herself in their number. Anthusa was
suffered the freedom of the island--an absolute prison. She knew when
the nuns solemnly filed to chapel thrice a day and twice in the night.
She saw when for long hours they toiled in little groups, weaving wicker
basketry for the skiff, which brought their food, to bear away to sell
for the support of the community. She joined their meals and
conversation, but there was no direct coercion upon her. The monotony of
the life, the hopelessness of escape, the consciousness of a complete
and seemingly irrevocable breach with the past were to be allowed to
sink into her soul. After that there would be time enough to talk of
perpetual vows and their assurances of salvation.

Nevertheless Anthusa presently discovered that an astonishing thing was
permitted on the isle. At the eastern extremity there abode a strange
and awful being--_a man_. Rhoda and other nuns talked of him in low
whispers. His coming had been directly permitted by Arkadia. The
presence of a suitable anchorite would "serve to remind the sisterhood
of the gross temptations of the world, and incline them to thankfulness
for having escaped the same." Other nuns misdoubted, but now for seven
years the hermit had existed near them.

Anthusa came upon the awful intruder during one of her early wanderings
about the island. She had strayed down upon a little beach, at the point
farthest from the old temple, and was gazing wistfully towards distant
sails upon the calm horizon, when an angry voice boomed from some cliffs
behind her.

"Get thee hence, daughter of Beelzebub! I adjure thee in the name of God
the Father, torment me not!"

The mere sound of a masculine voice in that abode of virgin treble was
far from terrifying Anthusa. She deliberately pressed nearer the sound,
notwithstanding a more fierce exhortation to depart.

Speedily the source of these warnings became manifest. In a shallow
cavern, half artificial, half natural, under the brow of the cliff, sat
a man or at least a shaggy being covered almost entirely with grey hair,
save for a single garment of extraordinarily filthy sheepskin. A face
indescribably dirty and unkempt glared out at her with eyes like bright
coals. Anthusa could see that one ear had been clumsily shorn away. The
long arms which were stretched out as if to repel her were branded in
several places with crosses. A rattling of iron mingled with the
execrations; and Anthusa presently perceived that this being's foot was
fettered to the living rock by a chain about three fathoms long.

"Come ye still on, accursed one?" screamed the ascetic. "Must I drive
hence your leprosy of soul even as men do the lesser leprosy of the
body? Unclean! Unclean! I will cast stones against you! Wherefore at the
summons of the devil have you come at this selfsame instant when by the
holding of my breath and fixing my gaze upon my navel, the Lord was
vouchsafing that I should be surrounded by His uncreated light; yea,
that I should be enjoying a vision of angels ascending and descending
the very ladder of Jacob up to the glories of Paradise!"

Anthusa stood at safe range. Her evil genius had been unable to rob her
of one great consoling gift. Her hair was gone, but not her sense of
humour.

"Verily," spoke she, "you are the extraordinarily holy hermit Symeon,
whereof the nuns spoke in such praise. Only a man gifted with insight
into the things of a better world could see in me a daughter of
Beelzebub. There is little of the earth earthy about me now, I fear."

"You 'fear'; therefore you are still of the unregenerate." The ascetic's
voice, however, seemed mollified. Conceivably he was even a little
flattered. "I understand now that you are one of those children of Sin
who, carried against their will to this pious abode, are not yet
rejoiced to put off the Old Adam and his works. I will wrestle in prayer
for your redemption. Inasmuch as my holy vision has unhappily departed,
I may perhaps, without perilling my salvation, converse with you a
little for your soul's betterment, provided you will stand behind yonder
bush so that I am not tempted by sight of your carnal face and figure."

Anthusa did as commanded, and the other developed a certain garrulity.
"Yes, of a truth I am that Symeon--not holy but merely the prince of
sinners. Seven years ago I was an inmate of St. Thomas' at Prusa, but
the ordinary life of the monastery became to me even as sounding brass
and tinkling cymbal. I read how the mighty Saints Pachomios, Hilarion,
Basil and Gregory of Nyzianzos endeavoured to redeem their souls. A
voice sounded in my ears, 'O wretched man that I am, who shall deliver
me from the body of this death?' I recalled, too, the word of the great
St. Anthony 'He who sits still in the desert is safe from three
enemies: from hearing, from speech, from sight, and has to fight one
only--his own heart.' Therefore I sought this opportunity to come to the
Isle of Cedars. I cut off my right ear that I might testify in the words
of St. Paul how I do 'keep my body under and bring it into subjection.'
I caused myself to be chained that I might not be tempted to return to
the works of the devil. I refrained from all cleansing water, save the
rain, to justify what has been written, 'For one who is washed of
Christ, what need for him to wash again.' In this manner I trust to be
found innocent of the great transgression, on the final day of God's
wrath."

"Nevertheless I marvel," questioned Anthusa, "that you practice holiness
best not in the naked desert, but where so often you must hear and even
see womankind, even if in the form of consecrated sisters."

"True it is," responded Symeon, "that the holy St. Anthony himself has
said that, 'The mere sight of a female afflicted him.' But I have long
considered that the sorest foe of all anchorites was pride in their own
holiness, whereby many who practiced great virtue nevertheless became
castaways. Therefore to remind me of the world and its lusts, and to
teach me pious humility I sought to be fettered upon this island, where
I can see and hear just enough of the more iniquitous sex to be reminded
of the mysterious ways of Providence, yet be spared the grosser
temptations and deceits. And you, sister," he persisted, "you, too, in a
little time will bring forth fruits meet for repentance, even as the
rest; yea, you will rejoice that you have died unto this sinful body
that you may live unto life immortal."

Anthusa held her peace. The hermit retreated into his cave and seated
himself in a corner, his chin pressed upon his breast, his eyes
carefully fixed upon his middle. She knew he was one of those
solitaries who held their breath just as long as possible as a means to
promoting extreme abstraction. Rhoda later taxed her sorely for
interrupting the "Saint" in his visions, but Anthusa speedily discovered
that Symeon--although always first denouncing her for coming, and
styling her "the very spawn of Jezebel"--proved perfectly willing to
converse on all manner of pietistic subjects. Indeed, she soon was
assured that the good man found _silence_ the sorest of all his
mortifications, and compromised with the fiend by putting this
particular virtue often from him.

       *       *       *       *       *

The interviews with Symeon were scanty enough interruptions in her life
on the Isle of Cedars. That life was unspeakably monotonous. Summer
passed into winter: icy blasts swept the island: the nuns used barely
enough fire to cook their meagre victuals and to avoid, not hardship,
but mortal sickness. Gradually the hints to Anthusa that she should
consider taking the vows became stronger. She felt herself growing numb
in spirit as the wintry winds chilled her body. She knew her face was
becoming colourless and fleshless. She made no resistance when again
they clipped her hair. After all, what now had life away from the island
to proffer? Her sister was lost in Syria, doubtless doomed to die of old
age in a Moslem harem. Only by a miracle, she told herself, could her
father have survived the shock of double bereavement. There were no
other near kinsmen. And some one else? Concerning him, Sophia's words at
Therapia ran for ever in her ears, "I know you would never consent to
anything base, therefore I would save you much pain." One mild and sunny
day Anthusa crept again to the mirror pool, but then shrank back from
the reflection in horror, shuddering in her heart: "There would be no
need for Sophia's warning now!"

The nuns, however, regarded her hopefully. "Her face becomes less
wanton, Heaven grant her soul becomes more beautiful," remarked Arkadia
to Salvina. But Anthusa had called up all the powers which were within
her. Against an inward voice which said, "Your case is hopeless.
Surrender. Submit as have all the others," there answered from another
and mightier quarter in her spirit: "Be strong. Preserve your womanhood.
Be not as these drab-souled enthusiasts, or as these women who expiate a
life of profligacy. God has taken away all else, but not the kingdom of
your mind. Defend the same."

And as she sought strength for resistance, strength came. She preserved
the integrity of her intellect. Over the nuns, dried of soul as well as
of body, she learned presently to establish that potence which the
superior mind (given fair chance) can always assert over the inferior.
She would weave baskets with the nuns, and join with them in the chapel
prayers. She helped to cook their food. From memories of her father's
lore, she assisted most successfully to nurse their sick. But for long
months that silver voice which had comforted the House of Peace had been
sealed behind her lips. She could not bring herself to sing when all
that had made life beautiful and worthy seemed cancelled for ever. Then
on one Sunday, while the harsh notes of the untaught women rose in the
chapel, suddenly it seemed as if a restraining hand had been taken from
the tongue of Anthusa. There was a pause in the crude chanting, then in
an instant all the nuns were spellbound. It was as if angels were taking
up and carrying skyward their song.

The "Children's Hymn" of Clement of Alexandria, oldest of Christian
melodies, rose and swelled through the erstwhile temple, and never in
the days of Hellenic glory had the marble naiads and Oceanids listened
to music like this.

    "Shepherd of tender youth
    Guiding in love and truth,
        Through devious ways;
    Christ our triumphant king
    We come Thy name to sing,
    And here Thy children bring
        To sing thy praise.

    Thou art our holy Lord,
    The all-subduing Word,
        Healer of strife;
    Thou didst Thyself abase.
    That from sin's deep disgrace,
    Thou mightest save our race,
        And give us life.

    Ever be Thou our guide,
    Our shepherd and our pride,
        Our staff and song.
    Jesus, Thou Christ of God,
    By Thy perennial word,
    Lead us where Thou hast trod,
        Make our faith strong.

    So now and till we die,
    Sound we Thy praises high,
        And joyful sing;
    Let all the holy throng
    Who to the Church belong,
    Unite and swell the song,
        To Christ our King."

Carried right marvellously out of herself, Anthusa passed from song to
song. At the end, old Father Hierokles, deaf though he was, almost
forgot to intone the last prayers. After the benediction the
simple-hearted nuns crowded about her. Some were ready to kiss her feet.
Some wept because they had called her carnal and sinful. In one instant
she became the most favoured member of the community. After she had held
them spellbound a few times more, there was almost nothing she might not
have asked save that they set her at liberty. And Anthusa's heart was
almost melted into yielding when Arkadia besought her to take the vows
of the order.

"We are but ignorant women, striving how best to please God," confessed
the deeply moved hegumena. "The Panagia has bestowed on you wondrous
gifts. You will make a saint far above us all in Heaven. I grow old, and
perhaps my thoughts as to how to save my soul and those of all the other
sisters have been somewhat crabbed and wrong. The sisters will never
unite on Salvina as my successor. They will choose you hegumena, and
soon, under your direction, the Isle of Cedars will be famous from
Trebizond to Sparta as a true antechamber of Heaven."

But Anthusa shook her head.

"Dear Sister Arkadia," she said, "do not press me. I am perhaps a trifle
resigned to my present lot with the sisterhood. Perhaps it is God's will
that I should abide here for ever. But I cannot determine that it is so
decreed, and that I cannot serve Him better somewhere else. If I have
found favour with you, do not press me. I shall be as one of the
sisters, but I will not take the vows."

"For one year then," spoke Arkadia.

Following these events Anthusa's peace of mind in a measure returned.
She knew that most of the nuns, simple and artless souls, had truly
learned to love her, and when Rhoda spoke spiteful words about "one who
is with us but not of us," Arkadia bade her "fast three days to cast out
the demon of jealousy and backbiting."

Every day Anthusa sang, and every day the wonder of the nuns grew, and
soon not at her singing only. In a chest among the poor possessions of
the convent she discovered precious books, a worm-eaten Bible, sundry
sermons of the Fathers and even a few pagan scrolls. These last the nuns
looked at with anxiety and Anthusa was fain to read them in strict
privacy; but no one scolded when she undertook to teach certain
illiterate sisters to read, nor when she selected certain others,
blessed with fair voices, and taught them how to improve their
chanting. Even more, when springtime brought back sweet breezes and
flowerets, the weekly skiff carried something besides provisions in its
cargo, the actual parts of a small organ purchased on the order of
Arkadia herself.

Salvina had mildly protested at this innovation. It was departing from
the strait and narrow usages of the sisterhood, but Arkadia reminded her
of King David's exhortation, "Awake, psaltry and harp!" and asked if
she, a mere sub-hegumena, set herself up as more holy than the Psalmist?

After that the delights over Anthusa's singing were doubled. There was
even some worldly contention among the nuns as to their turns in working
the bellows. Also during the summer it was submitted by certain sisters
that inasmuch as "the newcomer" had taught them how to improve their
basket-work and command a higher price for the same, it might not be
sinful to erect a warmer and better place for their labours during the
coming winter.

Thus glided the months. Even while she strove against them, Anthusa
found a new set of interests growing around her. She was consulted in
all things from reconciling two quarrelsome sisters to the means of
inducing Symeon to believe that he could practice holiness upon cabbages
instead of onions one week when the skiff failed in its quota of the
latter. And the voices which had once been saying in Anthusa's soul,
"Resist!" at last seemed to be growing silent, while others spoke still
louder, "The past is dead, but a new life is opening. Join the
sisterhood. You can rule it and mould it absolutely to your will." And
then it was that Symeon himself provided the means which made Anthusa's
heart again as adamant.

He had indulged in a conversation "touching carnalities" with Father
Hierokles, and the hermit was fain to pass on his gossip. Even to the
Isle of Cedars had come fearsome rumours of the Saracen menace and
raiding by land and sea. Symeon now, however, was reassured in mind.

"The Hagarines are breaking their teeth in Cappadocia. No more
fortresses are falling. The Lord has raised up a mighty champion for his
people, a very David to overthrow Goliath."

"And who is that?" asked Anthusa, from her respectful distance.

"Why, the great Captain General of Anatolia."

"Captain General? I've never heard there was such."

"Cursed be my memory! What was his name? The fleas have been biting
under my sheepskin too sorely.--Why, now I remember what Hierokles
said,--he's Leo, the one that was Strategos of Thrace,--glory be to
God!"

"Leo!" almost screamed Anthusa in echo, and left the hermit so
precipitately that he assumed some nun had called to her from a
distance.

That night the sisters who shared a cabin with Anthusa deemed she was
ill: she was sleepless, and she prayed aloud with unwonted fervour and
agony. The next day she besought Arkadia not to press her for the
present to join the order: and the hegumena--who was fast reaching that
state when she could deny Anthusa almost nothing but freedom--yielded to
her importunity. "One year more then--but after that----" So the younger
woman went back to her work with the nuns, and strove by renewed
devotion to their problems to conquer her own heart, and another autumn
and winter passed over the Isle of Cedars.




CHAPTER XVI

THE PIETY OF NEOKLES


After the departure of the new Captain General, Constantinople settled
down to unwonted quietness. The great court and religious ceremonies
attracted less attention. Shopkeepers complained, "These rumours about
the Saracens are ruining trade." The elaborate summer races between the
Blues and the Greens were run off with half the Hippodrome benches
empty, and the two factions refrained from their customary rioting over
the outcome. From Anatolia presently came reports from the Captain
General: no major victories--his army was too precious for great
risks--but stories of sieges raised, of Moslem raiding parties cut off,
of blockaded cities saved; in short, of the complete halting of the
Kalif's policy of devouring Anatolia piecemeal, ere risking a great blow
at Constantinople. There were even paraded in the Forum of Constantine
some hundreds of turbaned captives who cried their "Allah! Allah!"
marvelling at the greatness of the Christian capital--eloquent testimony
that Leo's efforts had not been in vain.

But all knew that the vital question was whether or not the Kalif
intended to direct the whole strength of wide Islam against
Constantinople, and to clear this very point Anastasius, weak but not
blind, had sent Daniel the Prfect with a great embassy to Damascus.
Peace against heavy concessions he was authorized to proffer Kalif
Solyman; but he was also to use his eyes and ears while at the court of
the Omiads, and discover whether such an overwhelming onslaught was
directly preparing. On this expedition Fergal's presence was most
welcome. There was danger enough in the mission to make the Celt's
spirits rise with joyous abandon. The Captain General had supplied him
with abundant money. So forth he went with Kasia's and Michael's
blessings; and the report presently spread that the ships of the embassy
had fared safely beyond Rhodes, and had doubtless reached Syria.

Matters thus became tame at the little house by the War Department.
Kasia had emphatically refused Leo's suggestion to take a larger mansion
near the Mese or on the pleasant Adrianople Street going out to the
walls. "It makes me almost mistrust God in promoting you, boy," had been
among her last words ere her son left for Asia, "to see how little
wisdom you possess. What would your old mother do alone in a great
house, with scores of pomaded lackeys idling around with 'Wishes your
Magnificence this?' or 'Commands your Sublimity that?' while all the
time smirking behind my back? No, no, boy! I'll be lonesome enough with
you gone, without having _such_ things added to my troubles!"

Therefore Kasia was left to her charities and to Michael, and found
quite enough to keep her occupied. Michael, indeed, had somewhat come to
his own. Anastasius had plucked up courage to dismiss the Patriarch
John, already openly discredited by the wizardry affair, and to appoint
in his stead Germanos, Bishop of Cyzicus. The new patriarch was a man of
narrow and imperfect piety, but there was at least a drastic change of
personnel around his palace. The Captain General thereupon sent the new
prelate an emphatic letter commending Michael for his eloquence and
works of charity, and as a consequence the good Pope was suddenly
translated from a minor appointment at Hagia Anastasia to a regular
post among the high presbyters of Hagia Sophia.

Fine ladies now knelt for Michael's blessing. He was asked to solemnize
fashionable weddings. When he scourged iniquities from the ambo, all of
the audience that was not immediately attacked applauded vehemently. The
good man even began to be troubled lest on him was falling the
Scriptural menace: "Woe unto you when all men shall speak well of you;"
and he was not a little tormented lest he was imperilling his soul by
admitting the demons of worldly prosperity and pride.

       *       *       *       *       *

The wheel of fate had likewise brought new destinies to Fergal's
erstwhile comrade in misery, Neokles. The cook had followed his master
Evagrios during the latter's hiding in Galata, but when the ex-deacon
fled Constantinople after the kidnapping he had abandoned his servant to
the latter's own devices. Neokles had been consequently arrested along
with Plato, but after a week in the Prtorium on very scant rations,
since nothing was found against him, he was set at liberty. Left to
himself, he easily got employment at fair wages in a frequented
restaurant over against the Philadelphian Forum and the Aqueduct of
Valens.

Neokles thus led an agreeable life, and indulged in many shrewd carouses
until one evening, continuing with his companions in revelry until well
after midnight, a heavy sin came upon his conscience. He feasted upon a
trencher of spiced mutton, and not till he had partaken heartily did the
sinister fact come home to him that it was now already Friday. The next
day, while dicing with kindred spirits, he lost fifteen keratia.
Manifestly the Panagia was angry, and the only remedy against still
greater woes was prompt confession and absolution--preferably by a
priest that would not ask too searching questions.

The chaplains of the local parish church of St. Timotheus perhaps knew
him over well. Neokles therefore furbished up his most gloomy and
penitential dalmatic, anointed his head with pungent nard, promised two
Armenian girls of familiar acquaintance he would be back in time for a
boating party to the Sweet Waters of Europe,[37] and set forth for Hagia
Sophia. The priests there would be tired out listening to the sins of
fine ladies--the beatings of maids, slandering of friends, liaisons with
Protectors and such matters--and his offense would be only one drop in
the clerical bucket and soon dispatched.

[37] A frequented pleasure resort at the head of the Golden Horn.

It was Sunday, but the mass in the cathedral was already over. Being
tainted as a penitent, Neokles could not enter the interior, although he
could catch a gleam of innumerable altar candles and the glories of gold
and jewel-set mosaics, when the magnificent bronze "Royal Gates" swung
to and fro, as the crowd of worshippers streamed forth into the narthex.
The cook piously went up to the great sculptured basin in the outer
court, whereon was significantly carved, "Wash thy sins and not thy face
only," and carefully sprinkled himself with holy water. Then he entered
the inner narthex, the great vestibule proper, a vaulted hall, narrow
but of imperial length, its walls revetted with variegated marbles and
its ceiling brilliant with mosaics equal to the finest in the Daphne.

Earnestly Neokles hoped that his confessor would order him to perform
some easy, inexpensive penance, such as adoring the sacred relics within
the church--the feather dropped from Gabriel's wing when he visited the
Virgin, the gimlet and screws used in making the True Cross, and the
trumpets blown at Jericho. The whole place gave a comfortable, opulent,
holy feeling. He was glad he had not gone to St. Timotheus: therefore,
with scant delay, he sought one of the closely set bronze gratings
between the columns, where penitents were kneeling and whispering their
misdeeds to the confessor concealed behind the elaborate grille work.
The cook saw a handsomely dressed lady rise from one of the kneeling
steps. She lowered her veil hastily yet he noticed tears and caught
sobbing. Had she been a great sinner, or had the confessor been too
harsh? Neokles thought of turning away, but no other confessional seemed
vacant, time was pressing, and he dropped on his knees.

The deep, rich voice of the priest within reassured him. He made haste
to unburden his conscience. The affair of the spiced mutton on Friday
was contritely stated. Neokles then waited for the assignment of a
reasonable penance and the words of absolution. To his great discomfort
the confessor did not dismiss him.

"You have done well, my son, to begin with such a small matter. Pass now
to weightier things."

"Weightier things? Oh, venerable Pope, I can't recall any."

"Take heed. God is not to be mocked by a pretended confession. By your
own words that food must have been partaken of amid scenes of carnal
frivolity or much worse. Confess concerning them."

"Oh, holy Father, but----"

"Have I choice in the matter? Where is your proper parish? Is it not
enjoined in the 'Penitential Book' of that saintly Patriarch John the
Faster, 'Let the confessor enquire strictly concerning the sins of those
penitents who for reasons hid come to him from strange jurisdictions'?
To forbear might prove my own damnation. Answer, therefore, my
questions."

Only because all the strength had oozed out of his limbs did Neokles
fail to flee instantly. As it was he felt as helpless as a trapped fox.
The interrogator pressed him shrewdly but not unkindly from one point to
another. First came out the facts concerning his recent orgies, but then
the cook's past was delved into. Neokles admitted that he was a slave
and tried to throw off certain misdeeds upon his master.

"Your master--and what manner of man was he?"

"A holy deacon of this same church; at least, so he was--once----"

"Once? Yet he is not dead? Who then was he?"

Whereat the writhing Neokles found himself forced to tell many things
concerning Evagrios for which that worthy, if present, would have
rejoiced to flay him alive. At last he came to a particular event and
stopped.

"I had no part therein, I swear by my hope of salvation. I only knew
thereof. Besides, it was not wholly wrong. The young women were seized
to be sold among the Saracens. But it was arranged by my master that one
of them, I'm sure the younger, should be taken from the ship soon after
leaving the city and delivered unto pious nuns, lest her friends follow
her to Syria with ransom or rescue. Surely it is not wickedness to
conceal the fact that a worldly damsel, so far from being lost among the
Infidels, is to become a holy sister--even against her will?"

The voice behind the bronze grille became silent for an instant.
Seemingly the priest suffered from a husky throat. He appeared to be at
a loss, also, for prompt words, but at length he pursued:

"Even as voluntary virginity is among the highest virtues, so is worldly
compulsion to take the sacred vows abominable in the sight of God. But
was this project of alleged piety actually accomplished?"

"It was; at least, so Kannebos told me when I saw him again in Galata."

"And what was the convent willing to receive such a strange novice?"

"As I trust to escape hell fires I do not know. Kannebos doubtless would
not tell any one save Evagrios. He only let drop something about 'a
distance,' and 'a super-holy sisterhood.'"

"And where now is this Kannebos?"

"Again I swear, Father, I do not know. He has disappeared for months,
doubtless upon some vessel."

The questions ceased, as if the confessor were deliberating whether to
press further, then to Neokles' relief he was informed: "You have great
sins upon your soul. Bread of affliction and water of affliction should
be yours for long, but in mercy I direct merely that you refrain from
flesh or wine from now until Christmas, and from trimming your hair and
beard for two years." Then followed the words of absolution, and "The
Lord grant you His peace."

Neokles went from Hagia Sophia by leaps and bounds, cursing himself for
going thither, and cursing the priest for his inquisitiveness and
penance. A little later, Michael, having given honest counsel to an
erring grocer's wife who had unburdened her conscience, surrendered the
confessional to another presbyter. With speed equal to Neokles', he made
straight for Kasia.

Michael well understood the obligations of the confessional. He could
not betray Neokles' confidences, demand his arrest and stimulate his
memory perhaps by the same drastic means that had made Plato talkative.
But he conveyed the substance of his information to Kasia, and the
little woman was agog with excitement:

"The cook said 'the younger sister'? Yes? O dear Lord Jesus, if we had
only known this while _he_ was still in Constantinople!--But nothing
must ever get to the boy now to distress his mind and turn him from his
work. Only we two must do all we can----"

Then Kasia plucked up courage to go with Michael on a private visit to
no less a personage than the new Patriarch Germanos himself. The mother
of the redoubtable Captain General was not a lady to be lightly turned
away, even if she did bob a very awkward courtesy before his Beatitude
instead of politely kissing his pallium, and talked in an astonishing
peasant dialect. Michael, however, was her efficient spokesman, and
without giving Neokles' name he explained how traces had been found of
one of the unfortunate daughters of Kallinikos. The Patriarch was duly
impressed, and since the favour cost him nothing he gladly issued
missives under his apostolic seal, commanding all hegumenas, nuns and
any other religious persons of either sex forthwith, under pain of
excommunication, to surrender one Anthusa Maria who might be in their
convents, as well as any other inmates perchance detained without
voluntary vows or lawful commitment.

During the next three months the convents and nunneries around
Constantinople were combed with energy. The fanatical nuns of the
Maccabees in Galata had to release two unlucky girls practically
kidnapped by relatives who had clutched their dowries. A woman was
rescued from the Isle of Panormos who seven years before had given up
hope of seeing her family. Many other strange things were discovered,
but nothing of Anthusa.

Michael was not discouraged. Well he knew the multitudes of
self-torturing ascetics all around the Propontis and at greater range
from Constantinople. He was preparing to visit the nunneries at
Nicomedia, while the qustor's men (spurred by a large reward) doubled
their search for Kannebos, when an untoward event halted all these
efforts:--the Opsikian theme revolted against Anastasius.

With gross folly, the Emperor and his civilian pedagogues, while
entrusting Leo with much, had withheld from him the great military
district south of the Marmora. With grosser folly, although knowing the
Opsikian troops were furious at the rule of the great nobles at the
palace, Anastasius had set over this corps the "General Logothete" John,
a silken-gloved churchman attached to Hagia Sophia. With crowning folly,
the Emperor had finally commanded this "Pope John" to mobilize his men
at Rhodes preparatory to a naval attack upon Phoenicia to avenge many
Saracen raids.

When he knew of this order, vainly had Leo written begging the lords of
the council to rescind their action. The expedition had already started.
At Rhodes, the disgusted Opsikians rose in mutiny. Pope John was clubbed
to death, and the whole force of malcontents turned their ships back
towards Constantinople.

The insurgents dared not appeal to the Captain General; his honour was
plighted to Anastasius. To secure a respectable figurehead therefore who
would be completely at the mercy of the rebel officers, the latter
seized upon a reluctant tax commissioner in Mysia and literally flung
the purple over him. Then in the name of their new "Theodosius III"
their fleet swept on to the capital. The civil authorities had raised
enough irregular troops to beat off their first attacks. Leo, from the
interior of Asia Minor, denounced the insurrection, but stated
vigorously that his task was to slay Saracens, not Christians.
Resolutely he conserved his forces and let events at Constantinople take
their course.

The mutineers therefore seized Chrysopolis and for some months there was
petty naval fighting in the Bosphorus. Then treachery opened the
northwestern gate of Blachernai, and the brutal soldiery plundered and
slew recklessly until resistance collapsed and the city submitted to
Theodosius. After a little, being deserted on every side, Anastasius II
capitulated. He was granted humane treatment and departed to take the
vows of a monk at Salonica, while Theodosius III, "Christ-loving
Basileus of the Romans," reigned in his stead.

His dominions ended at the Bosphorus. Leo was still only Captain
General, but all over wide Anatolia his writ ran unquestioned, and
Artavasdos, strategos of the Armeniacs, the second figure in the army,
obeyed solely his orders. In Constantinople, indeed, the rough Opsikian
officers lolled in the marble halls of the Daphne, while such personages
as Paul the Eunuch saw their power still more slipping from them: yet
Theodosius seemed hardly more than another pompous nonentity. When he
showed himself in the Kathisma, the imperial box in the Hippodrome, the
thousands would rise and thunder disloyally together, "We are tired of
races, show us _the Lion_." Before the high altar in Hagia Sophia the
priests prayed with loud voice for "Leo, our defender, who under God
shall save us from the Hagarines." Even the soldiers who had lifted
Theodosius to empire drank healths to "his Sublimity the Captain
General." And all the time came in the tidings that the Saracens were
actively mustering by land and sea for a deadly blow against
Constantinople itself.

During these troublous days Kasia had remained unmolested in the little
house by the War Department, busy with her charities, while Michael, if
prevented in a wider search for Anthusa, at least never relaxed his
vigilance to discover some traces of Kannebos. Time thus passed until
the beginning of the year 717, after which many great things befell
quickly.




CHAPTER XVII

BY THE RIVERS OF DAMASCUS


The afternoon sun was streaming across the peaks and gorges of
Anti-Lebanon over the "oldest city in the world"--Damascus, set on the
edge of the vast Arabian desert.

From the heights, as the road wound down from the mountains, there
expanded the view of the circular plain made green by the rushing Abana.
Down through a narrow gorge leaped the gleaming water in cataracts, then
spread itself upon the erstwhile desert, creating a wide compass of
luxuriant verdure ere it lost itself in stagnant lakes near the horizon.
Close at hand now, the river could be seen foaming in its rocky walls,
then bursting through many channels across the plain. Far away in front
extended the red brown of the barren hills, beyond which lay the weary
reaches to Babylonia, but who could grieve at the distant desert, when
behold! at one's feet was the vast island of greenery, and out of the
teeming orchards and fields spread the noble city--massive grey walls,
the long white arms of stately avenues, the domes, pinnacles and the new
Moslem minarets rising above the capital of the Empire which reached
from the Atlantic to the Indus--the realm of the Omiads.

Down the road swung the Roman embassy, its members not without inward
repining, for scarce eighty years earlier had the Moslem torn Syria from
the Empire and robbed the Basileus of one of his fairest provincial
cities. But Daniel the Prfect conducted an embassage fit to represent
the power that ceased not yet to rule over a noble portion of the
civilized earth. The horses of the envoys and of their train were worthy
to match the best of the desert steeds. The dalmatics of the Romans were
heavy with gold embroidery. The gems gleamed on their caps. Handsome
slave boys carried their equipment of splendid carpets, deeply carved
furniture, damasked silk hangings and even gold and silver plate,
elegantly chased and engraved. It was reported five hundred pounds of
gold[38] had been given the ambassador for travel money, while with him
went men learned in medicine, architecture, mechanics and mathematics,
to dazzle the Kalif with the knowledge and ingenuity no less than the
wealth of his imperial rivals.

[38] About $100,000.

Daniel, a venerable, benignant patrician, rode near the head of his
party. At his side was a tall youth, handsomely liveried, who was to all
appearance a native Syrian by his dark hair and swart complexion. Fergal
(despite his transformation) was quite in his element. A return to
Damascus implied serious danger, but it also brought the Celt back to
scenes of a captivity which had not been wholly grievous. Somewhere
behind those waving palms and orchards doubtless were held the unhappy
sisters, and if his thoughts lingered longer on Sophia, who was present
to cavil?

Fergal pointed out to his chief the public buildings of the far-reaching
city; the Great Mosque, once a church, but now, alas! a church no more;
the stately "Green Palace," named for its flashing tiles and roof
ornaments; the seven imposing gates with their defiant towers; the race
course, where the Saracen chivalry found substitute for the Byzantine
Hippodrome; the great "Bazaar of the Coppersmiths," the finest mart in
all the trading East, and last, but not least, the numerous white-walled
villas outside the walls, bowered in foliage, wherein the lords of
Islam lived in silken ease, half forgetting now the days when their
grandsires had been thirsting camel drivers, before the Prophet had
arisen in Mecca.

The embassy had landed at Beyrut, had been properly received by the
local emir and given suitable escort. Tidings of their coming had, of
course, speeded ahead, and now even as Fergal spoke there was a flurry
of dust up the road, and the clangour of kettle-drums; next appeared a
hedge of moving plumes, tossing lances, running footmen in scarlet
liveries, and a twenty of horsemen on coal-black steeds, with white
mantles and turbans and silver reins. A powerful bronze-visaged officer
dismounted and salaamed before Daniel, then spoke in fair Greek: "The
Commander of the Faithful salutes the ambassador from Rome. He sends you
his slave, the fifth vizier, the _Kaid_[39] Faadin, to conduct you to
his city."

[39] A rank very nearly like that of "Colonel."

Daniel returned the greeting with grave punctilio. The dignity of
neither side permitted prompt sociability, but Christians and Moslems
swept down the mountain road, through the cool gardens and under the
massy Eastern Gate of Damascus, Fergal looking about him with falcon
glance. His great adventure had begun.

       *       *       *       *       *

The embassy was hospitably lodged at the "Casket of Felicity," a
pleasant villa just outside the Southern Gate. Seven full days were
ceremoniously expended, while visitors and hosts exchanged banquets,
compliments and costly gifts, till the ignorant might have supposed that
Rome and Islam were about to swear to eternal friendship. Only on the
eighth day did the chief envoy and the Grand Vizier allow the real
object of the embassy to intrude into their flowery conversations.
Meantime, Fergal had been using eyes and ears--not in vain.

First of all, to his great relief, he learned that his quondam master,
the Emir Thabat, had departed this life under the bowstring one year
previous, having been over friendly with the fallen generalissimo
Hajjaj.

His second mercy came when on the third day after arrival he discovered
an old friend.

Fergal had been standing in the Damascus bazaars, where then, as always,
"all the world meets the Arab," where amid brown bales, rolls of
carpets, piles of green melons, baskets of wheat, and cases of leather
wares, there jostled grey Jews, mahogany Egyptians, clean-skinned
mountaineers from the Lebanon, tall Bedouins under enormous turbans, and
stately Persians in brocaded kaftans. Suddenly down out of one of the
dark tunnels of shops and into the dazzling light appeared a pair of
handsome Coptic boys, clattering their staves and shouting their "_Ya!
Ya!_ Way for his Excellency!" Then forth upon a white ass rode a
personage whose formidable mustachios, flowing white Abayeh and
silver-hilted scimitar proclaimed him a man of consequence.

The Celt took a first glance, then a second, then darted past the
runners and touched the ass's bridle. Its rider reined angrily and made
a half swing with his whip. "Son of a Jew!" began he, in fiery Arabic,
only to have his lips curl in an astonished smile while he gazed hard on
the bronzed features of the other.

"Fergal the Armorican as Allah may grant mercy!"

The other placed his hand upon his forehead, his mouth and his breast
and bent low. "The same, O Cyrus, despite my present hair and skin. I
know you won't betray me. I'm with the Roman embassy."

Cyrus looked about him hastily. "This is no place to patch up old
comradeship. I've a good house now just where the canal crosses the
'Straight' Street. Ask for me there just after they call to evening
prayers and we can drink violet sherbet and match our fortunes."

Thus they parted, Fergal of course punctually to keep the appointment.
Cyrus met him in his pleasant _aiwan_, the richly carpeted reception
hall beside the pillared court, where ivy twined over horseshoe arches,
and a fountain tinkled amid the fragrance of the new Indian
curiosities--the lemon trees. For a while the friends chatted
indifferently while an almond-skinned Persian boy scraped a tall
two-stringed viol. At last Cyrus beckoned him "begone," and signed to
Fergal to sit beside him upon the great pile of rugs crowning the divan.
The Armorican looked about him with shrewd approval.

"Allah or the Saints," he began, "I know not which you would have me
invoke, but some power has been kind to you! This house, these servants
and all therewith come not from thin air. Five years ago we were slaves
together in Damascus, and then you gained liberty by the road which I
refused. You are doubtless very happy!"

Cyrus gave his head a defiant toss. "You know the choice offered me,
freedom with promotion or endless captivity? Well, I haven't your
constancy and daring. I've seen my fellow Copts turning Moslem by
thousands. I think it was before you fled that I said the Fattah.[40] My
chains fell off, and my skill as steward and accountant was recognized.
Now I report directly to the 'Emir of the Sea' concerning all relating
to the payment and equipment of the Kalif's fleet. My work is commended.
I wear the kaftan of honour. All my friends congratulate me."

[40] First chapter of the Koran, the Islamic confession of faith.

"You should be happy?" repeated Fergal, with the least shade of
interrogation.

"My private life," went on Cyrus, boasting, "is equally lucky. I have
three wives of the four allowed me by the Prophet (on whom be peace!).
They are all handsome and affectionate, and do not quarrel--not, at
least, in my presence. Besides, I have three comely slave girls, who are
good dancers. I am now considering the completion of my harem by taking
in marriage the daughter of the Second Carpet Spreader of the Kalif
himself. At a banquet lately I was given the seat of precedence above
the Distiller of the Imperial Rose Leaves."

"You should be happy?" inflected Fergal yet again.

"The efreets devour you!" cried the Egyptian, with a slight flush.
"Don't you believe my professions? You're not uncharitable towards a
friend because he embraced Islam and profited much! I'm no priest or
imam to wrangle over theology. Both religions teach that God is very
merciful."

The Armorican fixed a penetrating gaze upon his former companion in
bondage.

"My dear Cyrus," he observed, "dear always to me whatever your faith, I
suppose in your new happiness you've forgotten all about Miriam?"

The Egyptian leaped with a curse from the divan.

"Eblees roast your soul! The little Cyprian, the oil merchant's daughter
who gave me her troth though I was only a slave, who was carried off to
Khorassan by Emir Al-azid when her father wouldn't turn Moslem? D'ye
prove yourself 'friend' by opening old wounds like that? Wasn't I
helpless to save her?"

"Assuredly," replied Fergal calmly; "I am merely glad that you can
forget so fortunately, and become consoled in the mosque if not in the
church."

The workings of Cyrus' faith were ghastly. He swept his gaze around the
aiwan, then put his lips close to Fergal.

"Consoled?" echoed the miserable renegade. "I know you're trusty as one
of these Damascus blades. You won't betray. Five times a day I say my
prayers towards Mecca and five times I recall the tale of Peter who
betrayed his Lord. Yet Peter repented and became a great saint, but as
for me----"

"Your case is piteous," responded the other, with unfeigned sympathy. "I
know the temptation myself and I almost surrendered." The Celt crossed
himself. "Perhaps some day you can reinstate yourself with the
saints----"

The Egyptian shook his head gloomily. "How and when? You know it's death
if you lapse back to Christianity; they'd impale me on a stake if the
wild dervishes didn't pluck me asunder first."

"The wonted charity of holy men!" laughed Fergal, recalling keenly a
certain scene in the Patriarch's hall.

"Well," cried Cyrus, defiantly slapping his thigh, "who knows whether
monk or dervish understands one jot of what becomes of us the instant
after our soul quits the body? But one thing I know--yet need I tell
such as you?--this Islam is a terrible thing, resistless by human
power."

"I almost confess it," assented the other.

"What was Mohammed a hundred years ago?" boasted Cyrus. "A driver of
mangy camels. What are his disciples to-day? The lords of half the world
and every day waxing more mighty. Yesterday to the Green Palace came
messengers from the Far East, 'O Kalif, more rajahs in India have
confessed the one Allah and the prophet.' Came others from Turkestan,
from beyond the mysterious Oxus, 'O Kalif, the Turkoman nomads submit
themselves to you and to Islam.' Came others from the farthest west,
from the shores of the great limitless sea, 'O Kalif, the resistance of
the Spanish Visigoths ceases. The emirs carry the banners of the true
faith northward into Gaul.' Where now are limits to this conquest? If
the Son of Mary is indeed Son of God, where are the sharp scimitars to
keep His worshippers from becoming bondsmen and piteous spoil to the
Faithful of Islam? Answer that--and I will take heart."

Fergal's own head was also tossed a little defiantly. "Touching Gaul and
the West, let the emirs wait till on a fair field they test the might of
the Frankish axemen. Touching things nearer at hand, with my own eyes
have I seen the walls of Constantinople. Many times will they call on
the Prophet for aid ere storming _them_!"

Cyrus' smile was pessimistic. "Your Romans are without strength. They
have silken robes and soft hands. Walls will never replace men. They
change Emperors too often. They let Syria slip from their fingers, and
then Egypt, without one brave effort to recover, and resigned us all to
bondage. And this general Leo you talk about, when the blow comes he'll
prove no stouter than the rest."

Fergal shook his head but turned the subject. With all his vauntings,
Cyrus was manifestly tormented in conscience and his visitor wisely
prodded no more. With renewed precautions lest some servant were
eavesdropping, the Celt broached his more private reasons for visiting
Damascus. At Beyrut he had already learned that Hormisdas and at least
one female captive had passed through that port en route for the
capital. At Damascus tactful inquiries had brought out that the
slave-dealer had disposed of this prisoner to the purveyor for the
imperial harem. Whither Hormisdas had then disappeared Fergal cared not,
save as he might trace the fate of the second unfortunate sister. And
now could Cyrus, for old friendship's sake, take the risk of aiding him
to discover who actually was that new inmate of the Kalif's House of the
Women; nay, could he aid him in the perilous and astounding feat of
securing an interview with the damsel herself?

At first hint of such a risky adventure the Copt began distractedly to
commend himself impartially to Christian saints and to Moslem
welees,[41] but perhaps the memory of his own loss made him a friendly
listener to Fergal's entreaty, and a desperate desire to do something to
square himself with the faith he had forsaken eked out his courage. He
recalled that he had rendered a financial service to the third eunuch of
the imperial harem, a fellow Copt and renegade like himself, one Cyril,
styled officially the "Guardian of the Lilies." He would take on himself
the task of introducing this functionary to Fergal, and after that the
peril would not be his, but theirs.

[41] Holy men, practically Islamic saints.

So for five hectic days the Celt strove and intrigued. He met the
eunuch, a fat brown creature, laden with earrings and armlets, and
perfumed with indescribably powerful nard. Never before had Fergal plied
his smooth tongue to better advantage. Never were red, golden solidi
more adroitly placed than those which Leo had entrusted to his emissary.
Never was an apostate's conscience more skillfully awakened, and the
hope stirred within him that somehow, if only he did as Fergal prompted,
the Day of Judgment would prove to him a little less dreadful.

Therefore at last the Armorican had his way. To his infinite
satisfaction he learned that it was Sophia who was in the Mankusha, the
"Painted Palace"--the alabaster villa of the Kalif in the outskirts of
the capital. "Where was Anthusa?" Cyril knew not. He had not dealt
directly with Hormisdas, but had received Sophia after she had become
the property of the Empress Mother. She had bought the girl to have her
trained as a dancer. At the festival ending the holy month Ramadan
Sophia would be presented to the Lieutenant of the Prophet as the
customary testimonial of his mother's affection; after that he might
decide to give her to a favourite officer the next day, or she might
possibly become the most fortunate and powerful woman in Islam--it would
all rest on the sensuous caprice of majesty.

After Fergal had heard these things he spent long hours upon his knees
thanking his patron saints and beseeching their continued countenance.
And a climax to his efforts came one soft starlit night when Cyril,
taking his life in his hands and assuring Fergal that "Sawing asunder
was the least they could expect if caught," suffered the Celt to creep
close to a certain barred gate in the rear garden wall of the Mankusha.
The night birds were calling from the feathery trees, the swift water
was purling and tumbling in the sluice from the Abana, in the distance
the watchmen were making their rounds on the walls and proclaiming in
sonorous Arabic "I extol the perfection of the living King who sleepeth
not nor dieth." And Fergal, full of courage and very much in love, would
not have cared perchance at that moment if one told him "The Kalif's
executioner-mutes await you to-morrow."

He saw a figure wrapped in a great mantle. Through the bars their
fingers barely touched, but the voice was the voice of Sophia, and the
Celt spent one long fleeting moment in paradise--whether Christian or
Moslem, who dare ask?

Sophia had borne her disaster as might a nature mobile, intelligent and
winsome, but less spiritual and tenacious than her sister's. She had at
length resigned herself to her apparent fate, and had striven
desperately to forget all about Constantinople and the old life which
seemed blotted out for ever. The disappearance of Anthusa was to her a
blank mystery. Hormisdas had acted like a man beside himself when he had
found the younger sister and Kannebos gone. The sailor was known to be
ultra-religious, and the slave-dealer's guess had been that for some
fanatical end Kannebos had deliberately drowned Anthusa and then made
his own escape. Fergal was sincerely grieved. He had liked Anthusa and
had hoped to rejoice Kasia and Leo, but her vanishing filled him with a
selfish gladness as he realized that to succour one was far more
possible than to succour two.

What need in peevishness to tell of the things they talked upon that
magic night, unseen by any save a sage owl blinking down from a
flowering judas-tree? But by the Holy Trinity, the Blessed Mother and
every Latin or Eastern saint Fergal adjured Sophia not to lose
courage--no, not though he vanished again from view and she heard nought
of him. Ramadan was a good three months away, and in three months what
might not be done!

A warning whistle from Cyril; the interview was over. Through the grille
a hand dainty white shone against the starlight. Fergal kissed the hand.
It disappeared. There was the retreating flutter of robes within. The
Celt stole away across the orchard paths by the rivers to the "Casket of
Felicity." He was treading for the nonce on air and in a mood to match
his unaided strength against a thousand.

       *       *       *       *       *

Daniel the ambassador had found Fergal indispensable. Alone of the suite
he could talk Arabic like a native, and as interpreter he was present at
many interviews, although the Omiad officials (like all upper-class
Syrians) could express themselves fairly in mongrel Greek. Secure in his
dark disguise, the Celt actually played the dragoman for Daniel when the
latter was received at the Green Palace by the Distributor of Crowns,
Solyman the Omiad himself.

To the sophisticated Roman envoys the Damascus court seemed a kind of
barbarous parody of the magnificence of the Sacred Palace. There was
infinite bustle and confusion, and even an undignified shouting when the
Kalif appeared. The Lieutenant of the Prophet was robed in a golden
tissue, veiling trousers of green silk. He was surrounded by a
glittering hedge of princes of the blood of Omiah, of the hierarchy of
viziers, of the silver-mailed negro guardsmen swinging steel maces, with
a counter-platoon of white eunuchs, and even a crowding, grinning
retinue of buffoons, dwarfs and jesters. All was brilliant, garish, and,
despite the lavish display of gold and jewels, not a little tawdry. "How
much better we do things at Constantinople!" muttered one Roman to
another complacently.

But the head of the embassy noted most seriously the magnificent
physiques of the guard corps: the "Red Brigade," the "Yellow" and the
"Purple," named from their uniforms, which crowded the palace court; nor
had it escaped his eyes when approaching the imperial residence how all
the vast parade grounds were covered with clouds of banners, forests of
plumes and spears, and turbans multitudinous as summer leaves. There was
the potence of innumerable sword-hands behind the dirt and tinsel of
this garish court.

All, however, was gracious at the audience. The Grand Vizier, moving
stiffly in his white brocaded kaftan, presented Daniel and his
colleagues. The envoys prostrated themselves before the throne as before
their own Basileus. The despot motioned them to rise, listened affably
to the reading of a long letter from "his Brother of Constantinople"
dilating on the virtues of peace, then signified that he would consider
carefully all therein. When the envoys retired, gold-embroidered kaftans
of honour were cast over them, and Daniel was presented with a
magnificent bay desert steed "of the breed which once had been ridden
by the Prophet."

That night nevertheless Fergal was suffered to be present at a most
anxious council held by Daniel and the junior envoys. The embassy had
been authorized to adjust in the Saracens' favour every boundary dispute
in Anatolia and Armenia, and to add a heavy indemnity to stop the
raiding of the coasts of Cyprus and Sicily. The viziers had listened
most amiably. The Kalif had declared that his thirst for peace exceeded
that of the Basileus. Compliments, flattery, vague promises had been
endless, but every proposal to draft a solid treaty had been evaded.
Meantime to every member of the suite had been coming incessant evidence
that vast forces were being mobilized, that fanatical dervishes were
preaching "The Way of Allah," that apparently Syria, Arabia and Persia
were about to be stirred by a new summons to the _djihad_.[42] Whither
were all these preparations tending? Against India, Turkestan, the
western Franks--or Constantinople?

[42] Holy war against the foes of Islam.

"Are we not," concluded the misdoubting Daniel, "in the plight of men
saying 'Peace, peace,' when there is no peace?"

When the discussion ended, Fergal took the senior envoy aside. Already
Daniel held him in perfect confidence. The Celt said he believed he knew
the means of discovering that which passed in the Kalif's inner divan.
The means he would not reveal even to the ambassador. There would be
peril but the risk must be taken. If he failed, let Daniel tell the Lady
Kasia and the Captain General that he died in the service of true
religion, calling blessings on them with his dying breath.

"But"--and the youth's eyes brightened defiantly--"I'll _not_ fail!"




CHAPTER XVIII

THE DIVAN OF THE KALIF


A few days after granting audience to the Roman embassy it pleased the
Commander of the Faithful to exhibit in the Maidan, the great race
course by the rivers, the four thousand blooded steeds in his stables.
After the manoeuvres were over, the Kalif also condescended to delight
the Damascus populace with games of javelin hurling and archery from
horseback, ending with a contest at polo, wherein the younger princes of
the blood partook in person. Meanwhile in a hall of the Green Palace,
where under a stalactite-hung dome a pale light filtered downward
through panes of translucent marble, the eunuchs were making ready for
the imperial divan. Dispatches of weight had come from the provincial
emirs, and the High Emir Moslemah, the Kalif's own brother, was said to
have grave matters to lay before the council.

Above the lofty seat on the dais were slabs of closely-pierced marble,
let into the wall. The patterns in this scroll-work recited in floriated
letters a few of the ten thousand names of Allah, and were matched by
similar titles, albeit in golden script, blazoned elsewhere around the
entire base of the dome. As two Abyssinian eunuchs set the last white
and purple cushions upon the imperial chair, one of them nudged his
fellow, and the twain looked up slyly towards the marble piercings over
their heads:

"There's to be a fine bird listening again. I thought they'd all grown
weary of it."

"Their curiosity comes and goes like their whims in perfumes, jewels
and face-paint," rejoined the other; "it was the late Kalif Walid who
set them agog by that great scandal. Don't you recall the story? It was
a Friday and the then Shadow of Allah (may his soul be justified) was
sitting at feast with his reigning favourite, 'Little Rose Leaf.'"

"She that's since grown so fat?" inquired the first menial.

"The same; she can scarce waddle now. Well, when they told him it was
time to go to the great mosque and preside at the Friday prayers, what
in levity should he do but bid 'Little Rose Leaf' put on his flowing
garments, cover her face with his abayeh, proceed to the mosque and sit
in his very place. _Wallah!_ What a cursing and gesticulating among the
imams and other holy sheiks when the fact leaked. What fury had 'Little
Rose Leaf' when the Kalif forbade her to repeat the prank! She almost
tore out the Disposer of Thrones' beard. To propitiate her she was
allowed to go behind yonder marble grating and listen to all that passed
in the divan; for the Imams can't complain about doings inside the
palace. Then the other women claimed the right and kept it up under our
present master Solyman (Allah burn up his enemies!), but as you know as
well as do I, when a thing's freely granted it soon becomes worthless.
Fewer and fewer of the Kalif's women have come to sit through tedious
debates about the revenues of Irak. I've heard the chief eunuch say that
the listening post was to be closed altogether; but no, here's some one
again to-day."

The first speaker glanced at the marble piercings again.

"We can see nothing. All's dark, and of course she's wrapped and veiled.
Perhaps it's 'Full Moon.'"

"She also is graciously fat. This one, by her shadow, I think is leaner.
Perhaps it's 'Early Ripening Grape.'"

"Here, you chatterers," ordered an upper eunuch, "you've set the Grand
Vizier's stool no higher than the Sub-Chancellor's. Pile another rug
upon it to exalt the Lieutenant of the Lieutenant of the Prophet, or
you'll get your fifty stripes apiece on your bare soles when the Council
comes in!"

"Full Moon" and "Early Ripening Grape" completely vanished from the
Abyssinians' thoughts while they bustled about their task. They had
barely finished when a violent pounding on a kettle-drum, followed by
the martial clank of guardsmen, announced the approach of the Lords of
the Divan.

First, two powerful negroes, naked save for scarlet cinctures, and
fingering enormous naked sabres, took their station by the entrance;
then followed four secretaries--bent, long-bearded men, with ink-stands,
reed-pens and parchments, and with boxes of rolled documentary
dispatches. Then entered the councillors, some ten appointive viziers
and chancellors-over-ministries--keen-eyed, smooth-tongued,
obsequious--and with them about as many more princes of the blood of
Omiah--tall, lordly personages, carrying their jewel-set white turbans
as became the chiefs of the conquering race. The drum rattled again; and
side by side entered the Grand Vizier, a fine-featured Persian, Nizam
ul-Mulk, and with him the haughtiest individual of them all, the High
Emir Moslemah, brother of the Kalif, and in popular judgment the
greatest power in El Islam. A third time the drum, and with it now the
clash of cymbals and the shrill scream of a trumpet. The entire divan
fell on its knees at the advent of Solyman himself.

The potentate was all in white from his leather shoes to his pointed
silken cap. Even the jewels on feet, belt, neck and forehead were pearls
or diamonds. On his finger gleamed a single ring--the actual signet of
the Prophet. His thick black beard swept his breast. Looking neither to
right hand nor to left, the Lord of the Age sate him down in his exalted
place upon the silken rugs. In silence the councillors rose and sat down
also. "Proceed," commanded Solyman.

The Grand Vizier salaamed and shook out a scroll:

"The report of the Emir Abd-ur-Rahman in Spain: He says that the remnant
of the Christian Visigoths have fled into their mountains. With a
reasonable supply of men and money he declares he can not merely take
their last strongholds but conquer the rich lands of the Franks to the
north. The Distributor of Empires has put all this into the Kalif's
hand."

"Let this matter be delayed," spoke Moslemah from his brother's right.
The Kalif nodded, and Nizam proceeded with a second document.

"The Empire Yahya in Cilicia has been less prosperous. Believing the
Romans discordant and distracted he assailed the strong city of Csarea.
But Allah (whose decrees are inscrutable) brought down on him the army
of the new Captain General of Rum,[43] whose name is Leo, that is to say
'Lion.' Betwixt craft and valour he inflicted such damage upon Yahya the
latter was fain to raise the siege. The emir confesses to heavy losses.
Many of his men are indeed now fortunate martyrs seated under the
date-palms of felicity attended each by the two-and-seventy black-eyed
houris. Others, however, are prisoners, and the Christian misbelievers
doubtless take great encouragement."

[43] "Rum" was the Arabic term for the entire Roman Empire, but
especially for Anatolia.

The Kalif stood erect, his long beard shaking with his fury:

"Now by Allah That created heaven and earth, by Mohammed His Prophet, by
the Koran His revelation, and by the soul of my father and those of all
my ancestors, I swear I will set the head of that craven emir upon the
summit of the great mosque here at Damascus, that all men may behold and
tremble."

"Be moderated, O Imperial Brother," spoke Moslemah, even venturing to
lay a hand on the broad sleeve of majesty. "Let Yahya be replaced, but
recall that many competent generals will resign their posts if they come
to believe that some innocent mishap, ordained by the Establisher of
Destinies, shall not merely bring to nought their valour but place their
necks under the scimitar. Yet this matter is grievous. Every report
magnifies the craft and valour of this Leo. A new spirit for war
possesses the Romans."

The Grand Vizier nodded approval and took up the word: "Let the Shadow
of Allah endure my opinion. Since this Leo has been in Anatolia we have
had nought but reverses. In the days of Justinian called 'Slit Nose' or
of Philippicus we could have conquered all the Christian Empire by one
notable effort. Now the Romans wax strong. We may scoff at their
effeminate luxuries and glozing eloquence, but to-day we meet our match
in battle. This Leo is a true soldier, such as the chronicles say the
Romans possessed of old. The walls of Constantinople still rise like
those bulwarks wherewith our august monarch's namesake Solyman girdled
Jerusalem to fend off the besieging genies. We gain nothing by
half-hearted warfare in Cappadocia. Yahya has failed. Let us therefore
either make peace, as the envoy Daniel craves, or let us unfurl the Holy
Banner before all El Islam, call the faithful to the _djihad_, and spare
not our last camel or last dirham to take Constantinople itself. Feeble
measures only breed new losses."

"And what is computed the cost of a proper expedition against
Constantinople?" asked an Omiad prince half way down the divan.

"If Allah grant His disciples speedy success," replied the sedate
Vizier of the Treasury, "we estimate the cost of such an expedition by
land and sea at over a million purses."[44]

[44] A "purse" was money of account worth about $25.00.

"Wallah!" exclaimed several in consternation; and one added, "Though the
Kalif's treasures were as those which Noah (on whom be blessing)
preserved in the Ark, how might they suffice?"

"This thing is for consideration," resumed Nizam smoothly. "For as the
glory of taking Constantinople would be great, so would failure be a
reproach to all El Islam."

The Kalif shrugged his broad shoulders. "It is a hard matter," he
commented. "While my brother Walid reigned, the Romans seemed weak. Yet
the divan then saw fit to advise pushing our conquests in India and
Spain. Now the conquest of Constantinople will be exceeding costly. The
present embassy offers advantageous peace; nevertheless, what says the
Excellent Book, 'O Believers, take not the Jews and Christians as
friends.' How can we make a lasting pact with them?"

"The words of the Kalif are as the words of Abu-Bekr, the
arch-counsellor of the Apostle," began the supple Second Vizier,
fingering the golden ink-stand before him, "yet is it not possible to
refrain from treaty, and make merely a truce for a few years? Then we
can accumulate treasure, men and ships, meet for assailing even
Constantinople."

"It cannot be," rejoined Omar the Omiad, heir presumptive; "the hour for
a great blow passes. This Leo waxes in strength; if he become Emperor he
will doubtless so order his dominions that soon our best power can be
resisted. If our word is 'Peace,' let it be spoken now, and now if it is
'War.'"

"A hard matter," reiterated Solyman; "you know how the misguided kindred
of Ali, the insensate nephew of the Prophet (on whom be peace), conspire
against our dynasty. To win Constantinople will silence their tongues in
confusion, but to fail will make every evil fellow point the finger and
cry 'Aha!' while seditions spread like locusts over the provinces."

"The Lord of the Age," spoke again the Grand Vizier, "will permit me to
speak forth my heart. The old zeal for the djihad perchance is waning.
Half of the world pertains to El Islam already. The rest will come by
degrees. The wars against the Christians of Spain and Frankland and the
heathen rajahs of India cost little and bring great glory to the Kalif.
In Allah's time Constantinople shall duly fall to us. Let us therefore
alike spare the treasury and the blood of the Faithful, and pledge amity
to the Emperor of Rum."

More than half the turbans of the council nodded assent, but Moslemah
rose, his tall frame shaking under his flowing abayeh.

"O Son of an unbelieving genie"--he spat in the Vizier's face--"well do
you show yourself Persian born and no son of Arabian Omiah! When since
our father's fathers went forth from our deserts to conquer Syria,
Egypt, Persia and then Africa, have we ceased to gaze towards other
awaiting conquests as caravaners over the night-hung sands gaze towards
Sirius, their guiding star? Is not Constantinople the reward of rewards
for the servants of Allah? Can mere conquests in Andalus,[45] Sind or
Baktria replace the glory shed on the house of Omiah by having the
tidings fly to all the emirates, 'The riches of the Csars are become
the riches of the Commander of the Faithful?'"

[45] Spain.

The Grand Vizier flushed angrily beneath his great turban; the
Treasurer scribbled a memorandum which he pushed before a colleague.

"My brother's words are sharp," commented the Kalif, much disturbed; "he
should not question the loyalty of our devoted Nizam. Nevertheless let
courage never fail the head of the House of Omiah. Considering the
greatness of the task we must deliberate. We should await the coming
report of the revenues of Irak and Khorassan to know our resources."

"Let the Lord of the Age," spoke the Grand Vizier, "remember that the
envoy Daniel becomes importunate. For all his stilted manner he is truly
wise. Already he suspects we play with him. Soon he will demand an
answer, and, if it is unfavourable, depart in haste."

"He could be detained," asserted another prince.

"Ten days, perchance; if for longer such distrust would arise that we
could more honourably and profitably refuse him now outright. Treaty we
must have or Constantinople will soon know we are resolved on implacable
war."

Moslemah stood again erect before the council, his voice rising with
passion: "Hearken, Imperial Brother! Where now is the spirit which
carried the Moslems victorious over a thousand leagues of prostrate
lands? Was it by prudent counsellings that the armies of Abu-Bekr and
the first Omar were sent forth against the might of Rum and Persia, the
few against the many? Where now is the might of Khalid the 'Sword of
Allah,' of Amr who with only four thousand subdued all Egypt, of those
captains who broke the power of all Persia at the 'Victory of
Victories,' fighting one against six? Have the True Believers come to
have the hearts of doves, and do they yield to the efreets of base
discretion?"

"Be appeased, O Moslemah," remonstrated an emir. "Allah will ever rebuke
the rash."

"I charge no cowardice," retorted the fiery prince; "yet know that where
Allah grants much, much will He demand. Now let my brother condescend, I
shall bring a fit witness even before the divan."

Hardly waiting the sovereign's nod, the High Emir clapped his hands.
Through the door two expressionless eunuchs guided in a man bowed with
age. His limbs trembled under his thin frame, his beard of driven snow
reached to his girdle, the flesh about his eyes was red and raw, but
above his wrinkled brows he wore the green turban of the kinsmen of the
Prophet. All the council rose at sight of him. Even the Kalif stirred
upon his throne. "The Sheik Er-Rabab," went the whisper; "come from
Medina to testify somewhat concerning his recollection of the Apostle."

Solyman beckoned to the statuesque menials. "Spread carpets," he
enjoined, "for a seat for this venerable Sheik." But the stranger shook
his head and stood close beside the Kalif, leaning upon his staff and
gazing about with eyes bright and piercing as an adder's.

"O Admirable Welee," queried the monarch, "wherefore have you thus
honoured us?"

Er-Rabab continued to stare from one magnate to another, then spoke with
the whistlings of toothless age. "O Kalif, let the words of compliment
be to another. I am meditating upon these riches, these silken robes and
gems here on every hand, and recalling how with one garment, two gourds
of water and a bag of wormy dates swung under his camel, your
predecessor Omar the Conqueror rode from Medina to Jerusalem to receive
the surrender of that city. Marvellously has Allah prospered you! Take
heed that you render unto him the service due for his measureless
bounty."

Solyman gazed awkwardly upon the many-patterned carpets.

"Be it known to all," spoke he in conciliatory tones, "that the Sheik
Er-Rabab was a boy in Medina when the Apostle (on whom be peace) there
dwelt and taught. Alone of all the living sons of El Islam this man has
heard the veritable tones of him whose voice was the voice of Allah. If
our brother Moslemah has brought him to Damascus and into the divan, it
is because he has weighty matters to unburden."

The High Emir bowed his great turban, responding: "Let the holy man
speak. Already I have told him that the counsellors of the Kalif are
divided, some advising peace with Rum, some a Holy War for possessing
Constantinople."

Without awaiting the pleasure of the monarch, Er-Rabab flung his
fleshless hands aloft:

"O Merciful Allah, take away my life, that I may not behold fellow
Moslems clothed with the robes of power and yet saying 'Peace' unto the
Christian! Heard I not with my own ears when the Apostle uttered that
great Sura the 'Cow'[46] saying 'Fight for the religion of Allah, for He
loveth not the transgressors'? And yet again, 'Prepare ye all possible
forces, that ye may smite terror into the foes of Allah.' And yet again,
'If twenty of you wax strong ye shall overcome two hundred.' Wherefore
then do ye fear? Are the Moslems to-day all turned women, and are the
swords of the Kalif's hosts become spindles?"

[46] The famous second chapter of the Koran.

"Let the Sheik know," interposed the soft-toned Nizam, "the divan merely
deliberates where to strike the next blow for El Islam: in India, or in
Spain, or at greater cost and hazard against Constantinople."

"When the merchant seeks out a ring what desires he first," cried the
sheik, "the gold, or the great emerald beside which the gold is but the
setting? Who shall counsel the Kalif that the petty spoils of the East
or West outweigh the winning of the Monarch of Cities? Hear now the word
of the Apostle. When I stood as a lad in the court of that first mosque
of coarse bricks and palm trunks, not splendid as now are yours with
marbles, verily he admonished from the pulpit: 'Whosoever taketh the
City of Constantine, though his sins were black as those of Eblees, they
are forgiven him.' And likewise spake he: 'Constantinople shall be
subdued. Happy the prince, happy the army which taketh it!' How,
therefore, may ye call yourselves Moslems and withhold your hands, yet
hope to escape the Gehenna fires on that Last Day?"

The divan sat in uneasy silence, the members stroking their beards and
twitching their shaggy eyebrows. Suddenly Er-Rabab cast himself before
the monarch and seized his knees.

"O Solyman, to whom Heaven hath given power exceeding the famous kings
of old: look on me, the last who has heard the true word of El Islam
spoken by the Chosen One of Allah. Year by year have I seen the
messengers come in to Medina saying, 'Another, and yet another wide
province has turned unto the Way of Righteousness.' But there is one
message which has not come. Vouchsafe ere these dimming eyes are closed
I may hear the cry in the streets, 'Rejoice all Moslems: for Allah hath
crowned His mercies! The City of the Csars is in the power of the
Faith!' O Kalif, if indeed you are rightly Kalif, vouchsafe me this."

Solyman arose and stood with his white robes flowing majestically around
him. The pearls and diamonds on his tall cap flashed. His voice rose
ever louder:

"The voice of the Sheik is the voice of Allah! Wherefore were we given
empire surpassing that of Pharaoh, or Darius, or the two-horned
Alexander if not to accomplish this great thing? Let the proper decrees
be published. Let the dervishes preach the _djihad_ in every hamlet and
every oasis from the Western Sea of Darkness to the rivers of Ind. Let
the sword-hands count over their spoils, the gold, the fair garments,
the fairer women awaiting in the Roman's city. Let all other wars be
stayed. Let all taxes be increased. Let my brother, Moslemah, since his
heart is set on this most pious war, be leader of the host. Then shall
it not be said that the grandsons of the companions of the Prophet have
lost their valour because their mantles are no longer of hair-cloth, nor
that the zeal for the Way of Allah cooled because the Most High has set
us in ivory palaces!"

Er-Rabab prostrated himself before the Kalif, trembling with ecstasy.
The emirs and princes all bowed themselves thrice, touching their
turbans and then their breasts, and Nizam the Vizier addressed the
throne with a profound reverence:

"The Monarch of the Age has spoken; his servants obey him. To-morrow I
will give the Romans fair words, but will tell them a binding treaty
must wait until we can head a counter-embassy to Constantinople."

"Wherein _I_ will be chief envoy!" cried Moslemah, while his fierce
laugh was echoed around the divan....

... A little later, as the counsellors departed, the third eunuch,
Cyril, dismissed through the rear gate of the palace a young Syrian who
had come to sell perfumes to the inmates of the harem. His prices had
been low. His bags of musk, oil of sandalwood from the Far East, essence
of bergamot and the still more precious essence of rose-leaves in its
golden vials, had been excellent in quality. The old women who always
did the haggling in such matters urged him to come again. He departed
without danger or difficulty, the visits of such traders to the palace
being an everyday routine.

In the hushed excitement over the Kalif's decision the two Abyssinian
eunuchs quite forgot to ask whether it was "Full Moon" or "Early
Ripening Grape" who had overheard the momentous discussion. Nevertheless
it is true that the Syrian, just as Cyril dismissed him, whispered
cautiously, "Call on Cyrus to-morrow; he has the two hundred solidi
waiting--and there may be a much more profitable thing a little later."

That night Fergal communed long with Daniel. The next morning the
ambassador seemed quite at ease when Nizam informed him: "The Kalif
hesitates to make a final treaty now, but speedily he will send an
embassy to your master empowered to make a peace to endure a thousand
years."

A few days later, with much ceremony and apparent good-will, the Romans
quitted Damascus. The envoys were laden with presents, and charged by
Solyman to bear his peculiar greetings to "his Brother of
Constantinople." The Fifth Vizier rode with them a day's journey, then
turned back. Unmolested, the Romans ascended the stately ridges of
Lebanon and hastened across the rich Phoenician coastland to their
shipping. On the way, however, one member of the company vanished and
all search for him was vain. They were obliged to proceed without him.

The day that Daniel's embassy reached Beyrut the young perfume vendor
could have been seen rentering the Northern Gate of Damascus.




CHAPTER XIX

A HAREM TRAGEDY


It was approaching noon in the great mosque in Damascus. Soon the
muezzin would intone his call to prayers. Everything about the august
structure seemed Moslem, save the inscription above the southern door:
"Thy Kingdom, O Christ, is an everlasting kingdom and Thy dominion
endureth throughout all generations"--testifying still the protest of
the Cross against the usurpations of the Crescent.

The Syrian light was gleaming across the tessellated pavements between
the richly-carved columns. Before the _mihrab_, the niche in the
southern wall, showing how the faithful should turn themselves towards
Mecca, already a score of devotees were touching their turbans upon the
flooring. Other worshippers stood erect like statues, their hands held
before their faces, as if studying the lines in their palms. Yet others
sat cross-legged at the base of the columns as if beneath the shadow of
trees. A majestic sheik was seated before a great lectern unrolling the
Koran. From a remote corner came the droning chant of schoolboys where
an imam was expounding the _suras_ of the Sacred Book.

After a little, the Syrian perfume vendor aforementioned took his
station by the third column to the right of the high pulpit used for the
Friday preaching. Just now a bony dervish was exhorting thence a rather
apathetic group of prosperous merchants and sedate palace-attendants:

"Give ear, O ye faithful, to the advantages of the Way of Allah! How
barely, though ye give alms, fast through Ramadan and go as a _hajj_--as
a pilgrim to Mecca--will ye escape the final torments of Gehenna! Will
not your sins, every one, be weighed against your few good deeds in
scales where the ten-thousandth of the weight of a sparrow's least
feather will determine your eternal abiding place? Will not after a
million million years the torments of the wicked still multiply and
never decrease? Then consider, though your iniquities be as those of the
impious who stoned the Apostle (on whom be peace), yea, sought his very
life, if ye but fall as martyrs fighting for the Faith, ye receive
instantly the rewards of the all-righteous. Do they not sit in tents of
pearls, jacinths and emeralds? May they not eat forever without satiety,
drink without drunkenness, converse without contention, hearken to the
songs of the archangel Israfel, and enjoy the caresses of the black-eyed
girls whose complexions are as rubies and pearls?"

"And our present wives, O Sheik," demanded a stolid citizen. "Are they
also to be with us in paradise?"

"Concerning your present wives, O Believers, those that ye desire shall
rejoin you in the Gardens of Eternity; but not those that ye desire
elsewhere."

"Then my Fatima can't follow me," muttered the contented listener. "I've
the greater desire for the _djihad_."

The perfume vendor drew the deep folds of his blue abayeh around him,
covered his head, and seemed deep in pious meditation. His devotions
were not so deep, however, that he failed to observe a certain court
eunuch take his stand close beside him. The eunuch plucked at his
striped kaftan of brown and white brocade, fell on his knees, beat his
breast, then began to pray loudly:

"O Allah, have mercy upon the ewe lamb in my charge, the maiden of
innocency. The sickness is heavy upon her. The great physician El-Azab
abandons hope. Wherefore are spared so many whose bosoms are not as
silken pillows, whose breaths are not as rose-essence and honey, when
she, alas! is so stricken? Who now will win the rewards of honour from
the Commander of the Faithful for me, her preceptor and guardian?"

"Verily," whispered one worshipper to a companion, "it is evident that
some damsel of the Kalif, placed in this eunuch's custody, is sick unto
death."

"Then it's the fourth girl that has sickened this year," replied the
other. "The present favourite, Um-ul-Banin, the Kalif's cousin, is
vigilant and jealous. I've heard it was as safe to feel the bowstring
around one's windpipe as to have it said in her presence, 'Such a wench
is likely to win the master's favour.'"

The eunuch, recognized by a few as Cyril, continued to pray with
fervour, the perfume vendor of course hearing with the rest.

"Alas! My sweet dove. To-night doubtless they will bear your litter
away. Through the palace gate will they bear it, unless Allah turn back
the sore sickness. Alas, all my pains for your training! Who can contend
against Destiny!"

The lamentation was cut short by the sonorous booming tones of the
muezzin from the summit of the minaret above the mosque.[47]

[47] Minarets were at this time just being introduced into Moslem lands.

"... _Allah is most great! I testify that there is no deity but Allah! I
testify that Mohammed is his apostle! Come to security! Come to prayer!
Allah is most great! There is no deity but Allah!_"

Instantly all in the mosque (who had not previously done so) hastened to
the great tank, where at many flowing jets they ceremoniously purified
themselves, hurrying through the act with precipitation and muttering
pious formulas; then, turning towards the _mihrab_, the whole company
began bowing and ejaculating together. These devotions continued some
few minutes until some of the less religious began one by one to leave
the mosque.

The eunuch and the perfume vendor remained close together for some time,
continuing their piety aloud. "The perfections of Allah! Extolled be His
dignity!" sounded so clearly that departing worshippers whispered, "What
devout fellows: one would think them both dervishes!" Gradually,
however, their ejaculations became less distinct; nevertheless they
prayed on until the rest of the mosque was almost silent. Then the twain
went out, as it chanced, side by side, and with no stranger in easy
earshot. Whereupon the vendor spoke suddenly in Greek:

"We are then to be by the garden gate about the third hour to-night?"

"Even so; you remember your oath: Beyond the gold you're to get me the
prayers of the Patriarch that with the saints this deed may offset my
apostasy."

"What I've sworn, I've sworn. The saints will forgive anything for a
holy work like this."

"The Trinity favour us. It'll be desperate business, but so far all's
well. They think she has the spotted fever, and that's keeping off a
hundred busybodies. (Talk Arabic--that imam's approaching.) The
blessings of Allah be on you!"

"And on you, O Guardian of the Lilies, and on all your friends." And so,
quitting the mosque, they went their ways.

       *       *       *       *       *

That afternoon the sound of wailing went through all the great
colonnaded harem courts of the Painted Palace. The voice of a negro
eunuch was heard intoning, "_Allahu akbar!_ There is no strength nor
power but in Allah! To Allah we belong! To Him we must return. Allah
have mercy upon us!"

Immediately all the other eunuchs, the company of elderly serving women,
and the score of girls, Egyptians, Persians, Armenians and Indians, who
were being trained in dancing, took up the lament. They beat their
breasts, tore at their hair and uttered piercing shrieks, crying aloud:
"O my sister! O Hyacinth of the Greeks! O my misfortune! O death of all
my happiness!"

Every ordinary business of the harem was suspended. The whole company
seemed dissolving in grief. Three young women who had been Sophia's
dearest enemies screamed the loudest. The clamour penetrated to the
outer courts of the palace, and the sentries at the gates said one to
another, "So the damsel called the Hyacinth of the Greeks is dead: she
that was expected to ensnare the Kalif. Is this truly the spotted fever
as by report, or another of _Sitt_ Um-ul-Banin's tender mercies? Strange
are the ways of Destiny!"

Speedily the professional washer of the dead thrust herself towards the
sick chamber, but was repelled by the Guardian of the Lilies. "The case
is infectious," warned the upper eunuch. "The physician declared it the
spotted fever. I am already exposed and will discharge your duties. Here
is your perquisite, the price of the clothes wherein she died. Now
depart!"

Cyril did not, however, prevent six blind men, usual on such occasions,
from stationing themselves at the harem gate and maintaining a
monotonous nasal chant, now together, now singly, and never ceasing
their noise for hours:

    "I extol the perfection of Him who created all forms,
    And subdueth His servants by death:
    Who bringeth to nought all His creatures with mankind:
    They all shall lie down in their graves," etc., etc.

The clamour in the court of the women kept up until sunset, when it was
announced that owing to extreme fear lest the unhappy girl had died of
the spotted fever, the funeral would not be the next morning, as usual
with persons who died on an afternoon, but would take place immediately,
and also that the Guardian of the Lilies, who had been her peculiar
mentor and friend since she entered the harem, would courageously assume
the entire risks of preparing the dead for burial.

The excitement of the women now increased. The inmates of the imperial
household were buried in a cemetery outside the Gate of the Rivers. The
opportunity for participating in a funeral procession made even the best
friends of Sophia almost reconciled to her fate. Their shrieks
accordingly redoubled. Presently the great courts of the women were
lighted with resinous flambeaux. Kettle-drums boomed, pipes wailed and
dulcimers twanged sadly. Eight solemn imams standing before the gates
now began reciting the most melancholy verses in the Koran, and were
ready to head the procession. To these holy men joined four black
slaves, two with silver trays already smoking with burning incense, and
two with jars of rose-water to flit over the bystanders. Inside the
court the closely-veiled women began clustering around the asses whereon
they were to ride, the beasts being led by eunuchs who also carried
torches, and six professional female wailers meantime began to practice
their screams when they should bring up the rear of the procession.

To assuage his grief, the Guardian of the Lilies was particularly
active. All knew his terrible loss. If the Hyacinth of the Greeks had
won the actual favour of the Kalif, her social guide and tutor might
have divided power with the Grand Vizier. Was there ever such
disappointment!

"But wasn't he bribed by _Sitt_ Banin?" whispered more than one woman to
her intimates. Cyril, however, was deaf to such mutterings. When
everybody else seemed distracted or busy, he slipped away very quietly
to the sequestered gate at the end of the wide enclosed park in the rear
of the harem. Two low whistles sounded, and then two cloaked figures
emerged from the shrubbery outside.

"Be silent as the clouds," urged the eunuch, through the gate-bars. "All
has gone marvellously. I had to give El-Azab forty dinars to say it was
spotted fever and to administer a potent sleeping draught. Unavoidably a
few others had to know. A hundred dinars has gone off to them. They
think the young Emir Almustali caught sight of the Hyacinth unveiled,
and has planned this abduction through you. I'll have Mahdi and Sham,
two of my trustiest, bring her down by the gate. The coffin must of
course be closed on account of the malady, and the weight will be all
right. I must perforce accompany the procession; but as soon as it is
fairly out, the two will pass the Hyacinth forth to you. She's quite
stupefied. You'll have to carry her. But I'd best unlock the gate.
You're most safely concealed behind this thicket inside. Everybody'll be
at the other end of the palace, and you can whisk out immediately."

"If the Kalif were wise he'd make you chief of the divan," complimented
Fergal as the gate swung back. "The whole sum given me by the Ambassador
is with Cyrus. This will enable you to retire from court whenever you
wish; to buy a rose garden at Emesa and live wealthily."

"Yes, yes; and the prayers of the Patriarch? You've sworn to get them
for me. That'll make my conscience quieter by nights. The risk's been
dreadful, but it's now soon over. Keep under these bushes and you're
very safe.--The fiends seize me, what's this?"

From the further end of the garden the piping voice of an under-eunuch
was crying: "Unveil, ye maidens; the Shadow of Allah!"

Even in the dark Fergal could see the knees of Cyril smite together. Out
of his head in sheer panic the myrmidon turned the key in the gate and
drew it forth.

"The Kalif visits the harem," chattered the eunuch. "No warning! He's
entered by the little privy gate by the canal. We're undone. It's sawing
asunder or burying alive if----"

"Keep your wits, sirrah!" adjured Fergal from the shrubbery; "unlock the
gate again."

But down a leafy avenue, with half a dozen bronze eunuchs holding their
torches around him, was already advancing Solyman himself. The Kalif was
in a light blue banqueting robe, and seemed striding along in a fury. An
enormous negro stalked behind him carrying a bared scimitar. Cyril made
a motion indeed to unlock the garden gate, when a ray from the flambeaux
fell upon him. He shrank back into the gloom almost ready to collapse,
while Cyrus, his confederate from without, crouching now at Fergal's
feet, gave a stifled groan in his fright.

"I dare not unlock the gate," chattered the eunuch. "If we're
discovered, you----"

"If discovered," rejoined Fergal coolly, drawing a long dagger, "I'm not
to be taken alive, but you both will be impaled. By Christian saints and
Moslem efreets, eunuch, keep your wits. Lie boldly, and all's safe! And
you, Cyrus, if you keep not quiet, here's silence to your whimpers
forever!" And his dagger point touched the quivering renegade's throat.

"The Commander of the Faithful summons the Guardian of the Lilies,"
called again an under-eunuch.

Cyril by a mighty effort drew himself together. Fortunately the darkness
hid the beady sweat upon his brow, and his blanched countenance. He
advanced from the gate, justly anxious to keep the Kalif and his party
at a safe distance from that particular clump of shrubbery. He won
further delay by casting himself slowly and ceremoniously upon the path,
and touching his head to the ground before the monarch.

"O fortunate evening after a day of misfortune!" he forced his lips to
speak. "The Kalif himself visits the Painted Palace. And what may the
least and most worthless of his slaves do at his august behest?"

The Chief of the White Eunuchs, Cyril's immediate superior, who had
followed closely behind the potentate and the executioner, addressed him
chidingly:

"Wherefore are you not with the women in the harem?"

"Alas! my distraction. I am nigh beside myself with grief. I pray for
compassion, having wandered away for a moment to weep alone."

"Tell the wretch why I am here!" commanded the Kalif ominously.

"Hear, O Guardian of the Lilies," resumed his chief. "The Sovran of the
Age sat at wine[48] in the Green Palace. With him was the Sister of the
Moon, the ever-renowned _Sitt_ Um-ul-Banin. At an interval in the music
and juggling it was said before them, 'The Painted Palace resounds with
lamentation. The dancing girl, "The Hyacinth of the Greeks," whom the
Empress Mother was to present to the Kalif after Ramadan, and whose
beauty was already famous in the harem, lies dead.' Then said my Lord
and your Lord to _Sitt_ Banin, 'Is this again your handicraft? Cannot my
mother buy me a maid but that you must prepare her poison?' Whereupon
Sitt Banin swore by the soul of the Kalif's father that she knew nothing
of the matter. If the girl had sickened, the sickness came solely from
Allah. Then demanded the Sovran of the Age, 'Why then was not my first
physician summoned for this wench? Why was I not informed of her
illness? As Allah scattereth the stars, I will with my own ears learn of
this matter.' Therefore behold the Distributor of Thrones suddenly come
hither. What have you to say to him?"

[48] Omiad kalifs frequently drank wine, despite Mohammed's prohibition.

Cyril rose to his knees very slowly. The long speech had given him
chance to collect his thoughts.

"May the least among slaves speak unto the Shadow of Allah? Who has so
maligned the never-to-be-too-much-praised Sitt Banin as to suggest to
the Kalif such iniquity? Life and death now as always are in the hands
of the Most High alone. Concerning the sickness of the Hyacinth of the
Greeks let your slave be questioned. Was she not dear unto me as the
first calf to a heifer? Am I not distraught that the spotted fever smote
her down in her beauty?"

The Kalif and all with him recoiled a step.

"The spotted fever, say you?" cried the ruler.

"Such was her calamity. Woe! My misfortune!"

Solyman's hands nevertheless twitched and his voice shook with
suspicion:

"Then tell me, child of a sow, wherefore, whatever her disease, was not
my first court physician, Ghazali, summoned when this my mother's gift
was first stricken? Wherefore was this strange leech El-Azab permitted
upon her case?"

"May the Distributor of Thrones condescend to remember the fourth
consort, the Sitt Khadija, four days since gave birth to a daughter; the
Sheik Ghazali has never quitted her side. Only to-day it is said with
gladness, 'Her danger is past.' How could I call him away for a mere
dancing girl?"

"There are other court doctors, fool," returned the Kalif.

"Yet again may I speak and live? Is not the second physician himself
celebrating a marriage with the daughter of the Under-Vizier of the
Posts? And the third: is he not confined to his bed, unable to walk
these ten days from the bastinado he received for giving the seventh
consort, Sitt Zubaida, an overdose of physic? How then could I fail to
summon the Sheik El-Azab, who is the refuge in sickness of half the
emirs' families in Damascus?"

"You speak truth," assented the monarch, a shade less irascibly. "Yet
wherefore was I not told the spotted fever, most dire of plagues, was in
the Painted Palace?"

Cyril's arms were outstretched to the inky heavens as if adoring the
gleaming planets.

"Extolled be the compassion of Allah which causeth interest to be taken
by his Vicar in the fate even of his slaves! Who was I, dust and ashes,
to burden the Sovran of the Age with the ills of a mere Christian
dancer?"

"Gehenna fires consume you," swore the Kalif. "I care nought for the
girl; what I desire to know is whether she truly died of the spotted
fever (Allah forfend its spread!) or of a less general plague perchance
carried about in Banin's pretty vials. I like not your glib tongue. Your
excuse is thin. Even if it were fever, I should have been informed. We
can seize and wring the truth out of that El-Azab later; meantime I am
minded to bid Muzaffar"--with a gesture towards the negro--"to take home
with him your head."

The black sprang forward, swinging his scimitar aloft. His eyes were as
shining coals in the torchlight, while he watched for that horizontal
sweep of the Kalif's hand, which should order "Death" without a spoken
word.

Cyril crouched again upon the earth in mortal agony. The frantic impulse
seized him to betray Fergal and confess everything with some shifts of
the blame. He was held back by the fearful consideration that no belated
confession now could prevent impalement once the real facts were sifted,
and that beheading was a merciful exit.

Solyman deliberately stroked his beard, looking first upon Cyril, then
upon the negro, then back upon Cyril. The Kalif was visibly enjoying the
anguish which he was causing. But suddenly, at no slight personal risk,
the First Eunuch interposed in behalf of his despairing subaltern:

"The Sovran of the Age will condescend to remember that the girl was
only a Greek slave, comely to be sure, and perhaps a fair dancer, but it
has never been enjoined every sickness in the harem should be laid at
the foot of your throne. There is nothing to suggest that the Sister of
the Moon has so much as condescended to notice her existence."

Through all scenes of later life, Fergal forgot not the picture of that
moment: the red circle of the flambeaux, the array of white-robed,
puff-faced eunuchs, the gigantic negro with his gleaming blade, the
stony-visaged Kalif now poising his hand, the miserable Cyril writhing
like a worm. Then after a mortal interval Solyman let his arm descend.
He put his foot upon the neck of the creature crouched on the turf
before him.

"_Ya!_ It's good that you tremble. Put up the sword, Muzaffar! He won't
get the stroke--yet! I'm too tender-hearted. After all, the wench is
dead, and all of you swine have had a lesson. Doubtless it _was_ the
spotted fever, and Allah grant that it stops with her. A quarrel's a
bother and I'll take Banin's oath, but do you, 'Regent of the
Roses'"--addressing the First Eunuch--"get me a better girl for the
feast. I'll take the cost out of Banin's 'girdle money,'[49] that'll be
my revenge. And now you, first brother of the curs"--spurning Cyril
again--"get through with your funeral, and stop these slatterns
screaming. I'll go back and see the new dwarfs performing at the Green
Palace."

[49] "Pin money" in other ages.

"O miracle of generosity! Ocean of mercy!" burst out Cyril.

"Silence, or my mind changes. I'll be ruined by my compassion."

The Kalif's blue kaftan swept away in the torchlight before Cyril could
scramble to his feet, and dissolve in a torrent of incoherent
thanksgiving. The climax to his peril had nearly destroyed his wits, but
even as he stood quivering, Fergal glided from the shrubbery.

"Pull yourself together," commanded the Celt. "Bless your fortune. Not
merely are you safe, but you've the eternal favour of the First Consort
herself. If you had quavered a syllable the Kalif would never have
believed her innocent. Now lead out your procession and finish quickly."

Cyril wiped the deathly sweat from his face. "Manifestly," he muttered,
"the Holy Mother has forgiven my apostasy and accepted my prayers. I
could feel that scimitar tingling on my neck. I'll never take such risks
again. No, not for all the solidi in the world and the Patriarch's
promise of Heaven. Well, what's begun must be finished. There--I've
unlocked the garden gate once more, and Mahdi and Sham will come
presently."

He disappeared towards the palace. At length the melancholy music and
the shrieks of the wailing women announced that the funeral was started
out of the central gate. The noise served effectively to draw away all
nocturnal loiterers in the narrow lanes by the gardens. After a prudent
interval, there were again heavy steps under the lemon trees, and two
figures appeared dimly, carrying a heavy object between them. Fergal
glided from his shelter, and, despite the risk, insisted that the
under-eunuchs uncover the face of their burden where there was starlight
enough to identify....

... No imposture. Sophia stirred slightly, but the powerful drug kept
its mastery over her. Aided by the still trembling Cyrus, Fergal carried
her through the garden gate and strapped her into a litter swung between
two even-paced asses that had been tethered in a convenient shadow. The
wailing noise of the procession died in the distance. On the near-by
walls again could be traced the pacing sentries with their faintly
gleaming armour. Allah or the Panagia (what matter which!) guarded the
rescuers against roistering parties of young Damascus bravos or more
vulgar bandits. They reached a small house by a rushing channel of the
Abana, where Fergal had carefully made ready. Once again Destiny had
favoured the bold.

Two days later, after swearing to a careful pact with Cyrus as to
certain contingencies should the Saracen fleet appear before
Constantinople, the perfume vendor, his asses laden with cases of vials
and bales of aromatic drugs, rode unhindered through the Northern Gate
and took the road for Aleppo. With him went an old Christian Syriac
woman and a slim boy, his assistant.




CHAPTER XX

AT AMORIUM


In the books wiser than this is told what befell following the Kalif's
great divan. Never since the first zeal for El Islam sent forth the
Faithful from the Arabian deserts to conquer Christian Syria and
Zoroastrian Persia had the Gospel of the Sword been preached with
greater fury. The imams, dervishes, and ulemahs exhorted the sword-hands
alike on the steppes of Turkestan and the oases of Sahara. Their message
was ever the same:

"Our fathers conquered a little; we will conquer much. Follow the new
'Way of Allah.' Desire you gold? The City of the Csars contains the
greatest riches since the genies hid their treasure in the bowels of the
earth. Fair mansions? The marble dwellings therein are like the
pavilions of Allah. Fair women? At Constantinople are virgins
full-zoned, rose-lipped, with eyes like gazelles, awaiting the embraces
of the Faithful. If you die fighting as martyrs what incomparable
rewards in paradise! Up, then, and testify your zeal for El Islam!"

Daily from every province the hosts rolled towards Damascus. It was a
mustering of uncouth nations such as scarce had been since the days of
old Persia and the hordes of Xerxes. Yellow Tartars, bronzed Moors, and
darker Ethiopians; Hindoos and Persians, Arabs and Egyptians, with the
multitudinous swarms of lighter-skinned "Greek" and semi-Greek
renegades, wherein the Levant abounded--all these were flocking
together, being welded into a single host by two mighty impulses:
fanaticism and lust for plundering the greatest treasure-house in the
world. Allah alone knew which of the two motives was the stronger.

The imams exhausted themselves chanting the militant verses of the
Koran: "Fight for the religion of Allah! For whosoever so fighteth, be
he slain or be he victorious, great is his reward!"

Merchants past the military age were exhorted to open their purses for
the army, because "Whatsoever ye shall expend in defence of the religion
of Allah, it shall be repaid unto you."

All the Phoenician havens and the harbours of Egypt bustled with the
shipwrights. The slopes of Lebanon were stripped of their lordly cedars
to frame the new war galleys and transports. At all the Kalif's arsenals
gangs of artificers wrought on new battering engines, and turned out
arrow- and spear-heads like the sea sands. Women took the gold and
silver coins from their tinkling head ornaments and cast them into the
great chests set by the mosques to receive gifts for the holy warriors.
Beggars thrust in part of their gains. On a certain day Damascus
wondered at a marvellous sight: Down the Straight Street rode a band of
fifty robbers, scarred and villainous of countenance; not a man was
without his hilt well notched with tallies for his victims. But now with
their bejewelled chief they all were come to square with Heaven by
following the djihad.

All Islam, in short, from the far salt deserts by the Aral Sea to where
southern Arabia looked out upon tropical Africa, at length seemed in
motion. The Damascenes gave up counting the thousands of camels, the
tens of thousands of horses clattering through their gates. All said
that the High Emir Moslemah was an organizer incomparable. In the
bazaars long hands gesticulated and white beards wagged as the expectant
traders reckoned the probable spoil from the Christians in specie,
jewels, precious stuffs and slaves, and how far the future commerce of
Constantinople could be diverted to Damascus, henceforth the uncontested
capital of the conquered world.

Northward the hosts rolled, down the teeming Orontes Valley and towards
Cilicia. At the seaboard some prepared to take ship directly to the very
gates of Constantinople, while another host under Moslemah thrust onward
through passes in Mount Taurus, seeking Phrygia and Cappadocia, where
the Captain General still maintained that grim line of Roman fortresses
whereof the emirs had already counted the stones in vain.

In Phrygia presently arrived Moslemah himself, his proud heart full of
contempt for the Christian leader. Knowing that the latest puppet,
Theodosius III, still preened himself in Constantinople, the Saracen
attempted specious negotiations with Leo. "We know the Empire will soon
pass to you," he wrote. "Come then, let us discuss the terms of peace."
And when the Saracens came before the strong walls of Amorium they
strove in vain to disarm the defenders by crying "Long live the Basileus
Leo!"

But in the Isaurian the High Emir found at once the fox and the lion.
Leo met the Moslem envoys with specious friendliness. He even boldly
entered their camp to negotiate, and then slipped away from them when
secret tidings came to him that Amorium had been newly garrisoned and
was safe. All that summer he thus held at bay the invader, matching
intrigue with intrigue and valour with valour. So at last arrived the
winter. To join with the overwhelming Moslem hosts in pitched battle had
been beyond the Captain General's limited numbers. But not one of the
great Anatolic fortresses had capitulated; Moslemah had not dared tarry
to besiege them, his myriads would have exhausted the forage of the open
country and miserably starved. Baffled in a hundred petty actions, with
only the plunder that could be swept out of the open villages, the
hungry Islamic horde at last was fain to force its way on to the gean,
where it could be reprovisioned by its fleet. It might, indeed, proceed
to Constantinople, but it must perforce go on with the full width of
hostile Asia Minor sundering it from friendly Syria, and with its only
supply and communications through its ships.

Old Rome had once owed a mighty debt to Fabius the Delayer. Already New
Rome owed an equal debt to Leo the Isaurian, contending against a
deadlier foe to Western civilization than ancient Carthage.

       *       *       *       *       *

Leo was again at Amorium after a long campaign in the saddle, when the
welcome news came, "The High Emir has raised the siege of Laodicea and
is passing down to the sea," and the Captain General knew that he had
won the first round on the war's great gaming board.

The lines now on the Hyper-Strategos' brow were deep, his laugh
infrequent, and no longer, in boyish fashion, would he go about humming
catches of light songs. Seldom would he join his officers at their wine
parties. Seldom he openly chided, but the highest commanders could
tremble at his silent frown. His life was rigid to austerity, setting an
example to every luxury-loving subaltern. He slept on a hard camp bed.
Peter cooked his simple rations. His armour and accoutrements were
meaner than those of many of his turmarchs.[50] The monks complained
that he laboured at his dispatches on major saints' days, but his staff
wisely declared, "The Saints must approve, for he always defeats the
Infidels." The soldiers had long since worshipped the ground whereon he
walked, but were greatly crestfallen when during the winter a deputation
of centurions begged him to assume the purple. "I was not sent to
Anatolia to seize the Empire, but to hold back the Hagarines," he
rebuked. "Grievous may be the misrule in Constantinople, but think you
God is well pleased to see yet more Christians fighting one another with
the Infidel in the land? Back to your barracks!"

[50] Commanders of small troops of cavalry.

Then came the day when Peter came into his cabinet in the government
house in Amorium, and stood silently where his master sat with his
tablets on his lap.

"News, little _kyrios_."

Leo looked up. The leathern face of the servant seemed to show a
confusion of feelings.

"What is it? My mother----"

"Nothing from her, _kyrios_. Fergal has reached Amorium."

The stylus clattered from the general's hand upon the floor. His colour
went. As if collecting himself for bad tidings, he demanded, "Who is
with him?"

"Only the damsel Sophia. He saved her. You will hear his tale."

Leo's forehead turned, more ghastly yet, then he drew himself together
and reached for the stylus. "Laodicea saved, Anthusa lost. Just God! Why
should I not rail against Thy strange decrees!"

Peter, who knew his master's every mood, touched his hand with the
freedom of a lifelong comrade.

"The little _kyrios_ is distressed?" he adventured, with a tenderness
not easily expected from a toughened camp follower.

"We are what God has made us," rejoined his master. "I can order forty
thousand men to deadly conflict. I cannot rule my own spirit." Then
again his voice shook. "Sophia, say you, and not Anthusa! Send--send
that Celt in!"

The newcomer entered and dropped on his knees. He also had aged and had
lost that youthful pertness which had carried him through all earlier
adventures. The dark dye was still on his hair, the bronze stain on his
skin, and he wore a Saracenic dress. Not without just perturbation, he
looked on the forbidding countenance of the Captain General. Leo gazed
on him sternly.

"I rejoice you live, but you come with one and not with two."

"My lord has said it," and the other bowed his head with fear.

"Where is she? Where is Kallinikos' younger daughter? In some emir's
harem, lost therein forever----"

"I will not dissemble from your Sublimity. I believe that the _kyria_
Anthusa perished before she ever reached Syria. Her fate is a mystery,
yet hear my story. I believe her dead."

Leo lifted his face with an unnatural laugh, next crossed himself with
unwonted carefulness. Evidently Fergal's statement had brought him a
terrible manner of relief.

"If dead," spoke the soldier gravely, "she is at least a pure saint in
God's own keeping. What dutifully should I say? 'The Lord gave, and the
Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.'" Then, with an
evident summons to self-command, he turned to the Celt and the old power
came back into his eyes.

"Rise up, sirrah!" he cried, with almost forced graciousness. "It's not
your fault, I warrant, that there's wormwood mixed with all our honey.
At least, I see you safe and sound. Your fate's been on my conscience,
and long since, not I, but every Christian, should have thanked you for
that report brought home by Daniel. It saved us many months of
preparation and many fortresses. And Sophia rescued! But I must hear
all--tell me every whit since you turned back from Daniel."

So pelting Fergal with questions as if to beat back his own black
thoughts, the Captain General had out all the story: of the masquerade
in the divan, of the escape from the harem, of the subsequent shrewd
adventures in Syria. From Damascus, the escape had been easy enough, but
there had been a stiff encounter with bandits near Apamea, when Fergal,
as he modestly put it, "populated hell with three more rascals," but
when, also, he had suffered an ugly wound from an arrow. In that obscure
North Syrian city, they had perforce to wait his recovery, but
fortunately at a colony of friendly native Christians, who half guessed
the cause of their flight, but did not betray them.

At length, when Fergal again could travel ("having been blessed," as Leo
keenly interpolated, "with no unwelcome nurse"), they found all the
havens of Phoenicia and of Antioch crowded with the Kalif's navies, and
of course all peaceful communication with Constantinople at an end. Then
the resourceful Celt again turned northward, found a caravan making for
Melitene on the confines of Armenia, through a region not yet involved
in the war. They reached Melitene safely, and, learning that the Captain
General was again in Amorium, made for that city as soon as the last of
Moslemah's raiders retreated from Phrygia and made peaceful travel
possible.

When Fergal had completed, Leo shot one more keen glance at him.

"You have done well." He spoke in tones which would have brought joy to
his highest officer. "I believe you--every word." Then he added, not
without gravity, "Yet the daughter of Kallinikos, she was with you, and
through all these months----"

"Yes," assented the Celt, but he knew the other's meaning, and held up
his head. "_Kyrios_ Leo, you do well to ask me this thing, but remember,
though I was sold as a slave in Constantinople, I am reckoned the son of
a king in mine own country. My honour was engaged. Old Hilaria was
always with us. Sophia was to me as my sister--and never otherwise."

The commander laid his strong hands on the younger man's equally strong
shoulders. "_Euge!_ I should have known more than to cast at you such a
thing. If the Panagia denies me one great gift, shall I be mean and
churlish enough to refuse to join in the joy of others? You have played
the part alike of a king's son and of a Roman soldier. I will,
therefore, make you a promise. You shall not have Sophia for 'sister'
long."

Fergal, in ecstasy, caught at Leo's dalmatic and pressed its skirt to
his lips. The general burst into an honest laugh.

"O Dear Lord Jesus Christ, why cannot I be vouchsafed the power to make
true lovers ever joyous, instead merely that of sometimes thwarting the
High Emir!" Then he clapped his hands, called back Peter, ordered him to
provide for Fergal as his special aide-de-camp, and directed that Sophia
be taken to the quarters of Placidia, her Basil being in Amorium on
detached service from the fleet.

That night, when the younger officers of the staff were at mess,
absolutely unexpectedly the Captain General joined them. Casting aside
his wonted melancholy, Leo jested with them, told tales, drank a little
beyond moderation, threw dice with some recklessness, and continued his
mirth until late. The subalterns were delighted, and Peter commented on
the happy change when he assisted his master to retire. Leo's answer was
unevasive:

"Good fellow, I know you would die for me and so I will tell you this:
on a certain day on the Bosphorus I thought to swerve from my duty. I
thought to turn from that single task which is more and more manifestly
laid upon me every hour, even as Barses and Chioba spoke, and to divide
my thoughts by giving way to those private joys which God often gives to
the lowliest peasants, and then denies unto kings. My punishment was
swift. To-day, if Fergal reports aright, my dream of worldly happiness
has passed for ever. Henceforth I can have but one bride--the Christian
Roman Empire. Till she is saved from utter destruction how dare such as
I spare thought for other marriage? After that, let it be as God wills.
So, then, I have resolved to face the future gallantly, for sour heart
never delivered a city!"

It was a bright, cold day in the Phrygian winter a little later, when
all the officers in Amorium put on their bravest armour and their wives
(if with them) their brightest pepla and veils. In the great hall of the
Hyper-Strategos' residence, blessed by the local bishop himself the
solemn betrothal vows were exchanged between Fergal, the new spatharios,
and Sophia. The shadow of the war did not prevent unbounded mirth. Late
into the night they danced, men with men, and women with women, but all
the company standing by to clap, applaud and shout their "Up-a!" at
every clever march and pirouette, and gladdest of all were the true
friends of the chief himself when they saw him joining in the frolic of
the junior tribunes.

... Yet very early in the morning following Peter roused his master from
his pallet. Hardly had the good bodyguard cast a mantle over Leo when
into his simple quarters were thrusting all the senior officers in
Amorium, at their head Basil and the great strategos of the Armeniacs,
the potent Artavasdos. When Leo had seated himself on a camp chair, lo!
all the company fell on its knees before him, and from behind the
generals stepped an imperial mandator. His gaudy livery was mud-splashed
for he had travelled in hot haste. Down at Leo's feet he cast himself,
touching his forehead upon the cold pavement, then rose to his knees to
extend a parchment bound with purple ribbons and dangling huge gold
seals. Artavasdos took it from the messenger, broke open and in dead
hush read aloud:

     "_The Logothetes, Patricians and Senators of the Romans to the
     Noble, Serene and Valiant Strategoi, Protostrators and
     Moirarchs in Amorium and throughout the Roman Empire,
     greeting_:

     "Know you that this day, Theodosius Augustus III, overwhelmed
     by the cares of state and the dread lest he be incapable of
     coping with the Infidels, has abdicated the Empire. The power
     thus reverting to us, the most Venerable Senate, we have
     called to the supreme power Flavius Leo, Captain General of
     Anatolia, to whom as Christ-loving Autocrat and Basileus take
     heed to render your full obedience. To confirm this our
     unanimous pleasure there are on their way the most holy
     Patriarch Germanos and their Magnificences the Logothetes----"

The reading was drowned in one spontaneous roar from the assembled
officers. Done, in the only manner it could have been done! Leo the
Isaurian had been called to the throne of the Csars by the free consent
alike of army and civil bureaucracy, and the deliberate abdication of
his rival, and without the spilling of one drop of Christian blood.

Basil's great voice led off all the rest: "Ten thousand years to Leo
Augustus!" The soldiers were in ecstasies. The army, the refuge of the
old undying Roman spirit, had come to its own at last. An end now to
puppet emperors, an end to civil wars, an end to sordid exploitation in
the palace. "Now we can face Moslemah!" ran joyously from lip to lip,
and then followed another shout still louder, "_The shield! The
shield!_"

On a great infantry shield they thrust the new Basileus, casting over
him a purple robe, then lifted him shoulder-high, while once more from
their knees all the generals swore with loud oath: "Yours to command.
Yours till the death. In the name of the Holy Trinity."

Not without emotion and very pale, Leo thanked his officers for their
vows and loyalty. Then he desired, "as my first command, if I am to be
your Emperor," that for a little space they should leave him. Away they
went to rouse the city and put all the garrison en fte. Only Peter,
lantern-jawed and unperturbed, waited just outside the chamber door. He
knew that Leo was at prayer. At last his master opened again and desired
that he be clad in his usual undress armour.

"And Peter," he added, with a touch of his old playfulness, "think you
to be able to learn to buckle the straps of a Basileus?"

"I can try, Sacred Clemency."

The servant was sent reeling by the blow of a mighty fist. "If I'm ever
'Sacred Clemency' to you, I'll be _clement_ enough to cut off your head.
Never say that to me again."

"Very good, little _kyrios_."

"That's better; forget it not." Leo's laugh sounded as light as once it
had been in Kasia's garden, but there was no laughter left in his eyes
when, with a little more than his wonted poise, he strode down to the
military council.




CHAPTER XXI

THE DISCOVERY OF KASIA


A solemn consistory of all the magnates was held at the Daphne when
Basil arrived at Constantinople to signify Leo's acceptance of the
empire. The new monarch's first official act had been to name his
steadfast friend the sailor as "Grand Dragonary"--High Admiral. The new
patrician bore a letter from the Emperor to which all the kneeling
dignitaries listened with anxiety in their hearts. Not love for the
Isaurian, but animal fear lest no other could turn back the Saracen had
led them to persuade the whimpering Theodosius III to abdicate, and now
Leo confirmed their forebodings.

The new Basileus wrote graciously indeed, but he said that every lesser
consideration must bend to the war. Ere coming to the capital he must
secure Nicaea and Nicomedia against the Hagarines. The former Emperor
Theodosius was assured of a comfortable retreat at Ephesus, and the
great civil officials were told they might keep their titles and the
perquisites, but their powers must largely be suspended during the
crisis. The moment the Saracen danger abated there must be a drastic
overhauling of the finances to see whether unhappy rumours of serious
embezzlements during the public confusion had been correct. Meantime,
Leo expected implicit obedience during the great public emergency.

Again there was an Emperor over the Romans and all Constantinople knew
it. Crumbled in dust was the top-lofty project of Paul and the high
logothetes to build up a government by the palace bureaucracy. All the
capital, according to its mood, rejoiced or lamented: "Leo already shows
himself the 'Lion.'"

The moment the consistory dissolved, a small group of those haughty
spirits who had striven to rule the Empire met to condole and
recriminate. Bitter was much of the speech and many the shafts aimed at
the Master of the Palace.

"This is your doing, eunuch," stormed the dismayed Niketas. "If the
Infidels take Constantinople we're ruined. If they fail and Leo demands
our accounts it's no pleasanter. Noble statecraft of yours! Pah!"

"But what if the Saracens fail," deprecated Paul, "and then, by the
Panagia's mercy, this Leo fail, also, to demand our accounts?"

"Don't hunt the impossible," snapped Theokistos, "we're all undone."

"Pray don't despair too soon." Paul waved about a fat and heavily
beringed hand. "Our accounts are not due--yet. Much can happen. At
least, thank me for one great service."

"Tell it, then, in St. Theodore's name," commanded Count Maurice Dukas
testily.

"Well, our fine peasant's brat, ahem! I mean his present Sacred
Clemency, is still unmarried. There's no father--or brothers-in-law--to
cook more trouble for us. Of course there'll soon have to be an
Empress----"

"The Apostles smite you, eunuch," retorted Maurice, more angry than
ever. "Don't add insult to injury. Isn't the fellow cold enough towards
women for a pillar saint? Hasn't my Theophano already nigh wept her eyes
out waiting and longing? He'll die a monk."

"Yes," calmly observed Paul, "if he gets deposed in his turn and
blinded when the crisis is safely passed. In the meantime, nevertheless,
observe that he has had one mistress already, concerning whom I take
credit (merely between ourselves) for having done a little to--well, let
us say 'remove.' I actually gather he actually had some ideas of
marrying the creature, though she was of very ordinary birth. So you see
what power a wife'll have over him when he really surrenders. At present
we must repair past blunders, and there's one sure way to lay siege to
him--his mother."

"But while the swashbuckler was in Constantinople," declared Maurice,
"he'd never show her in public--good sense there! A coarse old peasant
woman, I'm told, born in Isauria, who later lived with her sheep and
pigs up in Thrace. With all his sins he's too shrewd to let such as
_her_ have a word to say now."

"Wrong," corrected Paul. "I vainly tried to persuade him to dismiss her
when he was a mere strategos. Now he'll take her wishes ahead of the
Panagia's. She'll be nigh the most powerful person in the Empire."

"Saints and angels!" swore a listening patrician. "A Roman Emperor ruled
by such a mother! The Saracens'll have us; our doom's sealed."

"It will be," observed the eunuch dryly, "if women not of our party get
at her favour first. She's our best hope."

"Theophano shan't fail us," vowed Maurice, with loud oath; and when he
quitted the Daphne he forced his groom to lash the carriage horses all
the way to the Dukas palace by the Arcadian Forum.

Theophano Dukas, with other young patricianesses, was in the very act
and article of setting forth on a water party down the Marmora for
Kartalimen. The gilded cars of the company were waiting in the
courtyard. The great Dukas barge was ready in the convenient Theodosian
Haven. The young Consular Aitios Bringas ("not without hopes" in case
higher projects for Theophano fell through) was also ready, curled,
pomaded and robed in silk, to hand the heiress into her cushioned
vehicle. Then Maurice ended all this engaging process by sudden arrival
and one imperious gesture:

"You are not going to Kartalimen, daughter."

"Not? Why not?" The flash in Theophano's eye warned even a father that
here was a great lady, not lightly to be crossed.

"Because the new Basileus has a mother; because he obeys her least
whims; because if you do not fly to her, ingratiate yourself with her,
grovel to her, let her tread on your neck and thrust needles into you,
if that's her wish, some other woman very quickly will, and pretty soon
you'll have a 'Beauty of the Purple' in the Sacred Palace that's little
to your liking."

"Mother of God!" swore Theophano in consternation. "Why didn't we
realize all before! I knew that Leo, while he was spatharios and
strategos, had a mother--yes, but she never was seen with him in the
Hippodrome or at the Palace. That she had any influence over him, I
never dreamed----"

"She has! She has!" exclaimed her excited father.

"Merciful Saints, what am I to do? I'm all dressed for the water party.
To get into my court peplon----"

"Will take too long," reiterated the patrician. "No matter! Glory be to
the Trinity the woman's so great a boor that she won't know whether
you're dressed for a fte or an execution, provided you throw on plenty
of gold and jewels. That new tunic embroidered with the 'Palsied Man
carrying his bed' will do. They say she's pious and charitable. But
haste! The heralds are proclaiming the new Emperor in all fora. Hark!
You can hear the people roaring their 'Ten thousand years!'"

"Where does she live? Where does she live?"

"A little house by the War Department. Hardly good enough for a
second-rank linen merchant. The woman's quite impossible, but what of
it? Every other eligible patrician girl will be going there, too. Fast,
I say, fast! Put on your best tiara. The one with the big topazes. She
can't understand pearls. It'll take her fancy!"

Never wrought her Magnificent Ladyship's maids a more rapid toilet than
in that hectic moment. Luckless Aitios Bringas slunk away to console
himself with a visit to the stables of the "Green" jockeys. Dukas
himself accompanied his daughter. Their running footmen raced along the
Mese, knocking aside dozens of pedestrians with their staves. The whips
cracked above the frantic horses. In the Theodosian Forum their wheels
crushed over a boy. At the turn by the Parade ground they nearly
collided with a second carriage--the car of the great heiress Euphoria
Boilas. She, also, had dressed very hurriedly (one glance told Theophano
_that_) and her horses were lathered, panting and headed straight after
the Dukas car. Behind them, like hounds in full cry for their quarry,
were at least six other state carriages whirling with uncourtly haste.

The Dukas car, thanks to a skillfully reckless driver, was the first to
reach the narrow street of Kasia. The way was already blocked, however,
by a surging crowd of every type of the populace from great merchants to
scavengers, howling, gesticulating and huzzahing. An excited centurion
of the "Collegians" was stationing his men to prevent the house from
being carried by main force. With no slight pompousness, Maurice Dukas,
followed by his daughter, endeavoured to thrust himself forward.

"I have been commissioned," he announced loftily to the centurion, "to
escort the Empress-Mother with becoming ceremony to the Sacred Palace.
Put your men under my orders."

"Show your authority," demanded the Logothete Libanios, suddenly
appearing behind, accompanied by his wife and daughter. "The commission
is mine."

"Step aside, your Magnificences," demanded the Arch-Chamberlain
Theodotos, with three damsels at his heels, "you know my lawful
prerogatives."

The young centurion stood the picture of despair. "Gracious _kyrioi_,"
he protested, "what shall I do? The servants shout to me through the
grille of the door that 'the old lady' ('her Most Sacred Majesty,' I
presume they mean) 'won't admit anybody until Basil and Placidia come.'
By which are implied, I take it, his new Serenity the High Admiral and
his illustrious consort."

The group of patricians with their feminine retinue, steadily renforced
by numerous arrivals, exchanged glances of keen embarrassment. Dukas
muttered in fury, "Barbarous old harridan!" then shuddered under his
pearl-bespangled robe lest his rivals had overheard him. The first
tension was relieved, however, by another voice through the grille.

"The mistress," announced a shrill female voice, "not to seem rude, will
let in the first twenty of the _kyrioi_ and _kyriai_ who arrived. The
rest will have to stay out. The garden's too small."

"Now forward, girl, the first impression counts," enjoined Dukas in his
daughter's ear. "Don't let pride ruin you."

The less pedigreed multitude were forced to stand aside when the door
was unbarred, and a full score of patricians and patricianesses, the
fair sex in the majority, surged through with scandalous haste and
ignoble elbowings. Many more were fain to enter, but vigorous hands
slammed the portal the instant the proper tale of twenty was complete,
leaving several of the proudest dames on the Mese vowing steel and
poison against their more lucky rivals who had pushed inside. The
fortunate twenty scuffled through the small aula--where several had the
presence of mind to praise in loud voice "the exquisite taste of the
statues and mosaics"--and then into the little garden.

It was a mild day of early spring. The sun was falling pleasantly across
the tall shrubs in half barrels, and upon the reviving ivy and clematis.
Upon the uncushioned bench, stiff and upright, was seated Kasia. She
wore a long grey frock, not without culinary stains. Her grey hair was
fastened in a single hard knot upon her crown, and in her lap were
embroidery needles, a half-made garment and a great ball of brown yarn.
When she saw the approaching platoon of visitors she made haste to rise,
seized her skirts and dropped an exceedingly rustic courtesy; then,
evidently much bewildered as to what to do next, resumed her seat, and
looked confusedly upon the splendid dresses of the intruders.

The twenty fairly stared about the garden twice, when it suddenly dawned
on Euphoria Boilas (by an inspiration Theophano could never forgive)
that before them was not an underservant, but the object of all
adoration. Down on the gravel plumped the heiress, sparing not her silk,
clasping her hands in transport, and crying, "The Panagia blesses me; I
behold her Sacred Majesty herself!"

In a twinkling all the nineteen had imitated. "Ten thousand years to the
Empress-Mother!" they echoed together. "Ten thousand years to the august
Fosteress of the Romans!" And Theophano, to retrieve her numbness,
darted ahead of Euphoria, seized Kasia's coarse woollen dress, and
pressed the hem thereof devotedly to her lips.

The object of adoration stared at them with her little beady eyes, half
scared, and half possessed apparently by a mighty impulse to laugh. She
said nothing, however, ere a befrizzled young man, in a pink dalmatic of
fantastic cut, arose, then again bent low and craved "her most gracious
condescension to let him speak."

"And _who_ are you?" came back her incisive tones.

"I, Sacred Majesty? I am by patent the imperial court poet. This day,
only one hour since, suddenly overwhelmed by the greatness of my theme,
I was inspired to prepare these verses in the meter of Archilochos, and
according to the precise rules of the Alexandrian school of poetics.
Doubtless if your Sacred Majesty should command me later to recast them
in Sapphics, or in the meters of Theokritos----"

"Say them off----" cut short Kasia.

The bard cleared his throat thrice and began in high tones:

    "When the bright hand of Eos gilds the skies,
    When through the doors of Night's black dungeon flies
      The stately chariot of victorious Day,
    Lo! with mad transports we exultant come
    To hail the Mother of the Newer Rome,
      Voicing our homage in this solemn lay."

"Solemn what?" demanded Kasia.

"'Lay,' Sacred Majesty. The word, I avow upon my honour as a votary of
the Muses, is used in this sense for 'stately ode' by Pindar,
Aristophanes and Sophocles."

"Pray talk like a Christian," entreated the old woman, fumbling with her
needlework.

Maurice Dukas rose from his knees with a great air of authority. "Master
Poet," he commanded, "your intrusion is untimely. Would you monopolize
the Empress Mother's august attention when so many of her subjects must
tender their profound homage? Let your Sacred Majesty deign to look
favourably upon certain of these young women who have come to place
their dexterity, wit and beauty at your admirable disposal. My daughter
Theophano here is sighing with anguish lest she should not be permitted
to minister to your imperial necessities."

"And _my_ daughter, also, please your August Omnipotence," thrust in
Libanios most politely. "Oh! how faithfully she'll serve you."

"And my three," cried the Arch-Chamberlain, "pious and proper girls,
skillful in needlework and cookery."

"Needlework and cookery! When did they learn them!" muttered Euphoria,
in a venomed whisper to a companion, then she raised her voice: "Oh,
Ever-adorable Mistress, if only I might be your tire-woman, your
bond-slave!"

Kasia clapped her hands over her ears. "Good people," she pleaded, "a
little silence, or by the Gospels I'll turn mad."

By this time everybody was again standing and exchanging glances, some
angry, some sheepish.

"I don't believe any of you," went on Kasia, her needle now plying
furiously. "I've been in Constantinople ever since Leo's father died,
and my boy was made spatharios. Never any of you have been half civil to
me before, though fawning enough on him. He'd have showed his anger
about it, if I'd permitted. And now, because you need him against the
Saracens, he's been made Emperor. Perhaps he deserves to be--if it is
his mother who says so. But as for me, I'm what I was the day before
yesterday--a simple old peasant woman, to whom the Saints (beyond my
deserts) have given a son who's become a great man. And for all your
kneeling and robe-kissing and honey-dripping words, I can see clean
through you. You're all inwardly laughing at me, and will call me names
the moment you quit this garden."

Libanios the Logothete was the first to recoil in a kind of horror.
"Laughter? We call your Sacred Majesty names? Who are the authors of so
vile a calumny?"

"Stop before you begin to forswear yourself," ordered the old woman.
"I'm not quite so foolish as I look. And you--all of you, painted,
curled and perfumed mistresses,"--her disapproving glance smote terror
through all the simpering young patricianesses--"I'll have competent
tire-women without your assistance--thank you. And if you're thinking,
any one of you, to trap my son Leo through his mother, find some other
way!"

"Refreshing frankness!" cried the Logothete.

"Sparkling wit!" chimed Dukas.

"Felicitous epithets!" exclaimed the poet.

What further applause Kasia might have evoked history records not, for
this same moment a very ill-dressed serving boy rushed indecorously into
the garden.

"Pope Michael to see the _despoina_," he bawled, never bending his knee,
"immediately! Says it's very important!"

"Don't stand gawking, then," commanded his mistress, "send him in. If
these fine people can endure me, they can endure Michael, who's far
better than most of 'em."

The good pope entered almost at the servitor's heels. His black robe was
sprinkled with dust, his tall hat set awry, his long hair and beard were
in a tangle. In his evident excitement he hardly comprehended that the
high-born visitors were even present. He made straight for Kasia.

"_Kyria_," he began, without the slightest reverence, then perforce
stopped to catch breath. The noble spectators all shivered together.

"_Kyria_?" groaned Theophano, in an anguished whisper. "He addressed the
Empress Mother as if she were a centurion's wife!"

"No matter," urged her father, "he has her ear. Cringe to him."

"Get your breath, pope," enjoined Kasia. "Holy St. Demetrios, have you
been racing in the Hippodrome?"

"_I've found Kannebos_," gasped the priest, evidently bursting with his
news. "He's at the Hospital of Samson. He's confessed."

Kasia sprang from her seat with her arms swinging above her head, as if
routing a swarm of gnats.

"Out with you!" sounded her command. "Out, out, I say! My time's taken.
You're not wanted. If I'm Empress-Mother, I'll test out my power by
having the man or maid who lingers whipped. Whipping-post and stocks--or
something worse! Out, or when Basil comes----"

"Her Sacred Majesty's leisure seems prempted," announced the
Arch-Chamberlain with his best dignity; "we can wisely withdraw."

The whole company retreated with ignoble haste. They were greeted not
without satirical looks and mock congratulations by their peers excluded
earlier. Already a cordon of Protectors had been flung around the house,
and the neighbouring streets were black with heads. Theophano Dukas wept
in sheer misery.

"Oh, intolerable insult--that unspeakable woman! To think that she must
dominate the palace!"

"At least, she treated us all impartially with the same outrageousness,"
soothed her father. "We must wait our chance. She's so doltish she
doesn't take in her elevation. You can still conquer." ...

... While the cars of the disconsolate patricianesses were rattling them
back to their paternal mansions, Michael, treating Kasia precisely as he
might in the olden days, told his story. And as he told it the little
woman's eyes fairly danced in her head.

Michael, it appeared, had been keeping back a part of his secret for
several days. All through the confusions attending the rise and downfall
of the unfortunate Theodosius III, and the excitement of the elevation
of Leo, the pope had steadily held to his search for Kannebos. The
police had done their best, although the sailor seemed to have vanished
completely, but the tenacious priest never relaxed, and shortly before
the day in question a nursing sister at the great public Hospital of
Samson sent word to him that a seaman had been brought in, grievously
wounded in an affray with coast pirates off Heraclea.

The fellow had gasped out his name as "Kannebos," but for two days it
seemed doubtful whether life would stay in him. He was too weak even for
a religious confession. Then his tide turned, and for many hours Michael
hardly quitted his bedside. Presently it was easy enough to make him
talk about a wild and sinful past, but not "of certain matters he had
sworn on the Sacrament to keep secret." However, Michael was a master in
winning the confidence of the unfortunate. Partly by genuine kindness,
partly by a show of religious authority, partly by skillfully creating
the belief that Plato had already betrayed nearly all of the business,
Kannebos was brought to feel that the sin of breaking an oath was
outweighed by the greater sin of concealing a crime. At the very moment
the trumpets blew all over the city proclaiming the formal accession of
Leo, Kannebos (under pledge of every kind of immunity) had whimpered the
essential fact that on the night after the abduction at Therapia he had
delivered Anthusa to the nuns of the Isle of Cedars with injunctions to
keep her there for ever. The instant these words were from him, Michael
had set forth on his unclerkly run for Kasia.

The old woman veritably quivered with delight. "Oh, happiness! What
news for 'the boy'! 'Sacred Majesty?' What's that pleasure compared to
this?"

"Contain yourself, dear _kyria_," urged Michael. "I fear many things.
Much time has elapsed. Those nuns are unspeakably fanatical. If
Anthusa's alive, her health may be broken for ever by their austerities.
Very likely they've forced her to take the vows, in which case only a
solemn brief from the Patriarch can release her."

"The more cause for haste!" cried Kasia. "What's to be done?"

"Why, if available, a dromond can be sent to the Isle with his
Beatitude's orders."

"Basil," screamed the old woman, when that officer, with Placidia,
entered the garden, not, indeed, to bow the knee, but to salaam and
courtesy, "are all those gay-plumaged simpletons right when they call me
'Empress-Mother'?"

"Very right, please your Sacred Majesty."

"Then take my first command. Give Michael a dromond--the fastest one in
the navy yard. Let it go to Spain, or Egypt, or any other outlandish
place if he orders it. And you, Placidia, I'll give you something
harder. I suppose for 'the boy's' sake I mustn't disgrace myself again.
If I can't act like an Empress, at least I need not act like a fool. I
take it they won't let me live here much longer, though this house is
quite to my liking and I've just rearranged the furniture. Find some
proper clothes for me to wear, and hunt out some nook in the palace
where I can tuck myself without being stared at by everybody. Then I can
wait until Leo comes. After that I'll tell him to give those
lily-fingered Magnificences quite enough to think about without
bothering his poor old mother."




CHAPTER XXII

"LEO, TU VINCAS!"


When the cold retreated and the first spring winds blew over the Isle of
Cedars yet another time, Anthusa realized that the nuns were again
expecting her to join the sisterhood. More and more had they come to
depend on her knowledge, her judgment, her powers of firm command. At
first they had been merely delighted by the melody of her voice, and by
her superior accomplishments; now they recognized in her a being as it
were for a nobler sphere, one through her sweet influence to be obeyed
in all things.

Simple as children, as the nuns for the most part were, by this time
such was Anthusa's control of them that she could perhaps have managed
her own escape. She often thought thereon when in the delicious evenings
the southern wind blew through the cedars, the little waves lapped the
pebbles, and the stars swung up from the violet dark water. But in truth
she dared no longer to look on her vanished world with hope. Sophia was
swallowed for ever in the Moslem East. Even if her father most
improbably should have survived the shock of the loss of his daughters,
he was near his last goal. And Leo? "If"--Anthusa told herself--"when he
was strategos, Sophia must needs warn me against foolish dreamings, what
now--when he is Captain General, and perchance with a foot upon the
throne?"

Where then had she home, welcome, friends left to her, save among the
nuns of the Isle of Cedars? Anthusa would bow her head after such
thoughts and say, "Is not my life here God's will? Who am I to strive
against it?" Whether she took the vows or refused them seemed a matter
of indifference. Her lot was fixed upon the Island all the same.

The nuns no longer were repellent to her. It mattered not their hair was
shorn and their faces shrunken. She knew the characters of them all:
some were wise, some foolish; some superstitious, some truly pious; some
petty, full of gossip, jealous; some charitable, unselfish and
high-minded. The Isle of Cedars was, in short, merely a little world by
itself. It appeared to be the part of the world where Heaven desired her
to live and labour.

Arkadia the hegumena had become Anthusa's devoted slave. She had herself
been forced into the order to expiate the sin of killing in self-defence
an utterly brutal husband. The burden of the deed was still heavy upon
her soul, and often she had dreaded lest by accepting the headship she
was not admitting the perilous demon of pride. With other nuns she
actually discussed abdicating her honours that Anthusa might immediately
succeed her. Anthusa fought the suggestion resolutely, but could not
silence it. Yet had she become hegumena her actual power could scarcely
have increased. She constantly had to resist having responsibility
thrust upon her. It was now "Ask her," or, more affectionately, "Ask
_makaira_" (the "blessed dear") in everything. And therefore simply
because she was gracious, patient, intelligent, and withal in all things
efficiently good, her authority ever grew; and not without inward
amusement she found the nuns dating community events by a kind of era,
"before, or after, _she_ came."

Nor did the chained hermit, Symeon, escape her spell. The holy man
indeed complained at set intervals, that "the sight of that Daughter of
Sin afflicted him," and that he had done ill not to betake himself to
the monastery of Xeropotamos at Mt. Athos, famous for its austerities,
or at least to a cell on the slopes of Bithynian Olympos. For all that,
he grumbled exceedingly if Anthusa did not come for long conversations
conducted at safe distance around the corner of his boulder. It was she
who persuaded him from cutting off his other ear, lest it be a vanity
preventing constant visions of angels. And the nuns having duly whetted
his curiosity, he actually requested Anthusa to sing within easy
hearing, after which he often complained (if he did not enjoy her music
at least every other day) that he was tormented by constant apparitions
of fiends, sometimes as serpentlike monsters, sometimes as wanton and
alluring Sirens, but always seeking to pluck away his soul to Hell.

Thus one day slipped into another, and Anthusa more than ever tried to
cease looking back, and to compel herself to look forward. The sense of
inward power, to be used for just and loving ends, possessed her. What
if Constantinople and the old life were lost? Here were half a hundred
women, dried and perverted souls, many of them, but made in the
Almighty's spiritual image, ordained unto immortality, and likely for
the present life to become as wax in her own hands.

A few of the nuns who had "known the world" somewhat as she had known
it, and who had been broken forever in their first six months upon the
island, marvelled at her serenity, her self-control, nay, many a time at
her guileless humour, and her rippling laugh.

"How have you done it, Anthusa?" demanded old Rhoda one day. "You are
thinner than when you came to us, and paler. No one grows fat on our
beans and cabbage. But save for your hair, you could go back to the city
and have all the dandies on the Mese turn to stare at you, if you
tossed aside your veil. Why aren't you crushed down, like all the rest
of us?"

Whereat Anthusa laughed the laugh of musical water.

"Dear Rhoda, I don't understand what you mean. I haven't gazed into the
mirror pool for months, and very likely I look as withered as old
Maistrichia. Yet this I have read, and great happiness it gives me,
'Behold the Kingdom of God is _within_ you,' and possessing this boon
what matters it so greatly whether I can go to talk with Symeon and ask
him whether he had another vision of Jacob's ladder last night, or can
go to the Theodosian Forum to ask a gossip if there'll be a court
procession out to the Convent of St. John?"

Rhoda shook her short grey locks, sorely puzzled. "You're past my
understanding," she confessed; "but then we all know that you are a
saint."

At length came a day late in March when the whole island seemed awake
with bursting greenery. Anthusa delighted in all the little flowerets
peeping out amid the rocks. She culled a great basketful of their
fragrance to pile upon the chapel altar. The encircling sea seemed no
longer so estranging to her; it was very blue and appeared almost
friendly. Half-way to the horizon was a tall galley bearing closer to
the Isle of Cedars than came the run of shipping. She could see the long
tiers of oars, pumiced white, flashing under the morning sunbeams. But
the sub-hegumena had beaten the gong summoning the nuns to chapel, and
Anthusa quitted the beloved vista. She had promised to sing, but some of
the older nuns had insisted that the sisterhood first chant through the
long dull hymn of Gregory of Nazianos, "In Praise of Female Celibacy."
Anthusa groaned inwardly over its unpoetic strophes, but for the sake
of the others forbore open objection, and the lifeless chanting went on:

    "Thy poor and tarnished wear,
    Thy unadornd hair,
    I value more than pearls
    Or silken dress or curls.

    "With paints let others dress
    The Living God's likeness;
    Live tablets they of sin
    And all that's base within.
    Whate'er thou hast of beauty,
    Die let it all to duty.

    "Of men, though good they be,
    The sight were best to flee;
    The Tree of Life's thy care,
    The serpent's guile beware."

But just as the next slow stanza was quavering, a very aged sister,
nearest the chapel door, burst into a scream of horror: "MEN! A shipload
of men! Landing on the island!"

The chant died instantly. Anthusa was with Arkadia and Salvina when they
ran out with all the rest to confirm the fell tidings. Very true! A tall
ship, a great imperial dromond with scarlet and purple streamers
flapping from prow and poop, swung close to the little beach. Her decks
swarmed with the ogling sons of Adam. A pinnace was just grating on the
strand. Upon the shore leaped half a dozen vigorous mariners, next two
tall officers in the flashing armour of the Protectors, then with the
dignity due their black robes, two churchmen--apparently a young deacon
and an older pope. With them was an elderly and soberly clad woman.

The seamen made fast the boat, and the two Protectors waited for the
elder clergyman ere advancing in a little knot towards the ruined
temple. The nuns fluttered like distracted doves. Such an event had not
been in the history of the community. What store of painfully won merit
in Heaven might not be forfeited by even this unwelcomed intrusion of
the hostile sex?

In their dismay full half the sisters looked instinctively to Anthusa.
"What shall we do?" was their call to their mentor. Before, however, she
could advance and accost the strangers, a cry of sudden intuition burst
from the hegumena, "They've come for _her_!"

The words had scarce slipped from Arkadia ere a dozen nuns had their
hands on Anthusa: "They've come to take away our saint. Hide her,
sisters; hide!" And before their victim could cry out they were hurrying
her by main force into the densest growth of the cedars upon the shaggy
hill of the island.

With grim countenances Arkadia and Salvina turned to confront the
intruders. But precious time had been lost; the invaders had been
advancing and the flurry attending the seizure of Anthusa had not wholly
escaped them. As Arkadia advanced with threatening gestures, the elder
priest--that is to say, Michael--stepped forward with his right hand
raised in the sign of blessing. In his left hand he bore a gilt-bronze
crucifix upon a tall staff.

"Do I salute the Venerable Hegumena of the Sisterhood of St. Asella?" he
inquired blandly.

"You do," responded Arkadia, torn betwixt feelings of outrage at this
astonishing intrusion and the respect which she knew was proper to a
superior member of the clergy.

"Know then," continued Michael, "I am commissioned not merely to convey
to your nuns my own poor blessing but the peculiar benediction of his
Beatitude the Patriarch, the fame for their piety having spread through
all Orthodox lands."

"His Beatitude is good," rejoined Arkadia, unappeased; "but have you
landed merely to tell me this?"

"Not entirely, Venerable Mother. I have also briefs, sealed by the
Patriarch's great seal, empowering me to lay on you a certain
injunction." He flourished a scroll whereon she could see great crosses
and a heavy leaden seal.

"Say on," requested the misdoubting woman.

"It is known to his Beatitude that you have on your island a certain
Anthusa Maria, daughter of Kallinikos, Consul of the Philosophers. She
was stolen from her home by criminal violence. You are enjoined to
respect this summons and deliver this girl to me and to the Reverend
Deacon Hippias, my brother here, whether or not she has taken the vows
of your order."

The lines on Arkadia's jaw grew rigid, and her tones defiant. "Sir
Pope," she lied stoutly, "we have no such damsel on the island. We know
not whereof you ask." The moment she had spoken Salvina hissed in her
ear, "Fool, why didn't you say that she was dead?" But it was then too
late.

"Speak with caution, Venerable Mother," replied Michael with firm
courtesy; "a deliberate falsehood answering a lawful question from the
Patriarch's deputy can undo the accumulated merits of many years of
fasts and vigils. We are not come without weighty information."

"We know nothing," said Arkadia, flushed and desperate.

"Very well, Venerable Mother," asserted the Pope calmly, "in that case
you and your nuns cannot refuse each separately to take your oaths to
that effect upon the Holy Sacrament, invoking upon yourselves eternal
damnation if you lie."

The simple-minded hegumena broke down, and fell on her knees in tears:
"Oh, we cannot! I always knew this would happen--that God would take her
away. She has become the joy of our hearts and the light of our eyes.
We loved her to the point of sinfulness, hence this punishment. Go,
Salvina, tell the others to bring her. It's useless to strive against
Heaven." ...

... When they brought Anthusa to Michael at first he was startled by her
boyish hair, her coarse brown robe, and the pallor of her countenance;
but her mouth, eyes and lofty forehead were the same which had made the
Strategos of Thrace dream dreams. She recognized Michael, yet seemed to
look on him and his escort in a daze as on apparitions from a strange
world, a world once hers but eons since closed to her for ever.

The nuns clung to her dress, kissed her hands, wept aloud and piteously,
beseeching her not to leave them; and at first Anthusa, wondering and
distressed, seemed quite open to their pleas.

"Dear Father," she said, with troubled countenance, "I was just becoming
very happy here. What makes me go away?"

"It is the Empress-Mother's command."

"The Empress-Mother? And why she?"

"Why, she was _Kyria_ Kasia, to be sure."

"Kasia?" Anthusa pressed her hands to her temples and laughed
unnaturally. "I think something in my head has snapped. Kasia? I can't
understand. Why've you come for me with the great dromond and the
Patriarch's seal? Who wants me back in Constantinople? Who is there?"

"Sophia. Fergal saved her. They are betrothed. They want you for their
wedding."

Anthusa laughed again, and again wildly. "But my father?"

"Contrary to all expectation, the good God has spared him despite your
calamity. Your Pera kinsmen were very kind. He wants you to comfort his
old age."

"And--_him_?" she demanded in unnatural tones; "but I forget--he's
Captain General now, and when he was only strategos Sophia warned me.
She was right. I ought to remain here. But----"

The knot of men and nuns was brushed aside, as from the boat came flying
old Marsa, her grey robes streaming behind her.

"_Philotata! Philotata!_ Why do you tarry? We all want you so. Our
hearts ache for you." And her strong arms closed around Anthusa with the
grasp of lawful possession.

"I--I must go from you," half laughed, half wailed Anthusa to the nuns.
The latter, however, were almost ready to fight Michael and the
man-of-war's men when they tried to take the rescued prisoner away. The
scene became so hectic that the good pope abruptly announced, "Speed's
the best mercy!" and bade the others hurry her down to the pinnace. The
sisters shrieked and pleaded on the shores:

"You have given us a better way. You have given us a sight of Heaven.
You must come back. You must come back."

"I shall never forget you. I will come back," cried Anthusa, with
streaming eyes, while some of the nuns, quite beside themselves, threw
sand in the air and called down curses on the seamen, on Michael and on
the very Patriarch. Michael himself, not unmoved, assured Arkadia: "Your
island shall not be forgotten. The Empress-Mother herself shall study
your needs. You shall not be left desolate."

But nothing could pacify the nuns, and they stood a forlorn weeping
company upon the narrow sands until the pinnace reached the dromond's
side and they saw Anthusa passed up and into the state cabin.

"Give way!" rang the rowing-master's call, and the great oar-banks began
heaving and clanking together.

As the galley sought the broad breast of the Marmora, Marsa, on whose
kindly bosom Anthusa had sobbed out her troubles since a very little
girl, vainly strove to tell all that had happened since that night at
Therapia; but Anthusa seemed hardly to comprehend. The nurse spoke of
the new Emperor, but Anthusa only talked more wildly of "the Captain
General--now in Anatolia."

"She's been hard smitten, poor lamb," spoke Marsa at last, abandoning
all attempts at narration. "The Panagia pity her; it'll take much time
to comprehend everything." And so, on the nurse's congenial shoulder,
Anthusa wept long and passionately.

All through that day and into the night sail and oar swept the dromond
onward. In the darkness they anchored off Pityusa, and with the bursting
light the returned captive could once more see the imperial city.

       *       *       *       *       *

The third morning hour of March 25th, in the Christian year 717, a
perfect spring day by land and sea and bending heavens.

A hundred state galleys, twice as many tawny-winged merchantmen, a
thousand caiques were strewn out over the Marmora as far as the Isles of
the Princes or up the blue river of the Bosphorus and along the towering
southern walls of the capital to their southwestern angle where the
great battlements of the Golden Gate lifted proudly against the azure.
It was the coronation day.

On the Asiatic shores the white houses of Chrysopolis and Chalcedon were
decked with innumerable flags; thousands of other flags waved in the
soft breeze all along the city walls from the summit of every tower and
from the vast forest of spars. Every master of skiff or coaster, tall
trader or warlike dromond was on the glittering water. From the poops
or forecastles sounded pipes, harps, rebecks, or the clarion call of
brass. Musicians, passengers and rowers, all in carnival mood, were
crowned with spring flowers. Where were the Saracens? Constantinople
seemed living confidently in the joyous present, defiant of the morrow.

In the city itself for those unlucky mortals denied the water festival
there was music in all the fora. At the twenty public bakeries and at
the one hundred and twenty public grain shops there were free
distributions, not merely of bread, but of oil, cooked meat and wine.
The public baths were thrown open gratis. In the Hippodrome tightrope
dancers, tumblers and conjurers were dividing the applause with boxers
and wrestlers. The variety theatres and puppet shows were thronged. A
million people, pleasure-loving and beauty-loving, were _en fte_. Above
their temples stood the crosses, but below appeared a carnival meet for
the Hellenic gods.

Now at last above the Pharos, the lofty lighthouse by the Palace
compound, broke out an enormous purple banner. The sight thereof was
greeted by a shout from every ship and caique; then the tumult rippled
along the crowded walls: the imperial trireme was quitting the Asiatic
haven of Eutropios. Out into the centre of the thronged channel she
advanced, bearing herself proudly as became the floating chariot of the
new Majesty. Gold flashed from prow and stern, gold and purple from the
liveries of the hundred and seventy oarsmen whose blades moved with the
rhythm of a vast machine. Her many gonfalons were gold, scarlet, blue
and purple. At the masthead lifted the imperial eagle, golden again, and
with widely outspread wings.

Under a canopy of scarlet silk the spectators could see the
protostrators and strategoi in their silvered armour, but even from
afar was also visible the lofty seat near the stern whereon sat a single
figure, with the great purple robe showing clearly under the dazzling
light. "Leo Augustus! Ten thousand years to the bulwark of the Empire!"
Thus ship called to ship, and long before the great trireme had crossed
the mouth of the Bosphorus, waters and walls were tossing on the
acclamations.

The water pageant moved the length of Constantinople, the trireme being
followed by all its thousandfold train. At a quay beyond the walls the
Emperor disembarked with his magnificoes. Some of the attendant craft
discharged their noble passengers who were themselves to march in the
coronation procession. Others hastened to the Theodosian and Julian
harbours in the southern seawalls, that the carnival seekers might
hasten through bystreets to the Mese, there to cast wreaths and flowers
upon the imperial cortge.

       *       *       *       *       *

The dromond which bore Anthusa had moved leisurely in the wake of the
great fleet. Off Proti a swift barge had come aboard: It brought Sophia
herself and, with her, Fergal washed of his disguise, distinguished and
noble in his spatharios uniform. The sisters met alone in the cabin, so
different from that other cabin where Kannebos had wrenched them
asunder. Michael and Fergal, holding wisely aloof, only knew that they
were nigh hysterical on first meeting. So much there was to tell that
almost nothing could be said between tears and laughter. But while they
embraced the oarage of the dromond had swept them into the Julian haven.
Sophia indeed protested that Anthusa was in no wise herself and needed
instantly to be borne homeward, but the Celt assured her that it was
impossible for their mule cars to cross the Mese until the end of the
great procession. The land pageant had already started from the Golden
Gate; the High Street was one mass of people, and the best they could do
was to proceed to a viewing stand waiting privileged folk under the
porticoes of the Forum of Constantine and then proceed the moment the
train had passed and the ways became passable. Anthusa still gazed about
in a manner apparently distraught, but there seemed no alternative; and
Fergal forced them a way to the coign of vantage.

The returned captive was just collected enough to realize that before
her distracted sight was passing an enormous spectacle. Later the court
poet was to hammer out formidable strophes in praise of the wise and
pious, the brave and mighty that swept down the Triumphal Way. In the
Golden Gate (a soaring mass of white marble and gilded statues, whence
the portal's name) they had unbarred the great central entrance
permitted only to monarchs at their coronation or returning from
victorious wars. Over it spread a colossal figure of the Virgin, in
flowing draperies, extending a laurel crown. Under it, then up the whole
Mese, swept, and sprinkled with perfumed water, and festooned with
innumerable flower chains, had moved the imperial procession.

In the van tramped the thousands of Leo's own Anatolic army--veterans
hard and fit, true heirs of the Roman legions, whose weapons even now
flashed with keen steel and not with silver. Then in gorgeous vestments,
raising their hymns, advanced the almost equal hosts of the clergy of
Constantinople, bearing their banners blazoned with holy pictures. After
that rumbled the gaudy cars with the families of all the
magnificoes--consulars, senators, patricians, logothetes--each escorted
by a platoon of servants in their lordly master's livery. Next followed
the chiefs of the Green and Blue factions, followed with all their
favourite jockeys driving prancing quadrig. Next, amid clashing of
cymbals and clarion brass, came the head of the "sacred" cortge itself.
The tall files of the Protectors moved in arrogant columns--the
Patriarch in blazing cope and mitre on a white mule led by a patrician,
then two by two the major palace officials, and finally the military
commanders, their floriated dalmatics sweeping down from their gilded
armour almost to the hoofs of their horses.

All these and many more Anthusa saw, yet saw not. Sophia was distressed
at her sister's wandering eye.

"Cannot she understand," she demanded, "why we are here?"

"Marsa told her many times," replied Michael, pitying, "and I also. She
cannot take it in that Leo is Basileus. To her he is still always the
'Captain General.'"

"We should not linger," announced Sophia; "she is distressed. Take us
straight home, Fergal."

"It's impossible to cross the Mese now," responded the young officer,
"but it's all soon over. Hear that shouting."

All the uplifted columns along the High Street, crowned by their pagan
gods, were quaking. A rhythmic chant was being carried along by a
marching choir from Hagia Sophia.

    "The blessings of God rest on Leo Augustus!
    The favour of the Holy Trinity rest on Leo Augustus!
    The compassion of the Almighty rest on Leo Augustus!"

From every palace top, from the crowds blackening the crests of the
triumphal arches, from the dense throngs on the pavement, swelled now
the official acclamation in the nigh discarded Latin:

    "_Leo, tu vincas!_
    _Leo, Csar et Imperator, Pius, Felix, semper Augustus!_
    _Leo, tu vincas!_"

And the very volume of the noise at last seemed to force its way into
the brain of Anthusa.

"Leo? They are calling him?" she spoke, Sophia barely hearing her
through the din.

"Why not? He is Emperor as we've so often said. See."

Twenty coal-black steeds led the imperial car, their golden frontlets
set with pure white plumes. White or red were the robes of the ten
patricians and strategoi who walked at the bridles of every pair.
Closest to the car swung the great shoulders of Basil.

Leo sat on a throne of ivory draped with purple, and purple was his
gold-embroidered robe. He was bareheaded. Upon his breast hung a heavy
gold chain with a single gem-set medal. He held not a gilded sceptre but
a black truncheon of command, the token of the warrior. Straight ahead
he gazed, pale of forehead, earnest of eye, ignoring the throngs, the
shouts, the homage--looking to where Hagia Sophia's gleaming dome
uprose, under which he would be clasped with the purple buskins, touched
with the holy oil, crowned with the pearl-set diadem and so be
consecrated successor of Constantine in sacred truth.

"_Leo, tu vincas_," again the thunders. Then from the upper porticoes
girls began casting flowers. They fell around the car like fragrant
hail. "Terror of the Saracens! Our _Lion_ who will save us!" was the
hopeful call of many.

Anthusa had listened transfixed. From her vantage she leaned
frantically. "Leo, they are calling him?" she cried once more. Then some
genius prompted him to lift his eyes. From the heights of the car the
Emperor looked straight at Anthusa.

Marsa had long since cast a veil about the captive's shorn head, and a
blue cloak over her coarse nun's vesture, but the face of Anthusa, white
as the vision of an angel, shone forth to Leo as though the thousands of
other visages were blotted out. The multitude saw the black truncheon
shake in his grasp; they saw him half rise as if to leap from the
moving throne. The car advanced. He sat him down again. To all at a
distance he was once more the image of martial power, but Basil close to
the car saw that his lips and eyelids were quivering....

"... _Leo, tu vincas!_" acclaimed the Forum as the monarch swept on
towards the Augustum. But Anthusa had risen with a piercing cry, "He is
the Basileus!" and fell back into her sister's arms.

"Home, Fergal," ordered Sophia decisively. "You were a fool to thrust
her in this tumult."

Duly rebuked, the Celt carried Anthusa in his own arms down to the
carriages, and his spatharios' uniform made even the dense crowds give
way. Only when they reached the familiar streets by the Aqueduct of
Valens did Anthusa open her eyes.

The House of Peace at last. The rescue and return of its younger
mistress had been very uncertain. Most of the servants were at the fte.
But as they swung Anthusa down before the barred portal, lo! a leaping
and joyous barking. Dorkon, the street dog, all unforgetting, was beside
himself with delight. And now the open door, and Ephraim weeping great
tears of gladness; and then with tottering haste a figure white and
worn, in one hand a parchment, in the other a glowing crucible. At sight
of the homefarer, Kallinikos strove desperately to keep his
philosopher's pride: "As Euripides says concerning the recall of
Alkestis from the dead----" But here parchment and crucible crashed
perilously upon the pavement together. Wide extended were his arms, and
his hoary locks fell over Anthusa: "The blessed child! The blessed
child!" For long that was all that he could say.

Anthusa once again cried long in Sophia's arms that night, but in the
end seemed not a little comforted. Heaven granted the mercy of peaceful
sleep. The next morning she went about the house, peeping in each
familiar nook; entered her father's workroom and rearranged his confused
apparatus and manuscripts. She gathered Tobias and Lethe into her arms
and duly praised the latter's newest kittens. Sophia rejoiced even to
hear her sing. Save for her shorn locks and her pallor, she seemed much
herself, although there were lines of maturity and sore experience upon
her face which no time could take away. The freshness of cloudless youth
had passed for ever, and Marsa caught her talking later to Dorkon as he
wagged his stubby tail and looked up at her with wistful, loyal eyes,
"Ah! Dorkon, you will never become so very great that I shall not dare
to learn to love you."




CHAPTER XXIII

THE GUESTS AT SOPHIA'S WEDDING


Seven days long the coronation festivities continued. It was as if the
new Basileus would give his subjects one last grand carnival ere the
days which must try men's souls.

The palace grounds were thrown open, and weavers, dyers, metal-workers,
carpenters and their wives were suffered to wander through the onyx and
marble colonnades of the Chalke and the Daphne, drink wine in the state
galleries and gape at the mosaic pictures recounting the mighty deeds of
the emperors. They were even allowed to peep into the imperial
bedchamber where the couch of Majesty was set under a vast crimson
canopy spangled with stars of pure gold, or to saunter through the
enormous Tykanisterion, the "Sacred Gardens," where in protected houses
bloomed rare tropical plants; or again to stand around the cages of the
menagerie, where lions, tigers and great apes gazed forth sulkily from
behind their bars.

On coronation night, from the point of St. Demetrios to the Golden Gate,
Constantinople was illuminated. The next day the Basileus with all
ceremony took his seat in the Kathisma at the Hippodrome, and with his
own hands threw the white _mappa_, the napkin signal for starting the
races. The victories were happily divided between the Blues and the
Greens. The next day the games were repeated, and the next, so that the
humblest citizen should have at least one chance at the spectacles.

Each day the Emperor with amazing condescension _ate_ in public, cakes,
figs, and wine being passed along the enormous tiers of benches, while
the sovereign himself in plain view was seen devouring the same victuals
proffered the meanest porter. Everybody thus became the ruler's personal
guest. To supplement the feasts there was a wholesale scattering among
the people of lottery tickets, redeemable in everything from a clay vase
to a small Bosphorus villa near Chelai. A woman was actually killed and
two men seriously hurt during the frantic scrambling. What matter? The
enthusiasm for the new reign became unbounded.

But after the last victors had been crowned, and the last sweet cakes
and vials of oil had been distributed, one morning squads of the
imperial heralds appeared in all the twenty fora, from the glittering
Augustum to the dingy "Long Market" by the Golden Horn. Keen and shrill
were the notes they blew from their silver tubes; then when the noise of
chaffering had ceased, they sounded their proclamation:

     "_Flavius Leo, Christ-loving Basileus of the Romans, to all
     his subjects in Constantinople_:

     "It was fitting that the Roman people should rejoice together,
     and it is fitting that now their rejoicings should find an
     end. Know you, therefore, that God desires to test most sorely
     your courage and steadfastness in His Faith.

     "All the powers of the Hagarine East are directing themselves
     by land and sea against your city. They rage against your holy
     religion, and desire your homes, your riches, your wives, and
     your daughters. Their power is as that of the Beast which
     riseth up out of the sea, upon whose head is the name of
     Blasphemy.

     "Get you to your churches and pray. But do more than pray:
     Look confidently to God and be strong. Make ready to quit
     yourselves like Romans, like Christians, like valiant men. Let
     the Hippodrome and other wonted places of idle resort be
     closed, and let the city organize itself for war.

     "Your Basileus will live or die with you. The Holy Trinity and
     the Panagia whom the Infidels blaspheme will fight for you, if
     you but fight for yourselves. So shall the Hagarines shrink
     back discomfited, and all the nations once more tremble and
     say, 'Behold Constantinople--the city guarded of God.'"

The closing of the Hippodrome and variety theatres was a shock even to
the most thoughtless. Equally startling was the sudden descent of strong
press gangs upon every haunt of the vicious and idle, dragging off stout
fellows by thousands to tug at the oars of the dromonds. The jockeys
were given prompt choice: enlistment in the cavalry or heavy labour upon
the walls. Every hegumen was commanded to admit no more
novices--presumably escaping conscription. The syndics of marble and
mosaic workers, silk weavers and holy-ornament makers, and other
ministers of luxury, were ordered to close their factories and send
their craftsmen to the great arsenal, the Mangana, unless the workmen
preferred to enlist in the spearmen. Edict followed edict, striking the
peaceful with consternation, while through the streets clanged the
squadrons and bands of Leo's Anatolians, men of iron, true sons of the
Roman conquerors of the world, and the living bulwarks still of an
Empire stretching from the Caucasus snows to the capes of Sicily.

The great trade on the "Street of Lamps" slowly ebbed away. The
patricianesses forsook their marble villas along the Bosphorus. The
flitting caiques were less numerous for their rowers were with the
fleet. But the churches became ever more crowded. Incessant the chanting
and the wailing responses, "_Kyrie eleison! Christe eleison!_" Young men
of family discarded their gold-embroidered dalmatics and took lessons in
fencing. Even such spirits as Theophano Dukas began to haunt the
Hospital of Samson and harass the nuns with officious zeal to nurse the
sick.

The popular mood was inevitably a great boon to such Job's comforters as
Marinos. There was always a fascinated crowd gazing upwards as he raved
from his pillar:

"Verily wherein are ye better than the Jews of old? Ye have waxed fat
and wanton in your sins. Ye have said, 'The evil day is not for us.' And
now upon all descends the great Judgment of the Lord. Shall ye not
become as an unclean thing, and all your boasted righteousness as filthy
rags? Of a truth Constantinople for her whoredoms and witchcrafts shall
be as a wilderness and a desolation. Yea, even Hagia Sophia, that
beautiful temple wherein your fathers worshipped, shall be burned with
fire. Bow to the dust, therefore. Submit to the great doom of an angry
God!"

After that, words cannot tell the agony of his hearers.

Nevertheless, despite the general pall above Constantinople, the life of
multitudes went on quietly as though the next year was to be even as the
last. And within the House of Peace there were neither military edicts
nor anchorites' warnings. Simple as her preparations perforce became,
Sophia could not without decent feminine deliberation meet Fergal at the
altar. So about four weeks after the coronation of Leo she and the new
spatharios were wed.

       *       *       *       *       *

Hagia Sophia was the cathedral, but the Church of the Apostles, the
second fane of the city, was nearer the Theodosian Forum and the
University, and there they had the wedding. With sound of pipe and lute
the marriage procession streamed thither, late on a balmy April
afternoon. Under the five-domed vaulting and before the great paintings
on the iconostasis, the gilded altar screen, Pope Michael met his young
friends and pronounced the marriage liturgy. Then, just as the twilight
fell, with many of Fergal's new comrades in the guard-corps to bear the
torches, forth they set with song and shouting for the little house by
the War Department, made ready now for the bridal pair by the special
orders of Kasia.

Anthusa walked with her Pera kinsfolk behind the car that bore Fergal
and his happy bride. Her own thoughts had been all on Sophia, the
innumerable little complexities of the wedding, and how henceforth she,
Anthusa, must care more than ever before for her father. Bridal
processions were common enough along the streets, and the threatened war
had caused many weddings to be hastened, but as they turned into the
broad Adrianople Way the torchlight and the singing made many spectators
turn to fling them a merry wish or a "Christ bless you!" Then, suddenly
as they passed a deep portico, Anthusa was startled on beholding three
figures in plain mantles step from among the groups of gazers. The next
moment the trio, two men and a woman, had joined the procession, and the
woman was at Anthusa's side, whereupon a familiar voice sounded in her
ear:

"Keep quiet, girl; don't be scared at us. It's only 'your cousins from
Thrace' who want to try the dishes at Sophia's bridal party."

"_Kyria_ Kasia--I mean Sacred Majesty," began Anthusa in alarm, only to
have a vigorous hand thrust over her mouth.

"Silence, hussy," ordered the old woman energetically, drawing her hood
closer with her free hand; "none of that! It's awful at the palace:
treated all day like the Panagia, with not a mortal but Leo, and (praise
the Saints) also Peter who dares to look me in the eye. Even Michael's
learning to scrape and bend double. Suffer us for one night. You see
Peter has managed this for us."

"I am glad to see you safe and sound, _Kyria_ Anthusa," spoke a man's
deep voice now at her side. Well that her gala veil shaded her face from
the torchlight. Anthusa had not heard that voice since the parting on
the quay at Therapia. She did not dare to answer.

"_Kyria_ Anthusa," Leo spoke again, "your 'cousin from Thrace' did not
know of your happy deliverance when he saw you--the day of that
procession. Not till that evening did my mother have chance to tell me
all. The news filled up an eventful day. You know of course how I
rejoice to see you well. And where is my learned friend, your father
Kallinikos?"

Anthusa knew Leo was speaking with marked constraint and was picking and
choosing his words. Her own temples glowed, and she answered with
extreme embarrassment:

"He rides in the car with Sophia and Fergal. He has grown very feeble."

But here the flute-players drowned all converse with a wild orgiastic
melody. Some of the younger men broke from the procession and began
leaping about like harmless satyrs. The spirit of the moment was
infectious. Anthusa beheld Leo snatch a red torch, toss it high and join
in the shout and chorus with the rest. Once more she saw in his carnival
mood the abandon of the long-repressed schoolboy, momentarily escaped
from the master's rod.

When he returned more decorously to her side she had lost all fear of
him, answered gaily, chaffed him upon his rustic clothes, and demanded
if "such were the fashions on his new farm in Thrace." And he gave back
like badinage or along with the other wedding guests let his strong
voice roll out in deep campfire songs as if on the Phrygian marches. It
was all as if they had suddenly renewed the artless intercourse that had
prevailed at the House of Peace. Anthusa forgot all about Sophia,
Fergal, her father. She forgot that Leo was now Basileus. The procession
was at Kasia's little house ere she came back to herself.

Kasia's own gaze was wistful when she gazed around her narrow aula,
hers truly no more, but swarming now with Sophia's wedding guests.

"And are you not happy at the palace, dear lady?" Anthusa was fain to
ask, noting the shadows on the older woman's countenance.

"Happy?" echoed Kasia testily, making her round body sway. "I suppose
God's happy when all the angels prostrate themselves before Him. But
unluckily I'm not God. Chamberlains, ushers, silentiaries, and the
Master of this and the Logothete of that--under your feet everywhere!
And then the vast shoals of women with their mountain-like headdresses,
and white veils, and squeaking voices, with the Grand Mistress of the
Palace at the head of the whole tribe--a patricianess who wouldn't have
let me touch the sole of her red shoes a year ago! And it's my 'Sacred
command' here and my 'Sacred pleasure' there--until the next time I'm
called 'Sacred anything' I vow I'll scream."

"And your son?" asked Anthusa, laughing her old melodious laugh. "Is he
equally bored by the splendour?"

"Leo's younger and more versed in courtly ways," confessed Kasia. "He
says they are the price an emperor must pay for being suffered to do his
duty--and he adds something, too (I don't understand it), about the
necessity of imposing upon imaginations of the people. That's perhaps
all right for him, but it's woe for his poor mother. And even he"--with
a sly wink--"I notice enjoys being just plain 'Leo' for to-night."

The Emperor, in fact, was taking obvious pleasure, under his thin
incognito, in mingling with the innocent feasters, and joining Fergal's
comrades who made merry with the groom and bride. Presently, however, he
slipped from them, and Kasia took Anthusa by the arm and led her aside
to where she and her son could hear her entire story; and for the first
time Leo knew directly all that had happened, especially since the
second kidnapping by Kannebos.

Ere she had finished, his great hand had pressed the arm of his chair
until the firm wood cracked, and at length he burst forth, "After all,
it's a joy to be an Emperor!"

"And why, bumpkin?" demanded his mother.

"It gives one better power to chase down this infamy. When the Saracens
are gone let those who plotted this deed pray for God's mercy."

Anthusa crossed herself. "If my sister and I do not pray for vengeance,
wherefore should others?"

"Because," replied Leo bluntly, "you women are sisters to the angels. We
men are otherwise. The stroke was aimed at you, yet was meant for me. I
am keenly touched in my honour."

"I do not understand," ventured Anthusa.

The soldier beside her shrugged his mighty shoulders. "No matter,
tender-hearted _kyria_; it profits not to explain. Despite my boasts
just now I can nevertheless do nothing till we have reckoned with the
Saracens--and that won't be to-morrow. Private hopes, private desires,
private vengeance--all must tarry. To-night I steal a few moments only
from days that all belong to the Empire. But, God willing, there will
come a time----"

Not completing his words, he arose with a gesture of deep feeling, and
went to Kallinikos, who was gazing somewhat helplessly upon the
revellers in the aula. The sage recognized the other, but in the
simplicity of his soul was neither abashed nor astonished, promptly
recalling aloud that Hadrian had visited the house of the learned
Favorinus and Marcus Aurelius had made an intimate of the equally
erudite Fronto. With artless delight he explained how, now that his mind
was relieved by Anthusa's return, he projected compiling a
"Myriobiblion," a grand encyclopdia of excerpts from three hundred
obscure authors, as the crown of all his researches.

"Then you forsake your physics and crucibles?" asked Leo, with apparent
carelessness.

"Indeed, good son," Kallinikos spoke as he would to a pupil, "I am
satisfied that the quests for the philosopher's stone and for the ring
of Gyges are but sinful emptiness. In gratitude for Anthusa's return I
have vowed to pursue them no more."

"Nevertheless, father," rejoined the patient monarch, "you recall the
improved catapult which hastened our first acquaintance. If now, in this
public danger, you could but think of some other military device----"

"I am a servant of the Muses," repeated the patriarch a little
sententiously. "My life belongs to pure learning. Would that my end
could be even as that of the admirable Archimedes, who was so intent
upon a mathematical problem he could not recall himself enough to answer
the Roman soldier, who then, in the anger of ignorance, killed him."

"Even so," suggested Leo, "noble learning is in no wise degraded when
put at the service of those on whom rests the awful burden of public
defence. You have heard constantly of the Saracen peril?"

"Fergal and Sophia talk thereof at table," confessed Kallinikos, "and
even Anthusa seems taking alarm. I observe that her mind is not so well
fixed as formerly upon assisting me with my researches."

"Venerable father," Leo laid his hand upon the sage's gown, "it is said
to be the privilege of rulers to make request even of the deeply
learned. Consider then my words. The Saracen attack will be terrible,
more terrible than I dare proclaim lest I demoralize the city. To turn
back the High Emir may exhaust our uttermost valour, and the
responsibility of saving this vast Christian city and all this Roman
Empire is mine. Have pity upon me. Condescend to search the vast
treasure house of your mind. Is there no old, nigh-forgotten device, is
there no new device of your own inventing, which may make it easier for
me to hurl back the alien, to save thousands of Christian lives in
battle, nay, perhaps to save from slaughter and sack unspeakably mighty
Constantinople itself?"

The eye of the philosopher lighted. Leo knew he was understood.

"Good son," said Kallinikos, not unmoved, "manifold times am I your
debtor. If not with silver or gold, but by the poor harvest of my
thoughts, I can repay your vast goodness to me and mine, debtors we
shall not stay. Yes," he touched his forehead, "a thing that flitted
across me the other night as Fergal chatted of war comes back again. I
recall an experiment. It might prove of use. To-morrow I will go over
the old material. I shall postpone the 'Myriobiblion.'" ...

... The wedding party broke up after the guests had shut the bridal
couple into an inner room and sung boisterous verses before the door,
Leo joining with loud voice in the rollicking chorus. The other guests
each imagined, indeed, whom he might be, but just enough warning had
been passed to keep them from unwelcome questions. When, however,
Anthusa made to accompany her father homeward Leo motioned to her.
"Behold! At your service." And she saw two strong-limbed archers
swinging in behind the mule car. Henceforth she understood Kallinikos
and she were to be constantly guarded.

Kasia, too, had her aside one instant. She pushed back the kerchief from
Anthusa's head and ran her hand over the younger woman's shorn locks.
"Your cousins from Thrace," spoke the Empress-Mother, "think your stay
at that island hasn't harmed your looks, but Heaven never made you to
be a nun. Let your hair grow, girl. Mind what I say. Let your hair
grow."

       *       *       *       *       *

In the loftiest tiers of the Daphne, Leo and Kasia had settled their
private apartments. All the former gilt, silver and citrus-wood
furniture had been removed, though not the shining walls of green
Thessalian and white Carian marble. The rugs and mosaics were no finer
than those in a prosperous merchant's aula, but there was a profusion of
flowering plants, and more of the same upon the roof garden whereon
opened the high windows.

From this coign of lofty vantage one commanded a sweeping view over half
of Constantinople, the Golden Horn, the Marmora and the Bosphorus. Just
now the magical darkness veiled alike domes, battlements and hovels. The
innumerable twinkling lights, the blending noises from the vast dim city
would have produced an eerie effect had mother and son been that night
in a mood for romantic contemplation.

Kasia dismissed the cringing silentiaries at the door. "Go!" she
commanded rudely, puffing vigorously from the many staircases and having
positively refused to let herself be carried. Leo followed her, helped
to remove her mantle, and set her chair by the open casement, where she
could catch the spicy air now wafting up from the Greek Isles and
Africa; then he drew a lower stool and sat beside her.

"A very pretty wedding," panted Kasia, fanning herself with her ample
hand, "considering the times, and that we couldn't have the festivities
here at the palace. Sophia's a charming bride."

"All brides are," asserted Leo cynically, leaning his elbows on the
casing and gazing forth into the night.

"I know what's in your mind, boy," continued his mother. "Well, just
because you're Basileus, have you got to cease to be a man? Is Sophia's
to be the only wedding at present?"

The Emperor let his hands drop with a gesture of helplessness.

"Must I say it again? I am a prisoner, a prisoner of the purple. When
only strategos I dared to turn aside from this awful task which God has
laid upon me. And I was punished--even as God seems usually to punish,
by having sorrow heaped upon the innocent. Now, in vast mercy and to our
vaster joy, the saints have relented. She's given back, but how can I,
of all men, bring home a bride in times like these, and give the city
even one day of festival, when I have just had to close the Hippodrome
and warn the people to quit their pleasures?"

"Ah, but she's a wife worth having," returned Kasia, with warming
enthusiasm. "Where were your eyes to-night, lad? The nuns cut off her
hair, but they put new power and beauty in her face. She's a strong
woman now, one to command, one to be a tower of strength to him that
gets her. If stern days are ahead you'll meet them the better if----"

"Have I not thought of that! Don't torment me," pleaded her son.

"It needn't be a great state wedding," continued Kasia pragmatically, "a
few witnesses before the Patriarch, a proclamation to the court later
and the deed is done. You are Basileus and it will all be very lawful."

But Leo sprang up with an unwonted oath:

"No, by the Blessed Cross! Shall I have Constantinople forever sneering,
'The Isaurian wedded his mistress by stealth to avoid vile scandal'?
Shall I not protect her? When I give you a daughter, I must give a
Basilissa worthy of full honour to the Romans. Every lamp in Hagia
Sophia must blaze, the Patriarch must crown her, all the patricianesses
kiss the hem of her robe, and all the city shouts its 'Ten thousand
years!' Till then God's will be done. My sole bride must be the
Christian Empire."

"How long?" asked Kasia, with unwonted gentleness of speech.

"Till the Saracens have come and gone." Leo's speech was very
deliberate. "Till the vast incubus of fear which rests on this great
city and all the themes has departed. And that cannot be until after
swords are red, and ships are shattered, and destroying fires have
blazed high; until women and children have wept, and thousands of better
men than I have died."

"Yet you do not mistrust the issue," spoke his mother confidently.

"You remember what Theodora said to Justinian I," was Leo's significant
reply, "when the Great Sedition raged and their fearful counsellors
urged flight: 'I agree with the old adage, _Empire is the noblest
winding sheet_.' As for me, I do not fear to survive disaster."

"But the Great Sedition, I've heard," said Kasia, "was crushed, and only
many years afterwards Justinian and Theodora lay upon the 'Bed of
Tears.'"[51]

[51] The bed whereon dead monarchs lay in state.

"One must be ready with the price," returned Leo, leaning again on the
balcony and letting his eyes rove over the twinkling vista of the night.
After a long reverie he spoke again:

"Sometimes, O Best of Mothers, I have a prophetic mood. You know my love
of books. A man cannot have great burdens laid on him and not also
sometimes enjoy long thoughts. This Roman Empire doubtless will not last
always. This Constantinople cannot be for ever the 'City guarded of
God.' Long ago the Frankish barbarians tore away the Western provinces.
Our last hold on the crumbling relics of Old Rome slips rapidly. The
Saracens have snatched Syria, Egypt and Africa. But here in our
remaining themes, and wide and rich they still are, survives even yet
the culture that was born in Athens and by the Tiber. Here in our
provinces and our capital that old culture stands at bay. Ours is the
task to maintain it across the years, until the Christian West has
caught again its brightness; until the Moslem East has ceased its threat
against the entire world. After that--no matter, we must trust to God."

"My boy is talking like a philosopher!" exclaimed Kasia, scarce able to
follow. But Leo ran on, pointing out across the night-bound city:

"O Constantinople, do I not know you well? Hypocrisy and lies are within
you. Foul luxury, wanton pride and uncleanness are within you.
Arrogance, rapacity and oppression, fanatics and false priests are
within you. But within you, too, are honesty, faith, fair learning,
manly honour, womanly virtue, noble piety, and seeking after God. I will
save you if I can."

Kasia was touched. Leo was not often in this mood. "Is then the Saracen
peril so great?" she asked in tones at last not unmixed with fear.

"So great, my mother, that every day I have one awful consolation. I
shall never live to see the moment when you and Anthusa and countless
other women pure and good may fall into the hands of the hordes of
Moslemah. With the Infidel at the gates there is but one manner for a
Roman Basileus to die." But then he straightened himself and stretched
out his hand in solemn oath: "Hear, O Blessed and Holy Trinity, whom the
Moslem hordes blaspheme. May my soul writhe for ever in Judas fires if
one Hagarine sets foot save as captive in Constantinople. The odds are
sore, but not too sore for Christian courage. Barses and Chioba cannot
have spoken in vain. The Power which lifted me from the shepherd's crook
to the sceptre of Empire cannot have done so save for some worthy end. I
swear it, Leo the Isaurian, born peasant and now Roman Basileus."

Kasia touched his face lovingly, and his manner calmed. He bent and
kissed her.

"I have frightened you, my mother," he said contritely. "The Saracens
shall never take Constantinople. It will not be I that can turn them
back, nor all the ships and the themesmen, but the prayers of such as
you, and----" He hesitated, but continued still more softly: "Anthusa."




CHAPTER XXIV

A COUNCIL AT GALATA


When the hot winds of the advancing summer blew from Africa and
Constantinople sweltered in the heat, every breeze brought tidings of
the Moslem advance.

"The Hagarines had landed near Samos. From Chios they had dragged all
the handsome girls to glut the Syrian markets: the strong city of
Pergamum had fallen after a brave defence!" In every barber shop along
the Mese, in every trading stall by the Golden Horn, under the marble
porticoes by the Julian port where the pompous advocates had their walk,
in every frescoed aula of the noble the might of the Infidel was
discussed and magnified. The city grew ominously quiet. The days were at
hand which should try men's souls.

A few recklessly cried out against the new Emperor: "They call him
'Lion'--where are his teeth and talons?" But most citizens dumbly
waited. For centuries Constantinople had been the "City guarded of God,"
wherein a million might live, labour, and enjoy in peace, while the
professional army for which they paid taxes held fast the frontiers. Now
through twenty years of tyranny and anarchy the imperial armies had been
nigh torn to pieces, and all the efforts of the Isaurian had not half
reconstituted their strength when a foe more relentless than Goth, Hun,
or Persian was about to beat upon the gates.

The populace was being levied into huge militia bands, but competent
officers watching the recruits struggling through their first spear
drills groaned in dismay: "Send those untrained shopkeepers against
Moslemah's dervishes--suicide!" Leo's Anatolian veterans, of course,
made a brave display upon the parade ground. There were also strong
mercenary bands of Armenians, Slavs, Lombards and Franks. But when
enough reliable troops had been told off to hold the thirteen-mile
circuit of the walls, plus Galata and Chrysopolis, there were few enough
left for any powerful sortie.

It was the same with the fleet. In the execrable civil war betwixt
Anastasius and Theodosius many galleys had been sunk or burned. Now the
shipyards rang as never before, but when Basil, after inspecting the
dromonds, was asked, "Can the fleet keep the Bosphorus from blockade?"
he pulled long on his huge mustachios and answered, "If the Panagia is
extraordinarily merciful perhaps there is a chance."

Therefore to the Isaurian was permitted only one game--to await Moslemah
with his own strength unwasted, to train the city bands as rapidly as
possible, to risk nothing avoidable, to trust to the mighty walls, and
to hope that St. Michael and St. Theodore would in the end give him a
chance to strike hard. If he knew when and how he told no one, not even
his friend, the new high admiral.

Day after day silent crowds in the Augustum read the placards on the
whitened boards: "The Hagarine ships are at Troas," and again, "They are
entering the Hellespont." Day after day the praying crowds in the
churches multiplied. Many escaped to safe and distant cities. Many more,
fleeing from the rich open farmlands of Thrace, made haste to enter
Constantinople. Patricians made a last anxious visit to beloved villas
to remove their valuables. Great herds of kine were driven inside to
bellow in all the fora and other open spaces. Deep-laden grain ships
swung down from the north. Strong gangs of labourers wrought upon the
walls. Everywhere was seen the Basileus, without pomp, distinguished
from his centurions merely by his purple leggings, inspecting, praising,
reproving, rectifying, hastening. If he ever was discouraged or dismayed
he gave no sign thereof until the doors of Kasia's rooms closed behind
him.

So passed the weeks. One million folk, peace-loving, luxurious,
ultra-refined, were making ready, at last, without base panic to plead
their cause before the Judge of Battles.

       *       *       *       *       *

Half way between the squalid Forum of Honorius and the lofty Watch Tower
of Anastasius ran the Street of St. Joseph, one of the least filthy
thoroughfares in all the squalid suburb of Galata.

A tall wooden house, somewhat lacking in paint, reared itself above its
neighbours. The lower front upon the street was occupied by a large wine
shop frequented by sailors, and even now (though it was not yet midday)
the dice were rattling at one of the little tables as a yellow-polled
Bulgarian and a swarthy Cyprian cast for the drink money. In the rear,
however, there was a little garden, set with flowering plants in tubs,
and a winding stair led to the upper stories, the outer windows whereof
commanded a sweeping view of the Bosphorus and the verdant hills of
Asia. Here at one of the casements, his eye not intent on the distant
scene, but upon the teeming harbour life, moving almost at his feet, sat
a man whom second inspection would have revealed as Evagrios.

"Another dromond has just slid down into the water," announced he.
"Blessed Apostles, where do they find timber for so many new ships!"

"It'll take more galleys than those to stop Moslemah," replied
Hormisdas, who, somewhat hidden under a very large turban, sat beside
him, complacently quaffing rose sherbet.

"It'll take more wits than you both possess to keep us away from the
watch, if you persist in leaning in broad day from that window,"
declared Nikosia from a divan. "You may have shaven off your beard,
Evagrios, and clipped your hair, but the disguise won't avail long once
the qustor's men fairly get you."

"Truly, my little dove," replied the ex-deacon impatiently, "you've done
nought but croak instead of coo since we felt it safe to come back from
Ephesus. You know the disorders when Theodosius seized the city made the
Collegians drop all their old trails for small game like ourselves;
besides, when Leo was proclaimed didn't he publish a general pardon?"

"Pardon, yes," retorted the lady, flinging upon the floor the silken
panel whereon she was embroidering a Holy Lamb, "as if that Isaurian
upstart couldn't find plenty of pretences for breaking his word and
trading out a grudge, once they report to him, 'Sacred Clemency, we've
got Evagrios and his friends safe in the Prtorium.'"

"I think you're right, Nikosia," assented her companion, withdrawing his
head and pulling a curtain over the window, "though the chance of being
identified up here's very slight. The people in the wine shop are of the
right kind. They won't betray us, their rooms are comfortable, the
cooking tolerable----"

"_Hei_," warned Hormisdas, hastily barring the door, "what's that
below?"

The clattering of pike-staves, snarling protests and angry yells, the
deep commands of some officer, the rush of feet and furious scuffling
were rising together from the wine room.

"Come along, you two fellows!" a voice sounded imperiously. "If you've
nothing better to do than dicing, your thews can bend at the oars on the
'Hagia Eirene.' Don't struggle; you know you've no chance! And take
along that tapster's boy, he's too strong to tug about nothing but wine
pots."

A volley of oaths and curses intermingled with hoarse laughter told how
the press gang was accomplishing its work. After an anxious moment the
seamen with their three captives were heard departing noisily down the
street. Relative silence prevailed in the tavern, broken chiefly by the
lamentations of its keeper at being robbed alike of his myrmidon and his
customers.

Nikosia crossed herself with extreme care. "This place makes my heart
turn over. What if they'd searched the building? I've vowed a candle to
St. Demetrios for our deliverance just now. We _must_ find a safe
lodging."

"Pray, dear _kyria_," said Hormisdas in tones smooth as warm butter,
"when I urged you, and our most reverend Deacon to return to
Constantinople, didn't I promise that you should be as safe as the holy
vessels in Hagia Sophia? Is it my fault you delayed until I was
momentarily in Prusa, and so couldn't take you out to that excellent
place near St. John's monastery, where you'd be so quiet and
comfortable?"

"We're safe for the present," replied Evagrios in a relieved tone. "They
won't raid this place again for some days. I wish, however, Petronax
would come, so we could strike our bargain and get to business."

"There are things to talk of without him," declared the slave dealer,
rubbing beringed hands; "for example, how did that younger girl of old
Kallinikos get back to Constantinople--nay, return with pomp like a
magnifico in a state dromond?"

"And how," retorted Nikosia, "does her sister come back to be the bride
of a spatharios?"

"Ah, my dear friends," laughed Hormisdas good-naturedly, "I see we're
all men and women of the world. I mustn't fall out with you just because
of a few crossings of interest and necessary lies." His sentence ended
in an eloquent gesture.

"Very good," smiled Evagrios, "let us drop the past. You promised it
would pay us well to come back from Ephesus straight into the lion's
jaws--Leo's, ha! Is it because you want us to take up the old plot
against the girls? I told you at the time that though I wouldn't soil
_my_ hands with cruelty, there's no oblivion like a sack and the bottom
of the Bosphorus. Now are we to begin all over again?"

Hormisdas beckoned the man and woman to draw nearer. He cast one glance
at the barred door, another at the window. His voice sank to a confiding
whisper:

"_Philotatoi_, you know me for a man of versatility, of daring, of
genius. You know that I have been in Damascus. Now that we should have
to abandon our holy Christian religion the Blessed Trinity forbid----"

"The Blessed Trinity forbid!" echoed the listening pair.

"Yet what if it should _not_ forbid?" continued the slave dealer. "I
mean, what if it were manifestly the will of Heaven, by the constant
award of victory to the Moslems, that we should be forced to invoke
Allah and not the Panagia, and call our clergy not reverend Popes but
venerable Imams?"

"Impossible!" cried Nikosia in pious horror.

"So be it, I pray," replied Hormisdas, smoothing his redolent locks.
"Still 'tis a wonder how the Hagarines progress. From the first advance
of the Prophet unto this hour, not a city, not a province, not a kingdom
against which they have truly set themselves has resisted them
long--and now, with all their might, they seek Constantinople."

"Hark you, sirrah," spoke Evagrios with unwonted energy. "I'm not a
squeamish man, but there are some matters at which I balk. If you're in
correspondence with the Hagarines to betray the city, pray to seek other
helpers."

"I correspond with the Infidels? I?" Hormisdas gesticulated in frantic
denial. "Am I not the best of the Orthodox? Were not five of my uncles
bishops and the sixth an archimandrite? I was merely throwing out that
the forces of Moslemah are vast, and that many grow fearful lest he may
prosper. Of course in a city like Constantinople there are bound to be
_some_ well-wishers even for the Infidels."

A rap on the door sounded. Nikosia reconnoitred hastily through the
keyhole, then unbarred. Petronax entered, swinging a smart
mouse-coloured chlamys around his graceful person. Nikosia was charmed
at his salaams, which would have been fitting before a senatoress. He
took the proffered seat on the divan, stirred his sherbet, complimented
the lady on her excellent colour (she had rouged most carefully) and
remarked on the growing heat of the summer. All this led up to Evagrios'
question:

"And what are the wishes of his Sublimity?"

Petronax cleared his throat with becoming importance. "His Sublimity
Paul, you are aware, is a sorely disappointed statesman. Piously,
however, has he repeated that verse in Holy Scripture, 'Put not your
trust in princes'; nevertheless, when the Isaurian entered the Sacred
Palace my master assuredly expected some tokens of confidence and
affection, such as might come fitly from one who was lifted from the
dust by his benevolence."

"They say," interposed Hormisdas dryly, "that the Isaurian thinks the
Master of the Palace only promoted him perforce to silence the demands
of the army, expecting a servility he didn't find in Leo later."

"Calumny!" Petronax gave a timely whimper. "My master has, of course,
his traducers. Well, you know his present plight: relegated to his own
mansion; never once summoned to council; his perquisites absolutely
dried up. It is even rumoured that if Moslemah's repulsed he'll be
forced to account for every obol of the public funds he's handled for
many years. As if he were a money-changer's clerk. Oh, vile
humiliation!"

"Gratitude and justice are surely dead," asserted Evagrios, raising his
hands.

"Pitifully true. But coming now closer home, you know that those jades
of Kallinikos have escaped. His Sublimity might rail at your
mismanagement, but in his generosity he simply commands you to take
greater pains another time."

"The girls are firmly guarded now," cautiously suggested the slave
dealer.

"Fortunately," answered Petronax, "we can disregard that Anthusa for the
present. The Emperor, perhaps, cares for her, but he has become a mere
creature of spears and javelins. Till the Moslems are gone he avers he
will spend no time on women, and he has been heard to assure several
logothetes--who named over certain noble damsels for his august
consideration--that until the siege is safely ended he will, under no
circumstances, marry."

"We've time, then," declared Evagrios.

"Yes," confirmed Petronax, "but time that's to be used. And his
Sublimity has been graciously pleased to entrust me with bearing to you
a new and special commission." Whereat, obedient to his beckoning, all
the congenial four drew close together....

... After Petronax had glided off in one direction and Hormisdas in
another, Nikosia looked at Evagrios long and cynically.

"I don't like this," she remarked, showing again, by habit, her fine
teeth.

Her companion shrugged his shoulders. "There's no danger. The plan's
clever and feasible."

"I mean this using of Saloma. I know what you'll be forced to say to the
hussy. We ought to have shipped her off to Syria when we had Satyros'
boat."

"I disagree," returned Evagrios impolitely. "The girl's useful in a
thousand ways. Just because you're jealous is no reason."

Nikosia made a gesture of disgust. "Follow your path, then. I can't
spoil Petronax's scheme now. But don't trifle with me again. _Eu!_ Call
her in, if you will. I suppose I must pretend to be far away."

The lady therefore disappeared in her own turn through a door. Evagrios
had a firm conviction that she was somewhere listening, but the matter
disturbed him not. After a suitable interval he clapped his hands, then
called, "Saloma!" From a neighbouring chamber the erstwhile farmer's
lass appeared. She was less slender than when she had entered Nikosia's
service. There were a few hard lines about her lips and eyes. She had
learned the use of paints and wore cheap ornaments, but Evagrios was not
wrong in his mental estimate: "Handsome and still rustic enough to serve
the purpose very well."

"Saloma, my dear," he began, "Nikosia's gone to visit a nun at St.
Rabula. Aren't you going to permit me a kiss?"

Saloma hung her head and submitted to his affection, unresisting, but
without enthusiasm.

"_Philotata_," continued the ex-deacon ingratiatingly, "how wonderfully
you've stuck to me in all my misfortunes! Another girl would have
deserted. Don't believe that I'm ungrateful."

"You needn't thank me," she replied directly, "what else could I do? How
could I go home to dishonour my parents when my story would buzz through
the whole village? How could I quit you in Constantinople or Ephesus
when only the common dens would receive me? Perhaps at St. Gastria would
they take me as a nun--a life in death."

"But now your eyes are going to shine and pop out of your pretty little
head. Listen--it's arranged that you shall enter the service of a very
great lady."

"A rich merchant's wife?"

"Greater than that."

"A senator's wife?"

"Greater than that."

"Why, then, a real patricianess?"

"Greater than that."

"By the Panagia, _despotes_, what do you mean?"

"Listen, then, and bless this day. You are to become the hand-maiden of
the Empress-Mother."

"Oh, what a jest!"

Evagrios smiled very benignantly. "I'm wholly serious, my pert little
sparrow. Attend closely. You know the new Emperor comes of peasant stock.
His mother, the present Sacred Majesty Kasia, is--well, I fear more at home
amid cow-pens and hay-ricks than in the halls of the Marble Palace. The
regular staff of attendants is in despair about her. She refuses to let
them serve her on bended knee, or address her with becoming titles, laughs
and jests in a most unimperial manner, and I'm told she actually insisted
that his Hyper-Eminence the Proto-deipnotist--the first palace cook, I
mean--should suffer her to go into the Sublime Kitchen, where the Sacred
Refections, the dishes for the imperial table, are prepared, and make
ready, all herself, sundry eggs, because, quoth she, 'My son likes to have
them thus and thus, and none of you, hulking fools, seem to know how!' Such
doings have not been in the palace since Constantinople was
Constantinople."

Evagrios' voice had worked itself up to a quiver of high emotion. "Well,
to cut these horrors short, their Distinguishednesses, the palace
menials, have determined for their own peace to seek out a damsel of
sufficient rusticity to commend her to the Empress-Mother, and to let
her wrestle with the old woman's august moods as she will. No one with
the slightest knowledge of the palace or even of courtly households will
answer. It must be a girl smelling of the cow barn--one, no offence,
exactly like your comely self. Now, through favouring forces which I
needn't explain, this great honour becomes yours. Very speedily you are
to be taken to the palace and become the Empress-Mother's
serving-woman."

Saloma was duly impressed. Her colour came and went. She breathed
quickly. Evagrios feared she was about to faint, but she did not. Then
as her flush returned she gave him a look not without shrewdness.

"_Despotes_, if you aren't telling lies, I know that I'm not to enjoy
this great thing for nothing."

"I enjoy your frankness, girl!" exclaimed the ex-deacon, not without an
admiring glance. "Let's have no misunderstandings. Your position will
enable you to overhear much, possibly it may even be conversations
between your mistress and her son himself; not, perhaps, at the outset,
but after you win her confidence. Be as awkward and rustic at first as
you please: it'll commend you better. What you learn can be passed along
to Petronax, who'll give you new directions. All that will be arranged.
Just be discreet and no harm can follow."

Saloma looked him fairly in the eye. "_Despotes_, the risk of what I'm
to do is great. I'm to be rewarded, of course?"

"Certainly, my pretty, certainly; anything within reason. If your plans
go well, why, say, a thousand solidi."

"I don't mean that," asserted Saloma meaningly.

"What, then?" Evagrios was not without his suspicions.

"First, I must know what means this plot against the Emperor. I don't
care for this Leo and Kasia, but I won't ruin my soul by helping betray
Constantinople to the Hagarines."

"Nothing of the kind! On the Blessed Cross, not the least of that, I
assure you. Only an ordinary palace conspiracy at most."

"Very well. But, second, you must swear to make me an honest woman."

"An honest what?"

"An honest woman, I say. Swear to marry me openly. Swear it upon the
crucifix and upon your hope of salvation."

"I give my solemn word----"

"Your oath or nothing." Saloma's voice rose and her gesture was
menacing. "You've said too much or too little. Swear now or I'll scream
'Treason! Help!' from this window. I'll not be fooled again."

"By the Panagia," vowed Evagrios, not without a fearsome admiration of
her pose, "I believe you mean your threat. Well, hearken then." He
pulled from his bosom a small gilt crucifix, kissed it devoutly, and
repeated a satisfying number of imprecations upon himself if he failed
to marry Saloma one month after Leo ceased to be Emperor. Upon
completion Saloma's hauteur slowly passed. She listened with a certain
degree of anticipation to the explicit directions given by her
master....

... A few days later the palace menials breathed a sigh of relief. A
serving maid, admirably suited to the Empress-Mother's rustic whimsies,
had been installed in her chambers and their own aristocratic ears no
longer had to be pained too frequently by uncouth commands in uncouth
language. Kasia was heard to declare that her new tire-woman was modest,
sensible and capable, and she was graciously pleased to commend Petronax
(always useful about the palace) for having secured her services.




CHAPTER XXV

KALLINIKOS MAKES AN ANNOUNCEMENT


The day following Sophia's wedding, Kallinikos dismissed his disciples
and once more suspended his lectures upon Plato at the University. The
public demoralization made this seem only natural. His colleagues had
long sighed over his desultory pedagogic methods even while praising his
"absolutely useless learning." Around the academic aula the few youths
still trying to study law and mathematics jested slyly as to whether the
"Consul of the Philosophers" was going to waste his declining days
trying to improve his toy, the aeropile.

The multiplying rumours of the advance of the Saracens seemed to leave
Kallinikos as impervious as the recital of the wars of Ninus and
Semiramis. However, after spending a number of days in abstracted
cogitation in his workroom, broken only by a few manipulations of
various strange compounds and crucibles, the sage left his home to bury
himself almost literally first in the Imperial Record Office near the
Forum of Theodosius, next in the second great public library at the
Octagon, near the Augustum, and finally he requested, through Fergal,
official permission (immediately granted) to delve into the secret
military archives at the Mangana, the public arsenal.

Amid an atmosphere of yellow papyri and worm-eaten codexes the
philosopher lived so incessantly that for days he refused to return home
save for very limited slumbers, and Anthusa was constrained to bring him
a little food and coax it into him even as he sat amid great piles of
books. To the remonstrances of younger associates he replied very
simply, "Remember the word of the great Themistios when these libraries
were first instituted, 'The souls of wise men are in their wisdom, and
the monuments of their wisdom are their books.' The Emperor has laid a
great command upon me. How may I discharge it fittingly unless with
God's aid I take first to myself all the pertinent knowledge of the ages
gone?"

Then he dazed even his gravest colleagues by his rambling citations of
Hermes Trismagistos, Zosimos of Panopolis, Dioskoros the high priest of
Serapis, and that great master of alchemy Ostanes the Mede.

"It is manifest," spoke one savant to another, "that he is staking all
upon discovering the transmutation of metals: a pitiful end for so
massive an intellect. It is even as Festus cried unto Paul, 'Much
learning doth make him mad!'"

Anthusa heard these whisperings without a frown. No one else knew her
father's mind as she. No one else possessed the power to summon him out
of his learned reveries and make him return somewhat to the problems of
the hour. Then of a sudden (to her great relief) Kallinikos announced
that he was finished with the libraries. With a vast quantity of
formulas and memoranda, he imprisoned himself again in his own
workrooms. Presently his chimney was seen to be smoking night and day,
now with thin blue, now with greenish, and now with a densely black
vapour. Ephraim was incessantly visiting the Street of Lamps to buy
unusual substances. Twice he had to report that none of the ordinary
apothecaries supplied the desired articles, but Kallinikos suddenly
remembered an elderly Cilician drug seller who kept a little shop in an
obscure and filthy quarter of the Pharnar district. Hither went Ephraim
and returned with sundry small bags which gave his master joy. So for
nights and days Kallinikos continued to live, eat and, at irregular
intervals, to sleep in his workrooms, nor did any enter therein save
Ephraim and Anthusa.

Sophia at first, engrossed with her new happiness, was very willing to
leave her most peculiar parent to her sister, but at length she could
return to her old home often enough to realize the situation. The
neighbourhood was full of unpleasant gossip. Several times a great blast
of flame had been seen shooting from Kallinikos' chimney. The old charge
of wizardry had nigh been forgotten as preposterous, but now, most
dangerously, it was being revived. An irresponsible Slavic girl in an
adjacent house had even sworn by the Panagia that she had peeped through
an unbarred shutter and seen Kallinikos in familiar colloquy with an
enormous red demon which at intervals discharged his flaming breath up
the fireplace.

With good intention, Sophia undertook to penetrate into her father's
arcanum. As she flung back the door the sudden gust of air caused a
lurid flame to shoot up from the hearth over which the sage was bending.
Kallinikos leaped back with singed beard and eyebrows, an uncanny
fire-light springing all around him. For one of the few times in his
life he cursed roundly: "Out of my way, woman! Was it not by one of your
sex, that first sinner Eve, that man forfeited Paradise? Shall now it be
because of your insatiable feminine curiosity that Constantinople is
delivered over to the Saracen? By Zeus, by Styx, by Chaos and black
Night" (Christian and pagan anathemas all mingling together), "except
you leave me alone----"

"This is intolerable!" cried Sophia, retreating in consternation and
meeting her sister. "We shall have every outrageous suspicion renewed.
The monks will storm the house. Even though the Emperor _did_ instigate
him, that's no reason for him to work himself distraught. If anything
were coming from these perilous experiments they'd have succeeded weeks
ago."

"He says he is making progress," replied Anthusa simply, "and that if we
will only suffer him to work in peace he will save Constantinople."

"Save Constantinople?" echoed Sophia, with all the contempt of
daughterly familiarity. "Alas! our poor father, his mind----"

"You do not understand him." Anthusa spoke swiftly, holding down her
head and with reddening cheeks: "Only I understand him, and sometimes I
think--one person else."

"What do you mean?" demanded the elder sister.

"Let us not argue," rejoined Anthusa more peacefully, but here
Kallinikos threw open his door again. The hearth fire had died. The
whole place reeked with the smoke of sulphur and of a mixture of many
noxious substances which set Sophia to shielding her eyes and coughing.
Kallinikos' face and hands were coal-black.

"Go, somebody," he announced with absolute directness, "tell Leo, I mean
the Emperor, that my labours proceed well. Now I want him to send me a
siege engineer; a man acquainted with the actual use of fireballs, and
all the means of casting inflammables, pitch, oil and naphtha, such as
they used in the old siege when the Saracens came forty years ago."

This request was duly transmitted, and presently brought to Kallinikos
one Leander, a keen-eyed Lesbian, an engineer at the arsenal, who
understood entirely the practical problems of pitched arrows, the
flinging of burning hoops, and the devilish utilization of tallow, rosin
and turpentine for human destruction. Self-confident and somewhat
conceited, however, was the brisk young officer when he entered the
workroom. Only the direct intimation from his chief, "The Basileus
personally commands this," made him come quickly and act with outward
deference, for Kallinikos' erudite researches at the Mangana had already
become a byword among the subalterns of the technical corps.

"You can find all this in the Emperor Maurice's _Strategikon_,"[52] he
remarked half rudely, when the sage began to unfold the first of his
problem.

[52] A standard military manual, written about 580 A.D.

"True," replied Kallinikos, with grave courtesy, "but can you find also
this?"

He held before Leander a seared papyrus sheet covered with minute
characters.

"I do not understand," confessed the bewildered officer.

"It is not amazing," was the calm answer, "that you cannot read Egyptian
demotic. A few, however, still can, and I am of that few. I found this
among a sheaf of crumbling scrolls upon alchemy. It is by the wise
Orsirandes of Memphis, 'Concerning the Substances Which Take Fire by the
Application of Water.'"

"Take fire by water?" cried Leander, looking to see if the savant before
him were not already beside himself.

"And why not?" replied Kallinikos dryly. "Every night, when we survey
the starry heavens, we behold a greater and a more inexplicable marvel
wrought by God. Enough, now, that in my youth I once read this
manuscript, and once later I made a slight experiment based upon my
recollection of the same, while seeking the philosopher's stone. But
this particular manuscript I originally read in Egypt, as a part of the
remnants of the old Alexandrian library, after the scattering of its
last nucleus by the Saracens. Then when the Emperor spoke concerning how
my poor knowledge might avail against the Infidels, it came to me,
'Orsirandes' treatise may also exist in Constantinople, for I knew that
the Emperor Constantius caused a vast collection of demotic manuscripts
to be brought together. But in which library? Well, in a nigh-forgotten
cupboard at your Mangana I discovered it."

Leander was listening humbly enough now, and grew intent while
Kallinikos explained that he had had much trouble to discover which of
several possible ingredients certain Egyptian terms had indicated, and
how (after sundry experiments) he had "humbly conceived that the sage
himself was wrong in one very important matter." Nevertheless, he had
persevered until at length he desired "a more practical knowledge of how
inflammables could be utilized in war, for many things which blaze
fairly in a crucible might smoulder under the gross circumstances of
battle, and when used by unskillful hands."

So Leander stayed with Kallinikos until late into the evening, and went
away sorrowful (for he was a man of honest mind) at the manifest
insignificance of his own learning, and also a little regretful that
stern professional demands had kept him from more than formal greetings
with the philosopher's "very pretty daughter." To an acquaintance who
rallied him on "having to waste his time at the Emperor's whim on that
old dotard," he answered flatly, "I will tell you something--that 'old
dotard' of yours is no fool."

But after Leander departed Kallinikos resisted all Anthusa's earnest
appeals to take rest.

"The time is upon me, girl," he told her, with unwonted sternness. "What
are food and sleep when God is reading unto me a new page from the great
book of His truth? As spoke Nehemiah unto his hindering foes, 'I am
doing a great work, and wherefore should the work cease whilst I leave
it?'"

So she merely coaxed a little bread and wine into him, then, excluding
even Ephraim, he shut his door. Listening outside, Anthusa could hear
him handling his boxes, vials, mortars and pestles with the dexterity
and speed of inspired genius. The night advanced. All the servants went
to bed, save only the grey old steward, who took his chair and nodded
opposite to Anthusa at the entrance to the workroom.

She gathered Lethe into her lap, while Tobias snuggled, purring, at her
feet, but presently both cats were sleeping peacefully, and the only
sound was the rasping ticking of the great clock in Kallinikos' rooms,
save when the sage himself rattled about at his task. Outside the house,
at long intervals, the watch called off the hours, or huddled groups of
street dogs rose to yelp when something disturbed them, then sank again
in slumber. At last Anthusa dozed in her chair. She was again on the
Isle of Cedars and Symeon the Hermit was engaged in his eternal
diatribes against female flummeries, when she woke to hear her father
noisily opening his door.

By the night lamp Kallinikos looked a very Ethiop to the tips of his
tangled and usually snowy beard. His eyes were gleaming with
preternatural brightness. He held in one hand a large ball of a soft,
pasty substance which he flourished above his head in sheer excitement.
Both cats leaped up in fright.

"In the words of the immortal Archimedes," he cried, with shaking voice,
"_Eureka!_ 'I have found it!' _I can save Constantinople!_"

"What has happened, _despotes_?" demanded Ephraim, rubbing his eyes.

"Come, come!" Kallinikos veritably shouted. "Behold!"

With his free hand he dragged Anthusa into the workroom. The lamps were
flickering low in their sockets, casting a fitful gleam over the dark
presses, the sculptured busts, the tables crowded with vials, boxes,
bags and alembics. Anthusa saw, with some surprise, that there was no
fire upon the capacious hearth, although the admixture of noxious smells
was almost overpowering. Kallinikos forced his marvelling daughter close
beside the fireplace, seized an iron rod and poked vigorously among the
ashes.

"You see," he asserted, "all is cold--no fire, no sparks even."

Anthusa nodded, still wondering. Familiar as she was with her father's
moods and methods, for an instant she was fearful that his ill-wishers
were right--that his intellect at last had failed him. Ephraim looked on
with loyal helplessness. Kallinikos flung the dark, pasty substance he
had grasped into the farthest and securest corner of the hearth, and
Anthusa thought that now she understood.

"You would try a new and better fireball," she asserted. "We can get a
taper for lighting it from one of the lamps----"

"Not so, girl," ordered her father imperiously. "Behold the wonderful
secret of God revealed for the deliverance of this great Christian city
from the Infidel--see!"

As he spoke she saw him thrust a brass dipper into a convenient bucket,
and splash the contents over the inert mass he had just placed amid the
ashes.

Ephraim wrung his hands in sheer dismay. "He brings water instead of
fire. Verily the _despotes_ is mad. Alas! my poor master."

But Kallinikos was bending towards the hearth, with even the chuckle of
a childish anticipation. When, however, Anthusa leaned nearer, and her
thin robes swept close to the ashes, he plucked her suddenly away,
leaping back himself.

"Keep afar!" he cried. "Danger! Look!"

At his words there was a puff of smoke from the hearth corner, then a
thin blue flame, whereupon the workroom shook and all its cases rattled
as with a muffled explosion. A great volume of fire sprang out into the
room in a single terrifying blast, next roared away up the chimney. The
explosion passed, but the flame itself seemed leaping higher and higher.
They could hear the frightened pigeons scurrying on the roof, and from
the street the awakened dogs set up a howling. Anthusa, by first
instinct, made for the water bucket. "What have you done, father? The
fire is leaping above the chimney! The thatch is in danger even if the
bricks do not grow red-hot. We will have the night watch on us
immediately." And she lifted the bucket. But the philosopher forced her
away and stood regarding his fearsome handiwork with unconcealed pride.

"Water, daughter? Would you have the flames shoot up beyond all control?
But witness!" He seized a small ladle and tossed its contents of water
on the fire. A perilous volume of flame shot once more into the room.
The fire seemed doubled.

But now there was a beating at the door. Ephraim admitted frightened
maids and serving boys. "It's all true!" screamed a half-dressed
Armenian scullion. "He's got a familiar spirit. I can see the fiend
raging on the hearth."

"Father," pleaded Anthusa frantically, "I at least can smell charring
wood if you cannot. Quench this fire immediately or call in help."

Kallinikos turned to the terrified group with the professional wave of
the lecturer completing a neat syllogism. "You have seen. You can
testify. Now behold something else." From a copper beaker he took a pale
liquid which Anthusa did not recognize. "Look you all!" He cast the
liquid into the raging heat. A terrific rush, now of gas and smoke,
drove every person save Anthusa and himself from the room. The flame
died almost instantly. Soon the hearth contained only a few glowing and
harmless coals, although the pungent vapour long rendered the workroom
nigh uninhabitable.

"_Eureka!_" cried Kallinikos, in renewed triumph. "Send for Leo. Tell
him that I can save Constantinople."

The fire had been quenched just in time to prevent an inroad by the
nightwatch with buckets, hooks, hand pumps and axes. Ephraim pulled
himself together just sufficiently to convince the decarch that there
was no real danger, although that sergeant went away vowing that the
monks were right, after all--the old wizard had obviously called in the
devil, and the blaze had come when the latter popped up the chimney.

Anthusa at length persuaded her father to wait until dawn, and then a
message was sent to Fergal which he was to pass further at discretion.
Kallinikos fretted about impatiently, but not in vain. A little before
noon a plainly painted wagon with closed curtains halted before the
House of Peace, and two passengers descended, their cloaks muffled
closely about them. They were Leo and Basil.

Little time was wasted in salutations. Kallinikos greeted the Emperor
and the High Admiral perhaps a little less courteously than he had
formerly greeted the spatharios and the dromond captain. The joy and
pride in his discovery nigh overwhelmed him. For some moments he left
his guests bewildered while he confounded them with a mass of learned
details, then at last he calmed enough to take them to his workroom, to
place another small mass of the fateful compound upon the hearth, and
submit it again to the marvellous ordeal of water. The explosion, the
intense flame, the new ferocity after the second wetting, the fire
leaping almost beyond control, the sudden extinguishment--all these were
repeated. When again the officious watch officer appeared at sight of
the smoke and flames he was astonished to be met on the threshold by a
tall Protector dismounted from the wagon, and the order: "Keep your
distance, sirrah, and for your own good don't ask who's inside."

Long and careful were the conversations betwixt sage, monarch and
admiral. When Leo emerged from the workroom his own hair and person
reeked with the smoke, and he blinked with smarting eyes in the
sunshine, but his carriage was buoyant, the curl of his lips confident,
he seemed possessed with a great delight. Anthusa had retired to her own
chambers, but Leo directly sent for her. When she came, she made to do
him reverence; with an imperious gesture he checked her, then, stepping
directly before her, bent and kissed her hand, saying:

"Suffer me in one place at least to be myself and not the Basileus.
Remember that in this house my mother and I are always 'your cousins
from Thrace.' Have you seen your father's invention?"

"Yes, Sacred Clemency, or, if you command it, _kyrios_; but is he not
mad? Can this substance truly save Constantinople?"

"Not without the added valour of man and the favour of God; but answer
me, nevertheless, this: If the King of the Lombards were to send twenty
thousand stout troops to succour Constantinople what ought we to say of
him?"

"I suppose he ought, if he desired it, to receive a golden statue set in
the Augustum."

"Gracious _kyria_, I tell you this. No twenty thousand sword hands, the
best from Frankland to Armenia, can avail so much as your father's
discovery if only he can prepare sufficient of his new substance in
time. War is not merely a thing of scimitars, brawn and valour. All
these the Saracens have, matching our best and I fear in greater
numbers. But now in mercy the Panagia adds to the strength of our army's
sword the power of your father's brain. Maintain the clearness of his
vision, the health of his body. That task is yours, as truly as it is
mine to look to the walls, the ships and the themesmen. Then all the
world shall know how far the Christian mind surpasses the Moslem spear.
Yet let him haste with the work; we have only four weeks more. When I
accepted this great task I knew that God would send His helpers. That
trust I am confident is about to be fulfilled. More than ever I know
this--I can save Constantinople."

... That afternoon a draft of Protectors headed by a firm but tactful
spatharios suddenly appeared at the House of Peace. The officer
exhibited an order written in purple ink in the Emperor's own hand to
convey Kallinikos, all the contents of his workroom, and, in short, his
entire household to a convenient dwelling inside the compound of the
Mangana. The protests of the sage were overcome by gentle violence. The
guardsmen gathered everything in his dwelling into ready carts and
proceeded away with marvellous rapidity. The second house had been
completely cleared of its old occupants and Leander had been directed to
prepare for Kallinikos a workroom equipped with every device or
ingredient for which he breathed a desire. At his disposal were to be
all the artificers and engineers at the arsenal. The philosopher, of
course, complained bitterly, but the second day found him partly
reconciled. The third saw him deep in the process of preparing a new
quantity of the "Maritime Fire," as the name ran among his few
initiates.

A cordon of guards of unimpeachable fidelity surrounded Kallinikos. Only
his children, Ephraim, Leander and the latter's technical assistants had
access to him. Of course, some curiosity was aroused. Spiteful monks
spread the rumour that the Emperor had employed "that wizard" to defend
Constantinople by mobilizing a whole theme-force of demons. Perhaps,
too, a certain palace attendant informed certain outsiders that the
Empress-Mother seemed to believe her son possessed some remarkable
secret which would greatly assist the defence. However, when an unlucky
Egyptian boy was caught lurking too much near the Mangana he was
ostentatiously hanged at the Galata ferry landing, and an over-prying
Cretan sailor underwent the same fate in the Amestrian Forum. All this
made espionage too risky for treachery and bribes. Kallinikos continued
his work uninterrupted.

One month after the sage had summoned Leo, the first Saracen hulls were
seen against the shimmering sky-line of the Marmora.[53]

[53] The secret of the "Maritime," or, as it was later called, the
"Greek" Fire, has been kept down to the present age. Modern learned
conjecture suggests that although sulphur, naphtha, turpentine, etc.,
were largely used by Kallinikos in his compound, his vital addition was
_quicklime_. His antidote was probably some powerful acid, or possibly
only a form of vinegar.




CHAPTER XXVI

THE COMING OF THE SARACENS


The fifteenth of August, 717 A.D. Through a closely guarded postern in
the Golden Gate pricked a messenger on a blood-spattered steed. Right up
the thronging Mese he charged, the crowds parting in panic before him.
He stayed in the Theodosian Forum only long enough to shout, "The
Hagarines are past Rhegium; you will see them from the walls before
night." Then the bronze valves of the Chalke were flung wide, as he rode
straight into the palace. It needed neither the placard in the Augustum
nor the call of the heralds to speed the word to the remotest corner of
Constantinople, "The Saracens have come!"

Through all the seven public gates streamed now the last piteous
companies of the Thracian peasants, fond and foolish villagers who had
trusted to the Panagia to hold their peaceful fields inviolate. Old men
and children they came, youths, girls and old women, their little carts
piled high with household gear, seeking the refuge in the great city.
All the gardens and available areas were thrown open to them, and the
nuns and charitable women wrought zealously; nevertheless many scenes
were pitiful.

... So at last the dread hour had come. The Hagarines were about to set
their impious might even against the "City guarded of God." Men and
women met and talked in low whispers, but there was no panic. Hitherto
the authorities had indulged in little military display. Now the palace
and barrack entrances were opened and the thousands of the garrison
paraded towards the walls. The sight of the theme cavalrymen in full
coats of burnished mail, the flaunting of standards above proud infantry
divisions who called the old legions their forbears, the confident
stride of the heavy files of the gigantic Frankish axemen, Leo's newest
mercenaries, made the hearts of the women grow bigger. When the heralds
blew again in the fora and proclaimed, "The foe is at hand. All is
provided; remember you are Romans!" there were answering cheers from the
dark masses of listeners.

Late in the afternoon another common impulse surged through the city.
Everybody spoke it together: "To the seawalls." By tens of thousands the
people mounted the five miles of lofty ramparts along the Marmora from
the Palace Compound to the Golden Gate.

The military indeed sternly barred access to the walls nearest the
Bosphorus, but from far down the fortifications the spectacle was spread
out in perfect clearness. The red August sun was dropping slowly and
sending a tawny brightness and haze over the Bithynian hills. Small
flocks of birds flapped by on lazy wing. A few venturesome fishing craft
were now flying back into the Theodosian and Julian havens under full
oarage. Along the great brown promenades upon the ramparts, the
multitudes spoke in tense whispers. No laughter, no excited shouting. It
seemed otherwise greatly like a thousand other luxurious afternoons when
half Constantinople had gathered to view the changing lights upon the
Marmora, to discuss the next sports at the Hippodrome, or perchance to
plan water pageants to Therapia or Kartalimen. But there was scanty
trade for the few comfit and sherbet vendors who were untimely enough to
hawk their wares. All the little tables by the wine shops under the
walls were vacant. Like men transfixed stood the thousands, all
outstretching their fingers as at some archangel's summons, and
speaking one word, each to his neighbour: "_There!_"

First, merely a few brown dots lay on the gleaming horizon; then the sun
caught fairly the red and yellow sails while the mild southwest breeze
carried them onward. To straining eyes at length became revealed the
massive hulls, masts like forests, sails like the plumage of enormous
water-fowl, and scores, nay hundreds, of rising and falling oar-banks
like the advancing feet of uncanny sea-monsters. "This is but the van of
Moslemah's fleet," ran the awestruck whisper; "they say at the Palace he
has of ships great and small full eighteen hundred."

The strange array drew nearer. Hopes there were that round the Palace
Point would swing the dromonds pent up in the Golden Horn, to teach what
it meant to violate waters which girded the imperial city, but no Roman
beak was visible. In perfect silence from the walls the Moslem armada
approached the capital--one mile, half a mile, a bare two stadia. By
this time from the nearest walls the Saracen decks were distinguishable.
One could even see the whip-masters going up and down the gangways among
the toiling rowers, and at last came clearly the deep "Ha!" and ever
again "Ha!" of the naked wretches as they delivered each stroke. Now
also arose the din of drum and cymbal, clarion and dulcimer, lifting
defiance and mingling with the unearthly yells and defiance of the
seamen on prow and poop.

"_Ya, Allah! Ya, Allah! Allahu akbar!_" And next came shrill voices
calling over the waters in bad Greek, "Make ready for your guests,
Christians. Trick out your prettiest daughters!"

The walls, however, for long endured in silence. Wiseacres whispered to
the timorous, "The currents make an attack on the Marmora side
impossible. No danger now. It's the other fronts we have to dread."
Nevertheless, there were many anxious glances towards the towers nearest
the straits. The Roman pennons were drifting idly. Not a soldier seemed
in sight. The defenders of Constantinople were apparently blind and deaf
with the defiant foe at their very thresholds. At last murmuring arose
among the watching citizens. "The Lion? Where is the Lion?" muttered one
group to another; and there was even the derisive query, "But _is_ he a
Lion? Where to-day are his fangs?"

Emboldened by the immunity, at length one Saracen galley swept her long
banks nearer the battlements, to the very shadow of the twin towers
guarding the entrance to the Julian Haven. A noble trireme,[54] her
hundred and seventy oars leaped in disciplined rhythm. The turbans and
kaftans of her officers, half covering their gilded armour, flashed
colour from her stern. Venturing to the edge of arrow-range, she
advanced arrogantly, and a tall warrior leaped upon her bulwark. His
white turban gleamed with gems: "A great emir, an Omiad prince,"
whispered many.

[54] The bulk of Byzantine and Saracenic warships at this time were two
bankers, but certain of superior model were three bankers.

"God is one!" rang his defiance in Greek. "He begetteth not and is not
begotten. He hath no son or companion. Deceive not yourselves. Issa was
only a prophet; lo! now his mission is void. Mohammed hath superseded
him. Look on the True Believers' might. Your Carpenter will not save
you. What does He now?"

Suddenly from the crest of the nearest tower thundered a great
voice--Basil's. The admiral stood forth alone, erect against the
sky-line. His curved sword waved brightly above his head. By sea and
land all looked on him.

"What does the Carpenter now?" he trumpeted. "I will tell you. _He is
making a coffin._"

The sailor's long blade sank. At the signal with a rattle and crash an
apparently solid piece of the parapet beside him collapsed inward. A
second rattle: An enormous wooden arm, like the black limb of some
unloosed Titan, was seen swinging over counterweight and pivot. Far away
could be heard the hurtle and rush of a great stone flying squarely
towards the trireme.

The missile crashed with bloody ruin into the closely-packed oar-bank,
even while the helmsmen vainly strove on their steering paddles. A
second swinging arm, a second stone and even better aimed. It smote down
the knot of officers upon the poop. There sounded the rending of solid
timbers and white splinters flew out as under a woodman's axe. A third
catapult: The missile drove through the solid gunwales, crushing in the
side like an eggshell. The trireme reeled in a kind of agony. Her oars
trailed in confusion as the rowers rushed frantically from the benches.
A moment more and she was seen lurching in her death flurry.

A consort had dashed forward to succour her, but the swinging arms had
been instantly twisted back. A dozen other catapults suddenly upreared
themselves in action. A stone struck the boarding bridge hung between
the masts of the second galley and dashed it to fragments. She swerved
ignominiously, leaving the first victim to her fate, while the whole
Moslem fleet made desperate efforts to get beyond range of the terrible
engines and were soon under full power flying back to the Isles of the
Princes.

The walls quaked with the salvos of cheering, as Roman boats shot out
from the Julian Haven to rescue the struggling Moslems as the low waves
closed over a noble hull. When had been counterstrokes more dramatic?
When catapults with such unearthly power and range? Having contributed
nothing to the success, but feeling now very brave, the multitude was
quite ready to cry, "Slay the enemies of God!" when Basil's pinnaces
brought the half-drowned prisoners ashore; but the admiral's men beat
back the gesticulating monks and screaming women. "Softly, good people,"
enjoined a master-pilot, "dead captives answer no questions. These
fellows may be worth to us their weight in gold."

But all baser emotions were easily drowned in the general rapture which
seized the thousands at this first success won under their very eyes.
"The Panagia is with us! St. Theodore is with us! Did you not see the
claws of our Lion?" Thus friend to friend and neighbour to neighbour.
And as the Saracen ships were seen slinking away to some anchorage down
the Marmora, the vast tiers of humanity along the seawall began chanting
together a thunderous doxology:

    "Glory to the Father, and to the Son and to the Holy Ghost,
    As it is now, and ever shall be, unto the Ages of Ages! Amen."

So the populace returned to their homes to take fickle courage, as if
the crowding peril were over, and to boast complacently upon "Our
marvellous victory," while Basil still stood on the seawall, scanning
the retreating hulls and saying to Fergal, "They are many, many; but
they become one less. Your father-in-law's catapult was not vain.
They'll shun our Marmora ramparts now as they should the devil. We've
put only a drop in the bucket to-day, but it's the drops that make the
Bosphorus."

       *       *       *       *       *

Basil and Fergal later found Leo in Kasia's apartments at the summit of
the Daphne. The Emperor had already witnessed from afar the success of
the new catapult. When the admiral entered, Leo ran to him with
delighted laughter and seized the sailor's powerful hands in his own
quite as mighty.

"_Euge!_ They've learned their first lesson, I warrant," cried the
Isaurian. "It'll hearten our people--that's the main thing. I thank you,
Basil. Nought was ever concealed better. How is the great chain across
the Golden Horn?"

"Lysis reports it is firmly stretched under his own orders. We have
taken some good prisoners. Shall I examine them?"

"Yes, but no tortures. They are brave men. And you, Fergal, how do
Kallinikos and Leander prosper with their work?"

"Some of their ingredients are hard to prepare; nevertheless, they make
progress. They'll have enough in ten days," returned the young
Spatharios.

"Good again, but Michael had better double his prayers that the
Hagarines are dilatory in trying to force the Bosphorus. We must spare
nothing to make them cautious. As for the city, take my dutiful wish to
the Patriarch that the 'Sleepless Monks' of St. John, who chant in
relays day and night, remove from their convent to Hagia Sophia and
there maintain their office. It will help to steady the women."

Leo's eye was alight, his step resilient. Grave of wont to his
subordinates, in this hour of absolute crisis his manner became one of
easy comradeship. He seemed even gay. His words were the words of a man
who has anticipated all things and is the master of his fate. When Basil
and Fergal bowed themselves out of his presence, the admiral delightedly
turned to the Celt. "What a leader to have at once for Basileus and for
friend. Who cries 'fail!' when he's commander?"

But with the door once shut behind them, Leo swung himself towards
Kasia, who had been watching her mighty son with gaze at once admiring
and puzzled. He laughed again, but not with the laugh of recklessness.

"This is the day, mother mine: the day for which I have lived and moved
and had my being since that day when I became Protector. God has us
all--Moslemah, the Kalif, Basil, I--all the rest of two vast
empires--spread out upon His own great gaming board. Whither will He
move each one of us next? One thing at least men can say of your Lion.
Not for little things has he tried to live. Not for little things is he
now prepared to die."

"Don't speak of dying," commanded Kasia, crossing herself a little
superstitiously. "It's a very bad omen. Basil has won a great success."

"Just enough to make the emirs hesitate, and to put our own populace in
good heart. That's all I counted on. The sparrows of course must twitter
upon their ivy when the thunderbolts are soon to follow. Moslemah must
be suffered to prepare his bolt until----" A faint rustle sounded from
the end of the long chamber. "What's that girl doing yonder?"

Kasia smiled contentedly. "That's my new treasure, Saloma--the first
decent wench I've had in this accursed palace. Reminds me of the old
days."

Leo shot upon Saloma a glance which seemed to that startled damsel to
penetrate to her back lacings. With a single gesture he sent her
trembling out of the apartment. "If joy she gives you, O my mother, then
joy she gives to me, but remember, _philotata_"--he laid a cautioning
touch on Kasia's shoulder--"the Sacred Palace isn't our dear Mesembrian
farm. We aren't obeyed here because we're loved but because we're
feared. The walls have ears and the pavements eyes. Paul the Eunuch
seems fangless now, yet always beware of snakes. Some day----"

The door was swung open by Peter. The Chief of the Protectors clanged
across the floor in his full armour, and saluted.

"Sacred Clemency, smoke is rising from the outside villages. Great
clouds of dust are seen along all the roads as of advancing thousands.
Turkoman cavalry are exchanging arrows with our outposts."

Leo clapped on a plain steel helmet. "It's time for them. Take all the
guard to the Palace of Anastasius at Blachernai. I will go with you."

"An assault--so soon?" Kasia's withered lips quivered slightly.

"No, mother mine, grievous partings can wait awhile"--and, heedless of
the gazing officer, the Emperor bent his martial bulk and kissed her:
"To-night at worst it's only an embassy they will probably send me. But
I must go to show the Hagarines the face of a Csar." ...

... Leo was right. Just as the summer shadows grew long, a little
tambour of horsemen rode down the Selymbrian Way to the outworks before
the land walls. The riders were tall warriors in costly panoply and of
haughty mien. Their jet-black steeds were fierce stallions from the
deserts. However, they carried their lance heads inverted, and when the
Roman sentries came in sight their trumpeter blew a shrill parley. A
Roman trumpet answered immediately, and a Christian officer in jangling
mail advanced from the palisades and saluted ceremoniously. "Your
mission?" he demanded in clear Arabic. The Moslems were amazed to hear a
red-headed spatharios speak with an accent worthy of the kalif's divan,
but their leader announced, "I am the _Kaid_ Sukaina. I bear a message
from the Emir of Emirs to your Emperor."

Fergal saluted again. "Your coming is expected. My august master the
Basileus is at the fort at Blachernai. He commands me to conduct you to
him."

Sukaina glanced about him. "And my escort, where can they wait me?"

"They all go with you," rejoined Fergal with haughty generosity. "The
orders are not to blindfold them. Let each man gaze with both eyes."

The doors in the timber outworks were flung wide. The Kaid and his troop
passed inside the palisades, next clattered over an enormous drawbridge.
Under their feet at a giddy depth was swirling the water from a dozen
aqueducts as the great moat was flooding.

Before them, and involuntarily striking awe into their very marrow
uplifted the double wall of Theodosius II: lines upon lines of gigantic
towers and ramparts as far as the eye might reach--dark, brown or grey
under the evening light, here covered with greenery, here grim and bare,
everywhere defiant and adamantine: the outer wall one-and-thirty feet in
height and thirteen in breadth, the inner wall six-and-thirty and
thirteen. Seventy-eight flanking towers upreared above the outer
barrier, one hundred and sixteen, loftier and stronger than the first,
above the inner. Beside each of the seven public gates and the seven
military gates rose mightier towers still. Clear across the four miles
from the Golden Gate to the heights of Blachernai upon the Golden Horn
ran the imperial bulwark; and Fergal, riding at Sukaina's side, saw the
dark eyes of the Saracen nigh starting from his head, and noted the
admiring and half-affrighted glances shot from Moslem to Moslem in the
embassage. It was as if to that self-confident, plunder-lusting band a
voice had spoken from above: "To this barrier have come Goth, Hun and
Avar in insolence and might, despising 'effeminate' New Rome; but one
and all they have turned back discomfited. And are ye better and braver
men than they? Hither, O Invader, shalt thou come and no farther, and
here shall thy proud waves be stayed."

Fergal led them in thoughtful silence along the broad paved road betwixt
the outer and inner walls. Everywhere above the Kaid's head were moving
spearpoints and helmets. Loud rose the clatter and bustle of thousands
at martial toil. They halted often to give way to squadrons of cavalry
or heavy phalanxes of pikemen. Dimly now against the twilight skies
could be seen the gaunt arms of mighty casting engines, such as had
dashed the trireme to her doom.

"You have come far, my _Seyd_," spoke Fergal to the chief ambassador,
"to behold Constantinople. Let nothing escape you. Bring a full report
to your High Emir."

"Wallah!" cried the Saracen, overwhelmed at last, "is your Emperor such
that he fears not to reveal his full power to his foes?"

"The Lord of Constantinople need conceal nothing from man or God.
Remember also that he is called the Lion."

Three-quarters of the compass of the land wall thus had been traversed
when under torchlights the envoys and their guides clanked up the steep
way to Blachernai, the northern citadel overlooking the Golden Horn.
Here in what had once been a summer palace of Anastasius I and what was
now a stark castle, Leo was waiting his expected guests. The envoys had
heard much of the silken grandeur of the imperial court. They were
prepared for a hall of state and for long-robed magnificoes surpassing
the splendours of Damascus; but Fergal ushered them now into a long
gallery with red cressets flaring over walls of bare stone, and barer
pavements. The place was packed with armed men, and betwixt two lines of
spears the messengers were led to a low dais where on a crude chair sat
a figure in plain black armour with unadorned steel helmet. Only his
purple leggings told his rank, although above the chair as a kind of
baldachin hung a great oblong of black damask blazoned in the centre
with a golden eagle, its pinions outspread. At the right of the seat
stood the High Strategos Artavasdos, at the left Basil, both with drawn
swords and silvered armour. Behind the chair, impassive as northern
rock, stood twenty gigantic Frankish mercenaries, the blond braids of
their long hair mingling with the gold on their shields, while they
leaned on the sledge-like _franziskas_, their native battle-axes.

The Saracens advanced boldly to the foot of the dais, brave men
exchanging glances with the brave. Then Sukaina and his companions
gravely bowed their turbans low and stood with folded arms awaiting the
imperial behest.

"You are welcome, Seyids," spoke Leo mildly in good Arabic. "You were
expected. My service on the Cilician Marches has taught me your tongue.
In other days how gladly we would exchange the pledges of friendship,
but I know your master enjoins haste. Make known your mission."

The Kaid sought a supporting glance from his two chief associates; then
drew from his bosom a scroll. "Great Lord of Rome," he began in very
fair Greek, "your pride and valour are known to us. What answer you may
make is already recorded on the scrolls of the all-seeing Allah;
nevertheless, inasmuch as Mohammed the Apostle (on whom be peace)
undertook no war against Syria and Persia until he had first summoned
the rulers thereof to confess El Islam, or, failing that, to submit
themselves to the Faithful, we now are come to transmit to you this
message from the seal and hand of the Kalif himself."

"Read forth," commanded the monarch, "and let no man presume to
interrupt the Kaid's speech, however arrogant his words."

Sukaina shook out the scroll, and tossed his head boldly:

     "_Solyman, Lieutenant of the Lieutenant of Allah, Sovereign
     from the Sea of the West to the River of India, the Shadow of
     the Most High, the Dispenser of Thrones and of Destruction, to
     Leo calling himself Emperor of the Romans, his slave_:

     "Deliver unto me the city of Constantinople, too long withheld
     from the servants of El Islam. Make wide its gates before my
     vice-regent, the Emir of Emirs Moslemah. Then shall my
     benignity grant unto your people clemency, the enjoyment of
     their families, and of a half of their wealth, and, should
     they persist in their error, the offices of their Christian
     religion. And for you, O Leo, I promise a garden of delights,
     riches, a robe of honour, and a place exalted among the
     greatest of my emirs."

The reader paused, and Leo smiled enigmatically. "I am overwhelmed," he
responded, "by the Kalif's generosity beyond all expectations. But if we
accept not his proffer?"

Sukaina let his voice rise:

     "But, if confident in your Issa, whom ye miscall God, but who
     was merely a prophet and who died not upon the Cross as ye
     pretend, ye harden your hearts against this my magnanimity and
     resist my servants, think not to cry for compassion again.
     Verily, as Allah is Deity alone and hath stretched out the
     heavens like a tent and the earth like a tent cord, for all
     your men of war is reserved foul death. And this shall be the
     fate of your city: Your old men and women we will take to die
     toiling in bondage in a far country; your youths we will make
     our eunuchs, your maidens our concubines. Your silver, your
     gold, your dwellings we will make a spoil for the Faithful.
     Your churches will we make mosques and your monasteries
     dunghills. Boast not in your pride. From the days of the
     Prophet have we not gone forth conquering for ever? And
     wherein are ye better than all the kings from Yezedgerd the
     Persian to Roderick the Goth who set themselves against the
     hosts of El Islam and lo! the Gehenna fires have closed over
     them?"

As the Kaid closed, despite the Emperor's injunction, there was a
terrible murmuring all down the closely-packed hall. Spears tossed
wildly, and the Frankish giants lifted high their axes, but Leo quieted
them all with a gesture and his voice was even mild:

"_Seyd_ Sukaina, you are a gallant officer. No light thing you know you
dared when you came to read that scroll to a Roman Basileus' face. In a
happier day I would study to be your friend. At present when you depart
I command that a dalmatic of crimson silk be given you, and a hundred
solidi be distributed among your followers." The Saracen bowed himself
to the pavement. "And now"--Leo rose in black might and dashed his long
scabbard upon the flagging--"take back this answer to your commander: A
Roman Emperor makes no unworthy threats. You have seen our walls. Come
and storm them. You know where lie our ships. Come and take them. When
near the Lion's den beware his sudden leap. And, answering the
blasphemies against our holy religion, hearken with both ears. May God
cut me off from Salvation and Christ Jesus deny His pity if I receive
again envoy from your emir save as he would plead for safe retreat; and
he who comes for other purpose I swear to set his head above the Golden
Gate. Think not that because our God spoke 'Peace,' and your false
prophet cried 'War,' we Christians know not how to fight. You have come
from far to wage your Djihad. Make sharp your blades, recite your Koran,
cry loud to Allah--you will need his mercies."

And so the embassy was gone, with only an iron discipline keeping the
Protectors' swords from hewing the insulters in pieces. But Leo smiled
approvingly once more when Fergal later came in with his report after
escorting Sukaina out through the Fountain Gate.

"Sacred Clemency, they never ceased marvelling until I quitted them.
They believe we possess countless numbers, and I heard them muttering,
'Beware a sortie before we have fortified our camp.'"

"That will give time," quoth the Emperor; "time for Kallinikos, and two
weeks of his work are now worth more than all the revenues of all the
themes."

Then with a chosen few, ardent young officers whom he had inspired with
his own high courage and who at one word would have died for him, he
ascended the dizzy summit of the Tower of Baktagion by the Gate of St.
Romanos, the key to the defence. Far below over the night-clasped
Thracian plain spread out numberless strange lights, campfires answering
the calmer glitter of the stars. Out of the darkness rose the discordant
sounds of drums, flutes, trumpets and timbrels, the chanting of
outlandish battle-songs, the clash of armour, the jingling of chains,
the snorting of buffaloes, camels and horses, the shrill "Ahu! Ahu!" of
savage Tartars, the loud accents of ulemahs exhorting the true
believers, the deep shouts of "Allah" in response--all confounded in one
terrible and warlike noise.

Priest was not by the Emperor, nor crucifix, but Fergal standing near
saw Leo raise his hands unaffectedly against the night and pray aloud:
"O Lord, the enemies are come at last. On my hand, my tongue, my brain
rests under Thee the life and death of all this Thy Christian empire and
city. The power of the foe is vast, and all the devils in Hell rage to
befriend them. Send down Thine angel, Lord, as when Sennacherib
encompassed Jerusalem of old, or quickly take away my life that I may
not see the pure and holy mastered by the impious and vile."




CHAPTER XXVII

THE EMPEROR SPEAKS FOR THE MAN


The destruction of the trireme and the bold front before the embassy
fulfilled their purpose: Caution possessed the emirs.

Moslemah's myriads were put at work beyond farthest catapult-shot from
the walls preparing a vast stockaded camp surrounded by a ditch and
strengthened by castles of huge uncemented stones. His fleet also moved
prudently, waiting for the army to be ready to coperate. It was not
until the first of September that its rear squadrons were seen trailing
up the Marmora and anchoring with the others near the beaches of
Magnaura, two miles beyond the Golden Gate.

Meantime gust after gust of hope or despondency swept across the city.
At one moment the folk were ready to rush forth to Moslemah's camp,
trusting in the Panagia's aid to storm it with their empty hands. The
next the whole capital was shaken with rumours that the gates had been
betrayed and the yellow Tartars were coursing down the Mese. For the
young men there was abundant outlet in the trainbands now being
continually drilled into something like a presentable militia, while
every artificer found employment for his skill at the Arsenal or the
Navy Yard. There remained, however, hundreds of thousands of older men
and women, and on this impressionable multitude the prophets of evil
wrought all too readily.

The great army of monks, ascetics and anchorites had not forgotten
their discomfiture in the hall of the Patriarch. The offence of
Kallinikos had faded, but they now traded out their grudge against Leo
by circulating every kind of insidious whisper. At the Neorian wharf by
the Navy Yard stood a colossal brazen ox, supposed to bellow at every
impending calamity. The adjacent monks of St. Didymos now swore that
their sleep was destroyed three successive night by unearthly lowings.
More disastrous still was the assertion that to a venerated recluse had
appeared a vision of St. Gabriel, who assured him that human might would
avail nothing against the Infidel, and that the Hagarines were destined
to penetrate into the city clear to the Forum of Theodosius, when
legions of angels would fling them back in confusion without mortal
aid.[55] All military precautions were therefore sheer presumption, and
distrust of Heaven.

[55] Such a prophecy was also made during the final Turkish siege in
1453 A.D.

Inevitably, Marinos was in his element. Never before had he held greater
crowds of unemployed hucksters, raw lads and silly women groaning and
fascinated beneath his pillar.

"Lo, now is come the day of God's wrath," he would shout over the
hundreds, "the day of mourning for the bridegroom and the bride, the day
of desolation for each house of prayer. Verily, the Lord our God is a
jealous God, remembering our iniquities unto the third and fourth
generation. Think ye yourselves righteous? Remember, then, your fathers'
and your grandfathers' vile sins. Behold, He hath covered the daughter
of Zion with the cloud of His anger. He hath cast down the beauty of
Israel. He hath burned against Judah as with a flaming fire. Cease,
then, your vain strivings with sword and spear. Are not the Hagarines
like the Babylonians to the Jews of old, ministers of the Heavenly
fury? Cast away, therefore, your shields and bows! Cry unto the
mountains 'Fall on us!' and unto the waters 'Cover us!'"

After such harangues a kind of desperate madness would possess the
people. Some men shut themselves in their houses, giving themselves over
to riotous and sensual feasting. Others lay prostrate day and night in
the churches, where in one monotonous chant from the thousands rose the
incessant "_Kyrie eleison! Christe eleison!_"

The Emperor endured all this for long, knowing well the danger of
tampering with the superstitions of the populace and their ghostly
leaders; but at length when the more intelligent churchmen were becoming
alarmed at the growing spirit of pessimism, suddenly all the hegumens
were ordered to report at the Patriarch's palace. They were received not
by his Beatitude, but, to their great astonishment, by Basil clothed in
full armour and flanked significantly by a forty of grimly panoplied
marines.

"Holy Fathers," demanded the admiral abruptly, before they could recover
from their bewilderment, "the august Basileus commands me to ask you all
a question: Do any of you or your monks desire to turn Moslem?"

"The Blessed Trinity forbid," came the horrified murmur.

"Who then among you claims that the Panagia or angels have favoured him
with visions revealing that the human sword is useless against Infidels?
Let him speak now without modesty."

An awkward silence followed. Basil's tone did not encourage claims to
the heavenly honour. Presently the hegumen of St. Diomedes ventured, "It
is so claimed by Marinos, the pillar-saint."

"And do you agree with him?"

More silence, and then some earnest denials.

"Give heed, then, Holy Fathers," pursued the admiral, "and tell this to
all your monks: Learned prelates have warned the Emperor 'Take heed
against visions which come not from God but from the devil.' If the
Hagarines are to be repelled from spoiling your convents it will be by
every Christian doing his part. Your pious brethren's bodies are strong.
In this time of siege you will not, I fear, live on manna, nor be fed by
ravens. Claim any of you to be wiser than St. Paul?"

"God forbid," again all the black hats and veils shook in chorus.

"Hear, then, his saying, even if expounded by an unlearned sailor: 'If
any will not work neither shall he eat.' To-morrow you shall lead all
your monks out to the walls to assist with the palisades and the
gabions. If any have scruples against this, there are the hospitals and
the public bakeries. For those that refuse stubbornly there must be the
holy joys of absolute fasting, and for those who circulate lying stories
there shall be the swift anguish as well as perchance the later glories
of martyrdom. Depart."

The black hats went out, all bobbing in consternation together, but the
threats had sunk home and there was a spirit of obedience in every
convent when the news spread of the deed that immediately followed.
Basil led his men straight down to the waterfront where Marinos was
lashing himself into no ordinary fury. The marines, long at feud with
the city monks, brushed aside the frantic crowd of listeners and without
hesitation a tall Islander laid his axe to the foot of the wooden
pillar. "Chop," commanded the admiral.

The anchorite's scream rose to heaven: "Now is the cup of iniquity made
full. Now is the hand of the sinful Uzza put forth against the holy ark.
Rain down Thy lightnings, O Lord. Send down Thy fire as upon the sinful
captains and their fifties at the call of Elijah the Prophet!"

"Chop!" reiterated the undaunted officer. Hundreds averted their faces
in horror at the proposed sacrilege. The chips flew wide. The pillar
shivered. The heavens continued serene. No anathemas from above were
heard, no thunders, no consuming lightning bolts. Yet again rang the
axe. Marinos' voice rose to frenzy: "Impious of the impious! Infidels
and worse than Infidels! Your lot is with Herod, Pilate and Judas for
ever!" But at the fourth blow, right in the sight of the shivering
multitude, Marinos descended the spikes set in the sides of the pillar,
with a most unsaintly haste, and fled towards the adjoining church, the
dust and fleas snapping from his filthy sheepskin. Men blinked in
amazement, while women crossed themselves; but Basil and his company
seemed none the worse.

"_Euge!_" cried the admiral with ferocious smile. "There'll be fewer
murky visions and fewer screech-owls to-night in Constantinople."

In a twinkling the mood of the mob changed. "We were deceived. He's no
saint. Perhaps in pay of the Hagarines to scare us. Impostor! Croaker!
Madman!" Seconding such yells, certain even threatened to invade the
church, chase out the anchorite and dip him in the harbour.

This fury, however, ended in mere noise. Marinos presently disappeared;
it was reported into some monastery whose officers agreed to be
responsible for his conduct. Not without satisfaction did Leo greet
Basil at the Daphne that evening. The hegumens had promised as a body to
put their monks at useful labour, and to discipline all prophets of
calamity. "And that," spoke the Emperor, "is all we can desire to-day;
though when the good God takes the Saracens off our hands I'll deal
with these pious busybodies at leisure."[56] Then he listened to many
other reports: from the landwalls and seawalls, from Galata and
Chrysopolis. Last of all, Fergal entered the presence of his master, and
one glance at the Celt caused Leo to send all others from the chamber.

[56] A promise amply fulfilled in the latter part of Leo's reign.

The spatharios was only scantily clad. His forehead was pale, his limbs
blue, his breath still panting. When he strove to salute, his feet
tottered and with his own hands the Emperor forced him into a chair.

"Swimming again?" demanded the Isaurian significantly. "And not a few
strokes, I warrant. It takes a long stretch to wind a dolphin like you."

"Yes, _despotes_, I have been swimming. Late to-day I felt an itching in
my bones. 'Go out and skirt around the Hagarine ships,' something said.
So I entered the water at the Kyklobion, the fort protecting the Golden
Gate."

"Wise you were not to ask my permission. I'd have withheld it, not
desiring to lose you. But continue."

"I clung to a bit of driftwood and covered it with seaweed to help hide
me. Thus I made fair progress. I worked close to the Saracen fleet. The
ships are strung out by Magnaura and far to southward. All the armada
has at last arrived from Egypt and Phoenicia. They have got out their
battle tackling and taken aboard many soldiers from the army. I could
see them adjusting their boarding bridges and casting engines. At a
venture I risked swimming close to their portholes and heard the chatter
of the seamen. Once I was hailed but my good reply in Arabic got me
off."

"And you found?" thrust in the monarch with straining interest.

"The orders were being transmitted: To-morrow they will go up the
Straits."

"Ha!" ejaculated Leo softly. "And what else?"

"The transports will follow the battle fleet. They will come with at
least two hundred biremes and triremes. Well, the swim back was in the
dark and safer, but the current hindered. At last I made the Kyklobion
and got a horse. And that is all, _despotes_."

"You have done well," were the Emperor's only thanks. Then he clapped
his hands to bring back the attendants. They saw him rising and
strapping his belt tighter. "Give God the praise! There will be hotter
work to-morrow than hewing down a pillar-saint. All this of course must
be told to Basil. And now I'll ride to Kallinikos." ...

... Around the house at the Mangana torches were gleaming and from
within came the shimmer of lamps and the noise of much human bustle. The
Emperor's small escort answered the challenge of a centurion of the
Protectors. Leo leaped from his mount and summoned the officer:

"Your guard has been ceaseless. You know its importance?"

"Yes, Sacred Clemency."

"Have other interlopers been seen?"

"An Epirote girl seemed hanging around yesterday. She's at the Prtorium
now, and the qustor will deal with her."

"To-morrow will reveal the faithfulness of your watch. Now take me
inside."

Leander as well as Kallinikos met the Emperor. The once trig and dapper
engineer was as coal-black now, even as the savant. The eyes of both
were heavy for lack of sleep, but they presented themselves eagerly.

"How many now?" demanded Leo with a wave that forbade salute or salaam.

"Fifty cases. By morning fifty-five," returned Leander, not without
pride.

"Enough. We will take twenty-five ships. That's two cases apiece. The
five last cases will serve as reserve. Keep all your men busy. You are
letting them work each only on a single substance, and are preparing the
final compound yourselves?"

"The Basileus speaks truth," replied Leander.

"Does he assist you properly?" said Leo, smiling and turning to the
begrimed philosopher.

"I've had better pupils in Homer," confessed Kallinikos candidly, "and
Sophocles and Euripides; but touching the domain of Euclid, Eratosthenes
and Archimedes, though his theoretical knowledge is not so great, in the
more practical matters if I could only teach him Egyptian hieratic and
demotic----"

"Ah, venerable friend," cried the Emperor laughing, "if in times like
these I could only withdraw myself into such inner castles of the soul
what refuge for happiness! We're not of his world, Leander! Yet we must
play our own game as the Blessed Saints ordain it. But now tell me----"
And technical questions and technical answers held the three in tense
discussion until far into the night.

At last Leo pressed his last query, gave his last command, and the two
master-alchemists went back to their toil. The Emperor passed from their
workrooms through the aula of the house. Outside under the torches
horses stamped and staff officers were waiting, but Leo moved slowly,
looked about him and not in vain. Behind a curtain leading to a side
chamber he caught a glint of light and sensed that someone was watching.
"_Kyria_!" he spoke; and drew the damask aside. He came face to face
with Anthusa.

She wore a long blue peplon without embroidery or ornament. She was
unveiled and her hair now hung half way to her shoulders, caught back by
two golden grasshoppers. He knew her cheeks were pale, but her eyes
excited and very bright.

"_My_ Basileus," she said; and before he could prevent her she had
fallen upon her knees, seized one of the mailed lappets of his cuirass
and kissed it. Then she rose slowly and stood facing him a long instant,
with Leo pitifully conscious that he knew not what to reply. Anthusa
spoke the first:

"I have overheard the officers. The Saracen ships are about to come out.
To-morrow there will be battle?" Leo nodded. The other passionately
seized his hand. "But you need not go into it. One arm will count for
little, and Basil can do all that you might and more. Your life is
precious to--I mean to all Constantinople."

Leo's form straightened: "The Kalif may sit in his palace; the Basileus
leads forth to war!"

Anthusa knelt again before him, yet this time she lifted her eyes
boldly: "Who am I, a frail and useless woman, to question the man to
whom God has given the keeping of this mighty city and empire. But I
grow presumptuous, so bear with me for asking this: Why must you fight
to-morrow? The walls are very strong. Let the Moslems bruise their fists
on them in vain."

"No one, dear _kyria_"--Leo's hands were very gentle while he lifted
her--"has better right in all the world to ask such a thing than you;
not Basil; not all the Patricians. I will tell you what we strive
desperately to keep from being bruited in the Augustum. I trust indeed
to hold the walls, but the walls may well crumble speedily the moment
this vast city grows hungry. There are a million mouths in
Constantinople. With all our care there is not wheat enough to feed us
through six months--and Moslemah will stay all of those and I fear me
more. With the Bosphorus sealed you can reckon off our doom. With the
Bosphorus open the Euxine grain ships can fight our battles better than
sword or spear. The Kalif's admirals are not fools. To-morrow they will
try to close the Bosphorus."

Anthusa stood now with drooping head. "I am a very stupid girl," she
said, biting her white lips. "I know nothing of war. I thank your
condescension. You must fight."

But Leo did not release her hand. "_Kyria_ Anthusa," he resumed, his own
colour mounting, "do you remember my words to you at Sophia's wedding:
'My private hopes, desires, and vengeance all must tarry; my hours all
belong to the Empire?'"

"I remember," spoke Anthusa.

"Hear, then, my words again. Always now I am constrained to speak as the
Emperor. On the eve of this great ordeal suffer therefore Leo the
Emperor to speak for Leo the Man." He knew his own colour was mounting,
but he pressed forward. "Long ago I matched my boyish strength against
the great ram at St. Theodore and did you some slight service. To-morrow
I go out to battle with God's help for all the Roman Empire, for every
spirit pure and good in all great Constantinople. I am now a man and you
a woman grown. We know the fates of war and do not blink at them. If I
am spared and we prevail in this siege, what may follow for you and for
me in after-years let the Most High keep now as His great secret. But I
cannot go to the ordeal save as I tell you this: When I grapple the
Moslem ships, your name stands first; if I fall by the Moslem sword,
your name fades last within my heart. Pray for us all, but pray most
earnestly for your own warrior, for my need of your prayers surpasses
all your need of my poor valour."

Anthusa's lithe form swayed a little under the flowing peplon. She
seemed in turn seeking for speech, but no sound crossed her moving lips.
Then suddenly he bent, seized both her hands and kissed them. When he
released his grasp she laid her white fingers on his bowed helmet. "_My_
Basileus," at last she said again.

Leo uprose in his strength. "Yes," he answered with deep voice, "now it
must be 'Basileus' and ever 'Basileus' until the shadow of the Saracen
passes." He stood erect and saluted her as a soldier might his general,
then turned with resounding strides towards the door. "The Navy Yard
with speed!" she heard him order, and with his whole troop canter off
into the darkness.




CHAPTER XXVIII

THE MIRACLE OF FIRE


September the third. Anthusa had not slept that night, neither had any
man or woman in Constantinople. Like all the rest she was up at grey
dawn. The wind was coming in mild puffs from the southward. The last
stars were fading from a cloudless sky. "The Hagarines will try it
to-day," so said every mortal in the great city one to another.

It was not to the Marmora walls this time that the myriads streamed. As
many as were permitted pushed through the gates of the Palace Compound
and mounted the eastern walls. Others clambered the lofty domes and
scaled the giddy columns of the fora. Every wharf on the Golden Horn
commanding view out into the Bosphorus was black with heads. More
thousands piled upon roofs of the porticoes by the harbour, or peered
from the ascending tiers of houses in Galata and Pera. Across the
Straits one could see the masses of humanity crowding the fortified
shores of Chrysopolis. Women with little children clutching their gowns,
bright-faced girls, elders on staves, priests in black robes, senators
in stiff dalmatics--the distinctions of rank were nearly lost; all were
confused and thrusting together.

Anthusa's own impulse was to go to the Church of the Saviour, very near
the Arsenal, and join in the intercessions there ceaselessly arising,
but her father strangely enough had developed a marked professional
interest in the results of his handiwork. He desired to see the battle.
Fergal also was at hand (sorely against his will, for the ordeal in the
water had left him too exhausted for martial action) and Sophia and
Leander. These, therefore, took the philosopher and Anthusa to the Tower
of Eugenios by the Promontory of St. Demetrios at the apex of the
Bosphorus and the Golden Horn. Stairways, ladders and balconies they
toilingly conquered; then all Constantinople and its waterways seemed
swimming at their feet....

... The sun rose upon another day of gold and glory. The light from the
waters dazzled. Below the Tower the Golden Horn spread out to westward
like a wide blue river, its upper end crowded with peaceful shipping
moved thither for safety. Directly below Anthusa, so that she might
almost have dropped a pebble upon it, stretched the great chain, closing
the harbour, buoyed upon hulks and pontoons clear across to a second
tower on Galata.

Immediately behind the chain, in a long serried line--their beaks all
pointing towards the Bosphorus, their hulls gleaming with fresh black
paint, their bulwarks flashing with the burnished shields hung their
length--swung the Roman dromonds. Upon their decks the crews seemed
swarming like crawling ants. Out from the shores like water spiders were
shooting the caiques and barges bringing out the last draughts of
marines and supplies. Close to the Tower of Eugenios was moored the
tallest "Pamphylian," a dromond of superior size. Her gunwales were
striped with purple. Anthusa knew that this was the flagship, the _St.
Michael_, and that she would bear the Basileus.

At length, as the folk gazed, one wise head was laid to another and
fingers pointed. Twenty-five of the largest dromonds were moored apart
and nearest the great chain. In addition to the usual upperworks,
catapults and massive cranes for the swinging boarding-bridges, near the
prow of each vessel rose a new structure, a stout tower rearing nearly
twenty feet above the decks. These erections were faced with rawhides,
and hides also could be seen covering all the more-exposed portions of
the bows. Sailors were busy wetting them down with water. Retired
seadogs on the quays looked at one another with pessimistic waggings of
the head. "These towers? What possible use? What new-fangled folly of
that upstart admiral?"

Presently Anthusa knew also that there was a murmur and a suppressed
shouting coming along the southern walls of the palace point. Men were
leaning towards the Marmora. "The Saracens have set forth," went flying
from mouth to mouth. But her own gaze continued straight downward. Upon
the level quay at her feet came dashing a troop of horsemen. She saw a
figure leap down from his tall charger. Leo had put off his sombre mail.
Christian and Moslem should know when an emperor went forth to war. His
cuirass, shield and red-plumed helm gleamed with the gilded steel. His
sword was drawn, and the new light flashed upon its brightness. She saw
the knot of high army officers standing about him, doubtless awaiting
the last orders for the guarding of the city. She saw him evidently
pluck off a ring and hand it to Artavasdos the High Strategos,
presumptive successor if he came not back.

The soldiers saluted solemnly and stepped away. A greater group of
navarchs and master-pilots came forward--sinewy, hawk-visaged sons of
the Archipelago who had sniffed the brine since babyhood. They were all
in their blue and crimson jackets, with golden baldrics whence swung
long crooked sabres. Next Anthusa saw the Patriarch in jewelled
vestments upraise his hand and crucifix in the greater benedictions over
them as all bent kneeling. Then the officers rose, and intently faced
their Basileus as he gave them his final word. Whilst he spoke under the
gaze of thousands, the hush ever grew along walls, quays and shipping.
His great voice waxing stronger mounted at length even to the crest of
the Tower. Anthusa knew that he was speaking of native land and city, of
ancestral graves, of church, of holy faith, of all things else which
honest men hold dear, and his last summons swelled like a clarion to all
the hosts around:

"Go, then, to your ships; and I give you the words of that stout warrior
Judas Maccabus, ere he led his men to battle facing odds sorer than do
we: 'With the God of Heaven it is all one to deliver with a great
multitude or a small company. For the victory standeth not in the
multitude of a host, but strength cometh from Heaven. They come against
us with much pride and iniquity to destroy us, and our wives and our
children, and to spoil us. But we fight for our lives and our laws,
therefore the Lord himself will overthrow them before our face; and as
for you--_be ye not afraid of them_!'"

In deathlike silence the Emperor went on board his barge, which shot
from the quay. All the barges of his officers followed. A great purple
flag, sprinkled with white crosses, rose on the mainmast of the _St.
Michael_. Without drum or whistle one of her oar-banks moved. She
stroked noiselessly out to the middle of the great chain, her
twenty-four ready consorts in line behind her. There like dogs on leash
they crouched upon the water motionless, giving no further sign, their
beaks all pointing towards Asia.

The southern wind had fallen. When Leo went aboard the flagship it was a
flat calm. The flags and pennons trailed their lengths heavily. But just
as a faint din from the hostile armada crept around the palace point,
down from the north rushed a sturdy breeze. Long ripples appeared on the
Bosphorus. Soon the caiques were tossing on the wavelets and the flags
all whipping fiercely. The emirs would have to force their fleet into
the teeth of a fairly stiff Euxine gale, doubling all their oarsmen's
toil. Old sailors upon the quays exchanged grins of satisfaction: "The
Hagarines did not know how quickly the Bosphorus winds could shift. The
Saints grant us first advantage."

Then, just as the breeze sung clearly around the Tower of Eugenios,
Anthusa and everyone near her leaned together from the fragile railings,
rechoing the awestruck "Ah!" which was passing along the walls. The
Moslem navy was before them.

It was a sight for men and for angels. The mouth of the Bosphorus was
now covered with enormous ships. Large squadrons were swinging off to
the Asiatic coast to seize the Haven of Eutropios below Chalcedon, but
the rest headed straight northward up the Bosphorus. At the van sailed
long, slim single-bankers, cutting the sea in white furrows, but after
these, in more stately array, moved at least a hundred ponderous
dromonds, slower, heavier than the Roman craft, but ready to defy rams
and grappling engines by their timbered sides and lofty bulks. Above the
rowers, upon prows, midships and stern, the long files of boarders
surged, shouted and shook their scimitars. The noise of hundreds of
trumpets, kettle-drums, atabals and tomtoms, hideous and barbaric,
mingled with the yells of the soldiers and mariners.

"_Ya, Allah! Ya, Allah! Allahu akbar!_" They screamed their defiance
with insulting gestures and hootings towards the crowded masses upon the
walls. On the prow of the chief emir's galley, moving arrogantly in
plain sight, but beyond farthest catapult range, the agonizing
Christians beheld the seamen uplifting a large bronze crucifix, plunder
from some church, and right before the outraged eyes of the onlookers,
the turbaned crew were seen casting filth upon the holy image and
smiting its body and face.

"_Ya, Allah! Ya, Allah! Allahu akbar!_"

Anthusa strove to cover her face, and compel her ears to ignore the
horrid din, but some uncanny power forced her to gaze and listen. The
Saracen ships, retarded by the unexpected gale and heavily laden with
the soldiers they intended to land above the city, advanced with
majestic deliberation. The light craft were at length abreast of Galata,
but the greater ships were only fairly athwart the mouth of the Golden
Horn. All this time the Christian galleys lay as mighty things sleeping,
till another long tremor, half cheer, half groan, undulated along the
walls. Under the eyes of the myriads, silently, slowly, with wide
ripples spreading out upon the water, and, moving as by an unseen force,
the booms across the harbour were swinging aside. A section of the great
chain was slowly opening.

A new pennon, blood-red, broke out from the foremast of the _St.
Michael_ just below the golden eagle. From her poop a single piercing
trumpet sounded through all the barbaric din. Her triple oar-banks
poised once, then leaped into life together. The spray shot high from
her bronze-shod cutwater. At her left flew the _Blessed Trinity_, on her
right the proud _St. Andrew_, the saint rejoicing in war. _The Holy
Resurrection_ sprang forward in her wake, the _St. James_ and twenty
good dromonds more. No trumpets after the first, no shouting, but above
the clamour of the Hagarines sounded the grinding of four thousand Roman
oars leaping like mad upon their thole-pins.

And now, from the walls, men and women gazed, transfixed. Some knelt and
prayed wildly. Some stretched out frantic hands. Then from a reserve
galley behind the chain deep voices took up the great Trisagion. Soon
all the walls, quays and shipping were flinging it heavenward together:

    "Holy God, Holy Mighty, Holy Immortal,
        Have mercy upon us!"

But clamour indescribable was rising from the Saracen ships. To leave
their trailing flanks exposed to the Roman beaks was perilous. The
unexpected north wind and their own daring had brought them too near the
walls. Despite superior numbers, their prows began swerving towards the
Asiatic shore. The vanward ships, caught in the swift current just
beyond Galata, and fearful of losing touch with their heavier consorts,
swung back upon the battle fleet. There was delay, then confusion. In an
instant three of the largest galleys had fouled. Their seamen,
scampering among the tangle of booms and derricks like brown cats,
strove frantically to cut them asunder. Other ships bore down to stop
the Roman onset. Straight into their press, like an arrow from the
string, flew the _St. Michael_, with her four-and-twenty tossing the
spray behind.

The pitiless morning light beat over the ships and waters. All the
tracery of yards and tackling stood out before the watchers. A Saracen
galley, free from her companions, at length shot out from the Moslem
line to meet the Roman flagship. For an instant the two seemed striking
prow to prow, but at the last moment the Christian swerved. The yell of
derision from the Saracen carried even to the shore: "The Romans are
women! They dare not grapple or strike! _Allahu akbar!_"

Then, just as ship rushed past ship, oars barely clearing, the forward
tower of the _St. Michael_ was seen alive with men. Round missiles they
seemed hurling both upon the Moslems' decks and (marvel of marvels) into
the waves about her bow. But, after an instant, lo! out of the
waters--smoke, and out of the smoke livid sheets of fire, bright and
terrible, even against the sunlight. Then, while a wondering silence
held alike walls and ships, as from an archangel's lightning bolts, over
Moslem bulwarks and outworks, cabins, masts, rigging, in resistless
ruin, leaped the flame, until the tall galley faded behind a reeking
smoke bank out of which came screams of mortal agony.

The _St. Michael_ stayed not. Into the press of colliding ships she
charged and all her consorts with her. Soon over the Bosphorus settled
blue smoke which even the piping northern breeze only lifted fitfully.
At intervals the gazing thousands caught glimpses of ships locked
yardarm to yardarm; of boarders, swords in teeth, clambering hither and
thither or flung into the waves. They heard the splintering crash as
some beak struck home and drove in a whole ship's side. They heard the
incessant snapping of oars. The devilish yells of combat, the frenzied
calling to Allah or the Panagia came as the ceaseless thunders of an
angry ocean. And thus for moments like to hours.

Twice and three times Anthusa turned away her face, praying
passionately, "I cannot endure more; give me but power to tear myself
hence!" Yet still they were fighting, fighting, and some power ever
commanded her, "Look!" and look she must again. The first time the smoke
so covered the whole mass of ships, she saw nothing but a few masts
rising above the murk and fire. The second time the wind had shifted the
haze enough so that Roman and Saracen dromonds were seen mixed in utter
confusion, without means to determine which was vanquished and which
victor. The third time--at the beginning the smoke was inpenetrable
again, but as she stared the breeze beat back the foul vapour, and out
of the tangle shot a gleam--the red pennon blew in shreds, but the sun
lit fairly upon the golden eagle. "_St. Michael!_" cried all the walls
in ecstasy. Then drifting away from the battling ships lurched a
galley--unmistakably a Saracen. Her crew had mastered the fire upon her
stern, but all her prow was blazing. A deep gash seemed torn across her
side. Under the eyes of a myriad witnesses she bowed her tall sides over
into the deep, spilling her people from her decks like pebbles as she
capsized--and the crisping waters covered them.

Again the encompassing smoke closed down, though often pierced by
enormous leaps of flame, but now singly, now by twos and threes,
dromonds under full oarage dashed out of it. Hagarines. When they were
not in a blaze their yards and boarding bridges were charred. Their
tacklings hung in eft-locks. Their rowers tore at their blades in the
frenzy of panic. "Allah! Allah!" was still their yell, but now it was a
piteous cry to save. The north wind speedily bore them down among the
Isles of the Princes. Out of the murk there likewise drifted smoking
spars, and bits of wreckage laden with clinging wretches.

Ship followed ship, and as some sped past the palace point those who
knew Arabic heard their crews screaming: "Jinns! Enchantment! Iblis'
work! Gehenna fires!" like men distraught. There were still a second
hundred of Saracen war galleys, not numbering the transports, working up
from the Marmora, but as the survivors came down on them with their
sight of horror, suddenly the prows of the rearward armada turned. The
emirs dared not lead up the second half of the Kalif's fleet to apparent
destruction....

... Little by little the sun pierced through the tangle of hulks and
spars. Shattered and rent, charred and begrimed were all. The noise of
combat, the shrieks of the dying--were they to be endless? Then amid the
crash and tumult came a sudden silence, known in battles, when out from
the maze of ships pealed a thunderous cheer--the cheer of men who had
been into the jaws of hell and had braved the Prince of Terrors; strong,
glad rang the Roman battle cry, "_Iesous Christos nika!_ Jesus Christ is
victor!"

Anthusa again, as in a dream, saw the _St. Michael_ stroking back to the
great chain. Her mainmast was gone. Half her oars were shivered. Her
bulwarks were black and all her bravery departed, save the huge eagle
which still lifted itself in red gold over the wreck-strewn sea. Most of
her consorts were following her, none in better state, several barely
floating. Out into the Golden Horn now, however, sped the reserve
dromonds and the barges. Soon they were towing in fifteen Moslem hulls
whose scorched crews had cast their scimitars into the sea and howled
their "Mercy!" Twenty other Hagarine galleys had vanished in the
Bosphorus. Half of the remaining Saracen craft which escaped were so
burned they could not fight for many a day.

So Fergal, so Leander and the others at hand were telling Kallinikos,
who stood, with vacant eye, combing his beard with nervous fingers,
overwhelmed by the fearful demonstration of his handiwork. But Anthusa
cared for none of these things. Her gaze was wholly upon the _St.
Michael_, and if she were white and silent, sailors and soldiers upon
the quays were trumpeting her question for her: "The Basileus--what of
him?" Then quays, walls, towers shook with the loudest cheer of all when
a tall figure stood out alone upon the poop of the flagship. The gilded
armour was blackened, the scarlet plume was gone, but there was no
mistaking. "Ten thousand years to Leo Augustus! Ten thousand years to
Leo the Isaurian, saviour of Constantinople! _Leo, tu vincas!_" went up
the salvo together.

As the flagship neared the Navy Yard quay, some of the clergy of Hagia
Sophia upon the quay began rejoicing versicles:

    "God is with us, know ye nations and be confounded!"

And the myriads swelled in reply:

        "For God is with us!"
    "Give ear to the ends of the earth."
        "For God is with us!"
    "The Father of the Age to come."
        "For God is with us!"

And then all lifted the great hallelujah with one voice:

    "Glory be unto Thee, O our God; glory be unto Thee!"

... From her eyrie Anthusa watched the Emperor disembark. Blackened and
battered as was his panoply, he still walked erect, taking the plaudits
of officers and people with almost disdainful calm. The multitudes
streamed down from the walls, laughing and rejoicing hysterically. The
wiser endeavoured, indeed, to say, "The Saracens are still here. Their
fleet is still formidable. Moslemah's host remains at the gates." No
such considerations could quench the raptures of the great services of
thanksgiving in all the churches that night.

When evening fell, with pretended secrecy the entire length of the great
chain was withdrawn from before the Golden Horn. The Roman fleet with
all the reserve galleys again pointed its prows outward. The Saracen
emirs soon got wind thereof. In terror of a new and completely ruinous
attack they made haste to draw up their ships upon the shores of the
remotest Isles of the Princes or in their old havens by Moslemah's camp.
They never knew that of Kallinikos' fire there were left only five
cases.

That same night a messenger came for Anthusa. It was Peter in the
plainest of liveries. "The little _kyrios_," he remarked, "is well. He
bids me bring you this." And Anthusa took a tablet scratched with bold
and hasty uncials.

     "_The kyria Anthusa Maria from her cousin from Thrace_:

     "Know, most gracious lady, that all through to-day the Panagia
     was with me. If I have merited her favour it was through the
     prayers of one I dare not name. The debt to your father is not
     to be measured by solidi or rubies. It is one the Roman Empire
     and its Basileus can never hope to repay; but perchance when
     the present stress is ended something will be possible. I
     think the Hagarines have had enough by sea for the present,
     and they will next test us by land. Pray for your warrior
     without ceasing. Farewell."

So at length slept Moslem host and Christian city, but in the dreams of
all men, some terrified, some joyous, sounded this first roar of the
Lion.




CHAPTER XXIX

THE GATE OF ST. ROMANOS


The defeat of the Saracen fleet thrilled Constantinople. There was
optimism ("Too much," said old soldiers) that all was well. The
confounded monks, silenced in their croakings, began now to circulate
stories that no mortal agency had rained fire and brimstone upon the
Moslem galleys. A venerated anchorite even asserted upon an oath by the
True Cross that he had seen the warrior saints Demetrios and Andrew
galloping upon their chargers in the clouds above the Hagarine dromonds
and scattering down destruction as once had the Lord upon Sodom and
Gomorrah. Others in more general terms praised "the miracle by the
Panagia."

In secular circles, however, there was more willingness to credit a
strictly human agency. The sailors who had used the "Maritime Fire,"
suddenly entrusted to them under strict instructions, declared it was a
very matter-of-fact compound, although no man could guess its elements.
At every civilian or military concourse there was one ceaseless,
vehement question, "Who is he? Who is the inventor of this agent of
terror and deliverance?" Had Kallinikos declared himself he would have
been beatified almost as a saint, but the inner circle at the Palace
kept wise silence, and the sage himself (ignorant of all the frantic
curiosity) continued calmly at his labours with Leander.

Ten days of informal armistice followed the Saracen defeat. The
invaders' ships still rode in brave array in the Marmora, but the
heavier galleys were protected by floating booms, the lighter were
moored so close to the shore they could be dragged up instantly.
Everybody knew that by sea the Moslem attack had been blasted, and that
the emirs could hardly make their men approach the fatal mouth of the
Bosphorus. If Constantinople were to be taken the task had surely fallen
to Moslemah's land army.

After the victory by sea, if Leo had called to the city trainbands to
sally forth they would have followed him in all self-confidence, but day
by day the Basileus ascended the land towers, counted the enormous sweep
of the tents of the Moslem laager and the number of its banners, and
rode back to the palace without giving those orders for which the ardent
young centurions prayed. "He did not intend," he said bluntly, "to
present the emirs with a victory. He had waited for the Moslem ships to
come to the Bosphorus. He would wait now for the Moslem host to come to
Constantinople."

On the day, however, that Leander cheerfully reported, "Again fifty
cases are ready," the Emperor gave an unwonted command to Artavasdos:

"I understand we took three thousand prisoners in the sea fight?"

"That is the case, Sacred Clemency."

"Cull from these captives the five hundred most worthless. Strangle them
as mercifully as possible, but then set their bodies on stakes along the
land walls as if impaled with great cruelty. If copies of the Koran have
been taken, see that they are defaced and defiled by our outposts in the
face of all the enemy."

The next day the howlings and fury in the Moslem camp increased
twentyfold. The ulemahs and dervishes stormed frantically for action.
Had the Faithful gathered from the ends of the earth, from the Atlas
and the Oxus, from the Red Sea and the Indus, only to be confounded by
Iblis' enchantments before that city which was the last bulwark against
the universal triumph of El Islam? As for the fire of the Romans, was it
not manifestly a weapon for the sea but not for the land? Galleys it
might consume, but not armies. Allah had merely permitted His people to
be tested in their piety ere vouchsafing final success. Should the True
Believers range victorious from Seville to Samarkand and then shrink
back like women at the burning of a few ships?

"Verily (shouted the preachers) saith not the Prophet, 'The Gehenna
fires will be hotter for you, O ye timid!'"

So the wide camp raged, and if some of the older sheiks and emirs looked
on the walls of Theodosius and shook their great turbans, saying that
deliberate preparations were needful, they were overborne. Speedily the
tidings leaked into the city, "The Hagarines are hewing down the
forests. They are building ladders and portable bridges for the moats.
They are preparing movable siege towers. They are taking their catapults
and dart-hurlers from the ships!" And Leo heard these tidings not
exultantly, but with that silent smile which was better to his devoted
staff than any high boasts of victory.

Quiet there was not in Constantinople the night of October first. Unlike
the day of the sea fight, the populace now were sternly bidden to stay
within doors, except for the great gangs of artificers forging arrow and
lance heads, or shaping spear butts at the Arsenal. Even the churches
were half deserted. But down all the streets leading to the walls, with
clangour of steel, went all the infantry bands and mounted turm of the
garrison until Anthusa gave up counting the rumbling army wagons tearing
away from the Mangana.

Just before sunset the heralds had blown their trumpets in all the fora.
"Romans! The Hagarines are preparing to storm the land walls at dawn.
Their rage is great, but all is made ready to meet them. Remain calmly
in your homes, trusting in the Holy Trinity and praying for the
Christian army. These are the words of your Basileus." Leo had also sent
word to the house of Kallinikos that he would visit the sage again, but
at the last moment came a messenger saying the Emperor was needed at the
fort at Blachernai, and that Artavasdos could transmit Leander's latest
opinions as to the best use of the fire. In the packet was a slip of
papyrus closely sealed and inscribed, "For the very noble Kyria
Anthusa," and its recipient read this within:

     "Your cousin from Thrace at dawn must go to battle. All that
     he has said before, he repeats again. All that it is possible
     for man to do has been done and he is full of hope.
     Nevertheless, pray without ceasing. Farewell."

So Anthusa spent the ensuing day, as did nearly every woman in all
Constantinople, partly on her knees, partly in striving by desperate
attention to homely details to take her mind from the hideous and
incessant rumblings to westward, that low, growling thunder drifting
from the distant walls which told how the myriads were at grips....

... Long before dawn the Moslem host had been awake. From the land
towers the waiting Romans heard the clamour and tramplings of thousands
on thousands. Those who had fought in the Anatolian wars could picture
to their comrades the scenes in Moslemah's encampments--the serried
companies from every southern and eastern clime, swart Moors, yellow
Turkomans, brown Arabs; white teeth and aquiline noses; chests that, if
struck, would resound like a huge brass, oily, stony and full of
wrinkles; arms flung about wildly and often tattooed with red and blue,
or with foliated designs and texts from the Koran. Some of the
battalions from Syria and Persia were swelled with warriors worthy of
chivalrous steel, tall, handsome men of the conquering races of Islam,
splendid with inlaid armour, damascened scimitars, and silken turbans
and surcoats. Their discipline was stern, their movements deliberate.
But beside them were arrayed the hosts of the grossest Orient--sinister
faces, long tresses of tangled hair, half-naked bodies, uncouth
ornaments, and spreading about them the fetid odour of caged wild
beasts.

The Moslem host expressed its impatience by an incessant pounding upon
its shields with scabbards and spear staves, so that even behind the
Roman walls verbal orders could scarce be transmitted. Many contingents
had worked themselves into a raging delirium by the draught of hashish
or the fumes of bhang. Before them were floating visions of the revelry
indescribably sensual, awaiting the True Believers alike, whether they
conquered or perished. Desperados from the Sahara, Hedjaz or the
Chorasmian wilds boasted loudly the number of Christian nuns they would
have in their clutches ere nightfall. Ulemahs ran incessantly up and
down the ranks calling out the felicities of martyrdom:

"Verily saith the Prophet, 'When ye encounter the Misbelievers strike
off their heads until ye have made a great slaughter among them. Allah
commandeth you to fight his battles!' Would ye shun the beds of torment
and the fire that burneth for ever? Haste then to the battle for El
Islam! Is not our living and our dying predestinate? By one twinkling of
an eye can ye postpone your end, as it may be eternally written? Up
then; win for yourselves the silver, the gold, the gems, the slaves, the
delicious palaces of the Misbelievers; yea, and all their fair women. Or
if it is fated that ye fall, ye shall sit down to-night in the Garden
of Delights, beneath the shade of the palms and the pomegranate trees,
where the happy martyrs (their sins cancelled for ever) shall espouse
the stainless ones, the dark-eyed houris." ...

... Two hours before daylight Leo rode to the Golden Gate, accompanied
not merely by the Protectors, but by four strong bands of his own
Anatolians, mailed lancers who had followed him through all his wars on
the Cilician Marches, and who would ride through raging devils at his
least behest. From the camp of Moslemah the din was now spreading
deafeningly the entire length of the land walls, but a centurion rode up
with a report: "The Spatharios Fergal informs the Basileus that he has
made a small sortie and taken certain prisoners. The main strength of
the Hagarines is directed against the Gate of St. Romanos. There they
are wheeling up their towers. The spatharios also learned that they have
elephants which will be used in forcing the timber outworks."

Leo received the report composedly and in the dusk rode deliberately
along the broad military way between the walls. All the garrison were in
their places. Here and there centurions were kneeling while the priests
took their confessions en masse, the men smiting their breasts in unison
as they received absolution. At the Tower of Baktagion, the Emperor was
saluted by the gigantic Karlmann, count of the Frankish mercenaries.

"My young kerls' hands itch on their axes," announced the blond
Northerner. "They are jealous of the glory won by the seamen; I can
scarce restrain them."

"There's a Bulgarian proverb, I've heard," answered the monarch, grimly
smiling, "'Endure, O horse, till the time of green grass.' They need not
wait for their chance for renown much longer."

A concentrated yell from the outposts drowned this colloquy. In the
east was now a long bar of pale golden light, making walls, timber-works
and men stand forth in grey tracery. The rock foundations of the
fortresses shook with the tramplings of tens of thousands of feet
outside and the rasping of the wheels of ponderous war engines. Dimly,
as out of a fog, the whole Moslem host stood revealed--helmets, turbans,
tossing plumes receding far into the distance. Rising above the hosts
like armoured bastions loomed twenty elephants--they and their mahouts
covered with bright mail. The beasts were dragging forward three siege
towers--ungainly masses of trestlework, lumbering on clumsy wheels, and
faced with iron or hides, and lifted to the level of the curtain walls.
Presently now were beheld the long companies of ladder men, some tugging
forward the catapults, while others staggered ahead dragging the bridges
ready to fling across the moat.

Moslemah's numbers spread themselves along every section of the land
wall, but Fergal's tidings had not failed; the elephants, siege towers
and main array were directed near the centre of the defences, to the
Gate of St. Romanos, where, through a deep ravine, the little river
Lykos entered the city. Here, perforce, the moat was narrow and shallow,
and here the ground without the walls almost matched the height of the
ramparts themselves. Near St. Romanos, if anywhere, was the Achilles'
heel of Constantinople.

Turkomans, Indians, Persians, Syrians, Egyptians, Moors, as well as the
sons of the Prophet's own Arabia--all were come for that crowning battle
which was to give to their creed and kalif the lordship of the world.
Their lines shook and swayed like a cornfield under the wind. Every
_kaid_ boasted his gaudy banner, every subordinate _nakib_[57] his
bright-forked banderole. Deep in the masses of the centre, safe beyond
farthest missile but in the full view of the fight, was a litter borne
high by eight giant negroes. Its canopy was white, its woodwork crusted
with gold and ivory. Herein sat the great Omiad, the Emir of Emirs
Moslemah; beside him trooped a battalion of ferocious dervishes covered
with lion and panther skins, and over them floated a huge green
standard, the flag of the Prophet himself, "The Ensign of Ensigns," the
prime talisman of Islam.

[57] Practically the same as a centurion.

Forward came the hosts, their numbers ever more apparent with the
strengthening light. Before the walls and beyond the moat ran a stout
timber-crowned earthwork, no trifling barrier to surmount ere the
Saracens could come to the defences proper. Companies of the city
trainbands held this advance fortification. These militia had been
boastful enough when Leo offered them such a post of glory, but the
veterans lining the walls above noted that the recruits were becoming
silent and nervous as the Moslem host drew near. "Facing Moslemah isn't
cheering on the Blues and Greens in the Hippodrome," quoth a
scar-visaged engineer to Fergal, who had rejoined the Emperor, as the
former shifted the tilt of his catapult bars. "It'll be a pretty boxing
match ere midday."

The advancing hosts came on with tossing tumult until just beyond the
range of the most powerful Christian engines. Then the whole vast array
halted. The kaids and nakibs were seen going down the lines, striking
with the flats of their sabres any whose ill-discipline offended.
Suddenly the voices of hundreds of ulemahs were heard intoning together
stanzas from the Koran and exhortations against the Infidel. At the name
"Mohammed" the thousands upon thousands bowed their crested heads to
their knees as one man. At the name "Allah" as simultaneously they fell
on their faces and kissed the ground. Then for an instant they stood in
ranks extending as far almost as eye could reach, muscles taut, eyes
aflame, scimitars unsheathed. The green standard by the Emir of Emirs'
litter was seen to dip thrice, followed by a shout from all the leaders,
the shout that had pealed at the Yermuk, at Nehavend, at Xeres, at fifty
battles more which had given to El Islam half the kingdoms of the earth:

     "VICTORY OR PARADISE IS BEFORE YOU! IBLIS AND HELL FIRE ARE
     BEHIND YOU! CHARGE!"

From the walls the whole plain below seemed springing to the attack. The
young sun flashed on brandished blades innumerable. The ramparts shook
with the trampling. "_Allahu akbar!_" answered the hosts as one man, all
rushing onward.

The walls had been silent till this moment. Now the battlements became
terribly alive. Great catapults and tormenta hurled heavy arrows and
rocks upon the closely packed assailants. It was impossible to miss the
mark. Lives were snuffed out by every missile, but the rushing feet
merely trampled over the fallen and hastened forward. Soon the nearest
ranks were close enough for common archery. The city trainbands plied
the attackers from every loophole in their timber bulwarks. The heads of
the columns melted like ice before sun, but like a rapid glacier ever
pressed the throngs behind. "Allah! Allah! Allah!" their cry went up in
monotonous thunder.

The first battalions, composed of the least reliable Moors and
Turkomans, artfully put to the front by the emirs, piled a fearful mound
of human forms before the palisades, then recoiled at length upon the
masses behind. The militia holding the breastworks rose in delight,
shouting to one another, "St. Andrew is with us! St. Demetrios is with
us! And the Panagia! Victory!" But the old warriors around the Emperor
upon the Tower of Baktagion only pulled down their casques and
tightened their baldrics. "This was the invitation to the feast; here
comes the banquet!"

Again the green banner of the Prophet dipped. Forward now, with bray of
trumpet and din of kettle-drum, rushed serried lines of white-turbaned
dervishes, the devotees of El Islam. "The black-eyed girls are beckoning
us! They shake out their handkerchiefs of green silk and their caps with
precious stones. They beckon and call out, 'Come hither quickly, for we
love ye!' On, brother martyrs, now to win Paradise!"

Thus dervish to dervish, and as they charged ten of the elephants,
detached from the towers, also lumbered forward. The Roman bolts and
arrows took again a fearful toll from all the attackers. One of the
great beasts trumpeted hideously and fell, but the others, well guarded
by their panoplies, crashed onward against the wooden barriers, bearing
them down by sheer weight. The trainbands stood to the onslaught like
men, but the dervishes swarmed through the breaches torn in the
palisades, and flew with their blades at the defenders. From the walls
above the Romans now feared to shoot lest they strike down friend with
foe. There was hot sword play, but the militia, unnerved by the terrors
of the onset and deeming themselves deserted by the walls, broke at
last. Some fled headlong into the moat, there to drown or escape as
fortune aided; most ran to right and left, protected by those parts of
the bulwark the dervishes had not stormed, and found their way over the
drawbridges into the gates.

"_Allahu akbar!_" rang the exultant yell once again. The whole Moslem
host in great waves surged forward. The remaining elephants, aided by
countless hands, forced ahead the three siege towers. Although the
engines on the battlements had resumed full action and beat down
pitilessly with their missiles, who amongst the attackers counted the
dead? The moat still spread its waters (crimson already) before the
assailants, but thousands were now casting in rubbish of all kinds, yes,
and helpless forms still gasping. At one or two shallow points the
Moslems could almost reach the foot of the walls. Towards other spots
they hurried the movable bridges. "Ladders!" everywhere they were
shouting, and many shook their reeking fists towards the walls above:
"One hour more, Christians, and all your churches are mosques!"

The ladders, however, were flung down the instant they were erected and
all their human freight crashed under them. The Roman engines continued
to discharge ceaselessly upon the ranks advancing from the rear, but the
three towers resisted the blows of the heaviest catapults. On their
black crests could be seen swarming great knots of warriors, picked
sword hands who had claimed this peculiar glory of winning martyrdom or
of being the first to storm the bulwark of Christendom. Behind each
tower pressed strong companies of spirits equally desperate, ready to
fly up the ladders set in the rear of the tall trestlework the instant
it had been forced sufficiently close to the walls. The defenders could
see the cunningly arranged flying bridges placed on the crest of the
great fabrics, adjusted to span the moat at even height with the
parapets.

Over the blood-soaked earth, over the shattered palisades, elephants and
men struggling together and by sheer strength mastering a thousand
obstacles, the towers drew nearer. One hundred feet more and they would
be throwing their sword hands upon the curtain wall just north of St.
Romanos itself. And all the while the Emperor stood watching silently,
motionless save for his ever-moving eyes. His staff looked at him
eagerly, only their inbred discipline curbing impatience. Leo had not
uttered three orders since the attack began. Still he gave no sign.
Eighty feet, sixty, fifty--out in the raging host below the green
standard of the Prophet dipped again, signal for the columns to close in
to support the towers and for the laddermen to renew their efforts.

As the green standard dipped all his staff started with sheer horror.
Leo had leaped upon the open parapet. None could mistake him. A purple
chlamys floated from his shoulders. Around him whirred a dozen Moslem
arrows. To him they were as snowflakes in the gale. The Emperor's hands
made a trumpet, and he sent the Roman war cry now here, now there, far
over the walls and the assailing hosts:

"_Jesus Christ is victor!_" Simultaneously engineers at his side flung
round missiles down into the moat. Smoke rose, then a burst of fire shot
up as a lurid signal. A thunderous cheer answered from all the walls and
impatient array behind. The next instant, with a clang, the drawbridge
before St. Romanos fell. Out of the wide portal, their franziskas
dancing above their lofty heads, poured a grim wedge of Frankish
mercenaries, a seven-foot giant leading their apex. "_Out! Out!_" they
called in Northern gutturals, as with sledge-hammer blows they fell on
the dervishes, every axe-stroke crushing a helmet or lopping a limb.

Before the unexpected shock the Saracens gave way. They recoiled farther
when behind the Franks poured forth, in bristling pike hedges, century
after century of the regular infantry, shield to shield in the close
Roman array that had carried well the eagles on a thousand stricken
fields. Axe to scimitar and spear to pike, they strove for long moments
under the walls. Soon one of the siege towers was in danger. The front
ranks of the Hagarines, for all their frantic valour, began recoiling
upon the rear. The green standard tossed again, at last desperately: the
signal for the kaids in all the reserve divisions to bring up their
unwearied men. New thousands came rushing to the front with a fearful
gladness: "_Allahu akbar!_ Now to win paradise!" Syrian called again to
Persian and Persian to Arab. But next the Moslem war-cries were changed
to unearthly howling. "The fire! Iblis' fire! The jinns are against us!
Save, Allah, save!"

All along the line of the abandoned stockade, out of the very ground,
seemed leaping the flames. Starting far off to right and left, over a
stretch of many furlongs, the fires raced towards a common centre
directly before the Gate of St. Romanos. The attackers tore off their
helmets to cast water from the moat: the shivered piling only blazed
with fiercer heat. At the same instant other catapults and dart-hurlers,
more powerful than before, began shooting missiles from the walls. The
converging flames cut off the Saracens around the siege towers and
nearest the moat from their comrades beyond. Now, through the smoke, the
Emir of Emirs could be seen standing erect in his litter. He was
gesticulating, pleading frantically with his rear divisions to brave the
flames and succour their comrades under the walls. Numbers gallantly
rushed forward, but were caught by other numbers, terrified, scorched
and desperate, running back. Not many could cross that fire wall and
live.

Presently an elephant, beyond all control by his mahout, tore from his
shackles and raged back into the press, trampling a long path of
destruction. The head of the Frankish column had hewed its way to the
foot of the nearest siege tower. Once the Christians gained its
unprotected rear, a long red flame was soon springing up its top-lofty
ladders and trestlework. The men caught upon its summit dropped like
shrivelling worms, but the Saracens threw away their lives recklessly to
save the other two towers. Twice they flung back the Roman onset, when
from north and south along the solid way betwixt the moat and palisades
came the trampling of the imperial cuirassiers, pouring from the
numerous military gates.

The Protectors led the charge; the Anatolian lancers-of-the-line
thundered behind them. On their tall steeds, protected horse and man by
complete panoply, the Hagarine arrows clattered from them harmlessly.
They speared the dervishes like boars, and sent their own horses up to
the very limits of the fire. Near their head raced a purple banner
tipped with a golden eagle. All the hosts knew who rode beside it. The
Moslems cried out in despair: "Allah is against us! Our repulse is
fated! The Lion! Deliver from the Lion!"

The flames caught the second siege tower, then licked up the third. The
last of the elephants, with a trumpeting shriek, tore through the fire
wall and into Saracen ranks wavering behind. The movable bridges and
ladders had long since gone the way of the towers. In desperation, the
last of the original attackers who had crossed the outworks ran back
through the fire, and a few escaped to tell the tale. The blaze, still
furious, prohibited effective pursuit by the victors, but now again from
battlements, gates and all the Christian host rose the exultation, "The
Hagarines retreat! The green standard flies! Jesus Christ is victor!"
while other leathern voices caught up, "Ten thousand years to our
Basileus! Ten thousand years to our Lion!"

Missiles were still flying alike from walls and foe, but sitting upon
his horse just below the Gate of St. Romanos, his staff congratulating
about him, Leo lowered his shield, loosened his cuirass and threw back
his casque to wipe the heavy sweat from his brow. "They have their
lesson, comrades," he was saying, with his wonted smile, when an arrow
whistled downward from the parapet. It smote the Basileus in the neck at
the joining of the gorget and body armour, and he reeled back into the
arms of Artavasdos. Fergal, at his other side, glanced instinctively
upward. Through a loophole in the battlement he believed he saw two
peering faces--instantly withdrawn. Was he mistaken? Was the countenance
of one the unforgettable face of Hormisdas? A centurion instantly flew
inside the gate and up to the battlement. The section of wall around was
entirely vacant. Nothing could be discovered. In the confusion and
huzzahing following the victory any kind of accident was possible.

None save immediate members of the staff saw the catastrophe. The
Moslems, all unconscious, were hastening in demoralization to their
camp, blessing Allah that the Romans were attempting no great
counter-thrust. They had lost all their siege apparatus, all their
elephants and over ten thousand of their bravest. Worst of all, they had
lost utterly their confidence in the possibility of storming the Walls
of Theodosius. Defeated completely by sea, they were now defeated as
sorely by land. Afar from any friendly base the host of the High Emir
was pinned fast. It could not even retreat with fair credit....

... Constantinople again gave itself over to rejoicing that night; once
more the rapturous thanksgivings in Hagia Sophia; once more the
ecstasies over the Miracle of the Fire, praise for its unknown inventor
and for the prescient leadership and the valour of the Lion. But even
while the heralds called out the glad tidings of victory in all the
fora, down side streets rumbled a closely covered army wagon escorted by
a little knot of sorely distressed officers. They had drawn out the
arrow. The wound itself was not deadly, yet an inspection of the missile
instantly told a story. The point had been smeared with some substance,
presumably poison, whereof clear traces adhered to the wooden shaft.
Probably all but a little of the venom had been dashed away by the
thick quilting the Emperor had worn under his cuirass, but enough had
struck home to make the warrior already pallid and fainting.

"On your lives conceal this," had been his last orders as they bent over
him. "Take me--to my mother."

To Kasia then they brought him, driving into the palace grounds by a
private gate, while Artavasdos and Basil put on brave countenances, and
assured the cheering folk in the Augustum that "His Sacred Clemency is
naturally weary to-night because of his valiant endeavours. You will
excuse him from your rejoicings." So the city continued its celebration,
all men saying to one another, "Well, what think the Hagarines of this
the second roar of our Lion?"




CHAPTER XXX

IN THE CAMP OF MOSLEMAH


When Placidia broke the news to Kasia of her son's plight, the latter
merely remarked, "I was prepared for worse than this, praised be the
Panagia!" and insisted upon cross-examining the physicians in person.
The ablest of the university faculty of medicine were already at the
palace, sworn to secrecy upon their lives, and full of wise saws from
Hippokrates, Galen and Marcellus, but they were able to tell the
Empress-Mother little more than an army leech had discovered already,
that the wound was not extremely deep, and that Leo was partially
throwing off the immediate effects of the poison. If the wound did not
fester, if the patient's strength did not fail too sorely, he had a
reasonable chance, if not----"But," concluded the oldest doctor, shaking
his long beard, "your son has the body as well as the soul of the lion.
Perhaps he can fight the poison as well as he has fought Moslemah."

The moment Leo was within the palace Kasia assumed complete control. The
scurrying menials saw something of her mighty son's own puissance in the
cool old peasant woman as she issued her efficient orders. The imperial
close was a large place, but neither the highest chambers of the Chalke
nor the Daphne could be absolutely exempt from the bustle of officialdom
and of martial preparations. "Take him to the Bukoleon palace," she
commanded. Here, quite detached from the great complex of imperial
buildings, a stately two-storied mansion looked out upon the Marmora.
The structure had been used by kinsmen of former emperors, when state
policy required that they should be lodged within the greater palace but
not directly in the regular mansion of the reigning sovran. The halls
and chambers, nevertheless, were of quiet magnificence, and the upper
windows commanded a water panorama more than usually sweeping. Kasia
selected the loftiest and most secluded chambers, then she summoned
Michael:

"If the lad's to recover (and he's a good lad, and it's proper he should
recover) it'll be thanks to decent nursing. The men can fight Hagarines,
but it takes women to fight wounds and fever. These mincing palace
hussies are enough to spoil his last chance. Go, then, to Kallinikos'
Pera relatives and tell them to take that old fool in charge and keep
him well fed and comfortable. Next go to Sophia and Anthusa and tell
them they're wanted at the Bukoleon."

Michael departed with the speed worthy of his errand. When Anthusa
received the command and knew its cause, she grew very white, but she
made her dispositions with great calmness. Soon she and her sister were
installed with Kasia in the sickroom. As far as possible they were quite
isolated. Only Placidia freely came and went. The girl Saloma and Peter
(whose loyal distress was pathetic) attended to their meaner wants. Even
in the palace few understood why the Empress-Mother had so suddenly
changed her chambers. It was supposed that the old lady, whose moods had
already become a standard subject for jesting in the "Sacred Butteries,"
had found the Daphne too noisy and formal, and was determined to intern
herself in the Bukoleon, to the great relief of the pompous Silentiaries
and Vestiaries who even in days of siege strove hard to maintain the
full etiquette of the "God-guarded Cubicle."

The Emperor was no longer seen upon the walls and in the streets. After
the second victory, however, his prestige was so high that at first the
populace accepted any excuse for his disappearance: "He was at the
remote fort of Blachernai." "He was across the Bosphorus, expecting an
assault on Chrysopolis." "He was shut up in the palace experimenting
with some new and still more marvellous catapult."

The Saracens held sullenly to their camp. Some of their ships still rode
off the Isles of the Princes, and at intervals a squadron of swift
sailers would head northward towards the Bosphorus, but the _St.
Michael_ had but to show her golden eagle beside the great chain and all
their prows would swing abruptly southward. By land and sea the fear of
the "Maritime Fire" possessed the Hagarines. Prisoners said that
Moslemah had proclaimed a reward of fifty thousand gold dinars to the
man exposing its full secret. The money was still with the camp
treasurer.

To offset the Emperor's absence Basil and Artavasdos showed themselves
everywhere, on the plazas, along the porticoes, upon the sea and land
walls, and among the ships. Many things were enjoined "by the personal
command of the Basileus"; many proclamations issued in his familiar
direct language. The city militia had become less boastful and more
teachable following the great assault. They were becoming so well
drilled that veterans no longer laughed at them.

One bright autumn day all Constantinople rejoiced to see the Bosphorus
white with ships. The harbour chain was drawn aside. The ready dromonds
swung out to guard the channel to Chalcedon while a great grain fleet
from Sinope and Trapezos swept into the Golden Horn, but the Moslem
armada dared not stir. After that the bread ration in the city was
increased and croakers ceased to groan about "starving in the winter."

Thus everywhere, save in the Bukoleon, the blessed saints seemed smiling
on the Romans, but within its halls of marble, onyx, porphyry and mosaic
Kasia and the sisters fought what was for long a more doubtful battle
than any in the Bosphorus or before St. Romanos. For days Leo hung
between life and death. Twice the architherapist pointedly suggested
that the Patriarch be invited to keep himself close at hand.

"It's the last sacrament, you mean," angrily retorted the Empress-Mother
after the second hint. "Not yet, my learned _kyrios_. If the lad's to
go, Pope Michael, who loved him, shall give him the oil and wafer, and
never that glozing Germanos who bends double to him only because he
must. But know this about my Leo: the Hagarines may have bridged his
moat, but his walls are not stormed yet!" ...

... At times in his fever Leo's mind wandered far. Sometimes he was
riding with his old comrades to the relief of Iconium, sometimes
pleading with Leander and Kallinikos to hasten the manufacture of the
fire, sometimes in the naval battle was calling his marines to fling off
the grappling irons of a blazing Moslem dromond. He seemed never to
recognize Anthusa, but of her he talked incessantly. He was devising
with Fergal excuses to visit the House of Peace. He was on the barge
flying to Therapia with that message which was never delivered. He was
at the palace the coronation night after he had seen Anthusa the day of
the procession. Then he would swear blasphemous oaths at the fate which
granted to Fergal happiness, and denied to him his.

After his worst ravings Kasia would command Anthusa, "Sing, girl!" and
the latter, with red cheeks, pale lips, but with a voice no bulbul could
outvie, would quiet him with some of the old tragic choruses--some great
threnos from Sophocles or a triumphal pan from Pindar celebrating the
victory of the pure and good. Or when these failed she could more surely
calm him by some Christian hymn, such as that of the Patriarch Anatolios
on "Christ Stilling the Tempest":

        "Fierce was the wild billow,
        Dark was the night,
        Oars laboured heavily,
        Foam glimmered white,
        Trembled the mariners,
        Peril was nigh:
    Then spake the God of God, '_Peace, it is I_.'"

        "Ridge of the mountain wave--
        Lower thy crest,
        Wail of Euroclydon--
        Be thou at rest;
        Peril there none can be,
        Sorrow must fly
    Where saith the Light of Light, '_Peace, it is I_.'"

        "Jesus deliverer,
        Come Thou to me,
        Sooth Thou my voyaging on
        Life's troubled sea.
        Then when the storm of death
        Roars sweeping by,
    Whisper, O Truth of Truth, '_Peace, it is I_.'"

... "Anthusa, how will this all end?" spoke Sophia one day, when Leo lay
uneasily sleeping. "He is now Emperor. When he marries he must consult
state interest. What can he be to you? He will not dishonour you, and
you will never dishonour yourself. How can this all end?"

"I do not know," Anthusa answered, holding down her head to hide her
burning cheeks. "I only know that his life hangs by a thread, and that I
can only see ahead from hour to hour. If God spoke to me, 'He will
recover if only you will pledge never to see him more,' I would reply,
'So be it, Lord,' and try to keep my promise gladly."

"Alas, my little sister!" cried Sophia tenderly, seizing both her hands.
"You know that I will always love you."

Every day Basil and a few other faithful sharers in the fell secret
visited the Bukoleon. The anxiety of the tough seaman for his long-time
comrade was pathetic. Hungrily he sought each crumb of comfort. When the
physicians talked their blind jargon of fluxes and humours, his great
mustaches worked impatiently. Then in relief he would turn to the
sisters.

"You are the sole anchors for the dromond off a very rocky shore," he
would adjure them. "Do your best, women, do your best. The fate of a
million Christians hangs on your faithfulness and skill."

So day slipped into day, and Leo ceased his tossing and raving. Then at
last the architherapist permitted himself one afternoon to call Kasia
aside. His face beamed with professional satisfaction. "Sacred Majesty,"
he announced, "the precepts to Hippokrates, aided, perhaps I must grant,
by skillful nursing and by the prayers to the Panagia, seem to have
prevailed. Your august son has thrown off the poison. The inflammation
of his wound recedes, but his strength is nigh spent. He must be kept
quiet and entirely unburdened by public cares, or all our joy is changed
to mourning."

       *       *       *       *       *

On the day after Leo began unmistakably to amend there was a council of
the emirs in the pavilion of Moslemah.

The great tent of the High Emir had been pitched inside the Saracen
circumvallation near the Church of St. Mary, about half a mile from the
Gate of the Fountain. Here in summertime there had been a luxurious
park, well stocked with tame deer and much frequented by the Emperors
when they desired a cool outing amid groves, springs and verdure within
easy reach of the city. Now, however, in addition to the desolating
presence of war, the leaves were falling or hung withered and sear on
their branches. Winter was shutting in with premature severity. From
the Euxine descended chilling blasts. The unaccustomed Orientals huddled
about their camp fires and shivered as they drew closer their abayehs
and kaftans. Already most of their camels were dead and grievous was the
plight of the horses. The prospect for the Hagarines was therefore
becoming very cheerless. Stark and grim before them rose the Walls of
Theodosius with all the nine score towers, while daily the Christian
outposts taunted the besiegers: "Are you warm, Moslems? Fear not. The
fires of hell shall soon be hot enough for all of you, O pack of
Infidels."

The plight of the invading host was made worse by grievous news. Already
it was being told how inside the city there was abundance of fuel and
provisions. The best Saracen admiral was dead as a result of exposure
and chagrin at the great naval defeat, and his ships, in mortal fear of
the fire, still clung closely around their havens. It was reported,
indeed, that a new land army was forcing its way across Anatolia to
coperate with Moslemah from the Bithynian shore and that another
powerful fleet would arrive in the spring from Egypt. Spring, however,
seemed far away. Nevertheless, in the chilly tents and cabins in the
Moslem laager the ulemahs still exhorted the Faithful not to lose
confidence in victory:

"Saith not the excellent Book, 'As for the Misbelievers, their wealth
and their children shall avail them nothing before Allah! Declare,
therefore, unto them, ye shall be worsted and in hell shall ye be
gathered together'?" Then scabbards and hilts would clash and all the
thousands raise their fierce "_Ya, Allah!_" All this enabled the rank
and file to endure, but the emirs were not men to hug illusions. It was
a despondent conclave that gathered at the summons of the Emir of Emirs.

Conscious that he had been the soul of the expedition and that on him
would fall the main onus if the siege failed, Moslemah made a brave
attempt to affect optimism.

"In this great work for El Islam," he announced from the head of the
divan when the salaams and compliments had passed, "we must verily
expect Allah to test His people. What are our reverses, what our
sufferings compared with the woes which were fated for the Apostle
himself (on whom be peace) to endure? Was he not stoned from Mecca? Did
not the impious Koraichites pursue to take away his life? Later, at the
battle of Ohud, did not the Misbelievers prevail, and as for Mohammed
himself, was not his cheek wounded and a tooth driven out? What said he
then to the misdoubting, 'Be not cast down, neither be ye grieved--for
victory will yet come. If ye are wounded, verily your foe is wounded
also. These battles we make to alternate among men that Allah may single
out the real Believers.'"

"Excellent are the words of the Emir of Emirs," answered Mokanna, a
sub-general, wrapping himself more warmly in a sable-lined kaftan. "More
than holy examples, however, are needed to unlock St. Romanos. I doubt
if the Romans have suffered severely. Had we attacked the day when Leo
was crowned he would have had scarcely enough trained men to have held
his long walls. Now every day the spears multiply upon the ramparts. The
spies tell us that the city folk are becoming ever better drilled. We
look any hour for a dangerous sortie."

"Would to Allah it might come!" exclaimed a brown-visaged kaid. "My poor
Syrians would grow warm again fighting. Their pious confidence has
frozen within them."

"Allah forbid we should have to face that accursed fire again," rejoined
Mokanna gloomily. "Unless we master its secret never will we enter
Constantinople save as captives."

"My officers forget that they are Moslems," interposed Moslemah
imperiously; "that they must answer at the Great Day if we turn back
dishonoured from the djihad; that they must answer earlier to the Shadow
of Allah himself."

"Perhaps we fear that second judgment most," cast out Mokanna impiously.
His superior was about to bid him with passion, "Be silent," when the
_aarif_[58] at the door of the pavilion came forward with profound
salaams.

[58] Subaltern commanding ten men.

"Will the Emir of Emirs condescend? The agent expected from the city is
at hand and brings a certain Christian with him."

The brow of Moslemah cleared. "Valorous emirs and kaids," he declared,
"know that I have had trusty friends of El Islam within the walls. Most
opportunely at this moment they are come out to us. Their information
may aid to shape our counsels."

Two figures, heavily cloaked, were led somewhat awkwardly forward and
prostrated themselves at the high commander's dais. The first soon threw
back his mantle enough to be recognized (by a few present, at least) as
the slave dealer Hormisdas. The second continued, even after he rose, to
keep his face muffled. Moslemah bent forward affably:

"The worthy Hormisdas, O Chieftains of the Faithful, is a tried agent of
El Islam, the more valuable because his life is spent so much among the
Disciples of Issa. With him I conferred most profitably when he was last
in Damascus. Since then, good fellow"--he turned to the newcomer--"you
have sent us many reports we have found trustworthy and useful. I praise
your zeal. I would I could also praise your success in one great matter
which has set all our projects on the razor-edge of calamity."

Hormisdas' broad sleeves flew about in gestures of vehement deprecation:
"Oh, but permit your slave speech! I know what is on the Emir of Emirs'
tongue--the secret of the fire. It is true we have not been able to
master it. Nevertheless know, O Lieutenant of the Lieutenant of the Most
High, that our watchers about the palace, yes, and about the very
Emperor himself, have not failed to tell us 'Something strange is
afoot.' On strong suspicion we set spies around the sage Kallinikos, by
the vulgar called a magician. Alas, for our endeavours! The imperial
treasury is not so well guarded as the Mangana where he operates. Three
of the Kalif's devoted slaves have been taken. Already they are numbered
among the happy martyrs. But after the hanging of the last, not all the
gold we can offer will stimulate the zeal of others. We get nought but
empty tales. What is fated is fated."

"It is fated we should suffer foul defeat both by sea and land," spoke a
sub-emir. "Bethink you, most exalted Emir of Emirs, is this fellow
really to be trusted?"

"I trusted?" cried Hormisdas, with half a scream. "Do you question that
I am not at heart as true a Moslem as ever bowed in the great mosque in
Damascus and said the 'Fattah'?"

"I like you not," returned the candid officer. "Persian you claim to be
born, Christian you are inside the city--and Christian, I swear, you'll
be to-morrow, if so blows the wind of advantage."

"This to me?" groaned the emissary. "Protection, great Lord," and in
supplication he cast himself at the foot of the dais. Moslemah shrugged
his shoulders and bit his lip.

"We are not here," he declared, "to question this man on personal
matters. Enough that I believe that now he speaks the truth. Let us
proceed. Have you, O Hormisdas, done nothing more since the two battles,
to learn the composition of the fire?"

"At great risks certain sailors were corrupted. They supplied us with a
few ounces left in the bottom of an exhausted case on one of the
dromonds. I think that the substance presently found its way into your
exalted Lordship's possession."

"It did," confessed the general, "but our most learned engineers with
the army and fleet made nothing of it. Whilst testing its qualities
water was unluckily spilled thereon. Instantly it burst into flames,
almost destroying the tent they were in. The stuff was utterly
consumed."

"It is Allah's will," rejoined Hormisdas resignedly, "but let these
valorous lords know that the magic spells of Solomon the Ancient can
unlock their secrets sooner than can we those of the workroom of
Kallinikos--if, indeed, he be the magician. Associated with him now are
several younger men whom, I say it with grief, it is impossible to
corrupt, and they in turn are closely guarded. It were profitless, also,
to consider removing Kallinikos from this world. His secret is
apparently shared by enough for its perpetuation, by too few for its
betrayal."

"A helpful emissary from the city you are," darted Mokanna
sarcastically. "Has Leo commanded you to come out thus and encourage
us?"

"Has Leo?" rechoed Hormisdas, with a glance of triumphant subtlety. "O
mighty Lords, it is on account of a matter concerning this Leo that the
least of your slaves is before you this hour!"

"Declare your meaning," commanded several.

"O valorous Lords of El Islam, what are your reports from your outposts?
Have you of late seen Leo the Emperor upon the walls, upon sorties, or
otherwise showing himself as in the first part of the siege? You have
not? Then hear with all your ears and let your hearts leap for joy."
Hormisdas smiled with all the pleasures of a dramatic pause. "Leo the
Emperor was stricken by an arrow at the end of the great battle before
St. Romanos."

"_Allahu akbar!_" cried several officers, half leaping from their
cushions.

"For days his life has hung by a thread. Even now, although they profess
to expect his recovery, he still lies weak almost unto death. Meantime,
strange rumours are beginning to course the city. Now, if ere long it
were fairly whispered, 'The Emperor is dead'----"

An excited commotion among all the chieftains again stopped him. Wiry
hands were catching their hilts, dark eyes shone fierce and bright, but
the kaid Sukaina scowled menacingly:

"Tell me this, slave vendor--who shot that arrow? Came it from our ranks
or the Emperor's rear?"

Hormisdas' smile was like a round moon:

"The least of your slaves can conceal nothing. My skill in archery is
nought, but I made use of another good servant of the Kalif within
Constantinople--the shipmaster Satyros, not unversed with the bow. In
the heat of the battle I introduced him to an unoccupied spot on the
wall by St. Romanos. We bided our time and Allah favoured us with having
the Emperor remove his caique directly below our loophole. Satyros
shot--not in vain. If the wound had been deeper, then my poison on the
arrow----"

"Dog!" cried several high officers together, flinging the coarsest of
Eastern epithets, but the slave dealer stood unmoved.

"Grieved am I," he replied, in buttery accents, "if my zeal in the
Kalif's service is misprized. Unfortunately, however, the Emperor lived.
What now is actually the case is best learned from my friend here, the
reverend Deacon Evagrios, a Christian still, alas! but for all that a
devoted slave of your Lordships."

"Away with these filthy curs!" declared Sukaina, rising in disgust. "I
have seen the Lion face to face. As a Lion let us meet him. We will not
sully our good Damascus swords----"

"Peace," commanded Moslemah. "Allah forbid that I should have prompted
this thing. We know, I trust, how to meet brave foes. But the use
against us of the fire shows too well that queasy stomachs will never
help to take Constantinople. What Hormisdas has done, he has done--not
we. And he it is who must answer for the same to the Angel of Destiny.
As for us, if Leo, our arch-foe, lies thus stricken it were treason to
the Kalif and to El Islam were we not to take full advantage of our
knowledge. Let this Evagrios, therefore, say on."

The ex-deacon threw back his cloak and gazed about him most
uncomfortably upon the unfamiliar company. Several kaids were fumbling
with their daggers, but he gained courage as he heard his own voice. He
spoke in Greek, which tongue, however, was understood tolerably by most
of the officers.

"Understand, O Serenities and Sublimities, that some time ago I was
permitted to introduce a certain damsel, one Saloma, into the personal
service of the Empress-Mother, who, rumour may have told you, is a very
rustical woman, vulgar and ill at ease with the regular palace menials.
So I had hoped to learn many things through her not unuseful to my
beloved friend Hormisdas. I will not conceal from your Lordships that
our holy Christian religion is still dear to me" ("Very dear!" muttered
Sukaina, still toying with his dagger) "and only with reluctance did I
consent to assist the cause of the Kalif, but unhappy necessity has made
it apparent that the Panagia will not be too grievously offended."

"Spare us these wanderings," commanded Moslemah tartly. "Tell us
plainly this: why have these great tidings not come to us the sooner?
Precious time has slipped. Leo is recovering. Take care not to lie, else
you are buried up to your chin, and left to perish slowly."

"It is all true, true, exalted Emir of Emirs," interposed Hormisdas
zealously. "Your slaves were not certain that Leo had been wounded
severely. His officers took great pains to conceal everything. As for
all of ourselves, prompt flight and hiding became instantly needful. For
long we could learn nothing."

"Proceed," brusquely enjoined Moslemah, nodding his great turban.

"Our hopes," resumed Evagrios, "first revived when, venturing abroad, we
found the citizens gossiping as they stood in line around the public
bakeries for their rations, 'Where is the Emperor?' or 'For days who has
seen him?' Then we found the same questioning creeping among the
soldiers and in the fleet. Presently it was whispered, 'Something has
happened. Something is now concealed.' The whisperings are becoming
louder. Ere long they will be spoken out freely."

"This is a weighty matter." Moslemah bent forward intently. The lesser
generals all clutched again at their beards.

"The excellent Hormisdas and I, however, feared some trickery. The
Emperor is called the Lion, but sometimes, as we know with cost, he
should be called the Fox. Vainly we strove for a safe word with that
maid Saloma, but the accursed Empress-Mother was vigilant. None of her
women could even twitter through a window. They were all imprisoned.
Only to-day, thanks be unto St. Gabriel!--Ahem! I beg pardon of your
Moslem Serenities--her watch was a trifle abated. I met Saloma briefly.
She told your servant that the Emperor had been at death's door, but
that they said now in his sickroom, 'He will live.' However, for many
days he must lie quietly, exempt from every care, hearing nothing of the
siege, and till he can show himself again his condition will still be
concealed from the army and people."

The "Ha!" of Moslemah was rechoed by all the divan. The Emir of Emirs
fastened his eyes sternly upon the emissaries. "You have told us
something that may give us Constantinople. Again, nevertheless, you are
warned, do not play with us. We know you glozing Greeks too well.
There's an old Arabian saying, 'Beware that your tongue doth not cut off
your neck.' If, however, you speak truly, when we master the city take
each of you from the first spoil a thousand purses. Would to Allah we
had known all this the day after he was stricken! Now the Emperor
recovers apace."

"But there is time, great Lord, there is time!" protested Hormisdas, in
confident delight. "The story, 'The Emperor is dead,' can be made to
buzz around as from a beehive. Officer can be made to distrust officer.
The confidence in Leo has been the very heart and soul of the defence.
Withdraw that confidence and distrust, consternation and confusion are
everywhere. Give us seven days. Evagrios and I can bestir ourselves.
Your camp treasurer should not stint us. This work will be safe and we
can easily buy the proper men. The Frankish mercenaries, a great prop to
the garrison, are very gullible barbarians. Seven days from to-day draw
all your best forces quietly in the evening to the worst guarded gate.
The officer in charge will be suddenly told, 'The death of Leo is
confirmed. Basil and Artavasdos already are fighting for control of the
throne.' While all is dismay, and when, no doubt, part of the troops are
marching from the walls to the palace"--Hormisdas bowed low to the tough
warriors of the divan and put his hand on his breast--"I leave it to
these most valorous kaids and emirs to do the rest."

"By the lightnings of Allah!" burst from several. "Fear not that." ...

... When after many more questions and agreements the slave dealer and
the ex-deacon were quietly withdrawn, to be smuggled into the city by a
roundabout route through a postern in Pera, there was a contemptuous
hissing after them: "_Ousht! Ousht!_"--as if driving away foul dogs, and
many a lip curled angrily. Nevertheless, Moslemah and the upper emirs
were agreed. Sorely as it hurt the Omiad pride to win Constantinople by
such agency, how dared they cast away this chance to gain complete
victory for El Islam?

During the next days the ulemahs exhorted their chilled comrades, "O
True Believers, bear up yet a little longer!" and picked divisions were
quietly told off and trained for sudden movements with scaling ladders.
The Christians noted renewed activity beyond the fortifications, but
there were no signs of any fresh building of siege-towers or similar
engines, and the Walls of Theodosius still rose as defiant as ever.




CHAPTER XXXI

THE ROAR OF THE LION


When the fever left Leo he lay for long too weak for conversation or
active interest in mortal affairs. Pitiful it was to see his great frame
and mighty limbs, before which captains had trembled, helpless upon the
pillows, while only his questioning eyes, following now one now another
of his nurses, told that again he was renewing those contacts with the
world which he had almost loosed altogether.

Anthusa, perforce, had often to be near him, although she remitted to
Kasia and Sophia every care possible. Kasia indeed, whose ideas of
social conventions still savoured much of the Mesembrian farm, would at
length have thrust upon her all the main responsibilities of the
sickroom. "Your hair is growing, girl," the old woman would repeat
complacently; "your hair is growing." But Anthusa firmly resisted every
attempt to leave her alone with the invalid. The manner in which Leo
followed her with his gaze was most disquieting, although he seemed
exceedingly shy and embarrassed at all personal ministrations. Anthusa,
however, could not refuse to obey Kasia's command to "sing to him," and
sing she did every evening, to soothe him to sleep, although never with
pagan lyrics. And when the patient was resting quietly she would steal
away from the Bukoleon to the convenient church within the palace
compound, the Chapel of the Theotokos, founded by the devout Empress
Placidia.

Here was kept a famous portrait of the Virgin, alleged to have come from
the brush of St. Luke himself, and here, too, in a golden reliquary the
swaddling clothes of the Christ child. Anthusa of wont set little store
by holy ikons and relics, but there was now a vague comfort in kneeling
before the altar bearing the precious casket, and surmounted by the
black, stiff, gem-encrusted picture of a rigidly smiling woman. The very
awkwardness and unreality of the portrait lifted Anthusa away from her
own sore problems, and relief likewise came from the constant droning
chant of the blind monks attached to the chapel, who never ceased their
petitions for the repose of the fallen Christian warriors.

Anthusa well knew that if Leo's attention to her had been imprudent to
the point of coarse gossip, when he was a mere strategos, it could take
a far harsher accent now. That Leo loved her, and as a normal mortal
would have offered her honourable marriage was a fact she cherished
proudly in her heart. But that in late months, weighed down by the
fearful responsibilities of the siege, he had not thought out the real
hopelessness of their position she had grievous cause to dread.

He was Emperor. He belonged to his fifteen millions of subjects. He was
obligated to found an unassailable dynasty and give repose to the sorely
distracted provinces. How could he fitly marry any save the daughter of
one of the great patrician houses? True, emperors had indeed lifted
meanly-dowered brides to the purple. Theodosius II had wedded Eudokia,
the daughter of a poor rhetorician of Athens. Justinian I had married
the notorious Theodora, a variety actress. But the first marriage had
ended in anguish and separation. Around the second still clung filthy
scandal. Both bridegrooms had been crown-princes before becoming
monarchs. Their position was well assured. They could defy the pointing
fingers. All these facts would come home to Leo when the Saracens had
been flung back; and that cool intellect which had exalted him among the
mighty could teach where his public duty lay. Had he not said it
himself, "My hours all belong to the Empire?" Could this thralldom to
the purple ever relax its hold?

Caught by such thoughts, Anthusa would cast herself before the gleaming
ikon. "O Christ-Bearer Ever-Blessed," she would pray, "teach me to
rejoice in my mercies: that as man to woman he has truly loved me. Teach
me to rejoice in that consciousness which a life of an hundred years can
never take away. Teach me to rejoice that thou and thy Holy Son have
this time spared his life, that he may accomplish Heaven's great purpose
in peace and in war. And to myself grant calmness and resignation,
wisdom and strength, that I may never dishonour myself and never by word
or deed suffer him to swerve from the things that become a Basileus of
the Romans."

After that she could return to the Bukoleon somewhat comforted, and
resume with Kasia and Sophia the duties of the sickroom....

... While Anthusa was concerned with these things, quite other troubles
prempted the head of her ever-active brother-in-law. Evil rumours at
last were abounding in the city. The cessation of normal life left
thousands with overmuch idle time. The throngs under the long porticoes
and in all the fora were never more talkative and gesticulatory. "Where
was the Emperor?" The report he was at Blachernai was disproved when a
part of the local garrison was given a brief leave in the city. Nobody
there had seen him. Like testimony denied that he had crossed to Asia.
Once or twice a group of worthless fellows deliberately gathered before
the great gates of the Chalke. "Show us the Basileus!" had been their
yell. It had been needful for the Protectors to charge them.

The mutterings of the civilian multitudes were fairly harmless. It was
otherwise with those rising from the army. Personal loyalty to Leo had
been the amalgam that had held many unfraternal contingents together. If
he had disappeared, who then was Emperor? Artavasdos was highest
strategos, but he was an "Armeniac"; and would Leo's "Anatolians" ever
acclaim him? Would the fleet fight for any save Basil? Other strategoi,
loyal enough to Leo, and privately informed of his disaster, were
hinting they ought to visit the Bukoleon and see his condition for
themselves. "Was he really recovering? Was the architherapist telling
lies?" And behind these suggestions it was easy to imagine the eager
thought: "If the throne _does_ fall vacant, I've as sound claims as
any."

The stories were traceable to no one source, yet the Emperor's circle
sensed some sinister purpose behind them, and Fergal angrily repeated
the Syrian proverb, "When one dog barks falsehood, ten thousand spread
it like truth." All Constantinople seemed floating with rumours.

On the fifth day after Leo began to mend, the Celt held an anxious
consultation at the Bukoleon with Basil, Artavasdos and Kasia. Count
Karlmann, the Frank, had been asking pointed questions. His men were not
Romans, he said; they had only sworn personal allegiance to Leo himself.
Where was their war-chief? Were they being told lies about him? Was
there even treason at the palace? The Frankish mercenaries would not
fight for another lord unless cleared of their oath to the Lion. What
had become of him?

Basil made the proposal of a straightforward sailor. Let the heralds
call in the Augustum: "The Basileus was sorely wounded. Now he is
recovering. Wait. All is well." But Artavasdos had objections. Once it
was publicly admitted that Leo had been stricken, if he could not show
himself immediately the rumour would intensify: "He is really dead. They
are preparing us for the news"; and next, "Who is plotting to wear the
purple leggings?" It were best, therefore, to tell a few more bold lies,
to ignore resolutely all mutterings, and to wait seven days longer. Leo
would have then recovered at least enough to meet all the higher
officers and all would be well. Artavasdos' urgings prevailed,
especially because the Saracens seemed absolutely quiet. They seemed
indeed so discouraged in their blockade that there was danger of a lax
watch on the part of the garrison.

Leo speedily became able to take an excited interest in all that had
befallen. Vainly did the therapists enjoin, "Quiet!" "No talking of the
siege!" Basil and Fergal were often at his bedside and told him at last
all the news that was good. But they could never persuade him that the
city was really secure and the Infidels held at bay. His restless mind
was ever imagining evils and formulating orders. Sometimes he would rise
on his bed defiant of prohibitions only to sink back in hateful
weakness. "He won't obey me any more," confessed Kasia; "sure sign that
he's getting better--praised be the Holy Trinity!" Then, when nought
else availed, she would turn to Anthusa, "You command him, girl." And
the Basileus of the Romans would lie meekly as a lamb at the mild
request of the daughter of Kallinikos.

Thus another day passed, and another. Leo had been suffered to sit up
propped upon the pillows. To-morrow, he insisted, he would have all the
strategoi before him and learn if Basil and Fergal were concealing the
truth. The chief physician at this shook a sagacious head: "Once mixed
in public business, Sacred Clemency, nothing can restrain you. Wait
another week, as you love your city and people."

"Take him away, the traitor!" cried Leo with rage genuine enough to make
the leech tremble. "Moslemah has bribed him!"

Nevertheless, the afternoon passed quietly. It was a grey, cold day in
the early winter, and the sickroom was warmed with charcoal braziers. In
the sequestered Bukoleon scarcely a sign told that Constantinople was a
besieged city. Fergal had been in earlier to report "All is well," and
Artavasdos to suggest the wisdom of transferring more troops from
Blachernai to Chalcedon. The shadows of the early evening were
advancing. By a tall gilded candelabrum Anthusa sat reading in clear,
rich voice from Arrian's Campaigns of Alexander. Soothed by the music of
her tones and perhaps ignoring the stirring narrative, Leo seemed sunk
in grateful reveries. In a remoter corner of the wide room Kasia sat
with her faithful gossip Placidia, the latter aiding to disentangle a
huge skein of the indispensable wool. In another niche the girl Saloma
squatted mute and motionless, but watching all silently with keen eyes.
From the palace area below presently sounded the furious galloping of
several horsemen, followed by much running and shouting of orderlies.
Such events had become common, and Anthusa continued reading while Leo
rested calmly upon his pillows. Then bounding steps rechoed upon the
stairs, and Peter's voice was upraised outside the door: "It is
impossible even for you. The command is positive the Little Kyrios is
not to be disturbed again to-night."

"This is for life or death," Basil was ordering with unwonted harshness.
"Give way, sirrah! The Emperor must know."

The admiral entered, followed by Fergal. Both were out of breath. Basil
had lost his helmet and a new red scar ran clear across his forehead.
There was more blood on his gauntlets. Placidia ran affrighted towards
her husband.

"You've been in battle! Yet all has seemed quiet. Praise the Panagia
you're safe. But why here?"

The admiral literally ran to the bedside without greeting or salute.

"There's no other way. The Emperor must show himself. The Frankish
mercenaries have mutinied. They won't heed my protests. A hellish story
flies along the walls like fire: 'Leo is dead. The strategoi are
struggling together at the palace.' Treason's afoot. Detachments are
deserting the battlements. The Saracens are attacking the northern
gates. A few towers are theirs already."

"Already? And I--here?" Leo had risen like a ghost and flung aside the
bed-clothes. With lightning motions he was casting around himself the
first garments available.

"Boy! You will kill yourself!" screamed Kasia, seizing his arms. With
power once more resistless he thrust her by.

"Only to the Augustum," pleaded Anthusa, knowing well the futility of
any greater objection.

"I go where a Basileus is needed," shot back the monarch, striding past
Peter and down the stairways. The women looked to see him fall. He
seemed to totter at first, but apparently gathered steadiness as he went
onward. Pale as the grave, but erect and terrible, he descended among
the group of subalterns anxiously discussing Basil's fell news.

"Horse! Armour! All the guard!" Leo's orders sent a dozen running; but
Fergal stood close at his side. The Celt did not remonstrate but at
every turn saved his master when possible. Leo had to be lifted upon his
horse but once mounted he rode firmly. Already the palace compound was a
scene of furious activity. Reserve centurions were mounting the seawall
to guard against naval attack. Another courier had arrived--two arrows
in his target:

"They are fighting on the ramparts at Blachernai. The Franks have
quitted the walls. They are marching down the Adrianople Way vowing they
will take the palace. The moirach Makrobios is stopping the Saracens
with what men will still obey him." ...

... Arrayed as became an Emperor, Leo rode into the imperial plaza
before the Chalke. The Protectors had already mounted in hot haste,
though sore confounded by the tidings; but at sight of the imperial
figure their cheers shook the golden tiles above their heads. "The
Basileus! All is well!"

"Comrades," announced Leo, "you see that I am not dead. Teach now the
Hagarines it's perilous to beard the lion."

"The Lion! Again the Lion! Ten thousand years----"

The cheering was caught up by other troops as they flew across one forum
after another. From all the barracks and outposts poured in the now
rejoicing soldiery. The report that the Saracens were on the walls had
already brought up Artavasdos from the War Department. With a swelling
host the Emperor raced down the Adrianople Way. Close by the Church of
the Apostles he met a long grim column of Franks on their furious march
towards the palace, at their head the towering figure of Karlmann.

Leo rode bareheaded to meet him. "This way, axemen!" was his call. "The
Saracens are at Blachernai, not by the Bosphorus."

A torch flashed over the Emperor's face. Like delighted bears the mighty
Northerners surged around him.

"Hoch! Hoch! It's our Lion!" They almost plucked him from his horse.
"Lies, all lies, the busybodies told us. Back, brothers; knock the brown
devils into the moat!"

By the great Cistern of Aspar, however, came new messengers of calamity.
The Saracens were storming the inner walls. Among the despairing
defenders some malign spirit was now spreading the rumour that the
Moslem fleet had forced the great chain by the harbour. As Leo advanced,
torches became needless, for the sky was lurid with the burning
siege-works. One could hear the continuous thunder of deadly combat, and
now the "_Allahu akbar!_" shouted in triumph to the darkening heavens;
now the despairing "_Kyrie eleison!_" as of men nigh spent. When the
Emperor approached the walls the pace of his steed slackened. Around him
gathered his staff. Ticklish as was the situation, every eye shone
confidence as he gave orders with his wonted precision. There was not
time to arrange any surprise with the new fire. Hand to hand they must
eject the Hagarines. Behind them, stirred by his magic impulse, all
Constantinople seemed marching towards the walls, while cavalry bands
raced ahead to renforce the sorely-tried Makrobios.

Suddenly the Saracens found resistance stiffening. The Christians began
shouting: "Tarry, Infidels! The Lion comes. He's hungry!" The kaids who
led the storming parties sent frantic appeals back towards the camp
beseeching Moslemah to hasten up his full numbers. Acting on covert
messages from within the city they had directed their unwarned attack
upon the heights of Blachernai, close to the Golden Horn, where the
rocky hill-slopes had forbidden the excavation of a moat, but where the
very nature of the ground had rendered an assault nigh impossible. The
sudden desertion of the Franks had enabled them to surmount the outer
walls with their ladders. They had seized six towers on the lower
fortifications and soon a long stretch of the adjacent curtain wall had
been swarming with bronzed skins and crooked scimitars. The defenders
had been making a last desperate stand to cover the all-important Gate
of the Shoemakers when the first renforcements arrived.

Leo lost not an instant in costly endeavours to drive the foe from the
ramparts. The three military gates south of Blachernai swung wide. The
theme-cavalry and infantry, stiffened by the better part of the civic
militia, poured out beyond the walls like raging bees. From band to band
the Emperor rode with personal appeal to every man to play the warrior,
being answered with cheers which shook the now inky vault on high. Out
into the night they charged, their movements guided by the unearthly
glare from the walls, and spear to spear sustained the battle, although,
raging to avenge former defeats, Persians and Arabs bore themselves as
became the strength of El Islam. The first rush of the cuirassiers they
turned; but Leo called confidently to his own tried lancers: "Now,
Anatolians!"--and the Moslem standards went down under the Roman charge.

The emirs, sore bested, hastened up more men; but in the dense darkness
of their rear division lost touch with division, orders went adrift,
confusion became worse confounded. From the slopes by Blachernai, under
the lurid light from the walls, groups of Hagarines could be seen
running back towards their laager. "Allah! Allah!" rang their wail. "Who
has deceived us? The Lion lives--more terrible than ever."

Heedless of the pleadings of his staff, Leo put himself on a mound above
the outworks where a great bale-fire of burning palisades made his
purple mantle and the eagle banner beside him visible far above the
press. To the besiegers it was as when Achilles shouted in his fury from
the Greek trenches before Troy and all the Trojans shrank amazed:

    "Then were the souls of all of them dismayed,
    And fain their horses were to turn them back--
    For blanching anguish smote them sore--
    The men of Troy and all their proud allies."

The battle ended when, after the frantic entreaties of Karlmann, Leo
suffered his Franks to charge. "Have at the dog-brothers," pealed their
guttural yell. "Here are the fangs of the Lion!"

The Frankish column cleft the last Saracen divisions still struggling
before Blachernai as a steel wedge rends the oak. Back into the plain
fled all who escaped the red path cut by the axes. Severed from friends,
and with the Romans victorious upon the ground below, the van of the
attackers now found itself isolated upon the ramparts. Here for long the
struggle continued from tower to tower. The Emperor had ordered that
quarter should be given, but a devil's fury was possessing the
themesmen, and the Franks were all in a blind Northern rage. At last the
soldiery were enough under control to listen to their commanders. "Your
lives against prompt surrender!" called the heralds; and the last
despairing Hagarines cast their scimitars into the moat.

The attempt on Blachernai had cost Moslemah five thousand men, the pick
of the kalif's host. It had been won by the Christians without invoking
the magical aid of the Fire and after the Moslems had gained great
initial successes. The morale of the Saracen host was now forced lower
than ever, and a gloomy apathy possessed all their huge encampment, as
they settled down to bitter battle with a grim and relentless foe, the
Thracian winter....

... Leo had gone through the entire contest issuing his orders with an
absolute lucidity and readiness. Fergal had kept ever beside him,
whether on horseback or on foot. Once or twice the Emperor's voice had
faltered. Towards the end of the struggle it became unnaturally shrill.
Vainly had the Celt entreated him to spare himself. Better one might
have pleaded with the rock-girded towers. When the last resistance
collapsed, Leo rode to the Gate of the Shoemakers to receive the
surrender of certain Moslem officers who had besought the privilege of
yielding to him in person. He was sitting upon his horse awaiting them,
under the black shadow of the towers amid the red torchlight, when
Fergal heard him mutter, "I've lasted till we flung them out"; then
hastily, "All's safe"--and he reeled very suddenly like a block of wood,
his aide barely catching him as he toppled down upon the blood-spattered
pavement.

There was no attempt this time to conceal his plight. The tidings, "The
Basileus has fainted!" flew instantly along the walls and silenced all
the cheering. The first officers who flew to his side groaned aloud, "He
is dead!" When they stripped off armour and surcoat, his face shone
bloodless beneath the lanterns, but his heart seemed fluttering. The men
of iron standing by, who had just been snuffing out Hagarine lives like
moths, wiped gory hands across their moistened eyes. Uncouth, vehement
were the vows they raised to the Panagia, to St. Theodore, to all the
holy of Heaven, nay, to all the fiends, if they would give back his
life. Desperate attempts to revive Leo meeting with only partial
success, the strategoi ordered that he be taken forthwith on a horse
litter back to the palace.

The news, good and bad, had run before. All down the Adrianople Way,
across the Forum of Theodosius and then along the Mese, stood the folk
by thousands. They had waited with frantic anxiety for news of the
battle; now with bared heads they watched the long line of torches
moving beside the litter. There was complete silence, except as men and
women knelt in the streets pouring out loud prayers for their monarch.
Thus they brought him again to the Chalke, where the portals were lit
by hundreds of flambeaux and the cohorts of palace menials stood waiting
for their stricken lord.

The reception of a victorious Basileus demanded a certain etiquette,
whether he returned to triumph or to die. When the horse litter came
through the state entrance, a pompous group of Counts, Logothetes, and
Consulars kneeled ceremoniously, then swept forward in a magnificent
hedge of stiff dalmatics, as a kind of supernumerary guard around the
honest soldiers who would not surrender their charge. In this manner
they crossed the torch-lit palace close and under the shadow of the
domes, the marbles and the gleaming mosaics until approaching the
entrance to the Bukoleon. Then, all unwarned, down its steps and into
the sight of the hundreds, thrusting aside the astonished magnificoes,
ran a young woman. The coif had fallen from her head; they saw her short
hair flying and her countenance as pallid as the monarch's. Heedless of
glances of horror, heedless of official hands thrust forth to stay, she
cast herself upon the litter.

"Leo, Leo," she cried, seeking his face, "I am only of flesh and blood.
I cannot endure longer. Speak! Ah, woe, they have slain you!"

The architherapist, advancing behind her, strove with gentle authority
to put her away. "You are beside yourself, girl. Go back to the
Empress-Mother. This is no place for such a scene."

The woman gestured wildly. "He is _my_ soldier," she cried; "that is all
that I know."

She recoiled, however, from the litter enough to suffer the physician to
make a hasty examination.

"Give praise to the Trinity," he announced after a tense hush. "By a
miracle the Basileus' wound has not reopened, although he swooned from
weakness. Heart and breath seem slowly returning. Take him to his rooms
in the Bukoleon and let supplication be offered in all the churches."

Fergal and Basil carried Leo gently from the litter, and the doors of
the residence closed abruptly in the faces of the assembled notables.
The young woman had disappeared in the confusion, when the word had
spread that the Emperor would live. The noble lords looked wonderingly
one to another.

"Who is she? Comely enough!" was the general question.

"I think I know," sagaciously spoke Count Maurice Dukas, who had joined
the group. "His Sacred Clemency is not so much of a monk as is often
reported. She's a certain Anthusa, the daughter of that preposterous
driveller, Kallinikos the philosopher--the Emperor's 'friend,' of
course."

"All is explained," rejoined several, with cunning elevation of the
eyebrows.

       *       *       *       *       *

The next day Kasia sent Peter to the lodgings of Kallinikos beseeching
almost frantically that Anthusa return to the palace. Leo, ran the
message, was safe, but days again must elapse ere he could sit or even
converse with Basil. Who could keep him quiet? Who read to him? Who
sing? The faithful fellow brought back a blank refusal.

"Tell your august mistress," ran the answer, "I will obey her in every
other least command, but for the safety of my soul not in this. During
the hours of waiting while the Emperor was upon the walls I was driven
mad. I forgot all things save that he was in mortal danger. What has
happened in my folly has brought me back to myself. Leo is Basileus. I
am the daughter of Kallinikos the lecturer. I will die in the service of
your master and mistress if needs be, but I cannot suffer them longer
to conceal from me that God has fixed a great gulf between us. I can no
longer have any 'Cousins from Thrace.'"

The day following, Anthusa offered her services to the nuns of the
Pankrator, the second great hospital, to nurse the many wounded. Her
knowledge and orderly skill soon made her one of the most-valued members
of the staff. From time to time Fergal told her how Leo convalesced, but
never on any pretext would she approach the palace.




CHAPTER XXXII

HOW CYRUS REDEEMED HIS SOUL


Now the story of the siege of Constantinople and of all that Leo did--is
it not written in the chronicles of the monks Nikephoros and Theophanes?
For time would fail here to tell of all the combats by sea and land
around the imperial city in those fateful twelve months after the coming
of Moslemah.

Grievous was the discouragement of the Saracens after their second
repulse from the walls; grievous the ensuing hardships in the crude huts
of their laager as the winter blasts from Scythia whistled down across
the storm-tossed Euxine. Supplies dwindled and forage failed. The Moslem
raiders soon swept the Thracian country bare for miles about, yet could
provide only a starving ration for the High Emir's unwieldy host.
Repeatedly the Saracen leaders debated whether it were not Allah's will
that they should raise the siege. They were deterred from this by the
effective knowledge that a winter retreat before the victorious enemy
would probably involve the loss of the entire expedition, and by
comforting promises from Damascus of overwhelming renforcements by
spring.

Through an unwontedly severe winter, therefore, the Sons of the South
endured great hardship while for an hundred days the solid earth was
hidden by snow. Men and beasts alike perished miserably. The besiegers
gritted their teeth and tightened their belts desperately when told that
within the city there was warmth, safety, and sufficiently abundant
rations to maintain the public courage. "The Lion is over his wound,"
taunted the Roman sentries from their outposts. "Take courage,
Hagarines; you will hear again his roarings!"

When the first winds of the early springtime blew, came the tidings that
at Damascus Solyman the Sensual had met his end while organizing the new
expedition to succour Moslemah. In his stead reigned his kinsman, Omar
II, a worthier Omiad, who strained the resources of his empire to hasten
the relief forces. Once more (report had it) the dockyards of Phoenicia
and of Egypt rang with the shipbuilders' hammers; once more the ulemahs
from Kairowan to Bokhara extolled the djihad, enlisting the sword hands
of the Faithful. The milder weather infused a new courage and activity
among the Saracens already before Constantinople. The Kalifate had
staked its prestige upon the siege. To suspend the undertaking would be
to confess defeat and shake the grasp of the Omiads upon all the East.
The crisis of the attack, therefore, was near at hand.

The same genial winds brought Leo again upon the battlements. He was
thinner and paler than before. He gave decent heed to the remonstrances
of Kasia and Fergal, "Spare your strength." Once during a skirmish
before the walls he exposed himself to some long flights of arrows. With
loyal violence several centurions immediately thrust him from danger.
"I've heard in church," remarked one champion of many scars, "how King
David's men once held him back from the Philistines lest some rashness
quench the light of Israel. The Basileus had better trust to others to
kill mere rats and mice."

After that Leo took fewer chances, but nothing escaped his ken. All
winter long the city trainbands had been under rigorous discipline. The
forum idlers of a year ago were passionately desirous now of high
adventure. Certain divisions demanded noisily on the parade-ground,
"When are we led out against Moslemah?" But there was obedient silence
when the Emperor rebuked them, "That thing is mine to command, and yours
to await."

Kallinikos had returned to his own dwelling. The manufacture of the new
Fire had been competently and secretly continued by Leander and certain
trusty assistants, but the sage, no longer indispensable, longed for his
old books and surroundings in the House of Peace. There he was able to
play at such matters as devising a new and more elaborate code of fire
signals on the basis of the ancient scheme of King Seleukos, or to
counsel Leander as to a project for discharging the fire through brazen
tubes instead of in the form of hand-grenades.

The change was a great satisfaction to Anthusa. Little had been altered
at the House of Peace, and their quiet region was untouched by the noisy
marchings of the garrison. Dorkon the street dog still held to his loyal
sentry duty by the door. The shrubs and plants bloomed green, bright and
fragrant in the courtyard and window boxes. The two great cats still
glided about sleepily. The warming weather also brought back the birds
wherein Anthusa ever delighted. No threat of Saracens halted their
northward-faring armies; all Constantinople became alive with them.
Swallows nested over doors and arches, pigeons in huge swarms formed
garlands of grey and white along cornices and cupolas, turtle-doves
cooed in the cypresses behind the dwelling, halcyons flew in long files
from the south, storks took up their solemn watch upon the pinnacles
above Anthusa's head, and sparrows sought the crumbs from her hand. War
still ringed Constantinople about, but around the house of Kallinikos
all was innocence and quiet.

Anthusa found another great relief at the Hospital of the Pankrator. By
casting herself into the sufferings of others, by soothing the dying, by
discovering hope for the living, by finding that no new burden ever made
one too many, she won a peace never to be discovered by long vigil
before the altars of Hagia Sophia. Yet at night sometimes, when from the
lofty balcony of Kallinikos' house the vast city seemed spreading out
beneath her, when under the moonlight and above the dark masses of
groves and gardens, the white domes and pinnacles of the greater
buildings shone like the handiwork of giants wrought in snow, her eye
irresistibly would drift towards that lordliest group by the
Bosphorus--the golden-tiled roofs of the Daphne and Chalke, of the
Golden Hall, and a little beyond to the Bukoleon--then Anthusa would say
in her heart, "Doubtless _he_ is there," and picture Leo, once more hale
and self-contained, perchance now in homely converse with Kasia.
Whereat, rejecting all luxury of tears, she would hasten back on any
pretext to the Pankrator, to relieve some tired nun of her vigil....

... Presently Anthusa with all the rest of the city knew that another
great hour of stress was at hand. Thrusting clear across Asia Minor, and
traversing all Bithynia, appeared a mighty Moslem army under the Emir
Merdesan. The Saracens ignored the strong fortifications of Nicomedia
and Nicaea, but pressed on close to the Bosphorus. Their cavalry ravaged
the undefended villages beyond Chalcedon, and the city folk now gazed
forth anxiously upon the smoke of desolation rising across in Asia, just
as earlier they had gazed upon the ruin wrought in Thrace. A few days
after the advent of Merdesan another and greater tremor passed through
the capital. Once again the thousands mounted the seawalls to gaze at
the Marmora. Two more powerful fleets had come to join the remnants of
the earlier armada: four hundred tall ships from Egypt under the Emir
Sofian, three hundred and sixty from North Africa under the Emir Yezid.

Rumour soon told how the newcomers were arrogantly disdainful of the
warnings given by the earlier assailants of the terrors of the
Christians' Fire: "They would show those backward sons of Islam the way
to close the Straits!" And seemingly the Roman admirals were petrified
by the suddenness and overwhelming character of the Moslem
renforcement. One fine spring morning, taking advantage of the current
which aided them to glide safely along the eastern shore, and keeping a
safe distance from the city, the Egyptian armament actually plied its
proud way up the Bosphorus and anchored opposite Therapia, the while
African ships hugged the Bithynian coast near Kartalimen.

Vainly did the scowling citizens watch for the removal of the great
chain and the flanking attack of the imperial dromonds. These rode
peacefully at anchor within the Golden Horn. That night for the first
time in the siege the Saracens could claim to have blockaded
Constantinople on every side: from Thrace, Asia, the Bosphorus, the
Marmora. Only the implicit confidence in the Emperor kept the city from
panic.

Anthusa spent the day amid her own troubles. Sophia was in distress:
Fergal had disappeared upon some capital errand of such secrecy that he
had refused all information thereof to his wife, and only after his
departure Sophia had discovered that he had again dyed his hair and
resumed his old Syrian disguise. It taxed all Anthusa's powers through
an anxious night to keep her sister from surrender to hideous imaginings
concerning his fate if taken by the emirs. Just at dawn, however, came a
messenger from Basil to comfort Sophia. Had she been upon the harbour
after sundown, it was now told her, she might have seen the great chain
slipped open just enough to permit the exit of a swift _galaias_, a
slim scouting galley pulling with muffled oars. The watchers upon the
walls had seen it disappear in the gloom northward from Galata, and just
before daybreak there had been a low returning whistle near the boom.
The craft had glided inside, and in the fading darkness, Fergal,
disguised no more, could have been seen to leap upon the quay at the
Navy Yard, then mount and gallop to the palace.

       *       *       *       *       *

All the day following the advance of the new Moslem armament, informal
armistice reigned along the waterfront of Constantinople. There were no
musterings of the garrison. The Emperor visited the various landwalls as
if merely to satisfy himself that there was no danger of a sudden onset
from Moslemah's laager. In the Golden Horn, however, along the wharves
west of the ferry, where movements of the shipping would be well
concealed from Moslem observation, idle wiseacres noted that all the
reserve dromonds were lying ready. The _St. Michael_ and her stoutest
consorts rode again near the great chain, but the bulk of the Roman
armada was out of sight. As the soft evening stole over walls and
harbours, there was again a continuous tramping in the streets as of
many thousands: draughts of spare rowers for the galleys. Nothing,
however, broke the sunset calm. The day closed as peacefully as if
Sofian's and Yezid's fleets had been pleasure barges or corn-ships.

The sentries had just changed for the last watch preceding midnight,
when the hoofs of a few horses clicked through the palace gate nearest
the Point of St. Demetrios. Leo was in full armour. He had just taken an
unwontedly careful leave of his mother, whom he had assigned to
Michael's protection. The priest and not the Patriarch (undisturbed in
his palace) had given the Emperor his blessing. Leo rode quietly out
upon the quay, where Basil, Fergal and a small staff were already
awaiting him, grouped around a single torch.

"The ships are ready?" he asked the admiral.

"To the last thole-pin," returned the eager sailor.

"Very well, then; to the _St. Michael_."

The barge carried them quietly beside the flagship, which stretched out
a long prone hull, a monster sleeping upon the placid deep. By a faint
lantern the Emperor clambered the ship's side. On their benches, silent
save for whisperings, sat all the rowers. The officers and marines on
the poop suffered the monarch to reach the deck without cheer or salute.
Leo took his station in the extreme stern, beside the helves of the
great steering paddles. The night was moonless and partly clouded. Very
dimly as the eye ranged westward over the vague contour of the Golden
Horn could be seen ghostly shapes gliding nearer--dromond after dromond
stroking out under a few oars from the inner harbour. The _St. Michael_
had slipped her cable until her prow nigh scraped against the floats of
the great chain. Through all her people reigned a silence truly
oppressive. Fergal at his master's side cupped his hands to his eyes and
strained eagerly out into the night.

"They are due at midnight," at length he fidgeted.

"Midnight is not yet here," announced Leo collectedly; "if the delay is
too long we must strike without them. This is the time when we must
throw dice with Fate."

Long moments followed, while officers and men cursed inwardly, while the
Celt tore anxiously at his black-dyed poll, while even the Emperor's
great fingers drummed nervously upon the taffrail. Then a falcon-eyed
Euboean lookout pointed into the dark, and muttered to his mate; and
their "See!" passed in hoarse whisper along the flagship. Rising,
falling, the watchers caught the glint of white oars moving along the
Bosphorus. Several small craft were gliding past the guard-towers of
Galata. Now they approached the northern terminus of the great chain.
Now having found it, they were edging along its outer length as if
seeking the centre where rode the _St. Michael_. The tension aboard the
flagship increased. A marine dropped a boarding axe. Its clatter sounded
across the calm water like thunder. Basil with a spear butt smote the
blunderer into the scuppers as relief to his own feelings. The other
dromonds were pressing closer from within, but all attention was upon
the nearing strangers. Presently these "sandal boats," ship's pinnaces,
were abreast of the _St. Michael_ and halted as if in doubt of their
proper motions. Instantly three red lanterns gleamed from the poop of
the flagship. The answer was a resounding cheer in Coptic and mongrel
Greek across the sleeping waters:

"Life to the Christian Basileus! Ten thousand years to Leo, our
Emperor!"

"Curses on their noise," swore Basil, under breath; "these shouts may
spoil everything!" But at his muttered order forty hands began tugging
on the cable controlling the great chain. Its floats drifted apart.
Immediately the foremost pinnace was alongside. Fergal darted forward as
strange seamen clambered the ship's ladder of the _St. Michael_, and let
a little knot of strangers back upon the poop. The lanterns were
suffered to flash over them, revealing the brown features and gaudy
sashes of Egyptians. "Show us the Emperor!" demanded their leader; then,
seeing the purple mantle, he fell on his knees before Leo.

"O most dread Basileus," he protested, "I am that Cyrus whereof Fergal
has spoken, and whom in the Emirs' fleet at sore peril he has just
visited. My friends and I are Christians. Tyrannous folly has made the
Kalif impress us Copts for his service. Now we seek vengeance for the
oppression of our country and redemption, if such may be, for our
souls. For have we not all forsworn our God and apostatized? Henceforth
we are yours."

"Understand, O Cyrus," spoke the Emperor, "that God has now vouchsafed
singular opportunity to atone for your error. Fergal reports you are
pledged to show us where ride the fleets of Sofian. Guide us well, and
all the clergy of Constantinople shall beseech Heaven for your pardon.
Guide us treacherously and I swear no mortal torments shall lack before
the devils pluck your souls."

"We swear; we swear. May God cut us off from His last mercies."

"Keep your oaths till later," interposed Basil dryly. "Time's pressing.
Get part of your friends near the helmsmen, Fergal, and send the others
to the lesser flagships. Slip the anchor quietly. Man all the banks
without clamour. Now, rowing master, give the stroke as silently as you
can. _Eu!_ Not bad. We're off and the Panagia grant our wives that we
see Constantinople again at morn and not the New Jerusalem."

Like flitting ghosts the Roman dromonds glided out into the night-bound
Bosphorus: not five-and-twenty now, but a far statelier fleet, all the
ships which the imperial city could build and man after a year of
desperate preparation. A faint lantern on the stern of the _St. Michael_
was the only guide as she led the way. They moved up the narrowing
straits, past the dim capes of the Michaelion, Chelai and the Hermaion,
then just beyond the latter promontory, where Europe and Asia seemed
reaching out in the dark their fingers to touch one another, the
watchers on the flagship's prow saw a hull resting on the steel-black
waters. "A guard-ship!" passed the whisper from stem to stern. Soon they
heard her oars rattle and her head swing about in alarm. Dimly across
the violet ripples came her hail in Arabic:

"In the name of Allah, who are ye?"

Cyrus was standing in the Roman prow. His Coptic accent was
irreproachable. "A squadron from the African fleet below, to strengthen
you. Your admiral's position is dangerous."

"If friends, give then the hailing signal. Be quick."

"_Ayesha, Mother of the Faithful._"

"Blessed be Allah! We feared a Christian trick. Those dogs are shrewd.
The current runs strong here."

"But stronger on the Asian coast. Tarry, for we're soon alongside. Our
emir would ask something of your captain."

Basil was running along the gangways, muttering deeply and striking each
laggard rower with the flat of his blade:

"Bend to it, rascals! Break your blades! Give way!"

The _St. Michael_ answered with a leap. In a twinkling she was alongside
the befooled Egyptian. An instant later and her grappling irons
clattered upon the Saracen's decks and her marines were pouring across
the swinging bridges upon the smaller and weaker foe. It was dark and
silent work. No fire--to alarm the fleet above. The yells of the
terrified Moslems were soon drowned by the suddenness of the
overwhelming attack. The other Roman dromonds went racing by at full
oarage.

Completing her conquest, neither long nor desperate, and leaving a
rearward galley to bring in captives and prize, the _St. Michael_
presently resumed her way. The fleet had passed the promontory by Limen
Phidalias. Before it extended the widest reaches of the Bosphorus, from
Therapia over to the mountainous Bed of Heracles looming up darkly from
Asia. Leo had joined Cyrus and Fergal at the prow, and the deserter
pointed across the dim shimmer northward. Under the shelter of the bay
beyond Therapia a long line of hulls spread out against the shore line.
Possessed by his evil genius, and contemptuous of the foe through his
first immunity, Sofian had anchored his fleet in a reach of the
Bosphorus where the swift current made effective flight northward nigh
impossible, while the southern exit was in firm possession of the enemy!

Even in the darkness Fergal knew his master's eyes were gleaming like
live coals. When had the Panagia vouchsafed a greater mercy? "The
signal," called Leo in reverberating voice. Instantly the mainmast of
the _St. Michael_ blazed forth with a clear white beacon. Simultaneously
a rejoicing shout thundered from all the Christian ships. Their long
hulls shot through the water as each rower strove upon his benches. The
Hagarines had been caught strung out at anchor along the western shore.
Scattered campfires told that some of the crews had even landed at the
Great Valley to bivouac luxuriously under its oaks and plane-trees. It
was one of those instants when the inconceivable folly of a commander
can sway the life issues of empires. The dullest Roman knew that the
Almighty had delivered the Hagarines into their hands.

Long ere they could reach the shores, however, a barbaric howling was
rising from the Egyptian ships and all along the beaches. Lights tossed
and went racing towards the ships. Frantic hundreds could be imagined
tugging galleys down from the sands and thrusting them into deep water.
As the attackers neared they knew that under the darkness the whole bay
north of Therapia was a seething confusion--seamen, marines, transports,
pinnaces, dromonds--chaos possessing everything.

Leo stood again imperturbable, like some dread wind god smiling at the
elements uncaged at his behest; but Basil uttered a great and terrible
laugh:

"The sword of the Lord and of Gideon!" rang his call. "Ho, my merry men:
blow your trumpets and break your pitchers!"

For answer, now from the prow of the _St. Michael_ flared forth an iron
basket set with the Fire. Like a young sun suddenly hung on earth, it
glared red, lurid, devastating. The bay, ships and mountains flashed out
of the darkness. Every little ripple of the Bosphorus gave back a gleam
like blood. Other beacons, equally fierce, shot up from the following
galleys. To the Saracens they seemed like onrushing angels of
Death--like the dread Azral and his fellows who execute the dooms of
Allah.

Once alarmed, the Egyptian captains did what brave men might: The
readier ships charged out gallantly to meet the Romans and give time for
their backward consorts; but they found no chance for valorous ramming
and grappling. A Saracen approached a Roman dromond. The Moslem was yet
a full ship's length off when on the prow of the Christian under the
glaring light was seen the levelling of a strange bronze tube. From the
tube issued a dense puff of smoke, and then upon the Egyptian decks,
farther than any hand-flung missile could carry, lo! a devouring ball of
the deadly Fire. A second, a third--and even as in the earlier sea
fight, upper works, cabins, spars, rigging, were covered with the racing
flames.

Guided by the Egyptian deserters the Roman leaders made for the Moslem
flagships with uncanny precision.

"God is with us! God is with us! The sword of the Lord and of Gideon!"
the Christian seamen raised their battleshout, plying their new
"fire-siphons." And they fell on the Hagarines.[59] ...

[59] The principle of the fire-tubes ("fire-siphons") used in the
destruction of Sofian's fleet is not wholly clear. Seemingly they were a
simple form of cannon, although using an explosive too weak to carry
heavy projectiles. Their use in this battle, as well as the incident of
the desertion of the Egyptians who betrayed the ruinous position and
recklessness of the Saracen armament rests on first-class evidence. The
"siphonator" (cannoneer) became a regular petty officer on the Byzantine
dromonds.

... Hours before dawn Constantinople was shaken by a great alarm. Men
and women rushed up upon the housetops. To the north the skies were
glowing with the brightness of burning Sodom. From up the Bosphorus came
the hideous din of ships by hundreds, of men by tens of thousands locked
in pitiless battle. Even along the quiet ways by the House of Peace
where Anthusa stood on her balcony, rushed terrified boys crying that
the Basileus had fallen and the Hagarines had forced the city. On their
heels ran other groups as witlessly rejoicing because Moslemah had
raised the siege. Next at every cross-street blew the trumpets to rouse
the civic trainbands and send every available man to the walls. The
wailing of the women and children, terrified yet again, even after long
months of siege, rose from hundreds of balconies and windows.

Then, even as panic-stricken groups began rushing towards the
neighbouring Church of St. Theodore to cast themselves before the altar,
a great wave of shouting went passing from street to street. It gathered
volume from every dome, parapet and housetop covered with the agonized
onlookers. At last from her own home balcony, as she gazed towards the
Bosphorus and Marmora, Anthusa herself could see the lurid apparition.
Out behind the black bulk of the palace buildings and the Cathedral,
into plain and awful view came a ship--her tottering masts were traced
against the sky with fire: her hull was a seething volcano. Life within
long since must have shrivelled away. Where were her people, God knew.
Another after her; another, and yet a fourth; then two more locked in
such deadly embrace they were going up in brands together. And down the
waterways and over the awakened city spread the haze of smoke and the
keen odour of a mighty burning.

Romans? Saracens? From her distance Anthusa only realized that the folk
on the seawalls would groan and not shout so recklessly if they thought
the Christian fleet had lost. More blazing hulls, until the daughter of
Kallinikos was fain to turn away her head and cease from counting--to
say a prayer for the souls who, whether calling on Christ or Allah, were
voyaging into Eternity. At her side, rubbing his bewildered hands and
peering seaward was now that most peaceful of men, her father, on whose
hands leaped the tame sparrows, whose every act and word was gentle--and
under the dome of whose calm forehead had worked that intelligence which
had made these mortal fires possible. He was stupefied by the spectacle.

"This is fearful, child, fearful," he was muttering wonderingly. "And
I--I have prepared the Fire! In my peaceful study it was I also who gave
Leander the idea for the new fire-tubes. I have destroyed more men than
Sardanapalus. I cannot comprehend it. Yet the hideous thing was needful.
I could not give you and Sophia over to the Hagarines." He broke off,
nigh weeping. "Woe unto the world because of offences, but woe unto the
man by whom the offence cometh!"

"Amen!" answered him Anthusa from her soul.

When the grey light at last broke over the hills of Chrysopolis, burning
ships were still drifting down the Bosphorus. But with the dawn the
streets rechoed with the marching infantry. The main strength of the
garrison was pressing towards the wharves, and presently the glancing
waves towards Asia were alive not with dromonds but with barges and ever
more barges, going forth loaded with brave men, and destined (Anthusa
knew too well) to be pulling back full soon with their ghastly freight
of wounded.

She dared not leave her father in an hour like this, although the
impulse to rush forth and for sheer relief of spirit to course the
streets alone was almost overmastering; but Ephraim went, coming back
after a trying interval with a fund of comforting rumours: "A great sea
fight had been won by Therapia, and now Artavasdos at Leo's behest was
moving all his numbers over to Asia to have it out with Emir Merdesan."

All that livelong day, therefore, the city stared and strained towards
Chrysopolis. There on the green slopes betwixt the sea and Mt. Damatrys
rose the dust and haze of ferocious battle above the lush groves and
gardens. Even across the waves some imagined they could hear the charge
of horsemen, the trampling of the phalanxes. Kallinikos, however, at
length grew calmer, and suffered himself to be led back to his
crucibles; and Anthusa, knowing that the wards of the Pankrator would be
filled to overflowing, ventured to quit him and to find a blessed relief
in her ministries.

But just as the sun sank low and sloped all the shadows of column and
pinnacle eastward, a shouting of jubilation, as of hundreds of thousands
relieving their hearts together, went running from the Point of St.
Demetrios and over all the hectic city. It penetrated even the wards of
the Pankrator, and Anthusa could bear no more. Resigning her post to a
nun, she followed a great tumult into the square by the Church of the
Apostles. Senators, tapsters, porters' wives, great merchants'
wives--all fell on their knees on the dusty pavement when the imperial
heralds blew long for silence, then trumpeted their message:

     "_Romans: Give God the praise!_

     "The fleet from Egypt is destroyed. The fleet from Africa is
     defeated and crippled. In Asia the host of the Emir Merdesan
     is utterly routed. Only the armament and camp of Moslemah
     still oppose us. Your Emperor is well. Get you in gratitude to
     the churches, thank God and take courage. These are the words
     of Leo the Basileus."

"Your Emperor is well!" Those were really the only words which Anthusa
heard. Desperately she cried in her heart, as she knelt in the Church of
the Apostles through a long litany of thanksgiving. "I rejoice only for
the great victory; and for Leo I rejoice only as do the others--because
our Basileus is safe and victorious." She knew that her very thoughts
were lies.

When she returned to the Pankrator to watch by a stricken sailor, a
messenger awaited her. He was Peter himself, covered with dust, having
come straight from Asia, and as usual clad in the plainest of liveries.

"This," he announced simply, "is from the Little Kyrios"; and he put in
her hands a tablet covered with hasty and awkward writing. Anthusa's
forehead glowed as she looked on the lines:

     "_Flavius Leo to the gracious kyria, Anthusa Maria_:

     "In this hour for one brief moment I steal time which should
     belong to the Christian Empire. If it will please you, let me
     say that the Panagia and the prayers of my guardian saints
     have carried me again scatheless by land and sea, when death
     struck down many better men than I.

     "My mother did you great wrong when she summoned you to serve
     as nurse at the Bukoleon, in a manner which you could not well
     refuse. I also see now many things, which, in my selfish
     warrior pride, I should have understood long since. Take,
     then, my promise: I shall not cross your path again, unless it
     be at a time when, whether you call me Basileus or the least
     of your servants, you can feel no blush. _Farewell._"

After Anthusa had questioned Peter about many things touching the battle
and his master, she went back to the long wards of the hospital.




CHAPTER XXXIII

EVAGRIOS CHOOSES HIS ROAD


This double defeat blasted the last hopes in many of the invaders of
taking Constantinople. Not merely had the Fire seemed a miracle of
Allah, sent for their special destruction, but in the land battle by
Chrysopolis their horse and foot had been annihilated in equal fight by
the Roman themesmen. Moslemah's host had crowded the beaches by the
Marmora and howled with anguish when the blazing Egyptian galleys had
drifted past or a few skiffs slipped over later from Bithynia with the
tale of Merdesan's ruin. Already there were many voices inside the great
Saracen laager: "Our defeat is destined; we have done enough for El
Islam; retreat while retreat still is possible."

Nevertheless, out of stubbornness or from some hidden hopes, the Emir of
Emirs still hung on grimly. Provisions were straitening among the
Moslems. Deserters to the city told ghastly stories of roots, leaf-pulp
and even carrion being served as rations. Pestilence walked among the
closely-packed huts. For all that the great Omiad host still made a
defiant show before the walls. Some said that Moslemah counted on
assistance from the army that had been sent away into Thrace to meet the
Bulgarian allies of the Emperor; some that he still hoped against hope
for another great renforcement from Syria. A few select spirits about
his pavilion suggested to their despairing comrades that the commander
had not dismissed expectations of "events inside the city," decidedly
to his advantage. All agreed in any case that if the siege were raised
the blow to the prestige of the Omiad house would be terrible through
all the Moslem Orient. From day to day, therefore, Moslemah remained.

As for Leo inside the walls, the Emperor was known to be reorganizing
his regular divisions after the serious but not crippling losses of the
battle in Asia; repairing his dromonds; and, above all, pressing the
drilling of the citizen trainbands. A new move by the Basileus was
steadily expected, but it came not. Such now, however, was the public
trust in his prescience that his inactivity was accepted without a
murmur.

       *       *       *       *       *

On the western edge of the closely-packed quarters of the capital
stretched the pleasant region of green lanes, garden walls and even of
small villas extending away to the Walls of Theodosius. Here were the
compounds of the great monasteries and many of the enormous reservoirs
which assured Constantinople an abundant water supply even should the
besiegers cut the aqueducts. During the investment there had been a
constant coming and going of the garrison through this outlying
district, and the uproar of the great assaults had of course affrighted
its dwellers; nevertheless, the distances within the fortifications were
so vast that during most of the time life in these suburbs had been
placid and almost normal.

In a quiet little house near the Cistern of St. Mokios, Evagrios and
Nikosia had found a congenial refuge. The wholesale influx of refugees
at the beginning of the siege made their appearance in the precinct
quite accountable. They and their Persian friend, Hormisdas--so Nikosia
told the neighbours--were from Selymbria, and if at times many
strangers seemed going to their house, it was natural enough that
fellow-unfortunates should flock together.

Nevertheless, a time of keen anxiety afflicted these good folk just
after the second repulse of the Saracens following the false rumours of
Leo's death. A decarch of the watch had called and asked Evagrios many
pointed questions. Did he know anything as to how the treasonable tattle
about the Emperor's state originated? By whom spread? Was his party
really from Selymbria? Only the firmest and smoothest front by Evagrios
and his "spiritual sister" fended off disaster. As it was, the police,
although not quite satisfied, dropped the search. But Evagrios put in
many unhappy weeks. He could not even scheme to escape outside the gates
to the Infidel. After the great defeat of Moslemah upon the walls, the
ex-deacon with reason feared that no better welcome would await him in
the High Emir's camp than the bowstring, or perhaps the actual stake for
impalement.

During the winter and spring, as the invader's prospects waned, Evagrios
spent long hours ruminating upon the past and future. The Panagia was
getting the better of the Prophet, and the deposed churchman was
disposed to curse Hormisdas vigorously when that astute Oriental visited
him, and to tell him that from the very hour the two had met for the
traffic of slaves by that wharf on the Golden Horn, misfortunes had
heaped upon himself and Nikosia--loss of fortune, pursuit by the law,
exile, and now an excellent chance of being sawn asunder as a traitor.
Nikosia was in an even darker mood. She was now convinced that all their
misfortunes were the direct result of impiety. Desperately she would
kiss the holy relics. She also procured a part of a miniature copy of
the Gospel of St. Luke and hung it around her neck as an amulet, the
same as worn by infants. When Evagrios began to bewail their plight too
loudly, she would protest that for her part she was so stricken in
conscience that she intended to retire speedily to a nunnery.

Nikosia's piety was further excited by the proximity of no less a
personage than Marinos. The dethroned pillar-saint had taken refuge at
the small convent of St. Antiochos, whereof the garden wall abutted the
lane hard by the entrance to Evagrios' house. Prudential reasons led the
brethren to forbid him to denounce the Emperor or to predict the triumph
of the Hagarines; but to his heart's content Marinos was suffered to
mount a scaffolding behind the convent wall and fulminate into the
street concerning the general fate of the wicked. Women, street urchins
and soldiers off duty listened in droves, and often went away smitten in
conscience and in mortal terror of hell fire, while his strident voice
sometimes penetrated to Nikosia even in her peristylium:

"Though thou wash thee with nitre and take thee much soap, yet is thine
iniquity marked before me, saith the Lord our God. Think not, wretched
people, by tardy repentance now to escape the meed of your
transgressions. For have ye not one and all sinned the unpardonable sin,
even that against the Holy Ghost? Dream not by prayers, genuflections,
fasts, almsgiving to escape. The hour for all such is passed. Unto you
is spoken the terrible voice, 'Depart from me, ye accursed, into
everlasting fire prepared for the devil and his angels!'"

Had it been practicable Nikosia would have removed their residence
simply to be afar from this hideous monitor, but as it was she was sent
daily into paroxysms of fear. Her companion affected to make light of
the noisy anchorite, but even he was becoming cowed. The trend of
martial events had awakened his physical terrors and had even stimulated
that poor thing, his conscience. If the siege ended with a great Moslem
defeat he was presumably a ruined man with a price on his head. The
Emperor was most certainly his foe, even if the plot with Moslemah never
came to light. Thus, at times, when Nikosia became unusually pious,
Evagrios also would dwell on the idea of retiring to Mt. Athos and
astonishing the world with his self-mortifications. One afternoon he
grew unusually boastful:

"I will surpass the fame of St. Anthony the Greater. I will lie on a bed
of nailpoints, eat only thrice a week a handful of lentils; reject sleep
for seven full days and nights; wash myself never. Then will I have
visions of angels and enjoy the glory of the heavenly light. My renown
will spread through Christendom. Pilgrims will come from Italy and
Armenia to bow themselves before me. I shall cast stones at them to
prevent their idolatry. They will gather up the pebbles to take them
away as the most precious relics. When at last I die, my wasted skeleton
will be plucked to pieces by my disciples to be distributed in the most
distant cities. The least of my finger bones will be set in golden
caskets, causing the churches that boast the possession thereof to
become the centres for innumerable pious travellers----"

"Glorious prospect," spoke Nikosia, not too conscience-torn for sarcasm,
"but when will your lentil diet begin?"

"Don't mock at God, woman," said Evagrios severely. "I'm not what I was.
I feel now that the devil's been reaching out for my very soul. This
life is but for an instant. Eternity lasts through the ons. If only now
the Saracens had seemed likely to prevail----"

"They may still prevail," interposed his companion.

"I fear not." The ex-deacon shook a gloomy head. "Moslemah will raise
the siege as soon as he can do so with a little better credit."

"Perhaps it's for the best," remarked Nikosia in solemn tones, clasping
her hands. "After all, are we not Christians? It's only natural, of
course, that we should sin. I'm sure St. Peter did that; and we're not
impious enough to claim to be any better than a holy apostle. And then
it's still more natural that we should repent. If the Hagarines had
triumphed what would have become of our souls? I can't believe that
noisy Marinos to be right, and that all forgiveness is past, and I'm
sure I'm constantly feeling a greater vocation for the convent."

"Doubtless its austerities will do you good," observed Evagrios,
shrewdly eyeing her rouge and false hair.

This conversation was interrupted, however, by the entrance with soft
tread of Neokles, who, for a variety of reasons, had resumed his place
as cook and major domo to his old master. The menial's redolent face
seemed excited.

"_Kyrios, kyria_--Petronax is here, and with him Hormisdas."

Evagrios bristled. "That sly fellow has led me by the nose often enough,
and as for Hormisdas, he's no longer a dog of my quarter."[60]

[60] An expression of extreme contempt in Constantinople.

"Nevertheless, I think the _kyrios_ will see them."

"And why that, sirrah?"

"Because Saloma is with them."

"Saloma?" Nikosia, in her turn, started very angrily. "I thought that
wretch was at the palace, and at the palace let her stay. Little enough
of helpful tidings she has sent us."

Evagrios rose, nevertheless, with his most unctuous smile. "Calm
yourself, _philotata_; don't give way to prejudices. If Petronax and
Hormisdas have in good deed brought Saloma here it's for strong reasons.
Bring them in, Neokles."

Nikosia settled herself stiffly upon her armchair, and barely gave the
trio a sign of greeting as they entered. Petronax seemed less spruce and
dapper than formerly; cares manifestly had been preying upon him, but
Hormisdas glided about with his wonted oily ease. As for Saloma,
although her cheeks had lost something of their rustic bloom, her
costume of rich dark stuff, the gold chain about her neck, and the
second gold chain binding back her veil told that certain fates had been
kind to her.

"It's a pleasure to see you so prosperous in these black days, my good
girl," announced Evagrios, "and what is it that brings a great
_despoina_ like the Empress-Mother's tire-woman to her humble friends?
Does the old woman--I mean her Sacred Majesty--continue to be kind to
you?"

"Very kind." Saloma looked about her uneasily under Nikosia's cold
scrutiny.

"_Eu!_ What, then, can I do for my friends?" pursued the ex-deacon,
looking at his visitors.

"Most reverend father," said Hormisdas, one hand gliding over the other,
"is it true that you and your honoured spiritual sister here"--with an
eye upon Nikosia--"have been considering seriously forsaking the cares
of this world and taking refuge, each of you, in a convent?"

Evagrios bowed deliberately. "So our holy purpose has spread among our
acquaintance? Yes, it is almost settled. Nikosia and I have become
conscious of our sins. Who among us frail mortals should not? The
moments of repentance grow short. The repulse of the Infidels seems a
clear sign that the mercy of Heaven is not yet closed. If ever our
thoughts wandered from perfect loyalty to our most holy faith,
nevertheless, I trust that there is time----" He sighed and pressed a
fat hand upon his bosom.

"That's very unfortunate. Then you won't be interested," darted
Petronax, with complete abruptness. "The devils take your scruples! We
need your help sorely. All can yet be achieved----"

"_All?_" Evagrios' hands fell at his side while Nikosia uprose in
astonishment.

"Yes," pursued the myrmidon, with emphatic gestures. "But there's no
time to lose. You know we've trusted in Saloma. It's no fault of hers
that the old hag, her mistress, has been too sharp for anything to leak
out save that one message about the Emperor's wound."

"Much good did _that_ do us!" bemoaned the ex-deacon.

"No matter. Things are laxer at the palace now that the Saracens seem
repulsed. To-day, Kasia gave her tire-woman an afternoon holiday. Whom
should Saloma seek but us? She's got great news. Tell it out, Saloma."

The girl's eyes shone very bright.

"I know a woman who possesses the secret of the fire."

"Mother of God!" swore Evagrios, changing colour, but added: "Why, she's
your mistress, of course. We can't get her."

"Not so; this is a woman outside the palace. Perhaps she can be dealt
with."

"Name her quickly," cried the ex-deacon, his hands clenching and
unclenching. "Don't play with us, wench."

"Most unreasonably she distrusts us," protested Hormisdas. "We could get
none of the essential details out of her."

Evagrios chuckled. "Quite likely, my friend, or you'd never have come
here to share any pickings with us. Well, Saloma?"

The latter looked fixedly at Nikosia. "She won't like what I have to
say."

"Nonsense, my maid," objected Evagrios. "Haven't we just said we were
both about to renounce the world and its vanities?"

"Speak for yourself as to that," interposed Nikosia tartly; then she
turned with hauteur upon Saloma: "Don't give yourself airs, my fine Lady
Magnificence from the palace. Remember, you carried my gown and slippers
before we let you go to the Empress-Mother. Did her Sacred Majesty do
you the honour to whip you with her own girdle?"

Saloma tilted back her head. "The Empress-Mother's a good and kindly
woman. Only for one reason"--she gazed at Evagrios--"can I do her and
her son this great wrong."

"You've only done ourselves great wrong so far," warned Petronax. "Dare
not to play with us. The softest cats have claws. You've put yourself in
our power."

"Come, no threats!" commanded Evagrios, with a deprecating wave. "I'll
take Saloma aside. She'll talk to me and to no one else."

The ex-deacon walked with her to an adjacent room, where, to the great
vexation of the others, her communications were too whispered for any
eavesdroppers. Nikosia, therefore, perforce plied Petronax with
questions as to his patron the Master of the Palace. The man of affairs
painted a pathetic picture:

"Alas for his Sublimity! He's all but banished from the councils of
state. Crude military men everywhere, and vile rumours that even while
the siege lasts the Emperor is having the records overhauled. As if
personages so exalted as my patron Paul, and his friends the Logothete
Niketas and the Arch-Secretary Theokistos, should be expected after such
singular public services to have to account for every last obol. Such is
the ingratitude of princes! If you could but witness the Christian grace
with which his Sublimity endures all this neglect and uncertainty!"

"He may well shudder," remarked Nikosia with irony, "for out of ten fine
mansions he is like to lose nine; out of five hundred servitors to keep
only fifty. After the siege is raised no doubt he's banished--to a
marble villa at Therapia."

"But the siege is _not_ raised, and if we can only learn the secret of
the fire----" threw out Petronax vehemently.

"_Ei!_" asserted Nikosia. "I thought that you and your exalted masters
drew the line at actually helping the Hagarines?"

"Gracious _despoina_," declared Petronax, with a salaam, "the feeblest
animals will turn at bay. Rather than have his Sublimity ruined, rather
than--let it be said--see myself deprived of his august patronage,
he--we--have reluctantly brought ourselves----But here comes Evagrios,
and perhaps I exult too soon."

The interlocutor entered alone. "Saloma has told me her story," he
reported with satisfaction, "and it is one very probable. Fools were we
all not to think of the facts before. That Kasia was a cautious old farm
wife, but for once she blabbed too freely something her son told her,
and in Saloma's hearing. We can get all the secrets of the fire."

"Blessed Evangelists!" rejoiced Hormisdas, his hands waving like fans.
"But from whom? How? Bring the girl back."

Evagrios' smile was of infinite subtlety. "No, beloved friends; let us
understand each other. Saloma talks to me and takes orders from me
alone. I've left her in charge of Neokles, with a hint to him to keep
her from overhearing us now, because--it's best to confess it--a very
unfortunate scruple has entered into her case, and I've promised to
respect the same. We must humour her carefully until--well, until all
has gone prosperously. You see, she fondly imagines still that we desire
this secret solely for the purpose of subverting the present Emperor and
substituting another more to Paul's liking. Towards Leo she has no
ill-will. She even tried to get me to pledge the personal safety of
himself and his mother."

"Oh, simplicity!" marvelled Petronax. "Who'd have imagined it?"

"Then here's the upshot," concluded Evagrios. "I'm pledged that nothing
she reveals will be used to the advantage of the Hagarines."

"You have sworn this?" demanded Hormisdas, with alarm and incredulity.

"The old poets say something about Heaven laughing at lovers' promises.
If she's not my love, right certainly I'm hers. What else d'you imagine
gave me my power over her? And perhaps I had to promise a few other
things very horrid to Nikosia. I can keep them as well--or as ill----"

"Time lacks for chaffing," warned Petronax. "Let's understand clearly.
Saloma named to you a woman who knows about the fire?" Evagrios nodded.
"And one we can get in our power?"

"I swear that we can do this within three days--yes, and make her talk
promptly. I will engage this."

"Praised be the Panagia!" cried Hormisdas, his eyes rolling heavenward.
"Now we can get out word to the High Emir on no account to break camp.
If the ingredients for the fire are not too difficult to find and to
compound, in a few weeks what can't fail to happen!"

"Hark, you, friend!" cautioned Petronax. "Be careful what you promise
the Hagarines. Remember, my Sublime Patron and his associates are Romans
and Christians. We're not to betray our city and holy religion for ten
keratia. The price must make us all rich. There's much to be
considered."

Hormisdas glanced slyly towards Evagrios and Nikosia. "For example," he
returned, "we must consider the desire of our most Reverend Deacon and
his beloved Spiritual Sister to become monk and nun."

The laughter of the whole party made the bronze statuettes in the
peristyle shake.

"I think I'll turn dervish rather!" roared Evagrios, smiting the slave
dealer on the shoulder....

... For two hours and more four heads, sinful and subtle, were laid
close together. An infinite number of schemes were proposed, and all but
one rejected. The details of this last and acceptable scheme were
presently adjusted with an astuteness worthy of Odysseus weaving
mischief for Troy. It was agreed that three days were needed for
arrangements. Plato and Kannebos were again in their old haunts in the
Pharnar district, having escaped the draft for rowers. They had not
proved wholly reliable in the past, but the Emir's dinars would be
generous enough to make them devoted this time, and their aid with that
of Satyros seemed indispensable.

Resounding oaths of mutual fidelity were exchanged between the four ere
they separated, oaths which, by their very vehemence, proved their
probable necessity. Petronax especially took upon himself the ticklish
duty of conveying immediately to the palace the message that Saloma had
been taken suddenly ill while visiting relatives. He could be trusted to
make the story plausible and acceptable to the Empress-Mother. At
length, when the shadows were darkening down the lanes, Hormisdas and
Petronax glided separately away, each swollen with hopes and thoughts of
gainful business. Nikosia heard the garden gate close after them, then
turned at once upon Evagrios:

"I know the woman Saloma's named; you needn't tell me--the old wizard's
daughter, that Anthusa."

"What a diviner you are!" replied the other, smiling. "Yes, _philotata_,
it seems that she carries in her head all her father's formulas. Why
didn't we discover it months earlier! So much could have been done----"

"Yet I fear that girl," pursued Nikosia. "I would it were somebody else.
Every time she crosses our path it breeds bad luck. And Saloma? Didn't
she make you renew that promise to marry her?"

"Yes, my little sparrow, she did. In fact, she was unreasonably
importunate, raged and vowed that she knew I was not the best of men,
but that there was no means of controlling one's heart, besides, that
she was an honest girl before she entered our service. I've confessed
that slight indiscretion of mine, and long ago regretted it."

Nikosia struck her hands together in sheer disgust. "If there are sacks
and stones she'll sink in the Marmora ere I'm a month older. Was ever a
Spiritual Sister so disgraced by a servant in her own house! I abhor the
thought of her."

"Don't be absurd," replied her companion, "it's only three days, and
then we're for ever through needing her. Meantime, it can't be helped."

"Meantime, she and the wizard's jade of a brat can ruin us. That of all
the women in Constantinople we must pin everything upon those two!"

"Rest assured," answered Evagrios calmly, "Anthusa at least won't have
much choice as to her music."

Nikosia shook her head. "You're mistaken. Somehow I feel that
angel-faced vixen has made a bargain with the saints. Who but they could
have brought her back from the Isle of Cedars?"

The ex-deacon was attempting some reply when strident and shrill the
voice of Marinos the fanatic suddenly penetrated even into the dwelling:

"_Woe unto those who devise mischief, whose hearts are full of lies and
subtlety. Verily your counsels shall be brought to nought. Your
iniquities shall recoil on your own heads. Who shall save you now from
the land where the worm dieth not and the fire is not quenched? O
generation of vipers, who hath warned you to flee from the wrath which
is to come!_"

The woman shuddered, crossed herself and began kissing her gospel
amulet. "They say the man's inspired," she protested. "Oh, what a
warning! After all, you can't deny we're betraying our holy religion to
the Hagarines and are no better than Judas. Let's have pity on our souls
and refrain!"

"Marinos is mad," sneered Evagrios. "Don't be weak enough to let him
scare you. It's too late to draw back. Petronax and Hormisdas are off,
and I've no belief in silly omens." ...

Nevertheless, both he and Nikosia thereafter spent three very
uncomfortable as well as very busy days.




CHAPTER XXXIV

THE BATHS OF XEUXIPPOS


The third evening after the reunion at Evagrios' house, Anthusa left the
home of Kallinikos to go to the hospital of the Pankrator. After her
return from the Isle of Cedars and for months afterward, by Leo's
command, her movements had been inconspicuously watched and guarded. But
as the siege had worn on, competent men had been needed for stiffer
things, and the watch had been relaxed, at least so far as the secret of
her magic-working father had not been concerned. Anthusa in any case had
become accustomed, in daytime, to make the short journey to the
Pankrator unattended, and, like many a woman in Constantinople in those
days of stress, she was not deterred by the approach of dusk. She
informed her father that she would not return until dawn. This had often
happened since she had begun her service at the hospital.

At the Pankrator, she relieved the nun on duty in her ward. No new cases
had come in, and the regular patients were resting easily. Anthusa
composed herself, therefore, for an uneventful vigil. The streets
without became quite dark and a pale rush lantern was throwing its gleam
over the line of pallets when the monk physician on night duty appeared
and quietly beckoned to her.

A boy in the palace livery was waiting with a message. Anthusa
recognized him as Lobel, a Slavic lad sometimes employed in very menial
capacities around the chambers of the Empress-Mother at Bukoleon. He
produced with signs of anxiety a tablet duly sealed and waited
impatiently while she read:

     "_Plotinos, physician at the Hospital of Samson, to the noble
     kyria, Anthusa Maria, greeting_:

     "The soldier Muchlo the Slav, whom you nursed back to health,
     has been brought to us grievously wounded in a skirmish. He
     can scarcely live through the night. He declares it will
     console him much, in view of your former kindness to him, if
     you will hasten to the Samson and receive his last message.
     The bearer of this tablet is his brother Lobel, and with him
     go two attendants from the Samson, whom you may trust to
     conduct you safely. Knowing the Christian compassion of your
     heart I have not hesitated to send this request, despite the
     hour. Muchlo's time is very short."

"Will not the gracious _kyria_ hasten?" pleaded Lobel, tightening his
girdle, while tears seemed springing to his eyes.

"I am grieved for Muchlo, a fine young soldier, I remember well,"
returned Anthusa, "but I never heard he was your brother, Lobel."

"Ah, but the gracious _kyria_ has forgotten. We were sons of the same
father and mother. But I failed to tell you that the tire-woman Saloma,
who was visiting the sick at the Samson in her gracious mistress'
behalf, assured me you would surely come with speed. Alas, my poor
brother! We were orphans."

Anthusa summoned one of the younger sisters to take over the ward, but
the monk physician raised difficulties: "The sick can spare you, praised
be St. Luke, but the streets are very dark. It's a long way from the
Pankrator to the Samson."

Lobel, however, was ready with his answer: "By the Kyrios Plotinos'
orders we have brought a mule. Her Ladyship can travel with perfect
safety."

The monk looked on the boy with keen scrutiny. "Nevertheless, it is
late," he pursued. "Let me see the letter. It seems to be the seal of
Plotinos, who's a good friend of mine. I grant he would not send thus
unless the case seemed very meritorious. And you, _kyria_, are sure you
recognize this lad?"

"Perfectly," responded Anthusa, "and Muchlo was a gallant soldier whom I
tenderly pitied. I cannot possibly refuse such a last request."

Anthusa drew her peplon about her, anxious to set forth. The friendly
monk followed her to the portal of the Pankrator, and there, on the
black pavement, stood two men in long cloaks, one with a torch and the
other holding the bridle of a mule.

"All appears to be in order," assented her guardian. "The Blessed
Trinity prosper your errand of mercy."

The bar of light from the hospital doorway closed behind him. Anthusa
mounted the mule and her escort started immediately. They were a
taciturn trio and could give little information as to how Muchlo met his
misfortune. "It had been while chasing down Hagarine fugitives in Asia;
the _kyria_ could learn all about it at the Samson."

The way traversed was familiar enough to Anthusa under the deep shadows,
although her guides took her down somewhat sequestered avenues,
apparently as the shortest route to the Samson. It was once more a
pleasant night in the springtime. From the many gardens blooming even in
the heart of Constantinople there came the heavy odour of rose, jasmine
and lily. Overhead hung the narrow crescent of a moon. The great dark
city stretched its vast distance in every direction silently and
peacefully. Hardly would imagination permit the thought that outside the
walls still lay the huge Saracen entrenchment. From the Mese, however,
which ran its majestic length south of them, came a low, incessant
trampling and rumbling.

"They are sending many thousands again to the walls," thought Anthusa,
painfully versed now in military matters. "Is it an assault or a
sortie?" Then for a long time her mind dwelt on quite another soldier
than the unfortunate Muchlo. Presently one of her escort cursed and laid
about him with his stick: "Off! Off! That cur is still following us."

A dog yelped and fell back to a safe distance in the darkness. Anthusa
suddenly remembered that her faithful protg Dorkon, who very
frequently accompanied her to the door of the Pankrator, was now
doubtless following her thence to the Samson. It was useless to bid him
to depart, and as she looked back, now and then she caught his lean form
loping athwart the bars of moonlight which fell between the street
crossings.

Almost in silence they proceeded most of their two and more miles of the
journey. The imperial Record Office, the Forum of the Breadmakers, the
parade ground by the War Department, and many familiar landmarks more
were passed without deviation. Before them, the moonbeams flashing a
pale silver from its tiled domes, loomed at intervals the enormous bulk
of Hagia Sophia. Anthusa knew that to reach the Hospital of Samson they
should now turn to the left--northward. Somewhat to her bewilderment,
her escort began verging by black alleys towards the right as if seeking
the Augustum. Alarm might have seized her at once had she not realized
that Lobel at least was an ignorant Slav, who doubtless was somewhat
lost in the mazes of Constantinople except in broad daylight.
Nevertheless, she remonstrated. The trio kept on. She expostulated
again. They merely pressed down a narrow lane leading between the great
Basilica of Justice and the Cathedral itself. Aroused at last, she gave
an angry tug upon the bridle of the mule, and would have cried aloud,
when from the shadow of the lofty pillars of the Courts of Justice, all
deserted now by advocate or litigant, emerged two figures, and Anthusa
heard voices.

"She is here?" spoke one.

"Here, Excellency," rejoined one of her guides.

"Your thanks are waiting at once--and something better. And you, my
pretty song thrush, you can trill and warble later, but for the
nonce--keep quiet!"

Anthusa could not scream for aid. Almost with the first words, a cloak
had been thrown over her head; an instant later resistless hands had
pinioned her tightly. The voice had been the voice of Hormisdas.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Baths of Xeuxippos was among the prime wonders of the city. Perhaps
those of Titus and Caracalla at Rome had once boasted equally lofty
domes, crusted with coloured marbles, equally luxurious "halls of heat"
and "halls of cold," enormous swimming tanks, ball courts and sumptuous
lounging apartments; but the therm by the Tiber were already a ruin and
a memory, while the great baths at Constantinople still rose to the
southeast of the Augustum in gilded magnificence.

In the days of Justinian I the Baths of Xeuxippos had been burned down
only to be rebuilt in even greater splendour. Its habitus now boasted
that in a city of statues, it surpassed every other structure in the
wealth of its art treasures of bronze and marble. The likenesses of
practically every famous poet, philosopher or statesman of Greece or
Latium looked down from the gallery of its central dome, upon the
thousands of pleasure-seekers rejoicing in the great pool under the
spray of a dozen fountains. In the days before the siege, from sunrise
to sunset, the Baths had been possibly the most frequented structure in
the city, and the last conceivable spot for privy interviews.

Since the siege began, however, the Baths had been opened only at
limited intervals. Persons who sought them not for cleanliness but for
idle revelry had been ordered away. Fuel had lacked for heating the
great tanks of hot water. At first dusk all the vast apartments had been
cleared, and soon, barring a very few custodians, the pigeons under the
lower eaves and the storks upon the upper pinnacles, the colossal fabric
stood inert and lifeless--the most empty thing apparently in all
beleaguered Constantinople.

The main portal of the Baths presented its bronze-wrought valves upon
the Augustum. These were now firmly barred, but on the southern side
nearest the Marmora, a second, smaller entrance was reached by a
sequestered portico. Here an acute observer might have seen a faint
light gleam forth as the door was swayed just enough at long intervals
to admit a visitor. The spot, however, was quite away from the rounds of
the guard. The Baths commanded no military coign of vantage. No
munitions were stored therein. The garrison was conveniently barracked
at a distance. A furlong away, indeed, on the southern seawall, sentries
might be heard faintly exchanging their "All's well." No possible
guardians seemed nearer.

Inside this entrance, one might pass to an apartment of almost
extravagant elegance, dimly lighted at that hour by a few lamps
skillfully disposed in niches in the gilded fretting of the ceiling. The
mosaics, illustrating the story of the Argonauts, extended the entire
circuit of the large room, in a faintly glittering sequence. Across the
floors were treasures out of Persia, far-spreading rugs whereon the
sandaled foot sank noiselessly. In the apse across the apartment rose a
bronze statue of Homer, very ancient and reputed a true portrait of the
blind bard of Chios. The other statues and busts appearing everywhere
were of scarcely lesser fame. Among them, and before them, were
scattered, with irregular grouping, couches often covered with
tapestries of pure silk in rainbow colours spread over deep, luxurious
cushions. This, in fine, was the "Reposing Room of the Patricians,"
where the noble and mighty of New Rome were wont to sprawl, doze or
gossip after the vigorous pleasures of the swimming pool.

The door to this august chamber was kept that night by none other than
the shipmaster Satyros, assisted by Plato. They had short sabres in
hand, and scrutinized every face sharply. Already they had admitted
about a dozen, when a guarded rap made them unbar again. Two persons
threw back the hoods around their faces.

"Petronax," began Satyros, "and--ah! your Sublimity--the Master of the
Palace honours us in person. With the forehead, mighty _despotes_, with
the forehead!"

"Keep your service till we're more inside," ordered the squeaky voice of
Paul. The eunuch entered the Reposing Room and, with a sigh of relief,
flung off his coarse cloak and began readjusting the rich dalmatic
beneath it. His flat, fishy eyes set in his puffed face glanced about
keenly.

"All seems safe enough," he remarked to Petronax. "Lucky you thought of
having our little consistory here at the Baths. Strangers entering any
of our palaces might have been spied upon by the Isaurian's hawks, but
who of them will think to hover here? Even if a few people are noted
gliding in, they'll be set down as attendants come for night work, while
the actual staff----"

"A few solidi, Sublimity, have sent them all upon a holiday. Rest
assured the Baths are now as void of life as a tomb, saving for
ourselves."

"_Eu! Eu!_" returned Paul, with satisfaction, rubbing his hands; then he
turned towards the company. "And are my noble friends all gathered, and
our newer friends from outside the walls?"

A small group had risen from their couches and conged respectfully to
the arch-conspirator. Paul approached them with easy affability: "A good
evening to you, my dear Niketas, and to you, Arch-Secretary Theokistos.
How long it is since we poor persecuted victims have dared to meet
openly and freely! And do I see the most exalted Count Isos of the
Opsikian Theme, and his Magnificence Anthrax, the Commissioner of
Fortifications? We are few here, but quite sufficient. This gathering is
wisely kept to the very sinews of our undertaking. And I bring you good
news. If our plans prosper we can count on the Patrician Sisinnios, now
envoy to the Bulgarians, to swing those barbarians to our side. And who
are these other valorous gentlemen?"

At a gesture from Niketas two dark-skinned, sharp-visaged men salaamed
low before the eunuch. They wore plain Roman dalmatics and cloth skull
caps, but they had been manifestly more at ease with abayeh and turban.
The hilts of crooked scimitars peered from their girdles.

"I present to your Sublimity," announced Niketas, "the very noble Emir
Babek and his valorous companion, the Kaid Muazzim. They come directly
from the Emir of Emirs himself, and possess full powers to ratify all
compacts in his name."

The eunuch received their obeisance with smiling condescension: "Be
seated, all of you. I rejoice to meet these high-born and gallant lords.
Let us not delay weighty interests by idle courtesies. Do these Saracen
Excellencies speak Greek?"

"We do, great Seyid," rejoined Babek, with another salaam.

"That is well," pursued Paul, placing himself, as by natural right, on
the central couch. "Now I think that we are all prepared, that is, if
Evagrios is ready to bring before us the prisoner taken earlier in the
night."

Petronax glided from the room, then reappeared in an instant:

"Evagrios assures me that everything is waiting when desired. Of course
your Magnificences understand he took the prisoner with surpassing
ease."

The eunuch's smile became effulgent. He turned towards his associates
with somewhat didactic tones: "Of course you are aware, noble and
valorous friends, that we of the inner palace circle only submitted to
the usurpation of the Isaurian adventurer because the military situation
compelled us to cringe before an all-powerful soldier. Since, however,
this same upstart Leo, forgetful of all bonds of gratitude to us who
have lifted him from the very dust, appears about to scrutinize our
official acts with a view to our actual disgrace and ruin, we have felt
it needful to enter into such happy agreements with the Kalif and his
most noble emirs as shall rid us of personal anxieties and secure for
both Roman and Saracen the inestimable blessings of peace."

The lip of Babek curled slightly, but he made answer: "I am commanded by
the Emir of Emirs to treat generously with you, if, indeed, you have
power to treat. Let there be no concealment. Our attack is at a stand.
We are like to retire shattered and discomfited. Nevertheless, all could
be redeemed if the Faithful knew but how to imitate and to master the
terrible fire."

"If that is your desire, O excellent Hagarines," returned Paul, "we can
give you vast comfort. You are aware that the secret of the fire has
been closely guarded. Private information, indeed, at our command, and
hidden from the gossip of Constantinople, has turned our eyes towards a
certain wizard, one Kallinikos. But his workrooms, too, have been
closely guarded and all efforts to penetrate the same have failed.
Nevertheless, it has pleased all-disposing Heaven that the probable
inventor of this compound should have a confidant to whom he entrusted
all his formulas--his daughter. That daughter is now in our power--in
the next apartment."

"How know you this?" demanded the elder Saracen, never taking his
arrow-keen eyes from the eunuch's puffy face.

"The wench, it appears, has a sister often in the Empress-Mother's
company. Very lately, in the hearing of the tire-woman Saloma, a most
worthy damsel in our devoted employ, this sister boasted,
'Anthusa'--that's the jade's name; I'm right, Petronax?--'helps my
father so often she knows all his secrets. I think she knows the formula
for making the fire better than any of the Emperor's engineers'--and
more talk to that effect."

"Your Sublimity accurately recounts the very conversation," renforced
Petronax. "Saloma herself is at hand to confirm all. What we know of the
habits of this Anthusa and the wizard, her father, makes the report very
plausible. Kallinikos is notoriously dependent in all things upon his
younger daughter, and she carries a devilish knowledge and cleverness
under a pretty face."

Babek's sharply trimmed beard worked emphatically: "Now, as Allah hath
spread out the tent of the firmament, give us the secret of the fire,
and give us the substance that will quench its fury, and we will master
Constantinople despite the walls built by the Jinns and all the roarings
of your Lion!"

"Gently, exalted Emir," warned Niketas, with a deprecating hand. "Are we
not Christians? How can we deliver lightly over to Hagarines this
God-guarded city?"

"Verily!" cried Muazzim, the younger envoy. "You have a strange brand of
piety. But I understand. Yet before we discuss further terms and treaty
let us sift out this story. For Moslemah himself bids us say this, 'If
you cannot get the secret of the fire, all your counsels are but as
summer wind.'"

"The kaid's words are wise," remarked Theokistos uneasily. "If the girl
will speak to the point we are saved men, if otherwise--the fiends all
help us!"

"I think," observed Paul blandly, "there'll be little difficulty with
this young woman. A proper mingling of threats, firmness and
cajolery--you remember who she is--then harsher measures, which I
deprecate, if she's unreasonable. Therefore, since this is so vital a
matter, let her be examined before us all." He clapped his hands.
Evagrios appeared at an inner door. "We are ready," declared the eunuch.
"Bring in the prisoner." ...

... Anthusa was guarded by no less an escort than Kannebos, Hormisdas,
Nikosia and Saloma, as well as by the ex-deacon. They had taken the wrap
from her face, but Kannebos walked behind, clutching her wrists with an
iron grip. Ample time had elapsed for the captive to realize her
situation, especially as her custodians had been talkative. Her face was
waxen. The short curls hung about her neck in disorder. Nikosia bore
vials of restoratives in case she should faint, but she kept her poise.
As she was brought before the more exalted conspirators the Spiritual
Sister purred softly in Anthusa's ear: "Now answer promptly all you're
asked, my sleek kitten, and no evading. Do only that and not one pinch
will hurt you."

Kannebos conducted his prisoner directly before the couch of Paul,
dropped his clutch on her hands, and made himself a very awkward
obeisance; whereupon the eunuch surveyed the girl deliberately from head
to foot, muttered aside to Theokistos, "She'll give no trouble," and
blandly began his examination:

"My unfortunate young _kyria_, you understand, no doubt, that in times
of general calamity innocent persons must occasionally suffer
inconvenience for great public ends. You are, of course, Anthusa,
daughter of Kallinikos, indifferently called the Wizard and the
Philosopher."

Anthusa pressed her hands behind her back and her lips closed. "I affirm
or deny nothing," at last she vouchsafed; "you are not a lawful judge."

"It profits not to deny your identity. Several of these good people here
know you well."

Anthusa continued silent.

"We have good reason to think that your father invented the Maritime
Fire and that you know all his methods and formulas."

Still silence from the prisoner. Paul's cheeks flushed, and his voice
became a little more shrill: "We demand that you forthwith tell truly
what are the ingredients he used, the methods of compounding the same,
also--for infallibly he must have found it--the means for quenching the
fire."

Anthusa's eyes had been searching from face to face in the tense,
relentless circle, apparently seeking one intercessor. Suddenly her eyes
blazed fury and her arm darted out towards the Saracens.

"Hagarines!" she screamed. "Treason!"

"And if they are, _kyria_," rejoined the eunuch calmly, not sorry to
make her speak on any terms, "leave the matter of their presence to your
betters. Answer my questions and avoid sore misery for yourself."

But the prisoner's whole frame seemed kindling with fury. "I know you,
Master of the Palace, plunderer of the people, false patron once of the
Lion. But you, and you, and you"--at her accusing finger all the other
patricians blenched and quailed--"are you Romans? Are you Christians?
Will you bring your souls to Judas fires by admitting the Infidel within
the gates?"

Niketas and the others exchanged highly uncomfortable glances.

"It's through public necessity," excused the Logothete hastily;
"negotiations with Moslemah cannot be avoided. No treason is
planned----"

He was interrupted by Muazzim, who spat angrily upon the carpet.
"_Wallah!_" he cried. "Do not lie to the girl, when nought's to be
gained. If I served the Kalif as you do the Basileus I should writhe on
the stake of impalement."

"O dear Lord Jesus Christ," rose the voice of Anthusa, "wast Thou
crucified for sinful men only that men should requite Thy passion like
this! Treason to the Basileus! Treason to Holy Faith! Who of you tremble
at God's great judgment?"

Her protests were this instant drowned by a piercing scream from Saloma,
who had stood transfixed since entering the room, staring at the two
Moslems: "Mother of God! You have all deceived me. Evagrios swore there
was to be no pact with the Infidel. What have I done?" In a paroxysm of
anguish she flung herself on her knees before Evagrios.

"Silence, girl," cried the latter, red and angry, "I meant for the best.
Your childish scruples could not be respected. You take my oath too
seriously."

"And that other oath," raged Saloma, oblivious of time and place, "the
oath to do me right, was that writ in water, too?" She gazed on his
sullen and denying face, then, as the horrid truth dawned over her, she
turned, with a shriek, holding out her hands to the prisoner: "Oh,
_kyria_ Anthusa, I am lost, damned forever. They have tricked me out of
my maiden honesty, and now out of my soul. We are in the power of
devils."

"Away with this wanton!" ordered Paul, in fury. "She has served her
part and can be tossed aside! Why is she longer here? Out with her,
Kannebos, and guard her!" The powerful sailor instantly dragged Saloma
forth, still screaming and struggling. "Now, you other woman," pursued
Paul, "you see how little succour you'll get. Speak promptly or take the
worst."

Anthusa's gust of passion had apparently passed. Again she stood rigid
and silent. The eunuch waved his fat fists before her with increasing
violence: "Don't think, you pink and white jade, that we're here for a
water party. We know you possess these secrets, for you dare not deny
the knowledge. Quick about it, then, or feel something hideous on your
soft, fine flesh."

The prisoner continued to look about in vain quest for some more potent
advocate than Saloma, but her lips parted not.

Paul rose at length and motioned to Hormisdas. "This is intolerable; who
is this slip of a girl to brave us? Show her we're not to be trifled
with."

The slave dealer, with a smile and a salaam, produced a bag of sacking
out of which he poured a number of metallic implements upon the carpets,
and from the pile selected a pair of manacles of peculiar shape. With
the assistance of Petronax, he bared the prisoner's arms and snapped on
the fetters above the elbows, Anthusa submitting in dumb patience,
although a deep colour was now mounting to her cheeks. When the devices
were adjusted Hormisdas bowed again to his superior. "This is the
simplest method, your Sublimity. These are the famous 'Gloves of
Cappadocia.' By turning these handles the clasps contract most
ingeniously, causing a prodigious amount of pain without seriously
marring the skin. I've found them an excellent tamer for stubborn slave
girls."

"You see where your willfulness leads," admonished Paul. "The fault is
yours, young woman; you determine your own fate."

"I assure the prisoner," asserted Theokistos uneasily, "we do this only
as a last resort. If she will only be reasonable----"

Anthusa's lips opened: "This is the method for making the fire," she
spoke hurriedly. "Take equal parts of bees-wax, tallow, bitumen and
oakum----"

"Ha!" broke from the delighted company, and Theokistos made haste to
produce a writing tablet.

"You do well, _kyria_," said the eunuch in smoother tones. "Now explain
clearly the methods of compounding. How is the blaze produced by contact
with water? What is the means of extinguishing?"

"One moment, your Sublimity," interposed Petronax. "This girl has keen
wits, but she makes a great profession of piety. Here is a crucifix"--he
drew one from his bosom--"let us hold this to her lips and then she
shall swear by her hopes of salvation that she is not beguiling us."

All the returned colour left the prisoner's cheeks instantly. She stood
like the alabaster of the winged-sandaled Hermes at her side.

"Wisely said," darted Niketas. "I think she's deceiving. Well, mistress,
kiss the crucifix and swear to your tale by your hopes of Heaven."

Anthusa's voice, shrill, but with a tremulous sweetness, seemed soaring
away into the fretted vaulting: "Blessed Lord Jesus, forgive that for an
instant of mortal weakness I spoke falsehood. Give strength even as Thou
gavest to Thy saints of old to suffer in Thy name. Teach these, Thy new
betrayers, that Christian woman can still, for the Faith, endure all
tortures, and for the Faith can die. Let no treason-aiding word cross my
teeth. Then receive me unto Thyself. Amen."

"This pious mockery is intolerable," stormed Paul, his veins swelling
darkly. "We'll have her pray a different prayer in an instant."

The Emir Babek rose, his features fairly torn with disgust. "I praise
Allah, Christians, this is none of my work. Had we known that such were
your doings the Kaid and I would have tarried in the camp. I can order a
man to be sawn asunder, but no camel driver's woman could suffer this at
our hands--much less a second Maryam the Blessed."

"I crave no interference," ordered the eunuch testily. "The formula is
necessary and the girl is obdurate. Proceed, Hormisdas."

Hormisdas pressed upon the spring around the fetters.




CHAPTER XXXV

THE DOGS BEFRIEND SALOMA


Kannebos had dragged away Saloma, raging and almost raving. She was
helpless as an infant in the clutches of the powerful seaman. He bore
her into a small chamber in the rear of the Reposing Room, reserved for
the menials of the high-born bathers, while the latter rested or
chattered. This done, he slammed the door, leaving the twain alone
together. Vainly she entreated, screamed, then beat wildly with her
fists. For the moment she might as wisely have pleaded with the pillars
of green malachite.

"We're lost, betrayed!" she moaned incessantly. "Constantinople's
betrayed. Those men are Hagarines. It's for them Evagrios wanted the
secret of the fire. All this awful crime is on my head!"

"Calm yourself, woman," rejoined Kannebos hoarsely. "What's commanded's
commanded and I obey orders. Screaming's no good. The Baths are utterly
deserted. Nobody will heed you."

In sheer exhaustion, Saloma succumbed upon a stool. A single weak lamp
shone around the room. For a brief interval the wretched girl sank into
unlovely meditations. Across the months now, and years, the sense of her
disgrace had preyed upon her to the point of obsession. For Evagrios
once she had indeed possessed that unreasoning infatuation which had
long rendered her blind to his manifest sins, and had made her endure
the taunts and tyranny of Nikosia. The glamour, however, had been
gradually stripped from the ex-deacon's life. Affection in any noble
sense had become dead, but never had died the passionate belief that the
words of the marriage service with the man who had stolen her maiden
honesty would enable her again to face her rustic kinsfolk, and to kneel
before the holy ikons without inviting divine wrath. Hoping against hope
that at last Evagrios would render her the great atonement, she had
reluctantly played the spy upon Kasia.

The months at the Bukoleon had not made her soul more easy. Kasia had
been indeed anything but a dignified imperial mistress. She could chide
her menials like a huckster's wife. Once she had flogged Saloma with her
own slipper. Her raiment, table and all other service had been of absurd
simplicity, even with allowance for the siege. But the tire-woman had
inevitably fallen under the spell of Kasia's dry humour, true piety,
common sense and withal her very deep and genuine kindliness.

Almost daily, too, Saloma had served that Emperor who calmly,
inscrutably and unerringly was holding the Hagarine myriads at bay. She
had seen enough of Leo to learn that there was little of real divinity
hedged about the private moments of a Basileus, but she had quite enough
wit to recognize an indomitable and an exceedingly manly man. As the
months had passed, more and more she had disliked her part in the
palace. Twice she had been almost moved to make a full confession to the
ever-approachable Kasia. Not wholly because of the close guard had she
failed to send out any of the military secrets following that report of
the wounding of Leo which she had betrayed early in her sojourn. Then
unexpectedly came the utterly indiscreet conversation between Sophia and
Kasia revealing that Anthusa possessed the formula of the fire, followed
immediately by an opportunity to leave the palace. The temptation to use
this information to buy her soul's contentment from Evagrios had been
overwhelming, though Saloma's conscience had pricked her sorely--but she
succumbed.

In this moment of intense anguish, from the mental eyes of the wretched
woman had fallen the scales. How possibly could the secret of the fire
have been valuable save when passed on to the Hagarines for the ruin of
Constantinople? How could any merely internal plot against Leo prosper
save with the help of the enemy without the gates? If Evagrios could
befool her as to this awful thing, bringing upon him and his all the
torments of the seventh hell, what slightest hope that he would go
through even the jargon of a marriage with her, when Nikosia and all his
own convenience and ambition would absolutely oppose? Transported by her
fearful thoughts, Saloma beat her head in desperation and began again
her frenzy.

"Quiet, girl," ordered Kannebos, forcing her back upon her stool. "One
would imagine you, not that other poor thing, was being tortured. Holy
wounds! But she seems very quiet. I expected her to shriek out long
before now. I'll open the door a bit. Probably she's confessed."

A low moan, one wrung from the flesh while the spirit was still
unconquered, penetrated from the outer room. The voice of Hormisdas,
very harsh, sounded clearly:

"Better speak, you fool! Do you want the screws again? There'll be worse
things later--this is just the beginning."

In the silence which followed Saloma could feel her own heart throbbing
in its prison. She thought that the breath even of Kannebos came
quicker. There was a clicking noise as of metal tightening, another
moan, lower than before, then more of oppressive silence. The voice of
Babek in bad Greek interrupted it:

"As Allah liveth, all this gets to nothing! Halt for a little and let us
consult together."

"Take the prisoner aside," commanded Paul, and a noise indicated that
Hormisdas and Petronax were conveying Anthusa to a second antechamber.
Whether she had fainted or could walk Saloma could not tell. The next to
speak was apparently Niketas:

"The fiends devour you, Evagrios, for making everything hinge on this
sorceress. Why wasn't the confession wrung out of her ere we were called
together and everything put at stake? I swear she was muttering her
father's spells and felt no more pain than do I when I sit on these
cushions."

"They gave her the uttermost tension of the gloves, your Magnificence,"
excused the myrmidon. "I could see she suffered extreme pain. Who could
have imagined such obstinacy!"

"There are such women," interposed Count Isos. "They're squealing
things usually, and come promptly to terms; but when really obdurate,
it's like tormenting granite. I had to rack a girl at Pergamum back in
old Justinian's day. We disjointed her limb by limb, and she died with
never a word. I'm fearful this woman's her sister."

"If she dies, how do we get the secret of the fire?" gloomily asked
Theokistos.

"We've not put the brazier of coals to her yet," announced Paul. "No one
can bear that."

"In her present state," remarked Anthrax, "the moment the fire touches
her she'll swoon and may never come to. That's the last resort."

Hormisdas apparently had glided back over the carpets. "May it please
your Magnificences," he suggested, "let us wait a little. I know this
tribe. They are all strung up for an instant, then their courage relaxes
and the terrors of a renewed torture come home to them. This girl will
be in a wiser mood within half an hour."

"What must be must," assented Paul unwillingly. "Well, noble emir and
valorous kaid, we cannot doubt that the formula will be forthcoming
despite this small delay. Let us proceed to our treaty. In return for
the secret of the Maritime Fire and other material assistance when you
renew the attack upon the city, what terms does your commander offer
us?"

Kannebos' astonishment had made him open the door still wider.

Saloma could see Babek producing a scroll covered closely with writing:
"The matter is simple, Lords of the Christians. The themes of Asia go,
of course, to the Shadow of Allah. Touching Constantinople, the gold,
silver, silken raiment, gems and all the slaves belong to the victorious
army of El Islam. The personal liberty of the free citizens we
condescend to respect, and, of course, the entire estates of your most
noble selves and your nearer friends. As for the ex-Basileus Anastasius
II, whom we hear you propose to restore, we deign to permit that he
reign at Thessalonica, nor will we demand greater dominions in Europe at
present than the theme of Thrace."

"Blessed Trinity!" swore Anthrax, arising in astonishment. "Do you
demand that Constantinople be made Moslem for ever? I understood you
merely expected now the portable spoil and then would retire."

The emir took no pains to conceal his scorn: "Do you imagine, Seyid,
that our sword hands have come from the four corners of the East, and
have earned Paradise by tens of thousands, merely for the sake of a few
dinars per man of spoil, and a few girls for the Damascus harems? Not
so! We have come to make this city the bulwark of the Faith for ever.
Your worship, indeed, we will tolerate; some few churches will probably
be spared----"

Anthrax rose, his face white and twitching. "Noble friends," spoke he
hurriedly, "despite my hatred for the Isaurian, I have long misdoubted
this whole scheme. You have told me lies. I will not betray you, but
suffer me to withdraw."

"It cannot be," commanded Paul hastily. "Plato, Satyros, all of you
fellows not now with the wizard's girl or Saloma, bar the door to the
Lord Commissioner. No one can desert the plot now." Anthrax resumed his
seat, angry and miserable, while the eunuch resumed: "Before adjusting
public matters let us understand certain personal items. I mean the
gratifications which the Kalif will give those who have devotedly served
him."

"Wallah!" swore Babek in his colleague's ear. "They say the betrayer of
Issa sold his master for thirty pieces of silver; these, his later
disciples, will drive a little harder bargain."

Saloma and Kannebos had, alike, listened speechless and hideously
enchanted. When the emir disclosed the destined fate of Constantinople
the groan from the girl had been more desperate than any from Anthusa.
Despite her own misery, she now saw that the sailor's face was pale and
working horribly.

"Are you a Christian, fellow?" she adjured. "Do you kneel in church? Do
you fast in Lent? Do you kiss the ikon of the Panagia? Do you dread
hell? Can't you realize what they are doing?"

Kannebos shook his puzzled head. "I like it not," he announced, "but,
again, I've sworn to keep faith to Petronax and Evagrios and obey all
orders. I broke my oath about that Anthusa and where I took her. Bad
luck's come of it, though. I told it to a priest. If she were a holy nun
on the Isle of Cedars she'd not be under torture now."

"Torture, man?" rechoed Saloma, ever more beside herself. "Do you think
St. Gabriel will punish Paul and Hormisdas alone for this and spare the
rest of us a full share in the burning? O Blessed Mother!--but how dare
I pray to her? We are all damned through Eternity!"

"I can't believe they will sell the city," growled the sailor, rubbing
his crown to reassemble very scattered wits. "The thing's too deep for
me. I'm faithful to my paymasters. They gave twenty solidi. Hist, the
eunuch's speaking again."

"I see, very exalted Emir," resumed Paul, "that we must recede in our
objections to the Kalif's holding Constantinople. For that same reason
our personal recompense must be sufficient. It is agreed that I am to be
made the vizier over the Christians and their affairs, not merely here,
but through the entire Empire of your master?"

"And Theokistos and I," thrust in Niketas, "are to receive each a
hundred thousand dinars, and Isos and, to quiet his scruples, the most
excellent Anthrax----"

Kannebos' hands fell in dismay. At last his dense skull had been
penetrated. He clapped his hand upon his sword. "Wounds of Christ!" he
swore. "This is too much. Twenty solidi won't salve such villainy. I'll
break in on them."

"Don't be a sheep," ordered Saloma, hope surging suddenly within her.
"You are one against many: Hormisdas, Plato, Satyros, Evagrios, and
Lobel's men. The two Hagarines are great warriors. See----" She pointed
to a second door in the rear of their chamber, probably leading towards
the exterior of the Baths. "Let us run, call for help, break up this
villainy!"

Kannebos, nevertheless, thrust out a detaining hand. "The devils are
confounding my brain. I don't know what to do. After all, I took their
money and swore to be faithful. It's their crime, not mine."

"They've sworn to be faithful to the Emperor and are taking the
Hagarines' money. Do you think the Saints will forgive your refusal to
block their infamy? Woe! What's that----"

Hormisdas was speaking again in the outer room: "Your Magnificences, I
hope the prisoner is getting into a softer frame of mind. She has
naturally reflected upon her condition. After a little we can question
her again."

"That is well," observed Niketas, "but now to return to the question of
the Patriarchate, of course under the Kalif's gracious patronage."

"The Patriarchate, I understand, was reserved for me," interposed
Evagrios, with his blandest accents.

"For you, spawn of the Shaytans?" thundered Babek. "Whose head deserves
to be picked by the crows? Do not insult my great master by suggesting
such an infliction even upon Misbelievers."

"This unfrocked clerk is presumptuous," ordered Paul with asperity. "No
such thing was promised. A little money suffices. Now, Hormisdas, have
in your prisoner. Do your best with her or we are befooled indeed." ...

... Saloma heard no more. Kannebos had dropped her arm and stood
transfixed, a miserable picture of hesitation, helplessness and sheer
imbecility. The woman shot down a long, dark passage. Fortunately, in
other days, she had often attended Nikosia to the Baths and had a
tolerable idea of the arrangements of their galleries. The great
structure had several exits, and Paul's myrmidons had been too few to
guard those which seemed securely locked from within. After frantic
groping Saloma's hands encountered what seemed an outer door.
Bolted--but with some fumbling she found the handles of the heavy brazen
bars. By exerting all her frenzied strength they yielded. A push--almost
too great for her--then the ponderous bronze-faced portal swung outward,
barely enough to let her slim body glide through. Whether Kannebos was
hesitating still, pursuing her, or assailing the conspirators she
recked not. The girl knew only that she was free.

The midnight air smote Saloma. Overhead twinkled cold stars. The great
plaza of the Augustum opened dimly before her. The pinnacles and
columns of the mighty edifices rose all around like mute sentinels.
Directly across the wide area the colossal statue of Justinian I reared
its pride against the long reach of the walls of the Hippodrome. To her
left were the elaborate porticoes of the Senate House. Suddenly it came
over Saloma how desperate even yet was her mission. Not a mortal seemed
in sight. The distant seawalls appeared deserted. The noblest square of
the imperial city was at that hour as the city of the dead, its great
piles looking down as impassively as Egyptian pyramids.

Saloma, even in her frenzy, had preserved wits enough to pause an
instant and consider her situation. Directly behind the Baths and the
Senate House rose, indeed, the fortified wall of the palace compound,
but she knew of no gate therein nearer than the Chalke, a quarter of a
mile thence. She must raise the alarm, tell her story in a manner to
convince doubters of its truth, and get help to Anthusa. The torturing
had already recommenced. She was sure of what would happen: Anthusa
would endure all, even the worst, and die under the grip of Hormisdas.
And God would require the blood of His saint at Saloma's hands!

The situation overwhelmed her. There seemed but one way--to run, and run
she did, full speed, across the Augustum in the direction of Hagia
Sophia. No human sight or sound; no human beings apparently nearer than
the fiends in the Reposing Room of the Patricians, but in sheer
desperation Saloma screamed loudly, wildly. Her voice was echoed
mockingly along the vast marble porticoes lining the plaza. The echoes
doubled her terror, but did not strike her dumb. She screamed again and
again with still keener fright, when directly at her heels sounded the
yelp of a dog, a dog distressed, forsaken and taking up her cry. Shrill,
piercing was his call, and repeated many times, his whole canine soul
going into his voice.--Dorkon, who had followed to the baths, so
afterwards they told her.--When half a dozen times he had howled, lo!
now from under the shadows of the Hippodrome, now from under the tall
structure of the Golden Milestone, now from the colonnades of the Senate
House, rose other yelpings as the sleeping cohorts of the scavengers
awoke. Like a pebble's plash, rippling across a pool, the howlings
spread wider and wider. Now the dogs by Hagia Sophia lifted their
voices, now their brethren by the Marmora replied.

The unearthly clamour terrified Saloma more than ever, but on she
ran--screaming shrilly and with the shadow of Dorkon, wild with
excitement, racing beside her. She was well across the Augustum and
near its junction with the Mese, when suddenly she knew a few lanterns
were flashing over a group of men advancing in clattering armour. They
were part of a force, no doubt, moving from the palace to the Forum of
Constantino, when the clamour of the dogs had induced a squad to swerve
in the direction of the uproar. In the darkness, the band saw first the
flying Dorkon, then, like a fleeting ghost out of the gloom, sped a
young woman, garments streaming, hair dishevelled. Following the frantic
dog, and knowing little what she did, Saloma ran straight into the arms
of an astonished marine who almost dropped his spear as she collided
with him.

"Treason! Rescue! Help! Murder!"--and all the time, half-drowning
Saloma's cries, the dogs made every portico resound. Then more mailed
feet came stamping from the area before the Cathedral.

"A madwoman!" reported the bedeviled marine to his hastening decarch.
"She's bewitched every dog in Constantinople. Unhand me, vixen--I'm not
a Hagarine." The last word sent Saloma into wilder prayers and
adjurations than ever: "Spies! Treason! The great Baths!" still came
from her in one torrent. The decarch was a very young subaltern, but he
lacked not steady nerves and prompt intelligence.

"Something's happened," he called to his group of staring men. "Their
Excellencies are just leaving the Chalke. Run, Kebes, and bring them
hither!" And a moment later Basil and Fergal, on their way from the
palace to the Polyandrian gate, on some midnight mission, were reining
their horses as a lantern was held to the face of the stranger, who
never ceased her noisy protests.

"Saloma, the Empress-Mother's tire-woman, as I'm a sinner!" swore the
amazed Celt. "Clean crazy. One of you men lead her back to the
Bukoleon."

But the light had also touched the features of the spatharios. Saloma
seized his hand and clung to it as one drowning clings to a spar.

"O Lord Fergal, hearken! hearken! How can I say it all at once? The
_kyria_ Anthusa is being tortured in the great Baths. Evagrios,
Hormisdas, Paul the eunuch, many more,--and two Hagarines are with them.
They seek to wring out of her the secret of the fire. They will kill
her!"

"Cross of Our Lord," vowed Basil in his turn, "you rave."

"All true. Torment, murder and treason. Constantinople is lost. They
will torture the secret out of her, or more likely she will die in their
hands."

"I've seen this girl often with Kasia," observed Fergal more coolly.
"She doesn't rave."

Basil bounded from his horse to the pavement. "Where is this?" he
demanded.

"In the Reposing Room of the Patricians. I've just escaped. They were
beginning to torture her for the second time."

"Nikanor," ordered Basil, with the precision of high command, "this must
be looked to. Take your fifty, surround the Baths of Xeuxippos, every
door. Be swift and silent. Your life if a soul escapes. And you,
Zonoras, with your men, follow me."

Fergal likewise had leaped from his steed. Basil turned to the now faint
and fluttering Saloma. "Guide us, girl," he commanded. When she
hesitated the mighty sailor, scorning assistance, seized her bodily,
flung her over his left shoulder, and, with hardly cumbered steps,
strode fiercely across the Augustum, his boarding cutlass flashing in
the starlight. As he marched he questioned, nor was Saloma too
distraught to answer coherently. Dimly they saw Nikanor's force ranging
itself around the various portals, but a new fear fastened itself upon
Saloma:

"When you attack they will kill Anthusa!"

"The more speed, then," tossed back the sailor, setting her down at
last. "Was this the door by which you escaped? Yes? Then if they've not
flown already the devil's betrayed them into our hands--it's still
unbarred. I know the inside of the Baths, praised be St. Theodore. Now,
Fergal, beside me, and all the rest of you, off sandals and follow like
cats."

The bronze valves were swung wider. Basil and Fergal entered abreast,
the marines, with panther tread, behind. The passages of the Baths
opened in cavernous blackness before them, but Basil possessed the true
sailor's gift of seeing in the dark. Speedily he caught the bare glint
of light from the anteroom whence Saloma had fled. Under the heavy
vaulting and behind those massive walls every external sound was
smothered. The howls of ten thousand street dogs could never have
penetrated inside. Satyros, Plato and Lobel's comrades may have guarded
the southern door, but there was no second watcher in the inner passage
presumably held by Kannebos. As the attackers drew nearer they saw the
form of the latter, standing, limp and miserable, upon the threshold of
the greater chamber, spellbound by the gruesome scene before him, and
still unable to decide, in his daze, whether to join Saloma in raising
the alarm or to warn his employers that she had fled.

Brattling as glass sounded out the voice of Paul: "Now, vixen, for the
last time. Give truly the formula for your father's fire or the hot
coals of this brazier press on your white skin. You make us desperate.
We stick at nothing."

"Lord Jesus, receive my spirit," came back in scarce audible whisper.

"Begin, Hormisdas," ordered the eunuch, "by all the fiends, what----"

Plato, nearest the outer door, had sprung back into the room, his teeth
chattering: "Soldiers--the Augustum's full of them; they are
surrounding the Baths!"

Paul rose, with a scream of terror and rage: "Quick, you fools, destroy
the evidence! Kill the girl! Hide her body! Hide these Saracens!"

Evagrios had half drawn a long knife when from the Admiral's great
throat thundered a trumpet of judgment:

"In the Emperor's name----" With a single sweep of his cutlass he sent
the brazier flying perilously, while his left hand descended upon
Evagrios as a hawk would seize a sparrow. Pandemonium reigned in the
chamber. The emir was the first to recover enough to whip out his
crooked weapon and bound on his attackers. The loaded mace swung by
Fergal dashed the scimitar from his grasp. The first noise of scuffling
sent the column of marines into the apartment with a resistless rush.
Satyros and Plato and Lobel's trio had time to unbar the entrance and
flee outside, but the instant clash of weapons told that the exit was
guarded. The onset had been so sudden, the odds so overwhelming, that
the eunuch and his other companions were pinioned before time for a
second outcry and struggle.

One instant Anthusa stood motionless as the pilasters; her face was
already the colour of a corpse. Then burst from her lips a scream of
mortal agony, too long held at bay, and she collapsed upon the floor.
The torturing fetters were still upon her arms. The admiral dropped his
weapon, and, with fury doubling even his wonted strength, by two
wrenches snapped the metal bands and cast the hateful things away as he
might snakes.

"Traitors! Kill! Hew in pieces!" stormed the marines, driven wild by the
sight of the two Saracens and waving their blades, but Basil, with voice
that made the vaulting ring, bade them to stand and hold their
prisoners. In the lull, the writhing eunuch made a despairing effort:

"Alas, what misunderstanding! The admiral did not know that I was
privately commissioned by the Emperor to interrogate this unhappy girl.
The whole affair is most easily explained."

"By Allah the One, half-man," cried Muazzim, held by two marines, "can
you not pass to your account without more lies? Cry now to your saints
as we to the Compassionate. Die bravely if you must live foully!"

"Save your breath, Sublimity," added Fergal, with a mock obeisance to
the eunuch. "I have seen these noble Hagarines at Damascus. The Emir
Babek and the Kaid Muazzim were familiar riders upon the polo field.
They do not deny----Well, Nikanor?"

The centurion, sprinkled with blood, entered from the plaza and saluted.
"Of the men that rushed forth two would not yield. We had to kill them.
They are identified--Satyros and Plato, all too well known around the
Golden Horn. Their comrades dropped their swords and are our prisoners."

Basil carried the motionless Anthusa very gently to a couch just vacated
by no less a personage than Paul. "Your Magnificences," spoke he,
addressing the blenching magnates, "the case is plain: torture of an
honourable lady, concealed presence of Moslem officers, armed resistance
to lawful authority. The rest can wait. Zonoras"--the lieutenant stood
before him--"get you at full speed to the Basileus. Let nothing stop
you. Probably he's now taking horse, but drag him from bed if need be.
Tell him Paul the Eunuch and a dozen traitors more are held at the Baths
of Xeuxippos, taken while torturing _kyria_ Anthusa. That will fetch him
out of heaven or hell. Tell him to bring his mother and my Placidia,
there's women's work ahead; and bring the architherapist--if his skill
is not too late."

As the messenger sped away, Babek turned to the men who grasped him.
"Permit me," he begged, then edged nearer to Paul and spat in the
cowering eunuch's face. "I extol the Most High," cried the Emir, "even
on the verge of death, that El Islam has not had to suffer the shame of
purchasing Constantinople from such as you!"




CHAPTER XXXVI

THE TRIUMPH OF THE LION


After a time, long to captors and captives, but short in reality, Leo
entered the Reposing Room of the Patricians. Zonoras had found him just
as he was leaving the Daphne to ride to the walls.

The Basileus was in cuirass and helmet, the purple chlamys floated
around him, in his hands swung a drawn sword. Behind him clanged a
strong force of the Protectors, while the giant bulk of Karlmann the
Frank cast a guardian shadow over his master's shoulder. The apartment
became full of men in steel, tossing their weapons.

Leo's countenance was darker than the night and he seemed straining
against the rein set upon his anger. Before his strides, staff officers,
marines and prisoners parted to left and right, but Basil came to meet
him and saluted.

"Where is _she_?" was the Emperor's sole demand.

The admiral threw back the curtain to an inner chamber. They had placed
Anthusa upon a more retired couch. Saloma had recovered wits enough to
loosen her dress, and was sobbing hysterically over her, now beating her
own breast, now calling down upon herself imprecations. Leo swept her
aside with one stroke as he might a puppy, and gazed upon Anthusa's
motionless face.

"Does she live?" he demanded, turning to the almost tearful Fergal
standing beside Saloma.

"God knoweth," responded the Celt, crossing himself, "they were about to
put her to the fire when we broke in."

The Emperor dropped on one knee, lifted the limp arm of Anthusa and
carried it to his lips. On the smooth skin by the elbows were red rings
deeply planted--the marks of the Gloves of Cappadocia. When Leo rose the
iron hearts of Basil and Fergal stood still within them. They beheld a
terrible thing: the cheeks of the iron Basileus of the Romans were wet
with tears. Then his form straightened, with firm authority he turned to
Saloma, forced the miserable girl to cease wailing, and by swift
questioning drew from her all she knew of the deeds of that night. When
he had finished there were more people in the chamber--Kasia, Placidia
and certain of their women, likewise the architherapist, still sleepy
and bewildered at this untimely summons.

"_Makaira! Makaira!_ Open your eyes and make my old heart glad!" cried
Kasia, bending desperately over Anthusa. "What have they done to you?"

With his own hands Leo forced his mother away, while the physician made
his examination.

"Does she live?" pressed once again the Emperor.

"Say rather, Sacred Clemency," replied the leech, "she is not dead."

Leo held up the ring upon his finger--the emerald was worth a
logothete's ransom; then he touched his sword hilt. "The price of life
and the price of death," he spoke significantly; "you understand?"

"I can but do as God gives me power," returned the physician, not
without trembling.

"God helps those who strive beyond strength. My mother will assist you.
Now let me hence, or by every saint and demon I shall turn mad."

Again the Emperor knelt and kissed the motionless hand. He seemed
averting his head that he might not gain new view of the unresponding
face. Then back to the outer room he went, where still waited the
guards and prisoners. At his fell presence most of the captives burst
into howls of agony. Life, life, they besought, even on the most
loathsome terms. Loudest of all were the frantic pleadings of Paul.
Niketas and Theokistos were hardly less abject. Anthrax and Isos
preserved a shade better of self-control. The Emperor turned his back on
them in shrugging contempt and faced the two Moslems. The hands of the
emir and kaid were bound behind them, but they bowed themselves before
the Basileus.

"We are men of the sword," spoke Babek, "and to the sword we submit
without whimpering. Permit us to salute the warrior who, had he served
El Islam, would have surpassed the deeds of Khalid, the scimitar of
Allah."

Leo returned the salute as from one of his officers. "And I accept the
homage of brave men," he made answer, "whom a soldier's duty bids me
dispatch to God's judgment bar. As spies, nevertheless, you came and as
spies you die. Korippos"--to a spatharios--"take out these Saracens.
Strike off their heads, then give their bodies honourable burial."

The twain walked out with silent dignity. The mouthy agony of the other
prisoners increased. Paul's cries ended in sheer foaming. The Emperor
smiled on them the smile of Polyphemos selecting his victims, then
beckoned to a second adjutant: "Ignatios, these noble lords fear death
too soon. They have much to say. You have skill as an examiner. Get the
truth out of them, one by one." He pointed with awful significance
towards the heap of torturing implements still lying on the floor. "_The
means are ready provided._"

The humbler conspirators, Hormisdas, Evagrios, Petronax, Nikosia and
Lobel's band, were huddled in a group apart from the captured magnates.
All were groaning, quite beside themselves, and animal terror had
destroyed Hormisdas' wits; he began to curse aloud:

"The devils blast that white-faced trull who by her silence ruined us!"

The Emperor, livid with over-goaded passion, took one bound towards the
slave dealer and dashed out his teeth with a single blow of a mailed
fist. "Away with this carrion!" rang his command. "We know their story.
Prick out their eyes and cut their tongues out!" The soldiers leaped
upon their victims as wolves upon their prey....

... Presently Leo controlled himself enough to receive another staff
officer who entered, saluted and proffered a tablet. The Emperor gave it
one glance, then uttered a laugh fearful in its intensity. His eyes
glittered as those of a man inspired.

"From Artavasdos on the walls," he announced to his aides. "Our
concentrations have been completed. Presuming upon their friends within
the city, the emirs have disposed their forces carelessly. God is with
us this night. The sacrifice of the purest saint still left on earth has
risen to His throne. The time for patience is past. The time to strike
is come. At morn let the Hagarines feel the tooth and the claw of the
Lion!"

"_Euge!_" echoed all the delighted officers together.

"Out with the themesmen, the mercenaries, the city bands; out with every
man or lad who can swing steel! To your posts, all of you! Let the God
of Battles go before!"

       *       *       *       *       *

That morn the imperial city shook herself in her might as became the
long-time Mother of Empire. From the seven public gates, from the seven
military gates, from the Golden Horn to the Marmora, forth poured the
Roman chivalry. Horsemen and foot were there, cuirassiers and
phalangites, Armeniacs and Anatolians, Frankish and Slavic mercenaries,
high-born Protectors, humbly-born trainbands, these last tyros no longer
but hardened into veterans in the gruelling school of war. Their long
battle line was in array outside the gates ere the outposts of Moslemah
ran to the High Emir's tent with the dread tidings. The first Roman
onslaught brushed aside the guard lines of the Saracens like flax. Then
the great Moslem laager sprang to life. The myriads that had toiled
through the weary siege, chilled and starved, rejoiced with wild shouts
at the chance of an open battle. "_Allahu akbar!_ At grips with the
Roman dogs at last!" And all the scimitars shone bright....

... Just before the trumpets called for the decisive conflict, Leo
summoned before him Artavasdos, the chief strategos. The Emperor took
from his breast his golden medal and hung it over the neck of the
general.

"To-day I am not myself," spoke the Isaurian, "my thoughts are in the
city. I cannot resolve clearly. All that forethought can do has been
done, but now I am only the first of your volunteers. You are in
command." And so the wondering officer gave the signal to begin the
charge.

Sword against scimitar, the thousands met all through that morning of
terrors, and noon brought no repose, but only deadlier combat. Thrice
and four times the rush of the dervishes bore back the Roman attack, and
carried the Green Standard of the Prophet deep into the Christian array,
but ever the Roman flood returned and ever from the city gates poured
forth new squadrons, new centuries. And here, there, everywhere, now by
Blachernai, now by St. Romanos, now by the seaside, went the purple
banner with the golden eagle tossing over the press of war, while
Christians cheered and Hagarines groaned, "The Lion--see--the Lion!"

Never in his youthful days in the guard had Leo exposed himself more
recklessly. Vainly did his officers plead with him, "Stay, Basileus!
Your life is precious!" Always he cast the answer back at them, "Victory
is certain. I only know that if the news I dread comes from the city I
care not to live. Let me forget myself in the battle."

Leo sent his horse against the Syrians and Arabs as though death were a
thing impossible, as though his sole joy was

     "In the brilliance of battle, the bloom and the beauty of spears."

But the Protectors thundered in a moving wall behind, and Karlmann on
his left and Fergal on his right, with shield and sword, fended
unnumbered blows and arrows. Yet the Emperor's own blade cleft through
the way, and where he led all, the fight blazed with sevenfold fire.
Michael leading the heavenly hosts against the rebel angels--were ever
his strokes more mighty?

And just as the sun began to wane came the last girding of armour, the
last bracing for the onset. Slowly, furlong by furlong, the Roman
strategoi had forced the heart of the battle southward, until, close by
the Marmora, Moslemah closed his ranks as he saw his peril. Betwixt the
great fortified laager and the long array of Saracen ships drawn up on
the shelving beaches to avoid the fire lay a broad mile of open country
joined to the encampment only by a weak palisade; and across that mile
so vital to the Moslems, host locked with host in the final wrestle. In
the city, long used as it was to war, women hushed their children in
panic, or crowded again to the churches, as louder than ever before,
from the south and west, rose the thunder of incessant combat. In the
strife itself, what warrior could see beyond a few comrades or a few
foes in the welter? Lance to lance, hand to hand they strove, calling on
God Triune or Allah the One; or went down in the trampling press with
thoughts of devilish hate mingled with dreams of the saints' or the
houris' paradise.

Then when unwounded men were dropping fast because flesh and blood could
do no more, and the Moslem line still held, the Isaurian called to his
own cuirassiers, the Anatolian themesmen to whom he was as a god, "Fail
me not!" And the purple banner led all the raging lancers.

The end. Under the battering shock Asian courage snapped. The Saracen
hosts, as before a great gust from the sea, seemed flying towards their
laager, the Green Standard showing swiftly the way. "Our defeat is
fated. Allah has decreed against us. Save, O Compassionate, save from
the Lion!" This from the Hagarines, while over the shivered palisades,
midway betwixt camp and ships, blew the imperial banner, its purple in
shreds and these half changed to scarlet. Then from the panting
themesmen, from the hosts behind, from all the watching towers went up a
shout of ecstasy. It echoed from the walls back into the tensely waiting
city. Five miles it passed down the Mese and the Adrianople Way along
fora and colonnades, over domes and arches to the uttermost palace
point, whence exultant voices tossed it across the Golden Horn to
straining Galata: the Roman war-cry, "Jesus Christ is victor!"

... That night, while the Roman host bivouacked upon the battlefield
preparatory to seizing and burning the helpless Saracen ships the next
morning, a trumpet blew for parley from the emirs' encampment. A
Christian trumpet answered, and they brought to Artavasdos an embassy
headed by the stout Kaid Sukaina. But when the high-strategos knew their
errand he smiled sternly and said, "The Basileus cannot depute this to
me," and bade his officers take the envoys to Leo.

They found the Emperor seated upon an arrow chest beneath two torches
held by Protectors in battered armour. His own face was streaked with
red, and around his left arm was a bandage. He was very pale, but there
was that flash in his eyes which made the Saracens tremble. Abjectly
they prostrated themselves and waited on their knees until the conqueror
addressed them, moving stiffly his bloodied lips: "O Sukaina and your
companions, you know the fate I promised the next envoys from your
master save as they came to crave my mercy."

"Warrior of Warriors," spoke the kaid, "to whom Allah hath given might
and victory denied to His faithful, Moslemah the Omiad sends us, saying,
'We cannot battle against destiny. The Most High refuses to decree the
fall of Constantinople. Suffer us to return to our own land.'"

"But if I refuse--and your ships are in my power----"

"True, Victor over the Victorious. You have our ships. But you do not
possess, as yet, our camp. Deny us terms worthy of brave men and we will
sell our lives full dear. Many Romans must pay the price ere you can
storm our barriers and make our remnant slaves."

"And if spared?"

"O Lion, we read the ordinances of Allah. Permit our return to Syria. We
will take oath to you, for ourselves and our children, never again shall
a Saracen host cross the Hellespont or Bosphorus to array itself against
Constantinople."

The Roman aides and generals had been crowding into the torchlight.
Their hands were closed around their hilts. The hot lust for battle
still burned within them. Had their leader ordered war to the end they
would have shouted with savage joy, and the hearts of many grew glad as
Leo sat silent but with his countenance seemingly ever more pitiless;
then suddenly he leaped from his seat and reached wildly as might a man
suddenly distraught. Through the circle of generals and cringing envoys
broke a messenger, breathless with his speed. He made for Leo as an
arrow for its mark, saluted not, but cast at the Emperor four words:
"God has spared her." It was Peter.

Leo bowed his face from view. He seemed groping for words, then at last
spoke with extreme effort: "Gallant sirs, grant me speech apart with my
servant." And, to the astonishment of Christian and Moslem alike, he
moved backwards, his arm cast over Peter's broad shoulder, into the
darkness of a camp pavilion just erected. For a long time master and
servitor were there, communing in low tone. When Leo reappeared Peter
had vanished, but the Basileus swung forward with his old poise and
pride, although the lines of his face had softened. Immediately he spoke
to Sukaina, but no longer with words like steel:

"Brave Kaid, take this, our answer, to your Emir of Emirs: You came from
the ends of the earth with all your pitiless myriads to work our
destruction, and mercy you cannot claim. Not the softening of your
hearts, but the swords of the Romans, made strong by that Trinity whom
you blaspheme, make you pray for peace to-day. But our God has now shown
to all of us Christian people incomparable mercy. To me, Leo, unworthy
sinner, He has this hour sent tidings of a great and special mercy.
Therefore, I will make a pact with Moslemah. Let him give hostages of
his noblest, surrender his spoils and captives, and return to his own
land. For details let him treat with Artavasdos."

Sukaina bowed his great turban to the ground. "May the Omnipotent
stretch far your years for these words of life. Know, O Sovran of the
Romans, that it shall be said in Damascus and Aleppo, in Mecca and
Medina, in Kairowan and Samarkand, 'We were under the paw of the Lion,
but the Lion showed magnanimity surpassing all his valour!'"

... The Emperor tented that night upon the battlefield, and the next
morning Moslemah sent proper hostages of good faith. The ships were to
bear part of the defeated host to Cyzicus, whence they were to retreat
by rapid marches to Cilicia. The rest were to embark upon the ships
themselves for Syria. All heart had gone out of the Hagarines; broken
and beaten men, they were glad to turn homeward, blessed merely with
life and freedom.

After the truce was sealed Leo sat on his war horse with all the
Protectors around him, and received the emirs and kaids as one by one
they came, salaaming to the earth, profuse with flowery compliments and
congratulating themselves that they had suffered defeat only by a second
two-horned Alexander. But Moslemah the Omiad, overwhelmed with
mortification, came not, and to him Leo sent a dalmatic of honour with
other gifts to assuage his sorely wounded pride. Then, at last, when
Artavasdos reported that the first of the quaking Saracens were already
going aboard their ships, the sovran turned to his staff:

"The day's work's done, comrades. To St. Romanos----"

But the strategoi seized the bridle of his good horse: "Not St.
Romanos--the Golden Gate! The Golden Gate!" all shouted together.

Into the Portal of Triumph they led him, and through the central
entrance beneath the colossal Nike--the gate opened for none save a
monarch, and for him only on his coronation day or when he returned in
glory from his wars. With one voice, all the iron-throated hosts
acclaimed him; then, once within the inviolate bulwarks, down the
four-mile length of the Mese, far ahead like the dark ripple of a new
wave across the summer sea, went running a shout that echoed away in the
distance: "_The Basileus! The Basileus!_"

All Constantinople was there: the people by tens, by hundreds of
thousands. All the vast porticoes and the roofs thereof were black, the
housetops, the soaring arches and even the crests of the columns. The
noise rose ever louder to heaven.

_He had saved them, their Emperor_; saved them despite luxury, avarice
and corruption in the palace, despite treason among the mighty, despite
twenty years of demoralization and anarchy in the army. From the
onslaught of the greatest military power ever launched on Europe from
the enkindled East, he had saved his subjects' wealth and roof-trees,
manly virtue and womanly honour; saved their sons from being made
eunuchs, their daughters concubines, their churches mosques. Flawless
had been the defence: unparalleled in history.

Vainly for a little soldiers and citizens strove to sustain the decorous
Latin of the court acclamations:

"_Leo tu vincas! Csar et Imperator--invictus, felix, semper Augustus!_"

The chanting was ended by a great surge of ecstasy: "The Emperor, _our_
Emperor!" "Sacred Majesty" was cast to the four winds. The folk only
knew that a valiant brother man, forgetful of weariness or danger, had
delivered them from inconceivable peril. They plucked him from his
horse. Shoulder-high, upon a litter of lances, they bore him along the
roaring Mese, senators and porters, smiths' wives and patricians' wives,
holy monks and heathen Bulgars, all shouting, rejoicing, embracing
together. When had been such a scene in Constantinople?

From all the gardens of the lordly mansions they stripped rose, anemone,
lily and countless blossoms more to rain over the conqueror and his
mighty men that marched behind. Every helmet, every spear point had its
fragrant chain. Little girls, old women with streaming hair fought with
one another to kiss the hem of the hero's mantle, nay, to kiss the dust
across which his litter had passed. The Forum of Arcadius, of
Theodosius, of Constantine, each more exultant than the one before, and
then the Augustum opened its imperial breadth, the pavements packed
with people, while the huzzaing made the gilded domes of Hagia Sophia
quake. So they had him into the Chalke. Then the multitudes dissolved
for celebration such as men remembered not before in New Rome.

Leo's loyal captors released him at the entrance to the Bukoleon. The
efforts of battle had told visibly upon his strength, and the attendants
ran forward to proffer service. All the high civil officials were
waiting in duteous array, but the Emperor ignored them. "Not now!" he
enjoined, then, two steps at a time, he mounted the lofty stairs of the
residence, brushed past the kneeling menials and rushed into his
mother's chambers.

Kasia ran to meet him, her arms flung wide.

"Well?" and his voice trembled as he kissed her.

"We have both fought," cried the little woman, between sobs and
laughter. "You by the Marmora, I in the Bukoleon. Perhaps I fought the
harder. We have both conquered. I sent off Peter as soon as I dared. She
will live."

The great form of the soldier shook. He kissed Kasia again. "O best of
mothers," very tenderly he said at length, "much have you done for me,
but never so much as now. I cannot speak out all my thoughts."

"I understand the heart of my son," she answered gently. "Anthusa opened
her eyes just as the physicians were despairing. The shock of the
torture has been unspeakable. She may not be herself for months. Just
now she is sleeping. Would you see her?"

Leo shook his head. "We have already, in our peasant simplicity, done
her a great wrong. You do not comprehend the filthiness of jealous
tongues in matters of the great. Send her back to Kallinikos as soon as
she can be safely moved. Do not suffer her to know that I saw her at the
Baths that night, or concerned myself greatly about her. For a long
space still I belong solely to the Empire. I must be to her nothing,
unless I can be to her all things."

Then, after a little, he controlled and refreshed himself sufficiently
to go down to the waiting magnificoes. A centurion reported, "We did to
the lesser conspirators as you commanded. Petronax died on our hands.
The rest are tongueless and sightless."

"They have suffered sufficiently," rejoined the monarch, "now have all
that survive hanged forthwith by the Galata ferry."

The Spatharios Ignatios also reported: "The captured patricians have
each been put roundly to the torture. They accused one another and named
various other dignitaries as well-wishers of their plot. The names of
those implicated are on these tablets."

Leo took the packet without opening. "You also did well," he commended.
"To-morrow morning let the heralds summon the people to the great curve
of the Hippodrome. There let Paul the Eunuch, Theokistos and Niketas be
publicly beheaded. Let Isos and Anthrax lose their noses and ears, and
next be tonsured as monks under perpetual close penance at Sinope."

Whereupon the Emperor's eye fell on the pompous line of civil ministers
and patricians waiting with servile congratulation. The capture of Paul
and his confederates was common news. There were pale and anxious faces
among the magnificoes, for the nature of Ignatios' tablets was more than
guessed. But the monarch met each and every dignitary with a friendly
smile.

"Sublimities, Magnificences and Serenities," he spoke affably, "this is
a day for rejoicing in God's great mercy, a day for the burial of old
suspicions and hates. If despairing traitors have perhaps named certain
loyal subjects as their friends, by the Panagia I swear they lied. See!"
He tore the tablets in pieces and trampled them on the pavement. Never
was the hem of the Emperor's mantle kissed with greater fervour and
homage than by twenty pairs of noble lips that day.

After a little Leo ascended again to his mother's upper chambers, his
sanctuary. The closing doors shut out splendour and ceremonial. All was
homely, orderly and still. Peter divested him of robe and cuirass and
began making ready his bath. Kasia, with her own hands, was preparing a
simple meal of the country dishes he loved the best. An intense sense of
weariness came over him. The events of the last few days became blurred.
He could not realize that he was at the end of present striving.

As he waited for the others, he leaned heavily upon the parapet of the
windows, and from the lofty height gazed again towards the wooded hills
beyond Chrysopolis. Once more the sea was sprinkled with ships, the
Saracen armada bearing away the remnants of the host of Moslemah. Gone,
gone for centuries, was that great Moslem peril which had shadowed and
controlled his life since the meeting with Barses and Chioba. The
prophecy was fulfilled: he had saved Constantinople, he had saved the
Roman Empire. Through all the stress God had not suffered his voice, his
mind, his heart to fail. An inspired messenger within his soul told him
that a great victory for civilization and righteousness had been won
which would reverberate down the long halls of time.

But he could not take it in. His brain refused to make the adjustment.
Only one thing in the world seemed really to matter now: Anthusa was
sleeping peacefully.

Close under the shadow of the Bukoleon, ignorant of her imperial
onlooker, a Roman dromond rode now in peace. Her sailors were all
kneeling upon the deck, while from a portable altar set by the foremast
great clouds of incense were curling upward. A priest beside the altar
was leading a deep chant of thanksgiving, such as was rising that moment
from all the thousand churches of Constantinople:

    "Oh, sing unto the Lord a new song, for he hath done marvellous things.
    With His own right hand and His holy arm He hath gotten Him the
          victory.
    The Lord hath made known His salvation; His righteousness hath
          He openly showed in the sight of the heathen.
    He hath remembered His mercy and truth towards the House of Israel.
    All the ends of the earth have seen the salvation of our God....
    ... Glory to God in the highest and on earth peace, good will to men.
    We praise Thee, we bless Thee, we worship Thee, we glorify Thee because
          of Thy great glory!"

Leo cast himself upon his knees, intent upon the worship of the sailors.
"Lord," at length he prayed aloud passionately, "depart from me, for I
am a sinful man."




CHAPTER XXXVII

THE GREAT CHRISTMAS


The Saracens departed in haste. Their land host was ferried over to
Cyzicus for the long, hard march across Asia Minor. Famine and
pestilence smote them as they hurried to escape the unfriendly natives.
Only thirty thousand hungry, demoralized men, with Moslemah himself, at
last found refuge in Tarsus. Yet their state was blessed beside that of
their comrades with the fleet. "The Emperor"--said the Christians--"had
given them truce, but not the Panagia." In the Hellespont a great
tempest fell on the retreating Armada. Thunders and lightnings surpassed
the terror of the Maritime Fire. Then in the open gean a second and
mightier hurricane smote them. All up and down the rocky Cyclades were
strewn their wrecks, and the Islanders grew rich upon the spoils the
blessed Saints washed up from the subsiding waves. Only five crazy,
barely floating barks out of all the enormous fleet at last made Syria
with the tale of disaster.

From the Atlantic to the Indus the tale of the great defeat spread
through El Islam. Allah had manifestly spoken--Constantinople must stand
inviolate. Seven hundred years and more were to pass ere a Moslem army
should besiege New Rome again.

       *       *       *       *       *

Three weeks after the retreat of the Saracens a solemn imperial
consistory was held in the Daphne. All the patricians, civil ministers
and strategoi prostrated themselves before the Basileus sitting in
state. Then the new Master of the Palace, the venerable and good Daniel,
speaking for the whole official body, presented a general petition:
"Would the monarch condescend to assume the title of 'The Second
Scipio,' having saved the New Rome from a deadlier foe than had been
Hannibal to the Old?" The ruler received the request graciously, but
informed the noble lords that the glories of Scipio had long departed,
and he was quite content to be known unto history as "Leo the Isaurian."

Whereupon, Daniel, in no wise rebuffed, made a second loyal request:
"Would the Basileus gladden the hearts of his subjects by giving to the
Romans a Basilissa, some proper damsel chosen from among the great
patrician houses of Constantinople, and thereby afford hopes of founding
an enduring dynasty?" To this Leo replied that he appreciated the good
will behind the petition, but that the great task of repairing the havoc
of war lay heavy upon him; "nevertheless, within one year, and perhaps
sooner, he would take to himself a bride from among the daughters of the
highest nobility; but since the matter concerned his own person he must
study his own manner and time." Whereupon all the magnates broke into
suitable acclamations, praising the imperial goodness, and after the
consistory dispersed, many fathers of eligible daughters received
provisional congratulations, but most of all did Count Maurice Dukas.

The summer and autumn following were months of feverish activity for the
Basileus. Indefatigable in war, now he seemed equally tireless in the
works of peace. All the intelligence of the Empire was mobilized to
restore the ruin wrought by misrule and invasion: commerce was fostered,
industry revived, institutions of learning reopened, taxes were
lightened, and yet the treasury income increased. Edict followed edict
lopping off some inveterate abuse, some absurd survival. A convocation
of jurists was ordered to prepare the "Ecloga," a scientific
recodification of the vast Roman law. The disbanded soldiery were busied
with great public works. The Marmora was covered with barges bringing
the marble of Cyzicus and Proconnesus for new porticoes and basilicas.
The provincial towns from Sicily to Armenia found their needs studied
and necessities relieved. Many and wise were the imperial helpers, but
Leo seemed to inspire everything, to direct everything. Leisure for
himself he never stole. In the public ftes of rejoicing he participated
barely enough to humour the populace. Basil, as became a familiar
companion, once remonstrated:

"You ease the burdens upon toiling slaves, but never those upon
yourself."

"_Ei!_ comrade," cried the ruler, with a clap upon the shoulder. "Have I
not often said that the straitest prisoner in the world is the wearer of
the purple? But hark you--tell it not to my present drill masters the
logothetes, but their recruit is resolved presently to mutiny. One day
I'll please the whims of Leo the Isaurian, and not the commands of Roman
Empire. My mutiny is set for Christmas."

       *       *       *       *       *

While the Emperor and the high officials toiled in their cabinets, the
healing saints slowly performed their mercies for Anthusa. The bodily
mischief wrought by Hormisdas had passed in a week, but the daughter of
Kallinikos long remained in a state of nervous anguish and hysteria that
made sister and father question, "Is she mentally clouded for ever?"
Then, little by little, the impress of the night of torture faded. The
return of peace, the resumption of free innocent life by all about her,
the boat rides on the sparkling Bosphorus, a long sojourn at the dear
Therapia villa, not too despoiled by the Hagarines, the chance to pick
up all the old interests--these did more for Anthusa than the cordials
of the architherapist.

Just as the summer ended a new gladness aided her yet more. To Fergal
and Sophia was given a son, a little red-headed image of his Celtic
father, and in the happiness of his parents Anthusa found her own. She
ceased to waken and scream lest she were again in the Baths of
Xeuxippos.

Sophia, when strength returned, was often with Kasia at the Bukoleon,
but Anthusa went not, nor did Kasia--although asking kindly as to her
welfare--send for her. Anthusa knew that after her rescue by Basil and
Fergal, the Empress-Mother had done her uttermost for her recovery, but
that, of course, was mere humanity. As for Leo, he seemed receding from
her life. "He belonged to the Empire." Anthusa said this to herself
again and again. Once or twice she beheld him riding in state in the
great processions. The hero worship accorded him by all Constantinople
was dear to her. He was, of course, a supremely great man raised up by
God to save and then to restore the Empire. She would be happiest--so
she said in her heart--if she thought on him as little as possible.

They had done their best to keep from Anthusa Leo's public promise "to
take a bride from the highest nobility." Of course she had presently
heard of it, but received the tidings--Sophia thanked the Trinity--very
calmly. "After all, it was only the Emperor's duty to found a dynasty
just as it was to win a battle, and of course it was his duty to wed
only a patrician's daughter. It was simply as might have been expected."

Sophia and Fergal now lived on the Mese in the confiscated palace of the
late Logothete Niketas, but Anthusa still cared for her father at the
House of Peace. Saloma, heartbroken and utterly penitent, was her
personal waiting woman and devoted slave. Kannebos, spared from the fate
of his fellow miscreants by the special intervention of Michael, had
been shipped off to toil on the bench of a dromond. Neokles, fortunately
for himself not at the Baths but arrested later, had been tonsured to
end his days as a most unresigned monk in a stiff convent at Pityusa.
All the hideous things which had risen to afflict Anthusa were passing
out of her life, even as the great siege itself was receding fast into
memory.

Nevertheless, life could never be the same. Her father was now aging
fast. The stimulus from his war inventions was departing. He could not
resume his lectures at the reopened University. The formal intimation
from the Emperor that his uttermost requisitions upon the treasury would
be promptly honoured had been deliberately ignored. "He had enough to
eat," he asserted, "and only wanted a few more books." Therefore, he
seemed very content to spend laborious hours compiling his
"Myriobiblion." But Anthusa knew that his eye was growing dim. He made
small errors in the text, which it was her joy to correct without his
knowledge.

As for his younger daughter herself she had calmly and cheerfully formed
her resolution. She had loved Leo, but not in this world could her love
be crowned with happiness. No other love for a worthy man seemed
possible. Yet life was hers, and God had shown her another line of noble
duty. When the spring came, if without great cruelty she could leave her
father, she would go back to the Isle of Cedars.

Kallinikos had despised the Emperor's proffers, and only a most limited
circle had guessed that he was the much belauded and mysterious inventor
of the fire. But Anthusa felt that, without shame, she might ask Kasia
to secure her a fund ample for transforming the island of self-torturing
nuns into a sane and comforting refuge for unfortunate women. There on
the Isle of Cedars the fallen girls now confined in St. Gastria, and the
hundreds of other miserable creatures of the great city, could lead
lives of industry, usefulness and true penance of the heart. And Anthusa
tried to picture herself growing into the grey and contented Hegumena of
a true convent, "A School for the Lord's Service," and finding her
joyous reward in the knowledge she had brought hope and peace to many.
Surely this was the best. When once she was far from Constantinople, its
turmoil, its incessant bruising of old wounds, she would find rest for
her soul.

Thus the autumn glided into the winter of 718, and they approached the
week of Christmas....

... There came a stretch of days, not unknown in Constantinople, when
the winds and waters forgot it was December. The intensely cold winter
preceding was not unnaturally followed by one of unusual mildness. The
greenery still rustled in the more protected gardens. The piercing
blasts from the Euxine were stilled. Soft and balmy blew the kind old
"Notos" wind across the gentle gean from Africa. The Marmora, the
Bosphorus, stretched out in dimpling blue. The populace thronged upon
their favourite water parties. The harbour, the straits, the smooth
reaches by the Isles of the Princes were covered with the gay caiques,
and the magnates' statelier barges.

As the holy festival drew nigh, ever more joyously it dawned on the
citizens that this was a Christmas surpassing all others. For half a
generation, tyranny, civil wars, and the shadow of impending Saracen
attack had blighted them. Now, by one great deliverance, the peril had
vanished. The sky of the Empire unveiled as bright a future as the
azure above the Golden Horn. All the normal, peaceful hopes and joys of
life could return to millions. "God and our Basileus have done this!"
Roman spoke to Roman.

Never were the goldsmiths' and silk mercers' shops along the Street of
Lamps, the perfumers' odorous stalls before the Chalke, the jewellers'
shops by the Theodosian Forum more crowded by spendthrift throngs; never
rang the forges or plied the looms in the great industrial quarters by
the havens more steadily; never had more cargo ships crowded the wharves
and the seaway, resuming long interrupted commerce. In the Hippodrome,
the Blue and Green jockeys raced their fours madly before the shouting
myriads. In all the variety theatres packed benches howled at the
sallies of the farceurs, the daring of the acrobats, the squeaky
dialogue of the string puppets. Even the most austere convents stocked
their kitchens. Even the harshest ascetics confessed that there
approached a day of gladness. As the multitudes in the siege had
agonized together, so now they rejoiced together. Such a Christmas-tide
had never been in Constantinople.

December 24th was bright and beautiful as its predecessor. The
government offices were closed, and civilians and soldiers crowded the
streets. Fergal returned home from the palace the gayest of the gay. He
said the Emperor had given a special feast to his young subalterns, and
mixed and jested with them like a young centurion, and promised them a
holiday long to be remembered; particularly he had bidden them not to
forget the great service at Hagia Sophia that night, and the palace
ftes the next morning.

In exuberant spirits, the spatharios arranged with certain fellow
officers to join in a water party up the Golden Horn. A merry, innocent
excursion it was, with young wives, servants and babies, in a long barge
pulled by a lustily singing crew from the Navy Yard. Anthusa and her
father had been bidden, and the sage had unwillingly capitulated to
Sophia's entreaties. As for Anthusa, the wavelets, sky and sunshine were
a sovran cordial for inward discontents. She forgot herself, conversed
animatedly, sent out her silver voice when they all joined in the rowing
song, and quite stole the heart of brave young Protostrator Theoboulos,
who spent an enraptured hour beside her.

The barge first took them to the headlands beyond Blachernai. They climbed
the heights[61] overlooking the site of the deserted Saracen camp. At their
feet the Golden Horn curved away to the eastward--cypress-shaded heights,
towering edifices, wharves, masts, the dome-crowned palace point and the
shimmering Bosphorus beyond, a lovely confusion of green, grey and cerulean
arched with pellucid light. The gaunt Walls of Theodosius were covered now
with picnickers and merrymakers. Little children were clambering the heaps
of rubbish, already mercifully grass-grown, hunting for Hagarine blades and
arrow heads. Fergal, with officious gestures, traced the bounds of
Moslemah's laager, and Kallinikos, proud of his Latin, was fain to hawk out
Vergil's lines on the rejoicings of the Trojans when they deemed that the
Greeks had fled:

    "What joy once more to go out into the Dorian camp ground,
    View the deserted plain and gaze on the beaches, forsaken:
    Here the Dolopian band, there savage Achilles had tented,
    Here they had moored their fleet, and yonder had marshalled for
        battle."

[61] The modern village of Eyoub.

After a little the barge was resumed and swept them up to the end of the
Golden Horn past a few marshy islands, until the Sweet Waters of Europe
opened to view. Here, where two little rivers glided into the great arm
of the harbour, they landed upon the greensward.

Half the respectabilities of Constantinople seemed there already.
Caiques were constantly coming and going; on land every imaginable
painted and gilded vehicle was laden with worthy citizens; songs,
flutes, and dulcimers mingled in a melodious noise; children ran in and
out the vast park of pines, plane trees and sycamores. No one stood on
rank and Fergal and his company sat down with the rest. The ample
hampers surrendered to keen appetite. Small talk and laughter was
unrestrained. Anthusa yielded herself to the irresistible spell of the
Sweet Waters, the capital's great playground. Nun she might be
to-morrow, but a healthy young woman she was that day. The hours passed
in genuine happiness.

Then, after jest and repartee had begun to slacken, and a certain
spatharios had begun to tell over-tediously of a certain Saracen foray,
Anthusa's gaze wandered to the next party of picnickers close at her
elbow. Two women, evidently of the lesser nobility, were exchanging
gossip:

"Didn't you hear that rumour from the palace--it's all around the
Augustum? To-morrow the Basileus will take a bride."

"Blessed St. Barbara, and who's the lucky patricianess?"

"That's what's just driving the city crazy. His Sacred Clemency is being
as hidden about it as he was about the Maritime Fire--the inventor of
which, by the by, we're all perishing to know. Ah, he's a crafty Lion,
our Basileus!"

"I suppose it's that Theophano Dukas who's his choice. A pretty enough
girl, when I sat rather close to her in the Hippodrome--that is, if only
she knew how to carry her rouge."

"My Euphrasios says he's not so sure. Her father's rich enough to
rebuild the palace, but then she's none too young, and needs her paint.
Besides, Count Maurice has sackfuls of enemies. It's whispered that he
barely slid out of Paul the Eunuch's plot. There are at least three or
four girls with as good influence, birth and dowries, and as fair a
chance: Euphoria Boilas, the Logothete Libanios' Pulcheria, old
Theodotos' eldest girl Constantia--yes, and still others."

Anthusa clapped her hands over her burning ears, but destiny or female
curiosity compelled her to hearken again:

"Whichever way he turns, I pity the Emperor. Poor man, he's human after
all, even if he _is_ Basileus and has saved every soul of us! All the
other great patrician houses will become his enemies the minute he
marries into one of them. Then I suppose his new Basilissa will take all
her fine family airs with her to the Daphne and give him a pretty dance,
just like any other uppish bride. And how _will_ she ever get on with
his queer old mother? But I can hardly live until to-morrow!"

To Anthusa's infinite relief, Fergal at this instant rose and declared
they must make their best speed homeward. She rejoiced that nobody
commented on her flaming cheeks and her silence. It had come over her
suddenly that the greatest sufferer in such an alliance would be Leo
himself: that not one of the exalted maidens who sighed for his hand
could possibly love him, or could show him other than contemptuous
neglect and scorn as being a base-born peasant were he flung from the
throne. The demands of state were dooming him to a sodden and hopeless
bondage. Her own self-pity was drowned in a great wave of anger. Was
this hard necessity the reward which Providence bestowed upon the man
who had saved the very life of the capital, Empire and true religion?
Only by extreme self-control did she keep from tears.

The row back to the Navy Yard should have been delightful. All the
shipping was covered with brilliant flags. Even the squalid warehouses
and tenements along the Galata shore looked festive and friendly under
the afternoon sun. Among the multifarious barges and caiques, they
passed the great yacht bearing the insignia of the house of Boilas. The
array of gorgeously apparelled attendants upon the poop indicated that
the noble Euphoria herself reposed upon the green cushions under the
scarlet canopy. To-morrow would all Constantinople be acclaiming the
mistress of this pomp and circumstance as the most fortunate woman in
the world? Blessed be the Panagia (Anthusa tried to tell herself) who
had prepared the refuge of the Isle of Cedars!

The party returned to Fergal's house, and the sisters were alone for a
moment together. Sophia embraced and kissed Anthusa.

"You overheard those idle gossips?" asked the elder.

"Of course," said Anthusa. "Why didn't you tell me that story about the
Emperor?"

"Alas! little sister; it seems useless to keep you from things which I
know give pain. From what the Emperor said to Fergal, and from things
his mother hinted also to me when last I saw her, I fear that rumour
must be true. You should not go to Hagia Sophia to-night."

"And why not?"

"Lest something be proclaimed hard for you to hear."

Anthusa tossed her head almost defiantly. "I'm not a child to scream at
pinpricks. What must be, must. Leo is our God-sent Basileus. He shall be
nothing more to me. I'll go to the cathedral."

Sophia smiled a melancholy smile, but again Anthusa carried herself
bravely....

... As evening advanced, Constantinople gave itself over even more to
joy and revelry. The lesser as well as the greater streets blazed with
lamps. Music sounded everywhere. In the crossways were jugglers, puppet
players, acrobats, and performing apes and bears; while old and young,
Greeks and Armenians, Bulgars, Slavs, Islanders and Epirotes danced
riotously in all the little squares.

Presently many thousands hastened to the walls or the view-towers. The
whole length of the Golden Horn and of the waters far out upon the
Bosphorus and the Marmora was lit by the Maritime Fire. Over the palace
domes it played, the seawalls, and next with fantastic radiance over the
shipping, blue and red, as if enormous will-o'-the-wisps were rising
from the eerie darkness of the sea. The tall flagship, the _St.
Michael_, peacefully stroked out across the wavelets, her spars and
tackling harmlessly traced with light, and with the golden eagle at her
masthead gleaming forth like a moving Bethlehem star. Suddenly from the
Tower of Eugenios at the harbour mouth, and from the Pharos, the great
lighthouse near the Bukoleon, two far-flaming beacons were answered by
like cressets all over the city. On the topmost dome of Hagia Sophia
blazed forth an enormous cross; another on the Church of the Apostles;
another on Hagia Anastasia. The holy feast had begun. The Christ Child
was come to earth. Worldly music and dancing ceased. In courtyards, on
pavements and in the already thronging churches all Constantinople began
bowing, crossing itself, then singing together the Christmas hymn of
Anatolios:

    "A great and mighty wonder, a full and holy cure!
    Virgin bears the Infant, with Virgin-honour pure.
    The Word becomes Incarnate, and yet remains on high,
    While cherubim sing anthems to shepherds from the sky.
    And we, with them triumphant, repeat the hymn again:
    'To God on high be glory, and peace on earth to men!'
    And idol forms shall perish, and error shall decay,
    And Christ shall wield the sceptre, our Lord and God for aye!"

       *       *       *       *       *

"Christians to Hagia Sophia!" The shout so familiar, whether on days of
festival or calamity, had never rung more exultantly along the streets
and porticoes. At the outer narthex the multitude fought for admission
with the doorkeepers. Only the socially privileged were permitted to
wedge past; many even of these simply jostled as far as the courtyard
and could not push through the nine bronze doors into the cathedral
proper. Over their heads the two-and-thirty bells in the domes were now
sending their peals far over the imperial city. Torches, cressets, and
multi-coloured lanterns shot manifold gleams out of the mosaics lining
all the walls and out of the marble fountains and the uplifted bronze
statues. Only Fergal's medals as a spatharios won a way for his wife and
sister-in-law through the press, and to the foot of the inclined plane
which rose to the vast galleries reserved for the women. The central
portal, the "Basilican Gate," surmounted by a huge mosaic design of an
open Gospel and a dove with outstretched wings, had been flung open, but
a solid platoon of Protectors was guarding it. "The Emperor will come
to-night," spoke worshipper to worshipper.

Anthusa mounted beside Sophia, leaving Fergal below with the
closely-packed host of men. They found standing room by a column of
purple Phrygian granite and could look forth over the enormous church.
Soon the galleries were crowded with at least ten thousand women.

Never did Anthusa enter the cathedral without feeling herself
transported a little nearer to Heaven; and that sensation, despite
confusion without and searchings within, did not fail now. "O Solomon, I
have surpassed thee!" Justinian had boasted of his master-work--and not
in vain. Long since had the daughter of Kallinikos heard and forgotten
that the great dome soared away one hundred and seventy-nine feet above
the central pavement, that the diameter of this dome was one hundred and
seven feet, and that around the church upholding the upper fabric and
adorning the massive piers were one hundred and seven columns of every
rare marble from Egypt to the Bosphorus. She had learned to trace all
the Bible story told with indescribable wealth of mosaics; she knew the
majestic four- and six-winged cherubim which seemed to uphold the mighty
vault with ruffling wings of blue, metallic green and tawny red. All
these objects were familiar and beloved, as was the enormous mosaic of
Christ rising above the vault of the apse, His hands outstretched in
perpetual benediction.

Anthusa cast herself upon her knees and tried to let her thoughts soar
off into the multitudinous lights now gleaming from every possible point
in the vaulting. Over the silver iconostasis the flamboyant
altar-screen, was set another vast illuminated cross. Everywhere blazed
lofty candelabra, sometimes flashing through screens of rose and blue.
Around the heads of the innumerable holy images and jewelled ikons of
the saints, ecstatic worshippers already saw playing the fire-tongues of
Pentecost.[62] From the vesting rooms behind drifted bursts of music,
harbingers of the greater choirs. For some time Anthusa prayed, trying
to give thanks for many things, then rose from her knees with all the
rest--the Emperor was entering the cathedral.

[62] This was of course before that abolition of holy images, which took
place later in Leo's reign.

Leo walked beside the Patriarch, with ten bishops and all the great
officials following. The Basileus wore a dalmatic of plain rich purple;
the Patriarch's vestments, veil and mitre were a sheen of gold and
incomparable gems. Alone of all laymen the monarch was suffered to take
his seat close to the high altar. His throne was of gold; that of the
Patriarch facing him was of silver inlaid with mother-of-pearl; that of
the bishops of ebony incrusted with silver.

All were seated mid solemn hush. A deep bell tinkled far away behind the
iconostasis. The thousands of worshippers fell instantly upon their
knees, as the veil (heavy with pearls and gold brocade) which covered
the high altar was drawn aside to display the inner tabernacle, again
of gold and set with rubies, emeralds and diamonds. New lights sprang
out everywhere in the dome and seemed converging upon the altar. It was
as if angels were bearing down the glory of Heaven. Then to right and
left the inner doors of the vestries parted, and forth marched the full
cathedral choir. Three hundred singers moving in slow processional
raised the chant sustained by the silver tubes of organs behind the
screens. A hundred deaconesses in white array scattered perfumes and
flowers upon the pavements about the altar. Cymbals, harps, dulcimers,
tambourines and flutes, all joined in the swelling harmony. Had the
seraphim that first Christmas night sung fairer?

Passionately Anthusa strove to throw her heart into the solemn liturgy.
Was this not a festival of festivals? Had not she with all
Constantinople shared in a great salvation? Why would not her gratitude
to Heaven rise with the clouds of incense now drifting in fragrant haze
around the glistening altar? Why would her too mundane eyes turn not to
the mosaic archangels on high but to that purple-robed figure, now
kneeling, now sitting opposite to the Patriarch? Should not her heart go
out with all the others when with sonorous voice from the ambo a bishop
gave a peculiar remembrance of the public deliverance?

     "Behold upon the mountains the feet of him that bringeth good
     tidings, that publisheth peace....

     "O Judah, keep thy solemn feasts, perform thy vows, for the
     wicked shall no more pass through thee, he shall be utterly
     cut off....

     "Comfort ye, comfort ye my people, saith your God. Speak ye
     comfortably to Jerusalem, and cry unto her that her warfare is
     accomplished, that her iniquity is pardoned: for she hath
     received of the Lord's hand double for all her sins.

     "O Zion, that bringest good tidings, get thee up into the high
     mountain! O Jerusalem, that bringest good tidings, lift up thy
     voice with strength. Lift it up, be not afraid: say unto the
     cities of Judah, 'Behold your God!'"

Finished at last was the elaborate mass and liturgy. The Emperor and
Patriarch had departed through the Basilican Gate, while the final
Gloria was sounding, the churchman upraising his fingers in blessings
upon the kneeling worshippers, the monarch moving steadfast and
impassive. The choir swept in its great processional back to the
vestries. As the incense smoke faded around the high altar, the
incomparable pageant of worship seemed ended. The immense audience shook
off the awe which had held it, rose to its feet, and the babel of voices
long suppressed ascended together, when all were hushed back to
silence--a clear, piercing clarion pealed through the church twice and
thrice.

On the platform at the base of the preacher's ambo (a spot often
permitted to unclerkly orators) stood an imperial herald. His robes of
purple and silver were blazoned with the Augustan eagles. Then by a kind
of impulse all eyes ascended from him to that spot in the galleries
where between two porphyry pillars had hung a crimson veil, hiding the
seat of the Empress Consort when such had graced the palace. The veil
had been swept aside, disclosing the Basilissa's lofty throne, vacant
indeed, but wrought of ivory and gold and resplendent with almost as
many gems as the high altar. The herald uplifted his hand. Through the
whole church reigned silence, Anthusa listening to the beating of her
own heart.

     "A PROCLAMATION IN THE NAME OF FLAVIUS LEO AUGUSTUS!

     "_Christians and Romans_: This is a time of thanksgiving and
     of holy joy.

     "Your Emperor, desiring to add yet further to his subjects'
     gladness, deigns to give a Basilissa to the Roman Empire.

     "Know, therefore, that to-morrow, precisely at noon, in the
     Golden Hall of the Daphne there will appear before His Sacred
     Clemency and the exalted magnates and ministers of his court,
     eight maidens of patrician rank. These very noble damsels have
     been chosen by particularly deputed imperial commissioners,
     not merely on account of the loftiness of their birth, but
     also because of the beauty of their stature and features.
     They are the Magnificent Patricianesses Euphrosyne Kinnamos,
     Constantia Rendakes, Antonia Bringas, Pulcheria Skleros,
     Euphoria Boilas, Theophano Dukas, Gregoria Maniakes and
     Justina Bryennios.

     "The aforesaid noble damsels will present themselves robed in
     white but without jewels or other ornaments before His Sacred
     Clemency. In the presence of the most Serene Court the
     Basileus will condescend to inspect these maidens. The one
     finding promptest favour in his eyes will receive from him in
     her hands a golden apple. Forthwith she shall be declared
     Basilissa of the Romans, shall receive the adoration of all
     the ministers, magnates and magnificoes, shall be taken to
     Hagia Sophia and be crowned and consecrated with every
     solemnity by His Beatitude the Patriarch. After that she shall
     be shown to the army and the people appearing upon the summit
     of the Chalke, casting among her subjects with her own hands
     the sum of five thousand solidi of gold. Finally, she shall be
     taken to the Church of St. Stephen, the imperial marriage
     chapel, within the precincts of the Sacred Palace, and there
     be joined in most holy wedlock to His Sacred Clemency the
     Basileus.

     "The Roman people are invited to-morrow to be the guests of
     their sovereign, to enter freely the grounds of the Sacred
     Palace, and to partake of the imperial hospitality.

     "_Ten Thousand Years to Flavius Leo Augustus!_"

The gigantic piers of the cathedral quivered with the cheer that rose
when the herald ended. Thousands surged out together, everybody
laughing, gesticulating, with the women naturally the most excited. As
Anthusa regained the outer narthex there was a great crowd edging and
salaaming around a gilded car. Theophano Dukas, one sheen of blue silk,
white veiling and gold embroidery, was mounting amid a retinue of negro
and Syrian servitors and grooms. There was another curious and cringing
crowd around the car of Pulcheria Skleros.

"Who would she be? Who to-morrow will sit in that glittering seat in
Hagia Sophia, exalted above all other mortal women?"

Leo the Isaurian had imposed many sore trials upon his subjects during
the great siege. He had never laid on them one sorer than upon this
Christmas night. "To wait till noon to-morrow!" How for half of
Constantinople did the thing seem possible?

Fergal and Sophia conducted Anthusa in their modest mule wagon back to
the House of Peace. Sophia held Anthusa's hand long and tenderly ere
they parted: "I knew it, little sister; it would have been better if you
hadn't gone to the cathedral."

Anthusa answered without evasion, looking back at her with dry eyes:
"The sooner endured the sooner ended. I have loved a good man who rose
to more than common manhood. I know that honourably he loved me. I would
not be worthy to bear his name in my heart if I were not proud that he
is the most envied man in the world."




CHAPTER XXXVIII

THE GOLDEN APPLE


Christmas morning and still the entrancing weather. Citizens greeted in
the streets. Old grudges were made up and new friendships sworn. At the
great mansions there were general distributions of food and useful
garments to the poor. The street dogs were not forgotten: they yelped in
huge tawny companies outside the parish churches while the laughing
popes and sacristans tossed out large squares of bread. Gifts between
friends were everywhere exchanged. Anthusa shed tears over some of the
well-meant trifles sent her by troopers she had nursed at the Pankrator.
A mandator from the palace had brought to Kallinikos a rare copy of
Hesiod in scarlet uncials bound in gilt and purple vellum, and she more
than guessed that Leo had left the selection to no deputy. For herself
the messenger brought nothing, not even from Kasia. Anthusa was most
grateful. The sooner Leo and his mother were to her gracious sovereigns
and nothing more, the better for her peace of mind.

As the morning advanced the trampling in the streets increased. All
Constantinople seemed headed towards the Augustum or the palace. The
servants said that Hagia Sophia already was packed again with a
multitude that would stand until afternoon to behold the coronation of
the new Basilissa. Those who could not gain the Cathedral or the courts
of the Daphne could range the enormous palace compound, in hopes sooner
or later of setting eyes upon the happy choice of the Deliverer of New
Rome.

Anthusa went about her morning tasks calmly and cheerfully, and her
father (oblivious of the holiday) was soon enmeshed again in his
library, with the endless excerpts for the "Myriobiblion." Fergal's
station required that both he and Sophia should attend at the palace,
and neither had suggested that Anthusa should accompany; however,
Ephraim presently came to his mistress with a request:

"The _kyrios_ and the little _kyria_ are not going out?"

"Why, no, Ephraim! You know my father cares nothing for court pageants."

"Very true, your Graciousness, but the maids and serving boys grow
restless. It's not every day a new Basilissa is chosen." He broke off
abruptly, intelligent enough to know he had touched a tender subject.

"I understand. Let them all go. Tell them to bring home some of the gold
she will scatter. You go also. The holiday belongs to you as much as to
the rest."

"But the house, little _kyria_?"

"Saloma will stay. Dorkon will guard the door. There's nobody left to
kidnap me now."

She waved him out of her presence. Soon she heard the servants departing
amid rejoicing chatter. The street was thinning, the house grew still.
Anthusa mounted to her upper balcony and let her gaze wander once again
over the city, the harbour and the Marmora. The metropolis and all its
incomparable panorama of waters was basking tranquilly in the glittering
light, but her eyes would not voyage afar to the Isles of the Princes or
to the snowy crest of Asiatic Olympos more distant still. Nearer they
lingered, on the palace point, and the white pinnacles and gilded domes
of the Daphne. There, there--very soon! Why, when God had given her
strength to endure that ordeal in the Baths, had He denied her power to
control her own errant fancies?

Angry with herself, Anthusa resought the rooms below. The girl Saloma
came to her, fawned at her feet and kissed her hands.

"O saint-like and gracious _kyria_, you who have given me new hope and
strength, you who show all the holiness of the Panagia, I think that I
understand a little of what you must suffer this day. Surely you are
going to the Isle of Cedars very soon--and you will take me with you?"

"Don't talk foolishly, Saloma. This great city is neither for you nor
for me. We will be sisters together at the Isle. I hope we can depart in
the spring."

Anthusa entered Kallinikos' library. He was painfully transcribing,
standing by a tall desk. She sat on a stool watching him for a long
time. How silent, now, the house was! All the things of past years
seemed fleeting away from her like a dream, the accident in the harbour,
the first visit of Leo, the abduction to the Isle of Cedars, her return
thence, the invention of the fire, the great siege, the ordeal in the
Baths of Xeuxippos; had she lived through them all, or only read thereof
in her father's Herodotos or Prokopios? Her fingers touched her hair. It
fell again soft, and, in vanity she confessed it, curly and lustrous,
almost to her shoulders, but it had not reached its tether. What of
that? In a few months it must be cut short again, for who could pass as
a nun and keep her hair? Anthusa felt herself strangely experienced and
suddenly grown very old; she was sure she could play the commanding
hegumena to a meekly obedient convent. Yes, Saloma was right. The sooner
they sought the Isle of Cedars the better.

And yet, as she looked on her father, doubts afflicted her. Ought she to
leave him? Could Sophia care for him? If she now felt old, she knew that
Kallinikos had become aged. His eye was dim. Now he had lost his place
and fumbled pathetically among his manuscripts. She rose to help him
just as he dropped the reed pen, and manifestly that morning he could do
no more. The hand upon the dial of his new clock told that it lacked
barely an hour of noon. Already they were mustering in the Golden Hall.
Already the eight candidates were arriving from their paternal palaces.
Already their respective fathers were swearing eternal enmity--if their
daughters lost--to the destined all-powerful father-in-law of the
Basileus. Already the candidates themselves were plotting the
humiliation--if they won--of their defeated rivals. And Leo?

Even in the old, familiar library Anthusa's rebel mind pursued her. In
desperation, she took Kallinikos' hand:

"You are weary, father mine. The great book can wait. See"--a happy
thought struck her--"this is Christmas. Our Pera cousins have sent a
great hamper of lovely honey apples. We are all alone here, save only
Saloma. You remember how we would eat apples together, when I was a
little girl, and before Sophia married, and before--so many things
happened? Sit by me on this bench. I have a knife and will peel them."

"I should finish the epitome of Theopompos," protested the sage.
"Nevertheless----" And he sat, obedient, watching her with tired,
affectionate eyes.

Anthusa peeled, and fed him steadily, eating also herself. The apples
assuredly were very good. Up to her side yet again sprang Tobias and
Lethe, nosing each other away yet again for the well-loved station in
her lap. Kallinikos ate and nodded contentedly. How dependent he was
upon her, how learned, how childish, how pathetically willing to be
tended! Was she serving God or only her own wounded feelings when she
planned for the Isle of Cedars?

Suddenly the two cats leaped up with erected ears. Dorkon, before the
door, was barking violently. From the street came the clatter of
carriages and many horses. Then Saloma entered, her tones charged with
terror:

"Soldiers--Protectors all in blue and in silver armour, _Ai!_ Woe!
They've come to take me."

Her mistress arose, calmly laying down the apples. "Nonsense! Your
pardon was issued long ago."

"Nevertheless, they are knocking at the door."

"What have we to dread? Some mistake, of course, but open to them."

"I see Pope Michael," said Saloma, after a glance through the grille.
"He's a holy man. All must be well."

She unbarred. Michael, in robe, hat and veil of unwontedly costly
material, entered the little aula, accompanied by a centurion of the
Protectors in magnificent panoply. The officer saluted gravely and
ceremoniously:

"Do I greet the very noble _kyria_ Anthusa Maria?" he asked.

"You do," replied the steadfast yet wholly puzzled girl.

"Is your equally noble father, the Consul of the Philosophers,
Kallinikos, within?"

"He is, Sir Centurion."

"Then will both you and he accompany us instantly to the palace?"

"You are not serious. I cannot understand. We have already refused to go
with my brother-in-law."

"Let the _kyria_ pardon me, our orders are very precise. We must execute
them immediately." A decarch, in fact, was entering the library and
leading thence the astonished and gesticulating Kallinikos. Anthusa
turned to Michael, who had been attending in silence, but not unsmiling.

"I can add nothing," observed now the Pope very quizzically, "save to
urge you to fear nothing and to obey this officer in all things."

"But to the palace?" protested Anthusa, with rising inflection. "To the
great fte? My father's coarse gown--my own----"

"No matter," replied the Protector, "orders are orders. We must drive
very fast. Conduct her, Kratylos."

Anthusa felt that force, gentle yet irresistible, was compelling her
through the door. She knew that Kallinikos, most unwillingly, was
following. In the street were two cars, plainly painted and with dark
curtains closely drawn, but to each was yoked a magnificent four of
horses. She was lifted upon the cushions of one carriage. Presumably her
father was in the other. Why were they thus separated? But now the
curtains were being tightly clasped and buckled. She heard the
guardsmen's scabbards clatter as they mounted. One whisper from Michael
through the coverings: "Courage! Friends are near! All is well!" Then
the centurion's order, "The Chalke--full speed!"

The car shot ahead with bewildering velocity. She knew that the horsemen
were clearing the thronging high streets as before a great state
courier: "Way! Way, in the Emperor's name!" Anthusa clung to her seat.
The horses were being lashed, the speed grew reckless. She could not
think calmly. Twice kidnapped by foes, but what of this? Yet Paul and
Evagrios had long ceased from troubling. She caught fleeting glimpses
through the curtains: the Forum of Constantine, the Augustum, and now
assuredly the palace. The car slackened a little; here was the Chalke,
and she would soon know her fate. But evidently the bronze portals of
the outer palace had been swung wide. The horses continued now over the
smooth gravel of the imperial compound, then abruptly stopped. The
curtains were unfastened, and Anthusa found herself in a vaulted
carriage-way she had never seen before, possibly one of the numerous
entrances to the enormous Daphne. A "ten" of Frankish giants stood
presenting their great axes. An elderly woman, richly dressed, with a
face kind and wise, assisted her to alight. Anthusa looked quickly
about, but no second car was visible:

"My father?" she questioned.

"He is well," observed the strange lady with gentle authority. "Fear
nothing. Do as commanded. The time is short."

"Time for what?"

"Do not question, _kyria_; you will soon see."

Unfavoured by further explanation, the daughter of Kallinikos was led
down a narrow marble corridor, then up a system of spiral staircases to
some strange apartment far above. Everywhere the standing menials bowed
low to her conductress. Suddenly Anthusa found herself in a small
chamber of unusual elegance, equipped with silver mirrors, ebony stools
and tables, as if for a boudoir. Three young women, modest and
prepossessing, bent the knee before them, then they held up robes and
furbelows of shimmering white silk and muslin. Anthusa's guide now spoke
again:

"I am Agneia, wife of Daniel, Master of the Palace; these are my own
handmaidens. Begin to dress her, Polybia."

The three girls busied themselves around Anthusa with indescribable
deftness. They clothed her all over in silk, here translucent as
spider's gossamer, here one rich sheen of rippling whiteness. On her
feet they thrust slippers of pure white leather. Ornaments there were
none, but they shook out Anthusa's hair upon her shoulders and bound it
with a single snowy ribbon. When, however, Polybia made to touch her
subject's eyebrows with kohl, Agneia--who had watched with silent
approval--interposed quickly: "Such is quite forbidden."

Anthusa stood all in white, the floating draperies barely revealing the
soft curves of her neck and her nervously clasping hands. At last the
handmaidens stepped aside. Agneia inspected their work intently;
adjusted a fold, drew tighter a ribbon. As she did so the blast of a
powerful trumpet rang through the palace. The older woman impulsively
put her arm about her charge and kissed her.

"You are a brave maid. Do as commanded. Keep absolute silence. No harm
can touch you. Only good is in store."

Then she led her again from the boudoir, this time by other, loftier
corridors, ever deeper into the heart of the Daphne. At last they
entered a spacious chamber lighted by mullioned windows, now open upon
the great court beneath. Through the casements rose the hum of many
voices--the standing multitudes below waiting the great tidings from
within the palace. In the room were already eight other young women, all
enveloped in white silk, all moving about awkwardly, all striving, in a
most constrained manner, to converse with one another.

"Wait here: it will not be long," enjoined Agneia, and disappeared in
another doorway. Anthusa stood gazing about her in complete
bewilderment. The rush of events had stolen her power to think clearly,
and, in a kind of waking dream, she heard the other young women talking:

"We may all promise, _philotatai_," a certain girl was saying in a high,
shrill voice--she was Antonia Bringas, Anthusa vaguely imagined--"to
reverence and love the lucky victor, but think of our fathers! Mine, at
least, cares nothing that I should win beside the dread lest your
father, Theophano, or yours, Constantia, should be preferred before him
at the palace. And our mothers are every whit as bad. The new Empress
will bring seven sets of mortal enemies as her dowry."

"It's so with all of us," rejoined Constantia, "but what will you have?
Every old patrician house distils poison against every other old family.
The Emperor's got to marry a patricianess. We alone are eligible. If
there were any proper girl whose father was not already hated by the
whole nobility of Constantinople, she ought to have the golden apple;
that is"--with a defiant shrug--"if _I_ don't get it."

"I think, _makaira_," remarked another, possibly Euphoria Boilas, in icy
accents, "certain of us take this morning a little too seriously. Of
course, on account of our parents, several had to be summoned, but it's
well understood His Clemency's actual choice will lie between only two
or three."

"Such as you, Euphoria," darted Gregoria Maniakes, a shrewd, dark-haired
girl, "or perhaps our dear, self-effacing Theophano."

Theophano's white teeth were opening for a barbed reply when suddenly
her eyes dilated: "Mother of God! Who is this? We are eight--and now,
behold, nine!"

Eight pairs of excited eyes were riveted upon Anthusa. Gladly would she
have suffered the mosaic pavement to open and engulf her. The eight
girls all began exclaiming together:

"Who is she? A perfect stranger! All in white like a candidate. There's
too much colour on her cheeks. Rouge! It's forbidden! Wipe it off!"

"I know her," remarked Antonia decisively. "Theokista, old Theodore
Komnenos' daughter. But he's not a full patrician. Of all
impertinence----"

"She's not Theokista," interrupted Theophano, who had been haughtily
surveying the intruder, "she's a nobody far worse. The Emperor's been
gallant like the run of men. She's that Anthusa, the old pedant
Kallinikos' girl. Everybody knows she's been the Emperor's leman. To
thrust herself among us now, to presume upon her sinful access to the
palace thus, it's an insult intolerable! Hark, you wench!" She
approached the shrinking Anthusa with a menacing dart. "Get you hence
or, by the Panagia, your brazen trumpery is stripped from your back."

Her threat ended as, with silent tread, the Lady Agneia suddenly
rentered. "Young mistress," she commanded imperiously, "know that this
stranger is here by authority. Beware in this moment of saying or doing
anything of which you may repent in dust and ashes all the rest of your
life." And she took her station at Anthusa's side. The cords in
Theophano's neck swelled, she grew pale, then purple, but she had the
supreme wisdom to keep silent.

A second clarion louder than the first pealed through the palace. At a
doorway appeared the arch-silentiary, in a magnificent blue dalmatic and
waving his gold-tipped staff. "Come!" he commanded, with a sweeping
gesture. The eight candidates gathered their silks about them and went
out in a fluttering column. Agneia took Anthusa by the hand and led her
after. More corridors, almost interminable, they traversed, until a
faint odour of perfumed lamps and the deep hum of the whispers from many
voices came to them. They were approaching the Golden Hall.

       *       *       *       *       *

Not for a generation had the Sacred Palace beheld so magnificent a
_silentium_. The need of reorganizing the provinces had brought to
Constantinople all the governors and sub-governors from Sicily and
Southern Italy to the heart of the Caucasus. The vassal kinglets of the
Slavs were present, as well as tall Epirote chiefs in their native white
kilts, and astonished envoys from the Bulgars, the Tartar Khazars, the
Duke of Rialto in Venetia, and even from the mighty Karl, Major Domus
of the Franks. To brim up the cup of Roman pride a white-turbaned emir
was come from the new Kalif Omar II with a gift of blooded desert steeds
to his "Imperial Brother the Basileus" and honeyed suggestions of a pact
of eternal amity betwixt the New Rome and Damascus.

When the clarions announced the august ceremonial, through the portals
of the Golden Hall trooped the serried files of the great civil
officials, the admirals and generals, and all the patricians and
senators, each in appropriate dalmatic or armour. The flashing of jewels
from silken caps or silvered helmets answered the soft golden lustre
from the walls, wherever these last were not covered with the more
brilliant mosaics. In the further apse of the hall rose the imperial
throne of gilding and ivory, backed by a tapestry of plain purple. At
right and left of the great seat were two other thrones of scarcely less
magnificence. Above the dais spread an enormous canopy of blue silk hung
with heavy golden tassels. The three thrones were flanked by two bronze
statues from the master hand of Lysippos, an Apollo with his cither, an
Artemis with her arrows. The Protectors, in silver panoply, lined every
entrance and stood in solid ranks, sword resting on shoulder, about the
steps of the dais, while hierarchy on hierarchy the magnificoes entered
and with perfect discipline took their wonted stations.

Closest to the throne appeared the venerable Master of the Palace
Daniel, and a little behind stood the heads of the great patrician
houses, including the fathers of the candidates. Even in that tense hour
they had not forgotten to bow in their stiff dalmatics to one another on
meeting, but the gems upon headgear, neck, hands and shoes were less
bright than the glances of jealousy and hate. Every one knew that Dukas
was praying (and Libanios) every demon and saint that if his own
daughter might not conquer, that of his dearest rival might not prevail.
From the wide galleries above, which completely encircled the lower
hall, came the rustle of fans and silks, the hum of feminine
whisperings--all the noblewomen of Constantinople consuming with
insatiable curiosity, and infinitely more partisan and distressed than
their husbands or fathers. There were glances towards the throne and
towards the central portal, but even more went towards a certain
light-blue curtain hung between two pillars to the right of the dais.
Sometimes this drapery waved slightly; then a suppressed "Ah!" would
ripple over the galleries. "The candidates are mustering," passed the
nigh-frenzied whisper.

High noon: all were assembled. After a delay just long enough to convey
the sense of imperial deliberation, a blast now of many clarions sounded
with resonant sweetness. The great portal was flung wide. Four Frankish
guardsmen, sons of Goliath, entered with great solemnity, then the
arch-herald, his voice ringing out like the trumpets:

"His Sacred Clemency the Basileus; her Sacred Majesty the
Empress-Mother."

Leo advanced, giving his arm to Kasia. The Emperor's purple robe was
spangled with golden eagles; gold was the great scabbard girded at his
side, the heavy chain around his neck, and his ponderous baldric. He
wore the helmet-shaped diadem surmounted by a diamond-set cross and with
long lappets of pearls falling over either shoulder. His beard had grown
to a noble length. His face was stamped with lines of experience,
self-discipline and high command. Every soul present confessed to
himself, "He is the Lion."

Kasia had likewise been clad in purple. They had set over her grey hair
an open coronet and a long silk veil. No art of her tire-women would
give majesty to her round little form and her homely features, and she
moved with awkwardness, manifestly scared by the thousands of eyes upon
her, but her great son, towering calmly by her side, gave courage. All
saw Leo take her by the hand, then bend his head, doubtless with
reassuring whispers, and the half-muttered sneers of top-lofty
patricians died as they caught the warning gleam in his eyes.

As the twain moved towards the dais, the whole assembly fell on its
knees. Leo gravely conducted his mother to the seat on the right, then
mounted the central throne. At a sign from the arch-herald all the
hierarchies began chanting their formal acclamations:

    "Ten thousand years to Leo Augustus!
    Ten thousand years to his most venerable parent!
    Ten thousand years to the bulwark of the Romans!
    Ten thousand years to the saviour of Constantinople!"

Then standing once more, the great array began intoning together:

    "O Leo Augustus, have compassion upon your people!
    O Leo Augustus, give heed to the prayer of the Romans!
    O Leo Augustus, make this day eternally joyful!
    O Leo Augustus, give a Basilissa to the Empire!"

The chanting paused. The imperial head was gravely nodded, and a little
more tumultuously the hierarchies answered with another resounding "Ten
thousand years!"

Next the arch-herald, standing forth, announced a long list of honours
and promotions suitable for such a time, and the happy recipients came
forward, prostrated themselves before the throne, kissed the hem of the
purple and received each a gracious sign from triumphant majesty. Then
followed a hush. "Now the bride-choosing," trembled along the galleries
as the Emperor rose from his throne. But Leo turned not to the right,
but to the left, where a saffron curtain hung opposite its blue
counterpart. His voice rose clear and strong:

"Noble among the Romans, before the act of joy an act of justice!

"This day we celebrate not merely the Nativity of Our Blessed Lord. The
bravery of the men, valiant and loyal, who turned back the Saracen, many
at the cost of their lives, who can recompense? Nevertheless, except for
one great thing vouchsafed by Heaven for our aid, whether we could have
flung back the Hagarines, the Most High knoweth, not me. You know what
smote the invaders with fiery death. You know also that, from reasons of
high policy, we have concealed the name of the inventor of that Maritime
Fire which enabled your Emperor to save your daughters from dishonour,
your sons from Infidel bondage. How now, at length, shall the Roman
Basileus reward the man who has made every subject of the Empire
eternally his debtor?"

Many voices rose from the great officials, and presently above them all
that of Artavasdos, the High Strategos: "Sacred Clemency, let this man
be named full patrician, though he prove an Armenian horse boy. Let his
family share his rank. Let him take ten days of tribute from the entire
city."

A salvo of applause and shouting swept over the assembly. Women leaned
from the galleries, cheered and shook out bright veils. The patricians
themselves seemed loudest in their approval. Leo silenced the whole hall
with a gesture.

"So be it, Serenities and Sublimities. But know you that already we have
proffered this man wealth. He has disdained it. The proffer of rank
will, I fear me, bring him no greater pleasure. Nevertheless, that the
Roman Empire and its sovran may not seem to the world ungrateful, let
the will of this exalted company be done. Honour this man. Behold
Kallinikos, sage and philosopher, inventor of the fire, saviour of
Constantinople!"

The saffron curtain parted. Guarded and half supported by Michael stood
Kallinikos, in abject bewilderment, facing the glittering company. He
had been clothed in a rich, dark robe and a golden chain had been hung
about his neck, but if he comprehended half of what was being said and
done it was fortunate! His eye wandered pathetically over the mosaics
and galleries while Leo's voice sounded again:

"Very Magnificent Kallinikos, we know that you are privileged to dwell
in a noble world of mind wherein such honours as we can bestow are but
as inconvenient vanities. Nevertheless, understand that in the name of
the Roman Empire we thank you for that power of brain which succoured us
in our mortal extremity. Herewith we declare you and all your
descendants patricians of New Rome, sharing in every privilege of the
most illustrious houses, and whatever you shall desire of material
wealth our Count of the Sacred Largesses shall make haste to supply."

"Ten thousand years to Kallinikos! Ten thousand years to the inventor of
the fire!" pealed from hall and galleries, while Maurice Dukas muttered
contentedly to a friend: "How lucky! One foot in the grave! He'll never
be our rival for political favour. But to think that such an apparently
useless pedant could ever have invented _that_!"

Kallinikos looked about him in absolute helplessness. The Supreme
Chamberlain approached, bowed profoundly, and cast over him the white
silk dalmatic with purple tabards, the insignia of his new rank. The
hall again thundered with applause. Then, to the philosopher's infinite
relief, the saffron curtain was replaced and he was released from the
ordeal of curious eyes. Michael later reported that his first words
were, "Now take me back to my 'Myriobiblion.'"

But as the saffron veil returned the arch-herald stepped before the
throne: "It has pleased his Sacred Clemency to take a bride according
to the wishes of his people and in the manner signified in the
proclamation made in Hagia Sophia. When the blue veil is withdrawn the
nine candidates--not eight, as by erroneous report--will stand before
the Emperor and this exalted assembly. The Emperor will pass before
each, and when, according to his august pleasure, he has inspected all
the nine, he will proclaim his choice, calling aloud her name and
placing in her hands a golden apple. The company will then be permitted
to adore the new Sacred Majesty the Basilissa Consort, and she shall be
forthwith consecrated and crowned in Hagia Sophia and then married to
his Sacred Clemency."

From the many windows in the great dome of the Golden Hall the sunbeams
now poured with full power upon the blue curtain. Once more the
clarions. Amid absolute hush the veil was parted. Against a background
of dull gold stood the nine candidates, each in shimmering white, their
faces seeming whiter than their garments. They were stationed about a
foot apart, and were as motionless as the mosaic saints. After a moment
the galleries, at least, began to point and whisper: "Euphoria Boilas,
yes--and we recognize her, and her, but who is _she_, the third from the
end--the girl with the short, thick hair, between Antonia Bringas and
Gregoria Maniakes?" ...

... Anthusa had witnessed her father's promotion as one can witness
marvellous things in dreams. She knew that one slight snap within her
head would send her senses reeling. A curious feeling of detachment
possessed her. She seemed to be standing afar off, looking down upon
herself, admiring her own calmness. Life, death, judgment, eternity--all
were passing before her. With even amusement she knew that Gregoria, at
her right, was trying to suppress a hysterical laugh; that Antonia
Bringas was turning so deathly pale she was like to collapse, fainting.
Lo, at length the Emperor, in victorious pride, was descending from the
central throne. In his hand was a softly gleaming ball--the golden
apple. The hall was absolutely still: women leaned from the balconies,
their whole souls in their eyes; the Empress-Mother had risen, and was
standing on the edge of the dais, in unconcealed excitement, following
the motions of her son; far up in the dome, outside the windows, one
could even hear the twitter of two contending sparrows.

Now the Emperor was drawing nigh: he was approaching Euphoria Boilas.
That haughty patricianess, of wont so bold, held down her head and
flushed an intense scarlet. Leo looked at her fully and deliberately,
with kindly penetrating eyes, as if seeking not outward charm, but the
beauty of the inner spirit. He glanced without ogling, without
impertinence, yet every maiden felt her comeliness shrivel under his
dispassionate apprizing gaze. Anthusa imagined that he would speak to
each candidate, would at least draw out the tones of her voice and test
her manner of speech. Not so: Leo passed to the next, and then the next
without a word. Before Theophano Dukas, his stay was perchance a trifle
briefer, the knitting of his brows more severe. Now he was before
Antonia Bringas, now before Anthusa herself.

She did not wince, but looked calmly, bravely into his face. His own
glance seemed at first as impassive as that vouchsafed the others, then
flitted across lips and forehead a sign, humorous, quizzical, rejoicing,
as if charged with boyish delight in triumphant mischief. "Tarry an
instant, all is well!" she knew he had all but said. Yet now he was
gazing fixedly upon Gregoria Maniakes, and now upon the last candidate,
Pulcheria Skleros.

Suddenly the Emperor turned towards the Golden Hall. One thought ran
instantaneously through the breathless assembly--how was it conceivable
that the coldly calculating vanquisher of Moslemah could choose him an
Empress after so perfunctory an inspection? Was not the issue
foreordained? _Who_ was the ninth candidate?

The clarions blew a mighty blast. Still in her dreams, as if hearkening
from afar off, Anthusa caught Leo's voice rising ever louder as became
the captain over myriads:

"Magnificoes of the Romans, we have summoned hither eight of these noble
maidens because we desired that all their lives they might have the
knowledge, 'If Leo the Basileus had not already chosen as men should
choose, according to honest love, by my birth and by my beauty I might
well have been his bride.' But inasmuch as your Sovran cannot honour one
of these damsels without seeming to prefer her paternal house above its
peers, and inasmuch as already long ere God called us to this great
office, He had given us His noblest earthly gift, the love undefiled for
a woman beautiful, wise and good, hearken now to our will.

"We have vowed to take a bride from among the daughters of the
patricians. That vow we execute. This hour we have exalted to the
Patriciate, Kallinikos, inventor of the delivering fire. The honours we
have proffered are to him but dross. The honours we thrust upon one of
his dearest will form a duty and not a joy. What the new Empress of the
Romans has suffered in her own person to save this city and Empire shall
soon be published in every village from Armenia to Sicily, while across
the years her modesty, piety and womanly virtue, no less than her
loveliness, will shed glory upon the Sacred Palace. Leo, the peasant's
son, raised by God and the voice of the people to deliver and restore
this Christian Empire, beseeches her to share with him that splendour,
which, by the awfulness of its burdens, is too great for any man alone
to bear."

Leo turned once more. Yet again pealed the clarions, blowing with
ascending power. In Anthusa's hands he was placing the Golden Apple. But
she felt nothing, knew nothing save that close now, under its gold and
pearls, his strong and loving face, wreathed with rejoicing smiles, was
looking into hers. Then he released her hand an instant. Far out into
the wide hall went his great voice, as when he had summoned his hosts to
war:

"The Grace of Heaven and the Good Fortune of the Roman Empire attend for
ever upon the daughter of Kallinikos. _Ten thousand years to Anthusa
Maria Augusta, Christ-loving Basilissa of the Romans, the Beauty of the
Purple!_"

All the Golden Hall saw her white body sway, and the Emperor catch her
in his arms and, unafraid, press his lips to hers, but the plaudits,
which made the high dome quake, drowned the words now heard by him
alone:

"_My_ Emperor, I am too weak to do that which I should. I am too weak to
say you, 'Nay!'"

       *       *       *       *       *

Anthusa did not faint, but when next she truly knew anything she was in
an antechamber of the Golden Hall and Kasia was ecstatically kissing
her.

"The boy would have it so." The little woman was laughing wildly. "He
said he would not have you until he could put all Constantinople agog,
and snip off every magpie's tongue, once and for ever. Oh, but it was
hard to keep Fergal from telling Sophia, and harder still to keep quiet
myself! Michael and Agneia helped, but Leo planned it all. He's a good
lad, if I do say it; and you will be good to him, and never grow ashamed
of his strange old mother."

A little later Anthusa had recovered enough to be conducted to the
throne at the Emperor's left hand, and first all the patricians and then
all the patricianesses from the galleries were permitted to kiss the
hem of her white robe before they clothed her with the purple. All knelt
very humbly, but when it came Theophano Dukas' turn she cowered and
shook with sobs:

"O Sacred Majesty, what have I done? I have treated you like a beast! If
I had only known! Forgive! Forgive!"

Whereat the devil for once entered into Anthusa's heart. She answered
with condescension supreme: "All past trifles are forgiven, my good
damsel. It shall soon be our peculiar care to find you a suitable
husband--that is, considering your station." ...

... Then the Patriarch crowned the new Empress in Hagia Sophia as "The
Beauty of the Purple," and in the palace Church of St. Stephen she and
Leo were made man and wife.

In a thousand books it is written how Leo the Isaurian and Anthusa
Maria, with their children after them unto the fourth generation,
reigned over the revivified Roman Empire with victory, glory and power.


THE END




EXPLANATION OF CERTAIN TERMS OFTEN USED


ARCHIMANDRITE, the head of a group of monasteries or a single very large
monastery.

BASILEUS (feminine form, _Basilissa_), regular official title of the
Emperors of Greek-speaking Roman Empire.

CAIQUE, modern name for the gondola-like boats used in the Bosphorus.

DESPOTES (feminine form, _despoina_), "master" or "mistress"; used by
Greek slaves or as title of servile respect.

HAGIA (masculine form, _Hagios_), "Holy" or "Saint"; as _Hagia
Sophia_ = "Holy Wisdom," _Hagia Eirene_ = "Holy Peace."

HEGUMEN (feminine form, _Hegumena_), the ordinary head of a convent or
nunnery, corresponding to the abbot or abbess of a Western monastic
establishment; of slightly lower rank than archimandrite.

KYRIOS (feminine form, _Kyria_), "gentleman," "sir," or "lady," a
regular form of polite address in Christian Constantinople.

KAID, officer in the Saracen army with rank approximately of "colonel."

LOGOTHETE, imperial secretary of state or other high civil official
under the Later Roman Empire.

PANAGIA, literally "All Holy Lady" = the Holy Virgin.

PATRICIAN, the highest order of the Later Roman Nobility, including,
besides all the _logothetes_, the heads of the greatest of the
aristocratic houses of Constantinople.

PROTOSTRATOR, a Later Roman military officer with substantially the rank
of "colonel."

SENATOR, a general title of nobility held by about all the Later Roman
aristocracy who did not enjoy the higher rank of Patrician. There were
many other ornamental titles, such as "Consul" which had lost most of
their original meaning.

SEYID (feminine form, _Sitt_), Arabic title of extreme respect = "Lord" or
"Lady."

SPATHARIOS, imperial aide-de-camp, a high officer in the Later Roman
army, but below the rank of _strategos_.

STRATEGOS, a general of the Later Roman army, usually combining the
duties of commanding a _theme_ of regular troops with those of acting as
civil governor of the district in which those troops were stationed.

THEME, a term meaning alike a province of the Later Roman Empire, _e.g._
Armenia, Anatolia, or Thrace, and also the body of regular troops
stationed therein. The _themesmen_ were these troops of the line
(especially heavy cavalry), who were heirs to the military traditions
and discipline of the old Roman legionaries.






[End of The Beauty of the Purple, by William Stearns Davis]
