Chapter XXII: Changes and Chances

“Now, how’s that?” asked the surgeon, standing in front of Wylie and looking at him triumphantly.

“Oh, gorgeous in the extreme,” was the languid reply. “Makes one feel that a quiet grave would be preferable, don’t you know.”

“Don’t talk about graves,” said the surgeon, with unexpected fierceness. “Pluck up a little spirit, man! If you can’t stand being dressed and put into a chair, how will you manage to receive visitors?”

“What visitors?” with a faint show of interest.

“Well, one visitor--whom I imagine you’ll be glad to see.”

“I hope,” said Wylie slowly, “that you haven’t let any nonsense I may have talked when I was off my head----”

“Oh, don’t be afraid. I am discretion itself.”

“I hope you have not given any one the trouble of coming here because you thought I wanted to see them?”

“Certainly not,” retorted the surgeon. “The reason I invited ‘them’ was because I thought you didn’t want to see them, of course. I’m glad you have modesty enough not to imagine that ‘they’ wanted to see you. Anyhow, you need only look as sick and sorry as you do now, and they’ll never want to see you again. Now do, for the sake of my professional reputation, try to assume some faint resemblance to a smile, even if you feel it not!”

“Oh, shut up!” groaned the patient.

“Well, it’s not my fault if you don’t appreciate your blessings. Here, drink this, and I’ll give you ten minutes or so to practise an amiable expression in. Think you’re going to be photographed. ‘I know it’s difficult, but try to look pleasant,’ you know.”

The doctor had spoken with calculated guile, for it was only two or three minutes after leaving his patient that he returned, ushering Zoe up the verandah steps. To his great satisfaction, he saw Wylie’s face light up as she went forward, her eyes suspiciously bright, and shook hands with him.

“Now you may have a quarter of an hour,” he said; “but mind, no getting out of that chair. No experiments in walking by way of showing the Princess how much better you are--you understand? I don’t want testimonials of that sort.”

He ran down the steps, and Wylie and Zoe were left alone. He turned to her quickly.

“You are in mourning. Who is it? not your brother?”

“Oh no, not Maurice. But it is--dear little Con.”

“Not really? Poor little chap! I’m awfully sorry. How was it? Did he get hurt?”

“He must have been struck by one of the pieces of stone when that bullet hit the rock, and it killed him at once. He was dead when Eirene carried him all the way to Ephestilo. She guessed, but she wouldn’t let herself believe it.”

“What awful trouble for you both! I say, I am sorry,” said Wylie, with awkward reiteration. “Poor thing! it must nearly have killed her.”

“I think she would have died if it had not been for--what happened afterwards,” said Zoe. “She sat in the corner of the Admiral’s cabin with Con in her arms, and wouldn’t give him up, saying that she knew he wasn’t dead, and he would be all right if they would only leave him to her. She wouldn’t listen to any one, and it was a whole day and night before she would even let me take him. But that was because a messenger had come off to say that Maurice was dangerously wounded--they feared mortally--and she must come at once. At first she wouldn’t go. She said she had killed Maurice’s son, and that she didn’t dare to meet him, and that her ambition had brought disaster on them both, and if she went to Maurice, he would die too. She talked of going into a convent and praying for Maurice, and never seeing him again--and all the time the boat was waiting to take her on shore. It was the Admiral who got her to see reason at last. Oh, he is a good man, and so wise! He asked her how she dared add to the sorrow she had brought on Maurice by refusing to go to him when he wanted her, and said she would show her repentance much better by nursing him than by keeping away and praying for him. Then he turned to me--so suddenly that I almost jumped--and snapped out, ‘Do you get on your things and go ashore at once. If Teffany’s wife forsakes him, at least he has a sister.’ It was most frightfully clever,--horribly incongruous, you know,--but he had read Eirene like a book. She cried out, ‘His wife has not forsaken him! How dare you say so?’ and she let me take poor Con out of her arms, and she went.”

“And you had to stay?” asked Wylie pityingly.

Zoe nodded. “I promised her that I would see to everything if she would go. I knew Maurice wanted her more than me, of course.”

“And was the little chap buried at sea?”

“No, Eirene wanted the Orthodox service. It was at Skandalo, and there were horrible difficulties about it. Perhaps the Roumis made themselves unpleasant, I don’t know--or perhaps the people only thought the Roumis wouldn’t like one of us to be buried there. We were stopped by a mob before we reached the cemetery, and the Admiral’s flag-lieutenant had to go and parley with the priests. The sailors were very angry, and wanted to burn the church down, but at last they let us through peaceably. It was in the corner farthest from the church, and I believe they had to buy the piece of ground outright. I know they have hoisted the Union Jack on it, and they keep a sentry there, so it is not Emathian ground after all.”

“Poor little Con! that he should be the one to suffer--the first, at least!” murmured Wylie. “But your brother--what had happened to him?”

“He was parleying with the Roumis--Jalal-ud-din himself came out to meet him. Maurice had both the Maxims mounted to sweep the path, and the men well posted, so we really had something to offer, for he could have killed hundreds of the Roumis before they could have reached the position. But while the parley was actually going on, the Roumis got round behind somewhere--no, I don’t think it can have been treachery, for what good could it have done any one on our side to destroy all chance of surrender?--and they fired suddenly into our men. Maurice turned round when he heard the noise, and that abominable old wretch Jalal-ud-din struck at him with his sword. He tried to stagger back to his men, but the Roumis rushed forward and began a regular butchery. In the middle of it the contingents which Admiral Essiter had sent arrived, and it was only by threatening to fire on the Roumis that they got them to stop. They had to stay up there, for all sorts of outrages were happening, and they are still holding the ridge from the monastery to Karakula. When they were moving the bodies, they found Maurice under a heap of dead, all trampled--and slashed--and--and horribly wounded. He was just alive, but they didn’t think he could live even till Eirene came. But he is alive still--just alive--and she is nursing him at Skandalo. Of course they can’t tell him about Con, and sometimes he asks for him. Eirene never leaves him. She won’t even let me take charge of him while she rests--but I don’t believe she ever does rest. Sometimes I think she is trying to atone, and sometimes that she wants to die, so as not to have to tell him. But she won’t let me stay with him.”

“And so you have time to waste on me?” Zoe started and looked at him suspiciously, but there was not in his voice the hardness she had learnt to dread. “Tell me, am I a very lamentable object? I can’t help seeing the tears in your eyes when you look at me--and I don’t like to think I am making you cry.”

“Oh no, it’s nothing of that sort,” said Zoe, jumping up and going to the edge of the verandah. “I think you do your doctor great credit.”

“Then what is it?”

“You really mustn’t ask so many questions,” she said desperately. She stood with her back to him, but he saw her dash for her handkerchief. “Do you know,” with a gallant attempt to be arch and cheerful, “that I had to tell them--make them believe--let them think that you and I were engaged before they would let me come to see you?” She turned hurriedly towards the steps.

“Zoe!” his voice arrested her, and she paused reluctantly, still with her back to him. “Zoe, come back--please come back. If you don’t, I shall get up.”

“Oh, you mustn’t!” The terrible threat brought her back at once, and he captured her hand.

“Dear, I would never have asked you to do it, but if you are willing to stand by me and help me now, I can only be grateful.”

“Only?” she said, but the tears flowed again, and spoiled the effect of the question. She brushed them away hastily. “Willing to help you--what a thing to ask!” she said. “I was only afraid you would not let yourself be helped.”

He drew her down into the chair beside him, and kissed the hand he held. “Now tell me what the trouble is,” he said.

A shudder ran through her. “Oh, don’t ask me!” she cried. “Let us be happy together just for this short time.”

“It is better to know. Tell me, dear, or---- No, it is a shame to ask you. You would rather I got the doctor to tell me?”

“No, no; I will tell you----” but she could not go on.

“I must guess, then. Well, am I to be shot to-morrow?”

“Oh no, no! How can you?”

“To be shot, then, but not to-morrow?”

“Oh, don’t! I’ll tell you. Admiral Essiter and the Neustrian and Magnagrecian Admirals have got into dreadful trouble for the action they took, especially for stopping the massacre. Oh, I don’t suppose it’s called that, but that’s what it means,--the Roumis have complained, and ranged the other three Powers against them. Scythia and Pannonia and Hercynia are threatening to withdraw from the Concert,--I should think it would get on much better without them, but at this moment England and Neustria and Magnagrecia are on their knees to them to stay. Hercynia has even recalled its old ship already. Admiral Essiter says it is only to get a relief crew really, but they pretend that it is a token of haughty displeasure, of course.”

“And where do I come in?”

“Why, the line the Roumis take is that as the Admirals stepped in and prevented their massacre--their policy of unconditional surrender, I mean--the Admirals must see that they get what they demanded at first.”

“Ah, the leaders of the insurgents are to be given up, you mean?”

“Yes, that’s what they want; and at present all are safe, you see--you, and Maurice, and Lord Armitage, who is a prisoner on board the Pannonian flagship, and Prince Romanos----”

“Do they insist on the Admirals bringing him back from the dead?”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you; he is not dead, of course. He was wounded and left for dead, but a Greek from his own island found him--at least, that is the story--and smuggled him away into Dardania. The Prince and Princess are looking after him, and Professor Panagiotis is hanging on his words, and making Europe ring with the history of our blockade. But he has made Europe ring so often, and it doesn’t seem to do any good. And Prince Romanos, who did so much harm by his rashness, is safe with friends, and you and Maurice are prisoners, and any moment the Government may order the Admiral to hand you over to the Roumis----”

“But there’s also the chance that the British Government may develop a certain amount of backbone, and refuse.”

“You mustn’t count upon it;” Zoe’s tears started afresh. “Scythia is frightfully bitter against us, and she eggs the others on. They say she refuses to consider any further measures until the prisoners have been given up. And oh, do you know, Admiral Essiter says that after the Therma massacres the Powers were practically agreed on giving Emathia a constitution and releasing her from Roum, but that while they were quarrelling as to whom they should choose for Prince we went to Hagiamavra, and they all withdrew their assent? They say they can’t allow reforms to be extorted by violence. So we really have done harm.”

“At least we did the best we knew how,” said Wylie wearily. “Don’t trouble about it, dear. You have told me the worst now, and thinking won’t make it any better. So we’ll forget it, do you see, and simply be happy. You will come to see me as often as they let you, and then I shall be happy, and I’ll try to make you happy. And as for the times between--why, the first half of them I shall be busy remembering what you said and how you looked, and the last half I shall be wondering what you will say and how you will look the next time, and you can’t imagine how quickly it will pass. There’s the doctor whistling vigorously! Tell me quick--do you agree?”

“Oh!” sighed Zoe, “if you had only been like this before!”

“Ah, I’m weak and broken in spirit now, you see. No, dearest, forgive me. I have been a brute, but I want to leave you a happy hour or two to remember. Doctor, you promised us a quarter of an hour.”

“And you have had thirty-five minutes,” said the surgeon. “Well, I’m glad to see you seem to have profited by it. He was quite restive at the thought of a visitor, Princess, but he looks much better now.”

He escorted Zoe down to the quay and saw her on board the pinnace, returning for a farewell visit to Wylie and the other sick and wounded insurgents who were in extemporised hospital quarters at Ephestilo.

“You’re a lucky chap,” he said, looking at Wylie narrowly as he spoke.

“I know I am,” was the hearty reply, “and I’ll stick to it even if the luck ends to-morrow.”

“Princess Zoe has been telling secrets, I see.”

“I made her. It’s better to know. Did you think I couldn’t stand it? If one is to be offered up as a sacrifice to the unity of Europe, one may as well be aware of the honour.”

“It’s awfully rough on you and your Prince--the Englishman who calls himself a Greek, I mean; not the flyaway chap that came aboard with you off Skandalo.”

“No,” said Wylie doggedly. “We knew what we were in for, and took the risk, but it is rough on the women.”

“There’s no one you could get to come here to look after them, I suppose, in case----?”

“Not a soul, I’m afraid. What about Armitage?”

“His case comes under the Foreign Enlistment Act, I believe. He doesn’t seem to have offered armed resistance.”

“Still, he won’t be free to do anything, I imagine. Well, after all, your Admiral will see that no harm happens to them, and if they wish to stay to the end--it would comfort them, I suppose--how could we object just because it made it worse for us?”

“They won’t make it worse for you,” said the surgeon with conviction. “They have grit, those two. Why, the way Princess Zoe came--no, I forgot; it was not to be mentioned.”

That the slip was premeditated Wylie could hardly doubt, but he could not bring himself to let it pass. “You don’t mean that she saw me when I was ill?” he said.

“Since you ask, I do. But don’t tell her that I gave her away, or I shall get into trouble.”

“How could you bother her about me? It’s disgusting.”

“Because you did nothing but call out for her, if you must know, and beg her to forgive you. Nothing I could do would make you leave off, and at last I thought she might at any rate help you to die quietly. There was a norther blowing, so she could not get round from Skandalo by boat, but she came across on a mule, and she and I sat up with you a whole night. You didn’t know her, but her being there kept you quiet and gave you your chance. Don’t look so sick. Most men would feel some slight approach to gratitude.”

“What is it to you what I feel?” demanded Wylie, so fiercely that the doctor jumped. “No, don’t go off like that. If I am savage, just try to realise what it feels like to have coals of fire not merely heaped, but simply shovelled, on your head.”

“Ah, I see!” said the surgeon sagely, and Wylie was left to his own meditations. When Zoe came again, two days later, he had been promoted to sitting up for the greater part of the morning, and he informed her of the improvement with pride. She told him in return that Maurice had recognised Eirene, and had been able to answer questions, but neither his good news nor her own seemed to have much effect upon her mood. She moved about the verandah, talking restlessly, and Wylie saw the brightness of unshed tears in her eyes. It was not until he hinted that the task of following her movements was bad for his head that she came, full of compunction, to sit down beside him.

“If I asked you to promise me something, would you do it?” she asked impulsively, with her hand in his.

“Not without knowing what it was.”

“Not even for me?”

“Not even for you. Would you if I asked for a promise?”

“That’s different. You would be sure to want something horrid, while I only want what is for your good. You have nothing to thank the British Government for--nothing----”

“Only my life--so far.”

“That’s Admiral Essiter, not the Government. They are keeping you prisoner here, with sentries outside, and calmly discussing whether they shall hand you over to be killed--and yet I know you wouldn’t escape if I found a way for you.”

“What would you propose?”

“Oh, you don’t mean that you would?” she cried joyfully. “I have so many plans. They keep suggesting themselves all day and night. And some of the officers would help, I am sure--Mr Cotway, at any rate, and Mr Suter----”

“And you would let Cotway ruin his career?”

“But it is for you--for your life,” said Zoe, with an unconscious selfishness which she recognised when she had uttered the words. “He would wish to do it, rather than connive at a national disgrace,” she added quickly. “They all say it would be that. Mr Suter said he should throw up his commission if it happened.”

“My dear girl, you really mustn’t lead these unfortunate youths into romantic pitfalls of this kind. Has nobody told you that I am on parole here? I gave my word as soon as I was able to sit up. The sentry whose presence you resent so much is really only here for my protection, in case of any kind attentions from our Roumi friends.”

“Of course I have never suggested it to any of them,” said Zoe, after a moment’s stunned silence. “I meant to have the plan all ready, and to get your consent, before I sounded Mr Cotway. But I knew you wouldn’t do it. It’s just like Maurice. Eirene wanted him to pretend to be dead, and let himself be carried away in a coffin, to be buried at home--I suggested it to her--but he wouldn’t. And the Powers go on talking and talking--and the Roumis are getting frightfully aggressive--and everything----”

“Aggressive in demanding that we should be given up, do you mean?”

“Yes--and that the Admirals should withdraw their landing-parties. They say it is the presence of the European forces that is keeping Southern Emathia in a ferment, of course, and that Jalal-ud-din could pacify the province in a week if he had it to himself.”

“In the good old way, I presume. But, Zoe, I didn’t understand that the Admirals were actually occupying the peninsula. I thought they had Red Cross camps here and at Skandalo under the protection of the ships’ guns, and just a few armed sailors as sentries.”

Zoe looked astonished. “Oh no,” she said; “there is a joint European occupation--at least, on behalf of England and Neustria and Magnagrecia. The Roumis have garrisons at Skandalo and Karakula, and an entrenched camp near the monastery, but the Admirals are administering everything. That is what makes the Roumis so angry. You see, the expelled Mohammedans want to come back, but the Therma refugees are in their farms, and daren’t return to their own homes, so that there is an immense amount of pacification to be done.”

“Jalal-ud-din is pressing the return of the Mohammedans, and the Admirals are watching over the interests of the refugees?” said Wylie. “It seems to me that we were not the only people who rushed in where angels fear to tread. To snatch the Roumis’ prey from them when they were flushed with victory----”

“Oh, that is what makes the other Powers so angry with our Admirals,” said Zoe carelessly. “There have been riots at Therma, and Europeans were attacked in the streets. All the Consulates are guarded by troops.”

“Roumi troops?”

“No, troops of the different nationalities. A detachment of Highlanders is looking after Sir Frank Francis.”

“And the Powers are still talking? Zoe, if Admiral Essiter will take a word of advice from a condemned criminal, give him this message from me. Unless the Powers withdraw from Hagiamavra in a day or two, and give us up, look out for trouble. Let him get reinforcements from Malta, Egypt, anywhere he can, or the next Therma massacre will be of Europeans, not of Emathian Christians.”

“But do you really think there is danger? Every one says that the Roumis are getting insolent and talking big, but that it only needs a warship or two at Therma to make them sing small. And all sorts of people are coming here to see the sites of our battles, as if it was a show-place--horrid smart people, you know, flirting and having picnics where our men were killed. The Princess Dowager of Dardania is at Skandalo. I asked her to receive me, because I thought she might be some help, and she was very gracious, but she would promise nothing. She has Donna Olimpia Pazzi with her instead of her own lady-in-waiting, who she says got homesick and had to be sent back to Dardania. The girl looked at me with such an evil eye that I was glad to take the opportunity of mentioning about you and me, you know, so that she might see there was no need to be afraid for her dear Romanos. The Princess quite beamed when she heard it----”

“Zoe, do you know what they call that woman all over Europe? The Stormy Petrel! I should have thought something was brewing even if you hadn’t told me of the trouble in Therma. Give my message to the Admiral at the first possible moment, or you will be sorry for it all your life.”