Chapter XXIII: An Unholy Compact

The lady whom Wylie had designated as the Stormy Petrel was sitting in her private room in the house she had taken at Skandalo, busied, as was usually the case in her hours of retirement, with the arrears of an enormous correspondence. The mental activity of Ottilie, Princess of Dardania, had increased, rather than diminished, with the passage of years, and she had a finger in many obscure and incongruous pies, besides taking a prominent part in all the more obvious developments of standing political intrigue. The power, or the semblance of it, which she thus gained was the sole joy of her life, and its one drawback was the European reputation she enjoyed, which had a tendency to scatter all the elements of a promising conspiracy as soon as she began to show an interest in it. In Balkan affairs, however, she had, as it were, a prescriptive right to take part, and many exalted personages looked to her for their views on the subject. It was her boast that she never employed a secretary. Every letter addressed to her was opened by herself, and only unimportant epistles were handed over to be dealt with by her lady-in-waiting. The post of this attendant was no sinecure, and Donna Olimpia Pazzi, who was at present filling it, looked pale and tired when she entered her mistress’s presence.

“Madame Theophanis desires to know whether you will receive her, madame,” she said.

“_Princess_ Theophanis, my child. Who are we that we should remind the unfortunate of their fallen condition?” The Princess spoke in a clear raised tone, not without a suspicion of mockery, calculated to penetrate into the anteroom beyond. “Beg her to give herself the trouble of entering.”

Donna Olimpia hesitated, then came close up to the writing-table. “When will you allow me to return to Bashi Konak, madame?” she asked hurriedly, almost inaudibly.

The Princess frowned. “You must not be unreasonable. I thought you agreed with me that it was safer you should not return while Prince Christodoridi remained at the Palace?”

“Yes, madame, but---- Oh, you cannot tell what I suffer! You know him, yet not as I do. What fresh object may have captivated his fancy--at whose shrine----”

“Olimpia, this is childish.” The Princess spoke with severity. “I have promised that all shall be well if you take my advice. Would you wreck your whole future by this untimely jealousy? Be content: Prince Romanos will love you much better when he meets you again after a few weeks’ separation than if he had enjoyed your society the whole time.”

The girl shook like an aspen as the Princess, leaning back in her chair, watched with artistic pleasure the effect of the taunt. “We are keeping Princess Theophanis waiting most cruelly. Will you be good enough to bring her in, or must I go myself?” The tone cut like a knife.

“Pardon, madame!” murmured Donna Olimpia, retreating helplessly. In another moment she ushered in Eirene, looking haggard and wasted in her deep mourning. The Dowager Princess met her and kissed her affectionately, uttering little cooing sentences of condolence until the lady-in-waiting had retired, closing the door behind her. Then her manner changed.

“We will not waste time,” she said.

“No, I can’t wait,” said Eirene nervously. “I have snatched these few minutes while my sister-in-law is at Ephestilo, and Admiral Essiter’s surgeon is sitting with my husband. I was obliged to come when you sent word that you, and you alone, could show me how to save his life.”

“Exactly. You are wise. You realise that if Scythia, Pannonia, and Hercynia continue to support Roum in demanding the surrender of the insurgent leaders, the British Government will yield? I have a great admiration for your British Government; it always knows when to submit. And that ‘when,’ in this case, will be about the beginning of next week.”

“So I feared,” murmured Eirene, with dry lips.

“Therefore, if anything is to be done, it must be done at once.”

“Yes, yes; I know.”

“You understand that I am not here as a philanthropist? You are prepared to pay a price for your husband’s life?”

“I would give mine if you asked it.”

“Ah, that, I fear, has little marketable value. But would you give your ambition, madame?”

Eirene paused before answering. The words seemed to be wrung from her at last. “Yes. I have no child now, to suffer.”

“‘The children born of thee are fire and sword’”--the words, applied to herself many years before, came to the Princess’s lips, but she repressed them. “I am glad to see you are able to take a common-sense view of the matter. Then, on that assurance, I will put affairs in train.”

“But won’t you tell me what it is you want me to do?” urged Eirene, as the Princess turned again to her writing-table. “I am to renounce our rights, of course--my husband’s and mine----”

“I have not said so.” The Princess looked round. “What you will renounce is the right of independent action. You will act as is suggested to you; I can tell you no more at present. Of course you will have the right to refuse the terms when they are submitted for your acceptance, if you prefer it. In that case, naturally, I can do no more, and I shall not be the person responsible for the death of a very worthy, if misguided, young man, who was unfortunate enough to take the advice of his wife rather than of older and wiser heads.”

“Madame, you will break my heart!” panted Eirene.

“Oh no, you mistake. If you should discover that your duty to your ambition compelled you to sacrifice the life of your husband, then your heart might break, but I think not. You would be upheld by a sense of the stern nobility of your attitude, surely? Then farewell, dear madame. I shall see you again soon? My kindest remembrances to your brave husband. Olimpia!”

Ushered out of the Princess’s presence, Eirene stood for a moment as if dazed. The two cavasses from Therma, allotted to her partly as guard, partly as spies upon her movements, gathered themselves up lazily from the most comfortable resting-places they could find in front of the house, and the sight of them recalled her to herself. Hastily she picked her way back to the building where Maurice lay under guard, up one steep street and down another, an incongruous figure with her black attire and burning eyes among the many-coloured and abounding life that thronged them. Sailors from the fleets jostled the sight-seeing tourists of whom Zoe had spoken to Wylie, and the inhabitants of the town were making hay while the sun shone as zealously under the Roumi flag as when the Imperial ensign had floated over their roofs. Nothing was changed in their busy, money-making existence, everything in the life of the lonely woman who passed among them like a reproachful ghost.

* * * * * * * *

“Eirene,” said Zoe, coming in one morning from marketing, “something dreadful must be happening at Therma. I met Captain Bryson rushing down to the quay, and he says all the warships are ordered there at once, leaving only the _Dorinda_ on guard here. Street-fighting, he said, with the Roumi troops siding with the mob.”

“I thought that was just what Graham Wylie prophesied,” said Eirene, without interest.

“Yes, but I don’t believe he thought it would begin so soon. Oh, I wonder whether the Admiral took his advice about asking for reinforcements! I told him that very evening, but he only looked at me in that pitying, smiling way he has, and wouldn’t say anything. Eirene, you look frightfully tired. Do go out and get a breath of air, and let me sit with Maurice a little.”

“I am not tired----” began Eirene, but through the open door behind Zoe she caught sight of a man approaching the house--the Princess Dowager’s Dardanian servant, in all the bravery of the snowy linen and shining embroidery of his native dress, and the sashful of murderous weapons about his manly waist. In his strong brown fingers he carried a note. Zoe must not guess that the veteran intriguer was in communication with her sister-in-law, and Eirene made up her mind in an instant. “I am more tired than I thought I was,” she said languidly. “Maurice was very restless in the night. I am rather faint, I think. I will walk up the hill and back again. Oh!” as the Dardanian reached the door, “was that Maurice calling?”

Zoe fled to the sick-room, tearing off her hat as she went, and Eirene took the note from the messenger. It was very short.

“Things have come to a crisis sooner than I expected. If anything is to be done, it must be to-day.--O.”

“I will come,” she said, and with trembling fingers tied on the black bonnet with its long fall of crape reaching to the ground, reminiscent of the court mourning of her early days in Scythia, which had made Maurice so anxious and uneasy when he caught sight of it once that the doctor had fairly driven her out of the room. Together they had concocted a myth concerning Eirene’s desire to show sympathy with the families of the slain insurgents, which the patient’s dulled brain and limited powers of asking questions had not yet been able to penetrate; but Eirene had not ventured to appear in the bonnet again in his room, though she scouted angrily the surgeon’s blunt advice that she should consider the living husband before the dead child, and defer the outward tokens of woe for the present. She did not herself realise the actual satisfaction that her depth of crape gave her; it was in accordance with her feelings and the situation, and she derived a certain mournful pleasure from it.

“I am glad you have lost no time,” said the Princess, when she was ushered into her presence. “This affair at Therma renders your husband’s position most precarious.”

“Are the rioters demanding his death?” asked Eirene, almost in a whisper.

“Rioters? This is not a riot. It is an attack by Roumi troops on the troops and Consulates of the three ‘Liberal’ Powers--the three Powers which are protecting your husband. Jalal-ud-din remains passive. The Scythian and Pannonian Consulates have so far escaped, and the Hercynian Consulate has actually been saluted by the revolted troops. There lies your danger.”

“Hercynia has always been hostile,” murmured Eirene.

“Hercynia is ranged on the side of Roum. If this outbreak is quelled, Hercynia will act as mediator between her _protégée_ and the insulted Powers, and her first duty will be to show that Roum is more sinned against than sinning. She will demand the instant surrender of the Hagiamavra leaders.”

“But they would not grant it, when Roum has allowed the Consuls to be attacked.”

“They would not, if there was a sufficiently strong party in the Concert against it. At present the Powers are three and three, and because Scythia and Pannonia and Hercynia know what they want, and England is willing to obey any one who tells her what to do, they will prevail. But if one of them is detached, England will gladly help to form a majority on the side she herself prefers.”

“And which of them is to be detached? and what is the price?”

“I will tell you presently. It is some years now since you were in Scythia, madame, but you will remember the characteristics of her diplomacy sufficiently to be sure that in the unprecedented situation arising out of your husband’s filibustering expedition she has not forgotten her own plans for the future of Emathia. For the promotion of those plans, it is necessary that Emathia should only be released from Roum to come under the rule of a Scythian nominee.”

“Your son Kazimir,” murmured Eirene involuntarily.

The Princess frowned. “We are not concerned with personalities, madame, but with facts. Let it suffice that the person chosen must be possessed of certain qualifications to which your husband cannot pretend.”

“I know,” said Eirene wearily. “And therefore he is to retire in the other person’s favour. Why not say so at once?”

“Because that is not what is required of you. Your husband is not recognised by Europe as a candidate. Therefore his withdrawal would be the private act of a private person, and have no political significance whatever. At the same time, it might have a slightly invidious appearance for Scythia suddenly to propose the virtual independence of Emathia under a prince of her choosing.”

“I can’t imagine what you want me to do.” Eirene was wearied to impatience. “Please say what it is, and let me go back to my husband. Only”--with a sudden thought--“it is no use suggesting that Maurice should become a puppet prince under the thumb of Scythia, for nothing would ever induce him to do it.”

“Dear madame, I know your husband and his prejudices. In this little matter, you and I are going to arrange things for his good, for his life’s sake”--the emphasis was significant--“without consulting him. You will believe that it is with the keenest pleasure I tell you that we shall also gratify, though, alas! only temporarily, the ambition you have cherished so long.”

“Madame,” said Eirene, with quivering lips, “my ambition is dead, and you know it. It was for my child I cherished it, and it died with him. No political success can be more than dust and ashes to me now. It is for the sake of my husband’s life, and that alone, that I listen to you.”

The Princess shrugged her shoulders slightly. “Very well, let it pass. To my suggestion, madame. If you agree, the Scythian Ambassador at Czarigrad will definitely propose your husband as Governor-General and Prince of Emathia, under the nominal sovereignty of Roum, but with the guarantee of the Powers and owning responsibility to them. The Liberal Powers will testify surprise, but will eventually joyfully agree. If a popular election is demanded--well, we all know that these things are managed somehow--he will be the person elected. I shall have the honour of paying my respects to the Princess of Emathia in the Konak at Therma.”

“And the price?”

“A mere nothing. A promise signed by your husband to resign his post, for reasons of health, when he is required to do so by Scythia.”

“He would never do it.”

“I think he would, when he knew that the document would be made public in case of his refusing.”

Eirene flushed angrily. “You know I don’t mean that!” she cried. “What Maurice promised he would do, of course. But he would never give the promise.”

“Then he will be handed over to Roum, and--shot.”

“Madame, you ask impossibilities. Why tantalise me like this? My husband would refuse the suggestion with scorn.”

“Dear madame, did I not say that you and I would arrange the matter for his good? He will sign the promise, but it is not necessary he should know what it is.”

“He would never sign it without reading it.”

“Then he must think it something different from what it is. Madame, I understand that your husband has something to forgive you. Have you not the courage, the cunning, if you will, to play a slight trick upon him for his life’s sake?”

“He would never forgive me,” said Eirene, trembling.

“He need never know, unless you tell him. Listen--the intimation that his retirement is desired shall be conveyed to you first. I will not do you the injustice to imagine that you cannot induce him--by urging ill-health on your own part, if necessary--to take a step on which you have set your heart. Once he has complied, the paper shall be handed back to you, to be dealt with as you please.”

Eirene caught at a straw. “But even if he did resign, the people would at once elect Prince Romanos Christodoridi. He is the Pannonian candidate, and the Greeks adore him.”

“My dear friend, it is quite unnecessary for you to trouble yourself about that young man. I know something about him that would make him, if I even whispered it abroad, an impossible candidate. I assure you that everything has been provided for. But I will make your task as easy as I can. The preliminary to proposing your husband as candidate must of course be the decision on the part of the Powers that he is not to be handed over to Roum--that he is, in short, a free man. This I will undertake to obtain at once, confiding in your honour. If I am able to announce to you--and events confirm it--that his life is safe, may I depend upon you to perform your part of the compact?”

“But his life is all that I want. I don’t care now about his becoming Prince.”

“But I do. As I have already pointed out, his life depends upon his being useful in the future.”

“But if I drew back then--you don’t mean----”

“I mean that if you were so foolish as to deny that you had entered into this engagement--well, it is not beyond the resources of diplomacy to discover that the illegal acts of which your husband was guilty during his occupation of Hagiamavra were such as to place him, after all, outside the pale of pardon. We are not to be played with, madame.”

“The--the pardon would cover Colonel Wylie and Lord Armitage, and all who were concerned?”

“Certainly. The Powers--except perhaps Hercynia--are not really thirsting for the blood of these obscure individuals, you know! You have decided to take action, madame--you have conceived a plan? Good! In return, then, for the assurance I trust to be able to convey to you, in two days at most, of the safety of your husband and his associates, you will deliver to me a paper signed by him, containing a solemn promise on his part to resign the Governor-Generalship of Emathia, without assigning other than private reasons, whenever he shall be required to do so by the Emperor of Scythia or his representatives, in consideration of their good offices in bringing about his release?”

“You mean to make him impossible for ever as a candidate!” cried Eirene. Then her indignation faded. “Well, it does not signify. After all, it is for his life. But wait,” her tone was full of animation once more. “It is possible that he will not be elected. Prince Romanos has many supporters. Don’t be afraid,” noticing the Princess’s expression; “Maurice shall offer himself as candidate, according to our compact, and I will do nothing and say nothing to prevent his succeeding. But if he fails, if Prince Romanos is elected, you can do what you like with him, so you have said. Therefore the paper will be of no further use to you. In that case will you give it me back?”

The Princess considered the matter. “Yes,” she said, “I think I can promise that.”

“Swear it!” cried Eirene eagerly. “You have an icon of great sanctity there, I see. Swear upon it.”

“You ask a great deal, madame.” The Princess shot an angry glance at this suppliant who was presuming to make terms with her, but she moved across to the icon and kissed it. “I swear that if Prince Christodoridi is elected, I will return the paper signed by your husband to ‘you,’” she said, with an emphasis on the pronoun which Eirene remembered afterwards. “But do not be afraid, the election will be properly managed, and our friend Apolis will have no chance.”

“I will give or send you the paper when it is certain that my husband’s life is safe,” said Eirene. “I see how it is to be done. You need not be afraid.”

She went out with a pale face and set lips, determined on betraying Maurice for his life’s sake, even arguing to herself that her action was justifiable, since it involved the loss of her own ambition. But on one point she had no illusions. Maurice would never forgive her for setting his life above his honour. She returned home, and before going into the sick-room chose out two sheets of black-edged paper and wrote two letters, arranging the sentences carefully, so that when glanced at cursorily, or seen upside-down, the wording appeared to be the same. Taking these in her hand, with several loose pieces of blotting-paper, she went into Maurice’s room.

“Hush!” came softly from Zoe, who was sitting close to the door. “He’s asleep.”

“No, I’m not,” said a weak voice from the bed. “Eirene, I think you might let Con in to-day. I feel as if I hadn’t seen him for years, and he will be quite good.”

“Oh, hush!” cried Eirene, in a voice that thrilled with pain. Then she recollected herself hurriedly. “No, Maurice, you are not strong enough yet. But I do want you to sign this letter if you feel fairly well. I want Merceda to sell out ten thousand pounds of Mr Teffany-Wise’s money, and pay it into our joint account.”

“What! not had enough adventures yet?” groaned Maurice.

“This is not an adventure; it is a most excellent thing. Zoe, you heard Admiral Essiter talking of the new idea the Constitutional Assembly have started, to police the peninsula themselves, under the Admirals?”

“Yes, but I thought you didn’t care about it,” said Zoe.

“Oh, I have been thinking about it since. They only need money, Maurice, and it would be a step to self-government. Let us lend them this ten thousand.”

“I don’t like taking such a step without consulting any one,” said Maurice.

“You can consult the Admiral before doing it. It can’t be any harm to have the money ready. And it would show that we really wished well to the people, and didn’t care about them merely as potential subjects.”

“I should like to think it over a little.”

“Oh, but I want to do it at once!” Zoe frowned as Eirene’s voice rose higher. “I have written the letter. Look, Zoe, that is all right, isn’t it? Maurice will only have to sign it. You can read it to him if you like, so as not to try his eyes.”

“Just like Eirene!” thought Zoe as she read the letter through. “Pushing her schemes exactly as usual, after all that has happened! If Eirene won’t be satisfied unless you sign it, Maurice,” she added aloud, “I suppose it can’t do much harm. You will have to sign the transfer first, and then the cheque, before she can do anything with the money.”

“Of course. I only feel that one ought to be rather careful what one does in present circumstances, for fear of adding to the Admirals’ difficulties,” said Maurice, by way of apology to his wife for Zoe’s chilling tone and dignified withdrawal to the window. “We will find out exactly what Essiter thinks before taking any further step, but as you say, it can’t hurt to have the money in the bank.”

“Do be careful, Eirene! You will be giving Maurice the blotting-paper to sign,” said Zoe sharply, as the papers fluttered from her sister-in-law’s trembling hands.

“Much more likely to spill the ink,” retorted Eirene, gathering them up, and holding one in front of Maurice with a book to keep it steady. The room was dim and his eyes weak, and neither he nor Zoe had the faintest idea that the paper to which he had laboriously scrawled his name was not the letter to the stockbroker, but the promise demanded by the Princess.