Chapter II: The Castle by the Sea

Walking onward a few paces they came to the path mentioned in the guide-book.

Few words were spoken, for Paul, knowing that his fair companion was tired, famished, and sleepy, purposely refrained from conversation.

Once, however, the silence was broken, when the lady timidly ventured to ask his name, which being given, he in turn requested the like favor from her.

"I have been taught to call myself Barbara," was her answer, which Paul could not but think was a somewhat odd way of expressing herself.

Barbara! If he had not thought it a pretty name before, he certainly thought it such now.

"And Barbara," he murmured, more to himself than to his companion, "means 'strange.'"

"I fear you will find my character correspondent."

"But you have a second name?" smiled Paul.

"Presumably, but I am in ignorance respecting it, for my parentage is unknown to me. Indeed, signor, it is true," she added sadly. "I am a mystery to myself."

Her statement filled Paul with wonder, but though desirous of learning her history he recognized that the time was scarcely yet ripe to press for confidences.

The path traversed by them formed a gradual descent, in parts so steep that Barbara would often have slipped but for Paul's strong arm. The murmur of the sea was now heard; a faint breeze blew coldly; finally emerging from the wood, they found themselves on an open grassy space shelving down to the beach.

There, distant about a hundred yards, stood the building that they sought--Castel Nuovo.

The retention of the epithet "Nuovo" was perhaps intended as a joke on the part of the Dalmatians. Like the rest of earthly things the castle must once have been new, but that once, judging by appearances, was a long time ago. The greater part of the edifice was in ruins, the stars glimmering through the vacant window spaces and through the gaps that yawned in the ivy-mantled walls.

A massive, square built tower perched on a rock that overhung the sea, seemed the portion likeliest to be tenanted, if tenanted at all, for signs of human presence were wanting. Neither light nor sound came from it.

Silent and ghostly in the cold starlight rose the gray tower, the sea splashing with melancholy murmur at the foot of the crag.

The brief notice contained in the guide-book--"Castel Nuovo, an old mansion, residence of the Marquis Orsino"--did not suggest a place like this, a place seeming to be desolated by the curse of some past tragedy; and as Paul contemplated the scene, a feeling of misgiving stole over him,--a misgiving which found reflection in Barbara's face.

Seating his companion upon a fallen column, Paul went forward to reconnoitre. Crossing the grass-grown pavement of what had once been a stately loggia, he mounted the mossy fractured steps leading to the door of the tower. On the lintel was sculptured, "Marino Faliero, 1348"--proof that the castle dated from the days when the Venetians held sway in Dalmatia.

No sooner had Paul rapped upon the massive oaken door than a terrible din arose from within. His summons had startled into wakefulness a menagerie of dogs, and these, judging by their deep bass, brutes of the largest size.

A casement high above the portal opened immediately, and an old man's voice cried,--

"Is that you, Master?"

The question was spoken in Romaic, a language with which Paul had become familiar by reason of his residence in Corfu.

He directed his eyes upward, but the speaker was invisible. Familiar perhaps with the attacks of banditti, he was too cautious to expose his person as a target for a pistol-shot.

Stepping back, the better to be heard, and speaking in Romaic, the better to be understood, Paul explained his object in knocking, withholding the fact, however, that the lady with him had escaped from a convent, lest it should dispose the old man to decline so dangerous a fugitive.

"You cannot stay here," was the answer, when Paul had finished speaking.

"I will pay you, and that handsomely, for the trouble we give."

"It's not a question of money. This house is not mine, and I cannot open it to whom I will. I have received strict orders from the Master to admit no one during his absence. If he should return and find me entertaining strangers, I should suffer."

"Your master, whoever he may be, never meant that you should turn away at midnight a young lady exhausted by a twelve hours' wandering in the forest without food. I ask not for myself, but for her. It is but for a single night."

"A single hour would be too long."

Paul stood dismayed by the old man's churlishness. He pictured Barbara's look of distress on announcing that he had brought her on a bootless errand.

"You a Greek," he cried, "to refuse hospitality to an Englishman, whose uncle fought for Greece--"

This appeal wrought a remarkable change in the old man.

"What do you say you are?"

"An Englishman, nephew of Colonel Graysteel, commandant of the British forces at Corfu, and--"

"An Englishman! Why the devil didn't you say so before? I took you for a damned Austrian. And you are the nephew of old 'Fighting Graysteel'? I was with him at Missolonghi. Wait. I'll be down in a moment. Hi, Jacintha, Jacintha," he added, addressing some one within. "Get up, or I'll throw something at your head."

The old man withdrew from the casement, and Paul concluded that he was coming downstairs, for the baying of the dogs gradually ceased; there were sounds suggestive of the idea that he was kicking them into some place of safety.

"Jacintha?" thought Paul. "The old fellow's wife, daughter, or servant? Whoever she may be, I am glad for the young lady's sake that a woman lives here."

Footsteps were now audible in the passage. A little panel in the upper part of the door slid aside revealing an iron grating, behind which appeared a man's face set in a square of light.

"No tricks with me. Now, mylordos, if you are what you say you are, speak to me in English, for though I don't talk the language myself I understand it when spoken by others."

"Open the door, and give me some supper--" began Paul.

"Ah! you're an Englishman, all over," interrupted the other with a dry chuckle. "The first thing he thinks of is his belly."

And the inmate, apparently satisfied with this credential of nationality, swung open the great iron-studded door and revealed himself.

He was a little man, and though past seventy years of age, his form had lost little of the elasticity and strength of youth. His thin curved nose was extremely suggestive of the beak of an eagle, a resemblance increased by his bright piercing eyes. His hair was white and flowing, and his moustaches were of such a length that he had tied them together at the back of his head.

His attire was gorgeous in the extreme, and he was evidently very proud of the fact. He wore an open jacket that was a perfect marvel of silk, velvet, and rows of silver buttons; a white fustanella or kilt glittering with embroidery of gold; and gaiters and slippers rich with the same decoration. Altogether he was one of the strangest creatures that Paul had ever beheld.

In one hand he carried a yataghan, and in the other a lighted lamp, and he bowed low with theatrical grace.

"Since you are an Englishman, enter. Welcome, ten thousand welcomes," he cried, waving his sparkling yataghan around, as if inviting Paul to take entire possession of the castle. "Every Englishman is my brother, for did not your countrymen fight for the liberation of Greece? Can we ever forget Navarino? You see before you the friend, the companion-in-arms of General Church and Lord Cochrane. You must have heard your uncle talk of me,--Lambro the Turcophage, with whose name Ottoman mothers still frighten their children, by telling them how Lambro, whenever food ran short in the camp, never hesitated to roast and eat his Turkish prisoners. Ah!" Like a ghoul he smacked his lips at the memory of those repasts. "Yes, to me, and to men like me, Greece owes the freedom that she now enjoys. I should be great to-day, and hold high office under King Otho: but what am I? What you see. The custodian of an old ruin. This is national gratitude, mylordos. It is thus that Hellas rewards those who have shed their blood for her."

Paul immediately recognized in the speaker one of the class called Palicars, men who had fought for the independence of Greece in the twenties; in their youth half soldiers and half brigands, but always full of patriotism and bold as lions against the Turk; in old age too often apt to be garrulous, boastful, vain.

Muttering some words of gratitude for the proffered hospitality, Paul immediately flew off for Barbara, whom he found asleep. In a state of weariness she had rested her arm on a stone balustrade, pillowed her cheek on her sleeve, and without intending it had fallen asleep in that attitude.

"Fie, signorina," said Paul with chiding smile, as he gently roused her. "Sleeping in the open air! Do you court malaria? Come, there is better rest for you in yon tower, where you will not be the only lady. Our host is a somewhat queer character, but--'any port in a storm,' as our English proverb has it."

He assisted her to rise, and helped her across the dilapidated loggia, and up the steps to the entrance of the hall where Lambro stood waiting to receive them.

But no sooner had the old Palicar obtained a clear view of Barbara than his eyes almost started from their sockets. His shaking hand dropped the lamp, and the hall was plunged into sudden darkness. With the ejaculation of "Kyrie eleison" the warrior, who was wont to boast that he had fought in a hundred battles, fled at the sight of a young maiden's face.

At the end of the corridor he recovered himself, and shouted, "Jacintha, Jacintha, come down."

"What is the matter?" said a voice at his elbow.

"Matter enough," replied Lambro, grasping the woman's shoulders and whispering in her ear. "The dead have returned to life. Walk to the door, pick up the lamp, re-light it, and look at the lady that the Englishman has brought with him."

Jacintha did as bidden. The lamp, re-kindled, showed her as a little fair-haired woman of subdued demeanor, her face retaining traces of former good looks.

She cast one glance at Barbara, and immediately gave a strange gasp.

"In God's name," she murmured, "who are you?"

"A hard question," returned Barbara, with a touch of bitterness in her voice, "seeing that I myself cannot answer it."

This reply seemed to enhance Jacintha's fear. She stood mutely staring at Barbara, who began to feel something of resentment at the woman's strange manner.

"I will depart if you wish it," she said, turning away with quiet dignity, though her heart sank within her at the thought of passing the night out of doors.

"Oh! no, no. Pardon me, my lady, if I seem rude," replied Jacintha, assuming an humble manner, and stepping forward as if to intercept Barbara's departure. "Do not go. We shall be glad if you will stay. Stay here as long as you will--at least--that is--till--till--"

"Till the Master returns," chimed in Lambro, "and then--well, it's his rule to have no strangers here."

He had apparently plucked up his courage, for he had come forward to the entrance again, where he and Jacintha stood staring curiously, first at Barbara, then at each other.

"You seem to know me," said Barbara, "though I do not think that you can ever have seen me before to-night."

Receiving no reply, she glanced at Paul as if seeking an explanation from him, who had none to give, for he was as much perplexed as Barbara herself to account for the singular behavior of this couple.

"At first sight of you," began Lambro, "we thought--But no matter what we thought; we see now we were wrong."--He cast at the woman a glance which Paul interpreted as a warning for her to be reticent, and continued: "Now, Jacintha, show our guests the way upstairs. The nephew of the man who fought for Greece shall have no cause to complain of our hospitality."

"A queer couple," whispered Paul to Barbara, "but trustworthy, I believe. I think you will be safe here."

Barbara, almost ready to sink to the ground with fatigue, had no other course than to accept the shelter of Castel Nuovo, however strange her entertainers; and accordingly still resting upon Paul's arm, she followed Jacintha up the staircase, while Lambro, having locked the door, brought up the rear.

"Your wife?" Paul asked of him and referring to Jacintha.

"She answers the purpose," replied Lambro. "We've done without a priest so far. She's mine because I bought her. Five hundred beshliks she cost me in the slave-mart of Janina. A deal of money, a great deal of money," continued the old fellow, wincing as if he had had a tooth drawn. "I'm doubtful whether I've had the value of it. I could have bought a lovely young Circassian at the price. But since she was warranted to be a splendid nurse and an excellent cook, I took her as a helpmeet for my old age."

Paul trusted that Barbara did not understand Romaic, for the old Palicar's society was not exactly of the sort that a matronly duenna would have chosen as suitable for a young maiden.

The interior of Castel Nuovo formed a pleasant and striking contrast with its dilapidated exterior. The apartment to which the visitors were conducted was stamped with an air of wealth and dignity,--lofty, composed of dark oak, and furnished with stained-glass casements, blazoned in their centre with the Winged Lion of St. Mark. The roof was richly fretted; the pictures painted on the panelling of the walls were in a fine state of preservation. On the wide tesselated hearth beneath a beautifully carved mantelpiece were pine logs disposed as for a fire. To these Jacintha applied a match, and soon a blaze sprang up, so bright as to render any other light superfluous.

"The Master's dining-hall," remarked Lambro.

"Let me help you, my lady," said Jacintha, observing Barbara embarrassed with the fastenings of her capote.

She assisted in untying the hood, and having removed the cloak, seated Barbara in a comfortable arm-chair by the fire.

Despite the Romaic costume worn by Jacintha, and the golden coins twisted in her hair, Paul had no difficulty in fixing her nationality.

"You are an Englishwoman?" he said, with a smile.

"Yes, sir, I am," was her reply, accompanied by a submissive little curtsey.

A few words on her part sufficed to give her history. Nurse in the service of an English doctor at Constantinople, she had, when returning home, been captured by Turkish pirates, and carried to Janina for sale, where she was purchased by Lambro, and brought to Castel Nuovo. Paul's ears tingled at the thought of an Englishwoman being sold in an Albanian slave-mart. He wondered whether she knew that she was now living in a free country. Her real name was Winifred Power, but Lambro would persist in calling her Jacintha.

It so happened that Paul was well acquainted with her native town, inasmuch as his school-days had been passed in its neighborhood. His allusions to places with which both were familiar drew tears to the woman's eyes.

"Ah! do not talk of home," she said. "Every week I can see from the windows here the steamer from Trieste on its way to England; a few days' sail only, and yet as impossible for me to reach as the stars."

"You're better off here," growled the old Greek. "I bought you, and by God I'll keep you. You are not to leave me till I--I--die--" He winced as if not liking the prospect presented by the last word.--"You have promised as much. I have treated you better than any Turk would. You live in a castle with fine dresses and plenty to eat and drink; and when I'm a--gone you'll have my savings, and can then go back to England. What more do you want?"

"Shall I be permitted to leave here after your death?" asked Jacintha, darting a strange look upon Lambro, who frowned, and said,--

"Who is to prevent you? What nonsense you talk! Why don't you ask our guests what they'll have for supper?"

"What would my lady like?" inquired Jacintha turning to Barbara, and enumerating the contents of her larder.

"You are very good," smiled Barbara. "Anything will do for me."

"Except, of course, roast Turk," said Paul, turning to Lambro. "We must draw the line at that."

The Turcophage grinned and withdrew in company with Jacintha; and as they called no servant to their aid, Paul concluded, and rightly, that these two were the sole tenants of the castle.

Paul had now a better opportunity than heretofore for observing his fair companion as she sat by the hearth, the bright firelight playing over her silken attire with its shimmer of chain-work and jewels. Her figure was beautifully shaped; her features were of pure, classic type, as clear and delicate as if sculptured from alabaster. There was something peculiarly noble in the pose of her head, which disposed Paul to the belief that when the mystery of her origin became solved, it would be found that she was of high birth.

She had spread out her hands to the fire, and with her face upturned to Paul, she said with charming _naïveté_,--

"I am so glad that you insisted upon me accompanying you, for this is certainly more cheerful than the dark forest."

The light of gratitude sparkling in her soft dusky eyes completely captivated Paul. He began to think that it would be a pleasant thing if she would always smile so upon him, and upon none other.

"Our new friends," he remarked, "are evidently expecting visitors, and those--two in number--to judge from the cutlery." He pointed to the dining-table and its snowy cloth set with Majolica-ware, cut-glass, and silver. "The Master and his wife I presume. Unpleasant for us if they should arrive to-night, and should object to the proceedings of their hospitable seneschal."

Lambro and his partner now entered, bringing in a repast.

Barbara and Paul drew to the table. The humble Jacintha acted as waitress and seemed to take pleasure in the office.

Though Barbara ate but sparingly, her companion amply atoned for any deficiencies on her part; and when Lambro, going down to the castle cellar, returned with a bottle of delicious maraschino, and a box containing cigars of ambrosial flavor, Paul's satisfaction was complete.

Lambro having called for his chibouque, perched himself upon a chair and sat cross-legged upon it in oriental fashion, while Jacintha at his command took a live coal from the fire by aid of the tongs, and applied it to the bowl of his pipe. Then the old Palicar puffed away in placid contentment while Jacintha went off to prepare a room for Barbara.

"Those cigars," Lambro presently remarked, addressing Paul, "have never paid Austrian duty. Whence do I procure them? From the sea,--my constant friend. A toast, a toast," he cried, raising his glass of maraschino. "Here's to the storm-fiend, and may he never cease to send us rich flotsam and jetsam. The dress I wear," he added, patting his gay costume with pride, "comes from the body of a drowned compatriot. If the signorina requires a new dress we can supply her with one as rich as that she now has. No, I am not a wrecker," he continued, as if in answer to Paul's suspicions. "I simply take the gifts the waves send me, and they send them pretty frequently on this wild rocky coast. Sometimes it is a Turkish vessel that goes to pieces on the reef out yonder," he went on, nodding in the direction of the sea. "Jacintha and I can hear their cries, but we are unable to help them. I would not help them if I could," he exclaimed with a fierce flash of energy, and taking the pipe from his mouth. "Are not the Turks the enemies of Greece? When I hear their shrieks rising above the sound of the storm--A-a-h!" He finished the sentence with a smack of his lips.

It would be impossible to imagine any being more weird than this little Greek, as he sat there cross-legged, tricked out in the finery of the dead, his eye glittering wildly, and his moustaches tied at the back of his head.

Paul deemed it advisable on Barbara's account to give a different turn to the conversation.

"This must have been a grand old castle when entire," he said. "The property, is it not, of the Italian Marquis Orsino?"

"Not so," replied Lambro, with a shake of his head. "The marquis sold it seven years ago to my present Master--"

"My guide-book is evidently not up to date."

"Though," added Lambro, "the sale was kept a secret."

"Why so?"

"All the Master's ways are secret."

"May one ask his name?"

"He has forbidden me to reveal it."

Paul, though conscious that he was treading on delicate ground, could not repress his further curiosity.

"Where does he live when not here?"

"He has never told me."

"What is his nationality?"

"That is equally a mystery to me."

Paul's interest in the Master increased, and as Lambro did not seem to resent his questioning, he continued,--

"How often does he visit this place?"

"It may be once only in the year, it may be twice or thrice."

"I gather from your first words when I knocked at the door, and also from the previous state of this table, that you are expecting him at the present time?"

"Expecting him!" echoed Lambro. "I am always expecting him. He never gives warning of his coming, either by letter or messenger. A loud knock of the door, and there he is! He may arrive to-night, he may not arrive for six months. But present or absent the larder must always be full, and the dining-room and the bedroom ready for his immediate reception. A hard man is the Master."

"And how long do his visits last?"

"That depends upon the mood of his companion."

"His companion? Do you mean his wife?"

"His wife?" repeated Lambro, with a peculiar laugh. "The Master is a bachelor and will always remain such. He is a member of a peculiar brotherhood pledged to the repudiation of women."

"What is the object of his visits?"

But Lambro was not disposed to be more communicative.

"Captain Cressingham," he said with a deprecatory shake of his head, "you must not ask me to betray my Master's secrets."

Paul accepted the rebuke with a good grace.

"You speak truth. I have no right to pry into his affairs. I apologize."

Secrecy is always suspicious. Lambro's reticence served but to whet Paul's curiosity. A weird interest began to gather around the unknown owner of Castel Nuovo, who was so studious of concealing his identity, who without previous warning came and vanished at irregular intervals on errands that necessitated a reserve in speaking of them.

At this point Jacintha reappeared carrying a lighted lamp.

"Would my lady like to retire now?"

Yes, my lady would, and arose for that purpose. Paul held the door as she passed forth.

"Good night, signorina."

She returned the valediction, accompanying it with a graceful inclination of her head, and a grateful smile that said as plainly as words could say, "But for you I should now be without bed."

The room to which Jacintha conducted Barbara was intended as a lady's bedchamber, as the toilet accessories sufficiently proved. A princess could not have found fault with its dainty tasteful appointments. And, surprising to relate, not a particle of dust was visible anywhere; the place was clean, swept, and garnished as if prepared that very day for the reception of a visitor.

"You are not giving up your own room to me, I hope?" said Barbara.

"Oh, no, my lady. I do not sleep here."

Barbara stared hard at the speaker. Seeing that the "Master," according to Lambro's statement, was a foe to womankind, it was singular, to say the least of it, that Castel Nuovo should contain a chamber of this description.

Tired as Barbara was, her curiosity would not let her rest, and she wandered about the room asking a variety of questions. Had this been a bridal-chamber, or a death-chamber, or both? Had the mysterious "Master," mourning the loss of a wife or a daughter, given command that this apartment should be attended to every day, preserved in the same order as that in which it was when last occupied? Barbara could extract nothing from the reticent Jacintha, who seemed troubled by her visitor's catechism.

In her course round the apartment Barbara's quick eyes detected a circular piece of violet-colored sealing-wax adhering to one of the walls. She inquired how it came there, but Jacintha professed ignorance. Attracted by an indefinable feeling, Barbara asked that the lamp might be brought near. The wax was situated at a point just where a horizontal band of carving that formed the upper border of a panel touched upon the smooth plain oak above. A closer inspection showed that the wax bore the image of a paschal lamb,--an image, tiny indeed, yet perfectly clear. The wax had been stamped with a seal. Why? Children might perhaps find pleasure in fixing a piece of wax upon a wall and in stamping it with a seal, but as there were no children at Castel Nuovo this explanation would not suffice. If it were the work of adults what was its purport? Jacintha averred that it was not her doing; she could not say whose it was or assign any reason for its origin.

"Can you not put me in another room?"

"The other rooms are somewhat damp. Why, my lady, what do you fear?" she asked in reproachful surprise.

A hard question. It was impossible to link this piece of wax with any harm to herself, so Barbara turned away. The dainty little bed invited her to repose. Why trouble further?

When at last Barbara with a delicious sense of relief had slipped her tired and aching limbs beneath the sheets, Jacintha brought to the bedside a glass containing a dark-colored liquid.

"Only quinine, my lady."

In a moment Barbara was sitting up in manifest fear, her eyes large and ghost-like.

"You don't think I have caught malaria?"

"It is best to take precautions," replied Jacintha, evasively.

"Fever? I have been dreading that," exclaimed Barbara, clasping her hands. "And I must be at Zara to-morrow. If I linger here I shall be caught by--Give me the quinine; give me double, treble the ordinary draught, if it will act as an antidote."

Barbara, after taking the potion, fell asleep almost immediately, and Jacintha returned to the dining-hall, where in answer to her eager questioning Paul gave an account of the meeting in the forest and related all he knew concerning Barbara, which, in truth, was not very much.

"And now tell me, Jacintha," he said, when he had finished, "why did you start so on first seeing the signorina?"

Jacintha seemed absolutely terror-stricken at this question. The old Palicar who had been drinking somewhat freely of the maraschino turned upon his consort with a fierce frown, drew his yataghan and shook it furiously at her.

"If ever you let that matter out--you know what I mean--by God, I'll cut your throat. Be off, woman! Go to bed; and remember what I say."

And Jacintha, who evidently stood thoroughly in awe of the fiery little Greek, withdrew without a word.

"Captain Cressingham," continued Lambro in a quieter tone, "you may believe me or not, as you will, but it is a fact that Jacintha and myself have never seen the signorina till to-night."

"Nor her portrait?"

"Nor her portrait."

Something in his manner convinced Paul that the old Palicar was speaking the truth, which only made the matter more perplexing. Despite the repudiation there was evidently some mystery connected with Barbara, a mystery known to Lambro and his consort. Paul intuitively felt that the Palicar's reticence could never be overcome, but he was not without hope of extracting the secret from Jacintha if he should have an opportunity of speaking with her alone.

"Paul Cressingham," he murmured, when he found himself left in the dining-hall for the night, "you came to Dalmatia in quest of the strange, the romantic, the wild. I am beginning to think you have found them." He drew his chair to the fire, composed himself for sleep, and dreamed of Barbara till morning gleamed through the casement.