Phroso: A Romance

Spiro had been in my mind; and now I said to Phroso:

‘What did they do with the body of Stefan Stefanopoulos? There was not time for them to have taken it to the end of the way, was there?’

‘No, they didn’t take it to the end of the way,’ said she. ‘I will show you if you like. Bring a torch; you must keep behind me, and right in the middle of the path.’

I accepted her invitation eagerly, telling Denny to keep guard. He was very anxious to accompany us, but another and more serious attack might be in store, and I would not trust the house to Hogvardt and Watkins alone. So I took a lantern in lieu of a torch and prepared to follow. At the last moment Hogvardt thrust into my hand one of his lances.

‘It will very likely be useful,’ said he. ‘A thing like that is always useful.’

I would not disappoint him, and I took the lance. Phroso signed to me to give her the lantern and preceded me down the flight of stairs.

‘We shall be in earshot of the hall?’ I asked.

‘Yes, for as far as we are going,’ she answered, and she led the way into the passage. I prayed her to let me go first, for it was just possible that some of Constantine’s ruffians might still be there.

‘I don’t think so,’ she said. ‘He would tell as few as possible. You see, we have always kept the secret from the islanders. I think that, if you had not killed Spiro, he would not have lived long after knowing it.’

‘The deuce!’ I exclaimed. ‘And Vlacho?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Constantine is very fond of Vlacho. Still, perhaps, some day – ’ The unfinished sentence was expressive enough.

‘What use was the secret?’ I asked, as we groped our way slowly along and edged by the body of Spiro which lay, six feet of dead clay, in the path.

‘In the first place, we could escape by it,’ she answered, ‘if any tumult arose in the island. That was what Stefan tried to do, and would have done, had not his own kindred been against him and overtaken him here in the passage.’

‘And in the second place?’ I asked.

Phroso stopped, turned round, and faced me.

‘In the second place,’ she said, ‘if any one of the islanders became very powerful – too powerful, you know – then the ruling lord would show him great favour; and, as a crowning mark of his confidence, he would bid him come by night and learn the great secret; and they two would come together down this passage. But the lord would return alone.’

‘And the other?’

‘The body of the other would be found two, three, four days, or a week later, tossing on the shores of the island,’ answered Phroso. ‘For look!’ and she held the lantern high above her head so that its light was projected in front of us, and I could see fifteen or twenty yards ahead.

‘When they reached here, Stefanopoulos and the other,’ she went on, ‘Stefanopoulos would stumble, and feign to twist his foot, and he would pray the other to let him lean a little on his shoulder. Thus they would go on, the other a pace in front, the lord leaning on his shoulder; and the lord would hold the torch, but he would not hold it up, as I hold the lantern, but down to the ground, so that it should light no more than a pace or two ahead. And when they came there – do you see, my lord – there?’

‘I see,’ said I, and I believe I shivered a bit.

‘When they came there the torch would suddenly show the change, so suddenly that the other would start and be for an instant alarmed, and turn his head round to the lord to ask what it meant.’

Phroso paused in her recital of the savage, simple, sufficient old trick.

‘Yes?’ said I. ‘And at that moment – ’

‘The lord’s hand on his shoulder,’ she answered, ‘which had rested lightly before, would grow heavy as lead and with a great sudden impulse the other would be hurled forward, and the lord would be alone again with the secret, and alone the holder of power in Neopalia.’

This was certainly a pretty secret of empire, and none the less although the empire it protected was but nine miles long and five broad. I took the lantern from Phroso’s hand, saying, ‘Let’s have a look.’

I stepped a pace or two forward, prodding the ground with Hogvardt’s lance before I moved my feet: and thus I came to the spot where the Stefanopoulos used with a sudden great impulse to propel his enemy down. For here the rocks, which hitherto had narrowly edged and confined the path, bayed out on either side. The path ran on, a flat rock track about a couple of feet wide, forming the top of an upstanding cliff; but on either side there was an interval of seven or eight feet between the path and the walls of rock, and the path was unfenced. Even had the Stefanopoulos held his hand and given no treacherous impulse, it would have needed a cool-headed man to walk that path by the dim glimmer of a torch. For, kneeling down and peering over the side, I saw before me, some seventy feet down as I judged, the dark gleam of water, and I heard the low moan of its wash. And Phroso said:

‘If the man escaped the sharp rocks he would fall into the water; and then, if he could not swim, he would sink at once; but if he could swim he would swim round, and round, and round, like a fish in a bowl, till he grew weary, unless he chanced to find the only opening; and if he found that and passed through, he would come to a rapid, where the water runs swiftly, and he would be dashed on the rocks. Only by a miracle could he escape death by one or other of these ways. So I was told when I was of age to know the secret. And it is certain that no man who fell into the water has escaped alive, although their bodies came out.’

‘Did Stefan’s body come out?’ I asked, peering at the dark water with a fascinated gaze.

‘No, because they tied weights to it before they threw it down, and so with the head. Stefan is there at the bottom. Perhaps another Stefanopoulos is there also; for his body was never found. He was caught by the man he threw down, and the two fell together.’

‘Well, I’m glad of it,’ said I with emphasis, as I rose to my feet. ‘I wish the same thing had always happened.’

‘Then,’ remarked Phroso with a smile, ‘I should not be here to tell you about it.’

‘Hum,’ said I. ‘At all events I wish it had generally happened. For a more villainous contrivance I never heard of in all my life. We English are not accustomed to this sort of thing.’

Phroso looked at me for a moment with a strange expression of eagerness, hesitation and fear. Then she suddenly put out her hand, and laid it on my arm.

‘I will not go back to my cousin who has wronged me, if – if I may stay with you,’ she said.

‘If you may stay!’ I exclaimed with a nervous laugh.

‘But will you protect me? Will you stand by me? Will you swear not to leave me here alone on the island? If you will, I will tell you another thing – a thing that would certainly bring me death if it were known I had told.’

‘Whether you tell me or whether you don’t,’ said I, ‘I’ll do what you ask.’

‘Then you are not the first Englishman who has been here. Seventy years ago there came an Englishman here, a daring man, a lover of our people, and a friend of the great Byron. Orestes Stefanopoulos, who ruled here then, loved him very much, and brought him here, and showed him the path and the water under it. And he, the Englishman, came next day with a rope, and fixed the rope at the top, and let himself down. Somehow, I do not know how, he came safe out to the sea, past the rocks and the rapids. But, alas, he boasted of it! Then, when the thing became known, all the family came to Orestes and asked him what he had done. And he said:

‘“Sup with me this night, and I will tell you.” For he saw that what he had done was known.

‘So they all supped together, and Orestes told them what he had done, and how he did it for love of the Englishman. They said nothing, but looked sad; for they loved Orestes. But he did not wait for them to kill him, as they were bound to do; but he took a great flagon of wine, and poured into it the contents of a small flask. And his kindred said: “Well done, Lord Orestes!” And they all rose to their feet, and drank to him. And he drained the flagon to their good fortune, and went and lay down on his bed, and turned his face to the wall and died.’

I paid less attention to this new episode in the family history of the Stefanopouloi than it perhaps deserved: my thoughts were with the Englishman, not with his too generous friend. Yet the thing was handsomely done – on both sides handsomely done.

‘If the Englishman got out!’ I cried, gazing at Phroso’s face.

‘Yes, I mean that,’ said she simply. ‘But it must be dangerous.’

‘It’s not exactly safe where we are,’ I said, smiling; ‘and Constantine will be guarding the proper path. By Jove, we’ll try it!’

‘But I must come with you; for if you go that way and escape, Constantine will kill me.’

‘You’ve just as good a right to kill Constantine.’

‘Still he will kill me. You’ll take me with you?’

‘To be sure I will,’ said I.

Now when a man pledges his word, he ought, to my thinking, to look straight and honestly in the eyes of the woman to whom he is promising. Yet I did not look into Phroso’s eyes, but stared awkwardly over her head at the walls of rock. Then, without any more words, we turned back and went towards the secret door. But I stopped at Spiro’s body, and said to Phroso:

‘Will you send Denny to me?’

She went, and when Denny came we took Spiro’s body and carried it to where the walls bayed, and we flung it down into the dark water below. And I told Denny of the Englishman who had come alive through the perils of the hidden chasm. He listened with eager attention, nodding his head at every point of the story.

‘There lies our road, Denny,’ said I, pointing with my finger. ‘We’ll go along it to-night.’

Denny looked down, shook his head and smiled.

‘And the girl?’ he asked suddenly.

‘She comes too,’ said I.

We walked back together, Denny being unusually silent and serious. I thought that even his audacious courage was a little dashed by the sight and the associations of that grim place, so I said:

‘Cheer up. If that other fellow got through the rocks, we can.’

‘Oh, hang the rocks!’ said Denny scornfully. ‘I wasn’t thinking of them.’

‘Then what are you so glum about?’

‘I was wondering,’ said Denny, freeing himself from my arm, ‘how Beatrice Hipgrave would get on with Euphrosyne.’

I looked at Denny. I tried to feel angry, or even, if I failed in that, to appear angry. But it was no use. Denny was imperturbable. I took his arm again.

‘Thanks, old man,’ said I. ‘I’ll remember.’

For when I considered the very emphatic assertions which I had made to Denny before we left England, I could not honestly deny that he was justified in his little reminder.

CHAPTER VIII

A KNIFE AT A ROPE

Some modern thinkers, I believe – or perhaps, to be quite safe, I had better say some modern talkers – profess to estimate the value of life by reference to the number of distinct sensations which it enables them to experience. Judged by a similar standard, my island had been, up to the present time, a brilliant success; it was certainly fulfilling the function, which Mrs Kennett Hipgrave had appropriated to it, of whiling away the time that must elapse before my marriage with her daughter and providing occupation for my thoughts during this weary interval. The difficulty was that the island seemed disinclined to restrict itself to this modest sphere of usefulness; it threatened to monopolise me, and to leave very little of me or my friends, by the time that it had finished with us. For, although we maintained our cheerfulness, our position was not encouraging. Had matters been anything short of desperate above ground it would have been madness to plunge into that watery hole, whose egress was unknown to us, and to take such a step on the off-chance of finding at the other end the Cypriote fishermen, and of obtaining from them either an alliance, or, if that failed, the means of flight. Yet we none of us doubted that to take the plunge was the wiser course. I did not believe in the extreme peril of the passage, for, on further questioning, Phroso told us that the Englishman had come through, not only alive and well, but also dry. Therefore there was a path, and along a path that one man can go four men can go; and Phroso, again attired, at my suggestion, in her serviceable boy’s suit, was the equal of any of us. So we left considering whether, and fell to the more profitable work of asking how, to go. Hogvardt and Watkins went off at once to the point of departure, armed with a pick, a mallet, some stout pegs, and a long length of rope. All save the last were ready on the premises, and that last formed always part of Hogvardt’s own equipment; he wore it round his waist, and, I believe, slept in it, like a mediæval ascetic. Meanwhile Denny and I kept watch, and Phroso, who seemed out of humour, disappeared into her own room.

Our idea was to reach the other end of the journey somewhere about eight or nine o’clock in the evening. Phroso told us that this hour was the most favourable for finding the fishermen; they would then be taking a meal before launching their boats for the fishing-grounds. Three hours seemed ample time to allow for the journey, for the way could hardly, however rich it were in windings, be more than three or four miles long. We determined, therefore, to start at five. At four Hogvardt and Watkins returned from the underground passage; they had driven three stout pegs into excavations in the rocky path, and built them in securely with stones and earth. The rope was tied fast and firm round the pegs, and the moistness of its end showed the length to be sufficient. I wished to descend first, but I was at once overruled; Denny was to lead, Watkins was to follow; then came Hogvardt, then Phroso, and lastly myself. We arranged all this as we ate a good meal; then each man stowed away a portion of goat – the goat had died the death that morning – and tied a flask of wine about him. It was a quarter to five, and Denny rose to his feet, flinging away his cigarette.

‘That’s my last!’ said he, regretfully regarding his empty case.

His words sounded ominous, but the spirit of action was on us, and we would not be discouraged. I went to the hall door and fired a shot, and then did the like at the back. Having thus spent two cartridges on advertising our presence to the pickets we made without delay for the passage. With my own hand I closed the door behind us. The secret of the Stefanopouloi would thus be hidden from profane eyes in the very likely event of the islanders finding their way into the house in the course of the next few hours.

I persuaded Phroso to sit down some little way from the chasm and wait till we were ready for her; we four went on. Denny was a delightful boy to deal with on such occasions. He wasted no time in preliminaries. He gave one hard pull at the rope; it stood the test; he cast a rapid eye over the wedges; they were strong and strongly imbedded in the rock. He laid hold of the rope.

‘Don’t come after me till I shout,’ said he, and he was over the side. The lantern showed me his descending figure, while Hogvardt and Watkins held the rope ready to haul him up in case of need. There was one moment of suspense; then his voice came, distant and cavernous.

‘All right! There’s a broad ledge – a foot and a half broad – twenty feet above the water, and I can see a glimmer of light that looks like the way out.’

‘This is almost disappointingly simple,’ said I.

‘Would your lordship desire me to go next?’ asked Watkins.

‘Yes, fire away, Watkins,’ said I, now in high good humour.

‘Stand from under, sir,’ called Watkins to Denny, and over he went.

A shout announced his safe arrival. I laid down the lantern and took hold of the rope.

‘I must hang on to you, Hog,’ said I. ‘You carry flesh, you see.’

Hogvardt was calm, smiling and leisurely.

‘When I’m down, my lord,’ he said, ‘I’ll stand ready to catch the young lady. Give me a call before you start her off.’

‘All right,’ I answered. ‘I’ll go and fetch her directly.’

Over went old Hogvardt. He groaned once; I suppose he grazed against the wall; but he descended with perfect safety. Denny called: ‘Now we’re ready for her, Charley. Lower away!’ And I, turning, began to walk back to where I had left Phroso.

My island – I can hardly resist personifying it in the image of some charming girl, full of tricks and surprises, yet all the while enchanting – had now behaved well for two hours. The limit of its endurance seemed to be reached. In another five minutes Phroso and I would have been safely down the rope and the party re-united at the bottom, with a fair hope of carrying out prosperously at least the first part of the enterprise. But it was not to be. My eyes had grown accustomed to the gloom, and when I went back I left the lantern standing by the rope. Suddenly, when I was still a few yards from Phroso, I heard a curious noise, a sort of shuffling sound, rather like the noise made by a rug or carpet drawn along the floor. I stood still and listened, turning my my head round to the chasm. The noise continued for a minute. I took a step in the direction of it. Then I seemed to see a curious thing. The lantern appeared to get up, raise itself a foot or so in the air, keeping its light towards me, and throw itself over the chasm. At the same instant there was a rasp. Heavens, it was a knife on the rope! A cry came from far down in the chasm. I darted forward. I rushed to where the walls bayed and the chasm opened. The shuffling sound had begun again; and in the middle of the isolated path I saw a dark object. It must be the figure of a man, a man who had watched our proceedings, unobserved by us, and seized this chance of separating our party. For a moment – a fatal moment – I stood aghast, doing nothing. Then I drew my revolver and fired once – twice – thrice. The bullets whistled along the path, but the dark figure was no longer to be seen there. But in an instant there came an answering shot from across the bridge of rock. Denny shouted wildly to me from below. I fired again; there was a groan, but two shots flashed at the very same moment. There were two men there, perhaps more. I stood again for a moment undecided; but I could do no good where I was. I turned and ran fairly and fast.

‘Come, come,’ I cried, when I had reached Phroso. ‘Come back, come back! They’ve cut the rope and they’ll be on us directly.’

In spite of her amazement she rose as I bade her. We heard feet running along the passage. They would be across the bridge now. Would they stop and fire down the chasm? No, they were coming on. We also went on; a touch of Phroso’s practised fingers opened the door for us; I turned, and in wrath gave the pursuers one more shot. Then I ran up the stairs and shut the door behind us. We were in the hall again – but Phroso and I alone.

A hurried story told her all that had happened. Her breath came quick and her cheek flushed.

‘The cowards!’ she said. ‘They dared not attack us when we were all together!’

‘They will attack us before very long now,’ said I, ‘and we can’t possibly hold the house against them. Why, they may open that trap-door any moment.’

Phroso stepped quickly towards it, and, stooping for a instant, examined it. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘they may. I can’t fasten it. You spoilt the fastening with your pick.’

Hearing this, I stepped close up to the door, reloading my revolver as I went, and I called out, ‘The first man who looks out is a dead man.’

No sound came from below. Either they were too hurt to attempt the attack, or, more probably, they preferred the safer and surer way of surrounding and overwhelming us by numbers from outside. Indeed we were at our last gasp now; I flung myself despondently into a chair; but I kept my finger on my weapon and my eye on the trap-door.

‘They cannot get back – our friends – and we cannot get to them,’ said Phroso.

‘No,’ said I. Her simple statement was terribly true.

‘And we cannot stay here!’ she pursued.

‘They’ll be at us in an hour or two at most, I’ll warrant. Those fellows will carry back the news that we are alone here.’

‘And if they come?’ she said, fixing her eyes on me.

‘They won’t hurt you, will they?’

‘I don’t know what Constantine would do; but I don’t think the people will let him hurt me, unless – ’

‘Well, unless what?’

She hesitated, looked at me, looked away again. I believe that my eyes were now guilty of neglecting the trap-door which I ought to have watched.

‘Unless what?’ I said again. But Phroso grew red and did not answer.

‘Unless you’re so foolish as to try to protect me, you mean?’ I asked. ‘Unless you refuse to give them back what Constantine offers to win for them – the island?’

‘They will not let you have the island,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I dare not face them and tell them it is yours.’

‘Do you admit it’s mine?’ I asked eagerly.

A slow smile dawned on Phroso’s face, and she held out her hand to me. Ah, Denny, my conscience, why were you at the bottom of the chasm? I seized her hand and kissed it.

‘Between friends,’ she said softly, ‘there is no thine nor mine.’

Ah, Denny, where were you? I kissed her hand again – and dropped it like a red-hot coal.

‘But I can’t say that to my islanders,’ said Phroso, smiling.

Charming as it was, I wished she had not said it to me. I wished that she would not speak as she spoke, or look as she looked, or be what she was. I forgot all about the trap-door. The island was piling sensations on me.

At last I got up and went to the table. I found there a scrap of paper, on which Denny had drawn a fancy sketch of Constantine (to whom, by the way, he attributed hoofs and a tail). I turned the blank side uppermost, and took my pencil out of my pocket. I was determined to put the thing on a business-like footing; so I began: ‘Whereas’ – which has a cold, legal, business-like sound:

‘Whereas,’ I wrote in English, ‘this island of Neopalia is mine, I hereby fully, freely, and absolutely give it to the Lady Euphrosyne, niece of Stefan Georgios Stefanopoulos, lately Lord of the said island – Wheatley.’ And I made a copy underneath in Greek, and, walking across to Phroso, handed the paper to her, remarking in a rather disagreeable tone, ‘There you are; that’ll put it all straight, I hope.’ And I sat down again, feeling out of humour. I did not like giving up my island, even to Phroso. Moreover I had the strongest doubt whether my surrender would be of the least use in saving my skin.

I do not know that I need relate what Phroso did when I gave her back her island. These southern races have picturesque but extravagant ways. I did not know where to look while she was thanking me, and it was as much as I could do not to call out, ‘Do stop!’ However presently she did stop, but not because I asked her. She was stayed by a sudden thought which had been in my mind all the while, but now flashed suddenly into hers.

‘But Constantine?’ she said. ‘You know his – his secrets. Won’t he still try to kill you?’

Of course he would if he valued his own neck. For I had sworn to see him hanged for one murder, and I knew that he meditated another.

‘Oh, don’t you bother about that!’ said I. ‘I expect I can manage Constantine.’

‘Do you think I’m going to desert you?’ she asked in superb indignation.

‘No, no; of course not,’ I protested, rather in a fright. ‘I shouldn’t think of accusing you of such a thing.’

‘You know that’s what you meant,’ said Phroso, a world of reproach in her voice.

‘My dear lady,’ said I, ‘getting you into trouble won’t get me out of it, and getting you out may get me out. Take that paper in your hand, and go back to your people. Say nothing about Constantine just now; play with him. You know what I’ve told you, and you won’t be deluded by him. Don’t let him see that you know anything of the woman at the cottage. It won’t help you, it may hurt me, and it will certainly bring her into greater danger; for, if nothing has happened to her already, yet something may if his suspicions are aroused.’

‘I am to do all this. And what will you do, my lord?’

‘I say, don’t call me “my lord”; we say “Lord Wheatley.” What am I going to do? I’m going to make a run for it.’

‘But they’ll kill you!’

‘Then shall I stay here?’

‘Yes, stay here.’

‘But Constantine’s fellows will be here before long.’