The Captain of the Janizaries Part 27

replied one of the ruffians, feeling about the person of the helpless man.

"What I have I give--a hundred ducats."

"A hundred! Are you love-crossed that you value life so little? You'll skin well, my gentle lambkin; and as you are half tanned already, we will sell your hide to the buskin maker for almost that sum; and your fat (feeling his ribs) will grease a hundred galley masts. A thousand ducats is your value, you Albanian imp!"

"I do not possess so much," said the victim.

"But your sister does," said the ruffian; and not noting the surprised look of the man, continued: "We have arranged for that. Your life is worth to us just one thousand ducats of gold. Sign this!" producing a bit of paper on which was something written.

"I cannot read it in this light. You read it. I may trust such honest fellows as you are."

The man read--"To my sister, the Albanian, at the house of Phranza. I am in danger from which I can escape only if you will give the bearer one thousand ducats. Speak not to any one of it, or my life is forfeit. That you may know this is genuine the bearer will show you my ring and a clip of my hair."

"Give me your ring; and, comrade, warm the wax to seal the letter,"

said Giovan.

"But I am not the man you seek," said the victim.

"And who in the devil's name are you then?"

"A mere stranger."

"Prove it!"

"Take the ring, and the lady will not recognize it."

"We shall see," said the ruffian, "but we will take the hundred ducats now to pay for any trouble you have put us to."

His belt was stripped off, and its golden contents ripped out. The victim was untied, first having been completely disarmed. The three men entering the boat, pushed off in the direction from which they had entered.

The island prisoner watched the receding light as it flashed its long rays on the water, illumined the arches of the roof, and lit the crouching figures in the boat. The multiplying pillars became like a solid wall as the light receded, until at length the darkness was complete. The sound of the boat as it scratched against the stone at the landing, gave place to the most oppressive silence.

To attempt escape in the direction of the entrance would be folly. If he could find his way his captors would doubtless be on guard and easily overpower him, as he would have to wade or swim. But to remain where he was would be as hazardous, for the wretches would not risk exposure for the sake of the hundred ducats they had secured; but would probably return and put him out of the way of witnessing against them.

As he meditated, a low rumble like distant thunder, ran along the arches. "Some pa.s.sing vehicle in the city above," he concluded.

A light drip, as of a bat's wing touching the water! Another! and another! "Strange that they should be so regular!" thought the man.

"There must be some inlet: I will explore."

He walked cautiously into the water in the direction of the sound.

Soon he was beyond his depth; but, being an expert swimmer, kept on; his outstretched arms answering as antennae of some huge water-spider, and guarding him from collision with the pillars.

The dripping sound became louder. Now it was just above his head. He felt his way with his hands until it became evident that he was at the end or side of the subterranean lake. But the sh.o.r.e was steep; indeed, a wall. Fixing his fingers into the crevices between the stones, he was able to raise himself half out of the water. Reaching up with one hand he felt the curved edge of a viaduct, by which the dark lake was evidently fed, or had been in earlier days. But, bah! The water now trickling through it was foul. The spring had been stopped, and the viaduct become a sewer; fed doubtless through its rents with the soakage of the city.

But might there not be an opening into the upper air? If not, a great human mole--especially if, to blind scratching power, he adds the skill of one trained in the art of engineering--can possibly make an opening.

The prisoner climbed into the viaduct. It was large enough to allow him to crawl a short distance. A faint glimmer of light proved the correctness of his surmise that it was connected with the surface. But fallen stones blocked his way. As he lay planning with fingers and brain for his further progress, voices sounded from the reservoir.

They were those of two of the cut-throats returning. He pushed himself back to the opening. His captors had missed him at the island. If they knew of this sluice, or chanced to come upon it in their search, he was lost in his present position; for a pair of bare heels was the only weapon he could show against their sharp daggers. He let himself down into the water, and swam silently away. The light, however, from his captors' lamp came nearer.

"Hist!" said one. "He is yonder; perhaps by the devil's window."

The boat pushed directly toward the viaduct he had left.

While they explored the opening, which might well be called the window into the blackness of darkness of the nether world, their victim swam rapidly, keeping always in the shadow of the great pillars. But the boat was upon his track again.

The fugitive now made a fortunate discovery. Several feet below the surface of the water the base of each pillar projected far enough for standing room. This base had probably marked the height to which the water was originally allowed to rise. By standing upon one of these projections, he was able to move round the pillar, so as to keep its huge block between himself and his pursuers. Thus they pa.s.sed him. By the light in the boat he could discern the ground or sh.o.r.e near which was the entrance.

Returning to coast the other side of the cavern, they had pa.s.sed close by him, when, his foot slipping, he was projected into the water. The wretches hailed with grim joy the splash, and turned the boat in the direction of the noise. But, dropping beneath the surface, the man swam to a pillar near by, from which he watched their baffled circuit of his former retreat.

This chase could not be kept up endlessly. Plunging again under the water, he swam directly to the boat. Rising suddenly, he grasped its side with main weight and overturned it. The cries of the men and the splashing of the boat echoed a hundred times among the arches; while the hissing oil of the open lamp, which, poured on the surface of the water, blazed for a moment, made as near a representation of pandemonium as this world ever affords, except in the brain of the demented.

Though the captive had endeavored to keep his bearings, and had not lost for an instant his presence of mind, the swirling of the boat had destroyed all impression of the direction he should take. He remembered that on one of the pillars the projecting base was broken.

It was that on which he had stood when he caught a glimpse of the ground near the entrance. If he could find that pillar again he could take his bearings as readily as if a star guided him. Several pillars were tried before the talismanic one was discovered. Feeling the broken place, and recalling the way in which he stood upon the narrow ledge when he saw the entrance, he took his course accordingly, and swam on.

One of his pursuers had evidently found a lodgment somewhere, and was calling l.u.s.tily to his comrade for help. But there came back no answer to his call.

On went the swimmer until the light of the outer world gleamed through the crevice of the door, twenty or thirty feet above him, and he crawled upon the ground.

Squeezing the water from his garments, he climbed the stairway, and, opening the heavy and worm-eaten doors, peered out. The street was crowded with pa.s.sers; for another day had come since his entrance to the old reservoir. In his half naked and bedrabbled condition he hesitated to make his exit, and returned to the bottom of the stairs.

A hand on the door above made him leap to one side.

Giovan entered. Peering intensely into the shadows, he descended the steps. Pausing a moment he whistled through his teeth. There was no response. He whistled louder on his fingers. A shout came back.

"Help! Giovan--help!"

Giovan's dagger protruded from his belt. Another's hand suddenly drew it, and, before he had recovered from his surprise, it entered his neck to the haft. The Italian's short breeches, velveteen jacket and skull cap were made to take the place of the remnant of the prisoner's once most reputable wardrobe, and he sallied forth.

CHAPTER x.x.xV.

Later in the day the gate keeper at Phranza's mansion put into Morsinia's hand a letter left with him by an Italian laboring man. It was addressed--"To the Albanian lady," and read thus:

"Your brother's life is threatened by some secret enemy. Let him exercise an Albanian's caution! This is the advice of a stranger."

A little before this, as the "poor Italian" was moving away from the gate of Phranza, a gorgeous palanquin, with silken canopy and sides latticed with silver rods, was borne in by four stout and well-formed men, with bare legs and arms, purple short trousers, embroidered jackets, and jaunty red caps, whose long ta.s.sels hung far down their backs.

The "Italian" stepped into an angle that the palanquin might pa.s.s; and stood gazing a long time after it had disappeared. At length, turning away, he said to himself:

"Strange! It must be that my imagination has been disturbed by the scenes of last night. But the lady in yonder palanquin is my dream made real. The pretty face of the child with whom I once played on the mountains must have cut its outlines somewhere on my brain, for I seem to see it everywhere. My captive in the mountains of Albania had the same features--though I saw them only under the flash of a torch.

Imagination that, surely! The girl at Sfetigrade was similar. And now this one! The aga's advice to beware female illusions was good. But she may be the Albanian lady after all. Impossible! Stupidity! Perhaps my chosen houri in paradise is only flashing her beauty upon my soul from these fair earthly faces, and so training me first to love her as an ideal, that the joy of the realization may be perfect. But, tut!

tut! silly boy that I am!"

Whistling monotonously he turned down a street.

A short, crooked-necked officer pa.s.sed along. His face at the moment was the picture of dissatisfaction. The "Italian" stopped him, and, with a courtesy which belied his common apparel, addressed him:--