Sir John Constantine by Prosper Paleologus Constantine

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"The General?" exclaimed my uncle.

"The General Paoli, sir: a fresh-complexioned man and fairer-skinned
than any Corsican we had met on our travels; tall, too, and
upstanding; dressed in green-and-gold, with black spatter-dashes, and
looking at one with an eye like a hawk's. Compliments fly when
gentlefolks meet. Though as yet I didn't know him from Adam, 'twas
easy to mark him for a person of quality by the way he lifted his hat
and bowed. Sir John bowed back, though more stiffly; and the more
compliments the General paid him, the stiffer he grew and the shorter
his answers, till by-and-by he said in English, 'I think you know a
little of my language, sir: enough, at any rate, to take my meaning?'

"The General bowed again at this, still keeping his smile.
'You do not wish my men to overhear? Yes, yes, I speak the English--
a very little--and can understand it, if you will be so good as to
speak slowly.'

"'Very well, then, sir,' said Sir John; 'if I and my man here have
been of some small service to you to-day I reckon myself happy to
have obliged so noble a patriot as Signor Pascal Paoli.' And here
they both bowed again. 'But I must warn you, sir, that my service
here is due only to the Queen Emilia, whom you also should serve, and
whom I am sworn to seek and save. The Genoese have shut her, I
believe, in Nonza, in Cape Corso.'

"The General frowned a bit at this, but in a moment smiled at him in
an open way that was honest too, as any one could see. 'I have later
news of the Queen Emilia,' said he; 'which is that the Genoese have
removed her to the island of Giraglia, off Cape Corso. I fear, sir,
you will not reach her this side of Doomsday.'

"'I will reach her or die,' said Sir John, stoutly.

"The General took a glance at the Genoese gunboats. 'At present it
is hopeless,' said he; 'but I tell you, as man to man, that in two
months I hope to clear the sea of those gentry yonder. Meantime, if
you _will_ press on to Cape Corso, and, without listening to reason,
I'll beg you to accept a pass from me which will save trouble if you
fall in, as you will, with my militia. It's small enough thanks,'
said he, 'for the service you have done us this day.'

"Those were the General's words, sirs, as I heard them and got them
by heart. And Sir John took the pass from him, scribbled there and
then on the fly-leaf of the General's pocket Bible, and put it
carefully between the leaves of his own: and so, having led us back
along the track by which he and his men had come, the General pointed
out our way to us and bade us farewell in the Lord's name.
He saw that my master wanted no thanks, and a gentleman (as they say)
would rather be unmannerly than troublesome.

"That, sirs, is all my story, except that by the help of the
General's pass we made our way up the long length of Cape Corso: and
at first Sir John, learning there were yet some Genoese left in a
valley they call Luri, pitched his camp at the head of it, and day by
day took out his camp-stool and stalked the mountains till little by
little he cleared the valley, driving the enemy down to the _marina_
in terror of his sharp-shooting. After that we lodged for a while in
a tower on the top of a crag, where (the country people said) a
famous old Roman had once lived out his exile. Last of all we moved
to the shore opposite the island of Giraglia; but the Genoese had
burnt the village which stood there. Among the ruins we camped, and
day after day my master conned the island across the strait, waiting
for the time when the _Gauntlet_ should be due. A tower stands in
the island, which is but a cliff of bare rock; and there must be deep
water close inshore, for once a Genoese vessel drew alongside and
landed stores: but, for the rest, day after day, my master could see
through his glass no sign of life but a sentry or two on the platform
above the landing-quay.

"At last there came a day when, from a goatherd who brought us meat
and wine from the next _paese_, we learned that a body of armed men,
Corsicans, had pushed up to Olmeta, near by Nonza, to press the
Genoese garrison there. Sir John, sick of waiting idle, proposed
that we should travel back and help them, if only to fill up the
time. It would be on our way, at any rate, to send word to the
ketch, which was near-about due. So we travelled back to Olmeta; and
behold, we tumbled upon the Princess and her men who had first taken
us prisoners; and the Princess's brother with her--and be dashed if I
like his looks! So Sir John told his tale, and the Princess sent me
along with Master Prosper's letter of release. And here's a funny
thing now!" wound up Billy, glancing at me. "The Prince was willing
enough your release should be sent, and even chose out that fellow
Stephanu to come along with me. But something in his eye--I can't
azackly describe it--warned me he had a sort of reason for thinking
that 'twouldn't do you much good. There was a priest, too: I took a
notion that _he_ didn't much expect to see you again, sir. And this
kept me in a sweat every mile of the journey, so that when you
pointed your gun at me yesterday, as natural as life, you might have
knocked me down with a feather."

"Then it is settled," decided my uncle, as Billy came to a full stop.
"Sir John has gone north again, you say, and will be expecting us off
the island? There's naught to prevent our starting this evening?"

"Nothing at all," agreed Captain Pomery, to whom by a glance he had
appealed. "Leastways and supposing I can get my hawsers out of
curl-papers."

"That suits you, Prosper?" asked my uncle. I looked across the fire
at Marc'antonio, who sat with his eyes lowered upon the gun across
his knees.

"Marc'antonio," said I, "my friends here are proposing to sail
northward to Cape Corso to-night. They require me to sail with them.
Am I free, think you?"

"Beyond doubt you are free, cavalier," answered Marc'antonio, still
without lifting his eyes.

"Now, for my part," I said, "I am not so sure. Suppose--look at me
please, my friend--suppose that you and I were to go first to the
Princess together and ask her leave?"

My uncle gazed up at Marc'antonio, who had sprung to his feet; and--
after a long look at his face--from Marc'antonio to me.

"Prosper," he said quietly, "we shall sail to-night. If we sail
without you, will your father forgive us? That is all I ask."

"Dear uncle," said I, "for the life of me I cannot tell you; but that
in my place he would do the like, I am sure."

CHAPTER XXII.

THE GREAT ADVENTURE.

"He that luvith a starre
To follow her, sinke or swym,
Hath never a feare how farre,
For the world it longith to hym:
For the road it longith to hym
And the fieldes that marcche beside--
Lift up thi herte, my maister then,
So inery to-morn we ride."
_The Squyres Delyt_.

So the _Gauntlet_ sailed for the island of Giraglia; and we two,
having watched her for a while as she stood out to make her
offing, trod out our camp-fire and turned our faces northward.
Marc'antonio's last action before starting was to unhobble the goats
and free the hogs from their wooden collars and headpieces. As he
finished operating he turned them loose one by one with a parting
smack on the buttocks, and they ran from us among the thickets, where
we heard their squeals change to grunts of delight.

Brutes though they were, I could understand their delight, having
lived with them, and in even such thraldom as theirs. From my neck
also it seemed that a heavy collar-weight fell loose and slipped
itself as, having passed Nat's grave in the hollow, we left the
pine-forest at our feet and wound our way up among the granite
pinnacles, upward, still upward, into the clear air. Aloft there,
beyond the pass, the kingdom of Corsica broke on our view, laid out
in wide prospect; the distant glittering peaks of Monte d'Oro and
Monte Rotondo, the forests hitched on their shoulders like green
mantles, the creased valleys leading down their rivers to the shore;
a magic kingdom ringed with a sea of iris blue; a kingdom bequeathed
to me. A few months ago I had shouted with joy to possess it;
to-day, with more admiring eyes, I worshipped it for the lists of my
greater adventure; and surely Nat's spirit marched with me to the air
of his favourite song--

"If doughty deeds my lady please,
Right soon I'll mount my steed;
And strong his arm and fast his seat
That bears frae me the meed . . ."

But, in fact, it was not until the third morning of our journey that
Marc'antonio (who, like every Corsican, abhorred walking) was able to
purchase us a steed apiece in the shape of two lean and shaggy hill
ponies. They belonged to a decayed gentleman--of the best blood in
the island, as he assured me--whom poverty had driven with his family
to inhabit a shepherd's hut above the Restorica on the flank of Monte
Rotondo where it looks towards Corte. We had slept the night under
his roof, and I remember that I was awakened next morning on my bed
of dry fern by the small chatter of the children, themselves awaking
one by one as the daylight broke. After breakfast our host led us
down to the pasture where the ponies were tethered; and when he and
Marc'antonio had haggled for twenty minutes, and I was in the act of
mounting, three of the children, aged from five downwards, came
toddling with bunches of a blue flower unknown to me, but much like a
gentian, which they had gathered on the edge of the tumbling
Restorica, some way up-stream. I took my bunch and pinned it on my
hat as I rode, hailing the omen--

"For you alone I ride the ring,
For you I wear the blue . . ."

And--how went the chorus?

"Then tell me how to woo thee, love;
O tell me how to woo thee;
For thy dear sake nae care I'll take--"

The only care taken by Marc'antonio was to follow the bridle-tracks
winding among the foothills, and give a wide berth to the highroad
running north and south through Corte, especially to the bridges
crossing the Golo River, at each of which, he assured me, we should
find a guard posted of Paoli's militia. Luckily, he knew all the
fords, and in the hill-villages off the road the inhabitants showed
no suspicion of us, but took it for granted that we were the good
Paolists we passed for. Marc'antonio answered all their guileless
questions by giving out that we were two roving commissioners
travelling northward to delimit certain _pievi_ in the Nebbio, at the
foot of Cape Corso--an explanation which secured for us the best of
victuals as well as the highest respect.

For awhile our course, bending roughly parallel with the Golo, led us
almost due east, and at length brought us out upon the flat shore of
the Tuscan Sea. Here the mountains, which had confined us to the
river valley, run northward with a sharp twist, and turning with them
we rode once more with our faces set toward our destination, keeping
the tall range on our left hand, and on our right the melancholy
sea-marshes where men cannot dwell for the malaria, and where for
hour after hour we rode in a silence unbroken save by the plash of
fish in the lagoon, or the cry of a heron solitary among the reeds.
This desolation lasted all the way to Biguglia, where we turned aside
again among the foothills to avoid the fortress of Bastia and the
traffic of the roads about it. Beyond Bastia we were safe in the
fastnesses of Cape Corso, across which, from this eastern shore to
the western, and to the camp at Olmeta, one only pass (so
Marc'antonio informed me) was practicable. I guessed we were nearing
it when he began to mutter to himself in the intervals of scanning
the crags high on our left; for this was to him, he confessed, an
almost unknown country. But the gap, when we came abreast of it,
could scarcely be mistaken. With a glance around, as though to take
our bearings, he abruptly headed off for it, and, having climbed the
first slope, reined up and sat for a moment, rigid in his saddle as a
statue, listening.

The sun had sunk behind the range, and the herbage at our feet lay in
a bronze shadow; but light still bathed the sea behind us, and over
it a company of gulls kept flashing and wheeling and clamouring.
While I listened, following Marc'antonio's example, it seemed to me
that an echo from the summit directly above us took up the gull's cry
and repeated it, prolonging the note. Marc'antonio lifted and waved
a hand.

"That will be Stephanu," he announced; and sure enough, before we had
pushed a couple of furlongs up the slope, we caught sight of Stephanu
descending a steep scree to meet us.

He and Marc'antonio nodded salutation brusquely, as though they had
parted but a few hours ago. Marc'antonio, though relieved to see
him, wore a judicial frown.

"What of the Princess, O Stephanu?" he demanded.

"The Princess is well enough, for aught I know," answered Stephanu,
with a glance at me.

"You can speak before the cavalier. He knows not everything until we
tell him; but he is one of us, and that I will engage."

Stephanu shrugged his shoulders. "The Princess is well enough, for
aught I know," he repeated.

"But what fool's talk is this? The Prince packed you off, meaning
mischief of some kind--what mischief you, being on the spot, should
have been able to guess."

"It is God's truth, then, that I could not," Stephanu admitted
sullenly; "and what is more, neither could you in my place have made
a guess--no, not with all your wisdom."

"But you travelled back with all speed? You have seen her?"

"I travelled back with all speed." Stephanu repeated the words as a
child repeats a lesson, but whether ironically or not his face did
not tell. "Also I have seen her. And that is the devil of it."

"Will you explain?"

"She will have nothing to do with me; nor with you. I told her that
you would be upon the road and following close after me. Naturally I
said nothing of the cavalier here, for I knew nothing--"

"Did she ask?" I inquired.

Stephanu appeared to search his memory. "Now I come to think of it
she _did_ let fall a word. . . . But I for my part supposed you to be
dead; and, by the way, signore, you will accept my compliments on
your recovery."

Marc'antonio's frown had deepened. "You mean to tell me, Stephanu,"
he persisted, "that the Princess will have none of us?"

"She bade me go my ways, and not come near her; which was cold
welcome for a man after a nine day's sweat. She added that if I or
Marc'antonio came spying upon her, or in any way interfering until
she sent for us, she would appeal to her brother against us."

"Was the Prince present when she said this?"

"He was not. He was away hunting, she said, in the direction of
Nonza; but in fact he must have gone reconnoitring, for he had left
the camp all but empty--no one at home but Andrea and Jacopo Galloni,
whose turn it was with the cooking--these and the Princess. But the
Prince has returned since then, for I heard his horn as I crossed the
pass."

Stephanu, as we moved forward, kept alongside Marc'antonio's bridle,
or as nearly alongside as the narrow track allowed. I, bringing up
the rear, could not see the trouble in Marc'antonio's face, but I
heard it in his voice as he put question after question.
"The Princess was not a prisoner." "No; nor under any constraint
that Stephanu could detect. She had her gun; was in fact cleaning
and oiling its lock very leisurably when he had walked into camp.
He had found her there, seated on a rock, with Andrea and Jacopo
Galloni at a little distance below preparing the meal and taking no
notice of her. In fact, they could not see her, because the rock
overhung them."

"She must have been sitting there for sentry," said Stephanu, "At any
rate, there was no other guard set on the camp. Well, if so, she
took it easily enough; but catching sight of me she stood up, put her
finger to her lip and pointed over the ledge. Thereupon I peered
over, but drew back my head before Andrea and Jacopo could spy me.
So I stood before her, expecting to be praised for the despatch I had
made on the road; but she praised me not. She motioned me to follow
her a little way out of earshot of the men below, to a patch of
tall-growing junipers within which, when first we pitched camp, she
had chosen to make her bower. Then she turned on me, and I saw that
in some way I had vexed her, for her eyes were wrathful; and, said
she, 'Why have you made this speed?' 'Because, O Princess, you have
need of me,' I answered. 'I have no need of you,' she said;
'but where is Marc'antonio? And the young Englishman--is he yet
alive?' 'O Princess,' I answered again, 'I did not go all the way to
the old camp, but only so far that the man Priske could not mistake
his road to it. Then, having put him in the way, I turned back and
have travelled night and day. Of the young Englishman I can tell you
nothing; but of Marc'antonio I can promise that he will be on the
road and not far behind me.'"

"_Grazie_," muttered Marc'antonio; "but how could you be sure I had
received the message?"

"Because the Princess had charged you to be at that post until
released. Therefore I knew you would not have quitted it, if alive;
and if you were dead--" Stephanu shrugged his shoulders. "I was in
a hurry, you understand; and in a hurry a man must take a few risks."

"I am not saying you did ill," growled Marc'antonio, slightly
mollified.

"The Princess said so, however. 'You are a fool, O Stephanu,' she
told me; 'and as for needing you or Marc'antonio, on the contrary, I
forbid you both to join the camp for a while. Go back. If you meet
Marc'antonio upon the road, give him this message for me.'
'But where, O Princess,' I asked, 'are we to await your pleasure?'
'Fare north, if you will, to Cape Corso,' she said, 'where that old
mad Englishman boasts that he will reach my mother in her prison at
Giraglia. He has gone thither alone, refusing help; and you may
perhaps be useful to him.'"

Marc'antonio's growl grew deeper. "Was that all?" he asked.

"That was all."

"Then there is mischief here. The Prince, O Stephanu, did not
without purpose send you out of the way. Now, whatever he purposed
he must have meant to do quickly, before we two should return to the
camp--"

"He had mischief in his heart, I will swear," assented Stephanu,
after a glance at me and another at Marc'antonio, who reassured him
with a nod. "And that the Princess plainly guessed, by her manner at
parting, when I set out with the man Priske. She was sorry enough
then to say good-bye to me," he added, half boastfully.

"Nevertheless," answered Marc'antonio with some sarcasm, "she appears
to have neglected to confide to you what she feared."

Stephanu spread out his hands. "The Prince, and the reverend
Father--who can tell what passes in their minds?"

"Not you, at any rate! Very well, then--the Princess was
apprehensive. . . . Yet now, when the mischief (whatever it is)
should either be done or on the point of doing, she will have none of
our help. Clearly she knows more, yet will have none of our help.
That is altogether puzzling to me. . . . And she sends us
north. . . . Very well again; we will go north, but not far!"

He glanced back at me over his shoulder. I read his meaning--that he
wished to plan his campaign privately with Stephanu--and, reining in
my pony, I fell back out of earshot.

The pass towards which we were climbing stood perhaps three thousand
feet above the shore and the high road we had left; and the track,
when it reached the steeper slopes, ran in long zigzagging terraces
at the angles of which our ponies had sometimes to scramble up
stairways cut in the living rock. As the sun sank a light mist
gradually spread over the coast below us, the distant islands grew
dim, and we rode suspended, as it were, over a bottomless vale and a
sea without horizon. Slowly, out of these ghostly wastes, the moon
lifted herself in full circle, and her rays, crossing the cope of
heaven, lit up a tall grey crag on the ridge above us, and the stem
of a white-withered bush hanging from it--an isolated mass which
(my companions told me) marked the summit of the ascent.

"The path leads round the base of it," said Stephanu. "We shall
reach it in another twenty minutes."

"But will it not be guarded?" I asked.

He hunched his shoulders. "The Prince is no general. A hundred
times our enemies might have destroyed us; but they prefer to leave
us alone. It is more humiliating."

Marc'antonio rode forward deep in thought, his chin sunk upon his
breast. At the summit, under the shadow of the great rock, he reined
up, and slewing himself about in his saddle addressed Stephanu again.

"As I remember, there is a track below which branches off to the
right, towards Nonza. It will take us wide of Olmeta and we can
strike down into the lowland somewhere between the two. The Princess
commands us to make for the north; so we shall be obeying her, and at
the same time we can bivouac close enough to take stock at sunrise
and, maybe, learn some news of the camp--yet not so close that our
horses can be heard, if by chance one should whinny."

"As to that you may rest easy," Stephanu assured him. "It is known
that many of the farms below keep ponies in stable."

From the pass we looked straight down upon another sea, starlit and
dimly discernible, and upon slopes and mountain spurs descending into
dense woodland over which, along the bluffs of the ridge, the lights
of a few lonely hill-farms twinkled. Stephanu found for us the track
of which Marc'antonio had spoken, and although on this side of the
range the shadows of the crags made an almost total darkness, our
ponies took us down at a fair pace. After thirty, or it may be
forty, minutes of this jolting and (to me) entirely haphazard
progress, Marc'antonio again reined up, on the edge of a
mountain-stream which roared across our path so loudly as to drown
his instructions. But at a sign from him Stephanu stepped back and
took my bridle, and within a couple of minutes I felt that my pony's
feet were treading good turf and, at a cry from my guide, ducked my
head to avoid the boughs as we threaded our way down through an
orchard of stalwart olives.

The slope grew gentler as we descended, and eased almost to a level
on the verge of a high road running north and south under the glimmer
of the moon--or rather of the pale light heralding the moon's advent.
Marc'antonio looked about him and climbed heavily from his saddle.
He had been riding since dawn.

I followed his example, though with difficulty--so stiff were my
limbs; picketed my pony; and, having unstrapped the blanket from my
saddle-bow, wrapped it about me and stretched myself on the thin turf
to munch the ration of crust which Marc'antonio doled out from his
bag; for he carried our provender.

"Never grudge a hard day's work when 'tis over," said he, as he
passed me the wine-skin. "Yonder side of the mountain breeds malaria
even in winter, but on this side a man may sleep and rise fit for
adventure."

He offered, very politely, to share his blanket with Stephanu, but
Stephanu declined. Those two might share one loyalty and together
take counsel for it, but between them as men there could be no liking
nor acceptance of favours.

I lay listening for a while to the mutter of their voices as they
talked there together under the olives; but not for long. The few
words and exclamations that reached me carried no meaning. In truth
I was worn out. Very soon the chatter of the stream, deep among the
trees--the stream which we had just now avoided--confused itself with
their talk, and I slept.

Of a sudden I started and sat up erect. I had been dreaming, and in
my dream I had seen two figures pass along the road beyond the fringe
of the trees. They had passed warily, yet hurriedly, across the
patch of it now showing white between the olive trunks, under the
risen moon. Yet how could this have happened if I had dreamed it
merely? The moon, when I fell asleep, had not surmounted the ridge
behind me, and that patch of road, now showing so white and clear,
had been dim, if not quite invisible. None the less I could be sworn
that two figures had passed up the road . . . two men . . .

Marc'antonio and Stephanu?--reconnoitring perhaps? I rubbed my eyes.
No: Marc'antonio and Stephanu lay a few paces away, stretched in
profound sleep under the moonlight drifting between the olive boughs;
and yonder, past the fringe of the orchard, shone the patch of white
high road. Two figures, half a minute since, had passed along it.
I could be sworn to it, even while reason insisted that I had been
dreaming.

I flung off my rug, and, stepping softly to the verge of the
orchard's shadow, peered out upon the road. To my right--that is to
say, northward--it stretched away level and visibly deserted so far
as the bend, little more than a gunshot distant, where it curved
around the base of low cliff and disappeared. A few paces on this
side of the cliff glimmered the rail of a footbridge, and to this
spot my ears traced the sound of running water which had been singing
through my dreams--the same stream which had turned us aside to seek
our bivouac. Not even yet could I believe that my two wayfarers had
been phantoms merely. I had given them two minutes' start at least,
and by this time they might easily have passed the bend.
Threading my way swiftly between the boles of the olive trees, I
skirted the road to the edge of the stream and stood for a moment at
pause before stepping out upon the footbridge and into the moonlight.

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