Sir John Constantine by Prosper Paleologus Constantine

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I drew back and, touching Dom Basilio by the shoulder, led him to the
window. "He has no single wound that in itself would be fatal," the
Trappist whispered; "but a twenty that together have bled him to
death. He hacked his way up this stair through half a score of
Genoese; at the door here, there was none left to hinder him, and we,
having found and followed with the keys, climbed over bodies to find
him stretched before it."

"Emilia!" It was my father's voice lifted in triumph; and the Queen
rose at the sound of it, trembling, and stood by the bed. "Emilia!
Ah, love--ah, Queen, bend lower!--the love we loved--there, over the
Taravo--it was not lost. . . . It meets in our children--and we--and
we--"

The Queen bent.

"O great one--and we in Heaven!" I raised the Princess and led her
to the window fronting the dawn. We looked not toward the pillow
where their lips met; but into the dawn, and from the dawn into each
other's eyes.

CHAPTER XXVII.

MY MISTRESS RE-ENLISTS ME.

"If all the world were this enchanted isle,
I might forget that every man was vile,
And look on thee, and even love, awhile."
_The Voyage of Sir Scudamor_.

We had turned from the bed, that no eyes but the Queen's might
witness my father's passing. Her arm had slipped beneath his head,
to support it, and I listened dreading to hear her announce the end.
But yet his great spirit struggled against release, unwilling to
exchange its bliss even for bliss celestial; and presently I heard
his voice speaking my name.

"Prosper," he said; but his eyes looked upward into the Queen's, and
his voice, as it grew firmer, seemed to interpret a vision not of
earth. "Learn of me that love, though it delight in youth, yet
forsakes not the old; nay, though through life its servant follow and
never overtake. Even such service I have paid it, yet behold I have
my reward!

"To you, dear lad, it shall be kinder; yet only on condition that you
trust it.

"You will need to trust it, for it will change. Lose no faith in the
beam when, breaking from your lady's eyes, it fires you not as
before. It widens, lad; it is not slackening; it is passing,
enlarging into a diviner light.

"By that light you shall see all men, women, children--yes, and all
living things--akin with you and deserving your help. It is the
light of God upon earth, and its warmth is God's charity, though He
kindle it first as a selfish spark between a youth and a maid.

"Trust it, then, most of all when it frightens you, its first passion
fading. For then, sickening of what is transient, it dies to put on
permanence; as the creature dies--as I am dying, Prosper--into the
greatness of the Creator.

"Take comfort and courage, then. For though the narrow beam falls no
longer from heaven, you and she will remember the spot where it
surprised you, unsealing your eyes. Let the place, the hour, be
sacred, and you the witnesses sacred one to another. So He that made
you ministers shall keep your garlands from fading.

"O Lord of Love, high and heavenly King! who, making the hands of boy
and girl to tremble, dost of their thoughtless impulse build up
states, establish societies, and people the world, accept these
children!

"O Master, who payest not by time, take the thanks of thy servant!
O Captain, receive my sword! O hands!"--my father raised his stiffly
towards the crucifix which Dom Basilio uplifted, standing a little
behind the Queen. "O wounded hands--nay, they are shaped like thine,
Emilia--reach and resume my soul! _In manus tuas, Domine--in manus--
in manus tuas. . . ."

"It is over," said Dom Basilio, slowly, after a long silence.

I saw the Queen lower the grey head back against its pillow, and
turned to the window, where the Princess gazed out over the sea.
For a minute--maybe for longer--I stood beside her following her
gaze; then, as she lifted a hand and pointed, I was aware of two
ships on the south-west horizon, the both under full sail and
standing towards the castle.

"Last night," said I, and paused, wondering if indeed so short a
while had passed; "theirs were the guns, off Nonza."

She nodded, meeting my eyes for an instant only, and averting hers
again to the horizon. To my dismay they were dark and troubled.

"Not now--not now!" she murmured hurriedly, almost fiercely, as I
would have touched her hand. Again her eyes crossed mine, and I read
that love no longer looked forth from them, but a gloomy doubt in its
place.

From the next window my Uncle Gervase had spied the ships, and now
drew Dom Basilio's attention to them. The two discussed them for a
minute. "Were they Corsican vessels, or Genoese?" Dom Basilio
plucked me by the arm, to know my opinion. I told him of the firing
we had heard off Nonza.

"In my belief," said I, "they are Corsicans that have drawn off from
the bombardment, though why I cannot divine, unless it be in
curiosity to discover why Giraglia was a-burning last night."

"If, on the other hand they be Genoese," answered my uncle, shaking
his head, "this is a serious matter for us. The _Gauntlet_ has but
five men aboard, and will be culled like a peach."

"Had she fifty, she could not keep up a fight against two gunboats--
as gunboats they appear to be," said I. "You will make a better
defence of it from the island here, with the few cannon you have not
dismounted."

"In that case I had best take boat, tell Captain Pomery to drop his
anchor, leaving the ketch to her fate, and fetch him ashore to help
us."

"Do so," said I. "Yet I trust 'tis a false alarm; for that these are
Corsicans I'll lay odds."

"It may even be," suggested Dom Basilio, "that the two are enemies,
the one in chase of the other."

"No," I decided, scanning them; "for they have the look of being
sister ships. And, see you, the leader has rounded the point and
caught sight of the _Gauntlet_. Mark how she is carrying her
headsheets over to windward, to let her consort overtake her."

"The lad's right!" exclaimed my uncle. "Well, God send they be not
Genoese! but I must pull out to the ketch and make sure.
You, Prosper, can help Dom Basilio meanwhile to muster his men and
right as many cannon as time allows."

He stepped to the door, tip-toeing softly, and we followed him--with
a glance, as we went, at the figure bending over the bed. The Queen
did not heed us.

From the upper terrace at the foot of the tower the Princess and I
watched my uncle as, with two stalwart Trappists to row him, he
pushed out and steered for the _Gauntlet_. We saw him run his boat
alongside and climb aboard. Five slow minutes passed, and it became
apparent that Captain Pomery had views of his own about abandoning
the ship, for the _Gauntlet_ neither dropped anchor nor took in
canvas, but held on her tack, letting the boat drop astern on a
tow-rope.

Just then Dom Basilio sent up half a dozen stout monks to me from the
base of the rock; and for the next few minutes I was kept busy with
them on the eastern bastion, refixing a gun which had been thrown off
its carriage in the assault, until, casting another glance seaward, I
saw to my amazement that the ketch had run up her British colours to
her mizzen.

But happily Captain Pomery's defiance was thrown away. A minute
later the leading gunboat ran up a small bundle on her main signal
halliards, and shook out the green flag of Corsica.

"You can let the gun lie," said I to my monks. "These are friends."

"They are my countrymen," said the Princess at my elbow. "That they
are friends is less certain."

"At any rate, they are lowering a boat," said I; "and see, my uncle
is jumping into his, to intercept them."

The Corsicans, manning their boat, pulled straight for the island;
but at half a mile's distance or less, being hailed by my uncle, lay
on their oars and waited while he bore down on them. I saw him lift
his hat to a man seated in the stern-sheets, who stood up and saluted
politely in response. The two boats drew close alongside, while
their commanders conversed, and after a couple of minutes resumed
their way abreast and drew to the landing-quay, where Dom Basilio
stood awaiting them.

"By his stature and bearing," said I, conning him through a glass
which one of the monks passed to me, "this must be the General
himself."

"Paoli?" queried the Princess.

I nodded.

"Shall we go down the rock to meet him?"

"It is Paoli's place to mount to us," said she proudly.

We waited therefore while my uncle led him up to us. But Pascal
Paoli was too great a man to trouble about his dignity; and for
courtesies, he contented himself with omitting none.

"Salutation, O Princess!" He halted within a few steps of the head
of the stairway, and lifted his hat.

"Salutation, O General!"

"And to you, Cavalier!" He included me in his bow, "Pouf!" he
panted, looking about him; "the ascent is a sharp one, under the best
conditions. And you carried it in the darkness, against odds?"
He turned upon my uncle. "You English are a great race."

"Excuse me, General," said my uncle, indicating Dom Basilio and the
monks: "the credit belongs rather to my friends here."

"I had the pleasure to meet Sir John Constantine, a while ago,
outside our new town of Isola Rossa, where he did me a signal
service. You are his son, sir?"

I bowed.

"I condole with you, since I come too late to thank him--on behalf of
Corsica, Princess--for a yet more brilliant service. An assault such
as your party made last night requires brave men; but even more, it
requires a brave leader and a genius even to conceive it. Let me
say, sirs, that we heard your fire and saw Giraglia blazing, as far
south as Nonza, where we were conducting a far meaner enterprise; and
came north in wonder where Corsica had found such friends."

"Say rather, sir, where my mother had found them," interposed the
Princess, coldly. "Is this curiosity of yours all your business?"

The General met her look frankly. If annoyed, he hid his annoyance.

"O Princess," answered he, "I will own that Corsica has left the
Queen, your mother, overlong here in captivity. For reasons of state
it was decided to work northward from point to point, clearing the
Genoese as we went. We did not reckon that, before we reached
Giraglia, an Englishman of genius would step in to anticipate us.
Our hopes, Princess, fell short of an event so happy. But I can say
that every Corsican is glad, and would wish to be such a hero."

"Did you, then, clear the Genoese from Nonza?" I put in hastily,
noting the curl of my mistress's lips.

"Sir, there were no Genoese to clear. We bombarded it idly, only to
learn that the Commandant Fornari had abandoned it some hours before;
that he and his men had escaped northward in long boats, rowing close
under the land."

I glanced at the Princess, and saw her mouth whiten. "Excuse me," I
said. "Do you tell me that the whole garrison of Nonza had escaped?"

"Unfortunately, yes." Paoli, too, glanced at the Princess; but for an
instant only. "We landed after the fortress had fired one single gun
at us, which we silenced. Beside it we found two men standing at
bay; its only defenders; and they, strange to tell, were Corsicans.
I have brought them with me on my own ship."

"You need not tell me their names," said I.

"My brother?" the Princess gasped. "Where is my brother?"

The General lowered his eyes. "I regret to tell you, Princess, that
your brother has fallen into our enemies' hands. They have carried
him north, to Genoa, and with him the Priest who was his confessor.
This I learned from your two heroes, who had entered Nonza with no
other purpose than to rescue him, but had arrived too late.
They shall be brought ashore, that you may question them.

"But what is this?" said a voice from the turret-door behind us.
"My son Camillo a prisoner, and in Genoa!"

We turned all, to see the Queen standing there, on the threshold.
The Princess, suddenly pallid, shot a look at Paoli--a look which at
once defied and implored him.

"It is true, dear mother," said she, steadying her voice.

"God help us all!" The Queen clasped her hands. "The Genoese have no
pity."

"Let your Majesty be reassured," said Paoli, slowly, "The Genoese, to
be sure, have no pity; yet I can almost promise they will not proceed
to extremities with your son. An enemy, madam, may have good reasons
for negotiating; and although the Genoese Government would be
delighted to break me on the wheel, yet, on some points, I can compel
them to bargain with me."

He lifted his eyes. Mine were fixed on the Princess's, and I saw
them thank him for the falsehood.

"Come, dear mother," she said, taking the Queen's hand.
"Though Camillo be in Genoa he can be reached."

"My poor boy was ever too rash."

"He can be reached," the Princess repeated--but I saw her wince--
"and he shall be reached. General, I pray you to send these two men
to me. And now, mother, let one sorrow be enough for a time.
There is woman's work to be done upstairs; take me with you that I
may help."

I did not understand these last words, but was left puzzling over
them as the two passed through the turret-door and mounted the
stairway. Nor did I remember the custom of the country until, ten
minutes later, I heard their voices lifted together in the upper
chamber intoning a lament over my father's body.

My father--so my uncle told me--had left express orders that he
should be buried at sea. Throughout the long afternoon, with short
pauses, the voices wailed overhead, while we worked to set the
fortress in order for the garrison which Paoli sent (despatching his
second gunboat) to fetch from Isola Rossa; until, an hour before
sunset, two monks came down the stairway with the corpse, and bore it
to the quay, where Billy Priske waited with one of the _Gauntlet's_
boats. Paoli and my uncle had taken their places in the
stern-sheets, and Dom Basilio and I, having lifted the body on board
and covered it with the _Gauntlet's_ flag, ourselves stepped into the
bows, where I took an oar and helped Billy to pull some twenty
furlongs off the shore. Dom Basilio recited the funeral service; and
there, watched by his comrades from the quay, we let sink my father
into six fathoms, to sleep at the foot of the great rock which had
been his altar.

As I landed and climbed the path again, I caught sight of Camilla,
standing by the parapet of the east bastion, in converse with
Marc'antonio and Stephanu. She had braided her hair, and done away
with all traces of mourning, At the turret door her mother met me,
equally neat and composed.

"I have been waiting for you," said the Queen. "Come, O son, for I
want your advice."

She led me up past the second window of the turret, lifted the latch
of an iron-studded door in the opposite wall, and, pushing it open,
motioned me to enter.

"But what is this?" said I, gazing around upon two camp beds, spread
with white coverlets, and a dressing-table with a jugful of
lilac-coloured stocks, such as grew in the crannies of the keep and
the rock-ledges under the platform.

"I had no mother," said she, "to prepare my bride-chamber, and rough
is the best I can prepare for my child. But it is done with my
blessing."

"Madame--" said I, flushing hotly, and paused at the sound of a
footstep on the stair.

It was the Princess who came; and in an angry haste. She kissed her
mother, thrust her gently from the room, and so, closing the door,
stood with her back against it.

"You knew of this?" she demanded.

"Before God, I did not," I answered.

"It is folly." She glanced around the room. "You will admit that it
is folly," she insisted.

I bowed my head. "It is folly, if you choose to call it so."

"I have been wanting to tell you . . . I believe you to be a good
man. Oh yes, the fault is with me! This morning--you remember what
your father said? Well, I listened, and the truth was made clear to
me, that I cannot give you the like of such love--or the like of any
such as a woman ought to give, who--who--"

"Say no more," said I, as gently as might be. "I understand."

"Ah, that is kind of you!" She caught at the admission eagerly.
"It is not that I doubted; I see now that some men are not vile.
But until I can _feel_ it, what use is being convinced?"
She paused, "Moreover, to-night I go on a journey."

"And I, too," said I, meeting her eyes firmly. "To Genoa, is it
not?"

"You guessed it? . . . But you have no right--" she faltered.

I laughed. "But excuse me, my wife, I have all the right in the
world. At what hour will Marc'antonio be ready with the boat?"

CHAPTER XXVIII.

GENOA.

"_Gobbo_. Master young gentleman, I pray you, which is the
way to Master Jew's?

"_Launcelot_. Turn up on the right hand at the next turning,
but at the very next turning of all, on your
left: marry at the very next turning, turn of no
hand, but turn down indirectly to the Jew's
house.

"_Gobbo_. By God's sonties, 'twill be a hard way to hit."
_The Merchant of Venice_.

At eleven o'clock that night we four--the Princess, Marc'antonio,
Stephanu, and I--hoisted sail and stood away from the north shore of
Giraglia, carrying a fair wind with us. Our boat had been very
cunningly chosen for us by Marc'antonio out of the small flotilla
which my father had hired at Cape Corso for the assault. She was
undecked, measured some eighteen feet over-all, and carried a
fair-sized lateen sail; but her great merit for our purpose, lay in
her looks. The inhabitants of Cape Corso (as the reader knows) have
neither the patriotism nor the prejudices of their fellow-islanders;
and this (however her owner had come by her) was a boat of Genoese
build. So Marc'antonio had assured me; and my own observation
confirmed it next day, as we neared the coast off Porto Fino.

We had laid this course of set purpose, intending to work up to the
great harbour coastwise from the southward and enter it boldly,
passing ourselves off for a crew from Porto Fino with a catch of fish
for market. The others had discarded all that was Corsican in their
dress, and the Princess had ransacked the quarters of the late
garrison on Giraglia to rig us out in odds and ends of Genoese
costume. For the rest we trusted to fortune; but an hour before
starting I had sought out my Uncle Gervase and made him privy to the
plot. He protested, to be sure; but acquiesced in the end with a wry
face when I told him that the Princess and I were determined.

This understood, at once my excellent and most practical uncle turned
to business. Within ten minutes it was agreed between us that the
_Gauntlet_ should sail back with General Paoli and anchor under the
batteries of Isola Rossa to await our return. She was to wait there
one month exactly. If within that time we did not return, he was to
conclude either that our enterprise had come to grief or that we had
re-shaped our designs and without respect to the _Gauntlet's_
movements. In any event, at the end of one calendar month he might
count himself free to weigh anchor for England. We next discussed
the Queen. My uncle opined, but could not say with certainty, that
the General had it in mind to offer her protection and an honourable
retirement on her own estates above the Taravo. I bade him tell her
that, if she could wean herself from Corsica to follow her daughter,
our house of Constantine would be proud to lodge her--I hoped, for
the remainder of her days--for certain, until she should tire of it
and us.

The rest (I say) we left to chance, which at first served us
smoothly. The breeze, though it continued fair, fell light soon
after daybreak, and noon was well past before we sighted the Ligurian
coast. We dowsed sail and pulled towards it leisurably, waiting for
the hour when the fishing-boats should put out from Porto Fino: which
they did towards sunset, running out by ones and two's before the
breeze which then began to draw off the land, and making a pretty
moving picture against the evening glow. When night had fallen we
hoisted our lateen again and worked up towards them.

These fishermen (as I reasoned, from our own Cornish practice) would
shoot their nets soon after nightfall and before the moon's rising--
to haul them, perhaps, two hours later, and await the approach of
morning for their second cast. Towards midnight, then, we sailed
boldly up to the outermost boat and spoke her through Marc'antonio,
who (_fas est ab hoste doceri_) had in old campaigns picked up enough
of the Genoese patois to mimic it very passably. He announced us as
sent by certain Genoese fishmongers--a new and enterprising firm
whose name he invented on the spur of the moment--to trade for the
first catch of fish and carry them early to market, where their
freshness would command good prices. The fishermen, at first
suspicious, gave way at sight of the Genoese money in his hand, and
accepted an offer which not only saved them a journey but (as we
calculated) put from three to four extra livres in their pockets.
Within twenty minutes they had transferred two thousand fish to our
boat, and we sailed off into the darkness, ostensibly to trade with
the others. Doubtless they wished us good night for a set of fools.

We did not trouble their fellows. Two thousand fish, artfully spread
to look like thrice the number, ought to pass us under the eyes of
all Genoa: so for Genoa we headed forthwith, hauling up on the
starboard tack and heeling to our gunwale under the breeze which
freshened and blew steadily off the shore.

Sunrise found us almost abreast of the harbour: and the clocks from
the city churches were striking seven as we rounded up under the
great mole on the eastern side of the entrance and floated into the
calm basin within. I confess that my heart sank as Genoa opened in
panorama before us, spreading in a vast semicircle with its dockyards
and warehouses, its palaces, its roofs climbing in terrace after
terrace to the villas and flower-gardens on the heights: nor was this
sense of our impudence lessened by reflecting that, once within the
mole, we had not a notion to which of the quays a fishing-boat ought
to steer to avoid suspicion. But here, again, fortune helped us.
To the right, at the extreme inner corner of the mole, I espied half
a dozen boats, not unlike our own, huddled close under a stone
stairway; and I had no sooner thrust down the helm than a man,
catching sight of us, came running along the mole to barter.

Marc'antonio's conduct of the ensuing bargain was nothing short of
masterly. The stranger--a fishmonger's runner--turned as he met us
and trotted alongside, shaping his hands like a trumpet and bawling
down his price. Marc'antonio, affecting a slight deafness, signalled
to him to bawl louder, hunched his shoulders, shook his head
vehemently, held up ten fingers, then eight, then (after a long and
passionate protest from above) eight again. By this time two other
traffickers had joined the contest, and with scarcely a word on his
side Marc'antonio kept them going, as a juggler plays with three
balls. Not until our boat's nose grated alongside the landing was
the bargain concluded, and the first runner, a bag of silver in his
fist, almost tumbled upon us down the slippery stairs in his hurry to
clinch it.

I stepped ashore and held out a hand to the Princess who, in her
character of _paesana_, very properly ignored it. Luckily the
courtesy escaped notice. Stephanu was making fast the boat; the
runner counting his coins into Marc'antonio's hand.

The Princess and I mounted the stairs and, after a pretence to loiter
and await our comrades, strolled off towards the city around the
circuit of the quay. We passed the great warehouses of the Porto
Franco, staring up at them, but impassively, in true country fashion,
and a little beyond them came to the entrance of a street which--for
it was strewn with cabbage leaves and other refuse--we judged to lead
to the vegetable market.

"Let us turn aside here," said the Princess. "I was brought up in a
cabbage-market, remember; and the smell may help to put me at my
ease."

Now along the quays we had met and passed but a few idlers, the hour
being early for business; but in the market, when we reached it, we
found a throng--citizens and citizens' wives and housekeepers, all
armed with baskets and chaffering around the stalls. The crowd
daunted me at first; but finding it too intent to heed us, I drew
breath and was observing it at leisure when my eyes fell on the back
of a man who, bending over a stall on my right, held forth a cabbage
in one hand while with the other--so far as the basket on his arm
allowed--he gesticulated violently, cheapening the price against an
equally voluble saleswoman.

Good heavens! That back--that voice--surely I knew them!

The man turned, holding the cabbage aloft and calling gods, mortals,
and especially the population of Genoa, to witness. It was Mr.
Pett!--and, catching sight of me, he stared wildly, almost dropping
the vegetable.

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