The Vintage: A Romance of the Greek War of Independence

"Yes, Mitsos, I will come to the wall whenever I can, hoping only that you may be there, because, you know, I care for you more than all the rest of the world. And now carry me back to the boat, strong-armed one. It is time I went back."

Mitsos stooped and lifted her up. As his hands were full, he hung the creel round his neck, and Suleima carried the extinguished flare. His heart was a dead weight within him, for he felt certain why Nicholas had come; but he was apparently his old cheery self, and Suleima forgot about the rather disquieting moments just after Nicholas had passed. What he should do he could not form the least idea; at present it seemed to him impossible that he should go away and leave her. He felt willing to throw to the winds all he had promised Nicholas. Nicholas had told him that he should be one of the foremost of his country's avengers. He shrugged his shoulders, for just now the desire for vengeance on Turks was less than the memory of a dream. Were there not plenty of others to avenge Greece? Why should he give up all that was dearest to him, this dear burden that was his, and go out on an undesired adventure?

But as long as Suleima was with him he stifled all these thoughts, while the boat skimmed seawards on the outward tack. They put about opposite the island and ran straight for the wall. The wind had freshened, and to Mitsos the boat seemed to be going terribly fast, for he grudged each moment. But he had quite lulled Suleima's disquietude, if not his own, and she lay with her head on his shoulder, half asleep, looking up now and then into his wide-open eyes, and pressing her arm more closely round his neck. He had to rouse her when he must get up to take in the sail, and she smiled at him sleepily like a child just wakened.

Then he fixed the ladder, and she climbed up, clung to him for a moment without words, for there was no need of speech between them, and went quickly and silently across the garden.

It was after two when Mitsos landed opposite his house, and he saw with some surprise that there were lights still burning. He opened the door, and, bending his head to pass under the low jamb, entered. Constantine and Nicholas were sitting there, Constantine silent, Nicholas talking eagerly, and Mitsos observed that he held his pipe unlit in his hand. His uncle sprang up when he came in.

"Ah, he is here! Mitsos, the time has come. You must go at once."

Mitsos looked at him a moment steadily and silently – their eyes were on a level – and then he turned aside and put down the fishing-creel in the corner. His decision, though the result of years, was the deed of only a moment.

Then he faced Nicholas again.

"I am ready," he said; "tell me what I have to do."

Part II

THE EVE OF THE GATHERING

CHAPTER I

MITSOS MEETS HIS COUSINS

Since August Nicholas had been travelling about the Peloponnesus, being received everywhere with a sober, secret welcome as one of the accredited leaders of the revolution. The Turks, through whose Kismet the truth of the ever-increasing rumors had begun to break, had long held him in indolent suspicion, but had taken no steps to counteract the report of his death, for they hoped – if Turks can be said to hope – somewhat ingeniously, but wholly mistakenly, that such news would prove to be a cooling draught to this ill-defined fever of revolution. The Greeks, however, as Germanos had said, knew "that Nicholas was not the sort of man who died," and Turkish ingenuity went strangely wide of its aim. In fact, it enabled Nicholas to move about more freely, and to take a liberal advantage of the fact that he was supposed to be beyond the reach of war and rumor of war. Indeed, in October, finding himself back at Corinth, where he had business with one of his fellow-workers, he had filled an idle afternoon with carving a little wooden cross on which he painted his name, and below, with a two-handled meaning, the text, "The trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised." He was to leave Corinth that night, and after the dark had fallen he and his host went to the Greek cemetery and planted this eloquent little monument over a newly made grave. When it was discovered it caused a certain amount of intelligent amusement among the Greeks; but the Turks seemed to miss the point of the joke. Not even they would have dared to disturb a Greek cemetery, for the dead had in their eyes a sacredness which the living altogether lacked; and it remained there for a year, when subsequent events saw it planted over the most honored grave in Greece.

December and the first half of January Nicholas had spent in the country of his kin, south of Sparta, and it was from there he had fled in haste to Nauplia, for his presence in Maina, which was notably patriotic, had become too insistent to be disregarded, and the Turkish governor of Tripoli, Mehemet Salik, had demanded of the Greek bey of that district, Petros Mavromichales, usually known as Petrobey, that he should be given up on the old charge of brigandage. Petrobey, like Germanos, was of high rank, and the Turks seemed to have had no suspicion that he himself was a leader of the revolution; but, as a matter of fact, he and Nicholas, who was staying with him at the time, read the letter together and consulted what should be done.

Nicholas was disposed to shrug at it altogether, or merely to send back an answer that he was officially declared to be dead and buried – witness the grave and its monument; but Petrobey thought otherwise. His own usefulness to the cause was immensely increased by the fact that he at present stood outside suspicion, and he advised Nicholas to retire where they were not likely to look for him, while he himself would prosecute a vigorous and indubitably unsuccessful search elsewhere, as an evidence of his own unimpeachable fidelity. Had not Nicholas got a brother-in-law – his own cousin – at Nauplia? Nauplia was an excellent hiding-place, for it was under the very nose of the Turkish governor, and people always looked everywhere else first. But it would be necessary to have some extremely trustworthy person who could communicate between them; and Nicholas had spoken to him of his nephew. This nephew lived at Nauplia, did he not? How very convenient! Nicholas should go to Nauplia and send his nephew back to Maina, where he could be very useful.

With this, Petrobey wrote an exceedingly polite letter to Mehemet Salik, saying that his house was Mehemet's house, and that he himself was honored by the commands of the deputy of the Shadow of God. Nicholas, it was true, as he had learned by inquiry, had been seen lately in Maina, or so gossip would have it; but as they had been told that he was dead not long ago at Corinth, there might be some confusion on this point. However, the bearers of the letter to the deputy of the Serene Presence would be his witnesses that he had sent out twenty men to scour the country-side, and no doubt the hound of hell, if still alive, would be found. He should in this case be sent with spitting to Tripoli.

Petrobey was the head of the numerous and powerful clan of the Mavromichales, the thews and sinews of the revolution. He himself, though a Greek, was governor of the district of Maina, and had been appointed to this post by the Sultan, for the attempt to put the government of Maina, or rather of the Mavromichales, into the hands of a Turkish official, had not proved a success, the last three Turkish governors not having been permitted by the clan to hold office for more than a month. His brothers and cousins were mayors and land-owners of the villages for miles around, and, like Nicholas's family, with whom they were connected twenty times in marriage, it was their pride that they had kept their blood clean and not mated with devils, and the wrong done to Nicholas's wife they took for a wrong done to themselves, demanding, so they swore, "a red and hot apology." So when, in the presence of the five soldiers who had brought Mehemet's letter, Petrobey sent for his brother-in-law Demetri, and told him that that bastard cousin of the clan, Nicholas Vidalis, was being sought for by the deputy of the Shadow of God who cast his serene effulgence over Tripoli, Demetri was suitably astounded, and the Turkish soldiers were much impressed. They had the further satisfaction an hour later of seeing twenty mounted men set off southwards in search of Nicholas, following well-authenticated information; and later in the afternoon they themselves took horse on their return journey to Tripoli, having drunk a little more than was good for them at Petrobey's expense, the bearers of that reply the sentiments and wording of which were an edification.

Nicholas and he supped together, and it was arranged that Nicholas should start that night from Panitza, so as to reach Gythium before morning.

"I regret," said Petrobey, "my dear cousin, that I cannot speed you on your way myself, and can send none of our clan with you; but perhaps it would be outstepping the bounds of prudence if I went myself, and, as you know, the Mavromichales of this immediate district have gone to look for you southwards. They will no doubt be back from their quest before midnight; but I should advise your setting out before then."

Nicholas laughed.

"I shall do very well, my cousin," he said. "I shall reach Nauplia in two days or three, and send Mitsos back at once. He is absolutely and entirely trustworthy. I think I told you of the test."

"You did. He should be very useful to us; for it is time, I think, that the mills were set grinding, and a boy like that can go freely to and fro without suspicion. Your health, dear cousin; I will break my custom and drink wine with you. I drink to you and to vengeance."

The men clinked glasses, emptied them, and filled them again.

"I do not easily forget," said Nicholas, "and the Turk shall not easily forget me. The corn will grow high this summer, for the fields will be rich. Your health, dear cousin, and the memory of one whom we forget not!"

They sat in silence for a space, for Petrobey knew that Nicholas spoke of his wife, and having finished their meal they drank their coffee, and Nicholas's horse was brought round. The two men walked to the end of the village together, the lad leading the horse behind, and there they stopped a moment.

"I may not see you again," said Nicholas, "till the feast is ready. And on that day, my cousin, you and I will fall to with good appetite. I wish you a good appetite for that feast." And after the manner of relations and friends they kissed each other, and Nicholas mounted and rode off.

Eight days after his departure Mitsos arrived, having passed without impediment through Tripoli and Sparta. Following Nicholas's directions, he had kept his ears very wide open at Tripoli in his lodging at a Greek inn, and he had heard things which he thought might be of interest. First and foremost the letter which Petrobey had written to the deputy of the Shadow of God had been received, and was supposed to have given satisfaction, for Mitsos had fallen in with one of the Turkish soldiers who had taken it, who reported that the matter was to be left entirely in Petrobey's hands, which seemed a mark of confidence in his fidelity. Also, the meeting of primates and bishops at Tripoli, which usually took place at the beginning of April, was summoned for the beginning of March. Lastly, Mehemet Salik was fortifying with feverish haste the walls of the city.

Mitsos had spent the second night at Sparta; the third at Marathonisi, a town on the coast; and the noon of the fourth day saw him climbing the steep hill into Panitza. His horse was tired with the four days' journey, and a couple of miles below the village he got off and walked behind it, cracking his whip every now and then, partly to encourage it, and partly because he could crack a whip louder than mortal man. Petrobey, who was outside the big café at the entrance to the village, saw the tired horse and the extremely vigorous-looking young giant walking by its side as they passed, and, after a few moments' inspection, said to a young man who was sitting with him:

"That is he, no doubt. Nicholas seems to have chosen well."

The two got up and followed the boy till he, seeing them, stopped and asked for Petros Mavromichales's house.

"And what do you want with Petrobey?" asked that gentleman.

Mitsos surveyed him with easy indifference, raising his eyebrows slightly at the question.

"See, friend," he said, "I have my business, and you, for all I know, have yours. If you will tell me where is his house, good; if not, I will ask some one else."

Petrobey laughed.

"You are Mitsos, no doubt," he said. "Welcome, cousin, for Nicholas's sake and your own."

"I really am very sorry," said the boy; "but how should I know? I have come from Nauplia. Uncle Nicholas arrived safely."

"That is good, and you have arrived safely, which is also good. This is my son Yanni, Mitsos, and your cousin. Yanni, take your cousin's horse and then join us."

Mitsos hesitated a moment before giving the bridle to Yanni.

"Thank you very much," he said; "but I can put the horse up myself if you will show me where. My father told me always to put it up myself. They laughed at me at the inn at Tripoli for doing so."

"Indeed," said Petrobey, glancing at the boy's shoulders; "I would never laugh at you, Mitsos. What did you do?"

"I knocked one of them down," said Mitsos, genially, "and thus there was no more laughter."

"The horse will be all right here," said Petrobey, smiling. "Give Yanni the bridle, lad."

Mitsos obeyed, and they went into the house, where dinner was being got ready. Dinner was a daily crisis in the house of Petrobey, and, leaving the two boys in the veranda, he went round to the kitchen for fear that the cook, who, he said, was a man to whom God had not granted a palate, should be too harsh on the sucking-pig which they were to eat.

"Can you conceive," he said, on his return, spreading out his hands with a gesture of eloquent despair, "the fool stuffed the last one I ate with garlic! Sucking-pig stuffed with garlic! A man without a palate, little Mitsos!"

Yanni burst out laughing at this, and Petrobey turned to him with good humor shining in his great rosy face, which he tried most unsuccessfully to school into severity.

"Yanni, too," he went on, "that lumpy son of mine, does not know quail from woodcock, and lights his pipe before he has finished his wine. Come, boys, dinner first; we will talk afterwards. Bring the mastic, son of a locust," he bawled into the kitchen.

During dinner Petrobey hardly spoke, because speech spoils food. He ate sparingly and slowly, dwelling on each mouthful as on a mathematical problem. His face grew anxious as the time for sucking-pig approached, and his deep-gray eyes bore an expression of profound thought as he laid down his knife and fork, after putting the first piece of crackling into his mouth. Then his face cleared again, and he drank a little water briskly, for, except rarely, he did not touch wine.

"Hardly crisp enough," he said, curling his long gray mustache up from his lips. "Hardly crisp enough, but creditable. What say you, Mitsos?"

The latter exhibited a phenomenal appetite after his journey from Marathonisi, and Yanni looked on in admiration, which eventually expressed itself Homerically: