Phroso: A Romance

‘Is this the lady,’ said he, ‘who raises a tumult and resists my master’s will, and seeks to kill a lord who comes peaceably and by lawful right to take what is his?’

I believe I made a motion as though to spring forward. Mouraki’s expressive face displayed a marvelling question; did I mean such insolence as lay in interrupting him? I fell back; a public remonstrance could earn only a public rebuff.

‘Strange are the ways of Neopalia,’ said he, his gaze again on Phroso.

‘I am at your mercy, my lord,’ she murmured.

‘And what is this talk of your house? What house have you? I see here the house of this English lord, where he will receive me courteously. Where is your house?’

‘The house belongs to whom you will, my lord,’ she said. ‘Yet I have dared to busy myself in making it ready for you.’

By this time I was nearly at boiling point, but still I controlled myself. I rejoiced that Denny was not there, he and the others having resumed possession of the yacht, and arranged to sleep there, in order to leave more room for Mouraki’s accommodation. Phroso stood in patient submission; Mouraki’s eyes travelled over her from head to foot.

‘The other woman?’ he asked abruptly. ‘Your cousin’s wife – where is she?’

‘She is at the cottage on the hill, my lord, with a woman to attend on her.’

After another pause he motioned with his hand to Phroso to take her place by him, and thus we three walked up to the house. It was alive now with women and men, and there was a bustle of preparation for the great man.

Mouraki sat down in the armchair which I had been accustomed to use, and, addressing an officer who seemed to be his aide-de-camp, issued quick orders for his own comfort and entertainment; then he turned to me and said civilly enough:

‘Since you seem reluctant to act as host, you shall be my guest while I am here.’

I murmured thanks. He glanced at Phroso and waved his hand in dismissal. She drew back, curtseying, and I saw her mount the stairs to her room. Mouraki bade me sit down, and his orderly brought him cigarettes. He gave me one and we began to smoke, Mouraki watching the coiling rings, I furtively studying his face. I was in a rage at his treatment of Phroso. But the man interested me. I thought that he was now considering great matters: the life of Constantine, perhaps, or the penalties that he should lay on the people of Neopalia. Yet even these would seem hardly great to him, who had moved in the world of truly great affairs, and was in his present post rather by a temporary loss of favour than because it was adequate to his known abilities. With such thoughts I studied him as he sat smoking silently.

Well, man is very human, and great men are often even more human than other men. For when Mouraki saw that we were alone, when he had finished his cigarette, flung it away and taken another, he observed to me, obviously summarising the result of those meditations to which my fancy had imparted such loftiness:

‘Yes, I don’t know that I ever saw a handsomer girl.’

There was nothing to say but one thing, and I said it.

‘No more did I, your Excellency,’ said I.

But I was not pleased with the expression of Mouraki’s eye; the contentment induced in me by the safety of my friends, by my own escape, and by the end of Constantine’s ill-used power, was suddenly clouded as I sat and looked at the baffling face and subtle smile of the Governor. What was it to him whether Phroso were a handsome girl or not?

And I suppose I might just as well have added – What was it to me?

CHAPTER XIII

THE SMILES OF MOURAKI PASHA

At the dinner-table Mouraki proved a charming companion. His official reserve and pride vanished; he called me by my name simply, and extorted a like mode of address from my modesty. He professed rapture at meeting a civilised and pleasant companion in such an out-of-the-way place; he postponed the troubles and problems of Neopalia in favour of a profusion of amusing reminiscences and pointed anecdotes. He gave me a delightful evening, and bade me the most cordial of good-nights. I did not know whether his purpose had been to captivate or merely to analyse me; he had gone near to the former, and I did not doubt that he had succeeded entirely in the latter. Well, there was nothing I wanted to conceal – unless it might be something which I was still striving to conceal even from myself.

I rose very early the next morning. The Pasha was not expected to appear for two or three hours, and he had not requested my presence till ten o’clock breakfast. I hastened off to the harbour, boarded the yacht, enjoyed a merry cup of coffee and a glorious bathe with Denny. Denny was anxious to know my plans – whether I meant to return or to stay. The idea of departure was odious to me. I enlarged on the beauties of the island, but Denny’s shrug insinuated a doubt of my candour. I declared that I saw no reason for going, but must be guided by the Pasha.

‘Where’s the girl?’ asked Denny abruptly.

‘She’s up at the house,’ I answered carelessly.

‘Hum. Heard anything about Constantine being hanged?’

‘Not a word; Mouraki has not touched on business.’

Denny had projected a sail, and was not turned from his purpose by my unwillingness to accompany him. Promising to meet him again in the evening, I took my way back up the street, where a day or two ago my life would have paid for my venturing, where now I was as safe as in Hyde Park. Women gave me civil greetings; the men did the like, or, at worst, ignored me. I saw the soldiers on guard at Constantine’s prison, and pursued my path to the house with a complacent smile. My island was beautiful that morning, and the blood flowed merrily in my veins. I thought of Phroso. Where was the remorse which I vainly summoned?

Suddenly I saw Kortes before me, walking along slowly. He was relieved of his duty then, and Constantine was no longer in his hands. Overtaking him, I began to talk. He listened for a little, and then raised his calm honest eyes to mine.

‘And the Lady Phroso?’ he said gently. ‘What of her?’

I told him what I knew, softening the story of Mouraki’s harshness.

‘You have not spoken to her yet?’ he asked. Then, coming a step nearer, he said, ‘She shuns you perhaps?’

‘I don’t know,’ said I, feeling embarrassed under the man’s direct gaze.

‘It is natural, but it will last only till she has seen you once. I pray you not to linger, my lord. For she suffers shame at having told her love, even though it was to save you. It is hard for a maiden to speak unasked.’

I leaned my back against the rocky bank by the road.

‘Lose no time in telling her your love, my lord,’ he urged. ‘It may be that she guesses, but her shame will trouble her till she hears it from your lips. Seek her, seek her without delay.’

I had forgotten my triumph over Constantine and the beauty of the island. I felt my eyes drop before Kortes’s look; but I shrugged my shoulders, saying carelessly:

‘It was only a friendly device the Lady Phroso played to save me. She doesn’t really love me. It was a trick. But I’ll thank her for it heartily; it was of great help to me, and a hard thing for her to do.’

‘It was no trick. You know it was none. Wasn’t the love in every tone of her voice? Isn’t it in every glance of her eyes when she is with you – and most when she won’t look at you?’

‘How come you to read her looks so well?’ I asked.

‘From studying them deeply,’ said he simply. ‘I do not know if I love her, my lord; she is so much above me that my thoughts have not dared to fly to the height. But I would die for her, and I love no other. To me, you, my lord, should be the happiest, proudest man alive. Pray speak to her soon, my lord. My sister, whom you saw hold her in her arms, would have made me sure if I had doubted. The lady murmurs your name in her sleep.’

A sudden irresistible exultation took hold of me. I think it turned my face red, for Kortes smiled, saying, ‘Ah, you believe now, my lord!’

‘Believe!’ I cried. ‘No, I don’t believe. A thousand times, no! I don’t believe!’ For I was crushing that exultation now as a man crushes the foulest temptings.

A puzzled look invaded Kortes’s eyes. There was silence between us for some moments.

‘It’s absurd,’ said I, in weak protest. ‘She has known me only a few days – only a few hours rather – and there were other things to think of then than love-making.’

‘Love,’ said he, ‘is made most readily when a man does not think of it, and a stout arm serves a suitor better than soft words. You fought against her and for her; you proved yourself a man before her eyes. Fear not, my lord; she loves you.’

‘Fear not!’ I exclaimed in a low bitter whisper.

‘She said it herself,’ continued Kortes. ‘As her life, and more.’

‘Hold your tongue, man!’ I cried fiercely. ‘In the devil’s name, what has it to do with you?’

A great wonder showed on his face, then a doubting fear; he came closer to me and whispered so low that I hardly heard: