Phroso: A Romance

Thinking thus, I put the book in my pocket, and looked round with a smile on my lips. I wished the man were alive that I might mock him. I grudged him the sudden death which fenced him from my triumphant raillery.

Suddenly, there in the bows of the boat, I laughed aloud, so that the soldiers turned startled faces over their shoulders and Phroso looked at me in wonder.

‘It’s nothing,’ said I. ‘Since I’m alive I may laugh, I suppose?’ Mouraki Pasha was not alive.

My reading and my meditation had passed the time. Now we were round the point which had lain between us and the harbour, and were heading straight for the gunboat that was anchored just across the head of the jetty. Phroso’s eyes met mine in an appeal. I could give her no hope of escape. There was nothing for it: we must go on, we and Mouraki together. But my heart was buoyant within me and I exulted in the favours of fortune as a lover in his mistress’s smiles. Was not Mouraki lying dead in the stern of the boat and was not I alive?

We drew near to the gunboat. Now I perceived that her steam launch lay by her side and smoke poured from its funnel. Evidently the launch was ready for a voyage. Whither? Could it be to Rhodes? And did the pocket-book that I felt against my ribs by any chance contain the cargo which was to have been speeded on its way to-day? I laughed again as our boat came alongside, and a movement of excitement and interest rose from the deck of gunboat and launch alike.

The officer went on board the gunboat; for an hour or more we sat where we were, sheltered by the side of the vessel from the heat of the sun, for it was now noon. What was happening on board I could not tell, but there was stir and bustle. The excitement seemed to grow. Presently it spread from the vessel to the shore and groups of islanders began to collect. I saw men point at Phroso, at me, at the stiffened figure under the coat. They spoke also, and freely; more boldly than I had heard them since Mouraki had landed and his presence turned their fierce pride to meekness. It was as though a weight had been lifted off them. I knew, from my own mind, the relief that came to them by the death of the hard man and the removal of the ruthless arm. Presently a boat put off and began to pull round the promontory. The soldiers did not interfere, but watched it go in idle toleration. I guessed its errand: it went to take up the corpse of Demetri, and (I was much afraid) to give it a patriot’s funeral.

At last Mouraki’s body was carried on to the gunboat; then a summons came to me. With a glance of encouragement at Phroso, who sat in a sort of stupor, I rose and obeyed. I was conducted on to the deck and found myself face to face with the captain. He was a Turk, a young man of dignified and pleasant appearance. He bowed to me courteously, although slightly. I supposed that Mouraki’s death left him the supreme authority in Neopalia and I made him the obeisance proper to his new position.

‘This is a terrible, a startling event, my lord,’ said he.

‘It’s the loss of a very eminent and distinguished man,’ I observed.

‘Ah, yes, and in a very fearful manner,’ he answered. ‘I am not prejudging your position, but you must see that it puts you in a rather serious situation.’

There were two or three of his officers standing near. I took a step towards him. I liked his looks; and somehow his grief at Mouraki’s end did not seem intense. I determined to play the bold game.

‘Nothing, I assure you, to what I should have been in if it had not occurred,’ said I composedly.

A start and a murmur ran round the group. The captain looked uncomfortable.

‘With his Excellency’s plans we have nothing to do – ’ he began.

‘Aye, but I have,’ said I. ‘And when I tell you – ’

‘Gentlemen,’ said the captain hastily, ‘leave us alone for a little while.’

I saw at once that I had made an impression. It seemed not difficult to create an impression adverse to Mouraki now that he was dead, though it had not been wise to display one when he was alive.

‘I don’t know,’ said I, when we were left alone together, ‘whether you knew the relations between the late Pasha and myself?’

‘No,’ said he in a steady voice, looking me full in the face.

‘It was not, perhaps, within the sphere of your duty to know them?’ I hazarded.

‘It was not,’ said he. I thought I saw the slightest of smiles glimmering between beard and moustache.

‘But now that you’re in command, it’s different?’

‘It is undoubtedly different now,’ he admitted.

‘Shall we talk in your cabin?’

‘By all means;’ and he led the way.

When we reached the cabin, I gave him a short sketch of what had happened since Mouraki’s arrival. He was already informed as to the events before that date. He heard me with unmoved face. At last I came to my attempted escape with Phroso by the secret passage and to Constantine’s attack.

‘That fellow was a villain,’ he observed.

‘Yes,’ said I. ‘Read those.’ And I handed him the printed slips, adding, ‘I suppose he sent these by fishing-boats to Rhodes, first to pave the way, and finally to account for my disappearance.’

‘I must congratulate you on a lucky escape, my lord.’

‘You have more than that to congratulate me on, captain. Your launch seems ready for a voyage.’

‘Yes; but I have countermanded the orders.’

‘What were they?’

‘I beg your pardon, my lord, but what concern is it – ?’

‘For a trip to Rhodes, perhaps?’

‘I shall not deny it if you guess it.’

‘By the order of the Pasha?’

‘Undoubtedly.’

‘On what errand?’

‘His Excellency did not inform me.’

‘To carry this perhaps?’ I flung the paper which bore Mouraki’s handwriting on the table that stood between us.

He took it up and read it; while he read, I took my pencil from my pocket and wrote on the blank slip of paper, which I had found in the pocket-book, the message that Mouraki’s brain had surely conceived, though his fingers had grown stiff in death before they could write it.

‘What does all this mean?’ asked the captain, looking up as he finished reading.

‘And to-morrow,’ said I, ‘I think another message would have gone to Rhodes – ’

‘I had orders to be ready to go myself to-morrow.’

‘You had?’ I cried. ‘And what would you have carried?’

‘That I don’t know.’

‘Aye, but I do. There’s your cargo!’ And I flung down what I had written.

He read it once and again, and looked across the table at me, fingering the slip of paper.

‘He did not write this?’ he said.

‘As you saw, I wrote it. If he had lived, then, as surely as I live, he would have written it. Captain, it was for me that dagger was meant. Else why did he take the man Demetri with him? Had Demetri cause to love him, or he cause to trust Demetri?’