CHAPTER XXXV.
Later in the day the gate keeper at Phranza's mansion put into Morsinia's hand a letter left with him by an Italian laboring man. It was addressed—"To the Albanian lady," and read thus:
"Your brother's life is threatened by some secret enemy. Let him exercise an Albanian's caution! This is the advice of a stranger."
A little before this, as the "poor Italian" was moving away from the gate of Phranza, a gorgeous palanquin, with silken canopy and sides latticed with silver rods, was borne in by four stout and well-formed men, with bare legs and arms, purple short trousers, embroidered jackets, and jaunty red caps, whose long tassels hung far down their backs.
The "Italian" stepped into an angle that the palanquin might pass; and stood gazing a long time after it had disappeared. At length, turning away, he said to himself:
"Strange! It must be that my imagination has been disturbed by the scenes of last night. But the lady in yonder palanquin is my dream made real. The pretty face of the child with whom I once played on the mountains must have cut its outlines somewhere on my brain, for I seem to see it everywhere. My captive in the mountains of Albania had the same features—though I saw them only under the flash of a torch. Imagination that, surely! The girl at Sfetigrade was similar. And now this one! The aga's advice to beware female illusions was good. But she may be the Albanian lady after all. Impossible! Stupidity! Perhaps my chosen houri in paradise is only flashing her beauty upon my soul from these fair earthly faces, and so training me first to love her as an ideal, that the joy of the realization may be perfect. But, tut! tut! silly boy that I am!"
Whistling monotonously he turned down a street.
A short, crooked-necked officer passed along. His face at the moment was the picture of dissatisfaction. The "Italian" stopped him, and, with a courtesy which belied his common apparel, addressed him:—
"Captain Urban of the engineers, is it not?"
"And who are you?" was the surly, yet half respectful, reply, as the one addressed glanced into the other's face.
"One who knows that the cannon you are casting are not heavy enough to lodge a ball against the old tower of Galata yonder across the Golden Horn, much less breach a fortification; and further, that all you can cast at this rate from now until the Turks take Byzantium would not enable you to throw ten shot an hour."
"By the brass toe of St. Peter! man, I was just saying the same thing to myself," replied Urban.
"And the Emperor's treasury, when he has bought himself a wife, will not have enough left to buy saltpetre with which to fire the guns, if he should allow you brass enough for the casting," added the stranger.
"True again, my man; and the Emperor's service in the meantime does not yield stipend enough for an officer to live upon decently. If you were better dressed, my prince of lazaroni, I couldn't afford to ask you to drink with me; but this cheap shop will shame neither your looks nor my purse. Come in."
"Who are you, my good fellow?" asked Urban, as he drained a cup of mastic-flavored wine. "Were not your voice different, and your pronunciation of Greek rather provincial, with a slight Servian brogue, I would take you for one of our young engineers. You are not an Italian, spite of your garb."
"No," was the reply, "I was once in the employ of the Despot of Servia, engineer and artillery-man; but I think of entering the service of the Sultan. He pays finely, and gives one who loves the science of war a chance to use his genius."
"For such a chance and good pay I would serve the devil," said Urban. "The Greek emperor here is no saint, and yet I have served him for a crust. I am not bound to him by any tie. If you find good quarters with the Turks, give me a hint, and I will join you."
The stranger eyed him closely as he said this, and replied in low tones—"Captain Urban, I am a Moslem; Captain Ballaban of the Janizary corps. And I bear you a commission from the Padishah. To seek you is a part of my business in Constantinople. I do not ask you to take my word for this, but if you will accompany me, I will give you proof of my authority. A thousand ducats I will put into your hand within an hour, with which you may taste the Padishah's liberality and imagine what it shall be when you accompany me to Adrianople."
The two men left the wine shop together and entered a bazaar. The stranger whispered to the merchant who was nearly buried amid huge piles of goods of every antique description; strange patterned tapestries, rugs of all hues and sizes, ebony boxes inlaid with silver and ivory, shields bossed and graven, spear-heads, cimeters and daggers. The salesman made as low a salâm as his crowding wares would permit, and, opening a way through the heaps of merchandise, conducted the visitors into an inner room.