"Poor child, poor child!" she soothed her, "I will do the best I can. God knows what will happen when the end comes, for the camp is like a pack of wolves. This Mitsos of yours has some glimmerings of sense, but look at the risk you run if you do as he tells you. Fancy running to meet a lot of wolves, you in your Turkish dress, crying you are a wolf too. Ah, dear me, dear me, and the child and all! But this is my idea: separate yourself at all costs from the other women. If they stay in the house, run; if they run, stay here. Do not be seen with them; unveil your face, as the Greek women do, and if possible avoid a mob of Greeks. If you have to go into the street keep in a side street, where perhaps stragglers only will come. And the Lord be with you, poor child!"
Suleima clung to this woman—usually coarse and greedy, but one who had the springs of true womanliness in her—as to a rock of refuge, and without searching her, but kissing her again affectionately, she waited till the girl's tears had subsided before opening the door and calling in the next woman. In turn they all passed before her and gave up their valuables. There was but little money, for the women spent it for the most part on finery, and poured into Penelope's basket turquoise collars, fine filagree work from the bazaars, bracelets set with pearls or moonstones, and ear-rings of all sorts. The search was hastily done, for she had many houses to visit, and with a curious mixture of humanity and greed she wished to make as rich a harvest as possible—since she received a share of what she got—and at the same time do all she could for these poor caged women. And so for two days, as there were many houses to go to and much to be got, sometimes with difficulty—for some of the women would have preferred to run the risk of having valuables concealed about them—she went on her rounds of greedy mercy, and it was not till the morning of the 5th of October that she went out again to the camp.
During those two days matters outside had gone from bad to worse. Anagnostes had been detected trafficking with the besieged, and when Nicholas laid the proof of his guilt before Petrobey, he buried his face in his hands and said he could do nothing. That hour of weakness, when he had consulted men who he knew would only give him selfish and dishonorable counsel, had broken his authority like a reed. Anagnostes's corps shared his guilt, probably down to the youngest man in his service, and if he punished one he would have to punish hundreds.
"And, oh, Nicholas," said Petrobey, in piteous appeal, "if ever you have loved me, or can still remember that we are of one blood, help me now, by what way you will. I was ever honorable, but I have been as weak as water; your strength and your honor are both unshaken."
This was on the morning of the 5th; and before Nicholas could reply, a shrill, rather breathless, voice bawled to Petrobey from outside, and Penelope demanded admittance. It was not her way to ask twice, and she followed her demand up by putting her red face through the tent-flap, and, entering herself, bade her servants, laden with jewels, also to enter.
Petrobey turned one last look at Nicholas.
"You will help me?" he said.
"I was always ready," said Nicholas, smiling, and he went lightly out of the tent.
Some fine wrangling was going on in the Mainats' quarters when he appeared, and two men appealed to him.
"Is it true that the woman has taken all the spoils to Petrobey's tent?" asked one.