The news had run about the camp that Nicholas was down with the fever, and for the moment all paused when they heard. As every man in the place knew, his was the glory of the deed, and he the chief among those few to whose name honor, and nothing disgraceful, no weak deed or infirm purpose, were written. They had moved him out of the town unto the higher ground of the citadel, and into the top room of the tower on which the flag was flying. A great north wind sprang up that afternoon, and from the room where he lay could be heard the flapping of the flag. Those of the men who had any knowledge of medicine came flocking up to the citadel, begging to be allowed to see him, and suggesting a hundred remedies; and of these Petrobey chose one, who seemed to be sensible, and who it appeared had pulled a man through the worst of the fever, and he gave Nicholas such remedies as they could get.
That afternoon there was a division of the spoils taken, and in the evening, but not before a terrible and bloody deed had been done, three corps went back to their homes, the Mainats alone remaining. The Argives and Mainats, at any rate, had no hand in that devilish work, which must be passed over quickly. All the Turks—men, women, and children—who were found still alive were driven to the ravine behind Trikorpha, and some two thousand in number were all murdered.
It was, indeed, time to leave that pestilence-stricken town. During the day the fever had broken out with redoubled virulence among all those who had quartered themselves in the lower parts of the town, and the angel of death followed the victorious battalions into Arcadia, Argos, and Laconia, striking them right and left, and strewing the road with dying men. The judgment of God for those three ruthless days had come quickly. Mitsos' father, who had escaped unhurt, doing his quiet duty in the ranks of the Argives from the first, saw Petrobey before he left.
"Tell Mitsos to come quickly," he said. "And did you know Father Andréa has not been seen since the first morning?"
Meantime, in the north, it was found that the rumor of the Turkish landing was groundless, and Prince Demetrius was hurrying back to Tripoli. Germanos had joined him; but two days' march off the town, news of its capture was brought to them, on which Mitsos obtained permission to go on ahead to report the prince's coming, and announce that no landing of Turks had taken place. He travelled night and day, for his heart gave him wings, and late on the night of the 8th he reached Tripoli.
The unutterable stench in the streets struck him like death, and turned consciousness to a horrible dread. Shutting his eyes to the ghastly wreckage that strewed the ways, more horrible under the dim, filtering light from the clear-swept sky than even in daylight, he went quickly up to the citadel, where he supposed the troops would be. He was challenged by the sentry at the gate, who, seeing who he was, admitted him at once. He was taken straight to Petrobey's quarters, in the room just below where Nicholas lay.
The boy's voice was raised in eager question, but Petrobey hushed him.
"My poor lad," he said, "you must be brave, for we know you can be brave. We have not found her, and in the room above Nicholas lies dying. He has been asking for you; go to him at once, little Mitsos. I will send your food there."
Mitsos gave one gasping sigh.
"She may yet be here," he said; "where are the women and the prisoners?"