“I don’t understand Latin,” said Caliphronas coldly; “but I’ve no doubt you’ve said something uncomplimentary. However, we need not wrangle any more, for here we are at the gate of Melnos.”
The gate was a huge structure of wood, formed by interlacing beams into a kind of barred defence, which completely closed up the tunnel, and in the centre of this was a small heavy iron door. Through the interstices they could see the faint glimmer of daylight, a still ascending staircase, the red flare of burning torches, and in the doubtful lights three or four men moving about.
“This is to guard against people like my friend Alcibiades,” said Caliphronas, seeing the amazement of Maurice and Gurt at this mediæval entrance. “Like the Pass of Thermopylæ, this tunnel could be defended by four against many, so Melnos is thus a city of refuge.”
“Ay, if treachery does not gain an entrance,” retorted Crispin significantly; “and that is always possible when there is a traitor within the walls.”
“Meaning myself?” rejoined Caliphronas tranquilly. “There you are wrong, and I think, my dear Crispin, you must have forgotten that, in or out, I can do nothing, as Justinian alone possesses the key of this door. We must send Alexandros for it. Oh la there, Alexandros!”
One of the men, bearing a burning torch, came to the bars of the framework, and Caliphronas spoke to him in Greek, while Crispin, understanding the language thoroughly, listened attentively, as, after the Count’s conduct of last night, he was quite prepared for further treachery, and desired to guard against it. As soon as Caliphronas finished, the man went off up the staircase, and the Count turned round to his companions with a reassuring smile.
“He has gone to get the key from Justinian,” he explained courteously. “This key, you must know, Mr. Maurice, is the emblem of sovereignty in Melnos—the sceptre of the island!”
“But it must be rather a trouble going to Justinian for the key every time you want to go in or out!”
“There is not much of that,” said Crispin quickly; “the people of Melnos stay at home in the heart of the mountain. ’Tis only wanderers like myself and the Count who are restless.”
“The heart of the mountain!” echoed Maurice, in a puzzled tone; “is it a cavern?”