“I will do it, Kyrion,” said Alexandros, who liked this scheme immensely; “and then I can escape down the cliff.”
“Keep it to yourself,” said the Demarch in a whisper, as they went out of the iron gate; “Mr. Maurice is too tender-hearted, and might not like it.”
How Justinian could reconcile this proposed massacre with the aversion he had felt the previous day in exploding his mine, it is hard to say, but the fact is, with all his troubles, his brain was becoming slightly affected, and he now deemed it a point of honor to sacrifice his enemies to the manes of his dead subjects. After all, as he considered, and very truly, these pirates were but dangerous desperadoes, which the Ægean could very well spare, so the sooner they were cut short in their nefarious careers the better for the islanders of the Cyclades. Besides, Rudolph Roylands had, even in his old age, a wild and lawless spirit, only curbed by his wonderful powers of self-control, and in thus avenging himself on the enemies who had destroyed his cherished schemes, he was indulging in a burst of that Baresark fury which he inherited from his Norse ancestors.
With hard work the eight men managed to make a breach in the earthworks through which the enemy could pass, and all the carefully-built fortifications were levelled to the ground. It was growing dusk when they finished, and already they could hear a stir in the camp of the enemy, so, rapidly completing their work of devastation, they returned to the vantage-point, where they had left the women. Only the Demarch and his nephew lingered behind, the one to lock the iron gate, and the other to carry away the Union Jack, which still floated proudly over the ruined barricade.
“They won’t get this, at all events, uncle,” said Maurice gleefully, as he hauled down the flag; “I wouldn’t have it fall into their hands for a thousand pounds.”
“Sooner burn it,” retorted the Demarch fiercely; “but hurry up, Maurice, for, judging from the noise they are making, I suspect their forces are being drawn up.”
Roylands, with the folds of the flag wrapped round his body, ran through the iron gate with his uncle, and the latter having locked it carefully, they ascended the staircase in order to wait events.
It was just at that hour after sunset, when the day blending with the night produces that luminous twilight so noticeable in the Mediterranean. The little band, concealed from sight on the high cliff, could easily see in the warm glow how rapidly the enemy were gathering their forces together, but, in spite of all endeavors, none of them could see Caliphronas.
“I don’t expect he has come back, uncle.”
“Oh yes, he has,” replied the Demarch grimly; “but, on the plea of his wound, he will remain behind in the camp, and let his army do the work. Once they conquer, he will come out and crow. That is Andros all over; he likes to be the monkey, and use others as cats to pull the chestnuts out of the fire.”