Suddenly there was a great commotion without. Shots rang out, followed by fierce cries. Then came from below a crash as of some heavy body driven against the massive door, which had been closed and bolted at nightfall.
“They are trying to break in!” cried George.
The old man showed no trace of alarm. Some of the younger members of his family climbed up a ladder in a corner of the room, leading to the roof, where a store of stones and combustibles was kept for just such an occasion as this. George, thinking of the safety of the gyro-car, snatched up a rifle and cartridges and hurried down the ricketty ladder to the ground floor. Maurice followed him, gripping his revolver; and Giulika took a rifle from the wall and descended the steps more slowly.
The Bucklands had just reached the door when it was burst in, yielding to a tremendous blow from something of the nature of a battering-ram. They fired at the crowd beginning to swarm in. In darkness themselves, they were able to take good aim at the enemy by the glare of combustibles flung down from the roof. The shots from the black doorway checked the rush. The assailants shrank back, into a shower of stones hurled at them from above. At the same time, to Maurice’s surprise, they were met by a fusillade from the opposite house—the dwelling of the man who owed “blood” to Giorgio, and had that very day attempted his life. It was one of the inconsistencies of this strange people. As a private person Giorgio was the man’s deadly enemy, to be stalked and shot down without remorse as a family duty. But as a fellow-villager, attacked by men of another place and another religion, he was to be helped even at personal risk. “Blood” was forgotten in face of a public danger.
Taken thus between two fires, and battered by the falling stones, the assailants were utterly discomfited. The crowd fell apart, they flitted away into the blackness beyond, and in the fitful light of the fireballs from the roof, Maurice caught a glimpse of Slavianski and his party hastening after the Albanians.
Chapter X
SOME RIDDLES AND A NURSERY RHYME
Old Giulika, laughing with a childish delight in the discomfiture of the enemy, closed the door, and, since the bolts had been broken, had it barricaded with balks of timber that were kept on the ground floor. Then he returned with his guests to the living apartments at the top of the house. He was quite cheerful. He joked with the men of his family on their victory, and ordered the women, who showed no alarm, to prepare a sumptuous supper to celebrate it. The larder, which consisted of two large dug-out troughs, did not contain anything very dainty; but a fowl and a young pig were soon simmering in a huge pot of beans, and on these, served in wooden ladles, and hard maize bread, the men feasted; the women would eat when their lords had finished.
The guests had little appetite. They were very weary, but too anxious and troubled to sleep. The air of the room was hot and oppressive, and by-and-by the old man, perceiving how pale they were, asked if he could serve them in any way, and, at their request, immediately removed the millstones from the two unglazed windows, and let in a current of cool air. He chuckled as he returned to the company. The enemy, he said, had encamped some little distance away, around a large fire; evidently they wished to be out of reach of stones from the roof. They, too, appeared to be cheerful. Strains of song rose from the encampment—fierce songs of war, of struggles with the Turks, and the heroic deeds of Scanderbeg. Presently these ceased, and there was a vast stillness without.
But not within. After supper the guests expected the family to repair to their mat beds, and felt some delicacy in remaining among them. But Giulika commanded the women and children to retire behind their curtains, and the men to form a group in the middle of the room.