Under Greek Skies

by Ioulia D. Dragoume

His back was turned towards the narrow opening, and he looked gigantic as he stood there in the light, a big stone poised in his hands ready to fling over the rocks down on the ledge before the entrance of the cave.

Pavlo lay in the dark passage, shaking all over and not daring to move hand or foot lest he should be heard. What should he do? Oh, what should he do? Suppose he were simply to wriggle back the way he had come and tell the others what he had seen; what was the good? They could never crawl all five out of this side tunnel while the shepherd was standing so close to it. Poor Iason’s mishap had proved that it was not possible to get through the blocked entrance without being struck by the falling stones. What then? Must they stay in the cave till the man was wearied out? All night perhaps? But what more probable than that when the shepherd found that his stones were falling harmlessly, he should discover this opening so close to his feet, and creep slowly through it till he got to them? Pavlo shivered coldly all over.

Then a horrible thought came to him.

It might be possible for one alone to creep out very softly the first moment that the shepherd moved a little off. It would not be difficult to creep silently on all fours, till one was at a safe distance!

The next moment the thought turned him really sick. What! Leave them alone? Leave them with Iason wounded and useless? Leave them and let this horrible man creep on them unawares? On Chryseis who had been so good to him? On all the brave bright little comrades? Oh, no! No! No! No! The good old Zamana blood, weakened though it might be, turned in revolt at the cowardly thought.

Just then the man outside in the light stooped to pick up another stone, and as he did so, Pavlo saw the gleam of a long curved knife in his belt. The Turks, thought the poor boy, the terrible Turks of the times of the Revolution must have looked just like that. Oh, if it only were in those days! If the dreadful man were a real Turk and Pavlo’s great-grandfather or one of his brave companions were in hiding as he was now! How they would spring out on him and seize him. But no! If they were unarmed they would not “spring” out. They were wise as well as brave, those old Greeks.

What would they do?

Palvo’s mind worked quickly.

They would creep slowly, slowly on all fours out of the hole, and while the Turk’s back was turned they would seize hold of his ankles and pull back, … pull hard.

The attack would be unexpected, and the “Turk” would fall forward on his face. He would have to fall so; he could not fall in any other way. And once he was on his face, it would be easy, before he could see who had attacked him, to wrench back his arms and tie them. It would be the best way! The only way!