"You speak sublimely, my brother," replied Michael, "but your faith gains nothing by this war. Under our Padishah's beneficence the Giaours are protected. The Greeks hold sufficient churches, even in Stamboul, for the worship of all who remain in that faith. Indeed, I have heard Gennadius the monk of whom you were speaking awhile ago—say that he would trust his flock to the keeping of the Moslem stranger sooner than to the Pope of Rome. I have known our Padishah defend the Greek Giaours from the tyranny of their own bishops. He asks only the loyalty of his people to his throne, and awaits the will of Allah to turn them to his faith; for the Book of the Prophet says truly, Allah will lead into error whom he pleaseth and whom he pleaseth he will put in the right way.[109] Believe me, my brother, Albania's safety is only in submission. The Fate that directs all affairs has indubitably decreed that all this vast peninsula between Adria and Ægea shall lie beneath the shadow of the Padishah's sceptre; for he is Zil-Ullah, the shadow of God. Who can resist the conqueror of the capital of your Eastern Christian Empire; the conqueror of Athens, and of the islands of the sea?"
"Let us then speak no more of this," said Constantine. "Our training has been so different, that we can not hope to agree. But we can be one in the kindliness of our thoughts, as we are of one blood. Jesu bless you, my brother!"
"Allah bless you, Constantine!" was the hearty response, as the two grasped hands. Eyes which would not have shown bodily pain by so much as the tremor of their lids, were moist with the outflow of those springs in our nature that are deeper than courage—springs of brotherly affection, fed by hallowed memories of the long ago.
Two Janizaries accompanied Constantine beyond the Turkish lines.
"What new scheme has the Aga hatched in his brain now?" said one of them, as they returned.
"He has twisted that fellow's brain so that he will never serve Scanderbeg truly again," was the knowing reply. "The Aga is the very devil to throw a spell over a man. They say that when he captured the fellow yesterday, he had only to squint into his face a moment, when, as quick as a turn of a foil, the man changed his looks, and was as much like the Aga as two thumbs."
CHAPTER LVI.
The splendor of the victory, and the inestimable spoil which fell into the hands of the Albanians, elated the patriot braves; and the good news flew as if the eagles that watched the battles from afar were its couriers. Castriot, however, seemed to be oblivious to the general rejoicing. The wrath he had displayed during the time of Amesa's menace from the ranks of the enemy, was displaced by pity as he looked upon the contemptible and impotent man. He touched him with his foot, and said, in half soliloquy—