“Can’t you show us where the prisoners are?” asked Wylie of Papa Athanasios, as they paused in the courtyard, after leaving the guest-room, to allow Armitage to make a hasty sketch of a corner of the church. The old monk had already shepherded back the supposed cavass, gently but firmly, from so many unauthorised excursions into other buildings and courtyards, that he began to think M. Kirileff’s warning not uncalled for, and he answered with some asperity—
“The lodging of the monastery’s guests is no concern of yours.”
“At least tell us how they are,” entreated Wylie, and Papa Athanasios answered more gently—
“They are both in good health. I myself have allowed the youth to walk in the courtyard at hours when Brother Demetri thought him safely locked unto his cell, so eagerly did he entreat leave to smell the air, and I have talked much with him at other times. The girl is left to the charge of a devout woman, who has been much edified to behold her continually rapt in contemplation, so that, had she been Orthodox, she would have imagined her to be a seer of holy visions. One thing perturbed our sister greatly—that her prisoner made many strange signs on her wall with a nail, which she feared might be unholy spells. So much was she troubled, that on a certain feast-day—was it Holy Trinity or Holy John? I forget— I allowed the girl also to walk in the garden, and examined the marks for myself. But there was nothing evil in them; they were such foolish and meaningless scrawls as might be made by one distraught, and I quieted our sister’s mind with this assurance.”
Armitage was laughing involuntarily, but to Wylie the thought of Zoe enjoying a glimpse of liberty on Trinity Sunday, unconscious that her scribbles were being scrutinised for evidences of witchcraft, was pure pathos, and he turned away abruptly.
CHAPTER XXI.
“THERE’S MANY A SLIP——”
The conclave was held, and despite the strenuous efforts of Papa Demetri, the monks decided by a large majority to accept Armitage’s offer, and wink at the escape of the prisoners. Had M. Kirileff paid down his two thousand five hundred roubles, the monastery would have been bound in honour to fulfil his conditions, as the aged Papa Apostolos pertinently observed, but since he had merely promised it, and had not so far fulfilled his promise, it would be folly to refuse an additional sum which would allow the silver-gilt haloes of the saints on the ikonostasis to be replaced by plates of pure gold. And, after all, they were not asked to promote the prisoners’ escape; it was merely a matter of leaving the ladders down for a few nights instead of drawing them up, and of a temporary mislaying of his keys by Papa Athanasios. It was also arranged—the suggestion came from Brother Nikola, the vacuous-faced young monk who had identified Wylie—that the escape should not take place until Armitage had finished his picture of the church, lest the Princess Eirene should be disappointed of her devout desires. The good news was carried by Papa Athanasios to Armitage, who was diligently at work in the courtyard, and he conveyed it to Wylie, whose indiscreet behaviour the day before, coupled with M. Kirileff’s warning, had caused him to be denied further admittance. He bore the monks no ill-will for his exclusion, since Brother Evangelos, who was in charge of the ladders, was authorised to show him how they were managed, and he spent the afternoon of the day of the conclave in crawling up and down the cliff-face like a fly on a wall. The next evening, however, when Armitage descended in the net after a long day’s work, Wylie met him and drew him aside from their camp.
“Those venerable frauds at the top there are up to some mischief,” he said.
“How? what do you mean?” asked Armitage.
“Fellow came down the ladders this morning with a basket—apparently a lay-brother going to the village for provisions. It struck me he seemed to look about him a good deal, as if he was afraid of being followed, so I promptly followed him, stalking him through the brushwood on hands and knees. It was just as I expected. When he had got well out of sight of our camp, he put down his basket, tucked up his gown, and scampered off as hard as he could in the opposite direction from the village. I tried to follow him, but as I didn’t dare to stand upright he distanced me easily, so I took cover near his basket to see when he came back. He was about an hour gone, then he came and picked up his basket again, and went off to the village as jauntily as you please.”