“Then go, in God’s name! To see these unfortunate women and children suffering—and with no hope for them but worse suffering, and no prospect of any good from it—is heartrending. I will take command at Karakula while you are gone, and Terminoff will look after this end of the place. Pick your men, and don’t let them know what duty they’re on. We don’t want to raise the hopes of the people unnecessarily—and besides, plans leak out sometimes.”
Prince Romanos looked at him keenly. “You suspect some one. Is it Nilischeff?”
“I don’t like the way in which he keeps Skandalo in a ferment. And there’s no denying that he favours neither my claim nor yours. But I have no proof against him.”
“M. Nilischeff must be watched. The same thought had occurred to me. But I go to revictual the garrison. If we do not return, at least you will have fewer mouths to feed.”
But Prince Romanos and his men returned triumphant. The Roumis had apparently concentrated their attention on the mouth of the defile as the only spot from which the insurgents might be expected to appear, and their stores and transport were all at the other side of the camp, on which the attack was actually made. One of the first and chief prizes of the assailants was a herd of cattle, which they drove straight through the camp to the mouth of the defile, overthrowing tents and huts, and knocking down and trampling the startled soldiers who tried to stop them. Behind the maddened cattle came the insurgents, laden with everything in the way of food they could possibly lay hands on, from live sheep to tinned delicacies sacred to the Pasha himself. The Roumis had blocked the mouth of the defile, leaving only a narrow passage, so as to make it easier to stop fugitives, and this was held without difficulty by a rearguard, when the main body of the assailants had passed through with their spoils. The rearguard, unencumbered, fought its way back over the familiar ground just before dawn, and when daylight came the whole force was safely inside the Karakula lines, with remarkably few casualties to report.
The day was a grand one for all the occupants of the peninsula. Maurice’s desire that the whole of the spoil should at once be placed under guard and issued only as rations was unanimously scouted, and the hunger-stricken people gave themselves up to a whole day’s feasting, with its inevitable waste and excess. On the morrow they realised their mistake, and agreed that what was left should be strictly preserved, but this would barely supply their needs for a week longer. Naturally the cry soon arose for a fresh foray, and the men who had ranged themselves under the banner of Prince Romanos demanded to be led once more against the Roumi camp. It was useless to point out to them that the first attack had succeeded entirely because it was a surprise, and that a repetition of the assault would now be provided against. They ascribed the delay to pusillanimity on Maurice’s part, and openly urged his rival to act in opposition to him. As the question of food was once more becoming urgent, the two leaders agreed at length that Prince Romanos should take his servant Petros and one or two trustworthy men, and make a scouting expedition through the defiles, to discover in what part of the camp Jalal-ud-din’s commissariat was now located, and whether there was any chance of raiding it successfully, either from the front, flank, or rear. Having made his observations, he was to return and communicate them to Maurice, who would then take command at Karakula as before, while the picked force under his rival made a further attempt.
The evening after the departure of Prince Romanos was an anxious one for Maurice. He had sat up the night before with Wylie, who lay in a kind of stupor during the daytime, but became violently excited during the hours of darkness, calling loudly for Zoe, or holding imaginary conversations with her, rebutting accusations of unkindness on her part, which must presumably have been suggested by his own conscience. Then he would imagine that an attack was imminent, and insist on getting up and taking part in the defence,—a determination which it required much tact and skilful humouring to combat. The early part of the day had been spent in a mournful succession of funerals, the dead drawn alike from among the wounded in the hospital and the half-starved refugees, and the afternoon in the court-martial—or rather, the trial before the Assembly—of a Skandalote who had been caught stealing off to the Roumi ships, presumably with the intention of carrying news. The man was defended by Lazar Nilischeff, who asserted that he knew him well, and that his only object was to try to buy some food from the sailors,—a defence received with ridicule by the Greek portion of the Assembly, who declared unanimously for death. Nilischeff’s followers declared with equal determination in favour of acquittal, while the dynastic Slavs, on whose support Maurice could always count, devised a compromise which placed him in a most invidious position while apparently exalting his authority, by desiring that the issue of life or death should be decided by him alone. In the end, the man was remanded to prison, and Maurice turned to the necessary but inevitably disagreeable task of superintending the distribution of the evening rations to the refugees and sick. The fighting men, who might be supposed to be endowed with some portion of self-control, received theirs only once a-day, in the morning; but experience had shown that the refugees had no idea of making their supplies last out, but consumed at once what was intended to feed them for twenty-four hours, and then wandered about with mournful lamentations, or begged from their more provident companions. This evening, however, the expectant throng was not confined to these weaker souls. It appeared that the impression had somehow got about that the absence of Prince Romanos betokened a foray that night, and a consequent abundance of provisions on the morrow, so that from all the nearer posts the garrisons had come in to demand that the food in hand should at once be distributed to all alike, and delegates had arrived from the Karakula lines with the same request. With his little band of faithful men at his back, Maurice refused it absolutely. There was no likelihood whatever of a raid that night. It might not take place for three or four days, perhaps not at all, and it would be madness to consume all the available supplies. The men were not sufficiently ravenous to use force, but there was an ugly mutinous spirit among them, which showed itself in the defiant raising of the cry, “Romanos for Prince!” as they returned to their respective posts.
The night passed without alarm, and Maurice rejoiced that the monastery guard and the men at the nearest encampment were all Slavs, since they felt a natural inclination to champion his cause against that of Prince Romanos, and might be relied upon to warn him if any treachery was attempted against him personally. There was no sign of the scouting party in the morning, and Maurice hurried down to Ephestilo to see Wylie, and returned to the usual daily routine, issuing rations, judging small causes, and arranging for funerals, while Eirene and Zoe visited the hospital. It was about mid-day that the unmistakable sound of rifle-fire reached him, coming from the direction of the isthmus. Seizing a glass, he ran up to the top of the gateway. Did his eyes deceive him, or was the line of Roumi transports shorter than before? He counted them; there were two less on the horizon, and all were moving northwards. The sound of firing grew louder; was it merely heavier, or was it approaching? The guards were assembling in groups, looking, with almost stupid astonishment, in the direction of Karakula, and discussing what the meaning of the sound could be. Maurice ran down again, sent off a messenger to recall Eirene and Zoe, and to warn the refugees to seek shelter round the monastery, and leaving a small guard there, started for the isthmus with the rest of his men. Before they had gone far, a breathless messenger came toiling up the path in front and met them.
“Lord, the Roumis have landed on the isthmus, and are inside the lines of Karakula.”
“Inside? But what has happened to the garrison?”