“Are you asking me riddles?” demanded the Princess, with distinct displeasure. “Pray, does this person assert that he is in my service? You will allow me to remind you that he is not necessarily speaking the truth.”
“With that I have nothing to do,” was the rough reply. “When I saw the fellow’s frock-coat and fez I nearly bade my men throw him back into the water again, but he pleaded with me by God and the all-holy Virgin to spare his life and land him at some Pannonian port. I told him plainly that I would not go an inch out of my way for him, but he might slink on shore here if he liked. Then he seemed happier, and said that the Dowager Princess would vouch for him. He had escaped from Therma, he told one of my men.”
The Princess’s eyes met those of Prince Romanos in amused surprise. “Can it possibly be Skopiadi Pasha?” broke from both of them. “A grey-haired man with a glass eye?” added the Princess.
“That’s the fellow,” assented Prince Christodoridi.
“This is really very funny,” said the Princess, with decorous mirth. “It is a good thing you did not throw the poor man back into the water, Prince. Now we shall get authentic news as to what has happened at Therma. And am I really the only person to whom poor Skopiadi could appeal? I came in contact with him years ago, at the time of the Rhodope negotiations, but I never expected to be asked to vouch for him after a shipwreck. We must certainly relieve his mind at once, and see that he is treated properly. You are rather too stalwart a partisan for the present day, Prince.”
She had turned and walked towards the Palace with them, and now left them, with an amused smile. Prince Christodoridi was purple with indignation.
“Does the woman expect me to make an apostate a welcome guest?” he demanded. “These are fine times, indeed! Why, your grandfather would have fastened him up in the rigging, and let the worst shots among the crew practise on him. A good thing I didn’t put him back into the water, was it? I wish I had!”
“We have to consider our neighbours’ susceptibilities a little nowadays,” said Prince Romanos languidly. “After all, Skopiadi is still Vali of Therma, and the Prince of Dardania doesn’t want to get into trouble at Czarigrad. I think there may yet be some surprises in store for you, lord.”
Prince Christodoridi recognised the truth of this prophecy in the afternoon, when he found the man he had treated so cavalierly received as a guest whom the Dardanian Court delighted to honour, and accorded—so his jealous mind averred, though no one else could distinguish it—a precedence superior to his own. Prince Christodoridi and his ship’s crew were accepted as welcome recruits for the aquatic sports of the morrow, but in social matters they were outer barbarians compared with the despised Skopiadi, who was in the inmost circle of European diplomacy, and knew everybody. It was some consolation to the wounded spirit of the island ruler that his rival begged to be allowed to absent himself from the festivities at the port, on the plea that his health was suffering from the hardships met with in his escape. His account of this reflected the highest credit upon himself. Driven to desperation by the insubordinate conduct of Jalal-ud-din, whom he had discovered to be plotting a massacre of the Christians, and who had incited his own guard to murder him, he had gone on board a steamer in the harbour at the beginning of the troubles, intending to go straight to Czarigrad, and lay his case before the Grand Seignior, demanding support against his aspiring colleague. Unfortunately, when the fire broke out in the city, and accounts of fresh horrors arrived perpetually by the mouth of a continuous stream of refugees, the captain of the steamer refused to take his ship to Czarigrad, or any Roumi port, and the unfortunate Skopiadi would have been carried off to Egypt if he had not insisted on being transferred to a fishing-boat, the crew of which promised to put him on shore at some Illyrian coast-town. The sad accident which had brought about the loss of the fishing-boat prevented this, and it was to the prompt help of Prince Christodoridi that the Pasha owed his life. It was only natural that he should feel unstrung and disinclined for gaiety, and he listened without regret to the bustle which marked the departure of his hosts and their other guests. The Palace and its grounds were at his command, and he wandered out into the garden with great contentment, though not without the occasional apprehensive start which betrayed that his dwelling-place had of late been in the midst of alarms. He encountered nothing more alarming than the Dowager Princess, sitting at work on the marble seat in the orange walk, but for a moment it seemed as if he found her as terrifying a sight as he could well have met. Then he rallied his courage, and was about to retire with a bow, when she stopped him.
“Pray, monsieur, do not treat me as if I were a monster. We seem to be left to keep each other company, so you must be good enough to entertain me.”