“Naturally, Princess,” was all he could be induced to say, with his usual shrug.
The character of the scenery was now changing, the grassy downs being left behind for wilder and loftier hills. Sometimes a glimpse could be caught of the monastery itself, far above and beyond, like the Celestial City in old illustrations to the ‘Pilgrim’s Progress,’ its tiled roofs clinging to the sides of a great rift in the rock, and then again it would be hidden by the intervening crags. This broken country was the chosen haunt of the bands from the mainland, whom it reminded of their own hills, and challenges rang from the rocky heights, to be answered with anxious explanations by Dr Terminoff, who did all he could to magnify the importance of the new recruits to the cause without revealing either their identity or the nature of the contribution they brought for the war-chest. His guarded answers excited much interest, and a gradually increasing crowd of insurgents attached itself to the travellers, betraying an unconcealed desire to know the contents of the luggage, which seemed so much heavier than it looked. This was the moment Wylie had feared, and the sailors and Dr Terminoff’s men were placed as a screen at the head and tail of the cavalcade. The sides could not be protected, nor was it indeed necessary, since the path was only wide enough for a mule and its driver. “It’s a blessing they haven’t had time to arrange an ambuscade with stones, or they would have cut the column in two,” said Wylie; “but I think we have taken them by surprise.”
As the long procession approached the monastery, an obvious excitement began to make itself felt among the hangers-on, a certain number of whom detached themselves and ran on to the gate, where they demanded entrance with much banging and many shouts. No response, however, came from within, and the self-appointed couriers rushed back with fervid zeal to complain that the never-to-be-sufficiently-execrated Patriarchist monks refused admission to the noble English visitors. With generous indignation the surrounding mob demanded that Wylie should lead them to force an entrance, and it was clear that between the monks and the mainlanders there existed a grudge as old as the latter’s first encampment on the hills ten days ago, when they had been excluded, as schismatics, from the sacred precincts. Such a revival of the feud between the Greek and Slav elements of Emathian society promised badly for the success of Maurice’s mission of unity, and he and Armitage went forward to call a parley, while Wylie prepared for action if necessary. For some time the frowning front of the monastery appeared utterly unresponsive to all the knocking and shouting that besieged it, but at length a high black cap and a venerable beard appeared on the top of the gateway, and a conversation ensued. Presently Maurice came back and summoned Wylie.
“They won’t let us in, because the Roumi Government has always treated them fairly well, and they are afraid what may happen when we come to smash,” he said.
“They must let us in,” said Wylie. “Otherwise we shall come to smash in less than ten minutes. We must break the gate down.”
“Then our Emathian friends will simply swarm in and loot the place. We shall be as badly off for accommodation as ever, and have to bear the everlasting stigma of having plundered an Orthodox monastery.”
“Oh, we must fake it somehow. Tell your venerable friend that we will save his face by technically forcing an entrance. Fifteen sailors with rifles which half of them can’t use look imposing enough to justify any man of peace in opening his door to them if they threaten to fire. Of course you will add that if this is not inducement enough we will let the Emathians loose on them, and then they need have no further anxiety about the Roumis.”
“All right. Get the mules as close up to the gate as possible, and let the sailors be ready to turn their rifles against the Emathians once it’s opened.”
“Your brother’s welcome from his subjects is even embarrassing in its warmth,” remarked Prince Romanos to Zoe, with a fine air of detachment.
“Oh, the monastery has seen many leaders of revolts,” replied Zoe airily. “How should the poor old monks know that Maurice is the leader of a revolution?”