“We seem to have been horribly remiss, Wylie,” said Maurice; “and yet we thought we were pretty far-seeing.”
“Sea-fighting in fishing-boats is not in my line, I’m afraid,” muttered Wylie. “But I’m open to learn from my betters in that way,” he added quickly.
“This very evening,” went on Prince Romanos, much encouraged, “I fear an opportunity has been lost. I understand that the one Roumi who survived to be captured by your men, Colonel, has confessed that a fire on the headland above Ephestilo, simultaneously with one in the village itself, was to be the signal for the Roumi troops waiting outside in boats to enter the bay and effect a landing. A fictitious conflagration could easily be arranged, and the boats lured in—to discover, not the panic-stricken inhabitants they anticipated, but a disciplined force holding them in a trap. Could?—nay, it can be done even now. Will you permit it? I go to arrange details, to invite volunteers. Follow me in half an hour, then I can tell you whether it may be attempted. I have my plans—it is allowed?”
Barely waiting for the answer, he sprang down the steps.
“What’s come over the fellow?” demanded Maurice.
“Can’t say,” growled Wylie. “He’s got something in his head, that’s clear, and I doubt very much whether it’ll be healthy for you and your claims.”
“You old croaker!” said Maurice. “You’ve never trusted him.”
CHAPTER XIV.
IMPERIUM IN IMPERIO.
Something went wrong with the great plan conceived by Prince Romanos for the discomfiture of the Roumi invaders. A reckless expenditure of fuel produced a most inviting beacon on the headland, and a bonfire in the village which endangered every house within reach, but the eager watchers who crouched in their hiding-places on either side of the harbour-mouth, finger on trigger, were not rewarded by the entrance of any hostile boats. Very naturally they imagined more than once that they saw some, and in defiance of orders, fired several shots before they realised that their eyes had deceived them, and this gave admirable scope for mutual recrimination when it was afterwards discussed who had frightened the enemy away. Wylie stood alone as an exponent of the highly unpopular theory that the Roumi prisoner had deliberately deceived his captors by inducing them to light a fire on the headland, which he knew was the prearranged signal denoting danger instead of safety. An indignant deputation at once invaded the cottage in which the prisoner was quartered, but he had saved the situation by dying of his wounds, and the secret thus lost was unanimously voted not to exist. The skill and foresight of Prince Romanos had prepared a signal defeat for the enemy, which had not taken place solely because of the impatience or nervousness of some excited patriots. These took the first opportunity of cleaning their rifles and inserting fresh cartridges, so that the accusation of having fired was bandied about with a fine impartiality based upon the conviction that it could never be brought home to any one in particular.
This belief that Prince Romanos had guided the insurgents within measurable distance of a decisive triumph—missed only through the precipitate action of some persons unknown—smoothed his path when he unfolded his views the next day. He asked for volunteers for coast work, and the whole force desired to enrol themselves under his banner, leaving Wylie in the rather undignified position of a commander without any soldiers. With much tact Prince Romanos pointed out that he could accept only recruits who had practical experience in managing boats, and in this way he weeded out all but the fishermen of the peninsula and such of the mainland refugees as came from the coast. Still, even this reduction followed a curiously marked line.