“None, lord. It was a sharp fight, a fight to a finish.”
“I hope it’s all right,” said Wylie to Maurice in English. “We don’t want prisoners, certainly, but I know these fellows’ ways. Did the Prince capture the tower of Segreti at the same time?” he asked the messenger, alluding to an old Venetian fortification near the village, which had been used as a citadel by the Roumis.
“Nay, lord, the noise of the fighting warned the garrison, and we could not take them by surprise. But the Lord Romanos is even now directing the digging of a trench which is to cut off their water-supply, and then the tower also will fall into our hands.”
“We will visit Prince Christodoridi this morning, and congratulate him on his success,” said Maurice. “You can take the day for rest, and return to him in the evening.”
“Nay, lord, I will return at once, and inform the Prince that you and the Lord Glafko will visit him,” was the reply, and refusing all offers of refreshment, the messenger set out at once. Maurice and Wylie followed on mules, noticing as they went the ferment caused by the news of the capture of the Roumi post. Their own men were crestfallen and resentful, the Greeks flushed with triumph. The old schism was present in a form comparatively harmless, but capable of being grievously accentuated, for the wildest tales of spoil and slaughter, springing from seed casually flung by the messenger on his way, were circulating everywhere, and the Slavs were asking why they had not been allowed their share. Arrived at the isthmus, they found Karakula practically deserted, its garrison having marched in a body to Ahmed Pasha in hope of loot.
“Pretty thing if the Roumis had landed now!” said Wylie grimly. “Christodoridi and half our force cut off outside our boundaries, and Karakula undefended. I’ll stay here and beat up what recruits I can, Prince, while you go on and fetch the fellows back.”
Maurice went on, to be greeted by a few stray shots from the ramparts of Segreti, and to find the work of cutting off the water-supply at a standstill, the men refusing to dig until they had thoroughly ransacked the village. Prince Romanos met him in a state of mind compounded of pride and disgust. His force was now engaged in testing walls and turning up the ground round the houses, to discover where the inhabitants had concealed their hoards, and the triumph of the night might at any moment be turned into disaster if the garrison of Segreti should pluck up sufficient courage to make a sortie. Together the two leaders beat up a band of the men most amenable to reason, and sent them back to reinforce Wylie, and then they set to work to collect the rest and post them in the positions that were capable of defence, since it was hardly probable that Jalal-ud-din would meekly accept the transformation of Ahmed Pasha from an outpost of his own to one of the enemy’s. Wylie must come and decide what works ought to be constructed, and how far it was possible to overawe the defenders of Segreti by fire from the village while their water-supply was diverted, and Maurice foresaw that he would probably wish to take up his quarters at Ahmed Pasha for the present, if the village was to be held. Maurice himself inclined to the belief that it would be wiser to withdraw from it, but Prince Romanos could not bear to think of surrending the fruits of his victory, and they argued the matter as they went back towards Karakula. As they approached the village, Wylie met them, and turned the current of their thoughts.
“There’s a boat coming in with a flag of truce—a steam-pinnace from the fleet,” he said. “It’s a good thing you are both on the spot. I have got together a guard for you.”
They walked down towards the shore and watched the boat approach. An officer in commander’s uniform and a dragoman disembarked and picked their way across the rocks, with some loss of dignity, followed by six fully-armed seamen.
“Can hardly be an offer of terms,” said Wylie. “The boat has her gun trained on us, too.”