“Do not return to tell me that the base wretch has achieved all he desired. Is there not one among the Christians whom he has betrayed to avenge the Holy Places on this renegade?”
Colonel Czartoriski’s chief impression on reading the telegram was that it was of too compromising a nature to be retained safely in his possession, and, after fixing the contents in his mind, he destroyed the paper. This done, he was able to consider the message calmly. The suggestion which it contained struck him as worthy of notice; for he had relinquished his earlier intention of challenging Cyril to a duel outrance, reflecting that in such a conflict he was unlikely to be victorious. Although, in the frenzied state to which the contemplation of his mistress’s wrongs had reduced him, he would not have shrunk from death if he could have ensured the destruction of his foe, he felt that justice would be but poorly satisfied if Cyril killed him and escaped unscathed. Since, then, a duel was not to be thought of save as a last resort, he allowed his mind to dwell with something like complacency on the hint thrown out by the Princess. Palestine was filled with fanatical pilgrims from Southern and Eastern Europe; how probable it was that Count Mortimer might meet with a fatal accident while in the neighbourhood of one of their stations! For a minute or two it seemed to Colonel Czartoriski that such an accident was so likely as to be almost inevitable, but as soon as his brain had regained its balance he perceived that the matter was not one to be left to chance. Unless the consequences of Cyril’s present diplomacy were pointedly brought to the notice of the pilgrims, he might pass unharmed from one end of Palestine to the other. It was clearly necessary that the destined avengers should be made properly acquainted with the state of affairs—and how should this be done unless Colonel Czartoriski made it his business? At first the old soldier shrank back appalled from the idea: it was too much like hounding men on to commit murder. But the thought of the Princess’s sorrows overcame his compunction once more, and he salved his conscience with a few curt platitudes to the effect that, since the law often failed to punish the greatest offenders, it was well to ensure that justice should be done at last. Thus satisfied that it lay with him to bring criminal and punishment together, he began to ask himself how the duty might best be performed.
It is not seldom a delicate task to put in motion the slowly revolving wheels of justice, and Colonel Czartoriski realised this as he sat smoking on the verandah of his Damascus hotel and laboured at the details of his plot. It was evident that he must not appear in connection with it, since the mention of his name would lead the world to infer the complicity of the Princess of Dardania; but he found it difficult to devise any means of inciting a crowd of unlettered fanatics to the requisite degree of hatred without communicating with them directly. After various fruitless attempts to solve the problem, he threw away his cigar and strolled out into the town, hoping that some chance sight or sound might give him the enlightenment he sought. He had scarcely left the shelter of the courtyard when the help he needed presented itself. Bumping and jolting over the alternate hillocks and hollows of the street came a carriage, in which sat a tall man with flowing black hair and beard. His dark robes, and the lofty head-dress which surmounted his stern features and piercing eyes, marked him as a bishop of the Orthodox Church. Two monks sat opposite him, so obviously in awe of his displeasure that even the discomforts of the drive evoked not the slightest murmur from either of them.
“The very man!” murmured Colonel Czartoriski. “How could I have forgotten that Bishop Philaret had gone on pilgrimage?”
The reverend travellers had only snatched a very brief rest at the Greek Convent, to which they were bound, when Colonel Czartoriski entreated the honour of an interview with the Bishop of Tatarjé. His request was granted at once, for the two men were old acquaintances. Bishop Philaret had brought the whole strength of the reactionary party in the Thracian Church to swell the forces of the Princess of Dardania when she had arranged the betrothal between her daughter and King Michael, which overthrew Cyril and restored M. Drakovics to office. In return for this signal service, it was commonly understood that when Archbishop Socrates, the Metropolitan of Thracia, should be gathered to his fathers, his successor in the see of Bellaviste would be the ambitious and able Bishop of Tatarjé. The recent events in Thracia had, of course, blurred this fair prospect, and the Bishop and Colonel Czartoriski met as fellow-sufferers by a common disaster.
“If either her Royal Highness or I myself had been in Thracia, this would not have happened,” said the Bishop, as his attendant monks brought coffee and sweet jelly for the refreshment of the visitor.
“It is a European misfortune,” observed Colonel Czartoriski gloomily.
“European? it is a misfortune to the whole Church—a thing to make one shudder!” cried the Bishop. “For many years I have looked forward to this pilgrimage, but I never ventured to leave Thracia until now. Everything seems safe—the King at Ludwigsbad under her Highness’s own eye—and I set out with a quiet mind. I spend two peaceful months in visiting our brethren in Armenia and Mesopotamia, and as soon as I am once more within reach of telegraphs and newspapers, what do I learn? Why, that the old dotard Mirkovics is Premier, and the Mortimer close upon his heels!”
In common with the other members of the reforming party in Thracia, Prince Mirkovics held that his own brother, Bishop Andreas of Karajevo, would be the most suitable successor to the present Metropolitan. Bishop Philaret did not mention this fact, but Colonel Czartoriski was acquainted with it.
“And it is perfectly certain that all might have been avoided if your Greatness had not been absent from Thracia!” he said regretfully. “Do you intend to return to your diocese immediately?”