“Mercy, lord! justice! protection!” she sobbed.
“This is Prince Theophanis, if you want to speak to him.” The blue-eyed man indicated his companion, and Danaë transferred her plea to him almost mechanically, her tired arms loosing their hold of Janni, who slid to the ground and began to investigate the strangers’ boots with much interest.
“Save us, lord, this poor child and me, from the evildoer who pursues us! He will tell you that he is my uncle, but it is not true. I have nothing to do with him, nothing whatever.”
“Why, it is Petros!” said Prince Theophanis in surprise, as the guardsman made his appearance, hot and angry. “Do you say that this girl is your niece, friend Petros?”
“Why should I say it, lord, when it is not true? Thank the saints, she is no kin of mine!”
He stopped abruptly, and Danaë could have cried aloud with joy. She had Petros in her power; he was afraid of her, or he would have contradicted her words. He was waiting for her to tell her story; obviously, then, he did not wish these strangers to know of his treachery to his master, and she might use her hold over him to save Janni. With an admirable transport of gratitude, she flung herself down and kissed the ground before the Prince’s feet.
“Ah, lord, what power is yours since even this wicked wretch must tell the truth in your presence! You will permit your suppliant to lay her woes before you?”
“Tell me your trouble, by all means, if I can help you, but don’t kneel there. What is your name?”
“Lord, it is meet for me to kneel at your gracious feet, and this child with me.” She captured Janni’s hands, and made him embrace the Prince’s boots, then sat up and poured forth her tale. “Lord, my name is Kalliopé Vlasso, and I dwell in Therma with my sister and her husband, who is in the Prince’s guard—a comrade of that ruffian there. He it was who led my brother-in-law into the love of strong drink—not mastika, lord, but raki and such horrible things—so that he would come home and frighten and grievously abuse my sister and me. But last night he was like one possessed of a demon, and after beating us both, he dragged my unhappy sister out of the house by the hair of her head, and beat and kicked her till she died—the neighbours all looking on and fearing to interfere. Then, terrified lest he should kill us also, I snatched up the child, my nephew, and fled away, out of the street and the city, seeking only safety. But why this evil wretch should have pursued us I know not, save that it can be for no good reason.”
“You come from the islands, as he does, and he meant to take care of you, perhaps?” suggested the blue-eyed man. Danaë repudiated the suggestion with terrified vigour.