“That is for you to say, my Prince. I have no love for the Lady. Why should I, when the Lord Romanos desired to leave me to guard her, and she refused, saying that she disliked my looks and did not trust me? Had she accepted my services, I must have defended her to the death, but now I should not be sorry to see her dealt with as she deserves.”
“Then who was left to guard her in your place?”
“No one, my Prince. The Lady refused to have anyone with her but her women-servants, saying that the guards outside were sufficient.”
“I think the Lady has consulted our convenience rather than her own,” smiled Prince Christodoridi. “Come, friend Petros, will you venture to tell me now that it is impossible to reach her?”
“Impossible unless one had a confederate inside the gates, my Prince. The door must be opened, as you see.”
“Then introduce a confederate, by all means. Holy Michael! does this fellow call himself a Striote?”
“And who is the confederate to be, my Prince? For I have no wish to put my neck in jeopardy over this—removal, nor do I think that you have. Kyrie Eleēson! look at that, lord!”
Crossing himself hastily, he clutched at the Prince’s wrist with a trembling hand, and pointed to the shadow of the rampart on the ground in front of them. Fully evident in the treacherous beams of the sinking sun was the outline of a human figure on the summit of the wall, with head raised to listen greedily to what was said.
“Thickhead! why speak of it?” Prince Christodoridi was up the stairs in a moment, with an agility highly creditable to his sixty years, and had Danaë’s wrists in an iron grasp and a hand over her mouth, before she could even move. “Take her feet, fool! and bring her here.” They were inside one of the deserted towers in an instant, and before Danaë realised fully what had happened, she was bound hand and foot with the sash which Petros stripped off at his lord’s sharp command. Prince Christodoridi chose out deliberately a long thin dagger from the armoury in his belt, and dangled it before his daughter’s horrified eyes.
“How much have you heard, wicked one?” he demanded.