CHAPTER XXIX

AGAINST THE COMMON ENEMY

Panayota was lying face down upon the bed, but when she heard heavy footsteps in the hall and the scratching of the key upon the door, as some one outside fumbled at the lock, she sprang to her feet and backed to the wall at the farther side of the room. She cast her eyes about the bare, dim room, as though there must be some way of escape, moaning, meanwhile:

"Little Virgin, save me! O, my God, what shall I do?"

When Kostakes entered he found her thus, her fists clenched, her lips white. She was looking at him, with great eyes of fear and horror, and she scarcely seemed to breathe. There was in her attitude the alertness of a hunted cat, that hopes to make a sudden dash for liberty and to escape even at the last moment.

"In the name of Allah, Panayota," he said tenderly, "why are you so frightened? Have I not told you I would not touch a hair of your head?"

She made no reply, but slid along the wall, with her eyes fixed on the open door. He turned with an exclamation of impatience, shut it with a slam, locked it and put the key in his pocket.

"Na!" he said, "don't think of escaping. Try to fix your mind on what I am going to say to you. In the first place, I swear to you by my hopes of salvation that I mean you no harm. Now listen to me!--I love you, Panayota."

"Is that why you murdered my father?"

"Why do you say that I murdered your father?"

"Bring him to me alive, and then I shall know that you did not."

"You ask an impossible thing, Panayota. He is probably among the Sphakiote mountains by this time, and you know there aren't troops enough in all Turkey to get him out."

"Then I'll tell you what you do," cried Panayota eagerly, advancing a step or two. "Let me go and find him. I'll return here to Canea with him. Honestly I will, honestly--and you shall come and talk to me all you like."

Kostakes gave his mustache an impatient twist.

"To let you go, after all the trouble I've had getting you? O, no, Panayota. You're mine, by Allah! and whoever takes you away from me must kill me first. You don't know how I love you, I could never tell you. Listen. There isn't a drop of Turkish blood in me. My grandfather became a Turk because--because of circumstances, to save his life. I am the son of a Greek mother and she used to sing Greek lullabies to me in my cradle." He was talking very fast now. "I have always said I would turn Christian some time, and when I saw you, I made up my mind to do it right away. I have heard great news. Everybody says that the powers have decided to give the island to the king of Greece. Then there will be no more Turks here. They will either go away or become Orthodox. Say you'll marry me, Panayota, and I'll get rid of my harem, and we'll go before the priest--"

"Will you murder your wives as you did my father?" asked the girl. Kostakes stared at her, deprived for the moment of the power of speech. In his enthusiasm, he had talked himself into the feeling that his dreams were already realized. Panayota's voice, hard, sneering, cold with hate, shocked him like a sudden blow in the face with a whip. Then rage surged up in his veins and knocked at his temples. His hands, that he had extended pleadingly, trembled, and he gnashed his teeth. Kostakes was not beautiful at that moment. Panayota laughed.

"O, you Turk," she cried, "you cowardly Turk! You needn't grind your teeth at me. I'm not afraid of death. It's only your vile love that I fear."

Kostakes raised his doubled fists above his head and brought them down with such violence that an involuntary "Ah!" escaped him.

"By God, girl, you would drive a saint crazy," he cried. "Here I am offering to change my religion and put away my harem, and all for you, and I get nothing out of you but an insult. Don't you know that you are in my power, and I can do with you what I please? No cursed foreigner will rescue you this time. He did not know enough to keep you when he had you, and I'll see that he doesn't get another chance. I want you to love me as I love you. Panayota, I've made an honorable offer. I leave you to think it over. But make up your mind to this--you're mine, and I'll never give you up while I live."

When Kostakes stepped into the court again, Souleima was blowing up the coals in a little charcoal stove, home-made from an American petroleum can. Ayesha, standing by the table, called out in a stage whisper, plainly audible throughout the enclosure:

"The Effendi comes," and pulled the fish from the drawer.

"Isn't dinner ready yet?" he snarled; "what have you lazy women been doing?"

"All ready, Effendi," replied Ayesha. "We couldn't fry the _barbounia_ till you came. They are better hot. Souleima, bring the olive oil and the salt. In two minutes, Effendi."

"Got any wine?" asked Kostakes, as the platter of steaming fish was set before him.

"Wine, Effendi, in a Turkish house?"

"Yes, wine; if you've got any, bring it on, I am tired and thirsty."

"I think Ferende has some," suggested Souleima. "She drinks like a fish."

"Umph! And I don't suppose you help her?"

"Effendi, I swear--" commenced Souleima.

"I don't even know the taste of it," protested Ayesha.

"Silence, silence! and bring me some. And look here," as the decanter was set before him, "if I ever hear a lisp about my wine drinking I'll wring the necks of both of you--cackling old hens that you are. And now send Ferende to wait on me, and get out of my sight, the two of you. You take my appetite away. She at least is not a greasy old slattern."

After the Effendi had eaten he betook himself to his chamber in search of much needed rest. Ferende followed him, but he pushed her from him, saying in a querulous and disgusted tone:

"Get away from me, can't you? Darken the room and go. Shut the door, and if any of you women make a noise--eh, there, listen!"

"Yes, Effendi." Ferende had nearly closed the door, but she opened it a little way and thrust her face back into the room.

"Don't take Panayota up those cold fish. Fry her some hot ones, and give her some wine."

The ex-favorite found the two elder wives whispering together in the garden.

She walked straight up to them.

"Let's be friends," she said. "We're all in the same boat, and must work together. In fact, you are worse off than I am, for I am younger and better looking than either of you!"

This was not conciliatory language, but it accorded so well with what the two women had just been saying to each other, that they could make no reply. Each looked inquiringly at the other for a moment, and then Souleima asked:

"Do you think he is in earnest?"

"Absolutely. He would have no reason to parley with the girl, else. She is in his power."

"We shall all be turned into the street," said Ayesha.

"He would never dare," cried Souleima. "He has nothing against us. We are faithful, honest wives. It would make too great a scandal."

"He will find a way," replied Ferende, coolly.

"What shall we do? O, what shall we do?" sobbed the two elder wives. Poor things! They had no Virgin to take refuge with.

"If she should fall ill and die!" suggested Souleima.

Ferende started violently and turned pale. "No!" she cried, so loud that all three of them glanced apprehensively at the windows. Then lowering her voice:

"Don't ever think of such a thing again. It's too dangerous. She must escape."

"But the Effendi would kill us even for that."

"It must be done in such a way that he will never suspect us."