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Sebastian Polo looked at Marin Cornèr significantly; and Marin
Cornèr looked at Sebastian Polo. The fat lady pricked her ears,
figuratively speaking, for indeed they were much too deeply
embedded in their exuberant surroundings of cheek and jowl to
suggest that they could ever prick at all. The Tartar crammed his
mouth full again, and his great beard wagged with his jaws in the
inevitable silence that followed. In her heart Giustina compared him
to a ravenous lion, but her father thought he resembled a hungry
hyena.
Finding that his throat was not cut yet, and learning that there was
to be a question of money, Marin Cornèr felt that the colour was
returning to his nose and the warmth to his heart.
'Why does Messer Carlo not come home himself and get the money
he needs?' he asked.
By this time Omobono had recovered from his fright enough to creep
into the room behind Tocktamish. He was already making anxious
gestures to the two Venetian gentlemen to enjoin caution. The
Tartar drank again before he answered the question.
'He happened to be so busy that he preferred to send me to get the
money for him,' said the soldier. 'You see we are old friends. We
fought together in Greece.'
Then Omobono's voice was heard, quavering with anxiety.
'There is no money in the house!' he cried, winking violently at Polo
and Cornèr. 'There is not a penny, I swear! There were large
payments to make yesterday.'
The poor little secretary was so anxious to be heard that he had
come within arm's length of the Tartar, though behind him.
Tocktamish turned his big head, and put out his hand unexpectedly,
and Omobono felt himself caught and whirled round like a child till
he was close to the table and face to face with the tipsy giant. He
was sure that he felt his liver shrivelling up inside him with sheer
fright.
'What is this little animal?' the Tartar asked, cocking one eye in a
knowing way and examining him with a sort of boozy gravity.
But Omobono really could not find a word. His captor shook him
playfully.
'What is your name, you funny little beast?' he enquired, and he
roared with laughter by way of answering himself.
Giustina, strange to say, was the only one to join in his mirth, and
she laughed quite prettily, to the inexpressible surprise of her
parents, who were shocked and grieved, as well as scared almost to
death.
'Come, come!' laughed the Tartar, shaking the little man like a bean-
bag. 'If you cannot speak, you can at least give up your keys, and I
will see for myself if there is any money!'
Thereupon he seized the bunch of keys which the secretary wore at
his belt, and wrenched it off with a pull that snapped the thong by
which it hung. Again Giustina laughed, but a little more nervously
now; her mother sat transfixed, open-mouthed, with an almost
idiotic expression. Again the two merchants glanced at each other,
and then both looked towards the door.
Between his fright and the terrible indignity of having his keys torn
from him, Omobono had never been nearer to fainting in his life.
'Robbery!' he gasped. 'Rank robbery!'
Tocktamish sent him spinning into the nearest corner by a turn of
the wrist, after which the ruffian took another mouthful of meat, and
slowly filled his glass while he was disposing of it. Omobono had
steadied himself in the corner, but his face was deadly white, and his
lips were moving nervously in a delirium of terror.
'Messer Carlo needs ten thousand ducats before sunset,' observed
the Tartar before he drank.
Polo and Cornèr started to their feet; to their commercial souls the
mere mention of such a demand was more terrifying than all the
crooked weapons that gleamed in Tocktamish's broad belt.
'Ten thousand ducats!' they repeated together in a breath.
'Yes!' roared the Tartar, in a voice that made the glasses on the table
shake together and ring. 'Ten thousand ducats! And if I do not find
the money in the house, you two must find it in yours! Do you
understand?'
 'Yes!' roared the Tartar. 'Ten thousand
ducats! And if I do not find the money in
the house, you two must find it in yours!
Do you understand?'

They understood, for his voice was like thunder, and he had risen
too, and towered above them with his full glass in one hand and
Omobono's keys in the other. Then, being already tolerably drunk,
he solemnly raised the keys to his lips, thinking that he held the
glass in that hand, and rolled his eyes terribly at the two merchants;
and he set the glass down with an emphatic gesture, as if it had
been the bunch of keys, and it broke to pieces, and the yellow wine
splashed out across the table and ran down and streamed upon the
mosaic floor.
A terrific Tartar oath announced that he had realised his mistake,
and as he at once made up his mind that the Venetians were
responsible for it, his next action was to hurl the foot of the broken
glass at Polo's head; and he instantly seized the empty silver flagon
and flung it at Cornèr's face. The lighter weapon missed its aim and
broke to atoms against the opposite wall, but the jug struck Cornèr
full on the bridge of his thin nose with awful effect, and he fell to the
floor and lay there, a moaning, bleeding heap.
Polo looked neither at his wife nor at his daughter, but fled through
the open door at the top of his not very great speed. His wife fainted
outright, and in real earnest now, and with a final croak rolled gently
from her chair, without hurting herself at all. Omobono flattened his
lean body against the wall, trembling in every joint, and gibbering
with fear; and Tocktamish, seeing that he had so satisfactorily
cleared the field, proceeded to address his attentions to Giustina,
who had not fainted, but was really much too frightened to rise from
her seat or try to escape.
The Tartar drew his chair nearer to hers, and suddenly smiled, as if
he had done nothing unusual, and was only anxious to make himself
agreeable. He had been drinking since early morning, but he would
be good for at least another gallon of wine before it made him
senseless. He addressed Giustina in the poetic language of his native
country.
'Come, pet parrot of my soul!' he began, coaxingly. 'Fill me a cup
and let me hear your ravishing voice! Tocktamish has cleared the
house as the thunderstorm clears the hot air from the valley! Drink,
my pretty nightingale, and the golden wine shall warm your speech
in your little throat, as the morning sunshine melts the icicles in my
beard when I have been hunting all night in winter! Drink, my fawn,
my spring lamb, my soft wood-pigeon, my white bunny rabbit! Drink,
sweet one!'
The Tartar's similes were in hopeless confusion, possibly because he
translated them into Greek, but he was convinced that he was
eloquent, and he was undeniably as strong as a bear. He had filled a
fresh glass and was evidently anxious to make Giustina drink out of
it before him, for he held it to her lips with his left hand while his
right tried to take her round the waist and draw her to his knee.
But this was much more than she was prepared to submit to. In the
fairy story, Beast was less enterprising in the presence of Beauty,
and collapsed into obedience at the mere lifting of her finger.
Giustina was a big creature, usually sleepy and not inclined to move
quickly; but she was capable of exerting considerable strength in an
emergency. The instant she felt Tocktamish's hand at her waist, she
rose with a quick, serpentine motion that unwound her, as it were,
from his encircling hold, and almost before he knew that she was on
her feet she had fled from the room and slammed the door behind
her.
Tocktamish tried to follow her, but he stumbled successively over the
still unconscious dame and the still moaning Cornèr, so that when he
reached the door at last his purpose had undergone a change, and,
as he thought, an improvement. Women never ran out of the house
into the street, he argued; therefore Giustina was now upstairs and
would stay there; hence it would be wiser to finish the peacock and
anything else he could lay hands on before going to pay her a visit.
For Tocktamish found the food and the wine to his liking, and such
as were not to be had every day, even by a Tartar officer with plenty
of money in his wallet. He was tolerably steady still, as he made his
way back towards his seat.
His eye fell on Omobono, flattened against the wall and still in a
palsy of fear; for all that has been told since Cornèr had fallen and
Polo had run away had occupied barely two minutes.
Tocktamish suddenly felt lonely, and the little secretary amused him.
He took him by the collar and whirled him into Giustina's vacant
chair at the table.
'You may keep me company, while I finish my dinner,' he explained.
'I cannot eat alone—it disturbs my digestion.'
He roared with laughter, and slapped Omobono on the back
playfully. The little man felt as if he had been struck between the
shoulders by a large ham, and the breath was almost knocked out of
his body; and he wondered how in the world his tight hose had
survived the strain of his sitting down so suddenly.
'You look starved,' observed the Tartar, in a tone of concern, after
observing his face attentively. 'What you want is food and drink,
man!'
With a sudden impulse of hospitality he began to heap up food on
Giustina's unused plate, with a fine indifference to gastronomy, or
possibly with a tipsy sense of humour. He piled up bits of roast
peacock, little salt fish, olives, salad, raisins, dried figs, candied
strawberries, and honey cake, till he could put no more on the plate,
which he then set before Omobono.
'Eat that,' he said. 'It will do you good.'
Then he addressed himself to the peacock again, with a good will.
Omobono would have got up and slipped away, if he had dared.
Next to his bodily fear, he was oppressed by the terrible impropriety
of sitting at his master's table, where the guests should have been.
This seemed to him a dreadful thing.
'Really, sir,' he began, 'if you will allow me I would rather——'
'Do not talk. Eat!'
Tocktamish set the example by tearing the meat off a peacock's leg
with his teeth.
'You need it,' he added, with his mouth very full.
The poor secretary looked at the curiously mixed mess which his
tormentor had set before him, and he felt very uncomfortable at the
mere idea of tasting the stuff. Then he glanced at the Tartar and saw
the latter's bloodshot eye rolling at him hideously, while the shark-
like teeth picked a leg bone, and terror chilled his heart again. What
would happen if he refused to eat? Tocktamish dropped the bone
and filled two glasses.
'To Messer Carlo Zeno!' he cried, setting the wine to his lips.
Omobono thought a little wine might steady his nerves; and,
moreover, he could not well refuse to drink his master's health.
'Good!' laughed Tocktamish. 'If you cannot eat, you can drink!'
Just then Cornèr groaned piteously, where he lay in a heap on the
floor. His nose was much hurt, but he was even more badly
frightened. The Tartar was not pleased.
'If that man is dead, take him out and bury him!' he cried, turning
on Omobono. 'If he is alive, kick him and tell him to hold his tongue!
He disturbs us at our dinner.'
Omobono thought he saw a chance of escaping, and rose, as if to
obey. But the Tartar's long arm reached him instantly and he was
forced back into his seat.
'I thought you meant me to take him away,' he feebly explained.
'I was speaking to the slaves,' said Tocktamish gravely, though there
was no servant or slave within hearing.
The unfortunate merchant, who was not at all unconscious, and had
probably groaned with a vague idea of exciting compassion, now
held his peace, for he did not desire to be kicked, still less to be
taken out and buried. The Tartar seemed satisfied by the silence that
followed. After another glass he rose to his feet and took Omobono
by the arm; considering his potations he was still wonderfully steady
on his legs.
'Where is the strong box?' he asked, dragging the secretary towards
the door opposite to the one through which Giustina had gone out.
'There is no money in the house,' cried Omobono, in renewed terror.
'I swear to you that there is no money!'
'Very well,' answered the Tartar, who had taken the keys from the
table. 'Show me the empty box.'
'There is no strong box, sir,' answered the secretary, resolving to
control his fear and die in defending his master's property.
The difficulty was to carry out this noble resolution. Tocktamish
grabbed him by both arms and held him in the vice of his grasp.
'Little man,' he said gravely. 'There is a box, and I will find the box,
and I will put you into the box, and I will throw the box into the
water. Then you will know that it is not good to lie to Tocktamish.
Now show me where it is.'
Omobono shrank to something like half his natural size in his shame
and fear, and led the way to the counting-house. Once only he
stopped, and made a gallant attempt to be brave, and tried to
repeat his queer little prayer, as he did on all the great occasions of
his life.
'O Lord, grant wealth and honour to the Most Serene Republic,' he
began, and though he realised that in his present situation this
request was not much to the point, he would have gone on to ask
for victory over the Genoese, on general principles.
But at that moment he felt something as sharp as a pin sticking into
him just where his hose would naturally have been most tight, and
where, in fact, the strain that pulled them up was most severe; in
that part of the human body, in short, which, as most of us have
known since childhood is peculiarly sensitive to pain. There was no
answer to such an argument a posteriori; the little man's head went
down, his shoulders went up, and he trotted on; and though he
could not be put off from finishing his prayer he had reached the
door of the counting-house when he was only just beginning to pray
that he might have strength to resist curiosity, a request even more
out of place, just then, than a petition for the destruction of the
Genoese. A moment later he and Tocktamish entered the room, and
the Tartar shut the door behind him.
Neither of the two had heard two little bare feet following them
softly at a distance; but when the door was shut Lucilla ran nimbly
up to it and quickly drew the great old iron bolt which had been left
where it had once been useful, at a time when the disposition of the
house had been different. Lucilla knew that all the windows within
had heavy gratings, and that neither Omobono nor his captor could
get out.
Giustina had fled upstairs, as women generally do to save
themselves from any immediate danger. They are born with the idea
that when a house has more than one story the upper one is set
apart for them and their children, as indeed it always was in the
Middle Ages, and they feel sure that there must be other women
there who will help them, or defend them, or hide them. For it is a
curious fact that whereas women distrust each other profoundly
where the one man of their affections is concerned, they rely on
each other as a whole body, banded together to resist and get the
better of the male sex, in a way that would do credit to any army in
an enemy's country. Therefore Giustina went upstairs, quite certain
of finding other women.
Now there was but one door on the upper landing, and that was
Zoë's, and it was open; and just outside it Lucilla was hiding in the
curtain, listening to the strange sounds that came up from below;
but when Giustina ran in without seeing her, the little slave stayed
outside and slipped downstairs noiselessly, listened again at the
dining-room door, watched the Tartar and the secretary from a place
of safety, and then ran nimbly after them on purpose to lock them
in, as she did, for she was a clever little slave and remembered the
bolt.
Meanwhile Giustina rushed on like a whirlwind till she fell panting on
the divan beside Zoë, hardly seeing her at all, and staring at the
door, through which she expected every moment to see the burly
Tartar enter in pursuit; so that Yulia, who guessed the danger, ran
and shut it of her own accord.
Then Giustina drew a long breath and looked round, and she met
Zoë's eyes scrutinising her face with a look she never forgot.
'That monster!' she exclaimed, by way of explanation and apology.
Zoë had heard nothing, for the house was solidly built, and she had
not the least idea who had frightened Giustina. It occurred to her
that Gorlias might be in the house, and that on being seen by the
Venetians it had suited him to terrify them in order to get out again
without being questioned.
'You are Giustina Polo,' she said. 'I am Arethusa, Messer Carlo Zeno's
slave. Will you tell me what has happened?'
Giustina had now recovered herself enough to see that this Arethusa
was very lovely, and she momentarily forgot the danger she had
escaped.
'You are his slave!' she repeated slowly, and still breathing hard. 'Ah
—I begin to understand.'
'So do I,' Zoë answered, looking at the handsome, heavy face, the
dyed hair, and marble hands.
There was something like relief in her tone, now that she had
examined her rival well.
'When did Carlo buy you?' asked Giustina, growing coldly insolent as
she recovered her breath and realised her social superiority.
'I think it was just five weeks ago,' Zoë answered simply. 'But it
seems as if I had always been here.'
'I have no doubt,' said Giustina. 'Five weeks! Yes, I understand now.'
Then a fancied sound waked her fear of pursuit again, and her eyes
turned quickly towards the door. Yulia was standing beside it,
listening with her ear to the crack; she shook her head as she met
Giustina's anxious glance. There was nothing; no one was coming.
'You had better tell me what has happened,' Zoë said. 'You met
some one who frightened you,' she suggested.
Giustina saw that Zoë was in complete ignorance of the Tartar's visit,
and she told what she had seen and heard downstairs. As she went
on, explaining that Tocktamish demanded ten thousand ducats in
Zeno's name, Zoë's expression grew more anxious, for she gathered
the truth from the broken and exaggerated narrative. After failing in
his attempt to free Johannes, Zeno had fallen into the hands of the
soldiers he had won over to the revolution; they demanded an
enormous ransom, and if it was not forthcoming they would give him
up to Andronicus.
It was bad enough, yet it was better than it might have been, for it
meant that Zeno was still alive and safe, and would not be hurt so
long as his captors could be made to wait for the money they asked.
'Ten thousand ducats!' Zoë repeated. 'It is more than can ever be
got together!'
'My father could pay twice as much if he pleased,' answered the rich
merchant's daughter, vain of his immense wealth. 'But I hardly think
he will give anything,' she added slowly, while she watched Zoë's
face to see what effect the statement might have.
'Messer Carlo has many friends,' Zoë answered quietly. 'But if he is
alive it is very probable that he may come home without paying any
ransom at all. And if he does, he will certainly repay the soldiers for
the trick they have played him.'
'You do not seem anxious about him,' said Giustina, deceived and
surprised by her assumed calmness.
'Are you?' Zoë asked.
At that moment Yulia opened the door, for she had been listening
from within and had heard her companion's bare feet on the
pavement outside. Lucilla slipped in, almost dancing with delight at
her last feat, and looking like a queer little sprite escaped from a
fairy tale.
'I have locked them up in the counting-house, Kokóna!' she cried.
'The Tartar giant and the secretary! They are quite safe!'
She laughed gleefully and Yulia laughed too. Giustina suddenly
recollected her mother, who had fainted in the dining-room. As for
her father, her knowledge of his character told her that since there
had been danger he was certainly in a place of safety. She did not
care what became of Marin Cornèr, whom she detested because he
had once dared to ask for her hand, though he was a widower of
fifty. But her mother was entitled to some consideration after all, if
only for having brought into the world such a wonderful creature as
Giustina really believed herself to be. Yet in her heart the young
woman felt a secret resentment against her for having grown so
enormously fat; since it very often happens that as daughters grow
older they grow more and more like their mothers, and Giustina was
aware that she herself was already rather heavy for her age. It
would be a terrible thing to be a fat woman at thirty, and it would be
her mother's fault if she were. Many daughters are familiar with this
argument, though they may cry out and rail at the story-teller in the
bazaar who has betrayed it to the young men.
Giustina rose with much dignity now that she was fully reassured as
to the safety of the house. Zoë was questioning Lucilla, who could
hardly answer without breaking into laughter at the idea of having
imprisoned Omobono and the terrible Tartar. The little secretary had
never been unkind to any one in his life, but once or twice, when the
master had been out and he had been on his dignity, he had found
the slave-girls loitering on the stairs and had threatened them with
the master's displeasure and with a consequent condign punishment
if they were ever again caught doing nothing outside their mistress's
apartment; and it was therefore delightful to know that he was shut
up with Tocktamish, in terror of his life, and that his tremendous
dignity was all gone to pieces in his fright.
'You are a clever girl,' said Zoë. 'I only hope the door is strong.'
'I called the servants and the slaves before I came upstairs,' Lucilla
answered. 'I left them piling up furniture against the door. A giant
could not get out now.'
'Poor Omobono!' Zoë exclaimed. 'How frightened he must be.'
Giustina meanwhile prepared to go away, settling and smoothing the
folds of her gown, and pressing her hair on one side and the other.
Yulia brought her a mirror and held it up, and watched the young
lady's complacent smile as she looked at her own reflection. When
she had finished she barely nodded to Zoë, as she might have done
to a slave who had served her, and she went out in an exceedingly
stately and leisurely manner, quite sure that she had impressed Zoë
with her immeasurable superiority. She was much surprised and
displeased because Zoë did not rise and remain respectfully standing
while she went out, and she promised herself to remember this also
against the beautiful favourite when she herself should be Carlo
Zeno's wife.
But at a sign from Zoë, Lucilla followed her downstairs since there
was no one else to escort her; and a few minutes later Yulia saw the
little party come out upon the landing below. The fat lady in green
silk was in a very limp condition, the embroidered roses seemed to
droop and wither, and she was helped by three of Zeno's men; Marin
Cornèr was holding a large napkin to his injured nose, so that he
could not see where he put his feet and had to be helped by the
door porter. As for Sebastian Polo, his wife and daughter well knew
that he was by this time safe at home, and was probably recovering
his lost courage by beating his slaves.
'They are gone,' said Yulia, when the boat had shoved off at last.
Zoë rose then, and went slowly to the window. She stood there a
few moments looking after the skiff, and in spite of her deep anxiety
a faint smile played round her tender mouth as she thought of her
meeting with Giustina; but it vanished almost at once. Her own
situation was critical and perhaps dangerous.
She knew that although she was a slave she was the only person in
the house who could exercise any authority now that Omobono was
locked up in the counting-house, and that it would be impossible to
let him out without liberating Tocktamish at the same time, which
was not to be thought of. If the Tartar got out now he would
probably murder the first person he met, and every one else whom
he found in his way; indeed, Zoë thought it not impossible that he
was already murdering Omobono out of sheer rage.
'Come,' she said to Lucilla. 'We must go downstairs and see what
can be done.'
 CHAPTER XVI
Neither Tocktamish nor his victim knew that Lucilla had slipped the
bolt after them, for Omobono was too terrified to hear anything but
the Tartar's voice, and the latter was just in that state of intoxication
in which a man perceives nothing that is not closely connected with
the idea that possesses him for the time being; it is a state of mind
familiar to those whose business it is to catch men, or to cheat
them.
The strong box stood against the wall at the farther end of the
room, and close to the high desk at which Omobono usually worked.
When he came to it the secretary stood still, and Tocktamish bent
down and began to fumble with the keys.
The box had three locks, each having a hasp that closed with a
strong spring when the lid was shut down, and each requiring a
separate key. It was a large chest, completely covered with sheet-
iron and heavily bound with iron straps, the whole being kept bright
by daily polishing.
Tocktamish could not make the keys fit, and desisted with an oath.
'Open it!' he commanded, seizing the trembling secretary by the
collar and forcing him to his knees before the chest.
It would have been death to disobey, in the Tartar's present mood.
Omobono put each key into the lock to which it belonged, turned
each three times, and the middle one a fourth time, which had the
effect of drawing back all the springs at once; at the same time he
raised the heavy lid a little with one hand, and then opened it with
both.
Tocktamish began to throw the contents out on the floor with eager
haste, seizing upon the money-bags first; but these were not many,
nor were they very heavy, for the young merchant's capital was
invested in many enterprises and was rarely lying idle, and as for
spare cash he had taken out a goodly sum within the past two days
to be given away to the guards at the palace. The Tartar soon saw
that there were not a thousand gold ducats in the chest, and there
was but a little silver. The rest of the contents consisted of accounts,
papers, and parchments, many of which represented wealth, but
could not be turned into gold by a thief. Tocktamish had an ignorant
barbarian's primitive idea of riches, and being profoundly
disappointed he at once became furiously angry.
'Where is the treasure?' he roared, and his face grew purple.
He shook Omobono like a rat, as he repeated his question again and
again. The wretched secretary felt that his hour was indeed come,
and though he tried to speak and protest he really made no sound.
Then Tocktamish remembered his own words.
'I said I would drown you in the box!' he cried. 'And by the sun and
moon, full and new, I will! I will, by the vine, the wine, and the
drinkers, you rat, you miserable Italian flea, you skinny little bag of
bones!'
Thereupon he hove up Omobono sideways by one arm and one leg
and dropped him, fainting, into the empty money-chest, of which he
instantly shut the lid. It closed with a loud snap as the three springs
simultaneously fell into the slots in the three hasps. At the same
moment Omobono lost consciousness; his last impression had been
that he was killed and was to wake up in purgatory, and he had
made one wild attempt to say a prayer when Tocktamish whirled him
off his feet, but he could only remember the last words—
'... strength to resist curiosity.'
Then everything was dark, the big locks snapped above his head
and he knew nothing more. Having successfully accomplished this
brave feat, the tipsy giant gravely sat down on the chest to think, for
he had already forgotten that he had meant to throw it into the
Golden Horn, and besides, even in his condition, he knew very well
that four men could hardly have moved such a weight. As he sat he
stooped down and drew the scattered contents of the chest towards
him, and picked the small bags from the heaps of documents. Then
it occurred to him that it would be more convenient to put all the
coin into one sack which he could fasten to his belt. It would not be
a very heavy weight, and it was not possible to cram all the bags
into his wallet. A thousand gold ducats only weighed about twenty
pounds, by goldsmiths' weight.
When he had put all together in a soft leathern sack which he found
empty, he got upon his feet, with the idea of going back to rifle the
house since he had not found what he expected in the safe. It was
familiar work to him, for after he had left Greece he had been a
robber before he had turned respectable by taking service with the
Emperor. He kicked the strong box before he went away.
'Good-bye, little man!' he laughed.
But there was no answer, and at the idea that Omobono was such a
fragile creature as to have died of fright, he laughed louder and
slapped his huge thigh with his hand. It seemed quite inexpressibly
funny to him that any one should actually die of fear, of all disorders
in the world.
He had fastened the leathern sack securely to his belt, and he went
to the door to let himself out. When he found it fastened he looked
at it curiously, and scratched his big head, trying to remember
whether he had locked it after him or not, for he recollected that he
had shut it lest any one should come upon him suddenly. But there
was no key in the lock on the inside. He might have dropped it, or
slipped it into his wallet, and he began to look for it, going round
and round the room and kicking the papers and account-books
hither and thither. It was not to be seen, and the windows were
heavily grated; but he did not doubt his strength to break the door
down. That was a mere trifle after all.
He shook it violently, struck it, kicked it, and shook it again, but to
his stupefaction it would not budge an inch. The servants had
pushed a heavy marble table against it, and had piled up half a ton
of furniture; he might as well have tried to break through the wall.
Then it occurred to him that Omobono might have taken the key. He
would open the box, though it was a pity to disturb a dead man in
such an excellent coffin.
But the box could not be opened any more than the door, for the
springs had snapped, and he did not understand the complicated
locks. He tried again and again, but failed each time. Perhaps the
secretary was not dead after all. Tocktamish would speak to him,
and ask him how to open the safe.
'Little man,' he said, 'I will let you out if you will tell me how to use
the keys.' But the little man did not answer. If he was alive and
heard, he had no desire to be let out while his tormentor was in the
house. At the thought that he could perhaps hear, but would not
speak, Tocktamish went into a paroxysm of fury.
He seized the high stool that stood beside the desk and swung it
with terrific force, bringing it down on the strong box, so that it flew
into splinters with an appalling din. He raged, he foamed at the
mouth, he bawled and yelled, and he smashed one piece of furniture
after another on the heavy iron without producing the smallest
impression on it, and without getting the least answer from
Omobono, who was still half-unconscious, happily for his nerves, and
was dreaming that he had taken refuge in a baker's oven during a
terrible thunderstorm.
The stool was reduced to kindling wood, two large chairs had
followed it, and Tocktamish was in the act of heaving up the desk
itself, sending inkstand, pens, and papers flying to the four corners
of the room, and determined to crack the strong box with one
tremendous blow, when a musical voice spoke gently through the
window nearest to him. Zoë and her maids were there, and the
whole household of men-servants and slaves were behind them. The
three girls were standing on the broad stone seat that ran round the
outside of the house in the Italian way, and they could easily look
through the bars. In her haste Zoë had not veiled herself, and when
the Tartar caught sight of her beautiful face at the window, the
effect on his susceptible sentiments was instantaneous. The vision
was a hundred times more lovely than the handsome Giustina who
had escaped him. He had never seen any one like Zoë as she stood
outside in the quiet afternoon sunshine. For a moment or two he
was almost sober; the desk fell from his hands upon the iron chest,
and was not even broken, and Tocktamish's hands hung down by his
sides while he stared in stupid wonder.
Zoë was glad that there were iron bars between him and her, for she
had never seen a human being more like a raging wild beast. She
had looked anxiously for Omobono, but as there was no trace of him
nor of any blood, she at once decided that he had been able to get
out by some secret way, after Lucilla had barred the door.
'Where is Messer Carlo?' were the words which arrested Tocktamish
in the act of smashing the desk.
He stood gazing at Zoë stupidly, and as he did not answer she
repeated her question, watching him quietly so that he should
understand that he was completely in her power. When he heard her
voice again he made a sort of instinctive attempt to smooth himself,
as the peacock spreads his tail before the female; he pulled out his
immense moustaches, drew his shaggy beard through his two
hands, settled his fur papakh on his head, and smiled complacently
as he approached the window, prepared, in his own estimation, to
win the heart of any woman in Constantinople. The exercise of
breaking up the furniture had probably done him good, for he
walked quite steadily, with his eyes wide open and his big head a
little on one side.
'Messer Carlo is quite safe and very well,' he answered when he was
near the grating. 'He has sent me to get him a little money, which he
greatly needs.'
'You have a singular way of executing his commission,' observed
Zoë, looking at the splinters of the smashed furniture.
Tocktamish felt that the havoc round him must be explained.
'I have been killing the rats,' he said. 'It is extraordinary how many
rats and mice get into counting-houses!'
'Where is Messer Carlo?' Zoë asked a third time.
'Sweet woolly ewe-lamb of heaven,' said Tocktamish, leaning on the
window-sill and bringing his face close to the bars, 'if you will only
give me one little kiss, I will tell you where Carlo is!'
Zoë stepped to one side along the stone seat on which she stood,
for she saw that he was going to slip one of his hands through the
grating to catch her; and even with the bars between them he
looked as if he could twist one of her arms off if she resisted him.
Indeed, she was hardly out of his reach in time. He laughed rather
vacantly as he grasped the air. The grating projected several inches
beyond the window, like the end of a cage, as the gratings generally
do in old Italian houses; and though Zoë was on one side,
Tocktamish could still look at her.
'If you will come inside, I will tell you what you wish to know, my
little dove,' he said with an engaging leer, for he did not really
believe that any woman could resist him.
'Thank you,' Zoë answered. 'I will not come in, but I will warn you. If
you will not tell me where Messer Carlo is, I shall have you shot with
the master's crossbow, like a mad dog.'
'Shall I get the bow?' asked the voice of Carlo's man, the Venetian
gondolier, who was an excellent shot, and had won a prize at the
Lido.
But Tocktamish laughed scornfully.
'Your crossbow cannot shoot through the shutters,' he said, for they
were very heavy ones, at least three inches thick. 'Besides,' he
added, 'I can sit on the floor under the window, and you will not
even see me.'
'If we cannot shoot you, we can starve you,' retorted Zoë.
'Little ewe-lamb,' said the Tartar, 'the heart of Tocktamish is
fluttering for you like a moth in a lamp. For one kiss you shall have
anything you ask!'
'Do you understand that I mean to starve you?' Zoë asked sternly.
'Oh no, my beautiful pink-and-white rabbit! You will not be so hard-
hearted! And besides, if you will not let me out and give me a kiss,
my men will come presently and burn Carlo's house down, and I
shall carry you away! Ha ha! You had not thought of it! But
Tocktamish is not caught in the trap like a cub. He is an old wolf, and
knows the forest. My men know I am here, and if I do not go back
to them within this hour they will come to get me. That was agreed,
and I can wait as long as that. Then sixty of them will come, and
before night we shall take Carlo to the Emperor and give him up,
and tell all we know; and to-morrow morning he will be on a stake in
the middle of the Hippodrome, and it will be the third day before he
is quite dead! Ha ha! I remember how we watched that old
scoundrel Michael Rhangabé! I and my men were on duty at that
execution!'
Zoë's cheeks turned ghastly white, and her eyes gleamed
dangerously. If there had been a weapon in her hand at that
moment she could have aimed well through the grating, and
Tocktamish's days would have ended abruptly. But on the other side
of the bars the drunken Tartar was laughing at his own skill in
frightening her, for he thought she turned pale from fear.
'Can no one silence this brute?' she cried in a tone that trembled
with anger.
'It is easily done,' said a voice she knew.
She turned and looked down from the little elevation of the stone
seat, and she saw the impassive face of Gorlias Pietrogliant looking
up to her.
'Come into the house, Kokóna,' he said, holding up a hand to help
her down. 'We will send him a pitcher of Messer Carlo's oldest wine
to help him pass an hour before his men come to burn the house
down!'
Zoë understood the wisdom of the advice; Tocktamish would drink
himself into a stupor in a short time.
'The astrologer is right,' she said to the servants. 'Come in with me,
all of you.' She led the way, but Gorlias lingered a moment, stepped
upon the stone seat, and spoke to the prisoner in a low voice.
'They will be here in half an hour,' he said. 'Meanwhile I will send
you wine to drink. Are you hungry?'
'Hungry?' Tocktamish laughed at the recollection of the peacock. 'I
never dined better! But send me some wine, and when we divide, I
will have that white-faced girl for my share. The men may have the
money here. Tell them so.'
He slapped the well-filled leathern sack at his girdle as he spoke.
'As you please,' Gorlias answered indifferently.
He stepped to the ground again and reached the door in time to
enter with the last of the train that followed Zoë. In the dining-hall
things had been left as they were when Tocktamish and Omobono
went out. The table was in confusion, and flooded with wine that
had run down to the floor, and two or three chairs were upset.
Gorlias filled a silver pitcher with Chian; but when he turned towards
the window Zoë was the only one who saw him empty into the wine
the contents of a small vial which he seemed to have had ready in
the palm of his hand. He called Carlo's man.
'Take it to him,' he said. 'You can easily pass it through the bars.'
'It is not much wine,' observed the man doubtfully. 'He will drink that
at a draught.'
'If he asks for more, fill the pitcher again,' answered Gorlias. 'If he
falls asleep, let me know.'
The man went off.
'Clear away all that,' said Zoë to the men-servants who stood looking
on. 'The master must not find this confusion when he comes home.'
Her tone and her manner imposed obedience, and besides, they
knew that Tocktamish was safe for a while. They began to clear the
table at once, and Zoë left the room followed by Gorlias and her two
maids, who had been silent witnesses of what had passed.
Upstairs, they left her alone with the astrologer, and disappeared to
discuss in whispers the wonderful things that were happening in the
house.
'Where is he?' asked Zoë, as soon as the maids were gone.
'He is in a dry cistern near the north wall of the city.'
'Hiding?'
'No—a prisoner. In escaping last night he ran among the soldiers
who were to have helped us, and they held him for a ransom. The
Tartar came to extort the money. You know all.'
'At least, he is safe for the present,' Zoë said, but very doubtfully, for
she did not half believe what she said.
'No,' Gorlias answered; 'he is not safe for long, and we must get him
out. They demand a ransom, but they know well enough that even if
they get it they will not dare to let him go free, since he could hang
them all by a word.'
'What will they do?'
'If they can get the money they will let him starve to death in the
cistern. If they do not, they will give him up to Andronicus for the
reward. The Emperor has proclaimed that he will give ten pounds of
gold to any one who will bring him Carlo Zeno, dead or alive. That is
not enough.'
'The Emperor knows it was he?' asked Zoë with increasing anxiety.
'Yes.'
'How?'
'I do not know. Some one has betrayed us.'
'Us all?'
'I fear so.'
'But you yourself? Do you dare go about?'
'I have many disguises, and they who know the fisherman do not
know the astrologer.'
'But if you should be taken?'
'A man cannot change his destiny. But look here. I have something
from Johannes already. He has changed his mind; he regrets not
having let us take him out last night, and he sends me this by the
captain's wife.'
Gorlias produced a parchment document.
'What is it?'
'The gift of Tenedos to Venice.'
'Ah! If Messer Carlo were only free!'
'Yes—if!' Gorlias shook his head thoughtfully. 'It will not be easy to
send an answer to this,' he went on. 'The woman brought it to me at
the risk of her life, and said it would be impossible for her to come
again. The guard is doubled, and a very different watch will be kept
in future. I do not believe that we can bring Johannes out, as we
might have done in spite of those fellows last night. Yet I am sure
that if Messer Carlo were at liberty he would try. He would at least
send word, in answer to this. But the days are over when we used to
send letters up and down by a thread—the tower is watched from
the river now.'
'Can you not get in by a disguise?'
'No. There is not the least chance of gaining admittance at present.'
'I could,' said Zoë confidently. 'I am sure I could! If I went in
carrying a basket of linen on my head and dressed like a slave-girl in
blue cotton with yellow leathern shoes, I am sure they would let me
go to the captain's wife.'
'What if your basket were searched and the letter found?'
'I would put it into my shoe. They would not look for it there.'
'You would run a fearful risk.'
'For him, if it were of any use,' Zoë answered. 'But it will not help
him at all, and if anything happened to me he would be sorry.
Besides, why should we send a message that pretends to come from
Messer Carlo when he himself is a prisoner?'
'This is the case,' Gorlias answered. 'The soldiers will never let him
out till they feel safe themselves; and the only way to make them
sure that there is no danger is really and truly to bring Johannes out
and set him on the throne again. So long as Andronicus reigns and
may take vengeance on them, they will keep Messer Carlo a prisoner
to give up at any moment, or to starve him to death for their own
safety—unless they murder him outright. But I do not believe that
any ten of them would dare to set upon him, for they know him
well.'
Zoë smiled, for she was proud to love a man whom ten men would
not dare to kill.
'Then the only way to save him is to free Johannes?' she said. 'Yes,'
she went on, not waiting for an answer, 'I think you are right. Even if
we got them their ten thousand ducats they would not let him out as
long as Andronicus is at Blachernæ.'
'That is the truth of it,' Gorlias answered. 'Neither more nor less.
Messer Carlo's life depends upon it.'
'Then it must be done, come what may. Thank God, I have a life to
risk for him!'
'You have two,' said Gorlias quietly. 'You have mine also.'
'You are very loyal to Johannes, even to risking death. Is that what
you mean?'
'More than that.'
'For Messer Carlo, then?' Zoë asked. 'You owe him some great debt
of gratitude?'
'I never saw him until quite lately,' Gorlias answered. 'You need not
know why I am ready to die in this attempt, Kokóna Arethusa.'
Some one knocked at the outer door; Zoë clapped her hands for her
maids, and one of them went to the entrance. The voice of Zeno's
man spoke from outside.
'The Tartar is fast asleep already,' he said, 'and I can hear the
secretary moaning as if he were in great pain; but I cannot see him
through the window. He must be somewhere in the room, for it is
his voice.'
Zoë made a movement to go towards the door, but Gorlias raised his
hand.
'I will see to it,' he said, 'I will have the fellow taken back to his
quarters.'
Zoë bit her lip for she knew that it would be cruel and cowardly to
hurt even such a ruffian as Tocktamish, while he was helpless under
the drug Gorlias had given him. But the words he had spoken
rankled deep, and it was not likely that she should forget them.
'Do as you will,' she said.
Half an hour later poor little Omobono was in his bed, and Zeno's
man was giving him a warm infusion of marsh-mallows and
camomile for his shaken nerves. The money-bags and the papers
had been restored to the strong box in the counting-house, and
Tocktamish the Tartar, sunk in a beatific slumber, was being carried
to his quarters in a hired palanquin by four stalwart bearers.
That was the end of the memorable feast in Carlo Zeno's house.
But Zoë sat by the open window, and her heart beat sometimes very
fast and sometimes very slow; for she understood that the plight of
the man she loved was desperate indeed.
 CHAPTER XVII
The position of Zeno was quite clear to Zoë now, and a great wave
of happiness lifted her and bore her on with it as she realised that
she might save his life just when his chances looked most hopeless,
and that whether she succeeded or failed her own must certainly be
staked for his. Heroism is nearer the surface in women than in most
men, and often goes quite as deep.
Zoë had understood very suddenly how matters stood, and that
Tocktamish and his men meant to let Zeno perish, simply because he
might ruin them all if he regained his liberty; or, if it were found out
that he was taken, they intended to hand him over to Andronicus. It
was not at all likely that they would set him free even if they got the
great ransom they demanded.
But if by any means Johannes could be brought suddenly from his
prison, all Constantinople would rise in revolution to set him on the
throne, and it would be as dangerous to keep his friend Zeno in
confinement as it now seemed rash to his captors to let him out. The
first thing to be done was to reach Johannes himself and warn him,
and this could only be accomplished by a woman. Gorlias knew the
soldiers, and had as much influence with them as any one, perhaps,
and whatever could be done from without he would do; yet it was
quite certain that the men could not be got together again unless
Johannes were actually free.
The difficulty lay there. To reach him was one thing, and was within
the bounds of possibility; to bring him out would be quite another.
But Zoë had confidence in the devotion of the captain's wife, of
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