CHAPTER X

THE AVENGER

And what now is old Ali Tepelenti about in his nest at Janina? Is he content with a state of things which results in this--that he must either perish or pa.s.s the brief remainder of his days in constant fighting? Is he satisfied with this sea of blood over which the tempest rages, and whose sh.o.r.es he cannot see?

Not yet has he surrendered to fate. His country has declared war against him, the Sultan has p.r.o.nounced his death-sentence, his family have abandoned and turned against him; but Ali has not suffered his sword to be broken in twain. For eight and seventy years he has been the scourge of his enemies, the defence of his country, the Sultan's right hand, the patriarch of his family, and in his nine and seventieth year the Sultan and his relations say to him, "Die! thou hast lived long enough!" And he, by way of reply, set his country in flames, shook the throne of the Sultan, and extirpated his own kinsfolk.

The Greeks, whose tyrant he once was, are now his allies. Tepelenti provides them with arms and money, and with good and bad counsel, whichever they want most.

Three armies were sent out against him, and he has annihilated all these.

His enemy, Gaskho Bey, has lost his army in a battle against the rebels without anything to show for it, and now only holds the fortresses round about Janina, to wit: Arta, Prevesa, Lepanto, Tripolizza, and La Gulia. The h.e.l.lenes are besieging every one of them day by day. One day Ali proclaims that in Tripolizza there are five hundred eminent Greeks whom the Turks compel to fight along with them.

At this report the besiegers attack the fortress with redoubled fury.

Now these five hundred Greeks Ali himself got together while Tripolizza was still in his possession. When he was obliged to leave the fortress, he cast these Greeks down into a well, placed three loads of stones upon them, and covered the spot with gra.s.s. This he did himself.

Exhausted by furiously fighting against superior numbers, the Turks surrendered in three days to Kleon, who conducted the siege, simply stipulating that they might be allowed to go free, and this was promised them. When, however, the fortress was surrendered to the Greeks, their first question was, "Where are the hostages, our brethren?" The Turks were amazed. They knew not what to reply, for they had no hostages in their hands.

Then a Suliote warrior discovered the pit which had been sown over with gra.s.s, and what a sight presented itself when they broke it open!

Thirsting for blood and vengeance, the Greeks flung themselves forthwith on the disarmed garrison, and despatched them to the very last man, nay, they did not leave a living woman or child remaining in the fortress--they threw them all down headlong from the bastions.

But Ali Pasha smiled to himself in the fortress of Janina.

He himself had destroyed more Turks than the whole Greek host had done.

When Demetrius Yprilanti captured Lepanto, he allowed the garrison a free exit from the citadel. Demetrius himself signed the terms of the surrender. But when the Turks emerged from the fortress, Ali Pasha's Suliotes rushed upon them and cut them all to pieces. Yprilanti, full of indignation, threw himself in the midst of them, exhibiting the doc.u.ment in which he had promised the Turks their lives. But Kleon only laughed--he had learned that brutal, scornful laugh from Ali.

"Don't trouble yourself about them," cried he. "We are only killing those whose names are not written in the agreement."

Yprilanti turned from the butchery in disgust, and immediately embarking his army, set sail for Chios again.

Ah, the Greeks had learned a great deal from Ali. Woe to those Mussulmans who fall alive into their hands, or who are not so brave or so cunning as they themselves are! The Turkish general, Omar Vrione, along his whole line of advance, marched between rows of high gibbets on which bleached the bones of horribly tortured Turks. Here and there, by way of variety, nailed by the hands to upright planks, were the bodies of dead Jews, half flayed and singed--a ghastly spectacle.

Verily the descendants of the heroes of Marathon have diverged very far indeed from their forefathers, and the experienced Turkish commander knew right well that he is a bad soldier who even descends to cutting off the head of his slain foe on the battle-field.

At Pulo, Omar Vrione encountered the army of Odysseus. Now Omar was at one time one of the best of Ali Pasha's lieutenants. Ali promoted him to the rank of general, and he had begun life as a shepherd-boy. Ali had taught him how to use his weapons, and now he turned them against his master.

The Sultan had intrusted to him a fine army with which he had a.s.sisted Gaskho Bey to beleaguer Ali. It consisted of eight thousand gallant Asiatic infantry, two thousand Spahis, and eight guns. The leader of the Spahis was Zaid, the Bey of Kastorid, Ali's favorite grandson, whom, twenty years before, he had rocked upon his knee, and whom, while still a child, he had carried in front of him on his saddle, and taught him to ride. Zaid himself had asked, as a favor, that he might lead a division of cavalry against his grandfather. He had promised his mother to seize that sinful old head by its gray beard and bring it home to her.

A precious grandson, truly!

So Omar Vrione reached Pulo. Looking down from the hill-tops there, he discerned the army of Odysseus. He saw him planting his white banners in rows upon the heights, and without giving his forces a moment's rest, he set his own martial chimneys a-smoking and attacked the Greeks with all his might.

After an hour's combat, in which they fought man to man, the Greeks were driven from their intrenchments, and began slowly descending into the valley.

The Timariotes remained behind, and Zaid began to send forward his Spahis to attack the retreating army in the rear. Odysseus slowly retraced his steps till he came to Pulo. There his war-path stopped.

His banner was no longer white, but red; it was sprinkled with the blood of the many heroes who had died in its defence.

Suddenly, from the heights of Pindus above them resounded the tempestuous melody of the "Ma.r.s.eillaise," which the Greeks had adopted as their war-song, and rapid as a storm-swollen mountain torrent the Suliotes, with Kleon and Artemis in the van, hurled themselves upon the Turks.

Omar Vrione was caught between two fires. It was too late to turn back, too late to reform his order of battle. His guns were useless, his cavalry could not move forward, and his infantry columns were so completely isolated that they could not render each other any a.s.sistance.

The general saw that he could not save his army, but he was at least determined not to save himself, so he hastened to where the fight was raging most furiously.

A wild, merciless _melee_ was proceeding between the inextricably intermingled foes. Forcing his way along, Omar Vrione suddenly encountered, in the midst of reeking powder and streaming blood, a tall youth with a blackened face, whom he at once recognized as Kleon.

There, then, they stood, face to face. Three years before, when Ali had sent Omar Vrione to threaten the Suliotes, Kleon fled before him, and then he had called after the fugitive, "Stand, I would send thy head to Ali Tepelenti!"

And there, indeed, Omar Vrione fell, combating, and Kleon cut off his head.

How strange is fate!

The fall of Omar Vrione sealed the fate of his army. The Turks fled wherever they saw the chance, leaving all their guns, all their flags, and all their officers in the lurch. The cavalry had no chance of escaping. Half of it fell, the other half surrendered.

Zaid, in the moment of extremest danger, took his silver aigrette out of his turban and threw it away; then he changed caftans with his servant, and mingled with the rank-and-file, so that none might recognize him. It would have been much better for a child like him to have remained at home than to have gone hunting that old lion, his aged grandfather.

The Suliotes surrounded Zaid's company. "Dismount from your horses!"

exclaimed the clear voice of Kleon.

The Spahis, full of shame, dismounted.

"Which is your leader, Zaid?" cried Kleon, advancing. The edge of his sword was dripping with blood.

"I am," said the servant who had changed clothes with Zaid, and he approached Kleon.

"Bow down before me, thou slave!" cried Kleon, kicking him.

The servant bowed his head before the victor, and he never raised it again, for Kleon chopped it off with his b.l.o.o.d.y sword, and sticking it on the point thereof, raised it on high and cried to his bloodthirsty comrades: "Here is their second general, Zaid, who came to subdue us!

Hallelujah!" and the victorious host repeated after him, "Hallelujah!

Hallelujah!"

And then they stuck the heads of the two generals on the points of two lances, and carried them through the streets of Pulo in the sight of the crowds of women and children on the housetops, bellowing, "We have conquered! We have conquered! These are the heads of the enemy's leaders: one of them is Omar Vrione, and the other is Zaid Bey! Kyrie eleison?"

And what face was ever so pale as Zaid's when he heard his name called out and saw how they mocked and jeered at the head they took for his?

The Suliotes returned to Janina with the captives and the emblems of victory. Tepelenti, hearing that they had decapitated Zaid, went down into the camp and demanded his head.

Kleon was sitting in front of his tent _en deshabille_. He was not disposed to part with the symbol of victory, but wanted it to dazzle the eyes of the host for some little time longer.

But Ali was ready at once with a good idea: "Cut off the head of another prisoner," said he, "in its stead; none will notice the difference."

Kleon acted upon the advice, and immediately sent forth his men-at-arms to take the exhibited head to Ali. But Ali shook his own head when he saw it, and wagging his finger at Kleon, he said: "Thou art over-young, my son, to try and impose upon Ali. Thou wouldst turn my counsel to my own hurt, and give me the head of another instead of Zaid's!"

Kleon leaped to his feet. "Do you mean to say that is not Zaid's head?"

"Of a truth it is not. Dost thou suppose I do not know the youth--I who used to dandle him on my knee ever since he was a child, and was the first to place a sword in his hand?"

"But, indeed, he himself told me," cried Kleon, pointing at the head, "that he was Zaid, and he was wearing a general's uniform."