The Vintage: A Romance of the Greek War of Independence. Benson Edward Frederic
mule men will help you to fill it."
He laid his hand on Mitsos' shoulder.
"You look fitter than a mountain hawk," he said. "Get me plenty of water, and give me ten minutes of scouring, and then we will talk together while I dress."
Mitsos left the room, and Constantine turned to his brother-in-law. "Well?" he asked.
"He is a fine boy," said Nicholas; "I must see if he can be trusted."
"A Turk would trust him," said his father, eagerly.
"Ha! we shall not require that. But in the face of fear?"
Constantine laughed.
"He does not know what fear is."
"Then he has that to learn," said Nicholas, "for the bravest men learn that best. No one can be brave until he has known the cold fear clutching at the stomach. However, we shall see."
Nicholas was dressed like Constantine, in Albanian costume, with a woollen cloak thrown over one shoulder, a red embroidered jacket, cut very low and open, showing the shirt, a long fustanella and white leggings, tied with tasselled ends. He was tall and spare, and his face seemed the face of a man of forty who had lived very hard, or of a man of fifty who had lived very carefully. In reality he was nearly sixty. He was clean shaven and very pale in complexion, as one who had never lived an out-door life; but you might have been led to reject such a conclusion, if you remarked the wonderful clearness and freshness of his skin. His eyes looked out from deep under a broad bar which crossed his forehead from temple to temple; they were large and dark gray in color, and gathered additional depth from his thick black eyebrows. His nose was finely chiselled, tending to aquiline, with thin, curved nostrils, which seemed never still, but expanded and contracted with the movement of the nostrils of some well-bred horse snuffing some disquieting thing. His mouth was ascetically thin-lipped, but firm and clean cut. His hair, still thick and growing low on his forehead and long behind, was barely touched with gray above the temples. His head was set very straight and upright on a rather long neck, supported on two well-drilled shoulders. In height he could not have been less than six feet three, and his slightness of make made him appear almost gigantic.
"I have travelled from Corinth to-day," he continued, "and there is much to tell you. At last the Club of Patriots have put the Morea entirely into my hands. I have leave to use the funds as I think fit, and it is I who shall say the word for the vintage of the Turks to begin. Are there men here whom you can trust, or are they all mule-folk and chatterers?"
"The main are mule-folk," said Constantine.
"The mule-folk can be useful," remarked Nicholas; "but the man who travels with a mule to show the way goes a short journey. They follow where they are led, but some one has to lead. But is there not a priest here – Father Andréa, I think – with a trumpet for a voice? I should like to see him. As far as I remember, he talked too much, yet you would not call him a chatterer."
"He curses the Turk in the name of God three times a day," said Constantine. "It is a vow."
"And little harm will the Turk suffer from that. Better that he should learn to bless them, or best to keep a still tongue. Well, little Mitsos, is the bath ready? You will excuse me, Constantine, but I am an uneasy man when I am dirty. Come to my room in ten minutes, Mitsos, and tell me of yourself."
"There is little to tell," said Mitsos.
"We will hope, then, that it is all good. By the way, Constantine, I have brought some wine with me. Mitsos will drop it into the fountain, for it must be tepid. Tepid wine saps a man's self-respect, and if a man, or a boy either, doesn't respect himself, Mitsos, nobody will ever respect him."
Mitsos followed him out of the room with his eyes, and then turned to his father.
"My hands are so dirty from that vine-digging," he whispered. "Do you think Uncle Nicholas saw?"
"He sees everything," said his father. "Wash, then, before you go up to his room."
Mitsos adored his uncle Nicholas with a unique devotion, for Nicholas was a finer make of man than any he had ever seen. He had been to foreign countries, a feat only attainable by sailing for weeks in big ships. He had been able to talk to some French sailors who had once been wrecked, within Mitsos' memory, on the coast near, and understand what they said, though no one in the place, not even the mayor, could do that; indeed the latter, before Nicholas had interpreted, roundly asserted that they spoke as sparrows speak. Then Uncle Nicholas was constantly going on mysterious journeys and turning up again when he was least expected, but always welcome; and he had a wonderfully low, soft voice, as unlike as possible to the discordant throats of the country folk; and he had long, muscular hands and pink nails. Also he could shoot wild pigeon when they were flying, whereas the utmost that the mayor's son, who was the acknowledged Nimrod of the neighborhood, could do, was to shoot them if they were walking about. Even then he could only hit them for certain if there were several of them together and he got very close. Also Uncle Nicholas was omniscient: he knew the names of all birds and plants; he could imitate a horse's neigh so well that a grazing beast would leave its fodder and come to his voice; and once when Mitsos was laid up with the fever he had picked some common-looking leaves from the hedge and boiled them in water, and given him the water to drink, the effect of which was that next morning he awoke quite well. Above all, Nicholas told the most enchanting stories about what he had seen at the ends of the earth.
So Mitsos washed his hands and went up to Nicholas's room, finding him already bathed and half dressed. His dusty clothes lay on the floor, and he pointed to them as Mitsos came in.
"I shall be here four days at the least," he said, "and I want these washed before I go away. The most important thing in the world is to be clean, Mitsos."
"Father Andréa says – " began the boy.
"Well, what does Father Andréa say?"
"He says that to love God and hate the devil – I think he means the Turk – is the most important thing."
"Well, Father Andréa is right. But you must remember that I am right too. Sit you in the window, Mitsos, and talk to me. What have you been doing since I was here?"
"Looking after the vines," said Mitsos, "since the reaping was over. And I go fishing very often, almost every night."
"Then to-morrow we will go together; to-night I have much to say to your father."
"Will you really come with me?" asked the boy. "And will you tell me some more stories?"
"Yes, I have a new set of stories, which you shall hear – I want to know what you will think of them. How old are you?"
"Eighteen, nineteen in November; and my mustache is coming."
Nicholas turned the boy's face round to the light.
"Yes, an owner's eye might detect something. Why do you want a mustache?"
"Because men have mustaches."
"And you want to be a man," said Nicholas; "but a man makes his mustache, not his mustache the man. But before we go down I have one thing to say to you, a thing you must never forget: if a Turk ever asks you if you know aught about me, where I am, or where I may be going, you must always say you know nothing. Say you have not set eyes on me for more than a year. Do you understand? That must be your answer and no other."
"I understand, just that I have not seen you for a year, and know nothing about you."
"Yes. Whatever happens, do you think you can always answer that and no more? I may as well tell you that if you answer more than that, if, when you are questioned – I do not say you will ever be questioned, but you may be – you tell them where I am, or whether I am expected here, or anything of the kind, you will perhaps be killing me as surely as if you shot me this moment with my own gun. Do you promise?"
"Of course, I promise," said Mitsos, with crisp, boyish petulance.
"And should they threaten to kill you if you do not tell them?"
"Why do you ask me?" he said. "I have made the promise."
Nicholas laid his hand on the boy's shoulder, and with a flashing eye – "And, by God, I believe you