mayn't I come?" said Mitsos, scenting an entrancing row.
"And get your black head broken? No, that will keep for a worthier cause."
Constantine hurried off and caught Father Andréa up before he entered the town.
"Father," he said, "you can stop this, for they will listen to you. Remember what Nicholas said."
Father Andréa nodded.
"I heard there were loud talk and blows in the town, and I am on the road for that reason. Nicholas is right. We must pay the extra tax, and for every pint of wine we pay we will exact a gallon of blood. Ah, God, how I have fasted and prayed one prayer – to wash my hands in the blood of the Turks."
"Softly," said Constantine, "here is the guard."
The guard at the gate was unwilling at first to let them pass, but Andréa, without a moment's hesitation, said that he was a priest going to visit a dying man who wished to make a confession, with Constantine as witness, and they were admitted.
"God will forgive me that lie," he said, as they passed on. "It is for His cause that I lied."
Since Mitsos' departure the disturbance had increased. There were some forty or fifty Greeks collected in the centre of the square, and Turkish soldiers were coming out one by one from the barracks and mingling with the crowd. The Greeks, according to their custom, all carried knives, but were otherwise unarmed; the Turks had guns and pistols. There was a low, angry murmur going up from the people, which boded mischief. Just as they came up Father Andréa turned to Constantine.
"Stop outside the crowd," he said, "do not mix yourself up in this. They will not touch me, for I am a priest."
Then elbowing his way among the people, he shouted: "A priest – a priest of God! Let me pass."
The Greeks in the crowd parted, making way for him as he pushed through, conspicuous by his great height, though here and there a Turkish soldier tried to stop him. But Andréa demanded to be let into the middle of them with such authority that they too fell back, and he continued to elbow his way on. He was already well among the people when two voices detached themselves, as it were, from the angry, low murmur, shrilling up apart in loud, violent altercation, and the next moment a Greek just in front of him rushed forward and stabbed a Turk in the arm. The soldier raised his pistol and fired, and the man turned over on his face, with a grunt and one stretching convulsion, dead. There was a moment's silence, and then the murmur grew shriller and louder, and the crowd pressed forward. Andréa held up his hand.
"I am Father Andréa," he shouted, "whom you know. In God's name listen to me a moment. Silence there, all of you."
For a moment again there was a lull at his raised voice, and Andréa took advantage of it.
"The curse of all the saints of God be upon the Greek who next uses his knife," he cried. "Who is the officer in command?"
A young Turkish officer standing close to him turned round.
"I am in command," he said, "and I command you to go, unless you would be seized with the other ringleaders."
"I shall not go; my place is here."
"For the last time, go."
"I offer myself as hostage for the good conduct of the Greeks," said Andréa, quietly. "Blood has been shed. I am here that there may be no more. Let me speak to them and then take me, and if there is more disturbance kill me."
"Very good," said the officer. "I have heard of you. But stop the riot first, if you can. I desire bloodshed no more than you."
The group had now collected round them, still waiting irresolutely, in the way a crowd does on any one who seems to have authority. Father Andréa turned to them.
"You foolish children," he cried, "what are you doing? The Sultan has added a tax, it is true, but will it profit you to be killed like dogs? You have knives, and you can cut a finger nail with knives, and these others have guns. This poor dead thing learned that, and he has paid for his lesson. Is it better for him that he has wounded another man now that he has gone to appear before God? And those of you who are not shot will be taken and hanged. I am here unarmed, as it befits a priest to be. I am a hostage for you. If there is further riot you yourselves will be shot down like dogs, or as you shoot the little foxes among the grapes and leave them for the crows to eat; I shall be hanged, for I go hostage for you; and the tax will be no less than before. So now to your homes."
The crowd listened silently – for in those days to behave with aught but respect to a priest was sacrilege – and one or two of the nearest put back their knives into their belts, yet stood there still irresolute.
"Come, every man to his home," said Andréa again. "Let those who have wine-shops close them, for there has been blood spilled to-night."
But they still stood there, and the murmur rose and died, and rose again like a sound carried on a gusty wind, until Andréa, pushing forward, laid his hand on the shoulder of one of the ringleaders.
"Christos," he said, "there is your home, and your wife waits for you. Go home, man, lest you are carried in feet first."
The man, directly and individually addressed by a stronger, turned and went, and the others began to melt away till there were only left in the square the Turkish soldiers and Andréa. Then he spoke to the officer again:
"I am at your disposal," he said, "until you are satisfied that things are quiet again."
The officer stood for a moment without replying. Then, "I wish to treat you with all courtesy," he said, "and you have saved me a great deal of trouble to-night. But perhaps it will be better if you stop in my quarters for an hour or two, though I think we shall have no more of this. With your permission I will give you in custody."
And with the fine manners of his race, which the Greeks for the most part could not understand and so distrusted, he beckoned to two soldiers, who led him off to the officer's quarters.
The Turkish captain remained in the square an hour longer, but the disturbance seemed to be quite over, and he followed Father Andréa.
"You will smoke or drink?" he said, laying his sword on the table.
"I neither smoke nor drink," answered Andréa.
The officer sat down, looking at him from his dark, lustreless eyes.
"It is natural you should hate us," he said, "and but for you there would have been a serious disturbance, and not Greek blood alone would have been shed. I am anxious to know why you stopped the riot."
Father Andréa smiled.
"For the reason I gave to the rioters. Is not that sufficient?"
"Quite sufficient; it only occurred to me there might be a further reason, a further-reaching reason, so to speak. I will not detain you any longer. I am sure no further disturbance will take place."
Andréa rose, and for a moment the two men faced each other. They were both good types of their race: the Greek, fearless and hot-blooded; the Turk, fearless and phlegmatic.
"I will wish you good-night," said the captain; "perhaps we shall meet again. My name is Mehemet Salik. You owe nothing to me nor I to you. You stopped the riot and saved me some trouble, but it was for reasons of your own. I have detained you till I am satisfied there will be no more disturbance; so if we meet again no quarter
