The Pobratim Part 47

Marija, then, upon that day fell ill, And nine long years she languished on her bed, A death in life, still far more dead than quick; And as she lay there 'twixt her skin and bones The coa.r.s.e and rank weeds grew, and 'midst the weeds There nestled scorpions, snakes, and loathsome worms, Which crept and sucked the tears from out her eyes.

In those last throes of death she wailed aloud, And bade for mercy's sake that they might take And lay her in that church which had sprung out Where Jelka's body dropped a mangled corpse.

In fact, her only hope was to atone For all those dreadful deeds which she had done.

But when they reached the threshold of the church, A low and hollow voice came from the shrine, And all who heard the sound were sore amazed.

"Avaunt from here! Till G.o.d forgive thy crimes, This sacred ground is sure no place for thee."

Appalled to death, unable yet to die, She begged them as a boon that they would tie Her to the horses' tails, for dying thus she hoped That G.o.d might then have mercy on her soul.

They bound her wasted limbs to stallions' tails; Her bones were broke, her limbs were wrenched in twain, And where the sods sucked up her blood impure, The earth did yawn, and out of that wide gulf Dark waters slowly rose and spread around; Still, lifeless waters, like a lake of h.e.l.l.

Within the mere the murdered foal was seen, Just as we see a vision in a dream.

The falcon grey then flew with fluttering wing, And panting, fell within that inky pool.

Then from the eddy rose a tiny cot.

Within that cot a rosy infant slept, And smiled as if it saw its mother's breast.

But lo! its mother's claw-like hand arose Out of the stagnant waters of the lake, And plunged a dagger in the infant's breast.

The old woman, having finished her song, waited for a while till the young man looked up.

Presently, Uros, with a deep sigh, lifted his eyes towards her.

"Always the same man, with that fiendish face of his," quoth he, shaking his head.

"But tell me what you have seen now, that I might help you--if I can."

"That man, who has been haunting me all these days."

"Explain yourself better; did you only see his face, now?"

Uros first explained to the _baornitza_ what he had witnessed in the sea the night when Milenko was arrested for murder.

"Have you often seen such things in the sea before?"

"From my earliest childhood, and almost every time I looked; very often Milenko and I saw the very same things."

"But are you sure you never saw the face before?"

"Oh! quite sure."

"Now, tell me minutely what you have seen in the gla.s.s."

"First the mirror grew hazy, just as if clouds were flitting over it; then, little by little, it got to be more transparent, and of a silvery, gla.s.sy grey. After that it grew greenish, and I could distinguish down within its depths a beautiful landscape. It was a country road seen by night; the moon was rising behind the hills at a distance, and presently the trees, the rocks, the road, were clearer.

All at once two men were seen walking on the way. I could not see their faces, for I was behind them; still, I was sure who the shorter man was. They walked on and disappeared, but then I saw one of them come running back. I was not mistaken; it was the man with the single eye. His was, indeed, the face of a fiend.

"He must have been running for some time, for he was panting, nay, gasping for breath. He stopped, looked over his shoulder, then threw the knife he was holding within a bush. It was a bush with silvery leaves, and all covered with flowers. He then wiped his wet hands on the leaves of the shrub, on the scanty gra.s.s, then rubbed them with the sandy earth to remove all the traces of the blood. This done, he again took to his heels and disappeared."

"And that is all you saw?"

"No! the mirror resumed again its real, dark colour, but, as I continued looking within it, hoping to see something more, I saw it turn again milky-white; then of a strong gra.s.s green, and, in the midst of that glaring green paint, I had a glimpse of a Turkish flag; then, as the red flag vanished, I beheld two words cut out and painted in white in that garish green background. Those mysterious words remained for some time; then they vanished, and I saw nothing more."

"Those words were in Turkish characters, were they not?"

"No; some of them were like ours, but not all."

"Then they must have been either Cyrillic or Greek; but, tell me, are you quite sure you never saw those words before?"

"Oh! quite, they were so strange."

"You know, we happen sometimes to see things without noticing them, even strange things. Then these objects, of which we seem to have no knowledge, come back to us in our dreams, or when we gaze within a mirror; so it may be that you have seen that face and those words absently, with your eyes only, whilst your mind took no notice of them."

"I don't think so."

"You may think otherwise in a few days. But let's see; you know where the murder took place, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Well, the two men were, apparently, coming from Gravosa and going up to Ragusa. Now, the spot where the shorter one stopped must have been five, ten or fifteen minutes from the spot."

"I daresay a quarter of an hour. Sailors are not accustomed to run; besides, that man is not very young."

"How do you know he is a sailor?"

"By his dress; and a Greek sailor, besides. He wore a dark blue flannel s.h.i.+rt, a white belt or sash, and those rough, yellow home-spun trowsers which they alone wear."

"Then probably the two words you saw were Greek. Now, the first thing to be found is the knife; the second, and far more important fact, is the meaning of those words. Are you sure not to forget them? Can you, perhaps, write them down?"

"I'll never forget them as long as I live; they are engraven in my mind."

"Then go and look for the knife. Come back to me to-morrow; perhaps I may be of further help to you, that is, if you need more help."

Uros thanked the old woman, and then asked her where she had learnt all the wonderful things she knew.

"From my own mother. Once a trade was in one family for ages; every generation transmitted its secrets with its implements to the other.

It is true, people only knew one thing; but they knew it thoroughly.

Nowadays, young people are expected to have a smattering of everything; but the sum of all their knowledge often amounts to nothing."

Uros, taking leave of the wise old woman, went down the road leading from Porta Pilla to the sea. Soon he came to the spot where Milenko had been found clasping the murdered man in his arms. Then he looked at every tree, at every stone he pa.s.sed on his way. After a while, he got to the corner where he had seen--in the mirror--the two men disappear. From there he crawled on, rather than walked, so that not a pebble of the road escaped his notice. After about a quarter of an hour, he came to a shrub of a dusty, greyish green--it was an _Agnus castus_ in full bloom. He recognised it at once; it was the bush that had looked so silvery by the light of the moon within the magic mirror. His heart began to beat violently. As he looked round, he fancied he would see the murderer start from behind some tree and pounce upon him. He looked at the shrub carefully; some of its lower branches and the tops of many twigs were broken. He pushed the leaves aside, and searched within it. The knife was there. He did not see it at first; for its haft was almost the same colour as the roots of the tree, and the point of the knife was sticking in the earth. He took it up and examined it. All the part of the blade that had not been plunged in the earth was stained with blood. It was a common knife, one of those that all sailors wear in their belts. He put it in the breast pocket of his coat, and walked down with long strides. He was but a few steps from the sh.o.r.e.

Reason prompted him now to go to the police and give them the knife; for it might lead to the discovery of the culprit. Still, this was only a second thought--and Uros seldom yielded to practical after-thoughts; and whenever he did so, he always regretted it.

He had not a great idea of the police. They were only good to write things down on paper, making what they called protocols, which complicated everything.

No; it was far better to act for himself, and only apply for help to the police when he could have the murderer arrested.

As he got down to the sh.o.r.e the sun was sinking below the horizon; the silvery waters of the main were now being trans.m.u.ted into vaporous gold. As he was looking at the sea and sky, from a meteorological, sailor-like point of view, and wondering whereabouts the _Spera in Dio_ was just then, his eyes fell upon a little skiff, which had arrived a few days after they had. It was a Turkish caique, painted in bright prasine green. He had seen it for days when his own s.h.i.+p was loading and unloading, but then it had had nothing particular to attract his attention; he had seen hundreds of these barques in the East. Now, however, he could not help being struck by its vivid green colour. He looked up; the red flag with the half-moon met his eyes. He had but time to see it, when it disappeared, for the sun had set.

How his heart began to beat! Surely the murderer was on board. He strained his eyes to see the name of the s.h.i.+p, painted on either side, but he could not distinguish it so far. Not a man was seen on deck; the skiff seemed deserted.

A boy was fis.h.i.+ng in a boat near there; he called him and asked him to lend him the boat for an instant.

"What! do you want to fish, too?" asked the boy, pulling up.

"No; I'd like to see the name of that caique."