The Pobratim Part 63

At the town gate Uros met Milenko, who had come to walk part of the way with him. Uros, who was thinking of his mother and especially of Milena, had quite forgotten his bosom friend. Seeing him so unexpectedly, his heart expanded with a sudden movement of joy, and he felt at that moment as if they had met after having been parted for ages.

"Well?" asked Milenko, as they walked along. "Do you remember when we first started from Budua, we thought that we'd have reached the height of happiness the day we'd sail on our own s.h.i.+p?"

"I remember."

"The s.h.i.+p is almost our own, and happiness is farther off than ever."

"Wait till we come back next voyage, and things might look quite different then."

The sun just then began to dawn; the dark and frowning mountains lost all their grimness as a pale golden halo lighted up their tops; drowsy nature seemed to awake with a smile, and looked like a rosy infant does when, on opening its eyes, it sees its mother's beaming face.

The two friends walked on. Uros spoke of the woman he loved, and Milenko listened with a lover's sympathy.

Milenko walked with his friend for about two hours; then he bade Uros good-bye, promising him to go at once to his mother and Milena, and tell them how he was faring.

Uros began to climb up the rugged path leading towards Montenegro.

After a quarter of an hour, the two friends stopped, shouted "Ahoy!"

to each other, waved their hands and then resumed their walk. Towards nightfall Uros reached the village where Zwillievic lived.

With a beating heart, sore feet and aching calves he trudged on towards the house, which, as he hoped, was to be the goal of his journey. As he pushed the door open he shuddered, thinking that instead of his father he might happen to find Milena's husband.

The apartment into which he entered was a large and rather low room, serving as a kitchen, a parlour, a dining and a sleeping room. It was, in fact, the only room of the house. Its walls were cleanly whitewashed; not a speck of dust could be seen anywhere, nor a cobweb amidst the rafters in the ceiling. The inner part was used for sleeping purposes, for against the walls on either side there were two huge beds. By the beds, two boxes--one of plain deal, like the chests used by sailors; the other, made of cypress-wood and quaintly carved--contained the family linen. In the middle of the room stood a rough, ma.s.sive table, darkened and polished by daily use, and some three-legged stools around it. The walls were decorated with the real wealth of the family--weapons of every shape, age and kind. Short guns, the b.u.t.t ends of which were all inlaid with mother-of-pearl; long carbines with silver incrustations; modern rifles and fowling-pieces; swords, scimitars, daggers, yatagans; pistols and blunderbusses with niello and filigree silver-work, gemmed like jewels or church ornaments. These trophies were heirlooms of centuries. Over one of the beds there was a silver- and gold-plated Byzantine icon, over the other a hideous German print of St. George.

The Prince of Cappadocia, who was killing a gra.s.s-green dragon, wore for the occasion a yellow mantle, a red doublet and blue tights.

Under each of these images there was a fount of holy water and a little oil-lamp.

As Uros stepped in, Milena's mother, who was standing by the hearth, preparing the supper, turned round to see who had just come in. She looked at him, but as he evidently was a stranger to her, she came up a step or two towards him.

"Good evening, _domacica_," for she was not only the lady of the house, but the wife of the head of the family and the chief of the clan, or tribe.

"Good evening, _gospod_," said she, hesitatingly.

"You do not know me, I think. I am a kind of cousin of yours, Uros Bellacic."

"What, is it you, my boy? I might have known you by your likeness to your mother; but when I saw you last you were only a little child, and now you are quite a grown-up man," added she, looking at him with motherly fondness. "Have you walked all the way from Budua?"

"Yes, I left home this morning."

"Then you must be tired. Come and sit down, my boy."

"I am rather tired; you see, we sailors are not accustomed to walk much. But tell me first, have you seen my father? Is he staying with you?"

"Yes, he came yesterday. He is out just now, but he'll soon be back with Zwillievic. Sit down and rest," said she, "and let me give you some water to wash, for you must be travel-sore and dusty."

As Uros sat down, she, after the Eastern fas.h.i.+on, bent to unlace his _opanke_; but he, unaccustomed to be waited upon by women, would not allow her to perform such a menial act for him.

He had hardly finished his ablutions when his father and the _gospodar_ came in. Seeing his son, Bellacic stretched out his arms and clasped him to his heart. Then they began talking about all that had taken place since they had seen each other; and, supper being served, Uros, while he ate with a good appet.i.te, related all the adventures of his seafaring life, and did his best to keep his father amused. At the end of the meal, when everyone was in a good-humour, the pipes being lit and the _raki_ brought forth, he told them how Milenko had fallen in love with the girl who ought to have been his bride, how she reciprocated his affection, and the many complications that followed, until Giulianic swore, in great wrath, that he, Uros, should never marry his daughter. Although this part of the story did not amuse the father as much as it did the rest of the company, still it was related with such graphic humour that he could not help joining in the laughter.

On the morrow, Bellacic, wanting to have a quiet talk with his son, proposed that they should go and see a little of the country, and, perhaps, meet Radonic, who was said to be coming back from the neighbourhood of Scutari.

As they walked on, Bellacic spoke of his lost vineyard, and of his rashness in cutting off Vranic's ear; then he added:

"Remember, now that you are going back to Budua, you must promise me that, as long as you are there, you'll not mix up in this stupid _karvarina_ business. I know that I am asking much, for if we old men are hasty, recommending you who are young and hot-headed to be cool is like asking the fire not to burn, or the sun not to s.h.i.+ne; still, for your mother's sake and for mine, you'll keep aloof from those reptiles of Vranics, will you not?"

Uros promised to do his best and obey.

"I'd have liked to see you married and settled in life," and Bellacic cast a questioning glance at his son.

Uros looked down and twisted the ends of his short and crisp moustache.

"It is true you are very young still; it is we--your mother and I --who are getting old."

Uros continued to walk in silence by his father's side.

"If Ivanka is in love with your friend, and Giulianic is willing to give her to him, I am not the man to make any objections. The only thing I'd like to know is whether it is solely for Milenko's sake that you acted as you did."

Uros tried to speak, but the words he would utter stuck in his throat.

"Then it is as I thought," added Bellacic, seeing his son's confusion; "you love some one else."

Uros looked up at his father for all reply.

"Answer me," said Bellacic, tenderly.

"Yes," said the young man, in a whisper.

"A young girl?"

"No."

"A married woman?" asked the father, lifting his brows with a look of pain in his eyes.

"Yes."

"A relation of ours?"

"Yes."

"Milena?"

Uros nodded.

Just then, as they turned the corner of the road, they met a crowd of men coming towards them; it was a band of blood-stained Montenegrins returning from an encounter with the Turks. They were bearing a wounded man upon a stretcher.

"Milena would have been the girl your mother and I might have chosen for your bride; and, indeed, we have learnt to love her as a daughter; but fate has decreed otherwise."

They now came up to the foremost man of the band.

"Who is wounded?" asked Bellacic of him.