Part 31 (1/2)
The interruption by the war of the negotiations with the Emir of Trebizond, whose daughter had been selected as the imperial spouse, revived the rumors which had once a.s.sociated the fair Albanian's name with that of his Majesty; and gave rise to a nick-name, ”the Little Empress,” which, among the soldiers, came to be spoken with almost as much loyalty of personal devotion, as if it had received the imperial sanction.
Constantine's solicitude led him to remonstrate with Morsinia for the exposure of her person to the dangers of the wall: but she replied--
”Have you not said, my dear brother, that the defence is hopeless?
that the city must fall? What fate then awaits me? The Turks have service for men whom they capture, which, though hard, is not d.a.m.ning to body and soul. What if they send you to the mines, to the galleys?
What if they slay you? You can endure that. Yet I know that you yourself would perish in the fight before you would submit to even such a fate. But what is the destiny of a woman who shall fall into their hands? It is better to die than to be taken captive. And is not yonder breach where the men of the true G.o.d are giving their lives for their faith, as sacred as was ever an altar on earth? Is not the crown of martyrdom better than a living death in the harem of the infidel?
The arrow that finds me there on the wall shall be to me as an angel from heaven; and a death-wound received there will be as painless to my soul as the kiss of G.o.d.”
”But this must not be!” cried Constantine. ”Our valor, if it does not save the city, may lead to surrender upon terms which shall save all the lives of the people.”
”It is impossible,” replied she. ”His Majesty informed me yesterday that Mahomet had pledged to his soldiers the spoil of the city, with unlimited license to pillage.”
Constantine was silent, but at length added. ”If worst comes, it will then be time enough to expose your life.”
”But the end is near, dear Constantine. The city is badly provisioned.
The poor are already starving. The garrison is on allowance which can sustain it but a few days. Besides, as you have told me, the Italians are at feud with the Greeks, and ready to open the gates if famine presses upon them.”
”Yes, curses on the head of that monk Gennadius, who sends insult to our allies every day from his cell!” muttered Constantine. ”But I cannot see you in danger, Morsinia. Promise me--for your life is dearer to me than my own--that you will not go upon the walls. I need not the solemn oath to our brave Castriot, and that to our father Kabilovitsch, that I will guard you. But, if not for my sake, then for their sake, take my counsel. I know that you are under the special care of the Blessed Jesu. Has He not s.h.i.+elded us both--me for your sake--many times before?”
”Your words are wise, my brother. You need not urge the will of Castriot and father Kabilovitsch, for your own wish is to me as sacred as that of any one on earth,” said she, looking him in the eyes with the reverence of affection, and yielding to his embrace as he kissed her forehead.
”But,” added she, ”I must exact of you one promise.”
”Any thing, my darling, that is consistent with your safety,” was the quick reply.
”It is this. Promise me, by the Virgin Mother of G.o.d, that you will not allow me to become a living captive to the Turk.”
”Not if my life can s.h.i.+eld you. This you know!”
”Yes, I would not ask that, but something harder than that you should die for me.”
A pallor spread over the face of Constantine, for he suspected her meaning, yet asked, ”And what--what may that be?”
”Take my life with your own hand, rather than that a Turk should touch me,” said Morsinia, without the slightest tremor in her voice.
Constantine stood aghast. Morsinia continued, taking his strong right hand in hers, and raising it to her lips--
”That were joy, indeed, if the hand of him who loves me, the hand which has saved me from danger so often--could redeem me from this which I fear more than a thousand deaths! Promise me for love's sake!”
”I may not promise such a thing,” said the young lover, with a voice which showed that her request had cut him to the heart.
”Then you love me not,” said the girl, turning away.
But the look upon Constantine's face showed the terrible tragedy which was in his soul, and that such an accusation brought it too near its culmination. Instantly she threw herself into his arms.
”Forgive me! forgive me!” cried she. ”I will not impugn that love which has proved itself too often. But let us speak calmly of it. Why should you shrink from this?” she asked, leading him to a seat beside her.
”Because I love you. My hand would become paralyzed sooner than touch rudely a hair of your head.”