Kitabı oku: «The Vintage: A Romance of the Greek War of Independence», sayfa 26
CHAPTER XII
THE SEARCH FOR SULEIMA
Half an hour after they had gone Nicholas had made his way down to where he was told Abdul Achmet's house stood, mindful of his promise to Mitsos. Two or three of the Argives, who had taken possession of it, and were ransacking the rooms for booty, stood at the door, and told him that the prize was theirs.
"Oh, man," said Nicholas, "I come not for booty; the gold is yours. But there is a Greek woman in the house; it is she whom I seek."
The men still seemed disposed to resent his entry, but they knew him, and, even in the face of all the disgrace the captains had charged, believed him clean-handed.
"Come," said he again, "I take nothing from the house, and when I go out you shall search me if you will. Only take me to where the women are."
The women of the harem had been locked into the room overlooking the narrow street by which Suleima had fled, while the men searched the rest of the house; and Nicholas, hearing that the mayor, Demetri, was of the party, told him what he wanted.
"Of course you can go in; friend," he said. "Here, one of you, take him to the room."
The women were sobbing and wailing together, and one cried out in Turkish as Nicholas entered:
"Kill us if you will, but be quick."
"I touch you not," said Nicholas. "Tell me, is there not a Greek woman among you?"
Zuleika, for it was she who had spoken, stopped crying for amazement.
"She has gone," she said. "Oh, that I had gone with her. She would not stop within, but went down-stairs and out, I suppose. And in a few days, perhaps sooner, will her baby be born. Oh, what are you going to do with us?"
And she caught hold of him by the arm.
Nicholas disengaged her fingers, but gently.
"You are sure she has gone?" he said. Then to the soldiers who were with him: "Will you allow me to search the other rooms; it is only she whom I want?"
"And what should you want with her?" said one of them, gruffly. "All that is in the house is ours."
"Oh, man, do not be a fool," said Nicholas. "The woman is a free Greek, and free she shall be. She was carried off by this Turk years ago. Come, let me go into the other rooms to be sure she is not here, for if she is not I must seek her outside. It is a promise, and a promise to little Mitsos."
The other consented, still reluctantly, and Nicholas looked through the house from roof to cellar, but found her not. And "Ah, poor lad," he thought, "but this will be bitter news, for if she has gone into the streets, God save her!"
It was now one hour past noon, and in the hot, breathless air already the thick sour smell of blood hung about the street. The square was a shambles, neither more nor less, and the dead lay about in heaps. With the peasants from the country had come in hungry, half-wild dogs, and as Nicholas passed the square again, now deserted by the besiegers for the great mass of the town which lay higher up the slope towards the citadel, two or three of these slunk away with red dripping mouths from their horrible banqueting; but one, hungrier or bolder than the others, stood there over the body of a child snarling at him. The sight sickened him, and he shot the animal through the head. Black patches of flies swarmed in hundreds over the congealed pools of blood, and rose with an unclean whir and buzz as he approached. The heat was stifling, and from the tower where he had planted it but four hours ago the flag hung in folds round its staff. The deadly taint of death was in the air, with the foul odors of flesh already putrefying. Nicholas felt suddenly faint and weary, but seeing a stream of water running down one of the gutters in the square all red and turbid, he followed it up and found where it sprang from – a leaden pipe out of a lion's mouth in one of the side streets. He drank deeply of it, and bathed his face and hands there, and feeling refreshed followed on towards where he knew the Mainats would be. Mixed with the dead were not a few Greeks, and as he passed up the street he saw with a sudden pang of horror three or four bodies, apparently lifeless, stir, and from below there came out the hand of a living man, striving to get hold of something by which he could pull himself up. Nicholas turned the bodies off and found a Greek soldier below, whom he carried into the shade, and fetched him water. The man was but slightly wounded in the arm, the gash was already beginning to clot over, and Nicholas, having bound up the place with a strip of his fustanella, left him, for there was much work to be done.
Right and left from the houses in the street came cries and screams, and now and then a woman, with her clothes perhaps half torn off her, would steal out like a cat, and seeing Nicholas, either steal back again or run from him. After each of these, he shouted some sentence in Greek, but got no response. Once a child ran up to him, howling with tears and pain, and showed him a horrible gash in its arm, wantonly inflicted by one of his countrymen, babbling to him in Turkish that it could not find its mother. Then Nicholas, despite his fierce vows to have no pity on man, woman, or child for the wrong that had been done to him and his by that pitiless race, waited ten minutes to bind up the wound, and – for what else could he do – bade the child get out of the town, for its mother was outside. On his way he passed several Greek soldiers, one dragging a woman after him, another with his hands full of a pile of gold and silver, the smaller pieces of which dropped through his fingers as he walked. Nicholas inquired where the Mainats were, and was told he would find a number of them at a big square house on the slope up to the citadel gate, which they had just entered. Fighting seemed to be going on in an upper story, and even as he approached a group of men, Turks and Greeks mixed, appeared on the house-top. Next moment two who were struggling together toppled and fell against the thin railing which lined the roof; it broke under their weight, and both men, still clutching at each other's throats, fell toppling over into the street with a horrid crash and sound of breaking. The Turk was living and moved feebly, but the head of the Mainat was smashed like an egg.
At that moment Yanni appeared at the door of the house, his face flushed, and the fire of fighting hot upon him.
"You here?" he cried to Nicholas. "We thought you must be dead. Oh, how wild Mitsos will be when he finds that he has been out of it!"
"It is of Mitsos, too, I am thinking," said Nicholas. "Oh, Yanni, come and help me; there are butchers enough. Help me to find her."
Yanni stared at him a moment before he understood.
"Suleima," he cried, "God forgive us all! She in this town, and I had forgotten, and the Mavromichales are gone mad! If she is there – oh," and he threw down his knife, and looked stupid-like at his hands which were red and caked with blood and dust.
"Come and search for her, Yanni," said Nicholas again; "she is not in the house of Abdul, and every moment that she is in the streets may be her last."
"She left the house! Are you sure?" asked Yanni. "Where is it? Let us run there."
"I have been already," said Nicholas. "See, Yanni, you go one way and I another, and we will meet here again in an hour. Speak in Greek to every woman you see."
"Yes, yes," said Yanni; "which way shall I go? Oh, Mitsos, poor little Mitsos, and I killed two women myself, for they had knives and tried to stab me."
"Here, go steady, and be sensible," said Nicholas, for the boy seemed half beside himself. "Pick up your knife again; you were going unarmed. Do not stop, even to kill. Walk about, go where you hear a woman cry – God forgive us, but that is a task for a hundred – and speak to all in Greek. And be back here in an hour. Where is Petrobey?"
"In the house," said Yanni, and went off in the direction Nicholas had told him.
On that mad and ghastly day Petrobey was one of the few who had kept his head, and getting together a few sensible men, he had systematically worked his way up the street, stopping only to kill where there were signs of resistance. Open doors and men flying unarmed he left alone; there were plenty to do work like that; but he forced door after door where barricades had been put up, and attacked bodies of soldiers, who still from time to time charged out of some house or other, trying to force their way out to one of the gates. Without him and a few resolute bands of men it is possible that great slaughter would have taken place among the unarmed rabble who had followed the Greeks, and that a considerable body of men would have collected and won their way out of the city, and over the now undefended hills to Argos or Nauplia. He had also ordered up, under an armed escort, a train of provision-laden mules for the Mainats who were with him, and these supplies had just arrived before Nicholas came up.
"Stay with us and eat, dear cousin," he said to Nicholas, "for men cannot fight fasting. And, oh, Nicholas, but my life and all I have are yours, for you did not fail me when God and man forsook me!"
"Give me something, then, to take with me," said Nicholas, "for I have work before me. That girl of Mitsos' had left the house before I got there, and God knows where she is, alive or dead. I love the lad, and indeed we owe him a debt we can never repay for all he has done, and I should never forgive myself, nor hope for forgiveness, if I did not do what I could to find her."
Petrobey shook his head. "She may have taken refuge in some other house," he said. "If not – "
"Why should she fly from one house to another? If she is alive she is either somewhere in the streets, or it is just possible she has escaped."
Petrobey shook his head again.
"One woman fly in the face of that mob? God be with your kind heart, Nicholas. Poor little Mitsos, poor lad!"
Nicholas tore off a crust of bread, and staying only to swallow a draught of wine, went out again into the blinding glare of the streets. Everywhere it was the same ghastly scene over again: heaps of bodies; gutters with slow, oily streams of blood flowing and congealing; here a Turk wounded and in the last agony of death; there some young country lad shot through the heart, lying with open mouth and glazed eyes, which stared unblinkingly at the sun. Sometimes a woman lay across the path, while a little baby, still living and unhurt, lay beside where she had fallen, and groped with feeble, automatic hands for her breast. By them all without stopping went Nicholas, peering about for any sign of a living woman, but finding none. Very few apparently had been so desperate as to run into the street like Suleima, and though he felt the search wellnigh hopeless he went on. Once he came across a woman lying in the path, not yet dead, and as he bent over her she opened her eyes and spoke to him in Turkish. Nicholas questioned her in Greek, but she did not understand, and he went on again. In a little more than an hour he was back and found Yanni waiting for him, but he too had seen no sign of her they had never seen but sought.
All that afternoon the work went on, and at sunset Petrobey set a strong watch at all the gates, and he with most of the men went to sleep in the camp outside, where the air was less stifling and the poisonous breath from the murdered town came not. But Nicholas, who still hoped against hope, would not leave the place; by night, he thought, if Suleima was in hiding somewhere in the town she might try to steal back to the house, or attempt to escape by one of the gates; and he sat waiting in the doorway of Abdul Achmet's house till he fell asleep from sheer weariness, having seen naught but the dogs paddling about on their horrible errands. He woke early, before it was dawn, shivering and feeling ill; and thinking that his chill came only from exposure to the night air, got up and walked about, waiting for day. As soon as it was light he went out of the south gate to the Mainat camp, and had breakfast with Petrobey, who shook his head sadly over the absence of news.
Some sort of order was restored in the camp that day, and a third part of each of the four regular corps was stationed to blockade the citadel, while the others, in a more orderly manner and under the command of officers, went on with the sack of the town. The rabble who had passed in the day before were driven out of the place, and a watch set at each of the gates; but these measures were only half successful, for many took to hiding in the deserted houses, or, having been ejected, climbed back again at the Argive tower, or at other points of the walls where they could find entrance. Already many of the Greeks were ill with an ill-defined fever, which Petrobey put down to the effects of the foul, pestilence-laden atmosphere, and he employed a number of men to cart the dead out of the city and burn them. But they were not able to keep pace with the massacring which went on all day, and that evening the fever took a more pronounced and violent form in many of the eases, and before the morning of the 7th fifty or more Greeks, chiefly countrymen, who had slept two nights in the streets, were dead.
Just before dawn on the 7th a party of Turks made a sortie from the citadel and broke through the Greek lines. The alarm was given at once by the sentries, but the Turks were already among them before they were able to make any resistance, and after not more than ten minutes' fighting, they had broken their way through, and were doubling down the street towards the Argive gate. The guard there had sprung to arms at the sound of the disturbance above, and they engaged the Turks with somewhat better success, but more than half the original number got through and made straight for the unguarded hills between the plain and Argos.
Nicholas, who had passed a feverish, tossing night, feeling weak and weary, yet unable to sleep, had sprung up at once on the alarm, and was among the first to meet the charge. In the darkness the fighting was wild and random; they fought with shadows, and parrying a sword thrust aimed at his head, though he turned the blow aside, he felt the weapon wound him just below the shoulder, and the edge grate on the bone. Such rough aid as could be given him was at once administered. His arm was tightly bound above the wound to stop the bleeding from the severed artery, and, after the rough but often effective surgery of the day, the severed ends of the artery were cauterized and bound up, and the edges of the wound were brought together. No serious consequences were expected, for the flow of blood was soon checked, but for the present any further search for Suleima was out of the question. But a couple of hours later he grew more feverish and restless, and by ten o'clock on the morning of the 8th he was delirious, down with that swift and terrible fever which during the past night had already claimed many victims.
At mid-day the remainder of the garrison in the citadel surrendered unconditionally from want of water, for the whole supply had come from the lower town, and ten minutes later the Greek flag was flying from the tower. The shouts with which it was hailed roused Nicholas, who had sunk into a heavy sort of stupor, and he found Yanni sitting by his side.
"What is it?" he asked. "Have they found Suleima?"
"It is the citadel which has surrendered," said Yanni; "they have hoisted the flag on the tower."
Nicholas half raised himself. "Then the Morea is free from Corinth to Maina," he said. "O merciful and gracious Virgin! It only remains to find Suleima."
Presently after, he sank back into a stupor again, though every now and then he would stir and mutter something to himself.
"Why does not little Mitsos come?" he said, once; "tell him I want him. I did all I could to find her, but it was no use. Little Mitsos, there will be no more fire-ships … it was a devilish task to set you … don't you see the flag is flying; Tripoli has fallen; the Turks and their lusts are over forever; we are free!"
Then suddenly, in the loud strong voice which Yanni knew so well: "The Lord is a man of war!" he cried.
The news had run about the camp that Nicholas was down with the fever, and for the moment all paused when they heard. As every man in the place knew, his was the glory of the deed, and he the chief among those few to whose name honor, and nothing disgraceful, no weak deed or infirm purpose, were written. They had moved him out of the town unto the higher ground of the citadel, and into the top room of the tower on which the flag was flying. A great north wind sprang up that afternoon, and from the room where he lay could be heard the flapping of the flag. Those of the men who had any knowledge of medicine came flocking up to the citadel, begging to be allowed to see him, and suggesting a hundred remedies; and of these Petrobey chose one, who seemed to be sensible, and who it appeared had pulled a man through the worst of the fever, and he gave Nicholas such remedies as they could get.
That afternoon there was a division of the spoils taken, and in the evening, but not before a terrible and bloody deed had been done, three corps went back to their homes, the Mainats alone remaining. The Argives and Mainats, at any rate, had no hand in that devilish work, which must be passed over quickly. All the Turks – men, women, and children – who were found still alive were driven to the ravine behind Trikorpha, and some two thousand in number were all murdered.
It was, indeed, time to leave that pestilence-stricken town. During the day the fever had broken out with redoubled virulence among all those who had quartered themselves in the lower parts of the town, and the angel of death followed the victorious battalions into Arcadia, Argos, and Laconia, striking them right and left, and strewing the road with dying men. The judgment of God for those three ruthless days had come quickly. Mitsos' father, who had escaped unhurt, doing his quiet duty in the ranks of the Argives from the first, saw Petrobey before he left.
"Tell Mitsos to come quickly," he said. "And did you know Father Andréa has not been seen since the first morning?"
Meantime, in the north, it was found that the rumor of the Turkish landing was groundless, and Prince Demetrius was hurrying back to Tripoli. Germanos had joined him; but two days' march off the town, news of its capture was brought to them, on which Mitsos obtained permission to go on ahead to report the prince's coming, and announce that no landing of Turks had taken place. He travelled night and day, for his heart gave him wings, and late on the night of the 8th he reached Tripoli.
The unutterable stench in the streets struck him like death, and turned consciousness to a horrible dread. Shutting his eyes to the ghastly wreckage that strewed the ways, more horrible under the dim, filtering light from the clear-swept sky than even in daylight, he went quickly up to the citadel, where he supposed the troops would be. He was challenged by the sentry at the gate, who, seeing who he was, admitted him at once. He was taken straight to Petrobey's quarters, in the room just below where Nicholas lay.
The boy's voice was raised in eager question, but Petrobey hushed him.
"My poor lad," he said, "you must be brave, for we know you can be brave. We have not found her, and in the room above Nicholas lies dying. He has been asking for you; go to him at once, little Mitsos. I will send your food there."
Mitsos gave one gasping sigh.
"She may yet be here," he said; "where are the women and the prisoners?"
"There are no women and there are no prisoners," said Petrobey.
Mitsos stood silent a moment, looking at the other with bright, dry eyes, and swaying a little as he stood.
"And Uncle Nicholas is dying and has asked for me," he said. "Let me go to him."
CHAPTER XIII
NICHOLAS GOES HOME
The room was lighted by an oil-lamp, turned low and shaded from the sick man. Yanni, who had been watching all night, was lying on the floor, dozing from sheer weariness; but he woke at the sound of Mitsos' entering, and got up.
"Oh, Mitsos, you have come," he whispered, "he has asked for you so often."
"Leave me alone here," said Mitsos, and the two were left together.
Nicholas was lying with eyes only half closed, and Mitsos knelt by the bed.
"Uncle, dear uncle," he said, "I have come."
Nicholas only frowned, and passed his hand wearily over his eyes. The other bandaged arm was lying outside the thin bed-covering under which he lay.
"I looked everywhere," he muttered, "and I could not find her. Will little Mitsos ever forgive me, I wonder – yet I did all I could. Why does not the dear lad come? Has he forsaken me?.. No, it will never do; this traffic brings disgrace on us all. Stop it, Petrobey, stop it, in God's name… Ah, that is better, up, up, hand over hand, quick, give me the flag. Where is the flag, O devils of the pit? but give it me. Ah, you are no better than the Turks… Yes, I will pay you well to give it me, if that is what you want. A million piastres? I will give you two millions… Ah, up with it."
The muttering sank down again into silence, and the eyelids drooped wearily. Mitsos, kneeling there, felt that the life was leaving him. Suleima dead, Nicholas dying, there was but little left of the Mitsos he knew. Dry-eyed he knelt there in the blank, black despair of a hopeless anguish. If only it was he who was lying there! There was nothing to live for; everything was gone in this moment of victory, when his heart should have been larklike, soaring with song.
Petrobey brought him in food and wine.
"Drink, little Mitsos," he said; "it is very good wine."
But Mitsos would not even look at it.
"Leave me alone," was all he said; "I will call you if he wants you. Oh, go, man," he repeated, in a shrill whisper, and with a sudden burst of childish, impotent anger, which gave Petrobey a more pitiful moment than he had ever known; "may not my heart break in peace?"
It had been past midnight when Mitsos came in, and already the stars were beginning to pale in the east when Nicholas stirred and woke. He saw Mitsos by him, and knew him and smiled to him. He spoke slowly and faintly.
"Ah, little Mitsos," he said, "so you have come at last, but not much too soon. My poor lad, you know I did all I could; Yanni and I looked for her everywhere, but found her not. Oh, little Mitsos, my heart is bleeding for you. Tell me you know I did all I could."
At the sound of that dear voice, obeying again the will and the brain of the man he loved, no longer wandering idly as a thing apart, Mitsos broke down utterly, forgetting all but the dear, dying uncle.
"Oh, you will break my heart if you speak like that," he sobbed. "I know – how can I but know? – that you did all the best and noblest of men could do. Oh, uncle, I cannot do without you. Oh, come back, come back."
Nicholas's hand gently stroked the boy's head as he knelt with his face buried in the bed-covering.
"Why, Mitsos, Mitsos," he said, "what is this? We are behaving as but poor weak folk – I, whom the merciful God is taking, and you, who He wills shall live and go on with the work we have begun. A man's life is but short, but, God knows, mine has been partly very sweet; and out of what was bitter He has given us a wonderful victory. From Corinth to Maina, little one, a free people thanks Him. But that is not all. From Thermopylæ to Corinth must those thanks go up, and it is you, first among all the first, for whom that work is waiting. Promise me, little one, you will not fail. For this was the oath you swore, and already, oh, my dearest lad, you have kept it well."
"I promise, oh, I promise," sobbed Mitsos; "but what am I without you?"
"God is with you, little Mitsos," said Nicholas, "and He will be with you, as He has been with you till now. Tell me, is Ypsilanti coming back here?"
"He is on his way, and Germanos with him."
Nicholas frowned and raised his voice a little.
"I will not die with a lie on my lips," he said. "He is a bad man; I forgive him not, and see that you do not trust him."
"Oh, uncle," said Mitsos; "what does it matter now? Think of him not at all, then. This is no time for little things."
Nicholas lay silent a moment, still stroking Mitsos' hair.
"After all, what does it matter?" he said. "The man has failed; that is enough. He shall not poison these few minutes. Oh yes, I forgive him, little one. I do really; tell him so when he comes. If he were here I would take his hand. But" – and a faint smile came round his mouth – "do not trust him too far, all the same."
His face was growing very white and tired in the pale gray morning before the dawn, and Mitsos, at his request, gave him water and put out the lamp.
"There is but little more to say," he whispered, "and it is a selfish thing; yet, as you love me, I think you will hear it gladly. Little Mitsos, I am happier than the kings of the earth. I am dying, but dying in the shout of victory. Oh, I am happy on this morning. But, poor lad, whom I love so, it is hard – "
His face flushed suddenly.
"Victory! freedom!" he said, raising his voice again with tremulous excitement; "that is the singing bird in my heart, that and you and the clan, and Catharine and the little one. Ah! merciful God, but I am a happy man. Where is Petrobey? Call him in, him and the dear clan. Kiss me first and for the last time, and then bring them all in, as many as can stand in the room."
Mitsos hurried out to fetch them, and found Petrobey's room full of men waiting for news from the sick bed, watching faithfully through the night, and he beckoned them silently up. The sun had just risen, and the first ray clean and bright fell full on the bed where the dying man lay. By an effort he raised himself on his elbow, and looked at them with bright, shining eyes as they trooped in. At that sudden movement his wound broke out afresh, and a great gush of blood poured down.
Then suddenly he sprang to his feet.
"Shout, shout," he cried, "for the freedom of Greece! Ah, Catharine, I am coming; I am coming very quickly."
On the word a great shout arose from the men crowded into the room, and in the glory of that triumphant cry, standing there in the dawn of the newly-risen day, he fell forward, and his strong soul went forth free from the death that had no terror for him.
They took his body up to the Turkish mosque which crowned the citadel, and at the east erected a tall, rough, wooden cross, and there he lay all day, and the clan came and looked their last on the man they had loved. The hawklike, eager eyes were closed, the eager nostrils were still, and the dignity of death gave the face a wonderful sweet seriousness, and a tranquillity which it had seldom worn in life. The prince and Germanos arrived before noon, knowing only that Tripoli was taken, and Petrobey, to whom Mitsos had told what Nicholas had said, found words which were a humbling and an awe to that proud man, and together the two went to where he lay. Then said Germanos:
"I never did him honor, God forgive me, in life; but you will let me do him honor, now?"
The funeral was fixed for sunset, and he was to be buried just outside the mosque on the highest ground of the citadel. The first part of the service would be in the mosque, the remainder at the grave, and Mitsos, returning just before sunset from his finished and hopeless quest, went straight there. All day, first in the town and then in that valley of death behind Trikorpha, he had sought among the heaps of the dead, longing rather to know and see the worst, to look once more on her face, than to carry about with him this load of torturing uncertainty. He prayed that he might find her undisfigured, that her face might be quiet and calm like Nicholas's, for he felt that it would be a thing of consolation to know she had died quickly. One thought only sustained him through those terrible hours, and that the remembrance of the words Nicholas had spoken. He had bargained to sacrifice himself and all that he held dear for that which was already won, and in the very flush and presence of victory he would not give way to the desolation and despair which beset him. All day beneath a burning and malignant sun he moved among the heaps of the slain, turning over body after body, only to find more beneath. The kites and preying hawks chid shrilly over his head, but he heeded not and worked on, and a little before sunset only had he finished, and sat down on the hill-side for a moment to eat, for he remembered that he had not eaten that day, and he felt suddenly faint with hunger. Then rising he went back to the town and up to the mosque.
The sun was just setting, and before they left the mosque it was already twilight; but the men had a number of pitch torches, and the procession went out to the grave, headed by thirty Mainats, who carried these, and stood round the newly dug grave, while the body, with its face uncovered, according to the Greek use, and dressed in soldier's clothes, was placed in the coffin and lowered. At the head of the grave stood Germanos, and at the foot Petrobey with Mitsos. Many of the clan who stood round were weeping unrestrainedly and without shame; but Mitsos was perfectly quiet and calm. Only once when the first spadefuls of earth rattled on the rough coffin lid did he move, and ran forward a step to the edge of the grave with one sob so piteous and broken that Petrobey clinched his teeth to prevent himself, too, sobbing aloud. But after that he was quite quiet again, and Germanos, who had read the service, stepped forward and gave the address at the grave.
"This day," he said, "is the birthday of a new-born people, and it is so that Nicholas would have you think of it. To all of us has come a great and wonderful victory, and to all has come a terrible loss; but I pray God, clan of the Mavromichales, to none of you such an unavailing regret as is mine. Of myself I would not speak to you, but for this, that before Nicholas died he forgave the cruel wrong I had done him, and it is that forgiveness of his alone which gives me any right to be here. You knew him, he was of the same blood as you, and it is for you all to lament not nor wail, but think only that God in His infinite kindness has let him see the dawn of this day, and then, while the flood of joy burst his heart, has taken him to Himself. To work for a great cause, as Nicholas worked, and as none but he, was a great reward; to see the fruit of his labors and so die, in the very flush of victory, is what comes to but few. By his rank and his work his was among the highest places in all Greece; but how did he die? As a common soldier, serving in the ranks, and by his own choice. And to me that appears – though the cause for it is a bitterness and regret of which I cannot speak – a wonderful and an appropriate thing. Nicholas – the victory of the people."
