The Vintage: A Romance of the Greek War of IndependenceBenson, E. F. (Edward Frederic)
History
The Vintage: A Romance of the Greek War of Independence
Benson, E. F. (Edward Frederic)
Greece -- History -- War of Independence, 1821-1829 -- Fiction
"What, Mitsos," cried Yanni, "are you a block of stone or a log, you
who are of blood with us?"
"You know I am not. But Mehemet Salik is not on this hill-side.
Tell me the rest. If he was here he should never more return to the
bestialities of his daily life."
Yanni sat down again.
"Even so. Then day after day he would come in all white and cursing
as before, and say, 'The time is drawing near, my little Yanni. They
will be here to-morrow or the next day,' as it might be. And yesterday
morning he said, 'They will be here to-night.' And I--for I never
doubted you, Mitsos--I thought to myself, 'Then I shall not be here
to-night'; and as for them, I knew that they would never sit in the
house of a Turk. And--and that is all, I think."
There was a short silence, and Yanni stretched out his hand to Mitsos:
"So to you, dearest of all," he said, "I owe my life--once at the mill,
and now, once again, life and honor and freedom. Yet is the debt no
burden to me, because I love you. But still I would it were the other
way. I have no skill of speech, Mitsos, but I know certainly that
gladly would I give my eye or my right hand for you, and this is no
figure of talk only."
Mitsos took the hand held out to him and shut it between his, looking
at Yanni with a serious mouth, but a smile in his dark eyes.
"God send me tears for water and salt for bread," he said, again
quoting the oath of the clan, "if I fail you in your need, or love not
those who love you and hate not those who hate you."
The sun was already declining to the western hills, and presently after
they went down to the spring to eat and drink before they began the
tramp through the night. Neither of them had been over this ground
before, but it was likely that they would soon come into some path
leading from the Arcadian plain to one or other of the villages near
the Langarda pass; in any case, even though there were a night's
plunging through the heather undergrowth before them, it could scarcely
be more than a twelve-hours' journey. Thus, starting at six, they
would be at the place by dawn; and, after stowing the remains of their
provisions in their pockets, they began the ascent.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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