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
"The flag-stone under the altar has been taken up and a hole made into
the crypt. The door into the crypt, which opens from the passage in the
floor below, has been boarded over and whitewashed, so that it looks
exactly like the rest of the passage wall. It is impossible to detect
it. Mehemet Salik, the new governor in Tripoli, appointed only this
month from Nauplia, was there last week and examined the whole place.
He is a young man, though suspicious for his age."
"That is good," said Nicholas. "Your doing, I suppose. How many guns
have you?"
"About a thousand, and twice as many swords. In another month we shall
be ready. Megaspelaion makes a far better centre than Patras would, as
it is so much nearer Tripoli. That is where the struggle will begin."
"Who knows?" said Nicholas. "When we are ready we will begin just where
it suits us. Personally, I should prefer--" He stopped.
"Well?"
"It is this," said Nicholas. "It is no gallant and polite war we
want; we do not want to make terms, or treaties, or threats. We want
to strike and have done with it; to exterminate. I should prefer, if
possible, striking the first blow either at Kalamata or Nauplia. Then
the dogs from all round would run yelping into Tripoli, as it is their
strongest place, and so at the end there would be none left."
"Exterminate is no Christian word, Nicholas. The women and the
children--"
"The women and children," said Nicholas, rising and pacing up and down
the room; "what are they to me? Once when I was an outlaw I spared
them--yes, and spared the men, too, only sending them riding back face
to the horse's tail. But did they spare my wife and my child? If there
is a God in heaven I will show them the mercy they showed me!"
Germanos was silent a few moments, and waited till Nicholas had sat
down again.
"Will you drink more wine?" he asked; "if not, we will sit on the
balcony; it is hot to-night. I think you are right about striking the
first blow somewhere in the south, so that they shall go to Tripoli. I
had thought before that it would be better to strike at the centre. But
your plan seems to me the wiser. Come outside, Nicholas."
Germanos's house stood just out of the town, high up on the hill, which
was crowned by the castle, and from his balcony they could see the
twinkling lights in the fort below like holes bored in the dark, and
beyond the stretch of starlit water, and dimly on the other side of
the gulf the hill above Missolonghi shouldering itself up in the faint
black distance. Before long the moon rose above the castle behind
them, and turned the whole world to silver and ebony. Cicalas chirped
in the bushes, and the fragrance of the southern night came drowsily
along the wind. Every now and then a noise would rise up for a moment
in the town, shrill to its highest, and die away again.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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