CHAPTER XXIX

THE WANDERERS

Daybreak saw our pretended dervishes ready for their difficult journey. The bag suspended from Takvor’s shoulder was well filled with provisions,--pious offerings to Allah’s children, so the innkeeper’s wife said. Takvor offered his friend his one remaining lira.

“Keep it until we are in trouble,” was the hearty reply. “You may need it on the way.”

The innkeeper’s wife kissed Armenouhi on her dark-stained cheeks, while Takvor extended his hand to her husband.

“Not yet,” said the Greek, with a smile; “I am going too;” and leading them to the window, he pointed to a carriage waiting in the street.

When it was once decided that the young people should travel as dervishes, he had gone and obtained a passport, as any Greek might do, to visit Ak Hissar on business. Thus he planned to carry them the entire distance, excepting past the guardhouses and through the villages where the passport might be demanded; there they would be obliged to walk. They were to start afoot, and he would follow, overtaking them when they had passed the last guardhouse of the city. Again saying goodby to the innkeeper’s wife, Takvor took the hand of the blind Armenouhi and led her through the doorway to the street.

Of the few people who were astir in the early morning none seemed to bestow on them other attention than the look of pity. The soldier on duty at the first guardhouse merely glanced at them. A porter leaning against the wall eating his breakfast of stale bread, moved by their wretched appearance, or attracted by the great green turban, broke his loaf in two, and gave them the larger part.

“Here, pilgrim, here is half my breakfast for you.”

Takvor mumbled an Arabic blessing that he had learned from his Moslem playmates of earlier days, and taking the bread, put it into his bag. When they were leaving the town, the rattling of wheels caught their attention, and they glanced back to see if the innkeeper was coming. A carriage was visible in the distance; but far in advance of it was a man in soldier’s uniform, now rapidly nearing them. Armenouhi’s hand began to tremble, and on her dark-stained face was an expression of fear. Again looking back to learn the cause of her agitation Takvor recognized the approaching soldier as the chaoush. They hesitated a moment, undecided whether to stand their ground, or to attempt to escape by flight. Even were a hiding place at hand, he had already seen them, and could trace them to it. To stand and fight meant an unequal struggle, for a weaponless boy was no match for an armed soldier. Takvor held Armenouhi’s hand still tighter, and slowly led her on.

“Be blind,” he whispered; “and be deaf and dumb if he speaks.”

Trembling violently she hung back, and closed her eyes as if to shut from her vision all that she feared might follow. Takvor grasped his long stick in preparation for an attack, and led her to the roadside, where beggars were wont to stand when their superiors passed. Without a word, without even glancing at the ragged creatures who were paying him homage, the scowling chaoush hurriedly strode on. Still trembling with fear, they remained on the roadside and watched the soldier’s rapidly disappearing form, until the cracking of a whip and the rattling wheels of a carriage announced the approach of the innkeeper.

“Hey, dervishes,” cried the good-natured Greek, stopping his horse; “let me help you on your way.”

The two frightened wanderers climbed into the carriage.

Six times that day the dervishes alighted to walk past a guardhouse, and six times was their friend required to present his passport, while they went by unnoticed. One guard, perhaps because he was stationed in a lonely place, rather than because he was moved by charity, invited them to share the rice which he was preparing. Takvor muttered a blessing, adding that such food was not for poor dervishes like them, and led Armenouhi on. When they neared Yeni Shehir, the sun had already set, and again alighting for the last time that day, they slowly entered the village.

Following the instructions of the Greek, who had gone ahead, they walked along the street until they came to the inn where their friend was standing in the doorway. Without a sign of recognition they passed within to beg a night’s lodging. A buxom Greek woman, to whom the innkeeper had explained their coming, received them kindly, and led them to an inner apartment. When Armenouhi removed her headdress, she presented a most incongruous picture. The rich hair, knotted on the top of her head, the gentle blue eyes, and the delicate features contrasting with the dark-stained skin and ragged costume, caused the hostess to burst into laughter. The day had been so successful, and their reception had inspired such a feeling of security, that the laugh became contagious. And while the little party was gathered about the dish of steaming rice, they listened to Armenouhi’s rehearsal of the experiences of the last few days.

The second day on the road was nearly a repetition of the first. The stableboy at Isnik was surprised when the dervishes offered to pay for a bed. He led them to the same room they had each occupied.

“What became of your pin, Armenouhi?” Takvor asked, when they were alone.

“It was in a ribbon about my neck when the chaoush took me away; but in Brusa it was missing. The loss of it made me sad, for I thought you were--gone,” she added, hesitating to speak the word of her thought.

“It told me where to find you;” and he produced it from beneath his ragged coat.

Like the chaoush before him, Takvor securely locked the door from without, and laid himself down on the floor before it. Late at night, when the stableboy mounted the stairs and stumbled over him, he was heard to mumble something about the crazy dervish for whom a bed was too good. “But perhaps he is doing penance,” he muttered, feeling his way along to his bed of straw.

The third day’s journey from Isnik to Ak Hissar was short, the guardhouse on the mountain side presenting the only danger. Starting early, they soon reached the spring on the mountain top, and there, within sight of home, they waited in the shade till twilight. When the first stars were appearing, they made their way down the familiar road, and with beating hearts, eager, yet dreading to learn the fate of their people, they silently entered the village. Many of the windows from which lights should have been shining were dark. Many of the houses were abandoned; and the streets were deserted, save for a few Turks idling at the inn. The two dervishes, unobserved in the dark, passed on toward the lighted window in Dicran’s house. They approached the door. It was closed, but not locked. Armenouhi, trembling with excitement, pulled the latchstring, and leading the way across the dark hall to the door of Dicran’s room, opened it and entered.