The waiting-room was empty when Melissa crossed it for the second time.
Most of the emperor’s friends had retired to rest or into the city when
they had heard that Caesar slept; and the few who had remained behaved
quietly when she appeared, for Philostratus had told them that the
emperor held her in high esteem, as the only person who was able to
give him comfort in his suffering by her peculiar and wonderful healing
power.
In the tablinum, which had been converted into a sick-room, nothing was
heard but the breathing and gentle snoring of the sleeping man. Even
Philostratus was asleep on an arm-chair at the back of the room.
When the philosopher had returned, Caracalla had noticed him, and
dozing, or perhaps in his dreams, he had ordered him to remain by him.
So the learned man felt bound to spend the night there.
Epagathos, the freedman, was lying on a mattress from the dining-room;
the corpulent physician slept soundly, and if he snored too loudly, old
Adventus poked him and quietly spoke a word of warning to him. This
man, who had formerly been a post messenger, was the only person who was
conscious of Melissa’s entrance; but he only blinked at her through
his dim eyes, and, after he had silently considered why the young girl
should have returned, he turned over in order to sleep himself; for he
had come to the conclusion that this young, active creature would be
awake and at hand if his master required anything.
His wondering as to why Melissa had returned, had led to many guesses,
and had proved fruitless. “You can know nothing of women,” was the end
of his reflections, “if you do not know that what seems most improbable
is what is most likely to be true. This maid is certainly not one of the
flute-players or the like. Who knows what incomprehensible whim or freak
may have brought her here? At any rate, it will be easier for her to
keep her eyes open than it is for me.”
He then signed to her and asked her quietly to fetch his cloak out
of the next room, for his old body needed warmth; and Melissa gladly
complied, and laid the caracalla over the old mans cold feet with
obliging care.
She then returned to the side of the sick-bed, to wait for the emperor’s
awaking. He slept soundly; his regular breathing indicated this. The
others also slept, and Adventus’s light snore, mingling with the louder
snoring of the physician, showed that he too had ceased to watch. The
slumbering Philostratus now and then murmured incomprehensible words to
himself; and the lion, who perhaps was dreaming of his freedom in his
sandy home, whined low in his sleep.
She watched alone.
It seemed to her as if she were in the habitation of sleep, and as if
phantoms and dreams were floating around her on the unfamiliar noises.
She was afraid, and the thought of being the only woman among so many
men caused her extreme uneasiness.
She could not sit still.
Inaudibly as a shadow she approached the head of the sleeping emperor,
holding her breath to listen to him. How soundly he slept! And she had
come that she might talk to him. If his sleep lasted till sunrise, the
pardon for her people would be too late, and her father and Philip,
chained to a hard bench, would have to ply heavy oars as galley slaves
by the side of robbers and murderers. How terribly then would
her father’s wish to use his strength be granted! Was Philip, the
narrow-chested philosopher, capable of bearing the strain which had so
often proved fatal to stronger men?
She must wake the dreaded man, the only man who could possibly help her.
She now raised her hand to lay it on his shoulder, but she half withdrew
it.
It seemed to her as if it was not much less wicked to rob a sleeping man
of his rest, his best cure, than to take the life of a living being. It
was not too late yet, for the harbor-chain would not be opened till the
October sun had risen. He might enjoy his slumbers a little longer.
With this conclusion she once more sank down and listened to the noises
which broke the stillness of the night.
How hideous they were, how revolting they sounded! The vulgarest of the
sleepers, old Adventus, absolutely sawed the air with his snoring.
The emperor’s breathing was scarcely perceptible, and how nobly cut was
the profile which she could see, the other side of his face leaning on
the pillow! Had she any real reason to fear his awakening? Perhaps he
was quite unlike what Berenike thought him to be. She remembered the
sympathy she had felt for him when they had first met, and, in spite of
all the trouble she had experienced since, she no longer felt afraid. A
thought then occurred to her which was sufficient excuse for disturbing
the sick man’s sleep. If she delayed it, she would be making him guilty
of a fresh crime by allowing two blameless men to perish in misery.
But she would first convince herself whether the time was pressing.
She looked out through the open window at the stars and across the open
place lying at her feet. The third hour after midnight was past, and the
sun would rise before long.
Down below all was quiet. Macrinus, the praetorian prefect, on hearing
that the emperor had fallen into a refreshing sleep, in order that he
might not be disturbed, had forbidden all loud signals, and ordered the
camp to be closed to all the inhabitants of the city; so the girl heard
nothing but the regular footsteps of the sentries and the shrieks of the
owls returning to their nests in the roof of the Serapeum. The wind from
the sea drove the clouds before it across the sky, and the plain covered
with tents resembled a sea tossed into high white waves. The camp had
been reduced during the afternoon; for Caracalla had carried out his
threat of that morning by quartering a portion of the picked troops in
the houses of the richest Alexandrians.
Melissa, bending far out, looked toward the north. The sea-breeze blew
her hair into her face. Perhaps on the ocean whence it came the high
waves would, in a few hours, be tossing the ship on which her father and
brother, seated at the oar, would be toiling as disgraced galley-slaves.
That must not, could not be!
Hark! what was that?
She heard a light whisper. In spite of strict orders, a loving couple
were passing below. The wife of the centurion Martialis, who had been
separated for some time from her husband, had at his entreaty come
secretly from Ranopus, where she had charge of Seleukus’s villa, to see
him, as his services prevented his going so far away. They now stood
whispering and making love in the shadow of the temple. Melissa could
not hear what they said, yet it reminded her of the sacred night
hour when she confessed her love to Diodoros. She felt as if she were
standing by his bedside, and his faithful eyes met hers. She would not,
for all that was best in the world, have awakened him yesterday at the
Christian’s house, though the awakening would have brought her fresh
promises of love; and yet she was on the point of robbing another of his
only cure, the sleep the gods had sent him. But then she loved Diodoros,
and what was Caesar to her? It had been a matter of life and death with
her lover, while disturbing Caracalla would only postpone his recovery
a few hours at the utmost. It was she who had procured the imperial
sleeper his rest, which she could certainly restore to him even if she
now woke him. Just now she had vowed for the future not to care
about her own welfare, and that had at first made her doubtful about
Caracalla; but had it not really been exceedingly selfish to lose
the time which could bring freedom to her father and brother, only to
protect her own soul from the reproach of an easily forgiven wrong? With
the question:
“What is your duty?” all doubts left her, and no longer on tiptoe, but
with a firm, determined tread, she walked toward the slumberer’s couch,
and the outrage which she shrank from committing would, she saw, be
a deed of kindness; for she found the emperor with perspiring brow
groaning and frightened by a severe nightmare. He cried with the dull,
toneless voice of one talking in his sleep, as if he saw her close by:
“Away, mother, I say! He or I! Out of the way! You will not? But I,
I--If you--”
At the same he threw up his hands and gave a dull, painful cry.
“He is dreaming of his brother’s murder,” rushed through Melissa’s mind,
and in the same instant she laid her hand on his arm and with urgent
entreaty cried in his ear: “Wake up, Caesar, I implore you! Great
Caesar, awake!”
Then he opened his eyes, and a low, prolonged “Ah!” rang from his
tortured breast.
He then, with a deep breath and perplexed glance, looked round him; and
as his eyes fell on the young girl his features brightened, and soon
wore a happy expression, as if he experienced a great joy.
“You?” he asked, with pleased surprise. “You, maiden, still here!
It must be nearly dawn? I slept well till just now. But then at the
last--Oh, it was fearful!--Adventus!”
Melissa, however, interrupted this cry, exhorting the emperor to be
quiet by putting her finger to her lips; and he understood her and
willingly obeyed, especially as she had guessed what he required from
the chamberlain, Adventus. She handed him the cloth that lay on the
table for him to wipe his streaming forehead. She then brought him
drink, and after Caracalla had sat up refreshed, and felt that the pain,
which, after a sharp attack, lasted sometimes for days, had now already
left him, he said, quite gently, mindful of her sign:
“How much better I feel already; and for this I thank you, Roxana; yes,
you know. I like to feel like Alexander, but usually--It is certainly a
pleasant thing to be ruler of the universe, for if we wish to punish or
reward, no one can limit us. You, child, shall learn that it is Caesar
whom you have laid under such obligations. Ask what you will, and I will
grant it you.”
She whispered eagerly to him:
“Release my father and brother.”
“Always the same thing,” answered Caracalla, peevishly. “Do you know of
nothing better to wish for?”
“No, my lord, no!” cried Melissa, with importunate warmth. “If you will
give me what I most care for--”
“I will, yes, I will,” interrupted the emperor in a softer voice; but
suddenly shrugging his shoulders, he continued, regretfully: “But you
must have patience; for, by the Egyptian’s orders, your people have been
for some time afloat and at sea.”
“No!” the girl assured him. “They are still here. Zminis has shamefully
deceived you;” and then she informed him of what she had learned from
her brother.
Caracalla, in obedience to a softer impulse, had wished to show himself
grateful to Melissa. But her demand displeased him; for the sculptor and
his son, the philosopher, were the security that should keep Melissa
and the painter attached to him. But though his distrust was so strong,
offended dignity and the tormenting sense of being deceived caused him
to forget everything else; he flew into a rage, and called loudly the
names of Epagathos and Adventus.
His voice, quavering with fury, awakened the others also out of their
sleep; and after he had shortly and severely rebuked them for their
laziness, he commissioned Epagathos to give the prefect, Macrinus,
immediate orders not to allow the ship on which Heron and Philip were,
to leave the harbor; to set the captives at liberty; and to throw
Zminis, the Egyptian, into prison, heavily chained.
When the freedman remarked, humbly, that the prefect was not likely
to be found, as he had purposed to be present again that night at the
exorcisms of the magician, Serapion, Caesar commanded that Macrinus
should be called away from the miracle-monger’s house, and the orders
given him.
“And if I can not find him?” asked Epagathos.
“Then, once more, events will prove how badly I am served,” answered the
emperor. “In any case you can act the prefect, and see that my orders
are carried out.”
The freedman left hastily, and Caracalla sank back exhausted on the
pillows.
Melissa let him rest a little while; then she approached him, thanked
him profusely, and begged him to keep quiet, lest the pain should return
and spoil the approaching day.
He then asked the time, and when Philostratus, who had walked to the
window, explained that the fifth hour after midnight was past, Caracalla
bade him prepare a bath.
The physician sanctioned this wish, and Caesar then gave his hand to the
girl, saying, feebly and in a gentle voice: “The pain still keeps away.
I should be better if I could moderate my impatience. An early bath
often does me good after a bad night. Only go. The sleep that you know
so well how to give to others, you scarcely allow to visit you. I only
beg that you will be at hand. We shall both, I think, feel strengthened
when next I call you.”
Melissa then bade him a grateful farewell; but as she was approaching
the doorway he called again after her, and asked her with an altered
voice, shortly and sternly:
“You will agree with your father if he abuses me?”
“What an idea!” she answered, energetically. “He knows who robbed him of
his liberty, and from me shall he learn who has restored it to him.”
“Good!” murmured the emperor. “Yet remember this also: I need your
assistance and that of your brother’s, the painter. If your father
attempts to alienate you--”
Here he suddenly let fall his arm, which he had raised threateningly,
and continued in a confidential whisper: “But how can I ever show
you anything but kindness? Is it not so? You already feel the secret
tie--You know? Am I mistaken when I fancy that it grieves you to be
separated from me?”
“Certainly not,” she replied, gently, and bowed her head.
“Then go,” he continued, kindly. “The day will come yet when you will
feel that I am as necessary to your soul as you are to mine. But you do
not yet know how impatient I can be. I must be able to think of you with
pleasure--always with pleasure--always.”
Thereupon he nodded to her, and his eyelids remained for some time in
spasmodic movement. Philostratus was prepared to accompany the young
girl, but Caracalla prevented him by calling:
“Lead me to my bath. If it does me good, as I trust it will, I have many
things to talk over with you.”
Melissa did not hear the last words. Gladly and quickly she hurried
through the empty, dimly lighted rooms, and found Alexander in a sitting
position, half asleep and half awake, with closed eyes. Then she drew
near to him on tiptoe, and, as his nodding head fell on his breast, she
laughed and woke him with a kiss.
The lamps were not yet burned out, and, as he looked into her face with
surprise, his also brightened, and jumping up quickly he exclaimed:
“All’s well; we have you back again, and you have succeeded! Our
father-I see it in your face--and Philip also, are at liberty!”
“Yes, yes, yes,” she answered, gladly; “and now we will go together and
fetch them ourselves from the harbor.”
Alexander raised his eyes and arms to heaven in rapture, and Melissa
imitated him; and thus, without words, though with fervent devotion,
they with one accord thanked the gods for their merciful ruling.
They then set out together, and Alexander said: “I feel as if nothing
but gratitude flowed through all my veins. At any rate, I have learned
for the first time what fear is. That evil guest certainly haunts this
place. Let us go now. On the way you shall tell me everything.”
“Only one moment’s patience,” she begged, cheerfully, and hurried into
the chief priest’s rooms. The lady Euryale was still expecting her, and
as she kissed her she looked with sincere pleasure into her bright but
tearful eyes.
At first she was bent on making Melissa rest; for she would yet require
all her strength. But she saw that the girl’s wish to go and meet
her father was justifiable; she placed her own mantle over her
shoulders--for the air was cool before sunrise--and at last accompanied
her into the anteroom. Directly the girl had disappeared, she turned to
her sister-in-law’s slave, who had waited there the whole night by order
of his mistress, and desired him to go and report to her what he had
learned about Melissa.
The brother and sister met the slave Argutis outside the Serapeum. He
had heard at Seleukus’s house where his young mistress was staying, and
had made friends with the chief priest’s servants.
When, late in the evening, he heard that Melissa was still with Caesar,
he had become so uneasy that he had waited the whole night through,
first on the steps of a staircase, then walking up and down outside the
Serapeum. With a light heart he now accompanied the couple as far as the
Aspendia quarter of the town, and he then only parted from them in
order that he might inform poor old Dido of his good news, and make
preparations for the reception of the home-comers.
After that Melissa hurried along, arm in arm with her brother, through
the quiet streets.
Youth, to whom the present belongs entirely, only cares to know the
bright side of the future; and even Melissa in her joy at being able to
restore liberty to her beloved relations, hardly thought at all of the
fact that, when this was done and Caesar should send for her again,
there would be new dangers to surmount.
Delighted with her grand success, she first told her brother what her
experiences had been with the suffering emperor. Then she started on the
recollections of her visit to her lover, and when Alexander opened his
heart to her and assured her with fiery ardor that he would not rest
till he had won the heart of the lovely Christian, Agatha, she gladly
allowed him to talk and promised him her assistance. At last they
deliberated how the favor of Caesar--who, Melissa assured him, was
cruelly misunderstood--was to be won for their father and Philip; and
finally they both imagined the surprise of the old man if he should be
the first to meet them after being set at liberty.
The way was far, and when they reached the sea, by the Caesareum in
the Bruchium, the palatial quarter of the town, the first glimmer of
approaching dawn was showing behind the peninsula of Lochias. The sea
was rough, and tossed with heavy, oily waves on the Choma that ran out
into the sea like a finger, and on the walls of the Timoneum at its
point, where Antonius had hidden his disgrace after the battle of
Actium.
Alexander stopped by the pillared temple of Poseidon, which stood close
on the shore, between the Choma and the theatre, and, looking toward the
flat, horseshoe-shaped coast of the opposite island which still lay in
darkness, he asked:
“Do you still remember when we went with our mother over to Antirhodos,
and how she allowed us to gather shells in the little harbor? If she
were alive to-day, what more could we wish for?”
“That the emperor was gone,” exclaimed the girl from the depths of her
heart; “that Diodoros were well again; that father could use his hands
as he used, and that I might stay with him until Diodoros came to fetch
me, and then... oh, if only something could happen to the empire that
Caesar might go away-far away, to the farthest hyperborean land!”
“That will soon happen now,” answered Alexander. “Philostratus says that
the Romans will remain at the utmost a week longer.”
“So long?” asked Melissa, startled; but Alexander soon pacified her with
the assurance that seven days flew speedily by, and when one looked back
on them they seemed to shrink into only as many hours.
“But do not,” he continued, cheerfully, “look into the future! We will
rejoice, for everything is going so well now!”
He stopped here suddenly and gazed anxiously at the sea, which was no
longer completely obscured by the vanishing shadows of night. Melissa
looked in the direction of his pointing hand, and when he cried with
great excitement, “That is no little boat, it is a ship, and a large
one, too!” Melissa added, eagerly, “It is already near the Diabathra. It
will reach the Alveus Steganus in a moment, and pass the pharos.”
“But yonder is the morning star in the heavens, and the fire is still
blazing on the tower,” interrupted her brother. “Not till it has been
extinguished will they open the outside chain. And yet that ship is
steering in a northwesterly direction. It certainly comes out of the
royal harbor.” He then drew his sister on faster, and when, in a few
minutes, they reached the harbor gate, he cried out, much relieved:
“Look there! The chain is still across the entrance. I see it clearly.”
“And so do I,” said Melissa, decidedly; and while her brother knocked at
the gate-house of the little harbor, she continued, eagerly:
“No ships dare go out before sunrise, on account of the rocks--Epagathos
said so just now--and that one near the pharos--”
But there was no time to put her thoughts into words; for the broad
harbor gate was thrown noisily open, and a troop of Roman soldiers
streamed out, followed by several Alexandrian men-at-arms. After
them came a prisoner loaded with chains, with whom a leading Roman in
warrior’s dress was conversing. Both were tall and haggard, and when
they approached the brother and sister they recognized in them Macrinus
the praetorian prefect, while the prisoner was Zminis the informer.
But the Egyptian also noticed the artist and his companion. His eyes
sparkled brightly, and with triumphant scorn he pointed out to sea.
The magician Serapion had persuaded the prefect to let the Egyptian go
free. Nothing was yet known in the harbor of Zminis’s disgrace, and he
had been promptly obeyed as usual, when, spurred on by the magician
and his old hatred, he gave the order for the galley which carried the
sculptor and his son on board to weigh anchor in spite of the early
hour.
Heron and Philip, with chains on their feet, were now rowing on the
same bench with the worst criminals; and the old artist’s two remaining
children stood gazing after the ship that carried away their father and
brother into the distance. Melissa stood mute, with tearful eyes, while
Alexander, quite beside himself, tried to relieve his rage and grief by
empty threats.
Soon, however, his sister’s remonstrances caused him to restrain
himself, and make inquiry as to whether Macrinus, in obedience to the
emperor’s orders, had sent a State ship after the galley.
This had been done, and comforted, though sadly disappointed, they
started on their way home.
The sun in the mean time had risen, and the streets were filling with
people.
They met the old sculptor Lysander, who had been a friend of their
father’s, outside the magnificent pile of buildings of the Caesareum.
The old man took a deep interest in Heron’s fate; and, when Alexander
asked him modestly what he was doing at that early hour, he pointed
to the interior of the building, where the statues of the emperors and
empresses stood in a wide circle surrounding a large court-yard, and
invited them to come in with him. He had not been able to complete his
work--a marble statue of Julia Domna, Caracalla’s mother--before the
arrival of the emperor. It had been placed here yesterday evening. He
had come to see how it looked in its new position.
Melissa had often seen the portrait of Julia on coins and in various
pictures, but to-day she was far more strongly attracted than she had
ever been before to look in the face of the mother of the man who had so
powerfully influenced her own existence and that of her people.
The old master had seen Julia many years ago in her own home at Emesa,
as the daughter of Bassianus the high-priest of the Sun in that town;
and later, after she had become empress, he had been commanded to take
her portrait for her husband, Septimus Severus. While Melissa gazed
on the countenance of the beautiful statue, the old artist related how
Caracalla’s mother had in her youth won all hearts by her wealth of
intellect, and the extraordinary knowledge which she had easily acquired
and continually added to, through intercourse with learned men. They
learned from him that his heart had not remained undisturbed by the
charms of his royal model, and Melissa became more and more absorbed in
her contemplation of this beautiful work of art.
Lysander had represented the imperial widow standing in flowing
draperies, which fell to her feet. She held her charming, youthful head
bent slightly on one side, and her right hand held aside the veil which
covered the back of her head and fell lightly on her shoulders, a little
open over the throat. Her face looked out from under it as if she were
listening to a fine song or an interesting speech. Her thick, slightly
waving hair framed the lovely oval of her face under the veil, and
Alexander agreed with his sister when she expressed the wish that she
might but once see this rarely beautiful creature. But the sculptor
assured them that they would be disappointed, for time had treated her
cruelly.
“I have shown her,” he continued, “as she charmed me a generation ago.
What you see standing before you is the young girl Julia; I was not
capable of representing her as matron or mother. The thought of her son
would have spoiled everything.”
“He is capable of better emotions,” Alexander declared.
“May be,” answered the old man--“I do not know them. May your father and
brother be restored to you soon!--I must get to work!”