Nicanor went along the covered gallery leading from the slaves' quarters

to the mansion. At intervals he shifted the heavy brazier from hand to

hand. The heat of the smouldering charcoal in it rose to his face,

gratefully warm. When he reached the anteroom of Lady Varia's

apartments, going by the rear passages, he found no one. The room,

warmed to Summer heat, and filled with flowers, was empty. Perfumed

lamps burned low, swinging from their bronze and silver standards; in a

curtained recess in the wall a marble Minerva gleamed shadowed white,

half concealed by curtains of dusky red. A silver jar of incense,

burning before the shrine, tinged the air with faint fragrance. All was

quiet and peaceful, a safe and sheltered nest. From the other inner

rooms he could hear voices; a girl's voice steadily intoning sonorous

blank verse; at intervals another voice, interrupting, slow and languid,

that set his heart beating hard and his face flushing. He picked up a

bell from the stand near the entrance and rang it.

The recitative stopped; there was a murmur of mingled voices, and

footsteps. A girl parted the curtains which hung between the rooms and

came toward him. Her hair was black, fastened by long pins of bone; her

face white and resentful; her brows were straight and dark, and the eyes

beneath were shadowy. She was slim and moved swiftly, and her skin was

white as milk. This, then, was the girl upon whom Hito had cast his evil

glance. Nicanor kept his eyes on her as she came, and wondered if she

was newly bought, that he had not seen her during the months he had been

at the villa.

"I bring the brazier Nerissa commanded," said Nicanor, and she nodded.

"Nerissa is busy with our lady. I will take it in."

"She is not ill?" he asked anxiously.

"Nay, not ill," the girl answered. "It is but that she feels the cold. I

will take the brazier." She looked at him with some surprise that he did

not give it up.

"It is heavy," he warned her. "Stay one moment, I pray you. Will you not

tell me your name? I have been in this house these many months, and

never before have I seen you."

"I am called Eldris," she answered. "And I have been here also, but--it

is true you have not seen me, although at times I have seen you. I have

been seen by none save--"

"Save one, perhaps," said Nicanor, and looked into her eyes. "I bring

you word from Hito--if you are she he told me to seek out. He saith that

he, Hito, is willing to see you to-night; that he expects you, and that

you will understand. He saith that he awaits you--you will know where;

and if you do not come, he will find out why. Also--"

He stopped on the word. The girl had gone gray; and into her eyes there

leaped a look of helpless terror, of dumb anguish and nameless fear. And

at once, with the look, she became elusively familiar. A memory, half

lost, beckoned to him, of a white and tortured face, of eyes which held

the terror of a wounded animal at bay, of a long red welt across brown

shoulders. His glance went to the girl's shoulders, white as milk, half

hidden under her coarse white tunic.

[Illustration: "'You sent for me, Lady Varia?'"]

"Hito!" the girl exclaimed below her breath; and again--"Hito!" She

flung out her hands with a movement of bitter despair and hid her face

in them. "What can I do? Where can I go?" she cried hopelessly. "Since

the first day he saw me this hath hung over me--and what can I do? O my

God! what can I do against him?"

"You do not go willingly?" Nicanor questioned, and took note of the

exclamation she had used.

"You will not force me to him!" she gasped in terror, misunderstanding,

and shrank from him.

"Not I! I am no man's procurer!" Nicanor said curtly. "I give his

message; the rest lieth with you and him."

"Never with me!" the girl exclaimed. She broke into hard dry sobs that

racked her. Nicanor watched, quite at a loss what to say or do.

"He hath--he hath threatened force and the rack if I refuse," she

sobbed.

"The rack is a bad thing to know!" said Nicanor, thinking of what he had

seen in the room at the end of the passage. He spoke with all sincerity,

being no better than his time.

"Ay, but there is something worse!" Eldris flashed back. "I would rather

face my lord in the torture-chamber; I would rather be broken on the

wheel and die the death--" She shuddered, and again hid her face. "And

there is no way out of it but death. What can I do, a slave?"

The old bitter cry, wrung from the lips of many that the word of the

Nations' Law might be fulfilled--wrung from the lips of Nicanor himself.

He knew the full measure of its bitterness, and somewhere in him an

answering chord stirred and woke to life. He put his hand on her

shoulder.

"See then, if that be thy feeling,--though them knowest not the rack!--I

too am a slave, but it may be that I can help thee." The girl stilled

her sobs to listen. "Hito is a fat swine. It would give me great joy to

foil him."

"I have tried to move him," she said, with a weary hopelessness more

suggestive than many words. "It is because I struggle--" She stopped,

biting her lips, her eyes dark with misery. "It is not me he would have

now, but his way," she said forlornly.

"For me to take thy refusal would do no good," said Nicanor, his voice

reflective. "Tell thy lady; surely she will give thee protection."

"Often I have tried to do that," Eldris answered. "Always Nerissa or

other women are there to know what I would have with her; and always

they say it is not for me to talk with her unless she gives

command--that I am to tell them and they will carry the word to her. And

when I tell,--" she faltered, with drooping head,--"they laugh, and call

me fool, and ask why I should hold myself too good to do as others have

done, and say our lady is not to be troubled with a thing such as this.

That is what they say, and they are worse than he. And I fear him! Oh, I

fear him!" She clenched her hands tightly across her breast and shivered

with closed eyes. "By day I go in dread lest he give command to seize

me; by night I start awake lest I see his face grinning in the dark,

even though for weeks at a time he will give me peace and make no sign.

When my service is done, I hide like a rat in its hole, wishing to be

seen by none. But he never forgets, and he never forgives, and I have

scorned him. Oh, I would to God that I were dead!"

"Art thou Christian?" Nicanor asked curiously.

"Ay," she answered, without spirit.

"Once I was at a Christian church," said Nicanor.

"Art thou of the faith?" she asked, quickly and eagerly.

"Not I," said Nicanor. "What good may it do a man? And if it doeth no

good, any faith will do to swear by. It hath not done thee much good,

this faith of thine, since it leaves thee in this pass."

"I trust it," she said quietly.

"Nay," said Nicanor, in all seriousness. "It is I whom thou must trust.

It is not thy faith will help thee here, but I, and the wit I have and

the strength I have, because I am the only one near thee. How then, if

it be I, can it be thy faith?"

"I trust it," she repeated vaguely, as though she did not quite

understand his meaning. He laughed shortly.

"I had rather trust myself. See now, if the door were opened, couldst

thou escape from here?"

"I have no money--nowhere to go," she answered.

Nicanor shook his head.

"Money I have not, but I could see that friends received thee."

She shrugged her shoulders, a gesture half resignation, half despair.

And with the movement, the elusive familiarity returned; the flickering

memory leaped to life. Black straight hair, framing a gray face and

burning eyes; a girl, a lean wisp of a thing, with chained wrists and a

ragged frock which only half concealed a long red welt on a brown

shoulder--he had seen them all before. The memory grew and would not be

denied; suddenly forced itself into words.

"Art thou she who was bought at Thorney of a slave-driver by one

Valerius, and claimed sanctuary of a Christian cross by the church of

Saint Peter?"

Her glance at him was startled.

"Yea; but how dost thou know of it?" she asked in turn.

"I saw thee sold," said Nicanor, and looked at her with new eyes. "When

Valerius pursued thee to the foot of the cross, I ran also. It was I who

went for the priest, and came back and found no one. Often since, I have

wondered what became of thee and the folk who had gathered." He laughed.

"But it made a good tale. More than once I have used it, and fitted to

it endings of mine own."

"While I lay grasping the cross, a man in the crowd cried out: 'Girl,

the priest cometh! Run thou quickly to him!' And I, being well-nigh

dazed with fear, had no better sense than to spring up, crying, 'Where?'

And no priest was there at all; but the instant my hands were off the

cross that man seized me and ran, and all the crowd ran after to see

what might happen next, some saying it was not just, and others finding

it rare good sport. At the river he thrust me into a boat and gave the

man money to row quickly; and since their sport was over, the people

went away. It did not take long." She looked at him with quickened

interest, and in her face also there was new thought.

"So--art thou, then, that teller of tales, whom men call Nicanor of the

silver tongue?"

Nicanor laughed again, but softly, all the hardness gone from his grim

face, his eyes shining oddly. Did they indeed call him that?

"I am Nicanor," he said. His quick ears caught a step approaching from

the inner rooms. "Some one comes!" he said warningly, and added, "It is

heavy; let me take it to the door."

He picked up the brazier and carried it to the door. Eldris followed,

her steps lagging.

"I will wait near until thy duty here is ended," he said in a rapid

undertone. "None shall touch thee this night, I promise thee. As for

to-morrow--well, to-morrow is to-morrow, and there is small use in

worrying to-day."

She flashed a glance of gratitude at him and took the brazier. It was

too heavy for her, but she staggered bravely with it across the

threshold, and the curtains fell behind her. Nicanor heard Nerissa's

sharp voice from within.

"Why so long, girl? Bring it quickly--thy lady's feet are chilled."

Nicanor lingered a moment, his eyes on the hidden entrance, and turned

and went out with his long and cat-like stride.

In the courtyard one ran against him in the darkness and cursed him

soundly. Nicanor, recognizing the ring of Hito's eloquence, halted and

waited for what might come. Hito, in his turn, recognized him, and

changed his tone.

"So, thou? In the dark I did not know thee. Didst find the girl?"

"Ay, I found her," Nicanor answered with indifference. "But she is on

duty to-night with our lady, and knows not when she can get away." He

gave a short laugh. "Truly, Hito--since this is not official!--I had

thought thee with an eye for woman-flesh as keen as the best. But

that!--At first I doubted mine own eyes, that thou hadst singled out

such an one for thy favor, when there be others whose better no man

could wish. What one can see in long sulky eyes, a gray face that never

smiles, hair like a mare's tail, a body gaunt and spare as a growing

boy's--I cannot say I admire thy taste. Thou, who art so keen a judge of

women's beauty, who can pick and choose from among the fairest--what

hath bewitched thee, man?"

"You do not know her!" Hito said sulkily, forced into a defence of his

choice. "A creature all fire and ice--well, I know she hath no beauty,

but--I'd not have thee believe it is because I am no judge. What do I

care for the girl? Bah!" He snapped his fingers in contempt. "But she

hath flouted me, defied me,--me, Hito, whose word could send her

stripped to the torment,--and by my father's head I'll break her for it!

When I approached her with soft words, these many weeks ago, she

laughed,--mind you that!--and it is dangerous to laugh at Hito. But she

will not laugh when I am through with her! Also she said that she would

prefer the rack. A pity that in this world people cannot always have

what they prefer. More than ever I desire her; I would break her, see

her cringe and follow like a beaten hound; and the more she fights me,

the more surely I shall win, and the more my victory shall cost her.

That is my way--the way of Hito!" He licked his thick lips.

"'And the lion said: "I find it rare good sport to hunt a mouse; it is

most noble game!"'" Nicanor quoted. His voice held a taunt.

"No insolence, sirrah!" Hito snarled, instantly suspicious of ridicule.

"Because I held speech with thee to-night, it does not follow that thou

art privileged to criticize!"

"If I am insolent, why choose me for your messenger?" Nicanor asked

boldly.

Hito slipped an arm about the slave's broad shoulders and patted him.

"Because thou art a man after mine own heart," he said smoothly.

"Because I love thee and thy bold eyes and thy dare-devil recklessness,

and would make a friend of thee. Why else? Now, then, to-morrow thou

shalt bring the girl to me. I am minded for an hour's sport with the

tiger-cat. My fingers itch for that lean throat of hers. After, I will

give her to thee if it please thee--and then we'll see what the rack

will leave of her beauty." His oily chuckle was diabolic.

"And our lady?" Nicanor suggested. "What will she say when she knows how

a handmaiden of hers hath been disposed of?"

"How will she know," Hito retorted, "when there be a dozen and odd to

take her place? A slave more or less is a small matter in this house."

His tone was significant. "So bring her to-morrow at the noon hour, my

friend. I think thou canst find a way! Till then, good-night. The gods

have thee in their keeping!"

"And thee!" Nicanor responded with a grin.

Hito was absorbed into the darkness. Nicanor spat upon the ground where

he had stood.

"Rather the gods smite thee with death and ruin!" he muttered. "Now to

wait for thy lady. How well he loves her, in truth!"

He took to pacing up and down the gallery before the storerooms, for the

night air was biting cold, noiseless, a blot of shadow in the darkness.

His thoughts wandered from the black-haired slave girl to her whom they

both served; to Marius; to his own plight. How long would it be before

it pleased Marius to speak and snap the jaws of the trap upon him? Why

did he hold his hand? Or had he perhaps already spoken? He knew that if

he were to escape at all, the sooner he made the attempt, the better.

His fingers went uncertainly to the collar at his throat. He could bribe

no one to cut it for him; to do it himself would be more than difficult,

even if he could steal the tools. He paused before a door that led into

deeper blackness. At the far end of that passage was another door

through which he must enter, where many another had entered before him,

and where he had seen too much of what went on within to expect less for

himself than had fallen to the lot of these. He shrugged his shoulders.

"Even a trapped rat may fight," he muttered, and turned to continue his

pacing. Then it was that he saw a light coming down the gallery, dancing

upon the wall; and a group of three approaching, revealed by a torch in

the hands of one. Wary as a buck which scents danger on every breeze, he

drew back into the space between two pillars to wait and watch. And he

saw that of the three, the middle one was Marcus, held fast and

struggling, and whimpering like a dog dragged to a beating.

In the first moment, Nicanor did not understand. Then it grew upon him

that this had something to do with him, and it might be well to find out

what. The three passed him and entered at that door before which Nicanor

had paused.

"So--they take him to the torture!" Nicanor muttered. "I think that I

shall see the end of this."

Lithe and noiseless as a cat he went after the three down the passage,

keeping well out of range of the flaring torch.

VI

But when he reached the door at the end of the passage, it was closed,

and he could only stand outside and listen. A lamp of pottery, burning

wanly on a stone shelf jutting from the wall, showed the door, low,

metal-bound, of tough black oak. He could see nothing, but his ears

caught fragments of sound at intervals from within; a clank of chains, a

scraping as of a heavy object dragged across the floor. He leaned

against the wall of the passage, the lamplight on his face, his figure

tense with expectation, his hands quite unconsciously hard clenched.

Without warning there rose from inside a frantic gibbering, meaningless,

bestial, horribly shrill. Nicanor smiled with narrowed eyes.

"Well for me I drew thy sting, old man!" he muttered.

The gibbering broke suddenly into a scream that rang for an instant and

stopped short, leaving blank silence. Nicanor's face sharpened and grew

pinched with eagerness; under scowling brows his eyes took on a strange

glitter like the eyes of an animal in the dark. He crouched closer to

the door, his body rigid with the strain of listening. Once more the cry

of pain rose, this time sustained and savage with despair; it choked

and gurgled horribly into silence; and rose again, more agonized, more

bitter.

"Perhaps he wishes now he had not entered that garden!" said Nicanor,

and laughed low in triumph. Every nerve was thrilling to the savage lust

of blood, half-lost instinct of old days when men lived and died by

blood, when the battle was to the strongest, and life was a victim's

forfeit. He longed to look through the iron-bound door, to see for

himself Marcus paying the price for his temerity. Strangely, he could

not bring himself to believe that Marcus was unable to betray him; it

seemed to him as though the man's fearful straining after speech must

have result of some sort. Even though he knew this idea to be absurd, he

found himself on edge with suspense.

The cries became long-drawn, agonized, unceasing. There is but one sound

in the world as bad as the sound of a man's screaming, and that other is

the scream of a wounded horse. Nicanor set his teeth.

"Now they are twisting the cord about his head.... And yet, though they

kill him, the poor fool cannot speak. I have well taken care of that, it

appears.... They have him on the stone table, and his hands are bound. I

can see it--oh, ay, I can see it well enough. I can see that he writhes

in torment; and his face--what would his face be? Purple, perhaps; and

the cord about his temples hath bitten through the flesh. There is blood

upon his face, and it takes four men to hold him. Body of me! Who would

have thought the old man to have such lungs!"

A smothered exclamation from the semi-darkness beside him sent his hand

leaping to the dagger concealed in his tunic. In the same instant he saw

that it was Eldris.

"Who is it?" she whispered fearfully. "Oh, why do they not kill him and

have it over! I heard as I was passing--I had to come!" She clasped her

hands over her ears and shuddered. Nicanor folded his arms across his

chest and leaned against the wall, looking down at her. When she lowered

her hands, he said:

"It may be that our lord hath not given command that he die."

"Who is it?" she repeated.

"Marcus," he answered, and saw her draw breath with a quick sob.

"Ah, poor old man! What hath he done to deserve this?"

"Rather it is because he will not--because he cannot do what they would

have him," said Nicanor. His words were reckless, still more his tone;

it was even as though he cared not enough about the matter to hide his

knowledge from her.

"Do you know what it is? Oh, if they would but kill him in very pity!"

She wrung her hands.

"Ay, I know," said Nicanor.

"Was it his fault?" she asked eagerly. He hesitated, his bold eyes on

her face.

"No," he said. "It was not his fault. He was in the right."

She turned on him in horror.

"You know him innocent, and yet you stand here idle while he is done to

death!" she cried. "Oh, go--go quickly and tell them he is not to blame!

Make them set him free!" She caught his arm and he felt her fingers

shake. "Are you a coward, that you will listen to his cries when a word

of yours could release him? I had not thought it of you--oh, I had not

thought it of you!"

"Suppose a word of mine should set me in his place?" said Nicanor

harshly. "Maybe I am coward; but calling me one will not make me one.

Suppose I were in his place; suppose that in my fall I carried others

with me,--others who at all costs must be shielded,--is it not better

that one should suffer than that our world should crash about our ears?

He is old and worthless--"

"And you are young and worthy to have his blood spilled for you!" she

taunted in a shaking voice. "I do not understand, it may be, but it

seems that this frail old man must suffer that you, so brave, so

powerful, whose life is of so great worth, may go unharmed. Why should

you be set in his place? Is the fault yours? If it be, and you seek

shelter behind his helplessness, you are lower than the cringing curs.

Are you afraid, O great and worthy one, to stand forth and confess your

wrong as any man would do?"

She stopped breathless. He looked at her with eyes hot and sullen.

"Now I should like to wring your neck for that!" he said. At the swift

ruthless savagery in his tone the girl shrank back. Nicanor saw and

laughed. "Since I may not, I'll take payment otherhow. As for the old

man, let him squeal as best likes him. If they break him on the wheel, I

shall go and tell them how to do it; if they boil him in oil, I shall go

and stir the gravy. Your opinion of the cringing cur should not go

unjustified."

The screaming died suddenly into moaning. Eldris covered her face with

her hands.

"Oh, but that is worse, if worse can be! Why does he not tell them he

knows nothing, has done nothing? Surely they would let him go! Is he

trying, perhaps, to shield you?" Her voice, under all its fear and pity,

was mocking.

"Not he! He would be glad to see me in his place," Nicanor retorted. He

laughed a little. "Strange, is it not, that he doth not tell?--since

thumb-screws and argolins soon find a man's limit."

She faced him, gathering all her courage.

"Now do I believe you know more of this than you will say!" she cried.

"Perhaps!" he said boldly. "It is not well to tell all one knows."

"Not even to save a fellow-creature's life! Oh, what are you--brute or

man? Man with the speech of angels--brute with the heart of hell!"

"Perhaps!" said Nicanor again. "Why should I tell you what I am?"

"Do you know, yourself?" she questioned.

His eyes hardened.

"Who can know himself?" he parried, with a shrug of his heavy shoulders.

"This much I know--that I am brute and man, slave and king. At times I

am lower than man, who can be lower than any crawling beast; at times I

am more than god, with all the world beneath me. Why? How should I

tell?"

"You, who sing of birds and butterflies, of flowers in Summer, of

sunshine and sweet love and the brightness of life!" she said bitterly

and with reproach. "Indeed, you are two men, and I know not either.

One, all men must hate and fear; the other--ah, the other is of the

silver tongue. Why should this be? I can tell no more than you--I can

but pray that that black beast may be tamed and stilled."

"I say I do not know!" Nicanor said sullenly. "And speak we of something

else. I am _one_ man, Nicanor, slave and teller of tales. That is all

with which you have concern. And I do not need praying over."

"Have you no gods?" she asked him, shocked. He looked rather blank at

her attack.

"Why, no," he said, and his voice held a faint tinge of surprise. "There

are no gods in the bogs and fens and on the hills where I tended sheep.

What gods with any sense would live in such parts as these? And I knew

no need of them. Why should I have learned? When my mother would tell me

of one God whom she worshipped, I would go and play. Is this your God?"

"Ay," she answered, without hesitation. "I think your mother, too, was

Christian."

"Maybe," Nicanor answered with indifference. "But he is not the God of

the mighty--of none but slaves and bondsmen and the humble, from all

that hath been told to me."

"Of those who are oppressed," she said softly. "Wilt let me tell thee of

Him? Of how He was born in a stable, with wise men journeying from the

East, bearing gifts of homage?"

Nicanor looked at her with a gleam of quickening interest.

"Why, that is a tale," he said. "Now I have never heard of this before.

Why was he born in a stable, and what gifts did those wise men bring?"

Within the room the sounds had died, leaving a heavy silence, and

neither noticed. For of old Death young Life is ever heedless; ever the

brazen fanfare of life's trumpets drowns the thin reed-plaint of death.

In the passage their voices whispered guiltily.

"Because His mother went to a place which was called Bethlehem, with

Joseph her husband, to pay the taxes, and there was no room at the inn,"

said Eldris, explaining. "And the angel of the Lord had told Joseph that

these things should be, and that he need not put away Mary as he was

minded to do." She knew the facts of the story she would tell him; give

it form and coherence she could not.

"Who was Mary?"

"The wife of Joseph."

"Why put her away?"

"Because the Child was to be born."

Nicanor drew his heavy eyebrows to a scowl of intense perplexity.

"Now why should he put her away for doing what all good wives should

do?"

"Because her child was the Son of God, and at first Joseph did not--"

"And not the son of Joseph!" cut in Nicanor. His voice became all at

once enlightened. "Now by my head, this is a quaint tale thou tellest!

So the God you Christians worship was a--"

"Oh!" cried Eldris; and the shock in her voice cut his words short.

"Never say it! You do not understand! It was a miracle!"

"A miracle--well, that is different," said Nicanor. "I have told tales

of miracles, for such things may be. And so--?"

"For it had been foretold that One should be born, of a pure virgin, who

should redeem the world and take upon Himself the sins and sorrows of

all men. So an angel told Mary that she was blessed among women--but I

think that she was frightened."

Nicanor nodded, as one in entire understanding. In place of the hard

glitter of his eyes had come a certain luminosity as though from inner

fires, an odd deep shining; his face was keen with a lively interest.

"And so--what happened then?" he questioned her, even as men, so many

times before, had questioned him.

"Yet she was glad, for that she was chosen to bring peace into the

world," recounted Eldris. "So they went into Bethlehem, and all the inns

were full. But Mary could go no farther, and they went into a stable,

where oxen and cattle were stalled. And there the Child was born; and

men say that a great star in the sky guided shepherds who fed their

flocks upon the moors to that stable where He lay. And it is told that

three Kings came out of the East, laden with perfumes and gifts for him

who was to be the Saviour of the world."

"Kings," Nicanor repeated, musing. "Then would they be clothed bravely,

with jewels and fine linen, and this would make good contrast with the

stable. Go on. What did they when they came into the stable?"

"They marvelled greatly that He whom they had journeyed to seek should

be but a new-born babe, and they bowed down and worshipped."

"Paid homage," said Nicanor, following out his own train of thought.

"Ay, it is a good tale, but as I have heard it, it lacketh

something--what? I must think of that. It hath no point, no pivot on

which to hang the whole. For, look you, a tale is built as any other

thing is built; it must have its parts balanced; it must have cause, and

meaning, and effect. This hath a beginning, but it leads nowhere,

without end."

"But it hath no end," said Eldris, not understanding. "And it can have

no end until the end of time. For it was but the beginning; and the

little Jesus that lay in the manger is He who liveth and reigneth above

all gods--"

"Now I care not for the little Jesus!" said Nicanor, gruff with

impatience. "It is the tale I would get at--the tale! Well, it will

come, as always it hath come before. On a night I will wake to find it

full-grown in my head and clamoring at my tongue. Now we will go, or

that fat lover of thine will be upon us."

Brought back to the present and its portents, Eldris bent her head,

listening.

"Why, the cries have ceased," she said.

"Ay, this long time past," said Nicanor carelessly. "How much, think

you, human flesh and blood can stand?"

"Is he dead?" she asked, startled.

"I hope so!" said Nicanor. "Nay then, I do not care, which is nearer

truth. If I do not fear a fangless serpent in the grass, why should I

fear him?"

There was sudden movement behind the door; before either could think of

flight it opened, showing the room within. A still figure on the raised

slab of stone, for centre of the picture, with two half-stripped

Africans beside it; three figures coming doorward: and these were

Eudemius, and Marius, and the physician Claudius. Eudemius, his face

pinched and gray, leaned tottering with weakness on the arms of the

other two; behind them walked a slave with a great peacock fan, and

another slave was waiting at the door. At once Nicanor clapped his

hardened hand over the thin flame of the lamp on the shelf, and the

passage where they stood was plunged in darkness. Before the three lords

had reached the threshold, he had drawn the girl out of sight behind one

of the squat pillars of the passage. Perhaps no harm would come to them,

even were they discovered; but he had reasons for wishing to take no

chances. The three passed by unheeding, Eudemius stumbling and cursing

because the passage was dark. When they had gone, Nicanor went into the

room, where the slaves were busy. Eldris stood hesitating on the

threshold, afraid to enter, unwilling to go.

"He is dead, is he?" Nicanor asked, and went and stood over the broken

body on the stone slab.

One of the Africans grinned, showing strong white teeth beneath his

yellow turban.

"Our lord was a devil to-night," he said. "The madness was on him, and

he would have blood. But look you; here is a strange thing." With

ungentle hands he forced open the dead jaws, not yet stiffened in the

rigor of death. "Now sure this be a miracle, for mine own ears heard him

speak but yesterday."

"So?" said Nicanor, with lifted brows. "Now I should have said a week

ago, or maybe two. Ay, if you heard him speak yesterday, it was sure a

miracle. Likely he hath done something displeasing to his gods."

The slaves carried the limp body away, and others came and resanded the

floors.

The chamber was circular, of rough blocks of stone, with two doors.

Opposite the one where Eldris stood was a raised dais where were two

chairs and a flaring cresset on a tall standard. Around the walls hung

instruments of war, of torture, and of the chase; chains with heavy

balls of iron attached; a stand of spears, and another of great bronze

swords, leaf-shaped and burnished. A collection of daggers hung upon the

walls, with the terrible short knives worn by the Saxons, each with the

two nicks in the blade which would leave a ragged and dreadful wound.

Here also were great six-foot bows, such as the Numidian archers used;

and suits of armor in corium and in bronze, with shields and

breastplates and crested helmets of brass and iron. Here was a narrow

bed, of wood and iron, with bolts and screws for tearing muscle from

muscle and joint from joint. Nicanor, with grim humor, had called this

the bridal bed, and the name would stick to it forever. And here, higher

than a man's height above the floor, was a leaden tank with a

water-cock, from which would fall water, drop by drop, hour by hour,

into a leaden basin with a drain-pipe sunk into the floor. Once Nicanor

had seen a man sit screaming there for untold hours, chained to a stone

bench, with water dripping, drop by drop, upon his shaven skull. He had

used this upon a day, in a tale he had told in the wine-shop of

Nicodemus; and men had shuddered and drawn back from him as from one

possessed of unholy powers. And Nicanor, looking at this now, and with

that terrible gift of his seeing himself chained and screaming in that

other's place, set his teeth and muttered:

"I shall leave this house this night."

But he did not, for he was but mortal, and subject, like other mortals,

to the decree of the goddess Fate.

For as the slaves went out of the other door with their buckets of sand,

Nicanor heard a cry from where the girl stood in the entrance to the

passage; a cry sharp and quick, as he had heard a rabbit squeal in the

trap. He wheeled and saw her shrinking inside the doorway, her hands

before her face, and over her Hito standing, his little pig's eyes

alight.

Now the girl was nothing to Nicanor; he could have cursed her roundly

for getting in his way and perplexing him with her troubles when he had

need of all his wit to save himself. He would have vented his

displeasure upon her as readily as upon Hito. He was not chivalrous; if

she had pleased his fancy he would quite surely have pursued her as

relentlessly as the steward. But he had said, "None shall touch thee

this night"; and he would maintain his word not because he wanted to,

but because he must.

"Keep your hands off her!" he said savagely, as Hito stooped. His hands

were clenched, his black brows lowering, his mood, plainly, was not to

be trifled with. That he should pay for his temerity he knew as well as

Hito; but since he was lost in any case, he considered that a little

more or less would make small difference.

"What have you to say about it?" Hito snarled. "Did I not send you for

the girl? Quartus! Sporus! Come back, ye knaves, and bind me this

fellow!"

But Nicanor, with a bound like a tiger cat's, flung himself on the door,

slammed it shut, and locked it. And he had need of all his quickness,

for he was playing fast and loose with death. Hito yelled and started

for the second door through which he had come and near which the girl

was crouching. But again Nicanor was too quick. He got between Hito and

the door and stood ready to shut it,--erect, defiant, every muscle tense

to spring. He would die, that was certain, but he would give somebody

trouble first. Now Hito was fat and scant of breath, and Hito was soft

with good living and much ease; and when he was cornered, he turned not

rat, but rabbit. Moreover, he had seen this lean devil of a slave in

action before and he remembered it. So he stopped and merely yelled

again for Quartus and Sporus.

Without taking his eyes off the overseer, Nicanor put out his hand and

pulled the girl to him.

"If you swoon, I shall kill you!" he muttered, stooping until he could

whisper in her ear. "Go to Thorney in the Fords, and find there

Nicodemus the One-Eyed, who keeps a wine-shop. Tell him I sent you. I

cannot hold our friend here for long, but it is all that I can do. You

know what it will mean to be caught and brought back." He raised his

voice somewhat, so that Hito should hear apparently without his meaning

it. "Go to your room and lock yourself in. We shall see what our lord

has to say to such doings!"

He held the door ajar, and pushed the girl through, and closed it, but

in the lock there was no key. Hito sneered.

"Clever lad! 'Go to your room and lock yourself in!' Hast thought what

will happen when she must come out? 'See what our lord has to say to

such doings!' Hast thought that what he will say will be through me?

What else didst tell the girl? Answer, son of an ill-famed mother, or

the rack shall question for me!"

Nicanor said nothing. His ears strained for approaching footsteps, but

the walls were thick, and many had cried for help before and none had

heard them. He had no plan; he had given the girl what chance he could,

and it was all that he could do. If she could not help herself--well,

there would be one more to cross the threshold of fate. His only thought

was to give her what time he could. Let her once get away from the

house, and over the frozen ground it would be hard to find her trail

until morning.

Hito took it in his head to make a dash. He started for the door,

shouting at the top of his lungs for help. Nicanor barred his passage,

silent and inexorable. He did not raise hand against Hito, but stood

like a rock against the fat one's futile pummellings. For to strike a

superior meant, for a slave, instant and lawful death. Hito would none

the less maintain that he had been struck, but Nicanor could not help

that. So that Hito battered until his fists were sore; and Nicanor stood

and took it silently, with set jaws and eyes gleaming like a wolf's in

his dark face. He could not hope to keep Hito there much longer. The

latter, wearied at length and puffing, sat on the edge of that grim

bridal bed and cursed Nicanor by all the evil gods. After this, when his

invention gave out, he fell silent and sat and stared at the tall

figure that guarded the door, with his little eyes half closed. But

quite suddenly those eyes flew wide with astonishment. For the figure

against the door had begun to sway from side to side, gently and

rhythmically, with a low mutter of incoherent words. Hito looked again,

somewhat startled. The slave's face was set and blank; his eyes stared

straight ahead and were dull and without lustre.

"The gods save us!" Hito muttered, watching uneasily. "Hath the man a

fit?"

"See them coming!" said Nicanor. His finger pointed here and there, and

in spite of himself, Hito's eyes followed it. "Bright maidens,

flower-crowned, robed in gauze. Ah, flee not, sweet ones!" He stretched

his hands imploringly. "Whence come ye, from the mist? See the mist, how

it rises, full of dreams which are to come to men. Are ye dreams, ye

radiant ones? No, for ye do not vanish. Ha! I have thee, lovely nymph!

and thou shalt find my arms as strong to hold as the gods' from whom

thou camest. Unveil thyself, sweet, and let me see thy face. It should

be fair, with so fair a form. So--thou thinkest to escape and fly from

me?"

He sprang forward, hands outstretched, almost upon Hito, who turned with

a yelp of alarm, and dodged. Nicanor started back as one in sudden

surprise.

"Ha, Julia, sweet friend!" he cried. "Who sent thee here to me, with thy

scarf of gold and pearl, thy raven locks and thy dewy lips, with bells

upon thine ankles, and a tambour in thy hand? See, our lord cometh! Let

us dance for him that perhaps we may find favor in his sight."

Standing in front of Hito he began to dance, his hands hanging limp at

his sides, his face utterly without expression. Hito gasped.

"What hath come to thee?" he quavered. "Fool--come to thy senses before

thou art flogged back to them."

"Dance with me, sweet maiden!" said Nicanor; and suddenly caught Hito's

fat and helpless hands in his lean brown ones and danced down the length

of the room with him. Perforce, since he could not struggle free, Hito

ran alongside, dragging back unwillingly, his face gray with fright. At

the end of the room Nicanor turned and danced back again, dragging his

captive.

"Dance, fair Julia, dance!" he cried; and in his gyrations brought

without warning his nail-spiked sandal down on Hito's foot. Hito

bellowed and danced upon one foot with pain, and once dancing, found

that he could not stop.

"Let me go!" he panted, furious. "Slave--thou madman--let me go, I say!

I do not wish to dance--I will not dance!"

"Not when our lord commands it?" cried Nicanor, breathing hard himself.

"Why, then, I do not wish to dance either. But since he saith 'Dance,'

dance I must, and so must thou, sweet girl!"

"I am no girl!" shrieked Hito, haled off down the room again. "I am

Hito, and I command that you stop!"

"Now why give me lies like that?" said Nicanor. "Have I not eyes which

have long hungered for thy beauty? Do I not know thee, Julia the dancing

girl?"

"Thou art mad in very truth! Good Nicanor--sweet Nicanor--let me go, and

I'll swear to keep between us this tale of thy doings!"

Nicanor answered nothing. Always his face was blank, but his grip on

Hito's wrists was iron. Up and down the room he went, leaping, dancing;

and up and down went Hito after him, struggling, sobbing for breath, his

unwieldy bulk trembling with fright and weariness. When his steps

slackened, through sheer inability to keep up, Nicanor, with a bound

forward, dragged him after, so that, to save himself from falling on his

face, he bounded also, on his fat legs, with explosive grunts of

breathlessness.

Without warning Nicanor increased his speed and danced faster. He also

was panting hard, the strain of towing two hundred odd pounds of

unwilling flesh being great. His arms and shoulders shone with sweat; on

his forehead his hair was plastered and damp.

"Julia, Julia," he cried, "I pray you stop! I can dance no more. Thou

art trained to this work, but I--I faint with weariness. Though our lord

flay me, I can dance no more!"--and danced the faster.

"Stop! I stop!" gasped Hito, purple in the face. "_Deae matres!_ Am I

not trying to stop? Stop thyself, or I die! I am exhausted--I have no

breath--have a little pity--Oh, nay, nay, I did not mean it! It is as

thou sayest, of course! I--was wrong--to thwart thee! I will do whatever

thou sayest, if thou wilt let me go! I--I do not think our lord--likes

to see--such rapid motion. It maketh his head to swim. I, Julia, pray

thee, not--quite--so fast!"

He lurched and nearly fell, and Nicanor jerked him up again. There was

the noise of a door being opened. Nicanor knew it must be the door

leading to the passage, since the other was locked. He dropped Hito, who

crumpled into an abject heap upon the floor, past speech or motion, and

went on dancing by himself. From the tail of his eye he saw Wardo the

Saxon and Quartus enter and stand gaping, dumb with amazement. Hito

shook his fist at them from the floor and stuttered. When breath enough

had entered into him, he screamed at them.

"Bind me this madman! He hath a devil in him. Hold him, I say, until I

can speak!"

"Why, he's mad!" said Wardo, staring in awe at Nicanor, who,

expressionless, danced invincibly.

"Thou sayest!" Quartus agreed, and stared also. "What hath seized him?

Here, lad, what means all this? Stop thy prancing and say what thou hast

done to our lord Hito, here."

But Nicanor answered nothing, and danced.

"Chain him!" wheezed Hito. "Stop him, or I shall go mad, also, with

looking at him! I'll have him strung by the thumbs for this!"

And so it had been done, instantly, madness or no madness, since Hito's

word was law, and Hito was very wrathful, but that interruption came

from a quarter least expected. A tall figure blocked the open doorway,

and a deep voice said:

"What is the meaning of all this?"

Every slave knew it for the voice of their lord's guest, and every slave

wheeled and crossed his arms before his face, and wondered what their

lord's guest should be doing there,--every slave except Nicanor, who

still danced doggedly. It would have needed a quick eye to see that his

step had faltered, if never so slightly.

"This fellow hath a devil, lord!" said Hito, with an effort at

coherency. "Me he did force to dance until I am no better than dead. He

called me Julia and made me to dance with him so that my life fainted in

me. He is mad--most mad--and I will have him strung--"

Marius looked at Nicanor, and in his face was recognition and a

merciless triumph. He broke Hito's speech midway.

"Who is this fellow?"

"Lord, he is called Nicanor," said Hito. "And he is mad--"

Again Marius's face changed, back to its former haughty calm, in which

was mingled a certain satisfaction.

"So--Nicanor, is it? I have seen men seized this way before." He spoke

to Hito, but his eyes were on Nicanor. "Most commonly it is the effect

of over-severe discipline, but it may be that there are other causes.

Then if he is mad, friend Hito, it might be better not to slay him lest

the gods take vengeance for him upon you. Were it not best to take him

to the dungeons? So, you may see how long this madness of his will last;

and when it is past will be the time to punish." His tone assumed sudden

authority. "Look to it that you harm him in no manner, but hold him fast

where you may deliver him at your lord's word. It will be your life for

his life--remember that."

He gathered his cloak about him and strode away, and the three looked

after him with wonder in their faces. Hito was first to voice it.

"Our lives for his life, is it?" he grunted. "So, master slave, you

would be important, it seems. What have you done now, that our lord's

favorite should give such orders for you? You'll not cheat me for

long--promise you that! A little while and he'll forget you; so my turn

will come. Quartus, put the chains upon him and take him to the cells."

"Please you, we are told to harm him in no manner," Wardo ventured.

Nicanor had done many a good turn to the fair-haired Saxon, as one

comrade to another, and Wardo was not one to forget it. "Were he in

chains, he would soon fret himself into worse raving, and likely do

himself harm."

"Bring him without, then!" said Hito. The two seized Nicanor, and Wardo

winked at him behind Hito's back, as the latter got painfully to his

feet. Nicanor submitted, sullenly. He, who had trusted to no man save

himself, was forced to pin what faith he might to the hint of succor

that lay in Wardo's wink. And this was but a frail straw to trust.

They took him along a side passage behind the storerooms, down damp and

slippery steps to the depths of the cellars. Here were the dungeons,

half of masonry, half of living rock, whose walls glistened with slime

where the torchlight fell upon them. They thrust him into the smallest

of the cells, and left him.

The light of their torch was shut out with the slamming of the iron

door; and darkness, dense and tangible, fell upon him in a reeking pall.

Nicanor spoke aloud, with a laugh that jarred on the heavy stillness.

"When friend Hito gains wind enough after his gambollings to remember

that lean lady of his, she should be far enough away to snap her fingers

at him. So, the rat is trapped at last. Now to see whether he can fight

or no; for if he cannot, he'll have no chance to try again."

Then silence fell; and other rats, boldened by the darkness, began to

come forth to peer at the intruder in their midst.

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THE LORD'S DAUGHTER AND THE ONE WHO WENT IN CHAINS

BOOK IV

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Book IV

THE LORD'S DAUGHTER AND THE ONE WHO WENT IN CHAINS

I

Marius rejoined Eudemius in his library.

"I have given command to have the slave Nicanor sent to the cells," he

said. "It was he, as I have just found, of whom the Lady Varia spoke in

the early evening. When we left the torture chamber, it is now two hours

ago, I saw him in the passage outside, with another, a woman, I think.

He put out the lamp in the passage, but I saw him first. It is as well

to catch our bird before he flies, as without doubt he will now try to

do, finding himself discovered, and keep him safely nested until we want

him. He is a surly brute, but I know a way to get what we want out of

him."

"And that is?" said Eudemius.

"Salt food and no water," said Marius curtly. "I have tried it before,

in camp. We will let him recover from this so-called madness, first. But

you said you would speak with me. I am at your command."

Eudemius shook his head.

"Not to-night," he said. "I am over tired, and it grows late. To-morrow,

perhaps. Did the Africans tell me that the old man Marcus is dead?"

"They did," Marius answered, somewhat surprised at the question.

"Undoubtedly he was mad, for never did I see such actions in a sane

man."

"And you believe that the gods will take vengeance on me for having

brought to pass the death of such a haunted one?" Eudemius asked

unexpectedly.

Marius shrugged.

"I did not say that," he answered. "Maybe they will, maybe not. If you

believe that they will, it is probable that they will do so."

Eudemius laughed. As quickly he became grave once more.

"I had not meant to kill him! I was fond of him--I was even going to

give him gold and have put upon him the pileus of a freedman, for he

hath served me well. He had belonged to Constantia, my wife. Perhaps it

was I who was mad to-night. Sometimes I have thought--I must ask

Claudius if there is prospect of that--" He broke off. "Pardon! I

forgot, and thought aloud. To-morrow I shall be myself, but to-night I

am shaken. If you will excuse me, I shall leave you. The house is at

your service, if you do not choose to retire yet. Summon Mycon--he shall

fill Marcus's place--and give what commands you will."

"I think that I shall follow your example," Marius said, and stifled a

yawn, "if you will tell me how to reach my rooms from here through these

labyrinthine passages of yours. This part of the house I do not know

well."

Eudemius looked at him in silence a moment, so that Marius thought he

had not heard his question. He was about to repeat it, when Eudemius

said:

"From this door go to your left, until you come to the gallery which

runs along the northern, not the southern, end of the large court. Go

down this to your right, and you will reach your own apartments. Vale!"

Marius took his leave, wishing his host good rest. He strolled through

halls on which looked numberless rooms, furnished richly, warm and

silent, waiting for the guests who never came. Not a servant was in

sight; the silence of midnight wrapped the place in slumber. Lamps,

swinging from tall standards or from the ceilings, shed a mellow light

around; his feet pressed rich woven rugs which hid the mosaic pavements

beneath. Around him was a golden perfumed stillness. He went more

slowly, steeping his senses in the aroma of luxury.

"How a man might welcome his friends to such a house as this!" he

muttered. "I can see them here around me--Fabian, Julius, Volux, all the

rest. Ye gods, how the walls would echo! Now it all lies fallow, its

wealth unknown, its treasures unseen. It should be used--ay, used to the

very top notch of its value. Where is the use of paintings, marbles,

rugs, halls, gardens, wealth such as this, with none to enjoy them all,

save a dying man and a fair-faced fool?" His thin lips tightened. The

seed Eudemius had planted was springing to lusty growth. "And they are

mine, all mine, for the taking. By the soul of my mother, I will take

them! I shall give feasts here such as Lucullus might have envied; I can

win what legion and what station I will; whatever fields Rome hath left

unconquered, I shall conquer for her. From the field I can reach the

forum, with a name which without wealth I could never gain. The times

are changing; it is time that men changed with them."

The words died upon his lips. He had reached a glass door, leading into

the small room formed by the angle of the north and east galleries which

flanked the court. This room, screened like the gallery, by glass walls

from the outer air, was filled with plants, answering in some sort to a

conservatory. Such rooms, used for different purposes and varied as to

furnishing, were at all the angles of the galleries. Marius, looking

through the half-open door, thought that the place seemed unfamiliar,

and began to fear he had taken the wrong way. Yet he had followed

closely the directions of Eudemius. He was about to turn back when his

eye fell on some one asleep close by the window which overlooked the

court.

"My lady herself, in very fact. This will be the second time I have

waked her. Without doubt, Fate hath willed it so. What may she be doing

here at this hour, without her women? Watched to see some one enter the

court, perhaps, and dropped asleep. To see whom? Did she know, by

chance, that I must pass this way from her father's rooms?"

He opened the door softly and entered. But the slight noise aroused

Varia. She sat up, rubbing her eyes.

"Is it not late for such solitary communing, sweet friend?" Marius

asked, approaching. He saw that she was in a plain robe of sheerest

white, ungirdled; that her hair fell loose, undecked with jewels, that

her feet were bare. "Perhaps you wait for some one?"

She sat on the edge of the couch, her hands clasped in her lap,

betraying no smallest consciousness of the unconventionality of her

appearance. Her white feet against the deep crimson of the rug held his

eyes.

"Oh, no!" she said sweetly. "Besides, if I did, should I tell you?"

He found himself again in the attitude of treating her as a child; felt

again his baffled perplexity at her glance, veiled and sidelong, which

was not a child's glance.

He bent toward her. The time had come to crown his schemes of high

ambition, and the gods had thrown opportunity in his way.

"Was it for me you waited?" he asked boldly. He was prepared for

indignation, repulsion, anything except what followed. She dropped her

eyes, leaning a trifle away from him.

"And--if it were?" she murmured. He stared an instant, and seized his

chance.

"I should thank the gods and you, sweet one, and do my best to show

appreciation," he said; and sat down on the couch beside her.

"But it was not!" she cried hastily, and moved farther away. In spite of

himself Marius's lips twitched to a smile. As she retreated, he

advanced.

"No? But it was I who came!" he said, his keen eyes on her. But her look

did not falter. "You waited because the gods willed that I should come

to you," he said, speaking rapidly, since she showed signs of

nervousness. "And I have come, to plead my love, and to ask yours in

return. Once before were we interrupted when I tried to speak; now the

chance is mine at last. You shall anoint my door with wolf's fat and

rule at my hearth as wife. Your father wishes it--he would be glad to

see our love blossom into flower. Say, wilt thou love me, sweet?"

But Varia sprang to her feet, clasping her hands over her ears.

"Love--love!" she cried fretfully. "Nay, I have had enough of love!"

Marius laughed aloud.

"So, thou strange beauty? Maybe, but I have not. And I think there is

still something left for thee to learn. Dost remember a game I was to

teach thee once--a game which two can play?"

She interrupted him, standing poised as though for flight, her head on

one side, a smile touching her crimson lips, her veiled eyes glancing

sidewise into his.

"Nay--I remember?" she said with a rippling laugh. "Why now, how should

I remember, my lord? Am I not a fool?"

His glance was somewhat taken aback.

"Fool or not, I love thee, pretty witch, and thou shalt be my wife."

She shook her head, and the laughter died from her face, leaving it

startled.

"Thy wife? Wife to thee? Oh, no! I cannot be that!"

"Oh, yes! Thou canst and must and shalt be that! I'll not let thee go so

lightly!" He advanced upon her, but she stretched out a white naked arm

to full length, a finger pointing at him, and he stopped. Just why, he

did not pause to think.

"Nay, my lord!" she said, and her voice took on the haunting tones

which had so perplexed her father. "That I am not as other girls I know

right well. Why, then, should my lord desire me for wife? Thou dost not

love me. Were I thy wife, I must love thee, and I do not wish to love

thee. I could say,--what are the words?--always and ever they are

ringing in my heart,--'Where thou art, Caius, there am I, Caia,' with my

lips as well as with my heart, but not to thee--oh, not to thee!" She

flung out her arms with a gesture of sudden wild abandonment, and

clasped them over her eyes. Her voice broke in a storm of tears.

"Now--woe is me!--all I can say is 'Where art thou, Caius?' I have

waited so long--so long!"

"But he is here at last," said Marius, and took her hand.

She wept softly, with hanging head, making no effort to get away.

"I will pray my lord father that he force me not to become wife to

thee!"

"Thy lord father gives command that thou shalt become wife to Marius

since he desires thee, and to no other man!" said Eudemius's voice

behind them. Marius wheeled, as Varia gave a startled cry and wrenched

her hand free. Eudemius came into the room, his face changed as no

living soul had seen it changed until then.

"I feared that thou hadst not taken the right way back," he said to

Marius, and there was a shade of significance in his tone. "Therefore--I

came to see."

"Father, say I need not be wife to him!" cried Varia, bold in her

terror.

"Why not?" Eudemius asked harshly. "What reason lies behind thy

refusal?"

"I do not know!" she stammered. "I know only that I would not wed with

him. I love him not--"

"Love! what hath love to do with it? And what know you of love, little

fool?" said Eudemius, with impatience.

Varia started forward, catching desperately at the straw.

"Thou hast said it!" she cried stormily. "I am fool--fool--fool--fit

wife for no man! Who wants to wed a fool?"

"Be silent! I'll teach thee--" Eudemius exclaimed, but Marius

interposed.

"Pray thee--father--leave the taming of this wild bird to me!" he said,

and emphasized the word, and watched. He had judged subtly. Eudemius

turned to him, his hands out, his stern face broken up and working. He

patted Marius's shoulders with shaking hands, and leaned forward and

kissed him on the forehead.

"My son--oh, my son, my son!" he cried.

But Varia, unnoticed of either, cast herself upon the couch and wept,

her face hidden in its silken cushions.

Livinius came from his sickroom and joined them in a week, and was told

the news. From his face it was apparent that he was pleased, and that in

spite of all his words, the match would be very well to his liking. But

when he got Marius alone, which was difficult, since Eudemius would

scarce let his prospective son-in-law out of his sight, he spoke to him

with all seriousness.

"It will be a great thing for thee, my son; thou canst carve out for

thyself what career thou wilt. I am pleased; thou art pleased;

Eudemius--why, for Eudemius, he is a changed man utterly."

"Truly, he is," Marius agreed. "Who could dream that behind that iron

mask of his there dwelt such affection, such store of human kindness?"

"All for thee, lad," said Livinius. His tone, with all its pride, held a

tinge of sadness. "It brings the water to my eyes to watch the new

nature struggling in him with the old. He hath pinned all his faith and

hope to thee. Be thou worthy of the trust."

"Ay, so I will," said Marius readily. He shook himself with a quick

breath. "And the task will be no easy one, father mine. I do not feel

myself at all a cuckoo stealing into a nest ready feathered. What I get

I shall pay for, in degree, if not in kind. There will be three men's

work in handling this estate."

"And the one who is most nearly touched in this?" said Livinius. "She

whose poor little hands are weighted with the gold of which she knows

nothing, whose child's head is filled with dreams in which thou hast no

part?"

"Oh, Varia?" said his son. "I suppose it is no worse for her than for

other women. She shall have all that I can give to content her. Father,

it is a strange thing about that child. When I am away from her, I will

own that her memory doth not linger over long with me. But when I am

with her, she bewitches me. I know not what else to call it. Always I am

trying to probe her; always I find myself foiled and baffled when I

think that I have found the clew to her mystery. If ever she should

waken from this state of hers.... At present she is angry, and I have

not seen her for two days. That may be, but she forgets that soon it

will not be for her to say whether I shall see her or whether not."

His lips tightened; in his dark eyes a yellow spark flashed and died.

Livinius glanced at him, smiled, and held his peace.

It was even as Livinius had said. Eudemius was, if not a changed man, at

least a changing one. Sombre his face would always be; Fate had bitten

too deep for the scars ever to be smoothed away. But with the haunting

fear removed that his name and fortune should fall into unworthy hands,

he seemed to have shaken off ten years of nightmare trouble. His voice

began to lose its bitter harshness; for the first time his slaves no

longer trembled at his glance. His attitude toward Marius was

curious--also, in view of his nature, touching. On Marius he lavished

all the pride and tenderness of an adoring father to his son, and of

both there was more than anyone had guessed. He worshipped Marius

openly, gloried in him exultingly, and was fiercely and suppressedly

jealous of Livinius's prior right. He hung on Marius's every word;

shared his sports and hunting; tried to regain a moment of his lost

youth that he might be a comrade as well as a father. At times a strange

mood took him, when he, Eudemius the proud, became humbly grateful that

Marius should be willing to mate with the ill-starred daughter of his

house. In general they accepted each other on terms of complete

equality. Each was receiving and conferring a favor; there was no debt

on either side.

Marius found himself not in the least embarrassed by his superfluity of

parents. He adjusted himself to the circumstances with tact and a

sympathetic consideration which would scarcely have been expected of

him. He managed the two fathers with consummate skill, divided his

attentions honorably between them, and played the role of demigod to

perfection. When Livinius and Eudemius were together, he was

circumspect, careful lest he arouse parental jealousy on either side;

but when he and Eudemius were alone, he cast aside restraint and called

him "father" to Eudemius's heart's content. More and more the two came

to lean on the ready strength of him; since it is the law of life that

the old, for all their wisdom and the experience of their years, shall

inevitably come to look for support and guidance to the young, who enter

the lists unproven in all but strength.

Six months at least must elapse before Marius could lawfully claim what

was already his in fullest measure. There were endless settlements to be

made, for Eudemius was determined that nothing should be left undone

which would assure the maintenance of his name and fortune. Marius's

heirs must take the name, even as he himself must do; the gold and lands

must be protected so far as human means might devise. Eudemius had

lawyers from the famous law-school at Eboracum, and spent long hours in

his library, poring over deeds and instruments. There must be an exact

accounting of his estates in Britain and in Rome; houses, lands,

personal effects, and slaves. Also, since an imperial alliance could

have been effected with scarcely greater pomp and circumstance than

Eudemius planned, six months was the shortest time in which the

festivities could be arranged.

"While I live," said Eudemius, in one of their daily talks together, "I

shall retain nominal control as head of the family. When you write _Diis

manibus_ over me, every denarius will belong to you and the heirs of

your body forever. But should the gods of the shades claim me before you

are legally my inheritor, all will revert to our lord the emperor as

guardian of the girl, to be parcelled out among his minions, and there

will be left nothing. Therefore my haste."

With this, Marius had entire sympathy. He also welcomed the speed with

which the business was being put through. If Eudemius had changed,

Marius was changing also. For no man can look on power well-nigh as

limitless as any man below a sovereign may wield, knowing that power

between his own hands for good or ill, and not become either a despot or

a chastened man. And there comes a moment in the transition when it is

doubtful which role will fit. Marius, in the natural course of events,

had reached this stage. He was sobered at the prospect opening before

him; withal his ambition was mounting by leaps and bounds. There seemed

nothing which he could not do. He thrilled at the contemplation of the

position which would be his; for he was human and Roman, and power, and

still more power, was as the breath of life to his nostrils. And he

thrilled again at the absolute confidence placed in his integrity by

Eudemius; for he was honorable, and that his honor should remain

untarnished as his sword was the only law to which he owned. But since

this would generally serve all other purposes, it sufficed.

II

Over the marshes twilight was falling. The sun had set; the western sky

was tinged with cold pale lemon; further, where the color faded into the

dusky dome of night, hung a wan evening star. The land was snow-bound

and desolate as far as the eye could see. The marsh-ford was glazed with

a thin sheet of ice, through which, by the banks, clumps of black frozen

reeds protruded. Through this ice, much broken by wheels, dark shallow

water showed. On the other side of Thorney the river flowed sluggish and

sullen, ice-bound along its banks. Midstream, making slow way to the

island, a round clumsy coracle, such as were used by fishermen, was

paddling, the only vessel abroad. In it sat two persons, the boatman and

Eldris. She sat huddled forlornly in the coracle's bottom, shivering in

her long black cloak.

Two carts creaked from the high-road down to the marsh-ford on the

northern side of the island, and labored through, their drivers muffled

to the eyes in cloaks with heavy hoods drawn close around their faces.

On the island itself men appeared at intervals in the alleys between the

houses. There were few camp-fires on the beach, showing that those who

had come had nearly all found shelter within the houses. The air was

keenly cold and very still, so that sounds carried clearly; but,

unaccountably, there were few sounds. At this, the busiest time of the

day, Thorney seemed strangely silent.

The coracle grounded gently on the beach, almost at the moment that the

carts entered the ford on the opposite side of the island. Eldris

stepped ashore, gave a bit of money to the boatman, who spat on it and

cursed. She asked faintly:

"Canst tell me, friend, where might be the wine-shop of one Nicodemus?"

But the man, plainly considering that he had given good measure for the

wage he had received, was surly.

"Near the end of this street that runs straight back from the beach to

the other side," he answered briefly, and heaved his boat of bull's hide

and wicker to his back, and went off, waiting for no further

questioning. Eldris looked after him in half resentful reproach, and

started up the street which cut across the island from ford to ford,

walking slowly like one faint and weary from long continued exertion. In

all the length of the street she saw no one who might direct her to the

wine-shop. It was deserted, save for stray prowling dogs that nosed and

shivered among heaps of refuse. Lights showed through chinks from behind

closed doors of houses; there was a smell of cooking in the air; at

times a low-pitched growl of talk or muffled boisterous laughter reached

her.

Dusk was deepening fast and the cold was bitter. Eldris stumbled on

toward the end of the street, her eyes searching the houses on either

hand. When but three remained between her and the open strip of beach on

the marsh side, she paused irresolute. One was a low and vulgar place,

its door fast closed, no light to be seen about it. The second was a

half burnt ruin, where cattle had been stalled. The third seemed of

somewhat better class. It presented a blank wall to the street, broken

only by a low and narrow door with a wicket, betraying nothing. Eldris,

still hesitating, saw two carts, growing out of the gloom ahead, coming

toward her. She heard the thud of the horses' feet on the frozen ground,

the creak of wheels and straps, finally the voices of the drivers.

"Surely they will know this Nicodemus," she said, and started forward to

hail them, when a word of one carter, shouted back to the other, a few

yards to the rear, transfixed her where she stood and sent her shivering

with fright as well as cold.

"Quicker, man, or we'll get no bed this night. Hito will have something

to say to us for the hours we've been away, I'm thinking."

Swift terror seized on Eldris at the word. That there might be two Hitos

in the country she never stopped to think. These were Eudemius's men; if

they saw her, they would report to Hito at the house; she would be

searched for, overtaken, and suffer the fate of captured runaway slaves.

In a panic she fled back to the blank-walled house and beat upon the

door.

Instantly it was opened. In her excitement she had time for no surprise

at this, no feeling but relief that no time was lost. As the carters

drew abreast of the door, she slipped within and slammed it shut.

"Well!" said the one who had opened. "What are you trying to do?"

"Pardon!" Eldris stammered. "There were men passing--"

At her voice the woman looked at her keenly.

"Girl, you are frozen with cold! This is no night for you to be abroad."

"I could not help it!" said Eldris with chattering teeth. Her voice

failed her with her strength; before she had time to so much as see the

woman's face all things grew dark before her eyes. The woman caught her

as she fell.

She awoke to life again with burning pains in her face and head, and

found two women bending over her. One held a bowl, from which the other

was rubbing Eldris's face with snow. Both were young; both were tawdrily

dressed, with many strings of beads and rings on neck and fingers.

Eldris, looking at them, raised her head, and asked the first question

that came into her head.

"Where am I?"

The woman with the bowl smiled a little. She was a fair-haired creature,

with eyes of Saxon blue, with hollow cheeks and scarlet lips.

"Do you not know the house of Chloris?" she asked.

Eldris shook her head. Her eyes asked a question which her lips had not

strength to utter. The second woman spoke; a dark-haired beauty, she,

with a profile of purest Grecian outline.

"Cease thy chatter, Sada! Canst not see the girl is dead with cold and

hunger? Leave me the bowl and go get food and wine."

Sada put down the bowl and ran out of the room.

"Your face was frozen," said the Greek. "It is well that you found help

in time."

"You are good," Eldris murmured with stiff lips. She was dropping to

sleep again through sheer exhaustion in spite of pain, when Sada

returned with a tray which held a bowl, smoking hot, an ampulla of wine,

and a cheap brass cup. Between them the women roused Eldris and fed her

carefully. As her strength began to return, she looked about her with

quickening interest. But the room told her nothing. It was small and

bare, furnished with but the bed on which she lay, a copper brazier of

charcoal, and a couple of wooden stools. The women, over her head,

talked in low voices.

"She will sleep to-night, and to-morrow our mistress will see her," said

Sada. "Where didst find her, Eunice?"

"At the door," the Greek answered. "I was stationed there to let in you

know who, and heard a knock. So this girl entered, crying out that men

were after her, so far as I could understand, and slammed the door

before I could say her nay. You told Chloris of her, then?"

Sada nodded and laid a finger on her lips.

"She sleeps," she whispered. "Let us go."

But Eldris opened heavy eyes with effort.

"Pray you tell me where is the wine-shop of Nicodemus!" she murmured,

husky with drowsiness. "It is there that I must go and wait--"

The tall Greek Eunice laid a hand on her aching head.

"Sleep now," she said. "To-morrow will be time enough to know."

And Eldris slept, as lost to the world behind the dead blank wall as

Nicanor in his dungeon cell.

It seemed to her, in her sleep, that she lay with body dead but soul

alive and conscious. She dreamed confusedly, strange formless dreams, in

which women dark and fair, Hito, Nicanor, and herself were involved

inextricably. She dreamed of stealthy whisperings behind closed doors,

of laughing faces which looked down upon her as she lay with body dead

and soul conscious. With awakening came remembrance and a thrill of

apprehension. She lifted herself on an elbow and saw the Saxon girl Sada

sitting on the floor, regarding her steadfastly.

"Have I slept long?" Eldris asked.

"It is evening again," said Sada.

"Then I must go at once!" Eldris exclaimed. She got out of bed,

tottering a little, and shivering in the chilly air of the room. "If

thanks be any payment for what you have done for me, you have all of

mine. They are all I have to give."

Sada answered nothing. She helped Eldris to dress, combed her hair, and

brought her food. Then Eldris, in a fever to be at her journey's end and

know what was in store for her, said again:

"Pray you tell me where is the wine-shop of Nicodemus"--and thought the

other smiled. But Sada, instead of answering, said only:

"Before you go, our mistress would hold speech with you."

"Your mistress? Are you, then, slaves?" Eldris ventured.

A strange look crossed Sada's face.

"Ay," she answered. "Slaves, who shall die in bondage."

She led Eldris from the room across a small and ill-paved court to

another door.

"You will find her here," she said, and pushed Eldris gently across the

threshold.

The room was lighted by many lamps, some of pottery of the cheapest

sort, others of wrought bronze, and was filled with a strange and subtle

perfume. There was a confusion of furniture, and the walls were hung

with curtains, which gave the place a bizarre and Eastern look. So much

Eldris took in with her first step forward. Then she saw a figure seated

upon a mattress on the floor, a fat and shapeless figure, bunched in

many garments. Atop of the fat figure was a fat face, with thin hair

whose natural gray showed through its ruddy dye, with flabby painted

cheeks, and heavy-lidded eyes darkened beneath with antimony. A Greek

might have called it the face of a Greek, and looked again to make sure;

a Roman might have called it the face of a Roman. In it one seemed to

catch a hint, mysterious and elusive, of all ages and all nations. Once

it had been a fine face; even, in a time long past, it had been touched

with beauty. Now it was at once a relic and a monument. The substance

was the same, but transmuted into coarser mould. Where had been soft

blue tracings were red and angry veins; where had been gracious

roundness was gross fleshiness. Only the brow, God-made, the only

feature which may be neither made nor marred by human means, remained

the same, broad and white, and smooth as marble.

The woman sat perfectly motionless, looking at nothing. On her fat

hands, which rested on her knees, were rings set with blazing stones; on

every finger a ring, and on every ring a slender chain which led back

over the hand to a heavy wristlet of gold in which a great ruby burned.

Her garments were held by fibulae of iron and bone, cheaply made; around

her neck were many strings of beads, some of carved jet, some of silver,

some of colored glass. In her grotesqueness and impassivity she might

have posed as a graven goddess of some unholy rite. In the sight of her,

also, was something so unexpected that Eldris stopped and stared.

"Will you close that door?" said the woman. Her voice was low-pitched

and clear and very sweet, with no hint of coarseness in its modulations.

Coming from such a bulk it was surprising--more, it was startling.

Eldris obeyed, taken wholly aback. "Now come hither."

Eldris came.

The woman's heavy-lidded eyes settled on her as a vulture settles on its

prey, devouring her, line by line, feature by feature, until, to her

surprise and discomfort, Eldris felt herself flushing as though she had

been under the eyes of a man.

"Whence come you?" said the soft voice; so commonplace a question and so

casually asked, that Eldris was nearly betrayed into indiscretion. She

caught herself and said instead:

"From Londinium."

"And you are--" The woman looked her over again. "Perhaps a dancer, or

maybe a mime, running away because your master misused you?"

"A dancer--yes, that is it," said Eldris, catching at the invention.

"And my master misused me, and I ran away. Now I seek the wine-shop--"

The woman laughed, a silvery tinkle of mirth.

"Child, spare your conscience!" she said lightly. "See, let me tell you

how it lies with you. Whence come you? From a great house to the

southward, where one Hito rules with a rod of fear. What are you? A

slave, my dear, and a runaway, with your life, in consequence, forfeit

and lying this moment in my hand. Some one helped you to get away, and

bade you wait for him at the wine-shop of this master Nicodemus, for

whom you clamor. How dare you put me and mine in jeopardy, girl, by

thrusting yourself upon us? Know you not the penalty visited on those

who harbor fugitive slaves?"

Eldris started back from her, gray and pinched with fear. How did the

woman know? Who had told her? Eldris could not guess; knew nothing but

that her life indeed lay in the fat jewelled hands resting on the

woman's knees.

But the latter's tone changed. Perhaps there was in her something of the

feline; the instinct of the cat to gambol with its prey. She laughed

again.

"Nay, child!" she said gently. "I did but sport with thee. And I am

sorry, poor hunted rabbit. Never fear, my girl--Chloris has yet to turn

distress from her door. How do I know these things? Why, that is easily

answered, since all night long in sleep your tongue went over this and

that--such a babble as was never heard. The tongue by day may lie, but

the tongue by night speaks truth. My women who waited on you did piece

its fragments, and came with the whole and told me. Now I have this to

say: Stay in this house, and you shall be safer than in your father's.

When search is made for you, be sure the searchers will come hither, and

that is the best thing that could be. You will not be the first girl who

has sought shelter with Chloris. And I dare take the risk of keeping

you, because I am so very sure that you will not be found. If the house

be searched, no one of your description would be found herein--and you

yourself might tell the stationarii so without fear. Stay with me, and

you shall have food and shelter and protection from the law."

"And I--what wouldst have of me in return?" asked Eldris slowly.

"Naught but what you would give willingly," said Chloris. "Mark you

this, girl: Chloris forces no man nor woman to do her bidding. If one

wishes to enter here, she may enter; if one wishes to leave, she may

leave. I can but repeat what I have said. Come to me and you shall be

safe--I'll lay my life on that. If you will not, well, go your way; you

shall not be betrayed by me or mine."

"If you would but let me be servant to you!" Eldris begged. "I am

friendless and weary, and I dread to face the world again, for there is

no rest nor safety for me at all. I would work in scullery or in

kitchen, and serve you loyally and gladly; more than this I will not do.

Once I fled to escape shame; shall I then seek that from which I fled?"

"So be it, then," said Chloris. "I shall not compel you, for that is not

the way of Chloris. You have told so much while no sense was in you that

you might now straighten out the tale. I see your doubts; you do not

know me, yet you have your opinion. That is right, child; better for

one's own peace of mind to trust too little than too much. But you need

fear nothing. I, too, was friendless once, and weary once, and found no

rest nor safety. That was long and long ago; but sometimes I think of

it, even these days. So, if you will, tell your tale; and if you will

not, keep it. But remember, I have said that your secret shall not be

betrayed by me or mine. Many things I have come to hold lightly, but my

promise is not one of them."

"I will tell," said Eldris. It was an impulse, born of she knew not what

emotion. So she told, taking a fellow-mortal on trust for sake of the

faith that was in her; and again the heavy-lidded eyes fastened on her,

never wavering from her face as she told her tale.

"I am slave to the lord Eudemius, him whom men call the Torturer. Hito,

who is steward there, hath persecuted me for a year and more, so that I

went in dread of him. Six nights ago I escaped from that house through

the help of one therein, and was told by him to seek Thorney, and

Nicodemus who kept a wine-shop there. But I dared not come here direct

lest I be traced at once. I wandered, seeking what food I might, and

then I lost my way. For five days did I toil on, but yesterday regained

my road. I had strayed wrong many miles, but it may be that this was a

good thing, if it would help to throw off those pursuing. For unless I

can find hiding, I shall be lost."

"And that one who aided your escape?" said Chloris.

"I do not think it would be just to speak of him," Eldris answered,

hesitating. "What I have told concerns myself. There is no need that

another should be put in danger through me."

"Is he your lover?"

Under those changeless, boring eyes, dull color crept into Eldris's

white face.

"Nay," she answered.

"Do you, then, love him?"

"Nay," said Eldris again. "I think--" she spoke slowly, as though the

words were impelled--"I think that no one loves him. Rather is he looked

on with fear and hate."

"Then must he rear his head in some fashion above the herd," said

Chloris, and laughed at the uncomprehension in Eldris's eyes.

But with the mention of Nicanor, remembrance of his direction returned

anew to Eldris, seduced for a moment by sure promise of safety.

"He bade me go to this Nicodemus, and I dare not do otherwise," she said

distressfully. "Last night I was searching for the place. If he were to

come and find me not there--"

"So, he will be a runaway also?" said Chloris, lightly. And at Eldris's

distress--"Fear not, foolish! Should not all slaves stand together? Body

of Bacchus! Did they do so, there would shortly be no slaves! But that

is as it must be. As for Nicodemus, know you what place his wine-shop

is? A drinking den where violent men gather to brawl and gamble. No fit

one, truly, for a maid! Rather, stay you here, and when this unloved

comrade of yours arrives, why, I'll hear of it, and you shall know."

Eldris hesitated and lost her game. Chloris clapped her hands. Sada

entered, with a glance full of curiosity.

"Take the girl to the kitchen," Chloris gave command. "Tell the cooks

she will serve as scullery maid and naught else. And hark you, Sada

girl! No word of last night's doings, or it will go hard with you. Now

go, the two of you."

She waved them away, and they went out and left her sitting there.

"She is strange!" said Eldris, pondering deeply.

"Ay, strange!" Sada echoed. "Us she rules with a rod of iron, and

yet--we love her, every one."

"I fear her," said Eldris, trying, after her nature, to analyze the

emotions in her. "For she is old and very evil. And I was helpless, and

she gave me help; homeless, and she took me in."

III

The Winter wore away and the great house hummed with preparation for the

marriage festivities of Marius and Varia. All the friends of Eudemius

and of Livinius and Marius were bidden; rich men and powerful, these,

foremost of the circle of feudal lords whose power in Britain had become

supreme, and whose allegiance to the Empire was long since merely

nominal. Of them were Quintus Fabius, a senator in the curia, or

governing body of Londinium; Caius Julius Valens, duumvir--chief

magistrate, with rank corresponding in some sort to that of governor--of

Isca Silurum, that great city which in the old days the Second Legion,

the Augustan, had made famous. Also came the Comes Litoris Saxonici,

Marcus Silenus Pomponius, Count of the Saxon Shore, in whose ward were

the Eastern Marches and the Fens, of whose ancient power all the

responsibilities and few of the prerogatives were left; Maximus Crispis,

who owned the largest villa at the fashionable Aquae Solis, and boasted

his own private and complete system of mineral baths; and fifty others

with names as great as these.

Eudemius threw himself into the arrangements with an energy which made

light of all obstacles. And of these there were many, since inevitably

the disordered state of the country reacted on private concerns. From

all the ends of the earth treasures were brought at his command.

Swift-winged vessels, manned by tireless rowers whose one law of life

was speed, came laden with rich stuffs and gems from the East; cups and

dishes of virgin gold, crusted with uncut jewels; statuettes of Bacchus,

the god of feasts, crowned with grapes of purple amethyst and leaves of

emerald; of Fortuna, with the horn of Amalthea; of Hymen the

torch-bearer, god of marriage; cups of figured and embossed glass,

inscribed with sentiments such as "Bibe feliciter!" or "Ex hoc amici

bibunt,"--all intended to be bestowed upon the guests as souvenirs

during the feasts at which they were to be used. Lustrous silks came

from far-away Serica; cloth of gold from Persian looms; glassware,

fragile as tinted bubbles, from the great works near Lucrinum; spices

and perfumes from Arabia, aloe, myrrh, and spikenard. To all that he

owned he added tenfold more. Sometimes his ships were lost at sea;

sometimes plundered by bands of pirates at his very doors. Then a

messenger would be sent speeding by night and day to the agent from whom

that ship had come, to return in a time incredibly short with an

identical cargo--if by any means this could be duplicated. In this way

he more than once sunk what was in truth a fortune without a denarius of

profit in return. He wished to have tigers and lions brought from

Africa, that his guests might hunt royal game, and spent many thousand

aurei before he discovered that the cold invariably killed those of the

animals which had survived the voyage. So he gave up that idea and

stocked his parks and forests with wild boar,--the prime favorite for

big game hunting,--with wolves, and lordly stags, and the wary, wild

_bos longifrons_, which afforded as good sport as might be wished.

Each day goods arrived, and messengers came with some rare thing brought

by hand half across the world; each day bales and boxes were opened in

rooms set apart for them; and each day Eudemius called his daughter and

put into her careless hands some costly trifle which men had sweated and

striven like overworked beasts of burden to lay before her.

When Varia's last month of maidenhood was nearly gone, Eudemius called

Hito to him, to give account of what was in his hands. In the house were

so many services of gold and silver, so many of Samian ware from

Aretium, costly enough for an emperor's table; in the cellars, so many

amphorae of Falernian wine and wines from Cyprus, so many ollae of ale and

beer. In the servants' quarters were so many slaves of the field and of

the household, male and female; so many trained to trades, so many

dancing boys, musicians, and dancing girls. There were so many coloni

and casarii, who owned Eudemius as patronus and paid house and land rent

yearly in money, produce, or service, who belonged to the estate and

might not be sold without it. Of the slaves those who had died were

accounted for; those who had been resold, or exchanged, or

manumitted,--all save two.

"These, lord," said Hito, without a change of face, "are two of whom I

had it in mind to speak these many months ago. But when all things were

to be prepared, there was no time. This woman, Eldris, did attempt

escape; for what reason is not known. I gave command to pursue her. This

was done. But when the men found her, she was dead; it is to be thought

of cold and hunger. So she was put away. Let not my lord think that his

servant was neglectful; we recaptured her, but she was dead. This one,

Nicanor, was committed to the dungeons by order of our lord Marius; it

is now nearly eight months ago. And for what reason is not known either.

He is there still, since no further command hath been received regarding

him. He was taken with a madness, and well-nigh killed my lord's slave.

I would have put him to the rack, but my lord Marius said nay, that he

was to be held until wanted. This was done." Lies and truth mingled on

his tongue like oil and honey.

Marius, sitting at Eudemius's elbow, looked up.

"I remember the fellow," he said, searching his memory. "I meant to

bring him to thy notice, that thou shouldst deal with him, and as I

live, I forgot him. He it was who sought Lady Varia in her garden and

was found by Marcus, whom you killed because he would not betray. But it

appears, from what I could learn of Varia since then, that the man did

no harm--was rather a poor fool telling crazy tales to which she

listened as a child. It was a whim of Varia's, nothing more. And Nerissa

doth swear that always she was within sight and hearing of the

two,--though whether she says this to free her own skirts from blame, I

know not,--and that all which was said and done was with her knowledge,

for the humoring of her lady. So that the fellow hath done no actual

wrong, it would seem."

From the high pinnacle of his power he could afford to be

indifferent--and he and Eudemius had weightier matters than a slave's

fate to settle.

"Hath he the privilege of trial?" Eudemius asked. "In what degree is he

slave?"

"Absolute!" said Hito, promptly. "Neither colonus nor casarius nor the

son of such is he, nor even _esne_, whose trade might win him

privileges."

"Then send him to the mines," said Eudemius, with indifference. "If he

hath done nothing, he cannot die, but his presumption deserves

punishment, and this he shall have,"--and was deep in fresh papers

before Hito had left the room.

Hito summoned Wardo, upon whom of late days his favor had unexpectedly

descended, and laid on him his commands.

"Friend, there be a dozen and odd slaves marked for punishment, who are

to be sent to the mines within the week. And among them is one black

brute Nicanor; he goeth first of all. Thus our lord commands. Thou shalt

go with them, with two men or three to aid thee, to receive their tally

from the superintendent of the mines. Make arrangements so soon as may

be, for I would be well rid of them. And if any seek escape by flight or

mutiny--well, there is no need to be over easy with them. They will not

be missed."

But for one reason and another it was full two weeks before Wardo could

get his people together; and by that time the festivities had begun,

with the first of the arriving guests.

First to come was Marcus Pomponius, Count of the Saxon Shore, with his

wife Gratia, a woman whose beauty was famed throughout the island. He

was a stately man, of the type which had made Rome what she would never

be again,--mistress of the world. His face was pale, and high-bred, and

graven deep with the chisel-lines of thought; his hair was hoary, a

silver crown; his eyes, under black contrasting brows, were quick, keen,

indomitable, as in his long-dead days of youth.

Eudemius received his guests at the threshold of his house, attired

royally, with a torques of gold about his neck and the great signet ring

of his house upon his thumb. Gracious and commanding, he made his

friends welcome with a courtly ease which no brooding years of solitude

could rust. Beside him were Livinius and Marius; and to all who came

Eudemius presented Marius as "my son."

So shortly after the first guests came others, alone, or with their

wives and daughters, until the great house was crowded full with busy

life. The stately halls, warmed, perfumed with exotic plants, resounded

with talk grave and gay, with songs and merriment and laughter.

Musicians played on lyre and cithara, reed and tambour; there began an

endless round of feasting, hunting, games, and sports. From the women's

side of the house came floating breaths of perfume, suppressed laughter,

a subtle emanation of aristocratic and luxurious femininity. And Varia,

the pivotal point on which all hinged, the least considered of all of

the household, was given neither peace nor solitude. From day till dark

women fluttered around her, examining robes, jewels, head-dresses,

shoes, with question and comment. She must try on this and try on that;

she must be petted and caressed like a pampered plaything, and all with

significant glances of pity and concern.

Varia was very quiet these days. Childlike, she hid from Marius;

childlike, sulked when he found her. Childlike, also, she hung in

raptures over the gifts which were showered upon her, nor ever dreamed

that they were the price with which she was bought. She hung aloof,

shyly, from the invasion of her home; in her eyes a child's longing to

join the merrymaking, mingled with all its dread of a rebuff.

Marius, for his part, bore his honors easily. That he was popular among

the guests went without saying. He hunted with the men and talked of

state and war; he parried the agile thrusts of the women with laughing

skill; he made persistent love to Varia.

Nerissa, the old nurse who had brought up Varia from her forsaken

childhood, going in to her charge to instruct her formally in the duties

of wife and mother which lay before her, looked in at the door, smiled

to herself, and went away. Half a dozen young beauties had taken

possession before her, with chatter and laughter--slender Roman girls,

of the haughtiest blood in Britain. Julia danced on the marble floor, in

and out among the slender columns, in jewelled sandals of Varia's, her

skirts held high; Nigidia and Valencia, between them, examined a peplus

of white silk soft enough to be drawn through the hand, and woven with

threads of gold. Gratia, named for her mother, and daughter of Count

Pomponius of the Saxon Shore, sat on the couch beside Varia, slowly

waving a new fan of peacock's feathers set in a handle of chased gold.

Paula and Virginia were turning over an ivory casket of trinkets at a

table near by. Varia sat with empty hands, watching and listening. For

the first time in her darkened life she was knowing the companionship

of her own age and kind, very shy, but longing greatly to be friendly,

to talk and laugh as did these radiant others.

"Tell us, Varia, what thy lover hath given thee?" Paula called gayly

across the room. Julia, ceasing her dancing, put off the sandals,

slipped on her own, and came to sit by Varia, on the other side.

"Ay, tell us!" she cried, and slipped an arm around Varia's neck,

girlwise. Varia flushed, half with pleasure at the embrace, half with

confusion.

"Many things, but I will have none of them," she answered.

"Now but thou art a strange girl!" cried Paula. "Here thou hast a lover,

on fire with love for thee, as all the world may see, and thou wilt

avail thyself nothing of him. By the girdle of Venus! Had I such a lover

pursuing me, I'd lead him such a dance that when I did yield he'd swear

there was no goddess in heaven like me, and the beckon of my finger

would be his command."

"Thou, Paula!" Gratia scoffed, and shook the peacock fan at her. "Thou

who hast more lovers than fingers on thy hands--"

"Ay, but truly none quite like Varia's here. Whom can you name so

strong, so masterful, so--well, so all that a girl would have? Varia, I

am jealous! Why chose he thee instead of me?"

"That were easy to tell," Nigidia murmured over the end of the peplus

she held. But Varia did not hear.

"I would that he had!" she said seriously, so that Gratia hugged her in

a gale of laughter. "I do not wish to be pursued, as you say."

"Now did ever woman wish that before!" cried Julia. "Even though we act

perforce as though we did not. But I will say, cara, that thou hast

succeeded very well with him. For it needs practice to treat a man with

icy disdain when all the while thou art secretly longing that he will be

bold and dare thy displeasure. When a girl knows how to tell a man that

he must not, but he may if he will, her education is complete."

"I do not understand," Varia said slowly, and flushed again. "I am very

stupid; but--may, if he will, do what?"

"Nay, never put such fancies in this innocent's head!" cried Gratia, in

a protest only half serious. "She will learn soon enough without thy

teaching."

Nigidia left the ivory casket and came and sat on a footstool at Varia's

feet, looking up at her with black eyes alight with raillery.

"Tell us, cara," she said, "dost love him very much, this so masterful

lover of thine?"

"Nay," said Varia, in all seriousness. "I love him not at all."

At once they fluttered around her, exchanging glances.

"Why, how may that be? Tell us of it! How did he woo thee? What did he

say and do?"

Varia, laughing because they laughed, considered a moment, her head on

one side.

"As thou sayest, he is strong and very masterful," she said. "How did he

woo me? Why, as ever a man wooes a maid, I suppose."

"You suppose?" said Nigidia, sweetly, with a glance at the others. "Do

you not know? Has none sought you in marriage before?"

Varia shook her head. She knew not how to parry their curiosity; they,

seeing this, were the more curious.

"No," she confessed, low-voiced.

They looked at her and at each other with round eyes of wonder in which

laughter lurked.

"Thy husband thy first lover!" Nigidia exclaimed, as one incredulous.

"Poor little thing! Girls, is this not sad to hear? But then, poor

child, how couldst thou help it, shut away in here where thou canst see

never a man at all?"

"Oh, I have seen a man!" Varia cried eagerly. "It is not quite so bad

with me as that! A man like unto no other man in the world, I think!"

Her face flushed, her eyes shone. Again a glance went round. "He, too,

is strong and masterful, but tender--ah, so tender!" She clasped her

hands; her lips trembled.

"So, it is he whom thou lovest?" said Paula.

Again the old pained bewilderment grew in Varia's eyes.

"I--do not know," she faltered.

"But I do!" said Paula. "See, then, is this how it is with thee?" She

glanced at her companions with lowered lids; they drew closer, silent.

"Night and day his voice, his eyes, are with thee. His name is a song

which thy heart singeth dumbly; when it is spoken it makes thee quiver

like a harp on which a certain note is touched. At the very thought of

him, of his words, and his caresses, thou dost flush and tremble as

though his hands had touched thee. (Girls, see the color burn!) A dear

and tender pain is at thy heart; thou livest in dreams, and art

possessed by aching unrest which yet is sweet. Is it not even thus with

thee?"

"Ay," said Varia, very low. "It is even thus."

"Then thou dost love this man," said Paula. Her tone was final,

admitting of no doubt.

Varia, flushed from throat to brow, looked at her with shining eyes.

"Ay, I love him--I know it now! For night and day his voice and eyes are

with me, and his name and the words he hath said are a song to me. And

night and day I hear him calling me, from far and far away, as so many

times he hath called me to the garden. But now--woe is me! I may not

come."

"Get married, sweet, to him who loves thee, and then thou mayest have

him whom thou dost love," said Nigidia. "If one has courage to do as one

wills, and cleverness not to be found out, may not one do as one

chooses? I know that Rubria, wife of Maximus Crispus, hath two lovers,

and one of them is guest in this house. Who is thy lover, dear? What his

name and station?"

Varia hesitated. The impulse which kept her from revealing the truth was

dumb and blind, but it was there, and it saved her. She bit her lip.

"I will not tell!" she said in distress.

"We promise not to take him from thee," said Nigidia, and laughed with

the rest.

"He sure must be the highest in the land, to win thy love," chimed in

Paula, ready to carry on the game. "Perhaps it is Fabian, the friend of

Marius, who hath the eyes of a god. Or perhaps it is old Aulus Plautus,

of Gobannium. He is a widower these twenty years, and hath no teeth and

but one eye--but his jewels sparkle enough for the other."

But Varia's face changed, and her eyes grew dark and hunted.

"Now you do make sport of me!" she cried. "What have I done that ye

should bait me thus?" Before any girl could answer she faced them in a

mist of quick, angry tears. "I am glad that my father's guests may be

thus easily amused!"

They started upon her, in a moment all contrition, ready to embrace her

and make amends; but she jumped off the couch and fled from them into

her bedchamber and closed the door.

"We are as mean as we can be!" said Gratia, with reproach. "I think it

great shame for us that we should not have remembered how it is with

her. I am glad I was not first to start it!"

Paula and Nigidia took fire.

"What have we done save what we would do to any bride?" asked Paula.

"Who could have thought she would take it so? But she is not so

different from the rest of us, perhaps!"

"Perhaps no better!" said Nigidia.

"Then would she have thy teaching to thank for that!" Gratia flashed

back. "And it is in my mind that the less she gets of it the better it

will be for her."

When Nerissa came again, shortly, it was to find her lady alone and

weeping. But this was no new thing of late. Nerissa came prepared to

speak solemnly, as was her duty; Varia turned a petulant shoulder to

her.

"Why will ye not let me be in peace?" she cried. "I do not wish to

wed--I am happy as I am. I will _not_ be meek and obedient, and incline

in all things unto my lord husband! I do not wish him for husband! I

hate him. And oh, Nerissa, in three days--"

She wept afresh. Nerissa stroked her hair.

"There, then, lady-bird, never take it so! It is right that all maids

should wed. The lord Marius will be kind to thee; he will give thee

great affection. At least, the gods grant that he may! Thou wilt have

jewels such as thou hast never dreamed of, and robes such as thou hast

never seen. Thou wilt be a very great lady, little nursling o' mine. Ay

me, but it is strange! These arms were the first to cradle thee; these

hands dressed thee in the first little clothes of thy babyhood. Such

_little_ clothes! Now they deck thee for thy bridal--and perhaps it may

not be so long before they have other little clothes to handle. See,

child of my heart, wouldst not be glad to have a tiny son of thine own,

to love and play with? Wouldst not like to feel a round little head

against thy heart, two so tiny hands opening the gates of all happiness

before thee? Wouldst not see two baby eyes lulled into sleep by thy

drowsy crooning? Say, sweet one, wouldst thou not like this?"

Varia raised her face slowly, starry eyes wide and very sweet with awe,

young lips parting in reverent wonder.

"Ay," she breathed, and flushed and trembled. "I should like that. A

little son, of all mine own! But I would not have it his son, O Nerissa!

I would he might be son of a man such as I have dreamed of; a man brave,

and rough, and tender--ay, all these! What should I care that he had no

gold--have I found it such a blessing? For he would have more than

gold--that which no man could give him, and no man take away. And his

son should be like him; and the son of such a man I could love, and be

proud that he was mine."

Nerissa smiled, a tender hand on Varia's head.

"Ay, I know, I know! Poor little one, we all have our dreams--even

thou--and we all must wake from them. If this son of thine should be as

the one who is to be his father, it will be very well. For the lord

Marius is an honorable man, and strong."

Varia made a gesture of fierce protest.

"Bah! If he looked at me with those eyes, black and haughty, if his

mouth was thin and his nose like an eagle's beak, and his hair stiff, so

that I could not run it through my fingers, I should hate him even as I

hate his father!"

Nerissa laughed.

"Sweet, my baby girl, it would be long or ever thou couldst see

haughtiness in the eyes of that baby of thine, or thin lips; and as for

the nose--! And I dare swear that when thou first dost look, thou wilt

not find any hair at all, much less what is stiff. Come, cheer thee, my

very dear! Believe that thy lord father knoweth what is best for thee.

Thou art his own; he would never do thee wrong."

"Now am I not so sure of that!" said Varia, and her voice changed and

was strange. "Oh, Nerissa, it is not that I would not wed! I, too, would

know what joy and fulness a woman's life may hold, and perhaps I am not

too much fool to understand. But one cannot teach me from whom I shrink

with every breath I draw. These things I cannot understand. When I would

think and question, there is something just beyond me, which I cannot

grasp,--" she raised a hand, groping,--"something which escapes me, and

when I think I have it, lo! it vanishes, and I wander in the dark. Birds

I can understand, and trees, and little flowers, and clouds, and

sunlight, and rippling brooks; but men and women I cannot understand;

they all are strange to me, and I do not at all know why. I fear them; I

am restless and unhappy. One only in all the world have I seen who was

not strange. Him I could understand; when he spoke, all my heart sang in

answer; it was what I longed to say and could not, and I do not at all

know why. There was that in him which was in me, and yet I am fool and

he is not, and this also I cannot understand. Will it ever be that I

shall understand, O Nerissa?"

Nerissa sat on the couch beside her and drew her into her arms.

"Some day, surely, my pet," she soothed. "Think of it no more--never

fret thyself with foolish fancies. Now it groweth late and is time to

sleep. Thou shalt be my baby once again, for this night is the last I

shall have thee all mine own."

She called slave women, and had them pack away the scattered silks and

gauzes in the chests from which they had been taken, and make all ready

for the night. Thereafter she sent them all away, even the body-slaves

and tire-women, and herself waited upon her mistress. She freed Varia's

hair from the jewelled pins which held it, combed its dusky length, and

braided it in two long braids. She brought water in a great brazen jar,

and filled the sunken marble bath in the red-tiled bathroom, and bathed

her lady with scented soaps and perfumes. She cradled her in her arms,

wrapped in warm rugs, and rocked and crooned old slumber songs as though

her charge had been in fact a child again.

The lamps burned low, the room was warm and still. Varia, nestled in the

arms that had been to her a mother's arms, stirred drowsily once or

twice, and each time Nerissa bent over her, and felt her feet beneath

the rugs to see that they were warm, studying with tender care the soft

outline of rounded cheek, the long lashes down-dropped to hide the

starry eyes, the quiet rise and fall of breath.

"She is but a child! She will forget!" she murmured.

But Varia spoke, in a voice straight from the land of dreams, opening

upon her eyes misty with sleep.

"One does not forget!" she said drowsily. "One loses a thing, for a long

time, it may be, but some shadow of that thing is always left, even to a

fool. Is it not so?"

"Ay, if thou sayest," said Nerissa, as readily as she would have agreed

that pigs were butterflies if her lady had willed them so. But Varia was

asleep before she spoke.

All through that night Nerissa held her nursling in fond, anxious arms

that knew no weariness, brooding over her as a mother with her child.

Just as gray dawn came drifting in at the windows, the feast in the

great house broke up, and the guests, most of them half drunken, sought

their rooms. And just at dawn word began to pass from station to

station, and from town to town, of a city set in flames--fair Anderida

in the South, as the crow flies, sixty Roman miles away. But of this,

and what it portended, the villa knew nothing.

IV

Many things happened that day which the villa and the world came to know

too well. The sun was scarcely an hour high when mounted men rode to the

villa, demanding to see its lord. Of these, one was Aurelius Menotus,

one of the two duumviri or governors of Anderida; and with him was his

son Felix, small and fair of skin, with weak eyes and a loose, stubborn

mouth, who wore no sword and whose arm was in a sling. Slaves brought

them to Eudemius, and he welcomed them, and they told their tale.

Aurelius was a shrunken man, with a baboon face, straggling gray hair,

and hands perfect as those of a god. He had ridden hard all night, and

was pasty pale with fatigue and trouble; and his staff, mostly old men,

were in hardly better plight. Two of the servants with them were

wounded; it was told that a third had died on the road. They were cared

for and given food and wine, and Eudemius sent for Marius to hear also

what they had to tell. No other guests were stirring.

"Two nights ago men came upon us," Aurelius said, in his thin and

nervous voice. "They come, men say, from Gaul, driven thence by Attila

the Hun, and seek safety among their kinsfolk who are already here. No

man can tell how the trouble first began. The first that we in the

palace knew, a soldier of the watch came and warned the guard that there

was fighting in the lower quarters of the city. For long no one could

tell what was the trouble; it was dark, and there was much confusion. I

sent out milites stationarii to quell the tumult; these reported that

the insurgents, who have given much trouble of late, had joined openly

with the barbarians; had overthrown the temple of Jupiter and slain the

Flamen Dialis. Two hours before midnight, that night, the public baths

were blown up in their own steam, and fire broke out in various parts of

the city. The barbarians, inflamed with wine and the example of the

insurgents, began to plunder. Thou knowest my forces have been steadily

diminished these last three years, and together the barbarians and the

insurgents outnumbered the Augustans five to one. My colleague in

office, Titus Honius the Abulcian, going out to pacify the people, was

slain. I and my companions fled just before daybreak yesterday. Many

people have taken to the forest. The city is now a very hell of

drunkenness, rapine, fire, and smoke. And this, it seems to me, is but

the beginning. Those barbarians who have long been settled here, upon

the Eastern Shore, and those who still keep coming, will together

outnumber us, insurgents and Augustans both. It is in my mind to propose

that we, the lords of the cities, send again to AEtius, proconsul in

Gaul, for help, even as we did two years ago."

"I fear that is what it must come to," said Eudemius, thoughtfully. He

turned to Marius. "Think you that AEtius can spare us a legion again?"

Marius shrugged his shoulders.

"It is hard to say," he answered. "I think it likely that he will, if he

be not himself too hard pressed."

"Marcus Pomponius and Quintus Fabius are here, with many others of the

lords," said Eudemius. "We celebrate this day the betrothal feast of my

daughter and Marius here,--" he laid a hand on the young tribune's

shoulder,--"and in three days the marriage. If you will stay, we may

talk of this together."

"I feel scarce in humor for marriage feasts and gaiety," said Aurelius.

"My people are dead, my city falling to ashes. But I will stay at least

long enough to discuss what plans we may think of for relief. If aught

is to be done it should be done quickly."

"Rest now," Eudemius said, "and to-night, if you will, join us at the

feasting." He clapped his hands, and when slaves came, ordered that his

new guests be taken to rooms and baths prepared for them. They went

away, a weary and dejected set of men. Eudemius and Marius paced the

gallery together.

"If AEtius cannot send help--" said Eudemius, following his own train of

thought.

"Have you arms in the house and slaves who can use them?" said Marius,

following his. "Anderida is but sixty miles away, and if these

barbarians be, as Aurelius thinks, inflamed with wine and blood, they

will not stop to think whether or not they attack those who have

attacked them."

Eudemius stopped in his stride.

"You think--that?" he said with worried brows. "It had not occurred to

me. There have been uprisings, of course, but for the most part the

Saxons have been peaceful. It is the insurgents who have given most

trouble. But you are right; no man can foresee what may happen these

days. I will call Hito and bid him number the slaves who are capable of

bearing arms."

Hito received his orders, and in turn called Wardo, and bade him release

all prisoners sentenced to the mines save those suspected of

anti-Augustan sympathies. These, it was considered, would be most likely

to take sides with the barbarians, as the insurgents had done at

Anderida, and it would be as well to get them out of the way. The villa,

being some miles off both the Noviomagus road and the Bibracte road,

might remain unmolested; the fury of barbarians and insurgents might

spend itself on the towns nearer the coast,--Regnum, Portus Magnus, and

the like. Still, their lord had decided that they must be prepared for

whatever might come to pass, and prepared they must be. Wardo said

little during Hito's peroration, smiled once or twice at its

commencement, and at its close expressed his willingness to obey. He

stated that he knew of but a half dozen of those sentenced to punishment

who might be suspected of sympathy with the insurgents, and declared

that two men would be quite sufficient to act as guard. He was given

full permission to arrange the matter as he chose,--Hito stipulating

only that he and his men should return as promptly as possible,--and

went off whistling softly between his teeth. That day there was much

activity in the armory and in the slaves' quarters; and rumors flew

darkly, and men believed all that they were told.

Toward evening, Aurelius, unable to rest for the burden of apprehension

that was on him, begged that the lords might meet in council without

delay, that measures should be taken for the relief of the harassed

island. Therefore, while slaves were busy in the Hall of Columns, where

the betrothal feast was to be held, while Varia, amid stormy tears, was

arrayed by her servants for the ceremonies, and the women guests were

absorbed in toilet mysteries, those of the men who were governors or who

were possessed of greatest power in their own cities, were summoned to

the library of their host.

Eudemius spoke first, gravely, with Aurelius, pale and silent, on his

right hand, and on his left Marius, thin-lipped and alert, all the

soldier in him roused. And Marius, of all the men present, was the

youngest.

"Friends," said Eudemius, "I have gathered you here together on a matter

of much moment. You all know Aurelius Menotus, governor of Anderida. He

hath a tale to tell you, which I doubt not will prove startling. When it

is told, we should take counsel together, those of us who are here,

without waiting for the lords and governors who for one reason and

another are not with us. With some of these we are, as you know, not on

good terms. There hath been jealousy and strife, much rivalry and more

ill-feeling, between the cities. Now, if we hope to save ourselves, all

this must be forgotten. If we never agreed before, we must agree now,

for a common foe threatens us, against whom nothing short of our united

strength will avail."

He ceased; and Aurelius rose and faced a silent room, standing beside

the table, with nervous fingers feeling at a scroll which lay there.

[Illustration: "Half a dozen young beauties had taken possession--girls

of the haughtiest blood in Britain."]