THE VIRGIN CAVE
In the Sacred Grove of Hecate, where the sun lit up the cypress-trees,
and the birds sang on the billowy branches of the cluster-pine, and
laurels greeted the gods, waving their dark-green foliage on the
whispering air; where roses twined like weary children round the
olive-trees, and oleanders, white as snow and pink as rosy dawn, bent
down and kissed the murmuring brook; where the pale narcissi mirrored
themselves in silent pools like stars of silver on the solemn sea, and
the maddening perfume of that lovely flower mingled with the odour of
the sweet grass, wild thyme, and violets--here the blue celandine and
hyacinth vied in colour with the saffron flower and scarlet poppy,
sacred to Diana, and every bloom was the emblem of a god; and the nymphs
kept guard o'er sacred trees, and naiades revelled in gayest dance the
long night through.
The Sacred Cave was here--the Virgin Cave of Hecate, around which, like
lost souls out of place, grew alder, dark, deadly aconite, and branches
green of juniper, waiting their call to burn as incense to the infernal
goddess.
A winding pathway led down to the cave, the cave of trial.
Its doors were strong, of olive wood, with tracings wrought in gold. On
either side uprose stout pillars of malachite; and over the entrance, in
curious marble richly carved, were figures of Hecate in judgment.
Within this cave none but the pure might enter. There was the sacred
syrinx--should a woman go therein, the doors closed by invisible hands.
If pure, a soft and heavenly strain was heard, and the doors opening of
their own accord, the honoured woman appeared crowned with a garland of
leaves of pine; but if guilty, sobs and disconsolate weeping were
audible, and the people passed away, leaving her to her fate. And after
three suns had risen and set, the High Priestess entered, found the cave
empty, and the syrinx fallen to the ground.
This was the day Nika would enter the cave. No hope had come. Day after
day she had gazed over the blue sea with the vain thought that she might
catch a glimpse of her father's fleet returning. Not a vestige of it
hove in sight. To the last she buoyed herself with the hope that aid
would come and save her from this frightful ordeal; but no. The sky was
cloudless, the ocean calm--calm and unruffled as a sleeping child.
The priests and priestesses of the Temple would accompany her in solemn
procession, and Nika, clad in garments of black, would be taken to the
Sacred Grove. Torch-bearers and heralds would lead them by the tufts of
yellow iris down the winding path to the cave, outside which an altar
stood, and the great Saronia waited, with head thrown back and hands
outspread towards the ground; her raven hair flowed down and lay in
waves on folds of costly yellow silk bestudded with stars; her face was
calm as death, rigid as a marble statue; emotion showed no place in that
mysterious being.
Five beautiful girls, the loveliest of Ionia, priestesses of the
goddess, bees of the Temple, waited on her; but the beauty and dignity
of the great High Priestess outshone them all, as the rising sun puts
out the light of the silvery stars.
The black lamb had been sacrificed to Hecate, and its crimson blood
streamed over the altar into the earth.
The priestesses were hidden from view by a turning in the way, and it
was only when the last tall lines of myrtles were passed that they could
be seen. But the clanging of cymbals was near, the strains of the lyre
broke in, and the low tones of the mellow flute kept up a sacred melody.
The first of the heralds drew near the altar sacrifice, stood still a
moment, then blew a blast which made the blossoms quiver; and the
procession came with measured tread, carrying banners many-coloured, and
bearing symbols of the goddess which glittered in the sunlight.
Nika, pale and trembling, stood within a circle of the priests,
enveloped by the many standards which they bore.
Suddenly the silken shields were lowered, the circle broke in twain,
and formed a guard on either side; and Nika, looking down between the
lines, saw the dark face and towering form of Saronia standing by the
altar.
With one loud, piercing cry of anguish, the girl rushed madly towards
her, and when within three paces plucked a jewelled dagger from her
bosom, and made to plunge it into the heart of her former slave.
One look from the mystic eyes of the High Priestess overawed her, and
she shielded her face with her mantle of black.
No tremor passed the face of the High Priestess. It was fixed like a
cold, pale moon in the cloudless sky. She could have slain Nika had she
chosen. Her glistening dagger remained untouched. She heeded it not, but
moved solemnly towards the cowering girl, holding forth her hands as she
approached her, saying:
'Lean on me, fair woman of Rome. I may make thy burden less.'
The eyes of Nika rolled back their maddening look, and gazed into those
of the priestess.
'O Saronia, Saronia, save me! or, if thou canst not, then forgive!'
For the first time the face of the High Priestess relaxed, and it was
veiled with a look of pity.
'Would I could help thee, Nika! In this case I have not power. I stand
here, not to punish, but to perform the sacred rites my office demands;
but I forgive thee, forgive thee, Nika, whatever may be thy fate.'
The low tones of Diana's hymn broke the stillness, and Saronia led the
trembling woman to the Virgin Cave of Hecate.
The great doors swung back, the doors of olive were wide apart, and soft
Ionian music floated by like the rhythm of angels' wings.
'Nika--let me kiss thee, Nika.'
And Saronia took the face bestrewn with golden hair between her jewelled
hands, and passionately kissed the trembling lips of the daughter of
Lucius.
Then she led the fated woman to the cave, and left her.
The great doors flew back like the jaws of death, and in a moment or two
sounds of weeping were heard, and the people turned away. Full well they
knew the syrinx had fallen, and Nika was gone--for ever.