NEPENTHE.
Before they separated, the Egyptian leader gave to Daphne, whom he
looked on as having authority over the rest, a powdered substance in a
small linen bag.
“This,” said he, “is that Nepenthe of which your poet sings, the most
soothing of all medicines, and known to the Egyptians from very ancient
times. When ye come to our trysting-place on the coast, and the other
maidens begin to be again afraid, mix this drug with sweet wine and
they will forget their sorrow. Say to them that it is a remedy against
the plague. As soon as ye have partaken of it, we will appear and take
you to our ship. And in the ship ye shall find the female slaves we
have brought, and good store of garments and precious things. So care
for nothing but to escape as speedily as possible, for if the reason of
your flight were known, all the Athenians would come, and in the crowd
all must perish. Farewell!”
* * * * *
The place of meeting was a little sandy bay set in the midst of steep,
rough rocks, and about two hours from the city. Encouraged by the
spirit and example of Daphne on the one hand, and on the other driven
by the fear of the plague, the maidens, a little before sunset, reached
the appointed spot. At some distance they saw a dark vessel unlike any
they had ever seen, for there seemed to be place neither for oars nor
sails. It looked rather like the hull of a wrecked ship than a vessel
prepared for a long journey.
The maidens in their trepidation were ready to start with alarm at any
strange sight, and the black vessel, on which not a man was visible,
seemed to them as dismal as the boat with which Charon ferries the
souls of the dead over the Styx. They looked back already with longing
to the city, and with fear they saw the long shadows cast by the
declining sun.
But Daphne was determined to complete the venture, and she prepared to
give them the drug.
“This,” said she, “is a charm against the plague.”
“Perchance,” whispered one of the maidens, “it is poisonous.”
But Daphne replied, “Nay, that thought of thine is altogether foolish.
Why should the men entice us away from the city simply to put us to
death? Fear not,—I will begin.”
She mixed the nepenthe with the sweet wine, and drank of it herself,
and gave to the others, and they all drank.
And then, indeed, as the leader of the band of merchants had said, so
it happened.
Slowly and dreamily the distant city began to blend with the clouds.
The waves of the sea fell upon the shore with the rhythm of sweet
music. The air became heavy with the odours of drowsy flowers and
mystic perfumes. The sand formed a softer couch than the most exquisite
cushions of the East. The maidens looked on one another with calm
content. Fearless and careless, they gave themselves up to the misty
shapes of languid pleasures.
All memory of the past vanished, and vanished also all thought of
the future. From the black vessel they saw a boat put off, and they
watched its approach, as listlessly as if it were but the shadow of a
cloud on the water. The sound of the oars was like the measured far-off
beat of the wings of a flying swan. The men landed and seemed to murmur
to one another in the ancient language of the happy gods; they lifted
up the maidens, and their touch was gentle as the caress of a child.
Then the day melted into the dark of evening, and one and all the
maidens sank into quiet, dreamless slumber.