Hermon, with the rose for his friend fastened in the breast folds of
his chiton, mounted his horse gratefully, and his companion, a sinewy,
bronzed Midianite, who was also to attend to the opening of the
fortress gates, did the same.
Before reaching the open country the sculptor had to ride through the
whole city, with which he was entirely unfamiliar. Fiercely as the
storm was sweeping down the streets and squares, and often as the
horseman was forced to hold on to his travelling hat and draw his
chlamys closer around him, he felt the anxieties which had made his
night sleepless and saddened his day suddenly leave him as if by a
miracle. Was it the consciousness of having acted rightly? was it the
friendly farewell which Daphne had given him, and the hope Thyone had
aroused, or the expectation of seeing Ledscha once more, and at least
regaining her good will, that had restored his lost light-heartedness?
He did not know himself, nor did he desire to know.
While formerly he had merely glanced carelessly about him in Pelusium,
and only half listened to the explanations given by the veteran’s deep
voice, now whatever he saw appeared in clear outlines and awakened his
interest, in spite of the annoyances caused by the storm.
Had he not known that he was in Pelusium, it would have been difficult
for him to determine whether the city he was crossing was an Egyptian,
a Hellenic, or a Syrian one; for here rose an ancient temple of the
time of the Pharaohs, with obelisks and colossal statues before the
lofty pylons, yonder the sanctuary of Poseidon, surrounded by stately
rows of Doric columns, and farther on the smaller temple dedicated to
the Dioscuri, and the circular Grecian building that belonged to
Aphrodite.
In another spot, still close to the harbour, he saw the large buildings
consecrated to the worship of the Syrian Baal and Astarte.
Here he was obliged to wait awhile, for the tempest had excited the war
elephants which were returning from their exercising ground, and their
black keepers only succeeded with the utmost difficulty in restraining
them. Shrieking with fear, the few persons who were in the street
besides the soldiers, that were everywhere present, scattered before
the huge, terrified animals.
The costume and appearance of the citizens, too, gave no clew to the
country to which the place belonged; there were as many Egyptians among
them as Greeks, Syrians, and negroes. Asiatics appeared in the majority
only in the market place, where the dealers were just leaving their
stands to secure their goods from the storm. In front of the big
building where the famous Pelusinian xythus beer was brewed, the drink
was being carried away in jugs and wineskins, in ox-carts and on
donkeys. Here, too, men were loading camels, which were rarely seen in
Egypt, and had been introduced there only a short time before.
How forcibly all these things riveted Hermon’s attention, now that no
one was at hand to explain them and no delay was permitted! He scarcely
had time for recollection and expectation.
Finally, the last gate was unlocked, and the ramparts and moats lay
behind him.
Thus far the wind had kept back the rain, and only scattered drops
lashed the riders’ faces; but as soon as they entered the open country,
it seemed as though the pent-up floods burst the barriers which
retained them above, and a torrent of water such as only those dry
regions know rushed, not in straight or slanting lines, but in thick
streams, whirled by the hurricane, upon the marshy land which stretched
from Pelusium to Tennis, and on the horsemen.
The road led along a dike raised above fields which, at this season of
the year, were under water, and Hermon’s companion knew it well.
For a time both riders allowed themselves to be drenched in silence.
The water ran down upon them from their broad-brimmed hats, and their
dripping horses trotted with drooping heads and steaming flanks one
behind the other until, at the very brick-kiln where Ledscha had
recalled her widowed sister’s unruly slaves to obedience, the guide
stopped with an oath, and pointed to the water which had risen to the
top of the dam, and in some places concealed the road from their eyes.
Now it was no longer possible to trot, for the guide was obliged to
seek the traces of the dike with great caution. Meanwhile the force of
the pouring rain by no means lessened—nay, it even seemed to
increase—and the horses were already wading in water up to their
fetlocks.
But if the votive stones, the little altars and statues of the gods,
the bushes and single trees along the sides of the dike road were
overflowed while the travellers were in the region of the marsh, they
would be obliged to interrupt their journey, for the danger of sinking
into the morass with their horses would then threaten them.
Even at the brick-kiln travellers, soldiers, and trains of merchandise
had stopped to wait for the end of the cloud-burst.
In front of the farmhouse, too, which Hermon and his companion next
reached, they saw dozens of people seeking shelter, and the Midianite
urged his master to join them for a short time at least. The wisest
course here was probably to yield, and Hermon was already turning his
horse’s head toward the house when a Greek messenger dashed past the
beckoning refuge and also by him.
“Do you dare to ride farther?” the artist shouted in a tone of warning
inquiry to the man on the dripping bay, and the latter, without
pausing, answered: “Duty! On business for the King!”
Then Hermon turned his steed back toward the road, beat the water from
his soaked beard with the edge of his hand, and with a curt “Forward!”
announced his decision to his companion. Duty summoned him also, and
what another risked for the King he would not fail to do for his
friend.
The Midianite, shaking his head, rode angrily after him; but, though
the violence of the rain was lessening, the wind began to blow with
redoubled force, beating and lashing the boundless expanse of the
quickly formed lake with such savage fury that it rolled in surges like
the sea, and sweeping over it dense clouds of foam like the sand waves
tossed by the desert tempests.
Sometimes moaning, sometimes whistling, the gusts of the hurricane
drove the water and the travellers before it, while the rain poured
from the sky to the earth, and wherever it struck splashed upward,
making little whirlpools and swiftly breaking bubbles.
What might not Myrtilus suffer in this storm! This thought strengthened
Hermon’s courage to twice ride past other farmhouses which offered
shelter. At the third the horse refused to wade farther in such a
tempest, so there was nothing to be done except spring off and lead it
to the higher ground which the water had not yet reached.
The interior of the peasant hut was filled with people who had sought
shelter there, and the stifling atmosphere which the artist felt at the
door induced him to remain outside.
He had stood there dripping barely fifteen minutes when loud shouts and
yells were heard on the road from Pelusium by which he had come, and
upon the flooded dike appeared a body of men rushing forward with
marvellous speed.
The nearer they came the fiercer and more bewildering sounded the loud,
shrill medley of their frantic cries, mingled with hoarse laughter, and
the spectacle presented to the eyes was no less rough and bold.
The majority seemed to be powerful men. Their complexions were as light
as the Macedonians; their fair, red, and brown locks were thick,
unkempt, and bristling. Most of the reckless, defiantly bold faces were
smooth- shaven, with only a mustache on the upper lip, and sometimes a
short imperial. All carried weapons, and a fleece covered the shoulders
of many, while chains, ornamented with the teeth of animals, hung on
their white muscular chests.
“Galatians,” Hermon heard one man near him call to another. “They came
to the fortress as auxiliary troops. Philippus forbade them to plunder
on pain of death, and showed them—the gods be thanked!—that he was in
earnest. Otherwise it would soon look here as though the plagues of
locusts, flood, and fire had visited us at once. Red-haired men are not
the only sons of Typhon!”
And Hermon thought that he had indeed never seen any human beings
equally fierce, bold to the verge of reckless madness, as these Gallic
warriors. The tempest which swept them forward, and the water through
which they waded, only seemed to increase their enjoyment, for sheer
delight rang in their exulting shouts and yells.
Oh, yes! To march amid this uproar of the elements was a pleasure to
the healthy men. It afforded them the rarest, most enlivening delight.
For a long time nothing had so strongly reminded them of the roaring of
the wind and the rushing of the rain in their northern home. It seemed
a delicious relief, after the heat and dryness of the south, which they
had endured with groans.
When they perceived the eyes fixed upon them they swung their weapons,
arched their breasts with conscious vanity, distorted their faces into
terrible threatening grimaces, or raised bugle horns to their lips,
drew from them shrill, ear-piercing notes and gloated, with childish
delight, in the terror of the gaping crowd, on whom the restraint of
authority sternly forbade them to show their mettle.
Lust of rapine and greed for booty glittered in many a fiery, longing
look, but their leaders kept them in check with the sword. So they
rushed on without stopping, like a thunderstorm pregnant with
destruction which the wind drives over a terrified village.
Hermon also had to take the road they followed, and, after giving the
Gauls a long start, he set out again.
But though he succeeded in passing the marshy region without injury,
there had been delay after delay; here the horses had left the flooded
dike road and floundered up to their knees in the morass, there trees
from the roadside, uprooted by the storm, barred the way.
As night closed in the rain ceased and the wind began to subside, but
dark clouds covered the sky, and the horsemen were still an hour’s ride
from the place where the road ended at the little harbour from which
travellers entered the boat which conveyed them to Tennis.
The way no longer led through the marsh, but through tilled lands, and
crossed the ditches which irrigated the fields on wooden bridges.
On their account, in the dense darkness which prevailed, caution was
necessary, and this the guide certainly did not lack. He rode at a slow
walk in front of the artist, and had just pointed out to him the light
at the landing place of the boat which went to Tennis, when Hermon was
suddenly startled by a loud cry, followed by clattering and splashing.
With swift presence of mind he sprang from his horse and found his
conjecture verified. The bridge had broken down, and horse and rider
had fallen into the broad canal.
“The Galatians!” reached Hermon from the dark depths, and the
exclamation relieved him concerning the fate of the Midianite.
The latter soon struggled up to the road uninjured. The bridge must
have given way under the feet of the savage horde, unless the Gallic
monsters, with brutal malice, had intentionally shattered it.
The first supposition, however, seemed to be the correct one, for as
Hermon approached the canal he heard moans of pain. One of the Gauls
had apparently met with an accident in the fall of the bridge and been
deserted by his comrades. With the skill acquired in the wrestling
school, Hermon descended into the canal to look for the wounded man,
while his guide undertook to get the horses ashore.
The deep darkness considerably increased the difficulty of carrying out
his purpose, but the young Greek went up to his neck in the water he
could not become wetter than he was already. So he remained in the
ditch until he found the injured man whose groans of suffering pierced
his compassionate heart.
He was obliged to release the luckless Gaul from the broken timbers of
the bridge, and, when Hermon had dragged him out on the opposite bank
of the canal, he made no answer to any question. A falling beam had
probably struck him senseless.
His hair, which Hermon’s groping fingers informed him was thick and
rough, seemed to denote a Gaul, but a full, long beard was very rarely
seen in this nation, and the wounded man wore one. Nor could anything
be discovered from the ornaments or weapons of this fierce barbarian.
But to whatever people he might belong, he certainly was not a Greek.
The thoroughly un-Hellenic wrapping up of the legs proved that.
No matter! Hermon at any rate was dealing with some one who was
severely injured, and the self-sacrificing pity with which even
suffering animals inspired him, and which in his boyhood had drawn upon
him the jeers of the companions of his own age, did not abandon him
now.
Reluctantly obeying his command, the Midianite helped him bandage the
sufferer’s head, in which a wound could be felt, as well as it could be
done in the darkness, and lift him on the artist’s horse. During this
time fresh groans issued from the bearded lips of the injured warrior,
and Hermon walked by his side, guarding the senseless man from the
danger of falling from the back of the horse as it slowly followed the
Midianite’s.
This tiresome walk, however, did not last long; the landing place was
reached sooner than Hermon expected, and the ferryboat bore the
travellers and the horses to Tennis.
By the flickering light of the captain’s lantern it was ascertained
that the wounded man, in spite of his long dark beard, was probably a
Gaul. The stupor was to be attributed to the fall of a beam on his
head, and the shock, rather than to the wound. The great loss of blood
sustained by the young and powerful soldier had probably caused the
duration of the swoon.
During the attempts at resuscitation a sailor boy offered his
assistance. He carefully held the lantern, and, as its flickering light
fell for brief moments upon the artist’s face, the lad of thirteen or
fourteen asked if he was Hermon of Alexandria.
A curt “If you will permit,” answered the question, considered by the
Hellenes an unseemly one, especially from such a youth; but the
sculptor paid no further attention to him, for, while devoting himself
honestly to the wounded man, his anxiety about his invalid friend
increased, and Ledscha’s image also rose again before him.
At last the ferryboat touched the land, and when Hermon looked around
for the lad he had already leaped ashore, and was just vanishing in the
darkness.
It was probably within an hour of midnight.
The gale was still blowing fiercely over the water, driving the black
clouds across the dark sky, sometimes with long-drawn, wailing sounds,
sometimes with sharp, whistling ones. The rain had wholly ceased, and
seemed to have exhausted itself here in the afternoon.
As Archias’s white house was a considerable distance from the landing
place of the ferryboat, Hermon had the wounded warrior carried to it by
Biamite sailors, and again mounted his horse to ride to Myrtilus at as
swift a trot as the soaked, wretched, but familiar road would permit.
Considerable time had been spent in obtaining a litter for the Gaul,
yet Hermon was surprised to meet the lad who had questioned him so
boldly on the ferryboat coming, not from the landing place, but running
toward it again from the city, and then saw him follow the shore,
carrying a blazing torch, which he waved saucily. The wind blew aside
the flame and smoke which came from the burning pitch, but it shone
brightly through the gloom and permitted the boy to be distinctly seen.
Whence had the nimble fellow come so quickly? How had he succeeded, in
this fierce gale, in kindling the torch so soon into a powerful flame?
Was it not foolish to let a child amuse itself in the middle of the
night with so dangerous a toy?
Hermon hastily thought over these questions, but the supposition that
the light of the torch might be intended for a signal did not occur to
him.
Besides, the boy and the light in his hand occupied his mind only a
short time. He had better things to think of. With what longing
Myrtilus must now be expecting his arrival! But the Gaul needed his aid
no less urgently than his friend. Accurately as he knew what remedies
relieved Myrtilus in severe attacks of illness, he could scarcely
dispense with an assistant or a leech for the other, and the idea
swiftly flashed upon him that the wounded man would afford him an
opportunity of seeing Ledscha again.
She had told him more than once about the healing art possessed by old
Tabus on the Owl’s Nest. Suppose he should now seek the angry girl to
entreat her to speak to the aged miracle-worker in behalf of the sorely
wounded young foreigner?
Here he interrupted himself; something new claimed his attention.
A dim light glimmered through the intense darkness from a bit of rising
ground by the wayside. It came from the Temple of Nemesis—a pretty
little structure belonging to the time of Alexander the Great, which he
had often examined with pleasure. Several steps led to the anteroom,
supported by Ionic columns, which adjoined the naos.
Two lamps were burning at the side of the door leading into the little
open cella, and at the back of the consecrated place the statue of the
winged goddess was visible in the light of a small altar fire.
In her right hand she held the bridle and scourge, and at her feet
stood the wheel, whose turning indicates the influence exerted by her
power upon the destiny of mortals. With stern severity that boded evil,
she gazed down upon her left forearm, bent at the elbow, which
corresponds with the ell, the just measure.
Hermon certainly now, if ever, lacked both time and inclination to
examine again this modest work of an ordinary artist, yet he quickly
stopped his weary horse; for in the little pronaos directly in front of
the cella door stood a slender figure clad in a long floating dark
robe, extending its hands through the cella door toward the statue in
fervent prayer. She was pressing her brow against the left post of the
door, but at her feet, on the right side, cowered another figure, which
could scarcely be recognised as a human being.
This, too, was a woman.
Deeply absorbed in her own thoughts, she was also extending her arms
toward the statue of Nemesis.
Hermon knew them both.
At first he fancied that his excited imagination was showing him a
threatening illusion. But no!
The erect figure was Ledscha, the crouching one Gula, the sailor’s wife
whose child he had rescued from the flames, and who had recently been
cast out by her husband.
“Ledscha!” escaped his lips in a muttered tone, and he involuntarily
extended his hands toward her as she was doing toward the goddess.
But she did not seem to hear him, and the other woman also retained the
same attitude, as if hewn from stone.
Then he called the supplicant’s name loud tone, and the next instant
still more loudly; and now she turned, and, in the faint light of the
little lamp, showed the marvellously noble outlines of her profile. He
called again, and this time Ledscha heard anguished yearning in his
deep tones; but they seemed to have lost their influence over her, for
her large dark eyes gazed at him so repellently and sternly that a cold
tremor ran down his spine.
Swinging himself from his horse, he ascended the steps of the temple,
and in the most tender tones at his command exclaimed: “Ledscha!
Severely as I have offended you, Ledscha—oh, do not say no! Will you
hear me?”
“No!” she answered firmly, and, before he could speak, continued: “This
place is ill chosen for another meeting! Your presence is hateful to
me! Do not disturb me a moment longer!”
“As you command,” he began hesitatingly; but she swiftly interrupted
with the question, “Do you come from Pelusium, and are you going
directly home?”
“I did not heed the storm on account of Myrtilus’s illness,” he
answered quietly, “and if you demand it, I will return home at once;
but first let me make one more entreaty, which will be pleasing also to
the gods.”
“Get your response from yonder deity! “she impatiently interrupted,
pointing with a grand, queenly gesture, which at any other time would
have delighted his artist eye, to the statue of Nemesis in the cella.
Meanwhile Gula had also turned her face toward Hermon, and he now
addressed her, saying with a faint tone of reproach: “And did hatred
lead you also, Gula, to this sanctuary at midnight to implore the
goddess to destroy me in her wrath?”
The young mother rose and pointed to Ledscha, exclaiming, “She desires
it.”
“And I?” he asked gently. “Have I really done you so much evil?”
She raised her hand to her brow as if bewildered; her glance fell on
the artist’s troubled face, and lingered there for a short time. Then
her eyes wandered to Ledscha, and from her to the goddess, and finally
back again to the sculptor. Meanwhile Hermon saw how her young figure
was trembling, and, before he had time to address a soothing-word to
her, she sobbed aloud, crying out to Ledscha: “You are not a mother! My
child, he rescued it from the flames. I will not, and I can not—I will
no longer pray for his misfortune!”
She drew her veil over her pretty, tear-stained face as she spoke, and
darted lightly down the temple steps close beside him to seek shelter
in her parents’ house, which had been unwillingly opened to the
cast-off wife, but now afforded her a home rich in affection.
Immeasurably bitter scorn was depicted in Ledscha’s features as she
gazed after Gula. She did not appear to notice Hermon, and when at last
he appealed to her and briefly urged her to ask the old enchantress on
the Owl’s Nest for a remedy for the wounded Gaul, she again leaned
against the post of the cella door, extended both arms with passionate
fervour toward the goddess, and remained standing there motionless,
deaf to his petition.
His blood seethed in his veins, and he was tempted to go nearer and
force her to hear him; but before he had ascended the first of the
flight of steps leading to the pronaos, he heard the footsteps of the
men who were bearing the wounded warrior after him.
They must not see him here with one of their countrywomen at this hour,
and manly pride forbade him to address her again as a supplicant.
So he went back to the road, mounted his horse, and rode on without
vouchsafing a word of farewell to the woman who was invoking
destruction upon his head. As he did so his eyes again rested on the
stern face of Nemesis, and the wheel whose turning determined the
destiny of men at her feet.
Assailed by horrible fears, and overpowered by presentiments of evil,
he pursued his way through the darkness.
Perhaps Myrtilus had succumbed to the terrible attack which must have
visited him in such a storm, and life without his friend would be
bereft of half its charm. Orphaned, poor, a struggler who had gained no
complete victory, it had been rich only in disappointments to him, in
spite of his conviction that he was a genuine artist, and was fighting
for a good cause. Now he knew that he had also lost the woman by whose
assistance he was certain of a great success in his own much-disputed
course, and Ledscha, if any one, was right in expecting a favourable
hearing from the goddess who punished injustice.
He did not think of Daphne again until he was approaching the place
where her tents had stood, and the remembrance of her fell like a ray
of light into his darkened soul.
Yet on that spot had also been erected the wooden platform from which
Althea had showed him the transformation into the spider, and the
recollection of the foolish error into which the Thracian had drawn him
disagreeably clouded the pleasant thought of Daphne.