A WASP VENTURES INTO THE SPIDER'S WEB.
THE second night of the trial had set in; and it was nearly the time in
which Sosia was to brave the dread Unknown, when there entered, at that
very garden-gate which the slave had left ajar--not, indeed, one of the
mysterious spirits of earth or air, but the heavy and most human form of
Calenus, the priest of Isis. He scarcely noted the humble offerings of
indifferent fruit, and still more indifferent wine, which the pious
Sosia had deemed good enough for the invisible stranger they were
intended to allure. 'Some tribute,' thought he, 'to the garden god. By
my father's head! if his deityship were never better served, he would do
well to give up the godly profession. Ah! were it not for us priests,
the gods would have a sad time of it. And now for Arbaces--I am
treading a quicksand, but it ought to cover a mine. I have the
Egyptian's life in my power--what will he value it at?'
As he thus soliloquised, he crossed through the open court into the
peristyle, where a few lamps here and there broke upon the empire of the
starlit night; and issuing from one of the chambers that bordered the
colonnade, suddenly encountered Arbaces.
'Ho! Calenus--seekest thou me?' said the Egyptian; and there was a
little embarrassment in his voice.
'Yes, wise Arbaces--I trust my visit is not unseasonable?'
'Nay--it was but this instant that my freedman Callias sneezed thrice at
my right hand; I knew, therefore, some good fortune was in store for
me--and, lo! the gods have sent me Calenus.'
'Shall we within to your chamber, Arbaces?'
'As you will; but the night is clear and balmy--I have some remains of
languor yet lingering on me from my recent illness--the air refreshes
me--let us walk in the garden--we are equally alone there.'
'With all my heart,' answered the priest; and the two friends passed
slowly to one of the many terraces which, bordered by marble vases and
sleeping flowers, intersected the garden.
'It is a lovely night,' said Arbaces--'blue and beautiful as that on
which, twenty years ago, the shores of Italy first broke upon my view.
My Calenus, age creeps upon us--let us, at least, feel that we have
lived.'
'Thou, at least, mayst arrogate that boast,' said Calenus, beating
about, as it were, for an opportunity to communicate the secret which
weighed upon him, and feeling his usual awe of Arbaces still more
impressively that night, from the quiet and friendly tone of dignified
condescension which the Egyptian assumed--'Thou, at least, mayst
arrogate that boast. Thou hast had countless wealth--a frame on whose
close-woven fibres disease can find no space to enter--prosperous
love--inexhaustible pleasure--and, even at this hour, triumphant
revenge.'
'Thou alludest to the Athenian. Ay, to-morrow's sun the fiat of his
death will go forth. The senate does not relent. But thou mistakest:
his death gives me no other gratification than that it releases me from
a rival in the affections of Ione. I entertain no other sentiment of
animosity against that unfortunate homicide.'
'Homicide!' repeated Calenus, slowly and meaningly; and, halting as he
spoke, he fixed his eyes upon Arbaces. The stars shone pale and
steadily on the proud face of their prophet, but they betrayed there no
change: the eyes of Calenus fell disappointed and abashed. He continued
rapidly--'Homicide! it is well to charge him with that crime; but thou,
of all men, knowest that he is innocent.'
'Explain thyself,' said Arbaces, coldly; for he had prepared himself for
the hint his secret fears had foretold.
'Arbaces,' answered Calenus, sinking his voice into a whisper, 'I was in
the sacred grove, sheltered by the chapel and the surrounding foliage.
I overheard--I marked the whole. I saw thy weapon pierce the heart of
Apaecides. I blame not the deed--it destroyed a foe and an apostate.'
'Thou sawest the whole!' said Arbaces, dryly; 'so I imagined--thou wert
alone.'
'Alone!' returned Calenus, surprised at the Egyptian's calmness.
'And wherefore wert thou hid behind the chapel at that hour?'
'Because I had learned the conversion of Apaecides to the Christian
faith--because I knew that on that spot he was to meet the fierce
Olinthus--because they were to meet there to discuss plans for unveiling
the sacred mysteries of our goddess to the people--and I was there to
detect, in order to defeat them.'
'Hast thou told living ear what thou didst witness?'
'No, my master: the secret is locked in thy servant's breast.'
'What! even thy kinsman Burbo guesses it not! Come, the truth!'
'By the gods...'
'Hush! we know each other--what are the gods to us?'
'By the fear of thy vengeance, then--no!'
'And why hast thou hitherto concealed from me this secret? Why hast
thou waited till the eve of the Athenian's condemnation before thou hast
ventured to tell me that Arbaces is a murderer? And having tarried so
long, why revealest thou now that knowledge?'
'Because--because...' stammered Calenus, coloring and in confusion.
'Because,' interrupted Arbaces, with a gentle smile, and tapping the
priest on the shoulder with a kindly and familiar gesture--'because,
my Calenus (see now, I will read thy heart, and explain its
motives)--because thou didst wish thoroughly to commit and entangle me
in the trial, so that I might have no loophole of escape; that I might
stand firmly pledged to perjury and to malice, as well as to homicide;
that having myself whetted the appetite of the populace to blood, no
wealth, no power, could prevent my becoming their victim: and thou
tellest me thy secret now, ere the trial be over and the innocent
condemned, to show what a desperate web of villainy thy word to-morrow
could destroy; to enhance in this, the ninth hour, the price of thy
forbearance; to show that my own arts, in arousing the popular wrath,
would, at thy witness, recoil upon myself; and that if not for Glaucus,
for me would gape the jaws of the lion! Is it not so?'
'Arbaces, replied Calenus, losing all the vulgar audacity of his natural
character, 'verily thou art a Magician; thou readest the heart as it
were a scroll.'
'It is my vocation,' answered the Egyptian, laughing gently. 'Well,
then, forbear; and when all is over, I will make thee rich.'
'Pardon me,' said the priest, as the quick suggestion of that avarice,
which was his master-passion, bade him trust no future chance of
generosity; 'pardon me; thou saidst right--we know each other. If thou
wouldst have me silent, thou must pay something in advance, as an offer
to Harpocrates.' If the rose, sweet emblem of discretion, is to take
root firmly, water her this night with a stream of gold.'
'Witty and poetical!' answered Arbaces, still in that bland voice which
lulled and encouraged, when it ought to have alarmed and checked, his
griping comrade. 'Wilt thou not wait the morrow?'
'Why this delay? Perhaps, when I can no longer give my testimony
without shame for not having given it ere the innocent man suffered,
thou wilt forget my claim; and, indeed, thy present hesitation is a bad
omen of thy future gratitude.'
'Well, then, Calenus, what wouldst thou have me pay thee?'
'Thy life is, very precious, and thy wealth is very great,' returned the
priest, grinning.
'Wittier and more witty. But speak out--what shall be the sum?'
'Arbaces, I have heard that in thy secret treasury below, beneath those
rude Oscan arches which prop thy stately halls, thou hast piles of gold,
of vases, and of jewels, which might rival the receptacles of the wealth
of the deified Nero. Thou mayst easily spare out of those piles enough
to make Calenus among the richest priests of Pompeii, and yet not miss
the loss.'
'Come, Calenus,' said Arbaces, winningly, and with a frank and generous
air, 'thou art an old friend, and hast been a faithful servant. Thou
canst have no wish to take away my life, nor I a desire to stint thy
reward: thou shalt descend with me to that treasury thou referrest to,
thou shalt feast thine eyes with the blaze of uncounted gold and the
sparkle of priceless gems; and thou shalt for thy own reward, bear away
with thee this night as much as thou canst conceal beneath thy robes.
Nay, when thou hast once seen what thy friend possesses, thou wilt learn
how foolish it would be to injure one who has so much to bestow. When
Glaucus is no more, thou shalt pay the treasury another visit. Speak I
frankly and as a friend?'
'Oh, greatest, best of men!' cried Calenus, almost weeping with joy,
'canst thou thus forgive my injurious doubts of thy justice, thy
generosity?'
'Hush! one other turn and we will descend to the Oscan arches.'