When the steward went to summons the musicians to his master’s house he
had again had no bidding for Dada, and she was very indignant at being
left behind. “That old cornsack’s daughter,” she said, “was full of her
airs, and would have nothing to say to them excepting to make use of
them for her own purposes!” If she had not been afraid of being thought
intrusive she would have acted on old Damia’s invitation to visit her
frequently, and have made her appearance, in defiance of Gorgo, dropping
like a shooting-star into the midst of their practising. It never
occurred to her to fancy that the young lady had any personal dislike
to her, for, though she might be ignored and forgotten, who had ever had
any but a kind word for her. At the same time she assumed the right of
feeling that “she could not bear” the haughty Gorgo, and as the party
set out she exclaimed to Agne, “Well, you need not kill her for me, but
at any rate, I send her no greeting; it is a shame that I should be left
to mope alone with Herse. Do not be surprised if you find me turned to a
stark, brown mummy--for we are in Egypt, you know, the land of mummies.
I bequeath my old dress to you, my dear, for I know you would never
put on the new one. If you bewail me as you ought I will visit you in a
dream, and put a sugarplum in your mouth--a cake of ambrosia such as the
gods eat. You are not even leaving me Papias to tease!”
For in fact Agne’s little brother, dressed in a clean garment, was to be
taken to Gorgo who had expressed a wish to see him.
When they had all left the ship Dada soon betrayed how superficial her
indignation had been; for, presently spying through the window of the
cabin the young cavalry officer’s grey-bearded father, she sprang up
the narrow steps--barefoot as she was accustomed to be when at home--and
threw herself on a cushion to lean over the gunwale of the upper deck,
which was shaded by a canvas awning, to watch the ship-yard and the
shore-path. Before she had begun to weary of this occupation the
waiting-slave, who had been up to the house to put various matters in
order, came back to the vessel, and squatting down at her feet was
ready to give her all the information she chose to require. Dada’s
first questions naturally related to Gorgo. The young mistress, said
the slave, had already dismissed many suitors, the sons of the greatest
families of Alexandria, and if her suspicions--those of Sachepris, the
slave--were well founded, all for the sake of the old shipbuilder’s
son, whom she had known from childhood and who was now an officer in
the Imperial guard. However, as she opined, this attachment could hardly
lead to marriage, since Constantine was a zealous Christian and his
family were immeasurably beneath that of Porphyrius in rank; and though
he had distinguished himself greatly and risen to the grade of Prefect,
Damia, who on all occasions had the casting-vote, had quite other views
for her granddaughter.
All this excited Dada’s sympathies to the highest pitch, but she
listened with even greater attention when her gossip began to speak of
Marcus, his mother, and his brother. In this the Egyptian slave was the
tool of old Damia. She had counted on being questioned about the young
Christian, and as soon as Dada mentioned his name she shuffled on her
knees close up to the girl, laid her hand gently on her arm and
looking up into her eyes with a meaning flash, she whispered in broken
Greek--and hastily, for Herse was bustling about the deck: “Such a
pretty mistress, such a young mistress as you, and kept here like
a slave! If the young mistress only chose she could easily--quite
easily--have as good a lover as our Gorgo, and better; so pretty and so
young! And I know some one who would dress the pretty mistress in red
gold and pale pearls and bright jewels, if sweet Dada only said the
word.”
“And why should sweet Dada not say the word?” echoed the girl gaily.
“Who is it that has so many nice things and all for me? You--I shall
never remember your name if I live to be as old as Damia....”
“Sachepris, Sachepris is my name,” said the woman, “but call me anything
else you like. The lover I mean is the son of the rich Christian, Mary.
A handsome man, my lord Marcus; and he has horses, such fine horses, and
more gold pieces than the pebbles on the shore there. Sachepris knows
that he has sent out slaves to look for the pretty mistress. Send him a
token--write to my lord Marcus.”
“Write?” laughed Dada. “Girls learn other things in my country; but if
I could--shall I tell you something? I would not write him a line. Those
who want me may seek me!”
“He is seeking, he is trying to find the pretty mistress,” declared the
woman; “he is full of you, quite full of you, and if I dared....”
“Well?”
“I would go and say to my lord Marcus, quite in a secret....”
“Well, what? Speak out, woman.”
“First I would tell him where the pretty mistress is hidden; and then
say that he might hope once--this evening perhaps--he is not far off, he
is quite near this... over there; do you see that little white house? It
is a tavern and the host is a freedman attached to the lady Damia, and
for money he would shut his shop up for a day, for a night, for many
days.--Well, and then I would say--shall I tell you all? My lord Marcus
is there, waiting for his pretty mistress, and has brought her dresses
that would make the rose-garment look a rag. You would have gold too, as
much gold as heart can wish. I can take you there, and he will meet you
with open arms.”
“What, this evening?” cried Dada, and the blue veins swelled on her
white forehead. “You hateful, brown serpent! Did Gorgo teach you such
things as this? It is horrible, disgraceful, sickening!”
So base a proposal was the last thing she would ever have expected from
Marcus--of all men in the world, Marcus, whom she had imagined so good
and pure! She could not believe it; and as her glance met the cunning
glitter of the Egyptian’s eyes her own sparkled keenly, and she
exclaimed with a vehemence and decision which her attendant had never
suspected in her:
“It is deceit and falsehood from beginning to end! Go, woman, I will
hear no more of it. Why should Marcus have come to you since yesterday
if he does not know where I am? You are silent--you will not say?... Oh!
I understand it all. He--I know he would never have ventured it. But
it is your ‘noble lady Damia’--that old woman, who has told you what to
say. You are her echo, and as for Marcus.... Confess, confess at once,
you witch....”
“Sachepris is only a poor slave,” said the woman raising her hands in
entreaty. “Sachepris can only obey, and if the pretty mistress were to
tell my lady Damia...”
“It was she then who sent for me to go to the little tavern?”
The woman nodded. “And Marcus?”
“If the pretty mistress had consented...”
“Well?”
“Then--but Great Isis! if you tell of me!”
“I will not tell; go on.”
“I should have gone to my lord Marcus and invited him, from you...”
“It is shameful!” interrupted Dada, and a shudder ran through her slight
frame. “How cruel, how horrible it is! You--you will stay here till the
others come home and then you will go home to the old woman. I thank
the gods, I have two hands and need no maid to wait upon me! But look
there--what is the meaning of that? That pretty litter has stopped and
there is an old man signing to you.”
“It is the widow Mary’s house steward,” whined the woman, while Dada
turned pale, wondering what a messenger from Marcus’ mother could want
here.
Herse, who had kept a watchful eye on the landing-plank, on Dada’s
account, had also seen the approach of the widow’s messenger and
suspected a love-message from Marcus; but she was utterly astounded when
the old man politely but imperiously desired her--Herse to get into the
litter which would convey her to his mistress’s house. Was this a trap?
Did he merely want to tempt her from the vessel so as to clear the way
for his young master? No--for he handed her a tablet on which there was
a written message, and she, an Alexandrian, had been well educated and
could read:
“Mary, the widow of Apelles, to the wife of Karnis, the singer.” And
then followed the same urgent request as she had already received by
word of mouth. To reassure herself entirely she called the slave-woman
aside, and asked her whether Phabis was indeed a trust worthy servant
of the widow’s. Evidently there was no treason to be apprehended and she
must obey the invitation, though it disturbed her greatly; but she was a
cautious woman, with not only her heart but her brains and tongue in the
right place, and she at once made up her mind what must be done under
the circumstances. While she gave a few decorative touches to her person
she handed the tablet to the waiting-woman, whom she had taken into her
own room, and desired her to carry it at once to her husband, and tell
him whither she had gone, and to beg him to return without delay to take
care of Dada. But what if her husband and son could not come away? The
girl would be left quite alone, and then... The picture rose before
her anxious mind of Marcus appearing on the scene and tempting Dada
on shore--of her niece stealing away by herself even, if the young
Christian failed to discover her present residence--loitering alone
along the Canopic way or the Bruclumn, where, at noon, all that was most
disreputable in Alexandria was to be seen at this time of year--she saw,
shuddered, considered--and suddenly thought of an expedient which
seemed to promise an issue from the difficulty. It was nothing new and a
favorite trick among the Egyptians; she had seen is turned to account
by a lame tailor at whose house her father had lodged, when he had to
go out to his customers and leave his young negress wife alone at home.
Dada was lying barefoot on the deck: Herse would hide her shoes.
She hastily acted on this idea, locking up not only Dada’s sandals, but
also Agne’s and her own, in the trunk they had saved; a glance at the
slave’s feet assured her that hers could be of no use.
“Not if fire were to break out,” thought she, “would my Dada be seen in
the streets with those preposterous things on her pretty little feet.”
When this was done Herse breathed more freely, and as she took leave of
her niece, feeling perhaps that she owed her some little reparation, she
said in an unusually kind tone:
“Good bye, child. Try to amuse yourself while I am gone. There is plenty
to look at here, and the others will soon be back again. If the city is
fairly quiet this evening we will all go out together, to Canopus, to
eat oysters. Good bye till we meet again, my pet!” She kissed the child,
who looked up at her in astonishment, for her adopted mother was not
usually lavish of such endearments.
Before long Dada was alone, cooling herself with her new fan and eating
sweetmeats; but she could not cease thinking of the shameful treachery
planned by old Damia, and while she rejoiced to reflect that she had not
fallen into the net, and had seen through the plot, her wrath against
the wicked old woman and Gorgo--whom she could not help including--burnt
within her. Meanwhile she looked about her, expecting to see Marcus, or
perhaps the young officer. Finding it impossible to think any evil of
the young Christian, and having already trusted him so far, her fancy
dwelt on him with particular pleasure; but she was curious, too, about
the prefect, the early love of the proud merchant’s daughter.
Time went on; the sun was high in the heavens, she was tired of staring,
wondering and thinking, and, yawning wearily, she began to consider
whether she would make herself comfortable for a nap, or go down
stairs and fill up the time by dressing herself up in her new garments.
However, before she could do either, the slave returned from her errand
to the house, and a few moments after she espied the young officer
crossing the ship-yard towards the lake; she sat up, set the crescent
straight that she wore in her hair, and waved her fan in a graceful
greeting.
The cavalry prefect, who knew that, of old, the barge was often used by
Porphyrius’ guests, though he did not happen to have heard who were its
present occupants--bowed, with military politeness and precision, to the
pretty girl lounging on the deck. Dada returned the greeting; but this
seemed likely to be the end of their acquaintance, for the soldier
walked on without turning round. He looked handsomer even than he
had seemed the day before; his hair was freshly oiled and curled, his
scale-armor gleamed as brightly, and his crimson tunic was as new and
rich as if he were going at once to guard the Imperial throne. The
merchant’s daughter had good taste, but her friend looked no less
haughty than herself. Dada longed to make his acquaintance and find out
whether he really had no eyes for any one but Gorgo. To discover that it
was not so, little as she cared about him personally, would have given
her infinite satisfaction, and she decided that she must put him to the
test. But there was no time to lose, so, as it would hardly do to call
after him, she obeyed a sudden impulse, flung overboard the handsome fan
which had been in her possession but one day, and gave a little cry in
which alarm and regret were most skilfully and naturally expressed.
This had the wished-for effect. The officer turned round, his eyes met
hers, and Dada leaned far over the boat’s side pointing to the water and
exclaiming:
“It is in the water--it has fallen into the lake!--my fan!”
The officer again bowed slightly; then he walked from the path down to
the water’s edge, while Dada went on more quietly:
“There, close there! Oh, if only you would!...
“I am so fond of the fan, it is so pretty. Do you see, it is quite
obliging? it is floating towards you!” Constantine had soon secured the
fan, and shook it to dry it as he went across the plank to the vessel.
Dada joyfully received it, stroked the feathers smooth, and warmly
thanked its preserver, while he assured her that he only wished he could
have rendered her some greater service. He was then about to retire with
a bow no less distant than before, but he found himself unexpectedly
detained by the Egyptian slave who, placing herself in his way, kissed
the hem of his tunic and exclaimed:
“What joy for my lord your father and the lady your mother, and for poor
Sachepris! My lord Constantine at home again!”
“Yes, at home at last,” said the soldier in a deep pleasant voice. “Your
old mistress is still hale and hearty? That is well. I am on my way to
the others.”
“They know that you have come,” replied the slave. “Glad, they are all
glad. They asked if my lord Constantine forgot old friends.”
“Never, not one!”
“How long now since my lord Constantine went away--two, three years, and
just the same. Only a cut over the eyes--may the hand wither that gave
the blow!”
Dada had already observed a broad scar which marked the soldier’s brow
as high up as she could see it for the helmet, and she broke in:
“How can you men like to slash and kill each other? Just think, if that
cut had been only a finger’s breadth lower--you would have lost your
eyes, and oh! it is better to be dead than blind. When all the world is
bright not to be able to see it; what must that be! The whole earth in
darkness so that you see nothing--no one; neither the sky, nor the lake,
nor the boat, nor even me.”
“That would indeed be a pity,” said the prefect with a laugh and a
shrug.
“A pity!” exclaimed Dada. “As if it were nothing at all! I should find
something else to say than that. It gives me a shudder only to think of
being blind. How dreadfully dull life can be with one’s eyes open! so
what must it be when they are of no use and one cannot even look about
one. Do you know that you have done me not one service only, but two at
once?”
“I?” said the officer.
“Yes, you. But the second is not yet complete. Sit down awhile, I
beg--there is a seat. You know it is a fatal omen if a visitor does not
sit down before he leaves.--That is well.--And now, may I ask you: do
you take off your helmet when you go into battle? No.--Then how could a
swordcut hurt your forehead?”
“In a hand to hand scuffle,” said the young man, “everything gets out of
place. One man knocked my helmet off and another gave me this cut in my
face.”
“Where did it happen?”
“On the Savus, where we defeated Maximus.”
“And had you this same helmet on?”
“Certainly.”
“Oh! pray let me look at it! I can still see the dent in the metal; how
heavy such a thing must be to wear!”
Constantine took off his helmet with resigned politeness and put it into
her hands. She weighed it, thought it fearfully heavy, and then lifted
it up to put it on her own fair curls; but this did not seem to please
her new acquaintance, and saying rather shortly: “Allow me--” he took it
from her, set it on his head and rose.
But Dada pointed eagerly to the seat.
“No, no,” she said, “I have not yet had enough of your second kindness.
I was on the point of death from sheer tedium; then you came, just in
time; and if you want to carry out your work of mercy you must tell me
something about the battle where you were wounded, and who took care of
you afterwards, and whether the women of Pannonia are really as handsome
as they are said to be...”
“I am sorry to say that I have not time,” interrupted the officer.
“Sachepris here is far better qualified to amuse you than I; some years
since, at any rate, she lead a wonderful store of tales. I wish you a
pleasant day!”
And with this farewell greeting, Constantine left the vessel, nor did he
once look back at it or its pretty inhabitant as he made his way towards
the house of Porphyrius.
Dada as she gazed after him colored with vexation; again she had done
a thing that Herse and--which she regretted still more--that Agne would
certainly disapprove of. The stranger whom she had tried to draw into a
flirtation was a really chivalrous man. Gorgo might be proud of such a
lover; and if now, he were to go to her and tell her, probably with
some annoyance, how provokingly he had been delayed by that pert little
singing-girl, it would be all her own fault. She felt as though there
were something in her which forced her to seem much worse than she
really was, and wished to be. Agne, Marcus, the young soldier--nay,
even Gorgo, were loftier and nobler than she or her people, and she
was conscious for the first time that the dangers from which Marcus had
longed to protect her were not the offspring of his fancy. She could not
have found a name for them, but she understood that she was whirled and
tossed through life from one thing to another, like a leaf before the
wind, bereft of every stay or holdfast, defenceless even against the
foolish vagaries of her own nature. Everyone, thought the girl to
herself, distrusted and suspected her, and, solely because she was one
of a family of singers, dared to insult and dishonor her. A strange
spite against Fate, against her uncle and aunt, against herself even,
surged up in her, and with it a vague longing for another and a better
life.
Thus meditating she looked down into the water, not noticing what was
going on around her, till the slave-woman, addressing her by name,
pointed to a carriage drawn up at the side of the road that divided the
grove of the Temple of Isis from the ship-yard, and which the Egyptian
believed that she recognized as belonging to Marcus. Dada started up and
ran off to the cabin to fetch her shoes, but everything in the shape of
a sandal had vanished, and Herse had been wise when she had looked
at those of the Egyptian, for Dada did the same and would not have
hesitated to borrow them if they had been a little less dirty and
clumsy.
Herse, no doubt, had played her this trick, and it was easy to guess
why! It was only to divert her suspicions that the false woman had
been so affectionate at parting. It was cheating, treachery-cruel and
shameful! She, who had always submitted like a lamb--but this was too
much--this she could not bear--this!... The slave-woman now followed
her to desire her to come up on deck; a new visitor had appeared on the
scene, an old acquaintance and fellow-voyager: Demetrius, Marcus’ elder
brother.
At any other time she would have made him gladly welcome, as a companion
and comfort in her solitude; but he had chosen an evil hour for his
visit and his proposals, as the girl’s red cheeks and tearful eyes at
once told him.
He had come to fetch her, cost him what it might, and to carry her away
to his country-home, near Arsinoe on the coast. It was not that he had
any mad desire to make her his own, but that he thought it his most
urgent duty to preserve his inexperienced brother from the danger into
which his foolish passion for the little singing-girl was certain
to plunge him. A purse full of gold, and a necklace of turquoise and
diamonds, which he had purchased from a jeweller in the Jews’ quarter
for a sum for which he had often sold a ship-load of corn or a whole
cellar full of wine or oil, were to supplement his proposals; and he
went straight to the point, asking the girl simply and plainly to leave
her friends and accompany him to Arsinoe. When she asked him, in much
astonishment, “What to do there?” he told her he wanted a cheerful
companion; he had taken a fancy to her saucy little nose, and though he
could not flatter himself that he had ever found favor in her eyes he
had brought something with him which she would certainly like, and
which might help him to win her kindness. He was not niggardly, and if
this--and this--and he displayed the sparkling necklace and laid the
purse on her pillow--could please her she might regard them as an
earnest of more, as much more as she chose, for his pockets were deep.
Dada did not interrupt him, for the growing indignation with which she
heard him took away her breath. This fresh humiliation was beyond the
bounds of endurance; and when at last she recovered her powers of speech
and action, she flung the purse off the divan, and as it fell clattering
on the floor, she kicked it away as far as possible, as though it were
plague-tainted. Then, standing upright in front of her suitor, she
exclaimed:
“Shame upon you all! You thought that because I am a poor girl, a
singing-girl, and because you have filthy gold.... Your brother Marcus
would never have done such a thing, I am very sure!... And you, a horrid
peasant!... If you ever dare set foot on this vessel again, Karnis and
Orpheus shall drive you away as if you were a thief or an assassin!
Eternal Gods! what is it that I have done, that everyone thinks I must
be wicked? Eternal Gods....”
And she burst into loud spasmodic sobs and vanished down the steps that
led below.
Demetrius called after her in soothing words and tones, but she would
not listen. Then he sent down the slave to beg Dada to grant him a
hearing, but the only answer he received was an order to quit the barge
at once.
He obeyed, and as he picked up the purse he thought to himself:
“I may buy ship and vineyard back again; but I would send four more
after those if I could undo this luckless deed. If I were a better and
a worthier man, I might not so easily give others credit for being evil
and unworthy.”