The night had been almost as sleepless to Keraunus' daughter Selene as
it had been to the hapless slave. Her father's vain wish to let Arsinoe
take a part with the daughters of the wealthier citizens had filled the
girl's heart with fresh terrors. It was the final blow which would
demolish the structure of their social existence, standing as it did on
quaking ground, and which must fling her family and herself into disgrace
and want. When their last treasure of any value was sold, and the
creditors could no longer be put off, particularly during the Emperor's
presence in the city, when they should try to sell up all her father's
little property, or to carry him off to a debtor's prison, was it not
then as good as certain that some one else would be appointed to fill his
place, and that she and the other children would fall into misery? And
there lay Arsinoe by her side, and slept with as calm and deep a breath
as blind Helios and the other little ones.
Before going to bed she had tried with all the fervency and eloquence of
which she was mistress, to persuade, entreat, and implore the heedless
girl to refuse as positively as she herself had refused to take any part
in the processions; but Arsinoe had at first repulsed her crossly, and
finally had defiantly declared that means might yet very likely be found,
and that what her father permitted, Selene had no right to interfere in,
still less to forbid. And when afterwards she saw Arsinoe sleeping so
calmly by her side, she felt as if she would like to shake her; but she
was so accustomed to bear all the troubles of the family alone, and to be
unkindly repelled by her sister whenever she attempted to admonish her,
that she forbore.
Arsinoe had a good and tender heart, but she was young, pretty, and vain.
With affectionate persuasion she might be won over to anything, but
Selene, when ever she remonstrated with her, made her feel her
superiority over herself, acquired from her care of the family and her
maternal character. Thus, not a day passed without some quarrelling and
tears between these two sisters who were so dissimilar, and yet, both so
well disposed. Arsinoe was always the first to offer her hand for a
reconciliation, but Selene would rarely have a kinder answer ready to her
affectionate advances than, "Let be," or "Oh yes, I know!" and their
outward intercourse bore an aspect of coolness, which was easily worked
up to an outbreak of hostile speeches. Hundreds of times they would go
to bed without wishing each other 'good-night,' and still more often
would they avoid any morning greeting when they first met in the day.
Arsinoe liked talking, but in Selene's presence she was taciturn; there
were few things in which Selene took pleasure, while her sister delighted
in every thing which can charm youth. It was the steward's eldest
daughter who attended to the daily needs of the children, their food and
clothes; it was the second who superintended their games, and their
dolls. The eldest watched and taught them with anxious care, detecting
in every little fault the germ of some evil tendency in the future, while
the other enticed them into follies, it is true, but opened their minds
to joyous impressions, and attained more by kisses and kind words than
Selene could by fault-finding. The children would call Selene when they
wanted her, but would fly to Arsinoe as soon as they saw her. Their
hearts were hers, and Selene felt this bitterly; it seemed to her to be
unjust, for she saw clearly that her sister could reap, from mere
frivolous play in her idle hours, a sweeter reward than she could earn by
the anxiety, trouble and exhausting toil, in which she often spent her
nights.
But children are not unjust in this way. It is true that they keep an
account in their heart and not in their head. Those who give them the
warmth of affection they pay back most honestly.
On this particular night it was not, it is certain, with very sisterly
feelings that Selene looked at the sleeping Arsinoe, and the words on the
girl's lips as she had dropped asleep, had sounded very unkind; but,
nevertheless, they felt warmly towards each other, and any one who should
have attempted to say a word against the one in the presence of the other
would soon have found out how close a bond held together these two
hearts, dissimilar as they were. But no girl of nineteen can pass a
night altogether without sleeping, however sadly she may turn and turn
over and over again in her bed. So slumber overmastered Selene every now
and then for a quarter of an hour, and each time she dreamed of her
sister.
Once she saw Arsinoe dressed out like a queen, followed by beggar
children and pelted with bad words--then she saw her on the rotunda below
the balcony romping with Pollux, and in their bold sport they broke her
mother's bust. At last she dreamed that she herself was playing--as in
the days of her childhood--in the gate-keeper's garden with the sculptor.
They were making cakes of sand together, and Arsinoe jumped on the cakes
as soon as they were made, and trod them all into dust.
The pretty pale girl had for a long time ceased to know the refreshing,
dreamless, sound sleep of youth, for the sweetest slumbers are more apt
to seek out those who by day have some rest, than those who are worn out
by fatigue, and evening after evening Selene was one of these. Every
night she had dreams, but tonight they were almost exclusively sad in
character, and so terrifying that she woke herself repeatedly with her
own groaning, or disturbed Arsinoe's peaceful sleep by loud cries.
These cries did not disturb her father, he--to-night, as every night--had
begun to snore soon after he had gone to rest, never to cease till it was
time to rise again.
Selene was always busy in the house before any one, even before the
slaves; and the approach of day this time seemed to the sleepless girl a
real release. When she rose it was still perfectly dark, but she knew
that the rising of the December sun could not be long to wait for.
Without paying any heed to the sleepers, or making any special effort to
tread noiselessly, or to do what she had to do without disturbing them,
she lighted her little lamp, at the night-lamp, washed herself, arranged
her hair, and then knocked at the doors of the old slaves.
As soon as they had yawned out "directly," or a sleepy "very well," she
went into her father's room and took his jug to fetch him fresh water in
it. The best well in the palace was on a small terrace on the west side;
it was supplied by the city aqueducts, and was constructed of five marble
monsters, bearing up on twisted fishtails a huge shell, in which sat a
bearded river-god. Their horse-shaped heads poured water into a vast
basin, which, in the lapse of centuries, had grown full of a green and
filmy vegetation.
In order to reach this fountain, Selene had to go along the corridor
where lay the rooms occupied by the Emperor and his followers. She only
knew that an architect from Rome had taken up his quarters at Lochias,
for, some time after midnight, she had been to get out meat and salt for
him, but in what rooms the strangers had been lodged no one had told her.
But this morning as she followed the path she was accustomed to tread day
by day at the same hour, she felt an anxious shiver. She felt as if
everything were not quite the same as usual, and just as she had set her
foot on the cop step of the flight leading to the corridor, she raised
her lamp to discover whence came the sound she thought she could hear,
she perceived in the gloom a fearful something. which as she approached
it resembled a dog, and which was larger--much larger--than a dog should
be.
Her blood ran cold with terror; for a few moments she stood as if
spellbound, and was only conscious that the growling and snarling that
she heard meant mischief and threatening to herself. At last she found
strength to turn to fly, but at the same instant a loud and furious bark
echoed behind her and she heard the monster's quick leaps as he flew
after her along the stone pavement.
She felt a violent shock, the pitcher flew out of her hand and was
shattered into a thousand fragments, and she sank to the ground under the
weight of a warm, rough, heavy mass. Her loud cries of alarm resounded
from the hard bare walls, and roused the sleepers and brought them to her
side.
"See what it is," cried Hadrian to his slave, who had immediately sprung
up and seized his shield and sword.
"The dog has attacked a woman who wanted to come this way," replied
Mastor.
"Hold him off, but do not beat him," the Emperor shouted after him.
"Argus has only done his duty." The slave hastened down the passage as
fast as possible, loudly calling the dog by his name. But another had
been beforehand and had dragged him off his victim, and this was
Antinous, whose room was close to the scene of action, and who, as soon
as he had heard the dog's bark and Selene's scream, had hurried to hold
back the brute which was really dangerous when on guard and in the dark.
When Mastor appeared the lad had just succeeded in dragging the dog away
from Selene, who was lying on the stairs leading to the corridor. Before
Antinous could reach her Argus was standing over her gnashing his teeth
and growling. Argus, who was quickly quieted by his friends' tone of
kindly admonition, stood aside silent and with his head down while
Antinous knelt by the senseless girl on whom the pale light of early dawn
fell through--wide window. The boy looked with alarm on her pale face,
lifted her helpless arm, and sought on her light-colored dress for any
trace of blood that might have been drawn, but in vain. After he had
assured himself that she still breathed, and that her lips moved, he
called to Mastor:
"Argus seems only to have pulled her down, not to have wounded her; she
has lost consciousness however. Go quickly into my room and bring me the
blue phial out of my medicine-case and a cup of water."
The slave whistled to the hound and obeyed the order as quickly as
possible.
Meanwhile Antinous remained on his knees by the senseless girl, and
ventured to raise her head with its long soft weight of hair. How
beautiful were those marble-white, and nobly-cut features! How touching
did the silent accent of pain that lay on her lips seem to him, and how
happy was the spoilt darling of the Emperor, who was loved by all who saw
him, to be able to be tender and helpful, unasked!
"Wake up, oh! wake up!" he cried to Selene--and when still she did not
move, he repeated more urgently and tenderly, "Pray, pray wake up."
But she did not hear him, and remained motionless even when, with a
slight blush, he drew over her shoulder her peplum, which the dog had
torn away. Now Mastor returned with the water and the blue phial, and
gave them to the Bithynian. While Antinous laid the girl's head in his
lap, the slave was hurrying away, saying: "Caesar called me."
The lad moistened Selene's forehead with the reviving fluid, made her
inhale the strong essence which the phial contained, and cried again loud
and earnestly, "Wake, wake."--And presently her lips parted, showing her
small, white teeth, and then she slowly raised the lids which had veiled
her eyes. With a deep sigh of relief he set the cup and the phial on the
ground so as to support her when she slowly began to raise herself; but,
scarcely had he turned his face towards her, when she sprang up suddenly
and violently, and flinging both her arms round his neck, cried out:
"Save me, Pollux, save me! The monster is devouring me." Antinous much
startled, seized the girl's arms to release himself from their embrace,
but, she had already freed him and sunk back on to the ground. The next
moment she was shivering violently as if from an attack of fever; again
she threw up her hands, pressed them to her temples, and gazed with
terror and bewilderment into the face that bent above her.
"What is it? Who are you?" she asked, in a low voice.
He rose quickly, and while he supported her as she attempted to rise and
stand upon her feet, he said:
"The gods be praised that you are still alive. Our big hound threw you
down-and he has terrible teeth." Selene was now standing up, and face to
face with the boy at whose last words she shuddered again.
"Do, you feel any pain?" asked Antinous, anxiously.
"Yes," she said, dully.
"Did he bite you?"
"I think not--pick up that pin, it has fallen out of my dress."
The Bithynian obeyed her behest, and while the girl re-fastened her
peplum over her shoulders she asked him again:
"Who are you? How came the dog in our palace?"
"He belongs--he belongs to us. We arrived late last night, and Pontius
put us--"
"Then you are with the architect from Rome?"
"Yes, but who are you?"
"Selene is my name, I am the daughter of the palace-steward."
"And who is Pollux, whom you were calling to help you when you recovered
your senses?"
"What does that matter to you?"
Antinous colored, and answered in confusion:
"I was startled when you suddenly roused up, with his name so loudly on
your lips, when I brought you back to life with water and this essence."
"Well, I was roused--and now I can walk again. People who bring furious
dogs into a strange place, should know how to take better care of them.
Tie the dog up safely, for the children--my little brothers and sisters--
come this way when they want to go out. Thank you for your help--and my
pitcher?"
As she spoke she looked down on the remains of the pretty jar, which was
one her mother had particularly valued. When she saw the fragments lying
on the ground, she gave a deep sob, but she shed no tears. Then she
exclaimed angrily: "It is infamous!"
With these words she turned her back on Antinous and returned to her
father's room, using her left foot, however, with caution, for it was
very painful.
The young Bithynian gazed in silence at Selene's tall, slight form, he
felt prompted to follow her, to say to her how very sorry he was for the
mischance that had befallen her, and that the hound belonged not to him
but to another man; but he dared not. Long after she had disappeared
from sight he stood on the same spot. At last he collected his senses,
and slowly went back to his room, where he sat on his couch with his eyes
fixed dreamily on the ground, till the Emperor's call roused him from his
reverie.
Selene had hardly vouchsafed Antinous a glance. She was in pain not
merely in her left foot, but also in the back of her head where she found
there was a deep cut; but her thick hair had staunched the blood that
flowed from the wound. She felt very tired, and the loss of her pretty
jug, which must also be replaced by another, vexed her far more than the
beauty of the favorite had charmed her.
She slowly and wearily entered the sitting-room, where her father was by
this time waiting for her and his water. He was accustomed to have it
regularly at the same hour, and as Selene was absent longer than usual,
he could think of no better way of filling up the time than by grumbling
and scolding to himself; when, at last, his daughter appeared on the
threshold, he at once perceived that she had no jug, and said crossly:
"And am I to have no water to-day?"
Selene shook her head, sank into a seat, and began to cry softly.
"What is the matter?" asked her father.
"The pitcher is broken," she said sadly.
You should take better care of such expensive things," scolded her
father. "You are always complaining of want of money, and at the same
time you break half our belongings."
"I was thrown down," answered Selene, drying her eyes.
"Thrown down! by whom?" asked the steward, slowly rising.
"By the architect's big dog--the architect who came last night from Rome,
and to whom we gave that meat and salt in the middle of the night. He
slept here, at Lochias."
"And he set his clog on my child!" shouted Keraunus, with an angry glare.
"The hound was alone in the passage when I went there."
"Did it bite you?"
"No, but it pulled me down, and stood over me, and gnashed its teeth--oh!
it was horrible."
"The cursed, vagabond scoundrel!" growled the steward, "I will teach him
how to behave in a strange house!"
"Let him be," said Selene, as she saw her father about to don the saffron
cloak.
"What is done cannot be undone, and if quarrels and dissentions come of
it, it will make you ill."
"Vagabonds! impudent rascals! who fill my palace with quarrelsome curs,"
muttered Keraunus without listening to his daughter, and as he settled
the folds of his pallium he growled "Arsinoe! why is it that girl never
hears me."
When she appeared he desired her to heat the irons to curl his hair.
"They are ready by the fire," answered Arsinoe. "Come into the kitchen
with me."
Keraunus followed her, and had his locks curled and scented, while his
younger children stood round him waiting for the porridge which Selene
usually prepared for them at this hour.
Keraunus responded to their morning greetings with nods as friendly as
Arsinoe's tongs, which held his head tightly by the hair, would allow.
It was only the blind Helios, a pretty boy of six, that he drew to his
side and gave a kiss on his cheek. He loved this child, who, though
deprived of the noblest of the senses, was always merry and contented,
with peculiar tenderness. Once he even laughed aloud when the child
clung to his sister, as she brandished the tongs, and said:
"Father, do you know why I am sorry I cannot see?"
"Well?" said his father.
"Because I should so like to see you for once with the beautiful curls
which Arsinoe makes with the irons." But the steward's mirth was checked
when his daughter, pausing in her labors, said half in jest, but half in
earnest:
"Have you thought any more about the Emperor's arrival, father?
I smarten and dress you so fine every day--but to-day you ought to think
of dressing me."
"We will see about it," said Keraunus evasively. "Do you know," said
Arsinoe, after a short pause, as she twisted the last lock in the
freshly-heated tongs, "I thought it all over last night again. If we
cannot succeed any way in scraping together the money for my dress, we
can still--"
"Well?"
"Even Selene can say nothing against it."
"Against what?"
"But, you will be angry!"
"Speak out."
"You pay taxes like the rest of the citizens."
"What has that to do with it?"
"Well then, we are justified in expecting something from the city,"
"What for?"
"To pay for my dress for the festival which is got up for the Emperor,
not by an individual, but by the citizens as a body. We could not accept
alone, but it is folly to refuse what a rich municipality offers. That
is neither more nor less than making them a present."
"You be silent," cried Keraunus, really furious, and trying in vain to
remember the argument with which, only yesterday, he had refused the same
suggestion. "Be silent, and wait till I begin to talk about such
matters."
Arsinoe flung the tongs on the hearth with so much annoyance that they
fell on the stone with a loud clatter; but her father quitted the kitchen
and returned to the sitting-room. There he found Selene lying on a
couch, and the old slave-woman, who had tied a wet handkerchief round
the girl's head, pressing another to her bare left foot.
"Wounded!" cried Keraunus, and his eyes rolled slowly from right to left
and from left to right.
"Look at the swelling!" cried the old woman in broken Greek, raising
Selene's snow-white foot in her black hands for her father to see.
"Thousands of fine ladies have hands that are not so small. Poor, poor
little foot," and as she spoke the old woman pressed it to her lips.
Selene pushed her aside, and said, turning to her father:
"The cut on my head is nothing to speak of, but the muscles and veins
here at the ancle are swelled and my leg hurts me rather when I tread.
When the dog threw me down I must have hit it against the stone step."
"It is outrageous!" cried Keraunus, the blood again mounting to his
head, "only wait and I will show them what I think of their goings on."
"No, no," entreated Selene, "only beg them politely to shut up the
dog, or to chain it, so that it may not hurt the children."
Her voice trembled with anxiety as she spoke the words, for the dread,
which, she knew not why, had so long been tormenting her lest her father
should lose his place, seemed to affect her more than ever to-day.
"What! civil words after what has now happened?" cried Keraunus
indignantly, and as if something quite unheard of had been suggested to
him.
"Nay, nay, say what you mean," shrieked the old woman. "If such a thing
had occurred to your father he would have fallen on the strange builder
with a good thrashing."
"And his son Keraunus will not let him off," declared the steward,
quitting the room without heeding Selene's entreaty not to let himself be
provoked.
In the ante-chamber he found his old slave whom he ordered to take a
stick and go before him to announce him to Pontius' guest, the architect,
who was lodging in the rooms in the wing near the fountain. This was the
elegant thing to do, and by this means the black slave would meet the big
dog before his master who held him and all dogs in the utmost abhorrence.
As he approached his destination he found himself quite in the humor to
speak his mind to the stranger who had come here with a ferocious hound
to tear the members of his family.