Deep silence brooded over the water and the green islands which rose like
oases from its glittering surface. The palms, silver poplars, and
sycamores on the largest one were already casting longer shadows as the
slanting rays of the sun touched their dark crowns, while its glowing
ball still poured a flood of golden radiance upon the bushes along the
shore, and the light, feathery tufts at the tops of the papyrus reeds in
the brackish water.
More than one flock of large and small waterfowl flew past beneath the
silvery cloudlets flecking the lofty azure vault of heaven; here and
there a pelican or a pair of wild ducks plunged, with short calls which
ceased abruptly, into the lush green thicket, but their cackling and
quacking belonged to the voices of Nature, and, when heard, soon died
away in the heights of the tipper air, or in the darkness of the
underbrush that received the birds. Very few reached the little city of
Tennis, which now, during the period of inundation in the year 274 B.C.,
was completely encircled by water.
From the small island, separated from it by a channel scarcely three
arrow-shots wide, it seemed as though sleep or paralysis had fallen upon
the citizens of the busy little industrial town, for few people appeared
in the streets, and the scanty number of porters and sailors who were
working among the ships and boats in the little fleet performed their
tasks noiselessly, exhausted by the heat and labour of the day.
Columns of light smoke rose from many of the buildings, but the sunbeams
prevented its ascent into the clear, still air, and forced it to spread
over the roofs as if it, too, needed rest.
Silence also reigned in the little island diagonally opposite to the
harbour. The Tennites called it the Owl's Nest, and, though for no
especial reason, neither they nor the magistrates of King Ptolemy II ever
stepped upon its shores. Indeed, a short time before, the latter had
even been forbidden to concern themselves about the pursuits of its
inhabitants; since, though for centuries it had belonged to a family of
seafaring folk who were suspected of piracy, it had received, two
generations ago, from Alexander the Great himself, the right of asylum,
because its owner, in those days, had commanded a little fleet which
proved extremely useful to the conqueror of the world in the siege of
Gaza and during the expedition to Egypt. True, under the reign of
Ptolemy I, the owners of the Owl's Nest were on the point of being
deprived of this favour, because they were repeatedly accused of piracy
in distant seas; but it had not been done. Yet for the past two years an
investigation had threatened Satabus, the distinguished head of the
family, and during this period he, with his ships and his sons, had
avoided Tennis and the Egyptian coast.
The house occupied by the islanders stood on the shore facing the little
city. It had once been a stately building, but now every part of it
seemed to be going to ruin except the central portion, which presented a
less dilapidated appearance than the sorely damaged, utterly neglected
side wings.
The roof of the whole long structure had originally consisted of palm
branches, upon which mud and turf had been piled; but this, too, was now
in repair only on the central building. On the right and left wings the
rain which often falls in the northeastern part of the Nile Delta, near
the sea, had washed off the protecting earth, and the wind had borne it
away as dust.
Once the house had been spacious enough to shelter a numerous family and
to store a great quantity of goods and provisions, but it was now long
since the ruinous chambers had been occupied. Smoke rose only from the
opening in the roof of the main building, but its slender column showed
from what a very scanty fire it ascended.
The purpose which this was to serve was readily discovered, for in front
of the open door of the dwelling, that seemed far too large and on
account of the pillars at the entrance, which supported a triangular
pediment--also too stately for its sole occupant, sat an old woman,
plucking three ducks.
In front of her a girl, paying no heed to her companion, stood leaning
against the trunk of the low, wide-branching sycamore tree near the
shore. A narrow boat, now concealed from view by the dense growth of
rushes, had brought her to the spot.
The beautiful, motherless young creature, needing counsel, had come to
old Tabus to appeal to her art of prophecy and, if she wanted them, to
render her any little services; for the old dame on the island was
closely bound to Ledscha, the daughter of one of the principal ship-
owners in Tennis, and had once been even more closely united to the girl.
Now, as the sun was about to set, the latter gave herself up to a wild
tumult of sweet memories, anxious fears, and yearning expectation.
Not until a cool breath from the neighbouring sea fanned her brow did she
throw down the cord and implement with which she had been adding a few
meshes to a net, and rising, gaze sometimes across the water at a large
white house in the northern part of the city, sometimes at the little
harbour or the vessels on the horizon steering toward Tennis, among which
her keen eyes discovered a magnificent ship with bright-hued sails.
Drawing a long breath, she enjoyed the coolness which precedes the
departure of the daystar.
But the effect of this harbinger of night upon her surroundings was even
more powerful than upon herself, for the sun in the western horizon
scarcely began to sink slowly behind the papyrus thicket on the shore of
the straight Tanite arm of the Nile, dug by human hands, than one new and
strange phenomenon followed another.
First a fan, composed of countless glowing rays which spread in dazzling
radiance over the west, rose from the vanishing orb and for several
minutes adorned the lofty dome of the deep-blue sky like the tail of a
gigantic peacock. Then the glitter of the shining plumes paled. The
light-giving body from which they emanated disappeared and, in its stead,
a crimson mantle, with gold-bordered, crocus-yellow edges, spread itself
over the space it had left until the gleaming tints merged into the
deeper hues of the violet.
But the girl paid no heed to this splendid spectacle. Perhaps she
noticed how the fading light diffused a delicate rose-hued veil over the
light-blue sails, embroidered with silver vines, of the approaching state
galley, making its gilded prow glitter more brightly, and saw one fishing
boat after another move toward the harbour, but she gave the whole scene
only a few careless glances.
Ledscha cared little for the poor fishermen of Tennis, and the glittering
state galley could scarcely bring or bear away anything of importance to
her.
The epistrategus of the whole province was daily expected. But of what
consequence to the young girl were the changes which it was rumoured he
intended to introduce into the government of the country, concerning
which her father had expressed such bitter dissatisfaction before he set
out on his last trip to Pontus?
A very different matter occupied her thoughts, and as, pressing her hand
upon her heart, she gazed at the little city, gleaming with crimson hues
in the reflection of the setting sun, a strange, restless stir pervaded
the former stillness of Nature. Pelicans and flamingoes, geese and
ducks, storks and herons, ibises and cranes, bitterns and lapwings, flew
in dark flocks of manifold forms from all directions. Countless
multitudes of waterfowl darkened the air as they alighted upon the
uninhabited islands, and with ear-splitting croaking and cackling,
whistling and chirping, clapping and twittering, dropped into the sedges
and bushes which concealed their nests, while in the city the doors of
the houses opened, and men, women, and children, after toiling at the
loom and in the workshop, came out to enjoy the coolness of the evening
in the open air.
One fishing boat after another was already throwing a rope to the shore,
as the ship with the gay sails approached the little roadstead.
How large and magnificent it was!
None of the king's officials had ever used such a galley, not even the
epistrategus of the Delta, who last year had given the banking and the
oil trade to new lessees. Besides, the two transports that had followed
the magnificent vessel appeared to belong to it.
Ledscha had watched the ships indifferently enough, but suddenly her
gaze--and with it the austere beauty of her face--assumed a different
expression.
Her large black eyes dilated, and with passionate intentness she looked
from the gaily ornamented galley to the shore, which several men in Greek
costume were approaching.
The first two had come from the large white house whose door, since
sunset, had been the principal object of her attention.
It was Hermon, the taller one, for whom she was waiting with old Tabus.
He had promised to take her from the Owl's Nest, after nightfall, for a
lonely row upon the water.
Now he was not coming alone, but with his fellow-artist, the sculptor
Myrtilus, the nomarch and the notary--she recognised both distinctly--
Gorgias, the rich owner of the second largest weaving establishment in
Tennis, and several slaves.
What did it mean?
A sudden flush crimsoned her face, now slightly tanned, to the brow, and
her lips were compressed, giving her mouth an expression of repellent,
almost cruel harshness.
But the tension of her charming features, whose lines, though sharp, were
delicately outlined, soon vanished. There was still plenty of time
before the darkness would permit Hermon to join her unnoticed. A
reception, from which he could not be absent, was evidently about to take
place.
Yes, that was certainly the case; for now the magnificent galley had
approached as near the land as the shallow water permitted, and the
whistle of the rowers' flute-player, shouts of command, and the barking
of dogs could be heard.
Then a handkerchief waved a greeting from the vessel to the men on shore,
but the hand that held it was a woman's. Ledscha would have recognised
it had the twilight been far deeper.
The features of the new arrival could no longer be distinguished; but she
must be young. An elderly woman would not have sprung so nimbly into the
skiff that was to convey her to the land.
The man who assisted her in doing so was the same sculptor, Hermon, for
whom she had watched with so much longing.
Again the blood mounted into Ledscha's cheeks, and when she saw the
stranger lay her hand upon the shoulder of the Alexandrian who, only
yesterday, had assured the young girl of his love with ardent vows, and
allow him to lift her out of the boat, she buried her little white teeth
deeply in her lips.
She had never seen Hermon in the society of a woman of his own class,
and, full of jealous displeasure; perceived with what zealous assiduity
he who bowed before no one in Tennis, paid court to the stranger no less
eagerly than did his friend Myrtilus.
The whole scene passed like a shadow in the dusk before Ledscha's eyes,
half dimmed by uneasiness, perplexity, and suddenly inflamed jealousy.
The Egyptian twilight is short, and when Hermon disappeared with the new-
comer it was no longer possible to recognise the man who entered the very
boat in which she was to have taken the nocturnal voyage with her lover,
and which was now rowed toward the Owl's Nest.
Surely it would bring her a message from Hermon; and as the stranger, who
was now joined by a number of other women and two packs of barking dogs,
with their keepers, vanished in the darkness, the skiff already touched
the shore close at her side.