A PRECIOUS BOOK.
It is time to explain what had happened to Cleanor while the events
recorded in the last chapter were proceeding. He had remained within the
physician's house during the six days' fighting in the streets. The
house had been turned into something like a hospital, and the young
Greek found plenty of employment in doing such services as a lay hand
could render to his host's patients. The physician was naturally one of
the deputation which, as has been described, waited on the conqueror on
the morning of the seventh day, and he took his guest with him in the
character of his assistant. Nor could Cleanor escape an emotion of
relief to find himself again under Roman protection. It was a curious
change from the feelings that had dominated him a few months before, but
the constraining power of circumstances had been too much for him. His
first care was to ascertain the fate of Theoxena and her daughter. Here
it was necessary to proceed with caution. It would not be wise to make
inquiries at random. The person whom he could most safely trust was
Scipio, the young officer, whom he was, of course, anxious to see for
other reasons. To his great delight he found that his friend was the
officer in command of the guard to which the safety of the temple of
Apollo in the arsenal had been committed. He found an opportunity of
sending a message by a soldier who happened to be off duty for the time.
Hardly an hour had elapsed when he received an answer. It ran thus:
"_A thousand congratulations. We had almost given you up for
lost, only that the gods are manifestly determined to make up to
you for some part at least of what you have suffered. Come at
once: I have much to say to you!_"
The meeting between the two friends was very affectionate. Cleanor,
postponing the narrative of his own adventures to some future
opportunity, at once took the young Roman officer into his confidence.
"You may rest assured that your friends are safe. There has been a guard
over the private apartments attached to the temple; and I have taken
care to have trustworthy men, as I always should in such a case. But I
can tell you that your friends have had a very narrow escape. If the
general had not arrived just at the right time, the whole building would
have been reduced to ashes."
He then proceeded to relate the story which the reader has already
heard. Cleanor listened with emotion that he could hardly conceal. How
nearly had all his efforts been in vain! How narrowly had these two--who
were all that remained to him of his old life--escaped destruction!
Young Scipio's narrative was hardly finished when the conversation of
the friends was interrupted by the arrival of an orderly bringing a
message from the general. The official despatch, accompanied by a letter
expressed in more familiar terms, ran thus:
"_I have learnt that a manuscript of the very highest value,
which I have a special charge from the Senate and People of Rome
to preserve, to wit, the Treatise of Hanno on Agriculture, has
always been and is now in the custody of the priests of Apollo
in the arsenal. I commission you, therefore, as officer
commanding the guard of the said temple, to make inquiries of
these same priests, and to take the book into your keeping, for
which this present writing shall be your authority._"
The private letter was to this effect:
"_I have just learnt from Hasdrubal--and the information is so
valuable that it almost reconciles me to having had to spare the
villain's life--that the precious book on Agriculture is to be
found in the temple of which you have charge. Lose no time in
getting it into your possession. It is supposed to contain
secrets of the very greatest value. Anyhow, the authorities at
home attach great importance to its preservation. To lose it
would be a disaster. I can rely, I know, on your prudence and
energy._"
"Cleanor, can you throw any light on this matter?" asked the Roman.
"No," was the answer, "except to tell you what I know about the priests.
There are two attached to the temple. One is an old man--almost, as I
understand, in his dotage--whom I did not see; the other, his son,
middle-aged, with whom I negotiated the affair of which I told you. That
is absolutely all that I know, except that my friend the physician
described the son as being on the whole an honourable man, who could be
trusted the more implicitly the more one made it worth his while to be
true."
"That," said young Scipio, "is the man whom I saw the day that I took
charge of the temple. He came to thank me. Since then he has never
appeared. The services have been intermitted. They could hardly, indeed,
have been carried on with all these soldiers in the place. He is the
first person of whom to make inquiries."
Scipio then summoned the centurion, who was nominally his second in
command. The man was a veteran who had seen more than twenty
campaigns--his first experience of war had been at Pydna under the great
Æmilius Paullus--an excellent soldier in his way, but without much
judgment in matters outside his own narrow sphere of experience.
"Convey," young Scipio said to this officer, "a respectful request to
the priest of the temple that he will favour me with an interview."
In due course the priest appeared. It had been arranged between the
friends that no reference should be made to the shelter given to the
women.
"I am informed," said Scipio, "that you have charge, as priest of this
temple, of a certain book relating to agriculture."
"You are right, sir," replied the man, "so far as this: there is such a
book, and it is kept in this place; but it is not in my charge. My
father is the priest, and it is in his custody."
"Let me see your father, then," said the young officer.
"Unhappily, sir," replied the man, "he is incapable of answering or even
of hearing a question. He has been failing in mind for some time, and
the events of the last few days have greatly affected him. This morning
he had a stroke of paralysis, and has been unconscious ever since."
"But you know," said Scipio, "where the book is?"
"As a matter of fact," the priest answered, "I know, or, to put the
matter more strictly, I believe that I know. But the secret has been
very jealously guarded. It has been usual for the priest to hand over
the charge formally to his successor when he felt himself failing. To
meet the case that the priest might die suddenly, or fail for some other
reason to communicate the secret in due course, the Shophetim were also
in possession of it. They have also another copy of the treatise."
"And where was that kept?" asked Scipio.
"In the temple of Æsculapius, but in what part of the temple of course I
know not."
"If it was there it must have perished," said the Roman. "Nothing could
have been left after the tremendous fire of yesterday. Lead the way and
show us the place that you have in your mind."
"It shall be done, sir," said the man. "But let me first see how it
fares with my father. It is possible that he may yet revive."
Permission was, of course, granted, and he went. Before many minutes he
returned.
"My father has passed away," he said in a low voice, "and without
becoming conscious even for a moment; so the woman that was in
attendance told me. Follow me, sir."
He led the way down a flight of steps, and then along a passage to the
chamber in which it terminated. The door was carefully concealed in the
wall, with the surface of which it was entirely uniform. The priest,
however, had no difficulty in opening it. He pressed a secret spring,
and it opened.
"This," he said, as they entered a small lofty room lighted from above,
"is the priest's private chamber. The book should be somewhere here. But
at this point my knowledge comes to an end."
"If I might hazard a guess," said Cleanor, "the hiding-place is
somewhere in the floor. One would naturally, perhaps, look for another
secret door in the wall, hence it is likely that some other way of
concealing it would be tried. Anyhow, let us begin with the floor."
The place was easily, as it will be seen, too easily found. As soon as
the matting which covered the floor was removed, it became evident that
a part of the boarding had been recently moved.
"That is it," exclaimed the four men--the centurion had accompanied the
party--almost in the same breath.
"I don't like the look of this," added Cleanor, whose quick Greek
intelligence had promptly taken in the situation. "It has been taken."
He was right. When the boarding was lifted, it revealed an empty space.
All that remained was a wrapper of silk, which might very well have
served--for there was nothing on it that absolutely indicated the
fact--for a covering to the volume.
"What is to be done now?" said Scipio, as the four looked at each other
with faces full of blank disappointment.
"My father," said the priest, after a short pause of reflection, "must
have taken it away. He evidently did it in a hurry without carefully
replacing the boards. He might have concealed the joining so well that
it would have been very hard to find. See," and he put the covering back
in such a way that the spot was absolutely undistinguishable from the
rest of the floor. "This makes me sure that it has been done quite
recently, and when he was not quite himself."
"I wonder," said Cleanor, "whether by chance your guests could tell us
anything about it?"
"My guests!" cried the priest, vainly endeavouring to conceal his
dismay.
"Don't trouble yourself, my good friend," said Scipio with a smile. "My
friend Cleanor has taken me into his confidence, and I think you have
done very well in helping him in this matter. It is just possible that,
as he suggests, the women may have seen something,--enough to give us a
clue."
"Possibly," said the priest. "The book was far too bulky to be easily
destroyed. That I know, though I have never had it in my hands. But it
may have been put away where it will be hard to find."
"Cleanor," said Scipio, after a brief reflection, "will you go and see
what you can find out? The priest will show you the way."
Cleanor accordingly followed the priest to the apartment which had been
assigned to Theoxena and her daughter. Only the elder woman was visible.
Daphne, she assured Cleanor, after an exchange of affectionate
greetings, was quite well, but was busy at the moment with some
needlework. When questioned about the old priest and his movements, she
had no information of any importance to give. He had been very strange
in manner, constantly muttering, but so indistinctly that she could not
catch more than a word or two here and there. She had, it is true,
caught the word "treasure" once or twice. She had certainly not seen
him with anything in his hands. Daphne, however, might have more to say.
The old man had seemed to take a fancy to her, and had talked to her a
good deal.
Daphne accordingly was fetched by her mother, and came in covered with a
charming confusion, which, in the young Greek's eyes, added not a little
to her beauty. It was the fact, indeed, that the few days of peace which
she had enjoyed with her mother in their place of refuge had made a
marvellous change for the better in her looks. The hunted expression had
gone out of her eyes, which, deep as ever, were now limpid and calm. The
cheeks which, when Cleanor had last seen them, were wan and worn, were
already rounded, and touched with the delicate tint of returning health.
Cleanor did not fail to note all this with the greatest satisfaction,
but for the time he was absorbed by the interest of the story which she
had to tell about the old priest.
"I saw the old man," she said, "on the first day of our coming here. He
seemed to take me for someone else. In fact, once or twice he called me
by some name which sounded like Judith, but I could not catch it
distinctly. Commonly he spoke to me as his daughter. He had no son, he
said, I was all that he had left. He had evidently something on his mind
that troubled him greatly. He would talk about 'a treasure' which he had
in his keeping, and which he must hand over to the right person, only
that he did not know where this person was. 'Anyhow,' and when he said
this his voice seemed to grow stronger, and his eyes to lighten up,
'anyhow, the enemy must not be allowed to get it.' After the uproar that
took place in the temple one day--we did not know what had happened, but
we guessed that the Romans had made their way in, and we were very much
frightened--he was much worse. That same evening he said to me,
'Daughter, I want you to help me. Come with me.' He took me down a
flight of steps, and then along a passage which seemed to end in a wall.
When we were almost at the end, he said, 'Now, turn round and shut your
eyes. You must not see what I am going to do.' I did what he told me,
and waited. In about half an hour he came back, panting very much and
breathing hard. He carried a great roll in his arms. I could not see
what it was."
"Did it look like a book?" asked Cleanor.
"Yes," replied the girl, "it might have been a book. I asked him whether
I should carry it for him. 'No,' he said, 'no woman has ever touched it.
Indeed, no woman has ever seen it before. I hope that I have not done
wrong. But what was I to do? I had no one else to help me. And anyhow,
the enemy must never have it.' We went up the passage, and down another,
till we came to a place where one of the stones in the pavement had a
ring in it. 'Now you must help me,' he said. 'I have got to take that
stone up.' We both pulled away at the stone as hard as we could. For
some time we seemed to make no impression at all. Then he went away and
came in a few minutes with a lantern, for by this time it was getting
quite dark, and a chisel. 'Work the mortar away from the edges,' he
said, 'my eyes are too old to see.' So I worked the mortar out, and then
we pulled again. I don't think that I did very much, but he seemed to
get wonderfully strong with the excitement. At last we felt that it was
beginning to give, and in the end we pulled it quite away. I heard what
sounded like the lapping of water a long way below. Then the old man
took the roll and dropped it into the hole. After that we put the stone
back into its place."
"And you can take us to the place?" asked Cleanor.
"Certainly," replied the girl.
"I must tell my friends," said Cleanor, "what I have heard. Wait while I
go."
In the course of a few minutes he returned with Scipio and the
centurion. At the latter's suggestion the party provided themselves with
torches, and then proceeded, under Daphne's guidance, to the indicated
spot. The stone was removed from its place, an operation which required
so great an exertion of strength that there was something almost
miraculous in its having been accomplished before by a decrepit old man
and a girl. The priest, it was clear, must have worked with frantic
energy.
The first thing was to lower a burning torch. The light revealed a depth
which might be estimated at some sixty or seventy feet. At the bottom
there was a stream which seemed, as far as could be estimated from the
sound, to be moving with some rapidity. Judging from the height of the
temple above the level of the harbour, the water seemed to be a
land-spring which flowed into it some way below the surface. The chance
of recovering anything dropped into such a place seemed remote, without
reckoning the very considerable chance of its being irretrievably
damaged.
Scipio was discussing with Cleanor and the centurion the best method of
proceeding, when Daphne's keen eyes discovered that something seemed to
be resting on a ledge that projected from the side of the well some
twenty feet below the surface. What it was could not be seen, but it was
obviously worth investigating. The only way of doing this was to lower
someone with ropes, and Cleanor, who was lighter than either of the
Romans, volunteered for the service. After some delay ropes of adequate
strength were obtained, Cleanor was lowered to the spot, and the missing
treasure, for the object which Daphne had descried was nothing less, was
recovered.
"The Roman Commonwealth," said Scipio, making a polite obeisance, "owes
very much to this young lady."