When Cæsarion's companion reached Dion and Gorgias, the former modestly
made a movement to retire. But Archibius was acquainted with both, and
begged him to remain. There was an air of precision and clearness in the
voice and quiet movements of this big, broad-shouldered man, with his
robust frame and well-developed limbs. Though only a few years beyond
forty, not merely his grey hair but the calm, impressive dignity of his
whole manner indicated a more advanced age.
"The young King yonder," he began in a deep, musical voice, motioning
towards the equipage, "wished to speak to you here in person, Gorgias,
but by my advice he refrained from mingling with the crowd. I have
brought him hither in a closed carriage. If the plan suits you, enter it
and talk with him while I keep watch here. Strange things seem to be
occurring, and yonder--or am I mistaken? Has the monster dragged along
there any connection with the twin statues of the Queen and her friend?
Was it you who selected that place for them?"
"No," replied the architect. "The order was issued over my head and
against my will."
"I thought so," replied the other. "This is the very matter of which
Cæsarion wishes to speak. If you can prevent the erection of the
statues on Didymus's land, so much the better. I will do everything in
my power to aid you, but in the Queen's absence that is little."
"Then what can be said of _my_ influence?" asked the architect. "Who, in
these days, knows whether the sky will be blue or grey to-morrow? I can
guarantee one thing only: I will do my best to prevent this injury of an
estimable citizen, interference with the laws of our city, and violation
of good taste."
"Say so to the young King, but express yourself cautiously," replied
Archibius as the architect turned towards the carriage.
As soon as Dion and the older man were alone, the latter inquired the
cause of the increasing uproar, and as, like every well-disposed
Alexandrian, he esteemed Archibius, and knew that he was intimately
acquainted with the owner of the imperilled garden, and therefore with
his granddaughter Barine, he confided his anxiety to him without
reserve.
"Iras is your niece, it is true," he said in his open-hearted manner,
"but I know that you understand her character. It suits her now to fling
a golden apple into the path of a person whom she dislikes and believes
incautious, that she may pick it up and thus afford her an opportunity
to bring a charge of theft."
Noting the inquiring glance Archibius fixed upon him as he made this
comparison, he changed his tone and continued more earnestly: "Zeus is
great, but destiny is superior even to him. Zeus can accomplish much,
but when Iras and your sister Charmian, who unfortunately is now with
the Queen, wish to effect anything, he, like the Regent Mardion, must
give way. The more lovable Cleopatra is, the more surely every one
prizes a position near her person above aught else, especially such
trifles as law and justice."
"These are harsh words," responded Archibius, "and seem the more bitter
in proportion to the germ of truth which they contain. Our court shares
the fate of every other in the East, and those to whom Rome formerly set
the example of holding law and justice sacred----"
"Can now go there," interrupted Dion, "to learn how rudely both are
trampled under foot. The sovereigns here and there may smile at one
another like the augurs. They are like brothers----"
"But with the difference," Archibius broke in, "that the head of our
public affairs is the very embodiment of affability and grace; while in
Rome, on the contrary, harsh severity and bloody arrogance, or even
repulsive servility, guide the reins."
Here Archibius interrupted himself to point to the shouting throng
advancing towards them. "You are right," Dion answered. "Let us defer
this discussion till we can pursue it in the house of the charming
Barine. But I rarely meet you there, though by blood you are so nearly
allied to her father. I am her friend--at my age that might easily mean
her lover. But in our case the comparison would not suit. Yet perhaps
you will believe me, for you have the right to call yourself the friend
of the most bewitching of women."
A sorrowful smile flitted over the grave, set features of the older man,
who, raising his hand as if in protest, answered carelessly: "I grew up
with Cleopatra, but a private citizen loves a queen only as a divinity.
I believe in your friendship for Barine, though I deem it dangerous."
"If you mean that it might injure the lovely woman," replied Dion,
raising his head more proudly as if to intimate that he required no
warning, even from him, "perhaps you are right. Only I beg you not to
misunderstand me. I am not vain enough to suppose that I could win her
heart, but unfortunately there are many who cannot forgive the power of
attraction which she exerts over me as well as upon all. So many men
gladly visit Barine's house that there are an equal number of women who
would rejoice to close it. Among them, of course, is Iras. She dislikes
my friend; nay, I fear that what you witness yonder is the apple she
flung in order, if not to ruin, at least to drive her from the city, ere
the Queen--may the gods grant her victory!--ere Cleopatra returns. You
know your niece Iras. Like your sister Charmian, she will shrink from
nothing to remove an annoyance from her mistress's pathway, and it will
hardly please Cleopatra when she learns that the two youths whose
welfare lies nearest her heart--Antyllus and Cæsarion--seek Barine's
house, no matter how stainless the latter's reputation may be."
"I have just heard of it," replied Archibius, "and I, too, am anxious.
Antony's son has inherited much of his father's insatiable love of
pleasure. But Cæsarion! He has not yet ventured out of the dreamland
which surrounds him into actual life. What others scarcely perceive
deals him a serious blow. I fear Eros is sharpening arrows for him which
will pierce deep into his heart. While talking with me he seemed
strangely changed. His dreamy eyes glittered like a drunkard's when he
spoke of Barine. I fear, I fear----"
"Impossible!" cried Dion, in surprise, nay, almost terror. "If that is
the case, Iras is not wholly wrong, and we must deal with the matter
differently. But it is of the first importance to conceal the fact that
Cæsarion has any interest in the affairs of the old house-owner. To
seek to maintain the old man's right to his own property is a matter of
course, and I will undertake to do this and try to get yonder orator
home---- Just see how the braggart is swinging his arms in Iras's
service! As for Barine, it will be well to induce her to leave of her
own free will a city where it will be made unpleasant for her. Try to
persuade her to pursue this course. If I went to her with such a
suggestion, I, who yesterday---- No, no! Besides, she might hear that
Iras and I---- She would imagine all sorts of absurdities. You know what
jealousy means. To you, whom she esteems, she would surely listen, and
she need not go far from the city. If the heart of this enthusiastic
boy--who might some day desire to be 'King of kings' not only in
name--should really be fired with love for Barine, what serious
misfortune might follow! We must secure her from him. She could not go
to my country house among the papyrus plantations at Sebennys. It would
afford too much license for evil tongues. But you--your villa at Kanopus
is too near--but, if I am not mistaken, you have----"
"My estate in the lake region is remote enough, and will be at her
disposal," interrupted the other. "The house is always kept ready for my
reception. I will do my best to persuade her, for your advice is
prudent. She must be withdrawn from the boy's eyes."
"I shall learn the result of your mission tomorrow," cried Dion
eagerly--"nay, this evening. If she consents, I will tell Iras, as if by
accident, that Barine has gone to Upper Egypt to drink new milk, or
something of that kind. Iras is a shrewd woman, and will be glad if she
can keep aloof from such trifles during the time which will decide the
fate of Cleopatra and of the world."
"My thoughts, too, are always with the army," said Archibius. "How
trivial everything else seems compared with the result which will be
determined in the next few days! But life is made up of trifles. They
are food, drink, maintenance. Should the Queen return triumphant, and
find Cæsarion in wrong paths----"
"We must close them against him," exclaimed Dion.
"That the boy may not follow Barine?" asked Archibius, shaking his head.
"I think we need feel no anxiety on that score. He will doubtless
eagerly desire to do so, but with him there is a wide gulf between the
wish and its fulfilment. Antyllus is differently constituted. He would
be quite capable of ordering a horse to be saddled, or the sails of a
boat to be spread in order to pursue her--beyond the Cataract if
necessary. So we must maintain the utmost secrecy concerning the place
to which Barine voluntarily exiles herself."
"But she is not yet on her way," replied Dion with a faint sigh. "She is
bound to this city by many ties."
"I know it," answered Archibius, confirming his companion's fear. The
latter, pointing to the equipage, said in a rapid, earnest tone:
"Gorgias is beckoning. But, before we part, let me beseech you to do
everything to persuade Barine to leave here. She is in serious danger.
Conceal nothing from her, and say that her friends will not leave her
too long in solitude."
Archibius, with a significant glance, shook his finger at the young man
in playful menace, and then went up to the carriage.
Cæsarion's clear-cut but pallid face, whose every feature resembled
that of his father, the great Cæsar, bent towards them from the opening
above the door, as he greeted both with a formal bend of the head and a
patronizing glance. His eyes had sparkled with boyish glee when he first
caught sight of the friend from whom he had been separated several
weeks, but to the stranger he wished to assume the bearing which
beseemed a king. He desired to make him feel his superior position, for
he was ill-disposed towards him. He had seen him favoured by the woman
whom he imagined he loved, and whose possession he had been promised by
the secret science of the Egyptians, whose power to unveil the mysteries
of the future he firmly believed. Antyllus, Antony's son, had taken him
to Barine, and she had received him with the consideration due his rank.
Spite of her bright graciousness, boyish timidity had hitherto prevented
any word of love to the young beauty whom he saw surrounded by so many
distinguished men of mature years. Yet his beaming, expressive eyes must
have revealed his feelings to her. Doubtless his glances had not been
unobserved, for only a few hours before an Egyptian woman had stopped
him at the temple of his father, Cæsar, to which, according to the
fixed rules governing the routine of his life, he went daily at a
certain hour to pray, to offer sacrifices, to anoint the stone of the
altar, or to crown the statue of the departed emperor.
Cæsarion had instantly recognized her as the female slave whom he had
seen in Barine's atrium, and ordered his train to fall back.
Fortunately his tutor, Rhodon, had not fulfilled his duty of
accompanying him. So the youth had ventured to follow the slave woman,
and in the shadow of the mimosas, in the little grove beside the temple,
he found Barine's litter. His heart throbbed violently as, full of
anxious expectation, he obeyed her signal to draw nearer. Still, she had
granted him nothing save the favour of gratifying one of her wishes. But
his heart had swelled almost to bursting when, resting her beautiful
white arm on the door of her litter, she had told him that unjust men
were striving to rob her grandfather Didymus of his garden, and she
expected him, who bore the title of the "King of kings" to do his best
to prevent such a crime.
It had been difficult for him to grasp her meaning while she was
speaking. There was a roaring sound in his ears as if, instead of being
in the silent temple grove, he was standing on a stormy day upon the
surf-beaten promontory of Lochias. He had not ventured to raise his eyes
and look into her face. Not until she closed with the question whether
she might hope for his assistance did her gaze constrain him to glance
up. Ah, what had he not fancied he read in her imploring blue eyes! how
unspeakably beautiful she had appeared!
He had stood before her as if bereft of his senses. His sole knowledge
was that he had promised, with his hand on his heart, to do everything
in his power to prevent what threatened to cause her pain. Then her
little hand, with its sparkling rings, was again stretched towards him,
and he had resolved to kiss it; but while he glanced around at his
train, she had already waved him a farewell, and the litter was borne
away.
He stood motionless, like the figure of a man on one of his mother's
ancient vases, staring in bewilderment after the flying figure of
Happiness, whom he might easily have caught by her floating locks. How
he raged over the miserable indecision which had defrauded him of so
much joy! Yet nothing was really lost. If he succeeded in fulfilling her
wishes, she could not fail to be grateful; and then----
He pondered over the person to whom he should apply--Mardion, the
Regent, or the Keeper of the Seal? No, they had planned the erection of
the group of sculpture in the philosopher's garden. To Iras, his
mother's confidante? Nay, last of all to her. The cunning woman would
have perceived his purpose and betrayed it to the Regent. Ah, if
Charmian, his mother's other attendant, had been present! but she was
with the fleet, which perhaps was even now engaged in battle with the
enemy.
At this recollection his eyes again sought the ground--he had not been
permitted to take the place in the army to which his birth entitled him,
while his mother and Charmian---- But he did not pursue this painful
current of thought; for a serious reproach had forced itself upon him
and sent the blood to his cheeks. He wished to be considered a man, and
yet, in these fateful days, which would determine the destiny of his
mother, his native city, Egypt, and that Rome which he, the only son of
Cæsar, was taught to consider his heritage, he was visiting a beautiful
woman, thinking of her, and of her alone. His days and half the nights
were passed in forming plans for securing her love, forgetful of what
should have occupied his whole heart.
Only yesterday Iras had sharply admonished him that, in times like
these, it was the duty of every friend of Cleopatra, and every foe of
her foes, to be with the army at least in mind.
He had remembered this, but, instead of heeding the warning, the thought
of her had merely recalled her uncle, Archibius, who possessed great
influence, not merely on account of his wealth but because every one
also knew his high standing in the regard of the Queen. Besides, the
clever, kindly man had always been friendly to him from childhood, and
like a revelation came the idea of applying to him, and to the architect
Gorgias, who had a voice in the matter, and by whom he had been strongly
attracted during the period while he was rebuilding the wing assigned to
the prince in the palace at Lochias.
So one of the attendants was instantly despatched with the little tablet
which invited Gorgias to the interview at the Temple of Isis.
Then, in the afternoon, Cæsarion went secretly in a boat to the little
palace of Archibius, situated on the seashore at Kanopus, and now as the
latter, with his friend, stood beside the carriage door, he explained to
them that he was going with the architect to old Didymus to assure him
of his assistance.
This was unadvisable in every respect, but it required all the weight of
the older man's reasons to induce the prince to yield. The consequences
which might ensue, should the populace discover that he was taking sides
against the Regent, would be incalculable. But submission and withdrawal
were especially difficult to the young "King of kings." He longed to
pose as a man in Dion's presence, and as this could not be, he strove to
maintain the semblance of independence by yielding his resolve only on
the plea of not desiring to injure the aged scholar and his
granddaughter. Finally, he again entreated the architect to secure
Didymus in the possession of his property. When at last he drove away
with Archibius, twilight was already gathering, torches were lighted in
front of the temple and the little mausoleum adjoining the cella, and
pitch-pans were blazing in the square.