During these hours of rest Iras and Charmian had watched in turn beside
Cleopatra. When she rose, the younger attendant rendered her the
necessary services. She was to devote herself to her mistress until the
evening; for her companion, who now stood in her way, was not to return
earlier. Before Charmian left, she had seen that her apartments--in
which Barine, since the Queen had placed her in her charge, had been a
welcome guest--were carefully watched. The commander of the Macedonian
guard, who years before had vainly sought her favour, and finally had
become the most loyal of her friends, had promised to keep them closely.
Yet Iras knew how to profit by her mistress's sleep and the absence of
her aunt. She had learned that she would be shut out of her apartments,
and therefore from Barine also. Ere any step could be taken against the
prisoner, she must first arrange the necessary preliminaries with
Alexas. The failure of her expectation of seeing her rival trampled in
the dust had transformed her jealous resentment into hatred, and though
she was her niece, she even transferred a portion of it to Charmian, who
had placed herself between her and her victim.
She had sent for the Syrian, but he, too, had gone to rest at a late
hour and kept her waiting a long time. The reception which the impatient
girl bestowed was therefore by no means cordial, but her manner soon
grew more friendly.
First Alexas boasted of having induced the Queen to commit Barine's fate
to him. If he should try her at noon and find her guilty, there was
nothing to prevent him from compelling her to drink the poisoned cup or
having her strangled before evening. But the matter would be dangerous,
because the singer's friends were numerous and by no means powerless.
Yet, in the depths of her heart, Cleopatra desired nothing more ardently
than to rid herself of her dangerous rival. But he knew the great ones
of the earth. If he acted energetically and brought matters to a speedy
close, the Queen, to avoid evil gossip, would burden him with her own
act. Antony's mood could not be predicted, and the Syrian's weal or woe
depended on his favour. Besides, the execution of the singer at the last
Adonis festival might have a dangerous effect upon the people of
Alexandria. They were already greatly excited, and his brother, who knew
them, said that some were overwhelmed with sorrow, and others ready, in
their fury, to rise in a bloody rebellion. Everything was to be feared
from this rabble, but Philostratus understood how to persuade them to
many things, and Alexas had just secured his aid.
Alexas had really succeeded in the work of reconciliation. During the
orator's married life with Barine she had forbidden her brother-in-law
the house, and her husband had quarrelled with the brother who sought
his wife. But after the latter had risen to a high place in Antony's
favour, and been loaded with gold by his lavish hand, Philostratus had
again approached him to claim his share of the new wealth. And the
source from which Alexas drew flowed so abundantly that his favourite
did not find it difficult to give. Both men were as unprincipled as they
were lavish, and experience taught them that base natures always have at
their disposal a plank with which to bridge chasms. If it is of gold, it
will be crossed the more speedily. Such was the case here, and of late
it had become specially firm; for each needed the other's aid.
Alexas loved Barine, while Philostratus no longer cared for her. On the
other hand, he hated Dion with so ardent a thirst for revenge that, to
obtain it, he would have resigned even the hope of fresh gains. The
humiliation inflicted upon him by the arrogant Macedonian noble, and the
derision which through his efforts had been heaped upon him, haunted him
like importunate pursuers; and he felt that he could only rid himself of
them with the source of his disgrace. Without his brother's aid, he
would have been content to assail Dion with his slandering tongue; with
his powerful assistance he could inflict a heavier injury upon him,
perhaps even rob him of liberty and life. They had just made an
agreement by which Philostratus pledged himself to reconcile the
populace to any punishment that might be inflicted upon Barine, and
Alexas promised to help his brother take a bloody vengeance upon Dion
the Macedonian.
Barine's death could be of no service to Alexas. The sight of her beauty
had fired his heart a second time, and he was resolved to make her his
own. In the dungeon, perhaps by torture, she should be forced to grasp
his helping hand. All this would permit no delay. Everything must be
done before the return of Antony, who was daily expected. Alexas's
lavish patron had made him so rich that he could bear to lose his favour
for the sake of this object. Even without it, he could maintain a
household with royal magnificence in some city of his Syrian home.
On receiving the favourite's assurance that he would remove Barine from
Charmian's protection on the morrow, Iras became more gracious. She
could make no serious objection to his statement that the new trial
might not, it is true, end in a sentence of death, but the verdict would
probably be transportation to the mines, or something of the sort.
Then Alexas cautiously tested Iras's feelings towards his brother's
mortal foe. They were hostile; yet when the favourite intimated that he,
too, ought to be given up to justice, she showed so much hesitation,
that Alexas stopped abruptly and turned the conversation upon Barine.
Here she promised assistance with her former eager zeal, and it was
settled that the arrest should be made the following morning during the
hours of Charmian's attendance upon the Queen.
Iras had valuable counsel to offer. She was familiar with one of the
prisons, whose doors she had opened to many a hapless mortal whose
disappearance, in her opinion, might be of service to the Queen. She had
deemed it a duty, aided by the Keeper of the Seal, to anticipate her
mistress in cases where her kind heart would have found it difficult to
pronounce a severe sentence, and Cleopatra had permitted it, though
without commendation or praise. What happened within its walls--thanks
to the silence of the warder--never passed beyond the portals. If Barine
cursed her life there, she would still fare better than she, Iras, who
during the past few nights had been on the brink of despair whenever she
thought of the man who had disdained her love and abandoned her for
another.
As the Syrian held out his hand to take leave, she asked bluntly:
"And Dion?"
"He cannot be set free," was the reply, "for he loves Barine; nay, the
fool was on the eve of leading her home to his beautiful palace as its
mistress."
"Is that true, really true?" asked Iras, whose cheeks and lips lost
every tinge of colour, though she succeeded in maintaining her
composure.
"He confessed it yesterday in a letter to his uncle, the Keeper of the
Seal, in which he entreated him to do his utmost for his chosen bride,
whom he would never resign. But Zeno has no liking for this niece. Do
you wish to see the letter?"
"Then, of course, he cannot be set at liberty," replied Iras, and there
was additional shrillness in her voice. "He will do everything in his
power for the woman he loves, and that is much--far more than you, who
are half a stranger here, suspect. The Macedonian families stand by each
other. He is a member of the council. The bands of the Ephebi will
support him to a man. And the populace?--He lately spoiled the game of
your brother, who was acting for me, in a way.--He was finally dragged
out of the basin of the fountain, dripping with water and overwhelmed
with shame."
"For that very reason his mouth must be closed."
Iras nodded assent, but after a short pause she exclaimed angrily: "I
will help you to silence him, but not forever. Do you hear? Theodotus's
saying about the dead dogs which do not bite brought no blessing to any
one who followed it. There are other ways of getting rid of this man."
"A bird sang that you were not unfriendly to him."
"A bird? Then it was probably an owl, which cannot see in the daylight.
His worst enemy, your brother, would probably sacrifice himself for his
welfare sooner than I."
"Then I shall begin to feel sympathy for this Dion."
"I saw recently that your compassion surpassed mine. Death is not the
hardest punishment."
"Is that the cause of this gracious respite?"
"Perhaps so. But there are other matters to be considered here. First,
the condition of the times. Everything is tottering, even the royal
power, which a short time ago was a wall which concealed many things and
afforded shelter from every assault. Then Dion himself. I have already
numbered those who will support him. Since the defeat at Actium, the
Queen can no longer exclaim to that many-headed monster, the people,
'You must,' but 'I entreat.' The others----"
"The first considerations are enough; but may I be permitted to know
what my wise friend has awarded to the hapless wight from whom she
withdrew her favour?"
"First, imprisonment here at Lochias. He has stained his hands with the
blood of Cæsarion, the King of kings. That is high treason, even in the
eyes of the people. Try to obtain the order for the arrest this very
day."
"Whenever I can disturb the Queen with such matters."
"Not for _my_ sake, but to save _her_ from injury. Away with everything
which can cloud her intellect in these decisive days! First, away with
Barine, who spoiled her return home; and then let us take care of the
man who would be capable, for this woman's sake, of causing an
insurrection in Alexandria. The great cares associated with the state
and the throne are hers; for the minor ones of the toilet and the heart
I will provide."
Here she was interrupted by one of Cleopatra's waiting-maids. The Queen
had awakened, and Iras hastened to her post.
As she passed Charmian's apartments and saw two handsome soldiers,
belonging to the Macedonian body-guard, pacing to and fro on duty before
them, her face darkened. It was against her alone that Charmian was
protecting Barine. She had been harshly reproved by the older woman on
account of the artist's daughter, who had been the source of so many
incidents which had caused her pain, and Iras regretted that she had
ever confided to her aunt her love for Dion. But, no matter what might
happen, the upas-tree whence emanated all these tortures, anxieties, and
vexations, must be rooted out--stricken from the ranks of the living.
Ere she entered the Queen's anteroom she had mentally pronounced
sentence of death on her enemy. Her inventive brain was now busy in
devising means to induce the Syrian to undertake its execution. If this
stone of offence was removed it would again be possible to live in
harmony with Charmian. Dion would be free, and then, much as he had
wounded her, she would defend him from the hatred of Philostratus and
his brother.
She entered the Queen's presence with a lighter heart. The death of a
condemned person had long since ceased to move her deeply. While
rendering the first services to her mistress, who had been much
refreshed by her sleep, her face grew brighter and brighter; for
Cleopatra voluntarily told her that she was glad to have her attendance,
and not be constantly annoyed by the same disagreeable matter, which
must soon be settled.
In fact, Charmian, conscious that no one else at court would have
ventured to do so, had never grown weary, spite of many a rebuff, of
pleading Barine's cause until, the day before, Cleopatra, in a sudden
fit of anger, had commanded her not to mention the mischief-maker again.
When Charmian soon after requested permission to let Iras take her place
the following day, the Queen already regretted the harsh reproof she had
given her friend, and, while cordially granting the desired leave,
begged her to attribute her angry impatience to the cares which burdened
her. "And when you show me your kind, faithful face again," she
concluded, "you will have remembered that a true friend withholds from
an unhappy woman whom she loves whatever will shadow more deeply her
already clouded life. This Barine's very name sounds like a jeer at the
composure I maintain with so much difficulty. I do not wish to hear it
again."
The words were uttered in a tone so affectionate and winning, that
Charmian's vexation melted like ice in the sun. Yet she left the Queen's
presence anxious and troubled; for ere she quitted the room Cleopatra
remarked that she had committed the singer's affairs to Alexas. She was
now doubly eager to obtain a day's freedom, for she knew the
unprincipled favourite's feelings towards the young beauty, and longed
to discuss with Archibius the best means of guarding her from the worst
perils.
When at a late hour she went to rest, she was served by the Nubian maid,
who had accompanied her to the court from her parents' home. She came
from the Cataract, where she had been bought when the family of Alypius
accompanied the child Cleopatra to the island of Philæ. Anukis was
given to Charmian, who at the time was just entering womanhood, as the
first servant who was her sole property, and she had proved so clever,
skilful, apt to learn, and faithful, that her mistress took her, as her
personal attendant, to the palace.
Charmian's warm, unselfish love for the Queen was equalled by Anukis's
devotion to the mistress who had long since made her free, and had
become so strongly attached to her that the Nubian's interests were
little less regarded than her own. Her sound, keen judgment and natural
wit had gained a certain renown in the palace, and as Cleopatra often
condescended to rouse her to an apt answer, Antony had done so, too; and
since the slight crook in the back, which she had from childhood, had
grown into a hump, he gave her the name of Aisopion--the female Æsop.
All the Queen's attendants now used it, and though others of lower rank
did the same, she permitted it, though her ready wit would have supplied
her tongue with a retort sharp enough to respond to any word which
displeased her.
But she knew the life and fables of Æsop, who had also once been a
slave, and deemed it an honour to be compared with him.
When Charmian had left Cleopatra and sought her chamber, she found
Barine sound asleep, but Anukis was awaiting her, and her mistress told
her with what deep anxiety for Barine she had quitted the presence of
the Queen. She knew that the Nubian was fond of the young matron, whom
in her childhood she had carried in her arms, and whose father, Leonax,
had often jested with her. The maid had watched her career with much
interest, and while Barine had been her mistress's guest her efforts to
amuse and soothe her were unceasing.
She had gone every morning to Berenike to ask tidings of Dion's health,
and always brought favourable news. Anukis knew Philostratus and his
brother, too, and as she liked Antony, who jested with her so kindly,
she grieved to see an unprincipled fellow like Alexas his chief
confidant. She knew the plots with which the Syrian had persecuted
Barine, and when Charmian told her that the Queen had committed the
young beauty's fate to this man's keeping her dark face grew fairly
livid; but she forced herself to conceal the terror which the news
inspired. Her mistress was also aware what this choice meant to Barine.
But Anukis would have thought it wrong to disturb Charmian's sleep by
revealing her own distress. It was fortunate that she was going early
the next morning to seek the aid of Archibius, whom Anukis believed to
be the wisest of men; but this by no means soothed her. She knew the
fable of the lion and the mouse, which had been told in her home long
before the time of the author for whom she was nicknamed, and already
more than once she had been in a position to render far greater and more
powerful persons an important service. To soothe Charmian to sleep and
turn her thoughts in another direction, she told her about Dion, whom
she had found much better that day, how tenderly he seemed to love
Barine, and how touchingly patient and worthy of her father the daughter
of Leonax had been.
After her mistress had fallen asleep she went to the hall where, spite
of the late hour, she expected to meet some of the servants--sure of
being greeted as a welcome guest. When, a short time later, Alexas's
body-slave appeared, she filled his wine cup, sat down by his side, and
tried with all the powers at her command to win his confidence. And so
well did the elderly Nubian succeed that Marsyas, a handsome young
Ligurian, after she had gone, declared that Aisopion's jokes and stories
were enough to bring the dead to life, and it was as pleasant to talk
seriously with the brown-skinned monster as to dally with a fair-haired
sweetheart.
After Charmian had left the palace the following morning, Anukis again
sought Marsyas and learned from him for what purpose and at what hour
Iras had summoned Alexas. His master was continually whispering with the
languishing Macedonian.
When Anukis returned, Barine seemed troubled because she brought no
tidings from her mother and Dion; but the Nubian entreated her to have
patience, and gave her some books and a spindle, that she might have
occupation in her solitude. She, Anukis, must go to the kitchen, because
she had heard yesterday that the cook had bought some mushrooms, which
might be poisonous; she knew the fungi and wanted to see them.
Then, passing into Charmian's chamber, she glided through the corridor
which connected the apartments of Cleopatra's confidential attendants,
and slipped into Iras's room. When Alexas entered she was concealed
behind one of the hangings which covered the walls of the
reception-room.
After the Syrian had retired and Iras had been called away, Anukis
returned to Barine and said that the mushrooms had really been
poisonous, and of the deadliest species. They had been cooked, and she
must go out to seek an antidote. Since a precious human life might be at
stake, Barine would not wish to keep her.
"Go," said the latter, kindly. "But if you are the old obliging
Aisopion, you won't object to going a little farther."
"And inquiring at the house near the Paneum garden," added Anukis. "That
was already settled. Longing is also a poison for a loving heart, and
its antidote is good news."
With these laughing words she left her favourite; but as soon as she was
out of doors her black brow became lined with earnest thought, and she
stood pondering a long time. At last she went to the Bruchium to hire a
donkey to ride to Kanopus, where she hoped to find Archibius. It was
difficult to reach the nearest stand; for a great crowd had assembled on
the quay between the Lochias and the Corner of the Muses, and groups of
the common people, sailors, and slaves were constantly flocking hither.
But she at last forced her way to the spot and, while the driver was
helping her to mount the animal she had chosen, she asked what had
attracted the throng, and he answered:
"They are tearing down the house of the old Museum fungus, Didymus."
"How can that be?" cried the startled woman. "The good old man!"
"Good?" repeated the driver, scornfully. "He's a traitor, who has caused
all the trouble. Philostratus, the brother of the great Alexas, a friend
of Mark Antony, told us so. He wanted to prove it, so it must be true.
Hear the shouts, and how the stones are flying! Yes, yes. His
granddaughter and her lover set an ambush for the King Cæsarion. They
would have killed him, but the watch interfered, and now he lies wounded
on his couch. If mighty Isis does not lend her aid, the young prince's
life will soon be over."
Then, turning to the donkey, he dealt him two severe blows on the right
and left haunches, shouting: "Hi, Grey! It does one good to hear that
royal backs have room for the cudgel too."
Meanwhile, the Nubian was hesitating whether she should not first turn
the donkey to the right and seek Didymus; but Barine was threatened by
greater peril, and her life was of more value than the welfare of the
aged pair. This decided the question, and she rode forward.
The donkey and his driver did their best, but they came too late; for in
the little palace at Kanopus, Anukis learned from the porter that
Archibius had gone to the city with his old friend Timagenes, the
historian, who lived in Rome, and seemed to have come to Alexandria as
an envoy.
Charmian, too, had been here, but also failed to find the master of the
house, and followed him. Evil tidings--which, owing to the loss of time
involved, might prove fatal. If the donkey had only been swifter! True,
Archibius's stable was full of fine animals, but who was she that she
should presume to use them? Yet she had gained something which rendered
her the equal of many who were born free and occupied a higher
station--the reputation for trustworthiness and wisdom; and relying upon
this, she told the faithful old steward, as far as possible, what was at
stake, and soon after he himself took her, both mounted on swift mules,
to the city and the Paneum garden.
He chose the nearest road thither through the Gate of the Sun and the
Kanopic Way. Usually at this hour it was crowded with people, but to-day
few persons were astir. All the idlers had thronged to the Bruchium and
the harbour to see the returning ships of the vanquished fleet, hear
something new, witness the demonstrations of joy, the sacrifices and
processions, and--if Fortune favoured--meet the Queen and relieve their
overflowing hearts by acclamations.
When the carriage turned towards the left and approached the Paneum,
progress for the first time became difficult. A dense crowd had gathered
around the hill on whose summit the sanctuary of Pan dominated the
spacious garden. Anukis's eye perceived the tall figure of Philostratus.
Was the mischief-maker everywhere? This time he seemed to encounter
opposition, for loud shouts interrupted his words. Just as the carriage
passed he pointed to the row of houses in which the widow of Leonax
lived, but violent resistance followed the gesture.
Anukis perceived what restrained the crowd; for, as the equipage
approached its destination, a body of armed youths stopped it. Their
finely-formed limbs, steeled by the training of the Palæstra, and the
raven, chestnut, and golden locks floating around their well-shaped
heads, were indeed beautiful. They were a band of the Ephebi, formerly
commanded by Archibius, and to whose leadership more recently Dion had
been elected. The youths had heard what had occurred--that imprisonment,
perhaps even worse disaster, threatened him. At any other time it would
scarcely have been possible to oppose the decree of the Government and
guard their imperilled friend, but in these dark days the rulers must
deal with them. Though they were loyal to the Queen, and had resolved,
spite of her defeat, to support her cause, as soon as she needed them,
they would not suffer Dion to be punished for a crime which, in their
eyes, was an honour. Their determination to protect him grew more eager
with every vexatious delay on the part of the city council to deal with
a matter which concerned one of their own body. They had not yet decided
whether to demand a full pardon or only a mild sentence for the man who
had wounded the "King of kings," the son of the sovereign. Moreover, the
quiet Cæsarion, still subject to his tutor, had not understood how to
win the favour of the Ephebi. The weakling never appeared in the
Palæstra, which even the great Mark Antony did not disdain to visit.
The latter had more than once given the youths assembled there proofs of
his giant strength, and his son Antyllus also frequently shared their
exercises. Dion had merely dealt Cæsarion with his clenched fist one of
the blows which every one must encounter in the arena.
Philotas of Amphissa, the pupil of Didymus, had been the first to inform
them of the attack and, with fiery zeal, had used his utmost power to
atone for the wrong done to his master's granddaughter. His appeal had
roused the most eager sympathy. The Ephebi believed themselves strong
enough to defend their friend against any one and, if the worst should
come, they knew they would be sustained by the council, the Exegetus,
the captain of the guard--a brave Macedonian, who had once been an
ornament of their own band--and the numerous clients of Dion and his
family. There was not a single weakling among them. They had already
found an opportunity to prove this; for, though they had arrived too
late to protect Didymus's property from injury, they had checked the
fury of the mob whose passions Philostratus had aroused, and forced back
the crowd whom the Syrian led to Barine's dwelling to devote it to the
same fate.
Another equipage was already standing before the door of Berenike's
house--one of the carriages which were always at the disposal of the
Queen's officials--when Anukis left Archibius's vehicle. Had some of
Alexas's myrmidons arrived, or was he himself on the way to examine
Dion, or even arrest him? The driver, like all the palace servants, knew
Anukis, and she learned from him that he had brought Gorgias, the
architect.
Anukis had never met the latter, though, during the rebuilding of
Cæsarion's apartments, she had often seen him, and heard much of him;
among other things, that Dion's beautiful palace was his work. He was a
friend of the wounded man, so she need not fear him.
When she entered the atrium she heard that Berenike had gone out to
drive with Archibius and his Roman friend. The leech had forbidden his
patient to see many visitors. No one had been admitted except Gorgias
and one of Dion's freedmen.
But time pressed; people of the same rank and disposition understand one
another; the old porter and the Nubian were both loyal to their
employers, and, moreover, were natives of the same country; so it
required only a few words to persuade the door-keeper to conduct her
without delay to the bedside of the wounded man.
The freedman, a tall, weather-beaten greybeard, simply clad, who looked
like a pilot, was waiting outside the sick-room. He had not yet been
admitted to Dion's presence, but this did not appear to vex him, for he
stood leaning quietly against the wall beside the door, gazing at the
broad-brimmed sailor's hat which he was slowly turning in his hands.
Scarcely had Dion heard Anukis's name, when an eager "Let her come in"
reached her ears through the half-open door.
The Nubian waited to be summoned, but her dark face must have showed
distinctly that something important and urgent had brought her here, for
the wounded man added to his first words of greeting the expression of a
fear that she had no good news.
Her reply was an eager nod of assent, accompanied by a doubtful glance
at Gorgias; and Dion now curtly told the architect the name of the
newcomer, and assured her that his friend might hear everything, even
the greatest secret.
Anukis uttered a sigh of relief and then, in a tone of the most earnest
warning, poured forth the story of the impending danger. She would not
be satisfied when he spoke of the Ephebi, who were ready to defend him,
and the council, which would make the cause of one of its members its
own, but entreated him to seek some safe place of refuge, no matter
where; for powers against whom no resistance would avail were stretching
their hands towards him. Even this statement, however, proved useless,
for Dion was convinced that the influence of his uncle, the Keeper of
the Seal, would guard him from any serious danger. Then Anukis resolved
to confess what she had overheard; but she told the story without
mentioning Barine, and the peril threatening her also. Finally, with all
the warmth of a really anxious heart, she entreated him to heed her
warning.
Even while she was still speaking, the friends exchanged significant
glances; but scarcely had the last words fallen from her lips when the
giant figure of the freedman passed through the door, which had remained
open.
"You here, Pyrrhus?" cried the wounded man kindly.
"Yes, master, it is I," replied the stalwart fellow, twirling his sailor
hat still faster. "Listening isn't exactly my trade, and I don't usually
enter your presence uninvited; but I couldn't help hearing what came
through the door, and the croaking of the old raven drew me in."
"I wish you had heard more cheerful things," replied Dion; "but the
brown-skinned bird of ill omen usually sings pleasant songs, and they
all come from a faithful heart. But when my silent Pyrrhus opens his
mouth so far, something important must surely follow, and you can speak
freely in her presence."
The sailor cleared his throat, gripped his coarse felt hat in his sinewy
hands, and said, in such a tremulous, embarrassed tone that his heavy
chin quivered and his voice sometimes faltered: "If the woman is to be
trusted, you must leave here, master, and seek some safe hiding-place. I
came to offer one. On my way I heard your name. It was said that you had
wounded the Queen's son, and it might cost you your life. Then I
thought: 'No, no, not that, so long as Pyrrhus lives, who taught his
young master Dion to use the oars and to set his first sail--Pyrrhus and
his family.' Why repeat what we both know well enough? From my first
boat and the land on our island to the liberty you bestowed upon us, we
owe everything to your father and to you, and a blessing has rested upon
your gift and our labour, and what is mine is yours. No more words are
needed. You know our cliff beyond the Alveus Steganus, north of the
great harbour--the Isle of Serpents. It is quickly gained by any one who
knows the course through the water, but is as inaccessible to others as
the moon and stars. People are afraid of the mere name, though we rid
the island of the vermin long ago. My boys Dionysus, Dionichus, and
Dionikus--they all have 'Dion' in their name--are waiting in the fish
market, and when it grows dusk----" Here the wounded man interrupted the
speaker by holding out his hand and thanking him warmly for his fidelity
and kindness, though he refused the well-meant invitation. He admitted
that he knew no safer hiding-place than the cliff surrounded by
fluttering sea-gulls, where Pyrrhus lived with his family and earned
abundant support by fishing and serving as pilot. But anxiety concerning
his future wife prevented his leaving the city.
The freedman however gave him no rest. He represented how quickly the
harbour could be reached from his island, that fish were brought thence
from it daily, and he would therefore always have news of what was
passing. His sons were like him, and never used any unnecessary words;
talking did not suit them. The women of the household rarely left the
island. So long as it sheltered their beloved guest, they should not set
foot away from it. If occasion should require, the master could be in
Alexandria again quickly enough to put anything right.
This suggestion pleased the architect, who joined in the conversation to
urge the freedman's request. But Dion, for Barine's sake, obstinately
refused, until Anukis, who had long been anxious to go in pursuit of
Archibius, thought it time to give _her_ opinion.
"Go with the man, my lord!" she cried. "I know what I know. I will tell
our Barine of your faithful resolution; but how can she show her
gratitude for it if you are a dead man?"
This question and the information which followed it turned the scale;
and, as soon as Dion had consented to accompany the freedman, the Nubian
prepared to continue her errands, but the wounded man detained her to
give many messages for Barine, and then she was stopped by the
architect, who thought he had found in her the right assistant for
numerous plans he had in his mind.
He had returned early that morning from Heroonpolis, where, with other
members of his profession, he had inspected the newly constructed
waterway. The result of the first investigation had been unfavourable to
the verge of discouragement; and, in behalf of the others, he had gone
to the Queen to persuade her to give up the enterprise which, though so
full of promise, was impracticable in the short time at their disposal.
He had travelled all night, and was received as soon as Cleopatra rose
from her couch. He had driven from the Lochias in the carriage placed at
his disposal because he had business at the arsenal and various points
where building was going on, in order to inspect the wall erected for
Antony on the Choma, and the Temple of Isis at the Corner of the Muses,
to which Cleopatra desired to add a new building. But scarcely had he
quitted the Bruchium when he was detained by the crowd assailing the
house of Didymus with beams and rams, and at the same time keeping off
the Ephebi who had attacked them.
He had forced his way through the raging mob to aid the old couple and
their granddaughter. The slave Phryx had been busily preparing the boats
which lay moored in the harbour of the seawashed estate, but Gorgias had
found it difficult to persuade the grey-haired philosopher to go with
him and his family to the shore. He was ready to face the enraged
rioters and--though it should cost his life--cry out that they were
shamefully deceived and were staining themselves with a disgraceful
crime. Not until the architect represented that it was unworthy of a
Didymus to expose to bestial violence a life on which helpless women and
the whole world--to whom his writings were guide-posts to the realms of
truth--possessed a claim, could he be induced to yield. Nevertheless,
the sage and his relatives almost fell into the hands of the furious
rabble, for Didymus would not depart until he had saved this, that, and
the other precious book, till the number reached twenty or thirty.
Besides, his old deaf wife, who usually submitted quietly when her
defective hearing prevented her comprehension of many things, insisted
upon knowing what was occurring. She ordered everybody who came near her
to explain what had happened, thus detaining her granddaughter Helena,
who was trying to save the most valuable articles in the dwelling. So
the departure was delayed, and only the brave defence of young Philotas,
Didymus's assistant, and some of the Ephebi, who joined him, enabled
them to escape unharmed.
The Scythian guards, which at last put a stop to the frantic rage of the
deluded populace, arrived too late to prevent the destruction of the
house, but they saved Philotas and the other youths from the fists and
stones of the rabble.
When the boats had gone farther out into the harbour the question of
finding a home for the philosopher and his family was discussed.
Berenike's house was also threatened, and the rules of the museum
prevented the reception of women. Five servants had accompanied the
family, and none of Didymus's learned friends had room for so many
guests. When the old man and Helena began to enumerate the lodgings of
which they could think, Gorgias interposed with an entreaty that they
would come to his house.
He had inherited the dwelling from his father. It was very large and
spacious, almost empty, and they could reach it speedily, as it stood on
the seashore, north of the Forum. The fugitives would be entirely at
liberty there, since he had work on hand which would permit him to spend
no time under his own roof except at night. He soon overcame the trivial
objections made by the philosopher and, fifteen minutes after they had
left the Corner of the Muses, he was permitted to open the door of his
house to his guests, and he did so with genuine pleasure. The old
housekeeper and the grey-haired steward, who had been in his father's
service, looked surprised, but worked zealously after Gorgias had
confided the visitors to their charge. The pressure of business forbade
his fulfilling the duties of host in his own person.
Didymus and his family had reason to be grateful; and when the old sage
found in the large library which the architect placed at his disposal
many excellent books and among them some of his own, he ceased his
restless pacing to and fro and forced himself to settle down. Then he
remembered that, by the advice of a friend, he had placed his property
in the keeping of a reliable banker and, though life still seemed dark
grey, it no longer looked as black as before.
Gorgias briefly related all this to the Nubian, and Dion added that she
would find Archibius with his Roman friend at the house of Berenike's
brother, the philosopher Arius. Like himself, the latter was suffering
from an injury inflicted by a reckless trick of Antyllus. Barine's
mother was there also, so Anukis could inform them of the fate of
Didymus and his brother, and tell them that he, Dion, intended to leave
her house and the city an hour after sunset.
"But," interrupted Gorgias, "no one, not even your hostess Berenike and
her brother, must know your destination.--You look as if you could keep
a secret, woman."
"Though she owes her nickname Aisopion to her nimble tongue," replied
Dion.
"But this tongue is like the little silver fish with scarlet spots in
the palace garden," said Anukis. "They dart to and fro nimbly enough;
but as soon as danger threatens they keep as quiet in the water as
though they were nailed fast. And--by mighty Isis!--we have no lack of
peril in these trying times. Would you like to see the lady Berenike and
the others before your departure?"
"Berenike, yes; but the sons of Arius--they are fine fellows--would be
wise to keep aloof from this house to-day."
"Yes indeed!" the architect chimed in. "It will be prudent for their
father, too, to seek some hiding-place. He is too closely connected with
Octavianus. It may indeed happen that the Queen will desire to make use
of him. In that case he may be able to aid Barine, who is his sister's
child. Timagenes, too, who comes from Rome as a mediator, may have some
influence."
"The same thoughts entered my poor brain also," said Anukis. "I am now
going to show the gentlemen the danger which threatens her, and if I
succeed---- Yet what could a serving-woman of my appearance accomplish?
Still--my house is nearer to the brink of the stream than the dwelling
of most others, and if I fling in a loaf, perhaps the current will bear
it to the majestic sea."
"Wise Aisopion!" cried Dion; but the worthy maid-servant shrugged her
crooked shoulders, saying: "We needn't be free-born to find pleasure in
what is right; and if being wise means using one's brains to think, with
the intention of promoting right and justice, you can always call me so.
Then you will start after sundown?"
With these words she was about to leave the room, but the architect, who
had watched her every movement, had formed a plan and begged her to
follow him.
When they reached the next room he asked for a faithful account of
Barine and the dangers threatening her. After consulting her as if she
were an equal, he held out his hand in farewell, saying: "If it is
possible to bring her to the Temple of Isis unseen, these clouds may
scatter. I shall be in the sanctuary of the goddess from the first hour
after sunset. I have some measurements to take there. When you say you
know that the immortals will have pity on the innocent woman whom they
have led to the verge of the abyss, perhaps you may be right. It seems
as if matters here were combining in a way which would be apt to rob the
story-teller of his listener's faith."
After Aisopion had gone, Gorgias returned to Dion's room and asked the
freedman to be ready with his boat at a place on the shore which he
carefully described.
The friends were again alone. Gorgias had his hands full of work, but he
could not help expressing his surprise at the calm bearing which Dion
maintained. "You behave as if you were going to an oyster supper at
Kanopus," he said, shaking his head as though perplexed by some
incomprehensible problem.
"What else would you have me do?" asked the Macedonian. "The vivid
imagination of you artists shows you the future according to your own
varying moods. If you hope, you transform a pleasant garden into the
Elysian fields; if you fear anything you behold in a burning roof the
conflagration of a world. We, from whose cradle the Muse was absent, who
use only sober reason to provide for the welfare of the household and
the state, as well as for our own, see facts as they are and treat them
like figures in a sum. I know that Barine is in danger. That might drive
me frantic; but beyond her I see Archibius and Charmian spreading their
protecting wings over her head; I perceive the fear of my faction,
including the museum, of the council of which I am a member, of my
clients and the conditions of the times, which precludes arousing the
wrath of the citizens. The product which results from the correct
addition of all these known quantities----"
"Will be correct," interrupted his friend, "so long as the most
incalculable of all factors, passion, does not blend with them--the
passion of a woman--and the Queen belongs to the sex which is certainly
more powerful in that domain."
"Granted! But as soon as Mark Antony returns it will be proved that her
jealousy was needless."
"We will hope so. It is only the misled, deceived, abused Cleopatra whom
I fear; for she herself is matchless in divine goodness. The charm by
which she ensnares hearts is indescribable, and the iron power of her
intellect! I tell you, Dion----"
"Friend, friend," was the laughing interruption. "How high your wishes
soar! For three years I have kept an account of the conflagrations in
your heart. I believe we had reached seventeen; but this last one is
equal to two."
"Folly!" cried Gorgias in an irritated tone: "May not a man admire what
is magnificent, wonderful, unique? She is all these things! Just
now--how long ago is it?--she appeared before me in a radiance of
beauty----"
"Which should have made you shade both eyes. Yet you have been speaking
so warmly of your young guest, her loving caution, her gentle calmness
in the midst of peril----"
"Do you suppose I wish to recall a single syllable?" the architect
indignantly broke in. "Helena has no peer among the maidens of
Alexandria--but the other--Cleopatra--is elevated in her divine majesty
above all ordinary mortals. You might spare me and yourself that
scornful curl of the lip. Had she gazed into your face with those
tearful, sorrowful eyes, as she did into mine, and spoken of her misery,
you would have gone through fire and water, hand in hand with me, for
her sake. I am not a man who is easily moved, and since my father's
death the only tears I have seen have been shed by others; but when she
talked of the mausoleum I was to build for her because Fate, she knew
not how soon, might force her to seek refuge in the arms of death, my
calmness vanished. Then, when she cumbered me among the friends on whom
she could rely and held out her hand--a matchless hand--oh! laugh if you
choose--I felt I know not how, and kneeling at her feet I kissed it; it
was wet with my tears. I am not ashamed of this emotion, and my lips
seem consecrated since they touched the little white hand which spoke a
language of its own and stands before my eyes wherever I gaze."
Pushing back his thick locks from his brow as he spoke, he shook his
head as though dissatisfied with himself and, in an altered tone,
hurriedly continued: "But this is a time ill-suited for such ebullitions
of feeling. I mentioned the mausoleum, whose erection the Queen desires.
She will see the first hasty sketch to-morrow. It is already before my
mind's eye. She wished to have it adjoin the Temple of Isis, her
goddess---- I proposed the great sanctuary in the Rhakotis quarter, but
she objected--she wished to have it close to the palace at Lochias. She
had thought of the temple at the Corner of the Muses, but the house
occupied by Didymus stood in the way of a larger structure. If this were
removed it would be possible to carry the street through the old man's
garden, perhaps even to the sea-shore, and we should have had space for
a gigantic edifice and still left room for a fine garden. But we had
learned how the philosopher loved his family estate. The Queen is
unwilling to use violence towards the old man---- She is just, and
perhaps other reasons, of which I am ignorant, influence her. So I
promised to look for another site, though I saw how much she desired to
have her tomb connected with the sanctuary of her favourite goddess----
Then--I have already told the clever brown witch--then the immortals,
Divinity, Fate, or whatever we call the power which guides the world and
our lives according to eternal laws and its own mysterious, omnipotent
will, permitted a rascally deed, from which I think may come deliverance
for you and a source of pleasure to the Queen in these days of trial."
"Man, man! Where will this new passion lead you? The horses are stamping
impatiently outside; duty summons the most faithful of men, and he
stands like a prophet, indulging in mysterious sayings!"
"Whose meaning and purport, spite of your calm calculations of existing
circumstances, will soon seem no less wonderful to you than to me, whose
unruly artist nature, according to your opinion, is playing me a trick,"
retorted the architect. "Now listen to this explanation: Didymus's house
will be occupied at once by my workmen, but I shall examine the lower
rooms of the Temple of Isis. I have with me a document requiring
obedience to my orders. Cleopatra herself laid the plans before me, even
the secret portion showing the course of the subterranean chambers. It
will cast some light upon my mysterious sayings if I bear you away from
the enemy through one of the secret corridors. They were right in
concealing from you by how slender a thread, spite of the power of your
example in mathematics, the sword hangs above your head. Now that I see
a possibility of removing it, I can show it to you. Tomorrow you would
have fallen, without hope of rescue, into the hands of cruel foes and
been shamefully abandoned by your own weak uncle, had not the most
implacable of all your enemies permitted himself the infamous pleasure
of laying hands on an old man's house, and the Queen, in consequence of
an agitating message, had the idea suggested of building her own
mausoleum. The corridor"--here he lowered his voice--"of which I spoke
leads to the sea at a spot close beside Didymus's garden, and through it
I will guide you, and, if possible, Barine also, to the shore. This
could be accomplished in the usual way only by the greatest risk. If we
use the passage we can reach a dark place on the strand unseen, and
unless some special misfortune pursues us our flight will be unnoticed.
The litters and your tottering gait would betray everything if we were
to enter the boat anywhere else in the great harbour."
"And we, sensible folk, refuse to believe in miracles!" cried Dion,
holding out his wan hand to the architect. "How shall I thank you, you
dear, clever, most loyal of friends to your male friends, though your
heart is so faithless to fair ones? Add that malicious speech to the
former ones, for which I now crave your pardon. What you intend to
accomplish for Barine and me gives you a right to do and say to me
whatever ill you choose all the rest of my life. Anxiety for her would
surely have bound me to this house and the city when the time came to
make the escape, for without her my life would now be valueless. But
when I think that she might follow me to Pyrrhus's cliff----"
"Don't flatter yourself with this hope," pleaded Gorgias. "Serious
obstacles may interpose. I am to have another talk with the Nubian
later. With no offence to others, I believe her advice will be the best.
She knows how matters stand with the lofty, and yet herself belongs to
the lowly. Besides, through Charmian the way to the Queen lies open, and
nothing which happens at court escapes her notice. She showed me that we
must consider Barine's delivery to Alexas a piece of good fortune. How
easily jealousy might have led to a fatal crime one whose wish promptly
becomes action, unless she curbs the undue zeal of her living tools!
Those on whom Fate inflicts so many blows rarely are in haste to spare
others. Would the anxieties which weigh upon her like mountains
interpose between the Queen and the jealous rancour which is too petty
for her great soul?"
"What is great or petty to the heart of a loving woman?" asked Dion. "In
any case you will do what you can to remove Barine from the power of the
enraged princess--I know."
Gorgias pressed his friend's hand closely, then, yielding to a sudden
impulse, kissed him on the forehead and hurried to the door.
On the threshold a faint moan from the wounded man stopped him. Would he
be strong enough to follow the long passage leading to the sea?
Dion protested that he confidently expected to do so, but his deeply
flushed face betrayed that the fever which had once been conquered had
returned.
Gorgias's eyes sought the floor in deep thought. Many sick persons were
borne to the temple in the hope of cure; so Dion's appearance would
cause no special surprise. On the other hand, to have strangers carry
him through the passage seemed perilous. He himself was strong, but even
the strongest person would have found it impossible to support the heavy
burden of a grown man to the sea, for the gallery was low and of
considerable length. Still, if necessary, he would try. With the
comforting exclamation, "If your strength does not suffice, another way
will be found," he took his leave, gave Barine's maid and the wounded
man's body-slave the necessary directions, commanded the door-keeper to
admit no one save the physician, and stepped into the open air.
A little band of Ephebi were pacing to and fro before the house. Others
had flung themselves down in an open space surrounded by shrubbery in
the Paneum garden, and were drinking the choice wine which Dion's
cellarer, by his orders, had brought and was pouring out for the crowd.
It was an animated scene, for the clients of the sufferer, who, after
expressing their sympathy, had been dismissed by the porter, and
bedizened girls had joined the youths. There was no lack of jests and
laughter, and when some pretty young mother or female slave passed by
leading children, with whom the garden was a favourite playground, many
a merry word was exchanged.
Gorgias waved his hands gaily to the youths, pleased with the
cheerfulness with which the brave fellows transformed duty into a
festival, and many raised their wine-cups, shouting a joyous "Io" and
"Evoe," to drink the health of the famous artist who not long ago had
been one of themselves.
The others were led by a slender youth, the student Philotas, from
Amphissa, Didymus's assistant, whom the architect, a few days before,
had helped to liberate from the demons of wine. Even while Gorgias was
beckoning to him from the two-wheeled chariot, the thought entered his
mind that yonder handsome youth, who had so deeply wronged Barine and
Dion, would be the very person to help carry his friend through the
low-roofed passage to the sea. If Philotas was the person Gorgias
believed him to be, he would deem it a special favour to make amends for
his crime to those whom he had injured, and he was not mistaken; for,
after the youth had taken a solemn oath not to betray the secret to any
one, the architect asked him to aid in Dion's rescue. Philotas,
overflowing with joyful gratitude, protested his willingness to do so,
and promised to wait at the appointed spot in the Temple of Isis at the
time mentioned.