ONCE MORE THROUGH WRECK TO ROME.
It seemed almost like a second exile to Ethne and Baithene when they left
the lofty caverns of that rocky sea-palace, and missed the familiar sound
of the matin-bell coming across the sands; and when they lost sight of
Dewi, their one friend, standing on a point of rock and watching the boat
as long as it could be seen. They had great need of their new faith; and
the anchor held, although they took their religion differently, according
to their character.
For Baithene it was a commission to conquer circumstances and so reign
over them, king of himself, if of nothing else, like the Stoics, with
the inspiring addition of the patience being the patience of hope, and
the conviction that in ruling himself he served the King Who ruled the
nations and the ages.
For Ethne it was a talisman to redeem and save, to save by loving, to
redeem by forgiving, like Patrick; a link with every human creature she
met, not of thought merely but of life, of kindred, through the Divine
Christ Who had redeemed all mankind and is Himself man. Whatever untruth
men thought, she felt the truth they did not think remained; whatever
evil men did, the evil could be turned into good for the sufferers by
love and faith, and for the wrong-doers by the forgiving patience which
might win them to repent.
Therefore, sad and dark as their life might be, it could never be empty
or unmeaning, because of the quenchless hope of this Christian faith,
because of the life-giving power of the living Christ. Life was not a
mere tangle of twisted lines, decorative or chaotic; it was a sacred
inscription which God could read if they could not, for He was writing
it; which one day, when they had learned His language, they also would be
able to read.
They needed all the comfort they could find, for their lives were dark
enough, smitten down from such a height to such a depth, driven out from
such a warmth of love into such an icy cold of cruelty and injustice,
driven out into an unloving world at one of its darkest moments. Happily
for them they had all the gaiety and pleasantness of youth and of their
race, enabling them to find amusement in incongruities even when most
uncomfortable, and to make things pleasant and easy to others by word and
deed whenever this was possible. Moreover, they had the birthright and
training of their rank in their own little world. Being quick-witted,
they learned soon enough that it had been a little world; and that it
was quite useless, and would bring them nothing but ridicule, to insist
on their dignities. Nevertheless the natural dignity and grace of their
station remained, and, not being asserted, made itself felt: a kind of
royal way of recognizing little services, of avoiding neglects or hasty
words, which they had been used to feel might give pain; a kind of
princely indifference as to slights or rudenesses, which they had been
used to think could only spring from ignorance or want of breeding; an
innate sense of something within themselves that could not be changed by
outward changes, which made any menial thing they had to do seem not so
much a degradation as a condescension; a royal consideration for others
which fitted well into the high humility of their Christian calling.
There is a good deal of education in the fact of being royal, if the
lesson is learnt the right way.
So it happened, that by the time the rough voyage from Cornwall to
Armorican Brittany was over, the young captives had won the hearts of
many of the crew, who tried to lighten their bondage; and not a few were
sorry to part with the brave, bright boy and the fair, sweet maiden;
and were moved to a tender, reverent pity when they had once more to be
fettered and guarded, and led away among the file of slaves to the market
at the port at the mouth of the Loire, where the ship was to end her
voyage and unlade her living merchandise.
But these two had still each other, and also Bran, the great deer-hound,
who had established his claim to be with them by making it plain he would
be the death of any one who tried to part them, whilst he was obedient
to the slightest touch or softest word from them, especially from Ethne,
whose guardianship he assumed as the representative of the whole clan
O’Neill.
It was some solace to the brother and sister to hear around them, when
they landed, a language resembling their own. But it was a motley company
which gathered round the little captive band, no strange or unwonted
sight then in any European seaport. “Prisoners and captives” came into
the petitions of every Litany during those tumultuous times. Their
ransoms were among the perpetual claims of the alms-giving of every
church. “I was in prison, and ye came unto Me,” meant much in days when
the prisoners were often no dangerous criminals or idle vagabonds, but
innocent children, or high-born youths and maidens such as Baithene and
Ethne.
As they stood there, a gazing-stock for the idle crowd always loafing
about quays and unloading vessels, Ethne felt their rude jests and
insolent staring the worst things they had yet experienced; and there was
a wonderful comfort for her in the loyal worship in Bran the dog’s eyes,
as he nestled his great shaggy head against her knee and looked wistfully
up into her face. It brought into her eyes healing tears, which to his
surprise fell on his head, and made him lay his paw on her arm with
grave, sympathetic remonstrance.
Baithene, on the contrary, faced the crowd, feeling every inch a king, in
lofty indifference to anything the low rabble could look or say; he had
never felt so princely, at least as regarded himself.
As he stood thus at bay, two figures, a man and a woman, detached
themselves from the crowd, two faces were directed towards him and his
sister with absorbing interest. They were of a different type to any
Baithene had seen before: the man’s forehead was lofty though somewhat
narrow, and further contracted by lines which seemed rather grooves
worn by care than fruitful furrows of thought; the eyes were dark and
deep-set, with flashes like the flicker of a fire in the depths of a
cavern; the lips were prominent and expressive; the nose was aquiline,
yet the whole countenance, if in any way eagle-like, was like an eagle’s
in the eager intensity of its penetrating gaze, rather than in any
look of power and command; and from time to time a pathetic and kindly
expression passed over his face, especially when he turned toward the
woman beside him, in response to any word or look from her. Her face,
though of the same type as his, was softened into a refined beauty: the
brow was in proportion wider; the eyes, though deep-set, were full of a
gracious and tender light; the mouth, varying in expression, though not
moulded into the Greek curves of Cupid’s bow, had in its greater fullness
and longer lines a power and sweetness which did not need a smile to
make you feel its sympathetic response. She made Baithene think of his
own mother, and of the Mother they had learnt to think of as the type of
all true maidenhood and motherhood combined. The complexion of both was
darker than Baithene had seen, with a darkness that seemed to belong to
the fire of more southern suns than he had known; not the mere fading or
dimming as of the fair faces of the North, but rich with an original and
mellow colour of its own. Both had hair black as the raven’s wing. Their
dress also was slightly different from anything Baithene was accustomed
to. Round the man’s head were twisted folds of coloured linen; from the
woman’s fell a veil of creamy white gathered gracefully round her throat
and shoulders.
As he looked, the two came forward, and at a signal to one of their
British captors a conversation began which the brother and sister felt
was an eager bargaining for their purchase.
The Briton seemed to be insisting on their being sold in one lot—maiden,
youth, and dog. The stranger, on the other hand, seemed to be
endeavouring to separate them, apparently saying, not so much “_It is
nought_,” as “I _have_ nought, or at least nothing equivalent to the
value of the three together.” Unpleasant at it was to be thus haggled
for, Baithene had a sense that the bargaining was more diplomatic than
sincere. And at last, when the two dark-haired foreigners were turning
away, and the British sailor laid his hands on Baithene and the dog to
separate them from the maiden, the two turned back; and between the
determination of the deer-hound and the pitifulness of the woman, the
bargain was soon completed—Bran having expressed his opinion as to
parting from Ethne in a way the British captor, remembering Dewi with
“his leg bitten to the bone,” did not care to have repeated; whilst the
dark-eyed woman, in a very unbusiness-like way, clasped the hands of
both sister and brother appealingly in her own.
So it came about that Ethne, Baithene, and the dog were led away from
the slave-market by the two strangers, the British sailor following to
receive at their own home the stipulated coins, which the old man would
not on any account display in public.
The dwelling of the strangers was in a remote corner of the city, with
no appearance of wealth about it; and the purchaser seemed to draw the
coins required reluctantly and with difficulty from a very limited store.
The purchase, however, was duly completed, to the great relief of the
captives, who might have been less reassured if they had heard the last
words of the seller, when, after departing, he returned and said in a low
voice to the buyer, “Only promise me one thing—that you will not _eat_
these children!”
“_Eat_ them!” was the indignant retort; “we are no Tartar savages.”
“Nevertheless,” was the sceptical reply, “I have heard a terrible story
of some countrymen of yours who were driven out of a city in the far
east for killing and eating a Christian child at some feast of theirs.
If thou wilt solemnly promise me not to eat them,” he added (a spark of
conscience suddenly flickering up from the ashes of his faith), “I will
give thee back a hundredth part of the price.” And he held out some coins
in his hand.
The purchaser made a gesture as if he would have flung the money in the
sailor’s face, but the habit of his life gained the victory over his
patriotic indignation.
“To reassure thy conscience, dog of a pirate,” he said contemptuously,
satisfying at once his patriotism with an Oriental epithet and his ruling
passion with the coin, “I promise to deal better with them than thou
hast, at the worst.”
So the bargain was effected, and the purchaser re-entered his house. He
solaced himself, however, for the insult by saying suddenly to his wife—
“A profitable bargain, truly, thou hast made for me! What are we to do
with this Gentile boy and maiden? The lowest Christians will resent our
owning or selling one of themselves. And, moreover,” he added, with
unfeigned disgust, “what are we to do with this unclean beast? It would
be as safe to have a lion in the house, and as pleasant to have one of
Samson’s foxes.”
“These creatures sell for their weight in gold, the sailor said, to the
nobles of Ravenna or Constantinople, for the chase. They are afraid of
nothing, and will bring down any wild beast, stag, or wolf, or bear.”
“The Unutterable grant he do not bring us down first,” he replied,
encountering with much uneasiness the pricked-back ears and
fully-displayed teeth of the deer-hound, emphasized as these were by a
low growl, decidedly trying to the hospitality of the master of the house.
But Ethne’s arm was instantly around the dog and her hand on his head;
and the wistful eyes looked up to her with a tender recognition of her
tenderness, though accompanied by an evident distrust of her experience
of the world.
Of his hostess Bran showed no such disapproval. He even suffered her
to lay her hand gently on his mistress’s shoulder. There was little
communication possible at first between them, except by such touches and
looks, the imperfect Latin of the captives not being very comprehensible;
whilst the language of the strangers, though possessing gutturals,
nasals, and lispings not unlike their own, had no real resemblance to it.
The woman soon began to spread a meal for them at two separate tables,
both carefully laid, with basins of water for washing the hands, and a
towel, and well-prepared though simple food—bread and fruit, and wine of
the country.
A sense came over the brother and sister of being welcomed once more in
a home, and recognized as human creatures, not mere chattels; and they
partook of the simple fare with the enjoyment of welcome guests and
hungry children. There was a lifting up of hands and eyes in prayer and
benediction before and after the meal.
When it was finished, the hostess cleared the tables, spread them again
with food and drink, and made everything ready for the night in the
sleeping-rooms. Then she carefully unpacked from the chest a silver
candlestick with seven branches, and filled the seven lamps with oil,
which when the sun set she lighted and set on their own table, the
only decoration of the house. After this she sat down and elaborately
did nothing, in a way which was evidently significant of some rite or
festivity. Then after a time they stood up, and the host said prayers in
the strange, deep-sounding language, whilst the captives watched their
proceedings with much wonder and interest. It seemed to Ethne they must
have fallen among some new variety of Christians. And yet with all the
compassionate kindness of their hostess, they were evidently considered
as apart from all these religious ceremonials, as well as excluded from
sitting at the same table, whether as slaves and inferiors, or as of
another race, or as in some way excommunicate, they could not quite
determine.
It was a relief to them both when they were allowed to go into a walled
orchard at the back of the house, where, for the first time since the
memorable evening in the cave, by the many-chambered cavern, before the
reading of Patrick’s letter, they were once more alone together.
They discussed their mysterious purchasers in low tones, but could arrive
at no clear conclusion. Of one thing, however, they felt more and more
clear, from what Dewi had told them, from chance words that had dropped
from the other sailors, and the recurrence of the magic name “Roma,” as
the only intelligible word in the conversation of their hosts—they were
on their way to Rome.
They slept the sound sleep of youth on the clean straw couches spread
for them in one of the sleeping-chambers. When they awoke it had long
been daylight, and their hosts were sitting in the eating-room, again
elaborately doing nothing, with a seriousness which made Ethne and
Baithene feel the immobility and stillness in some mysterious way part
of a sacred ritual. Their only occupation was the reading aloud of
their host from a manuscript wrapped in silken covers, with occasional
responses from their hostess.
They were courteously bidden to take their places at the meal set on
their own table. But when they had finished they felt they would be
better out of the way in the orchard, to which they gladly retired,
enjoying the sunshine and rest.
Whilst they were there, from within the house came frequently the sound
of the monotonous reading or chanting, in that same strange language,
with its deep guttural or nasal sounds.
“Are we not in a Christian country?” said Baithene at last; “and can this
be our sacred day, Sunday, the day of our Lord?”
They tried to count back from that day to the day when they had heard the
bell from the cavern, and had seen the Christian congregation gather and
disperse at the little church on the sandy hill. But they could not make
the sevens count right. They seemed always landed in the last day before
the sacred first day of the week.
“And there are no bells,” said Ethne meditatively. “Perhaps we are not in
a Christian country after all.”
“There seem to be so many kinds of men and races and languages in the
world,” replied Baithene; “and also,” he added, “so many kinds of
Christians; it is very difficult to understand.”
At eventide there was another ceremonial, which seemed to close the day,
as the lighting of the lamps had begun it.
The hostess took out of the chest another evidently sacred and cherished
treasure, a perforated silver box of sweet, fragrant spices, which they
smelt, and with this they perfumed the room. The sweet aromatic scent
reached to where the captives were among the fruit-trees. After that
the silver treasures are again carefully wrapped up and packed into the
chest with the parchment manuscripts, folded in costly, gold-embroidered
Oriental silks.
Then the hostess came and bade the youth and maiden inside, and prepared
for them an abundant and tempting meal, such as it was long since they
had tasted; and the host went out into the city.
Her manner became much more frank and cordial when she was alone with her
guests. All day, whenever they were together, Ethne had noticed the soft,
dark eyes following her with an intense expression of wistful inquiry;
and when the old man came back and took Baithene out with him, the
hostess laid her head on Ethne’s shoulder and burst into tears, sobbing
out one name, “My Rachel! my Rachel!”
And so it came about, that between broken Latin and Irish, and the
universal human speech of sorrow and pity, through eyes and tender
touches (how neither of them could ever explain), the two women came to
understand that one had lost a daughter as the other a mother, and that
each had much need of the other, and both would try, in such measure as
they could, to comfort one another.
The dog also understood and accepted the hostess as a clanswoman, and
was ready to lavish on her more attentions of caressing tongue and paws
than for some reason not comprehended by him or by Ethne she felt free to
accept.
[Illustration]