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.
CHAPTER XIV.
While Gorgias was examining the subterranean chambers in the Temple of
Isis, Charmian returned to Lochias earlier than she herself had expected.
She had met her brother, whom she did not find at Kanopus, at Berenike's,
and after greeting Dion on his couch of pain, she told Archibius of her
anxiety. She confided to him alone that the Queen had committed Barine's
fate to Alexas, for the news might easily have led the mother of the
endangered woman to some desperate venture; but even Archibius's
composure, so difficult to disturb, was not proof against it. He would
have sought the Queen's presence at once--if necessary, forced his way
to it; but the historian Timagenes, who had just come from Rome, was
expecting him, and he had not returned to his birthplace as a private
citizen, but commissioned by Octavianus to act as mediator in putting an
end to the struggle which had really been decided in his favour at the
battle of Actium. The choice of this mediator was a happy one; for he
had taught Cleopatra in her childhood, and was the self-same quick-witted
man who had so often roused her to argument. His share in a popular
insurrection against the Roman rule had led to his being carried as a
slave to the Tiber. There he soon purchased his freedom, and attained
such distinction that Octavianus entrusted this important mission to the
man who was so well known in Alexandria. Archibius was to meet him at
the house of Arius, who was still suffering from the wounds inflicted by
the chariot-wheels of Antyllus, and Berenike had accompanied Timagenes to
her brother.
Charmian did not venture to go there; a visit to Octavianus's former
teacher would have been misinterpreted, and it was repugnant to her own
delicacy of feeling to hold intercourse at this time with the foe and
conqueror of her royal mistress. She therefore let her brother drive
with Berenike to the injured man's; but before his departure Archibius
had promised, if the worst came, to dare everything to open the eyes of
the Queen, who had forbidden her, Charmian, to speak in behalf of Barine
and thwart the plans of Alexas.
From the Paneum garden she was carried to the Kanopic Way and the Jewish
quarter, where she had many important purchases to make for Cleopatra.
It was long after noon when the litter was again borne to Lochias.
On the way she had severely felt her own powerlessness. Without having
accomplished anything herself, she was forced to wait for the success of
others; and she had scarcely crossed the threshold of the palace ere
fresh cares were added to those which already burdened her soul.
She understood how to read the faces of courtiers, and the door-keeper's
had taught her that since her departure something momentous had occurred.
She disliked to question the slaves and lower officials, so she
refrained, though the interior of the palace was crowded with guards,
officials of every grade, attendants, and slaves. Many who saw her gazed
at her with the timidity inspired by those over whom some disaster is
im pending. Others, whose relations were more intimate, pressed forward
to enjoy the mournful satisfaction of being the first messengers of evil
tidings. But she passed swiftly on, keeping them back with grave words
and gestures, until, before the door of the great anteroom thronged with
Greek and Egyptian petitioners, she met Zeno, the Keeper of the Seal.
Charmian stopped him and inquired what had happened.
"Since when?" asked the old courtier. "Every moment has brought some
fresh tidings and all are mournful. What terrible times, Charmian, what
disasters!"
"No messenger had arrived when I left the Lochias," replied Charmian.
"Now it seems as though the old monster of a palace, accustomed to so
many horrors, is holding its breath in dread. Tell me the main thing,
at least, before I meet the Queen."
The main thing? Pestilence or famine--which shall we call the worse?"
"Quick, Zeno! I am expected."
"I, too, am in haste, and really there is nothing to relate over which
the tongue would care to dwell. Candidus arrived first. Came himself
straight from Actium. The fellow is bold enough."
"Is the army defeated also?"
"Defeated, dispersed, deserted to the foe--King Herod with his legions in
the van."
Charmian covered her face with her hands and groaned aloud, but Zeno
continued:
"You were with her in the flight. When Mark Antony left you, he sailed
with the ships which joined him for Paraetonium. A large body of troops
on which the Queen and Mardion had fixed their hopes was encamped there.
Reinforcements could easily be gained and we should once more have a fine
army at our disposal."
"Pinarius Scarpus, a cautious soldier, was in command; and I, too,
believed--"
"The more you trusted him, the greater would be your error. The
shameless rascal--he owes everything to Antony--had received tidings of
Actium ere the ships arrived, and had already made overtures to
Octavianus when the Imperator came. The veterans who opposed the
treachery were hewn down by the wretch's orders, but the brave garrison
of the city could not be won over to the monstrous crime. It is due to
these men that Mark Antony still lives and did not come to a miserable
end at the hands of his own troops. The twice-defeated general--
a courier brought the news--will arrive to-night. Strangely enough, he
will not come to Lochias, but to the little palace on the Choma."
"Poor, poor Queen!" cried Charmian; "how did she bear all this?"
"In the presence of the defeated Candidus and Antony's messenger like a
heroine. But afterwards----Her raving did not last long; but the mute,
despairing silence! Ere she had fully recovered her self-command she
sent us all away, and I have not seen her since. But all the thoughts
and feelings which dwell here"--he pointed to his brow and breast--"have
left their abode and linger with her. I totter from place to place like
a soulless body. O Charmian! what has befallen us? Where are the days
when care and trouble lay buried with the other dead--the days and nights
when my brain united with that of the Queen to transform this desolate
earth into the beautiful Elysian Fields, every-day life to a festival,
festivals to the very air of Olympus? What unprecedented scenes of
splendour had I not devised for the celebration of the victory, the
triumph--nay, even the entry into Rome! Whole chests are filled with the
sketches, programmes, drawings, and verses. All who handle brush and
chisel, compose and execute music, would have lent their aid, and--you
may believe me-the result would have been something which future
generations would have discussed, lauded, and extolled in song.
And now--now?"
"Now we will double our efforts to save what is yet to be rescued!"
"Rescued?" repeated the courtier in a hollow tone. "The Queen, too,
still clings to this fine word. When I saw her at work yesterday, it
seemed as if I beheld her drawing water with the bottomless vessel of the
Danaides. True, today, when I left her, her arms had fallen--and in this
attitude she now stands before me with her tearful eyes. And besides, I
can't get my nephew Dion out of my mind. Cares--nothing but cares
concerning him! And my intentions towards him were so kind! My will
gives him my entire fortune; but now he actually wants to marry the
singer, the daughter of the artist Leonax. You have taken her under your
protection, but surely your own niece, Iras, is dearer to you, so you
will approve of my destroying the will if Dion insists upon his own way.
He shall not have a solidus of my property if he does not give up the
woman who is a thorn in the Queen's flesh. And his choice does not suit
our ancient race. Iras, on the contrary, was Dion's playfellow, and I
have long destined her for his wife. No better match, nor one more
acceptable to the Queen, could be found for him. He cared for her until
the singer bewitched him. Bring them together, and they shall be like my
own children. If the fool resists his uncle, whose sole desire is to
benefit him, I will withdraw my aid. Whatever intrigues his foes may
weave, I shall fold my arms and not interfere. I stand in the place of
his father, my dead brother, and demand obedience. The Queen is my
universe, and her favour is of more value than twenty refractory
nephews."
"You will retain her Majesty's favour, even if you intercede for your
brother's son."
"And Iras? When she finds herself deceived--and she will soon discover
it--she will not rest--"
"Until she has brought ruin upon him," interrupted Charmian, in a tone of
sorrow rather than reproach as though she already beheld the impending
disaster. "But Iras has no greater influence with the Queen than I, and
if you and I unite to protect the brave young fellow, who is of your own
blood--"
"Then, of course--no doubt, on account of your longer period of service,
you have more influence with her Majesty than Iras--however--such matters
must be considered--and I have already said--my mind leaves its abode to
follow the Queen like her shadow. It heeds only what concerns her. Let
everything else go as it will. The fleet the same as destroyed, Candidus
defeated, Herod a deserter, treason on treason--the African legions lost!
What in the name of the god who tried to roll back the wheel dashing down
the mountain-side!--And yet! Let us offer sacrifices, my friend, and
hope for better days!"
Zeno retired as he spoke, but Charmian moved forward with a drooping head
to find Barine and her faithful Anukis, and weep her fill ere she went to
perform the duty of consoling and sustaining her beloved mistress. Yet
she herself so sorely needed comfort. Wherever she turned her eyes she
beheld disaster, peril, treachery, and base intrigues. She felt as if
she had lived long enough, and that her day was over. Hitherto her
gentle nature, her intellect, which yearned to expand, gather new riches,
and exchange what it had gained with others, had possessed much to offer
to the Queen. She had not only been Cleopatra's confidante, but
necessary to her to discuss questions far in advance of the demands of
the times, which occupied her restless mind. Now the Queen's attention
was wholly absorbed by events--hard, cruel facts--which she must resist
or turn to her own advantage. Her life had become a conflict, and
Charmian felt that she was by no means combative. The hard, supple,
keenly polished intellect of Iras now asserted its value, and the elderly
woman told herself that she was in danger of being held in less regard
than her younger companion. To resign her office would have given her
peace of mind, but she repelled the thought. For the very reason that
these days were so full of misery and perhaps drawing nearer to the end,
she must remain, first for the sake of the Queen, but also to watch over
Barine.
Now she longed to go to Cleopatra. Her mere presence, she knew, would do
her sore heart good. The silvery laugh of a child reached her ears
through the open gate of the garden which she was rapidly approaching.
Little six-year-old Alexander ran towards her with open arms, hugged her
closely, pressed his curly head against her, and gazed into her face with
his large clear eyes.
Charmian's heart swelled; and as she raised the child in her arms and
kissed him, she thought of the sad fate impending, and the composure
maintained with so much difficulty gave way; tears streamed from her eyes
and, sobbing violently, she pressed the boy closer to her breast.
The prince, accustomed to bright faces and tender caresses, broke away
from her in terror to run back to his brother and sisters. But he had a
kind little heart, and, knowing that no one weeps and sobs unless in
pain, Alexander pitied Charmian, whom he loved, and hurried to her again.
What he meant to show her had pleased his mother, too, and dried the
tears in her eyes. So he took Charmian by the hand and drew her along,
saying that he wanted her to see the prettiest thing. She willingly
allowed herself to be led over the paths, strewn with red sand, of the
little garden which Antony had had laid out for his children in the
magnificent style which pleased his love of splendour, and filled with
rare and beautiful things.
There was a pond with tiny gold and silver fish, where the rare lotus
flowers with pink blossoms arose from amid their smooth green leaves, and
another where dwarf ducks of every colour, which seemed as if they had
been created for children, swam to and fro. A bit of the sea which
washed its shore had been enclosed by a gilded latticework, and on its
surface floated a number of snow-white swans and black ones with scarlet
bills. Native and Indian flowers of every hue adorned the beds, and the
narrow paths were shaded by arbours made of gold wire, over which ran
climbing vines filled with bright blossoms.
A grotto of stalactites behind the dense foliage of an Indian tree
offered a resting-place, and beside it was a little house where the
children could stay. The interior lacked none of the requisites of
living, not even the cooking utensils in the kitchen, and the family
portraits in the tablinum, delicately painted by an artist on small ivory
slabs. Everything was made to suit the size of children, but of the most
costly material and careful workmanship.
Behind the house was a little stable where four tiny horses with spotted
skins, the rarest and prettiest creatures imaginable--a gift from the
King of Media--were stamping the ground.
In another place was an enclosure containing gazelles, ostriches, young
giraffes, and other grass-eating animals. Bright-plumaged birds and
monkeys filled the tops of the trees, gay balls rose and fell on the jets
of the fountains, and child genii and images of the gods in bronze and
marble peered from the foliage. This whole enchanted world was comprised
within a narrow space, and, with its radiance of colour and wealth of
form, its perfume, songs, and warbling, exerted a bewildering influence
upon the excited imaginations of grown people as well as children.
Little Alexander, without even casting a glance at all this, drew
Charmian forward. He did not pause until he reached the shore of the
lotus pond; then, putting his fingers on his lips, he said: "There, now,
I'll show you. Look here!"
Rising cautiously upon tip-toe as he spoke, he pointed to the hollow in
the trunk of a tree. A pair of finches had built their nest in it, and
five young ones with big yellow beaks stretched their ugly little heads
hungrily upward.
"That's so pretty!" cried the prince. "And you must see the old ones
come to feed them." The beautiful boy's sweet face fairly beamed with
delight, and Charmian kissed him tenderly. Yet, even as she did so, she
thought of the young swallows hacked to death in his mother's galley, and
a chill ran through her veins.
Just at that moment voices were heard calling Alexander from a neglected
spot behind the dainty little house built for the children, and the boy
exclaimed peevishly:
"There, now, I showed you the little nest, so I forgot. Agatha fell
asleep and Smerdis went away, so we were alone. Then they sent me to
Horus, the gate-keeper, to get some of his spelt bread. He never says no
to anything, and it does taste so good. We're peasants, and have been
using the axe and the hoe, so we want something to eat. Have you seen
our house? We built it ourselves. Selene, Helios, Jotape, my future
wife, and I--yes, I! They let me help, and we finished it alone, all
alone! Everything is here. We shall build the shed for the cow
to-morrow. The others mustn't see it, but I may show it to you."
While speaking, he drew her forward again, and Charmian obediently
followed. The twins and little Jotape, who had been chosen for the
future bride of the six-year-old Prince Alexandera pretty, delicate,
fair-haired child of his own age, the daughter of the Median king, who
had been betrothed to the boy after the Parthian war, and now remained as
a hostage at Cleopatra's court--welcomed her with joyous shouts. With
the exception of the little Median princess, Charmian had witnessed their
birth, and they all loved her dearly.
The little royal labourers showed their work with proud delight, and it
really was well done.
They had toiled at it for weeks, paying no heed to the garden and all its
costly rarities. They pointed with special pride to the two planks which
Helios, aided by Alexander, had fished out of the sea after the last
storm, when they were left alone, and to the lock on the door which they
had secretly managed to wrench from an old gate. Selene herself had
woven the curtain in front of the door. Now they were going to build a
hearth too.
Charmian praised their skill, while they--all talking merrily together--
told her how they had conquered the greatest difficulties. Their bright
eyes sparkled with pleasure while describing the work of their own hands,
and they were so absorbed in eager delight that they did not notice the
approach of a man until startled by his words: "Enough of this idle sport
now, your Highnesses. Too much time has already been wasted on it."
Then, turning to the Queen, who had accompanied him, he continued in a
tone of apology: "This amusement might seem somewhat hazardous, yet there
is much to be said in its favour. Besides, it appeared to afford the
royal children so much pleasure that I permitted it for a short time.
But if your Majesty commands:
"Let them have their pleasure," the Queen interrupted kindly; and as soon
as the children saw their mother they rushed forward, crowded around her
with fearless love, thanked her, and eagerly assured her that nothing in
the whole garden was half so dear to them as their little house. They
meant to build a stable too.
"That might be too much," said the tutor Euphronion, a grey-haired man
with a shrewd, kindly face. "We must remember how many things are yet to
be learned, that we may reach the goal fixed for your Majesty's birthday
and pass the examination."
But all the children now joined in the entreaty to be allowed to build
the stable too, and it was granted.
When the tutor at last began to lead them away, the royal mother stopped
them, asking "Suppose, instead of this garden, I should give you a bit of
bare land, such as the peasants till, where, after your lessons, you
might dig and build as much as you please?"
Loud shouts of joy from the children answered the question; but the
little Median girl, Jotape, said hesitatingly:
"Could I take my doll too--only the oldest, Atossa? She has lost one
arm, yet I love her the best."
"Deprive us of anything you choose!" cried Helios, drawing little
Alexander towards him, to show that they, the men, were of the same mind,
"only give us some ground and let us build."
"We will consider whether it can be done," replied Cleopatra. "Perhaps,
Euphronion, you would be the right person--But we will discuss the matter
at a more quiet hour."
The tutor withdrew and the children, who followed, looked back, waving
their hands and calling to their mother for a long time.
When they had disappeared behind the shrubbery in the garden Charmian
exclaimed, "However dark the sky may be, so long as you possess these
little ones you can never lack sunshine."
"If," replied Cleopatra, gazing pensively at the ground, "with a thought
of them another did not blend which makes the gloom become deeper still.
You know the tidings this terrible day has brought?"
"All," replied Charmian, sighing heavily.
"Then you know the abyss on whose verge we are walking; and to see them--
them also dragged into the yawning gulf by their unhappy mother--
Oh, Charmian, Charmian!"
She sobbed aloud, threw her arms around the neck of her friend and
playfellow, and laid her head upon her bosom like a child seeking
consolation. Cleopatra wept for several minutes, and when she again
raised her tear-stained face she said softly:
"That did me good! O, Charmian! no one needs love as I do. On your
warm heart my own has already grown calmer."
"Use it, nestle there whenever you need it, to the end," cried Charmian,
deeply moved.