SWEET IS THE SCAR
"Where the blue Aegean washes the shores of sunny Thrace," the eunuch
began, with a far-away look in his eye. "Yea, in the land of
Sparticus, that bravest of all fighters for the freedom of mankind,
there lived my people and there lived I save when to gain knowledge I
attended the schools of Greece. Fields had my people where the vine
hung purple as the sky at midnight and grain did we garner golden as
the belly of the tiger hide beside our hearthstones. Rich was my
father's house in fields, and rich were his sons in wine and stores and
flocks. Golden were my arms with cunningly wrought bracelets and
around my neck hung gems from far lands.
"But richer than purple wine, or golden bands, or jewels, was the look
of her whom I loved. White were the arms she hung around my neck, as
milk and ivory. Pink like the first flush of the morning were the
cheeks my lips pressed. Dark was her hair and soft like smoke in the
evening, and her eyes shone like stars on the bosom of the sea. Blue
as the summer sky were the veins that lay like tender lace over her
virgin bosom. Her breath was fragrant like flowers behind damp stones
and sweet was her voice as the music of waves when rainbow foam kisses
rainbow foam and is lost in one embrace. And she was mine; and I was
hers and a cot at the foot of a violet hill was ours.
"The sun shone. The breezes blew. The flowers bloomed. The clusters
hung purple. The grain stood golden. And then--aye, then came
Rome--Rome the scourge! Rome the curse! Rome the wolf! With fire,
sword, rapine, murder--came Rome! When the invading army crossed the
bounds we took refuge in a walled city. Soon we were surrounded by a
forest of glittering spears. I was an archer on the wall, and we
showered the brutes that hid under the bristling steel. But their
shields made a phalanx which did toss back our arrows as a bull tosses
stubble. Against the wall did they hurl mighty stones which did come
with fierce fury, and with a great beam did they batter our walls as a
ram doth batter a thin hedge. For days did we withstand. I fought
with mad fierceness, for she whom I loved cheered me from beneath the
wall.
"Then did the enemy without the city throw balls of burning pitch. Our
men did fight the fire until their hands were blistered, yet came those
balls of fire. And when flames were consuming us, the gates of the
city were broken and the hand of Rome did have us in its power. With
many of my fellows was I taken away and made fast to a great tree near
by the tent where a Roman chieftain did collect spoil. Of the lithe of
limb who were taken captive, some were to be made gladiators, but the
fierce screams of others of my countrymen, mingled with Roman curses,
told of a more ignominious fate than the arena. For this was I marked.
Fierce was the passion of my bosom that my heritage of the gods should
be sacrificed on the bloody edge of a Roman knife. While yet I stood
chained did my eye catch a sight that did freeze my boiling blood fast
in my veins, steep my breath in curses and turn my vision to mad
blackness, for into the tent of the Roman chief I saw her carried whom
I loved--she who was mine.
"I tore at the chain until blood did ooze from my flesh. Aye, and the
gods did see my plight. My weapons had the hand of Rome taken save a
knife hid in my tunic. Shortly was I to be taken to the chief to be
robbed of my armlets. Then did all the gods show me favor, for as I
went into the tent the chief was called out. Save for the time an eye
doth twinkle was he called out. Yet I rushed behind the curtains which
did hide the maiden. Swift were my words as the falcon flies and
gleaming was my blade in my hand ere the words did pass my lips. And
swift as light falls, bared she her bosom, and here, on the spot where
we had dreamed a little head would lie which should be ours, I drove
the keen blade in deep--deep drove I the blade, kissing her lips. And
she did laugh--laugh like a happy child and press her lips to mine. I
drew the dagger dripping red from the heart of my Thracian love and
stuck it to my bosom bidding her strike it hard. But the stroke fell
short. Even as the first blood met the blade was I struck low by the
sword of Rome which lay open my face. Aye, seest thou? Seest thou the
face of thy slave? And when he beheld blood bubbling from my face and
pumping from my breast, did the Roman chieftain laugh.
"Aye, how Rome doth love blood! Rivers of blood! Seas of blood! With
the blood of my face dripping on to the blood of my breast I looked
into the face of him who had laughed at my blood, and I did
laugh--laugh in the face of Rome and shout with victorious shouting,
'My blood may'st thou have! Aye, from a thousand wounds may thou steal
it--shout over it--drink it, if thou wilt! But never shall the hand of
Rome pollute her whom I loved! Never shall the feverish lips of thy
foul lust stain her sweet breathing!' Again did the chieftain smite me
across the head, and darkness came. When I awoke blood was there from
a third wound, yea, most noble mistress, that wound which did rob me of
man's most sacred possession. Yet again did I laugh in the face of
Rome, laugh with the joy of a victor and praise the gods, for around
the neck of him who had smitten me would never twine the ivory arms of
her I loved. Neither would the hand that had made me a thing of wood,
caress the blue veined breast of her who was mine. For this I love the
scar! Sweet is the scar, most noble mistress, of thy eunuch's sore
scarred love! Sweet is the scar!"
During the recital of her slave's tragic story, Claudia had shown much
interest. "Is there more?" she asked, when he paused.
"Yea, that which doth delight the heart of Rome--the Triumph. When as
captives we first saw Rome, great was the rejoicing in the city whose
sword rules the world. With garlands were the buildings gay. The
streets were strewn with flowers, and the populace was robed in white.
The victor came in a golden chariot with its four white horses and its
stately lictors. Proud was he in purple robe and crown of laurel and
he smiled as the trumpet tones of the heralds rang out and the populace
shouted praise in thunderous tones. With the captives and the spoils
of war came I, chained, and the rabble did shout in my face. So also
did my heart shout. For far from the marble courts and gilded palaces
that hid the polluted couches of helpless maidens, she who was mine
rested in the dust of Thrace with the winds of the Aegean sobbing where
she lay. And as these desecrators did exult, so did my heart thank the
gods for the steel of my blade, the strength of my arm and the pale
dead face of my love! Most noble mistress, I have done. Dost thou
understand?"
"I understand thou hast been cruelly robbed," she answered.
"Yet have I not been robbed of that which maketh a man to think."
"Hast thou thoughts? What is the wisdom of thy thinking?"
"On the shores of the sea have I seen the storm make mountains of
water, yet the depths were not moved from their holdings. Down from
the mountains hath the wind raged and hath fought me for my mantle,
which ever I held tighter. From the hand of Rome comes the sword which
doth scar and rob and pollute. Yet it doth not subdue."
"This thou hast observed. What meaning hath it?"
"Even this. What the storm can not do with much thundering, the tide
doeth at will. What the wind can not do with loud battling, the sun
doeth in silence. What the sword can not do though blood be spilled
like water, the mind of man can accomplish."
"Thou speakest wisdom. But how doth this put a light on thy scarred
face?"
"A vision hath been given of a kingdom greater than that of Caesar's,
wherein the bruised and beaten and scarred who toil and starve that
idlers may gorge, shall be accounted greater than those who rule by the
might of the sword."
Claudia crossed and recrossed the room several times after the slave
spoke these words, the silence unbroken save by the tinkle of her
strings of ornaments. Pausing before him she said, "As the tide is
greater than the storm; as the sun is greater than the wind; as the
mind of man is greater than the sword, so shall there be a kingdom
greater than that of Caesar? Is this what thou sayest?"
"Not I, but the Jew that teacheth in the Temple."
"Hast heard this from his own lips?"
"Thou knowest I have not. Save as the centurion's slave hath spoken
know I nothing."
Claudia bent toward the slave, so near the jewels swinging from her
shoulders lay on his arm, as she whispered, "Wouldst thou hear the Jew?"
"Ah, that I might--that I might," and the sad eyes of the eunuch filled
with tears.
"Thou hast my permission. Nay, even more, it is my command. Go thou
daily to the Temple of the Jews and bring me word."
"Be it permitted a slave of Rome to enter the Temple of the Jews?
Sweet is one scar, but there are no others like it."
"The Tower of Antonio stands guard against the Temple and behind its
frowning walls hides the arm of Rome. Into one court thou art
permitted to go. Here if any say thee nay, reply thou, 'I am the
property of Claudia, wife of Pilate.'"
"Thy kindness doth make my heart glad. With rejoicing will I go and
come again to thee with the wisdom of the Jew."
"Keep thou thy ears open and thy mouth shut. Understandest thou? Go
now. Bring wreaths of flowers. Thy master, Pilate, will soon come
with Roman Senators."