He had arrived wounded on the pirate ship with his master’s friend,
the returned bondman began. When he had regained consciousness, he met
Ledscha on board the Hydra, as the wife of the pirate Hanno. She had
nursed Myrtilus with tireless solicitude, and also often cared for his,
Bias’s, wounds. After the recovery of the prisoners, she became their
protectress, and placed Bias in the service of the Greek artist.
They, the Gaul Lutarius, and one of the sculptor’s slaves, were the only
ones who had been brought on board the Hydra alive from the attack in
Tennis, but the latter soon succumbed to his wounds.
Hermon owed it solely to the bridge-builder that he had escaped from
the vengeance of his Biamite foe, for the tall Gaul, whose thick beard
resembled Hermon’s in length and blackness, was mistaken by Hanno for
the person whom Ledscha had directed him to deliver alive into her
power.
The pirate had surrendered the wrong captive to the woman he loved and,
as Bias declared, to his serious disadvantage; for, though Hanno and
the Biamite girl were husband and wife, no one could help perceiving the
cold dislike with which Ledscha rebuffed the giant who read her every
wish in her eyes. Finally, the captain of the pirate ship, a silent man
by nature, often did not open his lips for days except to give orders
to the crew. Frequently he even refused to be relieved from duty, and
remained all night at the helm.
Only when, at his own risk, or with the vessels of his father and
brother, he attacked merchant ships or defended himself against a war
galley, did he wake to vigorous life and rush with gallant recklessness
into battle.
A single man on the Hydra was little inferior to him in strength and
daring--the Gaul Lutarius. He had been enrolled among the pirates, and
when Hanno was wounded in an engagement with a Syrian war galley,
was elected his representative. During this time Ledscha faithfully
performed her duty as her young husband’s nurse, but afterward treated
him as coldly as before.
Yet she devoted herself eagerly to the ship and the crew, and
the fierce, lawless fellows cheerfully submitted to the sensible
arrangements of their captain’s beautiful, energetic wife. At this
period Bias had often met Ledscha engaged in secret conversation with
the Gaul, yet if any tender emotion really attracted her toward any one
other than her husband, Myrtilus would have been suspected rather than
the black-bearded bridge-builder; for she not only showed the sculptor
the kindest consideration, but often entered into conversation with
him, and even persuaded him, when the sea was calm, or the Hydra lay at
anchor in one of the hidden bays known to the pirates, to practise his
art, and at last to make a bust of her. She had succeeded in getting
him clay, wax, and tools for the purpose. After asking which goddess
had ill-treated the weaver Arachne, she commanded him to make a head of
Athene, adorned with the helmet, modelled from her own. During this time
she frequently inquired whether her features really were not beautiful
enough to be copied for the countenance of a goddess, and when he
eagerly assured her of the fact, made him swear that he was not
deceiving her with flattery.
Neither Bias nor Myrtilus had ever been allowed to remain on shore; but,
on the whole, the slave protested, Myrtilus’s health, thanks to the pure
sea air on the Hydra, had improved, in spite of the longing which
often assailed him, and the great excitements to which he was sometimes
exposed.
There had been anxious hours when Hanno’s father and brothers visited
the Hydra to induce her captain to make money out of the captive
sculptor, and either sell him at a high price or extort a large ransom
from him; but Bias had overheard how resolutely Ledscha opposed these
proposals, and represented to old Satabus of what priceless importance
Myrtilus might become to them if either should be captured and
imprisoned.
The greatest excitements, of course, had been connected with the battles
of the pirates. Myrtilus, who, in spite of his feeble health, by no
means lacked courage, found it especially hard to bear that during the
conflicts he was locked up with Bias, but even Ledscha could neither
prevent nor restrict these measures.
Bias could not tell what seas the Hydra had sailed, nor at what--usually
desolate-shores she had touched. He only knew that she had gone to
Sinope in Pontus, passed through the Propontis, and then sought booty
near the coasts of Asia Minor. Ledscha had refused to answer every
question that referred to these things.
Latterly, the young wife had become very grave, and apparently
completely severed her relations with her husband; but she also
studiously avoided the Gaul and, if they talked to each other at all, it
was in hurried whispers.
So events went on until something occurred which was to affect the lives
of the prisoners deeply. It must have been just beyond the outlet from
the Hellespont into the AEgean Sea; for, in order to pass through the
narrow straits leading thither from Pontus, the Hydra had been most
skilfully given the appearance of a peaceful merchant vessel.
The slave’s soul must have been greatly agitated by this experience, for
while, hitherto, whenever he was interrupted by Hermon he had retained
his composure, and could not refrain from occasionally connecting a
practical application with his report, now, mastered by the power of
the remembrance, he uttered what he wished to tell his master in an
oppressed tone, while bright drops of perspiration bedewed the speaker’s
brow.
A large merchant ship had approached them, and three men came on board
the Hydra--old Satabus, his son Labaja, and a gray-haired, bearded
seafarer of tall stature and dignified bearing, Schalit, Ledscha’s
father.
The meeting between the Biamite ship-owner and his child, after so long
a separation, was a singular one; for the young wife held out her hand
to her father timidly, with downcast eyes, and he refused to take it.
Directly after, however, as if constrained by an irresistible impulse,
he drew his unruly daughter toward him and kissed her brow and cheeks.
Roast meat and the best wine had been served in the large ship’s cabin;
but though Myrtilus and Bias had been locked up as if a bloody battle
was expected, the loud, angry uproar of men’s deep voices reached them,
and Ledscha’s shrill tones shrieking in passionate wrath blended in the
strife. Furniture must have been upset and dishes broken, yet the giants
who were disputing here did not come to blows.
At last the savage turmoil subsided.
When Bias and his master were again released, Ledscha was standing,
in the dusk of evening, at the foot of the mainmast, pressing her brow
against the wood as if she needed some support to save herself from
falling.
She checked Myrtilus’s words with an imperious “Let me alone!” The next
day she had paced restlessly up and down the deck like a caged beast of
prey, and would permit no one to speak to her.
At noon Hanno was about to get into a boat to go to her father’s ship,
and she insisted upon accompanying him. But this time the corsair seemed
completely transformed, and with the pitiless sternness, which he so
well knew how to use in issuing commands, ordered her to remain on the
Hydra.
She, however, by no means obeyed her husband’s mandate without
resistance, and, at the recollection of the conflict which now occurred
between the pair, in which she raged like a tigress, the narrator’s
cheeks crimsoned.
The quarrel was ended by the powerful seaman’s taking in his arms his
lithe, slender wife, who resisted him with all her strength and had
already touched the side of the boat with her foot, and putting her down
on the deck of his ship.
Then Hanno leaped back into the skiff, while Ledscha, groaning with
rage, retired to the cabin.
An hour after she again appeared on deck, called Myrtilus and Bias and,
showing them her eyes, reddened by tears, told them, as if in apology
for her weakness, that she had not been permitted to bid her father
farewell. Then, pallid as a corpse, she had turned the conversation upon
Hermon, and informed Myrtilus that an Alexandrian pilot had told her
father that he was blind, and her brother-in-law Labaja had heard the
same thing. While saying this, her lips curled scornfully, but when she
saw how deeply their friend’s misfortune moved her two prisoners, she
waved her hand, declaring that he did not need their sympathy; the pilot
had reported that he was living in magnificence and pleasure, and the
people in the capital honoured and praised him as if he were a god.
Thereupon she had laughed shrilly and reviled so bitterly the
contemptible blind Fortune that remains most loyal to those who deserve
to perish in the deepest misery, that Bias avoided repeating her words
to his master.
The news of Myrtilus’s legacy had not reached her ears, and Bias, too,
had just heard of it for the first time.
Ledscha’s object had been to relieve her troubled soul by attacks
upon the man whom she hated, but she suddenly turned to the master and
servant to ask if they desired to obtain their liberty.
Oh, how quickly a hopeful “Yes” reached the ears of the gloomy woman!
how ready both were to swear, by a solemn oath, to fulfil the conditions
the Biamite desired to impose!
As soon as opportunity offered, both were to leave the Hydra with one
other person who, like Bias and herself, understood how to mange a boat.
The favourable moment soon came. One moonless night, when the steering
of the Hydra was intrusted to the Gaul, Ledscha waked the two prisoners
and, with the Gaul Lutarius, Myrtilus, and the slave, entered the boat,
which conveyed them to the shore without accident or interruption.
Bias knew the name of the place where it had anchored, it is true, but
the oath which Ledscha had made him swear there was so terrible that he
would not have broken it at any cost.
This oath required the slave, who, three days after their landing,
was sent to Alexandria by the first ship that sailed for that port, to
maintain the most absolute secrecy concerning Myrtilus’s hiding place
until he was authorized to speak. Bias was to go to Alexandria without
delay, and there obtain from Archias, who managed Myrtilus’s property,
the sums which Ledscha intended to use in the following manner: Two
attic talents Bias was to bring back. These were for the Gaul, probably
in payment for his assistance. Two more were to be taken by the slave to
the Temple of Nemesis. Lastly, Bias was to deliver five talents to old
Tabus, who kept the treasure of the pirate family on the Owl’s Nest, and
tell her that Ledscha, in this money, sent back the bridal dowry which
Hanno had paid her father for his daughter. With this she released
herself from the husband who inspired her with feelings very unlike
love.
Hermon asked to have this commission repeated, and received the
directions Myrtilus had given to the slave. The blind man’s hope that
they must also include greetings and news from his friend’s hand was
destroyed by Bias, whom Myrtilus, in the leisure hours on the Hydra,
had taught to read. This was not so difficult a task for the slave, who
longed for knowledge, and had already tried it before. But with writing,
on the other hand, he could make no headway. He was too old, and his
hand had become too clumsy to acquire this difficult art.
In reply to Hermon’s anxious question whether his friend needed anything
in his present abode, the slave reported that he was at liberty to move
about at will, and was not even obliged to share Ledscha’s lodgings. He
lacked nothing, for the Biamite, besides some gold, had left with him
also gems and pearls of such great value that they would suffice to
support him several years. As for himself, she had supplied him more
than abundantly with money for travelling expenses.
Myrtilus was awaiting his return in a city prospering under a rich and
wise regent, and sent whole cargoes of affectionate remembrances. The
sculptor, too, was firmly resolved to keep the oath imposed upon him.
As soon as he, Bias, had performed the commission intrusted to him, he
and Myrtilus would be released from their vow, and Hermon would learn
his friend’s residence.