CHAPTER XVI.
Hermon, with the rose for his friend fastened in the breast folds ofhis chiton, mounted his horse gratefully, and his companion, a sinewy,bronzed Midianite, who was also to attend to the opening of the fortressgates, did the same.
Before reaching the open country the sculptor had to ride through thewhole city, with which he was entirely unfamiliar. Fiercely as the stormwas sweeping down the streets and squares, and often as the horsemanwas forced to hold on to his travelling hat and draw his chlamys closeraround him, he felt the anxieties which had made his night sleeplessand saddened his day suddenly leave him as if by a miracle. Was it theconsciousness of having acted rightly? was it the friendly farewellwhich Daphne had given him, and the hope Thyone had aroused, or theexpectation of seeing Ledscha once more, and at least regaining hergood will, that had restored his lost light-heartedness? He did not knowhimself, nor did he desire to know.
While formerly he had merely glanced carelessly about him in Pelusium,and only half listened to the explanations given by the veteran's deepvoice, now whatever he saw appeared in clear outlines and awakened hisinterest, in spite of the annoyances caused by the storm.
Had he not known that he was in Pelusium, it would have been difficultfor him to determine whether the city he was crossing was an Egyptian,a Hellenic, or a Syrian one; for here rose an ancient temple of the timeof the Pharaohs, with obelisks and colossal statues before the loftypylons, yonder the sanctuary of Poseidon, surrounded by stately rowsof Doric columns, and farther on the smaller temple dedicated to theDioscuri, and the circular Grecian building that belonged to Aphrodite.
In another spot, still close to the harbour, he saw the large buildingsconsecrated to the worship of the Syrian Baal and Astarte.
Here he was obliged to wait awhile, for the tempest had excited the warelephants which were returning from their exercising ground, and theirblack keepers only succeeded with the utmost difficulty in restrainingthem. Shrieking with fear, the few persons who were in the streetbesides the soldiers, that were everywhere present, scattered before thehuge, terrified animals.
The costume and appearance of the citizens, too, gave no clew to thecountry to which the place belonged; there were as many Egyptians amongthem as Greeks, Syrians, and negroes. Asiatics appeared in the majorityonly in the market place, where the dealers were just leaving theirstands to secure their goods from the storm. In front of the bigbuilding where the famous Pelusinian xythus beer was brewed, thedrink was being carried away in jugs and wineskins, in ox-carts and ondonkeys. Here, too, men were loading camels, which were rarely seen inEgypt, and had been introduced there only a short time before.
How forcibly all these things riveted Hermon's attention, now that noone was at hand to explain them and no delay was permitted! He scarcelyhad time for recollection and expectation.
Finally, the last gate was unlocked, and the ramparts and moats laybehind him.
Thus far the wind had kept back the rain, and only scattered dropslashed the riders' faces; but as soon as they entered the open country,it seemed as though the pent-up floods burst the barriers which retainedthem above, and a torrent of water such as only those dry regions knowrushed, not in straight or slanting lines, but in thick streams, whirledby the hurricane, upon the marshy land which stretched from Pelusium toTennis, and on the horsemen.
The road led along a dike raised above fields which, at this season ofthe year, were under water, and Hermon's companion knew it well.
For a time both riders allowed themselves to be drenched in silence.The water ran down upon them from their broad-brimmed hats, and theirdripping horses trotted with drooping heads and steaming flanks onebehind the other until, at the very brick-kiln where Ledscha hadrecalled her widowed sister's unruly slaves to obedience, the guidestopped with an oath, and pointed to the water which had risen to thetop of the dam, and in some places concealed the road from their eyes.
Now it was no longer possible to trot, for the guide was obliged to seekthe traces of the dike with great caution. Meanwhile the force of thepouring rain by no means lessened--nay, it even seemed to increase--andthe horses were already wading in water up to their fetlocks.
But if the votive stones, the little altars and statues of the gods, thebushes and single trees along the sides of the dike road were overflowedwhile the travellers were in the region of the marsh, they would beobliged to interrupt their journey, for the danger of sinking into themorass with their horses would then threaten them.
Even at the brick-kiln travellers, soldiers, and trains of merchandisehad stopped to wait for the end of the cloud-burst.
In front of the farmhouse, too, which Hermon and his companion nextreached, they saw dozens of people seeking shelter, and the Midianiteurged his master to join them for a short time at least. The wisestcourse here was probably to yield, and Hermon was already turning hishorse's head toward the house when a Greek messenger dashed past thebeckoning refuge and also by him.
"Do you dare to ride farther?" the artist shouted in a tone of warninginquiry to the man on the dripping bay, and the latter, without pausing,answered: "Duty! On business for the King!"
Then Hermon turned his steed back toward the road, beat the water fromhis soaked beard with the edge of his hand, and with a curt "Forward!"announced his decision to his companion. Duty summoned him also, andwhat another risked for the King he would not fail to do for his friend.
The Midianite, shaking his head, rode angrily after him; but, thoughthe violence of the rain was lessening, the wind began to blow withredoubled force, beating and lashing the boundless expanse of thequickly formed lake with such savage fury that it rolled in surges likethe sea, and sweeping over it dense clouds of foam like the sand wavestossed by the desert tempests.
Sometimes moaning, sometimes whistling, the gusts of the hurricane drovethe water and the travellers before it, while the rain poured from thesky to the earth, and wherever it struck splashed upward, making littlewhirlpools and swiftly breaking bubbles.
What might not Myrtilus suffer in this storm! This thought strengthenedHermon's courage to twice ride past other farmhouses which offeredshelter. At the third the horse refused to wade farther in such atempest, so there was nothing to be done except spring off and lead itto the higher ground which the water had not yet reached.
The interior of the peasant hut was filled with people who had soughtshelter there, and the stifling atmosphere which the artist felt at thedoor induced him to remain outside.
He had stood there dripping barely fifteen minutes when loud shouts andyells were heard on the road from Pelusium by which he had come, andupon the flooded dike appeared a body of men rushing forward withmarvellous speed.
The nearer they came the fiercer and more bewildering sounded the loud,shrill medley of their frantic cries, mingled with hoarse laughter, andthe spectacle presented to the eyes was no less rough and bold.
The majority seemed to be powerful men. Their complexions were aslight as the Macedonians; their fair, red, and brown locks were thick,unkempt, and bristling. Most of the reckless, defiantly bold faces weresmooth-shaven, with only a mustache on the upper lip, and sometimes ashort imperial. All carried weapons, and a fleece covered the shouldersof many, while chains, ornamented with the teeth of animals, hung ontheir white muscular chests.
"Galatians," Hermon heard one man near him call to another. "They cameto the fortress as auxiliary troops. Philippus forbade them to plunderon pain of death, and showed them--the gods be thanked!--that he wasin earnest. Otherwise it would soon look here as though the plagues oflocusts, flood, and fire had visited us at once. Red-haired men are notthe only sons of Typhon!"
And Hermon thought that he had indeed never seen any human beingsequally fierce, bold to the verge of reckless madness, as these Gallicwarriors. The tempest which swept them forward, and the water throughwhich they waded, only seemed to increase their enjoyment, for sheerdelight rang in their exulting shouts and yells.
Oh, yes! To march a
mid this uproar of the elements was a pleasure to thehealthy men. It afforded them the rarest, most enlivening delight. Fora long time nothing had so strongly reminded them of the roaring of thewind and the rushing of the rain in their northern home. It seemed adelicious relief, after the heat and dryness of the south, which theyhad endured with groans.
When they perceived the eyes fixed upon them they swung their weapons,arched their breasts with conscious vanity, distorted their faces intoterrible threatening grimaces, or raised bugle horns to their lips, drewfrom them shrill, ear-piercing notes and gloated, with childish delight,in the terror of the gaping crowd, on whom the restraint of authoritysternly forbade them to show their mettle.
Lust of rapine and greed for booty glittered in many a fiery, longinglook, but their leaders kept them in check with the sword. Sothey rushed on without stopping, like a thunderstorm pregnant withdestruction which the wind drives over a terrified village.
Hermon also had to take the road they followed, and, after giving theGauls a long start, he set out again.
But though he succeeded in passing the marshy region without injury,there had been delay after delay; here the horses had left the floodeddike road and floundered up to their knees in the morass, there treesfrom the roadside, uprooted by the storm, barred the way.
As night closed in the rain ceased and the wind began to subside, butdark clouds covered the sky, and the horsemen were still an hour's ridefrom the place where the road ended at the little harbour from whichtravellers entered the boat which conveyed them to Tennis.
The way no longer led through the marsh, but through tilled lands, andcrossed the ditches which irrigated the fields on wooden bridges.
On their account, in the dense darkness which prevailed, caution wasnecessary, and this the guide certainly did not lack. He rode at a slowwalk in front of the artist, and had just pointed out to him the lightat the landing place of the boat which went to Tennis, when Hermon wassuddenly startled by a loud cry, followed by clattering and splashing.
With swift presence of mind he sprang from his horse and found hisconjecture verified. The bridge had broken down, and horse and rider hadfallen into the broad canal.
"The Galatians!" reached Hermon from the dark depths, and theexclamation relieved him concerning the fate of the Midianite.
The latter soon struggled up to the road uninjured. The bridge musthave given way under the feet of the savage horde, unless the Gallicmonsters, with brutal malice, had intentionally shattered it.
The first supposition, however, seemed to be the correct one, for asHermon approached the canal he heard moans of pain. One of the Gaulshad apparently met with an accident in the fall of the bridge and beendeserted by his comrades. With the skill acquired in the wrestlingschool, Hermon descended into the canal to look for the wounded man,while his guide undertook to get the horses ashore.
The deep darkness considerably increased the difficulty of carrying outhis purpose, but the young Greek went up to his neck in the water hecould not become wetter than he was already. So he remained in the ditchuntil he found the injured man whose groans of suffering pierced hiscompassionate heart.
He was obliged to release the luckless Gaul from the broken timbers ofthe bridge, and, when Hermon had dragged him out on the opposite bankof the canal, he made no answer to any question. A falling beam hadprobably struck him senseless.
His hair, which Hermon's groping fingers informed him was thick andrough, seemed to denote a Gaul, but a full, long beard was very rarelyseen in this nation, and the wounded man wore one. Nor could anything bediscovered from the ornaments or weapons of this fierce barbarian.
But to whatever people he might belong, he certainly was not a Greek.The thoroughly un-Hellenic wrapping up of the legs proved that.
No matter! Hermon at any rate was dealing with some one who was severelyinjured, and the self-sacrificing pity with which even suffering animalsinspired him, and which in his boyhood had drawn upon him the jeers ofthe companions of his own age, did not abandon him now.
Reluctantly obeying his command, the Midianite helped him bandage thesufferer's head, in which a wound could be felt, as well as it could bedone in the darkness, and lift him on the artist's horse. During thistime fresh groans issued from the bearded lips of the injured warrior,and Hermon walked by his side, guarding the senseless man from thedanger of falling from the back of the horse as it slowly followed theMidianite's.
This tiresome walk, however, did not last long; the landing placewas reached sooner than Hermon expected, and the ferryboat bore thetravellers and the horses to Tennis.
By the flickering light of the captain's lantern it was ascertained thatthe wounded man, in spite of his long dark beard, was probably a Gaul.The stupor was to be attributed to the fall of a beam on his head, andthe shock, rather than to the wound. The great loss of blood sustainedby the young and powerful soldier had probably caused the duration ofthe swoon.
During the attempts at resuscitation a sailor boy offered hisassistance. He carefully held the lantern, and, as its flickering lightfell for brief moments upon the artist's face, the lad of thirteen orfourteen asked if he was Hermon of Alexandria.
A curt "If you will permit," answered the question, considered by theHellenes an unseemly one, especially from such a youth; but the sculptorpaid no further attention to him, for, while devoting himself honestlyto the wounded man, his anxiety about his invalid friend increased, andLedscha's image also rose again before him.
At last the ferryboat touched the land, and when Hermon looked aroundfor the lad he had already leaped ashore, and was just vanishing in thedarkness.
It was probably within an hour of midnight.
The gale was still blowing fiercely over the water, driving the blackclouds across the dark sky, sometimes with long-drawn, wailing sounds,sometimes with sharp, whistling ones. The rain had wholly ceased, andseemed to have exhausted itself here in the afternoon.
As Archias's white house was a considerable distance from the landingplace of the ferryboat, Hermon had the wounded warrior carried to it byBiamite sailors, and again mounted his horse to ride to Myrtilus at asswift a trot as the soaked, wretched, but familiar road would permit.
Considerable time had been spent in obtaining a litter for the Gaul, yetHermon was surprised to meet the lad who had questioned him so boldly onthe ferryboat coming, not from the landing place, but running towardit again from the city, and then saw him follow the shore, carrying ablazing torch, which he waved saucily. The wind blew aside the flame andsmoke which came from the burning pitch, but it shone brightly throughthe gloom and permitted the boy to be distinctly seen. Whence had thenimble fellow come so quickly? How had he succeeded, in this fiercegale, in kindling the torch so soon into a powerful flame? Was it notfoolish to let a child amuse itself in the middle of the night with sodangerous a toy?
Hermon hastily thought over these questions, but the supposition thatthe light of the torch might be intended for a signal did not occur tohim.
Besides, the boy and the light in his hand occupied his mind only ashort time. He had better things to think of. With what longing Myrtilusmust now be expecting his arrival! But the Gaul needed his aid no lessurgently than his friend. Accurately as he knew what remedies relievedMyrtilus in severe attacks of illness, he could scarcely dispense withan assistant or a leech for the other, and the idea swiftly flashedupon him that the wounded man would afford him an opportunity of seeingLedscha again.
She had told him more than once about the healing art possessed by oldTabus on the Owl's Nest. Suppose he should now seek the angry girl toentreat her to speak to the aged miracle-worker in behalf of the sorelywounded young foreigner?
Here he interrupted himself; something new claimed his attention.
A dim light glimmered through the intense darkness from a bit of risingground by the wayside. It came from the Temple of Nemesis--a prettylittle structure belonging to the time of Alexander the Great, whichhe had often examined with pleasure. Several
steps led to the anteroom,supported by Ionic columns, which adjoined the naos.
Two lamps were burning at the side of the door leading into the littleopen cella, and at the back of the consecrated place the statue of thewinged goddess was visible in the light of a small altar fire.
In her right hand she held the bridle and scourge, and at her feet stoodthe wheel, whose turning indicates the influence exerted by her powerupon the destiny of mortals. With stern severity that boded evil, shegazed down upon her left forearm, bent at the elbow, which correspondswith the ell, the just measure.
Hermon certainly now, if ever, lacked both time and inclination toexamine again this modest work of an ordinary artist, yet he quicklystopped his weary horse; for in the little pronaos directly in front ofthe cella door stood a slender figure clad in a long floating dark robe,extending its hands through the cella door toward the statue in ferventprayer. She was pressing her brow against the left post of the door,but at her feet, on the right side, cowered another figure, which couldscarcely be recognised as a human being.
This, too, was a woman.
Deeply absorbed in her own thoughts, she was also extending her armstoward the statue of Nemesis.
Hermon knew them both.
At first he fancied that his excited imagination was showing him athreatening illusion. But no!
The erect figure was Ledscha, the crouching one Gula, the sailor's wifewhose child he had rescued from the flames, and who had recently beencast out by her husband.
"Ledscha!" escaped his lips in a muttered tone, and he involuntarilyextended his hands toward her as she was doing toward the goddess.
But she did not seem to hear him, and the other woman also retained thesame attitude, as if hewn from stone.
Then he called the supplicant's name loud tone, and the next instantstill more loudly; and now she turned, and, in the faint light of thelittle lamp, showed the marvellously noble outlines of her profile. Hecalled again, and this time Ledscha heard anguished yearning in his deeptones; but they seemed to have lost their influence over her, for herlarge dark eyes gazed at him so repellently and sternly that a coldtremor ran down his spine.
Swinging himself from his horse, he ascended the steps of the temple,and in the most tender tones at his command exclaimed: "Ledscha!Severely as I have offended you, Ledscha--oh, do not say no! Will youhear me?"
"No!" she answered firmly, and, before he could speak, continued: "Thisplace is ill chosen for another meeting! Your presence is hateful to me!Do not disturb me a moment longer!"
"As you command," he began hesitatingly; but she swiftly interruptedwith the question, "Do you come from Pelusium, and are you goingdirectly home?"
"I did not heed the storm on account of Myrtilus's illness," he answeredquietly, "and if you demand it, I will return home at once; but firstlet me make one more entreaty, which will be pleasing also to the gods."
"Get your response from yonder deity!" she impatiently interrupted,pointing with a grand, queenly gesture, which at any other time wouldhave delighted his artist eye, to the statue of Nemesis in the cella.
Meanwhile Gula had also turned her face toward Hermon, and he nowaddressed her, saying with a faint tone of reproach: "And did hatredlead you also, Gula, to this sanctuary at midnight to implore thegoddess to destroy me in her wrath?"
The young mother rose and pointed to Ledscha, exclaiming, "She desiresit."
"And I?" he asked gently. "Have I really done you so much evil?"
She raised her hand to her brow as if bewildered; her glance fell on theartist's troubled face, and lingered there for a short time. Then hereyes wandered to Ledscha, and from her to the goddess, and finally backagain to the sculptor. Meanwhile Hermon saw how her young figure wastrembling, and, before he had time to address a soothing-word to her,she sobbed aloud, crying out to Ledscha: "You are not a mother! Mychild, he rescued it from the flames. I will not, and I can not--I willno longer pray for his misfortune!"
She drew her veil over her pretty, tear-stained face as she spoke, anddarted lightly down the temple steps close beside him to seek shelterin her parents' house, which had been unwillingly opened to the cast-offwife, but now afforded her a home rich in affection.
Immeasurably bitter scorn was depicted in Ledscha's features as shegazed after Gula. She did not appear to notice Hermon, and when at lasthe appealed to her and briefly urged her to ask the old enchantresson the Owl's Nest for a remedy for the wounded Gaul, she again leanedagainst the post of the cella door, extended both arms with passionatefervour toward the goddess, and remained standing there motionless, deafto his petition.
His blood seethed in his veins, and he was tempted to go nearer andforce her to hear him; but before he had ascended the first of theflight of steps leading to the pronaos, he heard the footsteps of themen who were bearing the wounded warrior after him.
They must not see him here with one of their countrywomen at this hour,and manly pride forbade him to address her again as a supplicant.
So he went back to the road, mounted his horse, and rode on withoutvouchsafing a word of farewell to the woman who was invoking destructionupon his head. As he did so his eyes again rested on the stern face ofNemesis, and the wheel whose turning determined the destiny of men ather feet.
Assailed by horrible fears, and overpowered by presentiments of evil, hepursued his way through the darkness.
Perhaps Myrtilus had succumbed to the terrible attack which must havevisited him in such a storm, and life without his friend would bebereft of half its charm. Orphaned, poor, a struggler who had gained nocomplete victory, it had been rich only in disappointments to him, inspite of his conviction that he was a genuine artist, and was fightingfor a good cause. Now he knew that he had also lost the woman by whoseassistance he was certain of a great success in his own much-disputedcourse, and Ledscha, if any one, was right in expecting a favourablehearing from the goddess who punished injustice.
He did not think of Daphne again until he was approaching the placewhere her tents had stood, and the remembrance of her fell like a ray oflight into his darkened soul.
Yet on that spot had also been erected the wooden platform from whichAlthea had showed him the transformation into the spider, and therecollection of the foolish error into which the Thracian had drawn himdisagreeably clouded the pleasant thought of Daphne.