CHAPTER XV.
After the Emperor's body-slave had started up to go to the aid ofSelene, who was attacked by his sovereign's dog, something had happenedto him which he could not forget; he had received an impression whichhe could not wipe out, and words and tones had stirred his mind and soulwhich incessantly echoed in them, so that it was in a preoccupied andhalf-dreamy way that he had done his master those little services whichhe was accustomed to perform every morning, briskly and with completeattention.
Summer and winter Mastor was accustomed to leave his master's bedroombefore sunrise to prepare everything that Hadrian could need when herose from his slumbers. There was the gold plating to clean on thenarrow greaves and the leather straps which belonged to his master'smilitary boots, his clothes to air and to perfume with the slight,hardly perceptible scent that he liked, but the preparations forHadrian's bath were what took up most of his time. At Lochias therewere not as yet--as there were in the imperial palace atRome--properly-filled baths; still his servant knew that here, as there,his master would use a due abundance of water. He had been told that ifhe required anything for his master he was to apply to Pontius. Himhe found, without seeking him, outside the room meant for Hadrian'ssitting-room, to which, while the Emperor still slept, he wasendeavoring, with the help of his assistants, to give a comfortable andpleasing aspect. The architect referred the slave to the workmen whowere busy laying the pavement in the forecourt of the palace; thesemen would carry in for him as much water as ever he could need. Thebody-servant's position relieved him of such humble duties, still, whenon the chase, when travelling, or as need arose, he was accustomed toperform them unasked, and very willingly.
The sun had not yet risen when he went out into the court, a number ofslaves were lying on their mats asleep, others had camped round a fireand were waiting for their early broth, which was being stirred withwooden sticks by an old man and a boy. Mastor would not disturb eithergroup; he went up to a party of workmen, who seemed to be talkingtogether, and yet remained attentive to the speech of an old man who wasevidently telling them a story.
The poor fellow's heart was heavy and his mind was little bent on talesand amusements. All life was embittered. The services required of himusually seemed to him of paramount importance, beyond everything else;but to-day it was different. He had an obscure feeling as though fateherself had released him from all his duties, as if misfortune had cutthe bonds which bound him to his service to the Emperor, and had madehim an isolated and lonely being. It even came into his head whether heshould not take in his hand all the gold pieces given him sometimes byHadrian, or which the wealthy folks who wished to be the foremost ofthose introduced into the Emperor's presence, after waiting in theantechamber, had flung to him or slipped into his hand--make his escapeand carouse away all that he possessed in the taverns of the great city,in wine and the gay company of women. It was all the same to him whatmight happen to him.
If he were caught he would probably be flogged to death; but he had hadkicks and blows in plenty before he had got into the Emperor's service,nay; when he was brought to Rome he had once even been hunted with dogs.If he lost his life, after all what would it matter? He would have donewith it then, once for all, and the future offered him no prospectbut perpetual fatigue in the service of a restless master, anxiety andcontempt. He was a thoroughly good-hearted being who could not bear tohurt any one, and who found it equally hard to disturb a fellow-man inhis pleasures or amusement. He felt particularly disinclined to do sojust now, for a wounded soul is keenly alive to the moods and feelingsof others; so, as he approached the group of workmen, from among whomhe proposed to choose his water-carrier, he determined that he would notinterrupt the story-teller, on whose lips the gaze of his audience wasriveted with interest.
The glare of the blaze under the soup-kettle fell full on the speaker'sface. He was an old laborer, but his long hair proclaimed him a freeman.His abundant white beard induced Mastor to suppose that he must be a Jewor a Phoenician, but there was nothing remarkable in the old man,who was dressed in a poor and scanty tunic, excepting his peculiarlybrilliant eyes, which were immovably fixed on the heavens, and theoblique position in which he held his head, supporting it on the leftside with his raised hands.
"And now," said the speaker, dropping his arms, "let us go back to ourlabors, my brethren. 'In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread,' itis written. It is often hard to us old men to heave stones and bend ourstiff backs for so long together, but we are nearer than you youngerones to the happy future. Life is not easy to all of us, but it is wewho labor and are heavy laden--we above all others--that the Lord hasbidden to be his guests, and not last among us the slaves."
"Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will refreshyou," interrupted one of the younger men repeating the words of Christ.
"Yea, thus saith the Saviour," said the old man approvingly, "and hesurely then was thinking of us. I said just now our load is not light,but how much heavier was the burden he took upon him of his own freewill to release us from woe. Every one must work, nay even Caesarhimself, but he who could dwell in the glory of his Father let himselfbe mocked and scorned and spit in the face, let the crown of thorns bepressed on his suffering head, bore his heavy cross, sinking under itsweight, and endured a death of torment, and all for our sakes, withouta murmur. But he suffered not in vain, for God accepted the sacrifice ofhis Son, and did his will and said, 'All that believe on Him should notperish, but have everlasting life.' And though a new and weary day isnow beginning, and though it should be followed by a thousand wearierstill, though death is the end of life--still we believe in ourRedeemer, we have God's word bidding us out of sorrows and sufferingsinto his Heaven, promising us for a brief time of misery in this world,endless ages of joy.--Now go to work. Our sturdy friend Krates willwork for you dear Knakias until your finger is healed. When the breadis distributed remember, each of you, the children of our poor deceasedbrother Philammon. You, poor Gibbus, will find your labors bitterto-day. This man's master, my dear brethren, sold both his daughtersyesterday to a dealer from Smyrna; but if you never see them again inEgypt, or in any other country, my friend, you will meet them in thehome of your Heavenly Father--of that you may rest assured. Our lifeon earth is but a pilgrimage, and Heaven is the goal, and the Guide whoteaches us never to miss the way, is our Saviour. Weariness and toil,sorrow and suffering are easy to bear, to him who knows that whenthe solemn hour is near, the King of Kings shall throw open hisdwelling-place, and invite him to enter as a favored guest to inhabitthere, where all we have loved have found joy and rest."
"Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will refreshyou," said a man's loud voice again from the circle that sat round theold man. The old man stood up, signed to a boy who distributed the breadin equal shares to the workmen, and took up a jar with handles, out ofwhich he filled a large wooden cup with wine.
Not a word of this discourse had escaped Mastor, and the often repeatedverse, "Come unto me all ye that labor," dwelt in his mind like theinvitation of a hospitable friend bidding him to happy days of freedomand enjoyment. A distant gleam shone through the weight of his troubles,seeming to promise the dawn of a new day, and he reverently went up tothe old man, in the first place to ask him if he was the overseer of theworkmen who stood round him.
"I am," replied the old man, and as soon as he learnt what Mastorrequired as a commission from the controlling architect, he pointed outsome young slaves who quickly brought the water that he needed.
Pontius met the Emperor's servant and his water-carriers and remarked,loudly enough for Mastor to understand him, to Pollux who was with him:
"The architect's servant is getting Christians to wait upon his masterto-day. They are regular and sober workmen who do their duty silentlyand well."
While Mastor was giving his master towels, and helping to dry and dresshim, he was far less attentive than usual, for he could not get thewords he had heard from the overseer's lips o
ut of his mind. He had notunderstood them all, but he had fully comprehended that there was a kindand loving God who had suffered in his own person the utmost torments,who was especially gracious to the poor, the miserable, and thebondsman, and who promised to refresh them and comfort them, and tore-unite them to those who had once been dear to them. "Come unto me,"sounded again and again in his ears, and struck so warmly to his heartthat he could not help thinking first of his mother, who, so many atime, when he was a child, had called to him only to clasp him in herarms as he ran towards her, and to press him to her heart. Just so hadhe often called his poor little dead son, and the feeling that therecould be any one who might still call to him--the forsaken lonelyman--with loving words to release him from his griefs, to reunite himto his mother, his father, and all the dear ones left behind in his lostand distant home, took half the bitterness from his pain.
He was accustomed to listen to all that was said in the Emperor'spresence, and year by year he had learnt to understand more of whathe heard. He had often heard the Christians discussed, and usually asdeluded but dangerous fools. Many of his fellow-slaves, too, hehad heard called Christian idiots, but still not unfrequently veryreasonable men, and sometimes even Hadrian himself, had taken the partof the Christians.
This was the first time that Mastor had heard from their own lips whatthey believed and hoped, and now, while fulfilling his duties hecould hardly bear the delay before he could once more seek out the oldpavement-worker, to enquire of him, and to have the hopes confirmedwhich his words had aroused in his soul.
No sooner had Hadrian and Antinous gone into the living-room than Mastorhad hastened off across the court to find the Christians. There he triedto open a conversation with the overseer concerning his faith, but theold man answered that there was a season for everything; just nowhe could not interrupt the work, but that he might come again aftersundown, and that he then would tell him of Him who had promised torefresh the sorrow-laden.
Mastor thought no more of making his escape. When he appeared again inhis master's presence there was such a sunny light in his blue eyes thatHadrian left the angry words he had prepared for him unspoken, and criedto Antinous, laughing and pointing to the slave:
"I really believe the rascal has consoled himself already, and found anew mate. Let us, too, follow the precept of Horace, so far as we may,and enjoy the present day. The poet may let the future go as it will,but I cannot, for, unfortunately, I am the Emperor."
"And Rome may thank the gods that you are," replied Antinous.
"What happy phrases the boy hits upon sometimes," said Hadrian with alaugh, and he stroked the lad's brown curls. "Now till noon I must workwith Phlegon and Titianus, whom I am expecting, and then perhaps wemay find something to laugh at. Ask the tall sculptor there behind thescreens, at what hour Balbilla is to sit to him for her bust. We mustalso inspect the architect's work, and that of the Alexandrian artistsby daylight; that, their zeal has well deserved."
Hadrian retired to the room where his private secretary had ready forhim the despatches and papers for Rome and the provinces, which theEmperor was required to read and to sign. Antinous remained alone in thesitting-room, and for an hour he continued to gaze at the ships whichcame to anchor in the harbor, or sailed out of the roads, and amusedhimself with watching the swift boats which swarmed round the largervessels, like wasps round ripe fruit. He listened to the songs of thesailors, and the music of the flute-players, to the measured beat ofthe oars, which came up from the triremes in the private harbor of theEmperor as they went out to sea. Even the pure blue of the sky and thewarmth of the delicious morning were a pleasure to him, and he askedhimself whether the smell of tar, which pervaded the seaport, wereagreeable or not.
Presently as the sun mounted in the sky, its bright sphere dazzled him;he left the window with a yawn, stretched himself on a couch, and staredabsently up at the ceiling of the room without thinking of the subjectwhich the faded picture on it was intended to represent.
Idleness had long since grown to be the occupation of his life; butaccustomed to it as he was, he was sometimes conscious of its darkattendant shadow ennui--as of a disagreeable and intrusive interruptionto the enjoyment of life. Generally in such lonely hours of idle reveriehis thoughts reverted to his belongings in Bithynia, of whom he neverdared to speak before the Emperor, or perhaps of the hunting excursionshe had made with Hadrian, of the slaughtered game, of the fish he--anexperienced angler--had caught, or such like. What the future mightbring him troubled him not, for to the love of creativeness, toambition--to all, in short, that bore any resemblance to a passionateexcitement his soul had, so far, remained a stranger. The admirationwhich was universally excited by his beauty gave him no pleasure, andmany a time he felt as though it was not worth while to stir a limb ordraw a breath. Almost everything he saw was indifferent to him exceptinga kind word from the lips of the Emperor, whom he regarded as greatabove all other men, whom he feared as Destiny incarnate, and to whom hefelt himself bound as intimately as the flower to the tree, the blossomthat must die when the stem is broken, on which it flaunts as anornament and a grace.
But, to-day, as he flung himself on the divan his visions took a newdirection. He could not help thinking of the pale girl whom he had savedfrom the jaws of the blood-hound--of the white cold hand which for aninstant had clung to his neck--of the cold words with which she hadafterwards repelled him.
Antinous began to long violently to see Selene. That same Antinous,to whom in all the cities he had visited with the Emperor, and in Romeparticularly, the noble fair ones had sent branches of flowers andtender letters, and who nevertheless, since the day when he left hishome, had never felt for any woman or girl half so tender a sentiment,as for the hunter the Emperor had given him, or for the big dog. Thisgirl stood before his memory like breathing marble. Perchance the manmight be doomed to death who should rest on her cold breast, but such adeath must be full of ecstasy, and it seemed to him that it would be farmore blissful to die with the blood frozen in his veins, than of the toorapid throbbing of his heart.
"Selene," he murmured, now and again, with soft hesitation; a strangeunrest foreign to his calm nature seemed to propagate itself through allhis limbs, and he who commonly would be stretched on a couch for hourswithout stirring, lost in dreams, now sprang up and paced the room,sighing deeply, and with long strides.
It was a passionate longing for Selene that drove him up and down, andhis wish to see her again crystallized into resolve, and prompted himto contrive the ways and means of meeting her once more before theEmperor's return.
Simply to invade her father's lodging without farther ceremony, seemedto him out of the question, and yet he was certain of finding her there,since her injured foot would of course keep her at home. Should he oncemore go to the steward with a request for bread and salt? But he darednot ask anything of Keraunus in Hadrian's name after the scene which hadso recently taken place. Should he go there to carry her a new pitcherin the place of the broken one? But that would only freshly enrage thearrogant official.
Should he--should he--should he not? But no, it was quiteimpossible--still, that no doubt--that was the right idea. In hismedicine-chest there were a few extracts which had been given to him bythe Emperor; he would offer her one of these to dilute with water andapply to her bruised foot. And this act of sympathy could not displeaseeven his master, who liked to prove his healing art on the sick orsuffering. He at once called Mastor, and desired him to take charge ofthe hound which had followed his steps as he paced the room, then hewent into his sleeping-room, took out a phial of a most costly essence,which Hadrian had given him on his last birthday, and which had formerlybelonged to Trajan's wife, Kotina, and then proceeded to the steward'srooms. On the steps where he had found Selene, he found the black slavewith some children. The old man had sat down them and got no farther forfear of the Roman's dog. Antinous went up to him and begged him to guidehim to his master's quarters, and the negro immediately showed him theway, opened
the door of the antechamber, and pointing to the living-roomsaid:
"There--but Keraunus is absent."
Without troubling himself any further about Antinous the slave went backto the children, but the Bithyman stood irresolute, with his flask inhis hand, for besides Selene's voice he heard that of another girl andthe deeper tones of a man. He was still hesitating when Arsinoe's loudexclamation of "Who's there?" obliged him to advance.
In the sitting-room Selene was standing dressed in a long light-coloredrobe with a veil over her head, as if prepared to go out, but Arsinoewas perched on the edge of a table, in such a way as that the tips ofher toes only touched the ground, and on the table lay a quantity ofold-fashioned things. Before her stood a Phoenician, of middle age,holding in his hand a finely-carved cup; apparently he was in treaty forit with the young girl.
Keraunus had been again to-day to a dealer in curiosities, but he hadnot found him at home, so he had left word at his shop that Hiram mightcall upon him in his rooms at Lochias, where he could show him severalvaluable rarities. The Phoenician had arrived before the return of thesteward himself, who had been detained at a meeting of the town council,and Arsinoe was displaying her father's treasures, whose beauties shewas extolling with much eloquence. Hiram unfortunately offered a nohigher price than Gabinius, whom the steward had sent off so indignantlythe previous evening.
Selene had been convinced from the first of the bootlessness of theattempt, and was now anxious to bring the transaction to a speedyconclusion, as the hour was approaching when she and Arsinoe had to goto the papyrus factory. To her sister's refusal to accompany her, and tothe old slave-woman's entreaty that she would rest her foot, at any ratefor to-day, she had responded only with a resolute, "I am going."
The appearance of the youth on the scene occasioned the girls someembarrassment. Selene recognized him at once, Arsinoe thought himhandsome but awkward, while the curiosity-dealer gazed at him in perfectadmiration, and was the first to offer him a greeting. Antinous returnedit, bowed to the sisters, and then said turning to Selene:
"We heard that your head was cut, and your foot hurt, and as we wereguilty of your mishap, we venture to offer you this phial which containsa good remedy for such injuries."
"Thank you," replied the girl. "But I feel already so well that I shalltry to go out."
"That you certainly ought not to do," said Antinous, beseechingly.
"I must," replied Selene, gravely.
"Then, at any rate, take the phial to use for a lotion when you return.Ten drops in such a cup as that, full of water."
"I can try it when I come in."
"Do so, and you will see how healing it is. You are not vexed with usany longer?"
"No."
"I am glad of that!" cried the boy, fixing his large dreamy eyes onSelene with silent passion. This gaze displeased her, and she said morecoldly than before to the Bithyman.
"To whom shall I give the phial when I have used the stuff in it?"
"Keep it, pray keep it," begged Antinous. "It is pretty, and will betwice as precious in my eyes when it belongs to you."
"It is pretty-but I do not wish for presents."
"Then destroy it when you have done with it. You have not forgiven usour dog's bad behavior, and we are sincerely sorry that our dog--"
"I am not vexed with you. Arsinoe pour the medicine into a saucer."
The steward's younger daughter immediately obeyed, and noticing as shedid so, how pretty the phial was, sparkling with various colors, shesaid frankly enough:
"If my sister will not have it, give it to me. How can you make such apother about nothing, Selene?"
"Take it," said Antinous, looking anxiously at the ground, for it hadnow just occurred to him how highly the Emperor had valued this littlebottle, and that he might possibly ask him some time what had become ofit. Selene shrugged her shoulders, and drawing her veil round her head,she exclaimed, with a glance of annoyance at her sister:
"It is high time!"
"I am not going to-day," replied Arsinoe, defiantly, "and it is follyfor you to walk a quarter of a mile with your swollen foot."
"It would be wiser to take some care of it," observed the dealer,politely, and Antinous anxiously added:
"If you increase your own suffering you will add to our self-reproach."
"I must go," Selene repeated resolutely, "and you with me, sister."
It was not out of mere wilfulness that she spoke, it was bitternecessity, that forced her to utter the words. To-day, at any rate, shemust not miss going to the papyrus factory, for the week's wages for herwork and Arsinoe's were to be paid. Besides, the next day, and for fourdays after, the workshops and counting-house would be closed, forthe Emperor had announced to the wealthy proprietor his intention ofvisiting them, and in his honor various dilapidations in the old roomswere to be repaired, and various decorations added to the bare-lookingbuilding. Hence, to remain away from the works to-day meant, not merelythe loss of a week's pay, but the sacrifice of twelve days, since it hadbeen announced to the work-people, that as a token of rejoicing, and inhonor of the imperial visit, full pay would be given for the unemployeddays; and Selene needed money to maintain the family, and must thereforepersist in her intention.
When she saw that Arsinoe showed no sign of accompanying her, she oncemore asked with stern determination:
"Are you coming?--Yes, or no."
"No," cried Arsinoe, defiantly, and sitting farther on the table.
"Then I am to go alone?"
"You are to stay here."
Selene went close up to her sister and looked at her enquiringly andreproachfully; but Arsinoe adhered to her refusal. She pouted like asulky child, and slapping the hand on which she was leaning three timeson the table, she repeated, "No--no--no."
Selene called to the old slave-woman, and desired her to remain in thesitting-room till her father should return, greeted the dealer politely,and Antinous with a careless nod, and then left the room. The ladhad followed her, and they both met the children. Selene pulled theirdresses straight, and strictly enjoined them not to go near the corridoron account of the strange dog. Antinous stroked the blind boy's prettycurly head, and then, as Selene was about to descend the stairs, heasked her:
"May I help you?"
"Yes," said the girl, for at the very first step an acute pain in theancle checked her, and she put out her arm to the young man that hemight support her elbow on his hand. But her answer would assuredlyhave been "no," if she had had the smallest feeling of liking for theEmperor's favorite; but she bore the image of another in her heart,and did not even perceive that Antinous was beautiful. The Bithynian'sheart, on the other hand, had never beaten so violently as duringthe brief moments when he was permitted to hold Selene's arm. He feltintoxicated, while he was alive to the fact that during the descent ofthe few steps she was suffering great pain.
"Stay at home, and spare yourself!" he begged her once more in atrembling voice.
"You worry me!" she said, in a tone of vexation. "I must go, and it isnot far."
"May I accompany you?"
She laughed aloud and answered somewhat scornfully:
"Certainly not. Only conduct me through the corridor that the dog maynot attack me again, then go where you will--but not with me."
He obeyed when at the end of the passage where it opened into a largehall, he bid her farewell, and she thanked him with a few friendlywords.
There were two ways out from her father's rooms into the road, one ledthrough the rotunda where the Ptolemaic Queens were placed, and acrossseveral terraces up and down steps through the forecourt; the other, ona level all the way, through the rooms and halls of the palace. She wasforced to choose the latter, for it would have been impossible for herwith her aching foot to clamber up a number of steps without help anddown them again, but she came to this conclusion much against herwill, for she knew what numbers of men were engaged in the works ofrestoration; and to get through them safely it struck her that she
mightask her old playfellow to escort her through the crowd of workmen andrough slaves as far as his parent's gatehouse. But she did not easilydecide on this course, for, since the afternoon when Pollux had shownher mother's bust to Arsinoe before showing it to her, she had felt agrudge towards the sculptor, who so lately before had touched and openedher weary and loveless soul; and this sore feeling had not diminished,but had rather increased with time. At every hour of the day, andwhatever she was occupied in, she could not help repeating to herself,that she had every reason to be vexed with him.
She had stood to him a second time as a model for his work, had spokento him many times, and when last they parted had promised to allow himthis very evening to study once more the folds of her mantle. With whatpleasure she had looked forward to each meeting with Pollux, how trulylovable she had thought him on every fresh occasion; how frankly hetoo, expressed his pleasure as often as they met! They had talked of allsorts of things, even of love, and how eager he had been when he toldher that the only thing she needed to make her happy was a good husbandwho would succor and comfort her as she deserved, and as he spoke he hadlooked at his own strong hands while she had turned red, and had thoughtto herself that if he liked it she would willingly make the experimentof enjoying life heartily by his side.
It seemed to her as though they belonged to each other, as if she hadbeen born for him alone, and he for her. Why then yesterday had he shownArsinoe her mother's bust before her?
Well, now she would ask him plainly whether he had placed it on therotunda for her or for her sister, and let him see she was not pleased.She must tell him, too, that she could not stand as his model thatevening; if only on account of her foot that would be impossible.
With increasing pain and effort she crossed the threshold of the hallof the Muses, and went up to the screen behind which her friend wasconcealed. He was not alone, for she heard voices within--and it was nota man but a woman who was with him; she could hear her clear laugh atsome distance. When she came close up to the screen to call Pollux, thewoman, who was certainly sitting to him as a model, spoke louder thanbefore, and called out merrily:
"But this is delicious! I am to let you fulfil the office of my maid,what audacity these artists have!"
"Say yes," begged the artist, in the gay and cordial tone which morethan once had helped to ensnare Selene's heart. "You are beautiful,Balbilla, but if you would allow me, you might be far handsomer than youare even."
And again there was a merry laugh behind the screen. The pleasant voicemust have hurt poor Selene acutely for she drew up her shoulders, andher fair features were stamped with an expression of keen suffering, andshe pressed both hands over her heart as she went on past the screen andher handsome flirting playfellow, limping across the courtyard and intothe road.
What tortured the poor child so cruelly? The poverty of her house, andher bodily pain, which increased at every step, or her numbed and soreheart, betrayed of her newly-blossoming, last, and fairest hope?