CHAPTER II
WARNING FROM THE GODS
A few miles west of Athens, in the suburb of Academe, dwelt Melissa,aunt and guardian of Artemisia. She was an invalid, bedridden for thegreater part of the year, and she had chosen to live in the countrythat she might not be disturbed by the city noises. She had nevermarried, and no departure from the routine of her well-ordered housewas permitted. She loved her niece; but she was not sorry to have hermarry, because, as she said, her own hold upon life was so uncertain,and besides, the match was a brilliant one.
Her household consisted of Philox, her steward, who had managed heraffairs for a score of years, Tolmon, her gardener, and a dozen womenslaves who, like their mistress, had passed the prime of life.
In Melissa's old-fashioned garden Artemisia, with two little slavegirls to help her, was at work over a hedge of roses. She had not yetreached her nineteenth year. Her soft, light brown hair was gatheredin a knot at the back of her head, showing the graceful curve of thenape of her neck and half revealing the little pink lobes of her ears.Her forehead was low and smooth and broad, with delicately archedbrows, a shade darker than her hair. Her eyes were blue and the colorin her cheeks was heightened by her exertions in bringing the strayingrose stems into place. The folds of her pure white chiton left herwarm arms bare to the shoulder and defined the youthful lines of hersupple figure. As she stooped among the flowers, handling them withgentle touches, she seemed preoccupied, and her glance continuallywandered from her task.
Agile as monkeys, the slave girls darted about her, pelting each otherwith blossoms and uttering peals of shrill laughter. Their short whitetunics made their swarthy skins darker by contrast.
The garden was set in a tiny meadow beside the river Cephissus. It wasshut in on both sides by groves of olive and fig trees, against whosedark foliage gleamed the marble front of the house to which itbelonged. The sunlight swept the smooth emerald of the turf, touchedthe brilliant hues of the flowers, and flashed back from the ripplingriver beyond.
"Oh, mistress, there's a beautiful butterfly! Oh, please, may I catchhim?" cried one of the little girls.
"Hush, chatterbox," said Artemisia; "come and help me here."
"Ouch, that awful thorn! Look, mistress, how my finger bleeds," theother girl said, holding up her small brown hand.
"Will you never end your nonsense?" the young woman asked in affecteddespair. "See, Proxena, we have not half finished."
"Don't be angry with us, mistress; see who's coming!" Proxena cried,taking her wounded finger from her mouth and pointing with it towardthe house.
Clearchus must have ridden fast to arrive so soon after leaving hisfriends. Artemisia, hastily plucking a half-blown rose, went forwardto meet him, while the little slave girls remained behind, peepingslyly with sidelong glances and whispering to each other while theypretended to busy themselves with their work.
"Greeting, Artemisia, my Life!" Clearchus said, taking her hands in his.
"Greeting, Clearchus; I am glad to see thee," she replied.
"How beautiful thou art and how fortunate am I, my darling," the youngman said radiantly. "Dost thou love me, Artemisia?"
"Thou knowest well that I do, Clearchus," she answered reproachfully."Why dost thou ask?"
"For the joy of hearing thee say it once more," he said, laughing."There is nothing the Gods can give that could be sweeter or moreprecious to me, and to add the last touch to my happiness, Chares andLeonidas came this morning and have promised to stay until our wedding."
They had been strolling toward the grove at the edge of the meadow,where a bench of carved stone, overhung with trailing vines, was set inthe shade in such a position as to permit its occupants to look outover the garden and the river. They sat down side by side andClearchus slipped his arm about Artemisia's waist. Evidently, with thesubtle sense of a lover, he detected a lack of responsiveness, for hebent forward and gazed anxiously into her face. He saw that it wastroubled.
"What is the matter, my dearest?" he asked in sudden alarm.
She hesitated for a moment. "Oh, Clearchus, I fear that we are toohappy," she said at last in reply.
"Why do you say that?" he asked, drawing her closer to him. "Whyshould any of the Gods wish us harm? We have not failed in paying themhonor, and we have transgressed in nothing."
Artemisia hid her face in her hands and her head drooped against hisshoulder. He held her still closer and kissed the soft coils of herhair, awaiting an explanation.
"What is it, Artemisia?" he asked quietly. "You are tired and nervousand overwrought, and some foolish fancy has crept into your heart totrouble you. Tell me, my dearest; thou canst have no sorrow that isnot mine as well as thine."
"Clearchus, my husband," she said, without moving from her position orlifting her face, "thou art strong and I am but a weak girl. Whatevermay come, I shall always be thankful that thou didst love me. I amthine--heart and mind, body and spirit, here and in thehereafter--forever."
"Why dost thou speak so, my Soul?" Clearchus asked in alarm. "What hashappened? Surely we shall be married at the new moon."
"I do not know, Clearchus--all that I know is that I love thee andshall love thee always. A warning from the Gods has been sent to me."
She lifted her face and clasped her hands in her lap. Her eyes werewet and her lips were tremulous as those of a helpless child who awaitsa blow.
"What was it, my Life?" Clearchus asked gently.
"I was in a strange house," she replied, looking straight before her asthough she could see the things that she described. "It was a house ofmany rooms, some filled with lights and some so dark I could not tellwhat was in them. I heard the sound of voices, of laughter, and ofweeping, but I could see nobody. Thou wert there, I knew, and I wasseeking thee with my heart full of terror; for something told me Iwould not find thee. It was dreadful--dreadful, Clearchus!"
She paused and clung to him for a moment as though in fear of beingtorn from his side.
"I do not know how long I wandered through passages and chambers," sheresumed, "but at last I reached a corridor that had rows of pillars oneither side. At the end was a crimson curtain, beyond which men andwomen were talking. As I stood hesitating in the empty corridor,suddenly I heard thy voice among the rest. I could not mistake it,Clearchus. Joy filled my heart. Thou didst not know I was there norwhat peril I was in. I felt that I had but to lift the curtain--thouwouldst see me and I would be saved. I ran forward, crying out tothee; but before I reached the curtain, rough men came from between thepillars and thrust me back, drowning my voice with shouting andlaughter. I threw myself on my knees before them and prayed them notto stop me. They answered in words that I could not understand. Myheart was breaking, Clearchus! The light beyond the crimson curtaingrew dim, and outside I could hear a roaring like a great storm. Thepillars were shaken and the walls crumbled, and I woke crying thy name."
The young man's face had grown unusually grave and thoughtful as helistened to the recital of the dream. No man or woman of his time whobelieved in anything ever thought of doubting that the visions of sleepwere divine communications to mortals. Statesmen directed the courseof nations and generals planned their campaigns in accordance with theinterpretation of these revelations.
"What does it mean, Clearchus? You are wiser than I," Artemisia saidanxiously. "If I am separated from thee, I shall die."
"The men who halted you seemed to be barbarians?" Clearchus askedthoughtfully.
"Thus they seemed," she replied. "I could not understand their speech,and their clothes were not our fashion."
"I know not what it means, Artemisia," Clearchus said at last. "We arein the hands of the Gods. I shall ask the protection of Artemis andoffer her a sacrifice. To-morrow we must be married. I do not dare towait for the new moon, for I must be near you to protect you. Then,whatever may come, we will meet it together."
"Perhaps the dream was meant for me alone," Artemisia said tenderly.
"I cannot bear to bring you into danger."
"Hush, Artemisia!" Clearchus said reprovingly. "I would rather athousand times die with thee than live without thee."
With a sigh, she let her head rest on his shoulder.
"I care not what may happen so that thou art with me," she said; "thenI can feel no fear."
"Artemisia," Clearchus said suddenly, "go not out again to-day. Ishall tell Philox to guard thee well until to-morrow. Hast thou toldMelissa of the dream?"
"No, for I wished to tell thee first and she is so easily frightened,"Artemisia said.
"Then say nothing to her about it," the young man replied.
One of the little slave girls ran up to them at this moment and stoodbefore them, twisting her fingers together and waiting to be spoken to.
"What is it, Proxena?" Artemisia asked.
"The morning meal is waiting, mistress," said the child, and sped awayagain.