At every step Periphas took the darkness increased, and the lamplight in the inner room was but a feeble substitute for the dawning day. Yet he instantly distinguished the light figure which lay extended on the black skin.
Byssa slept resting on her side, with her face half averted. Instead of lying on the couch wholly undressed, with her garments loosely thrown over her, she had, probably from fear of some nocturnal visitor, retained her white kirtle and spread the goat-skin bodice over her breast.
Holding his breath, Periphas stole to the couch with a throbbing heart.
Byssa’s head rested on her round arm and her long black hair flowed down in two streams, one behind hershoulders, the other over her neck, where it was lost in the swelling outlines of the bust, only the upper portion of which could be seen above the shaggy edge of the bodice. The troubled expression of her features had given place to a sweet repose, which harmonized perfectly with the unconstrained grace of her recumbent attitude. Her cheeks were still somewhat paler than usual, but her half-parted lips were ruddy with the freshness of youth. In her slumber she had drawn her limbs under her in a peculiarly feminine way, and from the sea of white folds formed by her garments appeared a naked foot as smooth and plump as a child’s.
Periphas bent softly over the sleeper and listened to her calm, regular breathing. He felt like a thief who dreads being caught, and thought with terror that she might open her eyes. But when his glance fell upon the white foot that peeped from under the garments, he mentally compared Byssa to the Pelasgian women who, according to ancient custom, climbed the mountains to bring the shepherds food, and with their brown skins and muscular figures closely resembled beasts of burden. He could not avert his gaze from the bare foot. It seemed to him a perfect marvel and, even at the risk of waking Byssa, he could not refrain from touching it. Slowly and cautiously extending his huge hand, he took hold of it as gently as if it had been a little bird.
Byssa started and sat erect on the couch. Half-stupefied by sleep, she pushed her long hair back from her eyes with both hands, but scarcely had she recognizedthe Pelasgian when with a loud shriek she thrust him away.
“Wretch!” she exclaimed as she sprang up almost frantic with terror and fled.
At the entrance of the cave she felt herself seized and stopped. She turned.
Periphas was a terrible spectacle; his brown cheeks were deeply flushed and his eyes flashed like a wildcat’s.
“Woman!” he gasped breathlessly, in a voice tremulous with passion. “You are in my power ... you shall obey me.”
But Byssa bent backward over his arm to get as far away from him as possible. At that instant, she remembered her father’s parting charge: “Do not abandon Zeus Hypsistos, that Zeus Hypsistos may not abandon you.”
She called loudly upon the god’s name.
Periphas laughed.
“Zeus is far away,” he said.
Byssa gazed wildly around the cave, expecting to see Lyrcus appear with spear and shield. But no living creature was visible far or near—naught save clouds and mountains.
Again Periphas laughed.
“No one is coming,” he murmured. “If you want to be saved, help yourself.”
The words darted into Byssa’s brain like a flash of lightning.
Yes!—it was “a voice of fate,” a sign sent by thegods, an answer to her appeal placed in Periphas’ mouth, without his suspecting it, by Zeus himself.
A thrill of emotion ran through her frame and with all the strength that animates a person who believes himself acting in the name of a god, she snatched the knife from the Pelasgian’s belt and with the speed of light drove it up to the hilt in his bare breast.
Periphas staggered back a step. He felt no special pain, he lost very little blood, yet he perceived that a change was taking place which could mean nothing but death.
Turning frightfully pale, he tottered and covered his eyes with both hands as though to escape a sight full of awe and horror.
“The soothsayer!” he exclaimed. “I see him ... in the midst of the darkness.... He is stretching out his arms to clutch me.”
Then, with failing voice, he murmured:
“That was the prediction ... that vile ... death by a woman’s hand.”
As he spoke, without an effort to save himself, he fell prostrate on the ground behind the boulder at the entrance of the cave, clouds of dust whirling upward around him.
Byssa, so brave a few moments before, trembled from head to foot. Her knees could no longer support her, and she sank down on a rock at the other side of the entrance.
Her eyes, as if by some magic spell, were fixed upon the figure behind the boulder. She saw the lastconvulsions shake the Pelasgian’s shoulders; she saw his hand clench in a spasmodic tremor; she saw the waxen hue of a corpse spread over his body—and could not avert her gaze.
How long Byssa sat thus she knew not.
She felt neither hope nor fear; she had no distinct consciousness of what had happened.
A shadow passed before the entrance of the cave; there was a howl of joy, and Byssa felt herself pushed against the cliff.
It was Bremon, who in delight at finding her trail at the foot of the mountain, had snatched his chain from Lyrcus’ hand and now leaped upon her, overwhelming her with caresses.
The dog’s affection cheered Byssa’s heart; she roused herself from her stupor and covered the faithful animal with tears and kisses.
Again a shadow glided past the opening of the cavern.
Lyrcus, armed with spear and shield, stood before her, gazing wildly beyond her into the cave as though his glance sought someone. Then he looked searchingly into her eyes, as if he would fain read her inmost soul.
Byssa rose—her knees no longer trembled. Asthough answering the doubt in her husband’s glance, she pointed to the Pelasgian stretched in the dust and said:
“I have killed him.”
A shudder ran through Lyrcus’ limbs and he stared, as though unable to trust his eyes, at the lifeless form lying in the darkness.
“Byssa!” he cried, stretching out his arms to embrace his wife.
But she shrank back, shrieking:
“No, no, do not touch me.” Then in a low tone she added: “Shall I go to Mekone to be purified from the blood?”
For a moment Lyrcus made no answer, then he replied:
“No. Go to your father. It was a righteous murder.”
When, a short time after, they left the cave Lyrcus lingered behind and, unnoticed by his wife, drew the murderous weapon from the wound and thrust it into his own belt.
Scarcely had Bremon followed the pair out, ere in his joy, he leaped and danced around them, barking with all his might.
Instantly the whole mountain seemed to be alive. The loose stones above the cave rattled again and, urged by some dark foreboding, Periphas’ faithful herdsman hastily descended. At the same time, from the nearest chasm on each side, emerged half a score of armed men, yawning, rubbing their eyes, andstraightening their skin cloaks, as if suddenly roused from sleep.
The shepherd entered the cave, but instantly came out again, looking very pale and troubled, as pointing to the two retreating figures he shouted wrathfully:
“Seize them! They have killed him ... with his own knife.”
The sleepy Pelasgians opened their eyes and several recognized the Cychrean leader.
“It’s Lyrcus!” they shouted to the other party.
“Let us surround him,” was the reply.
The men approached from both sides and speedily formed a circle around the departing pair. At each step they took the ring grew smaller. Bremon noticed the danger, showed his teeth, growled, and no longer wandered away from his master.
“Keep close behind me, wife,” said Lyrcus.
And, to obtain greater freedom of movement, he took off his upper garment and flung it to her. Then, crouching slightly behind his shield, he waited until the difficulty of marching on the uneven surface of the mountain should make a breach in the Pelasgians’ circle.
“Follow me!” he called to Byssa, and set off at a run, but to give her time did not go at full speed and, ere he knew it, he was surrounded.
With the courage given by superior strength Lyrcus now tried to fight his way through. He felled two Pelasgians to the earth, and Bremon furiously attacked two others and made them unfit for combat. But thepoor dog was soon killed, and Lyrcus needed all his skill in the use of arms to defend himself.
Just at that moment a loud shout was heard close at hand.
“Hold! In the name of the gods, hold!”
A youth in full armor suddenly forced his way to Lyrcus and covered him with his own body.
“Pelasgians!” he cried, “so brave a warrior ought not to die thus ... one against many.”
Lyrcus’ assailants let their weapons fall and looked around them in surprise. They were already outflanked by the young chieftain’s men.
Several raised their voices:
“This Cychrean has killed Periphas.”
“I know it,” replied the youth; “I heard the shepherd call to you. But Periphas fell by his own deeds. He stole this man’s wife.”
Lyrcus had thrust his spear into the ground and used his sword when his assailants pressed upon him. He now drew it out and approached the young leader.
“Who are you, youth?” he asked in surprise; for he perceived by the new-comers’ arms and dress that they were Pelasgians.
“My name is Nomion,” the young man answered: “I am a son of Hyllus, surnamed ‘the old.’ Ten days ago he gave me the command of our tribe. A few hours after I assembled the other chiefs to hold a council. My most ardent desire is to establish peace and friendship between the Pelasgians and Cychreans.”
Lyrcus shook his head.
“It will be no easy task. There is blood between us.”
“I can smooth over Periphas’ murder,” said Nomion, “but Tydeus’ assassination is a harder matter. How did he perish?”
“He fell in a popular brawl one day when I was away fishing.”
Nomion nodded with a look of satisfaction.
“I thought that you were absent,” he said.
Then, turning to his men, he shouted in a loud voice:
“This Cychrean and his wife are free. They can go where they list.”
The day was far advanced when Lyrcus and his wife reached Kranaai. Weighed down by the sin of murder, Byssa could not enter the places of general assembly and it was only with difficulty and by circuitous paths that she approached the house of her father, the priest Ariston.
The outer room was empty—Byssa entered and silently seated herself beside the hearth. Lyrcus thrust the bloody knife he had brought from the cave into the earth at her feet.
Then he turned to go; but ere he did so fixed his eyes on Byssa with a half-anxious, half-pitying look. He would gladly have extended his hand to her, uttereda word of encouragement. But he dared not. A fugitive murderer, until the rite of purification had been performed, was like a person plague-stricken.
Lyrcus silently departed. Byssa hid her face in her hands, tears trickled through her fingers.
As she sat there quietly she heard the business of the household pursuing its usual course. Her father was whetting his sacrificial knife, her mother was busying herself with the hand-mill, and the female slave was chopping wood outside. Then her mother began to hum a hymn:
Zeus Ombrius, we pray theeGentle, fruitful rain to send,Bless, refresh our native country,Bid the torturing drought to end.
Zeus Ombrius, we pray theeGentle, fruitful rain to send,Bless, refresh our native country,Bid the torturing drought to end.
Zeus Ombrius, we pray theeGentle, fruitful rain to send,Bless, refresh our native country,Bid the torturing drought to end.
How well Byssa knew those notes! Her whole soul yearned for her parents—and now she must cause them so great a sorrow.
She dreaded the moment when her father would enter and see her sitting by the hearth, crime-stained and unclean. How gladly she would have warned him, that the surprise and shame might not kill the old man! But a single word from her lips might bring misfortune.
So she remained sitting silently, hiding her face with both hands. Then she heard a rustling, and a peculiar dry cough told her that her father had entered.
A convulsive shudder ran through her limbs. She dared not raise her eyes.
Ariston had come to put a vessel used to hold offerings in its place in a recess in the wall. He was clad in a grey garment, worn when he was occupied in the house. As he held the dish up to the light to see if it was bright his glance rested upon Byssa.
At the sight of his daughter, sitting humbly beside the hearth, he stared at her as though she were some terrible vision in a dream or a spectre risen from Hades. He could not believe what he beheld—then he perceived the knife thrust into the earth at her feet.
His face blanched almost as white as his snowy beard, the vessel fell from his hand, and he stood for a moment as though turned to stone. Then he pressed both hands on his breast.
“Horrible!” he faltered. “Byssa ... my gentle Byssa ... has shed blood!”
Byssa’s mother, Strybele, appeared in the doorway. Uttering a loud cry, she rushed with outstretched arms toward her daughter.
Ariston hastily stepped between them.
“Come!” he said, and with resolute authority led his wife out of the room.
“Ariston,” whispered the poor mother, “utter no curses, no evil words. Remember, she is your daughter.”
When Ariston returned he was clad in his priestly robes. A long white garment fell to his feet, and he wore around his brow a chaplet.
He approached Byssa. In the deep stillness of thehouse the mother was heard sobbing and praying within.
Ariston, raising his voice, said with great solemnity:
“Zeus was, Zeus is, and Zeus will be; oh, supreme god Zeus! In thy name, Catharsius, cleanser from all guilt, in thy name Meilichius, all-merciful one, I say to ... this woman....”
At the last word his voice trembled.
“This is thy command, oh Zeus. Purification shall be given to him who comes humbly to ask for purification. No one must ask his name, no one must inquire the name of him who is slain; for it is seemly to keep silence in the presence of the unclean. But no one, neither man nor woman, shall refuse to yield him the blessing of purification.”
Ariston then brought the animal to be sacrificed, a tiny sucking-pig. The blood flowed from a wound in the neck.
At the sight of the red stream he fixed an accusing glance on his daughter’s head and then raised his eyes to Heaven, as though seeking refuge from inexpressible agony.
“Woman,” he murmured, “prepare!”
Byssa stretched out her arms.
Ariston held the animal before her and let the blood stream down over her hands, repeating in a low voice:
“Blood expiates blood.”
Then he brought a basin of consecrated water inwhich Byssa’s mother, to strengthen its effect, had placed a brand from the altar before the house.
Invoking Zeus as the god of purification and the guardian of those who prayed, he washed Byssa’s hands and arms. When this was accomplished he burned the cakes and other offerings, first pouring on them as a libation water mixed with honey—meantime praying that Zeus would restrain the wrath of the goddess of vengeance and show himself merciful and gracious.
Then, taking Byssa’s hand, he drew her up from the hearth.
“My daughter,” he said, “the blood is expiated and the uncleanness washed away with consecrated water. Thou art no longer an outcast, odious to the gods. Thou canst again enter the places of assemblage and the temples consecrated to the deities; thou canst once more mingle among thy companions, amid bond and free. But this is not all. Now that thou hast obtained the forgiveness of the gods, thou must be answerable to men....”
Strybele anxiously entered, approached Ariston, and seized his arm.
“What will be done to her?” she asked.
“Justice.”
“Will she be punished?”
“Yes, if she has sinned.”
With these words Ariston led his daughter into the inner room. A cold perspiration stood on his brow, and the muscles around his lips quivered. He whohad cleansed Byssa from blood did not yet knowwhoseblood she had shed.
“Speak!” he said, “and conceal nothing from us.”
Strybele silently pressed her daughter’s hand.
Byssa raised her calm black eyes to her father’s face and answered:
“I have nothing to conceal.”
Then she related the expedition to the fountain, the abduction, and the stay in the cave on Mt. Hymettus. But when she spoke of her appeal to Zeus and the sacred tremor with which, as swiftly as the lightning, she had obeyed the god’s sign, Ariston’s eyes sparkled and, bending low with his arms folded on his breast, he said:
“Zeus deserts no one. But praised be thou, my daughter, for having heard the god’s voice. In saving yourself, you slew the Cychreans’ foe. The nation to which thy husband belongs owes thee thanks and honor.”
Strybele pressed Byssa to her bosom and mother and daughter, clasped in each other’s embrace, wept long together.
At noon Lyrcus came back to Kranaai for his wife. He found her reconciled to gods and men, gay and happy in the reverent admiration of her parents. Ariston was proud of his daughter’s having received asign from Zeus, and Strybele tenderly smoothed her dark hair as though she were still a child.
The meeting between Lyrcus and Byssa was as touching as if there had been a long separation.
On their return to the Cychrean city they found the place of assembly filled with an anxious throng. Several boys, while returning from bird-snaring, had seen in the distance parties of Pelasgians moving towards the cliff.
Lyrcus carried Byssa into the house and then, hurrying to the edge of the bluff, gazed out over the plain.
He had not waited long ere dark groups appeared from between the low hills. There were more than one chieftain’s men.
Lyrcus was already in the act of calling his people to arms, when his eye fell on several Pelasgians marching in front of the others and among them Nomion. The young chief held in his left hand an olive branch and, instead of resting his lance on his shoulder he carried it under his arm, with its point turned towards the earth.
At this sign of peace Lyrcus felt great relief, and the feeling was much strengthened when Nomion and his companions left their men behind a bow-shot from the cliff.
Shortly after the young Pelasgian, accompanied by three or four other leaders, stood before Lyrcus. When he had heard their errand he sounded the horn five times as a signal for the assembling of the oldest and most respected men in the tribe.
After all had met and formed a large semi-circle in the place of assemblage, Lyrcus stepped forward with Nomion by his side.
“Cychreans!” he shouted, “listen in silence to what this stranger has to say.”
Then he asked Nomion to step on a block of stone, where he could be seen and heard by all.
The young Pelasgian chief had laid aside helmet, armor, spear, and shield. A gold circlet confined his waving black hair, and a white cloak with a broad yellow border fell in graceful folds a little below his knees. All eyes rested with pleasure on the handsome youth.
“Cychreans!” he said in a clear, loud voice, “we Pelasgians have come—if you agree—to conclude peace and form an alliance with you.”
A murmur of approval greeted the words; for though the Cychreans had recently conquered, the horrors of war were too freshly remembered for them not to prefer peace.
“As you know,” Nomion continued, “we live in friendship with the Cranai. We now desire that there shall also be a good understanding between us and you. One of our chiefs, who was your bitterest foe, is no more. He was a rich and distinguished man, and his funeral will be so magnificent that it will be talked about far and wide. A huge pyre shall be erected for him and tall urns, filled with oil and honey, shall be placed at the corners of the bier; sheep and oxen, dogs and horses shall be slain and burned upon thepyre. But one thing we will not do—we do not mean to avenge his death. He is responsible for his own deeds, and it is a just punishment that he fell by a woman’s hand. Since he had taken her for a hostage, she ought to have been sacred to him.”
“Yes, yes, the youth speaks the truth!” murmured the Elders, and some applauded him.
After Nomion had explained his wishes more definitely and some of the Elders of the Cychrean nation had spoken, both parties agreed to conclude peace and form an alliance for twenty years.
Lyrcus, with an impatient gesture, said:
“Then I can close my forge and break my weapons.”
Nomion smiled.
“You don’t mean that, Lyrcus,” he replied, “for what man is mad enough to prefer war to peace? Is not war like a tempest or an earthquake? It turns everything upside down. In peace the sons bury their fathers, but in war fathers bury their sons.”
To strengthen the compact a lamb was offered to Zeus, to the sun, and to the earth—to Zeus and the sun a white wether for the glittering masculine divinity, but to the earth a black ewe-lamb as if to a female deity that acted in secret. During the offerings prayers were addressed not only to the three gods, but to the rivers and to the deities of the nether world who avenge perjury.
Finally there was a foaming mixture prepared from Cychrean and Pelasgian wine, and during the libation an invocation was solemnly repeated.
“Oh, Zeus! oh, Sun, oh Earth!... If any one dares to violate this compact, let his brains and his children’s brains be poured out on the ground like this wine.”
Thus they sought to secure peace.
After the sacrifices were finished, several voices shouted:
“Hail to Lyrcus! The honor is his—he trained us in the use of arms.”
“Hail to Byssa!” cried another.
“Honor to Byssa, Byssa the strong and brave. She has received a sign from Zeus.”
“She killed the man who brought war upon us.”
“Hail to Byssa! We want to see Byssa.”
Lyrcus smiled, yet his brows contracted in a frown. He felt half proud, half jealous.
But the shouts became so loud and persistent that he was forced to yield and hurried into his house.
When he came out again, leading Byssa by the hand, every eye was fixed upon the pretty native of Kranaai.
She wore an ample snow-white over-garment and on her head a blue Sidonian veil, which encircled her black hair like a wreath.
Hundreds of voices greeted her with the shout:
“Hail, Byssa! Avenger of thyself and of thy people.”
Byssa stood motionless, pale with emotion. Lyrcus made a sign that he wished to speak; but the people cried: “No, no, let thy wife speak.”
Byssa blushed and lowered her eyes, but she did not lose her presence of mind.
A death-like silence reigned over the whole place and, though Byssa did not speak loudly, every word uttered by her clear, resonant voice reached the farthest ranks of soldiers.
“Cychreans!” she said, “women, it seems to me, should be silent among men; for only a man is fit to answer men. Yet, since you give me liberty to speak, know that I have only fulfilled a higher command. So raise your voices with me and say: Praised be the supreme god, Zeus Hypsistos.”
Then a deafening shout was raised by hundreds of voices. Even the cliffs repeated:
“Zeus Hypsistos.”
From that day Lyrcus never asked Byssa to accompany the other women to Melite’s sanctuary. And when some talked of the miracles performed by the goddess of the place he smiled like one who knows better and said:
“Yet Zeus is the mightiest.”