The day had arrived, and Varro and Chios were to meet the priests and priestesses concerning the picture of Saronia. Many eyes were turned upon them until they entered the Temple and were hidden from view.
When the time came for the Roman to approach the High Priest, he addressed him thus:
'Most noble of the Megalobyzi, most exalted among men, king of priests, High Priest of the great Diana, whose fame extends from Central Rome to Britain in the West, where stands a temple to her name—fame which extends not only from the centre to the West, but back again through the great world until it grasps the lands and islands of the far-off East, we, in all humility, and for the great veneration in which we hold the goddess, would help to honour the name of her great High Priestess, Saronia, before whom we bow lowly, and salute her first among women, by presenting to this holy shrine a picture truly painted of this noble virgin, that her goodness and beauty may ever appear before the eyes of the worshippers of her august mistress, Diana Triformis.'
Then replied the chief Megabyzus:
'Have we an artist in Ephesus who could do justice to our noble queen?'
'We have,' said Varro; 'Chios the Greek. This is he.'
'Good, most esteemed Proconsul, but remember it is enacted that the High Priestess cannot leave the precincts of the Temple to sit for this picture.'
'That we know, and to this end have secured the help of Chios, who knows well the face of great Saronia, and he has almost finished the work. Wouldst thou, in the name of the goddess, accept it from my hands?'
'We will, and mayest thou, good artist, prosper in thy work, and consider thyself fortunate that this honour is conferred on thee, the honour of immortalizing the loveliest woman since the time of Helen.'
'Most noble priest, I am thine humble servant, and reverence thy creed.'
But as Chios raised his eyes to those of Megabyzus, hesaw them filled with a strange fire—eyes like those of an evil spirit, gleaming behind the living windows of darkling hue. It was but for a moment, and the priest turned to Saronia, saying:
'Thy consent to us already has been given. Wouldst thou speak to these noble friends?'
Then the girl, in her beauty and power, addressed the Roman in accents sweet and queenly, thanking him for the gift; and, looking on Chios as if she had never before seen him, said:
'Noble artist of the Ephesian city, when wilt thou scan my features—say when—and in what part of this Temple may I linger that thy efforts may be complete?'
'I purpose to trouble thee but little, mighty priestess. I will come when thou art offering sacrifice at the altar, and gaze on thy splendour afar off. As it has been said, the painting is well-nigh finished. I have beheld thee often when I worshipped here. Thy lineaments are graven on my memory. When word is sent me I will come.'
'Well, it shall be quickly,' said she, adding, with a smile: 'Before my beauty fades, if any there be. Come to-morrow at the hour of sacrifice, and thou wilt see Saronia.'
When they had retired, she meditated within: 'What meaneth this strange proceeding? The affianced of Nika presenting the picture of Saronia to the Temple, and Chios to paint it. There is evil afloat. The stormy petrel skims the waves. I will find from Chios the meaning of this secret work. No good for me can come from the house of Venusta. Be patient, Saronia, and thou shalt learn all. I will contrive to speak with Chios. Out of his heart of love he will tell me all. His eyes looked into mine: his mind was pure and shaped towards me. Good Chios, I trust thee, but I will try thee.'
The next day when he arrived the Temple was full of song—white-robed priests and virgins stood around the altar offering their devotions, whilst the incense-cloud rose upward through the open roof like a morning mist hanging around the mountain.
He was seated in a nook of the Temple where great pillars hid him from view. He heard not the morning song nor saw the incense-cloud ascend; he saw but one object, and that was Saronia, with uplifted eyes filled with radiant mystery, beseeching Heaven, the loose drapery hanging in snowy folds around her form and falling to her feet.
One half-hour, with such intent as Chios had, was worth a lifetime to a meaner man. Every touch of the brush told, and ere the service ended he rested, and gazed passionately on her he loved so well.
The song sank down to a whisper and died, burying its harmonies among the mighty marble pillars. Priestesses and priests moved away, leaving Saronia alone at the great altar, looking like the goddess of the shrine. For a moment she was silent, standing like a statue of Scopas; then she beckoned Chios to come forward, and moved away from the flower-strewn altar to meet him. The eyes of the girl spoke love—softest, tenderest love—but the face of Chios was like the granite rock of Bolerium. He knew he faced the opening through which the priests had passed, and feared to smile. Her lips parted, and she said:
'Chios, what brings thee here? There is mystery in it all.'
'Thou hast truly said. I have a mission to speak for Nika. My words must necessarily be few and to the point. She pines with the weight of the curse of Hecate, and asks thy intercession.'
'Ah! I see through it all. Nika, the torturer, the serpent, would rob Saronia, and thou, half-hearted, art tottering on thy throne.'
'No, Saronia. Hear me!'
'I willnot. Listen thou to me. If this curse were removed, thou wouldst marry her. She knows thou never wilt whilst it remains. I have not power to undo what my goddess binds. Had I, Saronia wouldneverbe the one to feather an arrow for Nika. No, no; go thy way! Choose ye whom ye will love. I will never force thee to love me, neither will I help thee to love another. Farewell!' and, turning sharply, she went, and as she passed away turned again, and gave one look of love, so tenderly that the great tears swept down the cheeks of Chios. She saw them, and read his answering love.
He was alone. The Temple, with all its grandeur, was a tomb. He staggered to a seat, and for a while seemed as if his soul had gone away. Then, arousing himself, he gazed long and lovingly at the spot where she had stood near the altar steps, and then went out into the fierce glare of the sun.
Passing from the Temple, he espied a stranger coming towards him. As he approached, he discovered him to be the man he met very nearly at the same place when the great procession passed.
'We have met again,' said Judah. 'How hast thou fared? Thou dost not seem happy.'
'Thou hast rightly said. I suffer.'
'Perhaps I may comfort thee. It will not be the first time I have ministered to such complaint.'
'No, thou canst not. My sorrow is too deep to be fathomed, and too sacred to expose.'
'I like thy thoughts, young man. Wert thou taught them yonder?' pointing towards the Temple.
'No; they are the fruit of a mind that receives no impetus from such fraud as so-called worship is.'
'Thou speakest strongly. What knowest thou of worship? A mind perturbed like thine is like a troubled sea, with never a place for calm. The worshipping soul is not thine.'
'True, friend; I may not be a worshipper, neither wish to be one. This life is a mystery; the next a deeper one. If we cannot understand this earth-life, and are unable to trust mortals whom we see and know, how, then, can we trust those whom we have not seen?'
'Shall we bestow our affections on the gods, who may not exist save in our imagination, or, if they be, for all we know, they may ridicule our adoration, make sport of us, tools of us to suit some purpose in pursuit of their own glory.'
'Art thou a philosopher?'
'I am an artist.'
'Why followest thou this profession?'
'Because I love it.'
'Hast thou fame, riches?'
'Yea, sufficient.'
'Why dost thou work?'
'That I may portray Nature in her beauteous forms, and give them forth to the people, that they may ever have the truth in trees and flowers and the ever-changing sea.'
'Thou hast a benevolent spirit, and thy works betray such. Is it not so?'
'Man should not herald every atom of good he possesses.'
'That is true; but, nevertheless, a man's works reflect his inner being. What is thy name?'
'Chios.'
'A Greek?'
'It is so.'
'Then listen, Chios the Ionian. If thou canst be judged by thy works, judge ye the Creator of Nature by the same law. The God who made the pine-tree shoot forth from the darkling earth and grow upwards towards the vaulted heaven, clothing its foliage with the morning mist as with a garment; winged the great eagle which gazes on the sun, and made him a home amongst the rocks on yonder mountain-side; painted the petals of the rose which scatters perfume on the languid air—He who rolls the waves towards the shore, breaking eternally by His decree; the God who made the loveliest form in which a soul ere robed itself; fills the fruitful earth with food for men—judge Him, I say, by His works, as I have judged thee by thine. Are not His acts benevolent—are they not proofs of love? Thy acts are feeble attempts, and so are mine—little imitations, the outcome of His breath within us. His are boundless, eternal, and show forth His guardian care for all His creatures.'
'I never looked at the matter in this way,' replied Chios. 'Thou seemest right. There must be a great First Cause behind all this, and it does appear His motive is unselfish.'
'In that thou sayest truly, for God is love.'
'What! So have the gods and goddesses of Greece that passion; and, if our traditions be correct, they loved too well, and made fools of themselves.'
'Again, Chios, thou art wise. I say thou art also true; but the loves of the Grecian gods is not the love of my God. The traditions of your Ionian faith are lies. There are no gods but One. The passions imputed to them are but reflections of that which is impure in man. That which dwells in the bosom of the Infinite is purer than the river at its source, rising into light through the fissures of the rock. The best of man's love is selfish, and we exchange love for love. Men do not bestow their affections on those who hatethem, but the Eternal One loves all with an amplitude beyond comprehension. "For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that we might have life eternal."'
'What dost thou mean by life eternal?'
'This: that thy life may spread out into the great future, and the spirit be young when the stars grow dim and the sun be dead, and knowledge accumulate higher and deeper, joy broaden out as the æons on æons pass slowly behind thee, gathering in number like sands on the sea-shore; but never a shadow of death will lay on thee—never thy years will cease to be numberless. Thou wilt begin it, never wilt end it—end there is none.'
'Thou art mighty in thy thoughts. I would know more of thee.'
'Nay, it matters not to thee what of myself. My purpose will be served if I can lead thy mind into the channel of truth. I deem it fair to say, thy face being once set towards the goal, thou wilt pursue thy course till all is well.'
'Thou thinkest too highly of me.'
'No.'
'Well, this I promise, good man: I will give fairest of hearing to thy teachings, and hope thou mayest implant the seed of a good faith, which may spring up and bear a bountiful harvest; but tell me ere we part, in the great life thou speakest of where is my future home? who are my companions?'
'They shall kindred spirits be. What thou makest thyself here determines whom thou shalt dwell with yonder. Thine abode shall suit thy soul. Here men of evil build palaces and dwell therein, whilst others, as pure as the mountain breeze, crawl in and out a hovel or a rocky cave; but in the new life this shall not be. In what part of the mighty universe thou wilt begin thy course I cannot tell—perchanceone of those bright orbs of light which shine forth so sweetly may be thy home. Then on and on, through space illimitable, but always nearer the infinite. Here mother and father greeted thee, but yonder, where there is no marrying or giving in marriage, God Himself shall be all in all, and meet thy coming. Take this parchment; I have written it for thee. Read it well; bend thine heart in prayer, seek communion with the Great Spirit that He may give thee light, for without such the words of man are useless. I wish thee well, Chios, and will see thee again.'
As he passed away, Chios felt such a sense of loneliness as he had never before experienced. A faint dawn was breaking, and he murmured: 'Where there is no marrying or giving in marriage;' and the dark eyes of Saronia seemed to gaze steadily into his soul, until he cried: 'We must follow hand in hand through the life that is to be. Light without her would be darkness; life, however long, would be eternal death!'
When Chios next saw Nika there was a look of great anxiety on her beautiful face. She said:
'Well, hast thou seen Saronia?'
He knew not what to answer, and for a moment was silent; but the silence was soon broken by the girl muttering:
'She has refused. Tell me, is it not so?'
'Yes, she has, and I can do no more.'
'What did she say?'
'Her words were few, but to the point, to this effect:she had not cursed thee—if the goddess had, Saronia had not power to revoke it.'
'As I thought. She would not stir as much as the quiver of a leaf to aid me; she hates me. Nevertheless, I am no worse by thy asking, rather better, for a fresh knowledge springs into my mind, whispering I was mistaken. Now I know she loves thee not, or would have granted thy request, Chios. No, there is no love in that great dark spirit. She has no counterpart, no affinity, and must move for ever feeding on herself; and thou, Chios, must see all this as well as I, and own if there were a love in thee for her it is a hopeless one, never to be returned.'
A deep gloom clouded that lovely face, plunging her into deepest thought. Suddenly recollecting herself, she said:
'What answer makest thou?'
Chios looked into Nika's eyes.
'The feud between thee and the priestess I may not judge, but Saronia is not a being who may revolve in an orbit moving in her eternal circle through the ages without passing the path of a kindred soul whom she may love. She will find her counterpart, and love as intensely as her mind is great and her faith strong. Thou knowest, girl, I would not for unnumbered worlds willingly cause thee a sting of heart—I never have; but I am compelled to speak as I have in vindication of Saronia.'
'Thou ever didst it; it is no new phase.'
'No; and it must remain so until this clay of mine is strewn to the winds, and after that, when my spirit is free to breathe the softer air of the summer land, even then would I vindicate her, if a myriad demons, dark and hellish, stood forth in fierce array to damn her!'
'Oh, Chios, where hast thou learned to speak like this? It is so much like her that, if I knew thee less, I should count thee her affinity. Thy look is terrible. Calm thee,my noble brother, for more thou art to me—calm thee, Chios; I fear thee for the first time. Thou wilt not also curse me. Look at me! pity me! I have bared my very soul to thee. Spurn me not. Thy look tells me thou art on the verge of doing so. Let me cling a little to thee, Chios dear. Help Nika. Cheer her, if with only one tender look. I have somewhat learned to bear the curse of Hecate, the curse of loving thee without return of love, but can barely carry it, and often fall. If thou shouldst put out thy spark of coldest charity and leave me in darkness, Nika will fade and die.'
'Cease, foolish maid! why speakest thou thus to me? It is not fair to the Roman to whom thou art betrothed.'
'I know it all. What can I do? Can a maiden love two men? No, I love thee, Chios, and cannot help it. My love for thee grew from childhood. I cannot kill it. The Roman I respect, and may become his wife. Should he chide, I would meet him word for word, and the quarrel would not wound my soul, because I love him not; but with thee all—all is different. Say what thou wilt, raise thy jewelled dagger to slay me, my tongue would be as silent as the breaking dawn—ah, as silent!'
And she bowed her head, for her eyes were wet with tears.
'Come, Nika, no more of this. I am sorry for thee, but thou must not reproach Saronia, who is not here to defend herself.'
'Let it be so, Chios. Thou art kind again. Thy voice bespeaks it, and my heart leaps up like a ship which scuds with the favouring gale on the crests of the foaming sea.'
It was night in the city of the Ephesian goddess. Gathered around the glare of a rude lamp sat Endora and a few who had come to consult her. Said one:
'Thou hast heard of the new faith springing up around us?'
'I have.'
'Shall it prosper?'
'I know not,' replied the witch.
'I thought thou knewest everything, nothing being hid from thy scrutinizing gaze.'
'Ah, my sons, there are mysteries which I cannot penetrate! Ask me to call spirits from the gloomiest hell, I might do so, but this new faith relates to a spirit-plane above this earth, where men, they say, are gods. Of this place I know nothing; over it I have no control.'
'What is the emblem of this faith?'
'A cross.'
''Tis easily made. Let us form one and adjure.'
'Nay, nay,' said the woman; 'let such things be.'
'No, no; we will make it, and thou bring out thy potent spells. Let the faiths fight now! To-morrow we shall war with the new one before the sun. The people of Asia are gone mad over the new doctrines, and those infatuated by them will on the next day to this gather within the Agora, burn their charms and amulets, and fires will blaze with fuel formed from choicest books on Asian magic. Up quickly, we say, and to thy work! We fear not. Do thy best, and let the gods of this vile sect do theirs!'
With a raven-clouded brow, the witch brought out her potions.
'What hast thou, woman?'
'Various kinds.'
'Hast thou those which cast out demons?'
'I have.'
'Then stand forth Samo—Samo has a legion in him. Art thou ready, Endora? Proceed.'
Then she chanted:
'Demon legion, listen, listen!Hear the voice of Hecate,Hear the thundering of her feet!I, her minion, bid you trembleEre ye hasten back to Tartarus.Seek ye bodies more befitting,With your spirits more in union.Come ye out, ye reeking fiends,Never more return to hinderThis old man from groping forwardsTo the radiant fields Elysian.'
'Demon legion, listen, listen!Hear the voice of Hecate,Hear the thundering of her feet!I, her minion, bid you trembleEre ye hasten back to Tartarus.
Seek ye bodies more befitting,With your spirits more in union.
Come ye out, ye reeking fiends,Never more return to hinderThis old man from groping forwardsTo the radiant fields Elysian.'
Putting her hands forward towards the man and lowering them towards the ground, she paused with greedy expectation, whilst the possessed stood still with vacant stare, and naught was heard but the barking of the night-hounds.
'Thou hast failed, mother,' said Sceva—'thou hast failed!'
'Yes, I know—I know! Look ye—look at the cross yonder! See how it streams with living light! 'Tis guarded by spirits of flame more powerful than Hecate—ah, more powerful than Hecate is here!'
'Nonsense, woman! cease thy prattling! Thou hast drunk the Samian wine—thou art weak to-night. We will abjure. Eh? By Solomon! who left us incantations stronger than thine.'
Sceva said: 'Set a basin full of water on the floor. It shall be upturned by unseen hands, that we may be assured of the departure of the demons.'
Then, drawing from the folds of his dress a blood stone ring, he placed it near the nostrils of the demoniac, commanding the legion to come out of him, chanting:
'By the Jewish altar throne,By the temple at fair Salem,By the rites of Solomon,By the sovereign power of Judah,Children loved by God of gods,Come ye forth, ye fiends rebellious,Hasten with the waning hourBack to hell, your endless house!'
'By the Jewish altar throne,By the temple at fair Salem,By the rites of Solomon,By the sovereign power of Judah,Children loved by God of gods,Come ye forth, ye fiends rebellious,Hasten with the waning hourBack to hell, your endless house!'
Still the look of Samo was one of blank despair. No voice came from him, no paroxysms, no falling to the ground, and the water was unspilt.
Then the men gazed at each other, and Endora said with her sardonic smile:
'What ails the gods to-night? They are powerless, and ye also have drunk the Samian wine.'
'No, we will not yield,' said Sceva. 'Now for the test! Let us adjure by this Jesus whom the wandering Paul preaches, and, by Heaven, we will use the cross.'
Rushing forward, he seized it and held the emblem before the man.
Endora cried out: 'Stay! stay! Do it not! I see one by it who looks like a God!'
But Sceva said, 'Nay!' and cried out:
'We, the holders of this symbol,Bid you by the name of JesusCome ye forth, and ever be soWhile eternal ages roll!'
'We, the holders of this symbol,Bid you by the name of JesusCome ye forth, and ever be soWhile eternal ages roll!'
Then a voice came forth from Samo, 'Jesus I know, but who are ye?' and with the wild frenzy of madness he rushed upon them, tearing their garments to pieces until they fled the cave and down the steep sides of Mount Pion towards the city.
The poor demoniac had clutched the radiant cross, andfell with it to the ground. As he pressed it to his lips, a joyous smile swept over his face. He was changed. The tempest-tossed soul was riding at anchor in a haven of calm, and the weary spirit shone with glorious sheen.
Endora had fled with the rest. She hid herself behind some black poplars until the freed man departed. Then she crept back to her cave, and found utter confusion reigning. Things were soon put straight, for she had few luxuries.
She sat down meditating on those passing strange events. Suddenly she started, crying, 'The Cross! the Cross!' and springing forward, she grasped it, broke it to pieces, and flung it from the cave.
'No good can come to me whilst it remains within. It represents not Hecate—of that I am sure.'
Then she sat down again, like a spider in its den, trusting some visitors might come to consult and bring her gain, for the night was clear and the stars shone out like children of the sun.
'Foiled am I on every hand.
'First, cursed by a slave once my slave, and she now the Queen Priestess of the Asian people, with myriads at her feet!
'That is not all. She has refused to aid me, even when Chios pleads for me, and he—what of him? The only man I ever loved, or ever shall, turns from my love and pities me. Curse the pity! Is it come to this, that I, a high-born Roman of the Romans, seek shelter from an unknown slave, and beg for love from a Greek, and berefused? No, no, Nika! Thou must arouse thyself, and thou shalt.
'What I cannot gain by pleadings shall be sought for otherwise. I will not be foiled. I will not die, and mix with every common dust borne hither and thither by the wanton breeze. Again I say no, it shall not be!
'Well then, Nika, bold girl, what wilt thou do? Let me think.
'Of one thing I am certain. Chios loves Saronia. Who knows but that she loves Chios? Of this I am not quite sure. No mortal knows the mind of that strange being. Ah! shall I say that she loves clandestinely and meets her lover?—whirl an arrow barbed perchance with lies and bring her down? That will be revenge, but I may in some way implicate Chios, and, besides, if I cannot prove my saying, I encounter death.
'No, this is too wild. Cease thy flutterings, vain spirit mine! Oh that I had proof of such a thing! Then would I rush to the world, proclaim her fallen, and gloat over her wretchedness. It may come—who can say? But, for the present, I have another course that will strike home—I will do my utmost to bring Chios to my love, and wound to death Saronia.
'I will seek the witch of Ephesus, Endora, and consult her. She will help me, for—gold. I will buy from her the costliest charms. She shall brew, doubly brew a philtre of love, strong enough to warm the icy Chios were he ten times colder than the snows on Tmolus. Neither will I lose time. I will meet her to-night. She lives in a darksome cave on the Temple side of Pion, and nothing shall daunt me, for, as soon as the veil of night is drawn, I will robe myself with courage, and go forth, fearing neither the howling beasts nor the shadowy gloom of the lofty pines. No, though a phalanx of fiends from the depths bar mypassage, yet will I press forward like he who fights for life.'
When darkness enveloped the city and mountains, she stole forth from her home on the lofty Coressus, down the mountain way.
The sweet odours of the night-flowers blew gently against her cheeks. She drew her purple mantle around her, and hastened on unobserved.
As she passed the studio gate of Chios, the nightingale sang to its mate, but a chill of horror shook her soul, for well she knew her way was evil.
Moving away, her spirits rose. She left the great road to ascend the side of Mount Pion. Her step was light, and without weariness she drew near the cave of Endora. For the first time fear possessed her. She saw the witch at the entrance. She had, however, gone too far to retract, neither did she want to do so.
Well knowing a girl's appearance in such a place at such an hour could point only to one intent, the woman addressed Nika:
'Tell me, lady, dost thou seek the witch?'
'Yes,' replied the girl, 'and thou art she.'
'Come within, pretty maiden, for the winds are chill and the night-hawks violent. Nay, stay a moment, do not enter now. I will light the lamp.'
As Endora entered she thought within her: 'This is Nika accursed of Hecate, the tyrant of Saronia, the lover of Chios. What darkness is abroad? What comes she for to-night? Shall I slay or play with her? Revenge is toothsome to me. I have her in my power, and could square accounts for Saronia, but what, I wonder, would the priestess say? Perhaps I should get blame or death for my work. So I will let her be, and will draw from her thatwhich I know the dark girl of the Temple will not disdain to hear.
'Now then, Endora, do thy work well. Fear not the Roman lady, and a mine of wealth is thine. But what do I care for gold?'
Nika entered the cave, hewn directly out of the rock. An iron ring was driven into the roof, and a quaint old Phallic lamp hung down just clear of their heads; a winding fissure in the rock let out the smoke. A recess was in its inner part, and a time-worn curtain hid a pallet of corn-leaves. Two old chests, a few stools, a rude altar, cooking-pans, and some quaint trifles spread around made up the contents of the place.
'Sit thee down, lady. Compose thyself. Thou art safe, although the place looks stormy. What seekest thou?'
'To know my fate. I have heard thou art deeply skilled in magic, and I would know more than the present reveals.'
'Wouldst thou know all?'
'How far would it go?'
'To thy life's end—and beyond.'
'Tell me first. You know the old story. Shall I love? whom? when? and so on?'
'Ah, girl, thou hast deeply loved, and he whom thou wilt wed thou lovest not.'
'Go on. Gold I have in abundance, and thou shalt be well paid.'
'No, I will not take thy gold.'
'Why not?'
'I wish it so.'
'Thou shalt have it. I have it by me.'
'I tell thee again, great lady, I will have none of it.'
'Why callest thou me great lady? Dost thou know me?'
'No, I know thee not, but see thy fate. Money fromthee I will not take. Thou camest here safely; thou canst leave at once without hindrance.'
'No, no, woman! I have braved the dangers of the night to meet thee, and ere I leave fresh light must shine upon my pathway.'
'Ah, thou art a sharp maid! Now, then, what really is thy business?'
'I require a love philtre. 'Tis true as thou hast said, I marry the man I love not. I would make the one I love love me. Now to thy work! Thou art mightily skilled. I take thee into my confidence. Make the brewage sure, quick, decisive; there must be no mistake about it. First, then, know who I am—Nika, the daughter of Lucius and Venusta, the Romans. You know them?'
'Yes, lady.'
'Hearken again. I love Chios the Greek; I wed the Roman Proconsul because Chios loves me not, but if thou wilt compel him, I sink the Roman and wed Chios. Now I have bared my soul. Thou hast my secret. Keep it and help me, and I will care for thee. Reveal it, and, as I am young and powerful, and by Diana, I swear I will slay thee! Seest thou this dagger with its glinting jewelled hilt? I draw it. See its quivering blade, and beware! Be careful; I am indifferent to all—desperate! We are alone. No wavering will I have. Fulfil quickly my behest, and once more remember: betray Nika, and like a sleuth-hound I will track thee, and like a fury slay thee!'
'Thine eyes are full of fire, young woman, and thy tongue is free. Thou art impelled like a ship before the maddening gale. The witch Endora knows not coercion, and will not be commanded even by Nika the tyrant—tyrant as thou art!'
The girl sprang from her seat, and, with a bound, rushed at Endora, and, raising her jewelled hand, struck with herdagger at the woman's heart; but the strong arm of the witch was swiftly uplifted, and she clutched the wrist of Nika until the dagger fell.
'Fool that thou art to come here in thy madness to take my life! Hast thou not sense enough left to understand thou art but a sapling in my hands? What shall I do by thee? Shall I crush thee like a worm beneath my feet, or shall I let thee live and suffer?'
'Kill me,' said the Roman, 'and end it all! I am tired.'
'No, I will not—I cannot—I have no power to kill thee! Put up again thy tinselled weapon. A halo of darkness like a thousand nights envelops thy soul. Other hands than mine must slay accursed Nika!'
With a shriek the girl fell to the ground, and the dark, fiendish eyes looked down upon her, and the rugged brow of Endora was furrowed like the waves of the sea.
Nika had the glare of the lamp shining on her pale, frightened face, and the witch stood over her in shadow like a spirit of Hecate—a spirit of evil, of lies.
'Thou knowest that dread secret also. Who told thee?'
'No one told me; I read it in thee. My soul saw thine. When thou hast lived long enough, thou mayest see in others what I beheld in thee. Now sit thee on the seat, and let us converse together. My time is very precious; others come. I begin by saying defiance is not for me. Those I aid must be subjective. I am mistress when I deal out love-philtres. Let me clearly understand. Thou requirest one for Chios?'
'Yes. Say, dost thou know him?'
'Just a little; but methinks he is not the man to be trifled with. I advise thee cast adrift this hopeless love, and sow the seed of a new one for the Roman. Besides, Chios may love another.'
'Dost thou think so?'
'I think nothing—I know nothing; I simply suggest the very ordinary remark.'
'Endora, thou art not far away from the truth. I dare not say what I think.'
'Say on; nothing would surprise me after thy mad freak just now.'
'Well, I have a suspicion. He loves a very high personage—a princess.'
'Is it really so, lady?'
'Of course, I am not sure, but Chios always was wide in his actions. I knew a time when I believed he loved a slave.'
'To what slave referrest thou?'
'My slave,' replied Nika—'rather, my slave that was, now the great Saronia, High Priestess to the Ephesian Diana.'
'Nonsense, girl! thou art dreaming!'
'No, I am not, though in dreams ofttimes the truth appears.'
'But there is no truth in this,' replied Endora; 'and if there were, the mighty Saronia is incapable of love.'
'Dost thou know her so intimately as to be able to speak so minutely?'
'Who does not know her? Is she not the most prominent woman in Asia, and as good and lovely as she is famous? Thou canst scout the idea from thy mind of Saronia loving Chios or he loving her. Who is this princess thou hast referred to?'
'A Roman of royal blood.'
'Nika, circle of lies, canst thou think to deceive me, the magic centre of Ephesus? I divine thy thoughts, read thy soul to its very core. Again, let me advise thee, turn from this love business.'
'No! The philtre, brew it, make it quickly, give it me,I beg of thee! I cannot live without Chios. Have some compassion on me. Thou art a woman and wise, and canst see in this I lie not—my soul consumes me! He rejects me; all this inflames me to grasp quickly at this heart I love. In my passion I tried to slay thee. Forgive me, Endora—forgive me; I was mad! If thou dost not help me to win him—mark my meaning—I will not fail to make him so that he shall never love another!'
'Rash girl, thou art truly beside thyself! Philtre thou shalt have, but remember it often turns to madness those you seek to win. What then?'
'What then? I slay myself as an atonement!'
'Again, let me warn thee those philtres do not always take effect. It may be like so much water to Chios.'
'Never mind. Let me try.'
'Then have it thou shalt, but what of the Roman? With such intoxication for Chios, and if the Greek half equals thee, then it would be so apparent to the Proconsul.'
'Never you care! Give me a philtre to cool his love.'
So, without more words, Endora stepped into the gloom of the cave, and, opening one of the chests, took therefrom ingredients for the spell. On the altar the woman laid some embers of fire, and, pouring oil over them, they sent forth a little blaze, shining out and lighting up the faces with a lurid glare, casting dark shadows behind them. For a moment no voice broke the stillness of the place. After the woman had placed her crucible upon the fire, she turned to Nika, saying:
'Listen while I brew.' Stretching forth her bony hands, she said, 'Take this, thou haughty Greek:
'Fish remora,Brains of calf,Hair of wolf and bones of toad,Blood of doves and hippomanes,Scarlet oak and bruised snake,Screech-owl's feathers and marrow of men—Men who have drowned at sea.Crackle the laurels under the pot;Thrice I stir, thrice I chant the mystic number three.Who shall withstand the philtre Endora of Hecate brews?Simmer, ye potion!Brew, ye philtre!Spirits of Hades, draw out the essenceOf fish and beasts, birds and men!Make the broth strong so the sediment worthless may be.Help ye the drawing of love by the loverFrom Chios who drinks of this mixture of Hell!'
'Fish remora,Brains of calf,Hair of wolf and bones of toad,Blood of doves and hippomanes,Scarlet oak and bruised snake,Screech-owl's feathers and marrow of men—Men who have drowned at sea.
Crackle the laurels under the pot;Thrice I stir, thrice I chant the mystic number three.Who shall withstand the philtre Endora of Hecate brews?Simmer, ye potion!Brew, ye philtre!Spirits of Hades, draw out the essenceOf fish and beasts, birds and men!Make the broth strong so the sediment worthless may be.Help ye the drawing of love by the loverFrom Chios who drinks of this mixture of Hell!'
Turning, she saw the girl pallid with fright and shading her eyes with her hands.
'Ah, Mistress Nika, thou art terror-stricken! What if I should clear thy vision and let thee see the spirits surrounding the charmed vessel?'
Endora blew out the light, and the twain were in darkness, except for the glare of the dying embers. The girl uttered a death-like wail, and fell to the ground like a corpse. When consciousness returned, she saw the witch sitting in a cleft of the rock, with a sardonic smile on her face and a small phial in her hand. But it was not filled with the brewage; its contents were harmless. Endora knew her rôle too well to join Nika and Chios.
As the love-stricken maid grew fully awake, she cried:
'Oh, woman, thou art terrible! Is it thus thou makest the philtre? Had I known so much, my heart would have failed me. Thou art truly of Hecate, and so is Saronia. Is your creed the same?'
'No, proud daughter of Venusta. It is the same, yet not so. Saronia is blessed of Diana; I am the accursed of Hecate. Saronia commands those spirits by her goodness; I draw them by the evil within me. But those shadesare the slaves of the priestess, slaves like she was a slave to thee, with this difference: she treats the most abject with compassion; thou treatedst her with——'
'Hush, woman; no more of this! Let her be.'
'Ah, let her be, indeed; thou dost not intend to. As soon as thou art hence, thou wilt do thy best to devour her, as the night-hawk a sleeping bird. But beware, girl! Thou art treading a great abyss, an unfathomable chasm. Be careful, or thou wilt regret thy undertaking! Shall I say more?'
'No, no; the philtre! Give it me, and let me go.'
'Here, take it! But wilt thou not also take this, a counter-one for the Roman, to make him, cool as Chios, burn with love? I have such ready.'
'Let it be so,' said Nika.
Then the witch said:
'Be wise: the rose-coloured phial for Chios; the azure for the Roman.'
But the azure one was the brewage of hell.
There was great excitement in the city of Ephesus, so strong had the power of the Christians become.
The story of the demoniac also filled the minds of the people, and a great crowd had gathered in the Agora, it being rumoured that converts to the new faith would at noon openly burn their mystic books and publicly renounce their magical rites.
When the multitude of onlookers saw a vast concourse advancing, bearing symbols of the cross, all looked forward to unpleasant proceedings.
As the Christians drew nigh in regular procession, many leading men and women were observed amongst them. They came on, singing hymns to their God and His Messiah, with heads uncovered in the presence of the sacred emblems.
Judah was amongst them, leading a number of men carrying aged manuscripts—manuscripts on Asian magic, written by some of the cleverest men of ancient times.
The books were piled together, each man laying down his load. A torch was applied, and the smoke went up against the cloudless sky. Volumes were thrown upon burning volumes, the flames leaped high, rising into a pyramid of fire, till the whole were consumed.
Judah stood forward, and, bending over the blackened ashes, cried:
'Thus may error die everywhere down the line of centuries, until good shall reign supreme! One God, one Lord, and His Christ, for ever and ever!'
Amongst the spectators were Venusta, Nika, and the Proconsul; but they were not on the side of the Christians. Their policy was one of silence—silence mixed with scorn.
There was, however, amongst that hated sect one whom they well knew—Chios the Greek; he saw them and passed greeting.
All would have passed off peacefully but for a traitor Ephesian who had mixed himself amongst the Christians, and, to raise the ire of the populace, cried out:
'Down with Diana of the Ephesians!'
The mob rushed frantically upon the crowd of book-destroyers, and would have torn them to pieces but for the intervention of the law, represented by an Asiarchwho was present. He calmed the tumult, and laughed to scorn the idea of a few misguided men and women trying to eclipse the goddess whom all the known world worshipped.
From that hour Chios was a marked man amongst his fellows. They were somewhat indifferent as to how the rabble moved, backward or forward, but with the Greek it was different—he, the greatest artist of Ephesus, whose inspirations had gone to build up the faith! Had he not painted Saronia, the High Priestess? and did not the picture hang prominently within the sacred precincts of the mighty Temple?
No, he must be watched, secured. If a true charge could not be made against him, then a false one must be born. Better for him to go to the lions and die than live to embody with his great genius the principles of a false faith. Thus did he stand on a volcano of hate.
As the crowd dispersed Chios joined Nika and her friends, and was greeted with a covert sneer.
'Did we not see thee amongst the unclean? Shame, good man, to be in such doubtful company! Soon thou wilt be at their midnight orgies, and come forth an advocate for this pernicious fraud. And who may say but that thou mayest be baptized and paint the Christian martyr in the throes of death by fire or sword, or caged beasts, eh?—and sign thy name "Chios the Christian" also?'
'Come, Chios, put away this melancholy. Come with us; we will cheer thee—make thee Chios again. Thou shalt drown thy sorrows in good Ionian wine.'
'Yes,' said Nika, 'thou shalt have a draught of rare old Chian wine.' And to herself she murmured: 'It shall be rose-coloured, and this day shall be the last he shall think of faith or Saronia. Ah! he shall love madly, and I shall win him.'
Chios made no retaliation, but smilingly said:
'I will accompany you to your lovely home. Come, sweet Nika, let me sail by you. And you, Roman, escort the Lady Venusta. Do not be jealous if I make your Nika happy.'
And they walked the shaded way, passing the stately marble edifices, until they ascended the side of Mount Coressus, the tall pines nodding gracefully as their foliage danced on the breeze.
'Dost thou believe much in this magic?' said the girl. 'I would like thy honest opinion.'
'Well, yes, I cannot say I do not believe in it. Undoubtedly, during the ages man has accumulated knowledge which enables him to consort with the unseen; but at the beginning it was not so, and even now it is unholy to do so.'
'That is quite different to what I expected from thee. I expected thy hand raised emphatically, and "Nonsense! Childish fancies!" to have been thy reply.'
'No, Nika; I search after truth and goodness. Mark ye, all that is true is not good; and truth oftentimes is wrapped in error—wrapped in lies. I take the wheat and throw aside the chaff! I believe it is true. Man by certain peculiar laws may familiarize himself with spirits deeper sunk in misery than himself, and may work with them. Believing this, I do not practise it. It is not good to do so. 'Tis fraught with direst evil, for the spirit here who mixes with such wandering ones sinks to their level and joins them when he passes over the boundary. Men—yea, women!—are like unto their familiar companions; if not so at the outset, will gradually and surely become so. Understand, Nika?'
'Yes, and should feel very timid to move within the magic circle. Thy teaching, thou knowest, is law to me.Therefore I promise I never shall. But was it not a pity to burn all those beautiful books?'
'No; burn the old creed and start with the new, if the new be better. Burn a world if it be vile, and start with a new earth, peopled with a few who know what it is to live well.'
'But tell me quickly, Chios, how wouldst thou screen Saronia? She is the mightiest sorceress in the land! Wilt thou condemn her also?'
'I condemn no one—I condemn creeds which pilot men to evil, and I press forward to gain the purer light. Let each one do the same.'
They passed into the house of Venusta, and, once within the open court, all was changed. On the cool, perfumed air floated the softest strains, flowing like rippling water from cithara, lute and lyre.
'Nika, dear girl, wilt thou arrange that fruit and wine may be set? Give order to thy slave; bid them be brought.'
'Nay, mother, I will see to it all myself. The rich juice of choicest grape stands yonder. Let me fetch it—let me be serving-maid to such noble guests.'
'Wayward child! A whim of thine, I suppose. Go thy way;' and the girl danced off on the lightest foot to the Golden Room.
She grasped the goblets of gold, poured into them the rarest essence of the vine, and looked down into their rosy depths, and saw mirrored there the consummation of her hopes.
'One thing is needful,' said she, 'to complete the chain. Link after link have I forged it, and now for the last to form a chain of love so strong, so powerful as to bind the Greek to me forever!'
She placed her hand within her girdle of rubies, and drewforth two phials—one azure, the other rose. She held them aloft, one in each jewelled hand. The sunlight came through the windows of coloured marble, and the phials sparkled like the jewels round her waist.
She gazed on them, a smile lighting up her face. On them hung her life's joy—if such a thing as joy could ever warm the heart of Nika, the Roman girl.
Yes, if she were doomed, she would be damned beneath the shelter of Chios.
The goblets lay on the ivory table. One had a serpent around its base, emblem of eternity; into that she poured the contents of the rose-coloured phial.
'This for Chios,' said she.
The other vessel had a chaste design of lilies, into which she poured the liquid from the azure phial.
'This for the Roman. Eternity for Chios—the fading flowers for Varro!'
On a golden plate begemmed with emeralds she placed them, and went forth from the Golden Room bearing the charmed wine.
'Drink!' said Nika. 'Drink joy to the house of Venusta and Lucius!'
And they pledged themselves in Ionian wine.
Chios sat lazily in his studio. Work he could not; something had come over him—an influence unseen hovered near. He was not sad, nor was he joyous. There was a deep quiet reigning such as he had never before experienced.He seemed to be moving into a new faith; a serenity of softest light lingered around his spirit—a mild delight into which one would sink until it blossomed into ecstatic joy.
The light streamed through the open doorway, and fell into the shadows which dwelt behind the marble pillars.
He heard soft strains from a distant lyre, and they sweetly moved his soul. The melody of song floated on the evening breeze. He arose from his seat, and followed the strains down between the sweet-scented myrtles to the entrance-gate.
There was a poor emaciated minstrel, singing for bread. The heart of Chios was touched; he beckoned to the man, and brought him within and set food before him.
'I like thy voice, sweet singer. Now thou art refreshed, tell me of thy life.'
'Thou art passing good, kind sir. I was born in Delos, of Greek parents, who died whilst I was yet a child. I was thrown upon the cold world. A sailor crew took me up, and on board a Phœnician ship I sailed the seas to Argos, Spain, and Gaul, and settled in the islands of the West named Britain. There I eked out an existence, a stranger on a foreign shore. I learned the customs of those strange people, accepted their faith, sang their songs, married, lived the life of a Briton until my wife died—I loved her—then my star waned. I fell sick, and pined for my Eastern home, came back to Sidon, roamed through Syria, Galatia, Phrygia, and here; and now, faint, weary, and tired of living, I fain would lay me down and die. But for this cherished lyre and the pleasure of song, I have no other joy save the memories of the past, and would like to rest and join my only love, the British girl of far Bolerium.'
'Ah! a sad story. The same old tale. Love the leveller, affinity, fate—one gone, the other panting to follow. Man, thou hast a good score of summers before thee. Cheer up! Let us be joyous!'
And Chios poured forth some refreshing wine, and bade the minstrel partake of it.
'Now sing me one of thy love-songs, and thou shalt not want for a good meal for many a day.'
'What wouldst thou like, good sir? Shall I sing to thee a British song, a legend of the Saronides?'
'Sing on.'
Then the wanderer rose and flung his worn mantle over his shoulders; his wealth of dark hair flowing from under his cap, and the shadows falling around like a veil of mystery, lowering the tone of his pale but beautiful face.
Raising his lyre, he swept his fingers over the strings, and a burst of harmony arose and filled the marble room; and, as it died away in softest echoes, his sweet, clear, pathetic voice sang forth these words: