'Far away across the seas,Borne by ever-favouring breeze,Skim and plough the ocean's breastTo the islands of the West.Where the blue waves kiss the land,Where the pearls gleam on the strand,Where the vales of Britain lieNeath the ever-changing sky,Lived a British maiden free—Princess, priestess, both was she,When a Roman with his artWooed and stole this maiden's heart.Fled she with him o'er the seas,Past the sea-girt Cyclades,On to Sidon's murmuring shore,But she smiled not evermore.For the Roman went his way,And was often heard to sayHow he left beyond the seasThe bride of the Saronides.Grew she sadder day by day,Till the Reaper came that way;Then she raised her eyes and smiled,Died, and left behind a child.'
'Far away across the seas,Borne by ever-favouring breeze,Skim and plough the ocean's breastTo the islands of the West.
Where the blue waves kiss the land,Where the pearls gleam on the strand,Where the vales of Britain lieNeath the ever-changing sky,
Lived a British maiden free—Princess, priestess, both was she,When a Roman with his artWooed and stole this maiden's heart.
Fled she with him o'er the seas,Past the sea-girt Cyclades,On to Sidon's murmuring shore,But she smiled not evermore.
For the Roman went his way,And was often heard to sayHow he left beyond the seasThe bride of the Saronides.
Grew she sadder day by day,Till the Reaper came that way;Then she raised her eyes and smiled,Died, and left behind a child.'
As the last notes died away, the singer saw a great change come over the face of the Greek.
His head rested on his right hand, and with the other he convulsively clutched a little silver shrine which hung from his neck. He was as pale as death; he moved not, spoke not, until the minstrel said:
'What ails thee, noble lord?'
Chios braced himself together, and replied:
'I was deeply touched with thy tender tale. My soul flew out to Sidon. Tell me, is this story true?'
'Yes, 'tis true. I knew the priestess princess, but the Roman I never saw.'
'What was she like?'
'Beautiful—rarely beautiful! She moved among the Druid bards the queen, like a queen of night—tall, commanding, with great dark eyes like dusky diamonds; deep, piercing were those eyes, set beneath eyebrows fit for Juno. Every lineament of her face spoke forth a soul of souls. When she walked, her robe of white fell like a summer cloud, and her dark, waving hair in masses of beauty moved over her shoulders down to her feet. Everyone knew her, feared her—everyone loved her. In an evil hour she fell, was punished, and died far, far away from her island home.'
'What was her name?'
'Saronia.'
'Great God! Saronia?'
'Yea, my lord. Thou art agitated?'
'No, no, no! Go on!'
'Nothing much remains to be told. This only: They mourned her fall, her loss, her death. The prophets inthat land have cast a destiny of her child, and say she shall shine forth as the moon, terrible as the sun; that she shall tread with dignity the floorway of a great temple, and shall minister at its altar; that she shall rise to the greatest eminence, and——'
'Stay! Say no more, man—say no more! Leave her there!'
And a great pain passed over the face of Chios, and he pressed his head between his hands as if to hide from his gaze some hideous vision. Then, suddenly recovering, he said:
'Hast thou that song written in words? If so, sell it to me.'
'I have it,' replied the minstrel; and, taking from his bosom some time-worn parchments, selected one. 'This is it; thou art welcome—thou shalt not purchase. The parchment is naught to me; the words are written on my heart. This copy shall be thine.'
Chios took it, and saw the song was written on the back of an old Celtic manuscript. He cared not for these unknown characters. What he wanted was the song only, and for that he would not take a thousand drachmas.
Pressing some golden pieces into the hands of the minstrel, he said:
'Come to-morrow and sing to me. We are friends. Go now to thine home, for the chill evening air is wedding the night, and thou mayest take hurt.'
When Chios was alone the torrent of his mind was unloosed.
He lit the silver lamp, threw himself on his couch, drew out the parchment, gazed long and intently on it, read it again and again—
'Princess, priestess, both was she,'
'Princess, priestess, both was she,'
until his eyes were suffused with tears, and, overcome with his feelings, he fell asleep.
The next day he awaited the coming of the singer, but he came not. The day following did not bring him. Then he determined to seek him, and, after finding the place of his abode, found the spirit of the minstrel had moved to a far-away shore. The singer had sung his last song on earth.
This was told to Chios by an old woman with whom the minstrel lodged.
'What is thy name, good man?' said she.
'Chios.'
'Art thou Chios, the great artist of Ionia?'
'They say so.'
'Then take those parchments. The poor fellow wished it so. And, in dying, he uttered thy name and another. Poor man! he was only a strolling minstrel, but I verily believe he has gone to the Great. He was no ordinary man. Peace rest his soul!'
Chios went his way, muttering to himself:
'Ah! peace rest his soul. What of my own? Would I could reach Saronia! It is a long time since I met her. I dare not go again. Now my soul is greatly troubled. I am wavering in faith and in doubt as to what is truth. In danger for my doubt; in love with the being I may never meet. For aught I know, death may seal me in oblivion, and there shall be no more of me. All this confronts me, and more. I firmly believe I could place before Saronia strong evidence from the song and the words of the minstrel. See her I must. If I die, one is free—free if I live again! Imustsurvive! Though no light breaks over this great problem, no voice or echoes from the distant land, yet my soul, finer element of myself, whispers, "Thou shalt never die."
'Well, Chios, another attempt. Without a pretext, I never could, but I have a strong case this time. Go I will, this very night. I know the way, and will venture all. The parchments I will not take—I will leave them at my studio.'
He folded them carefully, sealed them with his signet, and addressed them to the High Priestess of the Temple of Diana at Ephesus.
'That is right,' said he. 'If I fail, she will receive them.'
When the night advanced, Chios went his way to the Sacred Grove of Hecate. Once near the walls surrounding it, he sprang over and was soon among the trees.
The night was still; no sound was heard save the shriek of the hawk and the cry of the hounds of the goddess.
Which way should he take? Would she come to sacrifice? What should he do—should he give up this foolhardy expedition and retrace his steps? No; a strange fascination drew him onwards. Step by step he moved forward until he drew nigh to the marble Temple of the night goddess—a lonely man amidst the great solitude, and shadowed by the lofty pines. No thunderings or voices or lightnings came from the sombre pile; a great bird wheeled by, nearly touching him, shrieking as it flew like the spirit of a wandering soul.
Whilst wondering what to do, he heard the sound of barking dogs; it came nearer, nearer still; they would soon be upon him. Escape there was none. He looked forrefuge: the trees were tall and mighty, and no foothold to ascend. He hid behind the great trunk of the nearest, and was no sooner there than a pack of the fiercest hell-hounds came rushing down the gloomy way. Swiftly they came. The leaders went past him; troop after troop swept by in great masses, until they seemed to be without end.
Verily they had an object, for the foremost ones turned and were coming back towards him. Some had left the beaten track and were scouring between the trees. Evidently they had scented him, and in a second or two the foremost brute stood near him with foaming mouth and eyes of fire.
For a moment only it stood; the next it was upon Chios and received the dagger of the Greek firmly embedded in its heart. Rolling over, it uttered a dismal howl and died. Two others were upon him. He grasped his cloak, wound it around his arm over his hand and thrust it into one animal's mouth, and with one wrench dislocated its jaw. With the right hand free, he met the third and plunged his dagger into its side until it fell back goaded with pain, and in the throes of death sent forth terrific wails, at which the doors of the Temple were thrown open. A light streamed down the pathway, lighting up the fierce combat between man and beasts. The priests uttered a peculiar call, and every hound was immediately obedient; not one left its post, but drew up in a circle around Chios, preventing any chance of escape. Torches flamed, and many men came towards the place of conflict.
One of the priests stepped forward, and beheld the Greek covered with blood, and still clutching his jewelled dagger.
The priest cried:
'What dost thou here on holy ground, surrounded by the hounds of the goddess and the slain around thee?Knowest thou the penalty is death? Surrender! or we let loose the hounds that they tear thee limb from limb. Surrender! we say. Thou shalt have trial, that justice may be done, and we may know whether or not thou camest hither by mischance.'
'I surrender. Not that I fear your hounds or death—I surrender because I have no right here.'
'Art thou a stranger?'
'No.'
'Who art thou, then, besmeared with the blood of the consecrated beasts?'
'I am Chios.'
'Chios!' shouted the priests. 'What doest thou here?'
'That is my business,' replied he.
'Arrest Chios the Greek!' cried the chief.
Chios put up his dagger into its sheath, and, surrounded by the torch-bearing priests and the hounds following, he walked towards the Temple of Hecate. They led him to the rear of the building, and opening the door of a cell cut into the solid rock, they thrust him in, and the hounds wailed and kept guard the long night through.
How long he slept he knew not. When he awoke, a ray of light pierced through between the joints of the doorway, and he knew the day had come, and probably his fate.
It was about the ninth hour, and by this time the priests and priestesses of Diana's fane knew of the arrest of the Greek for penetrating the mysterious grove of Hecate, and slaying the sacred hounds.
What could this strange proceeding mean? All were horror-stricken. None could solve the reason of his being there.
Chios, above all others—Chios, one of the best beloved in Ephesus, guilty of such a thing!
The news of this strange adventure flew from tongue to tongue until it penetrated the conversation of all the people, from the place where the philosophers gathered to the Acropolis on the summit of Mount Pion, where the Roman soldiers guarded the heights.
From the Temple of Apollo at Claros to the shrines at Phygela nothing was so much spoken about as the sin of Chios the Greek.
As the day grew this event gained in intensity, and many were the interpretations of his presence there.
The people were divided. Those who were devout worshippers of the great goddess, jealous of his leanings toward the Christians, said it was a conspiracy on behalf of the hated sect to burn the Temple, and he ought to die. Others were more lenient, and looked suspiciously on his being within the Sacred Grove, and thought when on his trial all might be explained. But should it not, then he should stand to the death against the wild beasts within the common arena.
The priests of the Temple would show no undue haste with the trial of such a citizen; but feeling ran high, and the ultra-devotees demanded immediate action.
He was brought before the august tribunal. Many eminent men offered to speak for him. Chios was obdurate, and, when faced by his accusers, and asked to explain his position, he politely, but positively, refused. Nothing was left for him but death, and he was condemned to the lions.
When the sentence became fully known, and, moreover, that he refused explanation, the populace were more than ever confounded, and desired to solve the problem. They well knew that, the decree having gone forth, he must die;and rightly, said many, or the Sacred Grove would never be safe from robbers or midnight prowlers, and the glory of the Lady Saviour be impaired.
Chios was handed over to the authorities and lodged in a cell within the walls of the great theatre, to be brought forth on a day near at hand, when many who were condemned should fight to the end.
The judgment pronounced on Chios reached the house of Venusta, and daughter and mother were sore distressed, for the Greek was as one of themselves.
Nika was broken-hearted, and resolved to save him. What should she do? To betray intense emotion might convince Varro of her love for the ill-fated man. The Roman was aflame with love, and wrapped in a mantle of jealousy, since he had received the philtre from her hands which was destined for Chios.
She would approach him gently, and artful as a snake.
When he came that day, she said:
'Hast thou heard of the arrest of our friend?'
'Heard of it? Why, nothing else occupies the Ephesians, and by this time all in Lydia, Phrygia, and Caria, as well as Ionia, have heard of the sad event. Whatever does it mean, Nika? Canst thou solve it, noble Venusta?'
'We cannot,' they both exclaimed. ''Tis a most mysterious affair. We are as much at sea to understand asthou. Surely he must have had a motive for being in the Sacred Grove.'
'I am dying to know,' added Nika. 'Our sex is full of curiosity. Could he not yet explain and stand a chance for his life?' said she. 'In one way he deserves his fate: he was always queer and headstrong; but it is a frightful thought to imagine him torn limb from limb and expiring before our eyes. Can anything be done? Perhaps if I saw him,' continued the girl, 'I might extract from him that which he refuses others. There was a time when I had some little influence with him, but that was long, very long ago. Nevertheless, if thou considerest it feasible, and get me audience—private audience, mark you, for he is not the man to unburden his mind to the public gaze—I will see him, weak creature as I am. I will do my best; and see what thou canst do, if thou dost value his life.'
'Good! Well said, Nika! The Proconsul will do what he can. Hold thyself in readiness for the morrow. I will advise thee further on this matter.'
The Roman was sad at heart, and soon took his departure, brooding deeply over that which Nika had advanced. True, he was the first in the land, but could he interfere? He would try. Chios was a noble fellow, and would lay down his life rather than be guilty of a mean act. There must be some great mystery behind it all. What could it be? Chios the generous, truthful, straightforward, faithful friend guilty of death—guilty of death for being within a grove called 'sacred,' and for killing a couple of infuriated dogs! Nonsense! He was not a robber or incendiary. Nothing of the kind; and he would never see the life-blood of such a man flow out to the earth, and his dying spasms make sport for the people of Ionia. No! To work! He knew by virtueof his rank he could see him, and see him he would, and extract from him sufficient to save him.
When the morning came, the Roman Proconsul saw the Greek in his cell. He was not depressed, nor did he display any fear. He rose to meet Varro with his usual courtesy, and, reaching out his hand, grasped firmly that of his visitor.
'What doest thou here, Chios?'
'Varro, thou art not a stranger in Ephesus, and hast heard all. Nay, more, thou knowest the seal stamped on the decree which bears my fate.'
'Chios, noble friend, I have come to do my best to save thee. Thou dost not wish to die? art not tired of life—of the green fields, the summer sea, the fleeting clouds of the setting sun? Nature has still a charm for thee, I trust? Thou hast not darkened thy spirit with heinous sin, hast thou?'
'No.'
'Then thou hast a friend in Varro.'
'How canst thou help me?'
'This way: give reason of thy being within that fatal Grove. I know thy reason will be good, and thou shalt appeal to Nero. I will see to it that it shall be so, and, further, that thou shalt live—free! Now, my dear fellow, speak out, and give me hope. Speak, Chios; the house of Venusta languisheth to aid thee. Nika would have come, but I thought it better to be here myself.'
'Varro, friend in adversity, I have nothing to say. My life is forfeited. Let it go. Man dies, and it is well to die with conscience clear. Mine is so. No more have I to say but this: My studio—see it safely closed. Let no profane eye dwell upon my leavings. When I have passed,enter thou, take charge, sell all thou findest there; the proceeds give to the poor of this great city. My parchments are there, and, as directed by their superscription, deal with them.'
'Chios, do not throw thy life away! This very direction now dropped from thy lips tells me thou couldst not be guilty of crime. There is some deep-hidden secret resting within thy bosom dearer than life. I respect thy courage, and will say no more. As a Roman soldier, I dare not.'
'Thanks, Varro, thanks. Thou art right in being silent.'
'Farewell, noble man; I leave thee to thy fate. It will do thee justice. Farewell, farewell, Chios!'
When the Roman had gone, and Chios was alone, the pent-up feelings of the Greek broke loose.
'No,' cried he, 'I will never betray Saronia! A thousand deaths, but not that! She knows; she understands! When I die for her I can do nothing greater. She will feel lonely, but love me more intensely.'
Varro went directly to Nika, and told her of his visit.
'Fool!' said she. 'Let him die! If he count not his life worth having, why then should we trouble?'
'Nay, child, do not be so rash,' said Venusta. 'Do not speak so lightly of his fate. We do not know all. Chios is never the man to act without great reason. He will weigh all consequences.'
'Well, well; I will see him myself as a last effort,' said the girl. 'May I, Varro?'
'Do as thou wilt, but ere thou goest make oath on the honour of a Roman lady thou wilt give him nothing to frustrate the decree. The dishonour would be on me.'
'Agreed! When may I go?'
'At once. Every moment is precious.'
She was soon ready, and without any apparent perturbation accompanied her lover to the place where Chios was confined.
As she drew near her face became blanched with terror, and she leaned on the arm of Varro for support. Her courage gave way, and for the first time she betrayed a great agitation.
They traversed the line of underground cells until they came to the one in which Chios lay. The Proconsul communicated his wishes to the guard, and Nika was conducted within, and left with Chios.
When he saw her he started back as if stung with a poisoned arrow. His nature told him there was cause to fear. Did she suspect his secret? For a moment both were silent, then he exclaimed:
'Nika, why comest thou to such a horrible place? Hearest thou the roar of the angry beasts calling for their prey? Art thou not afraid?'
'No, Chios, I fear not, only for thee. That has brought me here. I mean to rescue thee. Have I not told thee aforetime that that love which would not dare to die for another is not worthy of the name of love? Thou hast ever known I love thee. Again, without I dissemble. Here I am once more unrestrained. I will speak freely to thee. No one will hear. My Roman has given me liberty to hold free and secret communion with thee. Now, Chios, we must not bandy words. My visit must necessarily be brief, and I have come to aid thee. What wert thou doing in the Sacred Grove? Tell me, dearest Chios. Tell me lies or truth, anything that I may have argument to plead for thee.'
Then answered he:
'Lies I cannot speak; the truth I will not.'
'Then I know, and will answer for thee. I will saySaronia sent for thee, and thou wert there with thy full heart to do her bidding. That she deceived thee, or failed to come in time—hence thy position.'
'Woman, thou liest basely! Thou wouldst tear down the honour of an innocent person, and build on the ruins the gratification of thy selfish passions. Leave me! leave me at once! Why hast thou come here like a sinuous serpent, gaudy and beautiful, but carrying a venom dipped in hell? Wert thou to attempt this base calumny, I would nevertheless die, and dying, shower my curses on thy head, on the head of a perjurer, murderess of the deepest blackness! Now go; thou hast had the mind of Chios. Chios can meet his fate. Let Saronia rest; she is innocent of my act.'
'Dear Chios, do pacify thyself. I was probing only to know the truth. Forgive Nika!' And she threw herself upon his neck and wept as if her heart would break.
Chios put her from him, saying:
'A dying man cannot afford to carry with him a stormy spirit. When I was born, the day, the wise men say, was sunny, the leaves were green, and blossoms were on the citron-trees, the birds sang, the winds were hushed, and all nature smiled. On suchlike day my spirit came within the infant form. I came peacefully, and would leave the same, only with a purer soul. Our life here should be an evolution of goodness. Hast thine been so, Nika?'
She started back in tears. It seemed but a few short years when she was a child, and with swiftness her mind flew back across the summers. She saw herself darkened and deformed, and she held down her head in silence.
'Ah, girl! my words have touched thee. Let them be my legacy. Remember them when Chios is gone. Try and be a nobler girl.'
'Oh, Chios, cease, or I shall die! What shall I do for thee?'
'Nothing! Take my forgiveness, and go. Go to thy betrothed.'
'Is this all? Am I also to be sent empty away? For the sake of all who love thee, for the sake of Ephesus, I beseech thee, speak out! Thou art not guilty, canst do no wrong. Thou art a sacrifice; thou shalt not die!'
She fell upon her knees, grasped his hands in hers, bathed them in the tears which fell from her eyes, saying:
'If thou dost die, I will die also. If I cannot lean upon thee here, I will pass with thee, follow thee like a faithful dog through the land they call spirit. I have no one but Chios—thou art a mighty soul. In the great beyond I can look to none but thee. Oh, Chios! oh, love!'
The heart of the man was melting, but his spirit remained firm.
'Poor Nika! would I could help thee! Were it in my power, I would place thee in a holier sphere when thy new life comes, but such is not for me to do. I cannot assert my own destiny, much less make thine. Thou wouldst not help thyself by dying. I fear our ways lie apart. Thou wouldst not care to follow me. My affinities are not thine, and beyond they would mingle less. Now let me dry thy tears;' and taking her richly-embroidered handkerchief, he brushed the pearly drops from her cheeks, raised her hand to his lips, and kissed it.
'I will not leave thee, Nika, when I have passed through the vale, but will do my best to lead thee through the gloom.'
He took her to the door of the cell and left her.
She staggered forward, lost her consciousness, and fell.They took her to the fresh air, and after a while she looked upwards towards the skies, murmuring:
'He is gone away. I saw him leave in the midst of a company of gods. There—there is the rift in the blue where he entered. Chios! Chios! Thou wilt come again—again,' and she fell back as one dead.
Quickly they bore her home. Agonizing fever set in with fury on her until all hope of recovery was despaired of. They watched beside her. Still there came no turn for the better.
One ever-recurring delirium was hers, and ever and anon she looked up with vacant stare, saying:
'The pillar has fallen, the tree is stricken, but thou hast promised to return to me!'
After the Roman had taken her to the house of Venusta, he went again to Chios, and told him of her unhappy condition, imploring him, for the sake of Nika, to free himself, as that seemed the only chance of saving her life, for his name was always on her lips.
With profound sorrow Chios bent his head and groaned within, saying:
'Merciless Fates! What have I done to cause such suffering?... My heart sorrows nigh to breaking yet my mind is fixed as a rock dashed upon by many waves. I cannot alter my decision. I die, even if my own eternal destiny were shattered by my refusing to live! All will be well with Nika. She will live, but I shall be led to death. Farewell! My farewell to Venusta, Nika, and glorious Ephesus with all its beauty! Remember my last testament, and, should thou see an aged man with deep intelligence stamped upon his brow—a foreigner, and chief of the Nazarenes (thou wilt recognise him; he is without counterpart)—tell him I die in peace. His God is mine. Again farewell!'
The two men gazed at each other for a moment. The Roman spoke first:
'Chios, thou art mad! Why, this alone would damn thee tenfold! Thou art lost! The die is cast, thy doom sealed. Unhappy friend, I pity thee, pity thee from my very heart. Farewell! Farewell—for ever!'
And Chios was left to his fate.
The great day had come. Thousands were pouring into the city. It was the day when the Ephesian theatre would be filled with spectators to witness the slaughter of the condemned—slaves, felons, Christians, and Chios—to make sport for the people.
The beasts had been kept without food the preceding day, and were ravenous. The multitude had been gathering since sunrise, and already the theatre was filled. Never in that generation had such a noble citizen as Chios been offered to the lions; and many hard-hearted and stoical ones said, 'He ought to die,' but when the testing time came, many, many of the people would have saved him.
A rumour had floated, propagated by the witch Endora, that she had watched Chios going towards the grove, followed him, and saw him meet a Greek girl, a lady of Ephesus. Finding they were discovered, both hid within. She saw the girl leave, but Chios remained.
The people, ready to believe almost anything for the sake of Chios, accepted this trumped-up story, saying: 'After all, it was a love affair, and Chios was not the man to reveal the lady's name.'
Thus the feeling grew, and if the populace by vote could have saved him, they would have done so; but this was not possible.
So the time wore on, and the multitude became moreexcited. The hour arrived. Soon the High Priest and Priestess would arrive and the slaughter commence.
Chios was being brought forth to the arena just as the High Priestess Saronia passed him. Her garments nearly brushed the doomed man, and their eyes met. She halted and spoke to her escort, saying:
'Who is that man?'
They answered: 'Chios the Greek, the great Ionian artist.'
With an unbending look she beckoned him towards her. With voice clear as a silver bell, she said:
'Of what art thou accused?'
'I am accused of being within the Sacred Grove of Hecate, and slaying the hounds.'
'What brought thee there?'
'Madam, that is a part of my crime, that I answer not such questions.'
'Thou art a bold man, but courageous. Hear me, Chios the Greek! By virtue of my office, High Priestess of the Lady Saviour, I pardon thee. Thy crime is not of the State, but of the Temple. Release him! Let him go!'
Those close at hand heard the words of Saronia, and the news passed round the great building like a flash of light, and a mighty shout of consent rang out like the sound of stranded waves, for they loved Chios at heart.
Even the dignity of the Proconsul forsook him for once. He arose, rushed out, sprang into his chariot, and drove quickly to the house of Venusta.
Nika lay motionless in sleep, one hand hanging listlessly over the side of an ebony couch; her hair, glinted with sunlight, partly hid her face.
The Roman whispered softly:
'Nika, Nika dearest, art thou better?'
Her eyes opened, and she looked up with a stolid gaze.
'Yes. What didst thou say?'
'Art thou better, Nika?'
'Perhaps so. I dreamt a lovely dream.'
'And what was it?'
'I saw Chios walking unfettered amongst the sons of Jove. He said, "I am free; I will come to thee."'
'But he is not dead, my sweet girl.'
'Not dead? not dead?'
'No; he is pardoned.'
'Pardoned?' cried the maid, springing to her feet and looking around as if still in a dream. 'Pardoned? Pardoned? Why? By whom?'
And her soul awoke to consciousness.
'By Saronia, the Arch-Priestess of the Temple,' said he.
'Saronia! Saronia again? Again?' Then the eyes of Nika fell, and a blush like the first crimson streak of morning swept over her cheeks, and she said: 'It must be so. Chios—Saronia.'
'Now thou art well again, Nika. After thou hast rested, come with me, and see the sports. There will be rare tactics with the retiarii armed with nets. One of the swiftest, most agile, will to-day compete with a burly warrior. Beside, there will be a fight with beasts—a lion will be loosed on a Christian. Come with me into the chariot. Let me escort thee thither.'
'No; I am weary. Free from the long dreary sleep, I would now remain here, thinking over the strange past. I wonder if Chios will call.'
'I cannot say, dear. I left him near the arena pretty well exhausted.'
'Well, go thou; enjoy the day. Thou lovest manly sports. As for me, I will remain here and drink in the sunlight.'
'No; a little excitement may do thee good. The drive will invigorate thee.'
'If I must, then let it be so,' replied the girl, and she ordered her slaves to prepare her.
The sun was declining, more than half its course had run, when Varro and Nika left the house. Once fairly under way, they soon arrived at the scene of carnage.
The Proconsul entered, and moved to his seat of honour; by his side sat his betrothed. Venusta was also there, and was surprised to see her daughter. A few words of explanation soon put matters right, and they settled down to enjoy the competitions.
The day was sultry, but streams of water rippled along by the gorgeously-decked daïs of the Proconsul, and statue fountains on either hand at intervals poured out delicious perfumes, cooling the air, and making it fragrant as an orange grove when the trees are laden with blossoms.
In a place of honour set aside for her sat the High Priestess of the Temple of Diana. Over her head was a canopy of gold, and great masses of fragrant flowers were piled up in tiers behind her.
She wore a dress of silk dazzling in whiteness, with stars of gold. On her head rested a jewelled crown, and her forehead blazed with the diamond moon crescent. Her face was severely beautiful; her eyes were fixed gazing into illimitable space, bearing an expression akin to pain,plainly telling she was there in her official capacity and found no enjoyment.
Two attendant priestesses stood by with fans of richest make; another held the insignia of the High Priestess, whilst many others, all beautiful girls of Ionia, waited for her whispered bidding.
The eyes of the noble-born Roman Nika instinctively wandered in the direction of the priestess, and were riveted on the sublime splendour of Saronia.
Nika feared, yet desired, to exchange glances. She was strangely fascinated, but the woman she hated with such deadly hate saw her not, or appeared to be ignorant of her presence.
This aroused a deeper feeling in the daughter of Lucius, and she disliked Saronia more intensely. But for fear of those dark, mysterious eyes she would have by this time been using her as a point for criticism.
The Proconsul wondered why she was so silent, and ventured to say:
'Seest thou the great Saronia? Is she not a mighty being? And fancy, she, above all others, the saviour of the life of Chios! What a glorious thing is power, and charity to use it!'
Then for the first time did she speak of her, saying:
'Art thou too in love?'
'Dearest Nika, explain.'
'Explain? I mean what I say. The brilliancy of Saronia dazzles, shall I say, unhinges the mind of Varro? Remember, do not forget, thou admirest a woman who was once my slave.'
'True; I understand it all, and wonder at thy speech.'
'Thou needst not. Men are all alike; they worship every beautiful woman—Paris a Helen, Antony a Cleopatra, and Varro a Saronia, whilst I, for my own part, see inher only a deep, designing woman, part tiger, part serpent. The tiger hath a lovely sleek body with a furious heart; the serpent for its creeping artfulness is a byword for deceit. Do not get within her fatal circle, or she will sting thee to the very core, and then devour thee. I hate her! She has robbed me of my peace, and now, with deep conceit and hellish pride, she deigns not to turn her head this way. Oh that I had the power to curse her!'
'Fear not, Lady Nika; she will not capture. Thine eyes of blue are sufficient magnets to hold me. Besides, she is bound to chastity, and is as cold as moonlight on a snow-clad mountain.'
'Yes; and thou mayest add, "In her bosom is a hidden fire like an ice-capped volcano with a burning heart." Beware, beware of Saronia! she has two natures, extreme in both. Is Chios here?'
'Yes, Nika; he has just entered.'
'Canst thou point him out amongst the thousands?'
'He sits by the arena-gate.'
'I wonder why he is there. Ah, now I see him! He recognises! I will raise this crimson oleander to my lips, and greet him with a smile. I have a motive; do not be jealous, Varro. Wait!'
Just then the eyes of Saronia turned, and she saw the girl salute Chios, and a darkness like storm-clouds on the top of the mountain spread over the face of the priestess.
Nika looked defiantly—for a moment only; the withering glance of the Temple virgin blanched the Roman's cheeks with fear.
A great shout went up from the multitude; a man of sober mien was brought into the arena armed with a dagger only. Proclamation said this troublesome Christian would fight for his life and faith with one of the fiercest lions ofNubia. He was aged, and took little notice of the proceedings. The people said it was a murder, and not a fight. Even Nika pitied and Varro wondered.
Presently a messenger came to the Proconsul, and handed to him a message. He read it hastily, and answered 'Yes.'
'What news?' said Venusta.
'A request only from some young athlete offering to do battle for yon poor aged man. It gladdens me; we shall see better fighting. The old man can offer no resistance.'
'Who offers?' said Nika.
'I know not. Some courageous fellow, well paid by the Christians, I presume.'
They had not long to wait. The fighter stepped forward, cast a hasty glance around, bowed towards where Saronia sat, then to the audience.
For a moment the people were speechless. Then a cry arose: 'Chios! noble Chios!'
The Proconsul half arose in his seat by way of protestation, as if he would forbid. 'Twas too late. At that instant a lion was loosed, and rushed into the arena.
Chios stood unmoved. The beast hesitated for a moment, the light striking his flaming eyes. Then, with a roar which reached afar, he crouched, he sprang, but missed his prey. Uttering discontent, he lashed his sides with fury, and sprang again; but the Greek was too quick for him, and a loud shout of applause went up from the mighty concourse. 'Well done, Chios!' resounded from every side.
One person only was unmoved—one only of that vast assembly was calm. On the face of Saronia was the calmness of death. Her eyes followed the infuriated brute, and when she caught its glance it drooped its head and pawed the earth.
The third attack, and man and beast rolled over in mortal combat. For a while nothing could be ascertained for the dust which arose. Suddenly the lion fell, with a rivulet of blood issuing from his heart.
Chios arose from the ground, covered with the life-stream of his foe.
Then great shouts of acclaim rent the skies.
'Well fought!' cried they. 'Long live Chios of Ephesus!' resounded through the mighty building.
'Chios deserves a crown of gold,' said the Proconsul.
A perfect reaction set in, occasioned by the heroic act of the Greek. Those who were loud in protestation turned like a summer wind from south to west. All antipathy had fled. The manliness portrayed, risking his life for another, brought full reward. Even the great Saronia approved the act, and admired the man.
Chios took little heed of it all. He quietly slipped aside, and went to his beloved studio. There he always felt happy.
And now he rested, musing upon the past.
'I have not succeeded in my mission,' said he, 'but it shall be accomplished.'
Outside his gate was a poor-looking aged man, inquiring the way to the studio of the great artist.
'Yonder through the myrtle-trees it stands,' replied a passer-by; 'but do not intrude. Let him rest. He is weary from doing battle in the arena on behalf of a worn-out Christian. Do not trouble him for alms. If thou art hungry, here is a trifle to buy bread and fruit.'
'Friend, I am not a beggar; I am he for whom he fought. I must see him.'
'Well, go thy way; thou hast good need to thank him.'
Up the path, through the rows of trees, up to the marbleentrance, noiselessly moved the aged man, and gently tapped at the door.
Chios arose and opened it, saw who was there, and cried:
'Welcome, welcome, good fellow! Come within. Glad am I to see thee safe and well.'
Judah, full of emotion, staggered rather than walked to a seat, weeping as if his heart would break, and, looking up through his tears, exclaimed:
'Chios, blessed art thou! The blessing of one who was ready to perish, the blessing of one who speaks for his God, the blessing of God, rest ever on thee!'
Chios spake never a word; his heart was full.
'Speak to me, Chios the Greek; let me hear thy voice.'
'I know not what to say,' replied Chios. 'I reckoned thy life worth a thousand of mine, and fought that thou mightst live and do work for thy Master.'
'Chios, neither silver nor gold have I to give thee.'
'I require neither.'
'Good. Nevertheless, thy reward awaits thee; thou wilt receive it later on. We fight under the same banner; we shall meet in the same celestial city—the city whose builder is God. The dayspring will glint its glory over thy pathway, and the lustre of morning will bathe thee in heaven. The wings of thy spirit, now folded beside thee, shall spread out their pinions and waft thee o'er oceans of splendour illimitable, urging thee onward from brightness to brightness, raising thee higher and upward and higher till thou standest a messenger swift for the Deity, holding communion with God the Eternal. This is thy destiny. All will be well. Farewell, noble warrior; thou shalt war for the New Faith. 'Tis rumoured the Proconsul promises thee a crown for thy valour. Be thou faithful unto death, and thou shalt receive a crown of life. I have said my thanks. Good-bye—good-bye, noble Chios! My stay in Ephesus will be brief,but thou shalt ever remain in my thoughts, and my prayers shall go forward for my beloved friend.'
Once more Chios was alone.
'What a noble fellow is that old man—prophetic, powerful, good,' he mused. 'I believe in him. What he says is true. I am altered. A light steals through me—a river of peace winds kindly through my soul! May his blessing rest on me, and all his words be fulfilled.
'But what of Saronia? We are no nearer by the advent of this strange faith. Shall we part? Must our communion end? Like two swift ships upon the ocean, greet with welcome hail and pass away across the trackless deep, each going its own particular way? No, no, no! this cannot be. We twain must sail the same course, and at night or in storm give aid. We must move together, the same pilot be ours, enter the same haven, dwell in the same invisible land.
'But can this be? I am drifting, drifting from the old landmarks. She steers by her well-known beacon fires—I strike out alone across an unknown sea in search of a shore which may not exist, or, if it exists, I may never reach it.
'Oh cruel doubt! Oh the struggle for truth! Oh to know what to do!'
Saronia the priestess was agitated. She had resolved in her mind the events of the past few days. 'Why was Chios within the grove?' She could solve the problem—foolish man! 'What demon prompted him—what fiend lured him to the verge of death? Could I but see him, warn him, for my prescience tells me he will attempt this thing again. Rash man! How can I save him? Whom can I trust? None!
'Here am I surrounded by the glory of the mightiest Temple, with pillars rising to heaven, whose summit is crowned with the grandest sculptures of Greece; but the birds which nestle in their carvings are freer than Saronia. I walk in power; every behest is law and none dispute me—yet, for the one great thing I would do, that I dare not! What, then, is power—queenly power like mine? It is hateful. I sought it not. It was thrust on me, and I wear it like a band of iron. But cease—cease, my soul! Well dost thou know the smouldering fire of life's accumulated love for Chios pent up within thee. Why dost thou tempt blasphemous Saronia to further sin? Hush! Down, dark spirit! quail, ye rebel fires, smoulder till my days be spent—then, with the freedom I covet, I will luxuriate in joy. Until such time, let me fulfil my destiny. Come on, ye clouds of darkness, hide him from my view! Soul, hear me! Crush to the lowest ebb this fire which rises ever and anon into fiercest flame, and combats with my reason! I am divided against myself.
'O goddess, hear me! Let my prayers like sweet incense rise! Bring me strength!...'
A sullen roar of distant thunder broke on her ears, as if the gods were speaking from the mountains, looming landward past the Temple city.
'Hark! Diana's voice! I will to augury.'
She sped to the window. Naught through the darkness could she see. Suddenly forked lightning winged its course to the east, another flash swept nearer by, and the pillars of the great Temple stood out, lit up with fiery hue. The night-birds flew in wild commotion, shrieking as they went, crying with a solemn wail.
She stood back. Too well she knew the meaning of those sounds, the language by which the invisible speaks to the mortal.
A lightning-flash was seen across the Temple door, another line of fire crossed it from an opposite direction, as if a mighty guardian spirit stood there with sword aflame. A burst of thunder and a mighty crash, and she knew the building had been struck with an arrow from heaven.
Her reason pointed a power at work who dared insult the sacred place—some god greater than Diana warred against her, degrading her home. This was the augury the priestess drew, and wondered greatly at the sign. It was a revelation to her—a spark of virgin light, dim as the faintest dawn. But it shook her faith, and she spread out her hands as one wandering in the night.
Then she laid herself down in the gloom, and her spirit moved out to Chios. She longed to speak to him.
Across the open window a shadow passed blacker than the darkness. She arose and looked out; naught could she see—all was silent. Then a faint voice like a whisper came from the parapet:
'Saronia, it is Chios!'
And in a moment he was beside her, and, throwing aside his mantle, stood before her in all his strength.
She was appalled, but knew it would be death to both to utter the faintest cry, and with horrible calmness the priestess murmured:
'What, by all the gods, brings thee here?'
'Love! Life without seeing, speaking to thee, is worthless—worse than valueless! I scaled the Parabolus walls, I did the same by yonder parapet; and, by Jove! were they high as Mount Coressus, I would have come. I passed the guards, saw the Temple's frowning brow; the lightning lit my path, and the thundering echoes on the midnight winds were music to my soul. I gazed towards this resting-place, and, when the heavens were lit with flame, saw thee standing alone at the window. 'Twas enough for me. My spirit bounded here long before my body came. Didst thou not feel my influence?'
'Yes, I thought of thee; but thy presence here is too awful to contemplate.'
'No, no, dearest love! this is our fate. Thou art my complement; we cannot long remain asunder. Thine essence is a part of myself; thou art my affinity, my counterpart, that which makes my whole, my sun. Remove it, and the whole system is shaken, and wanders into chaos and oblivion. Had I a thousand lives, not one should be reserved; all should be thrown into the balance for thee.'
He caught her in his arms, and his lips met hers.
'Darling, art thou safe whilst I am here?'
'I am safe from mortals, but not from the ire of the goddess. Her great invisible spirit cannot be deceived; all that is enacted here she knows and records.'
'True, dearest; but even Venus loved.'
'Yes; but Diana is cold and chaste. This night bespeaks my fall. To love is disobedience; for me to disobey is dire rebellion.'
'No, no, girl! it is not so! it cannot be! The Beingwho created us implanted this love; it cannot be born of sin. Man makes laws, and man often breaks them, without calling down the anger of the gods. Lovest thou me, Saronia?'
'Ah, Chios, that is my crime! What brought thee to the grove of Hecate?'
'Thou.'
'I?'
'Yes, Saronia—to see thee on a most important errand. I strove to find thee in the wood.'
'I thought as much. What was thy mission?'
Resting himself beside her on a couch o'erlaid with gold, he said:
'Canst bear surprise?'
'I think so.'
'Then hear;' and, whispering softly, he said: 'One day there came a man, a minstrel, to my home; sad as the waves telling story of storm were the strains of his song, and sweet as the clear running brook were the sounds from his lyre. He sang of a far-away land. Hast thou heard of the lonely West, where the isles of the Britons lie circled in purple mists?'
'Yes.'
'He sang of a princess priestess who stood at the shrine of their gods. He spoke of a Roman who came to that land and stole the pure heart and the hand of this beautiful girl, and bore her away to the Cyclades, and, further away, to the Tyrian Seas, to a resting-place in Sidon.'
'And what became of her, Chios?'
'Thou shalt hear. Their wedded life was brief. The Roman forsook her. She died of a broken heart, and her babe survived.'
'How sad!' said Saronia.
'Wouldst thou know the name of the British girl?'
'I would.'
''Twas Saronia.'
'Saronia!' gasped the priestess, and, uttering a piercing shriek, she fell back into the arms of Chios.
He heard footsteps approaching. He knew he must fly. Then, laying her on a couch, he kissed her lovingly, saying:
'We must part, but will meet again. Saronia, dost hear me? I will see thee at the Temple service: an oleander in thy bosom, I come to thee; a myrtle flower, thou comest to me. Farewell, loved one!'
And he plunged into the darkness, and the thunders roared as if the heavens would rend themselves in twain.
The priestess nerved herself and reclined listlessly. When the attendant priestesses entered, she was pale as the white silk enfolding her form.
'What ails the noble lady?' said the foremost of the beautiful maidens.
'It has passed,' said Saronia. 'Summon the guard; bid them go to the Temple and bring me word if disaster has fallen and smitten it. Hear ye the mighty voices of the gods! See the quivering messengers of fire! Haste away and bring me news!'
Then, falling into one of her mysterious reveries, from which no priestess dared disturb her, they noiselessly glided from the room one by one, each bearing a lamp of gold, and Saronia was left alone.
Soon the priestesses returned, with blanched cheeks, saying:
'Lady of Diana, at thy bidding the priests, with escort, entered the sacred edifice, and discovered through the roofthe fated bolt had flown, wrecked the altar, and rent the veil; but the statue of the great goddess remains unscathed. The watchmen are dead, blackened corpses. The High Priest, chief of the Megalobyzi, has gone to the Temple. What shall we do?'
For a moment the mighty priestess was lost in thought—'twas but for a moment; then she raised herself and regained sublime dignity, saying:
'Altar and veil, the work of men's hands, are resistless as man to their fate; but the image of she who is highest in heaven and strongest in hell is safe from the lightnings, the storm, and the warrings of all the invisible hosts which encircle us. And we, her own children, are safe in her keeping—safe in the shade of Diana Triformis. Pour out your prayers, let them rise to the heavens and spread round your homestead and down to the underworlds. Pour out oblations! Chant forth your praise-hymns for mercy on mercy rolling forth like the surging of mightiest billows! Farewell, maidens of the goddess, farewell!'
Saronia that night was sleepless. She had again saved the life of Chios. She had dissembled. To have done otherwise would have been to be the murderess of Chios. Thus thought she.
By the light of the dimly burning lamp she looked like a tigress at bay. Great clouds flitted sullenly across her face, and her eyes were dark as the night, and darker they grew till the shadows which fell on her were as light to them.
The lamp burned low, but she heeded not. Its dying flame pleased her, and the shadows grew deeper, until her form sank into the darkness.
A great war raged within her. It was a battle-ground on which were arrayed spirits, good and evil, fighting for the citadel of her soul. The light from her mistress goddesswas hidden, and reason cold as snow sat enthroned upon that lofty mind.
Her duty was to serve as heretofore, but lurking love rose up in mighty flame enveloping her. She could see Chios only, feel the pressure of his lips, hear the sound of his voice speaking of love, of the minstrel and of the bride of Britain.
'Who was that mysterious woman named Saronia?
'What caused that strange suspicion and the piercing cry? None other than that by some peculiar affinity I realized that it was she that bore me into this world.
'Oh that I could have heard the end of the story! Cruel destiny shattered me at the harbour mouth, and I lie stranded a lonely wreck on a bleak shore and tainted with rebellion. Shall I fail now? No; Saronia shall build another self out of the shattered parts. I will arise, shake the stupor from me, stretch out my arms into the darkness. I will robe for divination,' and pointing her finger towards the dead lamp, it sprang into flame, casting a glare around the room.
She arose, cast aside her snowy dress of whitened silk, draped herself in darkest shade, girt her waist with a diamond zone black as night, over her shoulders a mantle hung—a mantle of sable hue studded with stars of silver and gold. On her breast she wore the Ephesian symbols of Air and Water, Earth and Life, and Death. Her eyes shot glances like serpents at war, her bosom was upheaved with the strongest emotion, and she moved to the place where the burning lamp stood, seized it, and stood by an altar raised to the goddess of Hades.
For a moment only was she motionless; then she raised high aloft her jewelled hands, brought them to her lips, kissed them to the Queen of Heaven, and stretched them earthwards to the underworld—to Hecate, the Queen of Hell.Her head lay back; her eyes shone out with mystic sheen; her raven tresses trailed the floor; her gloomy garments lay in graceful folds, dark as the midnight sky without a star or moon, and standing thus, she invoked the goddess Hecate.
This done, she lit the altar's sacred fire, and incense burnt until the room was filled with odour and the light from the golden lamp grew dim.
Her lips parted, and a silvery voice issued, murmuring softly: