NICANOR: TELLER OF TALES
Book I
THE MANTLE OF MELCHIOR
I
Nicanor the story-teller was the son of Rathumus the wood-cutter, whowas the son of Razis the worker in bronze, who was the son of Melchiorthe story-teller. So that Nicanor came honestly by his gift, and wouldeven believe that his great-grandsire had handed it down to him byspecial act of bequest.
Now Rathumus the wood-cutter, tall and gaunt and fierce-eyed, cominghome with his fagots on his shoulder in the gloam of the evening, whenthe fireflies twinkled low among the marshes, saw Nicanor on the side ofthe hill against the sky, sitting with hands clasped about his knees,crooning to the stars. Rathumus bowed his head and entered his house,and to Susanna, his wife, he said:
"The gift of our father Melchior hath fallen upon the child. I have seenit coming this long, long while. Now he singeth to the stars. When theyhave heard him and have taught him, he will go and sing to men. He isour child no longer, wife. His life hath claimed him."
Susanna, the mother, said:
"He will be a man among men. He will be a great man among great men. Itmay be that the Lord Governor will send for him. But--oh, my boy--myboy!"
Rathumus answered gravely:
"Pray the holy gods he will not misuse his power!"
Presently Nicanor came in, with the spell not yet shaken off him,wanting his supper. A smaller image of his father he was, lean andshock-headed, with gray steady eyes changing from the stillness ofchildhood's innocence to the depth and wonder of dawning knowledge.
Rathumus said:
"What hast been doing, boy?"
Nicanor stretched like one arousing from sleep.
"I know not," he answered. "Perhaps I slept out under the moon lastnight and she hath turned my head.--Father, I have been thinking. When Iam become a man I shall do great things. Even you have told me that thedestiny of a man's life lieth between his hands."
"Son," Rathumus said quickly, "remember also that men's hands liebetween the hands of the gods, even as a slave's between the hands ofhis over-lord. Keep it in mind, child, that thou art very young, thatthy first strength hath not yet come upon thee; and strive not to teachto others what thou hast not learned thyself. For that way lies mockeryand the scorn of men."
"Now I do not understand where thy words would lead," Nicanor said; andhis gray eyes, in the wavering torchlight, were doubtful. "I teach noone. Perhaps--it was not I who slept under the moon, after all."
For he was young, and though his parents saw what had come upon him, hehimself saw not.
So Nicanor had his supper, of black bean-porridge, taking no thought ofthose parents' loving thought for him; and later climbed the ladder tothe loft where he slept. After a while, Susanna, yearning over her boyin this, the first dim hour of his awakening,--yearning all the moresince she saw that he was following blindly the workings of his ownappointed fate, without any sense or knowledge of it himself,--went upthe ladder also and sat beside him, thinking him asleep. But Nicanor putout a hand and slid it into hers, and shuffled in his straw until he wasclose against her. She gathered him into her arms, his shaggy head uponher breast, and rocked him to and fro in the darkness. To-morrow hewould go where this fate of his called him; but this last night he mustbe hers, all hers, who had borne him only to give him up. Nicanor,stupid with sleep and comfort, murmured drowsily, and she bent closeover him to listen.
"Mother, three nights ago my father spoke of Melchior, and the name hathlingered in my head. Who was he? What was he?"
"Thy father's father's sire," she told him. She saw it coming; thechains which bound his heart to hers were stretching. "He was a tellerof tales, son, and--thy father thinks a fold of his mantle hath fallenupon thee. He it was who was first servus in the family of our lord.Little one, tell mother; what thoughts hast thou when the night comesdown and the wide earth hushes into drowsy crooning? Hast ever feltdreams stirring at thy heart-strings like chords of faintest music?"
"Mother!" Nicanor cried, and tightened his arms about her. "Thou hastit--the words--the words! Tell me how to do it! Thoughts I have, andvisions so far away that they are gone before I know them--but thewords! I cannot say the things I would, so that they ring. Teach it me,then!"
Susanna laughed, and stroked her boy's hot head.
"Words I have, little son," she said softly, "but I have no tune to singthem to. A woman hath but one tune, and that is ever in the same key.One song, and one only, in her life she hath, and when that is ended,she is dumb. But please the good God! thou'lt have what lies behind thewords and alone makes them of value; the thought which is thefoundation-stone to build upon. And then the words will come also. Whatvisions hast thou seen, sonling?"
"Mother, I cannot tell, for my mouth is empty though my head rings.Always it begins as though a curtain of mist were swept rolling backfrom the face of the world, and I see below me vague mountains and broadlonely wastes, and gray cities sleeping in dead moonlight, for it isever night. I see clouds that reach away to the rim of the earth, and itis all as in a dream, and--and so deep within me that I lose it before Iknow it.--Oh, I cannot tell!"
He stirred restlessly and nestled his head deeper into her breast, andshe stroked his hair in silence. When he spoke again there was a newnote in his boy's voice.
"Mother, I too will be a teller of tales, even as was that sire of myfather's sire whose name was Melchior. For in that there is to me alljoy, and no pain nor sorrow at all. And I shall be great, greater thanhe and greater than those who shall come after me."
Susanna laid her hand across his mouth.
"Hush thee, for the love of dear Heaven, hush! That is boasting, andgood never came of that! Oh, little son of mine, listen to me, thymother,--it may be for the last time,--and keep my words always in acorner of thy heart. They shall be as a charm to keep all danger fromthee. Pray to God nightly, the dear God of Whom I have tried to teachthee; keep thy hands from blood, thy body from wanton sin, and thytongue from guile. So shalt thou be pure and thy tales prosper; foruntainted fruit never blossomed from a dunghill. Remember that the Lordloveth all his creatures even the same as he loveth thee. As thou hastgood and evil both within thee, so have others; wherefore judge them inmercy as thou wouldst thyself. And judge thyself in sternness as thouwouldst them; so shalt thou keep the balance true. Now thou art sleepingthrough my preaching--well, never mind! Kiss thy mother, dear one, and Iwill go."
She descended the ladder; and Nicanor's voice came sleepily muffledthrough the straw.
"All the same I shall be great--greater than that old man who was beforeme--greater than kings--greater than any who shall come after--"
He slept, and the moonlight streamed upon him in a flood of silver.
And below, at Rathumus' side, lay Susanna, the mother, and staredwide-eyed and wakeful through the darkness.
II
Nicanor sat beside the fire, his hands clasping his knees, his eyesglowing in the ruddy leaping of the flames. Around him on the moorsquatted a band of belated roving shepherds, who from all the countryround were bringing their flocks to fold for the Winter. About the fire,at discreet intervals, the sheep were herded, each flock by itself.Around every huddle a black figure circled, staff in hand, hushingwakeful disturbers into peace. The shepherds ringing the fire sprawledcarelessly; uncouth rough men with shaggy beards and keen eyes, theirfeatures thrown into sharp relief against the light. Farther off, smallgroups, close-sitting, cast dice upon a sheepskin with muttered growlsof laughter. The musky smell of the animals tinged the first chill ofAutumn which hung in the air. Around them the moor stretched away, vastand silent, broken into ridges filled with impenetrable shadows until itmelted into the mystery of the night. Over the world's darkness aslender moon, sharp-horned, wandered through rifting clouds.
Nicanor's voice rose and fell with the crackling flames. His eyesgleamed, his face quivered; the men within hearing hung upon hiswords. Gradually the dicers' laughter died; one by one they lefttheir clusters and join
ed the circle at the fire. Nicanor saw, andhis heart swelled high. This was what he loved,--to fare forth atnight and come upon such a crowd of drovers, or it might be wood-cuttersor charcoal burners; to begin his chant abruptly, in the midst ofconversation; to see his listeners draw close and closer, gazingwide-eyed, half in awe; to move them to laughter or to tears, assuited him; to sway them as the marsh winds swayed the reeds. Attimes, when this sense of power shook him, he took a savage delightin seeing them turn, one to another, great bearded men, sobbing,gasping for breath, striving for self-control,--simple-heartedchildren of moor and forest, whose emotions he could mould as apotter moulds his clay. He could have laughed aloud, he could havesung for sheer joy and triumph, to watch this thing. Again, he wouldmake them shiver at his tales of the world of darkness--shiver andglance from side to side into the outer blackness, with eyes gleamingwhite in the firelight. For it was a superstitious age, in whichevery field, every hearth-stone, had its presiding genius for good orill; and there were many things of which men spoke with bated breathand two fingers out.
Nicanor ended his chant:
"So this man died, being unpunished, and went away into a great countrywhich was a field of flowers. And in the midst of the field was a citywherein the man would enter. But even as he walked through this field offlowers, he saw that out of the flowers ran blood, and the flowers spokeand cried out upon him because of that thing which he had done when hewas upon the earth. And the man was sorely frightened."
There was a mutter and a stir among the crowd. A black bulk heaveditself up between Nicanor and the firelight, and a swollen voice criedout:
"Now by Christ His cross, how comes it that this snipe of a striplingmay speak from his mouth of what lieth beyond the grave? For this isdeath, and death is a matter concerning Holy Church alone. By what rightdoth he tell us of what she says no mortal may know?"
Cries from his mates interrupted.
"Nay, Rag; shut thy gaping mouth and leave the lad in peace! And so--andso--what then befell this wicked man, son?"
But Rag was not minded to be put aside so lightly.
"I say 'tis wrong!" he bawled. "No man, without warrant, may thus blabof what goeth on beyond the grave!"
A voice seconded him from the outer ring, but dubiously.
"I think the Saxon right! How may we know if this lad speaks true ofthat which comes to pass hereafter? Boy, what earnest canst give thatthis thing happened so?"
But another shouted:
"In the name of the gods, Rag, get thee to sleep once more, thoustupidest lout in Britain! It is a scurvy trick to waken thus at thewrong time and trumpet thy nonsense in such fashion. Good youth canstnot skip that bit for peace's sake, and get on to the next part?"
Rag's voice blared into this one's speech.
"Nay, now I am awake, I'll not sleep again until I know if a lie hathwaked me. For if it be not the truth, it is a lie, and a lie shall haveshort shrift with me!"
The men, stirred by the tale, took sides. A gale of conversation sprangup. Some wished the story to go on; others would know by what means thislanky youth could tell of what was to come to pass hereafter. They knewnot the word imagination. Consequently fierce arguments arose. The burlycause of the uproar curled up and went quietly to sleep once more,leaving his fellows to settle for themselves the questions he hadpropounded. It is the way of his kind. High words fanned the spark oftheir excitement. Two met with blows; one stumbled into the hot embers.He cursed, and the light flashed on a drawn blade. Instantly the noiseredoubled. Mingled with it was the bleating of frightened sheep, theoaths of drovers who strove to check incipient stampedes. Nicanor huggedhimself with joy. If but his father could be there to see! Melchior,that wonderful great-sire of his, could not have so stirred men thatthey were ready even for blood and violence. He, Nicanor, could;wherefore he was greater than Melchior. His blood leaped at the thought;he wished to proclaim his exultation to the world.
But things soon took a different turn.
In the confusion, Rag, lying almost beneath his comrades' feet, gothimself kicked. He leaped to his feet, dazed, roaring like a bull, and,stupid lout that he was, took unreasoning vengeance upon the firstobject which caught his eye. This chanced to be Nicanor.
"See what thou hast brought us to, son of perdition!" he cried. "But forthee and thy fool's tales we should be lying asleep like good men andtrue. This is thy work, with thy talk on heaven and hell and flowerswhich vomit blood. God's death! Heard ever man the like? If thou knowestnot of what thou pratest, thou hast lied, and that deserves a beating.If thou dost know, thou hast the black art of magic,--an evil-doer, withfamiliars who tell thee things not to be known of earth; and thatdeserves a flaying!"
His voice was loud. His partisans took up his cry. Nicanor found himselfsurrounded. He became enraged; forgot that he himself with his wizardtongue had worked them into a very fitting state for any outbreak. Thatthe emotions he had aroused should be turned against himself was amonstrous thing. He drew his knife; one seized it from his hand andflung it into the heart of the fire. Black figures danced around him; hewas lifted off his feet by their rush; flung down, trampled upon,bruised, kicked, beaten. Men, losing all thought of him, fought over hishead, clamoring old pagan creeds and shrieking aloud their theoriesconcerning the Seven Mysteries of the Church. They differed wildly. Fromthe criticism of a romantic tale, the discussion flamed into a religiouswar.
One with a broken head fell senseless near Nicanor. He, in scarcelybetter case, turned and squirmed until he got himself covered with thebody; so saved his ribs and perhaps his life.
The combat ended, after a lapse of minutes, as abruptly as it hadstarted. A cry arose from the hurrying guardians of the flocks:
"The sheep! Look to the sheep! They scatter!"
The animals, frightened by the uproar into panic, broke from theircordon and bolted into the darkness. Religion was forgotten on theinstant; men in the act of giving a blow swung around and fled aftertheir property. Seeing this out of the tail of his eye, Nicanor crawledfrom beneath the protecting body. He stood upright beside the desertedfire, panting, glaring, his clothes in tatters. Blood flowed from hisnose, and from a cut upon his temple. He was a sorry sight. He liftedhis clenched fist and shook it at his vanishing assailants.
"By Christ His cross!" he swore, repeating Rag's oath, "after this Ishall make you believe what I tell you, though I say that your hell isheaven and your heaven hell. You have bruised me, beaten me, because ofwhat? Something too high for your sodden brains to know! You haveflouted me; now I shall flout you. I shall make you fear me, tremble atmy words--ay, kiss the very ground beneath my feet. You shall learn tofear me and my power; you shall cringe like the curs you are!"
He went home in a quiver of rage and hate and shame, wounded in hisbody, still more sorely in his dignity, and told his mother he was goingaway. Where, he did not know. This was a small detail, since to him allthe world was new. Folk had faith in the manifestations of Providence inthose days; Rathumus and Susanna believed they heard Fate speaking bythe mouth of their angry son. Susanna's eyes filled with tears. Rathumusnodded his great head gravely and slowly. Nicanor, overflowing with hiswrongs, strode up and down the hard earth floor in a passion. Again hegave tongue to his lamentations.
"I am stronger than they--I shall conquer! Thou shalt see! I shall makethem acknowledge that I, son of Rathumus, am greater than they. Thisshall be my revenge, and though it take me all the years of my life, Ishall win to it by fair means or foul."
"Son, son!" Rathumus said sternly. "Speak not thus rashly. For the gods,and the gods alone, is vengeance."
But Susanna took her boy to his own loft, and there comforted him,motherwise.
"Thou wilt yet get the better of them all, my son. That they should havedared to treat thee so! But oh, be careful, for my sake! Now hearken. Iwill have thy father pray that our gracious lord permit thee to go toChristian Saint Peter's church, on Thorney, which is called the BrambleIsle, to learn a trade. Though he be no believe
r in the Faith, our lordis a good man, merciful unto us, his slaves, and I doubt not will giveconsent. Then seek there a man by name of Tobias, a colonus and a workerin ivory for the good Christian priests. He, it may be, will aid theefor sake of her who is thy mother."
She stopped, then, and looked into his face. But he met her eyes withouta change, and never thought to question what her words might mean. Forhe was very young; also his mother was his mother. So that Susannasmiled, for pure joy and happiness, and said:
"He is a wise man, with goodly store of wealth. Also hath he been in farstrange countries, and seen right marvellous things. And he will takethee to learn of him, if so be thou wilt say thou art son to Rathumusand Susanna his wife. And so wilt thou become great, and very wise, andloving."
So in the end, Nicanor started off alone in the world, with his parents'blessing, which was all they had to give him, to find out whither thisFate of his had called him.
III
Thus it was that Nicanor left his home in the gray northlands, up by therolling hills and the barren moors which lay under the great Wall ofHadrian; and journeyed down the long road which led ever southward toLondinium. Past Eboracum, on the Urus, that "other Rome," where theGovernor of Britain dwelt, famous as the station of the Sixth Legion,called the Victorious, the flower of the Roman army, which men said hadbeen there for upwards of three hundred years. He crossed the wide riverAbus, and thought it the ocean of which he had heard tales; he stole atstations and begged at farms, and drank in all that he could see andhear.
Over hills and through valleys the great road ran, straightaway forleague upon league, turning aside for no obstacle, invincible as itsbuilders, ancient and enduring. It crossed rivers, it clove throughdarkling woods, it traversed wide and lonely wastes, and led past walledtowns, worn by the feet of marching legions, scored with the grooves ofwheels. And even as across the world all roads led to Rome, so here didall roads lead to Londinium, and therefore to Thorney on Tamesis.
And Londinium was no longer the collection of mud huts filled withblue-painted Britons, of which dim tales were told. For under Roman rulefair Britain had cast half off the shroud of her brutish early days, andblossomed into a civilization such as she never before had known, andwould not know again for many hundred years. One passing glimpse oflight she caught--even though it had its shadows--before the veil shutdown once more with the coming of the Saxons. For, though Roman rule inBritain was said to end with the fourth century, Roman influence, Romancustoms, Roman laws, survived and were paramount during the years ofindependence which followed, until throttled by the slowly tighteninghand of Saxon barbarism. Then the old dark times returned.
The Romans were hard taskmasters, but the task they had was hard. Theywere often merciless, but those beneath them had been wild beasts totame. They were in power supreme and absolute, and they lived in easeand plenty upon the toil of native serfs and bondsmen. Fair villas,stately palaces, costly foods and fine raiment--all the luxuries thoseold days knew were theirs. Under them was the mass of the nativepopulation, staggering beneath their burden of taxation, bound to thesoil, often absolute slaves, who spent their lives toiling inbrickfields, in quarries, in mines, and in forests, living instraw-thatched cabins upon the lands of masters who paid no wage. Whenthere was rebellion, these masters knew how to deal punishment swift andsure; when there was submission, they gave kindness and reward. Had Romenot been as strong as even in her decline she was, Romans could not haveheld Britain as long as they did. For on sea and land, on the verge ofthe civilization they maintained, were restless tribes, Scots, Picts,and Saxons, seizing every pretext, every moment of unguardedness, forencroachment and disturbance.
So that their stern discipline was necessary, and not without resultswhich went for further good. Under Roman rule all the surface of theland was changed. Great towns, walled and fortified, rose on the sitesof ditch-surrounded villages. Marshes were drained, bridges were built,and rivers banked; forests were cleared and waste lands reclaimed. Morethan all, the land was tilled and rendered productive, so that Britainbecame the most important grain province of the empire. Romans found inBritain a scant supply of corn, grasses on which the cattle fed, wildplums, a few nuts and berries. They brought to Britain fruits andvegetables from many lands beyond the seas; from Italy gooseberries,chestnuts, and apples; walnuts from Gaul; apricots, peaches, and pearsfrom Asia. Paved roads webbed the island, wide and well-drained, bywhich bodies of troops could be massed at any given point withincredible rapidity. Fortifications were built and in the north walls ofsolid masonry were thrown across the country from the Oceanus Ibernicusto the Oceanus Germanicus, for the determent of common foes.
That upon which Rome once set her seal could never wholly lose the mark;must remain bound to her by ties, which, stretching across thecenturies, would link the future to the past. In spite of the bitternessof her defeat and ruin, and because she still was Rome, she was mightyenough to leave precious gifts to the peoples who should come after her.To Britain, because Britain had been her own, she left many legaciesgreat and small: the sonorous richness of her speech, soon corrupted tomake for a new world a new speech as noble; and more than all, she leftthe word of her mighty law, proudest monument ever reared by mortalhands to a nation's glory. Rome's sons builded well for her; and thelabor of their hearts and hands was not for the day alone, but for theages. Towns yet to rise upon the ashes of her stately cities would findtheir model in her municipal government, and in her laws concerning thetaxation of land and the distribution of personal and real estate. Oldcustoms she left to be handed down to those who should sit in her sons'places,--the luctus of widows, who for a full year of widowhood mightnot wed again; the names of her deities she gave to the days of theplanetary week. Her superstitions and folk-lore, deep-rooted, survivedand lingered long among many nations: the old sorcery of the waxen imageof an enemy transfixed by bodkins for the torment of that enemy; thebelief in the were-wolf (one of the oldest of Roman traditions); theassociation of the yew tree with mourning and the passing of humansouls.
Britain, with all her virgin wealth unmined, furnished Rome withenormous food supplies; sent many thousand men to serve with Romanarmies on the continent; and received the colonists, called auxiliaries,brought thither in accordance with Rome's invariable policy oftransplanting to the land of one nation captives from another. Thus thepopulation of Britain, composed of people from nearly every race ortribe which has been subdued by Rome, was strangely heterogeneous, yetas strangely fused. It was Romanized; the national individuality of itsunits was lost in that of their conqueror. But as Rome destroyed thenationality of her captives, so in time she inevitably destroyed herown. If they were Romanized, she was Gothicized and Gaulicized. But bythis means only was the circulation of her life-currents maintained tothe uttermost branches of the empire. That great empire, age-old,rotting inwardly almost to decay, was vitalized, as it weregalvanically, against her approaching dissolution by the blood of hercolonies. In the throes of hierarchical government, torn by threeirreconcilable religions,--polytheistic, Julian or Augustan, andChristian,--she had no strength to spare for these outsiders when herown life was at stake. The story of Roman Britain is the old story whichhistory repeats down all the ages: Rome sacrificed one part of Europethat the whole might not be lost, and offered up the few for the good ofthe greater number.
For in those dark days from the second century of the Christian erauntil near the close of the fifth, when came the last stage of thestruggle and the extinction of the Empire of the West, the world seemedtottering to its ruin. Kingdoms shook and crumbled to their fall; newpowers strove headlong for their seats; men found themselves harried onall sides, with no pause for respite, and harried again in turn. Theydid not understand; they knew only that fierce unrest possessed all theearth, manifesting itself in the terrible wandering of the nations,which was to culminate in a new world and a new order of things. Smallwonder that bewildered folk, swept on and overwhelmed in the maelstromof world-wide turbulence, unk
nowing what must happen next, predicted andbelieved that with the year 999 the end of the world would surely come.
They had good reason for such belief. At Rome the fierce tribes fromNorthern Europe could no longer be held back. Goths, Vandals, Huns, eachin their own good time had joined in the attack. Rome the Mighty, theEternal, invincible as Fate, whose power no man believed could have anend, was brought to bay at last, impotent, drained by internal sores,goaded and tortured by foes without, with a horde of wolfish barbarianssnarling and snapping at her throat. From one distant province afteranother her legions were called home. The fated twelve centuries of herpower were ended; the direst tragedy of history had begun.
Britain, with all her fear and hatred of the heavy Roman hand, had yetbeen secure from outer harm while the strength of that hand was withher. For in the north were skulking bands of Picts and Scots, lawlessand undisciplined, seized with the contagion of excitement which stirredtheir neighbors. In the south were Saxons, the terrible men of the ShortKnives; about the coasts to east and south were bands of pirates, Jutesand Saxons both. Driven from their own lairs, they could but seek newresting-places; and Britain was the only spot where they might obtain afoothold. These rovers the Roman legions had held long years in check;yet it was told that soon the troops would be recalled to Rome'sdefence. None believed that Britain would be left wholly to herself; forRome was too far away for her full peril to be brought home to thosewhose own affairs kept their hands well filled. But in the tenth year ofthe fifth century across the sea came letters from Honorius theEmperor, urging the cities of Britain to provide for their own defence,since Rome could no longer send them aid. And for Britain this was theslow beginning of the end. There followed then invasion after invasionof barbarians, which the cities, forever quarrelling among themselves,were forced to unite in repulsing. The Saxons thus overcome, endedusually by settling in Roman cities under Roman government peaceablyenough until the next attack by their countrymen, in which theyinvariably joined. By the year 420 Angles and Saxons had graduallyestablished themselves on the eastern and southeastern coasts, whileother allied tribes constantly harassed the western districts.
Since the second century Rome's army in Britain had dwindled to fourlegions. At Deva, in the west, was the Twentieth Legion, holding incheck the fierce mountain tribes of the Silures, and, with the Second,farther south, at Isca Silurum, keeping at bay the pirates who at timessailed up the broad Sabrina on plunder bent. In the north, at Eboracum,was the famous Sixth, within quick reaching-distance of Valentia andCaledonia. At Ratae was the Ninth, guarding the low country and theeastern fens. But after the Emperor's letter, the Ninth and theTwentieth sailed away, and the proconsul at Eboracum perforce sent partof his own troops to fill their places. Two years later, the Sixth wasrecalled. And then the consul abandoned Eboracum, that great city whichsince its foundation had been the seat of government for all the land,and with his forces moved farther south, leaving it deserted.
But not for long. For Caledonians and Saxons came down from the northand occupied it, and settled there to stay. And after that, wheneverRomans left the northern towns, seeking greater security in thesouthward provinces, the barbarians advanced and took possession, andthus gained the foothold for which they had been struggling ever sincethe Conquest. And so the coming of the end was hastened.
Those later days of the departure of the troops were stirring days. Theisland, governed by the lords of the cities, each in feudalindependence, had shaken off the leading-strings of Rome. It waswealthy; as yet it was prosperous; the advance of the barbarians, thoughit might be sure, was slow. When Rome's troubles were past, she wouldsend her troops again, and the invaders would be driven out for good andall. Yet there were many folk abroad in those days, asking anxiousquestions, filled with responsibility and care. And ever and again,along the great white roads, a cohort would go flashing past, lined upto full number, gallant in fighting trim, with standards flying, andeyes set always southward, toward the sea and Rome.
* * * * *
There were many other folk upon the busy highways,--an endlessprocession that went and came. Pack-horses, war chariots, slaves andsoldiers, nobles, merchants, and artificers, men with goods to sell andmen without,--a motley throng from many lands. Nicanor, shy andfierce-eyed and of shaggy hair, tramping steadily southward in the wakeof the swift-footed soldiers, felt that the world was a very mightyplace, and never had he dreamed of such great people. As he drew nearerLondinium, the traffic and the bustle increased. More troops kept comingup; and again others passed them, going down. And now, among the lowhills, he caught glimpses of fair and stately houses gleaming amongwooded groves; and there were huts of plastered mud, straw-thatched,where dwelt gaunt, collared slaves.
On either side of the road were broad meadows where sheep were grazing;and ploughed fields where men and women stood yoked like cattle andstrained to the cut of the ploughman's lash; and quarries where mentoiled endlessly under heart-breaking loads, driven on by blows andcurses. These were the things which Nicanor had known all his life, forhis father worked, and his mother. But when he met a fat and perfumedman, riding upon a milk-white mule, with servants before and behind him,and beasts of burden bearing hampers,--then Nicanor could notunderstand. He bowed before the fat man deeply, thinking him the greatLord Governor himself; and men by the roadside laughed and mocked him.So that he fought them, and came out of his second conflict veryvaliantly, with a closed eye and a lip badly cut.
And so, in the fulness of time, he came to the last day of his journey.
It was a gray day, touched with the smoky breath of Autumn, with all thecountry veiled in softest haze. It was very early morning, and fewpeople were upon the road, although since the first light of dawn menhad been working in field and forest. From a farmhouse off the road camethe crowing of a cock and the creak of a cumbrous handmill hidden in athick copse near by. Nicanor, sitting by the roadside where he hadslept, ate the food remaining overnight in his wallet, and rolled hissheepskin cloak into a bundle for his shoulders. Behind him, from theroad, came a man's voice, suddenly, singing a rollicking drinking-song.The singer brought up beside Nicanor, a black-haired man in a soiledleather jerkin and cap of shining brass, with a matted beard and narroweyes, and a great leaf-shaped sword swinging at his thigh. This onehailed him heartily, in a loud voice.
"Good youth, canst tell me where I am?"
"Why, yes," said Nicanor, proud to display his knowledge of thelocality. "This be the street a Saxon man at Ad Fines named to meEormen--"
"Ad Fines? Thirty miles from Londinium? Now I could have sworn thatyesternight I was in Tripontium, thrice thirty miles from there. I wasthere yesterday--or maybe that time a week ago. 'Tis a small failing ofmine to go where I do not mean to go, and know not how I get there, whenthe wine is in me. But this way will do, and now I am so far upon it, Imay as well go farther."
He sat down beside Nicanor.
"Dost know of any lord would have a fine stout serving-man?" he saidwith a wheedle. "One who can carve, be it swine or human, skilled withsword or sling, who can drive a chariot, pair or single-span?"
"Not I," Nicanor answered. "I be a stranger in these parts."
"Bound for Londinium?" asked the black-haired man.
"Nay, for the Christian church of Saint Peter's, on Thorney which iscalled the Isle of Brambles," said Nicanor, without guile.
"Why, then, I'll go there too," the stranger said amiably. "For I ammost devilishly lost, driven from town and camp, the first time sober ina week; and money I must gain, or starve. Eh, Bacchus! the women--thewomen!" He sighed, shaking his black head dolefully.
"What concern had they with it?" Nicanor wished to know. "Did they turnthee out from camp and town?"
"Ay, boy, turned me out and turned me inside out," said the black-hairedman, and grinned. "Never a little copper ass have I left upon me. See,now, our paths lie in the same direction, since my path is any path.Shall we go together? For I swear I'll not get lo
st again. Behold me,Valerius, sometime of the Ninth Legion at Ratae, now, by the grace ofGod, of no legion at all. I have my tablet of discharge from service; afollower of fortune you see me, with my sword as long as the purse ofhim who hires it."
Nicanor, half shy, half pleased with his new acquaintance, told in turnhis name and station.
"Thou and I will be good friends," the soldier said. "I love a lad ofspirit, such as thou. I'll fight for thee and thou shalt steal for me.'Tis a fair division of labor. Hear you how my tongue waggeth? For aweek it hath been sleeping off the wine, and now that it be sober again,it runneth by itself. Come, friend, art ready?"
On the way Valerius talked irrepressibly, with many strange oaths andejaculations, mixing his religions impartially. He told weird tales oflife in camps and teeming cities, so that Nicanor's blood tingled, andhe longed to go also and do these things of which he heard. The talesof Valerius did not always hang together, but Nicanor cared not at allfor that. By and by Valerius took to asking questions, his tongue in hischeek at some of Nicanor's replies. In half an hour he had learned theboy's life, deeds, and ambitions, and had extracted a promise thatNicanor would get the worthy Tobias to provide him also with employment,preferably around the church, where would be fat pickings and littlework. At noon they ate by the roadside with two kindly disposedmerchants, and later continued on their way, meeting other folk, withwhom Valerius passed the time of day.
So, toward sunset, they came with many others ahorse and afoot, toThorney, the Isle of Brambles, at the foot of the road. And here Nicanorthought he had never seen anything so wonderful, and stood staringwide-eyed, while Valerius hummed his drinking-song and chewed a piece ofmetyl leaf, which turned his lips and teeth quite red.
For here the country broadened out into a great marsh, vast andspreading widely over the land, dotted with eyots, where birds flew lowamong the sedge. Away to west and east were low grim hills, with a senseof unending space and loneliness upon them. And at the foot of thestreet was the ford, crowded here with men,--soldiers and serfs andfreedmen,--with horses and mules and heavy carts. Through the ford theyall went splashing; and it was wide and shallow, marked out by stakesand with stepping-stones showing above the water. And beyond the ford,under the gray skies, was Thorney, the Bramble Isle, alive with aswarming throng of people. On the right of the island was Saint Peter'schurch, upon the spot where next Saint Peter's Abbey, and centurieslater the great Westminster, would stand. It rose silent in a smother ofconfusion and a babel of noise of men shouting, and horses neighing, andthe songs of boatmen on the Tamesis which bounded the southern end ofthe island. There was a temple of Apollo close beside it, for old godsand new dwelt side by side. To the ancient faith of their pagan fathersthe aristocracy of Britain still held true; the new God was for slavesand humble folk, who had derived no benefits from the old creeds andwere willing to try any which promised help. And old Rome had seen therise and fall of many gods, for she was aged and very wise. Jupiter,best and greatest, Isis, Mithras, Astarte, Serapis--what was one more orless in her pantheon?
Around the church was a formless huddle of houses, thinning out andstraggling at the water's edge; and fires were blazing here and there,and men were hurrying to set all in order for the night. For Thorney wasa halting place where travellers from north and south and east and westrested a space and went their way,--a noisy, crowded place, wherecentred traffic for all Britain passing to and from Londinium, the greatport, and the greater inland cities.
All of this Nicanor took in with delighted eyes. He ran down to theford, dodging between pack-mules and jolting two-wheeled carts, andslipping eel-like past other pedestrians, forgetting Valerius, whohurried after. He strode from stone to stone, splashed by straininghorses that tugged beside him, and sprang to shore upon the island. Sohe won to his journey's end.
"Now to find that good man Tobias," quoth Valerius, and shook his wetfeet daintily, as a cat that has stepped by accident in a puddle. "Hewill give thee food and lodging, which thou wilt share with me--so?Knowest thou his house? Jesus, Lord! Did ever man see the like of thenest of houses? Hey, friend!" He laid a hand on the shoulder of onepassing. "Canst tell us where dwells the worthy Tobias, worker in ivoryto the Christian Church?"
"Nay, not I," the man said, and hurried on. Over his shoulder he calledback: "Ask the good priest yonder."
Valerius doffed his brazen cap to this holy man. He, in frock of sobergray, with head shaven to the line of the ears, and worn, pale face,walked toward the church, his beads swinging by one finger. AtValerius's question he looked up.
"The house next the open space on the right," he answered; raised twofingers in benediction upon them, and went his way. Valerius and Nicanorbetook themselves to the house appointed.
It was then that Nicanor began to realize that he wished himself alone.Valerius hung to his arm affectionately, and Nicanor was too shy toshake him off. He did not know what to do; wherefore he did nothing. Thehouse next the open space was low, of stone and timber. It was evidentthat Tobias was well-to-do. Valerius pounded upon the door; the heavyshutter of a window swung open, and a man's head peered out. It was apink head, very bald, with flabby cheeks, a full-moon face, and pursedlips, and the beaked Hebraic nose of his father's race.
"Who comes?" the man asked, and stared at them.
Nicanor said:
"Art thou Tobias, the ivory carver?" and the pink head nodded.
Then Nicanor said:
"From Rathumus and Susanna his wife I come, and I am Nicanor, their son,and would be prentice to thee."
"And Valerius, thy friend," whispered Valerius, plucking at his sleeve.
"And Valerius, my friend," said Nicanor, obediently.
"Why, holy saints!" Tobias said. "From Susanna--and would be prentice tome! Hold a minute till I let thee in."
His pink head disappeared and the shutter slammed. Soon the door wasopened, and Tobias welcomed them to his house. And a very good house itwas, for Tobias was wealthy. He called his slave, and she brought foodand wine, and they sat at the trestled board on cross-legged stools andate until they could eat no more. Then Tobias asked questions, andNicanor told of his home and of his parents and of his mother's words,while Valerius, full-fed, dozed with his head on the table. And asNicanor talked, Tobias watched him, for to save his life the boy couldnot open his mouth without a tale coming out of it; and when he hadended Tobias rose and kissed him on both cheeks, and said:
"Thou'lt stay with me, boy, and learn all that I can teach thee, untilthou'rt master-workman. And thou shalt live with me, and be my son, forsake of her who is thy mother--and it is not my fault that thou art notmy son in very truth. Marry, but thou hast a silver tongue in that shockhead of thine. Now come to bed; thy friend here is snoring like an ox.And in the morning we'll begin work, and one of my lads shall tell theewhat to do."
So they roused up Valerius and took him off to a room with one windowand a bed. And here Valerius, slipping out of his baldric, pulled theblanket from the bed, flung himself, dressed as he was, upon the floor,and was instantly as one dead.
IV
But Nicanor went to the window and opened the wooden shutter and leanedout. He heard the roar of the many camps, blending into one vastundercurrent of sound; he caught the red gleam of fires half hiddenbehind intervening houses; now and then a bellowed chorus reached him.Also there were sweet tinkling sounds, of a kind which he had neverheard before, which thrilled him strangely. Sudden desire took him to beout in the midst of this new stirring life; to see the crowded places,the mingling of many men. Preparations for the night were going on, forit was dark by now, with high twinkling stars. He could see, by leaningfar out, the moving glare of torches held high as belated wayfarerscrossed the ford, the reflection of the lights dancing on the shallowwaters. The fascination of it, this his first sight of Life, grippedhim, not to be denied. He sprang to the ledge of the window, writhedhimself through, and dropped to the ground outside.
Then, at once, he was in a new world,--a world of
flickering flames andblack dancing shadows, and strange sights and sounds, and restlessfigures passing always to and fro. And, quite dazed, he stumbledagainst one, not a rod from the house, who laughed, with a laughterwhich made him think of the tinkling music he had heard, and beckonedhim, drawing him in the darkness. But Nicanor, thrilling through all theawakening soul and body of him, turned and ran, shy suddenly, but atwhat he did not know.
So he came to a fire burning in a ring of stones; and around the firemen were sitting, eating and drinking, and the light played on theirfaces. With them were women, at whom Nicanor stared agape. For they werevery fair to look on, with jewel-bound hair and slumberous eyes, litheas snakes, with bare shoulders and dress of strange clinging stuffs.These were dancing girls, being taken to the great inland cities forsale or hire. And near by, huddled close for warmth, were slaves,--men,women, and children, chained in long strings, on the way to be sold inGaul. Here were fishermen, also, and boatmen, gathered by themselves, anoisy crew, with loud jokes which Nicanor heard and did not understand.All about him was a babel of voices and laughter, boisterous andprofane; now and then an altercation, short and violent. It went toNicanor's head like wine. Never had he known anything like it; life likethis had passed his bleak northern home entirely by. He drew nearer thegroups around the fire, drinking it all in greedily,--new sights, newsounds, new impressions. His face was flushed with excitement, hisbreath came short; so much he found to interest him that he staredbewildered, uncertain what to look at first. The smell of cooking foodwas in the air, mingled with the aromatic pungency of many fires ofwood. Horn cups clashed; at intervals hoarse laughter drowned theshouts of teamsters and the creak and strain of wheels.
And suddenly, under the intoxication of it all, Nicanor found himselfspeaking in a new, fierce mood of exultation. What he was going to sayhe did not know; but his voice fell into the old measured chant, regularas the tramp of marching feet, which carried through all the tumult ofsound around him. His heart beat hard, his hands clenched, but he flungback his head with eyes which glittered in the firelight. Those nearestlooked on him in amazement, ready to scorn. Then they held silent, andlistened. Others drew closer, to see what might be going on. More came,and more. Women left men's knees and joined the little crowd, smiling,then with parted lips of wonder. Nicanor neither saw nor heard them. Forthe first time in all his life he was carried beyond himself; in aphysical ecstasy he spoke out that which clamored at his lips, caringnothing for his audience, unconscious of them utterly. And because thatis the one thing which will grip men's minds and compel them, he heldthem spellbound, in spite of themselves,--until, abruptly, in a flash,he became conscious of himself, seeing himself, hearing himself. Thatmoment he lost his hold of them. And he knew it, and stopped short. Andfor an instant there was silence.
Then a woman drew a long breath which was like a sigh, and a manmuttered something into his beard. The spell snapped; and like a floodlet loose their talk leaped at him. They shouted, "More!" They wouldknow who he was, and whence he came, and he must finish the tale forthem. But Nicanor shook his head, dumbly, with a new and strange emotionsurging through him. He was frightened at himself, at his feeling, atwhat he had done. And back of his fear lay something deeper, somethingwhich he could not name,--half exultation, half truest awe, as though hestood in a presence mightier than he and knew himself for but the toolwith which the work was wrought.
There came a woman, very wonderful, and hot as flame, and put into hishand a broad piece of silver, looking into his eyes. A man with a brokennose thrust a copper coin into his palm; others followed. For a momenthe stood staring at the fire-lit faces around him like one foolish or ina trance, with his own face quite white. That he might receive money forhis soul had never entered his head. Then he broke away from them alland ran--ran as though for his life--back to the house of Tobias, andclambered through the low window and flung himself upon the bed,laughing and sobbing and shaking, and clutching his coins in sweatinghands.
For he had entered into his heritage at last, and the Future had becomethe Present.
V
The working-place of Master Tobias was a small room half underground,with three windows on a level with the street. Long boards on trestleswere ranged upon three sides, leaving the centre free; these were muchchipped and scarred, and black with oil and dirt. On these tables weresmall list-wheels for polishing, formed of circular thicknesses ofwoollen stuff clamped tightly between two wooden disks of smallerdiameter which left a pliant edge of wool projecting, held firmly inwooden frames and turned by hand. There were trays of tools for carvingand graving and scraping, and boxes of fine sand and of glass-parchment.In a corner was a grindstone; and the unclean floor was littered withsawdust and scrapings of bone. Here half a dozen men were working, inoil-stained aprons of leather. The wheels hummed continuously, with asteady droning; at intervals the great saw shrieked and grated; from thestoreroom a boy brought long tusks ready for the first cutting.
Men have worked in ivory before ever history began, and of all knownarts it is the most ancient and one of the most beautiful. And no twomaster-workmen have gone about it after precisely the same manner, buteach has followed his own method of treating the bone, of cutting, whichis a delicate business, of smoothing, and of polishing. At differentages widely differing means were employed to bring about the sameeffect. There were many curious things to be learned in the way of whatand what not to do,--how to treat bone with boiling vinegar, and secretprocesses of rolling out ivory and joining it invisibly, for the makingof larger pieces than could possibly be cut from any one tusk. Lostsecrets, these, to us; and being lost, by many doubted as having everbeen. These things Master Tobias had learned, many years before, from aworkman of Byzantium, where the work was already famous, and far andaway ahead of all. This man, dying, had left Master Tobias all he knew,and tools such as never otherwise could he have obtained. So that thefame of Master Tobias went abroad through the province; and he did muchwork in the way of tablets, diptychs, caskets, figures of gods andgoddesses and of Christian saints. Many a carven comb and jewel-boxfound its way to some haughty Roman beauty's dressing-table, the work ofMaster Tobias's own fat hands. He found good markets for his wares,since Roman love of bijouterie was strong, and he had few competitors.It was not until the establishment of Saxon dominion that the artobtained a permanent foothold in Britain; and then it went back to itsfirst crude beginnings, as did nearly all other things at that secondconquest.
So behold Nicanor, bare-armed and in leathern apron, carrying tusks toand fro, cleaning them after their arrival from the merchants' hands,and giving them out to the workmen as required. Thus he came to learnthe various shades of coloring; how to tell when bone was healthy andmight be expected to take the cutting well, or when it would be apt tocrack and split under the saw. Having come to know the differences indegree, he was put to checking off the lots as they arrived, accordingto kind and grade. Mammoth tusks of elephants, sometimes ten feet inlength, weighing close on a hundred pounds, solid to within six inchesof the tip; teeth and tusks of the wild boar, walrus-bone andwhale-bone, used for coarser work and filling,--all these he must tellapart at a glance. For to the untrained, bone is bone.
This was light work, and left him time to watch what others did;whereby, quite unconsciously, he absorbed much useful knowledge, whichwas as Master Tobias intended. Then, being well acquainted with colorand texture and grain, he was put to help with the big saw,coarse-toothed, worked by two men, and had to learn to cut his lengthsto a fraction of an inch as required, with the least possible waste.This took him some time, for a bone is full of twists and turns whichrender it liable to be cut to pieces, so that much care is needful. Sohe went up, step by step, knowing well each detail before he undertookthe next, until at last he began to work under Master Tobias's own eye.And then, for the first time, having acquired an insight into the art,was he able to appreciate the skill of the master-workman. And this isthe way of all art from the beginning, and as it must be to the end
,since only he who knows may understand.
In long course of time, when many months had gone, came the day when hebrought forth his own first work, a crucifix, the fruit of his ownlabors, touched by no other hands from first to last. Himself heselected the tusk, flawless, finely grained; cut it to the block, shapedit, the upright of the cross, the arms, the rough outline of the Christupon it. Then, bit by bit, cutting, cutting, cutting, the figure grew,with rounding outlines, and coherent features. The straining ribs,--forthis effect he cut against the grain, in the way that Master Tobias hadtaught him,--the pierced hands and feet, the draped cloth about theloins; slowly it formed under his eager fingers. He smoothed it withglass-parchment, polished it on the list-wheel; in the end painted it,with red lips and crimson drops of blood and draping of richest purple.And he chose that Christian symbol solely because, out of all thesubjects offered by Master Tobias, it presented fewest difficulties inthe matter of draperies--greatest stumbling block to all novices. So itwas finished, and became the pride of his life,--but not for what itwas; only for that it was the work of his own hands. Had it been anoffering to Apollo he would have loved it just as well. And when he hadfinished it, Master Tobias kissed him upon either cheek, even as he haddone once before, and declared that he could die happy, for he shouldhave a successor to keep his art alive.
But all this took much time; and meanwhile Nicanor was learning manythings besides the art of carving.
When he was in the humor for it, Nicanor could work very well indeed, ashe had shown. But more often than not he was sadly out of humor; andliked nothing so much as to slip away from the hum and drone of thewheels and the smell of bone and oil, and wander out of the quiet churchprecinct down to the busy life at the fords. Here was unendingamusement; all day long he would watch the going and the coming, listento the uproar of traffic, silent himself or mingling with the crowds.
Day after day narrow barges went up the Tamesis with the tide from theport of Londinium, deep-laden with wines and spices, silks, glass,candles, and rich stuffs from foreign lands; with lamps and statuary andpaintings for the great Roman houses; with fruits and grain, vegetables,meats and poultry. And at the ebb came the barges down again, this timewith wool and pelts, smelling villanously and tainting all the air asthey went by. Here also was the river-ford, passable at low tide, markedout by stakes, and leading from the southern side of Thorney, oppositethe marsh-ford, over to the mainland, where again the road began andstretched away to Londinium. Here the fisher-folk cast their nets forsalmon in their season, for other fish in plenty the year round,shouting across to the bargemen passing up or down. These, besides thefew priests and servants of Saint Peter's church, and the keepers of theinns, were the only ones who lived upon the Bramble Isle. All otherscame and went, and never stayed save for a night.
Day after day came craftsmen, traders of all kinds, merchants withbundles of hides on pack-horses to be shipped at Dubrae; mimes, actors,musicians, jugglers. Crested-helmeted cohorts, with glancing shields andbristling spears, splashed through the fords on their way south, sterndark-faced men from many nations. Long strings of slaves, who then aslater formed so large a part of Britain's export trade, were marchedwith clanking chains along the highways. Always was color, life,movement, the clamor of voices, the rumble of wheels; a constant stir,ceaseless, pulsing, feverish.
It was small wonder, then, that Nicanor, alive in every fibre of hiseager being, thirsting for adventure, should escape from the workshop'sconfinement as often as might be, to watch and wonder at the passingshow. Also it was small wonder that Master Tobias did not like suchrovings of his pupil, and openly disapproved. With reason he argued thatif a man would make his work worth while he must stick to his bench andtools. But Nicanor, at such times, cared little whether or not he madethat work worth while. At his bench he was restless, fretting to begone. Only outside, amid hurrying men and the confusion of arrival anddeparture, was he at peace, entirely happy and content. And this was butnatural, since young dogs strain always at the leash, and as his fatehad written. But this, Master Tobias, bound heart and soul to hisbeloved task, could not understand.
Being both fiery, they clashed often, when dire confusion followed. Uponthese occasions, Master Tobias, purple with wrath, brandished his burinand raved. Nicanor was an ingrate; Nicanor was a fool and agood-for-naught, who deserved everlasting punishment and would surelyget it. And Nicanor, white-hot within and silent,--two years before hewould have screamed with rage like any other infuriate young wildthing,--laid aside his tools and left the work-room, his head in air,his jaws set like steel to a thin smile, his wrath blazing all thefiercer for being dumb. Not until he found himself with a circle ofgaping faces around him, hanging on his words, would his anger cool andhis world right itself to normal. Then, his steam worked off, himselfpeaceful and serene, he would return to the house for supper, meetMaster Tobias's menacing growls with demure politeness, and forthwithcharm him into abject surrender with diabolical art. So peace would berestored, with the combatants firmer friends than ever--until the spiritwithin him moved Nicanor once more. And yet,--for this is as it alwayshappens,--each fresh quarrel was fiercer than the one before.
It was after one of these passages-at-arms that Nicanor, losing histemper completely, spoke to Master Tobias as he had never dared speakbefore. And then, foolishly bound to keep the last word, strode off in afume, out of the church grounds, through the huddle of houses and crowdof passing folk, whose clamor put him yet more out of sorts, and down tothe river-ford. Here he paused, kicking up the earth with the toe of hislaced leather shoe, in a very evil temper, wanting only something tovent his spleen upon. And standing thus, he heard all at once an outcrybehind him, and wheeled, and saw a thing which made him forget hisgrievance and consider that after all he was more lucky in his lot thansome.
At first he saw only a crowd of men and boys, who jeered and hooted.This was a sight not new; but in their midst he caught a glimpse of acrested helmet and the black cloak of a slave-driver. And then the crowdparted, and Nicanor saw a girl, a lean wisp of a thing, with burningeyes and a gray face framed in straight black hair, with chained wristsand a ragged frock which slipped aside to show a long red welt acrossher brown shoulders. The slave-driver held the end of the chain, hisheavy whip tucked beneath one arm,--a squat man with a black and brutalface and small hard eyes. He was appraising the girl's good pointsglibly, as though of a mare to be sold,--her working strength, presentperfections, future possibilities. The soldier, wax tablets and stylusin hand, his back half turned to Nicanor, made notes of what he said, atintervals throwing in a comment or a question.
"From the north, you say?"
"Ay, lord, born of a Roman soldier and a British wench. A goodinvestment, noble sir, and the price but small,--only five-and-fiftysestertii,--and that because I give thanks to be rid of her."
"Hath she spirit, fire? I want not a puny, slinking chit."
"Spirit--fire!" the man repeated with a curse. "If that be what youwish, lord, it is here in very flesh. This young she-devil hath given meas much trouble as three men."
The soldier fumbled for his pouch and counted money into the dealer'shand. The latter counted it again, spat upon it for luck, made his markin the Roman's book, and unchained the girl's wrists.
The Roman laid a hand on the shoulder of his bargain.
"Come, pretty one!" said he, and turned, so that for the first time hisface was to be seen. "Thou'lt get no more blows nor curses, if so bethou'lt do thy duty well."
Leering, he drew her forward. Nicanor cast a glance upon him, andstarted, and hailed him. For the Roman was Valerius, the errant one;and what he wanted with a slave girl who had no beauty, and where he gother price, was more than Nicanor could tell.
Valerius, still with a hand on the girl's shoulder, grinned at him, andsaid:
"Why, now, friend, 'tis a very good day that brings thee to my sight.Not since I was repairer of sandals to the good fathers--thanks tothee--have I seen thee, though I hunted the place ove
r for thee, andmourned right tenderly when I found thee not. And that was near a yearago."
And always, though his speech was pleasant, as he spoke he moved away,sidling, with a certain stealthiness, a glinting of his narrow eyes fromside to side. Nicanor became interested, and followed a pace. The girlstared at him with desperate dumb eyes.
"Thou hast made a good purchase," he said carelessly, and thought thatfor an instant the other showed his teeth.
"Not for myself!" Valerius said humbly. Whether it suited him, formotives of his own, to play the worthy poor man, Nicanor could not tell."I but act on behalf of my lord Eudemius, of the great white villa offthe Noviomagus road, this side of Londinium--hey, now! by all thefuries, what is this?"
For the gray-faced girl, with hunted eyes, flung herself suddenly fromhis hand, crying in a hoarse croak of a voice:
"Not for him! Not for the lord Eudemius, the Torturer! I am not boughtfor him!"
Again Nicanor found himself staring, for there was fear and anguish inher voice such as he had never heard in human tones. And as they lookedat her in amazement, she rocked from side to side, sobbing withouttears, and whispering keenly:
"Not for him! Ah, dear Christ in heaven! not for him!"
"And why not?" Valerius demanded. "What hast thou against him that hisname sends thee squealing--"
"What against him?" the girl said fiercely. "He tortures--hemutilates--he strips flesh from living bones, and laughs! Let a slaveraise an eyelid in his presence, and he were better dead. Ay, I know--Iknow! I will not go to him! I will drown--choke--hang myself first!"
She glared around her as though to seek deliverance where none was.Valerius shook her roughly by the arm.
"Thou'lt come with me and hush thy whining!"
They had reached a lane between the houses, unpaved, trampled hard anduneven by many feet. This lane was known then as the Street of the BlackDog; and it ended abruptly at the low stone wall which here marked theboundary of Saint Peter's land. By the wall, at the head of the street,was one of the rude stone crosses which were raised at intervals aroundthe walls and at every gate therein. This was forty or fifty yards aheadof them as they stood. As Valerius touched the girl she sprang away fromhim and fled forward up the street, with head thrown back and torn ragsfluttering and her black hair streaming behind her in a cloud. Valeriusshouted and plunged after her, a hand outstretched with clutchingfingers. And after them went Nicanor, his eyes alight with the lust ofthe chase, the fierce joy of the hunting, old as mankind itself. AsValerius snatched at a rag on the girl's shoulder, he gave a sharp yelpof triumph, as a hound yells when its leash-mate has nipped the fox. Butthe rag tore away as the girl struggled free. She reached the head ofthe street, a flying figure of terror, with the black-browed Roman ather heels and Nicanor racing alongside; staggered, recovered, stumbledagain even as he touched her, and fell forward at the foot of the stonecross, with a sob like that of a horse ridden to the death, clasping thecolumn with both hands and crying:
"I claim sanctuary! I claim sanctuary!"
Then her head fell forward on her outflung arms, and she lay with thinshoulders heaving to her fighting breath, and her face hidden in hertangled mane. Valerius stopped, almost in his stride, all butoverrunning her, so close upon her had he been. He shook his balled fistand cursed her, glaring down upon her, not daring to touch so much as astrand of hair. For she was in the shelter of holy Church; and few menwere bold enough to violate that terrible, wonderful Law of Sanctuarywhich even then was beginning to be dreaded and respected, and whichhigh and low might claim alike. So that Valerius walked in half-circlesabout her, like a baffled beast which sees its prey torn from its veryjaws; and she lay and shuddered, and Nicanor stood watching with avideyes. For as yet he was only a very primitive young animal, with theinstinct of his kind to join with the hunter against the hunted. Peoplebegan to gather, quickly, clamoring with question and theory; and uponthese Valerius scowled, biting his nails in fury. The girl raisedherself, crouching close beneath the cross, and looked around her like atrapped thing, crying:
"A priest! Is there no Christian priest here who will tell this man thatI be safe from him in sanctuary?"
Valerius pulled Nicanor to him.
"Go thou and find one," he said harshly; "for while she sticketh to thiscross I dare not lay finger upon her lest I be torn limb from limb byfools. He can but give her up; for she is bought and paid for, and it isnot hers to say whether she finds her master to her liking. And quickwith thee, that I may get her where she cannot fly again."
So Nicanor went swiftly through the nearest gate into the yard of thechurch, and looked about him for a priest. And it seemed to him that themore hasty grew his search, the less was it rewarded, for he was in adesperate hurry to get back and see what followed. Presently, ahead ofhim, he saw a priest, whom he knew as Father Ambrose, and he ran to him,shouting:
"Holy Father, a slave hath claimed sanctuary at the cross by the Streetof the Black Dog, and asketh for a priest to confirm her right."
The good Father kilted up his gown, and together they ran through thenearest byway to that street. And then, quite suddenly, as they reachedthe end of it, Nicanor felt with a shock that he must have mistaken theplace. For although the cross was there, and the wall, and the streetwas the Street of the Black Dog, yet there was no sign of the girl, norof Valerius, nor of any of those who had gathered to look on. So thatNicanor turned to Father Ambrose with a face of pure fright, andstammered:
"But I left them here, upon this spot! Or else I am sure bewitched!"
He looked to right and left and back to Father Ambrose. Father Ambroseshook his head and said passively:
"It may be that they have arranged the matter among themselves. Let usreturn."
He walked off, placid and unstirred; and Nicanor touched the cross tomake sure that it was real and no delusion, and looked into the sky andaround upon the clustered houses, and spoke no word at all. But he knewquite surely that the matter had not been arranged.
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THE GARDEN OF DREAMS
BOOK II
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Nicanor - Teller of Tales : A Story of Roman Britain Page 2
