Book II
THE GARDEN OF DREAMS
I
The years went on,--misty Springs, golden Summers, flaming Autumns,Winters stark and chill, leaving each its tale on the unrolling scrollof time. For in those years the consul departed from Britain with hisforces, and the cities ruled themselves, each in a state of feudalindependence, now warring amongst themselves, now making common causeagainst their common foes.
Were history to write itself more often with a view to cumulativedramatic effect, there would be small need for the romance ofimagination. One would have history a tale, of swift climax andexcitement, when it is in fact a scattered medley--a battle here, a bitof statecraft there; here a burning Rome, yonder a new God; and betweenthese the commonplace round of human life and toil and death, theinevitable dead level of the tale. It is because of the long lapsesbetween cause and effect, the revolutions slow and of secret tardygrowth instead of by fire and sword, that men turn to Imagination tobridge the gap. Events, grand and stirring, woven, one believes, intothe very fabric of history, are proved to be the pleasant tale of someancient ardent romancer, with an eye for dramatic effect. And often itis the bit choicest and most intimate of detail, binding the chronicleinto a dramatic whole, which the iron pick of Research digs from theheap of bones, and wise men say: "That brilliant hero never lived; thisgreat battle was but a skirmish; some old monk wrote that--it neverhappened." Many a glowing jewel, cherished tenderly and shining bravelythrough the dust of ages, has turned, in the white light of knowledge,to worthless glass. So do the old gods perish.
Thus came the chronicle of Saxon conquest down to us,--a brave and lustytale, scarred with battles, written in blood, picturing a horde ofsavage foe-men that swarmed over the Walls and swept through ablood-drenched land. In fact and deed, it was a conquest of absorptionrather than extermination, dramatic only in its vast significance; agradual amalgamation of two forces, in which the stronger, cleaner Norseblood triumphed over worn-out and depleted Roman stock. As weeds, rankand sturdy, overrun a garden, choking out other plants, so in Britain,Saxon life overgrew Roman life, inch by inch, almost imperceptibly. Theconquest was by no means bloodless. Towns were sacked and men wereslain; here was an explosion, there an outbreak of lawlessness; but forthe most part the change was wrought with deadly slowness and a surenesswhich nothing could check.
In these years Nicanor grew tall and strong and long of limb, and hisvoice ceased to play him false with strange pipings which had filledhim with wrath and dire dismay. He learned to use eyes and ears as wellas tongue; he worshipped at the altars of strange gods, and laughed atthem. He lived from day to day as the birds live, picking up a crumbhere and yonder. In the workshop he spent as little time as might be,restless, not content with what he had, ever eager for that which he hadnot, devoured by the curiosity which would lay hands on the strangethrobbing thing called Life, and probe its inmost hidden meaning.
And as time went on, the unrest deepened which possessed him. He wasunhappy, and he could not tell why. He wanted something, and he knew notwhat. His shyness developed into fierce aggressiveness, unreasonable,alarming. He prowled continually among the camps, sullen andquarrelsome, vaguely miserable, and blaming his misery upon all theworld. He took to spending much time, with small profit to himself,among the chained gangs of slaves, where were cruel sounds and cruellersights. At the hiss and cut of the lash on bared backs and thighs hethrilled with savage exultation; he took morbid delight in the sight ofpain inflicted; and this he could not at all understand. At this seasonhis tales were all of war and blood and violence, of treachery anddespair. When night came he slept fitfully or not at all, with uneasyhalf-formed dreams. And in these dreams he was always searching for athing which had no name, starting over the river-ford upon the highsouthern bank, ending nowhere under gray skies and desolation. Heneglected his carving, waged bloody battles with his fellow workmen,bullied Master Tobias like any slave-driver. Lonely and shy and sullen,he fought through his crisis by himself, not knowing that it was acrisis, nor why it had come upon him.
No one took the trouble to help him; he would not have thanked them ifthey had. Outwardly he was taller, more gaunt, with a certain roughvirility which impressed. Men knew that he was savage, and baited himeven while they feared him; himself only knew that he wasmiserable,--more miserable, because he could not understand why heshould be so at all. He lived the wild life of the camps, drinking,brawling, making fierce love with a vague notion that this was what hewanted, ever finding the fruit of desire change to ashes in his mouth.Always the power within him grew; and always he despised those upon whomhe wrought his magic. For it was nothing to master these, to do withthem as he willed; all his art was lost upon them since they could notunderstand.
He was then at work with Master Tobias upon a book-cover for thegospels, which was for Saint Peter's, and very much interested he wasand pleased with his share in it. In the morning he went to work rightwillingly, with no thought other than to do as best he might with allhis skill. So he got his tools, and the oil and glass-paper for thefirst polishing, and, Master Tobias not having yet appeared, started togo on himself with the bit of scroll he had begun the day before. Seeingit with fresh eyes after a lapse of hours, it struck him that a changemight be made in one place with much advantage from the design whichthey had planned. So he made the change, and was still more pleased.When Master Tobias entered, Nicanor pointed to what he had done, andsaid:
"Is not this a better way, good sir? That corner needs balancing, and itis in my mind that the design should work up this way--" he illustratedwith his burin--"and so bring into harmony--"
And then it was that the unexpected happened. For Master Tobias rosefrom his stool and stood over him, and said:
"Hast thou changed the design I made?"
Nicanor replied that he had, and wished to show the advantage of his newidea. But Master Tobias struck his hand aside, and shrill with rage,exclaimed:
"Thou good-for-nothing clod! Thou hast spoiled the work with thy clumsyhandling! Why canst not leave alone what thou dost not understand? Whogave permission to change? Body of me! Must I stand over thee every hourin the day and switch thy hands for disobedience?"
"But it is not spoiled!" Nicanor protested with indignation.
Master Tobias stormed.
"I say it is! I say it is, and must be smoothed out and changed. Andthou'lt stay within and do it, until all is as it was before. I'll showthee my designs are not to be altered thus unwarrantably!"
And herein he made a mistake. For when he said "Thou shalt!" Nicanor'simpulse was "I will not!" and as yet he acted upon impulse. MasterTobias could have flogged him if he wished; Nicanor cared not a rap forflogging. He rose in open rebellion and pushed away his stool.
"Not I!" he said. "The design is false, and I will not put into my workwhat is not as it should be!"
He turned and marched out of the room--leaving Master Tobias dumb withastonishment and rage--surly and savage and very bitter, with his handagainst every man because he thought that every man's hand was againsthim.
And then, quite suddenly, there swept over him the fierce, insistentlonging for change which wrestles with every man at some time or otherin his life; the hot desire to fling himself out of the rut into whichthat life inevitably must settle, to encounter anything, good or bad, solong as it brought a change. And because he was still too young to seethat this is the very one thing which may not be; the one thing of whichFate says: "Come and go, and plan as ye will, but remember that I holdthe leading-strings; for my name men call Circumstance, and my law isthat man shall do not what he will, but what he must,"--because as yethe could not see this, he left Thorney that day for Londinium, saying noword of his grievance to any man, with his bundle tied to a stick uponhis shoulder.
It was on the road to Londinium that he overtook one journeying in thesame direction, who kept pace with him persistently, let him go fast orslow. This was a venerable man, with a long beard of white, and wise,all-seeing e
yes that smiled and smiled beneath the penthouse of hisbrows. Nicanor came to hate him vindictively, with no reason at all, ashe hated all the world just then.
Nicanor stopped at evening by the roadside, and sat down to eat the foodhe had brought with him. And this ancient man stopped also, and sat upona stone near by, and watched him. Nicanor, with meat and black bread inhis hands, glanced up, ready to scowl, and met the old man's eyes,smiling at him. It was so long since any man had done other than revilehim--since one's own mood will reflect itself like an image in clearwater upon the minds of those around one--that Nicanor was surprisedinto smiling back, uncertainly, it is true, but still smiling. Then itwas as though a bit of that outer crust of moroseness melted, and leftsomething of his old boyish shyness in its place. Without stopping inthe least to think why he did it, he broke the bread and meat into twoportions, and held out one, in silence, awkwardly, as a child who doesnot know whether his gift will be accepted or cast upon the ground.
Now if that old man, perhaps not understanding, had not taken what heoffered, turning from him then, it must surely have been that Nicanorwould have shrugged his shoulders, and flung the food upon the road, andshut up once more within his shell of surliness, with his opinion ofmankind fully justified in his own mind. But whether he wanted it ornot, the old man took his gift, with eyes grave yet always smiling uponhis lowering, half-shamed face, and said in a voice like a deep-tonedbell, so clear was it and vibrant:
"I thank thee, my son."
He ate the food, slowly; and Nicanor watched him slyly, as he ate hisown supper, fancying himself vastly indifferent to all ancient smilingstrangers. But deep down in his rough shy heart he was pleased for thathe had succeeded in not turning another soul away from him--so small athing has power to change the balance sometimes; and when the old manspoke he did not wish to repulse him, as often. The stranger said, quiteas though he had a right to know:
"Son, art sure that it will be well for thee to go to Londinium? Is whatthou seekest there?"
Nicanor answered with immense surprise:
"I seek nothing."
"So?" the old man said, and smiled. "Now I thought that surely thou wertseeking something, and very near to black despair because thou hadst notfound it."
And at once, like an echo from another world, there came to Nicanor thememory of a time when he had wandered seeking for something which hecould not name, upon the downs, under gray skies and desolation. And hedid not know if this had really happened or had been but a dream. But hebegan to think the old man very strange and rather to be feared. Hesaid:
"Old man, how may you tell that I seek for what I cannot find; and whywould it be not well for me in Londinium?"
The old man's face changed then, so that for an instant Nicanor wasfrightened. For into it there came a high far look of utter peace, suchas the face of a holy saint who has suffered all might wear, if heawakened. And while Nicanor stared, not knowing what to think about it,the old man said gently:
"Son, I may tell by right of having known myself what thou art knowingnow. For the faces of men are as an open scroll to those who havelearned to read what is writ therein, and thy story is upon thee veryclear. Thou art in a world of thine own creation, but this world of menhath also claims upon thee, which thou canst not ignore. And I say tothee, go again to that place which thou hast left, for to find what thouart seeking, one need not go afield. And when thou hast found thatthing, which is in this world of men, seek thou sanctuary, which is holylove."
Nicanor said: "I do not understand! What hath love to do with it?"--andtold of the love that he had seen, which was all he knew. The old manlistened, with unchanging eyes upon him, and said:
"Now truly I see thou dost not understand. This be not love, but a blastof furnace heat which scorcheth. But some time thou wilt come tounderstand the meaning of my words, and then shalt thou find sanctuaryand peace. Ay, peace--that is what men cry for in the dark days that arepassing; and they shall seek refuge and find none, and the bitterness ofdeath shall be upon them. For it shall be said even as by the prophet ofBabylon, mother of old evil--'Rome the Mighty is fallen--is fallen!'"
He swayed gently as he sat, with hands uplifted and eyes no longersmiling; and to Nicanor's eyes his long white beard and hair were as amist of silver around his head.
"Thou also shalt pass through the Valley, for the Black Dog of troubleis upon thee; and thou shalt work out thine own unhappiness and thineown salvation. For thy way is the way of loneliness, and ofmisunderstanding, and of the Cross. And this is as it must be, since theprice of heart's blood and heart's desire is pain, and for what thougainest, thou must pay the price."
He ceased, and his hands fell to his sides and his white head drooped.He leaned to Nicanor, groping, old, and suddenly very feeble, andwhispered:
"Son of men, I too have trod the path which thou art treading now. And Isay to thee, seek thou sanctuary while yet there may be time, for noman knoweth what the end shall be. And when thou art entered in, allelse on earth shall matter nothing, for thou shalt be at peace. This Iknow, O Youth, and tell thee, for--I did not enter in."
He rose and laid a withered hand on Nicanor's bent, shaggy head.
"Unto each his own appointed work, and his own appointed fate, and thereward which he hath merited. Now peace be with thee!"
He turned away and passed onward into the falling night.
Thereafter the world unrolled itself between them, for they never metagain.
Wrapped in his cloak, Nicanor lay and stared at the stars above him, andpondered those things which he had heard. And, because again he couldnot understand, he put upon them his own interpretation. But he at oncebegan to make a tale about that old man, with his silver beard and hissmiling eyes; and so he fell asleep, thinking that that was all therewas in it.
When he awoke at break of dawn, he was inclined to think the whole adream. But there was a new and softer mood upon him, greatly surprisingto himself, and the black soul within him was tamed and stilled. So, inblindly superstitious obedience to the word of the strange old man, heturned his face away from Londinium and all that he longed to findthere, back toward the life which was his, and the work which was his,and the Isle of Brambles in the fords.
And so came Fate, hard following on his heels.
II
For out of the gray mists of morning came soldiers, six or eight, withring of weapons and shuffling thud of feet; and with them was acenturion in command. These overtook Nicanor where he went slowly backtoward Thorney; and the centurion laid a rough hand upon him and badehim halt. Nicanor turned; but before he could ask angrily why they hadstopped him, his wrists were fast in handcuffs and he was a prisoner inchains. He turned upon the centurion.
"Now what is this? I have done no wrong. I demand release!"
"Demand if it please thee," the soldier said. "But in truth I think theesomething more than fool to let thyself be thus caught doddering by theway. To escape once, and baffle all the great lord Eudemius's searchers,and then be stumbled upon like any sheep--faugh! I expected betterthings of thee!"
"Now have I naught at all to do with the lord Eudemius!" said Nicanor.He explained, carefully, who he was, and whence he came and to whom hebelonged, and they turned a deaf ear to him. He was the man theysought, even the slave of Eudemius, escaped three days ago, with areward out for his capture. This last explained it, but that Nicanorcould not know. They insisted that they were in the right; all he couldsay and do would not convince them otherwise.
They skirted around Londinium by a street lined widely with tombs, andstruck a road leading south and slightly west, which the men, talkingamong themselves, named the Noviomagus road. Ten miles, and they reachedthe station known by that name, and here took horse, with Nicanormounted behind a guard. The road led through the neck of the greatforest of Anderida, and came out again into the open, and they followedit until three hours after noon. Then they turned aside into a narrowerbranch road, and so rode easily for another hour until they entered a
grove of ilex trees. To the farther end of this they came abruptly, andsaw before them open country, a broad and gentle slope of hill; and onits summit a great stately house, white-walled, with outbuildings in thecopse around it. In the centre of the blank wall of the front of thehouse which confronted them, was a gateway, with gates of bronze, and aporter's lodge. Here the porter, looking through his wicket, asked theirbusiness, and, being told, directed them around to the rear. So theyentered at another smaller gate, and were in a court, open to the skyand surrounded on all sides by buildings, where slaves were working.This, Nicanor learned from the soldiers' talk, was in the quarters ofthe slaves.
"'Were I that woman, I should have wanted to lovehim.'"]
And here the centurion found the overseer, and talked with him long andearnestly. The overseer paid over the reward, and the centurion, asNicanor saw without at all understanding the transaction, returnedcertain broad pieces, which the steward hid away upon himself with afurtive glance around. The soldier then departed with his men, histongue in his cheek; and the overseer came to where Nicanor stood inchains, and looked at him. He was a very fat man, with little eyes sunkin unwholesome flesh, and was far haughtier than the great lord Eudemiushimself. When he saw Nicanor's face, he began unexpectedly to curse andbluster, and said:
"How now, fellow! Is this a trick thou and thy mates have played uponme, to obtain my master's gold? Thou art not he who escaped three daysago."
But light had broken upon Nicanor, and he answered:
"So I told them, and so thou couldst have seen if thou hadst lookedbefore thou didst pay--and receive back--thy master's gold. If this bethy practice, sure thy lord must be the poorer for thy loyal service!"
But the overseer was talking very fast, without paying heed at all.
"By my head, but this is a scurvy trick to play a man! But now thou arthere, here shalt thou stay in that other's place; for it would go hardwith me were my lord to learn that reward had been paid for nothing--anda slave is a slave to him."
Nicanor turned on him in a blaze of wrath, and the fat overseer, wary ofthe lean strength of him, called his men.
"Take him to the armorer's and have put upon him the collar. And on painof punishment let no man say he is not the one who went away."
So they put upon him the brazen collar of slaveship, with the name ofEudemius engraved thereon; and set him to work among the householdslaves. And he, being alone, was helpless, and could do no more thanbide his time as best he might.
But at first, when his bonds galled, he stormed, raging in fury at hisimpotence and the high-handedness of those who had betrayed him to hisservitude. Finding that this brought him but blows and curses, and wasof no manner of good, he calmed down and simmered inwardly. Then--andherein he surprised himself--he began to take an interest in this newlife into which he had been cast. He had abiding faith in himself, andthis is a thing of which every man has need; he was undergoing a newexperience, which at the outset was interesting. When he became tired ofit--well, he would then find means of escape. The work was not overhard, since there were many hands to lighten it; he was brought intocontact with a magnificence of which he had never dreamed. As always, hekept his eyes and ears open; with his strange, sure prescience that allhe could see and hear and know would be useful to him, somehow,somewhen, he set out to learn all he could of the life of the greatmansion and of those who dwelt therein.
So he found out many things; and one day he found Varia, the greatlord's daughter.
The house was so vast that one might lose himself with ease among itsmany halls and courts and passages if he did not know its plan. Nicanor,sent one day on an errand to the kitchens, reached them in safety; andthen took the wrong way back, and found himself wandering in a part ofthe house new to him. This did not trouble him, for by then he was wellknown among the household servants, and was sure of soon meeting someone who would set him right. So, quite without thought, he pushed open adoor at random, and then abruptly lost all his wits through sheeramazement and delight.
For he was in a garden, beautiful to his eyes beyond all words, withbroad terraces and gleaming marble steps where peacocks strutted; withat one end a fountain banked in a tangle of roses, where sprays of waterfell with silvery splash and tinkle; with marble seats and statuesgleaming from the cool gloom of trees. Around the garden were highwalls, vine-hung, with the surrounding buildings of the villa for abroken background. An untamed profusion of green life rioted here; paleflowers of night, whose fragrance hung heavy on the air, swam in asea-green dusk; ivy clung and clambered along the crannies of graywalls; roses sprawled in a red torrent of perfume over the yellowingimages of old gods and heroes. In one corner a placid lake gazedstill-eyed at the sky, with white swans floating on its mirrored blackand silver. Nicanor drew breath with a quick pleasure which was almostpain; here one might think great thoughts and dream great dreams. For itwas as a bit of that Forgotten Land of dreams, through which all menhave journeyed, though the road to it is lost, with a glamour of mysteryand a charm upon it which held him spellbound.
Out of the velvet shadow into the still evening light, one came towardhim, in silence, with dark hair hanging in heavy braids on either sideof her pale face, with dusky eyes and scarlet lips and jewels thatglimmered in the folds of her perfumed robes. He bowed before her,keeping his eyes upon her face; for though he was a slave, he was firsta man, and next a poet, which means a lover of all things beautiful, andhe had never seen a woman like her in all his life before.
"Who art thou?" she said. And though she was a great lady and thedaughter of that noble house, she was yet a girl, and scarce beyond herchildhood, and she drooped her head before his glance.
"Nicanor, thy slave," he answered, but his voice was not a slave'svoice.
"Why art thou here?" she asked him. "This is mine own place, where nonebut I and my women come."
"I crave thy pardon, lady," he said; and told her how he came. In turn,her eyes rested on his face; and he, meeting them, felt his pulses leapto a sudden shock which sent the blood back pounding to his heart. Forthey were wandering eyes, awake and seeing, yet which slept, with nolight of reason in them. So then he understood why the name of theirlady was spoken throughout the household in hushed tones as of one dead;why she was so closely hidden from the eyes of the world. And she wasthe Lady Varia,--the lord Eudemius's only child,--the last of his greathouse, fair, futile flower.
"Nicanor," she repeated, with a pretty halting on the word. Her voicewas low and dreaming, more tender than a dove's. "Where have I heardthat name? Why, Nerissa hath told me thou art he who telleth tales tothe men and maids at evening. See, it is evening now. Wilt not tell metoo a tale? I should like it, for sometimes I am very lonely."
She was far above him as the stars; but she was a woman, and he aman--and the first tale was told within a garden. She held out a hand tohim, and he took it and touched it to his forehead, and it fluttered inhis and then lay still. She led him to a bench by the sleeping lake, achild whose will might not be thwarted, and bade him tell her tales suchas he told her men and maidens. This the sure instinct of his art taughthim he might not do, since those tales which held them thralled were notfor such as she. But he locked his hands about his knee, and thought aninstant, his head flung back and his eyes intent and eager, with an oddshining deep within them.
So his tale began, in the deep-voiced chant which had rung out by moorand camp-fire, hushed now, that the peace of the evening's stillnessmight not be broken. She sat quite still beside him, her hands claspedchildlike in her lap, listening with parted lips. The dusk deepened, andthe golden moon hung over the surrounding wall and flooded the garden inwan hoary light. The pool lay a lake of silver in a black fringe oftrees. The night flowers breathed forth drowsy perfume, making heavy thesummer air. Nicanor's voice rolled on, endlessly through the scenteddarkness....
Until Nerissa, the old nurse, came upon them suddenly, clamoring for hercharge. Varia sprang to her and kissed her, with fond coaxing arms abouther,
so that she relented, since her lady's will was law. She dismissedNicanor, and he crossed his arms before his face, and went away fromParadise.
Varia hid her face on her nurse's shoulder--poor groping soul that foundits happiness in things so small--and said:
"He hath told me tales, Nerissa, so strange and wonderful that never wasaught like them in all the world. I will have him to come again, for Iam so happy--so happy! And thou shalt not tell, for then he could notcome, and he is not to suffer for it. Promise, Nerissa, dear Nerissa--itis but a little thing!"
Thus Varia.
And Nicanor--ah, Nicanor! That night there opened to him a new world,--aworld of beauty and of sweetness and of pain. He, a son of the soil,knowing his roughness, his uncouthness, his bondage, never giving them athought till then, had led her by the hand, a daughter of the stars, fora little space, the barriers down between them. One bit of common groundthey had; beyond it, distance immeasurable and impassable.
* * * * *
That night Nicanor was once more seeking, always seeking, for somethingvague and left unnamed; past the river-ford of Thorney, where ever thatnight-long search began; and so through all the world to where a gardenlay in moonlight. Here also he would have sought, for he knew that whathe strove to find was waiting. But a web of moonlight held him back fromentering; and from the outer darkness an old man's voice came to him,clear as a deep-toned bell, which said:
"The price of heart's blood and heart's desire is pain, and for whatthou gainest, thou must pay the price."
III
In the garden was a little narrow door, vine-hung, which led to theouter world. No one ever used this door; for long years it had stoodlocked, and the key to it was lost,--so long lost that no one everthought to look and see that the lock was clean and newly oiled that itmight turn without noise; and the vines which half hid it on the innerside could tell no tales.
Marcus, oldest of all the many household slaves, white-headed andshrunken, and bent with the toil of years, squatted by the fire in thecourt of the slaves' quarters, cleaning a copper pot with a swab oftwigs soaked in oil to pliancy. Within the house a feast was inprogress, so that all the slaves were there on service, and Marcus hadthe fire to himself. He crooned softly as he scrubbed; and the flamesstruck gleams of light from the collar of brass about his neck and theround shining sides of the kettle, as it turned and twisted in hishands.
Presently Nicanor came into the circle of firelight, staggering underthe weight of a great cask upon his back, with sweat-matted hair thatstreaked his face, and straining muscles. Out of the zone of light hepassed, with only the panting of labored breath and the pad of nakedfeet; and the darkness swallowed him. Following came another, alsoladen; and another, with a squat stone jar upon his shoulder; and yetanother, each giving out every ounce of power within him, straining likea beast of burden beneath the yoke, that those in the great house mightbe served perfectly and without fault. They passed; and from thekitchens came a rattle of crockery, a hiss of burning fat, the shrillvoices of cooks and scullery women.
Marcus flung his mop into the fire, got himself to his feet, and wentafter them, kettle in hand. The fire, left to itself, cast waveringgleams upon the dark walls about the court, the bare trodden ground, thecovered well in its centre.
Marcus, seeking Nerissa to give the kettle to her, came to the garden,and stood in the entrance and looked across it. Further than this evenhe dared not venture, since all the space within was sacred to thelord's daughter and her women. Opposite him, across the open lawn, werethe wide steps, white in the moonlight, leading to the tessellated walkabove. Beyond this, light shone softly from Lady Varia's chamber, halfscreened by the tall slender columns of the gallery. The two windows,reaching to the floor and giving upon the terrace, were open to the warmair; in the room the lights were low. Marcus saw suddenly the Lady Variaherself enter the room alone, walking slowly, like one unwilling ortired. Then he would have gone, lest he be reprimanded; but even as heturned, the vines along the farther wall rustled, though no windstirred. So that Marcus, faithful old watch-dog, drew back in theshadows and waited, thinking no danger, yet bound to see that all waswell.
This was what he saw: Lady Varia moving within the low-lighted room,pausing before her dressing-table near the tall silver lamp, to removethe weight of jewels which loaded her, aimless, and with slow uncertainsteps like a child too weary to know rightly what it does. And from thedarkness by the wall a figure coming with swift silent strides acrossthe turf to the marble steps, black as a shadow in the moonlight, leanand lithe and with an untamed shock of hair. The figure stood upon thelowest step and called softly,--a tender, wordless call which driftedlow across the night and scarcely reached to Marcus's ears. Marcus feltfor the knife-hilt at his belt. But the Lady Varia, within the lightedroom, heard the call, and stepped across the threshold with head raisedand hands hanging at her sides like any sleep-walker, and crossed thepavement where the moonlight lay in silver, and came down the steps,slowly, yet hesitating never at all. Marcus, watching in wonder andfright and awe, saw the black figure lift her hand and kiss it; saw thetwo walk hand in hand across the garden into the dusky jungle of tallshrubbery. So that Marcus was in two minds,--whether to give the alarmat once, and have the intruder captured, or whether to go up quietlyhimself and find out what was going on.
In the end he crept along through the shadow beneath the walls; andpresently, as he came, heard a voice speaking softly, yet with passion.The words were plainly audible, and Marcus heard, and crept closer yetand listened,--listened to words such as in all his stunted life he hadnever heard before; words which stirred forgotten memories of otherthings once known, once loved and lost, which he understood in part, andfelt more than he understood. He crouched in the shelter of awide-leaved plant, seeing only the outline of a black figure on thestone bench, and a white one half lost in the darkness beside it. Thespell of the voice wrapped him round, deep-toned, vibrant, yet hushedinto accord with the stillness of the night. Bent on capture, he foundhimself all at once held captive, his mind swayed as grass in the windto the sweep of that other's fancy. But abruptly the voice ceased, andthe stillness settled deeper. Marcus heard a rustle of soft garmentsupon the bench; a low voice saying:
"More--more! Cease not, I pray thee, friend!"
And that other voice, answering:
"Nay, lady; what use? Something is wanting--the words will not come. Iknow not why, whether it be in me, or whether--"
"Nay, but I'll have one more. Once thou didst begin to tell of a youthwho was poor and lowly, who lived in the country of the north--"
"Does she, then, remember that?" Marcus muttered, "she, whose mind iswater, where an image fades with the changing light? Eh, thoublack-headed slaveling, what miracle hast thou wrought?"
"Wouldst have that tale?" Nicanor asked. "Ay, lady, once I did begin,and dared not finish. Dare I now? My faith! the trouble will not be forlack of words in this! So then; it was even as thou hast said. The youthlived in the gray northlands, up by the Great Wall, where gray hillsroll over all the earth and gray skies look down upon them. He tendedsheep upon these hills for his father's lord, and lived upon blackporridge and sour bread, and went clad in a sheepskin. And because hehad never known that life held other things than these, it was all tohim as it should have been. But there came a time when this youth wentout into the world. He left his flocks and herds, with his lord'spermission, and went down the long road to the south, past great citieswhere men lived in luxury and ease and other men toiled and sweated thatthis might be. He saw many strange faces, heard the babble of manytongues; and it seemed to him that each face was seeking for a thingwhich had no name, and each tongue was calling for what might not befound. And after a while the youth knew that he too was seeking what hecould not find, and he wondered if it might be that same thing for whichthose stranger faces hungered. In the end, he came to a fair house, anddwelt there, among those ones who sat in luxury and ease and thoseothers who toiled for
them. And in this house was a certain place, ofwhich was said: 'This spot is holy ground. Here none may enter rashly.'But the youth was rash, and entered."
His voice faltered. On the seat beside him the Lady Varia leanedforward.
"And then?--" she said softly.
"And there he found what he had been seeking," said Nicanor, very low."What every soul upon this earth has a right to search for, but notevery soul has a right to take. The name of this thing, O lady of mine,was Happiness; and some there be who call it also Love, and others therebe who know that it is Pain. For in the garden dwelt one fair and pureand holy,--a daughter of the great ones of the earth. And because shewas fair he loved her; and because she was great he might not woo her;and because she was pure he would not stain her. For she had taught himto love as a woman may teach a man."
"He loved her?" Lady Varia said. Her voice was low and dreaming underthe spell of his.
"Ay, lady of mine, he loved her!" Nicanor said; and in place of thevibrant tenderness of his voice was a swift fierce triumph. "He lovedher, and nothing could do away with that." Once more his tones werehushed.
"On earth, between man and woman, are two kinds of love, my lady,--onewhich a man may teach a woman, which is quick desire and the bittersweetness of passion, the meaning of a kiss, the thrill of a caress: andthis, when all is said and done, is of earth, and of the flesh; and onewhich a woman may teach a man: and this is reverence, and tenderness,and holiness, and of the spirit. And she taught the youth this kind oflove, my lady; taught him to revere and honor what in other women he hadever held lightly; taught him that because she was weak she was sostrong that nothing he might do could prevail against her. And so--hewent away."
"And she?" said the dreaming voice. "Did she love him?"
There fell a pause. In the bushes, close at hand, one strained his earsto listen, a naked knife gleaming in his hand.
"Ay," Nicanor answered slowly. He turned to her, not touching her, yetso close that he felt her breath on his sleeveless arm. "She loved him.And she did not know it."
"Not know it?" Varia said. She turned her face toward him, and themoonlight fell full on the warm whiteness of her throat. "I think sheshould have known. And then, she being great, and he so lowly, I thinkshe should have told him that she knew."
"If--if you were she," said Nicanor, and his voice shook, "would youhave told him?"
"Oh, I should have told him!" Varia said, and her voice was low andstrained. "I should have said--'I want you to love me! I want you tolove me and stay with me always--'"
Nicanor bowed his face forward on his hands. Lady Varia, leaningforward, put her hand upon his shoulder.
"Were I that woman, I should have wanted to love him if he had been likethat," she said, tremulously, yet very sweetly.
Nicanor straightened up and caught both her hands.
"Ah, no, my lady, you would not!" he said hoarsely. "You would havedriven him from you and been angered beyond forgiveness. You would havehated and despised him, because--oh, don't you understand, it is theonly thing you could have done! If she had said that--how could--howcould he have left her?"
"But why did he leave her?" Varia asked. "Could he not have stayedalways in the garden?"
Nicanor mastered himself with an effort.
"No," he said thickly. "Because he was only a man--and some day--itwould be more than he could endure. If he saw that in her sweetinnocence she did not realize the temptation she held out to him, hemight--he might have done that which always after he must regret."
He raised her face with one hand and looked at her. Her eyes wereclosed, her red mouth quivered. He hesitated, his breath coming hard;then he bent his head and kissed her. As he took her in his arms, sheshivered, crying softly:
"I am afraid! Oh, what is this that you would do!"
But when he loosened his hold she clung to him, murmuring:
"Nay, I am not afraid! I love your kisses. Oh, you must not go as didthat youth--always you must stay within this garden--"
Then Marcus crept from his shelter and stood before them, silent, hisknife gleaming in his hand. Nicanor, lifting his head, saw him suddenly,and started, for this meant death by tortures no man might name. Hesprang to his feet and thrust Lady Varia behind him in the same motion,so that in the darkness his body hid her as she crouched upon the bench.Marcus snarled, like an aroused watch-dog, and said:
"Thou more than fool! Dost know what this night's work will bring thee?"
Nicanor, his heart pounding hard, his hands clenched, answered nothing,glancing about him to see if the old man might be alone. But the gardenlay silent. Then he sprang, as a wolf springs, straight for the oldslave's throat, and felled him. Lady Varia screamed,--a quick, shrillsound which stabbed the night stillness like a knife, and cried:
"Oh, kill him not--kill him not! I pray thee, kill him not!"
"Hush thee, dear lady, or the house will be upon us!" Nicanor exclaimed,his words rushing through locked teeth. "Get quickly to thy chamber andleave all things to me."
She sped away over the turf, panting with fear and excitement, andflitted up the steps and across the marble walk and into her room, andclosed the window. Nicanor, kneeling on the slave's chest, gagging himwith a wad torn from his own garment, heard the doors shut with a gaspof relief. He tied the old man's arms tightly with his girdle, trussinghim as he had trussed the carcasses of sheep to be loaded upon mules.Then, having him bound and helpless, he rose and stood over him,whetting his knife on his hand, with senses keyed to hear footsteps inevery stir of leaf and sigh of wind. But the garden lay always silentunder the moon's cold eye. He spoke to his captive, in a voice whichgrated just above a whisper.
"I'll not kill thee now, since she begged thy life, old man. But whilethou'rt above the ground there's no more peace for me. Now what to dowith thee?"
He stood over his prisoner, motionless in meditation, muttering histhoughts aloud.
"There's no place within the house to keep thee safe. And if thatclacking tongue of thine betrays us, it needs not much to fancy whatwill happen then. This is what comes to pass when one serves a brutalmaster, old man; one must e'en be a brute one's self. I cannot killthee; they'd miss thee and start a search--besides, my lady said me nay.Ha, that makes thee squirm? Ay, she'd be mine for the lifting of myfinger--even I, Nicanor, thy master's slave, have but to say to her, thymaster's daughter, 'Go thither!' and she goes, and 'Come!' and she comesto me as I will. Hearest thou that, old man? Her lips have been defiledby a slave's kisses; she hath lain unresisting in a slave's arms, to theunending shame of her proud lord father. And why do I tell thee this,old man? To see thee writhe, thou also, at that shame; to have thee knowthe whole, and never profit by thy knowledge. Again I say, I cannot killthee, but none the less I'll stop that tell-tale mouth of thine. Lookyou, it's the choice between my life and thy eager tongue which even nowyearns to blab the tale of my sin and her disgrace. Therefore--"
He knelt above his captive, who glared at him with bloodshot eyes thatglittered in the moonlight. He tested the keenness of his blade, shookback his shaggy hair, and with a sudden twist removed the gag from theold man's jaws, choking back, at the same moment, with pitiless hands,the cry which rose to his lips. Then he bent over, so that the bulk ofhim hid from the moonlight his victim and his work. There was a singleglint of steel, a convulsion of the thin figure on the ground; a faintclick, and a choked and gurgling cry, instantly suppressed. Then Nicanorcleaned his blade by driving it thrice deep into the soft ground, andstood up; and Marcus rolled over and over in agony at his feet, withinarticulate animal cries which scarcely rose above the silence of thenight. Nicanor unloosed his bonds and touched him with his foot.
"Hereafter thou'lt hold thy peace, old man! Neither good nor ill wiltthou ever prate of mortal more, for I've drawn thy sting. Once thou wertkind to me; twice, in return, did I steal for thee, and once took abeating from thy shoulders. But thou wert more loyal to thy master thanthou wert friend to me--and in a matter such as this, I take
nochances. As I have served thee, so will I serve any man who crosses me.Now go. Wash thy mouth with cold water and chew pounded leaves of betel.It will stop the blood."
He left the garden with noiseless strides, a black shadow in themoonlight. Marcus got himself slowly to his feet, moaning like an animalin pain. He shook his fist at the vanishing figure, with uncouth andterrible sounds which had once been speech, but even then were none theless a curse. So, shuddering and crying, he crept from the sleepinggarden, where all was still and peaceful, and where pain and sorrowshould have had no place.
* * * * *
And never again was that garden so peaceful and so still, for Life hadentered it, by the little narrow door, bringing with it what Life mustbring.
IV
Nicodemus, the freedman, one-eyed, short, immensely broad,beetle-browed, and grizzled, stood in the door of his wine-shop andwatched the crowding press of travellers at the marsh-ford, fore-runnersof the throng which nightly descended upon Thorney. Behind him, in thedim recesses of the smoky shop, his wife, Myleia, hawk-nosed andslatternly, prepared food for the strangers who would soon be upon themclamoring for bed and board. It was early evening, with a faint twilighthaze still tinged with pink and primrose; but already lights weretwinkling here and there among the clustered houses, and fires had beenstarted on the beach.
There was no more excitement at the ford than was usual at that hour;the noise was no greater, the confusion no more profound; yet Nicodemuswatched it all intently, as though he had not seen it every nightbefore. His one eye, small and hotly blue beneath its bushy brow,glinted over the bustling scene; watched a dozen men flogging a horsethat had slipped in mid-stream and fallen with its pack, blocking a longfile of animals and carts behind it; followed three half-drunkensoldiers lurching through the shallow water, using their pikes asstaves; lingered over a bloody battle between two carters whose wheelshad locked; and suddenly sobered into gravity at sight of a figurestriding through the ford, in worn leathern jerkin and brazen cap, witha ponderous leaf-shaped sword swinging at its side. At sight of thisone, Nicodemus turned and went within.
The shop, lighted dimly by an evil-smelling lamp, showed small andlow-ceiled. Jars of cheap wine and casks of ale and beer, with an arrayof drinking-cups of all shapes and sizes, stood on shelves along thewall at one side. A trestled board, much scarred and hacked, ran downthe centre of the room, flanked by rows of stone stools. Built aroundtwo sides of the room was a series of rude bunks. Over the edge of oneof these a head of rough and matted black hair was visible. An odor ofstale liquor, scorched meat, and pungent wood-smoke hung heavy in theair. Myleia entered, from the kitchen beyond, with a tray of half-cookedbeef. Nicodemus went to the bunk and shook the occupant ungently.
"Valerius is here!" he said. His voice, like himself, was rough andbrusque, rumbling hollow from the depths of his cavernous chest. Thefigure in the bunk stirred and muttered. Nicodemus turned his head.
"He'll not sleep this off for another six hours," he growled. "Wife,some water."
The hawk-nosed woman came to his side with a jug of water. As she gaveit to him, she put one hand, gnarled, distorted by work, hairy as aman's, on his broad shoulder, and he put his own hand up over it. Theystood silent, looking down at the black head buried in the dingyblankets. The lamplight fell soddenly on their faces, throwing them intorelief against the murky gloom of the room. Nicodemus grunted, andwithout warning emptied the water over the black head. Myleia laughedhuskily. The remedy was partially effectual. The head rose dripping fromthe blankets, with dazed and drunken eyes.
"Pull thyself together, Nicanor, lad!" Nicodemus said sharply. "Valeriusis coming for thee. Thou hast overstayed thy leave; he is to take theeback to the house of thy lord. Dost understand?"
Nicanor, answering nothing, sat upright with an effort, pressing hishands to his head, his body swaying slightly from the hips. Nicodemusput a hand on his shoulder.
"Come!" he urged.
Nicanor looked at him, blinking stupidly. Still he did not speak, butmoistened his lips with a swollen tongue. He began to sink slowly backinto the blankets, supine and inert. Nicodemus sat on the edge of thebunk and passed a long gorilla arm about his shoulders. He motioned tohis wife, who stood watching, arms akimbo, her face expressive of livelysympathy. She went to the shelves where stood the jars of liquor,returning with a brimming horn cup. Nicodemus took this, tilted back theheavy head at his shoulder, and started to pour its contents downNicanor's throat. Nicanor choked, gasped, and swallowed automatically.
A black figure blocked out the twilight in the door.
"Peace be with ye, friends! What's all this?" said a hearty voice.Valerius entered; saw the face of the patient, and stopped short.
"Nicanor!" he exclaimed. "Why, I'm come for him. He should have beenback last night. Hito--prince of overseers--hath a black mark againsthim. Drunk again?"
Nicodemus nodded casually. "Bide a bit, friend, and I'll have him inshape. He's awake now."
Nicanor, slowly recovering his sodden wits, looked at Valerius,recognizingly, opened his mouth to speak, found the exertion too great,and shut it again. He let his head sink back against Nicodemus.Presently, with his eyes closed, he said thickly:
"You, Valerius? What now?"
"I want you, my friend," said Valerius, promptly. "It would seem youforget the trifling fact that Hito commanded your return last night.While you wear the collar, you'll have to heed the word of him who holdsthe chain--mark you that. You're in for a flogging as it is--best notlet your case get to higher quarters." He turned to Nicodemus. "Can weget him started, think you?"
Nicodemus let the shaggy head drop back into the bunk, and rose.
"Let him bide an hour and he'll be ready for you," he suggested. "Whichis to say that he'll be able to walk, with help. Sit you down,comrade--the night's young yet."
He beckoned Valerius with him to the table, with a nod at Myleia. Shebrought cups and an ampulla of wine--not from among those upon theshelves. Valerius, with a grunt of satisfaction, pushed his sword out ofhis way and sat down. But voices at the door, a shout, a pounding ofhorses' hoofs, recalled Nicodemus to his duties as host. He signed toValerius to help himself, and hurried to the door.
The twilight had deepened into dusk, through which the fires at the fordglowed redly. The air, sharp with the evening chill, was vibrant withsounds of preparation for the night. Outside the wine-shop door a groupwas gathered,--three men mounted, three others afoot. One of the latter,a slave, was calling lustily for admittance, beating with his staff uponthe door.
"Here, lords, here!" cried Nicodemus in alarm. "What may the lords bepleased to want?"
"Food and drink and a place to sleep if you have it," said one onhorseback. His voice was full and resonant and very deep; the tones ofone used to command men. Another added querulously:
"This place is crowded to the doors. Every public-house--Say quick ifyou can take us in, for a cloud of vermin is swarming at our heels,ready to snap the food from our very jaws."
Nicodemus's eye, long used to sizing up the purses of would-becustomers, lighted to quick and eager greed.
"All I have is at your lordships' service. You say truly; Thorney iscrowded, so that many will sleep on the naked ground to-night."
There came a group of weary carters along the street, smelling loudly ofdrink and of the stables, clamoring at every crowded house for bed andboard. Nicodemus saw the disgusted scorn with which the lord who hadlast spoken regarded these; saw the other two on horseback turn away asthough contaminated by the very atmosphere of their presence,--anatmosphere none too sweet, in truth,--and promptly took his cue.
"Nay, friend," said he to the foremost carter, as they clustered closearound, hopeful at last of shelter. "You're too late--I'm full. Best goto the Black Cock--a step further down the street. There you'll find allyou ask for."
"The Black Cock be full also," the man protested sulkily. "You have roomto spare! See then, friend, we'll pay 'ee well."
But Nicodemus, fearful lest his golden geese should fly, turned on himfiercely.
"Get ye gone! I've no time to dicker over coppers. I'm full, I tell you,and that's all there is to it.--This way, lords."
He led his guests into the house, shouting for Myleia to come and put upthe horses. Two wore the dress of private citizens of wealth; theequipment of the third and youngest proclaimed him a military tribune.The face of this one, the most noticeable of the trio--a man of someseven-and-thirty years--was pale and aristocratic, with high nose, thickand level brows, a thin-lipped mouth at once refined and sensual. Andthe eyes were the eyes of a son of Rome the Mighty, dark, keen,dominant, impatient of restraint. Behind them one might read what theman himself stood for; the epitome of centuries of culture, of severestphysical training and the restraint of the discipline of the mightiestmachine the world had ever seen; and, at the same time, of equalcenturies of indulgence and luxury and vice--a curious mingling ofascetic and sybarite. Of the other two, one bore a marked resemblance tothe soldier, with the pride and passion of the younger face tempered byyears to a mellower dignity. He was richly dressed, and on his thumbwas a large and heavily chased signet ring. The third man, who at firstspoke little, keeping his eyes cast down, was small and shrivelled, witha scholar's face and a distinct cast in the right eye.
These three sat at the table, whence Valerius had hurriedly removedhimself and his wine, and were served obsequiously by Nicodemus and hiswife with the best the house afforded. For a while they ate and drank insilence. Then the tongue of the small old man, loosened by the wine,began to wag. He spoke abruptly, in a voice husky and somewhatover-precise.
"I had not looked to see thee here, friend Marius. Thy father made nomention of thy coming."
"He knew nothing of it," the young tribune answered shortly. "There wasno time to send word from Gaul--where I have been stationed these lasttwo years--that I had been ordered into Britain. And when I arrived, hewas travelling, and my letter did not reach him."
"He came with his legion, which is that one sent hither by the proconsulAEtius of Gaul, at the request of the governors of the cities to driveout the barbarians from Britannia Secunda. And that was nine monthsago," his father explained.
"So; I see. It was gallant work of gallant men," said the old man witheffusion. The soldier shrugged his broad shoulders in an indifferencehalf contemptuous. "And thou hast remained in Britain since thy comradessailed back to Gaul?"
"The commander left certain men to guard against further outbreak," thefather of Marius explained, patiently. "And my son is of that number.But the trouble seems thoroughly subdued, and they have been ordered toreturn to Gaul."
"I have applied for leave by the physicians' orders, having been woundedduring the affair," said Marius. "Myself I know that I am fit forservice, but I am constrained--" Again he shrugged. "A campaign hathbeen started in Gaul against the Huns who threaten us, and you may guessif I like the prospect of missing it. Until my leave is granted, I amhere to make arrangements for a vessel for my cohort. After, I shallremain for some weeks; it is long since my father and I have beentogether."
"And those weeks, I doubt not, you will spend together at the house ofEudemius," the old man persisted, and received a curt grunt of assent.Undeterred by lack of enthusiasm of his hearers, he settled to thediscussion of a new subject.
"It is years since I have seen him, but men say that he is greatlychanged, since the physicians have failed to mend his daughter'smisfortune."
The soldier, staring moodily into his horn cup, made no sign of havingheard. His father poured himself more wine, and nodded. The old manadded, with a chuckle and a senile attempt at jocularity:
"Marius, boy, thou shouldst but see her! Not a goddess of Rome herselfcould equal her. Eh, but she's the morsel for thy lips, she and her fatlands and the gold of her father's coffers. And it were high time thoushouldst think of marriage."
"I care nothing for damaged goods," Marius interrupted. "And as formarriage, that may well wait awhile."
"But since thou art to visit the father, it is but meet that thoushouldst become enamoured of the daughter, for the time at least. Whatelse could be expected of thee?" quavered he of the cast. He pouredhimself another cup of wine; his hand, none too steady, shook, and theliquor spilled. Hereat he wept, dolefully, and forgot his discourse onthe duty of guests to their hosts' daughters. Unheeding him, the otherstalked quietly, in low tones. But he, bound to hold the centre of thestage, remembered suddenly what he wished to say, and began again.
"My boy, thou couldst have her for the taking!"
Marius, his speech with his father interrupted, eyed him with a sort ofgrim patience, waiting until he chose to cease.
"A fit morsel for thy lips," the garrulous one repeated. "I speak ofwhat mine eyes have seen. What if the mind be wanting, so long as theface is fair? Many a man hath found too much mind a sorry investment ina wife. And she's fair enough! By Venus, yes! Eyes like clouded stars,midnight tresses, a bosom whiter than milk--"
Marius laughed scornfully.
"Maybe so! But so have a thousand others, with sense thrown in. Why sokeen to set me after her? Let the poor fool be. I tell you I'll have nodamaged goods. If I marry at all, by the veil of Isis, the price I mustneeds pay will be high enough to warrant me in asking the best inreturn."
Nicanor, hearing the murmur of voices, raised his head slowly and lookedover the edge of the bunk. He saw Valerius in his corner, sound asleep,and wondered what he wanted there. The old man sat with his back tohim, but the face of the soldier was in plain sight. At him Nicanorstared, stolidly, without interest, and let himself drop back into theblankets. But the remedy of Nicodemus was beginning to have effect. Bydegrees his head became clearer; objects in the room no longer jumpedstartlingly when he set his glance upon them; his thoughts became moreconnected. There had been a scene in a garden--her garden. Marcus hadcome; had discovered him with her. His heart stood still. What hadhappened then? Had he killed the old man? He recalled the truth with agasp of relief which yet was mingled with apprehension. But afterwards?There came to him, slowly, a memory, vague and confused, of a wearywandering through endless night, torn by temptation and desire, ragingwith defiance of the consequences of his rashness, consumed by feverthat ran through his veins like fire and dried the very heart withinhim. What had become of Varia? Of Marcus? How much had been found out?Sudden blind fury at his impotence in the face of supreme and arrogantpower possessed him. The brazen collar about his throat burned like aband of fire. He raised his hands to it, and let them drop. What couldhe do--a slave? After all, what did it matter? Nothing mattered then,save Varia. He lay devising ways and means of seeing her again, sincethis he was bound to do, though gods and men might say him nay. Thevoices at the table droned on, as from a great distance, and Nicanor layand listened. They spoke of some woman. No name was mentioned, but thedescription of her, as it fell from the old man's maudlin lips, sent hisheart pounding. So might be described another woman, who for him heldlife and death and all that lay between. The voice of Valerius at hisear made him start.
"Awake, lad? Art better? So, then; it's time to start."
Nicanor got out of the bunk. Once on his legs, he discovered that he wasby no means steady. The three at the table ceased talking as he rose,more from prudence than curiosity, it seemed. The soldier glanced athim, with keen eyes, indifferent at first, lighting to faintprofessional interest, that noted every point of bearing and physique;the lean flanks, swelling upward to muscular torso and the shoulders ofa chariot-racer; the knotted muscle of forearm and back; finally restedon the broad collar circling the brown massive throat.
"That fellow would look well in the ranks," he observed casually. Hisfather glanced at Nicanor as one might at a dog whose good points wereunder discussion, and nodded. Marius added, continuing what had gonebefore:
"You can't kill a man with hard work if you know how to handle him. Itell Fabian that these brushes with barbarians at least serve thepurpo
se of keeping the men in condition."
His father sighed.
"Always thou wert a hard taskmaster, Marius," he said gently. "It may bethat thou drivest the men farther than thou knowest. Men are not brutebeasts, that they must be goaded even to the breaking-point."
"Most men are, my father," Marius returned. "Most men will do what theyare made to do, no more. As for driving them to breaking-point, I thinkyou need not fear for that. Men need a lot of killing."
He fell into silence, staring into the amber depths of his cup of wine.His father glanced at him, sighed once more, and turned away. Nicodemusand Myleia hurried in to prepare fresh beds for their lordly guests.Valerius and Nicanor went out into the night.
The keen air struck Nicanor like a dash of cold water. He drew a deepand grateful breath of it, and felt revived.
"How long have I been from the house?" he asked, with intent to fill inthe blank spaces of his memory.
"It is the second night," Valerius answered. "When you asked Hito forleave, he gave command that you return last night."
"When I asked Hito--" Nicanor repeated. He had no recollection of havingasked the overseer for anything.
"You did not come, so, being angry, he directed me to search for you andbring you back for a flogging. What more was in store, he did not say."
Nicanor shot a glance of swift suspicion at him through the darkness.
"What more should there be?" he demanded.
"Why, how can I tell?" Valerius parried. "Imprisonment, maybe, for a dayor so.... Though, in truth, as the offence is repeated by some one orother every day, he can have no excuse for--"
"Well?" Nicanor said impatiently, as Valerius paused.
"Treating you as he would like to do," the latter added soberly. "Hitohates you, my friend."
Nicanor shrugged his shoulders. This tale of an overseer's feelings wasnot what he had feared.
"Oh, that!" he exclaimed, and snapped his fingers. "If that were all Ihad to think about.... Valerius, tell me this. Each time I have seen youI have wished to ask. How comes it that you are in the service of theTorturer?"
"I got tired of the church," Valerius answered simply. "The good fatherswere very good, but me they singled out as the black sheep of all thefold, and it was more than could be endured. 'What religion have you?'says Father Ambrose. 'None at all,' says I, 'and want none.' So henearly wept, and told the others, and they agreed that I was fit foodfor the fires of hell. So they gave me their blessing, and told me HolyChurch was better off without me, and there were no more sandals to berepaired. Then I fell in with Hito, and he took me into the service ofour lord. How hath it been with you?"
Nicanor told of the manner of his capture, and Valerius laughed.
"Clever!" he chuckled. "But tell me truth, lad. Is not this a long sightbetter than the work-room of that fish-faced brother Tobias? Are we nothand in glove with the great ones of the earth? Do we not know them, inall their parts, far better than those of their own world could ever do,since we serve them?"
"Ay," said Nicanor. "That is so. And yet, after all--when I was in theworkshop, if the bone cut straight, and if there was what I liked forsupper, I was happy, and wanted nothing more. Now--"
"Now," said Valerius, dropping into his old familiar tone, with an armthrust through Nicanor's--"now thou hast found that there are many otherthings in life which a man may want. Is it not so?"
"Ay," Nicanor said again. "That is so also."
V
In the slaves' quarters, next morning, Nicanor took his flogging withouta change of face, while Hito, the fat overseer, looked on and grinned inevil glee. But Nicanor had so much worse than flogging hanging over himthat he scarcely felt the blows, and merely grinned back at Hito, withinsolent bravado, until the latter was cursing with rage. Then, beingset to grind sand for the floors of the kitchens, he made an opportunityto seek out Marcus. But Marcus was nowhere to be found. Nicanorquestioned, cautiously; no one had seen him. Apparently, no one caredwhat had become of him. He might have been rotting in sewer ordrain-hole for all his fellow-slaves seemed concerned. To save his lifeNicanor could not have told just why he wished to find the old man,since the farther he and Marcus were apart, the better it would be forboth.
Foiled in his search, he went back to work again. Many times before hislabor was ended, he passed the closed door of the garden where Variadwelt; and each time his heart beat hard and his face flushed and hisbrown hands trembled. To know her so near, and not to see her; to beconscious of her in every throbbing pulse, and not to seek her; not toknow whether she was safe and unharmed, or whether blame for hisrashness had fallen, through her father's wrath, on her--
"Last night I could have gone to her had I not chosen to make myself adrunken swine," he said, and caught himself up in fear lest he hadspoken the words aloud. "Did she look for me--wait for me?--for I'llwarrant she has not forgotten. But to-night--to-night--"
He caught his breath, his eyes lighting.
"I'll make her confess she loves me! I'll have the words from her ownlips--words, ay, and kisses also! Ah, lord, noble lord, mighty lord!what wouldst say to know that for the lifting of a slave's finger thoustandest to lose what all thy gold could never buy thee back?" Hispassion died before it had fairly gathered force. He stood an instant,motionless and shaken, drew a hand across his eyes, and returned to hislabor.
All that day Hito worked him mercilessly, in a mean and entirelycomprehensible spirit of revenge, until, being not fully recovered fromhis drinking-bout, his brain was reeling and he could scarcely keep hislegs. At sunset he took his share of the rations dealt out nightly tothe slaves, but although he was faint from emptiness the sight of thefood turned him sick. He went to the cell where he, with others, slept,and dropped like a log, exhausted in mind and body. Here he lay untilHito's whistle summoned the household slaves for emergency service. Notto obey meant punishment, but in his present state Nicanor cared littlefor that. He lay listening to the sound of hasty feet and voices asslaves passed to and fro across the courtyard to the house, expectingmomently to be called to account for his delinquency. But no one came tohim, and by and by he slept.
Waking, he found the world dark and peopled with restless, movingshadows. There was still much hurrying here and there, and from thekitchens came strident sounds of nervous activity. Thither Nicanorstarted, across the unlighted court, stopping on the way for a cup ofwater at the well. As he put down the dipper and turned to go, he raninto some one bound in the same direction, who staggered under the shockwith an exclamation, and dropped a dish, which crashed into fragments onthe ground. At the same instant Nicanor caught her by the shoulder andsteadied her; in the darkness he could not see her face.
"It is broken!" she exclaimed. "I must go quickly and get another."
"It was my fault," said Nicanor. "I will go."
"There is no need," the woman answered.
She started back, Nicanor keeping perversely beside her.
"What is happening?" he wished to know. "Is there a feast made in thehouse to-night?" He could feel that she was looking at him in surprise.
"You do not know? Two strangers came to-day, with news of importance,men say, for our lord. There be strange things told: they urge that ourlord will go back with them to Rome. The old man was indisposed when hearrived; his servant tells that he is not over strong."
She hurried off, and Nicanor stood still, repeating stupidly her words.
"Our lord will go back with them to Rome. Then she will go with him. Butthat is not possible. His home is here--why should he leave it?" At oncehe was filled with feverish anxiety to find out what truth there mightbe in the gossip.
He invented an errand which would take him within the house, to see ifby chance Lady Varia might be among the feasters. Since she was kept instrictest seclusion by Eudemius, he was quite sure of not finding her,but his mood of perversity still held. On the way he met a Saxon slave,Wardo, a fair-haired, blue-eyed fellow, hurrying toward the atrium witha pierced copper bowl p
acked with snow for cooling wines. Him Nicanorstopped with a question.
"Hast seen these strangers, Wardo? Whence come they, and who have beenbidden to meet them?"
"They and our lord sup alone," Wardo answered. He shifted his bowl fromhand to hand, and blew on his fingers as though it burned instead offreezing him. "The dancing girls have been commanded, and wine is to bebrought. Much hath been brought already. And Nicanor, hark 'ee! Egon,who pours the wines, saith that the talk is strange talk for feasting.They urge that our lord go back with them to Rome--wherefore, think you?They speak of Rome, and Londinium, and the legions from Gaul, and oflosses of ships and money, until one's head rings. What might it beabout? Think you that we go to Rome? I should like to go to Rome, if itbe anything like Londinium--"
"We go to Rome?" Nicanor repeated. "Say rather that we should be lefthere to die like chained rats that the trainer hath forgotten."
He went off; and watched his chance and slipped away outside, andstopped before the little garden door. He put his hand upon it, drewback, and glanced over his shoulder as though for possible pursuit. Hisface held a curious mixture of doubt and boldness, hesitancy and desire.Only a moment he paused; then opened the door with a silent key, slippedinside so that the vines scarcely rustled, and closed it without noise.
No one was in the garden. His eagerness took fire at the delay; litheand silent as a mountain cat he crossed the open space of lawn, mountedthe steps of the terrace, and gained the windows, whence came no lightfrom the tall silver lamps within. And here he discovered that thewindows were closed. With all his boldness he dared venture no further.Baffled, yet keener set in his determination for being thwarted, he drewback into the shadows and waited.
From where he stood by the marble bench no sound came to him save thechirring of insects in the grass, the squeak of a bat or twitter of asleepy bird. One might never have thought the place to be in the heartof a house whose inmates numbered five hundred souls and more, so stillit was, so seemingly remote from all human noise and tumult. Thecombined effects of the silence and the perfume of the manynight-blooming plants made him drowsy; also his head was light from wantof food. Every clump of bushes seemed suspicious; he began at last tohear footsteps in every sough of wind and creak of branch. But he sethis teeth grimly, bound not to be beaten, fighting hard against sleepand overwhelming weariness. Yet what it meant for him should he, inspite of himself, fall asleep and be discovered there by Lady Varia'swomen, none knew better than he.
"She will come! She must come!" he muttered, and kept himself awake withthat.
And she did come. After untold hours of waiting, during which healternately dozed and started into uneasy watchfulness through sheerforce of will, she came to him out of the scented darkness, walkingslowly, with hands hanging straight at her sides, a slim figure dimlywhite. So suddenly did she appear that at first he did not move,believing himself still drowsing. But she stopped before him; and atonce the world fell away from him, leaving him thought and memory ofnothing but that she had come to him at his call and that they werealone together.
"I am here," she said, very low. "Didst call me, or did I dream it? Andwhy?"
"Because I wanted thee!" he answered, and caught her hands and kissedthem. His own hands shook as he drew her down upon the bench beside him;he dared not trust his voice to utter what was on his tongue. She satbeside him, leaving her hands in one of his, and he slipped his armabout her, unrebuked. In the darkness he could not tell whether or nother eyes were on him. Presently she spoke.
"Hast thou not a tale to tell to-night? Last night thou didst not come,and I was lonely. All the night I did not sleep. Now I am tired--sotired...."
Her voice drifted into silence. She yawned, quite openly, like a sleepychild, and leaned her head slowly back against his arm. Nicanor quiveredfrom head to foot, and tightened his clasp about her. It was theseinnocent tricks of hers, these child ways, wholly trusting, withoutthought of guile, that made him mad for her, tempted him almost beyondendurance, and yet, in their very innocence, made themselves herstrongest shield. She knew nothing, with that child's soul of hers, ofthe passion which shook him at her touch, which sent his hands hot whenher fingers fluttered into his, and set his heart pounding in heavythrobs when, as now, she leaned her cheek above it. How should she know?Her mind was a child's mind, unawakened, even though her body was awoman's body, fragrant cup of the mystic wine of life, abounding insweet allurements of which she knew not the smallest meaning.
"I would have another tale!" she said at length, imperiously, and raisedher head to look at him in grieved surprise that her command should beso slighted. But Nicanor drew her back to him, lifting both her coolpalms to his burning face.
"Ah, lady mine!" he said, "the only tale I have to tell thee, I may notutter. None other have I to-night; my heart is big with it, my brainreels with it, but my lips must e'en be dumb. And yet--I know that thouwouldst listen; that what I might say would echo in thy heart foreverand a day. Then why should I not say it? Why, if the thorns be notstrong enough to guard, should I not pluck the rose?"
He gathered her more closely into his arms, drinking the perfume of herhair, the warmth of her, into every fibre of his being. She lay quiet,her head thrown back against his shoulder, great eyes wide open in thedarkness, resting easily as a bird in its nest against his strength.
"Because the rose is too fair and fragrant for common hands to pluck."Nicanor's voice grew to a hushed intensity, as though he argued withhimself a point gone over many times before, yet never whollygained--what higher manhood there was in him contending with temptationinnocently offered, striving against lawless passion and desire. "Now itis but a half-blown bud, this rose, knowing nothing of the perils whichbeset all roses in all gardens, lady mine, hiding the golden heart of itin shy, half-open leaves. Some day a high-born stranger will enter thegarden, and the gardener will point to this his rose, and say: 'Lookyou, friend, at the fair flower I have nurtured here. I have tended itwell, kept from it frost and blasting heat, watered it, let the sun toshine upon it. Now it is ready for the plucking--take you it.' Then thestranger will pluck the rose, and will watch it unfold, petal by petal,until all the beauty of it is laid bare. And gardener nor stranger willever know that one was in the garden there before them, with his handupon the rose's stem and his breath upon the rose's heart."
Varia stirred and brushed a hand across his lips.
"But that is not a tale!" she said plaintively. "Or if it be a tale, itis a sad one. The poor rose! It may be that it wished to stay within thegarden, and not be plucked to fade away and die. I had not thought ofthat before! Never will I pluck a rose again; I will let it live wherethe gardener plants it. I thought it pretty to pluck them and smellthem, and watch the leaves all fall; I did not know I killed them!Sometimes I think that people do not know when they kill roses. Now tellanother tale, I pray thee! Tell that tale of when thou and I lived longand long ago, and of how we met in that other world which is gone. Thattale I love the best of all."
"Of how we met--" Nicanor repeated absently. Again his mood had changed,as always in her presence. When away from her, with but the memory ofher face, her innocent wiles, her passiveness under his caresses,passion had its way with him, blinding him, rendering him desperate,careless of consequences. But when with her, that very innocence of herswrought its own spell upon him, taming and stilling him with an awewhich he but half understood. Curiously, this chastened mood left himinvariably sullen and surly, after the manner of a beast which sulks athaving missed its kill.
"Of how we met?" he said again. "So then. Once thou and I lived verylong ago. Ages and ages ago it was, when the world was young, and onlythe moon and the stars were old. None walked upon the earth save we two,and the world and its beauty was for us alone. Dusky forests covered allthe land, where strange birds sang and great flowers grew. Wild beastsroamed these forests with us, but we walked among them unafraid, forthey knew not that they could harm us. Beneath the sunken light of oldscarred moons we
wandered hand in hand; and day by day I told that taleto thee I dare not tell thee now, and there was none to hinder me.
"Canst dream of a world all happiness, my lady, a world without shadowof sorrow or cloud of care, with nothing but happy sunshine and thesongs of birds? That world was our world. And in it we were free, wetwo, free to wander where we would, free as the winds that called us.Who may know freedom as do those who walk in chains? We knew not thenthe measure of this our freedom, for we had known no thraldom of fleshnor spirit. Therefore the high gods decreed that we should be brought toknow the greatness of their gift, by losing it; that in our lives tocome we should be bound, and bound remain until we knew what we hadlost. Thy bonds sit upon thee lightly, yet in thine eyes I read thatthey are there. And I--I am learning fast what freedom means. In theshade of great trees which upheld the very floor of heaven we rested,thou and I, and saw the wide earth smiling in warm golden noons. It wasthen thy hands first learned to cling to mine"--he raised her hands andkissed them--"it was then thy head first leaned above my heart--ay, evenso long since, in the beginning of the world. Down all the after ages ithath been the same; somewhere, somehow, we met; and each time of ourmeeting there came to us a memory of dear dead days long gone, forgottenuntil a breath from dim gardens where we wandered blew to us from thepast. Oh, but those days were long, each one a jewel of flame and azure,strung on the golden chain of Time; and the nights were long, and warm,and clear, and perfumed as thy hair. Our food was fruit and the nuts Igathered; our wine the waters of clear brooks which thou drankest frommy hands. Ferns, deep and fragrant, made our couch."
He stopped abruptly.
"As my soul liveth, I can tell no more!" he said, and his voice wasshaken. "Sweet lady o' mine, urge me not, for thine own sake! Thou dostnot understand--how shouldst thou? Any tale I'll tell thee--any talesave a tale of thee and me."
"That is the tale which I will have," said Varia, drowsily.
Nicanor smothered an exclamation.
"Child, canst not see that my hands tremble, that I burn with fever, andam scarce master of myself?" His tone quickly changed and softened."There, then, I will not frighten thee! Only ask me not to try mystrength beyond its limit with that tale I taught thee to love and longfor--"
"Then I shall go," said Varia, with no smallest understanding of hiscry, and rose from the bench. But Nicanor was quicker than she. Hecaught her hand and turned her half around to face him.
"Nay, I'll not let thee go!" he said unevenly. "The hour is mine, andthe night is mine--and I cannot let thee go!"
She sat down once more upon the bench, passively submissive as a childto its elders' will. Nicanor dropped on one knee on the grass besideher, his arms across her lap, his hands prisoning one of hers. His deepvoice lowered to a note of lingering tenderness that thrilled like thestrings of a harp gently touched.
"Oh, light of all the world to me!" he said softly. "If I but dared tellthee of the thoughts that are mine, and the madness that is mine, andthe punishment for them that is mine also! Wouldst understand? Ay,truly, I think so! For I'd tell it so that the deaf trees, that whisperalways and hear not--ay, and the very winds of heaven, could not helpbut know the meaning of my words."
She put her free hand to his face, upturned to hers, and stroked it.
"Thou poor one!" she said with gentle pity. "Is it that thou art illto-night? Thy face burns hot, like fire. Is all well with thee?"
Nicanor suddenly bowed his head forward on her knees.
"Nay," he answered huskily. "It is not well."
She sat a moment, her hand resting idle on his rough black head.
"I am sorry!" she said then, simply. "Is there--is there aught that Icould do? When my lord father is ill, he will have me sometimes tostroke his head, to ease the pain. Wilt thou that I should stroke thyhead also?--Nay, do not move! See, I will touch it so, and so, and soonthou shalt be cured."
She bent over him, as he leaned against her, her soft hands slowlystroking his forehead with touch as light as the brushing of arose-leaf. Nicanor stood it as long as he could. Then he crushed herhands in his, and kissed them passionately, many times, and rose to hisfeet.
"Dear little hands, that would cure all the pain and sorrow of the worldan they might! They have healed me, sweet, and made me sane--ay, andwounded deeper than they healed! Go now, quickly, dear heart, while Ihave courage and will to say it."
"But--" she began, hesitating. He interrupted, fiercely.
"Go, child, go! Or I'll not give thee the chance again!"
"But thy head--" she persisted.
"It is cured," he answered. As she turned away, surprised at his suddenbrusqueness, he took a step beside her.
"Hast heard that thy lord father will leave Britain for Rome?" he askedabruptly.
"Leave Britain? But it is not so!" she exclaimed. "Why should he dothat? He would not leave without me, and I--I will not go. I will stayhere; I will not go to Rome! And thou,--" she came closer to him,--"wiltthou come to-morrow and tell me tales? Last night I waited for thee, andwhen thou didst not come I was lonely. Do not let me be lonely again, Ipray thee!"
Nicanor looked at her for a time.
"Ay," he said finally, in a hushed voice. "I will come."
She turned from him and started across the grass. He watched her, andhis hands slowly clenched. She looked back once over her shoulder, herface glimmering white in the starlit darkness. It was enough. In astride he was after her; in a heart-beat she was in his arms, her facehidden against his breast.
"I love thee--I love thee!" he whispered hoarsely. "Heart of mine, thatis the tale I dared not tell! A tale of three words, three little words,which yet is longer than any tale that ever was said or sung. Dostunderstand, dear heart, what that must mean to thee and me?"
She drew herself away from him with her hands against his breast.
"You love me," she repeated, not questioningly, but as one makingstatement of a fact. "Ay, I understand that. Why should I not?" Hervoice grew tenderly solemn. "'Where thou art, Caius, there am I, Caia;and thy people shall be my people' ... _that_ is when one loves."
Nicanor cut her short with an exclamation.
"Ay, that is when happy other men and women love!" he said bitterly."But not for such as thou and I. For us, beloved, it means that wherethou art, there I may not be; that all men, all circumstance, wouldstrive to part us, since the world will have it that high blood may notmate with lowly."
"But why?" she asked. Her voice was wondering. "If two people love, isnot that enough?"
"'If two people love,'" Nicanor repeated. He drew her back into his armsand turned her face upward to the stars and to his eyes. "Beloved, Ihave said I love thee with a love that must last through life and deathand all that lies beyond. So, since I am what I must be, I have placedmy life within thy hands for good or ill. Thou sayest 'If two peoplelove.' Dost thou then love me?"
She raised her head and looked full at him.
"Ay, surely I love thee," she answered. "Thou hast told me tales sostrange and wonderful that none were ever like them in the world before.And thou hast been kind to me, nor ever scolded, nor called me fool, asdoes my lord father when I have displeased him. Does not one always lovethose who are kind to one? It is the least that one can do, I think. Andyet ... I do not know. What is this love thou hast?"
"The most terrible thing in the world, and the sweetest," Nicanoranswered, his eyes on hers. "It is a chain that binds life to life, andthe links of the chain are drops of heart's blood. It is pain fromwhich one would not seek relief. Men have called it a flower, beloved,but it is no flower, for flowers wither in a little space, and die, andlove hath eternal life. Ay, for it is eternal; and death, to it, is buta moment in the dark."
Varia caught her breath with a smothered sob.
"Ah, but I do love thee when thou talkest so!" she whispered. "Often Icannot understand thy words, but I can feel them, here,--" she claspedher hands above her heart,--"and sometimes they make me glad, andsometimes sorry, and somet
imes they frighten me, and I do not at allknow why. But always I long to hear more. They make me to want things Ihave not got, to know things I do not know, for I am very foolish. Oh,thou wizard of the silver tongue!" She raised both hands to his temples,and he could feel that her fingers shook. "Play not with me for the sakeof thy sport, I pray thee! Ay, I am very foolish,--I know it,--for I maynot understand how such things be; but thy speech leads me as a nurseleads her child by the hand, and I am afraid, because I cannotunderstand whither thou wouldst have me go."
"Play with thee! Beloved, it is no play to me," Nicanor answered. "I'dgive thee all my life and soul, as I've given thee my heart, could I butkeep from thee a moment's fear or sorrow." He bent his head and kissedher snowy eyelids. "Whatever God or gods there be that men may pray to,may they have thee, lady mine, in their holy keeping. Whoever they maybe, I give thanks that this night they guarded thee--or was it the veilof thine own white innocence around thee?--for this night hath a beastbeen held at bay."
He let her go, and stood watching hungrily as she slipped away from himacross the grass. Over the surrounding walls of the villa a faint graymist came stealing. The song of the insects had died, and the world hungsilent, awaiting the mystery of the day. The trees and bushes of thegarden massed themselves into denser shadow against the tinge of ghostlylight. From somewhere, far away, a cock crew, and another answered.
Nicanor listened until the faint click of a closing window reached him.Suddenly he buried his face in his hands and stood an instantmotionless, a dark and sombre figure in the gray loneliness of dawn.Before the light had gathered strength for him to be more than a movingblot among the shadows, he pulled himself together with a quick shake ofhis shoulders, and vanished amid the tangle of vines and shrubbery thathid the little garden door.
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PAWNS AND PLAYERS
BOOK III
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Nicanor - Teller of Tales : A Story of Roman Britain Page 3
