Nicanor - Teller of Tales : A Story of Roman Britain

by C. Bryson Taylor

  Book III

  PAWNS AND PLAYERS

  I

  The lord Eudemius, covered with tawny leopard skins, lay stretched on acouch of carven ebony in the library of the villa, of which the windowsoverlooked the great central courtyard. He was a tall man, spare, withblack, sombre eyes, a high nose, and a wiry black beard, close clipped.His hands, long and white and nervous, held a scroll which he keptslowly unwinding and letting roll together again. His face wasremarkable for nothing save its complete impassivity; devoid of allexpression, it was merely a mask behind which the man kept locked hisreal self and thoughts. A dish of fruit stood on a stand at his elbow.With him in the room sat Livinius, the father of Marius, making noteswith a stylus on a tablet of ivory coated with wax. The face of Liviniuswas grave, yet eager. He began to speak presently, as though continuinga conversation which had gone before.

  "Rome has often needed gold, and has wrung it from the peoplemercilessly; but I tell you, Eudemius, that her need was never greaterthan in this hour. Ay, and not gold alone she must have, but brains toplan for her, hands to work for her, blood to be spilled for her. You,yourself, friend, have been soldier, senator, statesman. You know, as Iknow, and as every Roman in his soul must know, that the core of thetrouble lies in the fact that she hath gathered in more than her twohands could hold. I would not see her other than she is,--mistress ofthe world; but I would first see her in a position to maintain thattitle in the face of all challenge. And she is not in such position.Outwardly, she hath all show of might, of force invincible andimpregnable. But behind this, what is there? The weakness of dissension,where there should be solidarity; division of interests, where nothingcan save but union; rottenness, where there should be wholesomeness andvigor. This is not treason I speak, but truth. We have served her infield and forum, you and I; we have offered our blood on her altars; weshall both carry the marks of her service until we die. And she hathpaid us well. Now I am worn out, useless, and cast aside; she has takenall she would from me, even my son. But you, old friend, have still whatshe needs to offer. She needs gold; but more than that, she needs one,powerful as you are powerful, to come forward and point to more timidones the way. When she enters her own once more, she will repay yourloan with interest, for that hath ever been Rome's way. I tell you, Romein these days is like a sinking ship, from which the rats scurry inswarms, to stand aside and wait to see if there be prospect of a safereturn. Here, overseas, you get but an echo of the truth. Every day thecall goes out for more troops, and more."

  Eudemius nodded thoughtfully.

  "So the Third Legion is to be recalled from Gaul to Rome. It is what maybe expected, but I had not thought so soon. Their plans have been keptwell secret. AEtius will soon not have men enough for himself, not tospeak of sending over men to our assistance. I suppose your son goeswith them? It must be all of ten years since I saw him last."

  "He hath changed," the father answered quietly. "Yes, he goes, and I gowith him. Come thou with us, friend! What has Rome done to thee thatthou shouldst not answer to her need? Now, if ever, is the time when hersons must rally to her, for with all her faults--and she hath many--sheis still the mother of them all. I know well that it was within herwalls that thy trouble fell upon thee; but was she to blame for that?"

  Eudemius's dark face never changed from its graven inscrutability, buthis thin hands clutched the scroll tighter and let it fall. Liviniuseyed him tenderly.

  "Is not the old wound healing, even yet?" he asked with greatgentleness. For a moment silence fell. Then Eudemius, stooping from thecouch to pick up the fallen roll, said in his hard and even voice, asthough he discussed matters of small moment and everyday concern:

  "Healing? Nay, how should it heal when each day fresh salt is rubbedinto it? Take a look at it now, if you will, for hereafter we'll let itbide and rankle as it must. Tell me; have not your eyes seen changes,mental as well as physical, concerning which your lips have notquestioned?"

  "Changes? in you?" said Livinius, dropping into the other's moredistant tone. "Ay, that is true, and my heart aches to see them. That isanother reason why I urge your return to Rome. New scenes, newfaces--your life is broken, yet a broken pitcher may be mended."

  "True," Eudemius admitted evenly. "But who expects it to hold wateragain? Is it not rather placed upon the shelf and forgotten--if, indeed,it be not flung upon the rubbish-heap?"

  "But think of this--" Livinius persisted. Eudemius broke in.

  "Ay, I have thought of this and that, and this is all it comes to!" hesaid harshly. "That when I am gone, my name, blazoned in the annals ofRome before great Caesar was, must dwindle out to nothing with a weakgirl. It came to me great, unstained, heavy with memories of soldiers,heroes, statesmen, who had borne it worthily and left it clean for theirsons and their sons' sons. I made it the name of wealth as well as ofgreatness; I thought to hand it down to my sons and my sons' sons, asthe fires of Vesta are handed down from one generation to the next. Ason I prayed for--what any sodden carter is judged worthy to beget; amale child to uprear in the traditions of his house, to add, an hemight, his share to the glory of it. A son to serve Rome as his fathersserved. And what was born to me? A puling fool, not worthy even to breedher kind into the world. Were she blessed with wit, she might mate withone worthy of her blood and keep her name thus from complete extinction.As it is--what man would have her to bear him mindless brats? Who wouldbecome sire to a race of idiots?"

  Livinius scratched the wax of his tablet absently, and rubbed his fingerover the mark.

  "I have wondered often why you never married again," he remarked,tentatively. "It is fifteen years since Constantia's death; surely inthat time you might have found a woman to become the mother of yoursons."

  "True, I might," Eudemius admitted, coolly. "But those fifteen yearsago, through mine own folly and hatred of life after that double blow ofher death and knowledge of the girl's condition,--for it was a blow,Livinius, since I was not then the wooden image of to-day,--there fellon me the judgment of the gods for such rebellion as mine." He turnedhis sombre eyes full on Livinius. "Would you believe, to see me as I sithere, that mine is a body racked by the tortures of the damned, drainedof the very sap of life by disease that eats into every nerve and leavesit raw and quivering, yet that only numbs when its fury is spent, andwill not kill? That time after time, when its throes are on me, I haveturned craven and begged Claudius for a potion to end it all?" Helaughed shortly, with no sound of merriment. "I marry again--a rottenhulk fit only for carrion!"

  Livinius listened, shocked.

  "Oh, my dear!" he exclaimed in honest sympathy, "is it indeed thus withthee? And I had thought of thee entering the harbor of thy rest,wealthy, honored, reconciled, perhaps, to what the gods in their wisdomhad ordained for thee, to end thy days in quiet and content. For fifteenyears, thou sayest. Man, how hast thou lived to tell it?"

  Eudemius smiled, a smile which began at his lips and ended there,leaving his bitter eyes unlightened.

  "Ay, fifteen years--and yet not so bad as that!" he said shortly. "Or itwould have been well over with me by now. But I have known from thefirst what lay ahead. I won it from Claudius,--poor fool, how hetrembled to tell me!--knew that each attack must be more severe than theone before; that each day the disease would stride forward a slow inch,no more, and no human skill might advance it or hold it back." His harshvoice sank a note lower. "At such times, when that grip closes upon me,I know not what I do. Rather, I know, yet am powerless to act otherwise.I tell thee, Livinius, I have had slaves flogged, ay, tortured, beforemy eyes, to see if by chance I might find suffering greater than mineown. And if they died, I have had tortured those who let them die, forit is not death I want, but what I have found to be worse than death.Judge then if I were not better out of the world! Yet the only way ofrelease open to me I will not take, since I have not yet lost courageenough to brand myself a coward. I have told Claudius, on pain of deathfor disobedience, that no matter how I cry to him for peace, he shallpay no heed. Strange, i
s it not, that in this house the only happy thingis the cause of all the sorrow that hath entered it? And yet--perhaps itis not so strange. She is but the cause; on others fall the effects, ...and in their wisdom the gods have ordered that only effects shall countin their scheme of things."

  He put a hand over Livinius's hand, held it a moment, and let it go. Forthe first time he fell into the intimacy of the other's speech.

  "Thank thee, old friend, for thy sympathy. It is not often that the gallof my bitterness overflows, for I have learned the wisdom of the Stoicat first hand. But I can claim scant sympathy here,--and would not if Icould,--where men call me the Torturer behind my back and cringe likecurs before my face. I am hard and cruel and calloused to the bone; yetwere I not thus, in the name of the high gods, what should I be? A thinglower than man, who can be lower than the beasts; from which gods andmen--ay, and beasts themselves--would turn in loathing. Thou art mychildhood's friend; thy sympathy hath been sweet to me, and I've baredmy heart to thee. I have said: 'The world runs thus and so with me; wereit in my power, I'd have it otherhow. As it is, no good will come of itsdiscussion, so let there be an end to it, now and for all time.'"

  A quick step sounded on the marble floor; the curtains at the entranceparted, and Marius came in. He went clad in spotless white, which oddlyaccentuated his bulk and made his swarthiness darker by contrast. Hestopped short at sight of the two apparently in earnest conversation.

  "Pardon!" he said easily. "I was told that I should find my father here,but I intrude."

  "Not at all!" Eudemius answered. "We had finished our talk, and it wasover time we were brought back from the memory of other days."

  Livinius smiled at his son as the latter sat down on the wide low ledgeof the window, and his genial eyes were full of pride. Eudemius caughtthe look, and his own eyes darkened, even though the mask of his facenever changed. This indeed was a son of whom one might be proud--a sonsuch as he himself should have had but for the mockery of the gods; ason strong of mind and body, able to hold his own against all men, toassume the burdens that one by one slipped from his father's shoulders.There was hint of dissipation in the clear-cut face; there was more thana trace of headstrong will, which might easily enough turn to sheerbrutality against whoever crossed it. There was hardness, and smalltenderness, in the firm jaw and the black keen eyes; but what Romanfather could not condone such things as these? For to Roman eyes, allthis went to spell strength; and Romans worshipped strength as Atheniansworshipped beauty. And Marius was strong, so that Eudemius, who wasstrong also, with the most unbreakable strength of all, and couldappreciate mere physical vigor the more since his own had gone from him,looked at him and envied the father of him with bitterness.

  "To-day I go on to Londinium," Marius said, gazing out into thesun-flecked courtyard. "Will you wait here, father, for me? To-morrow Ishall return, or next day at most--the business will not take long." Heturned to Eudemius with an explanation. "There is trouble about one ofthe transports which are assigned to my cohort for our return to Gaul.She has been discovered unseaworthy and in need of repairs, and may notbe able to start with the rest of the fleet. This is doublyinconvenient, as there is small prospect of securing a vessel to takeher place, and our orders are to sail for Gaul with as little delay aspossible. So much misunderstanding and confusion has resulted, that Ihave been sent to report personally what are the chances for a start."

  "That is too bad," Eudemius said. He was looking at Marius at themoment, and Marius was looking beyond him into the court. Eudemius sawthat all at once his face changed slightly, and his eyes awoke to afaint, curious interest. Eudemius knew that nothing in his words couldhave aroused this, and waited. Then he understood that Marius waswatching some one outside in the courtyard; some one whose approach hecould gauge by following the man's glance. The some one came to the doorthat opened on the court, and stopped there, and Eudemius glanced asideand saw Varia on the threshold. At the same instant Marius rose.

  She wore robes that flowed and yet were clinging, of faintest green,like the young shining leaves of springtime; and her skin glowed and herlips were crimson, and her hair was loose and tumbled. She held a ballin her hands, and stood in the doorway, hesitating, like a child whodoes not know whether or not it will be welcomed, and yet would like toenter and find out what was going on. In her pose there was a quaint andtender dignity, in odd contrast with her rumpled hair and the childishplaything in her hands. Eudemius looked at her; and for a single instantthe veil of prejudice was lifted from his eyes, and he saw that, inspite of all, this child of his was fair,--as fair as the dear deadwoman who had given her to him and lived to know what she had done. Forthat instant hope rose in him; he shot a glance at Marius and read thedawning admiration in his eyes; perhaps, after all, in some not toodistant time, there might be--Then he realized the futility of suchhopes, that had wakened and died so many times before. Marius did notknow the truth. When he did know--He saw that Varia did not look ateither of the others, but straight at him, and he spoke to her.

  "Come hither, child!"

  She came, docile, and stood near the foot of his couch. With her thereseemed to enter a breath of pure fragrance, as of wind blowing softlyamong unspoiled, wild flowers of the country-side, of all things youngand innocent and holy. Livinius's face softened as he looked at her. Shewaited, watching her father, expecting nothing. Always he had given hernothing to expect, neither unkindness nor affection. Eudemius looked atLivinius; from him to Marius, where he stood in the window, silent,dominant even in his silence.

  "And this is mine!" he said, with a motion of his hand toward Varia.Livinius, alone understanding all that his words and tone implied, gavehim a glance of mute reproach. He took Varia's hand, as she stood nearhim, and patted it.

  "I am glad to know thee, dear child," he said gently. "Thy father I haveknown these many years, but thou wert a little baby when I saw theelast. Perhaps he has not told thee that I am a friend of his, and thisis my son."

  And Varia, for the first time, looked into Marius's face, and smiled,saying nothing at all. She sat on the edge of the couch, the ball in herlap.

  "Where have you been, child?" Eudemius asked.

  "In the garden, playing ball. I am going to play again," she answered,and never thought to wonder why he frowned.

  But Marius came over to the couch.

  "Will you let me play also?" he asked, with a faint note of amusement inhis voice. "Perhaps I can show you a game you do not know, whichsoldiers play in camp. When they have no ball, like yours, they take alump of bread, that is round, and very hard, and will keep for monthswithout spoiling, and they play with that."

  Varia jumped up.

  "I should like that!" she said eagerly. "I cannot show you any game, forI know none that are interesting; but I can learn yours!"

  The two went out into the courtyard, side by side. Livinius said, in hisgentle voice:

  "She is a dear child."

  And Eudemius answered:

  "She is a bad bargain dearly bought," and turned his face away from thewindow.

  Varia wearied of the new game shortly, and sat down beside the fountainto rest, with a frank intimation that her companion might go back to thehouse. This he showed no intention of doing, but threw himself on thegrass beside her, and set himself the task of making her talk. Hestudied her curiously; he had seen much of many women in many lands, butnone who were quite like her. Her utter simplicity was baffling;artificial himself, brought up in a civilization which was artificial,he could not get it out of his mind that it was not a pose. Very soon hegot her mental calibre; with it got also certain surprises. She wasall-innocent; yet, at times, when she sat with hands clasping her kneesand looked past him, without speech or motion, as regardless of him asthough he had not been there, he caught a hint in her eyes of somethinghe could not read. It was as though she struggled to recall a memory ofsomething gone by,--something sweet yet unholy which she did notunderstand, would not ask about, and could not forget. And, at othert
imes, in the midst of her childish prattle, she would say what wouldmake him glance at her strangely, in a voice like hers, yet whose subtleintonations were not like hers. Also, he had not found many women whowere at times as honestly regardless of him as though he had not beenthere. With all her contrarieties he found her merry, full of aprimitive joy of life, touched only at moments with a haunting mysterywhich to his mind but added to her charm. Her laughter bubbled over aswater from a spring; she was careless, thought-free, light-hearted. Forit is only those who remember nothing that regret nothing; and Varia hadneither remembrance nor what it brings.

  When he mounted and rode for Londinium that afternoon it was with thefull determination to despatch his business as quickly as might be andreturn. He told himself amusedly that he had been singed too often, bytoo many flames, to care for the feeble light of one broken lamp. Thiswas quite true. But also he acknowledged that when other lamps werewanting, a broken one might answer for an hour.

  II

  That night the sun went down in angry crimson that ate like fire throughthe sullen heart of clouds banked low along the horizon. In Varia'sgarden the shrill insect voices were hushed; the trees drooped theirleaves motionless. It was a hot and breathless night, when thundermuttered distantly and vague lightnings played hide-and-seek among theclouds, and the earth was still as an animal that crouches waiting for ablow.

  Eudemius entered his room shortly before midnight, while the stormmenaced and would not break. His thoughts still had their way with him,and they were none too happy thoughts. By the open window stood a tallstandard of wrought bronze, from the arms of which seven lamps swung bychains, their flames flaring in the faint hot breeze which entered;otherwise the room was dark. Eudemius drew a light couch near the windowand stretched himself upon it, slowly, like one worn out by wearinessand pain. The lamplight fell upon his face, and showed it less of amask, more unguarded, grim and hollow-cheeked, stamped with the seal ofsuffering. A slave entered, without noise, and placed on a stand a bowlof dewy fruit, a silver pitcher of wine, and a tall cup of the exquisiteSamian ware, rose-pink, thin as a fragile egg shell. In the dim light itglowed like a ruby; Eudemius glanced at it with a faint pleasure in itsbeauty. As the slave turned away, he spoke.

  "Hath thy lady retired?"

  The man stopped in the doorway.

  "Lord, I know not."

  "Then find out. If not, bid her come to me here."

  The man, bending, crossed his arms before his face, and went. Eudemiuslay and waited, watching the wan lightning at play in the lowering sky,listening to the far-off grumble of the thunder. Scents from the gardendrifted to him on the warm sickly breeze; once a bat flapped past thewindow. His eyes grew heavy with drowsiness.

  But a step close at hand aroused him. He turned his head and saw Variacoming toward him, her face pale in the dim light. She stopped when shereached the couch, and stood waiting in silence. Eudemius rose,carefully, lest he bring on a spasm of pain, and stood under the lightof the seven lamps.

  "Come here to me, child!" he said. Varia came, and stood where the lightfell on her face and throat; and he took her by the shoulders and lookedlong at her. His dark eyes passed over her from brow to feet; noted thedusky warmth of her hair, where jewels gleamed like a coiled snake'seyes; the curves of cheek and throat, the ripening grace of her slimbody, half-revealed beneath her silken robe. He studied her with animpersonal criticism, as though she were a statue with whose workmanshipfault might be found. Had she been a statue, he could have found nofault.

  "Thou art fair, child," he said musingly, while she stood passive underhis hands. "Art thou fair enough to win him, handicapped as thou art?And yet, who would take thee, when there are others for the asking, asfair as thou and with none of thy defects? If thou didst but know how touse that beauty of thine, it might make less of difference. For men havewedded fools before this. Ay, but those fools must have been half womanas well as fool; but thou--thou art all fool."

  He looked at her strangely; suddenly pushed aside the robe from hershoulders and laid his hands on her soft bare flesh.

  "Ay, she's fair enough!" he muttered. "If I could but lash that torpidsoul of hers to life--teach her what all other women in the world knowby nature and instinct! For if she have the beauty of the immortalwomen, without the warm spirit of sex behind it, it will avail hernothing. Passionless, she can never inspire passion. To see her mated tohim--his child in her arms--a son--a son!--who should redeem for me allthe bitterness and the disappointment she hath brought--would not thatbe better than nothing?"

  His hands on her shoulders shook. She glanced up at him under herlids,--a strange glance into which there flashed something that died asit came. Her eyes were dilated, but she made no motion to push his handsfrom her.

  "Could she win him?" Eudemius's voice was not above a whisper, yet itwas tense with restrained excitement. Drops of sweat beaded hisforehead; the cords of his neck were taut. "Varia, dost know, child,what thou art?"

  "Ay," she answered quietly. "A fool. Thou hast said it."

  Eudemius gave an exclamation of bitter impatience.

  "Fool--yes, and child and woman as well. Hast thou never thought what itmight be to become as other women are? To know the kiss of a man's lipson thine--to feel his arms about thee--to listen to the tale of lovethat is told to all but thee--"

  "Tale!" said Varia, catching at the word. "Oh, I have heardtales--wonderful tales, more wonderful than any that ever were toldbefore! And I have known the kiss of a man's lips on mine; and I havefelt a man's arms about me!"

  Eudemius gripped her slender shoulders, staring at her, and his faceworked. Then he flung her away from him.

  "Thou poor fool!" he said in contemptuous pity. He clenched his handsand strode up and down before the couch. "Oh, if I could but wakenthee--if I could but waken thee! I'd use thee, poor tool as thouart--I'd make thee, a worthless pawn, queen to play my game for me! Thouart mine, bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh, to do with as I will.Sometimes my hands itch to shake into thee the sense thou lackest--orelse to shake the useless life out of thee."

  He stopped before her, breathless with thwarted passion that time aftertime dashed itself like surge against the inexorable rock ofCircumstance, to fall back baffled and beaten.

  "Tell me!" he said, in a voice grown suddenly calm. "Child o' mine, dostthink that thou couldst win a man?"

  It was a strange question from father to child, but then he did not seeit so. And Varia, looking at him, made a strange answer.

  "I have won a man!" she said, and her voice was slow and haunting. "Bodyand soul I have won him; he is mine for all time to come, to do with asI will. I am a fool, but I have done this thing, and I think--" Shestopped, and her voice changed and grew scornful--"I think it is but alittle thing to do!"

  Eudemius stared at her.

  "Thou hast--" he whispered, and moistened his lips with a dry tongue."Say that again, girl! Thou hast--Is this thy raving? Nay, tell me, whois the man?"

  But another mood was on Varia. She laughed, like a rippling brook.

  "He hath no name!" she said merrily. "No name--nothing; for he isnothing! He comes in the clouds and in the storms and in the moonlight,and whispers strange things which none may hear but I. His voice is thewind and his words are the rustle of the leaves, and his speech isgolden as flame; and oh, the tales he hath told to me!"

  Eudemius laughed shortly.

  "At first I even thought--" he muttered, and broke off. "Child, are thywomen always with thee?"

  "Ay, save at night. I sleep alone," said Varia.

  Eudemius poured wine from the silver pitcher and drank it. Outside, therain was falling with a gentle dripping. The thunder had died; thebreeze, cooler, came laden with damp earthy smells. Varia went to thewindow and knelt beside it, leaning out into the warm darkness. Herfather's eyes followed her. But if Varia's mood had changed, his wasnot to be shaken off so lightly. He sat down on the couch, wiping hisforehead free from sweat. Here, he was close enough to touch her, a
nd hedrew her back from the window so that she leaned against the couch andhis knee.

  "Varia," he said, moved by an impulse born of what had gone before,"dost love thy father?"

  "Nay," said Varia, simply. "Why should I, my lord?"

  "True," said Eudemius. "Why shouldst thou?"

  Varia leaned her elbows on his knee, looking up at him with her chin onher hands. Her attitude held the frank fearlessness of a child.

  "Does my lord father love me?" she asked, and smiled up at him.Something within him warned Eudemius to honesty.

  "Nay, Varia," he said gently, and put a hand on her dark soft hair. "Thyfather hath never loved thee."

  Varia suddenly rested her cheek against his other hand.

  "Poor father!" she murmured, as though he were somehow deserving of allsympathy for this, "Didst ever wish that I had not been born?"

  "Ay," said Eudemius, still gently. "I have wished that."

  Varia considered a long moment, and he knew that her eyes were on him.

  "Why was I born?" she asked.

  Eudemius turned his head away.

  "Because thy mother loved me," he said, low and harshly.

  "Because--my mother--loved thee!" Varia repeated. "Now that is strange!Did ever any one love thee?"

  Eudemius started. Then he laughed.

  "_Habet!_" he exclaimed, in the language of the arena when a gladiatoris down; and laughed again. "Ay, child; once one loved me, and once Iloved. Thou canst not credit such softness in me? Well, I do not blamethee; but it is truth."

  "I believe," said Varia, "for thou hast told me truth before, to-night.If thou hadst said my father loved me, I should never have believed thyword again, but thou gavest me truth for the truth I gave to thee. I ama fool, and sometimes it is given to fools to know the truth."

  "And therein to be wiser than the sane," Eudemius muttered. "And that istruth also." He looked at her a moment with something awakened in hisface.

  "Is there a change then, after all, in thee?" he said suddenly, deep inthought and study of her face. "Thrice to-night hast thou said what Idid not understand, and never thought to hear thee say. Can it be thatsometime in the future the dawn will break?"

  Varia looked at him in her turn, a curious sidelong glance. In the dimlight her face all at once showed strange to him, as occasionally onewill see a well-known face in a new aspect--pale, with scarlet mouth andlong veiled eyes. "Thou art something besides the child I've known;though whether that thing be good or evil--" His speech died; he gazedat her as though he would pierce the mystery which shrouded her andlearn what it was that made her alien, forgetting to finish his words."There is a change, and I cannot fathom it. What is working in thee? Oris it the delusion of mine own imaginings? Thy face--thy eyes--have theychanged also? Mine own imaginings--vain imaginings! What is there in thylife which could have changed thee? Ah, if but these next months mightsee thee still more changed!"

  Varia rose from her knees beside him.

  "Why should I be changed?" she asked. "And why wouldst have me changed?I am happy--I have been happy as I am. If the joy of life is not mine,as thou hast said so often, the sorrow of life is not mine either; and Ido not wish to change!" Her voice grew and gathered passion. "I fear tochange, for I know not what the change might bring. I do not understand.Oh, father--do not wish that I should change!"

  She took a step toward him with outstretched, appealing hands. Eudemiuswatched her with critical eyes.

  But even as he watched, his own face changed and went gray, and hecaught his breath and put a hand against his side. His body stiffenedand grew rigid, while at the same time long shudders ran through it,dumb protest of tortured nerves against what was in store for it andthem.

  "Go for Claudius!" Eudemius gasped; and Varia turned and ran. Eudemiusflung himself back on the couch and lay there, striving with all hisiron will to hold the convulsions in check. But he began to writhe,terribly, with no sound but the whistling of his breath through lockedjaws. His hand, outflung, touched the cup that glowed like a ruby on thestand beside the couch. He clutched it, and crushed its fragile beautyinto atoms; and blood dripped with the wine upon the floor.

  A torch gleamed outside the door, and hasty feet came running. Claudius,the physician, entered, very old, very small, with silver hair and beardthat was like a snow-drift, followed by two slaves with lights andinstruments. They lighted all the lamps, so that the room was bright asnoon; and Claudius took from them what he wanted, and sent them bothaway. Then he rolled his sleeves above his elbows, and went to the couchwhere the silent figure lay twisting; and as he went he tucked his longwhite beard inside the collar of his gown.

  III

  But the plans of Marius did not fall out as he had intended. It was amonth before he returned to the villa, with the prospect of remaining onBritish soil until another galley could be fitted out and commissioned.This was exasperating, and Marius fumed secretly and swore at the delay.Thinking to make the best of his enforced idleness by betaking himselfto Aquae Solis, the fashionable watering-place of Britain, and whatsolace he could find there, he found himself again disappointed. Theleave he applied for was granted, but as he was starting upon hisjourney, word was brought to him that his father was ill. He found itnothing serious, but Livinius, grown querulous and childish in hisfever, begged Marius not to leave him. So, perforce, Marius stayed,contenting himself with boar-hunting in Eudemius's vast parks, and beingentertained by his host.

  Eudemius, seemingly unchanged since his illness, had not forgotten thatthe young tribune's eyes had once looked with favor on his daughter. Andsince love, like life, is but a game, and much may be done by a playerwho handles his pawns wisely, Eudemius began to conjure up hopes which,in spite of himself, he knew might never see fulfilment. The more he sawof Marius, the more he coveted his strength to prop his dying house. Hisfortune would be safe in Marius's hands, his name would be safe inMarius's keeping. For with all his faults Marius had a soldier's honor,and could guard what was given to his charge. Forthwith, then, Eudemiusbegan to lay silent plans; to scheme indirectly, with cautious skill. Itwas a new game for him; he went about it much as one ruler who seeksalliance, for political ends, with a neighboring kingdom. He wasentirely consistent in his course; no thought of his daughter's desiresor wishes moved him--even no thought as to whether or not she haddesires or wishes on the subject. Nor did he consider the personalinclinations of Marius himself. The alliance would mean much for him,saving only for one thing--a thing which yet might override alladvantages. This was where Eudemius considered all his skill and finessewould be needed.

  At first Eudemius mentioned this, the desire of his heart, to no livingsoul. He took Marius with him over his estates on his tours ofinspection, tours become unexpectedly frequent; he took pains to havehim present when overseers came with long tax-lists and rent-rolls torender account to their lord. Marius saw himself surrounded with everyluxury art could devise and skill could execute, not as though broughtforth for some occasion, but quite plainly in everyday use and service.Life, eased for him from all exertion by the unseen hands of manyslaves, became a dream of indolence and content. Horses, grooms, slaves,were at his disposal; no wish of his, however lightly uttered, but wasunostentatiously fulfilled. In the midst of all this he was left with nosense that it was done with a view to impress upon him the magnificenceof the villa and the villa's lord. He took it as he was intended to takeit, and as it was, as a matter of course, since all his life he had beenaccustomed to wealth and the luxury it might bring. And, being soaccustomed, he was able to appreciate justly the amount of money it musttake to maintain such an establishment in such a style. He listened tothe reports of overseers and stewards, all unaware that he was meant todo so; by degrees his own and his father's fortunes came to seem bycontrast mean and small. He fell readily enough into ways which,reasonable for Eudemius, were extravagant for him. But, in spite of hisinclinations toward the life sybaritic, it was plain that he had nointention of getting himself in debt to Eudemius in
any shape or form.When Eudemius judged the time to be ripe, he brought Varia upon thescene. This he did after his own fashion, studying carefully each effectthat she should make, with an artist's eye and a mind that would stop atno subterfuge to gain its end.

  Livinius was convalescent, though still weak and unable to leave hisbed, when Eudemius went upon a day to his apartments and was admitted.Livinius lay in bed, looking gentler and frailer than of old, with aslave reading to him from the _De ira_ of Seneca. He signed to thelatter to leave, and held out a hand to his friend.

  "Sit by me here, if you will," he said. "I have much to ask, and, Idoubt not, you to tell. That worthy physician of yours is dumb as anyoyster. Were it not for my boy bringing me scraps of news now and again,I should indeed feel out of touch with the world."

  Eudemius seated himself beside the bed, his back, as usual, to thelight.

  "The world wags to its own appointed end," he said carelessly. "Have youheard, then, that Rome has again refused to send troops to our aid?Verily, Britain is left to struggle with her independence like a dogwith a bone too large for it. There is but a sorry time in store for us,if present indications point aright. You have asked me often to go backwith you to Rome, and I have been long considering it. But Rome hastwenty strong men where Britain has one, and I think that my place ishere. To my mind, the people of the land, seeing those in powerwithdrawing, and not knowing what to do of themselves, will turn likesheep to any who will stand by them. Why, man, if one played his gamewith skill in this coming crisis, and kept from joining in the panicinto which others have flung themselves headlong, he might make hispower here little short of absolute, and reap his reward when Rome hassettled her affairs and the storm has blown over. One might become asecond Carausius, another Constantine. Already, since the troops ofAEtius have gone, folk believe they hear that endless storm mutteringagain in the West and South, and tell tales of new invasions of Jutesand Saxons. It is a fact also that merchants going north require adouble bonus on the goods they take. What Britain will do without thehand to hold to which has led her for so long, is a question which noman can answer and all men ask. But these be weighty topics to concern asickroom, and I have other matters to discuss with thee."

  Livinius turned inquiring eyes upon him, but Eudemius was staring pasthim, thoughtfully.

  "A matter which touches me nearly," he said, and all at once droppedinto a more familiar mode of speech. "Thou art my oldest friend, andthere is none to whom I would sooner speak in confidence. Thou knowestthat I am growing old. Soon the gods of the shades will lay their handsupon mine eyes, and my daughter and my house will be left alone. And aheavy time of trial it will be for her, incompetent, with the burden ofmy wealth upon her. Were it not for this, I could willingly leave allthis; but some one first I must find to charge himself with that burdenfor the recompense it may bring him. And there is but one way to dothis; I must mate her to some worthy man. If he be in humblecircumstances, her gold shall alter that; if he be great, it shall makehim greater. To take her with it would be, after all, but a littlething, since she is too much a child to want more than is given her, andis content with little. With her unmated, as she is, fancy what wouldfollow were she alone. No--it needs a strong hand to guard what I haveguarded; but it is a task well worth the taking. And it is in my mindthat I have found that strong hand I seek--if so it be that the ownerthereof is willing."

  He paused, to see that the sick man's eyes were on him in quickenedinterest.

  "That man, friend," Eudemius said slowly, "is thy son. Him I would have,and none other, to reign in my stead and take the place of that sondenied me, who was to rear his children in the traditions of my houseand his. What say you to this, friend, if it chances that Marius himselfis willing?"

  For a moment there was a pause. Livinius lay back on his pillows, andhis face was a battleground of contending thought. Plainly it said:"Power is great, but gold is greater, since it can purchase power;therefore gold is a good thing to have. Yet no bargain was ever offeredwithout a 'but,' and what goes with this bargain of thine, O friend? Anincubus which a man might well hesitate to let fasten upon him; ahindrance to himself and, it may be, a menace to generations yet unborn.And yet, the prize is worth risking much for, and the temptation isgreat."

  At this point came wavering, uncertainty, a look of greed, cautious andeager. Eudemius, watching, let the battle wage itself. When Liviniusfinally spoke, it was slowly, weighing his words with care.

  "You have spoken with all the frankness one friend could wish fromanother. It is only meet that I too should be as frank. If my wordsoffend, remember that it is I who shall grieve most. Your daughter, fairthough she is, and lovely, is yet a child, despite her years,--a childwho needs the care and thought which only love can give. Needing all,she could give nothing save herself to her husband; and man's needs areof the spirit as well as of the flesh. And suppose he wanted not thegift; what would there be for him? You see, I set aside all mention ofher dower; for though a man may marry gold, he must marry the womanalso. I have watched Marius from his cradle; I have marked when hisnature followed the lines along which I strove to train it, and when itturned of itself into new channels of its own. And of these channels,some, I confess, ran widely counter to those which I had planned. Noparent ever saw a child grow precisely to the measure of the ideal ofwhich he dreamed; it may be that every father under the sun is doomed todisappointment at some trait or other in the child of his flesh."

  Eudemius looked away from him, nodding soberly.

  "So it hath been with me," said Livinius. "Marius has been a good son;but a good man he has not been. For a bad man may make a good son, eventhough a bad son never makes a good man. But I am not blind, and year byyear have I watched the changes in him, some for the better, some forthe worse. When he was a child I chastised; when he was a youth Icounselled; when he became a man I could do no more than stand aside andwatch him start upon the road he had marked out for himself. And I tellyou, Eudemius,--and you may guess if the words come easily,--that were Iin your place I would not give my daughter, being what she is, to such aman as he. For her sake as well as his I say this. He is my son, and myhouse is his home for so long as he wills it, and what I have is his.But to your daughter, young, innocent, knowing nothing of the world, andless than nothing of men, he would bring only unhappiness and woe. Shecould not understand him; he would be at no pains to understand her.Whether love might raise him to its own height, I dare not say; rather Ifear that he would lower it to him. He is passionate, yet cold; but heis strong, and to men he is loyal and a lasting friend. He is a soldierthrough and through; no mistress, were she never so madly loved, couldcome before his sword. For to him, arms mean ambition and the fame hehas set himself to gain; love is a dalliance by the way, pleasant forthe hour, soon forgotten. Sorry sport for a wife, you see! There youhave him, as I, his father, know him. And how can I, his father, saythese things of him, who should stand with him against all the world?Because he needs not my help to win his battles; and there is one who inmy mind may need it sorely."

  And again there was a silence. Eudemius rose.

  "Thank thee, friend," he said. "Thy words have made me to hunger all themore for that son of thine. Mine also he shall be, if I can compass it.What need he give her but a name?--and that, in good sooth, it will nothurt him to bestow."

  He turned on his heel and went away; and Livinius looked after him longand gravely.

  When Marius entered, some time later, it was to find his father aloneand in deep thought. Marius inquired how he had been feeling that day,and if he thought his strength returning. Livinius answeredabstractedly. He was aware that Eudemius's plan was taking root in hismind; coming to weigh its pros and cons, he found that after all itmight not be such a bad thing for Marius--and himself. He motionedMarius to seat himself. Marius obeyed, waiting for what his father mighthave to say. But Livinius kept his abstracted silence, and presentlyMarius himself spoke.

  "Will Eudemius return with you to Rome?"
<
br />   Livinius shook his head thoughtfully.

  "I fear not. I have tried to persuade him, but--I think his plans liehere. For one thing, he does not like the idea of going back with thatdaughter of his."

  Marius turned a slow glance on his father.

  "It is a pity about that girl," he said indifferently. "She is veryfair--as fair as any of Rome's beauties."

  "And as wealthy. When her father hath undergone his fate, his estateswill pass to her," said Livinius. He did not look at his son, and hisvoice was careless.

  "It is a pity," Marius repeated, noncommittally. Livinius put his ownconstruction upon the words.

  "You mean--her misfortune? Ay, true. But many a man would overlook eventhat for sake of the gold she would bring him."

  "And that is true also," Marius said. "And yet--it were a risky thingfor a man to give his sons a mother found so wanting."

  So that Livinius knew that Marius's thoughts, like his own, had strayedinto those paths wherein Eudemius would lead them. He changed thesubject then, speaking of the delayed transport and affairs in Gaul.Then he became weary, being still weak, and Marius left him.

  The next evening, Marius, returning from hunting to the villa justbefore dusk, unwontedly thoughtful over prospects which his mind wasbeginning to conjure up, to look at, and play with, as it were, was metby a slave who said that the Lady Varia sent word that she wished to seehim on his return. Somewhat surprised at this, for he had scarcely seenher, much less spoken with her, since his arrival from Londinium, hefollowed the man to the door of her apartments. Here he passed a secondslave, a tall fellow with a shock of black, unkempt hair, who wastrimming a lamp near by. This one turned his head to watch him as heentered, with fierce wolf eyes into which leaped sudden jealousdistrust. But a slave was a slave to Marius; and so heedless was he ofthe man's presence, that later he could not have told whether or not hehad been there.

  Just inside the door Marius's guide crossed his arms before his face,bending low, and left him, as though at an order. Marius, againsurprised at this, stood and waited. The room, lofty and warm andfloored with exquisite tiling, seemed to overlook a garden, where duskwas gathering fast. It was furnished sumptuously, and was filled withflowers which stood in great jars of gorgeous Eastern coloring. Halfwaydown its centre ran one of the dwarf walls so common in Roman rooms,which was made to serve as the back of a low and cushioned couch oneither side of it. A lamp of wrought bronze stood near, and by its lightMarius saw that a figure was lying on the couch, with head thrown backagainst the cushions and one white arm hanging over the side.

  "Lady Varia?" Marius exclaimed. She did not answer, and he saw that sheseemed asleep. He went to the couch, walking softly, with a faint wonderas to why she had sent for him. She lay with long lashes sweeping hercheeks and her warm lips parted, in the careless abandon of a child,infinitely graceful, full of allurement. The thought entered his mindthat it was a pose, a piece of pretty trickery. He bent down until hislips all but touched her cheek and the perfume of her hair rose to him,so that had she been feigning she must have given sign, or else beenbetter skilled in the gentle art of flirting than he believed. But sheslept on, unconscious, with slow, regular breathing, so still that hecould see the beat of her heart under the filmy stuff of her tunic.

  And even as he watched her, so another, unseen, watched him,--anotherwith gaunt, haggard face and calculating eyes that took in every move ofhis pawns in the game to which he had set them. With his father'swords, in which he had read the hint, clear in his mind, Marius stoodlooking long at the sleeping girl. Patrician she was from the crown ofher dusky head to the tip of her jewelled sandal. Fair she was,--and hisbreath came shorter as his gaze wandered unchecked over her,--eminentlydesirable, and yet--He found himself confronted by the unavoidable factof her affliction. A man might well hesitate in face of all that itcould mean. One could not tell--that was the trouble. He realized, allat once, that her eyes were open, and that she was looking at him,without speech or motion. He drew back, with a certain whollyunconscious veiling of expression, and spoke.

  "You sent for me, Lady Varia?"

  She raised herself on an elbow, pushing the hair out of her eyes to lookup at him. With the motion, the jewelled fibula which held her tunic atthe shoulder became unfastened, letting the drapery slip lower oversnowy neck and arm. He noticed that if she saw this, she made no effortto replace it.

  "Sent for you? Not I!" she said, and tapped her fingers on her lips tostifle a yawn. "Or if I did, I have forgotten. Why should I have sentfor you?"

  She let herself sink back in the cushions, and he pulled a seat near thecouch and sat down. She began to play idly with the coiled golden snakearound her bare arm, looking down at it with long sleepy eyes. Again, asonce before, the novelty of this lack of attention piqued him into apassing interest.

  "If I disturb you, I will go away," he offered. "You were sleeping; itwere pity to disturb such sweet repose."

  "You do not disturb me," she answered, with all calmness, not looking athim. "Why should you? If you like to stay, you may. I am not asleepnow."

  "Did you have pleasant dreams?" Marius asked, as he might have asked itof a child. She turned scornful eyes on him.

  "I do not dream asleep!" she said. "Only when I wake. What are dreamsbut thoughts, and how can one think, asleep?"

  He looked at her, surprised. She relapsed into silence, unwound thesnake from her arm, at length, and took to turning it over and over inher fingers, letting the light play on its emerald eyes and the richchasing of its scales. He continued to watch her, with greater freedomunder her entire indifference. He felt that, if he should get up andleave her, she would take no notice, but lie there just the same,drowsy-eyed and indifferent, turning and turning the golden snake. Thisslipped from her fingers after a time and dropped to the floor at hisfeet. He picked it up, and as she held out her hand to receive it back,he clasped her wrist gently and began to coil the snake about her arm,above the elbow. She let him do it; emboldened, he kept her hand, whenthe jewel was in place, and pressed it gently. But she drew it away, notas though in rebuke, however, and examined the armlet to see that it wason properly.

  "Is it not right?" Marius asked, amused. "Let me do it again; this timeI will make sure."

  She shook her head, with a slow smile at him. Greatly daring, he leanednearer, and fastened the loosened pin on her shoulder. In the operation,his fingers touched her soft flesh. But she seemed not to notice him atall; so that quite suddenly he felt baffled and perplexed.

  "You are a strange girl!" he said abruptly. Again she smiled.

  "Why?" she asked. "Because you cannot understand me, you call mestrange?"

  He laughed.

  "Perhaps that is it, O my Lady Wisdom. But truly I begin to think you ariddle worth the reading. It may be, that with somewhat of teaching, youmight prove a pupil apt enough for any man."

  She looked at him eagerly.

  "Is it a game?" she asked. "You taught me one before, and I liked it.Wilt teach me also this other game? Is it a good game?"

  "Ay," said Marius, amusement in his voice. "It is a good game--thefinest game in the world, for the one who wins. And, indeed, I have itin mind to teach thee, thou pretty witch, the more so since I shouldhave the methods of no other to unteach. See, then, I'll show thee thefirst move. Give me thy hand--so."

  Varia held out her hand, leaning back on her pillows with eager eyes ofanticipation. Marius took the hand. It was small and soft and fragrant,with rosy, polished nails.

  "This, you must know, is a game at which but two can properly play," heexplained, as a schoolmaster might propound theories to a class. "Threehave sometimes tried it, but the third in most cases has wished he hadkept away. Most players divide it into three parts, for the sake ofconvenience. The first, for the woman; the second, for the man; thethird, usually, for the lawyers. This latter may be played in variousways--sometimes is omitted altogether. A great advantage of this game isthat so many rules govern it, that whatever one does
, is in accordancewith some rules, even though it may be at variance with certain others."

  He turned the little hand over and kissed the palm.

  "Certain things there be which every player should possess," he added inthe same tone. "For the woman, beauty--or if not this, a clevernesswhich is clever enough to manifest itself only in results. Also, if awoman hath not beauty, it is imperative that she be an adept at thegame. Innocence, in one party, not in both, is a valuable asset, sinceone of the objects of the game is the winning of it. Were both to haveit, it would become in very truth a child's game. Wealth is also a goodthing to have,--and this for both players,--since one or both are apt topay dearly in the end. And wealth is also nearly always an object in thegame. It hath many points, you see, which must be remembered."

  "I fear it is a hard game," said Varia, and shook her head in doubt."I--I cannot remember things very well sometimes."

  "Even that hath been found an advantage at times," said Marius, andlaughed softly. He changed his place and sat on the edge of the couchbeside her, and possessed himself of her other hand. Varia glanced fromher prisoned fingers to his face and back again.

  "The game may be played fast, or it may be played slowly," said Marius,his eyes on her perplexed face. "In most cases, the faster the better,lest one or other of the players should tire. What say you,sweetheart--shall ours be short and therefore merrier?"

  He drew her back into his arms, and raised her face with his free handand kissed her lips.

  "No!" said Varia, quickly, and struggled slightly to sit up.

  "Yes--that is in the game!" said Marius, and would not let her go. "Doesit come hard at first, my sweet? Never mind--soon you will like itbetter. Besides, I have told you that it is part of the game. So--restquiet, and I will show you how else it goes."

  In her eyes he read a struggle to recall something gone before and allbut forgotten; a mental groping, painful in its intensity. She ceasedher resistance, and he drew her closer and kissed her many times, with agrowing passion which surprised himself. Her breath came quicker, but inher eyes was only the dumb striving after things forgotten, with no fearat all nor anger with him. His lips strayed where they would; in herstrange absorption she seemed scarcely conscious of him.

  "Truly I did well to call thee strange!" Marius said low in her ear."Did one not know the facts of the case he might well count thee as gooda player as himself."

  Varia wrenched her hands from his and sat up. So swift was her motionthat he had let her go before he knew it. She put her hands to hertemples.

  "But I have played this game before!" she cried, unheeding him. "I knownow--oh, I know now! Thou wilt tell me that I am beautiful, and thatthou lovest me, and thou wilt say that all is not well with thee for thepain thou hast. And I will stroke thy head to ease the pain, assometimes my lord father will have me do. That is how the game goes. AndMarcus comes and tries to play as he came before; he was the third, asthou hast told, who wished that he had not. But it should be in thegarden; it was in the garden before!"

  "Now what is this raving?" Marius exclaimed, wholly uncomprehending. Hetried to take her again, but she slid off the couch and escaped him. Hepursued and caught her, but instead of the passive yielding he expected,he met resistance which was unlooked-for.

  "No! I'll have no more!" she cried. "Let me go--I do not wish to playthis game with thee! Always he stops when I bid him--thou must do thesame. I do not like this thy way. He is not rough, but gentle, and I donot fear him. Oh, let me go!"

  "Thou hast played this game before, then?" said Marius. "Be still, girl!I'll not hurt thee, but I will not let thee go. Is there more in thisthan I had fancied? Are thy words mere idle raving? By the gods, I thinknot! Answer me what questions I shall ask, and I'll let thee go, notsooner. I have a mind to know the truth of this!"

  She stood still, half in tears, breathing fast, like a frightened child.

  "Hast thou played this game before?" Marius asked.

  "Ay," she murmured, like a child brought to task, and tried again torelease herself as though to escape punishment.

  "With a man didst thou play it?"

  "Ay, with a man."

  "What man?"

  She ceased her futile efforts to escape, and wrung her hands helplessly.

  "I will not tell! He said that if my lord father knew it he would bedispleased!" she wept.

  "I think it likely that he would," said Marius, grimly. "But to tell mewould not be telling him. It may be that I can help thee. There, nevercry like that! Am I not thy friend?"

  "I know not!" she sobbed. "Oh, I am frightened! Let me go, I pray thee!"

  "Tell me first!" Marius persisted. He cast a hasty glance around."Quick, for we shall not be alone much longer. Tell me, I say!"

  She only wept, her face hidden in her hands. Marius's temper, a fragilething at best, gave way.

  "Never think to keep it from me! I'll have it whether thou wilt or no,"he said roughly. The idea of an intruder upon what he had suddenly cometo consider his own domain was not to be tolerated. Varia againstruggled, with violence, and finding herself held fast, screamedloudly.

  "Hush, little fool!" Marius exclaimed. "I am not hurting thee!"

  "Let the girl go, lord!" said a voice behind them. Marius turned hishead, to see a figure bearing down upon them, lean and tall, with ashock of black hair and angry eyes. Varia, turning at the same instantin Marius's grasp, saw the man, and cried:

  "Make him to let me go! He hath tried to make me tell thy name--do notthou tell it!"

  "So!" Marius exclaimed in triumph, catching the clew. "Thou art theman--thou!" His tone held wrath and amazed disgust.

  The slave stood his ground.

  "Let the girl go!" he repeated. It might well have been that never had aman used such a tone to Marius in his life before. From a slave it wasnot to be brooked.

  "Get you gone, you dog!" he said savagely. "Later I'll settle with you,if it be that my suspicions be correct. How dare you enter hereunbidden?"

  "I heard my lady cry out," Nicanor answered. Varia's voice broke intohis speech.

  "I tell thee make him to let me go! He is a beast, and I hate him--Ihate him!"

  Rather than prolong the scene before a slave, Marius let her go. She ranto Nicanor and caught his arm.

  "Take me away!" she cried through tears. "I will not stay with him!"

  "It were best that you should go," Marius agreed promptly. "As for you,fellow--"

  "He shall come with me!" Varia said imperiously. "You will harm him--Iwill not have him stay. Go yourself, bad man!"

  "There will be no harm done, my lady," Nicanor said gently. There wasall possible respect in his voice, but Varia went, obedient, with a lastlook backward on the threshold. Marius turned upon Nicanor.

  "Now, who are you?" he asked curtly.

  "You see me--a slave," Nicanor made reply. His voice was sullen; he wascornered, and he knew it. Also he was powerless, unable to strike a blowin his own defence; and who would see that justice was done a slave?

  Marius sat down on the couch and eyed him. Nicanor returned his gazewith watchful eyes alert for any move.

  "I have seen your face before!" Marius said suddenly, awaking to aconsciousness of the fact. Nicanor answered nothing. The two eyed oneanother in silence, neither yielding an inch, the Roman coldly haughty,the slave always watchful.

  "Hast ever held communication with the Lady Varia?" Marius asked.

  "I have served her," Nicanor answered.

  Marius laughed, looking him up and down as though he had been a horseput up for sale.

  "So I begin to think!" he muttered. "After what fashion, dog?"

  Nicanor's eyes blazed beneath their shaggy brows; his brown handsclenched in fury.

  "As a servant should," he said harshly.

  Again Marius laughed.

  "So! That drew blood, did it? What has passed between you? Have you, youbase-born clod, dared draw her attention to you, and she a noble'sdaughter? Speak, you fool, if you would
not die the death!"

  Nicanor raised his head slowly and looked his questioner in the eyes, adefiance as direct as insolent bravado could make it. Marius's thin lipsdrew tighter.

  "You refuse to answer, do you? Do you know that for this you will bebroken on the rack at the lifting of my finger? And if you refuse tospeak, this shall be done before another day is past. You have a chancenow which you will not have again, to deny or to confess. And it is notevery one who would give it!"

  "My lord hath not questioned me. To no other am I accountable," saidNicanor.

  Marius grunted scornfully.

  "You fool! Do you think your silence can save you? I'll have the storyfrom Lady Varia; how may she withhold it? Her own lips shall seal yourguilt, as already they have convicted you."

  This was true. Nicanor knew it, but he did not flinch. All that was leftto him was to die game, and this he knew also.

  Marius all at once wearied of his examination.

  "Be off with you!" he ordered insolently. "I'll have you cringing yetbefore I am through with you."

  Nicanor turned on his heel, with no obeisance such as a slave shouldmake, and strode out of the room. Marius gave a short, angry laugh.

  "The brute will not whine! By all the Furies, he's worth the breaking.Now, methinks, I have my scornful lady where I want her--and my lord aswell. This slave may be a weapon worth the having, since my foot is onhis neck also. We shall soon see!"

  IV

  That night Eudemius and his younger guest supped alone, with but oneslave to wait upon them. Marius, never prone to speech, kept his owncounsel as to the events of the afternoon, and bided the time when hemight turn them to his own ends. Eudemius also was more silent than hisposition as host seemed to warrant. That he was in bad humor was to beseen from the threatening glances he cast at the luckless slave when adish was delayed or a wine too warm. He was an old man, this latter,white-haired and bent and very skilful, with a sunken face as pale asparchment. Marius, as keen to observe as he was silent, saw that alwaysthe old man watched his lord's face with an eager anxiety, like a dogthat would read every thought in its master's eyes.

  Eudemius, as was his custom, took only fruit and one of the light Cypruswines. Marius, not at all disturbed by his host's example, dinedluxuriously and drank freely. Wine had small effect on him; but henoticed that each time his glass was filled Eudemius glanced at him,with apparent carelessness. This amused him, and, sure of himself, outof sheer perversity, he took care to have it replenished many times.

  Halfway through the meal, Eudemius clapped his hands.

  "Marcus, come hither!" he said shortly. Marcus came, with servilesubmission. "Go to Nerissa, and bid her bring her mistress here. Shewill know what to do."

  The old man hesitated a bare instant, with a strange glance at his lord,crossed his arms, and went.

  "Marius." Marius's keen wits, instantly at work upon the name and thehalf-forgotten idea it conjured up, found the thread they sought."Marcus came once and tried to play; he was the third," Varia had said.Marius's eyes lightened to a secret satisfaction. Here was one, at hishand, who could supply the information he wanted. He leaned forwardacross the table.

  "To-day I had speech with thy daughter," he said, as one introducing atopic which may prove of interest. Eudemius turned his inscrutable eyeson him.

  "So?" he said calmly.

  "She told me a wondrous tale of a man who came to her in a garden," saidMarius; and watched suspicion grow into the other's eyes and burn there."She said it was a game they played--what game, thou and I may guess. Iput it down to the--fancies she hath at times, and paid no heed. Butwhen she said that one Marcus had seen this man there also, it came tome that perhaps there might be more in it than might be thought. If thisbe the Marcus of whom she spoke, it may be that he would have somethingto tell.--Try these roasted snails, I pray thee; they are beyond praise.It would seem that they are delicate enough--"

  "She herself hath said--" Eudemius began, and stopped. The mask of hisface never changed; only his mouth settled into sterner lines and hiseyes grew more forbidding. Silence fell between the two and lasted untilMarcus came in again and held the curtains apart for Varia. She enteredquickly, her bosom heaving, lips pouting, eyes full of tears.

  "Nerissa would have it that I should wear this dress, and I hate it!"she cried petulantly, before either man could speak. "She said that thoudidst will it so. Wherefore? I will not wear it ever again. I scoldedher until she wept, but she made me wear it."

  "She was right. I gave command to her," Eudemius said coldly. "Sitthere."

  Varia dropped into the seat opposite Marius, with a resentful glance ather father and a wrathful twitch of the hated robe. It was of faintestamethyst, with tunic embroidered in gold, fastened by many jewels. Shelooked like a fair young princess, a very angry young princess; andMarius, from where he reclined at ease on the opposite side of thetable, looked across at her with quite evident admiration.

  "Why should you hate it, if unworthy man may ask?" he said amusedly."Surely not because you think it makes you less fair, since nothingcould do that. Why, then?"

  "Because I do!" she flashed at him, as though that settled the matter.Marius bowed in mock humility.

  "The best reason of all!" he said gallantly.

  "Child, with whom didst thou play thy game in the garden?" Eudemiusasked. His voice was gentler than his face, and quite casual. Varia fellinto the trap. She looked up eagerly.

  "It was a game--" she began, and stopped, with the red blood flushinginto her face and her eyes turning from her father to Marius. "I do notremember!" she stammered.

  Eudemius turned his sombre eyes full on her, and she shrank andtrembled.

  "Thou dost not remember?" Eudemius said in his even, inexorable voice."But there was a game? Was it a game in which a man held thee in hisarms and kissed thee?"

  She nodded quickly.

  "Ay, a game," she exclaimed, and caught herself up. "No, no!" she criedfearfully. "It was no game--Oh, I do not know! I cannot remember!"

  She hid her face in her hands and wept. Eudemius motioned to the silentslave behind her chair.

  "Take her to her nurse and return," he said. "I'll have the truth ofthis by some means."

  Marcus led his weeping mistress away; and Eudemius saw that Marius'seyes followed her until the curtains fell behind her, and read the looktherein.

  With her exit, Eudemius all at once lost his composure. He sprang fromhis place at the table and took to striding up and down the room.Unexpectedly he stopped before Marius.

  "If there be truth in this," he said, and his voice shook with risingfury, "I'll find the man who hath entered my gates by night, and forwhat damage he has wrought I will make him pay tenfold with living fleshand blood. Marcus was there, thou sayest; he will know. And if he willnot tell--if he thinks to shield him--"

  He broke off with a quick intake of breath, and put a hand to his side.A spasm of pain crossed his pale face and distorted it. "Come back, thouknave, while I have sense to question!" he muttered, and dropped intothe nearest seat, and sat there, with head bent forward and handsclutching claw-like the arms of the chair.

  Marcus entered, alone. Eudemius raised his head.

  "Didst thou--" he began, and stopped. But he gathered himself together,and tried again.

  "Didst thou see him who entered the women's place by stealth to holdspeech with thy mistress?"

  Marcus nodded eagerly. His voice was drowned in Eudemius's exclamationof fury.

  "So the fool spake truth when I thought she raved! Not so much foolafter all, perhaps, but better fool than--" He checked himself on theword. "Who is the man?" Again his face grew distorted; on the hands thatgripped his chair the veins stood out dark and swollen. Pain made himbrutal; he glared at Marcus with the bloodshot eyes of a goaded beast.Marcus, with a hoarse cry, bowed himself to the ground, his hands beforehis face. Eudemius brought his fist down on the arm of his chair.

  "Who is the man? Answer, slave, if thou wouldst ke
ep the flesh on thyliving bones! Who is the man, and what hath been his work?"

  Then Marcus raised himself, with outstretched hands, gesticulatingfrantically. The effort he made to speak was fearful; his face becamecongested, his eyes seemed starting from his head. And his voice was asfearful, hoarse, bestial, with apish gibberings. But no words came; hecould only beat the air and cry out in impotent despair.

  "The man is mad!" Marius exclaimed, staring.

  Eudemius lifted himself half out of his chair. Beads of sweat stoodthick upon his forehead.

  "Mad or sane, I'll have the truth from him!" he snarled. He caught thedog-whip from the back of his chair and lashed the slave across theface.

  "Now speak!" he shouted. "Think not to shield him so, for I'll have theeflayed alive before thou shalt defy me thus!"

  "I--I!" groaned Marcus. The word had a strange and guttural sound, butEudemius did not notice.

  "Go on!" he ordered furiously.

  "I--I--!" Marcus screamed, and fell grovelling at his master's feet.

  A spasm of pain shook Eudemius and turned him livid. He kicked savagelyat the writhing figure on the floor and clapped his hands thrice loudly.Two slaves came running, with faces pale with apprehension. Eudemius,almost beyond speech himself, raised a shaking hand and pointed downwardat the heap.

  "Take him to the stone room and put him to the rack until he is ready tosay what I would hear!" he said hoarsely. His voice broke into a gasp;he leaned back heavily, with his other hand against the chair from whichhe had risen. "When he is ready, call me!"

  The men lifted Marcus to his feet and took him away.

  Marius watched interestedly. To counsel mercy never crossed hismind--the mind of a Roman bred to consider bloodshed a sport and mortalstrife a pastime. If Eudemius chose to kill his slave for a whim--well,the slave was his, and it was nobody else's business. He turned to thetable and poured himself another glass of wine.

  Eudemius dropped back heavily into the chair and sat, as before, withhead bent slightly forward and gripping hands. And, as before, he seemedlistening; only this time it was with a cruel and eager greed, and hiseyes, bloodshot and terrible, were as the red eyes of a vulture thatwaits for its victim's death. From time to time his mouth twitched, anda shudder, long and uncontrollable, ran through him.

  But still he waited, and there was silence in the room.

  V

  That day Nicanor had been assigned by Hito to the squad of the fireslaves, whose duty it was to tend the fires of the hypocausts whichwarmed the guest apartments, the rooms of the master's family, thebanquet halls, and the baths. The great fireplaces, one for everyhypocaust, built in arches under the outer walls of the villa, wereapproached from the outside by passages of rough masonry. From them thehot air was carried back through the hypocaust and led to the roomsabove by means of an ingenious system of flue tiles. The fires, burningconstantly from the first approach of the keen weather of Autumn, neededincessant attention. All day slaves went back and forth, carrying woodand buckets of mineral coal from the great mines near Uriconium, throughthe narrow alleys to the roaring furnaces, where the air, smoke-ladenand acrid, was hot to suffocation. Here, panting, dripping with sweat,they fed the flaming mouths; then back again into the outer air, whichby contrast struck knife-like to the very vitals. The colder the weatherand the greater the necessity for fires, the more was the suffering ofthe slaves increased. The feeding and attendant cleaning of thefurnaces was a task given usually either to none but the lowest menialsor else as punishment. Hence Nicanor knew himself in Hito's black books,and obeyed his orders with an ill grace which did not tend to lightenhis labors.

  Once that day already he had shirked his duty, driven by restlesslonging, to stand outside the door which for him hid all the enchantmentof the world, until the coming of Marius had sent him about any task hecould lay hand to. With what had followed, and with the knowledge thathis fate was absolutely in the hands of Marius, he became impatient atthe delay. The sword hung above him and would not fall. If he but knewwhat was to happen he fancied that he might have prepared himself in ameasure to meet it. Nothing in the way of escape could be attempteduntil after nightfall; he was too much the object of Hito's maliciousattention for that. And escape meant escape from Varia, from stolen,memory-haunting visits, from all that just then made life bearable.Suspense and his own powerlessness turned him sullen; he went about histasks under Hito's eye with a dogged surliness at which hisfellow-slaves laughed in private and dared not challenge him ingood-natured raillery.

  Away from Hito, he straightway forgot what was in his hands, andremained deep in boding thought, his face lowering. He was on the edgeof a precipice into whose depths no man dared look; into which Marius'shands might plunge him at will. Thoughts of Thorney, of the churned-upwaters of the fords, of the camp-fires glowing through dusk, of thenervous press of men and beasts that lit upon the island like a swarm ofbees, and, like a swarm, buzzed awhile and settled to brief rest,crowded upon him then. He would go back to Thorney--though never to theivory workshop--and he would make enough to live on by telling tales tothose who circled about the fires, even though these were not the worldshe had dreamed of conquering. And first of all, and somehow, he mustfree himself from the welded collar of brass about his throat. With thisto brand him for what he was, the first man he met along the highwaymight return him to his master--if he could--and claim reward.

  The slaves' quarters, following the general plan of the house, werebuilt around a square inner court, with a cryptoporticus, or coveredgallery, at the northern and southern ends. But here were no polishedfloors of rich design and coloring; no soft couches and brilliantdraperies, no marbles and paintings. There were no hypocausts beneath towarm the rooms to Summer heat; these, small and bare as cells, werealways cold. On the eastern side of the court were housed the womenslaves; on the western, the men. Between these, on the northern end,were the apartments of the freedmen and stewards and overseers, withtheir offices. On the southern side, to the right of the main entranceto the court, were the storerooms leading down to the dark coldness ofthe wine-cellars. To the left of the entrance were the kitchens, withstoves, and with hypocausts beneath them. Outside the walls, singly andin groups, were the wattled huts of the field-hands, who cared for theparks and immediate lands of the villa, and who came twice daily to thegreat house to be fed.

  In such a household, where economy was a lost word and extravagance theorder of life, the stewards and overseers who managed it, beingaccountable only to their lord, were vested with much power, and madethe most of it. Head and front of them all was Hito, fat and shining,with glinting pig's eyes. No detail of the great establishment was tootrivial for his notice. Supposed to have general control over eachdivision of slaves, which in turn was managed by its own headman, he yethad a finger in all businesses. Like all men of his stamp, he went inmortal fear of ridicule; thought to show his power by abuse of it. Onhis word alone a slave might be put to the rack; let an unfortunateincur his displeasure, and he had endless ways of revenge. Hispredominating characteristic was an oily sleekness; the very voice ofhim was smooth with unctuousness. Violent likes and dislikes he took,and was in a position to gratify both, a bad enemy and a worse friend.And his methods had but one trait in common,--an entire and oftenapparently irrational unexpectedness. It was the one thing which in himmight be relied on; he would do the thing he was least expected to do.

  After the evening meal came a period of respite for those not on duty atthe house. Much license was carried on at such times, at which Hitodiscreetly winked--unless he held a grudge against some luckless one.Even he had been known to take a hand himself in various affairs, usinghis official authority to gain his private ends.

  Dusk deepened, and night fell. Hito rolled to the door of his office andstood looking out into the court, picking his teeth with grunts ofwell-fed content. A slave was lighting a brazier of charcoal near thewell in the centre of the court. The bit of blazing tinder, which henursed carefully between his hands
, threw its light up into his face andshowed it in relief against the darkness, sombre, strongly marked, witha thatch of black bushy hair. Hito, recognizing him, scowled with aninstantly aroused antagonism.

  "Nicanor!" he shouted.

  Nicanor lifted the brazier by its handle and came. When he reached Hito,he set it down, for it was heavy. Hito jerked his head at it.

  "Where are you taking that?" he demanded. If he had thought Nicanor hadbeen trying to steal it, he could not have thrown more suspicion intohis voice.

  "To the rooms of the Lady Varia," Nicanor answered. From his tone it wasplain that the antagonism was mutual.

  "Who commanded it?"

  "Her nurse."

  Even Hito had nothing to say to this. But, bound to show his authority,he thought to have the last word.

  "Well, leave it, and I will send another. I have a thing for you to do."

  "No!" said Nicanor.

  Hito's little pig eyes glinted.

  "So be it! Take it, then," he said, and his voice was smooth as oil."You can still do what I would have--perhaps even better. Now payattention. When you go to our lady's apartments, look well around andsee one of her women there. She is, I know, on duty at this time, but inwhat room I do not know. Speak with her, if you can, and say that I,Hito, am willing to see her to-night, and that I expect her. She willunderstand! Say that I wait for her,--she will know where,--and if shedoes not come, I will find out why." He crossed his arms on his fatchest.

  "If she is not in the outer room I cannot seek her. I am no eunuch,"said Nicanor, shortly.

  "Maybe she will be there," Hito replied. "See, this is how you shallknow her. Look for one with black hair, with dark brows and eyes blue,white in the face and somewhat lean, as though consumed by inwardfires,--of passion, you understand! Be sure and say to her that if shedoth not come, I will find out why." He hugged himself gently, leeringat Nicanor. "And--Nicanor, I ask this as a friend, not require it as aservice; wherefore--you understand?--nothing need be said about it. Iwould not get the poor girl into trouble, but seeing that she urgethso--"

  Nicanor looked unmoved upon his fat smirk.

  "I will do as you command," he said, and picked up the brazier andturned to go.

  "Nay, never say command," Hito said in haste, and deigned to lay a handon the slave's broad shoulder. "I do but ask it of you in allfriendship. Therefore you should be grateful that I, Hito, admit youthus to confidence. For, look you, there be reasons; this, one mightsay, is--not official."

  Nicanor's grim lips relaxed to a half smile.

  "I will do it, then, since Hito craves it," he said, and went his wayacross the court. Hito shook his heavy jowls in rage.

  "Dog!" he muttered. "'Hito craves' forsooth! I'll have that up againstyou, mighty lordling, one of these fine days! In the name of the gods,what is one to do with a fellow who cares not the snap of his fingerfor any punishment I can devise?"

  Nicanor went along the covered gallery leading from the slaves' quartersto the mansion. At intervals he shifted the heavy brazier from hand tohand. The heat of the smouldering charcoal in it rose to his face,gratefully warm. When he reached the anteroom of Lady Varia'sapartments, going by the rear passages, he found no one. The room,warmed to Summer heat, and filled with flowers, was empty. Perfumedlamps burned low, swinging from their bronze and silver standards; in acurtained recess in the wall a marble Minerva gleamed shadowed white,half concealed by curtains of dusky red. A silver jar of incense,burning before the shrine, tinged the air with faint fragrance. All wasquiet and peaceful, a safe and sheltered nest. From the other innerrooms he could hear voices; a girl's voice steadily intoning sonorousblank verse; at intervals another voice, interrupting, slow and languid,that set his heart beating hard and his face flushing. He picked up abell from the stand near the entrance and rang it.

  The recitative stopped; there was a murmur of mingled voices, andfootsteps. A girl parted the curtains which hung between the rooms andcame toward him. Her hair was black, fastened by long pins of bone; herface white and resentful; her brows were straight and dark, and the eyesbeneath were shadowy. She was slim and moved swiftly, and her skin waswhite as milk. This, then, was the girl upon whom Hito had cast his evilglance. Nicanor kept his eyes on her as she came, and wondered if shewas newly bought, that he had not seen her during the months he had beenat the villa.

  "I bring the brazier Nerissa commanded," said Nicanor, and she nodded.

  "Nerissa is busy with our lady. I will take it in."

  "She is not ill?" he asked anxiously.

  "Nay, not ill," the girl answered. "It is but that she feels the cold. Iwill take the brazier." She looked at him with some surprise that he didnot give it up.

  "It is heavy," he warned her. "Stay one moment, I pray you. Will you nottell me your name? I have been in this house these many months, andnever before have I seen you."

  "I am called Eldris," she answered. "And I have been here also, but--itis true you have not seen me, although at times I have seen you. I havebeen seen by none save--"

  "Save one, perhaps," said Nicanor, and looked into her eyes. "I bringyou word from Hito--if you are she he told me to seek out. He saith thathe, Hito, is willing to see you to-night; that he expects you, and thatyou will understand. He saith that he awaits you--you will know where;and if you do not come, he will find out why. Also--"

  He stopped on the word. The girl had gone gray; and into her eyes thereleaped a look of helpless terror, of dumb anguish and nameless fear. Andat once, with the look, she became elusively familiar. A memory, halflost, beckoned to him, of a white and tortured face, of eyes which heldthe terror of a wounded animal at bay, of a long red welt across brownshoulders. His glance went to the girl's shoulders, white as milk, halfhidden under her coarse white tunic.

  "'You sent for me, Lady Varia?'"]

  "Hito!" the girl exclaimed below her breath; and again--"Hito!" Sheflung out her hands with a movement of bitter despair and hid her facein them. "What can I do? Where can I go?" she cried hopelessly. "Sincethe first day he saw me this hath hung over me--and what can I do? O myGod! what can I do against him?"

  "You do not go willingly?" Nicanor questioned, and took note of theexclamation she had used.

  "You will not force me to him!" she gasped in terror, misunderstanding,and shrank from him.

  "Not I! I am no man's procurer!" Nicanor said curtly. "I give hismessage; the rest lieth with you and him."

  "Never with me!" the girl exclaimed. She broke into hard dry sobs thatracked her. Nicanor watched, quite at a loss what to say or do.

  "He hath--he hath threatened force and the rack if I refuse," shesobbed.

  "The rack is a bad thing to know!" said Nicanor, thinking of what he hadseen in the room at the end of the passage. He spoke with all sincerity,being no better than his time.

  "Ay, but there is something worse!" Eldris flashed back. "I would ratherface my lord in the torture-chamber; I would rather be broken on thewheel and die the death--" She shuddered, and again hid her face. "Andthere is no way out of it but death. What can I do, a slave?"

  The old bitter cry, wrung from the lips of many that the word of theNations' Law might be fulfilled--wrung from the lips of Nicanor himself.He knew the full measure of its bitterness, and somewhere in him ananswering chord stirred and woke to life. He put his hand on hershoulder.

  "See then, if that be thy feeling,--though them knowest not the rack!--Itoo am a slave, but it may be that I can help thee." The girl stilledher sobs to listen. "Hito is a fat swine. It would give me great joy tofoil him."

  "I have tried to move him," she said, with a weary hopelessness moresuggestive than many words. "It is because I struggle--" She stopped,biting her lips, her eyes dark with misery. "It is not me he would havenow, but his way," she said forlornly.

  "For me to take thy refusal would do no good," said Nicanor, his voicereflective. "Tell thy lady; surely she will give thee protection."

  "Often I have tried to do that," Eldris answered.
"Always Nerissa orother women are there to know what I would have with her; and alwaysthey say it is not for me to talk with her unless she givescommand--that I am to tell them and they will carry the word to her. Andwhen I tell,--" she faltered, with drooping head,--"they laugh, and callme fool, and ask why I should hold myself too good to do as others havedone, and say our lady is not to be troubled with a thing such as this.That is what they say, and they are worse than he. And I fear him! Oh, Ifear him!" She clenched her hands tightly across her breast and shiveredwith closed eyes. "By day I go in dread lest he give command to seizeme; by night I start awake lest I see his face grinning in the dark,even though for weeks at a time he will give me peace and make no sign.When my service is done, I hide like a rat in its hole, wishing to beseen by none. But he never forgets, and he never forgives, and I havescorned him. Oh, I would to God that I were dead!"

  "Art thou Christian?" Nicanor asked curiously.

  "Ay," she answered, without spirit.

  "Once I was at a Christian church," said Nicanor.

  "Art thou of the faith?" she asked, quickly and eagerly.

  "Not I," said Nicanor. "What good may it do a man? And if it doeth nogood, any faith will do to swear by. It hath not done thee much good,this faith of thine, since it leaves thee in this pass."

  "I trust it," she said quietly.

  "Nay," said Nicanor, in all seriousness. "It is I whom thou must trust.It is not thy faith will help thee here, but I, and the wit I have andthe strength I have, because I am the only one near thee. How then, ifit be I, can it be thy faith?"

  "I trust it," she repeated vaguely, as though she did not quiteunderstand his meaning. He laughed shortly.

  "I had rather trust myself. See now, if the door were opened, couldstthou escape from here?"

  "I have no money--nowhere to go," she answered.

  Nicanor shook his head.

  "Money I have not, but I could see that friends received thee."

  She shrugged her shoulders, a gesture half resignation, half despair.And with the movement, the elusive familiarity returned; the flickeringmemory leaped to life. Black straight hair, framing a gray face andburning eyes; a girl, a lean wisp of a thing, with chained wrists and aragged frock which only half concealed a long red welt on a brownshoulder--he had seen them all before. The memory grew and would not bedenied; suddenly forced itself into words.

  "Art thou she who was bought at Thorney of a slave-driver by oneValerius, and claimed sanctuary of a Christian cross by the church ofSaint Peter?"

  Her glance at him was startled.

  "Yea; but how dost thou know of it?" she asked in turn.

  "I saw thee sold," said Nicanor, and looked at her with new eyes. "WhenValerius pursued thee to the foot of the cross, I ran also. It was I whowent for the priest, and came back and found no one. Often since, I havewondered what became of thee and the folk who had gathered." He laughed."But it made a good tale. More than once I have used it, and fitted toit endings of mine own."

  "While I lay grasping the cross, a man in the crowd cried out: 'Girl,the priest cometh! Run thou quickly to him!' And I, being well-nighdazed with fear, had no better sense than to spring up, crying, 'Where?'And no priest was there at all; but the instant my hands were off thecross that man seized me and ran, and all the crowd ran after to seewhat might happen next, some saying it was not just, and others findingit rare good sport. At the river he thrust me into a boat and gave theman money to row quickly; and since their sport was over, the peoplewent away. It did not take long." She looked at him with quickenedinterest, and in her face also there was new thought.

  "So--art thou, then, that teller of tales, whom men call Nicanor of thesilver tongue?"

  Nicanor laughed again, but softly, all the hardness gone from his grimface, his eyes shining oddly. Did they indeed call him that?

  "I am Nicanor," he said. His quick ears caught a step approaching fromthe inner rooms. "Some one comes!" he said warningly, and added, "It isheavy; let me take it to the door."

  He picked up the brazier and carried it to the door. Eldris followed,her steps lagging.

  "I will wait near until thy duty here is ended," he said in a rapidundertone. "None shall touch thee this night, I promise thee. As forto-morrow--well, to-morrow is to-morrow, and there is small use inworrying to-day."

  She flashed a glance of gratitude at him and took the brazier. It wastoo heavy for her, but she staggered bravely with it across thethreshold, and the curtains fell behind her. Nicanor heard Nerissa'ssharp voice from within.

  "Why so long, girl? Bring it quickly--thy lady's feet are chilled."

  Nicanor lingered a moment, his eyes on the hidden entrance, and turnedand went out with his long and cat-like stride.

  In the courtyard one ran against him in the darkness and cursed himsoundly. Nicanor, recognizing the ring of Hito's eloquence, halted andwaited for what might come. Hito, in his turn, recognized him, andchanged his tone.

  "So, thou? In the dark I did not know thee. Didst find the girl?"

  "Ay, I found her," Nicanor answered with indifference. "But she is onduty to-night with our lady, and knows not when she can get away." Hegave a short laugh. "Truly, Hito--since this is not official!--I hadthought thee with an eye for woman-flesh as keen as the best. Butthat!--At first I doubted mine own eyes, that thou hadst singled outsuch an one for thy favor, when there be others whose better no mancould wish. What one can see in long sulky eyes, a gray face that neversmiles, hair like a mare's tail, a body gaunt and spare as a growingboy's--I cannot say I admire thy taste. Thou, who art so keen a judge ofwomen's beauty, who can pick and choose from among the fairest--whathath bewitched thee, man?"

  "You do not know her!" Hito said sulkily, forced into a defence of hischoice. "A creature all fire and ice--well, I know she hath no beauty,but--I'd not have thee believe it is because I am no judge. What do Icare for the girl? Bah!" He snapped his fingers in contempt. "But shehath flouted me, defied me,--me, Hito, whose word could send herstripped to the torment,--and by my father's head I'll break her for it!When I approached her with soft words, these many weeks ago, shelaughed,--mind you that!--and it is dangerous to laugh at Hito. But shewill not laugh when I am through with her! Also she said that she wouldprefer the rack. A pity that in this world people cannot always havewhat they prefer. More than ever I desire her; I would break her, seeher cringe and follow like a beaten hound; and the more she fights me,the more surely I shall win, and the more my victory shall cost her.That is my way--the way of Hito!" He licked his thick lips.

  "'And the lion said: "I find it rare good sport to hunt a mouse; it ismost noble game!"'" Nicanor quoted. His voice held a taunt.

  "No insolence, sirrah!" Hito snarled, instantly suspicious of ridicule."Because I held speech with thee to-night, it does not follow that thouart privileged to criticize!"

  "If I am insolent, why choose me for your messenger?" Nicanor askedboldly.

  Hito slipped an arm about the slave's broad shoulders and patted him.

  "Because thou art a man after mine own heart," he said smoothly."Because I love thee and thy bold eyes and thy dare-devil recklessness,and would make a friend of thee. Why else? Now, then, to-morrow thoushalt bring the girl to me. I am minded for an hour's sport with thetiger-cat. My fingers itch for that lean throat of hers. After, I willgive her to thee if it please thee--and then we'll see what the rackwill leave of her beauty." His oily chuckle was diabolic.

  "And our lady?" Nicanor suggested. "What will she say when she knows howa handmaiden of hers hath been disposed of?"

  "How will she know," Hito retorted, "when there be a dozen and odd totake her place? A slave more or less is a small matter in this house."His tone was significant. "So bring her to-morrow at the noon hour, myfriend. I think thou canst find a way! Till then, good-night. The godshave thee in their keeping!"

  "And thee!" Nicanor responded with a grin.

  Hito was absorbed into the darkness. Nicanor spat upon the ground wherehe had stood.

>   "Rather the gods smite thee with death and ruin!" he muttered. "Now towait for thy lady. How well he loves her, in truth!"

  He took to pacing up and down the gallery before the storerooms, for thenight air was biting cold, noiseless, a blot of shadow in the darkness.His thoughts wandered from the black-haired slave girl to her whom theyboth served; to Marius; to his own plight. How long would it be beforeit pleased Marius to speak and snap the jaws of the trap upon him? Whydid he hold his hand? Or had he perhaps already spoken? He knew that ifhe were to escape at all, the sooner he made the attempt, the better.His fingers went uncertainly to the collar at his throat. He could bribeno one to cut it for him; to do it himself would be more than difficult,even if he could steal the tools. He paused before a door that led intodeeper blackness. At the far end of that passage was another doorthrough which he must enter, where many another had entered before him,and where he had seen too much of what went on within to expect less forhimself than had fallen to the lot of these. He shrugged his shoulders.

  "Even a trapped rat may fight," he muttered, and turned to continue hispacing. Then it was that he saw a light coming down the gallery, dancingupon the wall; and a group of three approaching, revealed by a torch inthe hands of one. Wary as a buck which scents danger on every breeze, hedrew back into the space between two pillars to wait and watch. And hesaw that of the three, the middle one was Marcus, held fast andstruggling, and whimpering like a dog dragged to a beating.

  In the first moment, Nicanor did not understand. Then it grew upon himthat this had something to do with him, and it might be well to find outwhat. The three passed him and entered at that door before which Nicanorhad paused.

  "So--they take him to the torture!" Nicanor muttered. "I think that Ishall see the end of this."

  Lithe and noiseless as a cat he went after the three down the passage,keeping well out of range of the flaring torch.

  VI

  But when he reached the door at the end of the passage, it was closed,and he could only stand outside and listen. A lamp of pottery, burningwanly on a stone shelf jutting from the wall, showed the door, low,metal-bound, of tough black oak. He could see nothing, but his earscaught fragments of sound at intervals from within; a clank of chains, ascraping as of a heavy object dragged across the floor. He leanedagainst the wall of the passage, the lamplight on his face, his figuretense with expectation, his hands quite unconsciously hard clenched.Without warning there rose from inside a frantic gibbering, meaningless,bestial, horribly shrill. Nicanor smiled with narrowed eyes.

  "Well for me I drew thy sting, old man!" he muttered.

  The gibbering broke suddenly into a scream that rang for an instant andstopped short, leaving blank silence. Nicanor's face sharpened and grewpinched with eagerness; under scowling brows his eyes took on a strangeglitter like the eyes of an animal in the dark. He crouched closer tothe door, his body rigid with the strain of listening. Once more the cryof pain rose, this time sustained and savage with despair; it chokedand gurgled horribly into silence; and rose again, more agonized, morebitter.

  "Perhaps he wishes now he had not entered that garden!" said Nicanor,and laughed low in triumph. Every nerve was thrilling to the savage lustof blood, half-lost instinct of old days when men lived and died byblood, when the battle was to the strongest, and life was a victim'sforfeit. He longed to look through the iron-bound door, to see forhimself Marcus paying the price for his temerity. Strangely, he couldnot bring himself to believe that Marcus was unable to betray him; itseemed to him as though the man's fearful straining after speech musthave result of some sort. Even though he knew this idea to be absurd, hefound himself on edge with suspense.

  The cries became long-drawn, agonized, unceasing. There is but one soundin the world as bad as the sound of a man's screaming, and that other isthe scream of a wounded horse. Nicanor set his teeth.

  "Now they are twisting the cord about his head.... And yet, though theykill him, the poor fool cannot speak. I have well taken care of that, itappears.... They have him on the stone table, and his hands are bound. Ican see it--oh, ay, I can see it well enough. I can see that he writhesin torment; and his face--what would his face be? Purple, perhaps; andthe cord about his temples hath bitten through the flesh. There is bloodupon his face, and it takes four men to hold him. Body of me! Who wouldhave thought the old man to have such lungs!"

  A smothered exclamation from the semi-darkness beside him sent his handleaping to the dagger concealed in his tunic. In the same instant he sawthat it was Eldris.

  "Who is it?" she whispered fearfully. "Oh, why do they not kill him andhave it over! I heard as I was passing--I had to come!" She clasped herhands over her ears and shuddered. Nicanor folded his arms across hischest and leaned against the wall, looking down at her. When she loweredher hands, he said:

  "It may be that our lord hath not given command that he die."

  "Who is it?" she repeated.

  "Marcus," he answered, and saw her draw breath with a quick sob.

  "Ah, poor old man! What hath he done to deserve this?"

  "Rather it is because he will not--because he cannot do what they wouldhave him," said Nicanor. His words were reckless, still more his tone;it was even as though he cared not enough about the matter to hide hisknowledge from her.

  "Do you know what it is? Oh, if they would but kill him in very pity!"She wrung her hands.

  "Ay, I know," said Nicanor.

  "Was it his fault?" she asked eagerly. He hesitated, his bold eyes onher face.

  "No," he said. "It was not his fault. He was in the right."

  She turned on him in horror.

  "You know him innocent, and yet you stand here idle while he is done todeath!" she cried. "Oh, go--go quickly and tell them he is not to blame!Make them set him free!" She caught his arm and he felt her fingersshake. "Are you a coward, that you will listen to his cries when a wordof yours could release him? I had not thought it of you--oh, I had notthought it of you!"

  "Suppose a word of mine should set me in his place?" said Nicanorharshly. "Maybe I am coward; but calling me one will not make me one.Suppose I were in his place; suppose that in my fall I carried otherswith me,--others who at all costs must be shielded,--is it not betterthat one should suffer than that our world should crash about our ears?He is old and worthless--"

  "And you are young and worthy to have his blood spilled for you!" shetaunted in a shaking voice. "I do not understand, it may be, but itseems that this frail old man must suffer that you, so brave, sopowerful, whose life is of so great worth, may go unharmed. Why shouldyou be set in his place? Is the fault yours? If it be, and you seekshelter behind his helplessness, you are lower than the cringing curs.Are you afraid, O great and worthy one, to stand forth and confess yourwrong as any man would do?"

  She stopped breathless. He looked at her with eyes hot and sullen.

  "Now I should like to wring your neck for that!" he said. At the swiftruthless savagery in his tone the girl shrank back. Nicanor saw andlaughed. "Since I may not, I'll take payment otherhow. As for the oldman, let him squeal as best likes him. If they break him on the wheel, Ishall go and tell them how to do it; if they boil him in oil, I shall goand stir the gravy. Your opinion of the cringing cur should not gounjustified."

  The screaming died suddenly into moaning. Eldris covered her face withher hands.

  "Oh, but that is worse, if worse can be! Why does he not tell them heknows nothing, has done nothing? Surely they would let him go! Is hetrying, perhaps, to shield you?" Her voice, under all its fear and pity,was mocking.

  "Not he! He would be glad to see me in his place," Nicanor retorted. Helaughed a little. "Strange, is it not, that he doth not tell?--sincethumb-screws and argolins soon find a man's limit."

  She faced him, gathering all her courage.

  "Now do I believe you know more of this than you will say!" she cried.

  "Perhaps!" he said boldly. "It is not well to tell all one knows."

  "Not even to save a fell
ow-creature's life! Oh, what are you--brute orman? Man with the speech of angels--brute with the heart of hell!"

  "Perhaps!" said Nicanor again. "Why should I tell you what I am?"

  "Do you know, yourself?" she questioned.

  His eyes hardened.

  "Who can know himself?" he parried, with a shrug of his heavy shoulders."This much I know--that I am brute and man, slave and king. At times Iam lower than man, who can be lower than any crawling beast; at times Iam more than god, with all the world beneath me. Why? How should Itell?"

  "You, who sing of birds and butterflies, of flowers in Summer, ofsunshine and sweet love and the brightness of life!" she said bitterlyand with reproach. "Indeed, you are two men, and I know not either.One, all men must hate and fear; the other--ah, the other is of thesilver tongue. Why should this be? I can tell no more than you--I canbut pray that that black beast may be tamed and stilled."

  "I say I do not know!" Nicanor said sullenly. "And speak we of somethingelse. I am _one_ man, Nicanor, slave and teller of tales. That is allwith which you have concern. And I do not need praying over."

  "Have you no gods?" she asked him, shocked. He looked rather blank ather attack.

  "Why, no," he said, and his voice held a faint tinge of surprise. "Thereare no gods in the bogs and fens and on the hills where I tended sheep.What gods with any sense would live in such parts as these? And I knewno need of them. Why should I have learned? When my mother would tell meof one God whom she worshipped, I would go and play. Is this your God?"

  "Ay," she answered, without hesitation. "I think your mother, too, wasChristian."

  "Maybe," Nicanor answered with indifference. "But he is not the God ofthe mighty--of none but slaves and bondsmen and the humble, from allthat hath been told to me."

  "Of those who are oppressed," she said softly. "Wilt let me tell thee ofHim? Of how He was born in a stable, with wise men journeying from theEast, bearing gifts of homage?"

  Nicanor looked at her with a gleam of quickening interest.

  "Why, that is a tale," he said. "Now I have never heard of this before.Why was he born in a stable, and what gifts did those wise men bring?"

  Within the room the sounds had died, leaving a heavy silence, andneither noticed. For of old Death young Life is ever heedless; ever thebrazen fanfare of life's trumpets drowns the thin reed-plaint of death.In the passage their voices whispered guiltily.

  "Because His mother went to a place which was called Bethlehem, withJoseph her husband, to pay the taxes, and there was no room at the inn,"said Eldris, explaining. "And the angel of the Lord had told Joseph thatthese things should be, and that he need not put away Mary as he wasminded to do." She knew the facts of the story she would tell him; giveit form and coherence she could not.

  "Who was Mary?"

  "The wife of Joseph."

  "Why put her away?"

  "Because the Child was to be born."

  Nicanor drew his heavy eyebrows to a scowl of intense perplexity.

  "Now why should he put her away for doing what all good wives shoulddo?"

  "Because her child was the Son of God, and at first Joseph did not--"

  "And not the son of Joseph!" cut in Nicanor. His voice became all atonce enlightened. "Now by my head, this is a quaint tale thou tellest!So the God you Christians worship was a--"

  "Oh!" cried Eldris; and the shock in her voice cut his words short."Never say it! You do not understand! It was a miracle!"

  "A miracle--well, that is different," said Nicanor. "I have told talesof miracles, for such things may be. And so--?"

  "For it had been foretold that One should be born, of a pure virgin, whoshould redeem the world and take upon Himself the sins and sorrows ofall men. So an angel told Mary that she was blessed among women--but Ithink that she was frightened."

  Nicanor nodded, as one in entire understanding. In place of the hardglitter of his eyes had come a certain luminosity as though from innerfires, an odd deep shining; his face was keen with a lively interest.

  "And so--what happened then?" he questioned her, even as men, so manytimes before, had questioned him.

  "Yet she was glad, for that she was chosen to bring peace into theworld," recounted Eldris. "So they went into Bethlehem, and all the innswere full. But Mary could go no farther, and they went into a stable,where oxen and cattle were stalled. And there the Child was born; andmen say that a great star in the sky guided shepherds who fed theirflocks upon the moors to that stable where He lay. And it is told thatthree Kings came out of the East, laden with perfumes and gifts for himwho was to be the Saviour of the world."

  "Kings," Nicanor repeated, musing. "Then would they be clothed bravely,with jewels and fine linen, and this would make good contrast with thestable. Go on. What did they when they came into the stable?"

  "They marvelled greatly that He whom they had journeyed to seek shouldbe but a new-born babe, and they bowed down and worshipped."

  "Paid homage," said Nicanor, following out his own train of thought."Ay, it is a good tale, but as I have heard it, it lackethsomething--what? I must think of that. It hath no point, no pivot onwhich to hang the whole. For, look you, a tale is built as any otherthing is built; it must have its parts balanced; it must have cause, andmeaning, and effect. This hath a beginning, but it leads nowhere,without end."

  "But it hath no end," said Eldris, not understanding. "And it can haveno end until the end of time. For it was but the beginning; and thelittle Jesus that lay in the manger is He who liveth and reigneth aboveall gods--"

  "Now I care not for the little Jesus!" said Nicanor, gruff withimpatience. "It is the tale I would get at--the tale! Well, it willcome, as always it hath come before. On a night I will wake to find itfull-grown in my head and clamoring at my tongue. Now we will go, orthat fat lover of thine will be upon us."

  Brought back to the present and its portents, Eldris bent her head,listening.

  "Why, the cries have ceased," she said.

  "Ay, this long time past," said Nicanor carelessly. "How much, thinkyou, human flesh and blood can stand?"

  "Is he dead?" she asked, startled.

  "I hope so!" said Nicanor. "Nay then, I do not care, which is nearertruth. If I do not fear a fangless serpent in the grass, why should Ifear him?"

  There was sudden movement behind the door; before either could think offlight it opened, showing the room within. A still figure on the raisedslab of stone, for centre of the picture, with two half-strippedAfricans beside it; three figures coming doorward: and these wereEudemius, and Marius, and the physician Claudius. Eudemius, his facepinched and gray, leaned tottering with weakness on the arms of theother two; behind them walked a slave with a great peacock fan, andanother slave was waiting at the door. At once Nicanor clapped hishardened hand over the thin flame of the lamp on the shelf, and thepassage where they stood was plunged in darkness. Before the three lordshad reached the threshold, he had drawn the girl out of sight behind oneof the squat pillars of the passage. Perhaps no harm would come to them,even were they discovered; but he had reasons for wishing to take nochances. The three passed by unheeding, Eudemius stumbling and cursingbecause the passage was dark. When they had gone, Nicanor went into theroom, where the slaves were busy. Eldris stood hesitating on thethreshold, afraid to enter, unwilling to go.

  "He is dead, is he?" Nicanor asked, and went and stood over the brokenbody on the stone slab.

  One of the Africans grinned, showing strong white teeth beneath hisyellow turban.

  "Our lord was a devil to-night," he said. "The madness was on him, andhe would have blood. But look you; here is a strange thing." Withungentle hands he forced open the dead jaws, not yet stiffened in therigor of death. "Now sure this be a miracle, for mine own ears heard himspeak but yesterday."

  "So?" said Nicanor, with lifted brows. "Now I should have said a weekago, or maybe two. Ay, if you heard him speak yesterday, it was sure amiracle. Likely he hath done something displeasing to his gods."

  The slave
s carried the limp body away, and others came and resanded thefloors.

  The chamber was circular, of rough blocks of stone, with two doors.Opposite the one where Eldris stood was a raised dais where were twochairs and a flaring cresset on a tall standard. Around the walls hunginstruments of war, of torture, and of the chase; chains with heavyballs of iron attached; a stand of spears, and another of great bronzeswords, leaf-shaped and burnished. A collection of daggers hung upon thewalls, with the terrible short knives worn by the Saxons, each with thetwo nicks in the blade which would leave a ragged and dreadful wound.Here also were great six-foot bows, such as the Numidian archers used;and suits of armor in corium and in bronze, with shields andbreastplates and crested helmets of brass and iron. Here was a narrowbed, of wood and iron, with bolts and screws for tearing muscle frommuscle and joint from joint. Nicanor, with grim humor, had called thisthe bridal bed, and the name would stick to it forever. And here, higherthan a man's height above the floor, was a leaden tank with awater-cock, from which would fall water, drop by drop, hour by hour,into a leaden basin with a drain-pipe sunk into the floor. Once Nicanorhad seen a man sit screaming there for untold hours, chained to a stonebench, with water dripping, drop by drop, upon his shaven skull. He hadused this upon a day, in a tale he had told in the wine-shop ofNicodemus; and men had shuddered and drawn back from him as from onepossessed of unholy powers. And Nicanor, looking at this now, and withthat terrible gift of his seeing himself chained and screaming in thatother's place, set his teeth and muttered:

  "I shall leave this house this night."

  But he did not, for he was but mortal, and subject, like other mortals,to the decree of the goddess Fate.

  For as the slaves went out of the other door with their buckets of sand,Nicanor heard a cry from where the girl stood in the entrance to thepassage; a cry sharp and quick, as he had heard a rabbit squeal in thetrap. He wheeled and saw her shrinking inside the doorway, her handsbefore her face, and over her Hito standing, his little pig's eyesalight.

  Now the girl was nothing to Nicanor; he could have cursed her roundlyfor getting in his way and perplexing him with her troubles when he hadneed of all his wit to save himself. He would have vented hisdispleasure upon her as readily as upon Hito. He was not chivalrous; ifshe had pleased his fancy he would quite surely have pursued her asrelentlessly as the steward. But he had said, "None shall touch theethis night"; and he would maintain his word not because he wanted to,but because he must.

  "Keep your hands off her!" he said savagely, as Hito stooped. His handswere clenched, his black brows lowering, his mood, plainly, was not tobe trifled with. That he should pay for his temerity he knew as well asHito; but since he was lost in any case, he considered that a littlemore or less would make small difference.

  "What have you to say about it?" Hito snarled. "Did I not send you forthe girl? Quartus! Sporus! Come back, ye knaves, and bind me thisfellow!"

  But Nicanor, with a bound like a tiger cat's, flung himself on the door,slammed it shut, and locked it. And he had need of all his quickness,for he was playing fast and loose with death. Hito yelled and startedfor the second door through which he had come and near which the girlwas crouching. But again Nicanor was too quick. He got between Hito andthe door and stood ready to shut it,--erect, defiant, every muscle tenseto spring. He would die, that was certain, but he would give somebodytrouble first. Now Hito was fat and scant of breath, and Hito was softwith good living and much ease; and when he was cornered, he turned notrat, but rabbit. Moreover, he had seen this lean devil of a slave inaction before and he remembered it. So he stopped and merely yelledagain for Quartus and Sporus.

  Without taking his eyes off the overseer, Nicanor put out his hand andpulled the girl to him.

  "If you swoon, I shall kill you!" he muttered, stooping until he couldwhisper in her ear. "Go to Thorney in the Fords, and find thereNicodemus the One-Eyed, who keeps a wine-shop. Tell him I sent you. Icannot hold our friend here for long, but it is all that I can do. Youknow what it will mean to be caught and brought back." He raised hisvoice somewhat, so that Hito should hear apparently without his meaningit. "Go to your room and lock yourself in. We shall see what our lordhas to say to such doings!"

  He held the door ajar, and pushed the girl through, and closed it, butin the lock there was no key. Hito sneered.

  "Clever lad! 'Go to your room and lock yourself in!' Hast thought whatwill happen when she must come out? 'See what our lord has to say tosuch doings!' Hast thought that what he will say will be through me?What else didst tell the girl? Answer, son of an ill-famed mother, orthe rack shall question for me!"

  Nicanor said nothing. His ears strained for approaching footsteps, butthe walls were thick, and many had cried for help before and none hadheard them. He had no plan; he had given the girl what chance he could,and it was all that he could do. If she could not help herself--well,there would be one more to cross the threshold of fate. His only thoughtwas to give her what time he could. Let her once get away from thehouse, and over the frozen ground it would be hard to find her trailuntil morning.

  Hito took it in his head to make a dash. He started for the door,shouting at the top of his lungs for help. Nicanor barred his passage,silent and inexorable. He did not raise hand against Hito, but stoodlike a rock against the fat one's futile pummellings. For to strike asuperior meant, for a slave, instant and lawful death. Hito would nonethe less maintain that he had been struck, but Nicanor could not helpthat. So that Hito battered until his fists were sore; and Nicanor stoodand took it silently, with set jaws and eyes gleaming like a wolf's inhis dark face. He could not hope to keep Hito there much longer. Thelatter, wearied at length and puffing, sat on the edge of that grimbridal bed and cursed Nicanor by all the evil gods. After this, when hisinvention gave out, he fell silent and sat and stared at the tallfigure that guarded the door, with his little eyes half closed. Butquite suddenly those eyes flew wide with astonishment. For the figureagainst the door had begun to sway from side to side, gently andrhythmically, with a low mutter of incoherent words. Hito looked again,somewhat startled. The slave's face was set and blank; his eyes staredstraight ahead and were dull and without lustre.

  "The gods save us!" Hito muttered, watching uneasily. "Hath the man afit?"

  "See them coming!" said Nicanor. His finger pointed here and there, andin spite of himself, Hito's eyes followed it. "Bright maidens,flower-crowned, robed in gauze. Ah, flee not, sweet ones!" He stretchedhis hands imploringly. "Whence come ye, from the mist? See the mist, howit rises, full of dreams which are to come to men. Are ye dreams, yeradiant ones? No, for ye do not vanish. Ha! I have thee, lovely nymph!and thou shalt find my arms as strong to hold as the gods' from whomthou camest. Unveil thyself, sweet, and let me see thy face. It shouldbe fair, with so fair a form. So--thou thinkest to escape and fly fromme?"

  He sprang forward, hands outstretched, almost upon Hito, who turned witha yelp of alarm, and dodged. Nicanor started back as one in suddensurprise.

  "Ha, Julia, sweet friend!" he cried. "Who sent thee here to me, with thyscarf of gold and pearl, thy raven locks and thy dewy lips, with bellsupon thine ankles, and a tambour in thy hand? See, our lord cometh! Letus dance for him that perhaps we may find favor in his sight."

  Standing in front of Hito he began to dance, his hands hanging limp athis sides, his face utterly without expression. Hito gasped.

  "What hath come to thee?" he quavered. "Fool--come to thy senses beforethou art flogged back to them."

  "Dance with me, sweet maiden!" said Nicanor; and suddenly caught Hito'sfat and helpless hands in his lean brown ones and danced down the lengthof the room with him. Perforce, since he could not struggle free, Hitoran alongside, dragging back unwillingly, his face gray with fright. Atthe end of the room Nicanor turned and danced back again, dragging hiscaptive.

  "Dance, fair Julia, dance!" he cried; and in his gyrations broughtwithout warning his nail-spiked sandal down on Hito's foot. Hitobellowed and danced upon one foot with pain,
and once dancing, foundthat he could not stop.

  "Let me go!" he panted, furious. "Slave--thou madman--let me go, I say!I do not wish to dance--I will not dance!"

  "Not when our lord commands it?" cried Nicanor, breathing hard himself."Why, then, I do not wish to dance either. But since he saith 'Dance,'dance I must, and so must thou, sweet girl!"

  "I am no girl!" shrieked Hito, haled off down the room again. "I amHito, and I command that you stop!"

  "Now why give me lies like that?" said Nicanor. "Have I not eyes whichhave long hungered for thy beauty? Do I not know thee, Julia the dancinggirl?"

  "Thou art mad in very truth! Good Nicanor--sweet Nicanor--let me go, andI'll swear to keep between us this tale of thy doings!"

  Nicanor answered nothing. Always his face was blank, but his grip onHito's wrists was iron. Up and down the room he went, leaping, dancing;and up and down went Hito after him, struggling, sobbing for breath, hisunwieldy bulk trembling with fright and weariness. When his stepsslackened, through sheer inability to keep up, Nicanor, with a boundforward, dragged him after, so that, to save himself from falling on hisface, he bounded also, on his fat legs, with explosive grunts ofbreathlessness.

  Without warning Nicanor increased his speed and danced faster. He alsowas panting hard, the strain of towing two hundred odd pounds ofunwilling flesh being great. His arms and shoulders shone with sweat; onhis forehead his hair was plastered and damp.

  "Julia, Julia," he cried, "I pray you stop! I can dance no more. Thouart trained to this work, but I--I faint with weariness. Though our lordflay me, I can dance no more!"--and danced the faster.

  "Stop! I stop!" gasped Hito, purple in the face. "_Deae matres!_ Am Inot trying to stop? Stop thyself, or I die! I am exhausted--I have nobreath--have a little pity--Oh, nay, nay, I did not mean it! It is asthou sayest, of course! I--was wrong--to thwart thee! I will do whateverthou sayest, if thou wilt let me go! I--I do not think our lord--likesto see--such rapid motion. It maketh his head to swim. I, Julia, praythee, not--quite--so fast!"

  He lurched and nearly fell, and Nicanor jerked him up again. There wasthe noise of a door being opened. Nicanor knew it must be the doorleading to the passage, since the other was locked. He dropped Hito, whocrumpled into an abject heap upon the floor, past speech or motion, andwent on dancing by himself. From the tail of his eye he saw Wardo theSaxon and Quartus enter and stand gaping, dumb with amazement. Hitoshook his fist at them from the floor and stuttered. When breath enoughhad entered into him, he screamed at them.

  "Bind me this madman! He hath a devil in him. Hold him, I say, until Ican speak!"

  "Why, he's mad!" said Wardo, staring in awe at Nicanor, who,expressionless, danced invincibly.

  "Thou sayest!" Quartus agreed, and stared also. "What hath seized him?Here, lad, what means all this? Stop thy prancing and say what thou hastdone to our lord Hito, here."

  But Nicanor answered nothing, and danced.

  "Chain him!" wheezed Hito. "Stop him, or I shall go mad, also, withlooking at him! I'll have him strung by the thumbs for this!"

  And so it had been done, instantly, madness or no madness, since Hito'sword was law, and Hito was very wrathful, but that interruption camefrom a quarter least expected. A tall figure blocked the open doorway,and a deep voice said:

  "What is the meaning of all this?"

  Every slave knew it for the voice of their lord's guest, and every slavewheeled and crossed his arms before his face, and wondered what theirlord's guest should be doing there,--every slave except Nicanor, whostill danced doggedly. It would have needed a quick eye to see that hisstep had faltered, if never so slightly.

  "This fellow hath a devil, lord!" said Hito, with an effort atcoherency. "Me he did force to dance until I am no better than dead. Hecalled me Julia and made me to dance with him so that my life fainted inme. He is mad--most mad--and I will have him strung--"

  Marius looked at Nicanor, and in his face was recognition and amerciless triumph. He broke Hito's speech midway.

  "Who is this fellow?"

  "Lord, he is called Nicanor," said Hito. "And he is mad--"

  Again Marius's face changed, back to its former haughty calm, in whichwas mingled a certain satisfaction.

  "So--Nicanor, is it? I have seen men seized this way before." He spoketo Hito, but his eyes were on Nicanor. "Most commonly it is the effectof over-severe discipline, but it may be that there are other causes.Then if he is mad, friend Hito, it might be better not to slay him lestthe gods take vengeance for him upon you. Were it not best to take himto the dungeons? So, you may see how long this madness of his will last;and when it is past will be the time to punish." His tone assumed suddenauthority. "Look to it that you harm him in no manner, but hold him fastwhere you may deliver him at your lord's word. It will be your life forhis life--remember that."

  He gathered his cloak about him and strode away, and the three lookedafter him with wonder in their faces. Hito was first to voice it.

  "Our lives for his life, is it?" he grunted. "So, master slave, youwould be important, it seems. What have you done now, that our lord'sfavorite should give such orders for you? You'll not cheat me forlong--promise you that! A little while and he'll forget you; so my turnwill come. Quartus, put the chains upon him and take him to the cells."

  "Please you, we are told to harm him in no manner," Wardo ventured.Nicanor had done many a good turn to the fair-haired Saxon, as onecomrade to another, and Wardo was not one to forget it. "Were he inchains, he would soon fret himself into worse raving, and likely dohimself harm."

  "Bring him without, then!" said Hito. The two seized Nicanor, and Wardowinked at him behind Hito's back, as the latter got painfully to hisfeet. Nicanor submitted, sullenly. He, who had trusted to no man savehimself, was forced to pin what faith he might to the hint of succorthat lay in Wardo's wink. And this was but a frail straw to trust.

  They took him along a side passage behind the storerooms, down damp andslippery steps to the depths of the cellars. Here were the dungeons,half of masonry, half of living rock, whose walls glistened with slimewhere the torchlight fell upon them. They thrust him into the smallestof the cells, and left him.

  The light of their torch was shut out with the slamming of the irondoor; and darkness, dense and tangible, fell upon him in a reeking pall.

  Nicanor spoke aloud, with a laugh that jarred on the heavy stillness.

  "When friend Hito gains wind enough after his gambollings to rememberthat lean lady of his, she should be far enough away to snap her fingersat him. So, the rat is trapped at last. Now to see whether he can fightor no; for if he cannot, he'll have no chance to try again."

  Then silence fell; and other rats, boldened by the darkness, began tocome forth to peer at the intruder in their midst.

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  THE LORD'S DAUGHTER AND THE ONE WHO WENT IN CHAINS

  BOOK IV

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