CHAPTER VII
'Are you afraid of me?'
Zeno asked the question gently, for the colour had left her face; andshe looked up at him with a frightened stare. He had once seen a liketerror in the eyes of a startled doe, as if a clouded opal passedacross its sight.
Zoe did not answer, but she moved instinctively, drawing herselftogether, as it were, and turning one shoulder to him. He heard herbreathing hard.
It was a very new thing that he felt; for often, in fight, and oftenagain, he had seen strong men turn pale before him, just when theyfelt that he was a master of the sword and was going to kill, but hehad never seen a woman afraid of him in his life. In his narrowexperience, they had always seemed glad that he should be near them,and should speak to them. Therefore, when he saw that Zoe wasterrified, he did not know what to do or say, and he stupidly repeatedhis question,
'Are you afraid of me?'
Zoe dug her little nails into the palms of her hands, and looked roundthe room, as if for help; but the two maids had disappeared as soon asthe master had entered, for so they had been taught to do by theirtrainer. She was quite alone with the man who had paid for her.
All sorts of confused thoughts crowded her brain, as Zeno sat down on a seat beside the divan.]
All sorts of confused thoughts crowded her brain, as Zeno sat down ona seat beside the divan. She wondered what would happen if she toldhim her story in a few words, and appealed to his generosity. Sheguessed that he was kind; at least, sometimes. But perhaps he was afriend of the new Emperor, and it would amuse him to know that he hadbought Michael Rhangabe's daughter. Or he might send for Rustan, andinsist on revoking the bargain, and Rustan might take her back to thebeggars' quarter, and force poor Kyria Agatha to give up the money.Zoe knew at once little and much of the world of Constantinople, butof one thing she was certain, there would be neither mercy norkindness for any of her name while Andronicus reigned in Blachernae.
She was terrified by the presence of her master, but she was perfectlybrave in her resolve; the sight of death itself before her eyes shouldnot make her do anything whereby those for whom she had sold herselfmight suffer.
Zeno sat still and looked at her. It seemed to him that she was farmore beautiful than he had at first realised. As she leaned sidewaysagainst the big cushions, turning her face away and her shouldertowards him, there was something in the line of her cheek and of herneck where it joined the ear, and in the little downy ringlets at theroots of her hair that stirred his blood, against his will. Also, thedevil came and whispered to his heart that she was his personalproperty, as much as his horse, his house and his stores ofmerchandise. The laws about slaves were uncertain enough in Italy,but there was no doubt of the law in Constantinople. The slaveArethusa, weighing so many talents and minae, having so many soundteeth, and other good points, was the absolute property of Carlo Zeno.He might kill her, if he liked, in any way he chose, and the law wouldnot call it murder. There would be one slave less, and he would havethrown away four hundred gold ducats; but that would be all.
She seemed to him the most beautiful creature in the world, and thedevil was not suggesting that he should kill her; not by any means.
For a long time, the man and his slave were silent, and scarcelymoved, and neither of them afterwards forgot those minutes. In theirthoughts each was struggling with what seemed an impossibility, asomething which could never be done. The high-born girl, for the sakeof a mother who was not her mother, and of brothers who were not ofher blood, was resolved to be to the end what she had made herself tosave their lives, the obedient slave of a merchant who had paid goldfor her. It was worse than death, but if she did not die of it, shemust live through it, lest the good she had done should be undoneagain.
The man who had the law's own right of life and death over her, andwhose warm young blood her beauty stirred so profoundly, chose toresist and play that he was not the master after all. His lean facewas calm enough in the quiet lamplight, as it would have been inraging battle; but within was that he would not care to feel again,nor perhaps to let others know that he had felt.
At last, wondering at the stillness, half-believing and quite hopingthat he was no longer in the room, Zoe turned her head. His eyes wereon her, but there was something in them that she could not fear.
'Tell me who you are,' he said quietly.
Of all questions she had least expected this one, which seemed sonatural to him. She waited a moment before she spoke.
'Are you dissatisfied, sir?' she asked in a low voice. 'Has theBokharian cheated you?'
'No! What a thought!'
'Then you know what I am, and I can tell you nothing more, my lord.Can a slave have a pedigree?'
'I do not believe that you were born a slave,' said Zeno, leaningforward a little and looking into her eyes.
After a moment, her lids drooped under his gaze, but she would notspeak.
'Have you nothing to say?' he asked, disappointed at her silence.
Again the temptation seized her to tell him all, since he spoke sokindly; but still she thought of what might happen to Kyria Agatha.
'I am your bought slave,' she said, almost directly. 'I have nothingelse to tell.'
'But you had a mother?'
'I never knew her.'
'Your father, then?'
'I never knew him.'
Zeno was not always patient, even with women, and there was no reasonwhy he should be forbearing with his own property.
'I do not believe you,' he said in a tone of annoyance, and he roseand began to pace the room.
Now it chanced that Zoe had been able to answer his last two questionsquite truthfully, for she had not the least recollection of her ownfather and mother, who had died of the plague when she was threemonths old.
'I will swear to you on all holy things that it is true,' she said,watching him.
He made an impatient gesture.
'A slave cannot take an oath,' he answered roughly.
Zoe lifted her beautiful head at once, and her eyes shone; but he didnot see, for he had turned his back on her in his walk, and a momentlater she resumed her former submissive attitude.
Zeno stopped near the door and clapped his hands; the two maidsappeared.
'Bring supper,' he said.
As they went to obey he came back and sat down again beside the divan.There was just room to place a small table between him and Zoe. Thegirls came back and waited on them, but neither spoke. Zeno prepared asalad himself with ingredients brought ready for making it, and whenit was dressed he helped Zoe to a little of it. She had watched him,for the Italian custom was new to her and she had never known how asalad was composed. Zeno poured Greek wine into her glass, a delicatewhite goblet from Murano, with faint blue lines round the stem. Butshe neither ate nor drank.
'Go,' said Zeno to the maids. 'I will call you.'
The two slipped away noiselessly. Zeno had forgotten his displeasure,and he felt her presence again.
'You must eat and drink,' he said gently. 'If there is anything youlike, tell me. You shall have it.'
'You are kind,' she answered, but she did not lift her hand. 'I haveno appetite,' she added, after a little pause.
I do not know why no man believes a woman when she says that she isnot hungry. Zeno was annoyed, and by way of showing his displeasure hehimself began to eat more than he wanted. Zoe looked on in silencewhile he finished another bird and all the salad he had made. Shewould not have been a woman if she had not seen that he felt a littleshy, all at once, as the most fearless and energetic men may before awoman they do not understand. Then there was a change for the betterin her own state; she breathed more freely, her heart beat moresteadily, the weight that lay like lead on her chest, just below herthroat, was lightened. When a woman sees that a man is shy with her,she is sure that sooner or later he will turn at her will; and thoughshe is sometimes mistaken, the chances are that she is right.
Zeno had never been shy before; but now, when he wished
to speak, hecould find nothing to say, and Zoe knew it, and would not help him. Itwas strange that as her fear subsided she thought him handsomer thanat first sight, in the morning. When he had finished eating, he dranksome wine, set down the glass, and looked at her with an expressionthat was meant to show something like anger; for he already regrettedthe time--distant five minutes--when she had been afraid of him, andhe had been master of the situation. He drew his brows together, sethis lips, and glared at her, but to his amazement she did not seemfrightened. He had lost the thread, for the time, and she had foundit. She answered his look with one of gentle surprise.
'Have you finished supper already?' she asked sweetly.
A slight flush rose in his brown cheek, as he felt his shynessincrease, but he kept his eyes steadily on her.
'You do not seem to be afraid of me any longer,' he said, by way ofanswer.
'Have I anything to fear from you?' she asked, in a trusting tone.
She risked everything on the question, or thought she did. She won.His face changed and softened, for by appealing to his generosity shehad put him at ease.
'No,' he answered. 'You never were in danger from me. Besides,' headded, with something like an effort, 'I have not made up my mind whatto do with you.'
Zoe sat up straight, resting one hand on the edge of the little table.
'The truth is,' he went on, 'I did not buy you for myself.'
Zoe made a quick movement in her seat. Then her tender mouth hardenedin a look of contempt.
'So you are only another slave-dealer!' she cried scornfully. ButZeno laughed at the mere idea, and was glad to laugh. It was a relief.
'No,' he said, 'I am not a slave-dealer. I am a Venetian merchant, Ibelieve. I have been a soldier, and I came near being a prebendary!'
'A priest!' Zoe's face showed her disgust.
'No, for I never was in orders,' answered Zeno, growing more sure ofhimself as she grew more angry. 'But as for you, a friend of mine, arich gentleman of Venice, has asked me as a favour to send him themost beautiful slave to be had in Constantinople for the large pricehe named. As a matter of fact----'
But here he was interrupted, for Zoe turned from him and buried herface in the leathern cushion. Her body shook a little, and Zenothought she was crying. She had grown almost used to him, and hadbegun to feel that she might have some power over him; and she wasashamed to own that he attracted her, though she meant to hate him.But the idea that he had only bought her like a piece of goods, topass her on to an unknown man far away, was more than she could bearat first. Moreover, though the idea of eating sickened her, she wasreally weakened by need of food, and she had undergone withintwenty-four hours as much as her nature could bear without breakingdown in some way.
Zeno was distressed, and bent over her, rather awkwardly, anxious tosoothe her. She turned her face to him suddenly, without warning, andhe saw that her eyes were dry and her cheeks flushed.
'Venice is a beautiful city,' he said coaxingly. 'You will be a greatperson in my friend's house--he will give you----'
'When are you going to send me? To-morrow?' The girl had masteredherself a little.
'I have told you that I have not made up my mind about you,' Zenoanswered. 'The money I gave the Bokharian was my own. I may keep youhere after all.'
Zoe detested him in that moment. She longed to insult him, to strikehim, to drive him away. There was something so condescending in whathe said. He would make up his mind about her! He might keep her afterall! He had paid his own money for her! It was not possible that shecould have thought him handsome, that she could have been evenmomentarily attracted by his face, his manner, or his voice.
'I hate you!' she cried, shutting her teeth tightly as she spoke.
He was near her, and she drew back from him as far as she couldagainst the cushions of the divan. He resumed his seat, for he saw howangry she was. He had purposely spoken as if she were really the slaveshe told him that she was, and against the natural instinct which badehim treat her as his equal.
'Indeed,' he said coldly, and he took a cracked walnut from the tableand began to peel the kernel, 'it is not easy to know what will pleaseyou. You seem horrified at the idea of going to Venice and furious atthe thought of staying here! Of course, there is a third possibility.I would not send my friend a slave who would be so discontented as topoison him and his family, and I shall certainly not keep one in myhouse who hates me and may take it into her head to cut my throat inmy sleep. The only thing that remains will be to sell you back to theBokharian at a loss. Should you like that?'
Zoe felt again that he was her master.
'You made me think you would be kind to me!' she said, and her voicequavered.
Zeno laughed, for he had been too much annoyed to yield at once to herappeal.
'That did not prevent you from saying that you hated me, a while ago,'he answered. 'You must not expect too much Christian virtue of me, forI am no saint. I never learned to love those that hate me!'
She liked him better now; as he threw back his head a little, lookingat her from under his half-closed lids, she glanced at his brownthroat and she did not think of cutting it, as he had suggested. Butshe was angry with herself for passing through so many phases of likeand dislike in so short a time, and for not feeling relief at thethought of being sent on a long journey, which certainly would meansafety while it lasted, and perhaps a chance of freedom. She wondered,too, why she no longer wished to die outright now that she had savedKyria Agatha. Her answer to his last speech was humble.
'You made me say it,' she said. 'I am sorry, sir.'
'At least, I have learnt that you would rather stay here than go backto Rustan Karaboghazji and that gentle wife of his--his red-haireddove!'
'Anything rather than that!'
Her tone was earnest, for it was the fate she feared most, both forherself and because she fancied that the dealer would in some wayclaim his money from Kyria Agatha. Zeno was apparently satisfied withher answer, for he looked more kindly at her and was silent for atime. Again he allowed his eyes to be delighted with her beauty.
'I will not send you back,' he said at last; and he held out his handtowards her, as if he were giving a promise to an equal.
She was grateful, but she thought that perhaps he was trying to makeher betray her birth. No slave would take the master's hand familiarlyin her own; she knew the ways of slaves, for there had been many inher adopted father's house, and she touched the tips of Zeno's fingerswith her own and pressed her lips to the back of her own hand when shewithdrew it. The action disconcerted him a little, for it wasperformed perfectly, with all the deference of born servitude.
'You were not long in Rustan's house, were you?' he asked, not seemingto be much interested in the answer, for he hoped to take herunawares.
If she told the truth, which he knew, he would show surprise and pressher with another question; if she answered with an untruth he shouldgain that much knowledge of her character for future use.Quick-witted, she did neither.
'It pleased my lord to remind me a while ago that a slave's oath isnever to be believed,' she said. 'It is the law that a slave must betortured when giving evidence, is it not?'
'I believe it is,' answered Zeno, with a smile. 'But you are quitesafe! I only ask you how long you were in Rustan's house.'
'One night and part of a day,' Zoe answered after a moment.
Zeno pretended surprise.
'So short a time! Then he only bought you yesterday?'
'Yesterday evening.'
'And of whom? Will you tell me that?'
Zoe reflected a moment and then smiled.
'Yes. I will tell you that. He bought me of a lady of Constantinople,in whose closest intimacy I was brought up. She is just of my own ageand we are much alike.'
'I see,' said Zeno, completely deceived, and speaking almost tohimself. 'Poor girl! The same father, I suppose--hence the----'
Zoe drooped her eyes and looked at the carpet.
'Yes--s
ince you have guessed it, sir. We had the same father, thoughwe never knew him. He died of the plague when we were a few monthsold.'
Zeno was perfectly satisfied with this logical explanation whichentirely explained Zoe's aristocratic beauty, her nobility of manner,and the delicate rearing that was so apparent in all her ways, as wellas the fearlessness which had made her turn upon him and tell him thatshe hated him. The only point he could not understand, was that Zoeshould have smiled. But he thought, as was quite possible, that theremight have been jealousy and even hatred between the mistress and herslave-born sister, and he would not enquire too closely yet, since allwas so clear to him. Such unnatural doings were not rare in a cityhalf-filled with slaves. Zoe's mistress had probably sold her in a fitof anger, or perhaps deliberately and with a cruel purpose, or evenout of avarice, to buy a string of pearls.
The girl did not offer to say more, but she looked away from her ownerand seemed to be thinking of the past, as indeed she was, though itwas so different from that which his imagination was inventing forher.
He, on his side, peeled another walnut thoughtfully, and looked at herfrom time to time, sure that he knew the truth, and wondering what heought to do, and above all what he really wished to do. He hadbelieved her deeply wronged, and had paid a great sum to redress thatwrong, almost without hesitating, because it was his nature to helpany one in distress, and because he, who counted neither life nor limbwhen his cause was good, had never counted such stuff as gold in alike case.
But now, it was all clear. She was a slave, in spite of allappearances. She had suffered no injustice; her smile had told himthat the change in her life had not been to greater unhappiness. Thatshe should fear to be sent back to Rustan was only natural; she, whohad no doubt always lived delicately in the great house where she hadbeen born, must have felt the sordidness and the degradation of theslave-prison, in spite of the special care she had received inconsideration of her beauty and value. Very likely, too, she had notmuch real feeling, in spite of her behaviour; slave women rarelyhave.
What should he do with her? He was passionate rather than material orpleasure-loving; he was consequently an optimist and an idealist wherewomen were concerned, and was full of a vague belief in the romanticside of love. He could no more really love a slave-girl than he couldhave loved a hired maid, though she might be beautiful beyondcomparison, for he was incapable of attaching himself to beauty alone.Only his equal could be his mate, and he never could care long ortruly for any creature that was less. At twenty, the youth in himwould have boiled up and over for a week, or a month; but he wasverging on thirty, his thirty years that had been crammed with thedeeds of many a daring man's whole life-time, and his nature hadhardened in a nobler mould than his early youth had promised. He wouldnot make a plaything of any woman now; and since he would not, hewondered what he should do with Zoe, now that she was his.
In this mood of uncertainty he rose to leave her, more or lessresolved not to see her again until he had come to some conclusion asto her future; for in spite of all he still felt himself attracted toher, and the line of her cheek and throat when her face washalf-turned away was of exquisite beauty. Standing beside her for amoment, he knew that if ever again in his life he stooped to take awoman for a toy, lovelessly, stupidly, contemptibly, the playthingwould be this Arethusa whom he had bought of a scoundrelly Bokhariandealer.
'Good-night,' he said, looking down into her upturned eyes. 'If youneed anything, if you want anything, send for Omobono, and you shallhave it. Good-night, Arethusa.'
It was the first time he had called her by her name, as he knew it. Hedid not even hold out his hand. She looked up steadily.
'What shall you do with me?' she asked, very anxiously, surprised byhis sudden leave-taking.
She was so lovely then that he felt a despicable impulse to take herinto his arms, just for her loveliness, and close her sad eyes withkisses. Instead, he shook his head and turned away.
'I do not know,' he said, half-aloud. He reached the door. 'I do notknow,' he repeated, as if the problem were very hard to solve; and hewent out, not turning back to look at her.
Thus ended the first hour the slave spent with her master; and when hewas gone she felt suddenly exhausted, as if she had fought with herhands; and strangely enough she knew all at once that she was weakfrom want of food, and that the thought of eating no longer disgustedher. Half-ashamed of herself, she glanced at the door through whichZeno had disappeared, as if she thought he might come back, andlistened, as though expecting his footstep. Then, not seeing orhearing anything, she began to eat quickly, and almost ravenously, asif she were doing something to be a little ashamed of, and she hopedthat the maids would not come in and see her.
She was soon satisfied, for it had been a nervous craving rather thananything else, and every woman who reads these lines knows preciselyhow Zoe felt, or will know one of these days; for in all that belongsto the instinctive side of life, women are much more alike than menare; whereas, because they are not led, pushed, or dragged through oneaverage course of teaching, as most men are, but are left to think andabove all, to guess at truth for themselves, they are much more unlikein their way of looking at things. This also is the reason why manygifted men and a good many really learned ones would rather talk towomen than to men; for among men they hear the same thingseverlastingly, but women always have something new to say, which isflattering, pleasant, amusing, or irritating--perhaps, as they choose.Women have also a sort of mock-humble, wholly appealing way of askingthe great man how it is possible that he can really care to talk witha poor, ignorant, little woman, when he might be engaged in amemorable conversation with the other great man, who is talking to theother poor, ignorant little woman with lovely eyes, on the other sideof the room. In this way we learn that life is full of contradictions.
Zoe slept ten hours without dreaming, and awoke refreshed and rested,to wonder presently why her mood had changed so much. But Zeno wasrestless in the night, and dissatisfied with himself and with what hehad done; when he lay awake he found fault with his impulsive action,but when he fell asleep for half-an-hour Zoe haunted his dreams. Morethan once he got up and walked barefoot on the marble mosaic pavementof his room, and he threw open the shutters and looked out. The nightwas calm and clear, and the air was almost wintry. To the left ofPera's towering outline the northern constellations shone bright andcold. Each time he looked he wondered at the slow motion of the Bear;the seven stars hung above the Pole, for it was springtime, and theyhardly seemed to have moved a handbreadth to their westward sinking ina whole hour, when he looked again. When morning came his face was alittle paler than usual, and he felt that he was in a bad humour.
Omobono only guessed it from a certain increase of his naturalreserve, but that was enough for the experienced secretary, who waswonderfully careful not to speak unless Zeno spoke to him, and, aboveall, not to mention the existence of the women's apartment upstairs.On the other hand, although it was a Sunday, he had expected to besent by his master to draw the money from the house of Corner,according to Pesaro's letter, of which he had thoroughly mastered thecontents. But the order was not given, and as Zeno was neitherforgetful of details nor slack in matters of business, Omobono beganto wonder what had happened.
On Monday Zeno's mood had not changed, nor did he send for the money,and the secretary's curiosity grew mightily; on Tuesday it becamealmost unbearable. So far as he knew, and he knew most things thatwent on in the house, Zeno had only once gone upstairs, when he hadsupped with Zoe on Saturday evening, and had remained barely an hour.Since then he had not even asked after the slave, and no one had seenher except the two little maids, who came out upon the landing toreceive the meals at regular hours, but never spoke to themen-servants. The secretary could have asked to see Zoe, to enquire ifshe needed anything, and she would certainly have received him; but hewas afraid to do so without orders, and Zeno gave none, and might comein at the very moment when Omobono was there. The industrioussecretary had fits of
abstraction over his letters and accounts, andstared out of the window, stroking his neatly-trimmed grey beard verythoughtfully.
On Wednesday, a little before noon, Zoe was sitting in her window, andshe again saw Zeno go down the steps to the water and get into hisskiff. It was always there now, even at dawn, for since there had beenwomen in the house Zeno had been rowed to another place for hismorning plunge in the Golden Horn. To-day he was dressed withparticular care, Zoe thought, as she caught sight of him, and she didnot draw back from the window, as she had done the first time, butstayed where she was, and she wished in her heart that he would lookup and see her. He did not even turn as he stepped into the boat, andshe thought he held his head lower than when she had last seen him,and looked down, and raised his shoulders a little like a persondetermined not to look to the right or the left. Then the two menpulled the skiff away upstream, and she watched it till she could nolonger distinguish it from many others that moved about on the waterin the direction of the palace. She wondered where he went.
He had not been gone ten minutes when a man came to the gate of thefore-court on the other side of the house, and asked to see thesecretary. He was simply dressed in a clean brown woollen tunic, thathung almost to the ground. It had wide sleeves, and they hid hisjoined hands as he stood waiting, in the attitude monks often takebefore a superior, or when reciting prayers before meals. But the manwas not a monk, for he wore a broad belt of dark red leather, in whichhe carried a sheathed knife, a Syrian ink-horn, and a smallcylindrical case of hammered brass, which held his reed pens. On hishead he wore a tall felt cap, such as dervishes now wear.
The slave at the door looked at him attentively before admitting him.There was something unusual in his expression, though his featureswere not very marked, and he had the rather pasty complexion that isso common in the East. His eyes were perhaps a little longer and morealmond-shaped than those of the average Greek or Bokharian, and hekept them half-closed. His scanty black beard had a few grey hairs init. His nostrils curved sharply, but the nose was neither very largenor markedly aquiline. A commonplace face enough in Constantinople;but there was something oddly fixed in its expression, that made theslave feel uncomfortable and yet submissive. Many persons of allconditions came to the merchant's house on business during the day,and it was the rule to send them to Omobono. The slave's business wasto keep out thieves, beggars, and suspicious characters; he stoodaside, admitted the visitor to the court which separated the housefrom the street, and shut the gate again.
One of the free house-servants, of whom two or three were alwayswaiting, came forward--a square-shouldered Venetian named Vito, whohad been a sailor and had followed Zeno for years. He enquired thestranger's name and business.
'I am Gorlias Pietrogliant,' was the answer. 'My business with thesecretary is private.'
The serving-man disappeared, and returned a moment later to conductthe visitor to the private room of the counting-house on the groundfloor, where Omobono sat behind a high desk covered with papers andslips of parchment.
Omobono straightened himself on his stool and eyed the newcomer with alook of enquiry, at the same time drawing from his right arm the halfsleeve of grey cotton which he always put on when he was going towrite long, lest a spot of ink should stain the soft linen wrist-bandwhich just showed below the tight cuff of his coat. He was a carefulman. He looked at his visitor keenly, till he suddenly became awarethat his scrutiny was returned with a rather disquieting fixedness.
'I am Gorlias Pietrogliant,' said the stranger.
Omobono bent his head politely, and wondered whether he should be ableto repeat such an outlandish name.
'I am Messer Zeno's secretary,' he answered. 'What is your business,Master Porlias Dietroplant?'
'Gorlias,' corrected the other, quite unmoved. Gorlias Pietrogliant.'
'Master Gorlias--I beg your pardon.'
'I am an astrologer,' observed the visitor, seating himself on a highstool at Omobono's elbow, and relapsing into silence.
'You are an astrologer,' said the secretary tentatively, after a longpause, for he did not know what to say.
'Yes, I told you so,' replied Gorlias; and for a few seconds longer itdid not seem to occur to him that there was anything else to be said.
There was something so oddly fixed in his look and so dull in hisvoice that Omobono began to fear that he might be a lunatic, which wasindeed, in the secretary's opinion, much the same as an astrologer,for the Venetians were never great believers in the influence of thestars. But the visitor soon made him forget his suspicions by revivinghis curiosity.
'The matter which brings me to you is of a very delicate nature,' saidGorlias, all at once speaking fluently and in a low voice. 'I havereason to believe that we are interested in the same business.'
'Are we?' asked the secretary in some surprise.
'I think we are. I think we are, by four toes and by five toes!'
'Over the water,' answered Omobono promptly, and hoping to learn more.
'Both salt and fresh,' returned Gorlias. 'By these tokens I shalltrust to your fidelity and discretion.'
There was something so oddly fixed in his look and so dull in his voice that Omobono began to fear that he might be a lunatic.]
'Implicitly,' replied the Venetian, who was sure of being discreet,but wondered what the matter might be to which his fidelity waspledged beforehand. He inwardly hoped that his visitor was not goingto ask him for money, for he suspected that some awful fate must be instore for those who refused a service when appealed to by themysterious passwords, of which he had now learnt one more.
'Messer Carlo is gone out,' said Gorlias. 'By this time he is in thehouse of Messer Sebastian Polo, who wishes to marry him to hisdaughter. He will not come home till after dinner.'
Omobono stared at the speaker.
'You know more than I do,' he observed.
'Of course. I am an astrologer. You are in charge of the house and allit contains, and the servants and slaves are afraid of you because youhave the master's ear, but they love you because you are kind to them.Therefore, whatever you do is right in their eyes. Upstairs there arethree female slaves; one is Arethusa, the other two are called Yuliaand Lucilla, and wait on her. You see, I know everything. Now, for thesake of that business in which we are both interested, you must takeme up to their apartment, for I must speak with the one calledArethusa.'
Omobono wished that Gorlias had asked him for his coat, or his money,or anything that was his, rather than for such a favour; and he wasabout to risk refusing it, whatever the penalty might be, when aluminous idea revealed itself to him.
'There is only one condition,' he answered, after a moment's thought.'I must be present while you talk with her.'
'That need not disturb you,' said Gorlias calmly. 'I have seen theroom where she is by virtue of my knowledge of the stars. It has asmall covered balcony with an outer lattice against the sun, on thesouth side. There I will talk with Arethusa, while you stand by thedoor and watch us. I will draw figures, and appear to explain them toher, so that the two girl-slaves may think that I have come to amuseher by setting up her horoscope. Even Messer Carlo could not object tothat, and Arethusa can veil herself, so that I shall not be able tosee her face.'
Omobono reflected a moment, but could now see no good reason forrefusing the request, whereas he saw a prospect of learning somethingmore about the mystery that interested him. Zoe herself had promptedhim with the second password of the chain, in Rustan's house, and hewas almost sure that in some way she knew the rest, and the meaning ofthem all.
The two went up the marble stairs to the second story, and Omobonotapped at the entrance to the women's apartment. There came a littlepattering of slippered feet, and Lucilla opened the door just enoughto put her head out, for it was not yet time for the mid-day meal, andshe wondered what was wanted.
'Bid your mistress veil herself, my child,' said Omobono. 'Here is afamous astrologer come to tell her the future, which will help her t
opass the time.'
Lucilla glanced at Gorlias with curiosity and smiled, showing all herteeth.
'Indeed it is very dull here,' she observed, and disappeared, shuttingthe door behind her.
While the two men waited Gorlias produced from the folds of his widetunic a big roll of parchment, which he unrolled a foot or two,displaying a multitude of incomprehensible signs and figures; he alsotook out a large brass compass, a sheet of cotton paper from Padua,also rolled up, and an Arabic almanack with a silver clasp. Omobonosurveyed these preparations with mingled curiosity and scepticalamusement, till Lucilla opened the door again and ushered both meninto Zoe's presence. The astrologer made cabalistic signs with hisright hand while he advanced, as if he were drawing imaginary figuresin the air with his extended forefinger. Zoe's face was quiteconcealed in the double folds of a white gauze veil, but she seemed towatch him attentively as he came towards her.
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