Complete Works of George Moore

by George Moore

  Rhesos was the first to cry: I can distinguish shapes, mother’s face and thine, father. And Kebren, still holding on to the rope for safety, looked over the edge of the roof. The strait is full of broken ships, he said, destroyed by lightning and by waves. Thy losses are great, master, no doubt, Timotheus answered, but in this twilight they seem greater than they are. Kebren always sees misfortunes twenty times augmented, Biote cried. We have escaped with our lives and have a roof above our heads. Under our feet thou shouldst say! Kebren replied, with a watery smile. Come to the parapet again, master, and look over. Thou’lt see that there is water in the laneway and in the outer courtyard, the mere dregs of the wave that nearly overwhelmed the slaves. Had the sea cast up another — Thou canst not forget the sea’s power, Timotheus. Nor wouldst thou, master, hadst thou seen it break through the doorway. And the danger is not over yet; the strait is still boiling. Thy counsel that we should betake ourselves to the roof was wise, Timotheus, for had the great wave come again we should have been safe; the house would have withstood the shock if nothing else did. But I would know the damage done, wherefore descend and report if we must remain on the roof under a tent, or if the house stands firm.... A few minutes later Timotheus’s head appeared, and he cried to them that there was some water in the house but not enough to oblige them to keep to the roof; moreover, some slaves had returned and he had set them to work with pails and brooms. It will be harder to get Otanes down the ladder than it was to get him up, he continued. Slide him carefully into my arms lest a sudden shock should pitch me from the rung I am standing on. Rhesos and Thrasillos lent their aid, and Biote at the foot of the ladder watched the slaves working amain till she remembered that the sea might have penetrated as far as her own workroom, destroying her tapestries; and having much regard for them, she sent her maids to rescue them from the water.

  As the women left the hall she was about to follow them, but stopped reverently to see Timotheus place Otanes in his chair. Set him free from the tarpaulin, which he needs no longer, she said, and the casual words compelling her to think of him as freed from all care of what might happen to Aulis, she wondered how it was that Rhesos should be eager to question the slaves who had returned from the hills as to the number of wrecks in the strait, learning from one that the worst had happened where the strait widened out into almost open sea, and from another that the ships which had drifted and split upon the rocks would provide a great pyre for the burning of the dead man. Burnt, Kebren was heard to mutter, by his own ships! Now, if it had been the ships of the merchants of Salamis! said Timotheus; and after listening a little while to the wrangle that Timotheus’s remark had set up, Kebren left the hall abruptly, and the voices ceased in dismay, part of the slaves’ news being that the councillors intended to come to consult with Kebren and Otanes as to what might be done to provide shelter for the folk till the flooded streets were dry enough for them to return to their homes. Otanes’s hand, always ready to give to the poor, can be lifted no more for giving, Biote said, and I know not when Kebren will return; not till late in the evening, I am sure of that. Wherefore return to your work; my sons will carry the news to Aulis of Otanes’s death. A day of misfortunes for many, said a slave, for sculptor and architect as well as for us. My temple hath been wrecked by the wind? cried Thrasillos. Speak! Not wrecked, sir; damaged only. The wind got in among the scaffolding and rocked it till a wall fell, said another, and Biote did not dare to answer that the wall could soon be rebuilded; whence the money was to come to build temples and statues she did not know. But she answered her sons’ questions quietly all that day, like one without trouble upon her mind, saying at last: Your father hath not yet returned. Not yet returned! they repeated, and she heard in their voices an echo of her own dread that Kebren might have drowned himself for grief of his old friend.

  CHAPTER XVII

  SO THOU HAST returned to me at last! she cried. Why at last, Biote? A fisherman saw thee rowing in the twilight towards the Lelantus, she answered. But not to drown my grief in it, great though that be. He saw me rowing to Euboea to ask Mnasalcas at what spot the rafts bringing down logs for the burning could unload easily. And the ashes? If thou wouldst preserve his ashes, Biote, Rhesos will design a vase, but the folk would like him buried in a quiet corner of the valley whither they could go at eventide. A few of his old friends might choose a grave, she answered, but Aulis would give a great burning to its greatest man, wherefore we must submit to the indignity of a crowd, pedlars, acrobats, fortune-tellers, hucksters. As I pass their eyes will follow me, and their thoughts will be: Unmoved she passes! Or mayhap their thoughts will be busy with tales about me, striving to discover reasons for thy long absence in the Euxine. I was not beguiled, Biote. But as if she had not heard him, she continued: Daridceus was here, prophesying that houses would fall along the Hellespont; he went away to calm the earthquakes with prayers and libations, and it is said, and falsely, that I followed him. Father would have made this falsehood plain to thee, Kebren, but now he is gone there is nobody to defend me. Truly thou’rt overwrought, Biote; I barely know thee for the woman who hath lain in my arms these twenty years. Such moods should leave no remembrance, she replied. I am afraid of Leto, for she hath a tongue for scandal and a wit to create it. But Leto is thy friend; what hath befallen that thou shouldst mistrust her? Seek not to follow my thoughts, Kebren; tell me, rather, if Mnasalcas is willing that his daughters should wed our sons, knowing that we have lost ships and have spent much money on a temple. True it is that he spoke of the temple to me, saying that Otanes must have been a very rich man. And Leto — will she be at the burning? Biote asked. Mnasalcas was frowning over her eagerness to take her daughters with her, Kebren answered. Come, let me think on her words. All Chalkis and Aulis will be there, she said, and I too and my girls with me. Nor will thy frowns, Mnasalcas, keep us within doors. Thou hast caught her speech exactly, Kebren; I can hear her voice in thine. And I must make a brave show; whatever my grief may be I must curb it and meet her at the pyre. Remove that empty stare from thy face, Kebren, and understand me when I say that Leto and I must be seen walking as friends, she with dry eyes, I with wet. Why must thou be seen walking with Leto? And why must ye walk, one with wet eyes and the other smiling? I did not say that Leto should walk smiling by my side. Ask me no more questions, Kebren; I have told all I know, wherefore go to thy business, leaving me to mine, and on the day of the burning let thy coming be not later than noon, for I would hear thee praise thine old friend. But should Mnasalcas stop Leto and her daughters from coming to Aulis —— He will not do that, Biote, so fixed is her mind on letting Aulis see the beautiful children she can bear despite his roughness. I pray that thou judgest her rightly, Kebren, for Rhesos must go away with Earine in the first ship that sails. She is his inspiration. Rhesos was a sculptor before he knew her, said Kebren. I cannot follow thy thoughts, Biote; I know only fragments of thy mind and my guesses of the rest are vain. Let my mood pass unquestioned, she answered, and give thy thoughts to thy portion of the work that awaits us: the building of the pyre.

  There will be eating and drinking in this house; all that is to my charge. Three unhappy days have still to unwind themselves. No more have I to say. To thy work, Kebren, I to mine. When Kebren had left her she was glad of the embroideries that awaited her hands, and when the shroud was finished, and the tired women left the workroom to prepare the body with oils and spices, she said: We have forgotten the flowers for the bier, and the garlands for the oxen that will draw the wain to the pyre. It would indeed be a disgrace if we let the wain go without flowers, the women answered, and they returned with weary fingers to the weaving of garlands. Kebren came with a bunch of keys, and Biote told him that the manuscripts were to be treasured the letters she would read and burn herself. Timotheus might choose among Otanes’s clothes, and those he did not need he would give to the poor of the town. The sadness that is in old things was felt by all, and when the door closed behind Kebren the weaving of wreaths began again and wa
s continued till the sound of harps and flutes, the harbingers of the procession, caught on their ears. Biote called to the slaves to distribute goblets on the tables and to fill them with wine from the tankards, but time was brief, only enough for the mourners to dip bread into the wine and so get a mouthful quickly to sustain them in the long day before them. The pyre cannot be lighted till what remains of Otanes arrives, said Biote, encouraging the laggards to make free with the great dishes of sausages and to carry away what they could not eat of lamb and pork, lettuce and cabbage. And then leaving the hall they formed into procession, those who were seeking a piece of honey cake being reminded at last that the procession was at the end of the laneway. We can easily outstrip the oxen, lady, they answered, and will overtake them before the last houses are passed. We shall see thee at the pyre? Later in the day, she replied wearily, when the pyre collapses, tier after tier, under the great heat. And lying down she slumbered and waked, falling at midday into a long sleep.

  Kebren! she said, rising from her couch. So it is thou! I am tired. Little sleep there was for anybody last night. I am tired, she repeated, yawning. The pyre was lighted early, Biote, and is now burning splendidly; but if thou’rt too tired to walk thither?... She replied, still yawning, that she was not, and they fared, content to walk in silence, Kebren rehearsing his funeral oration all the way. If I could but speak it on that rock! he said to himself, his eyes falling on one by the roadside. And surprised at the sudden halt in their journey Biote asked for a reason, and not getting a sufficient one her thoughts fixed themselves on the rough road they were following. The ruts should have been filled in, she said to herself; the wain passed from one jolt to another, and tears came into her eyes when she remembered that it mattered not to the dead man whether the road was smooth or rough. It struggles, she continued, through rocks and sandy hollows, looping round the green wood, and Kebren asked her if she had forgotten that it was among you pines and plane-trees that Rhesos had gone to meet Aphrodite. And got one of Mnasalcas’s daughters instead, she answered. On coming round the spit of land he pointed to a great trail of smoke leaning towards Euboea, saying: Mnasalcas must have sent some newly felled trees, full of sap. A few stragglers in front of us and not one behind us, said Biote. We are the last, half-an-hour after the others. What can have brought thee to a standstill before that rock, Kebren? It was but a minute, Biote —— — It was five! However, never mind; we are here.

  What numbers of people among the rocks and along the shore, she continued, staring as if they had never seen the sea before, thinking nothing of the pyre. They can’t all be from Aulis, for we know everybody in Aulis, and not a single face do I recognise among the crowd. Look, Kebren, look! Cockers, Biote, he answered, and she asked: Cockers — what are they? Men who train cocks to fight. Is there going to be a fight, then? Yes; they are making a cock-pit, building it out of stones from the beach. The cry goes round of a funeral or a wedding, he added, and forthright thieves, jugglers, soothsayers, rope-dancers — all collect. Look yonder; whores from Corinth, I will swear it, though I cannot hear their voices, bargaining with a pedlar. Hey, Leto! he cried. And where are our daughters-in-law? Daughters-in-law to be! Biote replied, as they made their way round the cock-pit. How long hast thou been here? Kebren asked. Not many minutes, Leto answered, come over on the last raft carrying the logs that thou and Mnasalcas spent so much time choosing yesterday, smearing them with tar and resin to make a quick burning of Otanes. Here all by yourselves? Kebren continued, perceiving Melissa and Earine. Even so, for Mnasalcas went off early this morning crying that he must go at once to the pyre. And here we are at the pyre, and Mnasalcas as usual is out of sight, out of hearing, and we out of his mind as fully as the wife of the man yonder watching the three women in Corinthian shawls bargaining with a pedlar for rings and amulets that will help them in their craft. He is now fastening a shawl with a brooch... clever pedlar, he hath sold his brooch! and the three punks are now free to test the power of their amulets on whom they please, upon Mnasalcas, perhaps. Dost suspect him of wantoning, Leto? asked Biote. No, I do not suspect him of wasting money on such trash as over yonder, but half my life is spent in asking where he is and trying to make sense of the answers I get. The last time I saw him, says one, was here... or yonder... and if it was in neither place it was between the two.

  The last time I saw him, Kebren began — The same willingness in thee as in another to throw dust in the eyes of a married woman come in search of her husband! Toying no doubt he is with a mischief, and there are plenty of them about. Still jealous of Mnasalcas! said Biote. Were he in the middle of one I shouldn’t make a bawl about it, Leto continued, for things are not to-day as they were twenty years ago. Then I was a jealous wretch, I will admit it, and knowing me well in the days I am speaking of, Biote, thou’lt vouch for the truth of my words. Kebren told thee that he met my husband this morning? Yes, Leto; and I can tell thee that yesterday thy husband and mine were in the woods and the woodyard, and that the sun wasn’t over the mountains when they were unloading rafts and helping to build the pyre. But it is not of yesterday nor this morning, but of this noon that I would have speech of my husband’s whereabouts! cried Leto. Thou speakest as if thou wert eager to see him, said Biote, yet when you come together all the eagerness will pass. Well, what if it do? Leto answered. One can’t always have a burning to speak to one’s husband about! The last time I saw Mnasalcas, said Kebren, he was over yonder among the rocks shouting to the people by the pyre, telling them that if the wind changed they would all be scorched and burnt up in clouds of ashes, like poor Otanes himself. All burnt up if the wind changes, like the corpse itself on the pyre? cried one of the cockers. Grinnus, thou hast no mind to risk thy life on the chance that the wind remains steady, and all for the drachmae at the bottom of thy cap? Not I! said Grinnus. Nor I! Nor I! cried two other men of their company, and quickly the cocks were stuffed into their baskets and the hens into theirs, and the men made off, followed by many people crying that their money should be returned to them, the cockers shouting back: Think no more of cock-fighting till the burning is over. We shall be ready to give you the worth of your money then in a cock-pit under the shade of plane-trees in the cool of the evening. A few more cries were heard: Return us our money! After the burning! After the burning! the cockers shouted. The great crowd heaved, the men disappeared, and the subscribers to the fight felt they had been duped.

  It was well I did not subscribe five drachmae for the fight, Biote, said Kebren. They got three out of me! cried a passer-by, and another reckoned his loss at four drachmae, saying: That was a pretty excuse for flight, and they off with the swag and no cock killed or wounded. And they’re right! cried a man with a ladder; this is no place for a pitch. His monkey was picked up; his dog followed, and he staggered under the weight of the ladder, so great was the heat. Kebren, thou’lt do well to hasten in search of Mnasalcas, said Biote. Leto will not be quiet till he is by her side. This is no day for running, Kebren answered. My beard is full of sweat; and drops hang from thine upper lip, Biote. And thou, Leto, thy full bosom must be like a sponge. Like two sponges, said Biote, and the girls laughed, for this time their mother had been stricken with words that she could not answer. We, too, are full of sweat, said Melissa, and our shifts could be wrung out as if we had gone for a dip without divesting. O, for a dip in the sea, for another swim from Chalkis to the green wood! they muttered to each other. Kebren, when thou hast a sight of my husband, cried Leto, tell him to await us by the booth of the pythoness. Now, girls, said Biote, look round, for there’s a great deal that’s worth seeing collected to-day on this shore, visitors from all parts, acrobats, dancers, fortune-tellers — all wondrous clever. Yonder is a man walking on stilts. Pick your way through the crowd and watch him, learning how he manages to keep erect.

  Now they are out of sight, Leto, tell me — hast heard Mnasalcas speak of the marriages of our sons and daughters? As well might I ask if thou and Kebren speak of the marriages, Leto answered. O
f what else should we speak? and of Otanes’s death and the pyre burning under him, and of our losses? Ah, so he speaks of the storm, thinking, perhaps, that the marriages should be postponed till my sons return successful, having built many temples and carved many statues? I have heard him hint, Biote, that it would be wise to wait a little till thy sons return with pockets full of money; he could forgo the wreaths. And what answer madest thou to him, Leto? That I would as lief have my girls go away with their lovers. And did he not check thee? He tried to, but was silent enough when I gave him a picture of what the house would be with two girls whining for their lovers, neglecting their meals and caring only for solitary places among the willows along the banks of the Lelantus. Not a happy day awaits thee or me, Mnasalcas, I said, till Melissa and Earine come back with grandchildren. And to those wise words what answer did he make? That the house would be lonely enough when the girls were gone and nobody in it but our two selves; to which I said that those who plant fruit-trees must wait for the fruit and keep their fingers from pinching the buds. Girls wish to see new faces, Mnasalcas, I said. Good Leto, cried Biote, thou Couldst not have spoken words nearer to my heart, and for them I’ll tell thee a secret. In the middle of our courting Kebren asked for a year’s leave to wander before he settled down for life. No sooner is she married, said Leto, than a woman sets the tune of her life, by a single act establishes her rule, which is never taken from her afterwards; but one cannot cheat nature, Biote, and Kebren got three years away from home trading in the Euxine. Thou’rt thinking of a quest for the Golden Fleece, Leto, and believest the fleece to have been the gold of a woman’s hair, a Calypso from Sinope and Dioscurias; but Kebren was always a chaste man; he returned as he went. And thou, Biote, where was thy jealousy all the time he was away and no word from him ever coming to reassure thee? If I were jealous it was from spite, Biote answered. And in thy jealousy there was no wish to avenge thy wrongs? No wrong was done to me, Leto, or barely a wrong. Perhaps I was the wrong-doer in forbidding Kebren to indulge for a year in his ambitions. So thy husband went to the Euxine in search of the year of grace that thou wouldst not grant him, and a little plagued thou art at times by the secret thou hast told me. No, not plagued by it, Leto, for were that time to be lived over again, I should act as I did act. After ten years of marriage, Leto replied, we begin to think that the days are going by and we at a standstill or worse, gathering none of the fruit or the flowers; our thoughts begin to betray us. But thou’st told me a secret; I’ll tell thee one in return. I had a lover, and an ardent one, who begged me to meet him in Corinth; and feeling that I must do something, I consented —