The Last Days of Pompeii

by Edward George Bulwer-Lytton

  Chapter XI

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  Nydia Affects The Sorceress.

  WHEN the Thessalian found that Arbaces returned to her no more—when she was left, hour after hour, to all the torture of that miserable suspense which was rendered by blindness doubly intolerable, she began, with outstretched arms, to feel around her prison for some channel of escape; and finding the only entrance secure, she called aloud, and with the vehemence of a temper naturally violent, and now sharpened by impatient agony.

  ‘Ho, girl!’ said the slave in attendance, opening the door; art thou bit by a scorpion? or thinkest thou that we are dying of silence here, and only to be preserved, like the infant Jupiter, by a hullabaloo?’

  ‘Where is thy master? and wherefore am I caged here? I want air and liberty: let me go forth!’

  ‘Alas! little one, hast thou not seen enough of Arbaces to know that his will is imperial! He hath ordered thee to be caged; and caged thou art, and I am thy keeper. Thou canst not have air and liberty; but thou mayst have what are much better things—food and wine.’

  ‘Proh Jupiter!’ cried the girl, wringing her hands; ‘and why am I thus imprisoned? What can the great Arbaces want with so poor a thing as I am?’

  ‘That I know not, unless it be to attend on thy new mistress, who has been brought hither this day.’

  ‘What! Ione here?’

  ‘Yes, poor lady; she liked it little, I fear. Yet, by the Temple of Castor! Arbaces is a gallant man to the women. Thy lady is his ward, thou knowest.’

  ‘Wilt thou take me to her?’

  ‘She is ill—frantic with rage and spite. Besides, I have no orders to do so; and I never think for myself. When Arbaces made me slave of these chambers, he said, “I have but one lesson to give thee—while thou servest me, thou must have neither ears, eyes, nor thought; thou must be but one quality—obedience.”’

  ‘But what harm is there in seeing Ione?’

  ‘That I know not; but if thou wantest a companion, I am willing to talk to thee, little one, for I am solitary enough in my dull cubiculum. And, by the way, thou art Thessalian—knowest thou not some cunning amusement of knife and shears, some pretty trick of telling fortunes, as most of thy race do, in order to pass the time

  ‘Tush, slave, hold thy peace! or, if thou wilt speak, what hast thou heard of the state of Glaucus?’

  ‘Why, my master has gone to the Athenian’s trial; Glaucus will smart for it!’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘The murder of the priest Apaecides.’

  ‘Ha!’ said Nydia, pressing her hands to her forehead; ‘something of this I have indeed heard, but understand not. Yet, who will dare to touch a hair of his head?’

  ‘That will the lion, I fear.’

  ‘Averting gods! what wickedness dost thou utter?’

  ‘Why, only that, if he be found guilty, the lion, or may be the tiger, will be his executioner.’

  Nydia leaped up, as if an arrow had entered her heart; she uttered a piercing scream; then, falling before the feet of the slave, she cried, in a tone that melted even his rude heart:

  ‘Ah! tell me thou jestest—thou utterest not the truth—speak, speak!’

  ‘Why, by my faith, blind girl, I know nothing of the law; it may not be so bad as I say. But Arbaces is his accuser, and the people desire a victim for the arena. Cheer thee! But what hath the fate of the Athenian to do with thine?’

  ‘No matter, no matter—he has been kind to me: thou knowest not, then, what they will do? Arbaces his accuser! O fate! The people—the people! Ah! they can look upon his face—who will be cruel to the Athenian!—Yet was not Love itself cruel to him?’

  So saying, her head drooped upon her bosom: she sunk into silence; scalding tears flowed down her cheeks; and all the kindly efforts of the slave were unable either to console her or distract the absorption of her reverie.

  When his household cares obliged the ministrant to leave her room, Nydia began to re-collect her thoughts. Arbaces was the accuser of Glaucus; Arbaces had imprisoned her here; was not that a proof that her liberty might be serviceable to Glaucus? Yes, she was evidently inveigled into some snare; she was contributing to the destruction of her beloved! Oh, how she panted for release! Fortunately, for her sufferings, all sense of pain became merged in the desire of escape; and as she began to revolve the possibility of deliverance, she grew calm and thoughtful. She possessed much of the craft of her sex, and it had been increased in her breast by her early servitude. What slave was ever destitute of cunning? She resolved to practise upon her keeper; and calling suddenly to mind his superstitious query as to her Thessalian art, she hoped by that handle to work out some method of release. These doubts occupied her mind during the rest of the day and the long hours of night; and, accordingly, when Sosia visited her the following morning, she hastened to divert his garrulity into that channel in which it had before evinced a natural disposition to flow.

  She was aware, however, that her only chance of escape was at night; and accordingly she was obliged with a bitter pang at the delay to defer till then her purposed attempt.

  ‘The night,’ said she, ‘is the sole time in which we can well decipher the decrees of Fate—then it is thou must seek me. But what desirest thou to learn?’

  ‘By Pollux! I should like to know as much as my master; but that is not to be expected. Let me know, at least, whether I shall save enough to purchase my freedom, or whether this Egyptian will give it me for nothing. He does such generous things sometimes. Next, supposing that be true, shall I possess myself of that snug taberna among the Myropolia, which I have long had in my eye? ‘Tis a genteel trade that of a perfumer, and suits a retired slave who has something of a gentleman about him!’

  ‘Ay! so you would have precise answers to those questions?—there are various ways of satisfying you. There is the Lithomanteia, or Speaking-stone, which answers your prayer with an infant’s voice; but, then, we have not that precious stone with us—costly is it and rare. Then there is the Gastromanteia, whereby the demon casts pale and deadly images upon the water, prophetic of the future. But this art requires also glasses of a peculiar fashion, to contain the consecrated liquid, which we have not. I think, therefore, that the simplest method of satisfying your desire would be by the Magic of Air.’

  ‘I trust,’ said Sosia, tremulously, ‘that there is nothing very frightful in the operation? I have no love for apparitions.’

  ‘Fear not; thou wilt see nothing; thou wilt only hear by the bubbling of water whether or not thy suit prospers. First, then, be sure, from the rising of the evening star, that thou leavest the garden-gate somewhat open, so that the demon may feel himself invited to enter therein; and place fruits and water near the gate as a sign of hospitality; then, three hours after twilight, come here with a bowl of the coldest and purest water, and thou shalt learn all, according to the Thessalian lore my mother taught me. But forget not the garden-gate—all rests upon that: it must be open when you come, and for three hours previously.’

  ‘Trust me,’ replied the unsuspecting Sosia; ‘I know what a gentleman’s feelings are when a door is shut in his face, as the cookshop’s hath been in mine many a day; and I know, also, that a person of respectability, as a demon of course is, cannot but be pleased, on the other hand, with any little mark of courteous hospitality. Meanwhile, pretty one, here is thy morning’s meal.’

  ‘But what of the trial?’

  ‘Oh, the lawyers are still at it—talk, talk—it will last over all to-morrow.’

  ‘To-morrow? You are sure of that?’

  ‘So I hear.’

  ‘And Ione?’

  ‘By Bacchus! she must be tolerably well, for she was strong enough to make my master stamp and bite his lip this morning. I saw him quit her apartment with a brow like a thunderstorm.’

  ‘Lodges she near this?’

  ‘No—in the upper apartments. But I must not stay prating here longer. Vale!’

  Chapter XII

  * * *r />
  A Wasp Ventures Into The Spider’s Web.

  THE second night of the trial had set in; and it was nearly the time in which Sosia was to brave the dread Unknown, when there entered, at that very garden-gate which the slave had left ajar—not, indeed, one of the mysterious spirits of earth or air, but the heavy and most human form of Calenus, the priest of Isis. He scarcely noted the humble offerings of indifferent fruit, and still more indifferent wine, which the pious Sosia had deemed good enough for the invisible stranger they were intended to allure. ‘Some tribute,’ thought he, ‘to the garden god. By my father’s head! if his deityship were never better served, he would do well to give up the godly profession. Ah! were it not for us priests, the gods would have a sad time of it. And now for Arbaces—I am treading a quicksand, but it ought to cover a mine. I have the Egyptian’s life in my power—what will he value it at?’

  As he thus soliloquised, he crossed through the open court into the peristyle, where a few lamps here and there broke upon the empire of the starlit night; and issuing from one of the chambers that bordered the colonnade, suddenly encountered Arbaces.

  ‘Ho! Calenus—seekest thou me?’ said the Egyptian; and there was a little embarrassment in his voice.

  ‘Yes, wise Arbaces—I trust my visit is not unseasonable?’

  ‘Nay—it was but this instant that my freedman Callias sneezed thrice at my right hand; I knew, therefore, some good fortune was in store for me—and, lo! the gods have sent me Calenus.’

  ‘Shall we within to your chamber, Arbaces?’

  ‘As you will; but the night is clear and balmy—I have some remains of languor yet lingering on me from my recent illness—the air refreshes me—let us walk in the garden—we are equally alone there.’

  ‘With all my heart,’ answered the priest; and the two friends passed slowly to one of the many terraces which, bordered by marble vases and sleeping flowers, intersected the garden.

  ‘It is a lovely night,’ said Arbaces—’blue and beautiful as that on which, twenty years ago, the shores of Italy first broke upon my view. My Calenus, age creeps upon us—let us, at least, feel that we have lived.’

  ‘Thou, at least, mayst arrogate that boast,’ said Calenus, beating about, as it were, for an opportunity to communicate the secret which weighed upon him, and feeling his usual awe of Arbaces still more impressively that night, from the quiet and friendly tone of dignified condescension which the Egyptian assumed—’Thou, at least, mayst arrogate that boast. Thou hast had countless wealth—a frame on whose close-woven fibres disease can find no space to enter—prosperous love—inexhaustible pleasure—and, even at this hour, triumphant revenge.’

  ‘Thou alludest to the Athenian. Ay, to-morrow’s sun the fiat of his death will go forth. The senate does not relent. But thou mistakest: his death gives me no other gratification than that it releases me from a rival in the affections of Ione. I entertain no other sentiment of animosity against that unfortunate homicide.’

  ‘Homicide!’ repeated Calenus, slowly and meaningly; and, halting as he spoke, he fixed his eyes upon Arbaces. The stars shone pale and steadily on the proud face of their prophet, but they betrayed there no change: the eyes of Calenus fell disappointed and abashed. He continued rapidly—’Homicide! it is well to charge him with that crime; but thou, of all men, knowest that he is innocent.’

  ‘Explain thyself,’ said Arbaces, coldly; for he had prepared himself for the hint his secret fears had foretold.

  ‘Arbaces,’ answered Calenus, sinking his voice into a whisper, ‘I was in the sacred grove, sheltered by the chapel and the surrounding foliage. I overheard—I marked the whole. I saw thy weapon pierce the heart of Apaecides. I blame not the deed—it destroyed a foe and an apostate.’

  ‘Thou sawest the whole!’ said Arbaces, dryly; ‘so I imagined—thou wert alone

  ‘Alone!’ returned Calenus, surprised at the Egyptian’s calmness.

  ‘And wherefore wert thou hid behind the chapel at that hour?’

  ‘Because I had learned the conversion of Apaecides to the Christian faith—because I knew that on that spot he was to meet the fierce Olinthus—because they were to meet there to discuss plans for unveiling the sacred mysteries of our goddess to the people—and I was there to detect, in order to defeat them.’

  ‘Hast thou told living ear what thou didst witness?’

  ‘No, my master: the secret is locked in thy servant’s breast.’

  ‘What! even thy kinsman Burbo guesses it not! Come, the truth!’

  ‘By the gods...’

  ‘Hush! we know each other—what are the gods to us?’

  ‘By the fear of thy vengeance, then—no!’

  ‘And why hast thou hitherto concealed from me this secret? Why hast thou waited till the eve of the Athenian’s condemnation before thou hast ventured to tell me that Arbaces is a murderer? And having tarried so long, why revealest thou now that knowledge?’

  ‘Because—because...’ stammered Calenus, coloring and in confusion.

  ‘Because,’ interrupted Arbaces, with a gentle smile, and tapping the priest on the shoulder with a kindly and familiar gesture—’because, my Calenus (see now, I will read thy heart, and explain its motives)—because thou didst wish thoroughly to commit and entangle me in the trial, so that I might have no loophole of escape; that I might stand firmly pledged to perjury and to malice, as well as to homicide; that having myself whetted the appetite of the populace to blood, no wealth, no power, could prevent my becoming their victim: and thou tellest me thy secret now, ere the trial be over and the innocent condemned, to show what a desperate web of villainy thy word to-morrow could destroy; to enhance in this, the ninth hour, the price of thy forbearance; to show that my own arts, in arousing the popular wrath, would, at thy witness, recoil upon myself; and that if not for Glaucus, for me would gape the jaws of the lion! Is it not so?’

  ‘Arbaces, replied Calenus, losing all the vulgar audacity of his natural character, ‘verily thou art a Magician; thou readest the heart as it were a scroll.’

  ‘It is my vocation,’ answered the Egyptian, laughing gently. ‘Well, then, forbear; and when all is over, I will make thee rich.’

  ‘Pardon me,’ said the priest, as the quick suggestion of that avarice, which was his master-passion, bade him trust no future chance of generosity; ‘pardon me; thou saidst right—we know each other. If thou wouldst have me silent, thou must pay something in advance, as an offer to Harpocrates.’ If the rose, sweet emblem of discretion, is to take root firmly, water her this night with a stream of gold.’

  ‘Witty and poetical!’ answered Arbaces, still in that bland voice which lulled and encouraged, when it ought to have alarmed and checked, his griping comrade. ‘Wilt thou not wait the morrow?’

  ‘Why this delay? Perhaps, when I can no longer give my testimony without shame for not having given it ere the innocent man suffered, thou wilt forget my claim; and, indeed, thy present hesitation is a bad omen of thy future gratitude.’

  ‘Well, then, Calenus, what wouldst thou have me pay thee?’

  ‘Thy life is, very precious, and thy wealth is very great,’ returned the priest, grinning.

  ‘Wittier and more witty. But speak out—what shall be the sum?’

  ‘Arbaces, I have heard that in thy secret treasury below, beneath those rude Oscan arches which prop thy stately halls, thou hast piles of gold, of vases, and of jewels, which might rival the receptacles of the wealth of the deified Nero. Thou mayst easily spare out of those piles enough to make Calenus among the richest priests of Pompeii, and yet not miss the loss.’

  ‘Come, Calenus,’ said Arbaces, winningly, and with a frank and generous air, ‘thou art an old friend, and hast been a faithful servant. Thou canst have no wish to take away my life, nor I a desire to stint thy reward: thou shalt descend with me to that treasury thou referrest to, thou shalt feast thine eyes with the blaze of uncounted gold and the sparkle of priceless gems; and thou shalt for thy own reward, bear aw
ay with thee this night as much as thou canst conceal beneath thy robes. Nay, when thou hast once seen what thy friend possesses, thou wilt learn how foolish it would be to injure one who has so much to bestow. When Glaucus is no more, thou shalt pay the treasury another visit. Speak I frankly and as a friend?’

  ‘Oh, greatest, best of men!’ cried Calenus, almost weeping with joy, ‘canst thou thus forgive my injurious doubts of thy justice, thy generosity?’

  ‘Hush! one other turn and we will descend to the Oscan arches.’

  Chapter XIII

  * * *

  The Slave Consults The Oracle. They Who Blind Themselves The Blind May Fool. Two New Prisoners Made In One Night.

  IMPATIENTLY Nydia awaited the arrival of the no less anxious Sosia. Fortifying his courage by plentiful potations of a better liquor than that provided for the demon, the credulous ministrant stole into the blind girl’s chamber.

  ‘Well, Sosia, and art thou prepared? Hast thou the bowl of pure water?’

  ‘Verily, yes: but I tremble a little. You are sure I shall not see the demon? I have heard that those gentlemen are by no means of a handsome person or a civil demeanor.’