 16 As Hypatia was passing across to her lecture room that afternoon, she was stopped midway by a procession of some twenty goths and damsels headed by Pelgia herself, in all her glory of jewels, shawls, and snow-white mule, while by her side rode the ammol, his long legs like those of gangroth, the Norsemen, all but touching the ground as he crushed down with his weight a delicate little barb, the best substitute to be found in Alexandria for the huge black chargers of his native land. On they came, followed by a wandering and admiring mob straight to the door of the museum, and stop began to dismount, while their slaves took charge of the mules and horses. There was no escape for Hypatia, pride forbade her to follow her own maidenly instinct and to recoil among the crowd behind her, and in another moment the ammol had lifted Pelgia from her mule, and the rival, beauties of Alexandria, stood for the first time in their lives face to face. "'May Athena befriend you this day,' Hypatia,' said Pelgia, with her sweetest smile, "'I have brought my guards to hear somewhat of your wisdom this afternoon.' "'I am anxious to know whether you can teach them anything more worth listening to than the foolish little songs which Aphrodite taught me, when she raised me from the sea foam, as she rose herself and named me Pelgia. Hypatia drew herself up to her statelyest height and returned no answer. I think my bodyguard will well hear comparison with yours, and at least they are the princes and descendants of deities. So it is but fitting that they should enter before your provinciales. Will you show them the way?' No answer. "'Then I must do it myself, come, ammol.' And she swept up the steps followed by the Goths, who put the Alexandria's aside right and left, as if they had been children. "'Ah, treacherous wanton that you are,' cried a young man's voice out of the mermin crowd, after having plundered us of every coin out of which you could do bus, here you are squandering out patrimonies on barbarians. "'Give us back our presents, Pelgia,' cried another, and you are welcome to your herd of wild bulls. "'And I will,' cried she, stopping suddenly and clutching at her chains and bracelets. She was on the point of dashing them among this astonished crowd. "'There, take your gifts, Pelgia, and her girls scorned to be debtors, to boys, while they are worshipped by men like these.' But the ammol, who, luckily for the students, had not understood a word of this conversation, seized her arm, asking if she were mad. "'No, no,' panted she, in articulate with passion. "'Give me gold, every coin you have. These wretches are tweeting me with what they gave me before. Before, O Amal, do you understand me?' And she clung a-polaringly to his arm. "'Oh, heroes, each of you throw his purse among these fellows. They say that we and our ladies are giving on their spoils, and betost his purse among the crowd.' In an instant every goth had followed this example, more than one following it up by dashing a bracelet or necklace into the face of some hapless philosopher. "'I have no lady, my young friend,' said Old Wolf, in good enough Greek. "'And owe you nothing, so I shall keep my money, as you might have kept yours, and as you might, too, Old Smid, if you had been wise as I. Don't be stingy, Prince, for the honor of the goths,' said Smid, laughing. "'If I take in gold, I pay an iron,' answered Wolf, drawing half out of his sheath, the huge broad blade at the ominous brown stains of which the studentry recoiled, and the whole party swept into the empty lecture room and seated themselves at their ease in the front ranks. Poor Hypatia, at first she determined not to lecture, then to send for orestis, and then to call on her students to defend the sanctity of the museum, but pride as well as prudence advised her better to retreat would be to confess herself, conquered, to disgrace philosophy, to lose her hold on the minds of all waiverers. No, she would go on and brave everything, insults even violence, and with trembling limbs and a pale cheek she mounted the Tribune and began. To her surprise and delight, however, her barbarian auditors were perfectly well-behaved. Pellagia, in childish good humor, at her triumph, and perhaps, too, determined to show her contempt for her adversary by giving her every chance, in forced silence and attention, and checked the tittering of the girls for a full half-hour. But at the end of that time the heavy breathing of the slumbering Amal, who had been twice awoke by her, resounded unchecked through the lecture room and deepened into a snore. For Pellagia herself was at fast asleep as he, but now another censor took upon himself the office of keeping order. Old Wolf from the moment Hypatia had begun had never taken his eyes off her face, and again and again the maiden's weak heart had been charged, as she saw the smile of sturdy intelligence and on a satisfaction with twinkled over that scarred and bristly visage. While every now and then the gray-beard waged approval, until she found herself, long before the end of the oration, addressing herself straight to her new admirer. At last it was over, and the students behind, who had sent Macley through it all, without the slightest wish to upset the intruders, who had so thoroughly upset them, rose hurriedly, glad enough to get safe out of so dangerous a neighborhood. But to their astonishment, as well as that of Hypatia, Old Wolf rose also, and stumbling along to the foot of the Tribune, pulled out his purse, and laid it at Hypatia's feet. What is this, as she, half terrified at the approach of a figure more rugged and barbaric than she had ever beheld before? My fee, for what have I heard to-day? You are a right noble maiden, and may Freya send you a husband worthy of you, and make you the mother of kings. And Wolf retired with his party. Open homage to her arrival, before her very face, Hypatia fell quite inclined to hate Old Wolf. But at least he was the only traitor. The rest of the Goths agreed unanimously that Hypatia was a very foolish person, who was wasting her youth and beauty in talking to donkey riders, and Pelgia remounted her mule and the Goths their horses for a triumphal procession homeward. And yet her heart was sad, even in triumph right and wrong were the ideas as unknown to her as they were to hundreds of thousands in her day. As far as her own consciousness was concerned, she was as distute of a soul as the mule on which she rode. Died by nature with boundless frolic and good humor, wit and cunning, her Greek taste for the physically beautiful and grateful developed by long training, until she had become without a rival. The most perfect pantomime dancer and musician who catered for the luxurious taste of the Alexandrian theaters, she had lived since her childhood only for enjoyment and vanity, and wished for nothing more. But her new affection, or rather worship, for the huge manhood of her Gothic lover, and awoken her a new object, to keep him, to live for him, to follow him to the ends of the earth, even if he tired of her, ill-used her, despised her, and slowly, day by day, wolf-sneers, bad awakened, in her a dread that perhaps the amel might despise her. Why she could not guess, but what sort of woman were those Arunas of whom wolf sang, of whom even the amel and his men spoke with reverence as something nobler, not only then with her, but even then themselves? And what is it, which wolf had recognized in Hypatia, which had bowed the stern and coarse old warrior before her in that public homage? It was not difficult to say what. But why should that make Hypatia or anyone else attractive? And the poor little child of nature gazed in deep bewilderment at a crowd of new questions, as the butterfly might at the pages of the book, on which it was settled. Arun was sad and disconnected, not with herself, for it was she not Pelgia, the perfect. But with these strange fancies, which came into other people's heads, why should not everyone be as happy as they could? And who knew better than she how to be happy? And to make others happy. Look at that old monk standing on the pavement, Elmeric. Why does he stare at me? Tell him to go away. The person at whom she pointed, a delicate feature, old man. With a venerable white beard, seemed to hear her, for he turned with a sudden start, and then, to Pelgia's astonishment, put his hands before his face and burst convulsively into tears. What does he mean by behaving in that way? Bring him here to me this moment. I will know, cried she, pollutedly, catching at the new object in order to escape from her own thoughts. In a moment Agath had led up the weeper, who came without demur to the side of Pelgia's mule. Why were you so rude as to burst out crying in my face, as she pollutedly? The old man looked up sadly and tenderly, and answered in a low voice, meant only for her ear. And now can I help weeping, then I see anything as beautiful as you are destined to the flames of hell forever. The flames of hell, said Pelgia, with a shudder. What for? Do you not know, asked the old man, with a look of sad surprise? Have you forgotten what you are? I, I never heard a fly. Why do you look so terrified, my darling? What have you been saying to her, you old villain? And the amul raised his whip. Oh, do not strike him. Come, come to Marl, and tell me what you mean. No, we will have no monks within our doors, frightening silly woman, off Sira, and thank the lady that you have escaped with the whole skin. The amul caught the cradle of Pelgia's mule, and pushed forward, leaving the old man, gazing sadly after them. But the beautiful sinner was evidently not the object which had brought the old monk of the desert into a neighborhood so strange and ungenual to his habits. For recovering self in a few moments he hurried onto the door of the museum, and there planted himself scanning earnestly the faces of the passers-out and meeting, of course, with his due share of student rebalgery. Well, the old cat, and what mouse are you on the watch for at the hole's mouth here? Just come inside, and see whether the mice will not stinge your whiskers for you. Here is my mouse, gentlemen, answered the old monk, with a bow and smile, as he laid his hand on Philmon's arm, and presented to, his astonished eyes, the delicate features and high retreating forehead of arsonists. My father cried the boy in the first impulse of the infection recognition, and then he had expected some such meeting all along. But now, that it was come at last, he turned pale as death. The student saw his emotion. Hands off, old Hutan Timoro Menus. He belongs to our guild now. Monks have no more business with sons than with wives. Shall we hustle him for you, Philmon? Take care of how you show off, gentlemen. The goths are not yet out of hearing, answered Philmon, who was learning fast how to give a smart answer, and then fearing the temper of the young dandies, and shrinking from the notion of any insult, to one so reverent and so beloved as our seniors. He drew the old man gently away and walked up the street with him in silence, dreading what it was coming. And are these your friends? Heaven forbid, I have nothing in common with such animals, but flesh and blood. Have a seat in the lecture room. Of the heathen woman, Philmon, after the fashion of young men and fear, rushed desperately into the subject himself, just because he dreaded our seniores entering on it quietly. Yes, of the heathen woman, of course you have seen Cyrel before, you came hither. I have, and—and, went on Philmon, interrupting him—you have been told every lie which pruyance, stupidity, and revenge can invent I have trampled on the cross, sacrificed to all the deities in the pantheon, and probably—and you blushed, Scarlet—that the pruest and holiest of beings, who, if she were not what people call a pagan, would be and deserves to be, worshipped as the Queen of Saints, that she and I, and he stopped, have I said that I believed what I may have heard? No, and therefore, as they are all simple and sheer falsehoods, there's no more to be said on the subject. Not that I shall be delighted to answer any questions of yours, my dear's father. Have I asked any, my child? No, so we may as well change the subject for the present, and he began overwhelming the old man with inquiries about himself, pambol, and each and all of the inhabitants of the Laura to which are seniors, to the boy's infinite relief, answered cordially and even vouchsafed a mile at some jest of filimons on the contrast between the monks of Nitria and those of Sceitas. Our seniors was too wise not to see well enough what all this flippancy meant, and too wise also not to know what that filimons' version was probably quite as near the truth as Peter and Cyril's, but for reasons of his own merely replied by the ininfectionate look and compliment to filimons' growth, and yet you seem thin and pale, my boy. Study, said filimons, study, one cannot burn the midnight oil without paying some penalty for it. However, I am richly repaid already. I shall be no more hereafter. Let us hope so. But who are those goths? Who my past in the streets just now? Ah, my father, said filimons, glad in his heart of any excuse to turn the conversation, and yet half uneasy and suspicious at our seniors' evident determination to avoid the very object of his visit. It must have been you, then, to whom I saw stop and speak to Pelgia at the farther end of the street. What words could you possibly have had herewith to honor such a creature? God knows. Some secret sympathy touched my heart. I'll ask, poor child, but how came you to know her? All Alexandria knows the shameless abomination interrupted a voice at their elbow, none other than that of the little porter who had been dodging and watching the pair the whole way and could no longer restrain his longing to metal. And well it had been for many a rich young man had odd Mariam never brought her over in an evil day from Athens hither. Mariam? Yes, monk, a name not unknown, I am told, in places, as well as in slave markets. An evil-eyed Jewess. A Jewess she is. As her name might have informed you, as for her eyes I consider him, or used to do so, of course, for her intranation, have been long expelled from Alexandria by your frantic tribe. As altogether, divine and demonic, let the base imagination of monks call them what it likes. But how did you know this Pelgia, my son, fit company for such as you? Philmont told, honestly enough, the story of his Nile journey, and Pelgia's invitation to him. You did not surely accept it? Heaven forbid that Hypatia's scholar should so degrade himself! Our Siena shook his head sadly. You would not have had me go. No, boy, but how long hast thou learned to call thyself Hypatia's scholar or to call it a degradation, to visit the most sinful, if thou mightiest thereby bring back a lost lamb to the good Shetbird? Nevertheless, thou art too young for such employment, and she meant to tempt thee doubtless. I do not think it. She seemed struck by my talking Athenian Greek, and having come from Athens. And how long since she came from Athens, said Arseneus? After a pause, who knows? Just after it was being sacked by the barbarians, said the little porter, who, beginning to suspect a mystery, was peaking and peering like an excited parrot, the old dame brought her hither among a cargo of captive boys and girls. The time agrees. Can this merriam be found? A sapient and courteous question, Foramonk to ask, do you not know that Cyril has expelled all Jews four months ago? True, true, alas, said the old man to himself, how little the rulers of this world guess their own proper. They move a finger carelessly, and forget that the finger may crush to death hundreds, whose names they never heard, and every soul of them as precious as God's sight, and as sight as Cyril's own. What is the matter, my father, as Philemon? You seem deeply moved about this woman. And she is merriam's slave, her freedwoman. This four years past, said the porter. The good lady, for reasons doubtless, excellent in themselves, though not altogether patient to the philosophic mind, thought good to turn her loose on the Alexandrian Republic to seek what she might devour. God help her, and you are certain that merriam is not in Alexandria? The little porter turned very red, and Philemon did so likewise. But he remembered his promise and kept it. Both know something of her, I can see. You cannot deceive an old statesman, sir. Turning to the little porter with a look of authority, poor monk, though he be now. If you think fitting to tell me what you know, I promise you that neither she nor you shall be losers by your confidence in me. If not, I shall find means to discover. Both stood silent. CHAPTER 16 VENUS AND PALACE PART II Philemon my son, and art thou too in league against, no, not against me, against thyself, poor misguided boy? Against myself? Yes, I have said it. But unless you will trust me, I cannot trust you. I have promised. And I, sir statesman, or monk, or both or neither, have sworn by the immortal gods, said the porter, looking very big. This paused. There are those who hold that an oath by an idol, being nothing, is of itself void. I do not agree with them. If thou thinkest its sin to break thine oath, to thee it is a sin. And for thee, my poor child, thy promise is sacred, were it made to escariot himself. But hear me. Can either of you, by asking this woman, be so far absolved as to give me speech of her? Tell her, that is, if she be in Alexandria, which God grant, all that has passed between us here, and tell her on the solemn oath of a Christian, that Arseneas, whose name she knows well, will neither injure nor betray her. Will you do this? Arseneas said a little porter with the look of mingled awe and pity. The old man smiled. Arseneas, who was once called the father of the emperors, even she will trust that name. I will go this moment, sir, I will fly, and off rush the little porter. The little fellow forgets, said Arseneas with a smile, to how much he has confessed already and how easy it were now to trace him to the old hag's lair. Fill him and my son. I have many tears to weep over thee, but they must wait a while. I have thee safe now. And the old man clutched his arm. Thou wilt not leave thy poor old father? Thou wilt not desert me for the heathen woman? I will stay with you. I promise you, indeed, if you will not say unjust things of her. I will speak evil of no one, accuse no one but myself. I will not say one harsh word to thee, my poor boy, but listen now. Thou knowest that thou cameest from Athens. Knowest thou that it was I who brought thee hither? You? I, my son. But when I brought thee to the Laura, it seemed right that thou as the son of a noble gentleman. Should it hear nothing of it? But tell me. Doest thou recollect father or mother, brother or sister, or anything of thy home in Athens? No. Thanks be to God. But Philemon, if thou hadst had a sister hush, and if, I say only if, a sister interrupted Philemon. Pelagia? God forbid, my son, but a sister thou hadst once, some three years older than thee, she seemed. But did you know her? I saw her but once, on one sad day, poor children both. I will not sadden you by telling you where and how. And why did you not bring her hither with me? You surely had not the heart to part us. Ah, my son, what right had an old monk with a fair young girl, and indeed even had I the courage it would have been impossible? There were others, richer than I, to whose covetousness her youth and beauty seemed a precious prize. When I saw her last, she was in company with an ancient Jewess. Heaven grant that this Miriam may prove to be the one. And I have a sister, gasp, Philemon, his eyes bursting with tears. We must find her. You will help me? Now, this moment, there was nothing else to be thought of, spoken of, done henceforth, till she is found. Ah, my son, my son, better, better perhaps to leave her in the hands of God. What if she were dead? To discover that would be to discover needless sorrow. And if, God grant that it be not so, she had only a name to live and were dead worse than dead in sinful pleasure, we would save her, or die trying to save her. Is it not enough for me that she is my sister? Arsenius shook his head. He knew little the strange new light and warmth which his words had poured in upon the young heart beside him. A sister! What mysterious virtue was there in that simple word which made Philemon's brain real and his heart throb madly. A sister! Not merely a friend, an equal, a helpmate, given by God himself for loving whom none, not even a monk, could blame him. Not merely something delicate, weak, beautiful, for, of course, she must be beautiful, whom he might cherish, guide, support, deliver, die for, and find death delicious. Yes, all that, and more than that, lay in the sacred word. For those divided and partial notions had flitted across his mind too rapidly to stir such passion as moved him now, even the hint of her sin and danger had been heard heedlessly if heard at all. It was the word itself which bore its own message, its own spell to the heart of the fatherless and motherless fountaling, as he faced for the first time the deep, everlasting divine reality of kindred. A sister! Of his own flesh and blood, born of the same father, the same mother! His! His! Forever! How hollow and fleeting seemed all spiritual sonships, spiritual daughterhoods, inventions of the changing fancy, the wayward will of men, Arcenius, Pembo, I, Hippadia herself! What were they to him now? Here was a real relationship, a sister! What else was worth carrying far upon the earth? And she was at Athens when Pelagia was, he cried at last. Perhaps knew her. Let us go to Pelagia herself! Heaven forbid, said Arcenius, we must wait at least till Miriam's answer comes. I can show you her house at least in the meanwhile, and you can go in yourself when you will. I do not ask to enter. Come! I feel certain that my finding her is in some way bound up with Pelagia. Had I not met her on the Nile, had you not met her in the street, I might never have heard that I had a sister. And if she went with Miriam, Pelagia must know her. She may be in that very house at this moment. Arcenius had his reasons for suspecting that Philemon was but too right. But he contented himself with yielding to the boy's excitement, and set off with him in the direction of the dancer's house. They were within a few yards of the gate, when hurried footsteps behind them, and voices calling them by name, made them turn, and behold, evidently to the disgust of Arcenius as much as Philemon himself, peter the reader and a large party of monks. Philemon's first impulse was to escape. Arcenius himself caught him by the arm and seemed inclined to hurry on. No thought the youth, am I not a free man and a philosopher? And facing round, he awaited the enemy. Ah, young apostate! So you have found him, reverent and ill-used, sir. Praise to be heaven for this rapid success! My good friend asked Arcenius in a trembling voice, what brings you here? Heaven forbid that I should have allowed your sanctity and age to go forth without some guard against the insults and violence of this wretched youth and his profligate companions. We have been following you afar off all the morning with hearts full of filial solicitude. Many thanks, but indeed your kindness has been superfluous. My son here, from whom I have met with nothing but affection, and whom indeed I believe far more innocent than report declared him, is about to return peaceably with me. Are you not Philemon? Alas, my father, said Philemon with an effort, how can I find courage to say it, but I cannot return with you. Cannot return? I vowed that I would never again cross that threshold till—and Cyril does. He bade me, indeed, he bade me assure you that he would receive you back as a son, and forgive and forget all the past. That is my part, not his. Will he write me against that tyrant and his crew? Will he proclaim me openly to be an innocent and persecuted man, unjustly beaten and driven forth for obeying his own commands? Till he does that, I shall not forget that I am a free man. A free man, said Peter, with an unpleasant smile, that remains to be proved, my gay youth, and will need more evidence than that smart, philosophic cloak and those well-curled locks which you have adopted since I last saw you. Remains to be proved? Arsenius made an imploring gesture to Peter to be silent. Nay, sir, as I foretold to you, this one way alone remains. The blame of it, if there be blame, must rest on the unhappy youth whose perversity renders it necessary. For God's sake spare me, cried the old man, dragging Peter aside, while Philoman stood astonished, divided between indignation and vague dread. Did I not tell you again and again that I could never bring myself to call a Christian man my slave, and him above all my spiritual son? And most reverence, sir, whose zeal is only surpassed by your tenderness and mercy. Did not the holy patriarch assure you that your scruples were groundless? Do you think that either he or I can have less horror than you have of slavery in itself? Heaven forbid! But when an immortal soul is at stake, when a lost lamb is to be brought back to the fold, surely you may employ the authority which the law gives you for the salvation of that precious charge committed to you? What could be more conclusive than his holiness's argument this morning? Christians are bound to obey the laws of the world for conscience's sake, even though in the abstract they may disapprove of them and deny their authority. Then by parity of reasoning, it must be lawful for them to take the advantage which those same laws offer them, when by so doing the glory of God may be advanced. Arsenius still hung back, with eyes brimming with tears, but Philaman himself put an end to the parley. What is the meaning of all this? Are you, too, in a conspiracy against me? Speak, Arsenius! This is the meaning of it, blinded sinner, cried Peter, that you are by law the slave of Arsenius, lawfully bought with his money in the city of Ravina, and that he has the power, and, as I trust, for the sake of your salvation the will also to compel you to accompany him. Philaman recalled across the pavement, with eyes flashing defiance, a slave, the light of heaven grew black in him. Oh, that Hypatia should never know his shame! But it was impossible, too dreffel to be true. You lie, O Mochriti! I am the son of a noble citizen of Athens. Arsenius told me so, but this moment, with his own lips. Ah! But he bought you, bought you in the public market, and he can prove it. Hear me, hear me, my son! cried the old man, springing toward him. One in his fury mistook the gesture and thrust him fiercely back. Your son, your slave, do not insult the name of son by applying it to me. Yes, sir, your slave in body, but not in soul. I seize me, drag home the fugitive, scourge him, brand him, chain him in the mill if you can. But even for that the free heart has a remedy. If you will not let me live as a philosopher, you shall see me die like one. Seize the fellow, my brethren, cried Peter, while Arsenius, utterly unable to restrain either party, hit his face and wept. Wretches cried the boy, you shall never take me alive while I have teeth or nails left. Treat me as a brute beast, and I will defend myself as such. Out of the way there rascals place for the prefect. What are you squabbling about here, you unmanitally monks, shouted preemptually voices from behind? The crowd parted and disclosed the apparatus of Orestes, who followed in his robes of office. A sudden hope flashed before Philoman, and in an instant he had burst through the mob and was clinging to the prefect's chariot. I am a free-born Athenian, whom these monks wish to kidnap back into slavery. I claim your protection. And you shall have it right or wrong, my handsome fellow. By heaven, you are much too good-looking to be made a monk of. What do you mean, you villains, by attempting to kidnap free men? Is it not enough for you to lock up every mad girl whom you can dup, but you must His master is here present, your excellency, who will swear to the purchase. Or to anything else for the glory of God, out of the way. And take care, you tall scoundrel, that I do not get a handle against you. You have been one of my marked men for many months, off. His master demands the rights of the law as a Roman citizen, said Peter, pushing forward Arcenius. If he be a Roman citizen, let him come and make his claim at the Tribune to-morrow in legal form. But I would have you remember, ancients, sir, that I shall require you to prove your citizenship before we proceed to the question of purchase. The law does not demand that, quote Peter. Knock that fellow down, apparitor, or, at Peter vanished, and an ominous growl rolls from the mob of monks. What am I to do, most noble sir? said Philemon. Whatever you like till the third hour to-morrow, if you are fooled enough to appear at the Tribune, if you will take my advice you will knock down these fellows right and left and run for your life, and the resties drove on. Philemon saw that it was his only chance, and did so. And in another minute he found himself rushing headlong into the archway of Pelagius' with a dozen monks at his heels. As luck would have it the outer gates at which the goss had just entered were still open, but the inner ones which led into the court beyond were fast. He tried them, but in vain. There was an open door in the wall on his right. He rushed through it into a long range of stables, and into the arms of wolf and smid, who were unsettling and feeding, like true warriors, their own horses. Souls of my father's shouted smid. Here's our young monk come back. What brings you here head over heels in this way, young curly-pate? Save me from those wretches pointing to the monks who were peeping into the doorway. Wolf seemed to understand it all in a moment. For a snatching up a heavy whip he rushed at the foe, and with a few tremendous strokes cleared the doorway and shut too the door. Philemon was going to explain and thank, but smid stopped his mouth. Never mind the young one, you or our guest now. Come in, and you shall be as welcome as ever. See what comes of running away from us at first. You do not seem to have benefited much by leaving me for the monks, said old wolf. Come in by the inner door. Smid, go and turn those monks out of the gateway. But the mob, after battering the door for a few minutes, had yielded to the agonized entreaties of Peter, who assured them that if those incarnate fiends once broke out upon them, they would not leave a Christian alive in Alexandria. So it was agreed to leave a few to watch for Philemon's coming out, and the rest, balked off their prey, turned the tide of their wrath against the prefect, and rejoined the mass of their party, who were still hanging round his chariot, ready for mischief. In vain the hapless shepherd of the people attempted to drive on, the apparatus were frightened and hung back, and without their help it was impossible to force the horses through the mass of tossing arms and beards in front. The matter was evidently growing serious. The bitterest ruffians in all Nitria, your Excellency, whispered one of the guards with a pale face, and two hundred of them at the least. They are the very set I will be sworn to nearly murdered Dioscorus. If you will not allow me to proceed my holy brethren, said Orestes, trying to look collected, perhaps it will not be contrary to the canons of the church if I turn back. Leave the horses' heads alone, why in God's name what do you want? Do you fancy we have forgotten Hierarchus cried a voice from the rear, and at that name, yell upon yell arose till the mob, gaining courage from its own noise, burst out into open threats. Revenge for the blessed murder Hierarchus, revenge for the wrongs of the church, down with the friend of heathens, Jews, and barbarians, down with the favorite of Hypatia, Tyrant Butcher, and the last epitoth so smote the delicate fancy of the crowd that a general cry arose of kill the butcher, and one furious monk attempted to clamber into the chariot, and a parator tore him down and was dragged to the ground in his turn. The monks closed in, the guards finding the enemy number ten to their one, threw down their weapons in a panic and vanished, and in another minute the hopes of Hypatia and the guards would have been lost forever, and Alexandria, robbed of the blessing of being ruled by the most finished gentleman south of the Mediterranean, had it not been for unexpected sucker, of which it will be time enough, considering who and what is in danger, to speak in a future chapter. CHAPTER XVII. A Stray Gleam. The last blue headland of Sardinia was fading fast on the northwest horizon, and a steady breeze bore before it innumerable ships the wrecks of Araclean's armament, plunging and tossing impatiently in their desperate homeward race toward the coast of Africa. Far and wide under a sky of cloudless blue the white sails glitted on the glittering sea, as gaily now above their loads of shame and disappointment, terror and pain, as when but one short month before they bore with them only wild hopes and gallant daring. Who can calculate the sum of misery in that hapless flight? And yet it was but one, and that one of the least known and most trivial of the tragedies of that age of woe, one petty death spasm among the unnumbered throes which were shaking to dissolution, the Babylon of the West. Her time had come. Even as St. John beheld her in his vision by agony after agony, she was rotting to her well-earned doom, tyrannizing it luxuriously over all nations. She had sat upon the mystic beast, building her power on the brute animal appetites of her dupes and slaves, but she had duped herself even more than them. She was finding out by bitter lessons that it was to the beast and not to her that her vassal kings of the earth had been giving their power and strength, and the ferocity and lust which she had pampered so cunningly in them had become her curse and her destruction. Drunk with the blood of the saints, blinded by her own conceit and jealousy to the fact that she had been crushing and extirpating out of her empire for centuries past, all which was noble, purifying, regenerative, divine, she sat impotent and doting the prey of every fresh adventurer, the slave of her own slaves, and the kings of the earth who had sinned with her, hated the harlot and made her desolate and naked, and devoured her flesh and burned her with fire, for God had put into their hearts to fulfill His will and to agree and to give their kingdom to the beast, until the words of God shall be fulfilled. Everywhere sensuality, division, hatred, treachery, cruelty, uncertainty, terror, the vials of God's wrath poured out. Where was to be the end of it all? Ask every man of his neighbor generation after generation and receive for answer only. It is better to die than to live. And yet in one ship out of that sad fleet there was peace. Peace amid shame and terror, amid the groans of the wounded and the size of the starving, amid all but blank despair. The great tri-remes and quinkra-remes rushed onward past the lagging transports, careless and the mad race for safety, that they were leaving the greater number of their comrades defenseless in the rear of the flight. But from one little fishing-craft alone, no base in treaties, no bitter excretions greeted the passing flash and roll of their mighty oars. One after another, day by day, they came rushing up out of the northern offering. Each like a huge hundred-footed dragon, panting and quivering as with terror at every loud pulse of its oars, hurling the wild water right and left with the mighty share of its beak. While from the bows some gorgon or chimera, elephant or boar, stared out with brazen eyes toward the coast of Africa, as if it too, like the human beings which it carried, was dead to every care but that of dastard flight. Pass they rushed one after another and off the poop, some shouting voice chilled all hearts for a moment, with the fearful news that the Emperor's Neapolitan fleet was in full chase, and the soldiers on board that little vessel looked silently and steadfastly into the silent steadfast face of the old prefix, and Victoria saw him shudder and turn his eyes away, and stood up among the rough-fighting men like a goddess, and cried aloud that the Lord would protect his own, and they believed her and were still, till many days and many ships were passed and the little fishing-craft outstripped even by the transports and merchantmen, as it strained and crawled along before its single square sail, was left alone upon the sea. And where was Raphael Aben Ezra? He was sitting with Bran's head between his knees at the door of a temporary awning in the vessel stern, which shielded the wounded men from sun and spray, and as he sat he could hear from within the gentle voices of Victoria and her brother, as they tended the sick like ministering angels, or read to them of divine hope and comfort in which his homeless heart felt that he had no share. As I live I would change places now with any one of those poor mangled ruffians to have that voice speaking such words to me and to believe them. And he went on perusing the manuscript which he held in his hand. Well, he sighed to himself after a while, at least it's the most complimentary not to say hopeful view of our destinies with which I have met since I throw away my curse's belief that the seed of David was fated to conquer the whole earth and set up a second Roman Empire at Jerusalem, only worse than the present one, in that the devils of superstition and bigotry would be added to those of tyranny and rapine. A hand was laid on his shoulder and a voice asked, and what may this so hopeful view be? End of Section 25, Chapter 17, A Stray Gleam, Recording by Mike Harris When we lost sight of Philemon, his destiny had hurled him once more among his old friends, the Goths, in search of two important elements of human comfort, freedom and a sister. The former he found at once in a large hall where sundry Goths were lounging and toping into the nearest corner of which he shrank and stood, his late terror and rage forgotten altogether in the one new and absorbing thought. His sister might be in that house, and yielding to so sweet a dream, he began fancying to himself which of all those gay maidens she might be who had become in one moment more dear, more great to him, than all things else in heaven or earth. That fair-haired, rounded Italian, that fierce, luscious, aquiline-faced Jewess, that delicate, swore, sidelight copped. No, she was Athenian like himself. That tall, lazy Greek girl then, from beneath whose sleepy lids fleshed once an hour, sudden lightnings, revealing deaths of thought and feeling uncultivated, perhaps even unsuspected by their possessor. Her? Or that her seeming sister? Or the next? Or was it Pelagia herself most beautiful and most sinful of them all? Fearful thought, he blushed scarlet at the bare imagination, yet why, in his secret heart, was that the most pleasant hypothesis of them all? And suddenly flashed across him that observation of one of the girls on board the boat, honest likeness to Pelagia. Strange that he had never recollected it before. It must be so. And yet on what a slender threat, woven of scattered hints and surmises, did that must depend. He would be saying, he would wait, he would have patience. Patience, with the sister yet unfound, perhaps perishing? Impossible. Suddenly the train of his thoughts was changed for fools. Come, come and see, there is a fight in the streets! called one of the damsels down the stairs at the highest pitch of her voice. I shan't go, yawned a huge fellow who was lying on his back on a sofa. Oh, come up, my hero, said one of the girls. Such a charming riot, and the prefect himself in the middle of it. We have not had such a one in the street this month. The princess won't let me knock any of these donkey riders on the head, and seeing other people do it only makes me envious. Give me the wine-jock. Curse the girl, she's run upstairs. The shouting and trampling came nearer, and in another minute Wolf came rapidly downstairs, through the hall and to the harem court, and into the presence of the Amal. Prince, here's a chance for us. These rascally Greeks are murdering their prefect under our very windows. The lying cur, serving right for cheating us. He has plenty of guards. Why can't the fool take care of himself? They have all run away, and I saw some of them hiding among the mob. As I live, the man will be killed in five minutes more. Why not? Why should he, when we can save him and win his favour forever? The man's fingers are itching for a fight. It's a bad plan not to give hounds blood now and then, or they lose their neck of hunting. Well, it wouldn't take five minutes. And heroes should show that they can forgive when an enemy is in distress. Very true, like an Amal too. And the Amal sprang up and shouted to his men to follow him. Good-bye, my pretty one. Why, Wolf, cried he, as he burst out into the court. Here's our monk again. By Odin, you're welcome, my handsome boy. Come along and fight, too, young fellow. What were those arms given you for? It is my man, said Wolf, laying his hand on Filamon's shoulder, and bloody shall taste. And out the three hurried. Filamon, in his present reckless mood, ready for anything. Bring your whips. Never mind salt. Those rascals are not worth it, shouted the Amal, as he hurried down the passage brandishing his heavy thong some ten feet in length, through the gate open, and the next moment recoiled from a dense crush of people who surged in. And surged out again as rapidly as the goth, with the combined force of his weight and arm, hewed his way straight through them, felling a wretch at every blow, and followed up by his terrible companions. They were, but just in time, the four white blood-horses were plunging and rolling over each other, and Orestes reeling in his chariot, with the stream of blood running down his face, and the hands of twenty wild monks clutching at him. Monks again, thought Filamon, and as he saw among them more than one hateful face, which he recollected in Cyril's courtyard on that fatal night, a flush of fierce revenge ran through him. Mercy! shrieked the miserable prefect. I am a Christian. I swear that I am a Christian. The bishop Atticus baptized me at Constantinople. Down with the butcher, down with the heathen tyrant, who refuses the abjuration on the gospels rather than be reconciled to the patriarch, tear him out of the chariot, yelled the monks. The craven hound said the Amal, stopping short. I won't help him. But in an instant Wolf rushed forward and struck right and left, the monks recoiled, and Filamon burning to prevent so shameful a scandal to the faith to which he still clunked convulsively, sprang into the chariot, and called Orestes in his arms. You are safe, my lord. Don't struggle, whispered he, while the monks flew on him. A stoner too struck him, but they only quickened his determination, and in another moment the whistling of the whips round his head, and the yell and backward rush of the monks told him that he was safe. He carried his burden safely within the doorway of Pelagia's house, into the crowd of peeping and shrieking damsels, where twenty pairs of the prettiest hands in Alexandria seized on Orestes, and drew him into the court. Like a second hyalus carried off by the nymphs, sympathy as he vanished into the harem, to reappear in five minutes, his head bound up with silk handkerchiefs, and with as much of his usual impudence as he could muster. Your excellencies, heroes all, I am your devoted slave, I owe you life itself, and more, the valor of your succor is only subdued by the deliciousness of your cure. I would gladly undergo a second wound to enjoy a second time the services of such hands, and to see such feet busying themselves on my behalf. You wouldn't have said that five minutes ago, quite liamal, looking at him very much as a bear might at a monkey. Never might the hands and feet, old fellow, there are none of yours, bluntly observed a voice from behind, probably smits, and a laugh ensued. My saviours, my brothers, said our resters, politely ignoring the laughter. How can I repay you? Is there anything in which my office here enables me? I want to say to reward, for that would be a term beneath your dignity as free barbarians, but to gratify you. Give us three days' plage of the quarter, shouted someone. Ah, true valor is apt to underrate obstacles, you forget your small numbers. I say, quite liamal, I say take care, prefect, if you mean to tell me that we forty couldn't cut all the throats in Alexandria in three days, and yours into the bargain, and keep your soldiers at bay all the time. Half of them would join us, cried someone. They're half our own flesh and blood, after all. Pardon me, my friends, I do not doubt in a moment, I know enough of the world never to have found a sheepdog yet who would not, on occasion, help to make away with a little the mutton which he guarded. My venerable sir, turning to wolf with a knowing bow. Wolf chuckled grimly and said something to the Amal in German about being civil to guests. You'll pardon me, my heroic friends, said the restess, but with your kind permission I will observe that I am somewhat faint and disturbed by late occurrences. To trespass on your hospitality further would be an impertence. If, therefore, I might send a slave to find some of my apparatus. No, by all the gods, roared the Amal. You're my guest now, my ladies at least, and no one ever went out of my house sober yet if I could help it. Set the cooks to work, my men. The prefect shall feast with us like an emperor, and we'll send him home tonight as drunk as he can wish. Come along, your Excellency, we're rough fellows we got, but by the Valkers no one can say that we neglect our guests. Hey, it's her sweet compulsion, said the restess as he went in. Stop, by the by. Didn't one of you men catch your monk? Here he is, Prince, with his elbows saved behind him. At a tall, haggard, half-naked monk was dragged forward. Capital, bring him in. His Excellency shall judge him while dinner's cooking, and Smith shall have the hanging of him. He heard nobody in the scuffle. He was thinking of his dinner. Some rascal bit a piece out of my leg, and I tumbled down, grumbled Smith. Well, pay out this fellow for it, then. Bring a chair, slaves. Here, your Highness, sit there and judge. Two chairs, said some one. The Amal shan't stand before the emperor himself. By all means, my dear friends, the Amal and I will act as the two Caesar's with divided empire. I presume we shall have little difference of opinion as to the hanging of this worthy. Hanging is too quick for him. Just what I was about to remark, there are certain judicial formalities considered generally to be conducive to the stability, if not necessary to the existence, of the Roman Empire. I say, don't talk so much, shout at the goth. If you want to have the hanging of him yourself, do. We thought we would save you the trouble. Ah, my excellent friend, would you rob me of the delicate pleasure of revenge? I intend to spend at least four hours tomorrow in killing this pious martyr. You'll have good time to think between the beginning and the end of the wreck. Do you hear that, master monk, said Smith, chucking him under the chin, while the rest of the party seemed to think the whole business an excellent joke and divided their ridicule openly enough between the prefect and his victim. The man of blood has said it. I am a martyr, answered the monk in a dogged voice. You'll take a good deal of time in becoming one. Death may be long, but glory is everlasting. True, I forgot that, and will save you the sad glory if I can help it for a year or two. Who was it struck me with the stone? No answer. Tell me, and the moment he is in my lictus hands, I pardon you freely. The monk laughed. Pardon? Pardon me, eternal bliss, and the things unspeakable, which God has prepared for those who love him? Tyrant and butcher, I struck thee, thou second dioclesion. I erode the stone. I, Amonius, would to heaven that it had smitten thee through, thou scissorah, like the nail of Jail the Kennite. Thanks, my friend. Heroes, you have a cell of her monks as well as for wine? I will trouble you with this hero's psalm singing to-night, and send my apparatus for him in the morning. Avie begins howling when we're in bed. Your men won't find much of him left in the morning, said Amon. But here come the slaves announcing dinner. Stay, said Orestes. There's one more with whom I have an account to settle, that young philosopher there. Oh, he's coming in, too. He never was drunk at his life, I'll warrant, poor fellow, and it's high time for him to begin. And the Amon let a good-natured bearish paw on Philemon's shoulder, who hung back in perplexity, and cast a pitchers' look towards Wolfe. Wolfe answered it by a shake of the head which gave Philemon courage to stammer out the curches for refusal. The Amon swore an oath at him, which made the cloister ring again, and with a quiet shove of his heavy hand sent him staggering half across the court. But Wolfe interposed. The boy is mine, Prince. He's no drunkard, and I will not let him become one. Would to heaven, added he under his breath, that I could say the same to some others. Send us out our supper here when you're done. Half a sheep or so will do between us, and another the strongest to watch it down with. Smith knows my quantity. Why, in Heaven's name, are you not coming in? That mob will be trying to birth the gates again before two hours are out, and as someone must stand sentry, it may as well be a man who will not have his ears stopped up by wine and women's kisses, and the boy will stay with me. So the party went in, leaving Wolfe and Philemon alone in the outer hall, where the two sat for some half hour, casting stealthy glances at each other, and wondering, perhaps, each of them vainly enough, what was going on in the opposite brain. Philemon, though his heart was full of his sister, could not help noticing the air of deep sadness which hung about the scarred and weather-beaten features of the old warrior. The grimness which had remarked on their first meeting seemed to be now changed into a settled melancholy. The furrows round his mouth and eyes had become deeper and sharper. Some perpetual indignation seemed smouldering in the knitted brow and protruding upper lip. He sat there silent and motionless for some half hour, his chin resting on his hands, and they again upon the butt of his axe, apparently in deep thought, and listening with a silent sneer to the clinking of glasses and dishes within. End of Chapter 18, Part 1 Chapter 18, Part 2 of Hypathia This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, recording by Anna Simon. Philemon felt too much respect, both for his age and his stately sadness, to break the silence. At last some louder burst of merriment than usual aroused him. What do you call that? said he, speaking in Greek. Philemon and Vanity. And what does she there, the Elruna, the prophet woman, call it? Whom do you mean? Why, the Greek woman, whom we went to hear talk this morning. Philemon and Vanity. Why can't she cure that Roman hairdresser there of it, then? Philemon was silent. Why not indeed? Do you think she could cure any one of it? Of what? Of getting drunk and wasting their strength and their fame and their hard-won treasures upon eating and drinking and fine clothes and bad women. She is most pure herself, and she preaches purity to all who hear her. Curse preaching. I've preached for these four months. Perhaps she may have some more winning arguments. Perhaps I know such a beautiful bit of flesh and blood as she is might get a hearing when a grizzled old head splitter like me was called a doted, eh? Well, it's natural. Along silence. She's a grand woman. I never saw such a one, and I've seen many. Though the prophetess once lived in an island in the razor-stream, and when a man saw her, even before she spoke a word, one longed to crawl to her feet on all falls and say, There, tread on me. I'm not fit for you to wipe your feet upon. And many a warrior did it. Perhaps I may have done it myself before now. This one is strangely like her. She would make a princess wife now. Philemon started. What new feeling was it which made him indignant at the notion? Beauty. What's body without soul? What's beauty without wisdom? What's beauty without chastity? Best, fool, wallowing in the mire, which every hog has fouled. Like a jewel of gold in a swine's snout, so is a fair woman who is without discretion. Who said that? Solomon, the king of Israel. I never heard of him. But he was a right sagamon who ever said it, and she is a pure maid in that other one. Spotless as the… Blessed virgin, Philemon was going to say, but checked himself. There were sad recollections about the words. Wolf sat silent for a few minutes, while Philemon's thoughts revered at once to the new purpose for which alone life seemed worth having, to find his sister. That one thought had in a few hours changed and matured the boy into the man. Hitherto he'd been only the leaf before the wind, the puppet of every new impression. But now, circumstance, which had been leading him along in such soft fetters for many a month, was become his deadly foe, and all his energy and cunning, all his little knowledge of man and of society, rose up sturdily and shrewdly to fight in this new cause. Wolf was no longer a phenomenon to be wondered at, but an instrument to be used. The broken hints, which had just given of discontent with Philemon's presence, inspired the boy with sudden hope, and cautiously he began to hint at the existence of persons who would be glad to remove her. Wolf caught the notion and replied to it with searching questions, till Philemon, finding plain speaking the better part of cunning, told him openly the whole events of the morning, and the mystery which our seniors had half revealed, and then shut it with mingled joy and horror, as Wolf, after ruminating over the matter for a wary five minutes, made answer, and what if Pelagia herself were your sister? Philemon was bursting forth in some passionate answer when the old man stopped him and went on slowly, looking him through and through. Besides, when a penniless young monk claims kin with a woman who was drinking out of the wine cups of the Caesar's, and filling a place for a share of which king's daughters have been thankful, and will be again before long. Why then, though an old man may be too good-natured to call it all a lie at first sight, he can't help supposing that the young monk has an eye to his own personal prophet. My prophet! cried poor Philemon, starting up. Good God! What object on earth can I have but to rescue her from this infamy to purity and holiness? He had touched the wrong chord. Hey, infamy, you accursed Egyptian slave! cried the prince, starting up in his turn, red with passion, and clutching at the whip which hung over his head. Infamy, as if she and you, too, ought not to consider yourselves blessed in her being allowed to wash the feet of an Amal. Oh, forgive me, said Philemon, terrified of the fruits of his own clumsiness, but you forget—you forget—she's not married to him. Married to him? A freed woman? No, thank Freya. He's not fallen as low as that, at least. And never shall, if I kill the witch with my own hands. A freed woman! Poor Philemon, that he'd been told but that morning that he was a slave. He hit his face in his hands and burst into an agony of tears. Come, come, said the testy warrior, softened at once. Woman's tears don't matter, but somehow I never could bear to make a man cry. When you are cool and have learned common courtesy, we'll talk more about this. So, hush, enough is enough. Here comes the supper, and I'm as hungry as a Loki. And he commenced devouring, like as namesake, the gray beast of the wood, and forcing, in his rough, hospitable way, Philemon to devour also, much against his will and stomach. There, I feel happier now, quoth wolf at last. There's nothing to be done in his cursed place, but to eat. I get no fighting, no hunting. I hate women as they hate me. I don't know anything, indeed, that I don't hate, except eating and singing. And now, what were those girls, vile and manly harps and flutes, no one cares to listen to a true rattling war song? There they are at it now, with their catarrolling, squealing all together like a set of starlings on a foggy morning. We'll have a song, too, to drown the noise. And he burst out with a wild, rich melody, acting in uncouth gestures and a suppressed totem voice, the scene which the words described. An elk looked out of the pine forest. He snuffed up east, he snuffed down west, stealthy and still. His mane and his horns were heavy with snow. I laid my arrow across my bow, stealthy and still. And then, quickening his voice, as his whole face blazed up into fear's excitement, the bow it rattled, the arrow flew. It smote his blade bones through and through. Hurrah! I sprang out his throat like a wolf with a wood, and I warmed my hands in his smoking blood. Hurrah! And with a shout that echoed and rang from wall to wall and peeled away above the roofs, he leapt to his feet with a gesture and look of savage frenzy which made Philemon recoil. But the passion was gone in an instant, and Wolf sat down again, chuckling to himself. There, that is something like a warrior song. That make the old blood spin along again. But this debarging furnace of a climate, no man can keep his muscle, or his courage, or his money, or anything else in it. May the gods curse the day when first I saw it. Philemon said nothing, but said utterly aghast at an outbreak so unlike Wolf's usual caustic reserve and stately self-restraint, and shuddering at the thought that it might be an instance of that demonic possession to which these barbarians were supposed by Christians and by neoplatonists to be peculiarly subject. But the horror was not yet at its height. For in another minute the doors of the women's court flew open, and, attracted by Wolf's shout, out poured the whole Bacchanalian crew, with arresters, crowned with flowers, and led by the Amal and Pelagia, reeling in the midst wine-cup in hand. There's my philosopher, my preserver, my patron saint, hiccuped he. Bring him to my arms, that I may encircle his lovely neck with pearls of India and barbaric gold. For God's sake, let me escape, whispered he to Wolf as the rout rushed upon him. Wolf opened the door in an instant, and he dashed through it. As he went, the old man held out his hand. Come and see me again, boy, me only. The old warrior will not hurt you. There was a kindly tone in the voice, a kindly light in the eye, which made Philomond promise to obey. He glanced one look back through the gateway as he fled, and just saw a wild whirl of goths and girls spinning madly round the court in the world-old teotonic waltz. While high above their heads in the uplifted arms of the mighty Amal was tossing the beautiful figure of Pelagia, tearing the garland from her floating hair to pelt the dancers with its roses. And that might be his sister. He hid his face and fled, and the gate shut out the revelers from his eyes. And it is high time that it should shut them out from ours also. Some four hours more had passed. The revelers were sleeping off their wine, and the moon shining bright and cold across the court when wolf came out, carrying a heavy jar of wine, followed by smith, a goblet in each hand. Here, comrade, out into the middle to catch a breath of night air. Are all the fools asleep? Every mother's son of them, ah, this is refreshing after that room. What a pity it is that all men are not born with heads like ours. Very sad indeed, said wolf, filling his goblet. What a quantity of pleasure they lose in this life. There they are, snoring like hogs. Now, you and I are good to finish this jar at least. And another after it, if our talk is not over by that time. Why, are you going to hold a council of war? That is as you take it. Now, look here, smith, whomsoever I cannot trust, I suppose I may trust you, eh? Well, quoth smith's solitude, putting down his goblet. That is a strange question to ask of a man who has marched, and hungered, and plundered, and conquered, and been well beaten by your side for five and twenty years, through all the lands between the Weasel and Alexandria. I am growing old, I suppose, and so I suspect everyone, but hearken to me, for between wine and ill temper, out it must come. You saw that I'll ruin a woman? For, of course. Well? Well? Why, did not you think she would make a wife for any man? Well? And why not for our Amal? That's his concern, as well as hers, and hers as well as ours. She? Or she not to think herself only too much honoured by marrying a son of Odin? Is she going to be more dainty than Placidia? What was good enough for an emperor's daughter must be good enough for her. Good enough, and out of only a bolt, while Ulmaric is a full-blooded Amal, Odin's son by both sides. I don't know whether she would understand that. Then we would make her. Why not carry her off, and marry her to the Amal, whether she chose or not? Should be well content enough with him in a week, I'll warrant. But there is Pelagia in the way. Put her out of the way, then. Impossible. It was this morning, a weak hands it may not be. I heard a promise made to-night which will do it, if there be the spirit of a goth left in the poor besotted lad whom we know of. Ah, he's all right at heart. Never fear him. But what was the promise? I will not tell till it's claimed. I will not be the man to shame my own nation and the blood of the gods. But if that drunken prefect recollects it, why, let him recollect it. And what is more, the monk-boy who was here to-night? Ha, what a well-grown lad that is wasted. More than suspects, and if his story is true, I more than suspect too, that Pelagia is his sister. His sister? But what of that? He wants, of course, to carry her off and make her none of her. You'd not let them do such a thing to the poor child. If folks get in my way, Smith, they must go down, so much the worse for them. But old Wolf was never turned back yet by man or beast, and he will not be now. After all, it'll serve the hussy right, but Amaric, out of sight, out of mind. But they say the prefect means to marry the girl. Hey, that's centered ape. She would not be such a wretch. But he does intend, and she intends too. It is the talk of the whole town. We should have to put him out of the way first. Why not? Easy enough, and good riddance for Alexandria. Yet if we made away with him, we should be forced to take the city too, and I doubt whether we have our hands enough for that. The guards might join us. I'll go down to the barracks and try them, if you choose, tomorrow. I'm a boon companion with a good many of them already. But after all, Prince Wolf, of course, you're always right. We all know that. But what's the use of marrying this Hypathia to the Amal? Use, said Wolf, smithing down his goblet in the pavement. Use? You perblined all the hamster red. You think of nothing but filling your own cheek pouches. To give him a wife worthy of a hero, as he is, in spite of all. A wife who'll make him sober, instead of drunk. Wise, instead of a fool. Daring, instead of a sluggered. A wife who can command the rich people for us, and give us a hold here, which if once we get, let us see who'll break it. Why, with those two ruling in Alexandria, we might be masses of Africa in three months. We'd send to Spain for the Wendals to move on Cartage. We'd send up the Adriatic for the Longbeards to land in Pentapolis. We'd sweep the whole coast without losing a man. Now it is drained of troops by that fool or aeclean's Roman expedition. Make the Wendals and Longbeards shake hands here in Alexandria. Draw lots for their shares of the coast, and then... And then what? Why, when we'd settled Africa, I would call out a crew of picked heroes, and sail away south for Asgard. I'd try that Red Sea this time, and see Odin face to face, or die searching for him. Ah, groan, Smith. And I suppose you would expect me to come, too, instead of letting me stop halfway, and settle there among the dragons and elephants. Well, well, wise men are like morlands. Right as far as you will in the sound-ground, you're sure to come up on a soft place at last. However, I'll go down to the guards tomorrow, if my head don't ache. And I'll see the boy about Pelagia. Drink to our plot. And the two old ironheads drank on, till the stars peeled out, and the eastward shadows of the cloister vanished in the blaze of dawn. End of Chapter 18 Chapter 19, Part 1 of Hypatia This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Nathine Gertboulez, Hypatia, by Charles Kingsley, Chapter 19, Jews Against Christians, Part 1 The little porter, after having carried Arseneas' message to Miriam, had run back in search of Philaman and his first of father, and not finding them, had spent the evening in such frantic rushings to and fro, as produced great doubts of his sanity among the people of the quarter. At last hunger sent him home to supper, at which meal he tried to find vent for his excited feelings in his favorite employment of beating his wife. Whereon Miriam's two Syrian slave girls, attracted by her screams, came to the rescue through a pail of water over him, and turned him out of doors. He, nothing discomfited, likened himself smilingly to Socrates' concord box and teep, and philosophically yielding to circumstances, hopped about like a tame magpie for a couple of hours at the entrance of the alley, pouring forth a stream of light railery on the passes by, which several times endangered his personal safety, till at last Philaman, hurrying breathlessly home, rushed into his arms. Hush, hither with me, your star still prospers, she calls for you. Who? Miriam herself. Be secret as the grave. You she will see and speak with. The message of Arseneus she rejected in language, which it is unnecessary for philosophic leaps to repeat. Come, but give her good words, as are fit to an enchantress, who can stay the stars in their courses, and command the spirits of the Third Heaven. Philaman hurried home with you, Daemon. Little cared he now for Hypatia's warning against Miriam. Was he not in search of a sister? So you wretched you are back again, cried one of the girls, as they knocked at the outer door of Miriam's apartments. What do you mean by bringing young men here at this time of night? Better go down and beg pardon of that poor wife of yours. She has been weeping and praying for you to her crucifix, all the evening you ungrateful little ape. Female superstitions, but I forgive her. Peace, barbarian women! I bring this youthful philosopher hither by your mistress's own appointment. He must wait, then, in the anti-room. There is a gentleman with my mistress at present. So Philaman waited in a dark, dingy anti-room, luxuriously furnished with faded tapestry, and devour and switch-line the walls, and fretted and fidgeted, while the two girls watched him over the embroidery out of the corners of their eyes, and agreed that he was a very stupid person for showing no inclination to return the languishing glances. In the meanwhile Miriam, within, was listening, with a smile of grim delight, to a swarthy and weather-bitten young Jew. I knew, mother in Israel, that all depended on my pace, and night and day I rode from Ostea toward Tarentum. But the messenger of the uncircumcised was better mounted than I. I therefore bribed a certain slave to lame his horse, and passed him by a whole stage on the second day. Nevertheless the Philistine had co-ed me up again, the evil angels helping him, and my soul was mad within me. And what then, John Adab Bavse Buddha? I be-thought me of Yehud and of Joab also, when he was pursued by Assel, and considered much of the lofulness of the deed not being a man of blood. Nevertheless we were together in the darkness, and I smote him. Miriam clapped her hands. Then, putting on his clothes and taking his letters and credentials, as was but reasonable, I passed myself off for the messenger of the emperor, and so rode the rest of the journey at the expense of the heathen, and I hear by return you the balance saved. Never mind the balance, keep it, though worth his son of take-up. What next? When I came to Tarentum, I sailed in the galley which I had charted from certain sea robbers. Valiant men there were, nevertheless, and kept true faith with me. For when we had come half-way, rowing with all our might, behold another galley coming in our wake and about to pass us by, which I knew for an Alexandrian, as did the captain also, who assured me that she had come from hence to Brandesium with letters from Orestes. Well, it seemed to me both bays to be passed, and more bays to waste all the expense wherewith you and all elders had charged themselves. So I took counsel with the man of blood, offering him over and above our bargain, two hundred gold pieces of my own, which pleased to pay to my account with Rabbi Ezekiel, who lives by the Watergate in Pelosium. Then the pirates, taking counsel, agreed to run down the enemy, for our galley was a sharp-beaked liberlion, while theirs was only a messenger trirem. And you did it? Else I had not been here. They were delivered into our hands, so that we struck them full in mid-length. And they sank like pharaoh and his host. So perish all the enemies of the nation, cried Miriam. And now it is impossible, you say, for fresh news to arrive for these ten days? Impossible, the captain assured me, owing to the rising of the wind and the signs of Sarbaly's storm. Here, take this letter for the chief rabbi and the blessing of a mother in Israel, though last play the man for thy people, and those shall go to the grave full of years and honours, with man-servants and maidservants, gold and silver, children and children's children, with thy foot on the necks of heathens, and the blessing of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, to eat of the goose which is fattening in the desert, and the leviathan which lies in the great sea, to be mead for all true Israelites at the last day. And the Jew turned and went out, perhaps in his simple fanaticism, the happiest man in Egypt at that moment. He passed out through the antechamber, leering at the slave girls, and scowling at filaments, and the youth was ushered into the presence of Miriam. She sat, coiled up like a snake on a divan, writing busily in a tablet of polonies, while on the cushions beside her glittered splendid jewels, which she had been fingering over as a child might its toys. She did not look up for a few minutes, and Vilemon could not help, in spite of his impatience, looking round the little room and contrasting its dirty splendour and heavy odour of wine and food and perfumes, with the sunny grace and cleanliness of Greek houses. Against the walls stood presses and chests, fretted with fantastic oriental carving. Illuminated rows of parchment lay in heaps in a corner, a lamp of strange form hung from the ceiling, and shed a dim and lurid light upon an object which chilled the youth's blood for a moment. A bracket against the wall, on which, in a plate of gold, and graven with mystic signs, stood the mummy of an infant's head, one of those terraphym, from which, as Vilemon knew, the sorcerers of the East professed to evoke oracular responses. At last she looked up and spoke in a shrill, harsh voice. Well, my fair boy, and what do you want with the poor old proscrime jewels? Have you coveted yet any of the pretty things which she has had the wit to make her slave-demons save from the Christian robbers? Vilemon's tale was soon told. The old woman listened, watching him intently with her burning eye, and then answered slowly. Well, and what if you are a slave? Am I one, then? Am I? Of course you are, our senior spoke truth. I saw him by you at Ravina, just fifteen years ago. I bought your sister at the same time. She is two and twenty now. You were four years younger than her, I should say. Oh heavens, and you know my sister still? Is she Pelagia? You are a pretty boy, went on the hag, apparently not hearing him. If I had thought you were going to grow up as beautiful and as clever as you are, I would have bought you myself. The goth were just marching, and our seniors gave only eighteen gold pieces for you, or twenty. I am growing old and forget everything, I think. But there would have been the expense of your education, and your sister cost me in training. Oh, what sums? Not that she was not worth the money. No, no, the darling. And you know where she is? Oh, tell me, in the name of Mercy, tell me. Why, then? Why, then, have you not the heart of a human being in you? Is she not my sister? Well, you have done very well for fifteen years without your sister. Why can you not do as well now? You don't recollect her. You don't love her. Not love her? I would die for her. Die for you, if you will, but help me to see her. You would, would you? And if I brought you to her, what then? What if she were Bellagia herself? What then? She is happy enough now, and rich enough. Could you make her happier or richer? Can you ask? I must, I will, reclaim her from the infamy in which I am sure she lives. Aha! Sir Monk! I expect it as much. I know, none knows better what those fine words mean. The burnt child dreads the fire, but the burnt old woman quenches it, you will find. Now listen. I do not say that you shall not see her. I do not say that Bellagia herself is not the woman whom you seek. But you are in my power. Don't frown in part. I can deliver you as a slave to our seniors when I choose. One word from me to arrest is, and you are in fetters as a fugitive. I will escape, cried he fiercely. Escape me? she laughed, pointing to the tariff. Me, who, if you fled beyond calf, or dived to the depth of the ocean, could make these dead lips confess where you were, and command demons to bear you back to me upon their wings? Escape me? better to obey me and see your sister. Philaman shuddered and submitted. The spell of the woman's eye, the terror of her words, which she have believed, and the agony of longing, conquered him and he gasped out. I will obey you, only, only. Only you are not quite a man yet, but half a monk still, hey? I must know that before I help you, my pretty boy. Are you a monk still, or a man? What do you mean? Lovechish, really. And these Christian dogs don't know what a man means? Are you a monk then, leaving the man alone as above your understanding? I? I am a student of philosophy. But no man? I am a man, I suppose. I don't. If you had been, you would have been making love like a man to that heathen woman many a month ago. I? To her? Yes, I, to her, said Miriam, coarsely imitating his tone of shocked humility. I, the poor penniless boy's color, to her, the great, rich, wise, worshiped, she philosopher, who holds the sacred keys of the inner shrine of the east wind, and just because I am a man, and the handsomest man in Alexandria, and she a woman, and the vainest woman in Alexandria, and therefore I am stronger than she, and can twist her round my finger, and bring her to her knees at my feet when I like, as soon as I open my eyes, and discover that I am a man. Hey, boy, did she ever teach you that, among her mathematics and metaphysics, and gods and goddesses, filaments to the blushing scarlet, the sweet poison had entered, and every vein glowed with it for the first time in his life. Miriam saw her advantage. There, there, don't be frightened at your new lesson. After all, I liked you from the first moment I saw you, and asked the tariff about you, and I got an answer, such an answer. You shall know it some day. At all events it said the poor old soft-hearted Jewess on throwing away her money. Did you ever guess from whom your monthly gold piece came? Filaments started, and Miriam burst into loud, shrill laughter. From Hypatia, our warrant, from the fair Greek woman, of course, vain child that you are, never thinking of the poor old Jewess. And did you, did you, gasped Filaments, have I to thank you, then, for that strange generosity? Not to thank me, but to obey me. For mind, I can prove your debt to me every herbal and claim it if I choose. But don't fear, I won't be hard on you just because you are in my power. I hate everyone who is not so. As soon as I have a hold on them, I begin to love them. Old folks, like children, are fond of their own playthings. And I am yours, then, said Filaments fiercely. You are indeed my beautiful boy, and so she, looking up with so insinuating a smile that he could not be angry. After all, I know how to toss my balls gently, and for these forty years I have only lived to make young folks happy. So you need not be afraid of the poor soft-hearted old woman. Now, you saved Arrester's life yesterday. How did you find out that? I, I know everything. I know what the swallows say when they pass each other on the wing, and what the fishers think of in the summer sea. You, too, will be able to guess some day without the tariff's help. But in the meantime, you must enter Arrester's service. Why? What are you hesitating about? Do you not know that you are high in his favour? He will make you secretary, raise you to be chamberlain some day, if you know how to make good use of your fortune. Filaments stood in astonished silence, and at last... Servant to that man? What can I for him or his honours? Why do you tantalise me thus? I have no wish on earth but to see my sister. You will be far more likely to see her if you belong to the court of a great officer, perhaps more than an officer, than if you remain a penniless monk. Not that I believe you. You only wish on earth, hey? Do you not care, then, ever to see the fair Hypatia again? I? Why should I not see her? Am I not her pupil? She will not have pupils much longer, my child. If you wish to hear her wisdom, and much good-made do you, you must go for it henceforth, somewhat nearer to Orestes palace than the lecture room is. Huh! You start. Have I found an argument now? No, ask no questions. I explain nothing to monks. But take these letters. Tomorrow morning at the third hour, go to Orestes' palace, and ask for his secretary, Ethan the Toldy. Say boldly that you bring important news of state, and then follow your star. It is a fairer one than you fancy. Go, obey me, or you see no sister. Recording by Nadine Kertboulez, Hypatia by Charles Kingsley, Chapter 19, Jews Against Christians, Part II Philaman felt himself trapped, but, after all, what might not this strange woman do for him? It seemed, if not his only path, still his nearest path to Pelagia. And in the meanwhile he was in the hax power, and he must submit to his fate. So he took the letters and went out. And so you think that you are going to have her? Chuggled Miriam to herself, when Philaman went out. To make a penitent of her, hey? A nun or a she-hermit? To set her to appease your God by crawling on all fours among the mummies for twenty years? With a chain round her neck and a clock at her ankle, fencing herself all the while the bride of the Nazarene? And you think that all Miriam is going to give her up to you for that? No, no, Sir Monk. Better she were dead. Follow your dainty bait. Follow it, as the donkey does the grass which his driver offers him, always a ninch from his nose. You in my power. An arrest is in my power. I must negotiate that new loan tomorrow, I suppose. I shall never be paid. The dog will ruin me, after all. How much is it now? Let me see. And she began fumbling in her escritoire over bonds and notes of hand. I shall never be paid, but power to have power. To see those heathen slaves and Christian hounds plotting and vaporing, and fencing themselves the masters of the world, and never dreaming that we are pulling the strings, and that they are puppets? We, the children of the promises. We, the nation. We, the seed of Abraham. Poor fools! I could almost pity them, as I think of their faces when Messiah comes, and they find out who were the true lords of the world, after all. He must be the Emperor of the South, though that arrest is. He must, though I have to lend him Raphael's jewels to make him so. For he must marry the Greek woman. He shall. She hates him, of course. So much the deeper revenge for me. And she loves that monk. I sew it in her eyes there in the garden. So much the better for me, too. He will dangle willingly enough at arrest's heels for the sake of being near her. Poor fool! We will make him secretary, or chamberlain. He has wit enough for it, they say, or for anything. So arrest's and he shall be the two jewels of my pincers, to squeeze what I want out of that Greek Jezebel. And then, then for the black agate. Was the end of her speech a bathos? Perhaps not. For as she spoke the last word, she drew from her bosom, where it hung round her neck by a chain, a broken talisman, exactly similar to the one when she covered it so fiercely, and looked at it long and lovingly, kissed it, wept over it, spoke to it, fondled it in her arms as a mother-wooder child. Murmured over its snatches of lullabies, and her grim, withered features grew softer, purer, grander, and rose ennobled, for a moment, to their long-lost might have been, to that personal ideal which every soul brings with it into the world, which shines, dim and potential, in the face of every sleeping babe, before it has been scarred and distorted, and encrusted in the long tragedy of life. Sorceress she was, penda and slave dealer, steeped to the lips in falsehood, ferocity and avarice, yet that poultry stone brought home to her some thought, true, spiritual, impalpable, unmarketable, before which all her treasures and all her ambition were as worthless in her own eyes as they were in the eyes of the angels of God. But little did Miriam think that at the same moment a brownie, clownish monk was standing in Cyril's private chamber, and, indulged with the special honour of a cup of good wine, in the patriarch's very presence, was telling to him and our seniors the following history. So I, finding that the Jews had chartered this pirate ship, went to the master thereof, and finding favour in his eyes, hired myself to row therein, being sure from what I had overheard from the Jews, that she was destined to bring the news to Alexandria as quickly as possible. Therefore, fulfilling the work which his holiness had entrusted to my incapacity, I embarked and rowed continually among the rest, and being unskilled in such labour, received many curses and stripes in the cause of the church, which I trust are laid to my account hereafter. Moreover Satan entered into me, desiring to slay me, and almost tore me asunder, so that I vomited much, and loothed all manner of meat. Nevertheless I rowed on valiantly, being such as I am, vomiting continually, till the heathens were moved with wonder, and forbore to beat me, giving me strong liquids in pity. Wherefore I rowed all the more valiantly day and night, trusting that by my unworthiness the cause of the Catholic Church might be in some slight wise assisted. And so it is, quoth Cyril, why do you not sit down, men? Pardon me, quoth the monk, with a piteous gesture, of sitting as of all carnal pleasure, calmeth satiety at the last. And now, said Cyril, what reward am I to give you for your good service? It is reward enough to know that I have done good service. Nevertheless, if the holy Patriarch be so inclined without reason, there is an ancient Christian, my mother according to the flesh. Come to me to-morrow, and she shall be well seen to. And mind, look to it, if I make you not a deacon of the city, when I promote Peter. The monk kissed his superior's hand and withdrew. Cyril turned to Arsenius, betrayed for once into geniality by his delight, and smiting his thigh. We have beaten the heathen for once, hey? And then, in the usual artificial tone of an ecclesiastic, and what would my father recommend in furtherance of the advantage so mercifully thrown into our hand? Arsenius was silent. I, when on Cyril, should be inclined to announce the news this very night in my sermon. Arsenius shook his head. Why not, why not? asked Cyril impatiently. Better to keep it secret till others tell it. Reserved knowledge is always reserved strength, and if the man, as I hope he does not, intends evil to the church, let him commit himself before you use your knowledge against him. True, you may have a scrabble of conscience as to the lofulness of allowing a sin which you might prevent. To me it seems that the sin lies in the will rather than in the deed, and that sometimes, I only say sometimes, it may be a means of saving the sinner to allow his root of iniquity to bear fruit and fill him with his own devices. Dangerous doctrine, my father. Like all sound doctrine, a savor of life or of death according as it is received. I have not said it to the multitude, but to a discerning brother, and even politically speaking, let him commit himself if he be really plotting rebellion and then speak and smite his babel tower. You think, then, that he does not know of Heraklion's defeat already? If he does, he will keep it secret from the people, and our chances of turning them suddenly will be nearly the same. Good. After all, the existence of the Catholic Church in Alexandria depends on this struggle, and it is well to be wary. Be it so, it is well for me that I have you for an advisor. And thus Cyril, usually the most impatient and intractable of plotters, gave in, as wise men should, to a wiser man than himself, and made up his mind to keep the secret and to commend the monk to keep it also. Philaman, after a sleepless night, and a welcome visit to the public bath, which the Roman tyranny, wiser in its generation than modern liberty, provided so liberally for its victims, set forth to the prefect's palace and gave his message. But Orestes, who had been of late astonishing the Alexandrian public by an unwanted display of alacrity, was already in the adjoining Basilica. Thith of the youth was conducted by an apparitor, and led up the centre of the enormous hall, gorgeous with frescoes and coloured marbles, and surrounded by ails and galleries, in which the inferior magistrates were hearing coses, and doing such justice as the complicated technicalities of Roman law chose to meet out. Through a crowd of anxious lounges, the youth passed to the apse of the upper end, in which the prefect's throne stood empty, and then turned into a side chamber, where he found himself alone with the secretary, a portly chaldee eunuch, with a sleek pale face, small pig's eyes, and an enormous turban. The men of pen and paper took the letter, opened it with solemn deliberation, and then, springing to his feet, started out of the room in most undignified haste, leaving Philaman to wait and wonder. In half an hour he returned, his little eyes growing big with some great idea. Youth, your star is in the ascendant. You are the fortunate bearer of fortunate news, his excellency himself commends your presence. And the two went out. In another chamber, the door of which was guarded by armed men, Orestes was walking up and down in high excitement, looking somewhat the worst for the events of the past night, and making occasional appeals to a gold goblet, which stood on the table. Ha! no other than my preserver himself. Thy, I will make your fortune. Merriam says that you wish to enter my service. Philaman, not knowing what to say, thought the best answer would be to bow as low as he could. Aha! graceful, but not quite according to etiquette. You will soon teach him, hey, secretary? Now to business, hand me the notes to sign and seal, to the prefect of the stationaries. Here, your excellency. To the prefect of the corn market, how many wheat-sheeps have you ordered to be unladen? To, your excellency. Well, that will be largely enough for the time being, to the defender of the plebs, the devil break his neck. He may be trusted, most noble, he is bitterly jealous of Cyril's influence, and moreover he owes my insignificance much money. Good! now the notes to the gull masters about the gladiators. Here, your excellency. To Hypatia. No, I will honor my bright elect with my own illustrious presence. As I live, here is a morning's work for a man with a raking headache. Your excellency has the strength of seven, may you live forever. And really, Orestes' power of getting through business, when he chose, was surprising enough. A cold head and a colder heart make many things easy. But Philaman's whole soul was fixed on those words. His bright elect? Was it that Miriam's hints of the day before had raised some selfish vision, or was it pity and horror at such a fate for her, for his idol? But he passed five minutes in a dream, from which he was awakened by the sound of another and still dearer name. And now, for Pelagia, we can but try. Your excellency might offend the goth. Curse the goth. He shall have his choice of all the beauties in Alexandria, and be count of Pentepolis, if he likes. But a spectacle I must have, and no one but Pelagia can dance Venus and Adiomine. Philaman's blood rushed to his heart, and then back again to his brow, as he reeled with horror and shame. The people will be mad with joy to see her on the stage once more. Little they thought, the brutes, how I was plotting for their amusement, even when I strung a sileness. Your nobility only lives for the good of your slaves. Here, boy, so fair lady requires a fair messenger. You shall enter on my service at once, and carry this letter to Pelagia. Why? Why do you not come and take it? To Pelagia? Casp the youth, in the theater? Publicly? Venus and Adiomine? Yes, fool, were you too drunk last night after all? She is my sister. Well, and what of that? Not that I believe you, you villain. So said Aristis, who comprehended the matter in an instant. Apparatus. The door opened, and the guard appeared. Here is a good boy who is inclined to make a fool of himself. Keep him out of harm's way for a few days. But don't hurt him, for, after all, he saved my life yesterday, when you scoundrels ran away. And, without further ado, the hapless youth was colored and let down a vaulted passage into the courtroom amid the jeers of the guard, who seemed only to who him a grudge for his yesterday's prowess, and showed great alacrity in fitting him with a heavy set of irons. Which done, he was thrust head foremost into a cell of the prison, locked in, and left to his valetations. End of chapter 19