by Georg Ebers
CHAPTER VII.
Archibius had buried himself so deeply in the past that it was severalminutes ere he could bring himself back to the present. When he did so,he hastily discussed with the two ladies the date of their departure.
It was hard for Berenike to leave her injured brother, and Barine longedto see Dion once more before the journey. Both were reluctant to quitAlexandria ere decisive news had arrived from the army and the fleet.So they requested a few days' delay; but Archibius cut them short,requiring them, with a resolution which transformed the amiable friendinto a stern master, to be ready for the journey the next day at sunset.His Nile boat would await them at the Agathodaemon harbour on LakeMareotis, and his travelling chariot would convey them thither, withas much luggage and as many female slaves as they desired to take withthem. Then softening his tone, he briefly reminded the ladies of thegreat annoyances to which a longer stay would expose them, excusedhis rigour on the plea of haste, pressed the hands of the mother anddaughter, and retired without heeding Barine, who called after him, yetcould desire nothing save to plead for a longer delay. The carriage borehim swiftly to the great harbour.
The waxing moon was mirrored like a silver column, now wavering andtremulous, now rent by the waves tossing under a strong southeast wind,and illumined the warm autumn night. The sea outside was evidentlyrunning high. This was apparent by the motion of the vessels lying atanchor in the angle which the shore in front of the superb Temple ofPoseidon formed with the Choma. This was a tongue of land stretchedlike a finger into the sea, on whose point stood a little palace whichCleopatra, incited by a chance remark of Antony, had had built there tosurprise him.
Another, of white marble, glimmered in the moonlight from the island ofAntirrhodus; and farther still a blazing fire illumined the darkness.Its flames flared from the top of the famous lighthouse on the islandof Pharos at the entrance of the harbour, and, swayed to and fro by thewind, steeped the horizon and the outer edge of the dark water inthe harbour with moving masses of light which irradiated the gloomydistance, sometimes faintly, anon more brilliantly.
Spite of the late hour, the harbour was full of bustle, though the windoften blew the men's cloaks over their heads, and the women wereobliged to gather their garments closely around them. True, at this hourcommerce had ceased; but many had gone to the port in search of news, oreven to greet before others the first ship returning from the victoriousfleet; for that Antony had defeated Octavianus in a great battle wasdeemed certain.
Guards were watching the harbour, and a band of Syrian horsemen hadjust passed from the barracks in the southern part of the Lochias to theTemple of Poseidon.
Here the galleys lay at anchor, not in the harbour of Eunostus, whichwas separated from the other by the broad, bridge-like dam of theHeptastadium, that united the city and the island of Pharos. Near itwere the royal palaces and the arsenal, and any tidings must first reachthis spot. The other harbour was devoted to commerce, but, in order toprevent the spread of false reports, newly arrived ships were forbiddento enter.
True, even at the great harbour, news could scarcely be expected, for achain stretching from the end of the Pharos to a cliff directly oppositein the Alveus Steganus, closed the narrow opening. But it could beraised if a state galley arrived with an important message, and this wasexpected by the throng on the shore.
Doubtless many came from banquets, cookshops, taverns, or the nocturnalmeeting-places of the sects that practised the magic arts, yet theweight of anxious expectation seemed to check the joyous activity, andwherever Archibius glanced he beheld eager, troubled faces. The windforced many to bow their heads, and, wherever they turned their eyes,flags and clouds of dust were fluttering in the air, increasing theconfusion.
As the galley put off from the shore, and the flutes summoned theoarsmen to their toil, its owner felt so disheartened that he did noteven venture to hope that he was going in quest of good tidings.
Long-vanished days had, as it were, been called from the grave, and manya scene from the past rose before him as he lay among the cushions onthe poop, gazing at the sky, across which dark, swiftly sailing cloudssometimes veiled the stars and again revealed them.
"How much we can conceal by words without being guilty of falsehood!" hemurmured, while recalling what he had told the women.
Ay, he had been Cleopatra's confidant in his early youth, but how hehad loved her, how, even as a boy, he had been subject to her, body andsoul! He had allowed her to see it, displayed, confessed it; and she hadaccepted it as her rightful due. She had repelled with angry pride hisonly attempt to clasp her, in his overflowing affection, in his arms;but to show his love for her is a crime for which the loftiest womanpardons the humblest suitor, and a few hours later Cleopatra had met himwith the old affectionate familiarity.
Again he recalled the torments which he had endured when compelled towitness how completely she yielded to the passion which drew her toAntony. At that time the Roman had merely swept through her life like aswiftly passing meteor, but many things betrayed that she did not forgethim; and while Archibius had seen without pain her love for the greatCaesar bud and grow, the torturing feeling of jealousy again stirred inhis heart, though youth was past, when at Tarsus, on the river Cydnus,she renewed the bond which still united her to Antony.
Now his hair had grown grey, and though nothing had clouded hisfriendship for the Queen, though he had always been ready to serve her,this foolish feeling had not been banished, and again and again masteredhis whole being. He by no means undervalued Antony's attractions; but hesaw his foibles no less clearly. All in all, whenever he thought of thispair, he felt like the lover of art who entrusts the finest gem in hiscollection to a rich man who knows not how to prize its real value, andputs it in the wrong place.
Yet he wished the Roman the most brilliant victory; for his defeat wouldhave been Cleopatra's also, and would she endure the consequences ofsuch a disaster?
The galley was approaching the flickering circle of light at the footof the Pharos, and Archibius was just producing the token which wasto secure the lifting of the chain, when his name echoed through thestillness of the night.
It was Dion hailing him from a boat tossing near the mouth of theharbour on the waves surging in from the turbulent sea. He hadrecognized Archibius's swift galley from the bust of Epicurus which wasillumined by the light of the lantern in the prow. Cleopatra had hadit placed upon the ship which, by her orders, had been built for herfriend.
Dion now desired to join him, and was soon standing on the deck at hisside. He had landed on the island of Pharos, and entered a sailors'tavern to learn what was passing. But no one could give him any definiteinformation, for the wind was blowing from the land and allowed largevessels to approach the Egyptian coast only by the aid of oars. Shortlybefore the breeze had veered from south to southeast, and an experiencedRhodian would "never again lift cup of wine to his lips" if it did notblow from the north to-morrow or the day after. Then ships bearing newsmight reach Alexandria by the dozen--that is, the greybeard added with adefiant glance at the daintily clad city gentleman--if they were allowedto pass the Pharos or go through the Poseidon basin into the Eunostus.He had fancied that he saw sails on the horizon at sunset, but theswiftest galley became a hedgehog when the wind blew against its prow,and even checked the oars.
Others, too, had fancied that they had seen sails, and Dion would gladlyhave gone out to sea to investigate, but he was entirely alone in afrail hired boat, and this would not have been permitted to pass beyondthe harbour. The expectation that every road would be open to Archibiushad not deceived him, and the harbour chain was drawn aside for theEpicurus. With swelling sails, urged by the strong wind blowing from thesoutheast, its keel cut the rolling waves.
Soon a faint, tremulous light appeared in the north. It must be a ship;and though the helmsman in the tavern at Pharos, who looked as thoughhe had not always steered peaceful trading-vessels, had spoken of somewhich did not let the ships they caught pass unscat
hed, the men on thewell-equipped, stately Epicurus did not fear pirates, especially asmorning was close at hand, and it had just shot by two clumsy men-of-warwhich had been sent out by the Regent.
The strong wind filled every sail, rowing would have been uselesslabour, and the light in front seemed to be coming nearer.
A wan glimmer was already beginning to brighten the distant east whenthe Epicurus approached the vessel with the light, but it seemed to wishto avoid the Alexandrian, and turned suddenly towards the northeast.
Archibius and Dion now discussed whether it would be worth while topursue the fugitive. It was a small ship, which, as the dark massesof clouds became bordered with golden edges, grew more distinct andappeared to be a Cilician pirate of the smallest size.
As to its crew, the tried sailors on the Epicurus, a much larger vessel,which lacked no means of defence, showed no signs of alarm, the helmsmanespecially, who had served in the fleet of Sextus Pompey, and had sprungupon the deck of many a pirate ship.
Archibius deemed it foolish to commence a conflict unnecessarily. ButDion was in the mood to brave every peril.
If life and death were at stake, so much the better!
He had informed his friend of Iras's fears.
The fleet must be in a critical situation, and if the little Cilicianhad had nothing to conceal she would not have shunned the Epicurus.
It was worth while to learn what had induced her to turn back justbefore reaching the harbour. The warlike helmsman also desired to givechase, and Archibius yielded, for the uncertainty was becoming moreand more unbearable. Dion's soul was deeply burdened too. He could notbanish Barine's image; and since Archibius had told him that he hadfound her resolved to shut her house against guests, and how willinglyshe had accepted his invitation to the country, again and again hepondered over the question what should prevent his marrying the quietdaughter of a distinguished artist, whom he loved?
Archibius had remarked that Barine would be glad to greet her mostintimate friends--among whom he was included--in her quiet country.
Dion did not doubt this, but he was equally sure that the greeting wouldbind him to her and rub him of his liberty, perhaps forever. But wouldthe Alexandrian possess the lofty gift of freedom, if the Romansruled his city as they governed Carthage or Corinth? If Cleopatra weredefeated, and Egypt became a Roman province, a share in the business ofthe council, which was still addressed as "Macedonian men," and whichwas dear to Dion, could offer nothing but humiliation, and no longerafford satisfaction.
If a pirate's spear put an end to bondage under the Roman yoke and tothis unworthy yearning and wavering, so much the better!
On this autumn morning, under this grey sky, from which sank a damp,light fog, with these hopes and fears in his heart, he beheld in boththe present and future naught save shadows.
The Epicurus overtook and captured the fugitive. The slight resistancethe vessel might have offered was relinquished when Archibius's helmsmanshouted that the Epicurus did not belong to the royal navy, and had comein search of news.
The Cilician took in his oars; Archibius and Dion entered the vessel andquestioned the commander.
He was an old, weather-beaten seaman, who would give no informationuntil after he had learned what his pursuers really desired.
At first he protested that he had witnessed on the Peloponnesian coasta great victory gained by the Egyptian galleys over those commandedby Octavianus; but the queries of the two friends involved him incontradictions, and he then pretended to know nothing, and to havespoken of a victory merely to please the Alexandrian gentlemen.
Dion, accompanied by a few men from the crew of the Epicurus, searchedthe ship, and found in the little cabin a man bound and gagged, guardedby one of the pirates.
It was a sailor from the Pontus, who spoke only his native language.Nothing intelligible could be obtained from him; but there wereimportant suggestions in a letter, found in a chest in the cabin, amongclothing, jewels, and other stolen articles.
The letter-Dion could scarcely believe his own eyes-was addressed to hisfriend, the architect Gorgias. The pirate, being ignorant of writing,had not opened it, but Dion tore the wax from the cord without delay.Aristocrates, the Greek rhetorician, who had accompanied Antony tothe war, had written from Taenarum, in the south of the Peloponnesus,requesting the architect, in the general's name, to set the littlepalace at the end of the Choma in order, and surround it on the landside with a high wall.
No door would be necessary. Communication with the dwelling could be hadby water. He must do his utmost to complete the work speedily.
The friends gazed at each other in astonishment, as they read thiscommission.
What could induce Antony to give so strange an order? How did it fallinto the hands of the pirates?
This must be understood.
When Archibius, whose gentle nature, so well adapted to inspireconfidence, quickly won friends, burst into passionate excitement, theunexpected transition rarely failed to produce its effect, especiallyas his tall, strong figure and marked features made a still morethreatening impression.
Even the captain gazed at him with fear, when the Alexandrian threatenedto recall all his promises of consideration and mercy if the piratewithheld even the smallest trifle connected with this letter. The manspeedily perceived that it would be useless to make false statements;for the captive from Pontus, though unable to speak Greek, understoodthe language, and either confirmed every remark of the other withvehement gestures, or branded it in the same manner as false.
Thus it was discovered that the pirate craft, in company with a muchlarger vessel, owned by a companion, had lurked behind the promontory ofCrete for a prize. They had neither seen nor heard aught concerning thetwo fleets, when a dainty galley, "the finest and fleetest thatever sailed in the sea"--it was probably the "Swallow," Antony'sdespatch-boat-had run into the snare. To capture her was an easy task.The pirates had divided their booty, but the lion's share of goods andmen had fallen to the larger ship.
A pouch containing letters and money had been taken from a gentleman ofaristocratic appearance--probably Antony's messenger--who had received asevere wound, died, and had been flung into the sea. The former hadbeen used to light the fire, and only the one addressed to the architectremained.
The captured sailors had said that the fleet of Octavianus had defeatedCleopatra's, and the Queen had fled, but that the land forces were stilluntouched, and might yet decide the conflict in Antony's favour. Thepirate protested that he did not know the position of the army--it mightbe at Taenarum, whence the captured ship came. It was a sin and a shame,but his own crew had set it on fire, and it sank before his eyes.
This report seemed to be true, yet the Acharnanian coast, where thebattle was said to have been fought, was so far from the southern pointof the Peloponnesus, whence Antony's letter came, that it must have beenwritten during the flight. One thing appeared to be certain--the fleethad been vanquished and dispersed on the 2d or 3d of September.
Where would the Queen go now? What had become of the magnificent galleyswhich had accompanied her to the battle?
Even the contrary winds would not have detained them so long, for theywere abundantly supplied with rowers.
Had Octavianus taken possession of them? Were they burned or sunk?
But in that case how had Antony reached Taenarum?
The pirate could give no answer to these questions, which stirred bothheart and brain. Why should he conceal what had reached his ears?
At last Archibius ordered the property stolen from Antony's ship, andthe liberated sailor to be brought on board the Epicurus, but the piratewas obliged to swear not to remain in the waters between Crete andAlexandria. Then he was suffered to pursue his way unmolested.
This adventure had occupied many hours, and the return against the windwas slow; for, during the chase the Epicurus had been carried by thestrong breeze far out to sea. Yet, when still several miles from themouth of the harbour at the Pharos, it was
evident that the Rhodianhelmsman in the island tavern had predicted truly; for the weatherchanged with unusual speed, and the wind now blew from the north. Thesea fairly swarmed with ships, some belonging to the royal fleet, someto curious Alexandrians, who had sailed out to take a survey. Archibiusand Dion had spent a sleepless night and day. The heavy air, pervadedby a fine mist, had grown cool. After refreshing themselves by a repast,they paced up and down the deck of the Epicurus.
Few words were exchanged, and they wrapped their cloaks closer aroundthem. Both had quaffed large draughts of the fiery wine with which theEpicurus was well supplied, but it would not warm them. Even the fire,blazing brightly in the richly furnished cabin, could scarcely do so.
Archibius's thoughts lingered with his beloved Queen, and his vividpower of imagination conjured before his mind everything which coulddistress her. No possible chance, not even the most terrible, wasforgotten, and when he saw her sinking in the ship, stretching herbeautiful arms imploringly towards him, to whom she had so long turnedin every perilous position, when he beheld her a captive in the presenceof the hostile, cold-hearted Octavianus, the blood seemed to freezein his veins. At last he dropped his felt mantle and, groaning aloud,struck his brow with his clenched hand. He had fancied her walkingwith gold chains on her slender wrists before the victor's four-horsechariot, and heard the exulting shouts of the Roman populace.
That would have been the most terrible of all. To pursue this train ofthought was beyond the endurance of the faithful friend, and Dion turnedin surprise as he heard him sob and saw the tears which bedewed hisface.
His own heart was heavy enough, but he knew his companion's warmdevotion to the Queen; so, passing his arm around his shoulder, heentreated him to maintain that peace of soul and mind which he had sooften admired. In the most critical situations he had seen him standhigh above them, as yonder man who fed the flames on the summit of thePharos stood above the wild surges of the sea. If he would reflect overwhat had happened as dispassionately as usual, he could not fail tosee that Antony must be free and in a position to guide his own future,since he directed the palace in the Choma to be put in order. He didnot understand about the wall, but perhaps he was bringing home somedistinguished captive whom he wished to debar from all communicationwith the city. It might prove that everything was far better than theyfeared, and they would yet smile at these grievous anxieties. His heart,too, was heavy, for he wished the Queen the best fortune, not only forher own sake, but because with her and her successful resistance to thegreed of Rome was connected the liberty of Alexandria.
"My love and anxiety, like yours," he concluded, "have ever been givento her, the sovereign of this country. The world will be desolate, lifewill no longer be worth living, if the iron foot of Rome crushes ourindependence and freedom." The words had sounded cordial and sincere,and Archibius followed Dion's counsel. Calm thought convinced him thatnothing had yet happened which compelled belief in the worst result;and, as one who needs consolation often finds relief in comfortinganother, Archibius cheered his own heart by representing to his youngerfriend that, even if Octavianus were the victor and should deprive Egyptof her independence, he would scarcely venture to take from the citizensof Alexandria the free control of their own affairs. Then he explainedto Dion that, as a young, resolute, independent man, he might renderhimself doubly useful if it were necessary to guard the endangeredliberty of the city, and told him how many beautiful things life stillheld in store.
His voice expressed anxious tenderness for his young friend. No one hadspoken thus to Dion since his father's death.
The Epicurus would soon reach the mouth of the harbour, and afterlanding he must again leave Archibius.
The decisive hour which often unites earnest men more firmly than manyprevious years had come to both. They had opened their hearts to eachother. Dion had withheld only the one thing which, at the first sight ofthe houses in the city, filled his soul with fresh uneasiness.
It was long since he had sought counsel from others. Many who had askedhis, had left him with thanks, to do exactly the opposite of what he hadadvised, though it would have been to their advantage. More than oncehe, too, had done the same, but now a powerful impulse urged him toconfide in Archibius. He knew Barine, and wished her the greatesthappiness. Perhaps it would be wise to let another person, who waskindly disposed, consider what his own heart so eagerly demanded andprudence forbade.
Hastily forming his resolution, he again turned to his friend, saying:
"You have shown yourself a father to me. Imagine that I am indeed yourson, and, as such wished to confess that a woman had become dear to myheart, and to ask whether you would be glad to greet her as a daughter."
Here Archibius interrupted him with the exclamation: "A ray of lightamid all this gloom? Grasp what you have too long neglected as soon aspossible! It befits a good citizen to marry. The Greek does not attainfull manhood till he becomes husband and father. If I have remainedunwedded, there was a special reason for it, and how often I have enviedthe cobbler whom I saw standing before his shop in the evening, holdinghis child in his arms, or the pilot, to whom large and small hands werestretched in greeting when he returned home! When I enter my dwellingonly my dogs rejoice. But you, whose beautiful palace stands empty,to whose proud family it is due that you should provide for itscontinuance--"
"That is just what brings me into a state of indecision, which isusually foreign to my nature," interrupted Dion. "You know me andmy position in the world, and you have also known from her earliestchildhood the woman to whom I allude."
"Iras?" asked his companion, hesitatingly. His sister, Charmian, hadtold him of the love felt by the Queen's younger waiting-woman.
But Dion eagerly denied this, adding I am speaking of Barine, thedaughter of your dead friend Leonax. "I love her, yet my pride issensitive, and I know that it will extend to my future wife. Thecontemptuous glances which others might cast at her I should scorn,for I know her worth. Surely you remember my mother: she was a verydifferent woman. Her house, her child, the slaves, her loom, wereeverything to her. She rigidly exacted from other women the chastereserve which was a marked trait in her own character. Yet she wasgentle, and loved me, her only son, beyond aught else. I think she wouldhave opened her arms to Barine, had she believed that she was necessaryto my happiness. But would the young beauty, accustomed to gayintercourse with distinguished men, have been able to submit to herdemands? When I consider that she cannot help taking into her marriedlife the habit of being surrounded and courted; when I think that theimprudence of a woman accustomed to perfect freedom might set idletongues in motion, and cast a shadow upon the radiant purity of my name;when I even--" and he raised his clenched right hand. But Archibiusanswered soothingly:
"That anxiety is groundless if Barine warmly and joyfully gives you herwhole heart. It is a sunny, lovable, true woman's heart, and thereforecapable of a great love. If she bestows it on you--and I believe shewill--go and offer sacrifices in your gratitude; for the immortalsdesired your happiness when they guided your choice to her and not toIras, my own sister's child. If you were really my son, I would nowexclaim, 'You could not bring me a dearer daughter, if--I repeat it--ifyou are sure of her love.'"
Dion gazed into vacancy a short time, and then cried firmly: "I am!"