by Talbot Mundy
“We can prevent it! It is not too late! We can prevent it!” said Lollianè. “There is a boat coming. It can take us to Tros’ ship.”
“Look!” said Apollodorus, pointing.
Herod’s cavalry — a thousand desert swordsmen mounted on mares from a land where it was rumored even Parthians feared to travel, were in full view, pouring along the highroad between the beach and Cleopatra’s camp.
“Listen, Lollianè. Listen now. Attend to me, and think of Herod. Diomedes will be daggered in the neck before to-night’s moon rises. Cleopatra is the prize!”
“Then warn her! Why not?”
“She would refuse the only possible way of escape.”
“Speak plainly, Apollodorus.”
“I see you are not strong enough,” he said. “A race is won by never fearing to go down under the wheels. I will try another way. Perhaps I can kill Herod in the dark.”
“He has too many servants, Apollodorus. You could never get near him. But I might do it! I will prove to you, I love you! Bid me do it!”
“No,” he answered. “Murder is a man’s work.”
“Apollodorus, you are weary. If your hand should slip we should be worse off — all of us instead of one. No — I will do it! I! What was your plan? Let him carry me off believing I am Cleopatra? He would kill me when he learned of his mistake, and I prefer this other risk. Better a death by daggers than the arms of Herod!”
“It is a good thing not to be afraid to die,” Apollodorus answered. “It is much the best way to prolong life. Not to fear shame is to rise above it.”
“But to love?” she asked.
Apollodorus laughed. “I do not know what love is. I have never felt it. Passion I know, and admiration. I admire you. I will admire you more if you will save her by tricking Herod.”
“By being befouled by Herod!”
“There are bodies lovelier than yours, my Lollianè,” said Apollodorus. “There are many lovelier than hers. If I need women, or if you need men, there are a thousand either of us might have for a nod. Can Herod rape your spirit? If he can, then stay here. You would not be worthy of the race we run.”
“Worthy?” Lollianè said. “Do you mean — do you mean — ?”
“I admire you, Lollianè; and I do not know what love is. If your bravery should cause me to admire you more, I do not see that I could love you less, if love is anything.”
“But you will loathe me, as I loathe Herod!”
“If you think that, stay here, Lollianè.”
“Apollodorus, if you loved—”
“I dare say that I never loved,” he answered. “I have asked Olympus what is love? His explanation was as interesting as the problem, and as difficult to understand! But I will tell you what I told him: To love is to let neither death, nor anything whatever that is less than death, dissuade you from any course. That is how I win chariot races.”
“His answer?”
“Oh,” he smiled. “You know that Sphinx-face.”
“Is dishonor less than death?” asked Lollianè.
“Whose? What others think of you is much less. What you yourself know — death is a mere incident compared to that.”
“If you had tasted love, Apollodorus, you would know that what you think of me is more to me than all else — life — death — anything! If I should do what you ask; and if, later, you should think me Herod’s cast-off rubbish—”
“Lollianè!”
“Strange,” she said, “that I should trust you! I will do this thing, Apollodorus.”
He took her in his arms.
“You will remember me?” she asked.
“I think you have taught me at last what love is, Lollianè. I will come for you.”
“You will — ?”
“I will come for you.”
CHAPTER XII. “Let Lollianè earn her laurels.”
Every man has two sides to his nature, one predominating; and, obeying Law that governs Sun, Moon, Stars, Men, strength will grow stronger and weakness weaker until one roll of the Endless Book is written and the Pen of Destiny is dipped anew.
— Fragment from The Diary Of Olympus.
“SO QUIET? Fearful?” Cleopatra asked. “You who were brave until now?”
“No. No longer afraid,” said Lollianè. “I was thinking how wise you were to trust Tros and to leave your treasure on board his ship — and what a pity it is that you sent Herod even one pearl. It whetted his appetite. Why do his men guard the beach with their horses all saddled and bridled — ready for what? There is too much mystery about your Herod. And where is he? Did you believe his story about going to choose a better place to pitch his camp? — mind you, in darkness! Where is Diomedes? Why has Diomedes posted Apollodorus near the ford, when he knows Apollodorus is too spent with fatigue to stay awake? Do you not scent treachery?”
The dim lamp, throwing shadows on a sail-cloth wall, left Cleopatra’s face obscure — unlimned — a silhouette. There were no slaves present — only they three; she could afford to show fear, if she felt it; but the half-light was a mask, and her royal voice was never known to fail her.
“Treachery, yes. But if the gods desire my death now, they will have it, and if not, no. I am counting on Tros to come ashore, with news of Caesar. I know Tros sent a boat. I think Apollodorus must have met it at the beach, because the boat went back.”
“I spoke with Apollodorus down by the redoubt,” said Lollianè.
“Was he afraid? Does he talk of deserting me yet?”
“He is too much like a god to be afraid!” said Lollianè.
“He is too much a god to be true to one woman,” Cleopatra answered. “If Apollodorus knew how near a god he is he would turn into a priest, and a good priest is as rare as a virginal woman. But Apollodorus believes himself a sybarite — a cynic; and so he is safe from the dangers of zeal. But he is also safe from women, Lollianè! He is protected by the very flattery with which he plasters them. Flattery, to me, is like the tortoise-shell on palace doors. I love it. But I always wonder what the wood is that it hides. Has Apollodorus flattered you?”
“He has,” said Lollianè.
“Then beware of him! He has a plan to use you. What has he been saying?”
“He was cryptic. I would rather you should hear it from his own lips. Let us hope he is sleeping for he needs it. He has twelve archers in a breastwork, on our right front, near—”
“I know where he is,” said Cleopatra. “If I should send for him, Diomedes will learn of it and accuse me of upsetting his wonderful military plans. Diomedes is too insolent already. On the other hand, we are watched, and if I go to him—”
“Dressed as a slave?” Lollianè suggested. “You and Charmian! There are men-slaves you can trust — I would take the Gauls, if I were you. And I can stay here. I can wear your shawl, and imitate you — you have seen me do it. I could let the lamplight throw my shadow on the tent wall, and show myself in the opening once or twice, just for a moment, to assure the spies that you are here.”
Lollianè aimed well. Recklessness of danger and delight in it were Cleopatra’s nature, as was loyalty to true friends and scorn of the half-hearted ones.
“You are not afraid to stay here alone, Lollianè?”
She summoned slave-girls. She and Charmian clothed themselves in long, soiled linen smocks, and the slaves stood naked. She threw her shawl to Lollianè.
“Baskets! The spies must think I am sending food to Apollodorus. Where are those Gauls? Lollianè — sit there, where the lamp will throw your shadow. Keep these slaves here, or they might talk. Now, let me see you imitate my gestures — good! Do that again. You had better let one of the slave-girls be dressing your hair. The shadows of the others will look like your own and Charmian’s. We won’t be long, dear.”
One Gaul leading, one behind, and one on either flank, she and Charmian stepped into the dark with the baskets on their heads, like wenches taking gifts of food to officers in whom the Queen showed interest.
There was no lamp — and not yet much moonlight. They avoided bivouack-fires of camel-dung and driftwood, passing, like timid slave-girls, through the shadows between groups of men, who caught the glint of firelight on the weapons of the guards, and bid a bold price for their favors, from a distance. It was hardly etiquette to let a girl go by unflattered, but one took no chances with the mail-clad Gauls.
There was a furlong-space of utter desolation between the farthest camp-fires and that breastwork where Apollodorus was. No sounds there but a sea-croon from the far beach, and ahead, the distant useless blare of trumpets in Pelusium.
So they heard Apollodorus’ voice, and presently another like an angry lion muttering, before they could see the reed-work gabions and the line of the breastwork linking them, against the misty river gloom of the Nile beyond:
“The fools have cut their own throats by murdering Pompey. Surely his fleet could not be far behind him. Now his men will throw in their lot with us and—”
“But I tell you, I saw Caesar’s fleet! Crowded with men. Headed southward. If not for Alexandria, then whither else? By the wind and by the course not Hadrumentum.”
“Might it not have been Pompey’s fleet?” asked Apollodorus’ voice.
“Nay! Later I met one ship loaded like a crate of chickens with two thousand men under the command of Lucius Lentulus, Pompey’s general. I spoke to him. He was in two minds — to escape Caesar and to find Pompey. When I told him I had seen Caesar headed for Alexandria he set his own course for Pelusium; but his ship’s bottom is foul. His captain does not know these waters. He will be lucky if he gets here by to-morrow’s dawn.”
“But he will join us.”
“I doubt it. We shall learn in a matter of hours that Caesar has taken Alexandria. Caesar is swift, I tell you! Lucius Lentulus may make for Hadrumentum, where they told me in Cyprus that Cato and some other Romans expect to make a last stand.”
“If we wait, we will see,” said Apollodorus.
“Wait, say you? There is one time: now! There is one course: bring her to my ship! How to do that — how to reach her without anybody knowing—”
“I am here,” said Cleopatra’s voice.
Night vomited a shadow. Tros loomed, hand on sword hilt, peering at her.
“The voice yes. The shape lies. Speak again!” he growled. “Dodecahedron!” she retorted. “It is I and Charmian. Where are Apollodorus’ archers?”
“Out of sight and hearing, Egypt! They were in the way. They might have shot Tros, so I sent them midway to the ford to keep watch.”
Tros stepped into the rising moonlight, looking all ways. “Go in there into the dark,” he ordered.
Cleopatra took Apollodorus’ hand, and Charmian hers. He guided them to a lion-skin, on which they sat down with their hands clasped over their knees.
“Did you bring no men, Lord Tros?”
Tros blew his seaman’s whistle, hardly audibly; it was echoed instantly from three directions.
“Nine men, and a boat on the beach,” he answered. “Your Jew friend Herod’s eunuch luckily mistook me in the dark for an accomplice — bade me find my horse and be ready to ride like the wind when Herod gives the signal. Herod has been thoughtful for his skin. His signal is to be waving torches half-an-hour’s ride distant along the seashore! Luckily, Apollodorus had a servant on the watch for me. What brought you hither in a slave’s frock? Did Herod already cast his net at you and miss?”
She had a way of not answering questions that suggested others to her mind.
“Apollodorus,” she whispered, “send to my tent for Lollianè!”
But Apollodorus was leaning above the breastwork, staring in the direction of the ford. He seemed not to hear her but summoned the four Gauls to come and lean beside him.
“My archers sleep, the honest fellows,” he reported in a low voice. “Comes a man straight past them! Tros, can your men catch him?”
Tros whistled softly. “Conops. You and another. There is a man coming this way from the ford—”
“Dead, master?”
“Alive, you dock-rat! Hurt him, and I will strand you in Pelusium!”
Then silence. Presently approaching footsteps. Suddenly an oath — hard breathing and a struggle — thud of a body falling heavily on sand. Footsteps again. Then two dark shadows hurled a third one backward into the pitchy darkness of the breastwork.
“Fall away!” commanded Tros. Two of the shadows vanished and the third stood backed up with a sword’s point at his throat until Apollodorus dropped into the gloom beside him for a scrutiny and demanded his name.
“Aias,” he answered curtly. “A decurion from the fortress of Pelusium. I bring word from the fort commander — for the Princess — for herself — none other.”
“Dog!” said Apollodorus. “Name her Royal Egypt, or I will whip you into her presence!”
“So be I come into her presence,” the man answered. “She will repay whipping. I have good news.”
Then came Cleopatra’s voice:
“Apollodorus, send at once for Lollianè!”
If he heard her he gave no sign of it.
“A message!” he announced. “Pelusium has sent a spy to tell us what it suits them we should know! — Speak, you! This is Royal Egypt. On your knees, and lie to her, and get it over with, before I hand you over to these Gauls to kill! Down on your knees, you—”
The man knelt. He could not see her.
“As I live, I lie not! By Osiris and the Breath of Hathor, I am from Pelusium—”
She did not wait to hear him. Tros tried to prevent her but she passed him into moonlight. He who was on his knees could see the linen smock then.
“So! By the boat of Chons, I am a sport of slave-girls, am I? Take me to your Princess! I will tell her — by Osiris, I will tell her a slut—”
Tros’ hand on his wind-pipe shut a word off midway and his knees sank as he fought for breath, wrenching at Tros’ fingers, until Apollodorus freed him.
“He may be of use, Tros.”
Tros watched Cleopatra, ears alert for what the night might bring forth next.
“Summon your men, Tros!” she commanded. “Take my Gauls, too. Lead them to my tent. Bring Lollianè here!”
He had his whistle to his lips. But before he could blow it a torch blazed somewhere in the middle of the camp — flared up and whirled in air until it made a flaming circle around someone’s head. It ceased as suddenly, and from a far-off summit of a sand-dune to the eastward six torches answered, flaring in elliptic rings. Then a stealthy, ghostlike movement began, a muffled drumming of the hoof-beats, as an Arab army melted into nothing in the night.
“Your Herod—” Tros bit that off. It was no time for recrimination.
“My Lollianè! Tros, if that traitor Herod has hurt one hair of her—”
Apollodorus spoke: “Let Lollianè earn her laurels. She has saved you, Egypt! She has made her bid for what she has her heart on. May it turn out to be no more worthless than the prizes any of us crave!”
Charmian snatched at his arm and shook him. She was half hysterical.
“What do you mean, Apollodorus? Do you dare to say that Lollianè—”
But the prisoner was trying to escape. Apollodorus sprang at the man from behind, choked, tripped him, and the two went down together. Breathing hard, Apollodorus called to the Gauls to come and search the man but they could find no dagger in his clothes — Conops had cleaned him of all metal, money included. But Apollodorus had his doubts yet.
“You were sent to kill our Queen!”
The fellow struggled with the Gauls who knelt on him.
“No! No! By Horus! Let me up! I have a message!”
But another messenger was coming headlong — a mare without saddle or bridle and someone sprawling along the mare’s neck, clinging to the mane. The mare shied at the shadowy shapes of men and women, swerved — shot its rider off — and vanished. Tros bent over a girl who lay and jabbered at him. She was naked, except for
sandals.
“My slave!” Cleopatra knelt beside her. “Speak, girl! What has happened?”
Charmian knelt on the other side, but Charmian was nearly in as bad plight — teeth chattering, her heart so fluttering that breath came and went too rapidly for speech. Cleopatra pushed her away violently, and then, seizing the slave’s shoulders, shook her.
“Speak, girl! You are safe now. What happened?”
She used what Apollodorus called her lion-tamer voice that scattered fear and drew forth sanity. The girl found speech, in broken sentences:
“Lady Lollianè — they came suddenly — the Arabs — and took all of us except me. General Diomedes ordered it — I saw him — he was outside, ordering. He ordered, ‘Do her no harm! Veil her!’ So they wrapped her in a sheet. Then an Arab came from behind the Lord Diomedes and slew him — with a sword — in the neck — and he fell face forward. They carried off the Lady Lollianè, laughing to one another, saying she was you, O Egypt — but some stayed to loot. I had hidden because I was naked. I crept out under the tent and hid again until I saw a mare tied by a halter to the saddle of one of the Arabs who was busy at the loot. So I slipped the halter off. I rode to find you. Oh-aie-aie-aie-aie! My Lady Lollianè!”
Tros’ voice rumbled like a signal-drum — so sudden and fraught with vigor that even Charmian ceased trembling and the slave-girl sat up:
“You — Conops! Off with your shirt and clothe that woman! Gag her if she makes another sound. Bring her along behind us. Lord Apollodorus, lead the Gauls and bring that prisoner!”
He ran no risk of disobedience. He picked up Cleopatra — wrapped her in his own cloak on his left arm — and with both her arms around his neck, and with his sword-arm free, strode swiftly toward the beach.
“Four of you men run ahead and make the boat all ready to shove off!” he ordered.