Читать книгу Saronia - Richard Short - Страница 8

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The day had well-nigh lost its youth. Nika and her mother had retired to the room called 'Golden,' because of the rich chasings of gold on its walls of purest marble, and the threads of gold and vermilion which interlaced in chaste design the polished floor of malachite and aqua marine.

Across the entrance to this room hung a richly embroidered curtain, dyed twice in Tyrian purple, which being drawn back exposed to view a colonnade of varied beauty and richly carved, many of the carvings being the work of Venusta's friends.

Behind the peristyle the walls were hung with beautiful pictures created by artists long since dead, Parrhasius and Apelles, Evenor and Zeuxis; each painting was framed with a panel of exquisite mosaic. Statuary of rarest loveliness by Phidias, Praxiteles and Scopas, Thrason, Myron, Pharax and Phradmon, stood between the pillars. Within the court were fragrant flowers of every shade, and in the centre towered one grand design in fountain form, from which came sprays of perfumed water, hiding the sultry sky and falling back with musical rhythm into the many-coloured marble basin. Slaves with fans of gorgeous plumage wafted the perfumed air into the Golden Room.

In this retiring room, on a couch of citrus-wood inlaid with precious stones and pearls, reclined Venusta. She was clothed in a linen robe of saffron-yellow, with delicate pattern interwoven, and embroidered borders from Phrygia and Babylon. Her face spoke plainly that the Romans ruled the Ionians.

Close by her was Nika, standing like a beautiful dream. She was draped in white silk from the Isle of Cos, and through this diaphanous dress the outlines of her lovely form were seen. Around her waist circled a zone of gems—ruby, sapphire, emerald, hyacinth, garnet, topaz, aqua marine—blended together in magnificent confusion. A splendid opal glinted above her brow, and her hair, like sunlight mixed with gold, came forward shading eyes of loveliest blue, then flowed back like rippling wavelets move towards the shore.

'Take the cithra and play one of thy sweetest melodies,' said Venusta. 'Play that soft Ionian air I heard from thee but yester eve.'

Nika did not respond, but restlessly plucked the petals of a lovely oleander, and as she flung them to the floor murmured:

'Thus would I pluck her life—her life, and end it in nothingness.'

'What ails thee, girl? Art thou ill?'

'No; but impatient for revenge.'

'On whom?'

'On the slave Saronia, who stands yonder in the court, dressed in golden brown, looking like a dark fiend as she rests her head against the porphyry pillar that Scopas carved.'

'Wherein has she offended, Nika?'

'In this wise. Thou knowest, mother, I never liked her, and ever as I know her I like her less. And now she poisons with her charms the mind of Chios; not that I care for Chios, but why should such a scorpion stand between us, even if the obstruction be as thin as the mountain mist which flees before the first blush of day? Listen, mother. 'Twas but yesterday, at the great theatre, I sent Chios to bid her come to me. His lengthened stay, his silent mood when he returned, her haughty bearing, all told me another drama had been enacted outside the theatre to which I dare not be bidden. But I will hear of it. I will clearly understand it. She shall speak it again before us, and besides her own she shall act the part of Chios.'

'Do you believe this being is treacherous?'

'I do, mother.'

'Then we will bid her come to us.'

Venusta touched a silver bell. Saronia entered and stood before them—stood without one quiver on her beautiful lips, although she could see by the countenance of her mistress that a storm was at hand. There she stood, pale and self-contained, a smouldering fire burning within her, and the voice of the wise woman ringing in her ears: 'Thy star is rising, full of splendour.'

'Slave, my daughter says thy conduct is uncertain. Knowest thou the penalty of this?'

'Were it true, I know some of the penalties. But wherein have I disobeyed?'

'It is not that thou failest to obey—that would be rebellion, and I myself would probably slay thee, as my husband is away from Ephesus. No! It is this: thou presumest too much—and this, mark you, is the least can be said of it. 'Tis said thou art given to converse freely with our beloved friend Chios, and if this be true 'tis inconsistent with thy position as my slave. But tell us, what hast thou said to him? what did he say to thee during the long interview yesterday outside the great theatre? What passed between you? Tell it quickly; our spirits are of that nature which cannot entertain delay. Now tell it quickly and begone.'

'He told me nothing I may say again; nor will it interest my mistress.'

'How dost thou know?'

'If thou wouldst know, my lady mistress, it comes to this only. I bemoaned my state of slavery, and he, true open-hearted man, did sympathize with me. I deem this matter no offence.'

'Reptile which thou art! Mistress of lies! Thou liest now. Dost think to make believe that he would stoop to sympathize with carrion? Didst thou not entice him? Speak out, or, by the gods, I promise I will have thee tied to the wheel and whipped with rods until thou shalt not even know thyself. Speak, slave! or I will take that tongue of thine from out thy poisonous mouth, and brand thee on thy forehead as a wretch. Once more I speak to thee: tell me the truth!'

Then answered Saronia:

'Lady of Rome, I spoke the truth—the gods can do no better. Thou mayest torture me, and I may die. I have, perchance, lived long enough, and it would be well to pass where I may serve the gods only.'

'Who art thou, slave, and what art thou, who speakest thus?'

'I know not who I am. What I am thou mayest know hereafter.'

'Understand I have power to torture thee!'

'I know all, and have dared to reply.'

'Hast thou no fear? Beware!'

'I have none, for the gods are with me, and my cause is just.'

'Just? Thou mockest. What justice canst thou demand, perjured one of Hades? Leave me, or I may be tempted to slay thee where thou standest; but that would not do. Sorceress, thy foul blood might haunt the Golden Room!'

Saronia went out, and wept great tears of sorrow.

When she had gone, Nika spoke:

'Now seest thou, mother, what she is: she dares even thee! What canst thou do but punish? A fine episode—a Sidonian slave defies her mistress, a Roman matron. Speak quickly; I am burning to hear what thou thinkest. Speak, great Venusta, wife of Lucius!'

'Silence, Nika! It is not becoming thou shouldst use thy satire even in playfulness to such an one as I.'

'Thou knowest my tongue from veriest childhood was ever the same. It is my dagger. It is better than thy jewelled blade of steel. I can wound the heart without shedding one drop of blood. Come, mother, forgive me, and say what shall be done to punish Saronia.'

'She must be tortured until she speaks the truth.'

'But if she should die, we should never know.'

'True! That is a condition we cannot alter.'

'Listen. Give me a day or two and let me try what I may do with guile.'

'Let it be so, Nika. But see I lose not dignity. Make her know it is through thy intercession I relent. Give her two short periods of the sun, and charm with thy music from her that which Venusta cannot wrench by threatenings. If thou canst, girl; but, for my own part, I should as surely expect a fisher to take fish by casting net on a barren rock as that thou wilt be successful with thine undertaking.'

The next day the Roman girl made it convenient that the slave should be alone with her, and commenced her plan of deceit, saying:

'Sidonian, why dost thou look so sad? Thou art unhappy. Dost fear the Lady Venusta? Trust in me. A mother's love is great towards her child. Trust thou in me, girl, make me thy confidant. I know it is not seemly for the high-born daughter of thy mistress to converse with thee in this manner, but I have read somewhere that "All flesh is as grass; the wind passeth over it and it is gone." So, after all, it may be but the force of circumstances which makes me mistress and thee slave. Come, now, tell me what Chios said to thee, and relieve thy mind from anxious thought.'

'My mistress Nika, I cannot tell thee more.'

'Did not Chios speak some sweet words of love into thine ear? Did he not praise thy lovely form, those clustering tresses, those liquid eyes, and did he not taste thy lips? Now, Saronia, tell me, and one day I may tell thee all of my own love story.'

Then spoke the slave:

'I know not of love. If kind words be love, then spake he kindly to me.'

'Didst thou speak of me to him?'

'Yes.'

'And what didst thou say?'

'It may wound thee sore to know.'

'No, no! It will leave no lasting impression on my mind; it will be as a cloud-shadow passing over a granite rock, leaving no trace behind. What didst thou say?'

'Thou hatest me.'

'I hate thee! How dost thou know?'

'I scarcely know how to frame my words to form reply.'

'Thou shalt.'

'I cannot! But surely as I feel the throbbing of my heart, so certain am I of thine hatred, and expect no mercy from my mistress or her daughter; yet still I feel thou canst not harm me, and I shall not fail beneath thine hand. My destiny is dark, but not broken. I am not like water spilt on the ground, which cannot be gathered up again. No; my path lies onward through the ages, perchance where thou mayest not follow. I know not why I speak in this manner to thee. A fire seems eating up my very vitals, my brain whirls, and a power which possesses me bids me defy thee, and say: "The slave Saronia is as good as thou, and the time is not distant—yea, well within the span of this brief mortal life—when thou shalt seek me out for help, when thou shalt call for the Sidonian, when thou shalt beg for aid from dark Saronia!"'

When Venusta returned, she found her daughter lying on the citrous couch with head buried between her beautiful hands; but oh the horror depicted on that lovely face as she raised it and gazed into her mother's eyes!

'Thou art suffering, Nika.'

'Thou sayest truly; my whole being seems to have been lashed into a fury, like unto when the winds of winter sweep over the moaning sea, and break the mast from out the noble ship, scatter her cordage, sever the silver cord of her mariners, and leave her an abandoned wreck, the sport of every yawning wave; and after this the mockery of calm and sunny sky. And I, too, have now the calm, and I may truly call it mockery. 'Tis a calm of awful stillness without a ray of hope—a calm so still, so death-like, leaden, which leaves no room for doubt that I am left alone. The spirits of the gods have left me. I am accursed!'

'By whom art thou accursed? What meanest thou, child?'

'I have received the curse of Hecate. In what form my destiny for ill will work out, I know not; but as surely as the dying one gasping for breath knows his end draws nigh, so feel I the power of this great curse upon me.'

'Nonsense, poor girl: it is some quaint fantasy of the mind.'

'Nay, mother, would it were so; then time would rid me of this frightful living death!'

'But speak plainly, Nika; tell me all.'

'It was thus. I spoke to Saronia; I tried to win from her by honeyed words that which thou requested her to tell me. Then did she disclose to me her knowledge of my hate, and after other words had passed she broke forth like a chained lion, and, snapping her chains as if they were threads of finest silk, she defied me. Standing with hair dishevelled and eyes aflame, I saw her face take form like unto the face of the resplendent statue of the goddess, and I knew she was possessed of Hecate, and I cursed before the words of dreadful meaning had passed her lips. Then spake she words aglow with fire, which burnt into me far deeper than the brand of iron burns into the brows of slaves. Those scars pass with death, mine must go with me through the gateway into Hades, into Tartarus, into my wandering 'midst the darkness, where my unclothed, starving spirit shall move through the sable gloom of a destiny that shall stretch out into the great hereafter. Oh, mother, mother, my agony is great!'

'And where is this fiend gone?' asked Venusta. 'She was not in her accustomed place when I entered, and at that I wondered. Dost thou know where she is, daughter?'

'No, I know not. For when that fearful being had spoken, as I have told thee, I hid my eyes for very fear. Only once did I raise them and see her like a black death still standing by my couch; but she had grasped thy jewelled dagger which lay upon the table, and held it with outstretched hand towards the ground, and with upturned gaze and frightful calm she seemed to plead an answer from the goddess. Then fell I into a deep swoon, and in vision seemed to fall from dark abyss to dark abyss, until my soul was torn asunder, and its portions rent again and dissolved into nothingness, and for ever lost.

'It is horrible to think of; and when I awoke, I was alone—yea, alone. It is an awful thing to feel such loneliness. Glad was I when the shadow of the great cypress-tree yonder came through the open window and lay upon the marble floor; even such as that was company to my cursed soul.'

'Lie still, Nika. I will find her, and ere yon red-globed sun hath sunk behind the purple hills she shall suffer for this power which she pretends to possess. A braying ass within a lion's skin! I will brand her with hot irons, and pour strong ink into the furrows! I will work her like a beast, and, when torn and wrinkled with toil and pain, cast her out upon the hills to die! Such is my right to do, and all my powers shall be enforced.'

'Art thou not afraid?'

'No! I respect the faith of Hecate, and by report well know her power; but this young hag is not elect of such a goddess. That she tortures thee with fearful harrowings shows all this is but a slave's device to make escape from the punishment I threaten!'

'No, no! She is true—I am guilty. Would I were not! I have pained her to the verge of death. I have lied against her, and with cruel words and threatenings made her life a wretched misery! Oh, could I but recall the past! But all is dark. I know a great fate of ill-omen hangs over me. When it will descend, I know not. When it will enwrap me, I know not. But it will come, and at a time I am least ready, that I feel;' and Nika wept like a child.

Venusta kissed her daughter and passed out of the Golden Room.

On arriving at the place where the slaves dwelt, she found Saronia had fled, and no one knew whither. She was seen to take her mantle and leave hurriedly, and that was all.