Читать книгу The Beauty of the Purple - William Stearns Davis - Страница 6

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KASIA AND LEO

Fergal followed dumbly beside Peter. The latter, grizzled and scarred, obviously had been Leo’s factotum for years. He wasted no explanations upon the Celt, and his glances merely betrayed a contemptuous patronage, but Fergal found occupation enough with his own eyes, as going southward from the Golden Horn they plunged apparently into the very heart of the city.

The actual distance traversed was less than a mile, but thanks to the many meanderings through strange places, the Armorican gained all the impression of a lengthy journey. Speedily the waterfront was hidden. They urged their way up tortuous streets barely fifteen feet wide, where high wooden houses with projecting balconies almost cut off the sunlight. Now they were in a lane infested by Turkoman merchants from beyond the Caspian—flat-faced, oblique-eyed yellow men, muscular and hard, whose dwellings seemed oases of sheer barbarism. Now all around rang the clamour of Armenian bronze-smiths and kettle-makers, or again through open doors could be seen the tall silk-looms where women with clear Greek profiles were making bright webs grow under skillful fingers.

Presently at length the litter-bearers halted to adjust their poles in a small square. Under a single plane-tree bubbled a fountain above a marble basin which bore a relief of sporting nymphs and dolphins. By the great bowl jostled and laughed broad-featured Slavic girls, filling tawny pitchers, while a viciously horned buffalo waited with a driver to quench his thirst. On the pavement of the square in an ample heap slept a dozen mangy, yellow dogs, the public scavengers, almost at the very entrance to a squat-domed parish church. The portal of the latter stood open, and there drifted out into the square the deep male voices of the choir, and the wailing “Kyrie eleison” of the worshippers chanting through a long liturgy. One world seemed treading on the heels of another every instant as Fergal advanced.

Uphill and down he was led; often through filthy lanes and blind cat-alleys, where fearful hags leaned forth and all but touched him. Then the streets gradually widened. The air grew purer, the shops less starving; the passers better clad. Repeatedly the litter was halted before other sedans, wagons or outriders; but Leo’s snapping whip and high-stepping charger made impudent donkey boys and sweetmeat vendors give back and others swerve respectfully, and presently his little party entered a true avenue, where an enormous traffic hummed more smoothly.

To right and to left extended a majestic portico, with shops under the promenades, and stone steps leading to yet other shops in the stories above. The shops yielded to pillared fronts and portals, flanked by statues of pagan gods or by pictures of brilliant mosaic set into the brick work. At the open gates lounged porters, negroes often, and through the openings came glimpses of cool patios set with tropical shrubs, of bronze or marble sculptures, of gilded tables and playing fountains.

“Patricians’ palaces?” ventured Fergal at length to Peter.

“Patricians’?” echoed the disgusted orderly. “Blessed Lord, why must I answer such ignorance! Only well-to-do merchants. Little you know of Constantinople!”

But now at length Leo’s modest cortège showed signs of nearing its goal. They passed a broad parade ground where a century of infantry recruits was at spear drill. Peter condescended to point out a long line of grey barracks and of massive many-windowed buildings, and informed his companion that here were located the ordinary city garrison and the offices of the War Department. Subaltern officers in undress armour saluted Leo as he passed. Presently a shouting was heard, “Way! way!” and at headlong speed with a dozen outriders, along clattered a heavy vehicle boasting six horses and an infinite display of silk trappings and gilding. In the open car rode a venerable nobleman with robes of pure white edged with purple and with a high, flat-topped hat of like colours. As he passed, Leo reined and saluted. The magnate raised his hand; the whole train halted instantly. He beckoned; Leo bowed politely and rode beside the carriage, whose master beamed affably.

“We have the report on the Psidian fortresses. Your opinion is needed. I have ordered that you be added to the council to consider it. My palace is always open to you. A fortunate day——” And the great man swept on.

“His Magnificence the Logothete Libanios,” admired Peter in delight. “Look you, Frank, he treats the Little Master like a younger brother! Every day our fortune betters.” ...

... The litter turned abruptly along a side street near the War Department. The door of a house, small but new and clean, swung open. Over a pavement of particoloured flags Fergal found himself entering a courtyard, also small but surrounded by Corinthian pillars of grey-veined marble. In the centre was a pool of luxurious water-plants between which stupid brown fish were waving their fins and ogling upward. The ceiling was tastefully fretted and gilded. On one wall was a good mosaic of David smiting off the head of Goliath, beside the other stood a pedestal upbearing a fine bronze Nike that perchance had once graced a mansion in pagan Ephesus or Athens.

Leo had tossed his bridle to Peter and entered with his mother. A still older retainer appeared, and the master pointed to the dumb and marvelling Fergal, adding, “The despoina bought this lad after he had saved her life. Treat him well. I will hear his story later.”

With that the officer followed Kasia through the court to the inner chambers, himself in just need of fresh apparel. When he found his mother again she was in a small garden in the extreme rear of the dwelling. A sun-dial made the centre, and some palms in portable tubs and a profusion of grape and gourd vines provided a modest arbour. Here were a table, benches and stools, on one whereof now sat Kasia, suitably clothed and deep in talk with a man whose black coat, white veil, black hat and gold pectoral cross proclaimed him at least a priest. His grey-streaked hair fell upon his shoulders, his untrimmed beard half covered his face, but his eyes were wise and his deep voice kindly. Leo dropped on one knee before him.

“Your blessing, reverend Pope Michael. You have heard how God afforded us a great mercy to-day?”

The priest raised his hand, extending three fingers and muttering a formula; then, as the officer rose, he responded, “Yes, and under God we must thank that red-haired barbarian whereof your mother has just told. Of a truth, dear kyria,” turning to Kasia, “I think the Saints will hardly let you drown when so many sick and poor are kept by your bounty at the Hospital of Samson. I came to bring good news. The lad Trophios is better. They say he will leave in ten days; and old Hermina is no worse, which is all we dare to pray for. And now I am off to the Pharnar district. Jacob the sailor has quitted his wife just as she expects her seventh babe. I must see the kind sisters of St. Dorkas——”

“Money,” interrupted Kasia and turning to Leo.

“Was it not ‘money’ yesterday?” returned the latter, smiling.

“It’ll be more ‘money’ no doubt to-morrow, at least if Pope Michael calls,” announced the old woman; “your mother may have her sins, but the preachers can’t scourge her from their ambos as they do the fine hussies come from the palaces: ‘You fasten in your ears gold to feed a thousand poor: and lo! Christ’s little ones are starving.’ ”

Leo clapped his hands, whereat appeared Peter.

“Unlock the chest,” ordered his master, “and give his Reverence twenty keratia.[13] You see,” he added, smiling to the priest, “I am a soldier, and a soldier’s first duty is to his commander.”

“You could find a worse commander,” responded Michael, returning the smile. Then he thanked them sincerely and without unction, repeated his blessing and departed.

“A man of God,” repeated Kasia after him.

“A man of God,” echoed the officer, “full of good works and faithfulness. Ah! my mother, when I see such as Michael thrust aside for preferment in the Patriarch’s hall, and that screaming wretch Marinos adored by half of Constantinople as a saint, I know there are two things in this sinful world right hard to understand.”

But here, with a shift of mood, he knelt on the greensward beside Kasia. “Oh, Mother Mine, what an awful moment you have given me. What profits success, promotion, men’s praise, if you—my happiness—were taken? Why can you not learn that Constantinople is not Mesembria: that to steal away to your gossips unattended is not the way for dames whose husbands or sons go often to the palace? We are not rich, but our means will permit a modest train—and yesterday, back I came from the arsenal to find that you had gone to visit old neighbours in Galata, with only a message for your son ‘that you were not too old yet to find your own way.’ ”

Kasia stroked his head and rocked her fat body to and fro; then answered, “You mean well, philotate, but you forget that while your mother’s not too old to pick her road, she is, to change her life. Peasant I’m born and peasant I’ll stay, though you, my Lion”—her caress grew very affectionate—“at last roar so loud that perhaps all the world will hear you. Laugh at me they must, but they’ll never scold how ‘My Lord Leo’s mother wears the clothes of a patricianess after the manner of the cowmaid that she truly is!’ The Panagia pity me if ever I have to put on stiff brocade and finger great gems, and bow haughtily and have forty lackeys touching their noses to the dust at my feet. Why, even now the few honest servants which we have catch the mood and call me ‘Gracious Despoina.’ I would almost laugh in their faces. ‘Despoina of what?’ I want to cry, then go and cook your dinner.”

“Mother, mother,” exclaimed Leo, laughing and clutching his hair, “can you ever understand? Are you sorry that we are not still on the Mesembrian farm, that your son is now consulted by logothetes, that my friends even predict——”

“Hoity-toity, no!” she answered, leaping up, her little black eyes beaming with pride. “Was ever a widowed mother luckier in her son than Kasia? Don’t I wear out my knees thanking the Trinity for your goodness to me and beseeching that you prosper ever more? Prosper,” the levity left her voice, and her hand touched his face gently, “until the whole of that strange prophecy of Barses and Chioba be fulfilled.”

“Do you know what you’re wishing?” interposed Leo hurriedly.

“Why not?” ran on the old woman. “If a shepherd may become a spatharios, why may not a spatharios become——” She did not finish the sentence, but drew the soldier down upon a bench. Soon his head was upon her ample lap. Between mother and son there was obviously complete trust and comradeship. “Let us tell over again, my Lion, all the favours which the Saints have showered upon you. The recalling will give us confidence for the future.”

“Well,” he began, gazing up in lazy affection, “you know after I became Protector I had an unhappy year before I learned the ways of the court and how to carry myself with assurance. My noble comrades despised my birth and picked on me incessantly despite the Emperor’s orders. Then I killed Sergios Botaniates in that duel. After that I was feared and patronized. Next old Justinian Slit-Nose gave me a small command on the Cilician frontier. I destroyed the raiding band of Emir Mutazz, and Iconium hailed me as ‘Saviour of the City!’ This brought me back to Constantinople with some small honour. The Emperor named me Protostrator of the Thracian corps.[14] Justinian deemed me a fit adjutant for his bloody schemes, but I evaded his worst orders, while avoiding charges of disobedience. Finally, needing a man for the difficult mission to the Caucasus, he made me his spatharios, but hardly had the patent been issued ere I met my greatest peril. Jealous comrades charged me with conspiracy. One night——”

“I remember that night,” said his mother, laughing, yet wincing.

“They had me in the lowest hold of the Numera, the palace prison. Gleeful tongues whispered, ‘To-morrow that upstart’s head falls in the Amestrian Forum.’ But a just God and my mother’s good angel were with me. Justinian was a very fiend of cruelty but was seldom deliberately unjust. Good friends came forward: Basil, and Daniel the Præfect, and many another. The charges were disproved. I was freed and vindicated. So the Emperor sent me off to the Caucasus—a thankless undertaking. With an escort rather than an army I was to restore the Roman name among the barbarous Alans and Abasgi. How my kind Saints prospered me there; how I brought the tribesmen to subjection and taught them the length of the Roman arm; how I crossed with my men over the ice-bound Caucasus on snow-shoes, and got back safe to Trebizond—that’s a long, tedious story.

“When I returned to Constantinople, Justinian had gone to his account. He had lived by the sword and had perished by the sword, but his overthrow and the setting up of Philippicus was no deed of mine. It now has pleased their Magnificences in the palace bureaus to speak well of me. The army needs new leaders, and my record has been fortunate; and so,” he raised himself and kissed her, “you have me here to-day once more, oh, my mother!”

Leo sluggishly regained his seat, then sat pressing his mother’s hand. Both for a long time seemed watching a brown lizard as he scuttled among the palm tubs; then Kasia resumed:

“You think the Saracens are still making way?”

“Constantly, best of mothers. Philippicus is a sybarite and is hated by the army. Of the soft-handed patricians and eunuchs who rule in his name some mean well ignorantly, some sacrifice the Empire for their own sordid power and profit. The themes[15] are demoralized. Basil tells me not twenty dromonds at the Navy Yard are fit for sea. Daily reports come in of Infidel raids in the Ægean. The governors of Sicily and Apulia keep back their tributes. Even our city walls here are in bad repair. Meantime every messenger tells of the swelling Moslem armaments: how Kalif Walid and his viziers deliberate whether our Roman Empire is not a ripe apple—ready to fall at a touch. Spain, we hear, has succumbed. They are to-day rearing mosques in Cordova and Toledo; and in Hagia Sophia, Christ’s noblest church itself,” Leo rose and paced the little garden nervously, “they will soon read from the book of the Hagarines’ false prophet, unless——”

“Unless what?” cried Kasia, frowning now and troubled.

“Unless when the foes come up against us, God rain down his fire as once on guilty Sodom.”

Kasia shook her head. “You are trying to scare me, son. Is not Constantinople always called ‘The City Guarded of God’?”

“His watchcare will be sorely tested,” retorted the soldier irreverently. “Well, little mother, I must not terrify you. The Saracens won’t come to-day, nor probably to-morrow. Meantime, their Sublimities and Magnificences at the palace may snatch some wisdom—though I doubt it. For a while Constantinople can go on trading, and crowding the Hippodrome races and variety theatres, and driving or promenading along the Mesē, and going to fêtes at the Bosphorus villas, and rejoicing in Church processions and displays of holy relics, and thronging to watch the dumb shows at the palace. After that the Saints know what is best, not I——”

“You know what Barses and Chioba said,” she reminded.

“I know what they said, or rather what I dreamed. Best of mothers, let us have no more of this. I have seen enough of the palace and the camp to know it is no great thing to become wearer of the purple leggings. But the man who becomes Emperor in the next few years with the Saracen ordeal ahead—Christ pity him!”

Then, seeing his brow darkened, she deliberately chose a lighter vein. “Boy,” she began, “there is still another thing that troubles me.”

Leo laughed. “What is it? When you say ‘boy’ I know reproaches will follow.”

“Did I not get from Basil that you met Theophano Dukas at the quay?”

“Her Ladyship’s barge landed while I waited for you. I was merely courteous.”

“Boy,” her keen little black eyes were full on her son, “was it not her father who has been so extremely gracious to you of late?”

“Why, yes; he has been somewhat kind.”

“And that Logothete Libanios we passed—he has an unwedded daughter, too?”

“I’ve only seen her with her mother at a few of the palace fêtes.”

“Her mother? That’s far worse.”

“Dear soul,” cried Leo, kissing her forehead and laughing most heartily. “It’s only to my mother that her son is so handsome!”

“Handsome? As if it mattered whether you were ugly as the great ape they showed on St. Thomas’ Day at the Hippodrome! It’s only to your mother that her son is not the most envied officer in the army, unwedded still and with a boundless career before him.”

“This is very discouraging,” responded the spatharios with a mock sigh; “now, beside the intrigues in the Council and the scimitars of the Saracens, I’ve got to fight all the barbed tongues of the relentless patricianesses. I’ll be overwhelmed by numbers——”

Kasia boxed his ear almost as roundly as she had favoured Hormisdas. “Boy,” she asserted, “do you imagine that every woman in Constantinople does not know that you have now these many years treated them all with as frigid courtesy as would become St. Anthony the Hermit, and that it’s all put down to most clever policy—that they all gossip in the churches, public baths, and theatres, ‘Now he can reach for the highest match. Will it be Maurice’s daughter, or Libanios’, or perhaps the heiress of great Alexios Rendakes?’ ”

“Don’t be foolish, mother,” commanded Leo, testily.

“Foolish? I’m rustic enough in looks, but farm breeding at least teaches me how to take in hen’s cackle. I’ve tried to scorn it, but I’m growing afraid.”

“Scorn it still. I’ve already two commanders, my soldierly duty and my mother. How can I add a third?”

“And why not, you big sheep? Aren’t you of proper age? Haven’t I a right some day to a daughter; yes, and to grand-children when you’re off to the wars? Blessed God—how canst Thou suffer men to muster armies, govern empires—yes, and rule Thy universe—yet have no wit concerning things which touch them most!”

“Well, my mother,” responded Leo, knowing the best way to terminate unwelcome conversation, “I have ever prospered by obeying you. How can I obey you now?”

Kasia went beside him, thrusting her homely wrinkled little features up close to his face.

“Hearken, boy: if your love for me is more than greasy perfume, give me no daughter who’ll walk only in silks and eat only from a golden dish. Remember we’re peasant-born, and the sniff of the cowbarn is still upon us. The bride who may fall in the arms of the spatharios may still shoot out her forked tongue at his stupid old mother.”

“Then farewell to them all,” vowed Leo merrily; “to Theophano and all the rest!”

“Yet there may be one,” her eyes closed cunningly; “there may——And what was named that girl you saved years ago from the huge ram, and now,—astounding luck,—fished out of the harbour?”

“They call her Anthusa, daughter of Kallinikos; but I would just as lief have rescued a pursy nun, seeing that Fergal had you safe.”

“No doubt; no doubt: I only meant that she seemed to have a good heart and a modest face, and I don’t think she would ever thrust needles in my back if I do come from Mesembria. But I’ve clattered enough already, and goes not the proverb, ‘No young lion trembles at his parent’s roaring’? This isn’t a fast day and I grow starved.”

She clapped her hands. A decent man-servant set on the garden table a large tray, whereon was a silver plate piled with soft cakes folded over highly-spiced mutton. There was a sweet sherbet in a tall blue-glass ewer. Mother and son were busy with this simple meal, when Peter appeared and saluted.

“A mandator from the palace,” he announced.

“Bring him in,” ordered his master. Whereupon a gorgeously apparelled functionary, with red slashings conspicuous upon his long black mantle, strode into the garden. The messenger held out a scroll, at sight whereof the officer made a slight obeisance. The other then dropped on one knee and delivered the document.

Leo read aloud:

“Paul, Master of the Palace, to the most excellent Spatharios, Flavius Leo, greeting:

“Know that his Sacred Clemency the Basileus was humbly advised to command your presence at a Sacred Consistory to be held to-morrow morning. His Sacred Clemency has deigned to confirm this loyal suggestion of his councillors. Fail not therefore to obey this summons. Farewell.”

Leo nodded with grave formality to the mandator, and that pompous messenger of despotism salaamed almost to the gravel, then swept out of the garden. The officer sighed:

“A whole morning lost; and I had promised to go over the project for reorganizing the Anatolic theme. Now it is of more importance that I should be bowing and prostrating at some worthless ceremonial. But go I must.”

“Peter!” called out Kasia at the top of her voice, “you’ve been listening. Don’t deny it—of course you have. Bring me his best dalmatic and the new buskins laced with gold thread. I’ve got to see if they’re fit for the palace.” And so in partial bad humour the two finished the cakes and mutton.