Читать книгу The Beauty of the Purple - William Stearns Davis - Страница 9

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THE PROCESSION OF THE EMPRESS

As the spring advanced, subalterns and associates at the War Department noted a subtle change in the young Strategos of Thrace. He was less abrupt in his commands, more gentle in his manner, more whimsical in his phrases. He was seen at the great bazaars on the “Street of Lamps”[20] selecting garments of price which set off his fine military figure to best advantage. He even visited the shop of Ibas the Armenian, the most exclusive jeweller in the city, and made relatively extravagant purchases of costly rings. The women talked about him more than ever when they met at their variety theatres and baths. It was long taken for granted that he was contemplating a wealthy marriage; but nothing happened, although Theophano Dukas continued unwedded, and the War Minister was occasionally a guest at her father’s palace.

One day when Leo visited the Daphne to secure the signet of Paul upon certain documents, the eunuch beckoned to his secretaries to withdraw to a proper distance, and then his manner became confidential.

“I have been watching you, Sir Strategos,” he said, smiling with his hairless lips.

“You have then learned my mistakes,” replied Leo boldly. “You have also learned that I have striven my best.”

“I have learned that there was no blunder in your appointment. All hopes in your abilities have been justified. And yet—we are disappointed.”

“I do not quite understand your Sublimity.”

“A man who will let his personal opportunities slip through his fingers, as do you, can sometimes fail in his public duties also.”

“I am still puzzled,” confessed the soldier.

Paul half closed his eyes and gazed at the other penetratingly: “Perhaps you think to conquer in some deep game which my friends and I cannot understand. Think hard. Look well to your pieces on the board. If you intrigue, you play against masters. The son of an Isaurian peasant should take no chances. Once before I reminded you that you continued unmarried——”

The form of the strategos straightened. “My superiors command my obedience,” he announced with emphasis; “my patrons deserve my gratitude. But my household and my private desires are my own.”

The eunuch shrugged his ill-shapen shoulders and forced a short laugh.

“Pfui! Let’s not quarrel, my dear general.” He smiled unpleasantly. “What can an old courtier like myself do but play the busybody? Your work at the War Ministry rejoices us all. Here, let me seal the diplomas.”

After Leo had bowed himself out a little stiffly, the prime minister’s bell tinkled, and a page went out with a hasty summons to Niketas and Theokistos.

The junior members of the palace triumvirate came to their senior colleague immediately, and Paul revealed the unsatisfactory attitude of the Isaurian.

“Manifestly,” commented Theokistos, “his refusal to marry springs from some deep cause. He’s not pious enough for some absurd vow of celibacy. If he gets out of control, it’s a blow to all our party.”

“The more so,” confirmed the eunuch, “because the clerks in my pay in the War Department report his services there are indispensable. He has reformed the General Staff with firmness, yet tact. A remarkable new catapult is being manufactured at the arsenal. Now he is reorganizing, with astonishing prudence, the great Armeniac theme. His popularity with the army is such that to remove him might veritably set the palace on fire. We must act most warily.”

“That loutish mother of his,” remarked Niketas, “is at least harmless, though he won’t send her from the city. Our concern should be elsewhere. His refusal to push his suit for the Dukas girl, considering her wealth and connection, is the act of no sane man; yet, where’s there a cooler head than his?”

“I like the case little,” thrust back Theokistos. “If Leo’s not already betrothed to Theophano it’s for reasons that touch our safety. The Patrician Soganes has the blood of the old deposed Heraclius dynasty in his veins, and, though he’s too old to head a conspiracy, he’s got a marriageable daughter. Has this Isaurian been inveigled into seeking her hand along with her father’s claims? Such a thing might be.”

Paul shook his head. “I’ve thought of that, but Soganes’ butler (who gets my fees) swears that his master and Leo are barely acquainted.”

“And common report,” pursued Niketas, “makes our fine strategos as moral as a cenobite, not given to wine or dice, seldom at the races or pantomime theatres, and with an appetite only for reports, fortress plans and infantry reviews. We must hunt more diligently.”

“There is something else, philotate,” announced the eunuch cynically. “Before we wander farther it shall be searched out. I’ve not dried up in the palace all my days without learning to know men—and women. Helen ruined Troy. Cleopatra undid Antony. The conduct of the most Serene Leo can be explained, I think it is safe to say, simply by remarking: ‘He has a mistress.’ ”

“Well, what’s the harm?” rejoined Theokistos in a relieved tone. “Mistresses are common and safe.”

“Merely, my very noble Secretary,” spoke Paul, “because mistresses are pliable and corruptible. Of course, she’s keeping her lover from the Dukas marriage, which would probably mean her downfall. Very possibly she’s playing the other faction’s game (I know that Nikephoros Skleros and his following!) and perhaps winning for them control of the army. The whole case, then, becomes very simple.”

Theokistos made the eunuch a profound reverence:

“I marvelled at your Sublimity’s astuteness before. I am more than ever convinced of its powers now. We must find her out.”

Paul’s bell tinkled again. “Send in Petronax,” he ordered. After some moments a sleek, well-formed young man, in brilliant livery, with eyes subtle as a cat’s, was plumping on his knees before the patricians.

“Petronax,” ordered the eunuch, “in the past you have discharged delicate missions; take now another. Find out if Leo the Strategos has a mistress and where he keeps her. Learn all about her. Of course, move secretly. Nothing overt, you understand, but report promptly. It’s a matter of weight.”

“With the forehead, Sublimity; with the forehead,” and Petronax, literally fulfilling his words, smote his head upon the carpet.

“A most useful fellow,” assured Paul, dismissing him with a wave; “and quite to be trusted. In three days we will know everything.”

“And decide whether a bribe, a halter or a nunnery will answer us the best,” laughed Niketas as the heavy curtain closed behind the emissary.

* * * * * * *

In these same days Leo had been undergoing a new experience. No man could have risen as had he, without drinking much of life’s cup, too often even to the evil lees. Saint and ascetic he had never been. Great crimes had not stained his soul, but in occasional self-searching moments he had reviewed with self-reproach his share in deeds oblique, brutal or fleshly. The guard-corps of Justinian II had been no monastery of the virtues. He had known the ways of a luxurious court and its sordid intrigues, of the barracks and their coarseness, of the battle and its bloody perils, of the glozing society of the magnates, of the base wiles of unholy women. If he had been saved from the searing effects of the life about him, it had been because of an innate disgust for things artificial, unmanly and vile, and because the influence of his mother, even in his most tempted moments, had ever remained his guiding star.

Kasia, however, although she had given her son all that she might of positive virtue, of unpretending piety, and of abhorrence of pretense, had made it her open boast that she could not rise above her peasant viewpoint. If their home contained sundry refinements, these existed at Leo’s behest, not hers. If he showed an instinctive love for books, and spent many an hour over Polybios and Prokopios, when his associates were at banquet, she simply marvelled at his use of spare time.[21] Hitherto, caught in his military life, he had looked on the world of the intellect and the nobler arts, as a super-mundane realm, wherein entrance was perhaps to be forever denied him. And now—an opportunity.

Fergal had no longer any difficulty in finding excuses for interviews with Sophia. His master provided all the excuses for him. The interest which the strategos developed in Kallinikos’ military models presently made the astute Armorican’s eyes roll in his head. The new catapult worked excellently, but Leo must needs visit the lecturer repeatedly to consult about a small adjustment which might well have been settled by a letter. The War Minister even saw possibilities in a proposed movable siege-tower, although Kallinikos professed that the plans were faulty, thanks to errors in the manuscript. Furthermore, Leo suddenly discovered that the Aqueduct of Valens, so essential for filling the city reservoirs in emergency, needed careful repairs. Every afternoon as the work progressed he rode to confer with the master mason, and Fergal failed not to note that his patron invariably went through a certain side street, and by a certain house, with his eye on a certain lattice.

Seldom the victim of torturing self-analysis, Leo long kept from questioning why he found the learned converse of Kallinikos fascinating, although, truth to tell, the old man was often well worth a hearer. The great thing the soldier knew was that in these days he was often entering a house the like whereof had never swung its doors to him before: a house where voices were melodious and low: a house where gentle consideration ruled every act—where there abounded not golden cups and gilded couches, but books of noble thoughts and deeds: where pelf was only prized so far as it ministered to the things of the spirit: where happiness rested not on the life without but on the life within. All these things Leo observed wonderingly; and unconsciously he grew humble, and also very glad.

When Kasia came not with her son, at first Sophia and Anthusa kept discreetly in the background, but Kallinikos needed his daughters to help display his models, and after a little the shyness wore off. The girls no longer called Leo “Serenity,” but merely the friendly “Kyrios,” and soon they met his unassuming moods with a frank demeanour befitting that granted a dignified cousin.

At last Fergal ceased counting his patron’s visits. Once or twice the discussions with Kallinikos would run into the evening, when Leo would need no persuasion to stay to supper. Sophia was no longer disturbed when he did so, and later must appear the little organ to evoke the silver voice of Anthusa. Once the girls paid an afternoon call upon Kasia. Fergal never explained how it was Sophia’s donkey most unaccountably fell lame, and how no substitute could be obtained until the strategos himself strode in after a weary day at his ministry. Then Kasia’s cookery must needs be sampled, after which Leo (asserting that footpads were many and the watch unreliable) convoyed them homeward himself, with his archers clattering on ahead to guard the way.

All this time Kasia and Fergal spoke not a word about a certain matter, although sometimes the twain winked at one another slyly. Equally silent was Leo as to which of the two sisters interested him more; but the strategos (so Fergal with no sorrow observed) always seemed to have the more conversation with Anthusa, and in his abstracted moments when he had the habit of humming raucously certain tunes, they were always tunes that had first fallen much more melodiously from the lips of the younger sister.

Thus matters progressed through Lent and the great feast of Easter, and on a pleasant day soon after, Leo had to ride out again to inspect the aqueduct, and must needs go to the red house on the quiet street (his horse now knew the way without touch of bridle), and ask for speech with Kallinikos. Scarcely had the sisters greeted him in the aula, and Sophia had disappeared to summon her father, when in the street was heard a shouting. Anthusa sprang to the lattice.

A bustle suddenly pervaded the peaceful way. Varlets in imperial livery, with the Cæsarian eagle blazoned on their breasts, were running along routing from their lairs in the gutters the innumerable street dogs wherewith the city abounded. Other menials were scattering over the pavement great masses of myrtle and laurel leaves, box and ivy, while here and there they were setting down lighted pots of incense which released a heavy smoke so that one saw the avenue only through a blue haze. Sophia, running back from the study, gazed also and clapped her hands.

“I have it! This is the Saint’s name day at the Convent of St. Floros, and the shortest way from the palace lies hither. The Empress is coming.”

Leo inwardly thanked the Trinity that he had not been summoned to join the other dignitaries undoubtedly required to march in the train of Majesty. The procession presented scant novelty for him, but the sisters had been too home-bound often to witness the palace fêtes, and their faces glowed prettily with excitement. The strategos dimly realized that he had never beheld Anthusa so animated and charming. Even Kallinikos laid down his Ptolemy to gaze upon the invasion of their wontedly peaceful quarter.

Presently sounded a great clamour of oboes, lutes, dulcimers, trumpets and cymbals. Then could be heard the deep chanting of the priests and monks heading the procession. Their hymn was supposedly in praise of the Panagia and of St. Floros, but at intervals would rise the obsequious refrain to their human patroness:

“Thou crownèd of God,

Basilissa, belovèd of Christ,

Thou Beauty of the Purple,

Come now and shine upon thy servants:

Rejoice the hearts of thy people!”

“ ‘The Beauty of the Purple?’ ” questioned Anthusa, leaning against the lattice. “Is her Sacred Majesty indeed that?”

“Wait and see,” responded Leo enigmatically, his eyes intent upon the glowing colour in her face.

Now sounded the thunderous shout from the multitudes of citizens and idlers who invariably thronged all the street corners and areas along the way.

“Christ-loving Basilissa shine forth!

Shine forth, thou Beauty of the Purple!”

Leo wondered to himself whether he could loyally and wisely tell the girls that Vania, Philippicus’ Empress, was a fit mate for her sybaritic husband—a luxury-loving Armenian woman, too fat to waddle save when borne on the arms of eunuchs, too doltish to give intelligent orders to her women. He kept his peace. Such unspoiled delight in an empty spectacle refreshed his soul. He stood back from the lattice, watching not the bowing and scraping throngs below, but the eager movements of Anthusa.

Now the van of the marchers came in sight. First a corps of heralds in long red gabardines went swinging white staves to clear the way. Then came three solid platoons of Protectors in their blue silk uniforms, carrying long spears and blue shields sprinkled with black stars. Leo pointed out his friend the Count of the Guards, their commander, on horseback, trailing a flaming red tunic, purple-breasted, and bearing a green shield centred with a huge golden cross.

The chanting and rhythmic acclamations grew louder. The great corps of musicians followed, and a company of black-robed, white-veiled priests and monks, their tall hats all bobbing together. Above them floated half a dozen gauzy banners covered with religious pictures. One stalwart deacon carried on high a silver statue of St. Floros, at sight whereof the more pious spectators fell on their knees. The rhythmic acclamations intensified.

“Christ have mercy upon us!

Thou Mother of God preserve us!

Thou holy St. Floros intercede for us!

Preserve and intercede for the most pious and fortunate Augusta.

The Panagia preserve the Basilissa, belovèd of Christ!”

Now followed the civil officials of the palace, each haughty functionary mounted on a white mule, his robe falling in enormous folds, and his steed surrounded by a squad of menials in turbans and mantles made gorgeous with colour. After half a score of these high logothetes, counts and consulars, appeared still more white mules bearing the patricianesses who attended upon the Empress. They were all in flowing costumes of blue silk, and wore their state “proplomæ”—lofty-peaked headdresses with white veils, held down by circlets of gold. Then pealed the acclamations again:

“The Beauty of the Purple!—

Ten thousand years to the Joy of the whole World!”

The “Beauty of the Purple” rode in an open four-wheeled car completely covered with gold-plate and drawn by four horses with coats like new snow. Their trappings were purple, marked with golden eagles. Around the car marched a square of twenty beardless eunuchs in liveries stiff with jewels and ornaments. At the bridle of one of the imperial horses, with an ostentatious humility marking him out as proudest of the proud, walked the acknowledged first power in the Empire, Paul himself, the Master of the Palace.

The imperial car advanced with befitting deliberation. Under the clear light its sole passenger, centre of all applause and glory, flashed like a terrestrial sun. The sisters saw an obese woman sitting in an enormous purple mantle spangled plenteously with gold. Gold were the slippers which peeped from under its folds. Gold of course the diadem upon her head. The gleaming metal was however partly hidden by the gems. Even from the lattice one could almost identify the heavy emeralds and topazes. The crown was surmounted by an elaborate pearl-set cross, and heavy strings of pearls hid the wearer’s neck and shoulders.

Motionless and passionless the Basilissa rode straight on, the thunderous chanting seemingly no more to her than the dashings of the sea. Whether the features beneath the diadem were coarse or mobile, passionate or pitiful, what mattered it? A bedizened doll might have shown as much life as the Augusta. The sovereign was almost past the red house, and the rear guard of yet other Protectors was coming to view, when suddenly the automatic progress of the imperial car was interrupted.

Inspired by some fiend, an unlucky street dog, chased perhaps by boys from his refuge, darted before the white horses, surprising the one at whose bridle was complacently marching Paul. The mettlesome horse reared and curvetted. For an instant the car was shaken. The eunuch had the reins twitched from his grasp and barely escaped a kick and a fall. His white robe was dashed with mud ere a dozen hands could calm the horses. Under its enormous crown, the sisters could just catch the startled eyes and blanching face of the Empress. As the malefic dog shot away, an outraged Protector avenged the insult to Majesty with a keen lunge of his spear. The dog ran off on three legs, bleeding, while his piercing yelp rose above the chanting of the priests. Then the acclamations resumed. The monarch settled back into her state of petrified calm. The eunuch resumed his post at the bridle. Soon the chanting and cheering died around the next street corner, and the little quarter settled to its accustomed quiet.

Some hundreds may have witnessed the trifling incident of the dog. Not one had wisdom enough to know that on that incident there would some day in large measure depend the life or death of Leo, Anthusa, and Paul, or even of the entire safety of Constantinople and the Roman Empire....

... Leo had seen little of the procession. He had seen very much of the sisters. Giving free rein to his fancy, he had tried to picture the sensitively moulded features of Anthusa looking forth betwixt a purple robe and a pearl-encrusted diadem. The thought contained nothing displeasing. As the crowds in the street dispersed, he asked an idle question:

“Well, most gracious kyriai, how would one of you like to be ‘The Beauty of the Purple’?”

Sophia’s eyes kindled immediately.

“Pray, sir, don’t ask silly questions! What man doesn’t want to be Emperor?”

“Yet the crown was heavy and the day was hot.”

“As if she thought of that!” retorted the elder sister disdainfully.

“But your opinion, Kyria Anthusa?” continued the officer.

The younger maiden’s calm forehead wrinkled.

“I don’t agree with Sophia,” she replied with a pretty shrug; “a Basilissa’s slavery must be intolerable—a slavery to one’s own greatness, forever in purple bonds and golden fetters. I could never endure it—-that is, unless I loved my husband very much.”

“Then, dear kyria,” laughed the strategos, “from what I know of the Daphne you would find life there very stupid!”

So passed the afternoon; but one other trifling event followed: In the doorway was found cowering and trembling the luckless dog which had cost Paul his dignity. The spear-thrust had been vicious, and, to boot, the creature was only half-fed. His mangled ears and tail proclaimed him the veteran of many street battles. Kallinikos began elaborate remarks about how he possessed some poison on the formulæ once tested by Cleopatra upon criminals prior to her own suicide, and here was a chance to “end the poor creature’s misery, and to test out the prescription.” But Anthusa immediately had the animal up in her soft arms (Leo watching with wondering eyes), washed off and salved the wound, fed the wretch nigh to bursting, then laid him on straw in the courtyard—her patient enduring unresistingly and wagging his tail in silent gratitude.

This done, the strategos, in the full spirit of the hour, remarked merrily that so favoured a creature must forthwith have a name. Kallinikos learnedly suggested “Argos” after the famous hound of Odysseus; but the sisters denied their father’s right to voice in the matter, and gladly took the suggestion of Leo that he be christened “Dorkon,” for the renowned charger which Heraclius bestrode when he defeated the Persians. “Because,” said the officer gaily, “if this Dorkon did not defeat the Barbarians, at least he smote a Chief Minister and an Empress with fright—and few are the mortals that can do that. So let us give him a good Christian and Roman name.”

They parted that evening with more than the usual deliberation. There was even some remark that now the weather was so fine, a water party up the Golden Horn would be enjoyable. When Leo bent over Anthusa’s hand he thought she did not withdraw it as quickly as at first. The manner in which he whistled and hummed to himself all the way homeward made his archers say that their general was surely very well pleased with old Kallinikos’ military engines.

Once returned, however, Fergal demanded a private word with his master:

“Despotes, I think I should tell you. While you were engaged—otherwise”—the Armorican’s cough was very discreet—“Ephraim said that something had troubled him. Strange men have been lurking around the house of Kallinikos for several days. Once a beggar-woman made impertinent inquiries of the maids about their young mistresses. Just as we were returning home I thought I caught sight of a smooth sort of fellow observing us. My suspicion is that I’ve seen him once before when sent on a message to the palace.”

Leo bit his mustaches angrily.

“This shall be looked into. If any wretched fool should venture——” His hand almost crushed the lion’s head on his armchair. He did not pursue further because simultaneously Peter entered the chamber!

“A messenger from the War Department. The great beacon is reported to be blazing on the heights of Mount Damatrys[22] on the Asiatic shore.”

The minister leaped to his feet. “The fire-signal is flashed on from Mount Tauros and across all Anatolia. So the Saracens have attacked the Cilician passes at last. Perhaps their great advance has begun. Heigh-ho!”—he vented a mingled laugh and sigh—“no more afternoons at Kallinikos’ house for yet a while. I must cross to Asia very early to consult on many things. Pack as usual, Peter; and you, Fergal”—he turned earnestly to the Celt—“look to my mother (so far of course as she will let you!), and if you be not the greatest numskull whose head was ever thatched with red, sift out Ephraim’s story, and if some scoundrel is hatching mischief against that house, bring me back to Constantinople—yes, though I were in combat with the great Kalif himself.” ...

... At grey dawn the strategos’ barge landed him at Chrysopolis.