Part 25 (1/2)

THE LOTUS-EATING AT SARDIS

When Glaucon awoke to consciousness, it was with a sense of absolute weakness, at the same moment with a sense of absolute rest. He knew that he was lying on pillows ”softer than sleep,” that the air he breathed was laden with perfume, that the golden light which came through his half-closed eyelids was deliciously tempered, that his ears caught a musical murmur, as of a plas.h.i.+ng fountain. So he lay for long, too impotent, too contented to ask where he lay, or whence he had departed.

Athens, Hermione, all the thousand and one things of his old life, flitted through his brain, but only as vague, far shapes. He was too weak even to long for them. Still the fountain plashed on, and mingling with the tinkling he thought he heard low flutes breathing. Perhaps it was only a phantasy of his flagging brain. Then his eyes opened wider. He lifted his hand. It was a task even to do that little thing,-he was so weak. He looked at the hand! Surely his own, yet how white it was, how thin; the bones were there, the blue veins, but all the strength gone out of them.

Was this the hand that had flung great Lycon down? It would be mere sport for a child to master him now. He touched his face. It was covered with a thick beard, as of a long month's growth. The discovery startled him. He strove to rise on one elbow. Too weak! He sank back upon the cus.h.i.+ons and let his eyes rove inquiringly. Never had he seen tapestries the like of those that canopied his bed. Scarlet and purple and embroidered in gold thread with elaborate hunting scenes,-the dogs, the chariots, the slaying of the deer, the bearing home of the game. He knew the choicest looms of Sidon must have wrought them. And the linen, so cool, so grateful, underneath his head-was it not the almost priceless fabric of Borsippa? He stirred a little, his eyes rested on the floor. It was covered with a rug worth an Athenian patrician's ransom,-a l.u.s.trous, variegated sheen, showing a new tint at each change of the light. So much he saw from the bed, and curiosity was wakened. Again he put forth his hand, and touched the hanging curtains. The movement set a score of little silver bells that dangled over the canopy to jingling. As at a signal the flutes grew louder, mingling with them was the clearer note of lyres. Now the strains swelled sweetly, now faded away into dreamy sighing, as if bidding the listener to sink again into the arms of sleep. Another vain effort to rise on his elbow. Again he was helpless. Giving way to the charm of the music, he closed his eyes.

”Either I am awaking in Elysium, or the G.o.ds send to me pleasant dreams before I die.”

He was feebly wondering which was the alternative when a new sound roused him, the sweep and rustle of the dresses of two women as they approached the bed. He gazed forth listlessly, when lo! above his couch stood two strangers,-strangers, but either as fair as Aphrodite arising from the sea. Both were tall, and full of queenly grace, both were dressed in gauzy white, but the hair of the one was of such gold that Glaucon hardly saw the circlet which pressed over it. Her eyes were blue, the l.u.s.tre of her face was like a white rose. The other's hair shone like the wing of a raven. A wreath of red poppies covered it, but over the softly tinted forehead there peered forth a golden snake with emerald eyes-the Egyptian uraeus, the crown of a princess from the Nile. Her eyes were as black as the other's were blue, her lips as red as the dye of Tyre, her hands-But before Glaucon looked and wondered more, the first, she of the golden head, laid her hand upon his face,-a warm, comforting hand that seemed to speed back strength and gladness with the touch. Then she spoke. Her Greek was very broken, yet he understood her.

”Are you quite awakened, dear Glaucon?”

He looked up marvelling, not knowing how to answer; but the golden G.o.ddess seemed to expect none from him.

”It is now a month since we brought you from Astypalaea. You have wandered close to the Portals of the Dead. We feared you were beloved by Mazda too well, that you would never wake that we might bless you. Night and day have my husband and I prayed to Mithra the Merciful and Hauratat the Health-Giver in your behalf; each sunrise, at our command, the Magians have poured out for you the Haoma, the sacred juice dear to the Beautiful Immortals, and Amenhat, wisest of the physicians of Memphis, has stood by your bedside without rest. Now at last our prayers and his skill have conquered; you awake to life and gladness.”

Glaucon lay wondering, not knowing how to reply, and only understanding in half, when the dark-haired G.o.ddess spoke, in purer Greek than her companion.

”And I, O Glaucon of Athens, would have you suffer me to kiss your feet.

For you have given my brother and my sister back to life.” Then drawing near she took his hand in hers, while the two smiling looked down on him.

Then at last he found tongue to speak. ”O gracious Queens, for such you are, forgive my roving wits. You speak of great service done. But wise Zeus knoweth we are strangers-”

The golden G.o.ddess tossed her s.h.i.+ning head and smiled,-still stroking with her hand.

”Dear Glaucon, do you remember the Eastern lad you saved from the Spartans at the Isthmus? Behold him! Recall the bracelet of turquoise,-my first grat.i.tude. Then again you saved me with my husband. For I am the woman you bore through the surf at the island. I am Artazostra, wife of Mardonius, and this is Roxana, his half-sister, whose mother was a princess in Egypt.”

Glaucon pa.s.sed his fingers before his face, beckoning back the past.

”It is all far away and strange: the flight, the storm, the wreck, the tossing spar, the battling through the surges. My head is weak. I cannot picture it all.”

”Do not try. Lie still. Grow strong and glad, and suffer us to teach you,”

commanded Artazostra.

”Where do I lie? We are not upon the rocky islet still?”

The ladies laughed, not mockingly but so sweetly he wished that they would never cease.

”This is Sardis,” spoke Roxana, bending over him; ”you lie in the palace of the satrap.”

”And Athens-” he said, wandering.

”Is far away,” said Artazostra, ”with all its griefs and false friends and foul remembrances. The friends about you here will never fail. Therefore lie still and have peace.”

”You know my story,” cried he, now truly in amaze.

”Mardonius knows all that pa.s.ses in Athens, in Sparta, in every city of h.e.l.las. Do not try to tell more. We weary you already. See-Amenhat comes to bid us begone.”

The curtains parted again. A dark man in a pure white robe, his face and head smooth-shaven, approached the bed. He held out a broad gold cup, the rim whereof glinted with agate and sardonyx. He had no Greek, but Roxana took the cup from him and held it to Glaucon's lips.