Part 28 (1/2)

The words but imperfectly penetrated the ma.s.sive door, and Arbaces again laughed. Then, stamping his foot violently, rejoined, perhaps to give vent to his long-stifled pa.s.sions: 'All the gold of Dalmatia,' cried he, 'will not buy thee a crust of bread. Starve, wretch! thy dying groans will never wake even the echo of these vast halls; nor will the air ever reveal, as thou gnawest, in thy desperate famine, thy flesh from thy bones, that so perishes the man who threatened, and could have undone, Arbaces! Farewell!'

'Oh, pity-mercy! Inhuman villain; was it for this...'

The rest of the sentence was lost to the ear of Arbaces as he pa.s.sed backward along the dim hall. A toad, plump and bloated, lay unmoving before his path; the rays of the lamp fell upon its unshaped hideousness and red upward eye. Arbaces turned aside that he might not harm it.

'Thou art loathsome and obscene,' he muttered, 'but thou canst not injure me; therefore thou art safe in my path.'

The cries of Calenus, dulled and choked by the barrier that confined him, yet faintly reached the ear of the Egyptian. He paused and listened intently.

'This is unfortunate,' thought he; 'for I cannot sail till that voice is dumb for ever. My stores and treasures lie, not in yon dungeon it is true, but in the opposite wing. My slaves, as they move them, must not hear his voice. But what fear of that? In three days, if he still survive, his accents, by my father's beard, must be weak enough, then!-no, they could not pierce even through his tomb. By Isis, it is cold!-I long for a deep draught of the spiced Falernian.'

With that the remorseless Egyptian drew his gown closer round him, and resought the upper air.

Chapter XIV

NYDIA ACCOSTS CALENUS.

WHAT words of terror, yet of hope, had Nydia overheard! The next day Glaucus was to be condemned; yet there lived one who could save him, and adjudge Arbaces to his doom, and that one breathed within a few steps of her hiding-place! She caught his cries and shrieks-his imprecations-his prayers, though they fell choked and m.u.f.fled on her ear. He was imprisoned, but she knew the secret of his cell: could she but escape-could she but seek the praetor he might yet in time be given to light, and preserve the Athenian. Her emotions almost stifled her; her brain reeled-she felt her sense give way-but by a violent effort she mastered herself,-and, after listening intently for several minutes, till she was convinced that Arbaces had left the s.p.a.ce to solitude and herself, she crept on as her ear guided her to the very door that had closed upon Calenus. Here she more distinctly caught his accents of terror and despair. Thrice she attempted to speak, and thrice her voice failed to penetrate the folds of the heavy door. At length finding the lock, she applied her lips to its small aperture, and the prisoner distinctly heard a soft tone breathe his name.

His blood curdled-his hair stood on end. That awful solitude, what mysterious and preternatural being could penetrate! 'Who's there?' he cried, in new alarm; 'what spectre-what dread larva, calls upon the lost Calenus?'

'Priest,' replied the Thessalian, 'unknown to Arbaces, I have been, by the permission of the G.o.ds, a witness to his perfidy. If I myself can escape from these walls, I may save thee. But let thy voice reach my ear through this narrow pa.s.sage, and answer what I ask.'

'Ah, blessed spirit,' said the priest, exultingly, and obeying the suggestion of Nydia, 'save me, and I will sell the very cups on the altar to pay thy kindness.'

'I want not thy gold-I want thy secret. Did I hear aright? Canst thou save the Athenian Glaucus from the charge against his life?'

'I can-I can!-therefore (may the Furies blast the foul Egyptian!) hath Arbaces snared me thus, and left me to starve and rot!'

'They accuse the Athenian of murder: canst thou disprove the accusation?'

'Only free me, and the proudest head of Pompeii is not more safe than his. I saw the deed done-I saw Arbaces strike the blow; I can convict the true murderer and acquit the innocent man. But if I perish, he dies also. Dost thou interest thyself for him? Oh, blessed stranger, in my heart is the urn which condemns or frees him!'

'And thou wilt give full evidence of what thou knowest?'

'Will!-Oh! were h.e.l.l at my feet-yes! Revenge on the false Egyptian!-revenge!-revenge! revenge!'

As through his ground teeth Calenus shrieked forth those last words, Nydia felt that in his worst pa.s.sions was her certainty of his justice to the Athenian. Her heart beat: was it to be her proud destiny to preserve her idolized-her adored? Enough,' said she, 'the powers that conducted me hither will carry me through all. Yes, I feel that I shall deliver thee. Wait in patience and hope.'

'But be cautious, be prudent, sweet stranger. Attempt not to appeal to Arbaces-he is marble. Seek the praetor-say what thou knowest-obtain his writ of search; bring soldiers, and smiths of cunning-these locks are wondrous strong! Time flies-I may starve-starve! if you are not quick! Go-go! Yet stay-it is horrible to be alone!-the air is like a charnel-and the scorpions-ha! and the pale larvae; oh! stay, stay!'

'Nay,' said Nydia, terrified by the terror of the priest, and anxious to confer with herself-'nay, for thy sake, I must depart. Take hope for thy companion-farewell!'

So saying, she glided away, and felt with extended arms along the pillared s.p.a.ce until she had gained the farther end of the hall and the mouth of the pa.s.sage that led to the upper air. But there she paused; she felt that it would be more safe to wait awhile, until the night was so far blended with the morning that the whole house would be buried in sleep, and so that she might quit it un.o.bserved. She, therefore, once more laid herself down, and counted the weary moments. In her sanguine heart, joy was the predominant emotion. Glaucus was in deadly peril-but she should save him!

Chapter XV

ARBACES AND IONE. NYDIA GAINS THE GARDEN. WILL SHE ESCAPE AND SAVE THE ATHENIAN?

WHEN Arbaces had warmed his veins by large draughts of that spiced and perfumed wine so valued by the luxurious, he felt more than usually elated and exultant of heart. There is a pride in triumphant ingenuity, not less felt, perhaps, though its object be guilty. Our vain human nature hugs itself in the consciousness of superior craft and self-obtained success-afterwards comes the horrible reaction of remorse.

But remorse was not a feeling which Arbaces was likely ever to experience for the fate of the base Calenus. He swept from his remembrance the thought of the priest's agonies and lingering death: he felt only that a great danger was pa.s.sed, and a possible foe silenced; all left to him now would be to account to the priesthood for the disappearance of Calenus; and this he imagined it would not be difficult to do. Calenus had often been employed by him in various religious missions to the neighboring cities. On some such errand he could now a.s.sert that he had been sent, with offerings to the shrines of Isis at Herculaneum and Neapolis, placatory of the G.o.ddess for the recent murder of her priest Apaecides. When Calenus had expired, his body might be thrown, previous to the Egyptian's departure from Pompeii, into the deep stream of the Sarnus; and when discovered, suspicion would probably fall upon the Nazarene atheists, as an act of revenge for the death of Olinthus at the arena. After rapidly running over these plans for screening himself, Arbaces dismissed at once from his mind all recollection of the wretched priest; and, animated by the success which had lately crowned all his schemes, he surrendered his thoughts to Ione. The last time he had seen her, she had driven him from her presence by a reproachful and bitter scorn, which his arrogant nature was unable to endure. He now felt emboldened once more to renew that interview; for his pa.s.sion for her was like similar feelings in other men-it made him restless for her presence, even though in that presence he was exasperated and humbled. From delicacy to her grief he laid not aside his dark and unfestive robes, but, renewing the perfumes on his raven locks, and arranging his tunic in its most becoming folds, he sought the chamber of the Neapolitan. Accosting the slave in attendance without, he inquired if Ione had yet retired to rest; and learning that she was still up, and unusually quiet and composed, he ventured into her presence. He found his beautiful ward sitting before a small table, and leaning her face upon both her hands in the att.i.tude of thought. Yet the expression of the face itself possessed not its wonted bright and Psyche-like expression of sweet intelligence; the lips were apart-the eye vacant and unheeding-and the long dark hair, falling neglected and disheveled upon her neck, gave by the contrast additional paleness to a cheek which had already lost the roundness of its contour.

Arbaces gazed upon her a moment ere he advanced. She, too, lifted up her eyes; and when she saw who was the intruder, shut them with an expression of pain, but did not stir.

'Ah!' said Arbaces in a low and earnest tone as he respectfully, nay, humbly, advanced and seated himself at a little distance from the table-'Ah! that my death could remove thy hatred, then would I gladly die! Thou wrongest me, Ione; but I will bear the wrong without a murmur, only let me see thee sometimes. Chide, reproach, scorn me, if thou wilt-I will teach myself to bear it. And is not even thy bitterest tone sweeter to me than the music of the most artful lute? In thy silence the world seems to stand still-a stagnation curdles up the veins of the earth-there is no earth, no life, without the light of thy countenance and the melody of thy voice.'

'Give me back my brother and my betrothed,' said Ione, in a calm and imploring tone, and a few large tears rolled unheeded down her cheeks.

'Would that I could restore the one and save the other!' returned Arbaces, with apparent emotion. 'Yes; to make thee happy I would renounce my ill-fated love, and gladly join thy hand to the Athenian's. Perhaps he will yet come unscathed from his trial (Arbaces had prevented her learning that the trial had already commenced); if so, thou art free to judge or condemn him thyself. And think not, O Ione, that I would follow thee longer with a prayer of love. I know it is in vain. Suffer me only to weep-to mourn with thee. Forgive a violence deeply repented, and that shall offend no more. Let me be to thee only what I once was-a friend, a father, a Protector. Ah, Ione! spare me and forgive.'

'I forgive thee. Save but Glaucus, and I will renounce him. O mighty Arbaces! thou art powerful in evil or in good: save the Athenian, and the poor Ione will never see him more.' As she spoke, she rose with weak and trembling limbs, and falling at his feet, she clasped his knees: 'Oh! if thou really lovest me-if thou art human-remember my father's ashes, remember my childhood, think of all the hours we pa.s.sed happily together, and save my Glaucus!'

Strange convulsions shook the frame of the Egyptian; his features worked fearfully-he turned his face aside, and said, in a hollow voice, 'If I could save him, even now, I would; but the Roman law is stern and sharp. Yet if I could succeed-if I could rescue and set him free-wouldst thou be mine-my bride?'

'Thine?' repeated Ione, rising: 'thine!-thy bride? My brother's blood is unavenged: who slew him? O Nemesis, can I even sell, for the life of Glaucus, thy solemn trust? Arbaces-thine? Never.'

'Ione, Ione!' cried Arbaces, pa.s.sionately; 'why these mysterious words?-why dost thou couple my name with the thought of thy brother's death?'

'My dreams couple it-and dreams are from the G.o.ds.'

'Vain fantasies all! Is it for a dream that thou wouldst wrong the innocent, and hazard thy sole chance of saving thy lover's life?'

'Hear me!' said Ione, speaking firmly, and with a deliberate and solemn voice: 'If Glaucus be saved by thee, I will never be borne to his home a bride. But I cannot master the horror of other rites: I cannot wed with thee. Interrupt me not; but mark me, Arbaces!-if Glaucus die, on that same day I baffle thine arts, and leave to thy love only my dust! Yes-thou mayst put the knife and the poison from my reach-thou mayst imprison-thou mayst chain me, but the brave soul resolved to escape is never without means. These hands, naked and unarmed though they be, shall tear away the bonds of life. Fetter them, and these lips shall firmly refuse the air. Thou art learned-thou hast read how women have died rather than meet dishonour. If Glaucus perish, I will not unworthily linger behind him. By all the G.o.ds of the heaven, and the ocean, and the earth, I devote myself to death! I have said!'

High, proud, dilating in her stature, like one inspired, the air and voice of Ione struck an awe into the breast of her listener.

'Brave heart!' said he, after a short pause; 'thou art indeed worthy to be mine. Oh! that I should have dreamt of such a partner in my lofty destinies, and never found it but in thee! Ione,' he continued rapidly, 'dost thou not see that we are born for each other? Canst thou not recognize something kindred to thine own energy-thine own courage-in this high and self-dependent soul? We were formed to unite our sympathies-formed to breathe a new spirit into this hackneyed and gross world-formed for the mighty ends which my soul, sweeping down the gloom of time, foresees with a prophet's vision. With a resolution equal to thine own, I defy thy threats of an inglorious suicide. I hail thee as my own! Queen of climes undarkened by the eagle's wing, unravaged by his beak, I bow before thee in homage and in awe-but I claim thee in wors.h.i.+p and in love! Together will we cross the ocean-together will we found our realm; and far distant ages shall acknowledge the long race of kings born from the marriage-bed of Arbaces and Ione!'

'Thou ravest! These mystic declamations are suited rather to some palsied crone selling charms in the market-place than to the wise Arbaces. Thou hast heard my resolution-it is fixed as the Fates themselves. Orcus has heard my vow, and it is written in the book of the unforgetful Hades. Atone, then, O Arbaces!-atone the past: convert hatred into regard-vengeance into grat.i.tude; preserve one who shall never be thy rival. These are acts suited to thy original nature, which gives forth sparks of something high and n.o.ble. They weigh in the scales of the Kings of Death: they turn the balance on that day when the disembodied soul stands s.h.i.+vering and dismayed between Tartarus and Elysium; they gladden the heart in life, better and longer than the reward of a momentary pa.s.sion. Oh, Arbaces! hear me, and be swayed!'

'Enough, Ione. All that I can do for Glaucus shall be done; but blame me not if I fail. Inquire of my foes, even, if I have not sought, if I do not seek, to turn aside the sentence from his head; and judge me accordingly. Sleep then, Ione. Night wanes; I leave thee to rest-and mayst thou have kinder dreams of one who has no existence but in thine.'

Without waiting a reply, Arbaces hastily withdrew; afraid, perhaps, to trust himself further to the pa.s.sionate prayer of Ione, which racked him with jealousy, even while it touched him to compa.s.sion. But compa.s.sion itself came too late. Had Ione even pledged him her hand as his reward, he could not now-his evidence given-the populace excited-have saved the Athenian. Still made sanguine by his very energy of mind, he threw himself on the chances of the future, and believed he should yet triumph over the woman that had so entangled his pa.s.sions.