Part 44 (2/2)
She looked into the face which in this brief period of time she had learnt to love, and tried to read that which to her was still hidden behind the earnest brow and the deep-set eyes. In them, indeed, did she read exultation, an ardour at least equal to her own, but an ardour for an object which she--the proud, exquisite pagan, the daughter of Augustus--wholly failed to comprehend. She had shown him the way to the imperium, to the diadem of Augustus, the sceptre of the Caesars, yet in his eyes, which were unfathomable and blue as the ocean that girt his own ancestral home of far away, there glowed neither the fire of ambition, nor the desire for supreme power. Only the fire of love for her and the serenity of infinite peace.
”Dear lord,” she said, ”when the sceptre of Augustus is in thine hands thou canst wield it at thy pleasure. I know not the way of which thou speakest; the mountain of Calvary is unknown to me and thou speakest of things that are strange to mine ear.... But the G.o.ds have placed it within my power to make thee great above all men, the ruler of the mightiest Empire in the world, and on my knees do I thank them that they have shown me the way whereby I can guide thy footsteps even to the throne of Augustus.”
”And on my knees do I thank G.o.d, O my soul, that thou didst show me the way to the foot of His Cross. G.o.d himself, dear heart!--oh! thou'lt understand some day for thy soul is beautiful and prepared to receive just that one breath from Heaven which will show it the way to eternal life--G.o.d Himself, dear heart, who lived amongst us all a lowly, humble life of patience and of toil! G.o.d--think on it!--who might have come down to us in the fullness of His Majesty, Who might, had He so chosen, have wielded the sceptre of the world and worn every crown of every empire throughout the ages, but Whom I saw--aye, I, dear heart--saw with mine own eyes as He toiled, weary, footsore, anhungered, and athirst, that He might comfort the poor and bring radiance into the dwellings of the humble. And I who saw Him thus, I who heard His voice of gentleness and of peace, I to desire a crown and sceptre, to betray the Caesar and to mount a throne!!! Dear heart! dear heart! dost not understand that the sceptre would weigh like lead in my hands and the crown bow my head down with shame?”
”Then would my whispered words lift the weight from thy brow and my kiss dissipate the blush of shame from thy cheeks. Day and night would go by in infinite happiness, thy head upon my breast, mine arms encircling thy neck. I am ignorant still, yet would I teach thee what love means and the sweet lesson learnt from me thou wouldst teach me in return.”
”And in mine ear the still, small voice would murmur: 'Thou hast seen the living face of thy G.o.d, didst break thine oath to Caesar! thou didst betray him in his need, even as the Iscariot betrayed his Lord with a kiss.'”
”The voice of thy G.o.d,” she retorted, ”is no louder than that of the people of Rome, and the people proclaim thee the Caesar and have released thee of thine oath.”
”The voice of G.o.d,” he said slowly, ”spoke to me across the sandy wastes of Galilee and said unto me: 'Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and unto G.o.d the things that are G.o.d's.'”
His softly murmured words died away in the vastness around him. Dea Flavia made no response; a terrible ache was in her heart as if a cold, dead hand gripped its every string, whilst mocking laughter sounded in her ear.
That cruel monster Finality grinned at her from across the room. Love was lying bleeding and fettered at the feet of some intangible, superhuman spectre which Dea Flavia dreaded because it was the Unknown.
Taurus Antinor's eyes were fixed into vacancy, and she trembled because she could not see that which he saw. Was he looking on that very vision which he had conjured up, a cross, broken and tempest-tossed, a symbol of that power which to him was mightier than the Empire of Rome, mightier than the kingdom of her love?
She remembered how, a few days ago, in this self-same room she had in thought accosted and defied that Galilean rebel who had died the ignominious death; she had defied him, even she, Dea Flavia Augusta of the imperial House of Caesar. She had offered him battle for this very man whose soul she now would fill with her own.
She had defied the Galilean, vowed that she would conquer this heart and filch it from the allegiance it had sworn, vowed that she would make it Caesar's first and then her own, that she would break it and crush it first and then wrest it from its unknown G.o.d.
And now it seemed as if that obscure Galilean rebel had conquered in the end. She had brought forth the whole armoury of her love, her beauty, her nearness, the ardour of youth and pa.s.sion which emanated from her entire being, and the intangible Unknown had remained the victor, and she was left with that awful ache in her heart which was more bitter than death.
”Have I thy leave to go, Augusta?” he asked gently at last, ”the moments are precious. The Caesar hath need of me....”
She woke as from a hideous dream. With a wild gesture of the arms she seemed to sweep away from before her those awful spectres that a.s.sailed her. Then she clung to him with the strength of oncoming despair.
”No--no,” she cried, ”do not go ... he will kill thee, I say ... do not go....”
”I must,” he said firmly. ”Dear heart, I entreat thee let me go.”
”No--no ... think but a moment ... think!... My love?... is it naught to thee?... Has my kiss left thee cold?... Do not leave me, dear lord ...
do not leave me yet ... not just yet ... now that I know what happiness can mean. I have been so lonely all my life.... Love hath come to me at last ... love and happiness.... I am young--I want both.... Dear lord, if thou lovest me canst leave me desolate?...”
”_If_ I love thee!”
There was so much longing in the one brief phrase, such pa.s.sion and such tenderness, that all her hopes revived. One more effort and she felt sure that she would conquer. Fever was in her veins now, the walls of the studio swam before her eyes; she fell on her knees for she could no longer stand, but her arms encircled him, clinging to him with all her might. Her face, lifted up to his, was swimming in tears, her golden hair escaping from its trammels fell in a glowing ma.s.s down her shoulders.
”I love thee,” she murmured, ”canst leave me now, dear lord.... If thou goest now 'tis for ever ... think, oh think! just for one moment ... the Caesar restored to power will part me from thee ... even if anon in his madness he doth not kill thee. If thou goest 'tis for ever.... Think on it ... think on it ere thou goest.... My love ... my love, go not from me, and leave me desolate.... Dear lord, but think on it--of the kisses thou wilt taste from my lips--the ecstasies thou wilt find in my arms!... Thine am I--thine my heart that loves thee--my body that wors.h.i.+ps thee--my every thought is thine.... Go not from me ... not just now till thou hast felt once more the full savour of my love.”
Her arms round his knees, and she was exquisitely beautiful, exquisite in her whole-hearted love, her whole-hearted abnegation--she, a proud Roman lady kneeling at his feet, her full red lips asking for a kiss.
He stood with his face buried in his hands.
”Oh G.o.d! my G.o.d!” he murmured, ”do not forsake me now!”
The thunder crashed overhead while a human soul fought its desperate fight for truth and eternal life. A vivid flash of lightning lit up the white-washed walls of the studio, and to the poor fighting soul, tortured with temptation, with longing and with pa.s.sion, there came in that swift bright flash a vision of long ago.
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