Saronia Part 23

'No, Nika; I search after truth and goodness. Mark ye, all that is true is not good; and truth oftentimes is wrapped in error--wrapped in lies.

I take the wheat and throw aside the chaff! I believe it is true. Man by certain peculiar laws may familiarize himself with spirits deeper sunk in misery than himself, and may work with them. Believing this, I do not practise it. It is not good to do so. 'Tis fraught with direst evil, for the spirit here who mixes with such wandering ones sinks to their level and joins them when he pa.s.ses over the boundary. Men--yea, women!--are like unto their familiar companions; if not so at the outset, will gradually and surely become so. Understand, Nika?'

'Yes, and should feel very timid to move within the magic circle. Thy teaching, thou knowest, is law to me. Therefore I promise I never shall. But was it not a pity to burn all those beautiful books?'

'No; burn the old creed and start with the new, if the new be better.

Burn a world if it be vile, and start with a new earth, peopled with a few who know what it is to live well.'

'But tell me quickly, Chios, how wouldst thou screen Saronia? She is the mightiest sorceress in the land! Wilt thou condemn her also?'

'I condemn no one--I condemn creeds which pilot men to evil, and I press forward to gain the purer light. Let each one do the same.'

They pa.s.sed into the house of Venusta, and, once within the open court, all was changed. On the cool, perfumed air floated the softest strains, flowing like rippling water from cithara, lute and lyre.

'Nika, dear girl, wilt thou arrange that fruit and wine may be set? Give order to thy slave; bid them be brought.'

'Nay, mother, I will see to it all myself. The rich juice of choicest grape stands yonder. Let me fetch it--let me be serving-maid to such n.o.ble guests.'

'Wayward child! A whim of thine, I suppose. Go thy way;' and the girl danced off on the lightest foot to the Golden Room.

She grasped the goblets of gold, poured into them the rarest essence of the vine, and looked down into their rosy depths, and saw mirrored there the consummation of her hopes.

'One thing is needful,' said she, 'to complete the chain. Link after link have I forged it, and now for the last to form a chain of love so strong, so powerful as to bind the Greek to me for _ever_!'

She placed her hand within her girdle of rubies, and drew forth two phials--one azure, the other rose. She held them aloft, one in each jewelled hand. The sunlight came through the windows of coloured marble, and the phials sparkled like the jewels round her waist.

She gazed on them, a smile lighting up her face. On them hung her life's joy--if such a thing as joy could ever warm the heart of Nika, the Roman girl.

Yes, if she were doomed, she would be d.a.m.ned beneath the shelter of Chios.

The goblets lay on the ivory table. One had a serpent around its base, emblem of eternity; into that she poured the contents of the rose-coloured phial.

'This for Chios,' said she.

The other vessel had a chaste design of lilies, into which she poured the liquid from the azure phial.

'This for the Roman. Eternity for Chios--the fading flowers for Varro!'

On a golden plate begemmed with emeralds she placed them, and went forth from the Golden Room bearing the charmed wine.

'Drink!' said Nika. 'Drink joy to the house of Venusta and Lucius!'

And they pledged themselves in Ionian wine.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE MINSTREL

Chios sat lazily in his studio. Work he could not; something had come over him--an influence unseen hovered near. He was not sad, nor was he joyous. There was a deep quiet reigning such as he had never before experienced. He seemed to be moving into a new faith; a serenity of softest light lingered around his spirit--a mild delight into which one would sink until it blossomed into ecstatic joy.

The light streamed through the open doorway, and fell into the shadows which dwelt behind the marble pillars.

He heard soft strains from a distant lyre, and they sweetly moved his soul. The melody of song floated on the evening breeze. He arose from his seat, and followed the strains down between the sweet-scented myrtles to the entrance-gate.

There was a poor emaciated minstrel, singing for bread. The heart of Chios was touched; he beckoned to the man, and brought him within and set food before him.

'I like thy voice, sweet singer. Now thou art refreshed, tell me of thy life.'

'Thou art pa.s.sing good, kind sir. I was born in Delos, of Greek parents, who died whilst I was yet a child. I was thrown upon the cold world. A sailor crew took me up, and on board a Phoenician s.h.i.+p I sailed the seas to Argos, Spain, and Gaul, and settled in the islands of the West named Britain. There I eked out an existence, a stranger on a foreign sh.o.r.e. I learned the customs of those strange people, accepted their faith, sang their songs, married, lived the life of a Briton until my wife died--I loved her--then my star waned. I fell sick, and pined for my Eastern home, came back to Sidon, roamed through Syria, Galatia, Phrygia, and here; and now, faint, weary, and tired of living, I fain would lay me down and die. But for this cherished lyre and the pleasure of song, I have no other joy save the memories of the past, and would like to rest and join my only love, the British girl of far Bolerium.'

'Ah! a sad story. The same old tale. Love the leveller, affinity, fate--one gone, the other panting to follow. Man, thou hast a good score of summers before thee. Cheer up! Let us be joyous!'

And Chios poured forth some refres.h.i.+ng wine, and bade the minstrel partake of it.

'Now sing me one of thy love-songs, and thou shalt not want for a good meal for many a day.'

'What wouldst thou like, good sir? Shall I sing to thee a British song, a legend of the Saronides?'

'Sing on.'

Then the wanderer rose and flung his worn mantle over his shoulders; his wealth of dark hair flowing from under his cap, and the shadows falling around like a veil of mystery, lowering the tone of his pale but beautiful face.

Raising his lyre, he swept his fingers over the strings, and a burst of harmony arose and filled the marble room; and, as it died away in softest echoes, his sweet, clear, pathetic voice sang forth these words:

'Far away across the seas, Borne by ever-favouring breeze, Skim and plough the ocean's breast To the islands of the West.

Where the blue waves kiss the land, Where the pearls gleam on the strand, Where the vales of Britain lie Neath the ever-changing sky,

Lived a British maiden free-- Princess, priestess, both was she, When a Roman with his art Wooed and stole this maiden's heart.

Fled she with him o'er the seas, Past the sea-girt Cyclades, On to Sidon's murmuring sh.o.r.e, But she smiled not evermore.

For the Roman went his way, And was often heard to say How he left beyond the seas The bride of the Saronides.

Grew she sadder day by day, Till the Reaper came that way; Then she raised her eyes and smiled, Died, and left behind a child.'

As the last notes died away, the singer saw a great change come over the face of the Greek.

His head rested on his right hand, and with the other he convulsively clutched a little silver shrine which hung from his neck. He was as pale as death; he moved not, spoke not, until the minstrel said:

'What ails thee, n.o.ble lord?'

Chios braced himself together, and replied:

'I was deeply touched with thy tender tale. My soul flew out to Sidon.