Saronia Part 24

Tell me, is this story true?'

'Yes, 'tis true. I knew the priestess princess, but the Roman I never saw.'

'What was she like?'

'Beautiful--rarely beautiful! She moved among the Druid bards the queen, like a queen of night--tall, commanding, with great dark eyes like dusky diamonds; deep, piercing were those eyes, set beneath eyebrows fit for Juno. Every lineament of her face spoke forth a soul of souls. When she walked, her robe of white fell like a summer cloud, and her dark, waving hair in ma.s.ses of beauty moved over her shoulders down to her feet.

Everyone knew her, feared her--everyone loved her. In an evil hour she fell, was punished, and died far, far away from her island home.'

'What was her name?'

'Saronia.'

'Great G.o.d! Saronia?'

'Yea, my lord. Thou art agitated?'

'No, no, no! Go on!'

'Nothing much remains to be told. This only: They mourned her fall, her loss, her death. The prophets in that land have cast a destiny of her child, and say she shall s.h.i.+ne forth as the moon, terrible as the sun; that she shall tread with dignity the floorway of a great temple, and shall minister at its altar; that she shall rise to the greatest eminence, and----'

'Stay! Say no more, man--say no more! Leave her there!'

And a great pain pa.s.sed over the face of Chios, and he pressed his head between his hands as if to hide from his gaze some hideous vision. Then, suddenly recovering, he said:

'Hast thou that song written in words? If so, sell it to me.'

'I have it,' replied the minstrel; and, taking from his bosom some time-worn parchments, selected one. 'This is it; thou art welcome--thou shalt not purchase. The parchment is naught to me; the words are written on my heart. This copy shall be thine.'

Chios took it, and saw the song was written on the back of an old Celtic ma.n.u.script. He cared not for these unknown characters. What he wanted was the song only, and for that he would not take a thousand drachmas.

Pressing some golden pieces into the hands of the minstrel, he said:

'Come to-morrow and sing to me. We are friends. Go now to thine home, for the chill evening air is wedding the night, and thou mayest take hurt.'

When Chios was alone the torrent of his mind was unloosed.

He lit the silver lamp, threw himself on his couch, drew out the parchment, gazed long and intently on it, read it again and again--

'Princess, priestess, both was she,'

until his eyes were suffused with tears, and, overcome with his feelings, he fell asleep.

The next day he awaited the coming of the singer, but he came not. The day following did not bring him. Then he determined to seek him, and, after finding the place of his abode, found the spirit of the minstrel had moved to a far-away sh.o.r.e. The singer had sung his last song on earth.

This was told to Chios by an old woman with whom the minstrel lodged.

'What is thy name, good man?' said she.

'Chios.'

'Art thou Chios, the great artist of Ionia?'

'They say so.'

'Then take those parchments. The poor fellow wished it so. And, in dying, he uttered thy name and another. Poor man! he was only a strolling minstrel, but I verily believe he has gone to the Great. He was no ordinary man. Peace rest his soul!'

Chios went his way, muttering to himself:

'Ah! peace rest his soul. What of my own? Would I could reach Saronia!

It is a long time since I met her. I dare not go again. Now my soul is greatly troubled. I am wavering in faith and in doubt as to what is truth. In danger for my doubt; in love with the being I may never meet.

For aught I know, death may seal me in oblivion, and there shall be no more of me. All this confronts me, and more. I firmly believe I could place before Saronia strong evidence from the song and the words of the minstrel. See her I must. If I die, one is free--free if I live again! I _must_ survive! Though no light breaks over this great problem, no voice or echoes from the distant land, yet my soul, finer element of myself, whispers, "Thou shalt never die."

'Well, Chios, another attempt. Without a pretext, I never could, but I have a strong case this time. Go I will, this very night. I know the way, and will venture all. The parchments I will not take--I will leave them at my studio.'

He folded them carefully, sealed them with his signet, and addressed them to the High Priestess of the Temple of Diana at Ephesus.

'That is right,' said he. 'If I fail, she will receive them.'

CHAPTER XXV

THE SACRED HOUNDS

When the night advanced, Chios went his way to the Sacred Grove of Hecate. Once near the walls surrounding it, he sprang over and was soon among the trees.

The night was still; no sound was heard save the shriek of the hawk and the cry of the hounds of the G.o.ddess.

Which way should he take? Would she come to sacrifice? What should he do--should he give up this foolhardy expedition and retrace his steps?

No; a strange fascination drew him onwards. Step by step he moved forward until he drew nigh to the marble Temple of the night G.o.ddess--a lonely man amidst the great solitude, and shadowed by the lofty pines.

No thunderings or voices or lightnings came from the sombre pile; a great bird wheeled by, nearly touching him, shrieking as it flew like the spirit of a wandering soul.

Whilst wondering what to do, he heard the sound of barking dogs; it came nearer, nearer still; they would soon be upon him. Escape there was none. He looked for refuge: the trees were tall and mighty, and no foothold to ascend. He hid behind the great trunk of the nearest, and was no sooner there than a pack of the fiercest h.e.l.l-hounds came rus.h.i.+ng down the gloomy way. Swiftly they came. The leaders went past him; troop after troop swept by in great ma.s.ses, until they seemed to be without end.

Verily they had an object, for the foremost ones turned and were coming back towards him. Some had left the beaten track and were scouring between the trees. Evidently they had scented him, and in a second or two the foremost brute stood near him with foaming mouth and eyes of fire.

For a moment only it stood; the next it was upon Chios and received the dagger of the Greek firmly embedded in its heart. Rolling over, it uttered a dismal howl and died. Two others were upon him. He grasped his cloak, wound it around his arm over his hand and thrust it into one animal's mouth, and with one wrench dislocated its jaw. With the right hand free, he met the third and plunged his dagger into its side until it fell back goaded with pain, and in the throes of death sent forth terrific wails, at which the doors of the Temple were thrown open. A light streamed down the pathway, lighting up the fierce combat between man and beasts. The priests uttered a peculiar call, and every hound was immediately obedient; not one left its post, but drew up in a circle around Chios, preventing any chance of escape. Torches flamed, and many men came towards the place of conflict.

One of the priests stepped forward, and beheld the Greek covered with blood, and still clutching his jewelled dagger.

The priest cried:

'What dost thou here on holy ground, surrounded by the hounds of the G.o.ddess and the slain around thee? Knowest thou the penalty is death?

Surrender! or we let loose the hounds that they tear thee limb from limb. Surrender! we say. Thou shalt have trial, that justice may be done, and we may know whether or not thou camest hither by mischance.'

'I surrender. Not that I fear your hounds or death--I surrender because I have no right here.'