The Tour Part 10

"Not more?"

"They were one," repeated the prophet. "My son, your soul is sick. It is sick with sorrow and love. Love is strong, but wisdom is stronger. Gather wisdom, my son. My child, I can see into your soul. I see it lying tortured and trembling."

"There is no comfort if I do not find her!"

"There is comfort. Isis seeking for Osiris recovered all the pieces of his body except that piece which fructified her. And yet she found comfort, in the end."

"Give me comfort, holy father."

"I am wisdom, child, and you are young. Serve wisdom, but honour love."

"Father, why did the pirates resemble one another?"

"Because they were one."

"One pirate?"

"One pirate."

"Where is Ilia, father?"

"My son, even my wisdom does not tell me that whereof you have not dreamed. You dreamed of many pirates, who resembled one another like doubles. There was one pirate, my child."

"Who was he?"

"Did Serapis conjure up his image before you?"

"I no longer see it."

"Then go in peace. And let love and wisdom comfort you."

Lucius went. On the threshold of the pyramid he met an hetaira. She glittered like an idol in her ceremonial garb, sewn with jewels, and looked at him with painted eyes.

"It's Tamyris, my lord," said Caleb. "She is going to consult Amphris. She has paid a talent! Has Amphris interpreted your dream? The door-keeper, who also is wise, has interpreted mine for me! And for only five drachmae."

"One pirate! One pirate!" murmured Lucius.

And he clenched his fists, impotently....

The mult.i.tude streamed away along the terraces. The barges glided back on the ca.n.a.l, in the night.

And constantly, near the pleasure-houses and taverns, the vessels stopped and the dreamers alighted.

Here mead flowed and foaming golden beer and heavy Mareotis wines and the intoxicating liqueurs of Napata. Here the naked women, who beckoned with lotus-stalks, twisted in the dance.

"Back!" cried Lucius. "Back to Alexandria!"

The barge stopped at no pleasure-houses, at no taverns. The master sobbed, his head wrapped in his golden dreaming-veil. There was no music. Only the plaintive song of the rowers made itself heard from below.

Behind, in the east, the dawn paled in one long, rosy line, above the sea ... while the festal lamps flickered out and died....

CHAPTER XI

Serapis had opened the floodgates of the sky.

The first spring rains had already descended in heavy torrents; the water-G.o.ds had already poured the kindly streams from their urns into the swelling Nile; the river-surveyors, who had consulted the Nilometers [2] at every place, declared that the sacred stream was steadily rising and that the maximum gauge would be reached that summer.

The rains clattered down in white curtains of pouring waters.

The palm-garden of the diversorium was inundated. Master Ghizla made his slaves dig little ca.n.a.ls to carry the water to cisterns.

There was much joy and gladness at all this water. The air was fresh; though mid-summer was approaching, an equable coolness tempered the atmosphere around Alexandria; no river-mist spread seeds of disease; and the great dampness brought relief even to this ground, which had dried up during the winter, and to the parched air.

The travellers remained indoors. After the night of dreams at Canopus, Lucius had come home in one of his impotent fits of fury, locking himself in his room in despair and refusing to see anybody whatever.

Uncle Catullus abandoned himself to long siestas; Thrasyllus studied books, maps and globes.

In the porch of the slaves' quarters sat Cora. As she was forbidden to sing or play, she sat crouched with her arms around her knees, gazing mournfully at the rains. Their lord's sickness spread melancholy among all his household.

Caleb squatted beside Cora. Like her he sat with his arms around his knees and he smiled with his flas.h.i.+ng eyes and teeth and said:

"Cora, I love you very much."

Cora did not move; she merely answered, very gently:

"I am not free; I belong to the master."

"I should like to buy you, Cora; and then you would be free."

Cora did not answer; the rain poured down in an endless grey sheet; and in the palm-garden, under an umbrella, Master Ghizla drilled his dripping slaves.

"You would be free," Caleb repeated. "You would not be my slave, but my wife. I am rich: we are rich, Ghizla and I. We do a very good business. Our diversorium is the finest in Alexandria. We make a great deal of money, because all princely n.o.bles alight at our establishment. Cora, you would be its mistress. You would have slaves, male and female. I would pay your master whatever he asked; it would be deducted from his bill. For business is business, you know. But I could pay for you, if necessary, in ready money. And then, Cora, when we have grown very rich ... then we would go back to Saba, to my native land. It is the sweetest and most beautiful country in the world ... to live in, you know. But there's no business to be done there. You have to be rich there; then it's delightful. When we are rich, we will go back there. Cora, shall I tell you about Saba, about my country, even if it were only, Cora, to divert you, now that it's raining and you mustn't sing?"

"I am listening, Caleb."

"Saba, dear Cora, is the mightiest kingdom of Arabia; Saba is Arabia Felix, Cora. Saba is the sweet land where the balsam-trees grow and the precious spices are gathered: myrrh and frankincense and cinnamon. All the herbs and flowers, Cora, are scented in Saba; there is no herb and no flower that is not scented. Under the sky, which is transparent as empty blue s.p.a.ce, the clouds of perfume waft up and rise to the feet of the G.o.ds, who always glance down smilingly upon my country, upon my happy country. The palm-tree is scented there and the calamus-reed is scented there; the scented papyrus blossoms there. Nowhere are the flowers so big and of so many kinds, or the trees so densely-leaved or so green. Nowhere are the nights so mild and the days so blissful. The nights are for feasting and the days for resting. We climb up long ladders into the tall trees and sleep in leafy nests, like birds. Mariaba is my town, the golden capital of my sweet land. Have you ever seen a fairy-city in your dreams, Cora? That is Mariaba. There are temples of chrysolite with domes of blue crystal, which imitate the firmament. The streets are strewn with golden sand. Mariaba is situated on a hill, like the palace of a G.o.d. The king, Cora, is a descendant of Balkis, our great queen, who brought Solomon the treasures of Ophir; the king lives at Mariaba in a palace walled with gold. The walls of his apartments are like blue mirrors and he treads on carpets that are woven of flowers and hourly renewed. He does not eat, but lives on perfumes. He is sacred, but he may not leave his palace; for an oracle has commanded his people to stone him the moment that he comes out. Everything in his palace and in the town is luxury and delight. There is no commerce, there is no business. The Sabaeans surrender the trade in the precious products of their country to the men of Syria and Mesopotamia. They themselves, Cora, are rich and as G.o.ds.... When we are rich and you are my wife ... we shall be as G.o.ds in Mariaba and you shall see the king, behind a transparent hanging of gold gla.s.s, while he feeds on those perfumes. We shall live in a house of alabaster, which is transparent, but only to those inside. We shall have a barge of blue leather with red-silk ta.s.sels and little golden, tinkling bells.... When the evening wind is fresh, we shall warm our hands at glowing cinnamon. I shall anoint your body with fluid larimnum, which is the most costly of aromatics and is not exported, not even to Caesar. We shall have no plate except of gold and an ivory couch inlaid with jasper, or perhaps with sard. And you will go about on an elephant with silvered hoofs, many gold bands round his trunk and, at night, two little lanterns on his tusks, Cora. And we shall be happier than you can imagine or than I can tell." [3]

"What you are describing, Caleb, is indeed like fairyland. But I have heard say that, because of all that fragrance in their country, the Sabaeans one and all suffer from headache."

"When we suffer from headache, Cora, we burn asphalt and the hairs of a goat's beard. There is no remedy to compare with that for headache. Or else we wear the sacred amulets. Wear one, Cora: wear this amulet, which I have always worn."

"No, Caleb."