Chapter VI
A REUNION OF DIFFERENT ACTORS. STREAMS THAT FLOWED APPARENTLY APART RUSH
INTO ONE GULF.
IMPATIENT to learn whether the fell drug had yet been administered by Julia
to his hated rival, and with what effect, Arbaces resolved, as the evening
came on, to seek her house, and satisfy his suspense. It was customary, as I
have before said, for men at that time to carry abroad with them the tablets
and the stilus attached to their girdle; and with the girdle they were put
off when at home. In fact, under the appearance of a literary instrument,
the Romans carried about with them in that same stilus a very sharp and
formidable weapon. It was with his stilus that Cassius stabbed Caesar in
the senate-house. Taking, then, his girdle and his cloak, Arbaces left his
house, supporting his steps, which were still somewhat feeble (though hope
and vengeance had conspired greatly with his own medical science, which was
profound, to restore his natural strength), by his long staff--Arbaces took
his way to the villa of Diomed.
And beautiful is the moonlight of the south! In those climes the night so
quickly glides into the day, that twilight scarcely makes a bridge between
them. One moment of darker purple in the sky--of a thousand rose-hues in
the water--of shade half victorious over light; and then burst forth at once
the countless stars--the moon is up--night has resumed her reign!
Brightly then, and softly bright, fell the moonbeams over the antique grove
consecrated to Cybele--the stately trees, whose date went beyond tradition,
cast their long shadows over the soil, while through the openings in their
boughs the stars shone, still and frequent. The whiteness of the small
sacellum in the centre of the grove, amidst the dark foliage, had in it
something abrupt and startling; it recalled at once the purpose to which the
wood was consecrated--its holiness and solemnity.
With a swift and stealthy pace, Calenus, gliding under the shade of the
trees, reached the chapel, and gently putting back the boughs that
completely closed around its rear, settled himself in his concealment; a
concealment so complete, what with the fane in front and the trees behind,
that no unsuspicious passenger could possibly have detected him. Again, all
was apparently solitary in the grove: afar off you heard faintly the voices
of some noisy revellers or the music that played cheerily to the groups that
then, as now in those climates, during the nights of summer, lingered in the
streets, and enjoyed, in the fresh air and the liquid moonlight, a milder
day.
From the height on which the grove was placed, you saw through the intervals
of the trees the broad and purple sea, rippling in the distance, the white
villas of Stabiae in the curving shore, and the dim Lectiarian hills
mingling with the delicious sky. Presently the tall figure of Arbaces, in
his way to the house of Diomed, entered the extreme end of the grove; and at
the same instant Apaecides, also bound to his appointment with Olinthus,
crossed the Egyptian's path.
'Hem! Apaecides,' said Arbaces, recognizing the priest at a glance; 'when
last we met, you were my foe. I have wished since then to see you, for I
would have you still my pupil and my friend.'
Apaecides started at the voice of the Egyptian; and halting abruptly, gazed
upon him with a countenance full of contending, bitter, and scornful
emotions.
'Villain and impostor!' said he at length; 'thou hast recovered then from
the jaws of the grave! But think not again to weave around me thy guilty
meshes. Retiarius, I am armed against thee!'
'Hush!' said Arbaces, in a very low voice--but his pride, which in that
descendant of kings was great, betrayed the wound it received from the
insulting epithets of the priest in the quiver of his lip and the flush of
his tawny brow. 'Hush! more low! thou mayest be overheard, and if other
ears than mine had drunk those sounds--why...'
'Dost thou threaten?--what if the whole city had heard me?'
'The manes of my ancestors would not have suffered me to forgive thee. But,
hold, and hear me. Thou art enraged that I would have offered violence to
thy sister. Nay, peace, peace, but one instant, I pray thee. Thou art
right; it was the frenzy of passion and of jealousy--I have repented
bitterly of my madness. Forgive me; I, who never implored pardon of living
man, beseech thee now to forgive me. Nay, I will atone the insult--I ask thy
sister in marriage--start not--consider--what is the alliance of yon holiday
Greek compared to mine? Wealth unbounded--birth that in its far antiquity
leaves your Greek and Roman names the things of yesterday--science--but that
thou knowest! Give me thy sister, and my whole life shall atone a moment's
error.'
'Egyptian, were even I to consent, my sister loathes the very air thou
breathest: but I have my own wrongs to forgive--I may pardon thee that thou
hast made me a tool to thy deceits, but never that thou hast seduced me to
become the abettor of thy vices--a polluted and a perjured man.
Tremble!--even now I prepare the hour in which thou and thy false gods shall
be unveiled. Thy lewd and Circean life shall be dragged to day--thy mumming
oracles disclosed--the fane of the idol Isis shall be a byword and a
scorn--the name of Arbaces a mark for the hisses of execration! Tremble!'
The flush on the Egyptian's brow was succeeded by a livid paleness. He
looked behind, before, around, to feel assured that none were by; and then
he fixed his dark and dilating eye on the priest, with such a gaze of wrath
and menace, that one, perhaps, less supported than Apaecides by the fervent
daring of a divine zeal, could not have faced with unflinching look that
lowering aspect. As it was, however, the young convert met it unmoved, and
returned it with an eye of proud defiance.
'Apaecides,' said the Egyptian, in a tremulous and inward tone, 'beware!
What is it thou wouldst meditate? Speakest thou--reflect, pause before thou
repliest--from the hasty influences of wrath, as yet divining no settled
purpose, or from some fixed design?'
'I speak from the inspiration of the True God, whose servant I now am,'
answered the Christian, boldly; 'and in the knowledge that by His grace
human courage has already fixed the date of thy hypocrisy and thy demon's
worship; ere thrice the sun has dawned, thou wilt know all! Dark sorcerer,
tremble, and farewell!'
All the fierce and lurid passions which he inherited from his nation and his
clime, at all times but ill concealed beneath the blandness of craft and the
coldness of philosophy, were released in the breast of the Egyptian.
Rapidly one thought chased another; he saw before him an obstinate barrier
to even a lawful alliance with Ione--the fellow-champion of Glaucus in the
struggle which had baffled his designs--the reviler of his name--the
threatened desecrator of the goddess he served while he disbelieved--the
avowed and approaching revealer of his own impostures and vices. His love,
his repute, nay, his very life, might be in danger--the day and hour seemed
even to have been fixed for some design against him. He knew by the words
of the convert that Apaecides had adopted the Christian faith: he knew the
indomitable zeal which led on the proselytes of that creed. Such was his
enemy; he grasped his stilus--that enemy was in his power! They were now
before the chapel; one hasty glance once more he cast around; he saw none
near--silence and solitude alike tempted him.
'Die, then, in thy rashness!' he muttered; 'away, obstacle to my rushing
fates!'
And just as the young Christian had turned to depart, Arbaces raised his
hand high over the left shoulder of Apaecides, and plunged his sharp weapon
twice into his breast.
Apaecides fell to the ground pierced to the heart--he fell mute, without
even a groan, at the very base of the sacred chapel.
Arbaces gazed upon him for a moment with the fierce animal joy of conquest
over a foe. But presently the full sense of the danger to which he was
exposed flashed upon him; he wiped his weapon carefully in the long grass,
and with the very garments of his victim; drew his cloak round him, and was
about to depart, when he saw, coming up the path, right before him, the
figure of a young man, whose steps reeled and vacillated strangely as he
advanced: the quiet moonlight streamed full upon his face, which seemed, by
the whitening ray, colorless as marble. The Egyptian recognized the face
and form of Glaucus. The unfortunate and benighted Greek was chanting a
disconnected and mad song, composed from snatches of hymns and sacred odes,
all jarringly woven together.
'Ha!' thought the Egyptian, instantaneously divining his state and its
terrible cause; 'so, then, the hell-draught works, and destiny hath sent
thee hither to crush two of my foes at once!'
Quickly, even ere this thought occurred to him, he had withdrawn on one side
of the chapel, and concealed himself amongst the boughs; from that lurking
place he watched, as a tiger in his lair, the advance of his second victim.
He noted the wandering and restless fire in the bright and beautiful eyes of
the Athenian; the convulsions that distorted his statue-like features, and
writhed his hueless lip. He saw that the Greek was utterly deprived of
reason. Nevertheless, as Glaucus came up to the dead body of Apaecides,
from which the dark red stream flowed slowly over the grass, so strange and
ghastly a spectacle could not fail to arrest him, benighted and erring as
was his glimmering sense. He paused, placed his hand to his brow, as if to
collect himself, and then saying:
'What ho! Endymion, sleepest thou so soundly? What has the moon said to
thee? Thou makest me jealous; it is time to wake'--he stooped down with the
intention of lifting up the body.
Forgetting--feeling not--his own debility, the Egyptian sprung from his
hiding-place, and, as the Greek bent, struck him forcibly to the ground,
over the very body of the Christian; then, raising his powerful voice to its
highest pitch, he shouted:
'Ho, citizens--oh! help me!--run hither--hither!--A murder--a murder before
your very fane! Help, or the murderer escapes!' As he spoke, he placed his
foot on the breast of Glaucus: an idle and superfluous precaution; for the
potion operating with the fall, the Greek lay there motionless and
insensible, save that now and then his lips gave vent to some vague and
raving sounds.
As he there stood awaiting the coming of those his voice still continued to
summons, perhaps some remorse, some compunctious visitings--for despite his
crimes he was human--haunted the breast of the Egyptian; the defenceless
state of Glaucus--his wandering words--his shattered reason, smote him even
more than the death of Apaecides, and he said, half audibly, to himself:
'Poor clay!--poor human reason; where is the soul now? I could spare thee,
O my rival--rival never more! But destiny must be obeyed--my safety demands
thy sacrifice.' With that, as if to drown compunction, he shouted yet more
loudly; and drawing from the girdle of Glaucus the stilus it contained, he
steeped it in the blood of the murdered man, and laid it beside the corpse.
And now, fast and breathless, several of the citizens came thronging to the
place, some with torches, which the moon rendered unnecessary, but which
flared red and tremulously against the darkness of the trees; they
surrounded the spot. 'Lift up yon corpse,' said the Egyptian, 'and guard
well the murderer.'
They raised the body, and great was their horror and sacred indignation to
discover in that lifeless clay a priest of the adored and venerable Isis;
but still greater, perhaps, was their surprise, when they found the accused
in the brilliant and admired Athenian.
'Glaucus!' cried the bystanders, with one accord; 'is it even credible?'
'I would sooner,' whispered one man to his neighbor, 'believe it to be the
Egyptian himself.'
Here a centurion thrust himself into the gathering crowd, with an air of
authority.
'How! blood spilt! who the murderer?'
The bystanders pointed to Glaucus.
'He!--by Mars, he has rather the air of being the victim!
'Who accuses him?'
'I,' said Arbaces, drawing himself up haughtily; and the jewels which
adorned his dress flashing in the eyes of the soldier, instantly convinced
that worthy warrior of the witness's respectability.
'Pardon me--your name?' said he.
'Arbaces; it is well known methinks in Pompeii. Passing through the grove,
I beheld before me the Greek and the priest in earnest conversation. I was
struck by the reeling motions of the first, his violent gestures, and the
loudness of his voice; he seemed to me either drunk or mad. Suddenly I saw
him raise his stilus--I darted forward--too late to arrest the blow. He had
twice stabbed his victim, and was bending over him, when, in my horror and
indignation, I struck the murderer to the ground. He fell without a
struggle, which makes me yet more suspect that he was not altogether in his
senses when the crime was perpetrated; for, recently recovered from a severe
illness, my blow was comparatively feeble, and the frame of Glaucus, as you
see, is strong and youthful.'
'His eyes are open now--his lips move,' said the soldier. 'Speak, prisoner,
what sayest thou to the charge?'
'The charge--ha--ha! Why, it was merrily done; when the old hag set her
serpent at me, and Hecate stood by laughing from ear to ear--what could I
do? But I am ill--I faint--the serpent's fiery tongue hath bitten me. Bear
me to bed, and send for your physician; old AEsculapius himself will attend
me if you let him know that I am Greek. Oh, mercy--mercy! I burn!--marrow
and brain, I burn!'
And, with a thrilling and fierce groan, the Athenian fell back in the arms
of the bystanders.
'He raves,' said the officer, compassionately; 'and in his delirium he has
struck the priest. Hath any one present seen him to-day!'
'I,' said one of the spectators, 'beheld him in the morning. He passed my
shop and accosted me. He seemed well and sane as the stoutest of us!'
'And I saw him half an hour ago,' said another, 'passing up the streets,
muttering to himself with strange gestures, and just as the Egyptian has
described.'
'A corroboration of the witness! it must be too true. He must at all events
to the praetor; a pity, so young and so rich! But the crime is dreadful: a
priest of Isis, in his very robes, too, and at the base itself of our most
ancient chapel!'
At these words the crowd were reminded more forcibly, than in their
excitement and curiosity they had yet been, of the heinousness of the
sacrilege. They shuddered in pious horror.
'No wonder the earth has quaked,' said one, 'when it held such a monster!'
'Away with him to prison--away!' cried they all.
And one solitary voice was heard shrilly and joyously above the rest:
'The beasts will not want a gladiator now, Ho, ho, for the merry, merry
show!
It was the voice of the young woman whose conversation with Medon has been
repeated.
'True--true--it chances in season for the games!' cried several; and at that
thought all pity for the accused seemed vanished. His youth, his beauty,
but fitted him better for the purpose of the arena.
'Bring hither some planks--or if at hand, a litter--to bear the dead,' said
Arbaces: 'a priest of Isis ought scarcely to be carried to his temple by
vulgar hands, like a butchered gladiator.'
At this the bystanders reverently laid the corpse of Apaecides on the
ground, with the face upwards; and some of them went in search of some
contrivance to bear the body, untouched by the profane.
It was just at that time that the crowd gave way to right and left as a
sturdy form forced itself through, and Olinthus the Christian stood
immediately confronting the Egyptian. But his eyes, at first, only rested
with inexpressible grief and horror on that gory side and upturned face, on
which the agony of violent death yet lingered.
'Murdered!' he said. 'Is it thy zeal that has brought thee to this? Have
they detected thy noble purpose, and by death prevented their own shame?'
He turned his head abruptly, and his eyes fell full on the solemn features
of the Egyptian.
As he looked, you might see in his face, and even the slight shiver of his
frame, the repugnance and aversion which the Christian felt for one whom he
knew to be so dangerous and so criminal. It was indeed the gaze of the bird
upon the basilisk--so silent was it and so prolonged. But shaking off the
sudden chill that had crept over him, Olinthus extended his right arm
towards Arbaces, and said, in a deep and loud voice:
'Murder hath been done upon this corpse! Where is the murderer? Stand
forth, Egyptian! For, as the Lord liveth, I believe thou art the man!'
An anxious and perturbed change might for one moment be detected on the
dusky features of Arbaces; but it gave way to the frowning expression of
indignation and scorn, as, awed and arrested by the suddenness and vehemence
of the charge, the spectators pressed nearer and nearer upon the two more
prominent actors.
'I know,' said Arbaces, proudly, 'who is my accuser, and I guess wherefore
he thus arraigns me. Men and citizens, know this man for the most bitter of
the Nazarenes, if that or Christians be their proper name! What marvel that
in his malignity he dares accuse even an Egyptian of the murder of a priest
of Egypt!'
'I know him! I know the dog!' shouted several voices. 'It is Olinthus the
Christian--or rather the Atheist--he denies the gods!'
'Peace, brethren,' said Olinthus, with dignity, 'and hear me! This murdered
priest of Isis before his death embraced the Christian faith--he revealed to
me the dark sins, the sorceries of yon Egyptian--the mummeries and delusions
of the fane of Isis. He was about to declare them publicly. He, a
stranger, unoffending, without enemies! who should shed his blood but one of
those who feared his witness? Who might fear that testimony the
most?--Arbaces, the Egyptian!'
'You hear him!' said Arbaces; 'you hear him! he blasphemes! Ask him if he
believes in Isis!'
'Do I believe in an evil demon?' returned Olinthus, boldly.
A groan and shudder passed through the assembly. Nothing daunted, for
prepared at every time for peril, and in the present excitement losing all
prudence, the Christian continued:
'Back, idolaters! this clay is not for your vain and polluting rites--it is
to us--to the followers of Christ, that the last offices due to a Christian
belong. I claim this dust in the name of the great Creator who has recalled
the spirit!'
With so solemn and commanding a voice and aspect the Christian spoke these
words, that even the crowd forbore to utter aloud the execration of fear and
hatred which in their hearts they conceived. And never, perhaps, since
Lucifer and the Archangel contended for the body of the mighty Lawgiver, was
there a more striking subject for the painter's genius than that scene
exhibited. The dark trees--the stately fane--the moon full on the corpse of
the deceased--the torches tossing wildly to and fro in the rear--the various
faces of the motley audience--the insensible form of the Athenian,
supported, in the distance, and in the foreground, and above all, the forms
of Arbaces and the Christian: the first drawn to its full height, far taller
than the herd around; his arms folded, his brow knit, his eyes fixed, his
lip slightly curled in defiance and disdain. The last bearing, on a brow
worn and furrowed, the majesty of an equal command--the features stern, yet
frank--the aspect bold, yet open--the quiet dignity of the whole form
impressed with an ineffable earnestness, hushed, as it were, in a solemn
sympathy with the awe he himself had created. His left hand pointing to the
corpse--his right hand raised to heaven.
The centurion pressed forward again.
'In the first place, hast thou, Olinthus, or whatever be thy name, any proof
of the charge thou hast made against Arbaces, beyond thy vague suspicions?'
Olinthus remained silent--the Egyptian laughed contemptuously.
'Dost thou claim the body of a priest of Isis as one of the Nazarene or
Christian sect?'
'I do.'
'Swear then by yon fane, yon statue of Cybele, by yon most ancient sacellum
in Pompeii, that the dead man embraced your faith!'
'Vain man! I disown your idols! I abhor your temples! How can I swear by
Cybele then?'
'Away, away with the Atheist! away! the earth will swallow us, if we suffer
these blasphemers in a sacred grove--away with him to death!'
'To the beasts!' added a female voice in the centre of the crowd; 'we shall
have one a-piece now for the lion and tiger!'
'If, O Nazarene, thou disbelievest in Cybele, which of our gods dost thou
own?' resumed the soldier, unmoved by the cries around.
'None!'
'Hark to him! hark!' cried the crowd.
'O vain and blind!' continued the Christian, raising his voice: 'can you
believe in images of wood and stone? Do you imagine that they have eyes to
see, or ears to hear, or hands to help ye? Is yon mute thing carved by
man's art a goddess!--hath it made mankind?--alas! by mankind was it made.
Lo! convince yourself of its nothingness--of your folly.'
And as he spoke he strode across to the fane, and ere any of the bystanders
were aware of his purpose, he, in his compassion or his zeal, struck the
statue of wood from its pedestal.
'See!' cried he, 'your goddess cannot avenge herself. Is this a thing to
worship?'
Further words were denied to him: so gross and daring a sacrilege--of one,
too, of the most sacred of their places of worship--filled even the most
lukewarm with rage and horror. With one accord the crowd rushed upon him,
seized, and but for the interference of the centurion, they would have torn
him to pieces.
'Peace!' said the soldier, authoritatively--'refer we this insolent
blasphemer to the proper tribunal--time has been already wasted. Bear we
both the culprits to the magistrates; place the body of the priest on the
litter--carry it to his own home.'
At this moment a priest of Isis stepped forward. 'I claim these remains,
according to the custom of the priesthood.'
'The flamen be obeyed,' said the centurion. 'How is the murderer?'
'Insensible or asleep.'
'Were his crimes less, I could pity him. On!'
Arbaces, as he turned, met the eye of that priest of Isis--it was Calenus;
and something there was in that glance, so significant and sinister, that
the Egyptian muttered to himself:
'Could he have witnessed the deed?'
A girl darted from the crowd, and gazed hard on the face of Olinthus. 'By
Jupiter, a stout knave! I say, we shall have a man for the tiger now; one
for each beast!'
'Ho!' shouted the mob; 'a man for the lion, and another for the tiger! What
luck! Io Paean!'
